_The Crucifix Across the Mountains_


The imperial road to Italy goes from Munich across the Tyrol, through
Innsbruck and Bozen to Verona, over the mountains. Here the great
processions passed as the emperors went South, or came home again from
rosy Italy to their own Germany.

And how much has that old imperial vanity clung to the German soul? Did
not the German kings inherit the empire of bygone Rome? It was not a
very real empire, perhaps, but the sound was high and splendid.

Maybe a certain Groessenwahn is inherent in the German nature. If only
nations would realize that they have certain natural characteristics, if
only they could understand and agree to each other's particular nature,
how much simpler it would all be.

The imperial procession no longer crosses the mountains, going South.
That is almost forgotten, the road has almost passed out of mind. But
still it is there, and its signs are standing.

The crucifixes are there, not mere attributes of the road, yet still
having something to do with it. The imperial processions, blessed by the
Pope and accompanied by the great bishops, must have planted the holy
idol like a new plant among the mountains, there where it multiplied and
grew according to the soil, and the race that received it.

As one goes among the Bavarian uplands and foothills, soon one realizes
here is another land, a strange religion. It is a strange country,