Is it any wonder that when sinister rumour runs through the bazaar, everybody shoulders his rifle and sits on his wall, prepared to defend his own home? CHAPTER III THE LAWLESS LAND My friend Pietro—Visit to his house—His wife and sister-in-law unveil and are photographed—Scutarine hospitality—Forbidden newspapers—I get one in secret—The Turkish post office—I want to visit the Accursed Mountains—Difficulties and fears—The Feast of the Madonna—Christians and Mohammedans—My first meeting with the dreaded Skreli—Shots in the night. Those bright, sunny autumn days in Skodra will live for a long time within my memory. Though a stranger in that half-savage place, where law and order are unknown, I received perhaps more genuine hospitality from perfect strangers than in any other place in the Balkan Peninsula. Through Palok’s introduction I quickly found myself among friends, who exerted their utmost in order to entertain me, and went out of their way, even in face of their own national customs and beliefs, to oblige me. The Albanian idea of hospitality is old-world and charming. A case in point was one of my friends, a wealthy Scutarine merchant named Pietro Lekha, whose portrait is here reproduced. He was a Christian, and spoke a little Italian. At first, when I was introduced to him in the bazaar, he was silent and taciturn, apparently regarding me with some suspicion; but very soon this wore off, and we became the best of friends. We took coffee together constantly, and he gave me exquisite cigarettes. In Albania there is no _régie_, as in other parts of Turkey, therefore one can choose from the peasant-women the very best light tobacco in leaf, have it cut, and afterwards employ professional cigarette-makers to manufacture you cigarettes. I did this, and sent a quantity of cigarettes of the very first quality to England, far milder and sweeter than any to be purchased in Constantinople—or anywhere else in the world, for the matter of that. [Illustration: ROK, tribesman of the Skreli.] [Illustration: PIETRO LEKHA.] Finding that I was taking photographs, Pietro became interested. He accompanied me on my expeditions, and we had spent some days together before I dared to inquire about his wife, the veiled lady whom I had once had pointed out to me in the bazaar. Palok had told me that Pietro’s brother had, three months ago, married the most beautiful girl in Skodra, and that he and his young wife lived at Pietro’s house. A bold thing then occurred to me—to beg permission to photograph them. I knew well that these people were averse to having their photographs taken; nevertheless I very discreetly broached the subject one day when sipping coffee with Pietro. He gave me no decided answer. Indeed, he declared himself ready in any way to serve me, but as to photographing his women-kind—well, it was against all custom. What would his friends say if they knew?