The Bridge on the Drina - PDFDrive.com

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