kaise;rjage;r in front of rut hofkirchf at the; end of mass : innsbruck 



"At Innsbruck one sees them literally in 'Sunday best' standing at ease before the door 

 of the Hofkirche ... or marching through the public gardens. ... A hearty, healthy 

 looking lot, rarely ill. According to their surgeon, 'If one did not break a leg or mash a 

 hand now and then, I would have nothing to do'" (see text, page 332). 



valley, now low enough to hear the ripple 

 of water, and from it one looks across to 

 the mountains and forest, the village and 

 lake, the snow and the flowers, which is 

 Italy. 



Here, by the wall, is the ruined castle 

 of Buchenstein, which looks its German 

 name. A little farther on the village, 

 which is distinctly Italian in appearance, 

 repudiates it and calls itself Pieve di 

 Livinallonga. It clings to the road and 

 to the rocks above it, glaring over at Italy 

 from the midst of its forts. They sit 



upon either side and above it like huge 

 spiders, watching from vicious webs of 

 barbed wire. The road narrows to a 

 track admitting but one vehicle to thread 

 the little town. One can touch the 

 houses upon either side with one's hands 

 as they lean over the street, for sidewalk 

 there is none. 



Soldiers watch you enter and soldiers 

 watch you leave, and more soldiers whom 

 you do not see are posted high on the 

 hills to see that you do not loiter by the 

 way. It is a most enticingly picturesque 



351 



