Shkodra, in the Thirties’. That we were actually capable of destroying every trace of the heritage of Gjergj Fishta. This is obvious, but what I have never been able to grasp, is how we were capable of doing this. When I say “all traces” that includes his grave too. In 1945 his grave was opened and his remains were tossed into the river, as if they were infected with cholera. To be as accurate as possible, I looked his name up in the Encyclopedic Dictionary of 1985, which, apart from Fishta’s date of birth and death (1871-1940), is filled with venom; “reactionary publicist, the mouthpiece of clerical reaction, an individual who fought with a ferocity against progressive ideas, greeted occupation, champion of backwardness, ignorance and mercenaries; opponent of social and cultural progress.” It is quite frightening to read such idiosyncrasies in an encyclopedic dictionary, written by a Man of Letters about another Man of Letters, moreover a deceased Man of Letters who can no longer defend himself. Shame!!
Fishta, Brother of the Order of the Franciscans, in his own mind he spent his whole life singing praises to his Homeland, which did not even provide him with a grave so he could rest in peace, whilst he left behind for us to enjoy the spring of verse called “Lahuta e Malcis,” (The Lahuta1 of the Highlands). In those few years between death and his burial without trace, he was venerated, almost like a Saint, not only by the Franciscans but by the whole people. His chamber in the Assembly of the Brothers became a museum room; everything he had ever touched or used in life was put on display there like sacred relics. The first photograph shows a view of the museum room of Gjergj Fishta. In a glass display case and on the wall archaeological findings are exhibited like stone and bronze adzes. Above the case the diploma of the poet has been displayed, in one corner of which you can see his photograph. In front of it, in an open box, there is a silver pen, while resting up against the wall is an old lahuta, a significant symbol of his work, “Lahuta e Malcis.” You can also see the faithful walking stick so frequently mentioned in the memoirs of contemporary writers. The next photo shows one of the other rooms in the Museum of the Assembly filled with shelves laden with archaeological findings of the Northern zones. Above the shelves, there is a portrait of another famous Franciscan Shtjefen Gje谶i, while at the end of the room a young Brother is carefully dusting the relics. All in vain however, for only a few years later everything will be lost and probably this young man will be rotting in a prison dungeon somewhere. Where did all this wealth disappear to? Let’s give the floor to Father Zef Pellumbi, who witnessed the sad end and lived long enough to relate it to us. “Ůthey (partisans), had taken all the keys to all the rooms of the Assembly, of the Archives, the Museum, Fishta’s Chamber-Museum and of the Library. Without a care in the world they pocketed all the fountain pens, pencils and other trinkets that had belonged to Fishta. There was nothing we could say, they had taken over as Masters of the House. A few days later there was a major action that continued night and day, with a truck coming and going from the Assembly of the Franciscans. All the books and manuscripts, everything in the archives were loaded onto this truck and they were all carted away to some unknown destination never to surface again. It was during these days that the Chamber-Museum of Fishta was obliterated. All his manuscripts were carried away in that truck. They tipped all these documents out of the files into the back of the truck in complete disorder.”
Any other words are superfluous.
