mes. To this famous force
of constabulary has been given the work of policing the occupied
regions, and indeed, the entire zone of the armies. With their huge
cocked hats, which, since the war began, have been covered with gray
linen, their rosy faces, so pink-and-white that they look as though
they had been rouged and powdered, and their little upturned waxed
mustaches, the Carabinieri always remind me of the gendarmes in comic
operas. But the only thing comic about them is their hats. They are
the sternest and most uncompromising guardians of the law that I know.
You can expostulate with a London bobbie, you can argue with a Paris
gendarme, you can on occasion reason mildly with a New York policeman,
but not with an Italian carbineer. To give them back talk is to invite
immediate and serious trouble. They are supreme in the war zone, for
they take orders from no one save their own officers and have the
authority to turn back or arrest any one, no matter what his rank. Our
chauffeur, who, being attached to the Comando Supremo, had become so
accustomed to driving generals and cabinet ministers that he blagued
the military sentries, and quite openly sneered at the orders of the
Udine police, would jam on his brakes so suddenly that we would almost
go through the wind-shield if a carbineer held up his hand.

Gorizia is, or was before the war, a place of some 40,000 inhabitants.
It has broad streets, lined by fine white buildings and lovely
gardens, and outside the town are excellent medicinal baths. It will,
I think, prove a very popular summer resort with the Italians. Though
for many months prior to its capture it was within range of the
Italian guns, which could have blown it to smithereens, they refrained
from doing so because it was desired, if possible, to take the place
intact. That, indeed, has been the Italian policy throughout the war:
to do as little unnecessary damage as possible. Now the Austrians, who
look down on their lost city from the heights to the eastward, refrain
from destroying it, as they easily could do, because they cling to the
hope that they may get it back again. So, though the bridge-heads are
shelled constantly, and though considerable damage has been inflicted
on the suburbs, no serious harm has been done to the city itself. By
this I do not mean to imply that the Austrians never shell it, for
they do, but only in a desultory, half-hearted fashion. During the day
that I spent in Gorizia the