As a Christian the law forbids him to carry arms. There is the timid, fawning, insincere look in his face, so characteristic of the oppressed. These Christians are all traders or merchants, many of them wealthy, but not daring to be over ostentatious, for they live in fear and dread of their unscrupulous neighbours of the other creed, who have on more than one occasion pillaged the Christian quarter. Their position is much what that of the Jews was in medieval Europe.
The dress of the Christian town's-women is not becoming, though exceedingly expensive. Their robe is heavy and thick with gold embroidery, which crackles loudly as they walk. Out of doors they are enveloped in a very ugly red cloak: it is baggy and shapeless. Take an egg, paint it red, cut a good slice off one end and stand it up—you will form a very good idea of a Scutarine Christian lady in outdoor costume. As they are veiled, like the Mohammedans, it is equally impossible to judge of the beauty of either face or figure.
Next we have the third class of the population, the most interesting of all, the country people—or rather, mountaineers, for little but mountain is there in North Albania. These are the Arnauts—Skipitars, as they call themselves—a fierce, hardy race of almost savages, independent, unconquered by the Turks. They too are Latin Christians, but how different from their co-religionists in the town! Their features are indicative of minds that would not tolerate slavery. They stalk proudly through the streets of the towns, bristling with arms, notwithstanding the laws which forbid the Christian to do so. These warlike tribes are too strong to heed the regulations of the feeble government. Their dress is simple, but very manly and workmanlike. They are clad in white homespun from head to heel. Their head-dress is a white skull cap; sometimes they twist a long scarf round the head and under the chin, very much in the style of the Bedouin—this is the "shawl-girt head" that Byron speaks of; a white jacket, with tight sleeves reaching to the wrist, of thick woollen stuff, ornamented with black braid here and there; trousers of the same material, and similarly black braided, baggy behind, but thence close fitting to the leg until they reach the ankle, where they are slit and open out—exactly the cut indeed of the nether garments of the American Indian, except that the lower end is of thicker material, and has the appearance of a gaiter, though it is of one piece with the rest of the garment; opunkas on the feet; a sash round the waist, of common red stuff or of silk, according to the wealth of the man; round the waist a belt, with leather pouch in front, in which the long beautifully worked pistols and yataghan are stuck; a belt of Martini-Henry cartridges over the sash, if he own one of these rifles—if not, a belt from which depend quaint elegantly-carved cartridge and oil-rag boxes, of gold or brass, and long tassels of black silk.
Such is the appearance of an Arnaut mountaineer—a grand costume, showing off the supple, erect frame—the very dress for a savage warrior. The Arnaut, like the Mussulman, shaves his head, leaving a little bunch of hair on the scalp. This gives him a very Indian-like and ferocious appearance. No one who has not seen it can form an idea how this shaving increases the savageness of the expression.
The dress of the women is as hideous as that of the men is handsome. It is not unlike that of the Montenegrins. Their heads are swathed in richly-hued shawls. Their dress is of very thick coarse material, and shapeless. They are fond of wearing leather bands round the waist, ornamented with pins, which are thrust through the leather, with their ends bent up, their heads thus forming elegant patterns on the outside. Round the neck and on the dress, the Arnaut belle wears strings of piastres, swanzickers, and other small coins. Her legs are swathed thickly with a sort of gaiter, which completely prevents one from forming any idea as to the shapeliness of her lower limbs. Most of the mountaineers still wear over their shoulders the curious little black cloak, not unlike the tippet which English ladies have recently copied from their coachmen, which was adopted in mourning for the death of the great Albanian hero Scanderbeg, whose exploits are still sung over the wintry fire by many a mountain bard, to the melancholy accompaniment of the mandolin. There is not an Albanian who is not acquainted with his history.
Albania was once an independent Christian country, though paying tribute to the Porte.
John Castrioti was Prince of the mountain fortress of Kroia and the surrounding country. In 1404 a son was born to him, who was christened George. This was the future hero and deliverer of Albania.
The Prince was persuaded to send this son to the court of Murad II. to be educated. Contrary to the promises made to the father, the boy was brought up in the Mohammedan faith, and when old enough he entered the Turkish army.
On the death of Castrioti, Murad seized his dominion, and attempted with fire and sword to convert the people to the true faith. From that time Scanderbeg formed a design to expel the Turk and liberate his countrymen. He swore a great oath in secret, that never till he died would he cease to wage war on the Turk. The opportunity soon came. He entered into a secret agreement with the Hungarians, and with their assistance defeated the Turks at Nissa with great slaughter.
A fierce war, in which no quarter was given, was then commenced between the Albanians and their oppressors. Driven at times into the fastnesses of the mountains; Scanderbeg ever renewed his brave, seemingly fruitless attempt, when occasion offered.