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