by Ivo Andrić
WheretheDrinaintersectedtheroadwasthefamousVišegradferry.Thatwasa
blackold-fashionedferryboatandonitasurly,slowoldferrymancalledJamak,
whom it was harder to summon when awake than any other man from the
deepestsleep.Hewasamanofgiantstatureandextraordinarystrength,buthe
had suffered in the many wars in which he had won renown. He had only one
eye,oneearandoneleg(theotherwaswooden).Withoutgreetingandwithouta
smile, he would moodily ferry across goods and passengers in his own good time, but honestly and safely, so that tales were told of his reliability and his honesty as often as of his slowness and obstinacy. He would not talk with the
passengers whom he took across nor would he touch them. Men threw the
copper coins that they paid for the crossing into the bottom of the black boat
wheretheylayalldayinthesandandwater,andonlyintheeveningwouldthe
ferrymancollectthemcarelesslyinthewoodenscoopwhichheusedtobaleout
theboatandtakethemtohishutontheriverbank.
Theferryonlyworkedwhenthecurrentandheightoftheriverwerenormalora
littlehigherthannormal,butassoonastheriverrancloudyorroseabovecertain
limits, Jamak hauled out his clumsy bark, moored it firmly in a backwater and
theDrinaremainedasimpassableasthegreatestofoceans.Jamakthenbecame
deafeveninhisonesoundearorsimplywentuptotheFortresstoworkinhis
field.Then,alldaylong,therecouldbeseentravellerscomingfromBosniawho
stoodonthe fartherbankin desperation,frozenand drenched,vainly watching
theferryandtheferrymanandfromtimetotimeyellinglongdrawnsummonses:
'O-o-o-o-o....Jama-a-a-k....'
No one would reply and no one would appear until the waters fell, and that
momentwasdecidedbyJamakhimself,darkandunrelenting,withoutdiscussion
orexplanation.
Thetown,whichwasthenlittlemorethanahamlet,stoodontherightbankof
theDrinaontheslopesofthesteephillbelowtheruinsoftheonetimefortress,
forthenitdidnothavethesizeandshapeitwastohavelaterwhenthebridge
wasbuiltandcommunicationsandtradedeveloped.
OnthatNovemberdayalongconvoyofladenhorsesarrivedontheleftbackof
the river and halted there to spend the night. The aga of the janissaries, with
armed escort, was returning to Stambul after collecting from the villages of
easternBosniatheappointednumberofChristianchildrenforthebloodtribute.
Itwasalreadythesixthyearsincethelastcollectionofthistributeofblood,and
sothistimethechoicehadbeeneasyandrich;
thenecessarynumberofhealthy,brightandgood-lookingladsbetweentenand
fifteen years old had been found without difficulty, even though many parents
hadhiddentheirchildrenintheforests,taughtthemhowtoappearhalf-witted,
clothedtheminragsandletthemgetfilthy,toavoidtheaga'schoice.Somewent
sofarastomaimtheirownchildren,cuttingoffoneoftheirfingerswithanaxe.
ThechosenchildrenwereladenontolittleBosnianhorsesinalongconvoy.On eachhorseweretwoplaitedpanniers,likethoseforfruit,oneoneachside,and
ineverypannierwasputachild,eachwithasmallbundleandaroundcake,the
last thing they were to take from their parents' homes. From these panniers,
whichbalancedandcreakedinunison,peeredoutthefreshandfrightenedfaces
of the kidnapped children. Some of them gazed calmly across the horses'
cruppers,lookingaslongastheycouldattheirnativeland,othersateandwept
atthesametime,whileotherssleptwithheadsrestingonthepack-saddles.
Alittlewaybehindthelasthorsesinthatstrangeconvoystraggled,dishevelled
and exhausted, many parents and relatives of those children who were being
carried away for ever to a foreign world, where they would be circumcized,
becomeTurkishand,forgettingtheirfaith,theircountryandtheirorigin,would
passtheirlivesintheranksofthejanissariesorinsomeother,higher,serviceof
the Empire. They were for the most part women, mothers, grandmothers and
sistersofthestolenchildren.
When they came too close, the aga's horsemen would drive them away with
whips,urgingtheirhorsesatthemwithloudcriestoAllah.Thentheywouldfly
inalldirectionsandhideintheforestsalongtheroadsides,onlytogatheragaina
little later behind the convoy and strive with tear-filled eyes to see once again
over the panniers the heads of the children who were being taken from them.
The mothers were especially persistent and hard to restrain. Some would rush
forward not looking where they were going, with bare breasts, and dishevelled
hair, forgetting everything about them, wailing and lamenting as at a burial,
whileothersalmostoutoftheirmindsmoanedasiftheirwombswerebeingtorn
bybirth-pangs,andblindedwithtearsranrightontothehorsemen'swhipsand
replied to every blow with the fruitless question: 'Where are you taking him?
Whyareyoutakinghimfromme?'Sometriedtospeakclearlytotheirchildren
and to give them some last part of themselves, as much as might be said in a
coupleofwords,some
recommendationoradvicefortheway___
'Rade,myson,don'tforgetyourmother....'
'Ilija,Ilija,Ilija!'screamedanotherwoman,searchingdesperately
withherglancesforthedearwell-knownheadandrepeatingthisincessantlyas
ifshewishedtocarveintothechild'smemorythatnamewhichwouldinadayor
twobetakenfromhimforever.
Butthewaywaslong,theearthhard,thebodyweakandtheOsmanlispowerful
andpitiless.Littlebylittlethewomendroppedbackexhaustedbythemarchand
the blows, and one after the other abandoned their vain effort. Here, at the
Višegradferry,eventhemostenduringhadtohaltfortheywerenotallowedon
theferryandwereunabletocrossthewater.Nowtheycouldsitinpeaceonthe
bankandweep,fornoonepersecutedthemanylonger.Theretheywaitedasif
turnedtostoneandsat,insensibletohunger,thirstandcold,untilonthefarther
bankoftherivertheycouldseeoncemorethelongdrawnoutconvoyofhorses
andridersasitmovedonwardtowardsDubrina,andtriedoncemoretocatcha
lastglimpseofthechildrenwhoweredisappearingfromtheirsight.
OnthatNovemberdayinoneofthosecountlesspanniersadark-skinnedboyof
abouttenyearsoldfromthemountainvillageofSokolovićisatsilentandlooked
abouthimwithdryeyes.Inachilledandreddenedhandheheldasmallcurved
knifewithwhichheabsent-mindedlywhittledattheedgesofhispannier,butat
the same time looked about him. He was to remember that stony bank
overgrown with sparse, bare and dull grey willows, the surly ferryman and the
dry water-mill full of draughts and spiders' webs where they had to spend the
; nightbeforeitwaspossibletotransportallofthemacrossthetroubledwatersof
the Drina over which the ravens were croaking. Somewhere within himself he
felt a sharp stabbing pain which from time to time seemed suddenly to cut his
chestintwoandhurtterribly,whichwasalwaysassociatedwiththememoryof
that place where the road broke off, where desolation and despair were
extinguished and remained on the stony banks of the river, across which the
passage was so difficult, so expensive and so unsafe. It was here, at this
particularly painful spot in that hilly and poverty-stricken district, in which
misfortunewasopenandevident,thatmanwashaltedbypowersstrongerthan
heand,ashamedofhispowerlessness,wasforcedtorecognizemoreclearlyhis
ownmiseryandthatofothers,hisownbackwardnessandthatofothers.
All this was summed up in that physical discomfort that the boy felt on that
Novemberdayandwhichnevercompletelylefthim,thoughhechangedhisway
oflife,hisfaith,hisnameandhiscountry.
Whatthisboyinthepannierwaslatertobecomehasbeentold
inallhistoriesinalllanguagesandisbetterknownintheworldoutsidethanitis
amongstus.IntimehebecameayoungandbraveofficerattheSultan'scourt,
then Great Admiral of the Fleet, then the Sultan's son-in-law, a general and
statesmanofworldrenown,MehmedPashaSokolli,whowagedwarsthatwere
forthemostpartvictoriousonthreecontinentsandextendedthefrontiersofthe OttomanEmpire,makingitsafeabroadandbygoodadministrationconsolidated
it from within. For these sixty odd years he served three Sultans, experienced
both good and evil as only rare and chosen persons may experience them, and
raisedhimselftoheightsofpowerandauthorityunknowntous,whichfewmen
reachandfewmenkeep.Thisnewmanthathehadbecomeinaforeignworld
wherewecouldnotfolloweveninourthoughts,musthaveforgottenallthathe
had left behind in the country whence they had once brought him. He surely
forgot too the crossing of the Drina at Višegrad, the bare banks on which
travellersshiveredwithcoldanduncertainty,theslowandworm-eatenferry,the
strange ferryman, and the hungry ravens above the troubled waters. But that
feeling of discomfort which had remained in him had never completely
disappeared. On the other hand, with years and with age it appeared more and
more often; always the same black pain which cut into his breast with that
special well-known childhood pang which was clearly distinguishable from all
theillsandpainsthatlifelaterbroughttohim.Withclosedeyes,theVezirwould
wait until that black knife-like pang passed and the pain diminished. In one of
those moments he thought that he might be able to free himself from this
discomfort if he could do away with that ferry on the distant Drina, around
which so much misery and inconvenience gathered and increased incessantly,
andbridgethesteepbanksandtheevilwaterbetweenthem,jointhetwoendsof
theroadwhichwasbrokenbytheDrinaandthuslinksafelyandforeverBosnia
andtheEast,theplaceofhisoriginandtheplacesofhislife.Thusitwashewho
first,inasinglemomentbehindclosedeyelids,sawthefirmgracefulsilhouette
ofthegreatstonebridgewhichwastobebuiltthere.
Thatverysameyear,bytheVezir'sorderandattheVezir'sexpense,thebuilding
ofthegreatbridgeontheDrinabegan.Itlastedfiveyears.Thatmusthavebeen
an exceptionally lively and important time for the town and the whole district,
fullofchangeandofeventsgreatandsmall.Butforawonder,inthetownwhich
rememberedforcenturiesanddiscussedeverysortofevent,includingallthose
directlyconnectedwiththebridge,notmanydetailsofthecommencementofthe
operationwerepreserved.
Thecommonpeoplerememberandtellofwhattheyare
able to grasp and what they are able to transform into
legend. Anything else passes them by without deeper
trace, with the dumb indifference of nameless natural
phenomena, which do not touch the imagination or
remain in the memory. This hard and long building
process was for them a foreign task undertaken at
another's expense. Only when, as the fruit of this effort,
the great bridge arose, men began to remember details
andtoembroiderthecreationofareal,skilfullybuiltand
lasting bridge with fabulous tales which they well knew
howtoweaveandtoremember.
III
InthespringofthatyearwhentheVezirhadmadehisdecisiontobuild,hismen
arrivedinthetowntoprepareeverythingnecessaryfortheconstructionworkon
thebridge.Thereweremanyofthem,withhorses,carts,varioustoolsandtents.
All this excited fear and apprehension in the little town and the surrounding
villages,especiallyamongtheChristians.
At the head of this group was Abidaga, who was responsible to the Vezir for
buildingthebridge;withhimwasthemason,TosunEffendi.(Therehadalready
beentalesaboutthisAbidaga,sayingthathewasamanwhostoppedatnothing,
harsh and pitiless beyond measure.) As soon as they had settled in their tents
belowMejdan,AbidagasummonedthelocalleadersandalltheprincipalTurks
foradiscussion.Buttherewasnotmuchofadiscussion,foronlyonemanspoke
and he was Abidaga. Those who had been summoned1 saw a powerfully built
man, with green eyes and an unhealthy reddish face, dressed in rich Stambul
clothes, with a reddish beard and wonderfully upturned moustaches in the
Magyar fashion. The speech which this violent man delivered to the notables
astonishedthemevenmorethanhisappearance:'Itismorethanlikelythatyou
have heard tales about me even before I came here and I know without asking
that those tales could not have been pleasant or favourable. Probably you have
heardthatIdemandworkandobediencefromeveryone,andthatIwillbeatand
kill anyone who does not work as he should and does not obey without
argument;thatIdonotknowthemeaningof"Icannot"or"Thereisn'tany",that wherever I am heads will roll at the slightest word, and that in short I am a
bloodthirsty and hard man. I want to tell you that those tales are neither
imaginarynorexaggerated.Undermylindentreethereisnoshade.Ihavewon
thisreputationoverlongyearsofserviceinwhichIhavedevotedlycarriedout
theordersoftheGrandVezir.ItrustinGodthatIshallcarryoutthisworkfor
whichIwassentandwhenatthecompletionoftheworkIgohence,Ihopethat
evenharsheranddarkertaleswillgobefore
methanthosewhichhavealreadyreachedyou.'
Afterthisunusualintroductiontowhichalllistenedinsilenceandwithdowncast
eyes,Abidagaexplain
edthatitwasamatterofabuildingofgreatimportance,
suchasdidnotexisteveninricherlands,thattheworkwouldlastfive,perhaps
six,years,butthattheVezir'swillwouldbecarriedouttothefinenessofahair
andpunctualtoaminute.Thenhelaiddownhisfirstrequirementsandwhathe
therefore expected from the local Turks and demanded from the rayah— the
Christianserfs.
Beside him sat Tosun Effendi, a small, pale, yellowish renegade, born in the
Greek islands, a mason who had built many of Mehmed Pasha's bequests in
Stambul.Heremainedquietandindifferent,asifhewerenothearingordidnot
understand Abidaga's speech. He gazed at his hands and only looked up from
timetotime.Thentheycouldseehisbigblackeyes,beautifulandshort-sighted
eyes with a velvety sheen, the eyes of a man who only looks to his work and
doesnotsee,doesnotfeelanddoesnotunderstandanythingelseinlifeorinthe
world.
Thenotablesfiledoutofthesmallstuffytent,troubledanddowncast.Theyfelt
as if they were sweating under their new ceremonial clothes and each one of
themfeltfearandanxietytakingrootinhim.
Agreatandincomprehensibledisasterhadfallenuponthetownandthewholeof
thedistrict,acatastrophewhoseendcouldnotbeforeseen.Firstofallbeganthe
felling of the forests and the transport of the timber. So great a mass of
scaffoldingaroseonbothbanksoftheDrinathatforlongthepeoplethoughtthat
thebridgewouldbebuiltofwood.Thentheearthworksbegan,theexcavations,
the revetting of the chalky banks. These were mostly carried out by forced
labour.Soeverythingwentonuntilthelateautumn,whenworkwastemporarily
stoppedandthefirstpartoftheconstructioncompleted.
AllthiswascarriedoutunderAbidaga'ssupervisionandthatofhislonggreen
staff which has passed into legend. Whomever he pointed at with this staff,
havingnoticedthathewasmalingeringornotworkingasheshould,theguards
seized; they beat him on the spot and then poured water over his bleeding and
unconscious body and sent him back to work again. When in late autumn
