Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Charles King
TLS, 4 Avgust 2000, pp. 13-14
Edith Durham, it should be said, was a difficult woman. The first entry for her in
Foreign Office files, from 1908, reads "Durham, Miss M. E., Inadvisability of
Corresponding With", Rebecca West, R. W, Seton-Watson, Henry Wickham Steed,
and most other important writers on East European affairs between the two world
wars thought her a woman to be avoided. An advocate of the national aspirations of
the Albanians, she was vilified by her critics in Britain, who generally looked more
favourably on the cause of Yugoslav unity than she did. Her polemics on Balkan
politics and the retrograde culture of what she called the "Serb vermin" alienated
her contemporaries. Many thought her at best wildly eccentric and at worst
completely mad. Travelling and living among the clansmen of upland Albania, they
said, had taken its toll on her judgment and sense of decorum. "The fact is that
while always denouncing Balkan mentality", wrote Professor Seton-Watson in
1929, "she is herself exactly what she means by the word."
introductions to Durham's complex personality and career. But unlike Freya Stark
and other women adventurers in the Near East, she has not yet found her
biographer.
Mary Edith Durham was born in 1863 in Hanover Square, London. Her father,
Arthur Edward Durham, was a distinguished surgeon who sired a large Victorian
family of eight children, all of whom went on to excel in respectable professions.
Edith manifested artistic ambitions and, after being educated privately in London,
attended the Royal Academy of Arts. She became an accomplished illustrator and
watercolourist, exhibiting widely and contributing detailed drawings to the
amphibia and reptiles volume of the Cambridge Natural History.
As the eldest child - and still unmarried in her thirties - Edith took on the task of
caring for her ailing mother after her father's death. Filial responsibility turned out
to be the unlikely impetus for her Balkan entanglements. At thirty-seven, Durham
sailed from Trieste down the Dalmatian coast to Cattaro and trekked overland to
Cetinje, the capital of the exotic principality of Montenegro. The trip was intended
as a palliative, recommended by her doctor after years caring for her mother, but on
this journey, she found her vocation. Over the next twenty years, she travelled
frequently in the south Balkans. working in various relief organizations, capturing
scenes of village life in water-colour, and collecting folklore and folk art. She also
began to write frequently, and during the Balkan wars and the First World War,
became a fervent promoter of the Albanian national cause in periodicals in Britain,
Germany and the United Slates. Over the next two decades, she wrote seven books
on Balkan affairs, beginning with Through the Lands of the Serb (1904), a
beautifully evocative if wide-eyed account of her first several trips to Montenegro
and Serbia, through to Some Tribal Origins, Laws and Customs of the
Balkans (1928), a useful compendium of now extinct folk beliefs and rituals. She
also became a frequent contributor to the journal Man, and her dispatches and
learned articles on Balkan folklore earned her a place as Fellow of the Royal
Anthropological Institute.
Durham called the Balkans "the land of the living past". For her, the region was not
an alien, Oriental domain but rather a kind of mirror in which Western visitors
might see themselves at a much earlier stage of development. As she wrote in High
Albania, "For folk in such lands time has almost stood still. The wanderer
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from the West stands awestruck amongst them, filled with vague memories of
the cradle of his race, saying, "This did I do some thousands of years ago;
thus did I lie in wait for mine enemy; so thought I and so acted I in the
beginning of Time.'" As for previous generations who journeyed south and east,
the Balkans were for Durham a proto-Europe, a place where the past was prologue
and every village bard a vestigial Homer. Geography, as it were, recapitulated
phylogeny.
There is a professional hazard to studying other countries and peoples. No one who
travels to faraway lands, managing to learn the language and something of the local
culture, can be completely immune to the romantic thrill of being seen by the
natives as their intercessor and interpreter to the outside world. Such was Durham's
relationship to the Albanians. She came to see their plight - a nation whose
territorial aspirations went largely unheeded after the First World War - as unique
among the nested grievances in the Balkans. She had been well received in the
Albanian uplands, and although it was unusual for a woman to travel to the remoter
mountain districts, the notion of a lone female wanderer actually fitted with
Albanian custom: the tradition of "Albanian virgins" - women who donned men's
clothes and held a protected status in tribal society - meant that Durham travelled
unmolested.
But her energetic promotion of the Albanians did not earn her many admirers in
Britain. As Rebecca West wrote cattily in Black Lamb and Grey Falcon, Durham
was a member of that class of Balkan travellers who come back "with a pet
Balkan people established in their hearts as suffering and innocent,
eternally the massacree and never the massacrer". Durham sued over the line.
During the First World War, Seton-Watson established the journal The New
Europe to champion the emancipation of Europe's subject nationalities, especially
those erupting from the Habsburg empire. The journal called for "la victoire
integrale", a victory that would recognize national rights and thus secure a
permanent peace for the Continent. Collaborators included, besides Seton-Watson
as editor, Tomas Masaryk, the Romanian historian Nicolae Iorga, and many other
important writers on international affairs, including Durham.
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In March 1920, Durham wrote to Seton-Watson complaining about what she saw as
a pro-Serb bias in The New Europe and accusing the editors of wilfully ignoring the
Albanians of Montenegro and Kosovo:
"I have recent information that ever since the armistice the Serbs have
burnt and pillaged Albanian villages, Catholic as well as Moslem. But New
Europe, I know, would deny any such charge and imply the informant was a
liar. If the truth is thus concealed, what wonder that things go wrong?"
Durham had earlier written a piece on Albanian Bektashi Sufism which, when
printed, was accompanied by a note indicating that the editorial board did not
necessarily agree with the author's points, including her opposition to the
incorporation of Kosovo in the new South Slav kingdom. Seton-Watson apologized
in a return note, mentioning that it was not the board's intent to insult Durham
personally, but merely to dissociate the editors from the personal views expressed
in her article.
Durham quickly wrote back. It was not an issue of personal insult, she said, but
rather a superb illustration of the incredible arrogance of Western policy-makers in
the Balkans. By effectively partitioning the Albanian lands between an independent
Albania and the newly created Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes - eventually
to become Yugoslavia - the European powers were creating the conditions for "a
second Armenia". The Albanians, with no artillery and no planes, would be at the
mercy of the Serbian army, "and the guilt will rest on the Peace Conference".
The real tragedy, she continued, was the inability of those making policy to
comprehend the depth of feeling and intricacies of everyday life in the Balkans.
Their attempts to apply European standards of decency to a land rocked by war and
poverty were doomed. Even when peace agreements were signed, there was no
guarantee that petty officials would not continue to treat minorities as if they were,
by virtue of their blood or religion, still enemies of the State:
"These men who have never lived months in the Balkans draw up elaborate
clauses about religious rights and minorities which cannot possibly
work .... Even though certain of the intelligentsia in all the countries
have excellent intentions they are quite powerless to restrain small
officials and gendarmes up country."
Durham argued that the solution was quite simply to draw the boundary lines so as
to include as few people as possible under foreign rule. Otherwise, the threat of
violence spreading across newly drawn frontiers was extremely high, as "half
desperate people with little to lose will be ready to rush into a struggle on the off
chance of getting something". Violence could sometimes turn out to be the most
rational response to local oppression and the ill-conceived plans of foreign
peacemakers, not simply a chaotic bloodletting.
Relations between Durham and Seton-Watson were strained already at the time of
the Peace Conference, which reaffirmed the existence of an Albanian state but left
much of the Albanian nation outside its borders. Over the years, the source of their
disagreements evolved from matters of policy to more personal disputes over who
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*
* *
The rift between Durham and Seton-Watson grew throughout the 1920s, a mutual
bitterness that derived in part from vastly different understandings of Balkan
politics and, increasingly, personal odium. Durham had even begun to allege
publicly that the professor received financial support from the Yugoslavs and could
not therefore be counted on to provide dispassionate analysis in Britain, She also
complained of further personal slights from Seton-Watson, he now a respected
academic and government adviser and she a freelance journalist. At a Chatham
House lecture, Seton-Watson apparently failed to recognize her raised hand during
the question period, and Durham quickly penned a note to complain of the snub.
Seton-Watson responded that the minor insult of not answering her question paled
beside the more grievous wrong he would have done by trying to respond to her
seriously. "We seem to differ fundamentally on almost every fact connected with
the whole Yugoslav question", he wrote to her in February 1929. "I do not
therefore see what possible good it can do to discuss these matters on the
same platform. I refrained from answering you at the Institute, not because
I had nothing to say, but because I resent most intensely your whole
treatment and interpretation of the question and did not wish to be led
into too short a retort."
The basic source of Durham's disagreements with Seton-Watson was her distaste
for what she called "strategic" concerns in deciding the fates of the small nations
of Europe. Outside powers stepped in, proposed some new division of territory,
created new national questions while resolving others, and all the while displayed
little concern for the sentiments of those whose lives were affected by their grand
schemes. As she wrote in her February 1929 letter,
"You seem to regard these populations as mere pawns to be shifted on the
board according to political needs. To me they are all suffering human
beings with whom I have been under fire - for whose sake I have risked
enteric, smallpox and have wrestled with poisoned wounds. And with whom I
have hungered and been half frozen. I feel it a duty to show the means by
which they have been annexed and trampled on. And to call for a
consideration of their cause."
Relations were largely suspended after the late 1920s, which corresponded to the
end of Durham's most productive period. But there was a final, delicious irony in
all this. In 1948, four years after Durham's death, the editor of the Dictionary of
National Biography wrote to Seton-Watson asking for his evaluation of Durham's
contribution to Balkan affairs. His reply is not among his papers.
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Eastern Europe has never been short of causes, nor have intellectuals in Britain,
France, America and elsewhere been stow to take them up. One wonders, though,
how recent debates about intervention in Bosnia and Kosovo will be seen a few
decades hence. In time, the dividing lines of the 1990s and 2000s may appear in
nearly as stark relief as those of the 1920s and 1930s. Both the United States and
Europe have their share of philes and phobes, who have deified or maligned entire
peoples for reasons that usually reveal more about the observers than the observed.
But, as in Durham's time, these debates have raised serious questions about writers
and the objects of their passions. What does it mean to be an "expert" on a country
or people? Need one speak the language and "risk enteric", or is it enough to know
the capital's hotels? And can there be a moral component to scholarship, much less
to foreign policy, in a region where the underdogs one year turn out to be overlords
the next? Edith Durham's quirky character and infuriating diatribes are part of her
legacy. But the perspective she offers on intellectuals and the crusades they take up,
on the dilemma of moral commitment and professional distance, and on the place
of compassion and consistency in foreign policy should be more appreciated than
her personality has allowed.