Cosmos: A Sketch of the Physical Description of the Universe Part 2

Nature considered 'rationally', that is to say, submitted to the process of thought, is a unity in diversity of phenomena; a harmony blending together all created things, however dissimilar in form and attributes; one great whole ([Greek words]) animated by the breath of life. The most important result of a rational inquiry into nature is, therefore, to establish the unity and harmony of this stupendous ma.s.s of force and matter, to determine with impartial justice what is due to the discoveries of the past and to those of the present, and to a.n.a.lyze the individual parts of natural phenomena without succ.u.mbing beneath the weight of the whole. Thus, and thus alone, is it permitted to man, while mindful of the high destiny p 25 of his race, to comprehend nature, to lift the vail that shrouds her phenomena, and as it were, submit the results of observation to the test of reason and of intellect.

In reflecting upon the different degrees of enjoyment presented to us in the contemplation of nature, we find that the first place must be a.s.signed to a sensation, which is wholly independent of an intimate acquaintance with the physical phenomena presented to our view, or of the peculiar character of the region surrounding us. In the uniform plain bounded only by a distant horizon, where the lowly heather, the cistus, or waving gra.s.ses, deck the soil; on the ocean sh.o.r.e, where the waves, softly rippling over the beach, leave a track, green with the weeds of the sea; every where, the mind is penetrated by the same sense of the grandeur and vast expanse of nature, revealing to the soul, by a mysterious inspiration, the existence of laws that regulate the forces of the universe. Mere communion with nature, mere contact with the free air, exercise a soothing yet strengthening influence on the wearied spirit, calm the storm of pa.s.sion, and soften the heart when shaken by sorrow to its inmost depths. Every where, in every region of the globe, in every stage of intellectual culture, the same sources of enjoyment are alike vouchsafed to man. The earnest and solemn thoughts awakened by a communion with nature intuitively arise from a presentiment of the order and harmony pervading the whole universe, and from the contrast we draw between the narrow limits of our own existence and the image of infinity revealed on every side, whether we look upward to the starry vault of heaven, scan the far-stretching plain before us, or seek to trace the dim horizon across the vast expanse of ocean.

The contemplation of the individual characteristics of the landscape, and of the conformation of the land in any definite region of the earth, gives rise to a different source of enjoyment, awakening impressions that are more vivid, better defined, and more congenial to certain phases of the mind, than those of which we have already spoken. At one time the heart is stirred by a sense of the grandeur of the face of nature, by the strife of the elements, or, as in Northern Asia by the aspect of the dreary barrenness of the far-stretching steppes; at another time, softer emotions are excited by the contemplation of rich harvests wrested by the hand of man from the wild fertility of nature, or by the sight of human habitations raised beside some wild and foaming torrent. Here I regard less the degree of intensity than the difference existing in the p 26 various sensations that derive their charm and permanence from the peculiar character of the scene.

If I might be allowed to abandon myself to the recollections of my own distant travels, I would instance, among the most striking scenes of nature, the calm sublimity of a tropical night, when the stars, not sparkling, as in our northern skies, shed their soft and planetary light over the gently-heaving ocean; or I would recall the deep valleys of the Cordilleras, where the tall and slender palms pierce the leafy vail around them, and waving on high their feathery and arrow-like branches for, as it were, "a forest above a forest;"* or I would describe the summit of the Peak of Teneriffe, when a horizontal layer of clouds, dazzling in whiteness, has separated the cone of cinders from the plain below, and suddenly the ascending current pierces the cloudy vail, so that the eye of the traveler may range from the brink of the crater, along the vine-clad slopes of Orotava, to the orange gardens and banana groves that skirt the sh.o.r.e. In scenes like these, it is not the peaceful charm uniformly spread over the face of nature that moves the heart, but rather the peculiar physiognomy and conformation of the land, the features of the landscape, the ever varying outline of the clouds, and their blending with the horizon of the sea, whether it lies spread before us like a smooth and s.h.i.+ning mirror, or is dimly seen through the morning mist. All that the senses can but imperfectly comprehend, all that is most awful in such romantic scenes of nature, may become a source of enjoyment to man, by opening a wide field to the creative powers of his imagination. Impressions change with the varying movements of the mind, and we are led by a happy illusion to believe that we receive from the external world that with which we have ourselves invested it.

[footnote] *This expression is taken from a beautiful description of tropical forest scenery in 'Paul and Virginia', by Bernardia de Saint Pierre.

When far from our native country, after a long voyage, we tread for the first time the soil of a tropical land, we experience a certain feeling of surprise and gratification in recognizing, in the rocks that surround us, the same inclined schistose strata, and the same columnar basalt covered with cellular amygdaloids, that we had left in Europe, and whose ident.i.ty of character, in lat.i.tudes so widely different, reminds us that the solidification of the earth's crust is altogether independent of climatic influences. But these rocky ma.s.ses of schist and of basalt are covered with vegetation of a character with which we are unacquainted, and of a physiognomy wholly p 27 unknown to us; and it is then, amid the colossal and majestic forms of an exotic flora, that we feel how wonderfully the flexibility of our nature fits us to receive new impressions, linked together by a certain secret a.n.a.logy. We so readily perceive the affinity existing among all the forms of organic life, that although the sight of a vegetation similar to that of our native country might at first be most welcome to the eye, as the sweet familiar sounds of our mother tongue are to the ear, we nevertheless, by degrees, and almost imperceptibly, become familiarized with a new home and a new climate. As a true citizen of the world, man every where habituates himself to that which surrounds him; yet fearful, as it were, of breaking the links of a.s.sociation that bind him to the home of his childhood, the colonist applies to some few plants in a far-distant clime the names he had been familiar with in his native land; and by the mysterious relations existing among all types of organization, the forms of exotic vegetation present themselves to his mind as n.o.bler and more perfect developments of those he had loved in earlier days. Thus do the spontaneous impressions of the untutored mind lead, like the laborious deductions of cultivated intellect, to the same intimate persuasion, that one sole and indissoluble chain binds together all nature.

It may seem a rash attempt to endeavor to separate, into its different elements, the magic power exercised upon our minds by the physical world, since the character of the landscape, and of every imposing scene in nature, depends so materially upon the mutual relation of the ideas and sentiments simultaneously excited in the mind of the observer.

The powerful effect exercised by nature springs, as it were, from the connection and unity of the impressions and emotions produced; and we can only trace their different sources by a.n.a.lyzing the individuality of objects and the diversity of forces.

The richest and most varied elements for pursuing an a.n.a.lysis of this nature present themselves to the eyes of the traveler in the scenery of Southern Asia, in the Great Indian Archipelago, and more especially, too, in the New Continent, where the summits of the lofty Cordilleras penetrate the confines of the aerial ocean surrounding our globe, and where the same subterranean forces that once raised these mountain chains still shake them to their foundation and threaten their downfall.

Graphic delineations of nature, arranged according to systematic views, are not only suited to please the imagination, p 28 but may also, when properly considered, indicate the grades of the impressions of which I have spoken, from the uniformity of the sea-sh.o.r.e, or the barren steppes of Siberia, to the inexhaustible fertility of the torrid zone. If we were even to picture to ourselves Mount Pilatus placed on the Schreckhorn,* or the Schneekoppe of Silesia on Mont Blanc, we should p 29 not have attained to the height of that great Colossus of the Andes, the Chimborazo, whose height is twice that of Mont Aetna; and we must pile the Righi, or Mount Athos, on the summit of the Chimborazo, in order to form a just estimate of the elevation of the Dhawalagiri, the highest point of the Himalaya.

[footnote] *These comparisons are only approximative. The several elevations above the level of the sea are, in accurate numbers, as follows: The Schneekoppe or Riesenkoppe, in Silesia about 5270 feet, according to Hallaschka. The Righi, 5902 feet, taking the height of the Lake of Lucerne at 1426 feet, according to Eschman. (See 'Compte Rendu des Mesures Trigonometriques en Suisse', 1840, p. 230.) Mount Athos, 6775 feet, according to Captain Gaultier; Mount Pilatus, 7546 feet; Mount Aetna, 10,871 feet, according to Captain Smyth; or 10,874 feet, according to the barometrical measurement made by Sir John Herschel, and communicated to me in writing in 1825, and 10,899 feet, according to angles of alt.i.tude taken by Cacciatore at Palermo (calculated by a.s.suming the terrestrial refraction to be 0.076); the Schreckhorn, 12,383 feet; the Jungfrau, 13,720 feet, according to Tralles; Mount Blanc, 15,775 feet, according to the different measurements considered by Roger ('Bibl. Univ.', May, 1828, 0. 24-53), 15,733 feet, according to the measurements taken from Mount Columbier by Carlini in 1821, and 15,748 feet, as measured by the Austrian engineers from Trelod and the Glacier d'Ambin.

[footnote continued]

The actual height of the Swiss mountains fluctuates, according to Eschman's observations, as much as 25 English feet, owing to the varying thickness of the stratum of snow that covers the summits. Chimborazo is, according to my trigonometrical measurements, 21,421 feet (see Humboldt, 'Recueil d'Obs.

Astr.', tome i., p. 73), and Dhawalagiri, 28,074 feet. As there is a difference of 445 feet between the determinations of Blake and Webb, the elevation a.s.signed to the Dhawalagiri (or white mountain, from the Sanscrit 'dhawala', white, and 'giri', mountain) can not be received with the same confidence as that of the Jawahir, 25,749 feet, since the latter rests on a complete trigonomietrical measurement (see Herbert and Hodgson in the 'Asiat. Res.', vol. xiv., p. 189, and Suppl. to 'Encycl. Brit.', vol. iv., p. 643). I have shown elsewhere ('Ann. des Sciences Naturelles', Mars, 1825) that the height of the Dhawalagiri (28,074 feet) depends on several elements that have not been ascertained with certainty, as azimuths and lat.i.tudes (Humboldt, 'Asie Centrale', t. iii., p. 282). It has been believed, but without foundation, that in the Tartaric chain, north of Thibet, opposite to the chain of Kuen-lun, there are several snowy summits, whose elevation is about 30,000 English feet (almost twice that of Mont Blanc), or, at any rate, 29,000 feet (see Captain Alexander Gerard's and John Gerard's 'Journey to the Boorendo Pa.s.s', 1840, vol. i., p. 143 and 311). Chimborazo is spoken of in the text only as 'one' of the highest summits of the chain of the Andes; for in the year 1827, the learned and highly-gifted traveler, Pentland, in his memorable expedition to Upper Peru (Bolivia), measured the elevation of two mountains situated to the east of Lake t.i.ticaca, viz., the Sorata, 25,200 feet, and the Illimani, 24,000 feet, both greatly exceeding the height of Chimborazo, which is only 21,421 feet, and being nearly equal in elevation to the Jawahir, which is the highest mountain in the Himalaya that has as yet been accurately measured. Thus Mont Blanc is 5646 feet below Chimborazo; Chimborazo, 3779 feet below the Sorata; the Sorata, 549 feet below the Jawahir, and probably about 2880 feet below the Dhawalagiri. According to a new measurement of the Illimani, by Pentland, in 1838, the elevation of this mountain is given at 23,868 feet, varying only 133 feet from the measurement taken in 1827. The elevations have been given in this note with minute exactness, as erroneous numbers have been introduced into many maps and tables recently published, owing to incorrect reductions of the measurements.

[In the preceding note, taken from those appended to the Introduction in the French translation, rewritten by Humboldt himself, the measurements are given in meters, but these have been converted into English feet, for the greater convenience of the general reader.] -- 'Tr.'

But although the mountains of India greatly surpa.s.s the Cordilleras of South America by their astonis.h.i.+ng elevation (which, after being long contested, has at last been confirmed by accurate measurements), they can not, from their geographical position, present the same inexhaustible variety of phenomena by which the latter are characterized. The impression produced by the grander aspects of nature dies not depend exclusively on height. The chain of the Himalaya is placed far beyond the limits of the torrid zone, and scarcely is a solitary palm-tree to be found in the beautiful valleys of k.u.maoun and Garhwal.*

[Footnote] *The absence of palms and tree-ferns on the temperate slopes of the Himalaya is shown in Don's 'Flora Nepalensis', 1825, and in the remarkable series of lithographs of Wallich's 'Flora Indica', whose catalogue contains the enormous number of 7683 Himalaya species, almost all phanerogamic plants, which have as yet been but imperfectly cla.s.sified. In Nepaul (lat. 26 1/2 degrees to 27 1/4 degrees) there has. .h.i.therto been observed only one species of palm, Chamaerops martiana, Wall. ('Plantae Asiat.', lib. iii., p. 5,211), which is found at the height of 5250 English feet above the level of the sea, in the shady valley of Bunipa. The magnificent tree-fern, Alsophila brunoniana, Wall. (of which a stem 48 feet long has been in the possession of the British Museum since 1831), does not grow in Nepaul, but is found on the mountains of Silhet, to the northwest of Calcutta, in lat. 24 degrees 50 minutes. The Nepaul fern, Paranema cyathoides, Don, formerly known as Sphaeroptera barbata, Wall. ('Plantae Asiat.', lib. i., p. 42, 48), is indeed, nearly related to Cyathea, a species of which I have seen in the South American Missions of Caripe, measuring 33 feet in height; this is not, however, properly speaking a tree.

On the southern slope of the ancient Paropamisus, in the lat.i.tudes of 28 degrees and 34 degrees, nature no longer displays the same abundance of tree-ferns and arborescent gra.s.ses, heliconias and orchideous plants, which in tropical p 30 regions are to be found even on the highest plateaux of the mountains. On the slope of the Himalaya, under the shade of the Deodora and the broad-leaved oak, peculiar to these Indian Alps, the rocks of granite and of mica schist are covered with vegetable forms almost similar to those which characterize Europe and Northern Asia. The species are not identical, but closely a.n.a.logous in aspect and physiognomy, as, marsh parna.s.sia, and the p.r.i.c.kly species of Ribes.* The chain of the Himalaya is also wanting in the imposing phenomena of volcanoes, which in the Andes and in the Indian Archipelago often reveal to the inhabitants, under the most terrific forms, the existence of the forces pervading the interior of our planet.

[footnote] *Ribes nubicola, R. glaciale, R. grossularia. The species which compose the vegetation of the Himalaya are four pines, notwithstanding the a.s.sertion of the ancients regarding Eastern Asia (Strabo, lib. 11, p. 510, Cas.), twenty-five oaks, four birches, two chestnuts, seven maples, twelve willows, fourteen roses, three species of strawberry, seven species of Alpine roses ('rhododendra'), one of which attains a height of 20 feet, and many other northern genera. Large white apes, having black faces, inhabit the wild chestnut-tree of Kashmir, which grows to a height of 100 feet, in lat. 33 degrees (see Carl von Hugel's 'Kaschmir', 1840, 2d pt. 249). Among the Coniferae, we find the Pinus deodwara, or deodara (in Sanscrit, 'dewa-daru', the timber of the G.o.ds), which is nearly allied to Pinus cedrus. Near the limit of perpetual snow flourish the large and showy flowers of the Gentiana venusta, G. Moorcroftiana, Swertia purpurescens, S.

speciosa, Parna.s.sia armata, P. nubicola, Poenia Emode, Tulipa stellata; and besides varieties of European genera peculiar to these Indian mountains, true European species as Leontodon taraxac.u.m, Prunella vulgaris, Galium aparine, and Thlaspi arvense. The heath mentioned by Saunders, in Turner's 'Travels', and which had been confounded with Calluna vulgaris, is an Andromeda, a fact of the greatest importance in the geography of Asiatic plants. If I have made use, in this work, of the unphilosophical expressions of European genera, 'European' special, 'growing wild in Asia', etc., it has been in consequence of the old botanical language, which, instead of the idea of a large dissemination, or, rather, of the coexistence of organic productions, has dogmatically subst.i.tuted the false hypothesis of a migration, which, from predilection for Europe, is further a.s.sumed to have been from west to east.

Moreover, on the southern declivity of the Himalaya, where the ascending current deposits the exhalations rising from a vigorous Indian vegetation, the region of perpetual snow begins at an elevation of 11,000 or 12,000 feet above the level of the sea,* thus setting a limit to the development of organic p 31 life in a zone that is nearly 3000 feet lower than that to which it attains in the equinoctial region of the Cordilleras.

[footnote] *On the southern declivity of the Himalaya, the limit of perpetual snow is 12,978 feet above the level of the sea; on the northern declivity, or, rather, on the peaks which rise above the Thibet, or Tartarian plateau, this limit is at 16,625 feet from 30 1/2 degrees to 32 degrees of lat.i.tude, while at the equator, in the Andes of Quito, it is 15,790 feet. Such is the result I have deduced from the combination of numerous data furnished by Webb, Gerard, Herbert, and Moorcroft. (See my two memoirs on the mountains of India, in 1816 and 1820, in the 'Ann. de Chimie et de Physique', t. iii., p. 303; t. xiv., p. 6, 22, 50.) The greater elevation to which the limit of perpetual snow recedes on the Tartarian declivity is owing to the radiation of heat from the neighboring elevated plains, to the purity of the atmosphere, and to the infrequent formation of snow in an air which is both very cold and very dry.

(Humboldt, 'Asie Centrale', t. iii., p. 281-326.) My opinion on the difference of height of the snow-line on the two sides of the Himalaya has the high authority of Colebrooke in its favor. He wrote to me in June, 1824, as follows: "I also find, from the data in my possession, that the elevation of the line of perpetual snow is 13,000 feet. On the southern declivity, and at lat.i.tude 31 degrees, Webb's measurements give me 13,500 feet, consequently 500 feet more than the height deduced from Captain Hodgson's observations. Gerard's measurements fully confirm your opinion that the line of snow is higher on the northern than on the southern side."

It was not until the present year (1840) that we obtained the complete and collected journal of the brothers Gerard, published under the supervision of Mr. Lloyd. ('Narrative of a Journey from Cawnpoor to the Boorendo Pa.s.s, in the Himalaya, by Captain Alexander Gerard and John Gerard, edited by George Lloyd', vol. i., p. 292, 311, 320, 327 and 341.) Many interesting details regarding some localities may be found in the narrative of 'A Visit to the Shatool, for the Purpose of determining the Line of Perpetual Snow on the southern face of the Himalaya, in August', 1822. Unfortunately, however, these travelers always confound the elevation at which sporadic snow falls with the maximum of the height that the snow-line attains on the Thibetian plateau. Captain Gerard distinguishes between the summits that rise in the middle of the plateau, where he states the elevation of the snow-line to be between 18,000 and 19,000 feet, and the northern slopes of the chain of the Himalaya, which border on the defile of the Sutledge, and can radiate but little heat, owing to the deep ravines with which they are intersected. The elevation of the village of Tangno is given at only 9300 feet, while that of the plateau surrounding the sacred lake of Maqasa is 17,000 feet. Captain Gerard finds the snow-line 500 feet lower on the northern slopes, where the chain of the Himalaya is broken through, than toward the southern declivities facing Hindostan, and he there estimates the line of perpetual snow at 15,000 feet. The most striking differences are presented between the vegetation on the Thibetian plateau and that characteristic of the southern slopes of the Himalaya. On the latter the cultivation of grain is arrested at 9974 feet and even there the corn has often to be cut when the blades are still green. The extreme limit of forests of tall oaks and deodars is 11,960 feet; that of dwarf birches, 12,983 feet. On the plains, Captain Gerard found pastures up to the height of 17,000 feet; the cereals will grow at 14,100 feet, or even at 18,540 feet; birches with tall stems at 14,100 feet, and copse or brush wood applicable for fuel is found at an elevation of upward of 17,000 feet, that is to say, 1280 feet and above the lower limits of the snow-line at the equator, in the province of Quito. It is very desirable that the 'mean' elevation of the Thibetian plateau, which I have estimated at only about 8200 feet between the Himalaya and the Kuen-lun, and the difference in the height of the line of perpetual snow on the southern and on the northern slopes of the Himalaya, should be again investigated by travelers who are accustomed to judge of the general conformation of the land. Hitherto simple calculations have too often been confounded with actual measurements, and the elevations of isolated summits with that of the surrounding plateau. (Compare Carl Zimmerman's excellent Hypsometrical Remarks in his 'Geographischen a.n.a.lyse der Karte von Inner Asien', 1841, s. 98.) Lord draws attention to the difference presented by the two faces of the Himalaya and those of the Alpine chain of Hindoo-Coosh, with respect to the limits of the snow-line. "The latter chain," he says, "has the table-land to the south, in consequence of which the snow-line is higher on the southern side, contrary to what we find to be the case with respect to the Himalaya, which is bounded on the south by sheltered plains, as Hindoo-Coosh is on the north." It must, however, be admitted that the hypsometrical data on which these statements are based require a critical revision with regard to several of their details; but still they suffice to establish the main fact, that the remarkable configuration of the land in Central Asia affords man all that is essential to the maintenance of life, as habitation, food, and fuel, at an elevation above the level of the sea which in almost all other parts of the globe is covered with perpetual ice.

We must except the very dry districts of Bolivia, where snow is so rarely met with, and where Pentland (in 1838) fixed the snow-line at 15,667 feet, between 16 degrees and 17 3/4 degrees south lat.i.tude. The opinion that I had advanced regarding the difference in the snow-line on the two faces of the Himalaya has been most fully confirmed by the barometrical observations of Victor Jacquemont, who fell an early sacrifice to his n.o.ble and unwearied ardor. (See his 'Correspondance pendant son Voyage dans l'Inde', 1828 'a'

1832, liv. 23, p. 290, 296, 299.) "Perpetual snow," says Jacquemont, "descends lower on the southern than on the northern slopes of the Himalaya, and the limit constantly rises as we advance to the north of the chain bordering on India. On the Kionbrong, about 18,317 feet in elevation, according to Captain Gerard, I was still considerably below the limit of perpetual snow which I believe to be 19,690 feet in this part of Hindostan."

(This estimate I consider much too high.)

[Footnote continues] The same traveler says, "To whatever height we rise on the southern declivity of the Himalaya, the climate retains the same character, and the same division of the seasons as in the plains of India; the summer solstice being every year marked by the same prevalence of rain which continues to fall without intermission until the autumnal equinox.

But a new, a totally different climate begins at Kashmir, whose elevation I estimate to be 5350 feet, nearly equal to that of the cities of Mexico and Popayan" ('Correspond. de Jacquemont', t. ii., p. 58 et 74). The warm and humid air of the sea, as Leopold von Buch well observes, is carried by the monsoons across the plains of India to the skirts of the Himalaya which arrest its course, and hinder it from diverging to the Thibetian districts of Ladak and La.s.sa. Carl von Hugel estimates the elevation of the Valley of Kashmir above the level of the sea at 5818 feet, and bases his observation on the determination of the boiling point of water (see theil 11, s. 155, and 'Journal of Geog. Soc.', vol. vi., p. 215). In this valley, where the atmosphere is scarcely ever agitated by storms, and in 34 degrees 7 minutes lat., snow is found, several feet in thickness, from December to March.

p 32 But the countries bordering on the equator possess another advantage, to which sufficient attention has not hitherto been p 33 directed. This portion of the surface of the globe affords in the smallest s.p.a.ce the greatest possible variety of impressions from the contemplation of nature. Among the colossal mountains of Cundinamarea, of Quito, and of Peru, furrowed by deep ravines, man is enabled to contemplate alike all the families of plants, and all the stars of the firmament. There, at a single glance, the eye surveys majestic palms, humid forests of bambusa, and the varied species of Musaceae, while above these forms of tropical vegetation appear oaks, medlars, the sweet-brier, and umbelliferous plants, as in our European homes. There as the traveler turns his eyes to the vault of heaven, a single glance embraces the constellation of the Southern Cross, the Magellanic clouds, and the guiding stars of the constellation of the Bear, as they circle round the arctic pole. There the depths of the earth and the vaults of heaven display all the richness of their forms and the variety of their phenomena. There the different climates are ranged the one above the other, stage by stage, like the vegetable zones, whose succession they limit; and there the observer may readily trace the laws that regulate the diminution of heat, as they stand indelibly inscribed on the rocky walls and abrupt declivities of the Cordilleras.

Not to weary the reader with the details of the phenomena which I long since endeavored graphically to represent,* I will here limit myself to the consideration of a few of the general results whose combination const.i.tutes the 'physical delineation of the torrid zone.' That which, in the vagueness of our p 34 impressions, loses all distinctness of form, like some distant mountain shrouded from view by a vail of mist, is clearly revealed by the light of mind, which, by its scrutiny into the causes of phenomena, learns to resolve and a.n.a.lyze their different elements, a.s.signing to each its individual character. Thus, in the sphere of natural investigation, as in poetry and painting, the delineation of that which appeals most strongly to the imagination, derives its collective interest from the vivid truthfulness with which the individual features are portrayed.

[footnote] *See, generally my 'Essai sur la Geographie des Plantes, et le Tableau physique des Regions Equinoxiales', 1807, p. 80-88. On the diurnal and nocturnal variations of temperature, see Plate 9 of my 'Atlas Geogr. et Phys. du Nouveau Continent'; and the Tables in my work, ent.i.tled 'De distributione Geographica Plantarum, secundum coeli tempriem, et alt.i.tudinem Montium', 1817, p. 90-116; the meteorological portion of my 'Asie Centrale', t. iii., p. 212, 224; and, finally, the more recent and far more exact exposition of the variations of temperature experienced in correspondence with the increase of alt.i.tude on the chain of the Andes, given in Boussingault's Memoir, 'Sur la profondeur a laquelle on trouve, sous les Tropiques, la couche de Temperature Invariable.' (Ann. de Chimie et de Physique, 1833, t. liii., p. 225-247.) This treatise contains the elevations of 128 points, included between the level of the sea and the declivity of the Antisana (17,900 feet), as well as the mean temperature of the atmosphere, which varies with the height between 81 degrees and 35 degrees F.

The regions of the torrid zone not only give rise to the most powerful impressions by their organic richness and their abundant fertility, but they likewise afford the inestimable advantage of revealing to man, by the uniformity of the variations of the atmosphere and the development of vital forces, and by the contrasts of climate and vegetation exhibited at the different elevations, the invariability of the laws that regulate the course of the heavenly bodies, reflected, as it were, in terrestrial phenomena.

Let us dwell, then, for a few moments, on the proofs of this regularity, which is such that it may be submitted to numerical calculation and computation.

In the burning plains that rise but little above the level of the sea, reign the families of the banana, the cycas, and the palm, of which the number of species comprised in the flora of tropical regions has been so wonderfully increased in the present day by the zeal of botanical travelers. To these groups succeed, in the Alpine valleys, and the humid and shaded clefts on the slopes of the Cordilleras, the tree-ferns, whose thick cylindrical trunks and delicate lace-like foliage stand out in bold relief against the azure of the sky, and the cinchona, from which we derive the febrifuge bark.

The medicinal strength of this bark is said to increase in proportion to the degree of moisture imparted to the foliage of the tree by the light mists which form the upper surface of the clouds resting over the plains.

Every where around, the confines of the forest are encircled by broad bands of social plants, as the delicate aralia, the thibaudia, and the myrtle-leaved Andromeda, while the Alpine rose, the magnificent befaria, weaves a purple girdle round the spiry peaks. In the cold regions of the Paramos, which is continually exposed to the fury of storms and winds, we find that flowering shrubs and herbaceous plants, bearing large and variegated blossoms, have given place to monocotyledons, whose slender spikes const.i.tute the sole covering of the soil. This is the zone of the p 35 gra.s.ses, one vast savannah extending over the immense mountain plateaux, and reflecting a yellow, almost golden tinge, to the slopes of the Cordilleras, on which graze the lama and the cattle domesticated by the European colonist. Where the naked trachyte rock pierces the gra.s.sy turf, and penetrates into those higher strata of air which are supposed to be less charged with carbonic acid, we meet only with plants of an inferior organization, as lichens, lecideas, and the brightly-colored, dust-like lepraria, scattered around in circular patches. Islets of fresh-fallen snow, varying in form and extent, arrest the last feeble traces of vegetable development, and to these succeeds the region of perpetual snow, whose elevation undergoes but little change, and may be easily determined. It is but rarely that the elastic forces at work within the interior of our globe have succeeded in breaking through the spiral domes, which, resplendent in the brightness of eternal snow, crown the summits of the Cordilleras; and even where these subterranean forces have opened a permanent communication with the atmosphere, through circular craters or long fissures, they rarely send forth currents of lava, but merely eject ignited scoriae, steam, sulphureted hydrogen gas, and jets of carbonic acid.

In the earliest stages of civilization, the grand and imposing spectacle presented to the minds of the inhabitants of the tropics could only awaken feelings of astonishment and awe. It might, perhaps, be supposed, as we have already said, that the periodical return of the same phenomena, and the uniform manner in which they arrange themselves in successive groups, would have enabled man more readily to attain to a knowledge of the laws of nature; but, as far as tradition and history guide us, we do not find that any application was made of the advantages presented by these favored regions. Recent researches have rendered it very doubtful whether the primitive seat of Hindoo civilization -- one of the most remarkable phases in the progress of mankind -- was actually within the tropics. Airyana Vaedjo, the ancient cradle of the Zend, was situated to the northwest of the upper Indus, and after the great religious schism, that is to say, after the separation of the Iranians from the Brahminical inst.i.tution, the language that had previously been common to them and to the Hindoos a.s.sumed among the latter people (together with the literature, habits, and conditions of society) an individual form in the MaG.o.dha of Madhya Desa,* a district that is bounded by the great chain p 36 of Himalaya and the smaller range of the Vindhya.

[footnote] *See, on the Madhjadeca, properly so called, La.s.sen's excellent work, ent.i.tled 'Indische Alterthumskunde', bd. i., s. 92. The Chinese give the name of Mo-kie-thi to the southern Bahar, situated to the south of the Ganges (see 'Foe-Koue-Ki' by, 'Chy-Fa-Hian', 1836, p. 256). Djambu-dwipa is the name given to the whole of India; but the words also indicate one of the four Buddhist continents.

In less ancient times the Sanscrit language and civilization advanced toward the southeast, penetrating further within the torrid zone, as my brother Wilhelm von Humboldt has shown in his great work on the Kavi and other languages of a.n.a.logous structure.*

[Footnote] *'Ueber die Kawi Sprache auf der Insel Java, nebst einer Einleitung uber die Verschiedenheit des menschlichen Sprachbaues und ihren Ein fluss auf die geistige Entwickelung des Menschengrshlecht's' von Wilhelm v. Humboldt, 1836, bd. i., s. 50519.

Notwithstanding the obstacles opposed in northern lat.i.tudes to the discovery of the laws of nature, owing to the excessive complication of phenomena, and the perpetual local variations and the distribution of organic forms, it is to the inhabitants of a small section of the temperate zone that the rest of mankind owe the earliest revelation of an intimate and rational acquaintance with the forces governing the physical world. Moreover, it is from the same zone (which is apparently more favorable to the progress of reason, the softening of manners, and the security of public liberty) that the germs of civilization have been carried to the regions of the tropics, as much by the migratory movement of races as by the establishment of colonies, differing widely in their inst.i.tution from those of the Phoenicians or Greeks.

In speaking of the influence exercised by the succession of phenomena on the greater or lesser facility of recognizing the causes producing them, I have touched upon that important stage of our communion with the external world, when the enjoyment arising from a knowledge of the laws, and the mutual connection of phenomena, a.s.sociates itself with the charm of a simple contemplation of nature. That which for a long time remains merely an object of vague intuition, by degrees acquires the certainty of positive truth; and man, as an immortal poet has said, in our own tongue -- Amid ceaseless change seeks the unchanging pole.*

[Footnote] *This verse occurs in a poem of Schiller, ent.i.tled 'Der Spaziergang' which first appeared in 1795, in the 'h.o.r.en.'

In order to trace to its primitive source the enjoyment derived from the exercise of thought, it is sufficient to cast a rapid glance on the earliest dawnings of the philosophy of nature, or of the ancient doctrine of the 'Cosmos.' We find even p 37 among the most savage nations (as my own travels enable me to attest) a certain vague, terror-stricken sense of the all-powerful unity of natural forces, and of the existence of an invisible, spiritual essence manifested in these forces, whether in unfolding the flower and maturing the fruit of the nutrient tree, in upheaving the soil of the forest, or in rending the clouds with the might of the storm. We may here trace the revelation of a bond of union, linking together the visible world and that higher spiritual world which escapes the grasp of the senses. The two become unconsciously blended together, developing in the mind of man, as a simple product of ideal conception and independently of the aid of observation, the first germ of a 'Philosophy of Nature.'

Among nations least advanced in civilization, the imagination revels in strange and fantastic creations, and, by its predilection for symbols, alike influences ideas and language. Instead of examining, men are led to conjecture, dogmatize, and interpret supposed facts that have never been observed. The inner world of thought and of feeling does not reflect the image of the external world in its primitive purity. That which in some regions of the earth manifested itself as the rudiments of natural philosophy, only to a small number of persons endowed with superior intelligence, appears in other regions, and among entire races of men, to be the result of mystic tendencies and instinctive intuitions. An intimate communion with nature, and the vivid and deep emotions thus awakened, are likewise the source from which have sprung the first impulses toward the wors.h.i.+p and deification of the destroying and preserving forces of the universe. But by degrees, as man, after having pa.s.sed through the different gradations of intellectual development, arrives at the free enjoyment of the regulating power of reflection, and learns by gradual progress, as it were, to separate the world of ideas from that of sensations, he no longer rests satisfied merely with a vague presentiment of the harmonious unity of natural forces; thought begins to fulfill its n.o.ble mission; and observation, aided by reason, endeavors to trace phenomena to the causes from which they spring.

The history of science teaches us the difficulties that have opposed the progress of this active spirit of inquiry. Inaccurate and imperfect observations have led, by false inductions, to the great number of physical views that have been perpetuated as popular prejudices among all cla.s.ses of society. Thus by the side of a solid and scientific knowledge of natural phenomena there has been preserved a system of the pretended p 38 results of observation, which is so much the more difficult to shake, as it denies the validity of the facts by which it may be refuted. This empiricism, the melancholy heritage transmitted to us from former times, invariably contends for the truth of its axioms with the arrogance of a narrow-minded spirit. Physical philosophy, on the other hand, when based upon science, doubts because it seeks to investigate, distinguishes between that which is certain and that which is merely probable, and strives incessantly to perfect theory by extending the circle of observation.

This a.s.semblage of imperfect dogmas, bequeathed by one age to another -- this physical philosophy, which is composed of popular prejudices -- is not only injurious because it perpetuates error with the obstinacy engendered by the evidence of ill-observed facts, but also because it hinders the mind from attaining to higher views of nature. Instead of seeking to discover the 'mean' or 'medium' point, around which oscillate, in apparent independence of forces, all the phenomena of the external world, this system delights in multiplying exceptions to the law, and seeks, amid phenomena and in organic forms for something beyond the marvel of a regular succession, and an internal and progressive development. Ever inclined to believe that the order of nature is disturbed, it refuses to recognize in the present any a.n.a.logy with the past, and guided by its own varying hypotheses, seeks at hazard, either in the interior of the globe or in the regions of s.p.a.ce, for the cause of these pretended perturbations.