against　that　blessed　Whig　〃principle　of　nationality；〃　but　the
  King　of　Italy　was　not　to　be　drawn　into　any　statement　about　that。
  He　left　the　question　with　his　admission　of　its　extreme　complexity。
  He　went　on　to　talk　of　the　strange　contrasts　of　war；　of　such
  things　as　the　indifference　of　the　birds　to　gunfire　and
  desolation。　　One　day　on　the　Carso　he　had　been　near　the　newly
  captured　Austrian　trenches；　and　suddenly　from　amidst　a　scattered
  mass　of　Austrian　bodies　a　quail　had　risen。　　that　had　struck　him
  as　odd；　and　so　too　had　the　sight　of　a　pack　of　cards　and　a　wine
  flask　on　some　newly…made　graves。　　The　ordinary　life　was　a　very
  /obstinate/　thing。。。。
  He　talked　of　the　courage　of　modern　men。　　He　was　astonished　at　the
  quickness　with　which　they　came　to　disregard　shrapnel。　　And　they
  were　so　quietly　enduring　when　they　were　wounded。　　He　had　seen　a
  lot　of　the　wounded；　and　he　had　expected　much　groaning　and　crying
  out。　　But　unless　a　man　is　hit　in　the　head　and　goes　mad　he　does
  not　groan　or　scream！　　They　are　just　brave。　　If　you　ask　them　how
  they　feel　it　is　always　one　of　two　things：　either　they　say　quietly
  that　they　are　very　bad　or　else　they　say　there　is　nothing　the
  matter。。。。
  He　spoke　as　if　these　were　mere　chance　observations；　but　everyone
  tells　me　that　nearly　every　day　the　king　is　at　the　front　and　often
  under　fire。　　He　has　taken　more　risks　in　a　week　than　the　Potsdam
  War　Lord　has　taken　since　the　war　began。　　He　keeps　himself　acutely
  informed　upon　every　aspect　of　the　war。　　He　was　a　little　inclined
  to　fatalism；　he　confessed。　　There　were　two　stories　current　of　two
  families　of　four　sons；　in　each　three　had　been　killed　and　in　each
  there　was　an　attempt　to　put　the　fourth　in　a　place　of　comparative
  safety。　　In　one　case　a　general　took　the　fourth　son　in　as　an
  attendant　and　embarked　upon　a　ship　that　was　immediately
  torpedoed；　in　the　other　the　fourth　son　was　killed　by　accident
  while　he　was　helping　to　carry　dinner　in　a　rest　camp。　　From　those
  stories　we　came　to　the　question　whether　the　uneducated　Italians
  were　more　superstitious　than　the　uneducated　English；　the　king
  thought　they　were　much　less　so。　　That　struck　me　as　a　novel　idea。
  But　then　he　thought　that　English　rural　people　believe　in　witches
  and　fairies。
  I　have　given　enough　of　this　talk　to　show　the　quality　of　this　king
  of　the　new　dispensation。　　It　was；　you　see；　the　sort　of　easy　talk
  one　might　hear　from　fine…minded　people　anywhere。　　When　we　had
  done　talking　he　came　to　the　door　of　the　study　with　me　and　shook
  hands　and　went　back　to　his　deskwith　that　gesture　of　return　to
  work　which　is　very　familiar　and　sympathetic　to　a　writer；　and　with
  no　gesture　of　regality　at　all。
  Just　to　complete　this　impression　let　me　repeat　a　pleasant　story
  about　this　king　and　our　Prince　of　Wales；　who　recently　visited　the
  Italian　front。　　The　Prince　is　a　source　of　anxiety　on　these
  visits；　he　has　a　very　strong　and　very　creditable　desire　to　share
  the　ordinary　risks　of　war。　　He　is　keenly　interested；　and
  unobtrusively　bent　upon　getting　as　near　the　fighting　as　line　as
  possible。　　But　the　King　of　Italy　was　firm　upon　keeping　him　out　of
  anything　more　than　the　most　incidental　danger。　　〃We　don't　want
  any　historical　incidents　here；〃　he　said。　　I　think　that　might　well
  become　an　historical　phrase。　　For　the　life　of　the　Effigy　is　a
  series　of　historical　incidents。
  6
  Manifestly　one　might　continue　to　multiply　portraits　of　fine
  people　working　upon　this　great　task　of　breaking　and　ending　the
  German　aggression；　the　German　legend；　the　German　effigy；　and　the
  effigy　business　generally；　the　thesis　being　that　the　Allies　have
  no　effigy。　　One　might　fill　a　thick　volume　with　pictures　of　men　up
  the　scale　and　down　working　loyally　and　devotedly　upon　the　war；　to
  make　this　point　clear　that　the　essential　king　and　the　essential
  loyalty　of　our　side　is　the　commonsense　of　mankind。
  There　comes　into　my　head　as　a　picture　at　the　other　extreme　of
  this　series；　a　memory　of　certain　trenches　I　visited　on　my　last
  day　in　France。　　They　were　trenches　on　an　offensive　front；　they
  were　not　those　architectural　triumphs；　those　homes　from　home；
  that　grow　to　perfection　upon　the　less　active　sections　of　the
  great　line。　　They　had　been　first　made　by　men　who　had　run　rapidly
  forward　with　spade　and　rifle；　stooping　as　they　ran；　who　had
  dropped　into　the　craters　of　big　shells；　who　had　organised　these
  chiefly　at　night　and　dug　the　steep　ditches　sideways　to　join　up
  into　continuous　trenches。　　Now　they　were　pushing　forward　saps
  into　No　Man's　Land；　linking　them　across；　and　so　continually
  creeping　nearer　to　the　enemy　and　a　practicable　jumping…off　place
  for　an　attack。　　（It　has　been　made　since；　the　village　at　which　I
  peeped　was　in　our　hands　a　week　later。）　These　trenches　were　dug
  into　a　sort　of　yellowish　sandy　clay；　the　dug…outs　were　mere　holes
  in　the　earth　that　fell　in　upon　the　clumsy；　hardly　any　timber　had
  been　got　up　the　line；　a　storm　might　flood　them　at　any　time　a
  couple　of　feet　deep　and　begin　to　wash　the　sides。　　Overnight　they
  had　been　〃strafed〃　and　there　had　been　a　number　of　casualties；
  there　were　smashed　rifles　about　and　a　smashed…up　machine　gun
  emplacement；　and　the　men　were　dog…tired　and　many　of　them　sleeping
  like　logs；　half　buried　in　…clay。　　Some　slept　on　the　firing　steps。
  As　one　went　along　one　became　aware　ever　and　again　of　two　or　three
  pairs　of　clay…yellow　feet　sticking　out　of　a　clay　hole；　and
  peering　down　one　saw　the　shapes　of　men　like　rudely　modelled
  earthen　images　of　soldiers；　motionless　in　the　cave。
  I　came　round　the　corner　upon　a　youngster　with　an　intelligent　face
  and　steady　eyes　sitting　up　on　the　firing　step；　awake　and
  thinking。　　We　looked　at　one　another。　　There　are　moments　when　mind
  leaps　to　mind。　　It　is　natural　for　the　man　in　the　trenches
  suddenly　confronted　by　so　rare　a　beast　as　a　middle…aged　civilian
  with　an　enquiring　expression；　to　feel　oneself　something　of　a
  spectacle　and　something　generalised。　　It　is　natural　for　the
  civilian　to　look　rather　in　the　vein　of　saying；　〃Well；　how　do　you
  take　it？〃　　As　I　pushed　past　him　we　nodded　slightly　with　an　effect
  of　mutual　understanding。　　And　we　said　with　our　nods　just　exactly
  what　General　Joffre　had　said　with　his　horizontal　gestures　of　the
  hand　and　what　the　King　of　Italy　conveyed　by　his　friendly　manner；
  we　said　to　each　other　that　here　was　the　trouble　those　Germans　had
  brought　upon　us　and　here　was　the　task　that　had　to　be　done。
  Our　guide　to　these　trenches　was　a　short；　stocky　young　man；　a　cob；
  with　a　rifle　and　a　tight　belt　and　projecting　skirts　and　a　helmet；
  a　queer　little　figure　that；　had　you　seen　it　in　a　picture　a　year
  or　so　before　the　war；　you　would　most　certainly　have　pronounced
  Chinese。　　He　belonged　to　a　Northumbrian　battalion；　it　does　not
  matter　exactly　which。　　As　we　returned　from　this　front　line；
  trudging　along　the　winding　path　through　the　barbed　wire　tangles
  before　the　smashed　and　captured　German　trench　that　had　been　taken
  a　fortnight　before；　I　fell　behind　my　guardian　captain　and　had　a
  brief　conversation　wit　this　individual。　　He　was　a　lad　in　the
  early　twenties；　weather…bit　and　with　bloodshot　eyes。　　He　was；　he
  told　me；　a　miner。　　I　asked　my　stock　question　in　such　cases；
  whether　he　would　go　back　to　the　old　work　after　the　war。　　He　said
  he　would；　and　then　addedwith　the　events　of　overnight　on　his
  mind：　〃If　A'hm　looky。〃
  Followed　a　little　silence。　　Then　I　tried　my　second　stock　remark
  for　such　cases。　　One　does　not　talk　to　soldiers　at　the　front　in
  this　war　of　Glory　or　the　〃Empire　on　which　the　sun　never　sets〃　or
  〃the　meteor　flag　of　England〃　or　of　King　and　Country　or　any　of
  those　fine　old　headline　things。　　On　the　desolate　path　that　winds
  about　amidst　the　shell　craters　and　the　fragments　and　the　red…
  rusted　wire；　with　the　silken　shiver　of　passing　shells　in　the　air
  and　the　blue　of　the　lower　sky　continually　breaking　out　into
  eddying　white　puffs；　it　is　wonderful　how　tawdry　such　panoplies　of
  the　effigy　appear。　　We　knew　that　we　and　our　allies　are　upon　a
  greater；　graver；　more　fundamental　business　than　that　sort　of
  thing　now。　　We　are　very　near　the　waking　point。
  〃Well；〃　I　said；　〃it's　got　to　be　done。〃
  〃Aye；〃　he　said；　easing　the　strap　of　his　rifle　a　little；　〃it's　got
  to　be　done。〃
  THE　WAR　IN　ITALY　（AUGUST；　1916）
  I。　THE　ISONZO　FRONT
  1
  My　first　impressions　of　the　Italian　war　centre　upon　Udine。　　So
  far　I　had　had　only　a　visit　to　Soissons　on　an　exceptionally　quiet
  day　and　the　sound　of　a　Zeppelin　one　night　in　Essex　for　all　my
  experience　of　actual　warfare。　　But　my　bedroom　at　the　British
  mission　in　Udine　roused　perhaps　extravagant　expectations。　　There
  were　holes　in　the　plaster　ceiling　and　wall；　betraying　splintered
  laths；　holes；　that　had　been　caused　by　a　bomb　that　had　burst　and
  killed　several　people　in　the　little　square　outside。　　Such
  excitements　seem　to　be　things　of　the　past　now　in　Udine。　　Udine
  keeps　itself　dark　nowadays；　and　the　Austrian　sea…planes；　which
  come　raiding　the　Italian　coast　country　at　night　very　much　in　the
  same　aimless；　casually　malignant　way　in　which　the　Zeppelins　raid
  England；　apparently　because　there　is　nothing　else　for　them　to　do；
  find　it　easier　to　locate　Venice。
  My　earlier　rides　in　Venetia　began　always　with　the　level　roads　of
  the　plain；　roads　frequently　edged　by　watercourses；　with　plentiful
  willows