“Go on – I’ll catch up,” I told the group of Miami University students and my two teen children.
I settled in on the top step of a gorgeous chiesa, or church, in the High Renaissance style of architecture. At my back, the stone wall of the Chiesa di San Salvador, which loomed over the small campo, or plaza, in front.
Opera recordings from the nearby Musici Veneziani echoed across the campo.
A floral shop spilled color onto the drab campo floor, offering flower and vegetable seeds to the hundreds upon hundreds of people strolling by.
But it was difficult to concentrate on the newspaper, or even the ambience.
That’s because small groups of people kept breaking off from the crowds to slip quietly into Chiesa di San Salvador.
“Are you sure you can make it up the steps, mother?” a middle-aged man asked, in English, of an elderly woman on his arm.
“Yes, I can,” she replied. “I’m not going to miss this for the world.”
After the fifth group of people went in, in a 15-minute span, I closed my paper and followed. Why was this place not on my list?
The dim interior yielded its extravagances slowly, like a silk prayer shawl unfolding.
Raised stone sarcophagi, topped by richly colored paintings and sculpture, lined the walls. Two Titians. A Carpaccio. Organ shutters by Francesco Vecellio.
To the right of the altar, a small mummy – a child? – encased in glass garnered a spotlight. Just before the altar steps, a glassed-over peephole some 4 feet round offered a murky view of a tomb below.
This, then, was a church of consequence.
San Salvador dates to the 7th century, according to the church’s website. The legend goes that Jesus appeared in a dream to Bishop Magnus and asked him to build a church, showing him where it was to be constructed, church history says.
The place was in the heart of the future city of Venice, which didn't exist then. In the dream, the bishop was directed to dedicate the church to Jesus.
Noble Venetians attended San Salvador for centuries, especially after it was reconstructed in the 16th century. That is when so many of the important artworks were installed, usually to honor someone buried there.
Crypts not only cover the walls but the floor, including the glassed-over crypt for Bartolomeo Bontempelli near the altar. If you could see down into this crypt, the frescos that decorate the walls would be revealed. But lighting is impossible in the damp underneath of the church.
I could not take my eyes off “Transfiguration of Christ” by Titian (1560-65), which covers silver altar screen. The Save Venice organization describes it the best on its website. “Christ stands surrounded by an explosion of divine light as the figures of Moses and Elijah rush toward him from the sides. Below, the apostles James, John and Peter recoil from the radiant but terrifying vision.”
Titian, of course, was the iconic Renaissance artist, his later works vibrantly colored and imaginative.
To the left of the altar, “The Supper at Emmaus,” finally determined as painted by Vittore Carpaccio (1513), echoes “The Last Supper” but depicts the resurrected Christ meeting with two of his apostles at an inn in Emmaus.
I was humbled by the beauty inside San Salvador, and embarrassed that I wasn’t aware of its significance while picking a reading spot.
But many Americans are acutely aware of the needs of San Salvador. Even this day, restoration work was going on in two spots in the nave.
The Boston and New York chapters of Save Venice, an organization founded in 1967 following devastating flooding in Venice, have been instrumental in raising funds and choosing rehab projects, including several at San Salvador.
To get involved: www.savevenice.org
To learn more about Chiesa di San Salvador: www.chiesasansalvador.it/eng/presentazione.php
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