140. Venice: Campo San Vidal and Santa Maria della Carità
(“The Stonemasons’ Yard”), 1727-1728.

Oil on canvas, 123.8 x 162.9 cm.

The National Gallery, London.

 

 

Without examining the totality of Guardi’s prolific production, one should take a look at an important series of paintings whose attribution was disputed for a long time. Though they showed up in France under Canaletto’s name, in the end they were credited to the student. Brustoloni was the primary cause of this confusion, as he affixed the name “Antonio da Canal” to the bottom of the twelve plates commemorating the crowning of the doge and the principal ceremonies in which His Serene Highness appeared. One can hardly comprehend how such a mistake could have happened during the artist’s lifetime, who, for different reasons, had an interest in eventually re-establishing the truth. But if one considers the Fat Thursday celebrations and the procession, the only remaining specimens from this series which are now exhibited at the Louvre, alongside the Santa Maria della Salute view or Canaletto’s etchings, it would be difficult to attribute these works to a single hand, even if one presumes a progressive development towards greater freedom in style. One would look in vain for the verve and free touch unique to original painters in Brustolini’s engravings. But however awkward they might be, these interpretations, so imperfect, offer valuable documentation of Venice’s anecdotal history. Whoever the authors might have been, the original paintings, today spread out among Brussels, London and Paris, were doubtlessly executed for an order by the doge Mocenigon.

 

Guardi’s canvases at first lead one to Saint Mark’s, where the newly elected doge, seated in the gallery to the left of the choir, is about to preach the sermon and receive the standard of the Republic and the ducal cape. After leaving the basilica, the highest public official of Venice, sitting in a special vehicle called a pozzetto with his two closest relatives, crosses over the Piazza, along the path of his porters. Before him are two bowls filled with gold and silver medallions embossed with his image. He tosses them to the crowd as he passes by. One can recognize the artist’s skill in depicting the milling crowd, the indescribable disorder of the human wave that was held back, with great difficulty, by long rows of constables. And now, let us turn to a view of the doge’s coronation in the interior courtyard of the palace, atop the Staircase of the Giants. The corno ducal, which is crunched on his bulbous forehead in place of a diadem, bears at its peak a magnificent diamond offered by Henry III, and a string of pearls, less valuable for their size than for their rarity. Finally, the Most Serene Prince, in the council room of five hundred, prepares his speech of thanksgiving for these high honours.