by Ivo Andrić
rememberforever.Andwheneverythingiswithered,broken,soiled,humiliated,
disintegrated and destroyed about you, then you will remain alone in the
wildernessyouhaveyourselfcreated,facetofacewithyourvanityandyouwill
have nothing to offer it. Then you will devour yourself, but that will not help
you,foryourvanityaccustomedtoricherfoodwilldespiseandrejectyou.That is what you are, though you may seem different in the eyes of most men and
thoughyouthinkdifferentlyofyourself.ButIknow.'
Glasičaninceasedsuddenly.
The freshness of the night could already be felt on the kapia and the silence spread,accompaniedbytheeternalroarofthewaters.Theyhadnotevennoticed
whenthemusicfromthebankhadceased.Bothyouthshadcompletelyforgotten
wheretheywereandwhattheyweredoing.Eachhadbeencarriedawaybyhis
own thoughts as only youth can be. The jealous and unhappy 'cube-measurer'
hadspokenonlyofwhathehadsomanytimesthoughtoverpassionately,deeply
andintensely,butforwhichhehadneverbeforebeenabletofindsuitablewords
and expressions and which that night had come easily and eloquently, bitterly
and exaltedly. Stiković had listened, motionlessly looking at the white plaque
withtheinscriptionasifithadbeenacinemascreen.Everywordhadhithome.
He felt every harsh comment but he no longer found in all that this scarcely
visiblefriendbesidehimhadsaidanyinsultoranydanger.
Ontheotherhand,itseemedtohimthatwitheverywordofGlasičaninhegrew,
andthatheflewoninvisiblewings,swiftandunheard,exultinganddaring,high
above all men on this earth and their ties, laws and feelings, alone, proud and
great, and happy or with some feeling akin to happiness. He flew above
everything. That voice, those words of his rival, were only the sound of the
watersandtheroarofaninvisible,lesserworldfarbelowhim:itmatteredlittle
to him what it was, what it thought and what it said, for he flew above it as a bird.
ThemomentarysilenceofGlasičaninseemedtobringthembothtotheirsenses.
They did not dare to look at one another. God alone knows in what form the
quarrel would have continued had there not appeared on the bridge a crowd of
drunkardscomingfromthemarketplace,shoutingloudlyandsingingsnatchesof
songs.Loudestamongthemwasatenorwhosanginfalsettoanancientsong:
'Thouartwiseasthouartlovely.LovelyFataAvdagina!...'
They recognized the voices of a number of young merchants' and landowners'
sons. Some were walking slowly and sedately, others wavered and tottered.
Fromtheirnoisyjestsitcouldbeconcludedthattheyhadcomefrom'Underthe
Poplars'.
More than fifteen years earlier, even before the building of the railway had
begun,acertainHungarianandhiswifehadsettledinthetown.Hewascalled TerdikandhiswifeJulka.ShespokeSerbianforshehadbeenborninNoviSad.
It soon became known that they had come with the intention of opening a
businessinthetownforwhichthelocalpeoplehadnoname.Theyopenediton
the outskirts of the town, under the tall poplars which grew on the Stražište
slopes,inanoldTurkishhousewhichtheycompletelyrebuilt.
This was the town's house of shame. All day long the windows remained
shuttered. As dusk fell a white acetylene lamp was lit in the doorway which
burnedthereallnight.Songsandthetinkleofanautomaticpianoechoedfrom
the ground floor. Young men and dissolute idlers bandied about among
themselvesthenamesofthegirlswhomTerdikhadbroughtandkeptthere.At
firsttherewerefourofthem:Irma,Ilona,FriedaandAranka.
EveryFriday'Julka'sgirls'couldbeseengoingintwocabsuptothehospitalfor
theirweeklyinspection.Theywereheavilyrougedandpowdered,withflowers
in their hats and with long-handled sunshades with streamers of floating lace.
Whenthesecabswentby,thewomenofthetownhustledtheirdaughtersoutof
sightandavertedtheireyeswithmixedfeelingsofshame,disgustandpity.
Whenworkbeganontherailwayandtherewasaninfluxofmoneyandworkers,
thenumberofgirlswasincreased.BesidestheoldTurkishhouse,Terdikbuilta
new 'planned' one with a red-tiled roof which could be seen from afar. There
werethreerooms;thegeneralroom,the extrazimmer andtheofficers'salon.In
eachofthemweredifferentpricesanddifferentguests.At'UnderthePoplars',as
itwasknowninthetown,thesonsandgrandsonsofthosewhohadoncedrunk
atZarije'sinn,orlateratLotte's,couldleavetheirinheritedorhard-wonmoney.
The grossest practical jokes, the most notorious quarrels, wild drinking parties
andsentimentaldramastookplacethere.Manypersonalandfamilymisfortunes
hadtheiroriginsinthathouse.
The centre of that group of drunkards who had spent the first part of the night
'Under the Poplars' and had now come to cool off on the kapia was a certain Nikola Pecikoza, a silly good-natured youth whom they made drunk and on
whomtheyplayedtheirjokes.
Beforethedrunkardsreachedthe kapia they halted by the parapet. A loud and
drunkenargumentcouldbeheard.NikolaPecikozabettwolitresofwinethathe
wouldwalkalongthestoneparapettotheendofthebridge.Thebetwastaken
andtheyoungmanclimbedontotheparapetandsetoutwitharmsoutspread,
placingonefootcarefullybeforetheotherlikeasleepwalker.Whenhereached
the kapia henoticedthetwolatevisitors;hesaidnothingtothembuthumming some song and wavering in his drunkenness continued on his dangerous way,
while the merry party accompanied him. His great shadow in the weak
moonlight danced on the bridge and broke into fragments on the opposite
parapet.
The drunkards passed by in a frenzy of disconnected shouts and stupid
comments.Thetwo youngmenrose and,withoutsaying goodnight,eachwent
hisownwaytohisownhouse.
Glasičanin disappeared into the darkness towards the left bank where was the
path which led to his house up at Okolište. Stiković made his way with slow
steps in the opposite direction towards the marketplace. He walked slowly and
irresolutely. He did not want to leave that place which was lighter and fresher
than in the town. He halted by the parapet. He felt the need to catch hold of
something,toleanonsomething.
ThemoonhadsetbehindtheVidovaGora.Leaningonthestoneparapetatthe
endofthebridgetheyoungmanlookedlongatthehugeshadowsandfewlights
ofhisnativetownasifhenowsawitforthefirsttime.Onlytwowindowswere
stilllightedintheofficers'mess.Themusiccouldnolongerbeheard.Probably
the unhappy lovers were there, the doctor and the colonel's lady, holding their
discussionsonmusic
andonloveorabouttheirpersonalfateswhichwouldnot
permitthemtobeatpeacewiththemselvesorwithoneanother.
FromthespotwhereStikovićwasnowstandinghecouldseethatonewindow
wasstilllightedinLotte'shotel.Theyoungmanlookedatthoselightedwindows
oneachsideofthebridgeasifheexpectedsomethingfromthem.Hewastired
out and melancholy. The vertiginous walk of that idiot Pecikoza suddenly
remindedhimofhisearliestchildhood,whenonhiswaytoschoolhehadseen
inthemistofawinter'smorningthesquatfigureofČorkandancingonthatsame
parapet.Everymemoryofhischildhoodarousedsorrowanduneasinessinhim.
That sentiment of fateful and exalted greatness and universal flight above
everyoneandeverythingwhichGlasičanin'sbitterandfierywordshadexcitedin
himwasnowlost.Itseemedtohimthathehadsuddenlyfallenfromtheheights
andthathewascrawlingonthedarkenedearthwitheveryoneelse.Thememory
of what had happened with the schoolmistress, and should not have happened,
tormentedhimasifsomeoneelsehaddoneitinhisname;sotoodidthearticle
whichnowseemedtohimweakandfulloffaults,asifanotherhadwrittenitand
had published it in his name and against his will. He thought of the long
conversation with Glasičanin which now all of a sudden seemed to him full of maliceandhate,ofbitterinsultsandrealperils.
He shivered inwardly and from the chill which arose from the river. As if
suddenlyawakenedhenoticedthatthetwowindowsintheofficers'messwere
no longer lighted. The last guests were leaving the building. He could hear the
clinkoftheirswordsastheycrossedthedarkenedsquareandthesoundofloud,
artificialchatter.Theyoungmanregretfullylefttheparapetand,lookingatthe
solitarywindowstillalightinthehotel,thelastlightinthesleepingtown,made
hiswayslowlytowardshissimplehouseupthereatMejdan.
XX
Theonlylightedwindowinthehotel,whichremainedasthelastsignoflifethat
nightinthetown,wasthatsmallwindowonthefirstfloorwhereLotte'sroom
was. Even at night Lotte sat there at her overladen table. It was just as it had been earlier, more than twenty years before, when she had come to this little
roomtosnatchamomentofrespitefromthebustleandnoiseofthehotel.Only
noweverythingdownstairswasdarkandquiet.
At ten o'clock that night Lotte had withdrawn to her room to sleep. But before
shelaydownshewentovertothewindowtobreatheinthefreshnessfromthe
riverandtotakealastglanceatthatarchofthebridgewhichwastheonlyand
eternally the same view from her window. Then she remembered some old
account and sat down to look for it. Once she began looking through her
accounts she became absorbed and remained for more than two hours at her
table.
Midnight had long passed while Lotte, wakeful and absorbed, entered figure
afterfigureandturnedpaperafterpaper.
Lotte was tired. In the daytime, in conversation and at work, she was still
animatedandtalkative,butatnightwhenshewasaloneshefeltalltheweightof
heryearsandherfatigue.Shehadgrownold.Ofheronetimebeautyonlytraces
remained. She had grown thinner and yellow in the face; her hair was without
lustreandwasgrowingthinonherscalp,andherteeth,onceshiningandstrong,
wereyellowandshowedgaps.Theglanceofherblackandstillshiningeyeswas
hardandattimessad.
Lotte was tired, but not with that blessed and sweet tiredness which follows
heavyworkandgreatgains,suchasatonetimehaddrivenhertosearchforrest
and respite in that room. Old age had come upon her and the times were no
longergood.
She would not have been able to express in words, nor could she explain it to
herself,butshefeltateverystepthatthetimeswereoutofjoint,atanyratefor
onewhohadalwayskeptonlyher own good and that of her family before her
eyes.When,thirtyyearsbefore,shehadcometoBosniaandbegunworkthere,
lifehadseemedallofapiece.Everyonewasmovinginthesamedirectionasshe
was;workandfamily.Everyonewasinhisrightplaceandtherewasaplacefor
everyone. And over everyone reigned one order and one law, an established orderandastrictlaw.SohadtheworldthenappearedtoLotte.Noweverything
had changed and was topsy-turvy. Men were divided and separated without, it
seemedtoher,rhymeorreason.Thelawofprofitandloss,thatdivinelawwhich
hadalwayscontrolledhumanactivities,seemedasifitwerenolongervalid,for
so many men worked, spoke or wrote about things of which she could not see
theaimorthesenseandwhichcouldonlyendinmisfortuneanddamage.Life
was bursting asunder, was crumbling, was disintegrating. It seemed to her that
thepresentgenerationattachedmoreimportancetoitsviewsonlifethantolife
itself. It seemed to her mad and completely incomprehensible, yet it was so.
Thereforelifewaslosingitsvalueandwastingawayinmerewords.Lottesaw
thisclearlyandfeltitateverystep.
Her business affairs, which at one time had seemed to gambol before her eyes
likeaflockofspringlambs,nowlayinertanddeadlikethegreattombstonesin
theJewishcemetery.Forthepasttenyearsthehotelhaddonelittlebusiness.The
forestsaroundthetownhadbeencutdownandfellingwasmovingfartherand
fartheraway,andwithitthebestofthehotel'scustomersandthegreaterpartof
itsprofits.Thatshamelessandinsolentboor,Terdik,hadopenedhishouse'under
the poplars' and enticed away many of Lotte's guests, offering them easily and
immediatelyallthattheyhadneverbeenabletogetinherhotelhowevermuch
theypaid.Lottehadlongrevoltedagainstthisunfairandshamelesscompetition
andsaidthatthelastdayshadcome,thosedaysinwhichlawandorderexisted
no longer or the chance of making an honest living. At first she had bitterly
referredtoTerdikas'thewhoremaster';buthehadbroughtherbeforethecourts
andLottehadbeensentencedtopayafinefordefamationofcharacter.Buteven
now she never referred to him by any other term, though she took care before
whomshewasspeaking.Thenewofficers'messhaditsownrestaurant,acellar
ofgoodwinesanditsownguestroomswheredistinguishedvisitorscouldbeput
up.Gustav,thesullenandbad-temperedbutskilfulandreliableGustav,hadleft
the hotel after many years of service and opened his own café in the most
frequentedpartofthemarketplace,andsoinsteadofacolleaguehehadbecome
acompetitor.Thechoralsocietyandthevariousreading-roomswhichhadbeen
openedinthetowninthepastfewyearshadtheirowncafésandattractedmany
guests.
Therewasnolongertheformeranimationeitherinthemainroomor,stillless,
in
the extrazimmer. An occasional unmarried civil servant had his lunch there, readthenewspapersandtookcoffee.AlibegPašić,thetaciturnandimpassioned
friend of Lotte's youth, still went there every afternoon. Still as careful and discreetasever,bothinspeechandactions,stillcorrectandcarefullydressed,he
hadgrowngreyandponderous.Hiscoffeewasservedwithsaccharinebecause
of the severe diabetes from which he had been suffering for years. He smoked
quietlyand,silentasever,listenedtoLotte'schatter.Whenthetimecameherose
justasquietlyandsilentlyandwenthometoCrnče.Therewasalsoanotherdaily
visitor,Lotte'sneighbourPavleRanković.Hehadlongleftoffwearingnational
costumeandnowworethe'tight'civiliandress,buthestillstucktohisshallow
redfez.Healwaysworeastarchedshirtwithastiffcollar,andcuffsonwhichhe
noteddownfiguresandaccounts.Hehadlongagosucceededintakingoverthe
leading place in the Višegrad trading community. His position was by now
consolidatedandassured,butnotevenhewaswithouthiscaresanddifficulties.
Likealltheoldermenwhohadacertainamountofpropertyhewasbewildered
bythenewtimesandtheclamorousonrushofnewideasandnewwaysoflife,
thought and expression. All these things were embraced for him by the single
word 'polities'. It was those 'politics' that confused and angered him and
embitteredthoseyearswhichshouldhavebeenyearsofrespiteandsatisfaction
after so much work and thrift and renunciation. He in no way wanted to stand
asideorwithdrawhimselffromthemajorityofhisfellowcountrymen,butatthe
sametimehehadnowishtocomeintoconflictwiththeauthoritieswithwhom
hewishedtoremainatpeaceandatleastoutwardlyinagreement.Butthatwas
difficult, almost impossible, to achieve. He could not even understand his own
sonsasheshould.Likealltherestoftheyoungergenerationtheyweresimply
baffling and incomprehensible to him; yet many older people either from
necessity or weakness followed their example. Their bearing, behaviour and
actions seemed to Pavle rebellious as if they thought that to live and die in