My　earlier　rides　in　Venetia　began　always　with　the　level　roads　of
  the　plain；　roads　frequently　edged　by　watercourses；　with　plentiful
  willows　beside　the　road；　vines　and　fields　of　Indian　corn　and
  suchlike　lush　crops。　　Always　quite　soon　one　came　to　some　old
  Austrian　boundary　posts；　almost　everywhere　the　Italians　are
  fighting　upon　what　is　technically　enemy　territory；　but　nowhere
  does　it　seem　a　whit　less　Italian　than　the　plain　of　Lombardy。
  When　at　last　I　motored　away　from　Udine　to　the　northern　mountain
  front　I　passed　through　Campo…Formio　and　saw　the　white…faced　inn
  at　which　Napoleon　dismembered　the　ancient　republic　of　Venice　and
  bartered　away　this　essential　part　of　Italy　into　foreign　control。
  It　just　gravitates　back　nowas　though　there　had　been　no
  Napoleon。
  And　upon　the　roads　and　beside　them　was　the　enormous　equipment　of
  a　modern　army　advancing。　　Everywhere　I　saw　new　roads　being　made；
  railways　pushed　up；　vast　store　dumps；　hospitals；　everywhere　the
  villages　swarmed　with　grey　soldiers；　everywhere　our　automobile
  was　threading　its　way　and　taking　astonishing　risks　among
  interminable　processions　of　motor　lorries；　strings　of　ambulances
  or　of　mule　carts；　waggons　with　timber；　waggons　with　wire；　waggons
  with　men's　gear；　waggons　with　casks；　waggons　discreetly　veiled；
  columns　of　infantry；　cavalry；　batteries　/en　route。/　　Every
  waggon　that　goes　up　full　comes　back　empty；　and　many　wounded　were
  coming　down　and　prisoners　and　troops　returning　to　rest。　　Goritzia
  had　been　taken　a　week　or　so　before　my　arrival；　the　Isonzo　had
  been　crossed　and　the　Austrians　driven　back　across　the　Carso　for
  several　miles；　all　the　resources　of　Italy　seemed　to　be　crowding
  up　to　make　good　these　gains　and　gather　strength　for　the　next
  thrust。　　The　roads　under　all　this　traffic　remained　wonderful；
  gangs　of　men　were　everywhere　repairing　the　first　onset　of　wear；
  and　Italy　is　the　most　fortunate　land　in　the　world　for　road　metal；
  her　mountains　are　solid　road　metal；　and　in　this　Venetian　plain
  you　need　but　to　scrape　through　a　yard　of　soil　to　find　gravel。
  One　travelled　through　a　choking　dust　under　the　blue　sky；　and
  above　the　steady　incessant　dusty　succession　of　lorry；　lorry；
  lorry；　lorry　that　passed　one　by；　one　saw；　looking　up；　the　tree
  tops；　house　roofs；　or　the　solid　Venetian　campanile　of　this　or
  that　wayside　village。　　Once　as　we　were　coming　out　of　the　great
  grey　portals　of　that　beautiful　old　relic　of　a　former　school　of
  fortification；　Palmanova；　the　traffic　became　suddenly　bright
  yellow；　and　for　a　kilometre　or　so　we　were　passing　nothing　but
  Sicilian　mule　carts　loaded　with　hay。　　These　carts　seem　as　strange
  among　the　grey　shapes　of　modern　war　transport　as　a　Chinese
  mandarin　in　painted　silk　would　be。　　They　are　the　most　individual
  of　things；　all　two…wheeled；　all　bright　yellow　and　the　same　size
  it　is　true；　but　upon　each　there　are　they　gayest　of　little
  paintings；　such　paintings　as　one　sees　in　England　at　times　upon　an
  ice…cream　barrow。　　Sometimes　the　picture　will　present　a
  scriptural　subject；　sometimes　a　scene　of　opera；　sometimes　a　dream
  landscape　or　a　trophy　of　fruits　or　flowers；　and　the　harnessnow
  much　out　of　repairis　studded　with　brass。　　Again　and　again　I
  have　passed　strings　of　these　gay　carts；　all　Sicily　must　be　swept
  of　them。
  Through　the　dust　I　came　to　Aquileia；　which　is　now　an　old
  cathedral；　built　upon　the　remains　of　a　very　early　basilica；
  standing　in　a　space　in　a　scattered　village。　　But　across　this
  dusty　space　there　was　carried　the　head　of　the　upstart　Maximinus
  who　murdered　Alexander　Severus；　and　later　Aquileia　brought　Attila
  near　to　despair。　　Our　party　alighted；　we　inspected　a　very　old
  mosaic　floor　which　has　been　uncovered　since　the　Austrian　retreat。
  The　Austrian　priests　have　gone　too；　and　their　Italian　successors
  are　already　tracing　out　a　score　of　Roman　traces　that　it　was　the
  Austrian　custom　to　minimise。　　Captain　Pirelli　refreshed　my
  historical　memories；　it　was　rather　like　leaving　a　card　on　Gibbon
  /en　route/　for　contemporary　history。
  By　devious　routes　I　went　on　to　certain　batteries　of　big　guns
  which　had　played　their　part　in　hammering　the　Austrian　left　above
  Monfalcone　across　an　arm　of　the　Adriatic；　and　which　were　now
  under　orders　to　shift　and　move　up　closer。　　The　battery　was　the
  most　unobtrusive　of　batteries；　its　one　desire　seemed　to　be　to
  appear　a　simple　piece　of　woodland　in　the　eye　of　God　and　the
  aeroplane。　　I　went　about　the　network　of　railways　and　paths　under
  the　trees　that　a　modern　battery　requires；　and　came　presently　upon
  a　great　gun　that　even　at　the　first　glance　seemed　a　little　less
  carefully　hidden　than　its　fellows。　　Then　I　saw　that　it　was　a　most
  ingenious　dummy　made　of　a　tree　and　logs　and　so　forth。　　It　was　in
  the　emplacement　of　a　real　gun　that　had　been　located；　it　had　its
  painted　sandbags　about　it　just　the　same；　and　it　felt　itself　so
  entirely　a　part　of　the　battery　that　whenever　its　companions　fired
  t　burnt　a　flash　and　kicked　up　a　dust。　　It　was　an　excellent
  example　of　the　great　art　of　camouflage　which　this　war　has
  developed。
  I　went　on　through　the　wood　to　a　shady　observation　post　high　in　a
  tree；　into　which　I　clambered　with　my　guide。　　I　was　able　from　this
  position　to　get　a　very　good　idea　of　the　lie　of　the　Italian
  eastern　front。　　I　was　in　the　delta　of　the　Isonzo。　　Directly　in
  front　of　me　were　some　marshes　and　the　extreme　tip　of　the　Adriatic
  Sea；　at　the　head　of　which　was　Monfalcone；　now　in　Italian　hands。
  Behind　Monfalcone　ran　the　red　ridge　of　the　Carso；　of　which　the
  Italians　had　just　captured　the　eastern　half。　　Behind　this　again
  rose　the　mountains　to　the　east　of　the　Isonzo　which　the　Austrians
  still　held。　　The　Isonzo　came　towards　me　from　out　of　the
  mountains；　in　a　great　westward　curve。　　Fifteen　or　sixteen　miles
  away　where　it　emerged　from　the　mountains　lay　the　pleasant　and
  prosperous　town　of　Goritzia；　and　at　the　westward　point　of　the
  great　curve　was　Sagrado　with　its　broken　bridge。　　The　battle　of
  Goritzia　was　really　not　fought　at　Goritzia　at　all。　　What　happened
  was　the　brilliant　and　bloody　storming　of　Mounts　Podgora　and
  Sabotino　on　the　western　side　of　the　river　above　Goritzia；　and
  simultaneously　a　crossing　at　Sagrado　below　Goritzia　and　a
  magnificent　rush　up　the　plateau　and　across　the　plateau　of　the
  Carso。　　Goritzia　itself　was　not　organised　for　defence；　and　the
  Austrians　were　so　surprised　by　the　rapid　storm　of　the　mountains
  to　the　north…west　of　it　and　of　the　Carso　to　the　south…east；　that
  they　made　no　fight　in　the　town　itself。
  As　a　consequence　when　I　visited　it　I　found　it　very　little　injured
  compared；　that　is；　with　such　other　towns　as　have　been　fought
  through。　　Here　and　there　the　front　of　a　house　has　been　knocked　in
  by　an　Austrian　shell；　or　a　lamp…post　prostrated。　　But　the　road
  bridge　had　suffered　a　good　deal；　its　iron　parapet　was　twisted
  about　by　shell　bursts　and　interwoven　with　young　trees　and　big
  boughs　designed　to　screen　the　passer…by　from　the　observation　of
  the　Austrian　gunners　upon　Monte　Santo。　　Here　and　there　were　huge
  holes　through　which　one　could　look　down　upon　the　blue　trickles　of
  water　in　the　stony　river　bed　far　below。　　The　driver　of　our
  automobile　displayed　what　seemed　to　me　an　extreme　confidence　in
  the　margins　of　these　gaps；　but　his　confidence　was　justified。　　At
  Sagrado　the　bridge　had　been　much　more　completely　demolished；　no
  effort　had　been　made　to　restore　the　horizontal　roadway；　but　one
  crossed　by　a　sort　of　timber　switchback　that　followed　the　ups　and
  downs　of　the　ruins。
  It　is　not　in　these　places　that　one　must　look　for　the　real
  destruction　of　modern　war。　　The　real　fight　on　the　left　of
  Goritzia　went　through　the　village　of　Lucinico　up　the　hill　of
  Podgora。　　Lucinico　is　nothing　more　than　a　heap　of　grey　stones；
  except　for　a　bit　of　the　church　wall　and　the　gable　end　of　a　house
  one　cannot　even　speak　of　it　as　ruins。　　But　in　one　place　among　the
  rubble　I　saw　the　splintered　top　and　a　leg　of　a　grand　piano。
  Podgora　hill；　which　was　no　doubt　once　neatly　terraced　and
  cultivated；　is　like　a　scrap　of　landscape　from　some　airless；
  treeless　planet。　　Still　more　desolate　was　the　scene　upon　the
  Carso　to　the　right　（south）　of　Goritzia。　　Both　San　Martino　and
  Doberdo　are　destroyed　beyond　the　limits　of　ruination。　　The　Carso
  itself　is　a　waterless　upland　with　but　a　few　bushy　trees；　it　must
  always　have　been　a　desolate　region；　but　now　it　is　an
  indescribable　wilderness　of　shell　craters；　smashed…up　Austrian
  trenches；　splintered　timber；　old　iron；　rags；　and　that　rusty
  thorny　vileness　of　man's　invention；　worse　than　all　the　thorns　and
  thickets　of　nature；　barbed　wire。　　There　are　no　dead　visible；　the
  wounded　have　been　cleared　away；　but　about　the　trenches　and
  particularly　near　some　of　the　dug…outs　there　was　a　faint
  repulsive　smell。。。。
  Yet　into　this　wilderness　the　Italians　are　now　thrusting　a　sort　of
  order。　　The　German　is　a　wonderful　worker；　they　say　on　the　Anglo…
  French　front　that　he　makes　his　trenches　by　way　of　resting；　but　I
  doubt　if　he　can　touch　the　Italian　at　certain　forms　of　toil。　　All
  the　way　up　to　San　Martino　and　beyond；　swarms　of　workmen　were
  making　one　of　those　carefully　graded　roads　that　the　Italians　make
  better　than　any　other　people。　　Other　swarms　were　laying　water…
  pipes。　　For　upon　the　Carso　there　are　neither　roads　nor　water；　and
  before　the　Italians　can　t