My first impulse was to ask what business it was of his what we were, when it flashed through my mind that it was better not to resent his query, which might after all mean no harm. So I replied that I was a travelling artist in search of military subjects, and that my companion was my interpreter. “But why do you ask if we are journalists?” I continued.
“Because journalists are forbidden to come to Udine, and only yesterday the famous Barzini himself was arrested and sent back to Milan for coming here without permission. Of course there may be no objection to you as an artist if all your papers are in order.”
I assured him they were, but nevertheless I did not feel very reassured after what he had told me; it seemed a sort of hint that unless I was very sure of my position I had better not think of taking lodgings at Udine, otherwise I was asking for trouble. However, I had weighed all this in my mind beforehand, and was well aware of the risk I was taking.
It makes me smile even now when I recall how curtly I answered him, and how every remark he made only increased my early doubts as to his bona-fides, for he turned out to be as good and genuine a fellow as I ever met, and had it not been for this chance meeting, my early impressions of Udine would have been very different to what they were, apart from the result it had on my work whilst there, but of all this more anon.
The modest hotel we had been recommended to put up at was merely modest in comparison with Danielli’s at Venice, for it was the Hotel d’Italie, one of the best and most frequented in Udine, and the very last place I should have chosen for seclusion. As it turned out, they had not a room vacant, so we had perforce to seek accommodation elsewhere.
Meanwhile the obliging stranger had left us to our own devices, much to my relief, as I was not over keen on his knowing where we put up.
There happened to be a little “trattoria” close by, and we went in to get something to eat. It was late for lunch, so we had it to ourselves, and the proprietor, seeing we were strangers, came and had a chat with us.
It turned out that he had a room to let for 1.50 per night with two beds in it; it was large and very clean, so, to avoid walking about trying to find something better, I told him that I would take it. But it was more easily said than done.
“You must go to the Questura (the police) and get their permission to stay in Udine before I can let you have it,” he told us. This was a bit awkward, but there was no help for it but to go at once and get the ordeal over, so we made our way at once to the police station.
We had to pass through a main street, and I realised at once that Udine, although the “Front” and the Headquarters of the Army, was only a small Italian garrison town, with perhaps more soldiers about than there would have been in normal times.