From Venice to Udine—Reservists rejoining—Interesting crowd—Delays en route—Endless procession of military trains—Drawn blinds—The Red Cross train—Arrival Udine—Scene on platform—In search of an hotel—A little incident—The well-dressed civilian—The obliging guide—My suspicions—Awkward questions—The best hotel in Udine—A little “Trattoria” close by—A cheap room—First impressions of Udine—At the Police Office—The permis de séjour—The Carabinieri and the local police—The fascination of the big guns—The “Military Commandant of Udine”—A difficult proposition—The luck of the undelivered letter—My guide has to leave me—I change my quarters—The Hotel “Tower of London”—Alone in Udine—An awkward predicament—A friend in need—Still more luck—Dr. Berthod—I am offered a studio—I accept—The delight of having this studio in Udine.
CHAPTER III
The train service between Venice and Udine was apparently running as usual, and there was no difficulty in getting tickets in spite of the drastic regulations with regard to passengers. Possibly it was assumed that anyone already inside the War Zone had permission to be there, so no further questions were asked.
My guide, of course, got the tickets, so I had no trouble in that matter; perhaps if I had gone to the booking office myself with my limited vocabulary of Italian it would have been different. As it was, it all seemed ridiculously simple, and there appeared to be no difficulty whatever.
In Venice they are so accustomed to Englishmen, and artists are such “common objects of the seashore,” that I attracted no particular notice, in spite of my rucksack and my Norfolk jacket, breeches and leggings.
The train left Venice at 8 o’clock in the morning, and was crowded with officers in uniform and reservists in civilian attire, going to join their regiments. Every class of Italian life was to be seen amongst them—from the peasant with his humble belongings in a paper parcel to the smart young man from Venice with his up-to-date suit case and other luggage.
All were in the highest possible spirits, and it gave me more the impression of a holiday outing of some big manufacturing company than a troop-train as it virtually was.
I now began to realize how handicapped I was in not speaking Italian; it would have been so interesting to have been able to chat with these enthusiastic young fellows.
It was supposed to take three hours to get to Udine, but we were two hours and a half longer, as we were continually being held up for trains with troops, artillery and every description of materiel to pass. It was an endless procession, and the soldiers in them seemed as happy as sand-boys, and cheered lustily as they passed us.
The blinds of our windows and doors had to be kept drawn down the whole way, and no one except the officers was allowed to get out of the train at the stations under any pretext. Still there was not much that we did not see; the blinds did not fit so tight as all that.