The Bridge on the Drina

In 1516, “when there was not even a thought of a bridge at that spot” (23), a young boy has the idea to build one. He wants to replace the Višegrad ferry, which is run by “a surly, slow old ferryman called Jamak” (23). A long convoy of horses arrive on one bank, returning to Istanbul “after collecting from the villages of eastern Bosnia the appoint number of Christian children for the blood tribute” (24). The children will be taken to Turkey and raised as Turkish Muslims. Many parents desperately follow the convoy, crying out to their kidnapped children. They will not be permitted to cross on Jamak’s ferry.

A “dark-skinned boy of about ten years old from the mountain village of Sokolovići” (26) sits in his pannier with a knife in his hand. He examines the land around the Drina and commits it to memory. The boy will become an army officer, then an admiral of the fleet, then the son-in-law of the Sultan and “a general and statesman of world renown” (26) named Mehmed Pasha Sokolli. Despite his great accomplishments, the “feeling of discomfort” (27) felt on the bank of the Drina “never completely disappeared” (27). He hoped to heal his pain by linking “safely and forever Bosnia and the East” (27). The construction of the bridge took five years. As celebratory as the atmosphere might have been, the local people felt that it was “a foreign task undertaken at another’s expense” (27). 

After Mehmed Pasha decides to build the bridge, the arrival of the Vezir’s men creates “fear and apprehension” (29) among the locals, especially the Christians. Abidaga leads the project, a man with a fierce reputation, who admits that he will “beat and kill anyone who does not work as he should” (29). The bridge will be built by local Turks and Christian serfs. He has with him a mason named Tosun Effendi, “a small, pale, yellowish renegade” (30). To begin, the workers cut down trees, erect scaffolding, and excavate the earth, all done by “forced labor” (30). Anyone whom Abidaga believes is malingering is beaten. Work is paused for the winter; if any damage befalls the project, Abidaga warns, the whole village will be punished. Work begins again in the spring, when a stonemason named Mastro Antonio arrives, alone with his assistant, who is nicknamed “the Arab” (31). Stone is dragged from far away quarries and tents and homes are built on the banks of the Drina. Soon, the workers number as many as the local population.

Money flows into the town, but there is “unrest, disorder and insecurity” (32) brought about by all of the workers from outside the town. The local Muslim population begins to resent the upheaval and the presence of so many “recently converted Turks” (32). The Christians also resent the bridge but their opinion is not sought. All the townspeople are pressed into working on the bridge. Even Christians from surrounding towns are kidnapped and forced to work. By the third autumn, work seems to have slowed and Abidaga becomes irate. Among the exhausted serfs is a Montenegrin, who plays the fiddle at night in the work camps. People gather around him as he sings. Among the disenchanted serfs is a man named Radisav from a small village near Višegrad. Radisav has been sowing seeds of discord among the peasants. He encourages his fellow Christians to sabotage the bridge and blame it on “a vila, a fairy” (36).

The campaign of sabotage begins. The peasants become convinced that the vila is real and will not rest until two twins—named Stoja and Ostoja—are “walled into the foundations” (37). When Abidaga investigates the sabotage, the people become convinced he is searching for the children. When a “half-witted girl” (37) gives birth to still born twins, she cannot comprehend that they are dead. She searches for them in Višegrad and becomes convinced that they have been walled into the bridge. The workers (and Abidaga) pity her and her story eventually passes into legend.

The sabotage continues, infuriating Abidaga. He threatens to have his head guard and demands that the sabotage stop, or else he will “put you living on a stake on the highest part of the staging” (39). The head guard threatens his men in the same manner, demanding that the vila be found. That night, they keep a vigilant watch over the site but find no one. The next night, they set an ambush. It fails. On the third night, they find a small raft on the river and catch two peasants, though one escapes. The man they capture is Radisav; Abidaga, unable to sleep, questions the prisoner, who confesses.

Radisav is stripped naked and wrapped in burning chains, repeatedly tortured until he reveals everything. Radisav claims to have been inspired by “the same devil who made you come here and build the bridge” (46). Abidaga orders that Radisav should be “impaled alive” (47) on the river bank where he could be seen by the whole village. Radisav is executed at noon and everyone is made to watch. The stake is hammered blow-by-blow into Radisav’s body in such a way as to avoid the important organs, impaling him on the stake “as a lamb on the spit” (51). Then, the stake is raised carefully; still alive, Radisav curses the “Turks on the bridge” (52). 

News of the execution spreads and “an indescribable fear” (53) grips the town. Radisav begins to become a folk hero, “hard and imperishable as a stature which would remain there forever” (55). When Abidaga orders the corpse thrown to the dogs, the townspeople gather money and bribe the guards to have it buried properly. The head guard is driven mad and is arrested and carted through the town. Abidaga orders him to be placed under house arrest. Rumors spread that Radisav had been falsely accused and that he had been buried by vilas and buried beneath the riverside mound. Work on the bridge continues until a heavy frost arrives. Abidaga again leaves for the winter, warning the locals against any damage being inflicted on the bridge.

Abidaga does not return, exiled for embezzling the serfs’ wages; in spring, Arif Beg arrives with Tosun Effendi. The site becomes good humored and casual, yet still effective. The workers are now paid. The scope and complexity of the project grows and a caravanserai (a roadside inn) is added. The townspeople “lose count of time and of the real intentions of the builders” (62); the Christians begin to hope that the project will fail.

At the end of the third year, Mastro Antonio’s assistant—nicknamed the Arab—is crushed beneath a huge stone block, which happens to fall “exactly into position” (63).

In the fifth year, the caravanserai (named the han) is finished. The scaffolding retracts to reveal the bridge in its final stages of construction. The townspeople become “ashamed of their doubts and lack of belief” (65). They compete with one another to offer higher words of praise for the bridge. They celebrate, eating feasts and dancing across the bridge. They read the inscription on the bridge whenever possible, written by “a certain Badi” (68). Soon, however, the bridge becomes familiar and the townspeople forget about their previous difficulty in crossing the river. The han is paid for with the spoils from Mehmed Pasha’s recent conquest of Hungary. Mehmed Pasha’s “strange pain” (70) disappear for a short while, until he is stabbed by a “half-demented dervish” (70) and he dies. His legacy lives on in the “two fine buildings on the Drina” (71). The town begins to expand. 

At the end of the 17th century, the Turks prepare to withdraw from Hungary. As the profits from Hungary dwindle, so do the funds that maintain the caravanserai in Višegrad. The inn begins to dilapidate and the administrator—Dauthodja Muteveli­ć—is tasked with saving the institution, using so much of his own money that he impoverishes himself. He dies while working on the building and the entire caravanserai begins “to fall into ruins” (74). While the caravanserai is abandoned, the bridge remains “upright and unchanged” (75). It is undamaged by floods or weather; the great floods become landmark events in people’s lives but do not affect the bridge. One particularly flood arrives as a surprise and affects both the Drina and the Rzav, eventually having “overwhelmed the whole town” (77). The people rush to save their possessions from the rapidly rising water.

The most powerful men from all three faiths gather as the people shelter in the houses on higher ground. They try to conceal their fear and “talk in a light tone about unrelated things” (79). As they talk, a wet and disheveled young merchant named Kosta Baranac enters. The flood has ruined him, washing away the stores of dried plums and walnuts with which he had hoped to “clear his debts and make a good profit” (79). The men welcome him in and share tales of past floods, in order to master “the misery that they were not able to avoid” (81), but they remain secretly anxious. The next day, the flood waters have submerged the town and have risen higher than the bridge. Two days later, the waters subside and reveal the destruction. Though most of the town is ruined, the bridge is “white and unchanged” (81). The following winter is harsh; the impoverished Kosta Baranac dies of “mortification and shame” (82), leaving his family broke. By the next summer, the stories of the great flood have already passed into local legend, as “forgetfulness heals everything” (82). 

Perched on the border between Bosnia and Serbia, Višegrad witnesses many conflicts. When Serbia “rose in revolt” (83), for instance, news quickly spreads to the town. Insurgents are seen “within two hours’ match of the town” (83); the Turks and the Serbs in the town find themselves one different sides of a conflict. They try to continue with their lives though each side hopes for a different outcome. When the revolt is pushed back, the community cannot return to its previous state. The Turks remain worried, the Serbs—though disillusioned—now have “a senseless hope” (85) that they might one day rise up against “those who rule” (85).

The importance of the bridge as a link between the two sides increases. A garrison of soldiers builds a crude two-story blockhouse on the kapia to inspect everything passing over the bridge. On the first day, the guards interrogate an old Serbian man and—under pressure—the captain orders him to be executed; before this can be done, a young Serb is arrested for mindlessly singing rebel songs while chopping wood. He is to be executed beside the old man.

Their heads are “placed on fresh stakes on the blockhouse” (91) for all to see. In the future, anyone suspected of insurrection is beheaded and displayed in such a fashion. The soldiers’ presence muddies the bridge and robs it of its beauty. The executioner becomes famous throughout the town; a man of precise skill who lounges on the bridge when not needed. The insurgency grows and more and more heads appear on stakes on the bridge. Eventually, the trouble quells but the guardhouse remains in place until it burns down “because of a forgotten candle” (93). The townspeople watch as the kapia is freed and the old bridge is uncovered. Though they forget about the guards, the townspeople remember the executioner’s name, which they invoke in “loud and angry curses” (94).