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  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

  wordsandwithoutrealconclusions.

  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