David Herbert Lawrence

Twilight in Italy David Herbert Lawrence

The imperial road to Italy goes from Munich across the Tyrol, through Innsbruck andBozen to Verona, over the mountains. Here the great processions passed as the emperorswent 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 theGerman 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 Grössenwahn is inherent in the German nature. If only nations wouldrealize that they have certain natural characteristics, if only they could understand andagree 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 almostforgotten, the road has almost passed out of mind. But still it is there, and its signs arestanding. The crucifixes are there, not mere attributes of the road, yet still having something to dowith it. The imperial processions, blessed by the Pope and accompanied by the greatbishops, must have planted the holy idol like a new plant among the mountains, therewhere 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 anotherland, a strange religion. It is a strange country, remote, out of contact. Perhaps it belongs tothe forgotten, imperial processions. Coming along the clear, open roads that lead to the mountains, one scarcely notices thecrucifixes and the shrines. Perhaps one's interest is dead. The crucifix itself is nothing, afactory-made piece of sentimentalism. The soul ignores it. But gradually, one after another looming shadowily under their hoods, the crucifixesseem to create a new atmosphere over the whole of the countryside, a darkness, a weight inthe air that is so unnaturally bright and rare with the reflection from the snows above, adarkness hovering just over the earth. So rare and unearthly the light is, from themountains, full of strange radiance. Then every now and again recurs the crucifix, at theturning of an open, grassy road, holding a shadow and a mystery under its pointed hood.