Pall Mall Gazette, March 17th 1903
From An Albanian’s Point of View
by M.E.Durham
“Englishmans,” said the Tame Albanian, “silly mans! No understand my people. My people are all one week like this,” Here he waved his arms round violently. “Next week go back work. All quiet. Englishmans no understand that.
The Tame Albanian, as you perceive, is a very superior person; he has travelled much and speaks several tongues with fluent inaccuracy. In the days of his youth he was a Bashi-Bazouk, and had a sportive time sharp-shooting in the Balkans during the Russo-Turkish war. Now he has settled down peacefully to a trade; but his eyes still gleam when he recalls the good old shot-and-powder times. “Reg’lar army all Mahommedan,” he says with lofty contempt, “I good Christian. I Bashi-Bazouk,” from which I learned for the first time that the Christianity and Bashi-Bazouks were connected, a fact which the latter’s reputation had not led me to suspect. He enjoyed himself for a little while over pleasingly gory reminiscences. You may catch an Albanian and tame him, and dress him in the garments of Western civilization, and teach him a trade or a handicraft, and he will excel in it, for your Albanian is no fool, but – he remains always an Albanian.
He is tame in the sense that domestic cat is tame. No self-respecting cat ever forgets that is it used to be a wild beast, nor does the Albanian. This is, however, only my narrow Western view of the matter. The tame Albanian differs with me entirely. According to him, it is we who are uncivilized. “Now I tell you.” he says, “that London! I know him! Five million peoples! And what a lot of criminals! Oh, your people bad people! In my country all kind good mans. Perhaps you all alone, got no money, tired, hungry. You knock at door. ‘Ullo, what you want?’ ‘I hungry.’ ‘Come in.’ Then he give you bread, wine, tobacco. all what you want. Now, in London if you knock at door he says. “You run ‘way or I call p’leece!” His words called up before me a vivid picture of the sufferings of a luckless foreigner adrift in our big city I admitted that we did not understand Oriental hospitality, and rejoiced him greatly, for he felt he has proved his point.
He expatiated on and waxed eloquent over the glories of his fatherland. “What finest country in the world” he said. “Now I tell you how fine. That Austria and them Italy, and that there Russia, and, and, all of ‘em they all wants my country” (he swelled with pride at the thought); “but they ain’t going to have it. That Prince of Montenegro, he’d like it; if he thinks he’ll get it, he’s making a mistake.” Then breaking off suddenly. “You know them Montenegrins?” he asked. “ Very well.” said I. “Now, how much they make you pay for stay one night at X..?”
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