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Grappa and the Trentino, westward to Tonale Pass and northward to Innsbruck, but it was after the armistice. He made a choice collection of war relics and photographs, which he subsequently used in his lecture: "Personal Experiences at the Battle of Vittorio Veneto, or How I Won the War Cross." He had spent his boyhood on the trails of Pine Mountain, often riding to mill straddle of a mule.
I stood again on the bridge at Bassano, looking up the Val Brenta, with Monte Grappa towering above me on my right hand, and then turning south-eastward across the level plain I heard again the rushing waters of the Piave and, crossing to the farther side, passed through Conegliano, burnt out and ravaged, and Vittorio Veneto, a name that will resound for ever, to the broken bridge over the Meduna, east of Pordenone, and the village of Nogaredo, whither I came as one of its first liberators.
The day was dawning as I passed through the stony streets, and when I reached my room, and pulled down my dark green blinds, the bell of the Capuchin monastery in the Via Veneto was ringing and the monks were saying the first of their offices. I must have been some time in bed, hiding my hot face in the bed-clothes, when Price, my maid, came in to apologise for not having seen me come back alone.
Dialect is the elf rather than the genius of place, and a dwarfish master of the magic of local things. In England we hardly know what a concentrated homeliness it nourishes; inasmuch as, with us, the castes and classes for whom Goldoni and Gallina and Signor Fogazzaro have written in the patois of the Veneto, use no dialect at all.
Laura accepted, and they went to the Via Veneto with the Englishman riding beside them. They went into the hotel and passed through to the "hall" full of people, Marchmont sent word to his wife by a servant, to come down. Laura and Caesar seated themselves with the Englishman. "This hotel is unbearable," exclaimed Marchmont; "there is nothing here but Americans."
Browning's brother-in-law, Mr. George Moulton-Barrett. Asolo, Veneto: Oct. 22, '89. My dear George, It was a great pleasure to get your kind letter; though after some delay.
We find it in one written a week later to Mr. G. M. Smith, otherwise very expressive of his latest condition of mind and feeling. Asolo, Veneto, Italia: Oct. 22, '89.
"La Signora si trova un poco sagrificata?" "An elegant way of expressing it," we venture to suggest. The Veneto roars and roars again, and we all shriek, none louder than the Roman himself.
A division may be so placed as to bear the brunt of an offensive and by a stubborn, bloody stand stop a disastrous defeat; but it takes many combined divisions fighting with equal valor and success under a great staff to put over a great offensive, such as was the battle of Vittorio Veneto; in result, at least, the greatest battle of the world.
Conscious of her fresh and youthful appearance, it never entered her head that her twenty-five years could be mistaken for Jeanne's thirty-two. Jeanne, in the meantime, was wondering how she could turn her dilemma to the best account. "You were not expected last night," said Don Clemente to Noemi. "You come from the Veneto, I believe?" "The Veneto?" Noemi seemed surprised.
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