a new regulation against forest felling, or of the fight against typhus, or the
mannerofsaleoffruitandsweetmeats,orofpermitsforthemovementofcattle.
Every day a fresh regulation. With each regulation men saw their individual
libertiescurtailedortheirobligationsincreased,butthelifeofthetownandthe
villages,andofalltheirinhabitantsasamass,becamewiderandfuller.
But in the homes, not only of the Turks but also of the Serbs, nothing was
changed.Theylived,workedandamusedthemselvesintheoldway.Breadwas
stillmixedinkneadingtroughs,coffeeroastedonthehearth,clothessteamedin coppers and washed with soda which hurt the women's fingers; they still span
andwoveontamboursandhand-looms.Oldcustomsof slavas(patronalfeasts),
holidaysandweddingswerekeptupineverydetailandasforthenewcustoms
whichthenewcomershadbroughtwiththemtherewereonlywhispershereand
thereasofsomethingfaroffandincredible.Inshort,theylivedandworkedas
theyhadalwaysdoneandasinmostofthehousestheywouldcontinuetowork
andliveforanotherfifteenortwentyyearsaftertheoccupation.
Butontheotherhandtheoutwardaspectofthetownalteredvisiblyandrapidly.
Thosesamepeople,whointheirownhomesmaintainedtheoldorderinevery
detail and did not even dream of changing anything, became for the most part
easilyreconciledtothechangesinthetownandafteralongerorshorterperiod
of wonder and grumbling accepted them. Naturally here, as always and
everywhere in similar circumstances, the new life meant in actual fact a
minglingoftheoldandthenew.Oldideasandoldvaluesclashedwiththenew
ones,mergedwiththemorexistedsidebyside,asifwaitingtoseewhichwould
outlive which. People reckoned in florins and kreutzers but also in grosh and
para, measured by arshin and oka and drams but also by metres and kilos and
grams, confirmed terms of payment and orders by the new calendar but even
moreoftenbytheoldcustomofpaymentonSt.George'sorSt.Dimitri'sday.By
anaturallawthepeopleresistedeveryinnovationbutdidnotgotoextremes,for
tomostofthemlifewasalwaysmoreimportantandmoreurgentthantheforms
by which they lived. Only in exceptional individuals was there played out a
deeper, truer drama of the struggle between the old and the new. For them the
formsoflifewereindivisiblyandunconditionallylinkedwithlifeitself.
Such a man was Shemsibeg Branković of Crnče, one of the richest and most
respectedbegsinthetown.Hehadsixsons,ofwhomfourwerealreadymarried.
Their houses comprised a whole small quarter surrounded by fields, plum-
orchards and shrubberies. Shemsibeg was the undisputed chief, the strict and
silentmasterofthis
community.Tall,bentwithyears,withahugewhitegold-embroideredturbanon
his head, he only came down to the market to pray in the mosque on Fridays.
Fromthefirstdayoftheoccupationhestoppednowhereinthetown,spoketono
one and would not look about him. Not the smallest piece of new clothing or
costume, not a new tool or a new word was allowed to enter the Branković
house.Notoneofhissonshadanyconnectionwiththenewauthoritiesandhis
grandchildren were not allowed to go to school. All the Branković community
suffered from this; amongst his sons there was dissatisfaction at the old man's obstinacy but none of them dared to oppose him by a single word or a single
glance. Those Turks from the marketplace, who worked and mingled with the
newcomers,greetedShemsibegwhenhepassedthroughthemarketwithadumb
respect in which was mingled fear and admiration and an uneasy conscience.
TheoldestandmostrespectedTurksofthetownoftenwenttoCrnčeasifona
pilgrimage to sit and talk with Shemsibeg. Those were meetings of men who
weredeterminedtopersevereintheirresistancetotheendandwereunwillingto
yield in any way to reality. These were, in fact, long sessions without many
Shemsibegsatandsmokedonaredrug,cloakedandbuttonedupinsummeras
in winter, with his guests around him. Their conversation was usually about
somenewincomprehensibleandsinistermeasureoftheoccupationauthorities,
or of those Turks who were more and more accommodating themselves to the
neworder.Beforethisharshanddignifiedman,theyallfelttheneedtogivevent
to their bitterness, their fears and their uncertainties. Every conversation ended
with the questions: where is all this leading and where will it stop? Who and
whatwerethesestrangerswho,itseemed,didnotknowthemeaningofrestand
respite,knewneithermeasurenorlimits?Whatdidtheywant?Withwhatplans
had they come? What was this restlessness which continually drove them on,
like some curse, to new works and enterprises of which no one could see the
end?
Shemsibegonlylookedatthemandforthemostpartremainedsilent.Hisface
wasdarkened,notbythesun,butbyhisinnerthoughts.Hisglancewashard,but
absentandasiflost.Hiseyeswerecloudedandtherewerewhitish-greycircles
around the black pupils as in an ageing eagle. His big mouth, with scarcely
perceptible lips, was firmly set but moved slowly as if he were always turning
overinhismindsomewordwhichhedidnotpronounce.
None the less, men left him with a feeling of comfort, neither calmed nor
consoled,buttouchedandexaltedbyhisfirmandhopelessintransigence.
Whenever Shemsibeg went down to the marketplace on Fridays, he was met
withsomefreshchangeinmenorbuildingswhichhadnotbeentheretheFriday
before.Inordernottohavetolookatit,hekepthiseyesfixedonthegroundbut
there,inthedryingmudofthestreets,hesawthemarksofhorses'hoovesand
noticed how alongside the broad rounded Turkish shoes the sharp-pointed bent
Austrianhorseshoeswerebecomingmoreandmorecommon.Sothateventhere
inthemudhisgazereadthesamemercilessjudgmentthathereadeverywherein
men'sfacesandinthethingsabouthim,ajudgmentoftimewhichwouldnotbe halted.
Seeingthattherewasnowheretoresthiseyes,Shemsibegceasedaltogetherto
comedownintothemarket.HewithdrewcompletelytohisCrnčeandsatthere,
a silent but strict and implacable master, severe towards all but most of all
towardshimself.TheoldestandmostrespectedTurksofthetowncontinuedto
visit him there, regarding him as a sort of living saint (amongst them, in
particular,Alihodja).Atlast,inthethirdyearoftheoccupation,Shemsibegdied
without ever having been ill. He passed away without ever pronouncing that
bitterwordwhichwasforeveronthetipofhisoldlipsandneveragainsetting
footinthemarketpla
ce,whereallmenhadsetoutonthenewways.
Indeed the town changed rapidly in appearance, for the newcomers cut down
trees, planted new ones in other places, repaired the streets, cut new ones, dug
drainagecanals,builtpublicbuildings.Inthefirstfewyearstheypulleddownin
the marketplace those old and dilapidated shops which were out of line and
which,totellthetruth,haduptilltheninconveniencednoone.Inplaceofthose
old-fashionedshopswiththeirwoodendrop-counters,newoneswerebuilt,well
sited, with tiled roofs and metal rollers on the doors. (Alihodja's shop too was
destined to be a victim of these measures, but the hodja opposed it resolutely, tooktheaffairtolaw,contesteditanddraggeditonineverypossiblewayuntil
atlasthesucceeded,andhisshopremainedjustasitwasandjustwhereitwas.)
The marketplace was levelled and widened. A new konak was erected, a great buildingintendedtohousethelawcourtsandthelocaladministration.Thearmy,
too,wasworkingonitsownaccount,evenmorerapidlyandinconsideratelythan
the civil authorities. They put up barracks, cleared waste land, planted and
changedtheappearanceofwholehills.
The older inhabitants could not understand, and wondered; just when they
thought that all this incomprehensible energy had come to an end, the
newcomers started some fresh and even more incomprehensible task. The
townsmenstoppedandlookedatallthiswork,butnotlikechildrenwholoveto
watchtheworkofadultsbutasadultswhostopforamomenttowatchchildren's
games.Thiscontinualneedofthenewcomerstobuildandrebuild,todigandto
putbackagain,toputupandmodify,thiseternaldesireoftheirstoforeseethe
actionofnaturalforces,toavoidorsurmountthem,nooneeitherunderstoodor
appreciated.Ontheotherhandallthetownsmen,especiallytheoldermen,saw
thisunhealthyactivityasabadomen.Haditbeenlefttothemthetownwould
have gone on looking as any other little oriental town. What burst would be
patched up, what leant would be shored up, but beyond that no one would needlesslycreateworkormakeplansorinterfereinthefoundationsofbuildings
orchangetheaspectwhichGodhadgiventothetown.
But the newcomers went on with their tasks, one after the other, quickly and
logically, according to unknown and well prepared plans, to the even greater
wonderandastonishmentofthetownsfolk.Thusunexpectedlyandquicklycame
the turn of the dilapidated and abandoned caravanserai, which was always
regardedasanintegralpartofthebridge,evenasithadbeen300yearsbefore.
InfactwhathadbeenknownastheStoneHanhadlongagobecomecompletely
ruined.Thedoorshadrotted,thoselace-likegrillesofsoftstoneonthewindows
broken, the roof had fallen into the interior of the building and from it grew a greatacaciaandawelterofnamelessshrubsandweeds,buttheouterwallswere
stillwhole,atrueandharmoniousrectangleofstonestillstandingupright.Inthe
eyes of the townspeople, from birth to death, this was no ordinary ruin but the
completion of the bridge, as much an integral part of the town as their own
houses,andnoonewouldeverhavedreamtthattheold han couldbetouchedor
that it was necessary to change anything about it that time and nature had not
alreadychanged.
Butonedayitsturncametoo.Firstengineerswhospentalongtimemeasuring
theruins,thenworkmenandlabourerswhobegantotakeitdownstonebystone,
frighteninganddrivingawayallsortsofbirdsandsmallbeastswhichhadtheir
neststhere.Rapidlythelevelspaceabovethemarketplacebythebridgebecame
bald and empty and all that was left of the han was a heap of good stone carefullypiled.
Alittlemorethanayearlater,insteadoftheformercaravanseraiofwhitestone,
thereroseahigh,massivetwo-storiedbarracks,washedinpale-blue,roofedwith
greycorrugatedironandwithloopholesatthecorners.Soldiersdrilledalldayon
the open space and stretched their limbs or fell head first in the dust like
suppliants to the loud shouts of the corporals. In the evening the sound of
incomprehensible soldiers' songs accompanied by an accordion could be heard
fromthemanywindowsoftheuglybuilding.Thiswentonuntilthepenetrating
sound of the bugle with its melancholy melody, which set all the dogs of the
town howling, extinguished all these sounds together with the last lights in the
windows. So disappeared the lovely bequest of the Vezir and so the barracks,
which the people true to ancient custom went on calling the Stone Han,
commenceditslifeonthelevelbythebridgeincompletelackofharmonywith
allthatsurroundedit.
Thebridgenowremainedcompletelyisolated.
To tell the truth, things were happening on the bridge too, where the old
unchanging customs of the people clashed with the innovations which the
newcomersandtheirwayoflifebroughtwiththem,andintheseclashesallthat
wasoldandlocalwasalwaysforcedtogivewayandadaptitself.
Asfarasthelocalpeoplewereconcerned,lifeonthe kapia wentitswayasof
old. Only it was noticed that now Serbs and Jews came more freely and in
greaternumberstothe kapia andatalltimesofday,payingnoheedastheyonce
had done to the habits and privileges of the Turks. Otherwise all went on as
before. In the daytime merchants sat there waiting for the peasant woman and
buyingfromthemwool,poultryandeggs,andbesidethemthelazyandidlewho
movedfromonepartofthetowntoanotherinkeepingwiththemovementsof
the sun. Towards evening other citizens began to arrive and the merchants and
workersgatheredtheretotalkalittleortoremainsilentforatimelookingatthe
great green river bordered by dwarf willows and sandbanks. The night was for
the young. They had never known, nor did they know now, any limits for the
timethattheystayedonthebridgenorforwhattheydidthere.
In that night-time life of the kapia there were, at least at first, changes and misunderstandings.Thenewauthoritieshadintroducedpermanentlightinginthe
town.Inthefirstyearsoftheoccupationtheyputlanternsongreenstandards,in
which petrol lamps burned, in the main streets and at the crossroads. The
lanternswerecleaned,filledandlitbybigFerhat,apoordevilwithahousefull
ofchildren,whountilthenhadbeenaservantinthemunicipality.Hedischarged
thepetardsannouncingRamazanandcarriedoutsimilarjobs,withoutanyfixed
or certain wages. The bridge too was lighted at several points, including
the kapia. Thestandardforthislanternwasfixedtothatoakbeamwhichwasall
thatremainedoftheformerblockhouse.Thislanternonthe kapia hadtoendure
a long struggle with the local jokers, with those who loved to sin
g in the
darknessortosmokeandchatonthe kapia asalsowiththedestructiveimpulses
of the young men in whom love-yearning, solitude and plum brandy mingled
andclashed.Thatflickeringlightirritatedthemandsocountlesstimesboththe
lanternandthelampinsideweresmashedtopieces.Thereweremanyfinesand
sentencesbecauseofthatlantern.Atonetimeaspecialpoliceagentwastoldto
keepaneyeonthelight.Sothenightlyvisitorsnowhadalivingwitness,even
more unpleasant than the lantern. But time exercised its influence and the new
generation grew accustomed to it and so reconciled to its existence that they
gave free vent to their night feelings under the weak light of the municipal
lantern, and no longer threw at it whatever came to hand, sticks, stones or anything else. This reconciliation was made so much the easier because on
moonlitnights,whenthe kapia was most visited, the lantern was generally not
lit.
Onlyonceayearthebridgehadtoexperienceagreatillumination.Ontheeveof
August 18th every year, the Emperor's birthday, the authorities decorated the
bridge with garlands and lines of young pine trees and, as darkness fell, lit
stringsoflanternsandfairy-lights;hundredsofarmyrationtins,filledwithlard
and fat, flamed in long rows along the parapet of the bridge. They lit up the
centreofthebridge,leavingtheendsandthepierslostinthedarkness,sothat
theilluminatedpartseemedasiffloatinginspace.Buteverylightquicklyburns
outandeveryfeastcomestoanend.Bythenextdaythebridgewasonceagain
whatithadalwaysbeen.Onlyintheeyesofsomeofthechildrenthereremained
a new and unusual picture of the bridge under the shortlived play of light, a
brightandstrikingvision,butshortandtransientasadream.
Besides permanent lighting, the new authorities also introduced cleanliness on
the kapia, ormoreexactlythatspecialsortofcleanlinessthataccordedwiththeir
ideas.Thefruitpeelings,melonseedsandnutshellsnolongerremainedfordays
ontheflagstonesuntiltherainorthewindcarriedthemaway.Nowamunicipal