HAMAN BALKANIA
First published in 2014 by
Istros Books
London, United Kingdom
© Vladislav Bajac, 2008
English translation © Randall A. Major, 2009
Cover photograph ‘16th-Century Ottoman Hamam’ by Anthony Georgieff
[email protected] www.vagabond.bg
Artwork & Design@Milos Miljkovich, 2013
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This novel was first published in English by Geopoetika, 2009, as part of the Serbian Prose in Translation/Srpska proza u prevodu series, financed by the Serbian Ministry of Culture. First published in Serbian as Hamam Balkanija by Arhipelag, Belgrade, in 2008.
The right of Vladislav Bajac to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
ISBN: 978-1-908236-14-2 (print edition)
ISBN: 978-1-908236-86-9 (eBook)
Printed in England by
CMP (UK), Poole, Dorset
The names in this book are fictional.All the characters as well,including the omniscient author.
It is quite probable that the famous phrase ‘miracle of nature’ originates with the ancient Greek materialist philosopher Epicurus (341–270 BC). And this is why: he based his ethics and his view of human happiness on the belief that ‘without a knowledge of nature it is impossible to achieve the light of enjoyment’. According to him, the greatest good is blissful pleasure. To have these postulates as a goal was not related to the vulgar pleasures of merrymakers or to immoderate gastronomic satiation, as those unfamiliar with him conclude, but rather referred primarily to the elimination of physical suffering and disturbances of the soul.
The attainment of spiritual tranquillity is founded on a naturalistic and individualistic basis.
Epicurus’ belief in hedonism was so firm that it could not be shaken even by the dark times of the dissolution of Alexander’s empire (and Epicurus had witnessed its grandeur and power), the consequences of which were anything but pleasurable. In spite of it all, he claimed that ‘the words of philo sophers that do not heal human suffering are of no value. Because, just like medicine that is not able to rid the body of illness, of equal uselessness is a philosophy that is unable to rid the soul of suffering’.
Thus, anyone who knew how to avoid physical pain and spiritual disharmony, who knew that sensual pleasure and spiritual joy (as a unity) are the greatest values of living and, therefore, who knew the very skill of living – such people belonged to the Epicurean brotherhood, maintained to this very day.
His spiritual father was Aristippus (435–355 BC), the founder of the Cyrenaic school, born in Cyrene, the most beautiful and advanced Hellenic settlement in Libya. Pindar described this spot as a remarkably well-situated hill, covered with springs that were utilised to artificially irrigate its garden terraces. These picturesque surroundings were dotted with olive orchards, vineyards and the famous silphium plantations, and also with vast meadows covered with sheep, goats and horses – the last ultimately giving rise to the noble Arabian breed. In spite of their hard-fought battles with the Egyptians and Libyans, the Cyrenians maintained a highly developed trade that made their homeland one of the wealthiest of the Hellenic states. Therefore, its citizens did not have to expend all their energy working, but also became skilfully familiar with the luxury and pleasure ‘that come from plenitude and a refined sense of living’. This is the place that seems to be the ancient prototype of the utopian city-states, and most certainly of the societies of Sir Thomas More and Tommaso Campanella.
It is no wonder that the thinker who promoted pleasure as the central principle of life, Aristippus, was born in none other than Cyrene. Indeed, he remained known as the philosophy’s progenitor, but under a different name: hedonism. He pronounced pleasure to be the only good and maintained that pain was the only evil. The feeling of pleasure, he claimed, is expressed in movement, ‘The gentle movement of feeling, like a breeze suitable for a sailboat, is the source of satisfaction; the rough movement of feeling, like a storm at sea, is the source of dissatisfaction; the absence of the movement of feeling, like a calm sea, is the source of indifference, equal to someone else’s satisfaction or dissatisfaction.’ However, Aristippus did not in any way believe it was possible to reduce man as a whole to the hunt for momentary physical pleasures, on the contrary, he taught that a wise man, controlling himself with reason, does not become a slave to pleasures, but rather controls them. He testified to this position through his relationship, in no way indifferent, to his hetaera, or concubine, Lais, in his most famous claim, ‘I possess Lais, but she does not possess me’.
Quite close to this idea was the ethical school of eudemonism (after the ancient Greek goddess of happiness and well-being) that believed happiness and well-being to be the guiding motive, the reason and goal of all our actions. Furthermore, a heavy emphasis on individualism is the common element of all kinds of hedonism, from the harshly sensual to the rationally spiritual.
The history that followed, that came about after these Hellenistic ‘schools of pleasure’, shows that some of its most important and well-remembered creators, along with many anonymous and now-forgotten individuals, attempted to become pleasure-seekers, even through personal and national tragedies. They zealously tried to feel satisfaction even in the broadest and most absurd range of the understanding of the meaning of hedonism, even taking pleasure in physical beauty, or even death.
If nothing else, they proved the constancy of the role of ethical relativism.
Višegrad, like any other place, has its own daily life. Yet, like few others, it also has its own abstract life. My experience with the metaphysics of Višegrad began in April, 1977, on approaching the town, before I ever saw the famed bridge on the Drina, which has fixed the town’s place in history forever. In my little haiku notebook, which I still have, I noted down a geo-poetic commentary ‘on the gravel of Višegrad’ with the poem that I saw through the window of the bus:
A stone between them
two sunbathed firs, a parting
made in the forest.
My host and friend from my university days, Žarko Čigoja, thought that the bridge of Mehmed-pasha Sokollu (as it is written in Turkish) from 1571 – the bridge Andrić wrote about – was enough of a prize and a pleasure, for that occasion, so that he did not even show me the other attractions of his hometown. He could not even imagine how selfish I was, actually even unhappy, that I had to share this magnificent bridge with others. I did not know then, that deeper knowledge of the secrets of the environs of Višegrad would have to be earned by future experience. Once again, a secret brotherhood was in question and I would have to wait twenty-six whole years to enter that brotherhood. It was worth it. It was actually Ivo Andrić who taught me to wait; through reading him again. During my literature studies I was not yet able to