Danilo Ilić

Danilo Ilić

Danilo Ilić rođen je u Bosni i Hercegovini 1891. godine. Pohađao je Državnu učiteljsku školu u Sarajevu i jedno vrijeme predavao u jednoj školi u Bosni. 1913. Ilić se preselio u Beograd, gdje je postao novinar i član tajnog društva Crna ruka.

Ilić se vratio u Sarajevo 1914. gdje je radio kao urednik lokalnih srpskih novina. Počeo je regrutirati mladiće u grupu Crne ruke i tog ljeta pristao je pomoći Gavrilu Principu, Nedjelku Čabrinoviću i Trifku Grabezu u atentatu na nadvojvodu Franza Ferdinanda.

U nedjelju 28. lipnja 1914. Gavrilo Princip ubio je Franza Ferdinanda i Sophie von Chotkovato. Princip i Nedjelko Čabrinović uhvaćeni su i ispitani od strane policije. Na kraju su dali imena svojih kolega urotnika. Muhamed Mehmedbašić uspio je pobjeći u Srbiju, ali su Ilić, Veljko Čubrilović, Vaso Čubrilović, Cvijetko Popović i Miško Jovanović uhićeni i optuženi za izdaju i ubojstvo.

Osam ljudi optuženih za izdaju i ubojstvo nadvojvode Franza Ferdinanda proglašeno je krivim. Prema austrougarskim zakonima, smrtna kazna nije se mogla izreći nekome tko je počinio zločin mlađi od dvadeset godina. Nedjelko Čabrinović, Gavrilo Princip i Trifko Grabež stoga su dobili maksimalnu kaznu od dvadeset godina, dok je Vaso Čubrilović dobio 16, a Cvijetko Popović 13 godina. Danilo Ilić, Veljko Čubrilović i Miško Jovanović, koji su pomagali atentatorima da ubiju kraljevski par, pogubljeni su 3. veljače 1915. godine.


Smrt Danila Ilića

NI JOŠ DANA. Još devet dana daha i osjeta. Probudio sam se danas, u ćeliji, na krevetu, u koži, lijevom rukom koju je druga držala u apstraktnom zahvatu. No, nitko nije sjedio kraj mene, sagnut na stolici poput svećenika. Kakav umor nakon buđenja. Kakvi bolovi u zglobovima. Ipak, i ono smireno. Na dnu bočne stijenke reflektirao se poznati pravokutnik sunčeve svjetlosti, izrezan na četiri kvadrata sjenkama koje se sijeku. Još jednom miris vlage i kamena. Moje su bose noge dotakle hladan pod. Obukao sam papuče i počeo hodati naprijed -natrag u ćeliji. Još toliko vremena, na tako malo prostora. Stisnuo sam šake, otisnuo ih. Osjećali su se sirovo, kožasto. Koraci, pročišćavanje grla, tupi ključ koji se okreće u zahrđaloj bravi. Upitao je Radovan ... Rekao sam mu da sam dobro, osim bolova u lijevom laktu i oba koljena. Nasmiješio mi se, a zatim se namrštio, a sijeda mu je brada gorjela u zraku sunčeve svjetlosti.

Danas ćete imati posjetitelja, rekao je, važnog, pa je bolje da ovdje pospremimo. Kad bi se samo mogao obrijati. Hoćeš li prestati koračati, zaboga! Ne raspravljajte se s njim i ne pokušavajte ništa od jučerašnjih vratolomija. Bez lupanja i apsolutno nikakvog psovanja. Vidite li to tamo? To nije prašina, nego gomila kose koju ste otkinuli s glave drugom Radovanu. A ovo ovdje - pogledaj moje zapešće, Danilo - ovo su tvoj tragovi ugriza. Nema potrebe za isprikom. Danas samo opreznije. Upozoren si. Sakrij bilježnicu i, osobito, olovku, inače ću doći u velike probleme. Ne pokušavajte usitniti vosak svijeće noktima. Neće uspjeti. Također, možda će htjeti pregledati vaše nokte. Donijet ću vam dosje. Ne pitajte ga ništa. Ne razgovarajte osim ako se s vama ne razgovara. Razumijete? Da, hajde, ali brzo. Ipak, bolje da mi se ne rukuješ s njim ... Sutra idem u grad. Želiš li nešto prenijeti tvojoj majci?

Pustila sam mu ruku i ruka mu je pala na bok i dalje se ljuljala. Teška vrata otvorila su se i zatvorila, brišući njegovu sjenu. Kako želite, rekao je Radovan kroz žicu rupe na vratima. Još nije bilo podne. Znao sam jer se pravokutnik svjetlosti još nije spustio sa zida na pod. Ostatak dana promatrao sam njegovo drhtavo kretanje, ali nikada ga nisam uhvatio u stvarnom pokretu. Kad je stigao do poda, gledao sam kako se polako otapa, ali opet sam izgubio koncentraciju i nikada to nisam vidio u slučaju rastvaranja, na način na koji vlažno mjesto, u obliku konja ili bogalja, isparava na vrućem kolniku pred vašim očima. Nitko nije došao. Nitko neće doći. Nešto u obliku jajeta i bijele kosti visi s paukove mreže rašireno između mog stola i kuta zida. Plamen svijeće njiše se u naručju propuha. U sumrak u siječnju. Siječnja u zemlji sumraka. Pukotine posvuda u ovoj tvrđavi.

Ne, ovo neće uspjeti. Ništa od ovoga neće učiniti - pa ipak se ne usuđujem izbrisati ono što sam napisao.

Vrata su se otvorila dok sam doručkovao, a ušao je Radovan, s puškom prebačenom preko ramena, šiljatim šeširom koji mu je pokrivao ćelavu glavu, velikim srebrnim gumbima uniforme zakopčanima do grla, čizmama pocrnjelim. Evo, rekao je, sakrij bilježnicu i olovku ispod svog kreveta. On dolazi. Pažljivo je stajao kraj vrata, a i ja sam stajao, ispruživši jednu nogu da palcem zakačim stražnji dio papuče koju sam žurno ostavio pored stola. Čekali smo ovako. Čuo sam zveckanje ploča iznad glave, vjetar koji je zavijao vani. Radovanu su prsa bila napuhana, oči su mu bile crvene od koncentracije, želudac mu se borio o pojas. Prestani se vrpoljiti, rekao je. Čujem ga kako dolazi.

Kroz otvorena vrata prazan hodnik zablistao je plavo i crno u žutoj grudvi viseće svjetlosti. Iz hodnika su se začula tri drvena kucanja, a Radovan je izjurio iz njihovih mršavih odjeka. Mogao sam čuti oštar porast pitanja i tiho mrmljanje Radovanovog odgovora. Uveo je u sobu visokog, vitkog muškarca u ogrtaču, a zatim je stajao kao i prije s jedne strane vrata. Dao mi je znak da učinim isto, podignutih obrva. Srebro se pretvorilo u bijelo, ozbiljno, naborano, podsjetili su me ... na što? Direktor je s odobravanjem pogledao po ćeliji, skidajući prste po prste s kožnih rukavica, a zatim me pogledao sa mješavinom iznenađenja i zadovoljstva u svojim kratkim, izbuljenim, vrlo okruglim očima.

Napokon se srećemo, Danilo Ilić, rekao je. Ime je - oh, dobro rukovanje, vrlo dobro. Vidim da ovdje niste izgubili snagu. Morate me ispričati zbog moje odsutnosti svih ovih dana, ali vratio sam se u Beč zbog nekih administrativnih poslova. Nije se moglo pomoći. Namjeravao sam posjetiti svog najpoznatijeg zatvorenika mnogo, puno prije, ali ... Priličan vjetar. Kladim se da vam je drago što ste ovdje. Ne, ne, putovanju se nije moglo pomoći, a nisam ni dobio dobar kavijar kako sam se nadao. Jeste li ikada jeli zaista dobar kavijar, Danilo, s Kavkaza? Naravno da ne! Drago mi je što sam vas upoznao - molim vas, sjednite - da vidite kako se iza tako odvažnog ubojstva nalazi glavni mozak. Sramotno, moralno govoreći, čin čistog terorizma, ali ipak prilično impresivan, njegovo izvršenje. Oprostite na dosjetki. Ne mršti se tako, dečko. Mislim, ipak ste bili u središtu ove mreže, glavna meta ispitivanja, vi i Gavrilo Princip. Što je to bilo? U redu je, Rado, pusti dječaka da govori. Reci još jednom, molim te. Ah vidim, posjetitelja… Kakvo pitanje. Gospodine, pogledaj vrijeme! Samo sam se želio predstaviti. Ali ne brini, dragi Danilo, ti i ja ćemo opet razgovarati - oh, dobro ćemo se upoznati, to vam obećavam. Sutra ću vas provjeriti i tada ćemo o svemu razgovarati.

Vrata su se zatvorila. Slušao sam kako se njihovi koraci udaljavaju. Vjetar je zavijao poput bolesne zvijeri. Ploče su zveckale. Prvi put ovdje uzeo sam stolicu na kojoj je ravnatelj sjedio, toplina je već nestala sa sjedala i stavio je ispod prozora, a zatim se popeo na vrh. Iza rešetki je bilo maglovito staklo, iza tog maglovitog zelenog polja, iza onog grebena jele koji se topi u siluete, a negdje iza te naše stare kuće i moje majke u pletenom stolcu. Mrlja bijele ruže i zavrtjela se i potonula u daljinu. Oblačno nebo bilo je poput pamuka umočenog u tintu. Smrt - je li to još jedan oblik ludila ili drugi oblik udaljenosti? U svakom slučaju beznadno. Kakvo nepomično beznađe. Kakva gromada. Nebo shvaćam samo kao prostranstvo nagoviješteno maglom. Hoće li biti glasno poput vjetra u ušima ili tiho poput magle pred očima? Sunce ili trag brisanja?

Zidovi škripe. Vlaga, kamen i smrad smrada. Prsti su mi utrnuli i natečeni - moram prestati pisati. Preko glave mi zveče tanjuri, tanjuri neprestano zveckaju, kao što su to činili u našoj kući za vrijeme jakih oluja, kad bih čitala kraj peći na drva, a majka bi pjevušila pjesmu bez riječi u drhtaju i zvonu kuhinje. Oči me bole od čitanja u ovom svjetlu. Još sedam dana i samo kvadrat vune pojedene od moljca za pokrivač. Možda je bolje ako ne posjeti. Trebao bih prestati pisati - svijeća se topi, topi, topi se. Kako me bole oči. Kako čitatelj na posljednjoj riječi u knjizi shvati da pada kiša i kako ta kiša otkriva svijet knjige kao san. Kada je počeo padati? Koliko je prošlo…? Sjećam se kako je prozor otvoren kiši mogao učiniti poznatu sobu čudnom.

Jutros sam čuo pucketanje stranica prelistanih palcem, zatim, koristeći svih pet prstiju, brz, šuškav zvuk, s ponekom suzom koja podiže kosu, zatim čučanj koji je zatvarao knjigu. Redatelj je sjedio prekriženih nogu, stolica okrenuta bočno prema stolu, neke knjige kroz koje je prolazio bile su mu uravnotežene na koljenu, ostale su bile naslagane na podu, dosežući do nogavica hlača njegovog zamahnutog stopala. Čarape su mu bile prugaste. Na sebi je imao ogrtač. Kosa mu je bila čekinjasta i sijeda. Tanko uvijeni rubovi brkova trzali su se kao u stvarnom životu. Iz kreveta bih mogao uloviti, ako bih pravo nagnuo glavu, sjajan, letimičan pogled kiše kroz prozor.

Dobro jutro, Danilo, rekao je. Jeste li spremni za početak? Ovdje ima jako dobrih knjiga, jako dobrih ... Stevensona, Vernea, Conrada, Dostojevskog ... Iako osim nekoliko dječjih klasika, po mom mišljenju ništa nije bolje od atlasa i Biblije. Ovdje i poslije ... Stvarno se spušta vani ... Pretpostavljam da je dobro vrijeme za čitanje. Vraćam se našem zadatku, dragi moj Danilo. Imao sam dosta vremena u prelistavanju vaše prošlosti, jako dobro. Zasigurno sam mogao samo pokupiti bilo koju od prošlogodišnjih novina, gdje su vaši činovi dobro dokumentirani, ali ono što tražim nisu puke informacije, već duboko znanje - ne zatvorske rešetke osobnosti, već prava ljudska životinja koja se skriva iza njih. Počeo sam čitajući neko vaše novinarstvo. Priznajem prostodušno traženje pisca u pisanju. Nažalost, nigdje vas nije bilo u tekstu. Bravo! Kao klinac smrtno ste se plašili onoga što bi vam moglo vrebati pod krevetom, pa ste svaku večer prije spavanja probadali mrak zveckavom grančicom. Idem dalje - neću prepričavati sve udaljene sjene vaših udaljenih ljeta - i molim vas ispravite me ako nešto pogriješim - sljedeći je vaš prvi i jedini poljubac, u dobi od trinaest godina, u stražnjem dijelu njezine kuće, s koza i krava žvaču i gledaju, i pobuđeno zujanje cvrčaka, a nakon toga tišina, ili bolje rečeno zvuci bez prepoznatljivog oblika za njih. Napravio si nered od toga, dječače moj. Kako se djevojka opet zvala? Dobro, nema veze. Idemo dalje. Jedino dijete, pomogao si svojoj majci da skine odjeću s linije - čuj je kako maše na vjetru - i pomogao si majci da osuši posuđe koje je završila s pranjem - vidi kako se klati u pjeni. Vi i vaša majka postali ste posebno bliski nakon što je vaš otac otišao - sada, nemojte se uzrujavati. Za danas smo skoro gotovi. Redovni odlasci u crkvu, u mjesnoj pravoslavnoj crkvi s majkom, do šesnaeste godine apstinencije od masturbacije do iste dobi u vašoj srednjoj školi: prosječne ocjene, radikalne ideje, pokušaji poezije, nagovještaj mucanja sa osamnaest godina kada ste se pridružili svom tek začetom glas banalnim intonacijama pokreta Mlada Bosna neuspješan pokušaj s prostitutkom za vrijeme rada u Beogradu: kiša, stub svjetiljke, mračna soba, srebrna noć, blijeda, kostura, tamni pazuhi, znoj, živci, očaj, očaj. Što drugo? Da vidimo ovdje ... Možda bismo se sada trebali obratiti vašem ocu - dovraga! Pogledajte ovo. Uhvatio me točno preko noćne kapice palca. Znaš, uvijek sam ugodno iznenađen okusom krvi ... Vraćam se na tvoje - ne, ovo nije odustajanje. Možda bismo trebali prestati? Da? Nastaviti sutra? Možda ću opet razgovarati s tvojom majkom, popričati još par riječi s našim dobrim svećenikom, možda ponovno posjetiti tu lijepu mladu damu ... Kako se ona opet zvala? Nema veze! Želite li poruku od mene? Bilo što ... uopće nešto?

Sinoć nisam mogla zaspati. Ležala sam na tvrdom krevetu, u hladnoj koži, drhteći pod smiješnim pokrivačem. Vjetar je prestao, vjetar koji je zavijao, zapomagao, dahtao. Kiša je lagano i koso bubnjala po visokom krovu. Čuo sam kratko prskanje i mlatanje iz smjera lonca u kutu dijagonalno prema mojoj glavi, okrugli, duboki pljusak slavine koja je prokišnjavala i mjerio vrijeme negdje iza bliskog zida, a iza jastuka, s desne strane, tanki , metalna, kutna žubor nastala vodom koja se slijeva niz oluk zgrade nalik na kralježnicu.

Sišla sam s krevetića i hodala naprijed -natrag u pretrpanoj mračnoj ćeliji, bosih nogu nimalo hladnih. Nakon nekog vremena odlučio sam isprobati kvaku, a vrata su se otvorila uz škripu iz bajke. U gustoj tami okretajućeg hodnika - drveni škripa, ludilo stubišnih stuba, prašnjavi zveket labave podne daske, cviljenje hrkanja usnulog stražara, još jedno, treće - preko dvorišta obasjanog mjesečinom, preko kose sjene stražarnica, kroz lučna vrata i preko maglovitog jarka, uz cestu koja se vijugala od zatvora do grada, pored tamnih kandži jele i siluetiranog traktora na ravnoj ravnini orane tame - rosa blistava pod niskim mjesecom, i zemlja i šljunak ispod vaših golih nogu, i mokra trava između mokrih prstiju, i plavi sjaj crnog blata na mjesečini - prema odjeku crkvenog zvona i svijetlim gornjim prozorima biblioteke, pa niz strme padine mala ulica gotovo u bijegu, s noćnim sjajem na pločniku i pekarskim znakom osvijetljenim svjetlošću svjetlucavog svjetlucavog stupa svjetiljke, djevojka vam pruža košaru različitog kruha - pored bezopasnih sjena na uglu ulice i kroz t njegov poznati vrt, preko staze sa sumračno plavim pločama prema crveno obojenim vratima, preko praga u vašu sobu, i kroz jarak vremena kao preko ispuštene igračke u vaš krevet, ispod koje nema labavih zglobova vrebao, ne sada, nikad, nikad, nikad, nikad, nikad, nikad, nikad ...

Okrenuo sam se na bok i na kraju zaspao. Sanjao sam platformu vlaka u blizini vode, jer sam mogao čuti valove kako se razbijaju uz udaljenu, blisku, opet udaljenu obalu. Sanjala sam kako nam otac maše iz vlaka. Na platformi mi se povjetarac provukao uz kralježnicu i probudila sam se drhteći u vlažnoj uniformi. Naslonjen na lakat mogao sam razlikovati sjenovite obrise stvari, oštre, sjajne kutove stolice i dugu površinu koja je blistala na stolu. Zvuk za koji sam mislio da je ... morao je biti samo ... samo kišnica koja je muhala po strehama, a povjetarac je postao očito ... samo ... povjetarac slobodnog čovjeka postao je opet samo zatvorenički propuh.

Legao sam na leđa i ponovno zaspao. Struganje po podu probudilo me je da je netko postavio stolicu uz podnožje kreveta, visoku figuru u lepršavoj haljini koja se nazire crnom. Vratio se do stola, a zatim se još jednom vratio i sjeo na stolac. Grickao je komad kruha, jedne ruke nježno stavljene ispod brade da uhvati mrvice. Bio je to svećenik. Prerezala sam oči kako bi pomislio da još spavam, promatrajući ga kroz obojene svjetlosne zavoje koji su plivali između mojih suženih kapaka. Oni su nestali, ali on je ostao. Sjena mu je prošla kroz oči, a njegovo zlatno raspelo hladno je svjetlucalo s lanca oko vrata. Imao je duguljasto lice, plavkasto mrlje na obrijanoj glavi i tupe, ranjene, jezive oči. Zavalio se u stolac, dovršivši kruh, a sjena mu se pomaknula na donji obraz i usta. Zatvorila sam oči i pokušala disati poput spavača, nadajući se da će otići. Šmrkao je sa sve većom snagom, a zatim konačno kihnuo. Ubrzo sam ga mogao čuti kako napuhuje obraze. Ponovno sam otvorila oči i vidjela ga kako grebe prepone iz džepa ogrtača. Glumio sam polagane i elastične pokrete buđenja. Dobro jutro, rekao je kroz svoja tamna usta, smiješeći se, njuškajući, pružajući mi ruku da se protresem. Raspelo se njihalo poput nogu ... i hladno svjetlucalo.

Ne brini se, Danilo. Nisam ovdje kao vjesnik propasti. Ovo nije vaše posljednje jutro na zemlji. Tamo vam nije zadnji doručak - samo sam vas htio provjeriti i malo porazgovarati. Ravnatelj i ja smo jučer dugo razgovarali i složili smo se da vam je potrebna utjeha koju samo ponovna potvrda vjere može pružiti. Reci mi, sine moj, je li ti išta bilo palo na pamet u posljednje vrijeme, kakav teret koji želiš skinuti s leđa, bilo što? Ne, ništa, ne postoji ništa što želite surađivati… ko… prevaritifes? Hvala ... malo prehlade ... smetnja. Ništa ne želite…? Ne govorim o ubojstvu. O tome smo već razgovarali. Između vas i mene, iako sam ja ustrajni katolik - uporni katolik, rekao sam - ipak mi se čini da atentat nije bio potpuno neopravdan ... Pustimo to. Ima li još pitanja? Ne, iskreno ne vjerujem da je nebo željeznička stanica. Vidim. Samo si se šalio. Naravno, prvi gubitak grešnika je sigurnost u njegovom zagrobnom životu. To moramo prevladati. Pogledajte ovdje, to ima savršenog smisla ... Živi misle o umirućima - to je istina, to ne možete osporiti - a umirući misle o mrtvima - čekajte, nemojte me prekidati - umirući, oni misle o mrtvima, kao vas dobro znaju - pa iz toga proizlazi da, kako nas poučavaju obje naše religije, mrtvi misle o živima. Savršeno logično, i od velike utjehe, samo da si dopustite vjerovati. Na to možemo gledati na drugačiji način - to je u redu, ne moramo više razgovarati. I Bog je u tišini. Jeste li čuli ovo: zašto pobožna žena ide u crkvu ...?

Nakon što je otišao, koračala sam po sobi nekih sat vremena. Sve snažnije, meditativno, lutanje poput potoka. Dvojaki motori mog života zvonili su mi u ušima: koraci, otkucaji srca, koraci ... Bilo je kvrga u podu kraj stola, još jedna oteklina kraj vrata. Komad kruha nedostajao je mom doručku. Riječi u sjeni bile su sve što je rekao. Unutar sumnje, trebao sam reći, svijest se formira, ljudska duša se nalazi, tonalitet bića je fiksiran. Ono što sam trebao reći je da mit pripada masama, dok san pripada samo sanjaru. Ali kakva je korist, moj san, kad se u činu izražavanja pretvori u mit ili prašinu? Svjetlo u ćeliji je slabilo. Apstraktni lutalica, gazio sam sjene. Svjetlo u ćeliji se pojačalo. Mali, mokri, svjetlucavi otisci stopala vodili su od lonca do kreveta i nestajali ispod njega. Bilo mi je i nemoguće zamisliti da bih se u nekom vrlo bliskom trenutku trebao odvojiti od sebe, izgubiti sidro svoje unutrašnjosti, svijesti, vida ... Krajičkom oka, lepršavim, stopalima, prašinom , miš ili svjetlosni trik? U ovoj ćeliji postoji samo zora i sumrak, a jedno se stapa u drugo poput bolesti u loš san. Već počinjem zaboravljati prošlost, svoju prošlost i budućnost koju sam tamo zamišljao. Ovdje nije moj život ... ne ovdje u njegovoj vlažnoj kamenoj ćeliji, bez nikoga tko bi odbio moje riječi protiv. Pravi život na ovakvom mjestu može biti samo govor. Premjestila sam stolicu do prozora. Kapi kiše zmijuljile su se niz okno iza zahrđalih rešetki: zeleno polje, tamno drveće, sumrak iznad drveća obojenog u duboko plavo i ružičasto ulje, cijeli je krajolik razmazan maglom kao palcem. Kako je pospano i udaljeno i nalik na snove. Moja pospanost, moja udaljenost, moj san! Stojim na platformi vlaka, jedno sam dijete među mnogima. Majka mi je blizu, stišće me za lakat, a ja podižem ruku da joj mahnem. Ne razumijem baš. Ne vjerujem baš. Zagonetka njegova odlaska. Oči su provirile kroz rupu na vratima i ja sam se tupo spustila u svoje tijelo. Osjetio sam toplinu pogleda na stražnjoj strani koljena, ali kad sam pogledao u hladni hodnik, nije bilo nikoga.

Sjela sam za stol i zapalila svijeću. Počeo sam pisati. Je li nedostatak talenta, ili određene samosvijesti, ono što me sprječava da izrazim ono što osjećam i mislim s potrebnom snagom i dubinom? Danas bih htio napisati još mnogo toga, ali već sam umoran. S druge strane tišine je struganje olovke, zrcalni efekt i u zvuku i u smislu. Vjetar dahće kroz pukotine u zidu. Ili zbog njegove lutajuće prisutnosti plamen leprša? Ovaj lijeni, začarani plamen, to prašnjavo plavo krilo u paukovoj mreži, drhti, drhti.

Plamen će uskoro zatreperiti - moram ... Pucam prstima za početak, ali ne mogu pronaći riječi ... Sjene u sobi se savijaju i lepršaju, plamen će ... Kratki violinski udari vjetra po drveću, koraci u hodniku, moj zgrčena kralježnica, drhtavica. Jutros se ponovno pojavio pravokutnik zabranjene svjetlosti, boje masti, slabije rješenje bivšeg sjaja. Svjetlo pospano trepće i uskoro će nestati. Koračao sam po ćeliji, od kreveta do lonca, pa od stola do vrata. Ušao je redatelj, ogrnut crnom bojom, s cvjetnim cilindrom. Kako si, Danilo, rekao je. Ne izgledaš dobro, moram reći. Pomalo ošamućen - ne, idi tamo, lezi, prestani koračati. Oh, dah na tebi! Pojedi svoj doručak ili ... omamljenost. Oprostite mi na haljini. Došao sam ravno s funkcije. Ne biste vjerovali svježem kavijaru. Kako je lijepa ružičasta zora nastala ispod crne kraste noći. Čini vas sretnim što ste živi. Svakako da, slažem se. Nastavimo s vašim ocem, kojeg ste zadnji put vidjeli kako se ukrcao na vlak. Zapamtite, bijela para, plavi dim, ljudska toplina platforme ... i vaš otac u plavičastosivoj boji naše uniforme, s velikim gumbima, za borbu protiv Prusa, ili Rusa ... možda protiv Turaka. Ovdje nije sasvim jasno. Gdje god je otišao, davao je svoj život na svetom tlu, a ti - molim te lezi, nemoj tako buljiti u vakuumu - i shvatio si još kao dijete da je to obilježje čovjeka, da svjesno ideš prema smrti i daš svoje život častan - ali u toj prostoriji, pod tim svjetlima ... Bilo je to otprilike u vrijeme kad je vaš otac otišao kad ste se počeli bojati mraka, zar ne? Ležali biste u krevetu, ispod debelog vunenog pokrivača s mliječnim mirisom životinja, cijelog tijela ukočenog za slušanje, prozirnog, cijelog srca i uha i Adamove jabuke. Stenjanje šarki vrata, škripanje podnih dasaka - nije li čudno, Danilo, kako slučajna kombinacija neživih zvukova može dati iluziju druženja? Nalet vjetra u crnoj noći ili pijani, bestjelesni smijeh na uglu ulice ili prigušeno konjsko pljeskanje po neasfaltiranoj ulici-da ne spominjemo neprestano struganje i tapkanje ispod kreveta, miša ili čudovišta, i naglašen lavež susjedskog psa i lanac zveckanja tanjura uvijek i sablasni jauk ukorijenjenog drveća. Zvukovi u mraku, tajanstveni, ničim izazvani. Vrištali biste kroz stisnute zube, glasno stenjali u mračnom bunaru svog delirija, izbacivali glas iz krute dubine svog bića, a vaša bi majka požurila do vašeg kreveta na svojim jadnim nogama - koje je zamotala u krpe natopljene octom , kaže ovdje - njezine noge s njihovim plavim i slomljenim venama, a ona bi vas zagrlila u svom zagrljaju i život bi ponovno postao topao, nježan, popustljiv san u našim najsretnijim trenucima kada se neizbježni ovdje i sada terora prestaje biti važna, transcendentan je, prevladan dječačkim skokom u svijetlu budućnost ili svjetliju prošlost, pomakom u vremenu i tako pomakom prostora ... ali u toj hladnoj prostoriji, pod tim hladnim svjetlom - ne gazite noge ti takve Prestani! Radovan, Radovane, uđi ovamo - izvedi ga van - nije mu dobro, čini se da opet pokazuje te znakove - evo, daj da držim vrata otvorena ... Nisam mislio naglasiti svoju svijest o tvom trzanju, dobri dječače. Slučajno su mi se oči usredotočile, razumiješ?

Drži me za ruku, to je dobar dječak. Stalno to čini. Kakve nam probleme stalno zadajete. Oh, taj jauk, taj glasni, dugotrajni, nerazgonetljivi jauk. Trebala sam požuriti čim sam čula da je to bio zvuk koji ste zadnji put ispuštali, notu po notu. Čekaj, rekao sam. Iako ovaj put nije otišlo tako daleko, hvala Bogu! Mlatanje, režanje, čupanje kose i mumljanje psovki. Bio si životinja - trebao bi ti biti drago što se ničega ne sjećaš. Pazi na korak. Ovdje je žarulja izgorjela. Morao sam te svom snagom držati na krevetu - pazi na prag - dok se konačno nisi smirio. Oh, kako ste se tresli! Tada me ne biste pustili iz ruke do jutra, poput djeteta - evo nas: malo svježeg zraka i sunca dobro će vam doći. Zaokružimo samo dvorište. Drži se za mene. Pogledajte te bobice kleke. Tako svijetle, tako plave, još uvijek tako glatke od života slušaju one vrane u jabukovom nasadu, njihove ogrebotine, uporne krikove - te su grane dovoljno snažne da se može kad bi se htjelo ... Pogledajte njihove blijede male dlačice. Ravnatelj je u pravu, znate. Naša je zemlja plodna, ali je naša republika bila neplodna. Sada slušajte metronom svojih koraka dok prolazimo kroz svjetlo i sjenu. Pogledajte potplate cipela, koliko su krede bijele od šljunka? Ne poriči ovo, Danilo. Evo ih, te učene ptice sa svojih golih stabala. Gledajte, kao jedan val i sada savršen vrtlog na nebu, a njegova savršena sjena na tlu. Ti kažeš da nema stvarnosti, Danilo, ali ja ti kažem da postoji samo stvarnost! Govori - ne čujem te - prestani mucati. Tvoja majka? Ona šalje svoju ljubav. Ne brini za nju, sine moj. Ona se moli za vas, moli za sve nas. Popravite držanje - uspravite se! - i idemo još jedan krug. Čuješ li to zvonjenje? Popravili su crkveno zvono - mislim da se pokvarilo dan ... da, doista, onog dana kad ste stigli.

Ovo je nezdravo, Danilo, ovakva vrsta pisanja, s obzirom na intenzivno emocionalno stanje u kojem se nalaziš. Sada znam da si ljut što mi - ipak nismo ukrali svu tvoju imovinu, naša je - u stvari nismo učinili ništa loše, ali mogu shvatiti vašu žalbu kao zaostali instinkt iz nekog drugog vremena. Ali morate također shvatiti da smo vašu bilježnicu pregledali prvenstveno za vaše dobro. Ovo bi vas moglo iznenaditi, ali mi vas pratimo otkad ste stigli - tko vas zanima razmišljati Mislim pod "mi"? Ne postavljajte glupa pitanja - i uznemirenosti kojoj smo svjedočili dok ste ovo pisali, i činjenici da ste nakon toga otišli na spavanje, što je sasvim drugačije od vašeg uobičajenog uzorka, i činjenici da ste spavali uznemireno, hvatajući se za jastuk, pokrivač koji se izvijao i zaronivši poput vala - sve nas je to uznemirilo i nismo oklijevali - za vaše dobro, ne zaboravimo. Naravno da ne biste trebali pisati na prvom mjestu, ali pustili smo ovo, jer imamo toliko stvari, nadajući se da ćete se odužiti našoj ljubaznosti tako što ćete biti otvoreniji u svojim mislima i osjećajima, u unutrašnjosti koje tako držite. skupo. Čitajući ovo, ipak ... možda je bolje ne znati. Nažalost, to je moj posao i moram ustrajati. Radovane, uđi. Pozvat ću Radovana jer ... jer je to procedura. Vjerujem ti, Danilo ovdje, dopusti da ti približim stolicu. Ostani tu gdje jesi, Rado. Siguran sam da će sve biti u redu. Prilazimo kraju, Danilo, u čas bez sjećanja. Nakon atentata, nakon Principovog sudbonosnog metka, otišli ste kući, ludo miran čovjek u prljavo smeđem kaputu koji je hodao kroz bjesomučnu gomilu. Kakva tuga na ulici - dobro se sjećam. Znam točno gdje sam stao kad sam čuo vijest, ispod stupa svjetiljke ... Jeste li, Danilo, osjećali neku tugu, bilo kakvo žaljenje, bilo kakvo sažaljenje? Moj izvor je ambivalentan. Rekao si majci da te boli glava i otišao si u krevet da si dobro spavao, priznajem. Probudili ste se ispod kreveta kako biste se uvjerili da je svo oružje nestalo, iako ste znali da jeste. I ti si ujutro provjerio. Sve je nekako ispalo u vašim grubim, ali funkcionalnim rukama. Mudro su odabrali mračne sile koje su vas poslale na put. I mrak ima takvu snagu. No, bilo kakav ponos koji ste osjećali već je počeo opadati, a vrtoglavica izazvana strahom odavala je smjer vaših koraka dok ste koračali po maloj prostoriji. Sjeli ste na krevet. Još uvijek ste imali kaput - spavali ste u njemu - i osjećali ste vlažnost ispod pazuha. I već tada su se vlasti približavale - oh, imali su dosje o vama. Pogledaj me, dragi Danilo. Nemojte zalutati. Išli su od kuće do kuće, a vi ste znali da niste znali, sjedeći na svom krevetu, pretapajući se u vašu svijest, toneći u svoju paniku, da će doći po vas. Bili ste u pravu. Bilo ti je teško hodati, zar ne, Danilo? Nije bilo moguće u usputnoj opasci sažeti svu sigurnost koju ste željeli da vaša majka osjeća dok su vas odvlačili. Koliko ste mučno pokušavali pronaći riječi koje bi odjednom, magično, umanjile, raspršile, zauvijek rastvorile sliku pred njezinim očima, njezina sina - dopustite mi da završim - njezinog jedinog sina odvela je policija. Soba u koju su vas odveli bila je vrlo slična ovoj, i tamo, u toj hladnoj prostoriji, pod tim hladnim svjetlima, nakon nekoliko sati, uz prijetnju nasiljem koja je još uvijek bila samo implicitna, kao što je bila daleka sjena ogromne šake srušen na stol s gotovo udarcem, sve si im rekao. Ne odmahuj glavom, Danilo - jesi, vas sve im rekao. To si bio ti, Danilo, mogao si biti samo ti, uvijek si to bio ti, i oni su to znali, tvoji prijatelji i tvoji neprijatelji, a mi smo to znali, a i tvoj otac je to znao, od trenutka kad je svaki od njih mi smo te ugledali.

Nazad, prljava životinjo, od mene - Radovane! Sad si to učinio, kukavice. Dobro sam, Rado, to je bio bljesak udarac, koso mi je srušio masku, to je sve. Držite ga dolje, dolje. Počinje se tresti. Prestani režati, životinjo. Što? Moja usta? U pravu si ... Stvarno si to sada učinio, prljavi Srbine. Platit ćeš za ovo - znam da me ne čuje, proklet bio. Prokleti bili svi. Neka ga zaustavi. To je strašno. Ne mogu podnijeti. Moj rupčić, gdje, gdje je, gdje? Ljuske jaja posvuda i nigdje žumanjak ... odlazim. Krv mu curi iz usta. Krv vam je u pregibu ruke. Mora da se opet ugrizao za jezik. Učinite nešto - pogledajte te oči. O, moja usta, toliko krvi ...

Tiše, Danilo, šuti. To je dobar dječak. Sad će sve biti u redu. Evo, da ti stavim ovaj jastuk pod glavu. To je sad bolje. Drži me za ruku. Samo naprijed, držite se toga, ali nemojte se jako stisnuti. Raširi čeljust - to je dobro. Drift off…in the undertow of sleep, drift off… Good night, my sweet son.

Three more days—no, two days, two days and then a brief convulsion of inarticulate pain, and then a homecoming of sorts, or a headlong plunge into perfect absence. I imagine lying down in snow, the gradual loss of all sensation. A slow dimming and distributing of every part. A patient and complete yielding to abstraction. Detach the limbs. Crack open the ribcage and separate the spine. Remove at last the heart atop the mound of snow. There is a spider on the ceiling with a red hourglass drawn on its dark back. Everything…down to the last detail…I cannot…the wind outside, the clatter above…the steel-gray eyespot on the moth’s pale blue wing… I do not believe it.

The clattering roll of a pencil, dream-magnified, and fumbling hands vaguely reaching to slap it down on the reeling table, and a distinct click under a floating chair, beneath shuffling feet. After groping hunched over in the dark, I found the pencil and continued reading what I had written yesterday, unable to remember that I had written it. Every rib hurts and is thus accounted for my throat is rough my coughs charge the evasive flame. There is a heavy wind, but I can hear the liquid sounds that traverse the interior of the prison. Echoes all of a brighter reality. Pale indentations of moonlight in the square darkness give the room an illusion of watery depth.

It had snowed this morning. The first snow of the year. They have given me an extra blanket I awoke under it. The priest was sitting at my bedside, half asleep. He asked me if I would accept Christ into my heart, the salvation of heaven and so on. I would not. I could not. Sighing, he got off the chair, leaned over me and kissed me three times on the cheek in the Orthodox style. You and I, he said, his thin lips forming a smile of shared recognition, we’re not so different after all, certainly not in the eyes of God. You twist my arm and I cry out in pain you embarrass me and I blush you compliment me and I believe you. I did not say anything to him, did not want to argue, and there was, it seemed, if not exactly understanding, at least a glimmer of compassion in his blunt, slow, wounded, eerily familiar eyes. The door gaped open behind him. A gentle light swept across the far side of the room. The priest left. The door closed. A tender darkness settled back into place.

I take a grim comfort in the knowledge that if I lived longer, I would not cherish as deeply all I’m leaving behind, and that if I lived forever, there would be nobody to remember me and all the responsibility of memory would fall on me, and the weight of never forgetting would crush and kill me worse than any death. Yet even now when I know time to be short, I can think only in the future tense and am fatigued by impossible thoughts: the transcendent duality of the human mind even now as the last dusk burns in my blood and bones, as candle, pencil, world, all is melting, my human heart laments more time, more, and my imagination throws a desperate anchor toward a distant future: a book open on my lap, her warm humming from the kitchen, and seeping in through the falling snow, a sleeping potion of afternoon light…wind in the cupboards.

What is heaven but the immortal fulfillment of a mortal longing? What is it but the most sublime synthesis of memory and dream? I remember my father feeding baby pigeons in our garden, sitting under the great oak. I remember their long, reptilian necks, the blurred exuberance of their beating wings as they rose like one iridescent, withering wave at my awkward approach. My mother had just put the wash on the line, leaving behind the bucket in which the clothes had soaked. My father sat me on his knee and pointed out a few silvery greenish-gray birds, a kind of sparrow, on the wooden fence dividing our neighbor’s garden from our own. They hopped on their spindly legs and twitched their uncertain heads, blinking their small, black, lusterless eyes suddenly they leapt across the yard and settled on the lip of the bucket, then dipped quickly inside, making a spurting propeller sound as they flapped their wings and tails in the shallow water. The clothesline was hung parallel to the fence, the bucket lying beneath the wash. A bedsheet slowly billowed and lazily snapped. Back and forth the sparrows went, a leaping, blurry, silver throb of movement. A few days later—or perhaps it was the very next day—mother and I accompanied you to the train station. You were in uniform. You waved at us from the window.

It takes a great and tragic imagination not to be destroyed by the certainty of irretrievable loss. What a great and tragic imagination it must have taken to invent any kind of heaven.

I do not need to look outside to see a field covered with snow, or the moon’s bony gaze wrapped in weblike clouds—my stammering intuition tells me that white holds the emptiness best. I can hear crickets at dusk, which is the sound of a clock being wound. I can hear voices in the garden at dawn. How I want to join my voice to theirs. How I long to look in on them from afar. Tomorrow my consciousness will wake in an as yet unfathomable space of which dream is merely a medium or a limbo in this world tomorrow when they come to take Danilo Ilić away, they will not find him in bed or under it, will not find him in any of the four corners of this room, will not find Danilo Ilić anywhere they might think to turn their terrible eyes.

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28-Jun-1914 - Assassination in Sarajevo

This was Bismarck's prophecy as to what would set off the seemingly unavoidable European war. He had hit the nail directly on the head. The Balkans of 1914 were a hotbed of nationalistic intrigue. The Bosnian Serbs inhabiting the southern Austro-Hungarian provinces of Bosnia-Herzogovina wanted to be united with their brothers living across the Drina (Dunav) in Serbia proper. Austria-Hungary, having officially annexed Turkish Bosnia-Herzogovina in 1908, was not about to let go of it. Maybe an act of supreme defiance would convince Vienna otherwise maybe the dream of a greater Serbia could be realized by such an act.

An assassination of Emperor Franz Josef was out of the question. He was well respected throughout the empire and his heir's politics were even worse for Serbian cause than his own. The heir to the Hapsburg throne, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, was in favor of giving an equal voice to the Slavs of the empire - a belief counter to the very core of the Serb cause. 1 The Archduke was also Inspector General of the Austrian army. The summer maneuvers would bring him into the area and diplomacy would ordain a visit to Sarajevo on June 28th, St. Vitus Day, a Serbian holiday. It seems fate had decided the act.

1 While this may sound contradictory, it should be noted the common belief was that if the Slavs within the Austro-Hungarian empire were appeased, the chance of an insurrection would be greatly reduced, and consequently, the goal of a greater Serbia would never be realized. Prolog 28-Jun-1914 in Sarajevo was a typical summer day in the Balkans - blistering. For the Serbs it was St. Vitus day. It memorialized the Battle of Kosovo in 1389 where the Serbs were defeated by Turkey. The Serbs would mark the day with a feast.

It was also a special day for Archduke Franz Ferdinand - it was his 14th wedding anniversary. He would make it a special day for his wife Sophie. In Vienna she, not being of royal enough blood, was not allowed to ride in the same car with her husband during high affairs of state. But this was Sarajevo. Here, on their anniversary, she would be afforded all the royal treatment of which she was deprived at home. The Duchess of Hohenburg would most certainly ride in the car with her husband today.

To seven tubercular Bosnian Serb youths, 28-Jun-1914 would be the day they made their mark for the Serbian cause - a mark that would ultimately be left on the entire world. The Assassins
"The Narodna Odbrana proclaims to the people that Austria is our first and greatest enemy."

  • Nedjelko Cabrinovic
  • Vasco Cubrilovic
  • Trifko Grabez
  • Danilo Ilic
  • Mohammed Mehmedbasic
  • Cvijetko Popovic
  • Gavrilo Princip

See also: ø Information on "Ujedinjenje ili Smrt" This is the Serbian "Black Hand" . Link provides full background info including their constitution listing Colonel Dimitrievitch (Apis) as a member. ø Information on "Narodna Odbrana" This is the Serbian secret patriotic society of which "Mlada Bosna" was a splinter group.. Security Arrangements The diplomatic teletype had been busy clicking out warnings from consulates all over the world. The messages were clear: the Archduke would be wise to cancel his planned visit to Sarajevo. In Vienna, Serbian ambassador Jovan Jovanovic (acting on orders from Prime Minister Pasic) visited Austrian finance Minister Bilinski to warn that if the Archduke should visit then:

"some young Serb might put a live round instead of a blank cartridge in his gun, and fire it."

"Let us hope nothing happens,"

Jovanovic's warning was never passed on.

For some reason, despite all of these pleas and warnings, the Archduke not only insisted on going to Sarajevo, but he also put the city off-limits to the nearby Austrian army for the day. This same army could have been used to provide a much needed security presence on the crowded streets. Perhaps he didn't want any trace of Vienna to ruin his anniversary. The Act The motorcade consisted of four cars the Archduke and his wife rode in the second car. On their way to city hall they were to cross the Miljacka river at Cumuria Bridge. Mehmedbasic and Cabrinovic were waiting. Mehmedbasic did not throw his bomb, later stating that a policeman was blocking his way. Cabrinovic's path was not blocked and he threw his bomb at the second car. It was a good shot but the Archduke, protecting Sophie, deflected it onto the street. A fragment from the explosion hit Sophie in the face and others wounded passengers in the third car - Count Boos-Waldeck, Colonel von Merizzi and Sophie's attendant, Countess Lanjus. About a dozen onlookers were also injured.

Cabrinovic swallowed his cyanide and jumped into the Miljacka but he vomited up the poison and found that the river was only a few inches deep. He was taken into custody.

The first two cars continued on their way to city hall. Franz Ferdinand joked that the would-be assassin would probably be given the Medal of Merit in Vienna. The mayor of Sarajevo, Fehim Effendi Curcic, rode in the first car and was unaware of what had transpired at the bridge. The noise of the motorcade had drowned out the bomb. The motorcade now passed Cubrilovic, Popovic, and Ilic who did nothing. There were only two chances left and they were Grabez and Princip.

When they arrived at City Hall the furious Archduke interrupted Curcic's welcome speech, seizing him by the arm:

"One comes here to visit and is received with bombs. Mr. Mayor, what do you say? It's outrageous! All right, now you may speak."

The Archduke calmed down during the mayor's speech and gave the diplomatic closing words:

"I assure you of my unchanged regard and favor."

Franz Ferdinand announced he would like to go to the hospital to check on the other bomb victims. He begged Sophie to stay behind but she insisted on accompanying him. Oskar Potiorek, Military Governor of the province, assured the angry Archduke:

"Your Imperial Highness, you can travel quite happily. I take the responsibility."

And with that they were off. The Archduke's chauffeur was following the mayor's car. They passed the sixth assassin, Grabez, at Imperial Bridge. He merely watched as the car sped by. The mayor's driver made a wrong turn. Where he should have taken the Appel Quay, he turned onto Francis Joseph street, a street named for the Archduke's uncle. Potiorek, riding with the Archduke and Sophie, cried out:

"What's this? We've taken the wrong way!"

The driver applied the brakes and the car came to a stop not five feet from Gavrilo Princip. Unlike his cohorts, Princip acted quickly and precisely, drawing his pistol and firing twice before the car could complete its turn. The shots made little noise and the car sped off. Potiorek looked at the couple and, at first, thought that they were unhurt. In actuality, the Archduke had been hit in the neck and Sophie in the stomach. The Archduke opened his mouth and a stream of blood poured out. Sophie cried:

"For heaven's sake, what's happened to you?"

She was in shock and unaware that she too had been shot. She then lost consciousness. Franz Ferdinand turned to his wife with the words:

"Sophie dear, Sophie dear, don't die. Stay alive for our children."

He then keeled over whispering:

"Es ist nichts, Es ist nichts. " (It is nothing, It is nothing. )

They were both dead by 11:30 that morning.

Meanwhile back at Francis Joseph Street, Princip had tried to kill himself first with his gun and then with cyanide. The gun was knocked from his hand, and the cyanide, as was the case with Cabrinovic, only made him retch. The throng closed in on him and roughed him up. He was, astonishingly, taken into custody alive. Epilogue Princip and Cabrinovic both held their tongues under police interrogation. It was Ilic, caught by chance in a suspect roundup, who broke and exposed the identities of his co-conspirators. By July 5th all were apprehended with the exception of Mehmedbasic, the only member to escape. The inquest lasted through July but was left to Sarajevo by Vienna and, to say the least, was grossly mishandled. The only fact that was established was that the weapons had come from Serbia. The complicity of the Serbian government was never proven. Friedrich von Wiesner, an Austrian official sent to investigate the proceedings in Sarajevo, wired his findings back to Vienna:

"There is nothing to indicate that the Serbian government knew about the plot."


Danilo Ilic - History

Ilic (pronounced: Ilitch), a former Sarajevo school teacher, worked for a newspaper. He was an active member in the pro-Serb nationalist group Mlada Bosna (Young Bosnia) and a member of the Serbian secret society know as The Black Hand. Like many of his contemporary young group members, Ilic was sickly and probably consumptive.

Ilic was not one of the three men trained for the assassination by the Black Hand in Serbia, but had been on the fringes of terrorist societies for several years. When the Black Hand decided to assassinate the Heir-Apparent to the Austrian throne, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, Ilic was eager to join the plot. It was Ilic who recruited three additional local Sarajevans Mehmedbasic, Cubrilovic, and Popovic, to give the assassin group a more grass-roots (and less Serbian inspired) appearance. Ilic gave the two high school students (Cubrilovic and Popovic) a one-day training course in their roles. Mehmedbasic had been involved in Black Hand plots before, though without particular success.

On the morning of June 28th, 1914, the six other assassins had assigned positions along the Appel Quay in Sarajevo. Ilic (who may have been unarmed) paced back and forth between the others, seeing that they were in position and giving words of encouragement. The first attempt -- a bomb thrown by Cabrinovic -- failed. Later that morning, another of the seven assassins -- Princip -- succeeded in killing Archduke Franz Ferdinand.

Ilic was picked up a few days later by Sarajevo police in a routine round-up of suspects. (Princip had stayed at his house.) Ilic lost his cool and told the police nearly everything about the plot in an attempt to mitigate a likely death penalty for his role. Up until Ilic's confession, the other assassins had maintained a successful code of silence. The tangled web had begun to unravel.

Danilo Ilic and the others were tried in October 1914. For his role in the assassination, Ilic was found guilty. While the other six were under 20 years old, and therefore not eligible for the death penalty, Ilic (23), was sentenced to death. He was executed by hanging on February 3rd, 1915, in a Sarajevo prison. He was the only one of the group of seven to be executed for their crime.


Obsah

V roce 1914 se Ilić vrátil do Sarajeva, kde působil jako redaktor místních Novin Srbů. Téhož roku spoluorganizoval nábor mladých mužů do skupiny Černá ruka, a během léta vybrali Gavrilo Principa, Nedeljko Čabrinoviće a Trifko Grabeže k provedení atentátu na arcivévodu Františka Ferdinanda, který byl posléze spáchán dne 28. června 1914.

Princip a Nedeljko Čabrinović byli po atentátu zatčeni a vyslýcháni policií. Výše zmínění u výslechu odmítali vypovídat a vyzradit jména kompliců. Policie však veškerá jména a informace o spiklencích získala od jiného, méně významného člena organizace, který byl zadržen během namátkové silniční kontroly. Muhamedovi Mehmedbašićovi se podařilo uniknout do Srbska, avšak Ilić, Veljko Čubrilović, Vaso Čubrilović, Cvijetko Popović a Miško Jovanović byli zatčeni a obviněni.

Z účasti na atentátu bylo obviněno celkem osm osob, k dalším obviněním patřila také velezrada a vražda arcivévody Františka Ferdinanda. Podle tehdejšího rakousko-uherského práva nesměla být k trestu smrti odsouzena osoba mladší dvaceti let. Nedjelko Čabrinović, Gavrilo Princip a Trifko Grabež proto dostali nejvyšší dvacetiletý trest odnětí svobody, Vaso Čubrilović dostal 16 let a Cvijetko Popovic 13 let. Danilo Ilić, Veljko Čubrilovic a Miško Jovanović, kteří se na atentátu přímo podíleli, byli odsouzeni k trestu smrti oběšením dne 3. února 1915.

V tomto článku byl použit překlad textu z článku Danilo Ilić na anglické Wikipedii.


Atentat

Although the group had carefully planned the assassination, things went wrong, their plans were foiled and the assassination almost didn’t take place. The members of the group were posted all along the route on which the Archduke and his wife would tour Sarajevo in an open car (with almost no security). Nedjelko Cabrinovic threw a hand grenade at the car, but it rolled off and instead wounded some bystanders and an officer in one of the other cars in the procession.

The procession was stopped and Cabrinovic was arrested after a failed attempt at suicide (he swallowed an expired cyanide pill and jumped in the river). Later on the day, the Archduke decided to go visit the wounded officer at the hospital and the driver took the wrong route and tried to reverse as he realized his mistake. Princip was still loitering in the area and spotted the car, walked up to it and shot Franz Ferdinand twice, point blank from a 1.5m distance. The pregnant Sophie had instinctively thrown her body over that of her husband and was also killed.


Essays and Criticism

  • Criticism as a Delusion 1988
  • The Poetics of Postmodernism 1989
  • New Essays 2001
  • For Literature till the last breath 2016
  • For New Trends 1984
  • Yes and No 1981
  • The paths of literary criticism 2010
  • Postmodern Currents 1996
  • The Revolt of the Intellectuals 2007
  • Still Moves 1985
  • Antichomes of criticism 1989
  • Modern and postmodern 1993

Novels

  • Justiniana, the city that does not exist 1999
  • Odyssey 1991
  • Picolomini at the gates of Skopje 2005
  • Novel for Noah 2003
  • Will we go to Joe 1992
  • of Montenegro Danilo Ikodinovic born 1976 Serbian water polo player Danilo Ilic 1891 1815 Serbian revolutionary Danilo Kocevski born 1947 Macedonian
  • 1964 - writer Jordan Cekov 1921 - 2019 partisan, journalist, writer Danilo Kocevski 1947 - writer Slavko Dimevski 1920 - 1994 writer Velika Begovica
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  • the opening of the memorial park in June 2012, the President of Slovenia, Danilo Turk, said: The end of the Second World War also witnessed extra - judicial
  • from Viktring, Austria to various postwar execution sites including the Kocevski Rog massacre and the Teharje camp. 12 June Trieste stops being under the

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Television Series Newsbring.

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Catalog Record: Antinomiite na kritikata HathiTrust Digital Library.

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Pino - logička društvena igra koja se temelji na taktici i strategiji. Općenito, ovo je remiks šaha, dama i kutova. Igra razvija maštu, koncentraciju, uči rješavanju zadataka, planiranju vlastitih akcija i naravno logičkom razmišljanju. Nije važno koliko komada imate, važno je kako se postavljaju!


The first fighter ace of World War II was a Chinese-American flying for China

Posted On February 11, 2021 13:37:00

Arthur Tien Chin was born in Portland, Oregon in 1913. He would die there in 1997, but not before being recognized for the incredible life he led.

The man would spend much of his life as an everyday postal worker started his adult life as a skilled fighter pilot and the first American ace of what would become known as World War II – he would even be recognized for his contributions.

Chin was born to Cantonese parents who immigrated to Oregon from Taishan, in China’s Guangdong Province. When the Japanese Empire invaded Manchuria in 1931, Chinese-Americans were shocked and outraged. From the safety of their new country, they decided something had to be done.

Chin began flight school with a class of around a dozen other Americans of Chinese descent, paid for by the Chinese expatriate community in Oregon. The only stipulation was that the students return to their homeland to fly against Japanese aggression.

He returned to Guangdong and joined the provincial air forces, as much of China was ruled by warlords at the time and many provinces had their own armies. He soon defected to the Kuomintang central government’s air force and was selected for advanced fighter training, from the Nazi German Luftwaffe.

Before the Axis Pact split the world into Axis and Allies with Germany and China on opposite sides, China was a major buyer of German weapons, especially aircraft. Upon his return to China, he was training other pilots in the use of the planes China actually had, outdated as they may be.

Chinese pilots were still fighting with fabric-covered Curtiss biplanes with open cockpits and rifle-sized machine guns in 1937. That’s the year Japan began a full-scale war with China. Chin and his fellow Americans went to work, despite the technological disadvantage of fighting against modern bombers and fighters.

A Curtiss biplane similar to the one used by Chin.

His first kill came that year when he took down a Japanese Mitsubishi G3M2 twin-engine bomber, on his first day at an airfield near Nanjing. But the plane he was flying took heavy damage and he was forced to the ground. His second kill against the same bomber came the very next month, September 1937.

By February 1938, Chin and company were flying British Gloster Gladiator fighters, which were still biplanes but not cloth covered. Chinese fighter pilots were able to down significant Japanese Imperial planes at first, but when the Zero, the Mitsubishi A6M, was introduced to the skies over China, the Gladiator’s days were numbered. Despite the Gladiator’s shortcomings, Chin would score 6.5 kills in its cockpit.

Chin himself would be shot down by intercepting Zeros while flying an escort mission in Guangxi. Outnumbered and outgunned, he rammed his biplane into one of the Japanese fighters, taking it down. He flew his failing plane back to friendly territory and landed in a rice paddy. His face now badly burned from the incident, he waited until friendly troops came by to return to base.

He and his family were bombed shortly after, as Chin recovered from injuries sustained during his shootdown incident. When his Liuzhou home was bombed by the Japanese, his wife was killed as she covered his body to protect him from shrapnel and debris. He was moved to Hong Kong to recuperate.

But no rest came. It wasn’t long before Japan came for Hong Kong too. He was evacuated and moved to New York City for skin grafts. He left the Chinese military after he recovered in 1945. After a stint promoting the purchase of war bonds, he was sent back to China, this time as a civilian aviator. His mission to fly supplies over “the hump” – an air route over the Himalayas from India into China.

At the time, it was one of the most dangerous air routes in the whole war. But when the war ended in 1945, he returned to the US. Since he couldn’t find work as a pilot back in his home state of Oregon, so he became a postal officer.

In 1995, the United States recognized Chin as a veteran of World War II, awarding him the Distinguished Service Cross and the Air Medal for his service. A month after his 1997, he was inducted into the American Combat Airman Hall of Fame of the Commemorative Air Force Airpower Museum for his 8.5 kills, making him America’s first fighter ace of World War II.


You've only scratched the surface of Ilic family history.

Between 1965 and 2004, in the United States, Ilic life expectancy was at its lowest point in 1982, and highest in 2002. The average life expectancy for Ilic in 1965 was 77, and 66 in 2004.

An unusually short lifespan might indicate that your Ilic ancestors lived in harsh conditions. A short lifespan might also indicate health problems that were once prevalent in your family. The SSDI is a searchable database of more than 70 million names. You can find birthdates, death dates, addresses and more.


Gledaj video: Iseljavanje porodice Ilić - govori Danilo Ilić