ority on Italian art,
who has been commissioned with the preservation of all the works of
art in the war zone; an English countess who is in charge of an X-ray
car which operates within range of the Austrian guns; a young Roman
noble whom I had last seen, in pink, in the hunting-field; a group of
khaki-clad officers from the British mission, cold and aloof of manner
despite their being among allies; a party of Russians, their hair
clipped to the skull, their green tunics sprinkled with stars and
crosses; half a dozen French military attaches in beautifully cut
uniforms of horizon-blue; and Italian officers, animated and
gesticulative, on whose breasts were medal ribbons showing that they
had fought in forgotten wars in forgotten corners of Africa. At one
table they were discussing the probable date of some Roman remains
which had just been unearthed at Aquileia; at another an argument was
in progress over the merits of _vers libre_; one of the Russians was
explaining a new system he had evolved for breaking the bank at Monte
Carlo; the young English countess was retailing the latest jokes from
the London music-halls, but nowhere did I hear mentioned the grim and
bloody business which had brought us, of so many minds and from so
many lands, to this shabby, smoke-filled, garlic-scented room in this
little frontier town. Yet, had the door been opened, and had we
stilled our voices, we could have heard, quite plainly, the sullen
grumble of the cannon.

II

WHY ITALY WENT TO WAR

To understand why Italy is at war you have only to look at the map of
Central Europe. You can hardly fail to be struck by the curious
resemblance which the outline of the Austro-Hungarian Empire bears to
a monstrous bird of prey hovering threateningly over Italy. The body
of the bird is formed by Hungary; Bohemia is the right wing, Bosnia
and Dalmatia constitute the left; the Tyrol represents the head, while
the savage beak, with its open jaws, is formed by that portion of the
Tyrol commonly known as the Trentino. And that savage beak, you will
note, is buried deep in the shoulder of Italy, holding between its
jaws, as it were, the Lake of Garda. To continue the simile, it will
be seen that the talons of the bird, formed by the Istrian Peninsula,
reach out over the Adriatic in threatening proximity to Venice and
the other Italian coast towns. It is to end the intolerable menace of
that beak and those claws that Italy is fighting. There y