across the broad valley rose Monte Cimone with the Italian trenches
upon its crest and the Austrians a little below to the north. A very
considerable bombardment was going on and it reverberated finely. (It
is only among mountains that one hears anything that one can call the
thunder of guns. The heaviest bombardments I heard in France sounded
merely like Brock's benefit on a much large scale, and disappointed me
extremely.) As I sat and listened to the uproar and watched the shells
burst on Cimone and far away up the valley over Castelletto above
Pedescala, Captain Pirelli pointed out the position of the Austrian
frontier. I doubt if the English people realise that the utmost depth to
which this great Trentino offensive, which exhausted Austria, wasted the
flower of the Hungarian army and led directly to the Galician disasters
and the intervention of Rumania, penetrated into Italian territory was
about six miles.




III. BEHIND THE FRONT


1

I have a peculiar affection for Verona and certain things in Verona.
Italians must forgive us English this little streak of impertinent
proprietorship in the beautiful things of their abundant land. It is
quite open to them to revenge themselves by professing a tenderness for
Liverpool or Leeds. It was, for instance, with a peculiar and
personal indignation that I saw where an Austrian air bomb had killed
five-and-thirty people in the Piazza Erbe. Somehow in that jolly old