The Bridge on the Drina - PDFDrive.com

by Ivo Andrić

  Abidagaleftthetown,heagainsentforthenotablesandtoldthemthathewas

  going away to another place for the winter, but that his eye would still be on

  them.Allwouldberesponsibleforeverything.Ifitwerefoundthatanypartof

  theworkhadbeendamaged,ifasinglestickweremissingfromthescaffolding,

  hewouldfinethe

  wholetown.Whentheyventuredtosaythatdamagemightbecausedbyfloods,

  herepliedcoldlyandwithouthesitationthatthiswastheirdistrictandtheriver

  toowastheirsaswellaswhateverdamageitmightcause.

  Allthewinterthetownsmenguardedthematerialandwatchedtheconstruction

  worksliketheeyesintheirhead.AndwhenwiththespringAbidagaonceagain

  appeared, with Tosun Effendi, there came with them Dalmatian stonemasons,

  whomthepeoplecalled'Latinmasters'.Atfirsttherewereaboutthirtyofthem,

  led by a certain Mastro Antonio, a Christian from Ulcinj. He was a tall,

  handsomemanofkeeneye,boldglanceandhookednose,withfairhairfalling

  to his shoulders and dressed like a noble in the western manner. His assistant

  wasanegro,arealnegro,ayoungandmerrymanwhomthewholetownandall

  theworkmensoonnicknamed'theArab'.

  If in the previous year, judging from the mass of scaffolding, it seemed as if

  Abidaga had intended to build the bridge of wood, it now seemed to everyone

  thathewantedtobuildanewStambulhereontheDrina.Thenbeganthehauling

  of stone from the quarries which had already been opened up in the hills near

  Banja,anhour'swalkfromthetown.

  NextyearamostunusualspringbrokeneartheVišegradferry.Besidesallthat

  whichsprangupandfloweredeveryyearatthattime,therearoseoutoftheearth

  a whole settlement of huts; new roads made their appearance and new

  approachestothewater'sedge.Countlessoxcartsandpackhorsesswarmedonall

  sides. The men from Mejdan and Okolište saw how every day, like a sort of

  harvest, there grew there by the river a restless swarm of men, beasts and

  buildingmaterialofeverykind.

  On the steep banks worked the master stonemasons. The whole area took on a

  sort of yellowish colour from the stone-dust. And a little farther along, on the

  sandy plain, local workers were slaking lime and moving, ragged and pale,

  throughthewhitesmokewhichrosehighfromthekilns.Theroadsweretornto

  piecesbytheoverloadedcarts.Theferryworkedallday,takingfromonebank

  to the other building material, overseers and workmen. Wading in the spring

  watersuptotheirwaists,specialworkmendroveinpilesandstakesandputin

  positiongabionsfilledwithclay,intendedtobreakthecurrent.

  All this was watched by those who up till then had lived peacefully in their

  scatteredhousesontheslopesneartheDrinaferry.Anditwouldhavebeenwell

  for them had they been able only to watch, but the work soon became so

  extensiveanditsimpetusso

  great that it drew into the whirlpool everything alive or dead, not only in the

  town but also from great distances away. With the second year the number of

  workershadgrowntosuchanextentthattheyequalledallthemaleinhabitants

  of the town. All carts, all horses and oxen worked only for the bridge.

  Everything that could creep or roll was taken and pressed into service,

  sometimespaidbutsometimesbyforce.Therewasmoremoneythanbefore,but

  high prices and shortages increased more rapidly than the money flowed in, so

  that when it reached men's hands it was already half eaten away. Even worse

  thantheriseinpricesandtheshortageswastheunrest,disorderandinsecurity

  which now enveloped the town as a consequence of the incursion of so many

  workmen from the outer world. Despite all Abidaga's severity, there were

  frequent clashes among the workers, and many thefts from the gardens and

  courtyards.TheMoslemwomenhadtokeeptheirfacesveiledevenwhenthey

  went into their own yards, for the gaze of the countless workers, local and

  foreign,mightcomefromanywhereandtheTurksofthetownkeptthepractices

  of Islam very strictly, the more so since they were all recently converted and

  there was scarcely one of them who did not remember either a father or a

  grandfather who was a Christian or a recently converted Turk. Because of this

  the older persons who followed the law of Islam were openly indignant and

  turned their backs on this chaotic mass of workers, draft animals, wood, earth

  and stone which grew ever larger and more complicated on both sides of the

  ferry and which, in the underpinning operations, broke into their streets, their

  courtyardsandtheirgardens.

  AtfirsttheyhadallbeenproudofthegreatbequestwhichtheVezirwastoerect

  intheirdistrict.Thentheyhadnotrealized,astheynowsawwiththeirowneyes,

  that these glorious buildings involved so much disorder and unrest, effort and

  expense. It was a fine thing, they thought, to belong to the pure ruling faith; it wasafinethingtohaveasacountrymantheVezirinStambul,andstillfinerto

  imaginethestrong,costlybridgeacrosstheriver,butwhatwashappeningnow

  innowayresembledthis.Theirtownhadbeenturnedintoahell,adevil'sdance

  ofincomprehensibleworks,ofsmoke,dust,shoutsandtumult.Theyearspassed,

  theworkextendedandgrewgreater,buttherewasnoendorthoughtofendtobe

  seen.Itlookedlikeanythingyoulike,butnotabridge.

  So thought the recently converted Turks of the town and, in private among

  themselves, avowed that they were fed up to the teeth with lordship and pride

  andfuturegloryandhadhadmorethanenoughofthebridgeandtheVezir.They

  onlyprayedAllahtodeliverthemfromthisdisasterandrestoretothemandtheir

  homestheirformerpeaceandthequietnessoftheirhumblelivesbesidetheold-

  fashionedferryontheriver.

  AllthisaffectedtheTurks,butevenmoreitaffectedtheChristian rayah of the

  whole Višegrad district, with this difference, that no one asked their opinion aboutanything,norweretheyevenabletoexpresstheirindignation.Itwasnow

  the third year since the people had been on forced labour for the new bridge,

  they themselves and all their horses and oxen. And that too not only for the

  local rayah but also all those from the nearby districts. Everywhere Abidaga's guardsandhorsemenseizedthe rayah fromthevillagesandeventhetownsand

  drove them away to work on the bridge. Usually they surprised them while

  sleeping and pinioned them like chickens. Through all Bosnia, traveller told

  traveller not to go to the Drina, for whoever went there was seized, without

  questionofwhoorwhathewasorwherehewasgoing,andwasforcedtowork

  foratleastafewdays.Theyoung
meninthevillagestriedtorunawayintothe

  forests,buttheguardstookhostagesfromtheirhouses,oftenwomen,inplaceof

  thosewhofled.

  This was the third autumn that the people had been forced to labour on the

  bridgeandinnowaycoulditbeseenthattheworkwasprogressingorthatthe

  endoftheirmisfortunewasinsight.Autumnwasalreadyinfullspate;theroads

  werebreakingupfromtherains,theDrinawasrisingandtroubled,andthebare

  stubble full of slow-winged ravens. But Abidaga did not halt the work. Under

  thewanNovembersunthepeasantsdraggedwoodandstone,wadedwithbare

  feet or in sandals of freshly slaughtered hide along the muddy roads, sweating

  withstrainorchilledbythewind,foldingaroundthemselvescloaksfullofnew

  holes and old patches, and knotting up the ragged ends of their single shirts of

  coarselinen,blackenedbyrain,mudandsmoke,whichtheydarednotwashlest

  theyfalltopiecesinthewater.OverallofthemhoveredAbidaga'sgreenstaff,

  forAbidagavisitedboththequarriesatBanjaandtheworksaroundthebridge

  severaltimeseachday.Hewasfilledwithrageandfuryagainstthewholeworld

  because the days were growing shorter and the work had not progressed as

  quickly as he wished. In a heavy surcoat of Russian fur and high boots, he

  climbed, with red congested face, over the scaffolding of such piers as already

  arose from the waters, visited forges, barracks and workers' huts and swore at

  everyonehecameacross,overseersandcontractorsalike.

  'The days are short. Always shorter. You sons of bitches, you are eating your

  breadfornothing!'

  He burst out in fury, as if they were to blame because it dawned late and

  darkenedearly.Beforetwilight,thatrelentlessandimplacableVisegradtwilight,

  whenthesteephillsseemedtocloseinoverthetownandeachnightfellquickly,

  asheavyanddeafasthelast,Abidaga'sfuryrosetoitsheight;andhavingnoone

  leftonwhomtoventhiswrath,heturneditonhimselfandcouldnotsleepfor thinkingofsomuchworknotbeingdoneandsomanypeoplemalingeringand

  wastingtime.Hegroundhisteeth.Hesummonedtheoverseersandworkedout

  how,fromthenon,itwouldbepossibletomakebetteruseofthedaylightand

  exploittheworkersmoreeffectively.

  The people were sleeping in their huts and stables, resting and restoring their

  forces.Butalldidnotsleep;theytooknewhowtokeepvigil,totheirownprofit

  andintheirownmanner.Inadryandspaciousstableafirewasburning,ormore

  exactly had been burning, for now only a few embers glowing in the half-lit

  space remained. The whole stable was filled with smoke and the heavy, sour

  smell of wet clothes and sandals and the exhalations of about thirteen human

  bodies. They were all pressed men, peasants from the neighbourhood.

  Christian rayah. All were muddy and wet through, exhausted and careworn.

  They resented this unpaid and pointless forced labour while up there in the

  villages their fields awaited the autumn ploughing in vain. The greater number

  were still awake. They were drying their gaiters by the fire, plaiting sandals or

  only gazing at the embers. Amongst them was a certain Montenegrin, no one

  knewfromwhere,whomtheguardshadseizedontheroadandhadpressedfor

  labour for several days, though he kept telling them and proving to them how

  wearisomeandhardthisworkwasforhimandhowhishonourcouldnotendure

  thisworkforslaves.

  Mostofthewakefulpeasants,especiallytheyoungerones,gatheredaroundhim.

  From the deep pocket of his cloak the Montenegrin drew out a gusle, a tiny primitive fiddle, clumsy and as small as the palm of a man's hand, and a short

  bow.Oneofthepeasantswentoutsideandmountedguardbeforethestablelest

  some Turk should chance to come along. All looked at the Montenegrin as if

  theysawhimforthefirsttimeandatthe gusle whichseemedtodisappearinhis

  huge hands. He bent over, the gusle in his lap, and pressed its head under his chin,greasedthestringwithresinandbreathedheavilyonthebow;everything

  was moist and slack. While he occupied himself with these petty tasks, calmly

  and self-confidently as if he were alone in the world, they all looked at him

  without a movement. At last the first notes wailed out, sharp and uneven. The

  excitementrose.TheMontenegrinfoundthekeyandbegantosingthroughhis

  noseandaccompanyhimselfwiththe gusle. Everyone was intent, awaiting the

  wonderful tale. Then, suddenly, after he had more or less attuned his voice to

  the gusle, theMontenegrinthrewbackhisheadproudlyandviolentlysothathis

  Adam'sapplestoodoutinhisscrawnyneckandhissharpprofilewasoutlinedin

  thefirelight,andsanginastrangledandconstrainedvoice:A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-and thenallatonceinaclearandringingtone:

  'TheSerbianTsarStefan

  DrankwineinfertilePrizren,

  Byhimsattheoldpatriarchs.

  Fourofthem,theoldpatriarchs;

  Nextthemwereninebishops

  Andascoreofthree-tailedVezirs

  AndtheranksofSerbiannobles.

  WinewasservedbyMichaelthecup-bearer

  AndonthebreastofhissisterKandosia

  Shonethelightofpreciousstones....'

  Thepeasantspressedcloserandcloseraroundthesingerbutwithoutmakingthe

  slightestnoise;theirverybreathingcouldbeheard.Theyhalfclosedtheireyes,

  carried away with wonder. Thrills ran up and down their spines, their backs

  straightened up, their breasts expanded, their eyes shone, their fingers opened

  and shut and their jaw muscles tightened. The Montenegrin developed his

  melody more and more rapidly, even more beautiful and bolder, while the wet

  andsleeplessworkmen,carriedawayandinsensibletoallelse,followedthetale

  asifitweretheirownmorebeautifulandmoregloriousdestiny.

  Among the countless peasants pressed for hard labour was a certain Radisav

  from Unište, a small village quite close to the town. He was a smallish man,

  dark-faced,withrestlesseyes,alittlebent,andwalkedquickly,spreadingouthis

  legs and moving his head and shoulders from left to right, right to left, as if

  sowing wheat. He was not as poor as he appeared to be, nor as simple as he

  madehimselfout.HisfamilywereknownastheHeraci;theyhadgoodlandand

  there were many males in the house, but almost the whole village had been

  convertedtoIslamoverthepastfortyyearssothattheywerelonelyandisolated.

  Thissmall,bowedRadisavhadbeenscurryingaboutfromonestabletothenext

  these autumn nights 'sowing' revolt and had insinuated himself among the

  peasantslikeaneel,whisperingandcounsellingwithoneonlyatatime.What

  hesaidwasroughlythis:

  'Brother,wehavehadenoughofth
is.Wemustdefendourselves.

  Youcanseeforyourselfthatthisbuildingworkwillbethedeathofallofus;it willeatusallup.Evenourchildrenwillhavetodoforcedlabouronthebridge,

  ifthereareanyofusleft.Forusthisworkmeansexterminationandnothingless.

  Abridgeisnogoodtothepoorandtothe rayah, butonlyfortheTurks;wecan

  neitherraisearmiesnorcarryontrade.Forustheferryismorethanenough.So

  afewofushaveagreedamongourselvestogobynight,atthedarkesthour,and

  breakdownandspoilasmuchaspossibleofwhathasbeendone,andtospread

  therumourthatitisa vila, afairy,whoisdestroyingtheworksatthebridgeand

  whodoesnotwantanybridgeovertheDrina.Weshallseeifthiswillbeofany

  help.Wehavenootherwayandsomethingmustbedone.'

  Therewere,asalways,somewhowerefaintheartedandunreliable,whothought

  this to be a sterile idea; since the cunning and powerful Turks would not be

  turned away from their intention they would have to do forced labour even

  longer since God so willed. They should not make bad worse. But there were

  also those who felt that anything was better than to go on slaving and to wait

  untileventhelastragofclothingfellfromamanandthelastounceofstrength

  bewastedbytheheavylabourandAbidaga'sshortcommons;andthattheymust

  followanyonewhowaswillingtogotoextremes.Thesewereforthemostpart

  youngmen,buttherewerealsoseriousmarriedmen,withfamilies,whoagreed,

  thoughwithoutenthusiasmorfire,andwhosaidworriedly:

  'Come and let's break it down; may his blood eat him up before he eats us up.

  Andifthatdoesnothelp....'

  Andatthatpointtheywavedtheirhandsindesperateresolution.

  So in these first autumn days the rumour began to spread, first among the

  workersandtheninthetownitself,thatthe vila ofthewatershadintervenedin

  theworkonthebridge,thatshedestroyedandpulleddownovernightwhathad

  been built by day and that the whole scheme would come to nothing. At the

  same time, inexplicable damage began to appear over night in the revetments

  andeveninthemasonryitself.Thetoolswhichthemasonshaduptillthenleft