King Zog: Self-Made Monarch of Albania

by Jason Tomes

Overview

King Zog was a curiosity, and so he has remained the most unusual European monarch of the 20th century, a man entirely without royal connections who created his own kingdom. By contemporaries, he was variously labeled "the last ruler of romance," "an appalling gangster," "the modern Napoleon," "the finest patriot," and "frankly a cad." Even today his reputation is disputed, but Zog was undeniably one of the foremost figures in Albanian history. Though notorious for cut-throat political intrigue, he promised to bring order and progress to a land that had long known little of either. "It was I who made Albania," he claimed.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780752470870
Publisher:	The History Press
Publication date:	09/16/2011
Sold by:	INDEPENDENT PUB GROUP - EPUB - EBKS
Format:	eBook
Pages:	320
File size:	808 KB
Age Range:	12 Years

About the Author

Jason Tomes has lectured in modern history and politics for the universities of Oxford, Warsaw, and Boston. His interest in Albania dates back 20 years to when he first heard Radio Tirana on short wave. He is the author of Balfour and Foreign Policy and more than 50 articles for the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography.

Read an Excerpt

King Zog

Self-Made Monarch of Albania

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By Jason Tomes

The History Press

Copyright © 2011 The Author
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7524-7087-0

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CHAPTER 1

Prologue: An Audience

The most ignored country in Europe – that was Albania. By the 1930s, ferries were crossing daily from the heel of Italy and an Adria-Aero-Lloyd five-seater flew into Tirana airport three times a week, but the services were underused and could not have run without subsidies. Here in the smallest of the Balkan states, foreigners remained so scarce as to be automatic celebrities. A respectable Englishman, Frenchman, or American who expressed a plausible interest in the country might find it comparatively easy to obtain an audience with its politician-king. There was even a story that Zog, when bored, would ring up hotels on the off-chance of finding a foreigner to fill an odd half-hour. His palace stood less than five minutes away and a common language could often be found. This King was not a cosmopolitan, but he spoke fluent Turkish, good German, and conversational French. English was not on offer; he refused to waste his time on a language of which only ten per cent followed the grammar.

A sentry with a gleaming 'Z' on his kepi escorted visitors through the redbrick gateway of the royal compound south-east of the central square. A secretary, Sotir Martini perhaps, or dapper aide-de-camp Zef Sereqi, would appear in the driveway with some tips on protocol. Then it was up a dozen steps into a square two-storey villa of yellow stucco, which had been built for a Turkish merchant before the war.

Led into a showy little reception salon, with gilded mirrors and Venetian chandeliers, the visitor saw the equerry peer around a curtain before drawing it back to expose a pair of glass doors. A brown-haired man instantly came into view, sitting alone at the far end of a long, well-lit room, sparsely furnished in the modern style with green zigzag-patterned wallpaper. The King appeared small and almost insignificant between the massive mahogany desk before him and the life-size portrait on the wall behind. The desktop was uncluttered and highly polished. The painting showed a stern middle-aged woman of no very regal appearance.

The visitor entered and stifled a cough. There was always a fog of cigarette smoke and rarely a window open. He bowed three times (as instructed) and advanced with careful steps. The unwary had occasionally come to grief in the archipelago of decorative rugs strewn across the shining floor. As he neared the desk, his eyes would be drawn to the most extravagant feature in view: the King's moustache. Though far from big, it was normally waxed and curled into neat little points.

The temptation to stare had to be resisted as the King rose smoothly and uttered a few words of greeting in a low clear voice. His height was an inch or two over six feet, his bearing erect, and his figure slender and narrow-hipped. He was sure to be immaculately turned out: a grey double-breasted pin-stripe suit from Savile Row, a white shirt from Sulka of Paris, gleaming shoes handmade in Italy. A calm smile accompanied his firm handshake, and the visitor took a seat.

'A cigarette?'

With a languid gesture, the King offered a selection of brands from boxes on his desk. He invariably took one himself (begging leave of any non-smoker), and, as lighter and cigarette-holder momentarily engaged him, the visitor might scan the royal countenance. It was a long pale pinkish face, not Mediterranean in complexion, tapering from a slightly broad brow to a narrow chin. The forehead was high, and would have been higher but for long strands of hair combed over from the left. Then, strange to say, the chin was weaker than it looked in official photographs. More distinguished was the long straight nose, which in profile merged with the forehead in one continuous line. Exceptionally sloping eyebrows imposed a lugubrious long-suffering expression which was sympathetic and mildly comical. The visitor began to ask himself if this genteel 38-year-old could really be the ruthless mountain chieftain who had scattered his rivals and founded a kingdom.

Zog sat back in his chair and smiled again slowly, as if letting his visitor into a secret known only to himself. Despite the air of tiredness about him, the grey-blue eyes were alert. 'Fire away with your indiscreet questions,' he laughed, before proceeding to give impeccably discreet answers.

Why did he transform Albania from a republic to a monarchy a few years ago?

'There was but one reason. The change was made in accordance with the spirit and wish of the Albanian people whose political foundation had ever been its division into chieftainships or baronies, each of which recognised a supreme chief over itself'. His tone of voice sounded unexpectedly juvenile; a kind of adolescent reserve dispelled any earlier suggestion of a lounge-lizard. 'The only difference it has made to me,' he added with a droll grimace, 'is that instead of working seven or eight hours a day, I now work eighteen and I carry the responsibility of the whole State. I am only a single workman doing my job. That is all kingship means to me.'

The King would surely not deny that Albania had very serious economic problems. How could so poor a nation afford a royal family?

This objection was gently waved aside. 'Financially, a king will not cost the country a penny more than a president.' Both of them required a palace. Both had to be guarded. With yet another smile – tinged with an irrelevant hint of romantic melancholy – Zog referred to the gorgeous white and gold uniform popularly associated with him. That was bought before he took the throne: 'When I was President, I had to dress the part, but the poorest Albanian has a sense of royalty, and now that I am their King it is not necessary to emphasise it in any way.'

In some subtle manner, he seemed to be appealing for approval, even for intimacy. He affected a confidential tone at variance with the impersonal content of his answers, and he kept his eyes squarely on his guest, oblivious to the gaggle of aides peering through the glass doors.

It was generally a great mistake to think of monarchy as a luxury, he continued. 'In adopting the regime most congenial to the country, Albania is guaranteed greater internal stability, which in turn will assure greater foreign support.' A Balkan republic had simply been an anomaly. Of course, the King of the Albanians laid no claim to Divine Right. He was a constitutional monarch who realised that his power came from the people.

Did that imply a free and democratic regime?

Zog was about to shake his head in assent, when he recalled that foreigners had the confusing habit of nodding their heads when they meant yes and shaking them when they meant no. He forced himself to nod. 'As King of my people, I shall have no interest as to which political party obtains the upper hand by constitutional methods. This will help educate the people along democratic lines, as in the United States, and will insure greater freedom for all.'

Were there political parties in Albania?

Not at present in a formal sense, he confessed. For the moment, the King of the Albanians had still to be the leader and teacher of his people. Genuine political development takes time. 'One cannot teach a child of five in the same way that one would a young man who has come of age. Only as the fight against illiteracy goes on can the powers and responsibilities of the people's elected representatives be increased.' Good progress had been made in education, he pointed out. Not long ago, there were only two thousand children in school. Today the figure was nearer sixty thousand.

When would Albanian women gain equal political rights?

'The high status of women is one of the greatest factors in the strength of a State,' declared Zog with emphasis. 'I think I shall feel the greatest mission of my life accomplished when the status and culture of women in Albania is raised, first to that which obtains in the other Balkan States and then to that held by women in the Western world.' Political rights were only one part of that process. 'I want to educate the women but also to teach them to be good mothers and house-managers. I want Albanian women to be good women like her.' He turned in his chair and made the slightest of bows to the portrait hanging on the wall behind him – the only picture in the room in fact. 'She is my mother,' he explained with feeling, and paused for an instant to collect his thoughts and light another cigarette. Polygamy and infant betrothal had already been abolished and soon the veil would be too. 'It will be a long process, because we have a great deal of prejudice to get over, and before it is accomplished, the vote for women will come.' Female suffrage was new to even the most advanced societies, remember.

'We are centuries behind the rest of Europe in civilisation,' remarked the King with a frown. Anyone could see that most of his subjects were ignorant and backward. It was not their fault. Turkish rule up until 1912 had preserved in them the sentiments, morals, and farming methods of the Middle Ages. If the visitor travelled in the mountains, he would be shocked by some of the poorest living conditions in Europe. 'I feel very ashamed of it sometimes,' he sighed. 'Our only excuse is that we cannot do everything at once.' Five hundred years of stagnation had somehow to be reversed. 'It is my determination to civilise my people and make them as far as possible adopt Western habits and customs.' The blood feud might still prevail in parts of the kingdom, alas, but law and order had recently made great strides. The King drily observed that he was himself the object of dozens of feuds – and not one had yet succeeded.

At some point in the interview, Zog was likely to put down his cigarette and bend forward slightly with a reflective look in his eyes. Laying his delicate white hands on the desktop, he spoke softly and very earnestly: 'I will remain ever true to the interests of Albania and to the welfare of her people, even if it demands the sacrifice of my life. If these words belie my acts, then all I have done so far for my country is a sham.'

Anybody still not won over to Zog by this stage probably never would be. Either way, the courteous visitor wished him well in his mission. Minister of the Interior at twenty-four, Prime Minister at twenty-seven, President at twenty-nine, King at thirty-two – he had clearly worked hard to consolidate the Albanian nation.

The gratified sovereign would then compliment the visitor on his perspicacity. Foreign governments were sadly not always so quick to appreciate the value of his labours. Albania was a small country, about half as big again as Wales or the state of New Jersey: 210 miles long and less than 90 wide. But Zog insisted that its position at the entrance of the Adriatic Sea gave it great strategic importance. 'Albania's independence is essential to the peace of Europe,' he asserted. It should be a permanent neutral state like Switzerland. Could not the comparison be taken further? It was his hope that fine new roads and hotels would one day turn his 'Cinderella' land into a top tourist destination, offering both Alpine ski-slopes and Mediterranean sands.

In conclusion, Zog thanked his visitor most politely for taking the trouble to explore Albania. 'Come back if you can in a few years, and see what vast changes will have taken place.' He expressed his own desire to travel abroad as soon as his country was placed on a firm foundation. If the visitor were British, he might add that a trip to the Scottish Highlands was his priority, as there appeared to be a strong resemblance between the Highland clansman and the Albanian. Then he looked on benignly as his new friend retreated backwards with an effort to avoid skidding on the rugs and kicking the gigantic spittoons near the door. The audience was over.

People usually left feeling happy. They said that here at least was a monarch to whom it was possible to speak with full frankness. Zog was at his best tête-à-tête. He had a knack of making his visitors think that he agreed with their sentiments entirely. This was often all that was needed to convince them that Albania possessed a ruler of exceptional wisdom and intelligence. Even those who realised that the King tailored his answers to suit their opinions granted that he must be clever to do it so well. And he flirted fascinatingly, distracting all but the sharpest interviewers from the fact that this technique betokened caution rather than confidence. No one met King Zog and still took him for a joke, but nearly everyone was struck by his incongruity. 'Rather like a smaller edition of our Mr Eden,' observed one British visitor. 'An Oxford don who has seen service in the army,' suggested another. 'He was really tall, dark, handsome and intelligent,' exclaimed a press photographer. 'It was just like covering an ordinary film star.'

Albania had been reckoned ungovernable until this slight, graceful, and rather pathetic figure established himself. He was reputed to be a warrior-king, but he gave no impression of force. Could it be true that he once had seven horses shot under him in battle? That he arranged the murder of his brother-in-law? That he drew a gun and fired back at assassins outside the Vienna opera house?

Effete urbanity and suave evasive words were only one side of King Zog I of the Albanians, alias Ahmed Zogu, alias Ahmed Bey Zogolli. One afternoon the King and his retinue were driving along the mountain road to Durrës. They had earlier stopped for a picnic lunch at which wine was served. The chauffeur had imbibed freely. Consequently the car was veering erratically from side to side, its wheels several times slipping on the edge of the precipice. Terrified courtiers begged the King to change driver, but Zog saw no need for that. Instead he took out his revolver, put it to the neck of the chauffeur, and said, 'Now drive slowly or I shall kill you.' The chauffeur sobered up instantly and completed the journey with the utmost care. He knew the other side of King Zog.

CHAPTER 2

The Star of Mati

'Thus from obscurity, a guiding star rose from out of Mati which was to extend its rays of erudition and calmness over an entire nation.' This authorised version of the life-story was certainly true in one respect: by the standards of monarchy in the twentieth century, the background of King Zog was obscure. How could it be otherwise? Conventional monarchs are born to celebrity; he declared himself royal as an adult, and no one had chronicled his youth for posterity. Nor did anyone rush to do so on his attaining national fame aged twenty-four. Ninety per cent illiteracy was a decisive factor here. The number of Albanian printing presses did increase during his reign, but they operated under his supervision – and the approved line was not subtle. A sketch of his life published in Tirana in 1937 aimed to acquaint readers with 'the rare virtues which our adored King possesses' by showing 'the characteristics of his great soul in their true historic forms'. Meanwhile, David Maitland-Makgill-Crichton, a would-be independent biographer, faced first obstruction from the palace and then such intrusive 'assistance' that he abandoned the project. Over-inquisitive interviewers were easily deflected: 'I don't consider it good form to talk about myself. Let us talk about something more important – perhaps my country.'

This monopoly on information was doubtless advantageous for a king who rose from the people, but his fall from power in 1939 did not release a flood of revelations. When others took control of Albania, it was a brave (or foolish) citizen who spoke of the old regime at all except in stock derogatory phrases. Freedom of speech had to wait another fifty years.

These constraints make contemporary foreign sources the more important, yet they are often unreliable. Albanian news filtered out through Rome, Belgrade, or Athens, acquiring a political bias in the process. To wilful misrepresentation was added much innocent confusion, as Albanian spelling was irregular, and various equivalents were used for local names. Korça, Korcë, Korcha, Kortcha, Korytsa, Koritza, Coritza, and Corizza were all one town in southern Albania (not to be muddled with Konitza). Dates of birth and death were arguable in a land without civil registration. Albanians of different faiths used different calendars. Numbers themselves could be inexact where 'five' was sometimes used to mean a few and 'a hundred' meant a lot.

Even in the inter-war years, diplomats complained of events in Tirana being obscured by 'a regular Albanian fog'. That fog was much thicker over the northern mountains at the turn of the century. There facts blurred into legend with amazing speed, and the happenings of three generations back could be as uncertain as ancient history. Zog was a contemporary of Edward VIII, Duke of Windsor, but at times it can seem as if closer parallels might be found with the boyhood of Charlemagne. In a thousand years, Albania had probably experienced less change than anywhere else in Europe. Turkish conquest in the later Middle Ages had detached all Balkan peoples from the European mainstream. The Renaissance, Reformation, and Enlightenment touched them only indirectly if at all. They spoke of 'Europe' as something remote.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from King Zog by Jason Tomes. Copyright © 2011 The Author. Excerpted by permission of The History Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Table of Contents

Contents

Preface,
Acknowledgements,
A note on Albanian pronunciation,
A note on money,
The House of Zogu,
1 Prologue: An Audience,
Ahmed Bey Zogolli 1895–1922,
2 The Star of Mati,
3 Young Ahmed,
4 Prince Wilhelm's Loyal Subject,
5 Powers and Puppets,
6 Colonel Zogolli,
7 Minister of the Interior,
8 His First Coup,
9 Surviving,
Ahmed Zogu 1922–28,
10 Zogu, PM,
11 Down and Out,
12 Fan Noli,
13 'The Triumph of Legality',
14 Lira Imperialism,
15 Avanti Italia!,
16 The Breach with Belgrade,
17 On the Steps of the Throne,
King Zog 1928–39,
18 His Majesty,
19 King and Capital,
20 Inside the Compound,
21 Zog and the Zogists,
22 The Inspectors-General,
23 Royal Family,
24 The Public Face of the Regime,
25 A Fragile Stability,
26 Slow Progress,
27 Debtor and Creditor,
28 Hard Times,
29 Ill Winds,
30 Young Men and Old Men,
31 Seeking a Queen,
32 Geraldine,
33 A National Event,
34 Borrowed Time,
35 Into the Vortex,
36 Holy Week,
37 Good Friday,
38 A Reckoning,
Ex-King Zog 1939–61,
39 Refugees,
40 In London at War,
41 A Lack of Recognition,
42 Twelve Hundred Miles Away,
43 At the Court of King Farouk,
44 Anglo-American Intrigues,
45 Riviera Recluse,
46 Epilogue,
Notes,
Bibliography,