It was Voltaire, I believe, who asserted that England has sixty religious sects but only one sauce. I fancy that the French “Poilu” would now substitute “cigarette” for “sauce,” but whether they prefer the “one and only” to their more robust “Caporals” is a matter of doubt. For my own part, I was too busy that day getting through with my Coronas to trouble much about either. I should have liked to have spent a few hours in dear old Paris, but the exigency of the situation in Italy did not permit me to entertain the idea for a moment. I just had sufficient time to drive to the Gare de Lyon, dine at a restaurant near the Station, and catch the Rome express. The train was not crowded, and the journey till we reached Turin was quite featureless with the exception, as far as I could judge, that everyone was discussing the situation in Italy. At the frontier station of Modane, where the examination of luggage was quite perfunctory, some important news had just come through. The Parliament, on reassembling, had given to the Salandra Cabinet by an overwhelming majority a vote of confidence, which amounted to a declaration of war against Austria. At Turin, where we arrived in the afternoon, the station was buzzing with rumours that war had already been declared—this, as it turned out, was not the case, but it showed how acute was the crisis and the excited state of popular opinion. This was borne strongly upon me by a curious order given to the passengers on the train leaving Turin. In broad daylight all blinds had to be drawn down and kept down till we had passed a certain station further on. The reason for this did not transpire, but it was rigorously enforced. It was a typical Italian summer afternoon, so the discomfort thus entailed in the stuffy carriages may be better imagined than described; but it brought home to you the seriousness of the situation and the fact that whatever the outcome the Government was taking no chances. What was happening in the district through which we were passing was none of our business, and they let us know it—thus. This was actually the first indication of the nearness of war, and also an illuminating insight of the “method” and prescience of the war department. What struck you everywhere was the small number of soldiers one saw, and you could but conclude that if movement of troops were taking place they were perhaps being carried out in the zone where the blinds had to be drawn, though Turin was so far from any prospective front that this seemed an excessive precaution. Rome, if not exactly deserted, was much emptier than usual for the time of year; but as it was 84° in the shade that may have had something to do with it. At the Grand Hotel, where I proposed staying, all the upper floors were closed.