by Ivo Andrić
'Iaskyou,'wentonStikovićimpatiently,'inthesedaystospeakofclassstruggle
and recommend small measures, when it is clear to every last man amongst us
that national unity and liberation carried out by revolutionary methods is the
mostpressingaimofourcommunity!Why,thatisdownrightsilly!'
Hisvoiceheldbothaquestionandanappeal.ButagainGlasičanindidnotreply.
Inthehushofthatrevengefulandvindictivesilence,thesoundofmusiccameto
themfromtheofficers'messontheriverbank.Theground-floorwindowswere
wideopenandbrightlylit.Aviolinwasplayingwithapianoaccompanyingit.It
wasthemilitarydoctor,RegimentsarztBalas,whowasplaying,accompaniedby
thewifeofthecommanderofthegarrison,ColonelBauer.Theywerepractising
thesecondmovementofSchubert'sSonatinaforviolinandpiano.Theyplayed
welltogetherbutbeforetheywerehalfwaythroughthepianowasaheadandthe
violiniststoppedplaying.Afterashortsilence,duringwhichtheyweredoubtless
arguing about the disputed passage, they began again. They practised together
almost every evening and played until late at night, while the Colonel sat in
anotherroomplayingendlessgamesof preference orsimplydozingoverMostar
wine and tobacco while the younger officers joked among themselves at the
expenseoftheenamouredmusicians.
BetweenMadameBauerandtheyoungdoctoracomplicatedanddifficultstory
hadinfactbeenbuildingupformonths.Noteventhekeenest-eyedamongthe
officershadbeenabletodecideontherealnatureoftherelationship.Somesaid
thatthetiebetweenthemwaswhollyspiritual(andnaturallylaughedatit),while
others said that the body had its due share in the matter also. The two were,
however, inseparable, with the full fatherly approval of the Colonel who was a
good-natured man, already blunted by long service, the weight of years, wine
andtobacco.
Thewholetownlookedonthesetwoasacouple.Otherwise,thewholeofficers'
mess lived a completely isolated life, without any connection with the local
peopleandcitizensoreventheforeignofficials.Attheentrancetotheirparks,
filledwithbedsofrareflowerslaidoutincirclesandstars,anoticeannounced
impartially that it was forbidden to bring dogs into the parks and that civilians
were not allowed to enter. Their pleasures and their duties were alike
inaccessibletoallwhowerenotinuniform.Theirwholelifewasinfactthatofa
huge and completely exclusive caste, which cherished its exclusiveness as the
most important aspect of its power and which beneath a brilliant and stiff
exterior concealed all that life gave to other men of greatness and poverty,
sweetnessandbitterness.
But there are things which by their very nature cannot remain hidden, which
break down every barrier however strong and cross even the most strictly
guarded frontier. 'There are three things which cannot be hidden,' say the
Osmanlis,'andtheseare:love,acoughandpoverty.'Thiswasthecasewiththis
pairoflovers.Therewasnotanoldmanorachild,manorwoman,inthetown
who had not come across them on one of their walks on unfrequented paths
around the town, lost in conversation and completely blind and deaf to
everythingaboutthem.Theshepherdswereasusedtothemastothosepairsof
beetlesthancanbeseeninMayontheleavesbythewayside,alwaystwobytwo
in loving embrace. They were to be seen everywhere; along the Drina and the
Rzav, by the ruins of the old fortress, on the road leading from the town, or
around Stražište, and that at any time of the day. For time is always short to
lovers and no path long enough. They sometimes rode or drove in a light
carriage, but for the most part walked, and walked at that pace usual to two
personswhoexistonlyonefortheother,andwiththatcharacteristicgaitwhich
showsthattheyareindifferenttoeverythingintheworldsavewhateachhasto
saytotheother.
He was a Hungarianized Slovak, son of a civil servant and educated at state expense, young and genuinely musical. He was ambitions but over-sensitive
abouthisoriginswhichpreventedhimfromfeelingateasewiththeAustrianor
Hungarian officers from rich and famous families. She was a woman in her
forties,eightyearsolderthanhe.Shewastallandblonde,alreadyalittlefaded
but her skin was still a clear pink and white. With her large shining dark-blue
eyes,inappearanceandbearingshelookedlikeoneofthoseportraitsofqueens
whichsoenchantyounggirls.
Eachofthemhadpersonal,realorimaginedbutdeep,reasonsfordissatisfaction
with life. Furthermore they had one great reason in common; both felt
themselves to be unhappy and like outcasts in this town and this society of
officers, for the most part frivolous and empty-headed. So they clung to one
another feverishly like two survivors of a shipwreck. They lost themselves in
oneanotherandforgotthemselvesinlongconversationsor,asnow,inmusic.
Suchwastheinvisiblepairwhosemusicfilledthetroubledsilencebetweenthe
twoyouths.
Afewmomentslaterthemusicwhichhadbeenpouringintothepeacefulnight
again ran into difficulties and stopped for a time. In the silence that followed,
Glasičaninbegantospeakinawoodensortofvoice,pickingupStiković'slast
words.
'Silly?Therewasmuchthatwassillyinthatwholediscussion,ifwelookatit
fairly.'
Stikovićsuddenlytookthecigarettefromhislips,butGlasičaninwentonslowly
butresolutelytoexpressviewswhichwereclearlynotbasedonthatnightonly
butwhichhadlongtroubledhim.
'Ilistencarefullytoallthesediscussions,boththosebetweenyoutwoandother
educated people in this town; also I read the newspapers and reviews. But the
more I listen to you, the more I am convinced that the greater part of these
spoken or written discussions have no connection with life at all and its real
demandsandproblems.Forlife,reallife,Ilookatfromverycloseindeed;Isee
itsinfluenceonothersandIfeelitonmyself.ItmaybethatIammistakenand
that I do not know how to express myself well, but I often think that technical
progressandtherelativepeacethereisnowintheworldhavecreatedasortof
lull, a special atmosphere, artificial and unreal, in which a single class of men, the so-called intellectuals, can freely devote themselves to idleness and to the
interesting game of ideas and 'views on life and the world'. It is a sort of conservatory of the spirit, with an artificial climate and exotic flowers but
withoutanyrealconnectionwiththeearth,therealhardsoilonwhichthemass
of human beings move. You think that you are discussin
g the fate of these
massesandtheiruseinthestrugglefortherealizationofhigheraimswhichyou
havefixedforthem,butinfactthewheelswhichyouturninyourheadshaveno
connection with the life of the masses, nor with life in general. That game of
yoursbecomesdangerous,orleastmightbecomedangerous,bothforothersand
foryouyourselves.'
Glasičanin paused. Stiković was so astonished by this long and considered
exposition that he had not even thought of interrupting him or answering him.
Only when he heard the word 'dangerous' he made an ironical gesture with his
hand.ThatirritatedGlasičaninwhocontinuedevenmoreanimatedly.
'For heaven's sake! Listening to you, one would think that all questions were
settledhappily,alldangersforeverremoved,allroadsmadesmoothandopenso
all we have to do is to walk along them. But in life there is nothing solved, or which can easily be solved, or even has any chance of being solved at all.
Everything is hard and complicated, expensive and accompanied by
disproportionatelyhighrisk;thereisnotraceeitherofHerak'sboldhopesorof
yourwidehorizons.Manistormentedallhislifeandneverhaswhatheneeds,
letalonewhathewants.Theoriessuchasyoursonlysatisfytheeternalneedfor
games,flatteryourownvanity,deceiveyourselfandothers.Thatisthetruth,or
atleastthatishowitappearstome.'
'It is not so. You have only to compare various historical periods and you will
see the progress and meaning of man's struggle and therefore also the "theory"
thatgivessenseanddirectiontothatstruggle.'
Glasičaninatoncetookthistobeanallusiontohisinterruptedschoolingandas
alwaysinsuchacasequiveredinwardly.
'1havenotstudiedhistory....'hebegan.
'Yousee.Ifyouhadstudiedit,youwouldsee....'
'Butneitherhaveyou.'
'What?Thatis...well,yesofcourseIhavestudied....'
'Aswellasnaturalsciences?'
His voice quivered vindictively. Stiković was embarrassed for a moment and thensaidinadeadsortofvoice:
'Ohwell,ifyoureallywanttoknow,thereitis;besidesnaturalsciences,Ihave
beentakinganinterestinpolitical,historicalandsocialproblems.'
'Youareluckytohavehadthechance.ForasfarasIknow,youareanoratorand
anagitatoralso,aswellasbeingapoetandalover.'
Stiković smiled unnaturally. That afternoon in the deserted schoolroom passed
through his mind as a distant but irritating thing. Only then he realized that
GlasičaninandZorkahadbeenclosefriendsuntilhisarrivalinthetown.Aman
whodoesnotloveisincapableoffeelingthegreatnessofanother'sloveorthe
forceofjealousyorthedangerconcealedinit.
The conversation of the two young men changed without transition into that
bitterpersonalquarrelthathadfromtheverybeginningbeenhoveringintheair
betweenthem.Youngpeopledonottrytoavoidquarrels,evenasyounganimals
easilytakepartinroughandviolentgamesamongthemselves.
'WhatIamandwhatIdoisnoneofyourbusiness.Idon'taskyouaboutyour
cubesandyourtree-trunks.'
That spasm of anger which always gripped Glasičanin at any mention of his
positionmadehimsuffer.
'Youleavemycubesalone.Ilivefromthem,butIdon'ttrickpeoplewiththem.I
deceivenoone.Iseducenoone.'
'WhomdoIseduce?'brokeinStiković.
'Anyonewhowillletyou.'
'Thatisnottrue.'
'Itistrue.Andyouknowitistrue.Sinceyouforcemetospeak,thenIwilltell
you.'
'Iamnotinquisitive.'
'But I will tell you, for even leaping about tree-trunks all day long a man may
still see something and learn how to think and feel. I want to tell you what I
think about your countless occupations and interests and your daring theories
andyourversesandyourloves.'
Stikovićmadeamovementasiftorisebutnonethelessremainedwherehewas.
Thepianoandviolinfromtheofficers'messhadresumedtheirduetsometime
ago (the third movement of the Sonatina, gay and lively) and their music was
lostinthenightandtheroaroftheriver.
'Thankyou.Ihaveheardallthatfromothersmoreintelligentthanyouare.'
'Oh no! Others either do not know you or lie to you or think as I do but keep silent.Allyourtheories,allyourmanyspiritualoccupations,likeyourlovesand
yourfriendships,allthesederivefromyourambition,andthatambitionisfalse
and unhealthy for it derives from your vanity, only and exclusively from your
vanity.'
'Ha,ha!'
'Yes, Even that nationalist idea which you preach so ardently is only a special
form of vanity. For you are incapable of loving your mother or your sister or
yourownbloodbrother,sohowmuchlessanidea.Onlyfromvanitycouldyou
begood,generous,self-sacrificing.Foryourvanityisthemainforcethatmoves
you,theonlythingyourevere,theoneandonlythingthatyoulovemore than
yourself.Onewhodoesn'tknowyoumighteasilybemistaken,seeingyourforce
andyourindustry,yourdevotiontothenationalistideal,toscience,topoetryor
toanyothergreataimwhichisabovepersonalfeelings.Butyoucannotinany
caseserveitforlongorremainwithitforlong,foryourvanitywillnotletyou.
The moment your vanity is no longer in question, everything becomes
meaninglesstoyou.Yodonotwantanythingandwouldnotevenmoveafinger
toobtainit.Becauseofityouwillbetrayyourself,foryouareyourselftheslave
of your own vanity. You do not know yourself how vain you are. I know your
verysoulandIknowthatyouareamonsterofvanity.'
Stiković did not reply. At first he had been surprised at the considered and
passionateoutburstofhiscomradewhonowsuddenlyappearedtohiminanew
lightandanunexpectedrole.Thereforethatcaustic,evenspeechwhichatfirst
irritated and insulted him, now seemed interesting and almost pleasant.
Individual phrases had, it is true, hit home and hurt, but on the whole all that sharpandprofoundexposureofhischaracterhadflatteredandpleasedhimina
specialsortofway.Fortotellayoungmanthatheisamonstermerelymeansto
tickle his pride and his self-love. In fact he wanted Glasičanin to continue this
cruelprobingintohisinnerself,thatclearprojectionofhishiddenpersonality,
for in it he found only one more proof of his exceptional superiority. His eyes
fellonthewhiteplaqueoppositehimwhichshoneinthemoonlight.Helooked
straightattheincomprehensibleTurkishinscriptionasifhewerereadingitand trying to decipher the deeper sense of what his friend beside him had been
sayingpenetratinglyandconsideredly.
'Nothingisreallyimportanttoyouand,infact,youneitherlovenorhate,forto
doeithery
oumustatleastforamomentstandoutsideyourself,expressyourself,
forgetyourself,gobeyondyourselfandyourvanity.Butthatyoucannotdo;nor
isthereanythingforwhichyouwoulddosoevenwereyouable.Someoneelse's
sorrow cannot move you, how much less hurt you; not even your own sorrow
unlessitflattersyourvanity.Youdesirenothingandyoufindjoyinnothing.You
arenotevenenvious,notfromgoodnessbutfromboundlessegoism,foryoudo
notnoticethehappinessorunhappinessofothers.Nothingcanmoveyouorturn
youfromyourpurpose.Youdonotstopatanything,notbecauseyouarebrave,
but because all the healthy impulses in you are shrivelled up, because save for
yourvanitynothingexistsforyou,neitherbloodtiesnorinwardconsiderations,
neitherGodnortheworld,neitherkinnorfriend.Youdonotesteemevenyour
own natural capacities. Instead of conscience it is only your own wounded
vanity that can sting you, for it alone, always and in everything, speaks with
yourmouthanddictatesyouractions.'
'IsthisanallusiontoZorka?'Stikovićsuddenlyasked.
Tes, if you like, let us talk of that too. Yes, because of Zorka also. You do not care a jot for her. It is only your inability to stop and restrain yourself before anything which momentarily and by chance is offered you and which flatters
your vanity. Yes, that is so. You seduce a poor, muddled and inexperienced
schoolmistress just as you write articles and poems, deliver speeches and
lectures.Andevenbeforeyouhavecompletelyconqueredthemyouarealready
tired of them, for your vanity becomes bored and looks for something beyond.
Butthatisyourowncursetoo,thatyoucanstopnowhere,thatyoucanneverbe
sated and satisfied. You submit everything to your vanity but you are yourself
the first of its slaves and its greatest martyr. It may well be that you will have stillgreatergloryandsuccess,agreatersuccessthantheweaknessofsomelove-crazed girl, but you will find no satisfaction in any one thing, for your vanity
willwhipyou onwards,forit swallowseverything,even thegreatestsuccesses
and then forgets them immediately, but the slightest failure or insult it will