A Glimpse of the Italian Army
A Glimpse of the Italian Army is an article written by Arthur Conan Doyle first published in The Daily Chronicle and other newspapers on 29 june 1916.
This is the second article about Arthur Conan Doyle's visit to the Italian front. First article as Under Fire on Isonzo Front (27 june 1916).
Editions
- in The Daily Chronicle (29 june 1916 [UK]) as A Glimpse of the Italian Army
- in Daily Express (29 june 1916 [UK]) as Italy's War Problems
- in Daily Graphic (29 june 1916 [UK]) as Italy's Fighting Front
- in The Times (29 june 1916 [UK]) as Italy's Part in the War
- in Crowborough Weekly (29 june 1916 [UK]) as Italy's Part in the War
- in New York American (23 july 1916 [UK]) as Conan Doyle Gives Praise to Italians, Part 2
A Glimpse of the Italian Army

WARFARE IN THE CARNIC ALPS.
By Sir ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.
(SECOND ARTICLE)
My second day was devoted to a view of the Italian mountain warfare in the Carnic Alps. Besides the two great fronts, one of defence (Trentino) and one of offence (Isonzo) there are very many smaller valleys which have to be guarded. The total frontier line is some hundreds of miles, and it has all to be held against raids, if not invasions.
It is a most picturesque business. Far up in the Roccolana Valley I found the Alpini outposts, backed by artillery, which had been brought into the most wonderful positions. They have taken 8-inch guns where a tourist could hardly take his knapsack. Neither side can ever make serious progress, but there are continual duels, gun against gun, or Alpini against Jaeger.
In a little wayside house was the brigade headquarters, and here I was entertained to lunch. It was a scene that I shall remember. They drank to England. I raised my glass to Italia irredenta — might it soon be redenta. They all sprang to their feet, and the circle of dark faces flashed into flame. They keep their souls and emotions, these people. I trust that ours may not become atrophied by self-suppression.
In some ways the Italians are in a difficult position. The war is made by their splendid king, a man of whom everyone speaks with extraordinary reverence and love — and by the people. The people, with the deep instinct of a very old civilisation, understand that the liberty of the world and their own national existence are really at stake.
Divergent National Forces.
But there are several forces which divide the strength of the nation. There is the clerical, which represents the old Guelph, or German, spirit, looking upon Austria as the eldest daughter of the Church — a daughter who is little credit to her mother.
Then there is the old nobility.
Finally, there are the commercial people who through the great banks or other similar agencies have got into the influence and employ of the Germans. When you consider all this you will appreciate how necessary it is that Britain should in every possible way, moral and material, sustain the national party. Should, by any evil chance, the others gain the upper hand, there might be a very sudden and sinister change in the international situation. Every man who does, says or writes a thing which may in any way alienate the Italians is really, whether he knows it or not, working for the King of Prussia.
These Italians are a grand people, striving most efficiently for the common cause, with all the dreadful disabilities which an absence of coal and iron entails. It is for us to show that we appreciate it. Justice, as well as policy, demands it.
The last day spent upon the Italian front was in the Trentino. From Verona a motor drive of about 25 miles takes one up the valley of the Adige, and past a place of evil augury for the Austrians — the field of Rivoli. As one passes up the valley one appreciates that on their left wing the Italians have position after position in the spurs of the mountains before they could be driven into the plain. If the Austrians could reach the plain it would be to their own ruin, for the Italians have large reserves. There is no need for any anxiety about the Trentino.
I had heard that the Italians were a nervous people. It does not apply to this part of Italy. As I approached the danger spot I saw rows of large fat gentlemen with long thin black cigars leaning against walls in the sunshine. The general atmosphere would have steadied an epileptic. Italy is perfectly sure of herself in this quarter. Finally, after a long drive of winding gradients, always beside the Adige, we reached Ala, where we interviewed the commander of the sector, a man who has done splendid work during the recent fighting.
"By all means you can see my front. But no motor car, please. It draws fire, and others may be hit beside you."
We proceeded on foot therefore along a valley which branched at the end into two passes. In both very active fighting had been going on, and as we came up the guns were baying merrily, waking up most extraordinary echoes in the hills. It was difficult to believe that it was not thunder.
One Voice of the Mountains.
There was one terrible voice that broke out from time to time in the mountains — like the angry voice of the Holy Roman Empire. When it came all other sounds died down into nothing. It was — so I was told — the master gun, the vast 42-cemtimetre giant which brought down the pride of Liege and Namur. The Austrians have brought one or more from Innsbruck.
Italians assure me, however, as we have ourselves discovered, that in trench work beyond a certain point the size of the gun makes little matter.
We passed a burst dug-out by the roadside where a tragedy had occurred recently; eight medical officers were killed in it by a single shell. There was no particular danger in the valley, however, and the aimed fire was all going across us to the fighting lines in the two passes above us. That to the right, the Valley of Buello, has seen some of the worst of the fighting. These two passes form the Italian left wing, which has held firm all through. So has the right wing. It is only the centre which has been pushed in by the concentrated fire.
When we arrived at the spot where the two valleys forked we were halted, and we were not permitted to advance to the advance trenches which lay upon the crests above us. There was about 1,000 yards between the adversaries.
Italians speak with chivalrous praise of the bravery of the Hungarians and of the Austrian Jaeger. Some of their proceedings disgust them, however, and especially the fact that they use Russian prisoners to dig trenches under fire. There is no doubt of this, as some of the men were recaptured, and were sent on to join their comrades in France. On the whole, however, it may be said that in the Austro-Italian war there is nothing which corresponds with the extreme bitterness of our western conflict. The presence or absence the Austrians get their guns forward.
Nothing could be more cool or methodical than the Italian arrangements on the Trentino front. There are no troops who would not have been forced back by the Austrian fire. It corresponded with the French experience at Verdun, or ours at the second battle of Ypres. It may well occur again if the Austrians get their guns forward.
But, at such a rate, it would take them a long time to make any real impression. One cannot look at the officers and men without seeing that their spirit and confidence are high. In answer to my inquiry they assure me that there is little difference between the troops of the northern provinces and those of the south. Even among the snows of the Alps they tell me that the Sicilians gave an excellent account of themselves.
That night found me back at Verona, and next morning I was on my way to Paris, where I hope to be privileged to have some experiences at the front of our splendid Allies.
I leave Italy with a deep feeling of gratitude for the kindness shown to me, and of admiration for the way in which they are playing their part in the world's fight for freedom.
They have every possible disadvantage, economic and political. But, in spite of it, they have done splendidly. Three thousand square kilometres of the enemy's country is already in their possession. They relieve to a very great extent the pressure upon the Russians, who, in spite of all their bravery, might have been overwhelmed last summer during the "durch bruch," had it not been for the diversion of so many Austrian troops. The time has come now when Russia, by her advance on the Pripet, is repaying her debt. But the debt is common to all the Allies. Let them bear it in mind. There has been mischief done by slighting criticism and by inconsiderate words. A warm sympathetic hand-grasp of congratulation is what Italy has deserved, and it is both justice and policy to give it.
[Copyright, 1916, by A. Conan Doyle in the United States of America.]