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 Grossenwahn 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. . . .
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