LETTERS FROM THE ITALIAN FRONT 



63 



little nurses, just over 20 years of age! 

 They came down from their hospitals on 

 sleds a few weeks ago, as many of the 

 roads were deep in snow. ' 



Before going to the front they were 

 nursing in a hospital down in the plains. 

 When the soldiers in a ward where one 

 of them was engaged heard she was leav- 

 ing, they cried like children, hiding their 

 heads under the sheets lest their com- 

 panions should see them and make sport 

 of their tears. 



Through the Contessa de Robilant, I 

 am in touch not only with all the hos- 

 pitals in the Dolomites, but also with 

 those in Albania and Saloniki and in the 

 Corso. In fact, in the matter of being in 

 close touch with the hospitals our organ- 

 ization is perfect. Our work is sanc- 

 tioned by the War Office, which permits 

 us to send our things up to the front very 

 quickly and satisfactorily by special sol- 

 diers. It is wonderfully satisfactory to 

 have such facilities, but heartrending not 

 to have a great deal more to send. 



A great and terrible advance is ex- 

 pected by every one in a month or six 

 weeks and everybody is getting ready 

 for it. 



Our dear overgrown waiter, who 

 serves us dinner upstairs, will be enrolled 

 tomorrow. He makes me think of the 

 story of Alice in Wonderland : so tall, 

 just a child, and possessed of such im- 

 mense hands. He has spent most of his 

 life in Trieste in a cafe serving coffee. 

 When war broke out he was interned. 

 Then he escaped from the internment 

 camp and got back to Italy, his real home 

 being near Udine. And now he philoso- 

 phizes as he clears away the things at 

 night : 



"Who would ever have thought it. 

 Signora, nearly three years ago? And 

 instead of being finished, as we thought 

 it naturally would be, it seems as though 

 it were just going to begin." 



A SENTINEL TO GUARD HENS 



I went to a hospital of 1,200 beds to- 

 day. All cases in Rome go there first 

 and then are distributed according to 

 their ailments. Some stay permanently 

 in the hospital while convalescent, and 

 sometimes batches of wounded Austrian 



prisoners arrive in the great place. They 

 always interest me. One is not allowed, 

 as a rule, to talk to them ; but I have con- 

 versed with them several times. 



The colonel at the hospital made a 

 rather touching appeal the other morn- 

 ing. He had built a chicken-house in the 

 hope of having as many eggs for the hos- 

 pital as possible, and wanted 50 hens im- 

 mediately. M. presented him with 40 

 day before yesterday, and we went over 

 to receive them and to pay on delivery. 

 An expert among the wounded soldiers, 

 a peasant, was found, and he chose those 

 fowls he was sure would lay immediately. 



You would have been amused at the 

 whole scene — the farmer and wife, in 

 costume, on a little cart, under a huge um- 

 brella, arriving in state from the coun- 

 try, the very long discussion on the dif- 

 ferent points of each chicken, the crowd 

 of soldiers, and the nuns gathered about 

 the group. The chicken-house had just 

 been completed, but the key had not been 

 made ; and so, to provide against any of 

 the hens being stolen, a poor soldier had 

 to stand sentinel all night. 



I heard a story recently from an Al- 

 pine in Rome that you would like. A 

 sentry in the high Alps, over 9,250 feet 

 above sea-level (St. Moritz is 5,500), is 

 on duty three hours and stands under a 

 little roof, the snow falling steadily. 

 Whenever this sentry or the one who re- 

 places him is relieved, he has to be dug 

 out by his companions. A long passage 

 is shoveled out of the snow up to the 

 little cave under the roof. 



The Italians have had no idea of, and 

 no means of knowing, the amount of 

 wonderful supplies being distributed in 

 Italy by the clearing-house (I mean the 

 Italians officially) ; but now they begin 

 to know and are indeed impressed and 

 appreciative. The Contessa has the lists 

 of all that has been distributed since the 

 beginning of the war, and is publishing 

 them abroad, by word of mouth and in 

 the papers. 



The gentlemen of the clearing-house 

 were so kind and nice to me this morn- 

 ing. Sita has just gone to Sagrado, a 

 small village, formerly Austrian, on the 

 Isonzo, near Gorizia. The hospital is 

 right within sound and sight of where 



