The ancient city of Zadar occupies a peninsula. I reach it over a bridge, which leaves me in front of the triumphal arch of the Puerta de Tierra guarded by the winged lion of Venice. Inside, Romanesque, Gothic and Baroque palaces and churches line its white flagstone streets. Also modern buildings, where not one stone was left after the repeated bombings it received from the allies during World War II.
Mass is celebrated in the church of San Simeon. At the end, while a choir of old women sings accompanied by the organ, the faithful will touch the silver urn, a capital medieval jewel, which contains the relics of the patron saint. Simeon was a devout Jew to whom it was revealed that he would live to see the Messiah. And he recognized him in the baby Jesus in the temple of Jerusalem, where his parents had taken him to present him. The relic of Saint Simeon traveled from Syria to Constantinople, first. It was later taken by the Venetians when they sacked the Byzantine capital. And, things of the saints, one version ended up in Venice and another in Zadar.
In any case, there is no shortage of relics in Zadar. They have something for all tastes. All you have to do is visit the exhibition of religious art hosted by the convent of Santa María. There are arms, feet, shoulders, skulls, a piece of the sponge that a Roman soldier smeared with vinegar and held close to Jesus Christ when he was on the cross, and even a piece of the true cross itself. I stop before a painting of Saint George of astonishing simplicity. Also in front of the Saint Martin painted by Carpaccio, who looks with infinite compassion at the poor man with whom he breaks his cape.
As I leave, I ask the nun at the entrance if it is possible to see the convent church. “It is closed now, but we will open it tomorrow morning, at half past eight,” she says. “We celebrate the fifty years of Sister Gregorija Framin’s profession. At the end of the ceremony, ten of us will represent the ten virgins.” Come on, I can’t miss it.
I arrive and, next to the entrance, I stop in front of a painting with photos of mother Gregorija Framin. The church is full. Not even a pin can fit between the Roman columns of the baroque nave. In the background, around the altar, up to ten priests and the bishop, who addresses the congregation with his miter open, officiate. Clouds of incense perfume the atmosphere. The organ accompanies the Gregorian hymns sung by the nuns. Three video cameras record the ceremony and the flashes of the cameras flash at every moment.
After communion, a girl goes up to the sanctuary and plays a piece on the violin. Then the nuns appear. They put a wreath of flowers on Mother Gregorija. The nuns leave and return, five in white and five in black. All with candles and a flower crown – although more discreet than Mother Gregorija’s. They sing and perform a brief, hieratic choreography of measured movements. In the parable they represent, five wise virgins wait for their bridegrooms provided with oil for their lamps and five others, more carefree, realize that, when the bridegroom arrives, they had nothing left to burn and they run off to buy more fuel. , to return and find the doors closed. Jesus ends with the warning that we must stay awake, because no one knows the day or the hour.
In any case, mother Gregorija has had time to prepare. In the end, they leave her alone there in front of her, small, shy and with a round and pale face like an uncooked ensaimada, and the entire church bursts into applause. Whatever awaits her, no one can take that away from her, and she gets excited, of course, and we with her.
