Written by Petrit Latifi
In an interesting Montenegrin publication from 1876, written by Josef Bunic, we find an article about a conversation between Mahmut Pasha of Shkodër and Albanian negotiator from Spizza Mirčeta Niklani whom i have written about before. On page 12 we read the following:
“When Mahmut Pasha of Skadar heard about this peace, he sent a group of feathered men to the Spičans to hurry to Shkodër. The Pasha was no joke, so about ten of them followed Mirčeta and threw the Pasha on the divan. The Pasha sat cross-legged on a carpet spread across the ceiling and smoked tobacco from a long pipe. Then he asked them sharply:
“Is the rumor that spread through the people that they had supposedly made peace with the Paštrovićs true?”
Mirčet replied, frowning and crossing his arms.
“We owed both our heads and our wounds, so we waited day and night for an axe to our necks, but we were left in a superhuman field of barren land, so with so much futile toil, we were starving.”
— And what is that border? — asked the Pasha.
— The wheel judged that the border is where the Paštrovići river is, added Mirčeta roundly.
— And who bought that wheel? the Pasha quickly returned.
— Ours and our neighbor’s, agreed, replied Mirčeta meekly.
— And where?
— In truth, in Crmnica, in our homeland.
— Well then, neither the Venetian king nor we bargained, nor did we buy the wheel, — rejoiced Mahmut, only to throw his long pipe and break the stem; — so how could you, you wretch without a lord, determine and strike a border, who divides empires? Where has reason gone, has there ever been any! Do you know what you have interfered in?!
— Lift up Vaso Mlečić, over the threshold of Andrović, where my ancestor Stevan Crnojević, three hundred years ago, struck! I will quickly show you who I am, and if I don’t cut you before sunrise, like Dima and Ćitapa, taken from that Latin king, sworn to Balšić in Venetian bliaut and scarlet cloak.
— Dear God and all the saints to Sultan Pasha… Mirčeta bowed with flattery, but it was of no use to the enraged Pasha, who leaped to his feet like a madman: — What kind of villainy and audacity! I have no master above me, lord, under God and the Prophet, and for that, I think of the Pasha as my father. As long as there are Albanians and fierce Highlanders (Malísora), I fear nothing, you wretch, neither the Sultan nor the Cetinje monk, who sits down to eat, nor the human-dog from Mecca, whom old Andrović kisses in the morning!
— And whether that is true will be confirmed by my dagger, you scoundrel, for I will pull out your liver and put it into my pocket!”
In the reason, the shepherd, for God’s sake, send Mirčeta, come and listen. We are a handful of people on the three-lane road. We can neither guard it nor defend it from the stronger. But we dug in around it with battle and scythe. None of us would dare to expand from the sea to the Danube and to consecrate the entire empire of Dušan. But you are sorely mistaken and mistaken if you expect a hundred rifles from us from Spiča to ascend the throne for you.
When the battle on that bloody border begins, we, a handful of troublemakers, will raise a cry throughout the entire Bar state as if we were in pain. Not even the twentieth hero will be summoned to the cry. And those who are driven to come will always arrive in a hurry and in bad weather to waste us if anyone in the village has a piece of bacon or a drop of wine left.
If there were not a hundred of us left, honest shepherds, and in the Bar state, Spič would roast the Pastrovićs one morning by lunchtime so that no one would know where we were roasting. But when God gave you that you are the master and that you remember who you are and Čigović, and you build a tower along the border and guard it with Arbanas and Malisor.
If you fell on me, let me defend you and expand with the skin and soul of the stone, you are a refuge. when you mention some kind of Venetian bribe and a half, Andrović, you have made a very angry mistake. We begged the poor world by buying alms from door to door to collect blood and bribes until supposedly the better ones help us. each of you a column of blood before your eyes.
The people of Spica run after him, confused and longing to eat bread in a tavern near the market. One Arbanas follows them and lures one of them and separates him to go somewhere nearby as if he is going to sell him a good paripche at a cheap price. When the two of them separate at a shotgun from the market, Arbanas fires two holsters into his back and knocks him to the ground dead. better discerned that Arbanas was mistaken, thinking that the guy was Mirčeta Niklan.
When the rumor spread through the market that a man had died, Mirčeta and the gang were petrified. Mirčeta and the gang put a knife to his throat, and suddenly he got out of the inn and went to see what Jadu would think of when they found a friend where he was soaked in his own blood. He emphasized to the village that the man had died and that they were going to his church for penance.
They kill three oxen of meat in the dark and bake two ovens of bread. Gather from all over, there are plenty of people, because the deceased had a lot of friends and acquaintances. When he is laid in the grave and the slab is laid, the father approaches first, then he stops to scratch his cheek and wail in your voice. untangled, then each row home took a knife and cut off both whips of hair and stood scratching his face.”
Reference
Balkan Academia 