Marina Antić (Madison)-Final. Historicizing Bosnia. Kosta Hörmann and Bosnia’s Encounter With Modernity

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Historicizing Bosnia Kosta Hörmann and Bosnia’s Encounter with Modernity

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n a review of literature on the cultural legacy of AustroHungarian rule in Bosnia and Hercegovina published prior to the dissolution of the Yugoslav state, one name invariably appears – that of Kosta Hörmann (1850 – 1923), the first curator of Sarajevo’s Landesmuseum. Besides his activities in the museum, Kosta Hörmann was a capable and reliable administrator, moving steadily up the bureaucratic ladder, having reached, at the height of his career, the position of the Consultant to the Throne and Department Chief in Sarajevo. For most of the twentieth century in former Yugoslavia he was, nonetheless, best known as a dedicated ethnographer who collected various cultural artifacts and preserved a significant collection of Bosniak (Bosnian Muslim) oral poetry.1 Considering the central role of oral poetry in the 19 thcentury movements for national liberation in the Balkans, it is not surprising that the legacy of Kosta Hörmann has so far been understood in terms of his contribution to or detraction from the national liberation struggles of the peoples of former Yugoslavia. Specifically, most works on the topic seem to respond to the question of Kosta Hörmann’s influence on the formation of Bosniak national consciousness in 19th-century Bosnia and Hercegovina. In this essay, I will begin by examining three representative works from the canon of literature on Kosta Hörmann that present his legacy as one of contribution to the formation of Bosniak nationhood: Ilija Kecmanović’s

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essay O jednoj neobičnoj književnoj karijeri u Sarajevu od 1878 do 1919 godine (1963), Ðenana Buturović’s study Studija o Hörmannovoj zbirci muslimanskih narodnih pjesama (1976), and Boris Ćorić’s work Nada: Književna monografija 1895–1903 (1978).2 As a careful reading of these texts will show, despite their differences in interpretation of Kosta Hörmann’s work, all three subscribe to what Srećko Džaja has called a national/nationalistic approach to history: National/nationalistic approach to history sees the nation as a primordial, quasi-eternal category. The national as a primordial category originates in mythical distances of the past and moves through the historical continuum as a strong and closed system. 3

In former Yugoslavia, as elsewhere, a national/nationalistic approach to history has often also involved a particular type of mythmaking that is based on a historiographic reading of literature. In the Yugoslav case, interpretations of Ivo Andrić (1892–1975) almost invariably invoke this practice and as such it is perhaps not surprising that Andrić’s fictional work on Kosta Hörmann (The Story of Serf Siman) also plays a central role in the constructions of Hörmann’s legacy mentioned above. In the second part of this essay, then, I will provide a careful, non-historiographic reading of Andrić’s story that will show how this fictional text presents an opportunity for a different understanding of Kosta Hörmann’s legacy, one in direct contradiction to the national/nationalistic ones. Because, more than anything else, Andrić’s story seems to historicize, rather than mythologize the moment of modernity and national identity formation in Bosnia under Austro-Hungarian rule. The opposition I set up here between a historical understanding of the nation and nationality on the one hand and a mythologized view of these phenomena on the other hand, follows in the tradition of studies of nationalism inaugurated by Benedict Anderson. Especially significant for our case is Benedict Anderson’s concept of the bilingual intelligentsia and its role in nation formation on the periphery. As Anderson says: The intelligentsias’ vanguard role derived from their bilingual literacy, or rather literacy and bilingualism. Print-literacy already made possible the imagined community floating in homogeneous, empty time of which we have spoken earlier. Bilingualism meant

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access, through the European language-of-state, to modern Western culture in the broadest sense, and, in particular, to the models of nationalism, nationness, and nation-state produced elsewhere in the course of the nineteenth century.4

As I will argue in closing, Ivo Andrić’s role, in considerations of Kosta Hörmann’s legacy in Bosnia, rests primarily on the ways in which Hörmann can be understood as the harbinger of modernity and a progenitor or a precursor of the 20th – century bilingual intelligentsia in Yugoslavia of which Andrić is an example par excellence.

Kosta Hörmann’s Legacy in National(istic) Perspective Ilija Kecmanović’s 1963 essay on Kosta Hörmann is seemingly about the »unusual character« of this 19th-century Austro-Hungarian bureaucrat and his role in the history of Sarajevo under Austria-Hungary. When considered in terms of its historical context and its conclusions, however, this essay appears to be a well crafted political argument directed at the most controversial debate in Bosnia during the 1960s and 1970s, namely, the official recognition of Bosnian Muslims as one of the constitutive Yugoslav nationalities.5 The contemporary and political nature of Kecmanović’s essay is partly hid-den by the fact that it was published in Prilozi za proučavanje istorije Sarajeva [Sara-jevo Historical Studies Supplement] (as opposed to some more openly political journal). Kecmanović also occasionally refers to »our city« in the text as if to indicate that Sarajevo history is the true topic of the essay. However, Kecmanović’s central concern is Kosta Hörmann’s legacy, which, he claims, can be summed up as the »invention« of Bosniak nationhood. In turn, the argument goes, Bosniak nationhood is nothing but an ideological trick played by the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy in an attempt to occupy and »catholicize« Serbia. 6 As I will document in detail below, Kecmanović addresses directly the question of recognizing or not the existence of a Bosniak nation. Furthermore, his perception of this question is formulated in distinctly 20th – rather than 19th – century terms. And yet these arguments about Bosnian nationhood

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are presented in his essay via a biographical sketch of Kosta Hörmann and a political analysis of his position within the Austro-Hungarian government in Bosnia. Kecmanović begins his essay with an interesting conflation of historical biographical material and Ivo Andrić’s fictional portrayal of Kosta Hörmann: The character of Kosta Hörmann, as a clerk and a man of the throne, was brought out into the open (osvijetljen je) with special talent by Ivo Andrić in his famous story of serf Siman. [...] Characteristic for Kosta Hörmann, who ›served‹ Austria in Bosnia from the day it ›entered‹ Bosnia to the day it left, never forgetting what he wanted, was one disagreement he had with the poet Tugomir Alaupović [...] All of these acts, both the one with serf Siman and the one with Tugomir Alaupović, and in fact, many others like them, were deep inside Hörmann’s ego, obviously as a result of the conditions of his life and personal growth as well as the places from whence he came.[emphasis MA]. 7

Continuing the biographical portrayal of Hörmann, Kecmanović proceeds to discredit him as a poorly educated, incapable administrator of the Museum. He berates Hörmann’s scientific achievements in archeology and downplays the significance of his collection of Bosniak oral poetry. Kecmanović acknowledges that Hörmann’s editorial position in Nada8 was perhaps the one important position he held, but even in that capacity, Hörmann was supposedly not an independent actor, but rather »an extraordinary executor« of a particular political plan directed from Vienna.9 The remainder of Kecmanović’s essay is devoted to an analysis of this »political plan« and the Austro-Hungarian cultural policy in general. The central tenet of Austro-Hungarian cultural policy in Bosnia, according to Kecmanović, was the creation of the Bosniak nationhood for the purpose of a »denationalization« of Bosnia and Hercegovina. As he says: Along the lines of Kállay’s politics in the area of culture in Bosnia and Hercegovina, Hörmann got the assignment, as the editor of Nada, to do everything possible in the magazine to contribute to the denationalization of Bosnia and Hercegovina, that is, to the creation of a new, even if artificial, Bosnian nation on the Slavic south10

All of the cultural activities Hörmann was involved in during his tenure in Bosnia and Hercegovina are thus to be

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interpreted as serving the »denationalization« policy of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy. Kecmanović characterizes Hörmann’s cultural activities in this way: All these functions Hörmann fulfilled in the area of culture obviously served his primarily political duties and assignments. Both as the director of the Landesmuseum and as the editor of its Gazette, as well as in his role as the editor of Nada, and finally, as the organizer of propagandistic exhibitions abroad, he had on his mind exclusively the cultural/political interests of the AustroHungarian Monarchy in the occupied lands.11

The »cultural – political interests« in question were ones of: Austroslavism in the Yugoslav context, which had followers among some Slovenes and Croats, and even among some Serbs, and was served, allegedly, even by Strossmeyer in an attempt to, as the historian Ćiro Truhelka claims, ›bring the Orthodoxy into the lap of the Catholic church, into one large Slavic church community‹. 12

The conclusion of Kecmanović’s argument about Kosta Hörmann’s legacy is, thus, that the creation of Bosniak nationhood (here attributed to Hörmann’s cultural activities) was a product of Austrian anti-Serbian policies. In the context of 1960s politics in former Yugoslavia, especially the rising tide of opinion in favor of recognizing Bosnian Muslims as a constitutive nationality, Kecmanović’s conclusions about Kosta Hörmann’s legacy work surprisingly well as an argument against claims of Bosniak nationhood. For, if Bosniak nationhood is a consequence of Austro-Hungarian anti-Serbian policies, then any contemporary claims for Bosniak nationhood are mistaken about the origin of their nationhood, or in other words, the »authority« of their national narrative. The connection Ilija Kecmanović established here between Kosta Hörmann’s cultural activities and the claims to Bosniak nationhood in post-World War II Yugoslavia proceeded to set the terms of and to dominate the debate on Kosta Hörmann’s legacy in the 1970s and beyond. Ðenana Buturović’s 1976 study of Kosta Hörmannn’s cultural work in Bosnia and Hercegovina, which I will consider next, addresses the key concerns raised by Kecmanović’s article. Studija o Hörmannovoj zbirci muslimanskih narodnih pjesama [A Study of Hörmann’s Collection of Muslim Poetry] is a longer and much more

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methodological study of Kosta Hörmann’s work in the cultural arena, especially in collecting Bosniak oral poetry. Buturović addresses both Kecmanović’s biographical argument against Kosta Hörmann’s work, namely that his activities were motivated only by the desire to provide service to the Austro-Hungarian Throne, as well as his argument that the »idea« of Bosniak nationhood came from Hörmann’s superior – Imperial Finance Minister as well as Chief Secretary for Bosnia – Benjamin Kállay (1839–1903). She addresses the former by arguing that the inspiration for Hörmann’s collection of Bosniak oral poetry (and implicitly all his other ethnographic work on Bosniaks) came not from above but from below: It is only in Bosnia, among the Muslims, that Hörmann came to the idea of this collection [...] the basis of this idea was the connections Hörmann had with the Muslim circles that allowed him to get to know this far from ordinary cultural, historical and literary phenomenon, and to present to the world, in full, its significance and novelty.13

As to the anti-Serbian policies of the Austro-Hungarian Throne, which Kecmanović claims found their embodiment in the promotion of the idea of Bosniakness, Buturović proposes that Kállay’s endorsement of the publication of Bosniak poetry (and thus his implicit endorsement of Bosniakness) can be explained by the simple fact that other »national« oral poetry collections were already published. After citing Kállay’s instructions to Hörmann regarding the publication of this collection, she concludes that it is wrong to associate the publication of this collection with »calculated« actions of »Austro-Hungarian cultural politics«: This is why Kállay insists that the introduction should point out that the majority of Christian Bosnian oral poetry was already published in other well known collections and recommends that other title – The Oral Poetry of Mohammedans in Bosnia and Herzegovina – with which he proves exactly that he, like Hörmann, treats Muslims as a separate group in the population of Bosnia and Hercegovina [in other words, he is not claiming everybody in Bosnia is Bosniak]. With this point, these documents show that it is also wrong to reduce the creation of this collection to a planned action of Austro-Hungarian cultural politics and link it with the idea of Bosniakness as one of its manifestations.14

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A key moment in the quotation above betrays the ahistorical nature of the debate between Kecmanović and Buturović. Namely, Buturović introduces the distinction between the notion of Bosniakness as a national identity on par with other national identities in Bosnia and Hercegovina and the notion of Bosniakness as a separatist national claim. As Buturović herself points out, Hörmann was accused by contemporaries of »creating« a Bosnian Muslim nation(ality). He was never accused of endorsing a Bosniak state. It is, on a very basic level, even absurd to imagine that Hörmann was arguing for a Bosniak nation – he was, after all, an Austro-Hungarian official. Buturović here implicitly points to the fact that the anxieties around Hörmann’s endorsement or »creation« of Bosniak nationality in 1888 and those that preoccupied Yugoslav intellectuals in the 1960s and 1970s (as evidenced by Ilija Kecmanović’s essay) were quite different. In 1888, Serbian and Croatian writers and intellectuals were anxious that the creation of Bosnian Muslim national identity was taking away from the Serbian and Croatian national identities a significant number of the Bosnian population. With the decrease in national numbers, they feared the appeal of the nationalist anti-colonial rhetoric would decrease, making it that much more difficult to overthrow Austro-Hungarian rule. In contrast, the Yugoslav intellectuals of mid-20th century were primarily anxious that the Bosnian Muslims, as a nation, could, at least theoretically, claim Bosnia and Hercegovina as their nation state. But, there is an even more fundamental problem in the conflation of anxieties surrounding the idea of Bosniak nationhood Buturović points out. Namely, both Kecmanović and Buturović understand and operate with the notion of »nationhood« as a formed phenomenon, virtually unchanging in time. It is, historically speaking, inappropriate to debate Hörmann’s participation in the discourse on Bosniak identity in the 1960s and 1970s because, while he might have shared some ideas about what it means to be Bosniak with Bosniaks of the mid-20th century, what actually meant to be Bosniak in the 1880s and what it meant to be one in the 1970s are two quite different things. For, national identities are not »closed systems« originating in

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mythical distances of the past and moving through the historical continuum virtually without change.15 This closed national/nationalistic approach to history is the reason why Kecmanović’s arguments against the validity of the Bosniak claim to nationhood take the form of debate on the »authenticity« of Serbian and Croatian identities and the »artificiality« of the Bosniak one. This is also why Buturović’s rebuke of Kecmanović only goes so far in providing a perhaps understandable, but fundamentally inadequate corrective to Kecmanović’s Serbian nationalist position by arguing conversely for the authenticity and richness of Bosniak culture (»the extraordinary cultural, historical and literary phenomenon« of Muslim epic poetry, for example). Nevertheless, Buturović’s objections are just as firmly implanted in national/nationalistic views of history, especially in the sense in which all such historiography seeks simply a confirmation of the present ideological position in the past. Džaja also points to this phenomenon: The main similarity [of national historiographies] lies in their anachronistic quest for confirmation of those things in the past considered relevant for the political present, and in the irignoring of and an ignorant approach to different interpretations, those not based on national myths, but on a critical approach to all known, i.e., available historical sources. 16

So, while Buturović’s objections are in some sense understandable, they would have been much more effective had they pointed out the obvious ahistoricity of Kecmanović’s arguments, their basis in politics of the day, and thus their irrelevance for either the legacy of Kosta Hörmann or the definition of Bosniak nationhood. But to provide such a critique one must begin by acknowledging that all national identities, Serbian, Croatian and Bosniak alike, are, in fact, historical and constructed. Neither Kecmanović nor Buturović seem ready to accept this view of the common past. The difference between their positions is simply whether this one particular (Bosniak) national identity is constructed and therefore invalid (Kecmanović) or not constructed and therefore authentic (Buturović). In this, they create what we can call, following Džaja, the national/nationalistic legacy of Kosta Hörmann. Besides this positivistic and naturalized understanding of national identity, Kecmanović and Buturović also share in

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the general problems of Yugoslav Marxist historiography as outlined by Džaja in the article cited above. This problem is, however, more forcefully evident in the third text on Kosta Hörmann I chose to consider, namely Boris Ćorić’s 1978 study of Nada, a journal under the editorship of Kosta Hörmann. In Nada: Književnoistorijska monografija 1895– 1903 [Nada: A Literary-historical monograph 1895–1903], Ćorić argues for a certain fixity in the relationships between base and superstructure and culture and politics. In the case of Kosta Hörmann’s cultural work, Ćorić confirms Kecmanović’s view over and against Buturović on the basis of the claim that the colonial hegemony established by Austria-Hungary could not, by definition, allow for any deviance from its policies. In other words, the power of this hegemony was such that even if Hörmann had good intentions, like Buturović suggests, he could not have possibly put them into practice. Ćorić says: The majority of contemporary researchers of Austrian rule in Bosnia, while evaluating its actions in the political, economic, educational and cultural field, always have in mind Austria’s complete policy towards Bosnia. That policy had its laws dictated by the interests of the dual monarchy and all research in any aspect of social life will show that no one went above those dictates, and even when someone did cross that line, it was crossed for higher, therefore, even longer term interests of Austro-Hungarian Monarchy. One of such laws was that no project implemented in Bosnia could work against Austria-Hungary, nor in any way damage her interests, be they Austrian or Magyar.17

The conclusion Ćorić draws is that Hörmann could not have, even in principle, acted in ways that did not, a priori, serve the Austro-Hungarian interests. This leads Ćorić to reject any possibility of the existence of Bosniak culture, identity, or language beyond those manifestations of it that were in service of empire. Informed by the same paradigm that defines the nation as not constructed, but somehow originating in the mythical past, Ćorić then arrives at the same conclusion as Kecmanović, even if he started from a slightly different point about imperial hegemony. The question of political and cultural hegemony, however, is hardly this simple. In a more developed Marxist consideration of hegemony, Raymond Williams concludes that:

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Marina Antić The reality of any hegemony, in the extended political and cultural sense, is that, while by definition it is always dominant, it is never either total or exclusive. At any time, forms of alternative or directly oppositional politics and culture exist as significant elements in the society.18

This vulnerability of hegemony holds just as true for the Austro-Hungarian rule in Bosnia as it does for any other from of cultural and political hegemonic domination. Furthermore, while we do not want to minimize the power of, in essence, colonial hegemony at work in Bosnia and Hercegovina under Austria-Hungary, we also do not want to deny any possibility of resistance, especially from within hegemonic structures, as was the situation with Hörmann who was a part of the colonial regime. In contrast, Ćorić’s claim that everything Kosta Hörmann did had to comply with the law of necessity that no such activity could be to the detriment of Austro-Hungarian interests is a typically deterministic view of the cultural realm as fully dictated by socio-economic conditions. Buturović recognizes the fallacy of this view, but limits it to the specific case she is examining. She reflects at one point that »if we want to objectively review and judge the actions of Kosta Hörmann, we need to consider his entire activity in Bosnia and Hercegovina, because it cannot be explained exclusively in terms of pro-Austrian politics of its cultural mission«.19 What this argument lacks, however, is an acknowledgment that no modern cultural reality can ever, not just in this case, be explained by its simple correlation to supposed political machinations outside the cultural realm. 20 This classical, or rather, reductive Marxist reading of the cultural realm and its (in)dependence from socio-economic factors goes to the heart of the problem I want to address next, namely the national/ nationalistic and historiographic reading of Ivo Andrić that is at work in the remarkable moment when Kecmanović conflates historical biography with pure fiction, without anyone seeming to notice. At the beginning of his essay, Kecmanović writes: All of these acts, both the one with serf Siman and the one with Tugomir Alaupović, and in fact, many others like them, were deep inside Hörmann’s ego, obviously as a result of the conditions of his life and personal growth as well as the places from whence he came.21

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How are we to take Kecmanović’s conflation of the fictional encounter between Hörmann and serf Siman and his reallife encounter with Tugomir Alaupović?22 Is it possible that Kecmanović intentionally conflated historical biography with pure fiction? Or is it that he believed in the rhetorical power of his text to such an extent that he thought no one would notice? (It is, of course, quite interesting that no one, including his strongest critic Buturović, seemed to have noticed!) The answer to these questions lies, I believe, not with Kecmanović or his credentials, but rather with Ivo Andrić and how he has been read in Bosnian cultural and intellectual life. In criticizing Munib Maglajlić for a reading of Andrić that conflates literature with historiography, Enver Kazaz points to a particular practice that others have identified as well: 23 Especially paradoxical is the fact that the national identity, taken as one among many possible interpretations of history, has relied on historical arguments, which means that Andrić’s œuvre was not even read as a literary one, but as a historiographical text which was, on one hand accepted as the unconditional truth/scientific truth, while on the other as the unconditional lie/hatred for which there is no argument in the historical continuum.24

This practice of reading a piece of literature as history is the reason why Kecmanović can, quite unconsciously, I believe, use Andrić’s text as historical evidence of the character of Kosta Hörmann and it is also why no one else calls him on this obvious fallacy. As Kazaz continues to argue, such readings of Andrić’s texts work only to confirm the already ossified, ahistorical sense of national identity from which they come forth in the first place: Interpretive communities (Serbian, Croatian, Bosniak) are grounded on such a premise, that in fact, they do not even read Andrić, but try to ground the identity of their own historical memory as some form of metanarrative, one that will be placed above everything else, will encompass all contexts, will be the process of verification for all other narratives, and in the end will impose itself as the ahistorical, holistic national identity.25

In other words, reading Andrić »nationally« or »nationalistically« is to preclude discussion of any other possible paradigm the text engages, especially since nationalistic readings, as such, are very deterministic and

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one-sided. Such readings of Andrić, of which Kecmanović is an example par excellence, are also rooted in the reductive Marxist understanding of the cultural realm discussed above, for they ignore those aspects of the cultural realm (in this case of a literary text) that do not adhere to the historical (and in this case, nationalistic) readings of socioeconomic conditions. It is precisely the combination of the national/ nationalistic approach to history and the reductive Marxist reading of culture as determined by the socioeconomic realm that provides for readings of Andrić that are both nationalistic and historiographic. In what follows I will provide my own reading of Andrić’s short story The Story of Serf Siman that presents an alternative to the reductive, nationally conditioned reading. This reading elaborates the historical legacy of Kosta Hörmann in so far as, I submit, one of Kosta Hörmann’s greatest legacies resides in the fact of his appearance in Ivo Andrić’s fiction. This is so not because Hörmann was somehow an insignificant influence on Bosnian life then or now, but because it could be that the most prominent modern debates on Hörmann’s legacy were in part fueled by an image of Hörmann taken out of Andrić’s fiction. For, after all, it could be that Kecmanović’s resurrection of Kosta Hörmann as a figure relevant for the present, as well as the subsequent arguments for or against Kecmanović’s assessment, were inspired precisely by his (mis)reading of Andrić’s story in the first place. In addition, Ivo Andrić’s stature in debates on Bosnian identity – the realm with which Kosta Hörmann’s legacy has been so profoundly enmeshed – was and still is both unprecedented and troubling.26

Hörmann’s Legacy in Andrić’s The Story of Serf Siman The Story of Serf Siman is a story about social upheaval caused by the arrival of Austria-Hungary to Bosnia in 1878. It follows the life of a Bosnian serf Siman, who mistakes the arrival of Austro-Hungarian troops in Bosnia-Hercegovina for the arrival of the Messiah who will liberate him from the oppressive feudal relations he has endured his entire life. As he is gradually convinced of his mistake, the now-former-

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serf Siman lives out the remainder of his life in a small inn at the outskirts of Sarajevo, hidden from the new order as well as from all those who have followed it into Bosnia. Before we delve into the story itself, it is important to point out the three different viewpoints that stand out in this narrative. The story is told, most of the time, from Siman’s perspective. Our sympathies are with him and his struggle for liberation. The narrator, however, is a separate, distant, historical voice whose interjections directed at the reader in the present are set off by parentheses. The third point of view, that of the author of the story, can only be guessed at indirectly, but he does appear in the story, much like the director Alfred Hitchcock would appear in his movies, barely noticed, apparent only to the trained eye. As often occurs in literary works, the one character who engages in writing can often be understood as the reflection of the author, and Andrić hints at himself in one of the most repulsive characters in the story, the Serbian teacher turned scribe and police informant (also a Serb turned Muslim and then again Serb), Aleksa.27 We should keep all three in mind as we analyze the story. The opening lines intimate that the story is set in times of monumental change: »With gunfire, unlike any that the Bosnian ear has ever heard, the Austrian troops entered Sarajevo on August 19th, 1878.«28 Within a few paragraphs we find out that the announced change will have something to do with the power relations between the feudal classes that have defined Bosnian society up to this point. These relations are defined by silence (the silence which the Austrian troops interrupt) and by organic relations to the earth: »And so the serf and the aga lived without any major convulsions – reticent, but irreconcilable, enemies, tied with a chain, as it were, to the land which fed and attracted each of them in his own way.«29 As the description of the quiet life of Siman and his aga shows, the power relations definitive of Bosnian society at the opening of the story are those of a serf and his master. Shortly after the arrival of the Austrian troops, however, Siman tries to overturn these power relations, as the narrator tells us »much was overturned« in life with the arrival of the Austrians: » things shook and were overturned and many a thing started to change between people.«30 The

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first sign of this »overturning« is a crucial description of Siman’s encounter with his aga. As Siman’s rebellion begins by a direct refusal to pay his feudal obligation, we see Siman from his master’s point of view: Ibraga is watching this impudent man who against all order and custom is still lying down and isn’t getting up before him, he cannot believe his own eyes and cannot wrap his head around how large the serf is when he is neither contorted nor servile, but is relaxed and spread out in all his strength and size. 31

As the previous description of their relationship as bodies tied to the land implies, and now this passage confirms, the power relationship between the serf and the aga are here imagined and expressed through their physical bodies. Not just Siman, but even his aga notices Siman’s newly found power as expressed thorough the serf’s body. As Siman rebels, the relations between them change. First, the »eternal« silence between them is broken by Siman’s symbolic »No!« spoken in refusal: Siman motions with his hand, across the autumn landscape and the sky above it; he is choking from all the harsh words, and to all of aga’s forcibly gentle and seemingly reasonable objections, answers with a sharp and short No! in which that o breaks and burns like a fiery whip. 32

The serf, at this point, has overturned his relationship to the master as he »flogs« him, albeit with words, but flogs him nonetheless. At this point Siman prevails and the aga goes home empty-handed. Some days later, Siman tries to assert his newly found freedom by trying to establish a new economic relationship with his lord, one between a buyer and a seller, in an open marketplace, and most importantly, as if between equals. Siman tries to buy a bridle from his master who, in part, works as a small merchant in town, but Ibraga refuses him. In a last showing of an already noticeably shallow victory Siman still proudly prances in front of his master’s shop a few more times on his little horse: »A few more times Siman trotted past Ibraga’s store, with a happy smile on his face and as if dancing just a little on his tiny horse.«33 The first hint of trouble in Siman’s newly found world of freedom occurs when he comes up against the new government. As he finds out, the Austrians seemed to have

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implemented a certain equality between serfs and landlords, but not the one he had hoped for. He is sued by his master and taken in front of a local court that, by Austrian order, consists of an Austrian clerk, a Muslim man (a representative of the landlords), and a Christian man (a representative of the serfs). The »equality« before the law symbolically represented here in the two locals, to Siman seems like an inequality precisely because it does not account for the obvious privilege the landlords have over the serfs outside the court. That is why Siman loses the case and is ordered to pay his fine. The rest of the story follows Siman’s repeated quest for justice which, at every turn deepens his tragedy to the point that he finally loses everything and is left a beggar. Siman gets one last chance to make his case, or so he believes, when the archduke is about to visit Sarajevo. 34 This is when he is arrested and taken in front of the Sarajevo Municipal Office Trustee, Kosta Hörmann. Before we can discuss this encounter which seemed so meaningful to Kecmanović, we have to address a far more important aspect of the narrative, namely the opposition established throughout the story between power relationships based on the body and power relationships based on law. In a manner reminiscent of Franz Kafka’s Der Prozess, Andrić describes here the creation of a new order, based not on the power of the master over the body of the serf, but rather, the power of the law that erases the master-serf feudal identities (without necessarily erasing the relationships of dominance) and creates instead a new modern order and a new, modern subjectivity. As I argue above, Siman and his master experience their relationship in terms of their physical bodies. Siman’s body »grows« in rebellion and then »shrinks« when he loses the court case. When the final sentence is pronounced and he is deprived of his land, Siman physically deteriorates: »His face became darker and bloated, he lost weight, he is coughing and spitting like an ill man, but as soon as he drinks a few, he starts speaking about the land and his right in a fiery and lively manner, like he spoke that autumn morning to Ibraga in the plum orchard.«35 The articulation of the system that comes to displace the corporeal one begins with Siman’s reaction to the sentence

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depriving him of the land. Besides being an »equalizer« of sorts, as evidenced by the »equal« representation of landowners and serfs in the lower courts, the new order is inevitable and inescapable. Reminiscent of Joseph K.’s predicament, but expressed through a much simpler, peasant worldview, Siman’s tragedy is explained: »Those are the laws and orders! You laugh, but they get you sooner or later, certainly and without mercy.«36 Siman also utters in drunken delirium about his troubles: »The Turkish law is from so many years ago – let it be damned! – but it’s like it was made just for me this morning.«37 The narrator continues to explain Siman’s befuddlement before the Law: »And so with fear he thought about the web of terrible and powerful laws that is spun around all of us and that binds all and everyone; you can’t escape it, you don’t know how to untie it, the only thing you can do is to forget about it in drinking for a moment.« 38 The message becomes clear to Siman: one cannot escape the Law; it is ever present and unmovable. The Law is also opposed to the organic notion of the Christian »czar« Siman still holds onto. As Siman plots his plan to intercept the archduke and tell him of his troubles, we are aware of the fundamental error he makes that, as we already know, will prevent him from getting justice. He mistakes the archduke for the (Slavic) benevolent czar who, if only people can reach him, will right all wrongs as a representative of Christ on Earth: But Siman’s imagination, with the help of the brandy, already saw ›God’s doing‹ in the arrival of the czar’s uncle [...]There’s nothing simpler than to present before this man who sits at the czar’s feet and who is capable of everything, his rightful thing and arrive at his ›right‹ and there is nothing more natural than the czar’s uncle immediately interceding in Siman’s thing and ordering that it should be resolved with justice. That is why these czar’s men walk the Earth... And the main thing is that the czar’s uncle will find out what these here must be hiding from him and what the uncle knows, the czar can’t help but know. Let the czars know of Siman and his right! 39

The Law, however, replaces both the »czar« and the land. The scene describing Siman’s arrest is central to this change in power structures of Bosnian society. Here we are introduced to another character – Vaso Gengo »Policaja« – who is charged with arresting and bringing Siman in to the

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Trustee, Kosta Hörmann. Confronted by Vaso and reminiscent of the feudal silence from the beginning, Siman’s words fail him: Siman was also the kind of man who could defend himself and argue, but while he was trying to explain himself and get an explanation – he noticed, with wonder, that he was already walking with the police officer, in step, and that words in this case are of no help at all. And as they went, so their relationship changed rapidly and became all the more determined. Between them something third and new was being created, something that is neither Siman nor Vaso Gengo, but rule and law, like some guilt and punishment, and in the form in which it did not exist in Ottoman times..40

As this description of the interaction between Siman and Vaso shows, the Law is literally being born in the moment of Siman’s arrest, as something separate from both of them, but something that ties them and works through them both. The Law that arises between them is compared to the previous system of power relationships first by the silence (which seems to mark oppression and domination in Andrić’s work in general) and then by the fact that it ties Siman to Vaso in the same way Siman was tied to his aga and the land earlier in the story: » And so these two men went, welded together by the chain of law, each with his own thoughts and feelings, and they watched each other, on the side with a new look.«.41 The process by which this new system comes about is described with such precision that I must cite it in full: The man transformed right there and then, and from that new character he spoke loudly and sharply only a few words, but as if they were a religious formula in a foreign language: In the name of the law, advance! And Siman started walking without objection. Now they walk differently, tied by the law. Between them an unanticipated dependency is forming. As if each of them has suddenly thrown off the innocent and careless mask of the everyday and shown a new face, so new that in the first moments neither the one nor the other could really neither regain consciousness nor gather themselves in their new roles. Vaso is not that Vaso The Cop that passes in the streets for a part of the city’s landscape, but some different unknown man who became strict and dangerous, a stiff and merciless mechanism whose every move has the force and inevitability of natural phenomena

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Marina Antić before which man instinctually and uselessly tries to get out of the way. And Siman is not that well known, talkative and restless peasant from the periphery... No, he, all of a sudden became ›the so-named Simo Vasković‹ who has to, in the shortest amount of time, by the shortest route to be ›brought in‹ to the chief of Sarajevo’s ›Law and Order Trusteeship‹.42

Here we have the culmination of several themes. First we have the ritualistic, almost religious nature of the interpellation by the new order as Vaso commands Siman, »in the name of the law«, uttered »as if it were some religious formula«, for its effects are just as strong on both men. This interaction matches the outlines of modernity as characterized by Luis Althusser’s theory of the interpellation of the (modern) subject by a State Ideological Apparatus (the supreme example being religion). Siman is not taken to the Trustee simply on account of Vaso’s physical force, but rather, in addition to responding to the force, Siman feels bound by and surrenders to the Law that interpellates him quite literally: »In the name of the law, advance!« In this, he is »recognizing« himself as a (modern) subject, which the narrator calls his new »role«. It is not accidental that Althusser describes this process of the State interpellating the subject precisely as arising from the law as well. 43 Secondly, Vaso is also transformed. He is no longer the village idiot people mock calling him »Policaja«; now he has become the voice and the »mechanism«, the apparatus of the State. Just like the Law, Vaso is now a severe, brute force that, in its inevitability, resembles nature and yet seems so fundamentally opposed to nature on account of him being a »mechanism«. And lastly, Siman’s »recognition« of himself as a subject and his submission to the Law concludes this scene as he becomes not the peasant, but the »so-named Simo Vasković«. In this state, Siman is brought into Kosta Hörmann’s office. There he enters a new world. It is significant that his previous encounter with Hörmann was in a different office, much humbler than is the case now. The walls and the desk are adorned with apparatuses whose purpose Siman cannot even guess and the cleanliness of the office is described as not of this world. The narrator says: » According to his unfortunate habit to mix important with the unimportant and not to be able to tell the difference between crucial and

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marginal things, Siman thought only about this, for him unbelievable and otherworldly cleanliness and wondrous arrangement.«44 However, as we will soon learn, Siman is quite correct in identifying this other-worldliness of the office as important, for Kosta Hörmann himself is described as non-human and otherworldly. As Vaso and Siman enter the office, Siman compares Vaso to the otherworldliness of their new surroundings and contemptuously notes the difference: »› Heaven on Earth, a gentleman’s life‹, thought Siman. ›This is Austria!‹ and with disgust quickly glanced at Vaso Gengo, who, clumsy and stiff, was standing at attention.«45 We will return to this point, especially Siman’s exclamation »This is Austria!«, but the comparison here between the three of them is important also on another level. Not unlike in Andrić’s other works, the names of these three characters tell a story all on their own. The transformations we saw in Vaso and Siman in the moment when one arrests the other »in the name of the law« are also symbolically represented through their names. Siman’s full name is Simo Vasković. Vasković shares »Vas« with »Vaso« as well as a common origin in Vasko. As Vaso and Siman interact as the officer of the state and the arrestee, we are told something third between them is born, a new law, and a different order of things. Kosta Hörmann’s name also symbolically represents this »third thing« borne out of their interaction.46 Siman and Hörmann share the second part of their name (man), while the last three letters of Vaso’s name are inverted in Hörmann’s first name, Kosta: Vaso in Kosta. Furthermore, Hörmann’s name also captures one of his crucial characteristics, namely being the »man« who »hears« (»hören« + »Mann«) in a land that is epitomized by silence47: Doubt easily enters the head of an imperial Austrian police officer. Actually, it doesn’t really enter it because it is always already awake in his head, and when it does dose off, it sleeps with one eye and one ear open, and the slightest sound, quieter than the beating of a butterfly’s wings can arouse it; and even if it isn’t aroused by anything, it will, from time to time, arouse itself from the silence that seems suspicious to it. 48

Even the silence seems to have acquired a new meaning in the new, Austro-Hungarian order, as Hörmann not only

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hears the noises, but also hears and interprets the silence itself as suspicious. The actual confrontation between Hörmann and Siman is brutal. Hörmann’s appearance is striking: Kosta Hörmann was sitting behind his desk in a dark uniform. He wasn’t yelling, wasn’t moving, not even his little finger. His face is calm, white, with only slight color in it, his hair is black, thick, as is his short mustache. Behind his rimless glasses dark deep blue eyes glow, but they change color, because in the moment when the Trustee asks questions they mix with the upper edge of his lenses and create a sharp and inhumanly calm and penetrating gaze. 49

The calm and control exhibited here is not only personal, it is a matter of the Trustee’s essence. The »sharp and inhumanly calm and penetrating gaze« attributed to the Trustee is reminiscent of Foucault’s Panopticon that can penetrate all, but is itself impenetrable and invisible: »Full lighting, and the eye of the supervisor captured better than darkness, which ultimately protected. Visibility is a trap.« 50 The contrast between the darkness of Bosnia and the penetrating gaze of the Trustee is glaring and will be repeated once again in the story. The questioning itself is compared to an experiment: »The Trustee put one hand onto the other, looked with even greater interest at the large, excited peasant, who didn’t even notice that the clerk was provoking and probing him with his objections like an animal on whom we are performing an experiment.«51 It is clear that Siman has no hope of making his case, but the questioning persists until the Trustee decides Siman will have to spend the next few days in jail. The justification for the detention is crucial: » It just can’t be, Siman, because you, for example now, have this habit of running out in front of important people, so, God forbid, the czar horses could get frightened from such a large man like yourself, and only then we’d see the trouble. This way, its better for you as well.«52 The Trustee is here citing not only the corporeal economy of the feudal order – the only one Siman understands – but he is also identifying correctly Siman’s fundamental discomfort with the new order. Earlier, Siman was demonstrating his corporeal understanding of the

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world, when upon entering Hörmann’s office, he recognized the awkwardness of his peasant body: And everything so clean and tidy that it frightens and confuses a man, so that the peasant does not even know what to do with his hands and feet, but with wonder looks at his huge, crusted peasant shoes, his cheek ablaze and wishing only that someone would yell out that he was taken in here by mistake and then take him to some simpler office. 53

We can speak here again about Siman’s body, namely the fact of its arrest, and forced removal from public, but the power exercised on his body at this moment is fundamentally different from the earlier one exercised by the feudal system of power relations. In this new situation, the power exercised over the body is not the punishment in itself, but rather a means to a punishment which is intended as both non-corporeal and preventative. It is designed to discipline and prevent crime, rather than punish it. This is why Siman thinks as he is being taken away: »[A]nd even if they tore off a piece off his flesh now, it seems like it wouldn’t even hurt.«54 What he fails to perceive is that the punishment he is about to receive is, in many ways, harder than if they were to torture his body in this brutal way. For, as Foucault describes the major change in the economies of punishment between the feudal order and the modern one, the effectiveness of the new non-corporeal punishment »is seen as resulting from its inevitability, not from its visible intensity; it is the certainty of being punished and not the horrifying spectacle of public punishment that must discourage crime.«55 The finality of the punishment received lies precisely in Siman’s final understanding of the inevitability of the new order. As the narrator comments: » Everything is like half joke – half reality, but Siman still had to sit out three days and only upon the ›archduke’s‹ departure was released.«56 In essence, then, Siman had come up against the new order based on the law and the accompanying non-corporeal punishment, which, in turn, are the identifying features of modernity itself. Foucault says: From this point of view, Rusche and Kirchheimer related the different systems of punishment with the systems of production within which they operate: thus, in a slave economy, punitive mechanisms serve to provide an additional labour force [...]; with

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Marina Antić feudalism, at a time when money and production were still at an early stage of development, we find a sudden increase in corporeal punishments [...] But the industrial system requires a free market in labour and, in the nineteenth century, the role of forced labour in the mechanisms of punishment diminishes accordingly and ›corrective‹ detention takes its place.57

Important to keep in mind is that the change from the feudal order to the modern one does not, in any sense, diminish the relationship of dominance, especially in a situation in which an »Old World« empire trying to remake itself into a colonial power, as Austria-Hungary was doing in Bosnia, merges with the old, feudal, and mercantile social relations of the Ottoman Empire. Rather, as in British India, the transformation is simply from a »status-based privilege« to a »contractual-based privilege«, where the change is supposed to bring about the modernization of the society in question, but not an actual change in who exercises the power over whom.58 Edward Said describes one such example in India and the similarities with the policies of Austria-Hungary in Bosnia in late 19th century are striking: [Sir Henry ] Maine’s great study Ancient Law (1861) explores the structure of law in a primitive patriarchal society that accorded privilege to fixed »status« and could not become modern until the transformation to a »contractual« basis took place. Maine uncannily prefigures Foucault’s history, in Discipline and Punish, of the shift in Europe from »sovereign« to administrative surveillance. The difference is that for Maine the empire became a sort of laboratory for proving his theory (Foucault treats the Benthamite Panopticon in use at European correctional facilities as the proof of his) [...] [Maine] interpreted his task as the identification and preservation of Indians who could be rescued from »status« and, as carefully nurtured elites, brought over to the contractual basis of British policy.59

The tactics of Sir Henry Maine in India were perhaps more explicit than those of Austro-Hungarian administrators, although this topic requires further research and elaboration, but the effect was the same – the creation of a socio-economically privileged class under Austria-Hungary, with the help of a »contractually based« social order, from the ashes of the old, feudal, landowning class of the Ottoman era. The former serfs are consequently transformed into modern subjects participating in the new system as the underprivileged class.

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Furthermore, within this new, modern order there is also an objectification of the crime and the criminal at work in the non-corporeal punishment, where the criminal is »designated as the enemy of all, [...] falls outside the pact, disqualifies himself as a citizen [...] appears as a villain, a monster, a madman, perhaps a sick, and before long, ›abnormal‹ individual.«60 This is why Siman, in this new, modern order, becomes an outcast upon his release. Siman’s ultimate tragedy and defeat is that he has failed to integrate himself into the new society. He has been defeated not by his aga or Hörmann or even Austria, but rather by the new, modern order itself. We are told he spends his last days in the vestiges of the old order epitomized by an inn on the outskirts of town: There the Sarajevo esnafs often have their parties, where, from April to October, Sarajevo drunks go out at night to sit in a green and cool place by the river, with brandy and music or singing, and even then only the worst drunks who, God knows why, are attracted to exactly a place like this, without a view, in the fold of steep hills, where the sun sets early and rises late.61

But we know that the outcasts, including Siman, are attracted to a place like that, a place »without a view« because it is the last remnant of that impenetrable, silent Ottoman Bosnia that was disrupted by all the »new people« – as Siman calls them – who have entered it since the arrival of the Austrian troops. In fact, it can be said that the inn, with Siman and Salihbeg clenched in some eternal, but at this point completely irrelevant battle (Salihbeg’s body is immovable, »dead-drunk«), represents symbolically the remnants of the Ottoman order after the Austro-Hungarian modernization of Bosnia. We can see from all of the above that Andrić’s story is not so much a meditation on the conflict between a serf and his aga or even between the peasant and Hörmann as Kecmanović imagined. It is certainly not an endorsement of Serbian nationalism over and against Austria-Hungary on the one hand or Bosnian Muslims on the other. Even the references to Princip’s assassination of the archduke are far from a glowing endorsement of the event. Rather, the story is, as I have shown, a meditation on the encounter between a Balkan peasant and modernity itself, with dire, even deadly consequences for the former. In light of this fact, the

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end of the story is especially poignant as we are first led to believe, with the narrator, that Siman’s story perhaps does not end in this dark hole on the outskirts of civilization: And Siman says all sorts of things, things that never were, and as people say, never could be, and yet that still must be – all sorts of big and rebellious things no one says, things a man can’t even think during the day – as if it’s not the brandy speaking, but the truth itself, wordy, prophetic and fearless truth of late evening hours, in the mute area by the thinning river that barely murmurs.62

The implication is that Siman’s struggle will not only continue in the future, but it will be successful. The reference, of course, is to the socialist revolution that was nearing its successful end as Andrić was writing this story. And yet, the story does not quite end there. We are given two more images to ponder in closing. One is the intimation of Siman’s death as a man »bez reda i ugleda« (an outcast) who will find his end in precisely such a disgraceful place as the inn. The other image is one of the night as it falls on the city, Siman, and Salihbeg: » And so the night passes. Everything is mute, the lights go out, only the smallest shard of some glassy and as if wet moon still glows for some time over the dark valley.« 63 The familiar themes of silence and darkness as symbols for Bosnia are recalled once again, but here they are, if only for a moment, penetrated by the »glassy« moon. The moon is a reference to Hörmann’s gaze, for it is penetrating, deep, glassy, and enlightening. The earlier assertion of Siman’s victory is undercut here by this final, symbolic image of the interaction between darkness and enlightenment, silence and speech. Returning to our considerations of legacies of Kosta Hörmann, we can summarize Andrić’s treatment of this figure in the following way. Hörmann is a representative of Western Enlightenment. He is stark, penetrating, disciplined, and rational. He probes Siman like a scientist looking for proofs to his theories. The »apparatuses« on the walls of his office and on his desk are further signs of his scientific and modern outlook. Hörmann is also the harbinger of modernity in Bosnia. He is the supreme police officer (only on the surface like Vaso the Cop), and he is the representative of the new order based on contractual rights, not feudal notions of land and »prava« (right).

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Hörmann’s effectiveness as the enforcer of the new regime rests in large part on his bilingualism. On the one hand, unlike Siman or even Vaso, Hörmann knows the function of apparatuses on the walls: he knows the law and most importantly he knows Siman.64 On the other hand, he also speaks the language of the peasant as he continually proves throughout the interrogation. Everything that we know about him otherwise – his stark looking clothes, perfect appearance, and »the sharp and inhumanly calm and penetrating gaze« – comes into contrast with his speech. When we hear him speak, he speaks Siman’s language, that is to say, the language of the peasant, corporeal order. That is the language of his final order to Siman as we have seen above. He is bilingual in the most crucial sense in that he understands and interprets the Law, but he can also translate its modern meaning to a man like Siman. In Kecmanović’s interpretation, Hörmann’s character is expressed perfectly by Siman’s words in the story. In his article, Kecmanović underlines the phrase »aginski prijatelj« (aga’s friend”) without noticing that the sentence in which it appears is written in Siman’s voice, not that of the narrator, and as such should be understood with deference to the story’s ambiguous, if not critical, treatment of Siman’s judgment. The sentence in question reads: »And the higher power had its say, but since then Siman has known that this gentleman Kosta is Aga’s friend.«] [emphasis MA]«65 »Gospodin Kosta« as well as »aginski prijatelj« (aga’s friend) betray Siman’s, not the narrator’s phraseology and view of the world. The ambiguous conclusion to the story that leaves the fleeting image of Hörmann’s gaze over Bosnia as the last image – the last word in the debate – should be a warning not to take Siman’s worldview as the correct or the most enduring one. But if Andrić is critical of Siman and seems to be siding with Kosta Hörmann here, what are we to make of the image of Hörmann in the story? What is his legacy according to Andrić? The simplest way to answer this question is to say that it is as complex or as simple as Andrić’s relationship to modernity and the West. It is clear that this is a topic well beyond the scope of this essay. However, I will here point to a moment in the story where the discourse of East and West comes up in a manner very typical of Andrić’s other works.

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In illustrating Andrić’s relationship to modernity and the West in however limited a manner, it will be possible to also point towards the ways in which Hörmann and Andrić are intimately related precisely in terms of modernity and interaction with the West, and as previously mentioned, in terms of the bilingualism constitutive of the intelligentsia involved in the nation-forming processes in the 19th and 20th centuries.

Hörmann and Andrić: Legacies of the Bilingual Intelligentsia in Yugoslavia In The Story of Serf Siman Vaso Gengo »Policaja« endures within him the turmoil of fighting his »Bosnian« instinct with his new »Austrian« identity. Before Vaso utters the crucial »In the name of the law...,« he first asks Siman to come with him. Siman, naturally, resists and tries to come up with excuses on why he should stay behind. In order to convince him to follow, Vaso says: »Don’t try to squiggle your way out, but come with me when I tell you... You forgot that this is not Turkey [Ottoman Empire] – this is Austria, now going on for a fourth year. Austria, just think!«66 To this, Siman reacts quite violently: »Oh, come on, I know... Austria! Austria! As if you were Austria!«67 The accusation implied by Siman’s words that Vaso is, perhaps, not so convincing in his new role as an »Austrian« police officer, sets Vaso off and in a matter of seconds he loses what little »Austrian« habits he had and starts fighting with Siman. But then the narrator tells us: »And there, as if he remembered something, Vaso suddenly abandoned this tone of an everyday Bosnian squabble and took on some new and foreign, really ›Austrian‹ attitude, the kind Siman did not see in a man of our kind.«68 From this point on, Siman’s anger and disappointment with the Law and the judgment against him grow exponentionally because, as he says: »How could a man survive and where could he run and where could he hide, when just any passerby can become Austria?«69 In other words, Siman can perhaps accept the authority of AustriaHungary over Bosnia-Hercegovina (an amazing recognition from a simple peasant!), but he cannot live with the idea

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that a simple Bosnian fool like Vaso or even himself can »take on airs« and think he could ever be »Austrian«. The successfulness of the scene as comic relief and as an introduction to the crucial scene of Siman’s arrest (discussed in full above), rests also on our recognition of Vaso’s inability to ever really be »Austrian« and the correctness of Siman’s disgust at the very thought of it. (Upon entering Hörmann’s office, Siman thinks: »›Heaven on Earth, a gentleman’s life‹, thought Siman. ›This is Austria!‹ and with disgust quickly glanced at Vaso Gengo, who, clumsy and stiff, was standing at attention.« 70) From this humorous, yet crucial moment in the story we can glean some sense of Andrić’s positing of difference between Bosnia and the West. For Andrić these are separate worlds coming together only in the colonial administration’s introduction of the modern order into Bosnian society. And unlike Kecmanović, Buturović, and Ćorić who present a national/nationalistic view of Hörmann, Andrić primarily sees him as a harbinger of modernity. In the story, Hörmann is a personification of the scientific and ordering tendencies of western administration. Andrić is, in some sense, historically speaking, correct in associating Hörmann with modernity. Austro-Hungarian rule did, in the broadest sense, represent the assimilation, or at least the introduction of Bosnian society into modern, European socio-economic system of relationships. At the same time, Andrić himself belonged to the generation that continued these modernizing processes in all of former Yugoslavia, not least through the projects of the socialist period. The crucial role of both men in the debates on Bosnian identity (then as well as now) lies in the modernity and modernizing influence of both men, and especially in Andrić’s crucial reading of Hörmann as such. That is to say, it is not that these men are somehow constructing or promoting Bosniak (in Hörmann’s case) or Serbian (in Andrić’s case) national identity, but rather, they signal a crucial moment in the formation of all national identities in the region – modernity itself. As Ivo Banac argues: As far as [Serb, Croat, and Bosniak] separate national identities are concerned, they can only recall a common beginning in the 19th century. Instead of a common origin, we should direct

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Marina Antić ourselves towards the common beginning in modernity. That simply means that the national integrations of 19 th and 20th centuries have a common starting point. At no point should we confuse premodern national formations with modern nations. The difference between them is enorrmous.71

That is to say, we cannot speak of origins (or conversely inauthentic inventions) of national identities in reference to Serbian, Croatian, and Bosniak identities as Kecmanović, Buturović and Ćorić do in their assessments of Kosta Hörmann. Rather, if we are to examine these national identities, we can and must speak of their common origin in modernity. In addition, both Hörmann and Andrić belonged to an intellectual elite, educated abroad, but returning to serve administrations at home. They both worked on cultural projects that came to define both the language and culture of their respective time periods, even though it is undeniable that Andrić is a far more significant cultural figure than Hörmann. But most importantly, Hörmann and Andrić also share a history of engagement with the West that produced a pattern of identity formation, national or not, but always informed and speaking to both »Bosnia« and »Austria« within. (In Hörmann’s case, this internal division and dialogue between East and West is evident in the unsettled debate over his divided loyalties to the Austro-Hungarian Empire on the one hand and Bosnian culture on the other. Andrić’s preoccupation with East and West, their chasms as well as their »bridges« is well known.) Sharing this crucial in – betweenness, Hörmann and Andrić belong to a continuum of what, following Anderson, we can call the bilingual intelligentsia. And as Anderson convincingly argues, it was precisely the bilingual intelligentsia who played a central role in national identity formation in the peripheries.72 Their bilingualism and their modernizing influence, or in Anderson’s words, their membership in the bilingual intelligentsia of the 19th and 20th centuries, are the reasons why Hörmann and Andrić find themselves at the heart of the debates on Bosnian identity. This thread that connects Kosta Hörmann’s history to Ivo Andrić’s work in a continuum of Bosnian thought on modernity and the West is also what, I believe, represents the most fruitful way of considering

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Kosta Hörmann’s lasting influence and legacy in the South Slavic region.

Notes 1

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6 7

I will be using the adjective ›Bosnian‹ to designate an inhabitant of Bosnia and Hercegovina and the adjective ›Bosniak‹ to designate a person who identifies him/herself as what used to be called Bosnian »Muslim by ethnicity«. Kecmanović, Ilija: O jednoj neobičnoj književnoj karijeri u Sarajevu od 1878. do 1919. godine. Prilozi za proučavanje istorije Sarajeva. God. 1 knj. 1 (1963); Buturović, Đenana: Studija o Hörmannovoj zbirci muslimanskih narodnih pjesama. Sarajevo: Svjetlost 1976; Ćorić, Boris: Nada. Književnoistorijska monografija 1895-1903. Sarajevo: Svjetlost 1978. Džaja, Srećko M: Tri kulturno-političke sastavnice Bosne i Hercegovine i moderna historiografija. In: Forum Bosnae 18 (2002), pp. 48–59, cit. p. 50 (»Nacionalni/nacionalistički pristup povijesti gleda naciju kao primordijalnu i kvazi vječnu kategoriju. Nacija kao primordijalna kategorija izvire iz mitskih daljina prošlosti i kreće se kroz povijesni kontinuum kao čvrst i zatvoren sustav.« [All translations of Serbocroatian sources provided by the author of this article, MA.])This idea is clearly not articulated here for the first time. Any student of nationalism will have encountered it in Benedict Anderson, Eric Hobsbawm and many others. Anderson, Benedict: Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso 1983, p. 116. I am refering hereto the well-known upheaval in both Bosnian and Yugoslav League of Communists over the increasing pressure to acknowledge and affirm the national particularity and identity of Bosnian Muslims that culminated in their »official« recognition in 1970. Kecmanović 1963, p. 191. Ibid, p. 185 (»Lik Koste Hermana kao carskog čoveka i službenika, sa nadarenošću svoje vrste, osvetljen je u poznatoj Andrićevoj pripovesti o kmetu Simanu. [...]Karakterističan je za toga čoveka, Kostu Hermana, koji je ›služio‹ Austriji u Bosni od dana njenog ›ulaska‹ u Bosnu pa do njenog odlaska iz nje nikad ne zaboravljajući šta hoće, jedan njegov nesporazum sa pesnikom Tugomirom Alaupovićem... Sve ove postupke, kako one s kmetom Simanom tako i one sa Tugomirom Alaupovićem, pa i mnoge druge ovima slične, Herman je nosio u sebi očevidno kao plod uslova u kojima se nalazio i razvijao i sredine iz

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Marina Antić koje je potekao.«) [emphasis MA]. All translations of Serbo-Croatian sources and emphases by MA. Nada, as Kecmanović himself acknowledges, was the first Bosnian literary magazine comparable to contemporary European literary journals. It began publication in 1895 and ended in 1903. Cf. Kecmanović 1963, p. 191. Ibid., p. 188 (»Po liniji Kalajeve politike u oblasti kulture u Bosni i Hercegovini, Herman je dobio zadatak da u Nadi, kao njen odgovorni urednik, čini sve što bi doprinelo denacionalizaciji Bosne i Hercegovine, odnosno stvaranju jedne nove, ma i veštačke, bosanske nacije na slavenskom jugu.«). Ibid., p. 191 (»Sve ove funkcije koje je Herman obavljao u oblasti kulture bile su očevidno potčinjene i služile su prvenstveno njegovim političkim dužnostima i zadacima. I kao direktor Zemaljskog muzeja i kao urednik njegovog Glasnika, i kao urednik Nade i, napose, kao organizator izložbi po inostranstvu propagandnog karaktera, on je imao pred očima isključivo kulturno-političke interese Austro-Ugarske Monarhije u okupiranim zemljama.«). Ibid. (»austroslavizma u jugoslovenskim okvirima koja je imala pristalica među nekim Slovencima i Hrvatima, pa i među nekim Srbima, a kojoj je, navodno, služio i Štrosmajer, nastojeći da – kako to tvrdi istoričar Ćiro Truhelka – ›privede pravoslavlje u krilo katoličke crkve, u jednu veliku slavensku crkvenu zajednicu‹.«) Buturović, Đenana: Studija o Hörmannovoj zbirci muslimanskih narodnih pjesama. Sarajevo: Svjetlost 1976, p. 14 [»Hörmann [je] tek u Bosni među muslimanskim svijetom došao na ideju o izdavanju ove zbirke, tj. [...]osnova ove ideje [je] bila u Hörmannovoj vezi sa onim muslimanskim krugovima koji su mu omogućili da upozna ovu vanrednu kulturno-istorijsku i literarnu pojavu, da predoči svijetu u punoj širini njen značaj i novinu.«]. Ibid., p. 16 (»Zato Kállay insistira da se u predgovoru istakne da je većina pjesama bosanskohercegovačkih hrišćana bila već objavljena u drugim poznatim zbirkama i preporučuje onaj drugi naslov - Narodne pjesme Muhamedovaca u Bosni i Hercegovini – čime upravo pokazuje da Muslimane, kao i Hörmann, tretira kao zasebnu grupu stanovništva Bosne i Hercegovine. Time ovi dokumenti pokazuju i to da je pogrešno nastanak ove zbirke svoditi na smišljenu akciju austrougarske kulturne politike i dovoditi je u vezu sa idejom bošnjaštva, kao jednom od njenih manifestacija.«). See citation of Srećko Džaja above and note 3 for elaboration on this problem. Džaja 2002, p. 52 (»Glavna sličnost [nacionalnih historiografija] jest u anakronističnom traženju potvrda u prošlosti za ono što se smatra relevantnim za političku sadašnjost, te ignorirajućem i ignorantskom pristupu drukčijim interpretacijama, koje se ne baziraju na nacionalnim mitovima, nega na kritičkom pristupu svim poznatim, odnosno pristupačnim povijesnim izvorima.«).

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17 Ćorić, Boris: Nada. Književnoistorijska monografija 1895-1903. Sarajevo: Svjetlost 1978, p. 8 (»Većina suvremenih istraživača perioda austrijske uprave u Bosni, ocjenjujući njene akcije na političkom, gospodarskom, prosvjetnom i kulturnom polju, ima na umu uvijek austrijsku politiku u cjelini u odnosu na Bosnu. Ta politika imala je svoje zakonitosti nametnute interesima dvojne monarhije i sva ispitivanja i proučavanja, odnosila se na bilo koji od vidova društvenog života, pokazat će da se preko tih uzusa nije išlo, a i kad se išlo, išlo se iz viših, dakle dalekosežnijih i dugoročnijih interesa Austro-Ugarske monarhije. Jedno od tih pravila je da ni jedan projekat ostvarivan u Bosni nije smio ići na štetu Austro-Ugarske, niti na bilo kakav način krnjiti njene interese, bilo austrijske, bilo madžarske.« [emphasis MA]) 18 Williams, Raymond: Marxism and Literature. Oxford: Univ. Pr. 1977, p. 113. 19 Buturović 1976, p. 11. 20 As Raymond Williams says: »cultural tradition and practice are [...]much more than superstructural expressions – reflections, mediations, or typifications – of a formed social and economic structure. On the contrary, they are among the basic proces-ses of the formation itself and, further, related to a much wider area of reality than the abstraction of ›social‹ and ›economic‹ experience«. Williams 1977, p. 111. 21 Kecmanović 1963, p. 185 (»Sve ove postupke, kako one s kmetom Simanom tako i one sa Tugomirom Alaupovićem, pa i mnoge druge ovima slične, Herman je nosio u sebi očevidno kao plod uslova u kojima se nalazio i razvijao i sredine iz koje je potekao.«[emphasis MA]). 22 Serf Siman is a reference to the title character of Ivo Andrić story The Story of Serf Siman (as Kecmanović readily acknowledges), while Tugomir Alaupović is an actual historical figure whose encounter with Hörmann is cited in Kecmanović’s essay from archive sources. 23 Cf. also Žanić, Ivan: Pisac na osami: upotreba Andrićeve književnosti u ratu u BiH. In: Erasmus 18 (1996), pp. 48-57. 24 Kazaz 2001, p. 122 (»Poseban paradoks je u tome da se nacionalni identitet, izvođen iz jedne od mnoštva mogućih interpretacija povijesti, pozivao na povijesne argumente, što znači da Andrićev opus i nije čitan kao književni, već historiografijski tekst koji se, na jednoj strani, prima u formi bezuslovne istine/znastvene tačnosti, a na drugoj, u formi bezuslovne laži/mržnje za koju nema argumenta u povijesnom toku.« [emphasis in original]). 25 Ibid., p. 134 (»Interpretativne zajednice (srpska, hrvatska, bošnjačka) uspostavljene na toj osnovi, zapravo, i ne čitaju Andrića, nego utemeljuju identitet vlastite povijesne memorije kao neku vrstu metapripovijesti, koja hoće biti nadređena svemu drugom, hoće usisati sve kontekste, biti verifikatorom svim drugim pripovijestima, i u konačnici se nametnuti kao apovijsni, holistički nacionalni identitet.« [emphasis MA])

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26 Cf. Bavčić, Uzeir ed.: Andrić i Bošnjaci: zbornik radova, bibliografija. Tuzla: Preporod, 2000; Kazaz, Enver: Egzistencijalnost/povijesnost Bosne – Interpretacija u zamci ideologije. In: Novi izraz (Winter/Spring 2001); and Maglajlić, Munib: Žrtva dirljive odanosti. In: Novi izraz (Summer 2001). 27 It would be very interesting to analyze further Aleksa as Andrić’s image of himself, especially in comparison to other such authorial selfrepresentations in Andrić’s œuvre. Some interesting parallels and inversions of the national/linguistic link would emerge, i.e., how are his national (re)identifications results of his writing/language/translation, etc. 28 Andrić, Ivo: Priča o kmetu Simanu. Znakovi. Sarajevo: Svjetlost 1976 (Sabrana djela Ive Andrića), p. 127 (»Sa pucnjavom kakvu dotad nije čulo bosansko uho, ušle su austrijske trupe 19. avgusta 1878. godine u Sarajevo.«). 29 Ibid., p. 128-29 (»Tako su kmet i aga živeli bez većih trzavica – ćutljivi, ali nepomirljivi, neprijatelji, vezani, kao lancem, zemljom koja ih je, svakog na svoj način, hranila i privlačila.«) Andrić has used this trope of silence as representative of Bosnia’s Ottoman era in other places as well, most notably in The Bosnian Chronicle.. 30 Ibid., p. 127 (»Od toga se u mnogom čoveku mnogo šta potreslo i prevrnulo, i mnogo toga počelo da se menja među ljudima.«). 31 Ibid., p. 130 (»Gleda Ibraga toga drskog čoveka koji mimo svakog reda i običaja leži i ne diže se pred njim, ne veruje rođenim očima i ne može da se načudi koliki je kmet kad nije zgrčen ni ponizan, nego kad se opusti i raširi u svojoj punoj snazi i veličini.« [emphasis MA]). 32 Ibid., p. 131 (»Odmahuje Siman rukom široko, preko jesenskog predela i neba nad njim, guši se od jakih reči, i na sve agine na silu blage i naoko razložne primedbe i opomene odgovora oštrim i kratkim: ne! u kom ono e puca i žeže kao plameni bič.«[emphasis MA]) 33 Ibid., p. 134 (»Još je nekoliko puta projahao Siman ispred Ibragina dućana, sa srećnim osmehom na licu i poigravajući sitno na vrančiću.«). 34 The obvious reference to that other archduke whose visit did not end as amicably for Austria-Hungary is here underlined several times, including one of the narrators interjections where he describes Siman’s failed attempt to destroy evidence against him by throwing it into Miljacka, much like Gavrilo Princip was supposed to have tried to kill himself by doing the same: »U tom trenutku su upravo prelazili preko Latinske ćuprije. Stade da popravlja tobože pojas na sebi, i kada je bio već pri kraju mosta, prisloni se sasvim uz ogradu kao da hoće da prepaše, i brzo ali nevešto izbaci hartiju preko ograde u vodu. (Ta seljačka nespretnost je jedna od velikih slabosti u njihovoj stalnoj, čas otvorenoj, čas prikrivenoj borbi sa gradom i građanima)« (148). [»In that moment they were walking right across the Latin bridge. He stopped to allegedly fix his belt and when he was already at the end of the bridge, he came up all the way to the fence, as if he was to cross over it, and quickly but clumsily threw the paper across the fence into

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the water. (That peasant clumsiness is one of the great weaknesses in their constant, at times open, at times hidden, struggle against the city and the city dwellers.)«]. Ibid., p. 141 (»Potamneo je i podbuo u licu, a smršao u telu, kašlje i pljuje kao bolesnik, ali čim popije, govori o zemlji i o svom pravu živo i vatreno, kao što je govorio onog jesenjeg dana Ibragi u šljiviku.«). Ibid., p. 140 (»To su ti zakoni i naredbe! Ti se smeješ, a oni te pogađaju pre ili posle, sigurno i neumoljivo.«). Ibid., p. 141 (»Turski je zakon otprije toliko godina, a – postove mu ćaćine! – kao da je jutros pravljen za mene.«). Ibid. (»I on je sa strahom mislio o mreži strašnih i svemoćnih zakona koja je isprepletena svuda i sputava sve i svakog; pobeći iz nje ne možeš, razmrsiti je ne umeš, jedino što možeš: da je u rakiji za trenutak zaboraviš.«). Ibid., p. 142-44 (»A Simanova mašta je, kroz rakiju, već videla »božji prst« u dolasku carevog amidže. [...] Ništa nije prostije nego izneti pred tog čoveka, koji sedi caru uz koleno i koji sve može, svoju pravednu stvar i doći do svoje »prave«; i ništa nije prirodnije nego da se carev amidža odmah zauzme za Simanovu stvar i naredi da se ona pravedno reši. Zato ovakvi carski ljudi i hodaju zemljom. [...] Glavno je da će carev amidža saznati sve što ovi sigurno od njega kriju, a što on zna – to ne može car da ne zna. Neka znaju carevi za Simana i njegovu pravdu!« [emphasis MA]). Ibid., p. 145 (»Ni Siman nije bio čovek koje ne ume da se brani i prepire, ali dok je on pokušavao da se objasni i da dobije objašnjenje – i sam je sa čuđenjem video da već ide sa policajcem ukorak, i da reči u ovom slučaju nikako ne pomažu. A kako idu, tako se i njihov međusobni odnos brzo menja i biva sve određeniji. Stvara se između njih nešto treće i novo, nešto što nije ni Siman ni Vaso Gengo, nego propis i zakon, kao neka krivica i kazna, i to u obliku u kom za turskog vremena nije ni postojalo.« [emphasis MA]) Ibid., p. 147 (»I ta dva čoveka idu uporedo prikovani lancem zakona, svaki sa svojim mislima i osećanjima, i motre jedan na drugog, ispod oka, novim pogledom.« [emphasis MA]). Ibid. (»Preobrazi se čovek tu na mestu, i iz tog novog lika izgovori glasno i odsečnosvega četiri reči, ali kao sveštenu formulu na tuđem jeziku: U ime zakona, naprijed! I Siman krenu bez pogovora. Sad drugačije koračaju, vezani zakonom. Stvara se između njih dotle neslućena zavisnost. Kao da je svaki od njih naglo odbacio nevinu i bezbrižnu masku svakidašnjice i pokazao neko novo lice, tako novo da se u prvim trenucima ni jedan ni drugi ne mogu pravo da osveste ni dobro da snađu u novim ulogama. Vaso nije onaj Vaso Policaja što prolazi ulicama kao deo gradskog inventara, nego drugi nepoznati čovek koji je postao strog i opasan, krut i neumoljiv mehanizam čiji svaki pokret ima snagu i neizbežnost prirodnih pojava pred kojima čovek nagonski i uzaludno nastoji da se ukloni. A Siman nije onaj svakom dobro poznati, suviše govorljivi i

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Marina Antić nemirni seljak sa periferije grada [...] Ne, on je odjednom postao »imenovani Simo Vasković«, koji treba u najkraćem vremenu i najkraćim putem da bude »priveden« šefu sarajevskog »Redarstvenog povjereništva«.) Althusser, Luis: Lenin and Philosophy and other essays. London: New Left Books 1977, p. 160: »Meaning, there is no ideology except for concrete subjects, and this destination for ideology is only made possible by the subject: meaning by the category of the subject and its functioning. By this I mean that, even if it only appears under this name (the subject) with the rise of bourgeois ideology, above all with the rise of legal ideology, the category of the subject (which may function under other names: e.g., as the soul in Plato, as God, etc.) is the constitutive category of all ideology, whatever its determination...« [emphasis MA]. Andrić 1976, 149 (»Po svojoj nesrećnoj navici da meša važno sa nevažnim i da ne razlikuje bitno od sporednog, Siman je mislio samo o toj za njega neverovatnoj i nezemaljskoj ćistoći i čudesnom uređenju.«). Ibid., p. 149-50 (»›Raj na zemlji, gospodski život‹, mislio je Siman. ›Ovo je Austrija!‹ I prezrivo i kratko pogledao Vasu Gengu, koji je nespretan i krut, stajao u stavu ›mirno‹.«) It could be said that these three characters also represent the three movements of the Hegelian dialectic, culminating in Kosta Hörmann. It would be interesting to pursue this further in terms of Andrić’s commitment to a Hegelian worldview. I’d like to thank prof. Tomislav Longinović for suggesting this avenue of potential research. I would like to thank Drago Momcilovic for suggesting I look into Kosta’s German name as a source of symbolic meaning as well. Andrić 1976, p. 151 (»Sumnja se, naime lako useli u glavu carskog austrijskog policajca. Zapravo, ona se i ne useljava, jer je uvek u njoj i gotovo uvek budna, a kad malo pridrema, ona spava samo na jedno oko i jedno uvo, i najmanji šum, manji od lepeta leptirovih krila, mo že da je probudi; a ako je niko nikako ne probudi, ona se s vremena na vreme sama budi od tišine koja joj se čini sumnjivom.«). Ibid., p. 150 (»Za stolom je sedeo Kosta Herman u mrkoj uniformi. Nije vikao, nije kretao ni malim prstom. Lice mu mirno, belo, sa malo lakog rumenila, kosa crna, gusta, isti takvi kratki brkovi. Iza naočara bez okvira svetle tamnomodre oči, ali one menjaju boju, jer se u trenutku kad povjerenik postavlja pitanja mešaju sa gornjom ivicom naočara i stvaraju oštar i neljudski miran i prodoran pogled.«). Foucault, Michel: Discipline and Punish. The Birth of the Prison. Trans. of Surveiller et Punir; Naissance de la prison (1975) by Alan Sheridan. New York: Vintage Books 1979, p. 200. Andrić, 1976, 150 (»Povjerenik stavi jednu ruku na drugu, zagleda se još življe u krupnog uzbuđenog seljaka, koji nije ni primećivao da ga činovnik izaziva i bocka svojim primedbama kao životinju na kojoj vršimo ogled.«].

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52 Ibid., p. 152 (»Ne može, Simane, jer ti imaš, eto, običaj da istrčavaš pred visoke ličnosti, pa mogu se, ne daj bože, carski konji poplašiti od tako krupna čovjeka, a tek onda ne bi valjalo. Ovako je bolje i po tebe.«). 53 Ibid., p. 149 (»A sve tako čisto i uredno, da plaši i zbunjuje čoveka, i da seljak ne zna kuda bi sa rukama i nogama, nego sa čuđenjem gleda svoje ogromne okorele opanke, obraz mu gori, i najviše bi voleo da sada neko vikne da je zabunom uveden ovde i da ga odvedu u neku jednostavniju kancelariju.«). 54 Ibid., p. 148 [»i da komad mesa sad otkinu s njega, ne bi ga, čini mu se, zabolelo.«] 55 Foucault 1979, p. 9. 56 Andrić 1976, p. 152 (»Sve jekao pola šala – pola zbilja, ali ipak Siman je odležao tri dana i tek po ›nadvojvodinom‹ odlasku pušten.«). 57 Foucault 1979, p. 24-25. 58 It is interesting to note that here the Foucaltian analysis necessarily has to be merged with an analysis of colonial situations, on which Foucault himself was conspicuously silent. 59 Said, Edward W: Culture and Imperialism. New York: Vintage Books 1993, p. 164 [emphasis MA]. 60 Foucault 1979, p. 101. 61 Andrić 1976, p. 153 (»Tu sarajevski esnafi često održavaju svoje teferiče, tu, od aprila pa do oktobra meseca, izlaze pred veče mnoge sarajevske bekrije da posede na zelenu i hladovitu mestu pored reke, uz rakiju i svirku ili pesmu, i to one najteže bekrije koje, ko zna zašto, privlači upravo ovakvo mesto bez vidika u sklopu strmih bregova, na kom sunce rano zalazi i dockan izlazi.«[emphasis MA]). 62 Ibid., p. 157 (»I svašta tako Siman govori, što nikad nije bilo, što, kažu ljudi, biti ne može, a što ipak mora biti – svašta krupno i buntovno što se ne govori, što čovek danju ni pomisliti ne sme – kao da iz njega ne govori rakija, nego sama istina, rečita, vidovita i neustrašljiva istina kasnih noćnih sati, u gluvom predelu nad otančalom rekom koja jedva mrmori.«). 63 Ibid. (»Tako prolazi noć. Sve umukne, svetlosti se pogase, samo krnjatak nekog staklenastog i kao vlažnog meseca svetli još neko vreme nad mračnom kotlinom«.[emphasis MA]). 64 Cf. Foucault 1979, p. 27: »We should admit rather that power produces knowledge (and not simply by encouraging it because it serves power or by applying it because it is useful); that power and knowledge directly imply one another; that there is no power relation without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does not presuppose and constitute at the same time power relations.« 65 Andrić 1976, p. 149 (»I viša vlast je kazala svoje, a Siman otada zna da je ovaj gospodin Kosta aginski prijatelj«. [emphasis MA]). 66 Ibid., p. 146 (»Ne zavrzuj, nego hajde kad ti kažem...Ti si zaboravio da ovo nije Turska i da je Austrija zastupila evo četvrta godina. Austrija, ej!«).

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67 Ibid., p. 146 (»Ama de, znam ja. [...] Austrija! Austrija! K’o da si ti Austrija!«). 68 Ibid. (»I tu kao da se prisetio nečeg, Vaso brzo napusti taj ton obične bosanske svađe i uze neki nov i stran, zaista ›austrijski‹ stav, kakav Siman nije kod našeg čoveka nikad video [...]«[emphasis MA]). 69 Ibid., p. 148 (»kako da čovek opstane i kuda da beži i gde da se skloni, ako svaki od ovih što prolaze može postati Austrija?«). 70 Ibid., p. 150 [»›Raj na zemlji, gospodski život‹, mislio je Siman. ›Ovo je Austrija!‹ i prezrivo i kratko pogledao Vasu Gengu, koji je, nespretan i krut, stajao u stavu ›mirno‹.«] 71 Banac, Ivo: Teret lažne povijesti. In: Forum Bosnae 18 (2002), pp. 4247, qtd. p. 47 [»Što se tiče [srpskih, hrvatskih i bošnjačkih] posebnih nacionalnih identiteta mogu se samo pozivati na zajednički početak u devetnaestom stoljeću. Umjesto zajedničkog porijekla trebali bismo se upućivati na zajednički početak u modernosti. To naprosto znači da nacionalne integracije devetnaestog i dvadesetog stoljeća imaju zajedničku polaznu točku. Nikada se ne smije brkati domoderne nacionalne formacije i moderne nacije. Razlika između njih je ogromna. «] 72 See citation of Anderson and note 4 above for further clarification.