It is of interest to mention all these conditions ruling at the very beginning of the war as affording an object lesson in the “method” and foresight which were displayed in every move of General Cadorna even to the smallest details. Italy took a long while making up her mind to throw in her lot with the Allies, but there was no losing time once she made a start, as was soon proved, and her preparedness was evidenced in every direction. A censorship of the most drastic character was established at once, and it looked at one time as if correspondents were going to have a bad time of it, and see even less, if possible, than in the other areas of the war. “Go and make a journey through Italy; there is lots to see that will interest you as an artist, and come back in about three months from now; then perhaps some arrangements will have been made with reference to correspondents going to the Front.” This was all I could get from General Elia, the genial Under-Secretary of State for War, who speaks English fluently—when at last, through the kindly intervention of the British Embassy I managed to see him and begged to be permitted to accompany the troops. This could scarcely be construed as encouraging, and as I came away from the interview I must admit I felt the reverse of elated. I had already spent a week trying to get permission to go to the Front, and I certainly had not the slightest intention of playing the “tourist” for the next few months, nor of idling away my time in Rome if I could help it. But what was to be done? I could hardly speak a word of Italian, so knew I was handicapped terribly for getting about alone. I strolled up to the solitude of the Pincio, and lighting my pipe, sat down under the trees to think it out. I forgot to mention that the decree placing Venice and other towns within the War Zone was not to come into force for another twenty-four hours. Suddenly an idea occurred to me. I knew Venice well, why not go there; at any rate I should be quite near the Front, and with luck I might manage to make my way there. Anyhow it could not fail to be more interesting so close to the scene of operations than in Rome. I made up my mind to start that day if possible, and, going to Cooks’ office near the hotel, found that I was in luck’s way—there was a train that afternoon, and there was not the least difficulty in getting a ticket, but this was the last opportunity of doing so without a permit, I was told. The next day therefore saw me in Venice and amidst familiar scenes. But it was a very altered place from the Venice of peace time. It looked very dreary and lifeless. The week that had elapsed since the commencement of hostilities had brought about a great change.