men thus admitted that
Macedonia was not Serb. But they wanted Bulgar aid to crush the
Albanian, in order that Serbia might take Albanian territory. "Heads
I win; tails you lose." Bulgaria was to gain nothing. Serbia meant
to be top dog. The Serbian Press attacked Prince Nikola so violently
that an indignation meeting was held at Cetinje and the populace
crowded outside the palace and shouted "Zhivio." The tug between
Petrovitch and Karageorgevitch had begun. The regicides had not
ended the Obrenovitches to be baulked by the Petrovitches.

A stealthy campaign against Prince Nikola now began, which emanated
from Belgrade and had, I am inclined to believe, Russian support.

A ludicrous episode was the arrival in London of Prince Albert
Ghika, a Roumanian, who announced himself to the Press as a claimant
to the Albanian throne, and was taken seriously even by some quite
respectable journals. It was indeed bad luck for him that he timed
his visit to correspond with my return from Albania, for I was able
to state that, far from being accepted by the whole nation, I had
never even heard his name mentioned. In a very amusing interview I
had with him I ascertained that he did not know a word of the
language of his adopted country. His plans were grandiose, and
included Constantinople as capital. "Pourquoi pas?" he asked. It
would prevent the Great Powers from quarrelling over it, and
therefore make for peace! His curled mustachios, his perfumes, his
incomparable aplomb, his airs of a "Serene Highness" formed a
magnificent stock-in-trade. But even the fact that he offered me a
magnificent salary to be Maid of Honour or Lady-in-Waiting (I forget
which) at the Court of Albania did not persuade me to espouse his
cause, which disappeared into thin air so soon as the newspapers had
a fresh sensation.

Nevertheless Albert Ghika hung around the back doors of the Balkans
for some time. It was only in Albania that he was unknown.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

1905

Coming events cast their shadows before.--CAMPBELL.

This holiday was eventful. On the steamer I was addressed politely
by an Albanian who had read my name on my bag. He said he had seen
me a week before in Venice, and proved it by describing my
companions. Said calmly he had purposely shipped on the same boat,
knew all about me, but preferred to be known himself as "the
Egyptian." He was a storehouse of tales of political intrigue, and
yarned till near midnight on the deck as