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  '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