Jacopo Dei’ Barbari published this phenomenal map in 1500 after three years of hard labor. It remains the gold standard for maps of 16th-century Venice; he has managed to include every single building and canal then in existence. The only drawback is the lack of extensive labels, That, and the reluctance, for whatever reason, to include the entire island of Sant’ Elena.
Reader Christopher has written the following Comment: I am perplexed and maybe you can help me. The Chiesa di Sant’Elena was built in as early as 1060 by some accounts. Saint Helen was brought to the lagoon and interred in her eponymous church in 1211. It’s curious that the church is not shown on the earlier maps. Any idea why this might be? ….
If I understand your question to be why isn’t the church dedicated to Sant’ Elena shown on maps prior to the arrival of her remains, I can only reply that I think there could be several reasons.
One reason is that there aren’t many maps of Venice prior to 1211, and those that do exist are not very detailed. Even 17th-century maps don’t show everything. Also, Venice has plenty of churches named for saints whose remains are not in residence. There’s no reason why a mapmaker with limited space would choose to show a church if it didn’t contain its tutelary saint. Which raises the interesting question, which I had never considered till now, as to who decides what to include in a map and what to leave out.
As to the dates you mention, “…the first chapel dedicated to St. Helen was built in 1028 and entrusted to the Augustinian order, which constructed also a convent. In 1211 the Augustinian monk Aicardo brought to Venice from Constantinople the presumed body of the empress. Following which the Augustinians enclosed the chapel within a larger church.” More confusion arises from the statement that there was a “hospital” dedicated to her, built in 1175 — 36 years before the saint arrived — maintained by the Augustinian order, for the care of the poor.
In the 15th century the convent and the church passed to the Benedictine monks, who rebuilt it in 1439. A century later, in 1515, the church was consecrated by the bishop of Aleppo and became an important religious center, with vast property and notable works of art. So evidently three centuries, all told, had to pass before her church (or let’s just say “she”) became sufficiently important to warrant identified inclusion on a map.
These sources don’t identify where the church was located, but I’m going to suppose it was on the island of Sant’ Elena.
Some maps, from the 1400’s onward, show at least part of an island floating off the eastern shore of Castello, just below Olivolo, where the church of San Pietro di Castello stands. So something was there, even if it isn’t identified. Yet if her eponymous original church was there, it does seem strange that so many cartographers didn’t show it, or if they did, why they didn’t always label it.
Benedetto Bordone made this map in 1539. Granted, Dei’ Barbari had carried off the palm in Venetian map-making. You have to admire anybody who’d try to come onstage after him. My point is that this map was less detailed than its predecessor, which kind of goes against the notion of map evolution, However, he gets points for clearly outlining the island of S. Helena, something Dei’ Barbari hadn’t done.
I think it’s evident that no map except Dei’ Barbari’s (1500) could claim to show everything. A good number of maps show only a smattering of churches, even though we know that there were many more. But he gives a only glimpse of the island, going so far as to cover half of it with a cloud-bedecked cherub. And yet the island, not to mention the mother of the Emperor Constantine, were hardly a secret.
If I ever find out why she was snubbed so often, I’ll let you know.
Dei’ Barbari modestly covered what was probably the island of Sant’ Elena with a cherub-bearing cloud. Why would he do that? I wish I could tell you.In 1559, this map shows not only one, but two islands below Olivolo. Map-makers clearly have plenty of leeway in deciding what goes in and what stays out.Dutch cartographer Joan Blaeu prepared this map in 1624. There is the island in the lower right corner, with a church and convent and vegetable patches, unlabeled and unsung just like so many other religious sites in the lagoon. Even San Giorgio Maggiore is without a name.
All that mud has to go somewhere. We certainly don’t want it here.
After my post on dredging (which was far too long ago, I apologize), I’m attempting a return with some answers to the question several readers put to me: What happens to the mud that is dredged from the canals?
Bear in mind that Venice has dredged its canals many times over the centuries and deposited the mud somewhere it could be useful. For example, the island of Sacca Sessola was created from 1860-1870 with the mud dredged from the area of Santa Marta during the deepening of the canals of the maritime zone. And it is far from being the only one.
Sacca Sessola (so named because it was shaped in a way that reminded somebody of the common boat-bailing scoop) first served as a fuel depository facility, then converted in 1914 to house a large hospital dedicated to curing respiratory diseases, particularly tuberculosis. In 2015 the J.W. Marriott company turned the decrepit remains of the abandoned hospital into a five-star luxury hotel/resort, and renamed the island in its publicity as Isola delle Rose (Island of the Roses). Venetians continue to call it Sacca Sessola.Sacca Sessola is easy to identify from afar by its water tower. Like all the hospital islands, it was largely self-sufficient. Apart from the water, it had a stable full of cows, a bakery, laundry, and a lovely church. From the pictures on their website, it appears that the church is now a cocktail bar, or at least a venue for some elegant social event. (Photo: Riccardo Roiter Rigoni)
Small digression: “Sacca” (saca in Venetian) is often used to identify such places, but don’t confuse it with sacco, which means “bag.” A sacca is defined as “an inlet or cove of the sea, lake, river, or more precisely the bottom of an inlet or gulf. In geography, the accumulation of brackish water, very shallow, that is formed in sandy areas that separate the branches of a delta, from the resurgence of seawater from the subsoil.” End of digression.
Ludovico Ughi’s map (1729) showed that Venice had plenty of empty spaces where land was later to be applied. Counterclockwise from top left we see the Sacca di Santa Chiara (just to illustrate what was meant by “sacca”), and the island of Santa Chiara. Then there is the expansion of the Santa Marta area where the red-circled area of water shown here was filled in for a military parade ground in 1838 by the Austrians, shown below. At the far right, water ripples where the island of Sant’ Elena now stands.Santa Marta 1838. The Austrians need a military parade ground, or Campo di Marte, so let’s wedge one in here.In 1869 the train station is visible in all its glory; notice that the island of Santa Chiara is still hanging on right next door.Big doings in 1888. Dredgings are dumped to form the new “Stazione Marittima,” or maritime terminal, clearly visible in the upper left corner and thereby (obliterating? incorporating?) the island of Santa Chiara. In the same year, the Giudecca has been elongated by the addition of Sacca Fisola and Sacca San Biagio. Even though the Austrians departed in 1866, the Campo di Marte on this German map is still labeled “Exerzierzplatz” (exercise place).In 1913 the area at Santa Marta is now labeled “Ex Campo di Marte” and the lower half of the land is occupied by warehouses. The black lines stretching along the bridge and down to the Stazione Marittima and the waterfront on the Canale di Fusina were railway tracks bringing freight trains directly to the ships. At the easternmost edge of the city we now see “Isola di Sant’ Elena,” developed in the 1920’s on land that had been built there as another military parade ground. At least they found a useful second life after the Austrians left.The Stazione Marittima was enlarged in 1958 by an extension cleverly named Tronchetto. It does sort of look like an elephant’s trunk. Less fancifully, it is also known as “Isola Nuova” (new island).
Murano, a natural grouping of lagoon islands, has been amplified with dredgings over the years; if you look at Google Maps (satellite view) you can easily locate Sacca Serenella, a sort of industrial zone to which no tourist would be lured. Murano has also grown on its northern perimeter by the addition of yet another island, mostly barren at the moment, where the Centro Sportivo San Mattia is located.
Murano. Sacca Serenella is the lower island, and the upper barren land has only partially been reclaimed by a sports facility that includes state-of-the-art bocce courts.
The cemetery island of San Michele has undergone quite an expansion over the past few years, thanks to dredgings from the city and environs. Puts a perfect, if slightly queasy, spin on the old “dust to dust” trope. I wonder if you could specify in your will that you want to be buried in the mud dug up from the canal nearest to your home.
The current island was originally two — San Michele and San Cristoforo. Napoleon decreed the establishment of a municipal cemetery. as opposed to the local graveyards near parish churches. More space is constantly needed, so keep those dredgings coming.Two steps, so to speak, from San Michele is a reconstructed barena, painstakingly built up to replace one that the motondoso had completely eroded. Considering how many motorboats roar past every day, and even more in the summer, I’m not betting that it will not eventually meet the same fate. To the right is the larger barena created just a few years ago more or less at the same time as the Vento di Venezia marina. It used to be a lovely stretch of water to row across on the way to the Vignole, but Lord knows we need more barene.
When there is a large quantity of mud to be deposited, it is sprayed from enormous barges through high-powered tubes, specifically to form new barene (marshy islands). This process was quite a spectacle for a while during the construction of the “Vento di Venezia” marina at the island of the Certosa.
Looking across the recreated barena from the moorings at the Vento di Venezia.Not visible here are the barely submerged bags of stones that defend the fragile muddy islets from the lashing of the motorboat waves.The barrier is easier to see in this view. Lino went exploring among the saltwort (Salicornia europaea). We often see birds here, sometimes nesting — egret, beccaccia di mare (Haematopus olstralegus), cavaliere d’Italia (Himantopus himantopus). The random seagull.
Unhappily, sometimes the mud is poison. I’m not picking on Murano, but canals near the glass furnaces are known to contain arsenic and a few other chemicals not conducive to health. The sediments along the lagoon edge by the Industrial Zone are loaded with heavy metals — pick your favorite, it will be there. Sometimes illegal clammers go there at night, sell the clams, they’re sold to restaurants, etc. You can imagine.
Because the provenance of the mud matters, there is a system by which it is analyzed and classified and, if necessary, treated to render it harmless. This is more than usually important if it’s being sold to farmers to enrich their fields. I haven’t researched the system(s), so please don’t ask me. The point is that they exist.
The mud of Venice. You probably wouldn’t call it poetic, but it’s just as important as the water.
The word hasn’t reached this street in Sant’ Elena that it’s a festive day for women.
This day is commonly observed here by means of sprays of mimosa. I’ve written about this before.
I never buy the bunches of mimosa sold by various street vendors, but this little bouquet was bestowed on me by a member of a social club that we walked past this evening. They had a whole table full of them, and it was getting late.
Today, in addition to the mimosa, we had a 24-hour transit strike (busses, trams, trains, and of course vaporettos). This is some sort of inexplicable sub-tradition, because Women’s Day has been disfigured by a transit strike more than once. Some vaporettos will run, but it will be a task to reorganize your day to accommodate the ACTV, the public transport company. If this strike were to accomplish something, I’d be so glad. But it seems a feeble reed to wield in the struggles that women live through every day, up to and including their struggles with the ACTV.
The ACTV has a hundred reasons for calling strikes; we have one every few months. They are mostly politically motivated and are usually directed at lapses in administration. Work problems, not human problems. This year they’ve decided to take every social problem yet identified and load them onto a highly worthy cause and, you know, let the women carry it.
This is the announcement on the vaporetto dock. Note that the date is written, as typical here, with the day first, month second.These are the reasons for the strike: “Against masculine violence against women and violence in general towards LGBTQIPA persons; against every discrimination, molestation and sexual blackmail regarding access to and in the places of work; against the sexual division of work and racism; against job insecurity, exploitation, disparities of salary, involuntary part-time and being fired; against the dismantling and privatization of the social state; for the right to free and accessible public services, to income, to the minimum salary according to law, to the reduction of work hours to be equal to salary, to the house, to work, to scholastic education, to health care and to public transport (wait, what?); for the safeguarding of health and safety in the workplace; for the defense and strengthening of safe houses, of the centers against violence and the anticipation of measures of escape from violence; for the defense of Law 194 (right to abortion) and the right to self-determination, of the national network of public consultori (these correspond to social workers) and without objectors; for the redistribution of wealth, social and environmental justice; for the defense of the right to strike.” It’s impossible to object to these goals, but I still can’t see how not showing up for work is going to accomplish them. I guess there will just have to be another strike.
So the ACTV demonstrates its sensitivity to the problems of women in Venice, the nation, the world, by creating problems for women. Transport strikes absolutely mangle your day in a city with basically two alternatives — feet and taxis. Let’s say you have to accompany your sick neighbor to the hospital for her radiation therapy today. During a strike last year we walked to the only functioning vaporetto stop, much farther than the usual stop, and took the sole working vaporetto two stops to San Zaccaria, where they put everybody ashore. Then we had to walk inland, streets, bridges, streets, bridges, to get to the hospital under our own fading steam. She was so frail by then, but such a trouper.
When the next strike rolled around she could hardly walk to the corner anymore, so we had to take a taxi — that will be 50 euros (rate from her house to the hospital). And 50 euros back, naturally. Her pension was 750 a month. But sure, the ACTV’s union disagreements come first.
So just work your way around the strike however you can, or can’t. Kids going to school? Get them up at 4:00. (Made up, but not by much.) Going to your job, or your second job, today? Call to say you can’t make it and lose the day’s pay. Or walk. Be sure to consult the labyrinthine schedule of the times and routes of the limited service, or just decide to stay home.
So thank you, ACTV, for acknowledging all the problems that ought not to exist in a woman’s world. I don’t see you on the list, though.
It’s a good thing the timetable for the flowering of this mimosa tree behind us is not scheduled by the ACTV. I wonder if they’d make the tree go on strike?
It’s not just the buildings — even the canals are getting big repairs.
Simple, but effective, this is how they removed the mud in 1956. This is “dry” dredging, during which a section of canal is blocked by temporary barriers and the water pumped out. If you need to repair foundations of canal-side structures, this is your only option. I really have only one question and that is why are the men wearing white?And this is “wet” dredging, or scavo in umido. They’re here to deepen the canal by removing metric tons of mud — the foundations will have to wait to be checked some other time. Here one man with a mastodontic machine is doing the work of ten or 20 men years ago, except that years ago wet dredging didn’t exist. Progress.
There are roughly 150 canals in Venice, which might sound like a lot, though you probably many more streets where you live. But whatever they’re made of, streets require maintenance. And often — make that quite often, in Venice — maintenance is conducted only when it has become absolutely necessary.
Canal-beds here are made of mud, and the movement of the tides, plus the thrashing of motorboat propellers night and day, tend to make the mud move around. Sometimes the waves (underwater force of) push it to the sides of the canal where it accumulates, blocking any drains that might be emptying from buildings; the blockage causes the material to build up and over time the chemicals in the material damage the building’s walls. So the mud has been transformed from a water problem to a land problem, and sometimes is the signal that it’s really time to deal with it.
Or the the mud swirls around, carried by the water to wherever the force of the waves diminishes, at which point it eventually drifts downward and is deposited on the bottom. When this process reaches the point where there is no longer enough useful average depth to the water, the dredgers are called in. Just think: High water means that many boats can’t pass under certain bridges until the tide turns, but low water can mean that boats can’t pass at all, bridges or not. This is not a happy situation if the boat in question is an ambulance, or belongs to the firemen. So yes. In your town your roads have potholes. Here we have mud.
One morning in late November, we discovered that dredging of our canal, the rio de Sant’Ana, was imminent. Many copies of the official notice were taped to the red and white striped security tape strung along the pilings. Everybody stopped to read, especially people like us whose boat is in the foreground, therefore directly in the path of danger.Here’s what it comes down to: “Move your boat, we need space so we can dredge between November 15 and December 17, or whenever we finish the work.” Like everybody else on the canal, we had to move our boat somewhere else, which wasn’t a problem. And we soon discovered why the decks, so to speak, had had to be cleared; the dredge would have splintered our little watercraft to kindling. For lots of others, though — for the people who use their boats for work — points 2 a and b were more problematic than where to park it. “From 7:00 AM to 6:00 PM on Monday to Friday, all boats, either by motor or oar, are prohibited from passing this stretch of canal. Emergency and public service boats that have a need that can’t be accomplished by any means other than passing this canal are authorized to pass here but in any case must reach an agreement with the dredging company.” Do not even think about inconveniencing the dredges, this operation costs real money and it needs to get done on time.The next to last holdout moved his boat a few hours after I took this picture. Maybe he noticed the two big dredges ready to start work the next day.As I said, waiting on the other side of the ponte de Sant’Ana to start work, which they will just as soon as the tide goes out just enough to allow them to pass under it. If there is anyone who checks the tides table more than I do, it must be the operators of “Valerio”, the big green dredge, and “Zio Mario” (Uncle Mario), the smaller blue one.Dredging the canals ought to be like painting the Forth Bridge, i.e. continuous. Yet years, sometimes decades, can pass between interventions. Why? (checks notes) Yep: money again. This map announces the conclusion of the canal-dredging program in the 30 above-listed canals. To be fair, dredging the remaining 100 clogged-up canals, at 150,000 per canal, is an impressive line in the city’s future budgets. Frivolous note: I’m sorry to see that I missed the work in the only canal listed here for Castello because it’s a really narrow canal and it would have been fun to see what sort of machine could have gotten in there. Guess I’ll have to wait another 30 years for my next chance.This perspective shows the importance of the accuracy of the tide forecast. Of course the hydraulic arm lies down flat, but there’s the little factor of the deckhouse.
Yes, Uncle Mario did his part.They eventually were working the whole canal together. Here they’ve finished for the day; you can see that Uncle Mario is backing up, stirring up more mud for tomorrow.A good day’s work. Back for more tomorrow. If I had time, I would seriously find someone to tell me how they knew when the job was finished. Metric tonnage of sediment? Strictly by the clock? Fuel consumed?
They were as good as their word: On December 17, they departed, and on 19 we rowed our little boat back to its mooring. When the weather is cold, the water is usually extremely clear, and I can tell you that we could see the bottom of the canal by the wall, and it was definitely deeper. Of course, as always, we’d have to measure it at low tide to know how much deeper it was, compared to two months ago (at low tide). But keeping in mind that now, and for the next month, the lagoon is prone to exceptional low tides, that would also be deceptive.
But the saga continues; dredging is far from over. Via Garibaldi is a rio tera’ — “earthed-in canal” — but not literally filled in, as you might have innocently imagined, because a large culvert was installed beneath the pavement to allow the tidal flux to continue its useful work of fluxing. And over the years the tide had deposited mud in this culvert, too. A filled-in culvert is just as bad as a clogged-up canal.
Conclusion: Considering a new career? Give some thought to dredging Venice. Just regard it as the Humber Canal of cities.
Via Garibaldi is approximately 345 meters long (1,100 feet). That’s a lot of canal to suck dry.The view from the riva dei Sette Martiri onward toward the end of the line at the vegetable boat is impressive. The white barriers snaking down via Garibaldi are guarding the many tubes.The intermittent rectangular interruptions are crosswalks.
This is what’s happening: “Intervention of refurbishment of the sewer network damaged by the high water” — oh, you mean the one two years ago? What’s your hurry? — “and removal of mud in Rio Tera’ Garibaldi.”As you see, the underground canal is getting to be in a tight spot. Opening it more generously will be appreciated by those who have been inhaling that unmistakeable biological aroma at super-low tide. In case you think that just filling in the canal would be a better idea, you should know that a few years ago they did exactly that in a small canal in Cannaregio. It wasn’t long before the residents were up in arms because the tidal flow was blocked and stench ensued. The city had to pay to open it up again.Here you can just make out the top of the street’s arched support. At extremely low tide, which will be here soon, you can see the bottom inside. A bottom which will eventually be much lower.End of the white fences. Let the pumping begin!I’d never given any thought to where this manhole cover might lead. Now I know.The pump is seriously ready to work, moving that mud out of the dark and into the waiting barge. But ask not for whom the mud tolls, because the mud will be back.
