The Bridge on the Drina - PDFDrive.com

by Ivo Andrić

  Godhadpaidlittleheedtohisprayers.

  Atthetimeofthesummerdroughtswhichoftenruinedthewholeharvest,Pop

  Jovanhadregularlyledaprocessionandreadtheprayersforrain,buttheonly

  resultwasstillgreaterdroughtandstiflingheat.Whenoneautumn,aftersucha

  drysummer,theDrinabegantoriseandthreatenageneralflood,PopJovanhad

  goneouttothebanks,collectedthepeople,andbegantoreadaprayerthatthe

  rain should cease and the waters recede. Then a certain Jokić, a drunkard and

  ne'er-do-well,reckoningthatGodalwaysdidexactlytheoppositefromwhatPop

  Jovanprayedfor,shouted:

  'Notthatone,father!Readthesummerone,theoneforrain;thatwillhelpthe

  watersdryup.'

  Fatandwell-fedIsmetEffendispokeofhispredecessorsandtheirstruggleswith

  thefloods.AtoneofthesedisasterslongagoapairoftheVišegrad hodjas went

  outtoreadaprayertostaythedisaster.Oneofthese hodjas hadahouseinthe

  lowerpartofthetown,theotheroneonthehillsidewherethewaterscouldnot

  reach. The first to read was the hodja from the house on the hillside but the watersshowednosignofreceding.Thenagipsywhosehousewasalreadyhalf

  disintegratedinthewatersshouted:

  'Ama, fellows, let the hodja from the marketplace, whose house is under water likeours,read.Can'tyouseethatthatfellowfromthehillonlyreadswithhalf

  hisheart?'

  Hadji Liacho, red-faced and smiling, with riotous tufts of white hair showing

  fromunderhisunusuallyshallowfez,laughedateverythingandsaidmockingly

  tothepriestand hodja:

  'Don't talk too much about prayers against floods, or else our people might

  remember and drive all three of us out in this downpour to read prayers for

  them.'

  Sotheyrangedstoryagainststory,allinsignificantinthemselvesbuteachwitha

  meaning for them and their generation though incomprehensible to others;

  harmless recollections which evoked the monotonous, pleasant yet hard life of thetownsmen,theirownlife.Thoughallthesethingshadchangedlongagothey

  stillremainedcloselyboundupwiththeirlives,althoughfarfromthedramaof

  thatnightwhichhadbroughtthemtogetherinthatfantasticcircle.

  Thus the town's leaders, accustomed from childhood to misfortunes of every

  kind, dominated the night of the great flood and found enough strength in

  themselves to jest in face of the disaster which had come upon them and thus

  masteredthemiserythattheywerenotabletoavoid.

  Butwithinthemselvestheywereallgreatlyanxiousandeachofthem,beneath

  allthejokesandlaughteratmisfortune,asifunderamask,turnedoverandover

  in his mind anxious thoughts and listened continually to the roar of the waters

  andthewindfromthetownbelow,wherehehadleftallthathepossessed.The

  nextdayinthemorning,afteranightsospent,theylookeddownfromMejdan

  to the plain below where their houses were under water, some only half

  submergedandotherscoveredtotheroof.Thenforthefirstandlasttimeintheir

  lives they saw their town without a bridge. The waters had risen a good thirty

  feet,sothatthewidehigharcheswerecoveredandthewatersflowedoverthe

  roadwayofthebridgewhichwashiddenbeneaththem.Onlythatelevatedpart

  on which the kapia had been built showed above the surface of the troubled waterswhichflowedaboutitlikeatinywaterfall.

  Buttwodayslaterthewaterssuddenlyfell,theskiesclearedandthesunbroke

  through,aswarmandrichasitdoesonsomeOctoberdaysinthisfertileland.

  On that lovely day the town looked pitiable and terrible. The houses of the

  gipsies and the poorer folk on the banks were bent over in the direction of the

  current,manyofthemrooflessandwiththemudandclayoftheirwallswashed

  away,displayingonlyablacktrellisofwillowbranchessothattheylookedlike

  skeletons.Inthe unfencedcourtyardsthe housesofthe richertownsmengaped

  openwithstaringwindows;oneachalineofreddishmudshowedhowdeeplyit

  had been flooded. Many stables had been washed away and granaries

  overturned.Inthelowershopstherewasmudtotheknees,andinthatmudall

  thegoodsthathadnotbeentakenawayintime.Inthestreetswerewholetrees

  rooted up and brought there by the waters from no one knew where, and the

  swollencorpsesofdrownedanimals.

  Thatwastheirtown,towhichtheymustnowdescendandgoonwiththeirlives.

  Butbetweenthefloodedbanks,abovethewaterswhichstillragednoisily,stood

  thebridge,whiteandunchangedinthesun.Thewatersnowreachedhalfwayup

  thepiersandthebridgeseemedasifitwereinsomeotheranddeeperriverthan

  that which usually flowed beneath it. Along the parapet still remained deposits ofmudwhichhadnowdriedandwerecrackinginthesun,andonthe kapia was

  piledupawholeheapofsmallbranchesandrubbishfromtheriver.Butallthat

  innowayalteredtheappearanceofthebridge,whichalonehadpassedthrough

  thefloodunalteredandemergedfromitunscathed.

  Everymaninthetownsettoworkatoncetorepairthedamageandnoonehad

  time to think of the meaning of the victory of the bridge, but going about his

  affairs in that illfated town in which the waters had destroyed or at least

  damagedeverything,heknewthattherewassomethinginhislifethatovercame

  every disaster and that the bridge, because of the strange harmony of its forms

  andthestrongandinvisiblepowerofitsfoundations,wouldemergefromevery

  testunchangedandimperishable.

  Thewinterwhichthenbeganwasahardone.Everythingthathadbeenstoredin

  courtyards and barns, wood, wheat, hay, the flood had carried away; houses,

  stables and fences had to be repaired and fresh goods had to be obtained on

  credittoreplacethosewhichhadbeendestroyedinwarehousesandshops.Kosta

  Baranac,whohadsufferedmorethanany,becauseofhisoverboldspeculations

  withplums,didnotoutlivethewinter,butdiedofmortificationandshame.He

  lefthisyoungchildrenalmostpennilessandanumberofsmallbutwidespread

  debts in all the villages. He was recalled in the memory of the town as a man

  whohadovertaxedhisstrength.

  Butbythenextsummertherecollectionofthegreatfloodhadbeguntopassinto

  the memory of the older men, where it would live long, while the younger

  people sat singing and talking on the smooth white stone kapia over the water whichflowedfarbelowthemandaccompaniedtheirsongswithitsmurmurings.

  Forgetfulness heals everything and song is the most beautiful manner of

  forgetting,forinsongmanfeelsonlywhatheloves.

  So, on the kapia, between the skies, the river and the hills, generation after generation learnt not to mourn overmuch what the troubled waters had borne

  away.Theyenteredthereintotheunconsciousphilosophyofthetown;thatlife />
  wasanincomprehensiblemarvel,sinceitwasincessantlywastedandspent,yet

  nonethelessitlastedandendured'likethebridgeontheDrina'.

  VI

  Aswellasfloodstherewerealsootheronslaughtsonthebridge

  andits kapia. Theywerecausedbythedevelopmentofeventsandthecourseof

  humanconflicts;buttheycoulddoevenlessthantheunchainedwaterstoharm

  thebridgeorchangeitpermanently.

  At the beginning of last century Serbia rose in revolt. This town on the very

  frontier of Bosnia and Serbia had always been in close connection and

  permanenttouchwitheverythingthattookplaceinSerbiaandgrewwithit'like

  a nail and its finger'. Nothing that happened in the Višegrad district—drought,

  sickness,oppressionorrevolt—couldbeamatterofindifferencetothoseinthe

  Uzice district, and vice versa. But at first the affair seemed distant and

  insignificant; distant, because it was taking place on the farther side of the

  Belgrade pashaluk, insignificantsincerumoursofrevoltwerenosortofnovelty.

  EversincetheEmpirehadexistedtherehadbeensuchrumours,forthereisno

  rulewithoutrevoltsandconspiracies,evenasthereisnopropertywithoutwork

  andworry.ButintimetherevoltinSerbiabegantoaffectthelifeofthewhole

  Bosnian pashaluk moreandmore,andespeciallythelifeofthistownwhichwas

  onlyanhour'smarchfromthefrontier.

  AsthestruggleinSerbiagrew,moreandmorewasdemandedfromtheBosnian

  Turks. They were asked to send men to the army and to contribute to its

  equipmentandsupply.ThearmyandthecommissariatsentintoSerbiapassedto

  a great extent through the town. That brought in its train expenses and

  inconveniencesanddangersnotonlyfortheTurks,butespeciallyfortheSerbs

  whoweresuspected,persecutedandfinedinthoseyearsmorethaneverbefore.

  Finally,onesummer,therevoltspreadtothesedistricts.Makingadetouraround

  Uzice, the insurgents came to within two hours' march of the town. There, at

  Veletovo, they destroyed Lufti Beg's fortified farmhouse by cannon fire and

  burntanumberofTurkishhousesatCrnice.

  There were in the town both Turks and Serbs who swore that they had heard

  with their own ears the rumbling of 'Karageorge's gun' (naturally with

  completelyoppositefeelings).Butevenifitwereamatterfordoubtwhetherthe

  echo of the Serb insurrectionists' gun could be heard as far as the town, for a

  manoftenthinksthathecanhearwhatheisafraidoforwhathehopesfor,there could be no doubt about the fires which the insurgents lit by night on the bare

  and rocky crest of Panos between Veletovo and Gostilje, on which the huge

  isolated pines could be counted from the town with the naked eye. Both Turks

  and Serbs saw the fires clearly and looked at them attentively, although both

  pretended not to have noticed them. From darkened windows and from the

  shadowsofdensegardens,bothtookcarefulnoteofwhenandwheretheywere

  lighted and extinguished. The Serbian women crossed themselves in the

  darkness and wept from inexplicable emotion, but in their tears they saw

  reflectedthosefiresofinsurrectionevenasthoseghostlyflameswhichhadonce

  fallen upon Radisav's grave and which their ancestors almost three centuries

  beforehadalsoseenthroughtheirtearsfromthatsameMejdan.

  Thoseflickeringandunevenflames,scatteredalongthedarkbackgroundofthe

  summer night, wherein skies and mountains merged, seemed to the Serbs like

  some new constellation in which they eagerly read bold presentiments and,

  shivering,guessedattheirfateandatcomingevents.FortheTurkstheywerethe

  firstwavesofaseaoffirewhichwasspreadingthereinSerbiaandwhich,even

  as they watched, splashed against the mountains above the town. In those

  summer nights the wishes and the prayers of both circled around those flames,

  butindifferentdirections.TheSerbsprayedtoGodthatthesesavingflames,like

  those which they had always carried in their hearts and carefully concealed,

  shouldspreadtothesemountains,whiletheTurksprayedtoAllahtohalttheir

  progressandextinguishthem,tofrustratetheseditiousdesignsoftheinfideland

  restoretheoldorderandthepeaceofthetruefaith.Thenightswerefilledwith

  prudentandpassionatewhisperingsinwhichpulsedinvisiblewavesofthemost

  daring dreams and wishes, the most improbable thoughts and plans which

  triumphedandbrokeinthebluedarknessoverhead.Nextdayatdawn,Turksand

  Serbswentouttoworkandmetoneanotherwithdullandexpressionlessfaces,

  greetedoneanotherandtalkedtogetherwiththosehundredorsocommonplace

  words of provincial courtesy which had from times past circulated in the town

  andpassedfromonetoanotherlikecounterfeitcoinwhichnonethelessmakes

  communicationbothpossibleandeasy.

  When,soonafterthefeastofStElias,thefiresdisappearedfromPanosandthe

  revoltwaspushedbackfromtheUzicedistrict,onceagainneithertheoneside

  northeothershowedtheirfeelings.Anditwouldreallybedifficulttosaywhat

  werethetruefeelingsofeitherside.TheTurksweregratifiedthattherevoltwas

  now far away from them and hoped that it would be entirely extinguished and

  wouldendtherewhereallgodlessandevilenterprisesended.Butnonetheless thatgratificationwasincompleteandovershadowedforitwashardtoforgetso

  closeadanger.Manyofthemforlongaftersawintheirdreamsthosefantastic

  insurgentfireslikeashowerofsparksonallthehillsaroundthetownorheard

  Karageorge's gun, not as a distant echo but as a devastating cannonade which

  broughtruinwithit.TheSerbs,however,aswasnatural,remaineddisillusioned

  and disappointed after the withdrawal of the fires on Panos but in the depth of

  their hearts, in that true and ultimate depth which is revealed to no one, there

  remainedthememoryofwhathadtakenplaceandtheconsciousnessthatwhat

  hasoncebeencanbeagain;thereremainedtoohope,asenselesshope,thatgreat

  assetofthedowntrodden.Forthosewhoruleandmustoppressinordertorule

  mustworkaccordingtoreason;andif,carriedawaybytheirpassionsordriven

  byanadversary,theygobeyondthelimitsofreasonableaction,theystartdown

  theslipperyslopeandtherebyrevealthecommencementoftheirowndownfall.

  Whereas those who are downtrodden and exploited make equal use of their

  reasonandunreasonfortheyarebuttwodifferentkindsofarmsinthecontinual

  struggle,nowunderground,nowopen,againsttheoppressor.

  In those times the importance of the bridge as the one sure link between the

  Bosnian pashaluk andSerbiawasgreatlyincreased.Therewasnowapermanent

  militaryforceinthetown,whichwasnotdisbandedeveninthelongperiodsof

  truce,andwhichguardedthebridgeove
rtheDrina.Tocarryoutthistaskaswell

  as possible with the minimum of labour, the soldiers began to erect a wooden

  blockhouse in the centre of the bridge, a monstrous erection crude in shape,

  position,andthematerialofwhichitwasmade(butallthearmiesoftheworld

  putup,fortheirownspecialaimsandmomentaryneeds,buildingssuchasthis

  which, later on, from the point of view of normal peaceful life appear both

  absurd and incomprehensible) . It was a real two-storeyed house, clumsy and

  hideous, made of rough beams and unplaned planks, with a free passage like a

  tunnel beneath it. The blockhouse was raised up and rested on stout beams, so

  that it straddled the bridge and was supported only at its two ends on

  the kapia, oneontheleftandtheotherontherightterrace.Beneathittherewas

  afreepassageforcarts,horsesandpedestrians,butfromabove,fromthefloor

  on which the guards slept and to which led an uncovered stairway, it was

  possible to inspect all who passed, to examine papers and baggage and, at any

  moment,shouldtheneedarise,tostopthem.

  That indeed altered the appearance of the bridge. The lovely kapia was

  concealedbythewoodenstructurewhichsquattedoveritwithitswoodenbeams

  likesomesortofgiganticbird.

  The day the blockhouse was ready it still smelt strongly of resinous wood and

  steps echoed in its emptiness. The guards at once took up their quarters. By

  dawnonthefirstdaytheblockhouse,likeatrap,alreadyclaimeditsfirstvictim.

  Inthelowandrosysunofearlymorningtherecollectedbeneathitthesoldiers

  and a few armed townsmen, Turks, who mounted guard around the town by

  nightandsohelpedthearmy.Inthemidstofthisgroupstoodalittleoldman,a

  vagabondreligiouspilgrim, somethingbetweena monkanda beggar,butmild

  andpeaceful,somehowcleanandsweetinhispoverty,easyandsmilingdespite

  hiswhitehairandlinedface.HewasaneccentricoldfellownamedJelisijefrom

  Čajniče.Formanyyearshehadbeenwanderingabout,alwaysmild,solemnand