“The Heart of the Andes”/Part 8

The woods behind the village are next to be studied. Half-way down, a bench of warm rock breaks the slope abruptly. The same formation of precipice appears that reappears in the walls of the cataract. Below this the woods radiate over the descent toward the hamlet, and forward toward the water. In all this multitudinous forest of the Montaña, there is nothing of the gloom of the impenetrable vegetation of the fiery lowlands of the tropics. In this elevated valley vegetation assimilates to that of the temperate zones; there is never any nipping check of winter; the tree can develop its life without harsh discipline of frost, and grow without need of frantic impulse after long lethargy. Hence we are at home, and yet strangers in these woods. Our Northern comrades seem to surround us, but they have suffered promotion. They wear richer uniforms and more plentiful decorations. Kindlier influences have been about. Downright perpetual passionate sunshine has educated their finer spirit, and made gross wrappings of protective bark, and all their organization for enduring cold, needless. It is a community which has been well treated and not maltreated, wisely nurtured and not harshly repressed.

The student will recognize the constituents of these forests in the magnificent types of the foreground. I desire at present merely to call his attention to the healthy cheerfulness of their color, and the vigorous, but not rank, character of their growth. Down in the hot valleys, foliage sucks dank from the sluggish air, and, growing fat and pulpy, is not penetrated by sunlight, but only reflects a hard sheen. Seen from above, lush greens preponderate. Few of the largest trees have leaves of delicate texture like our maples. But the groves across the midlands of the Heart of the Andes are gayer, as becomes their climate. And giving to them a higher degree of what they have, Mr. Church has dashed his magical sunshine in among them everywhere, in every glade and cleft, making the whole scope one far glimmer of tremulous scintillating leafage and burning blossoms. It is, as we feel, a countless grove, with many masses of thicket and careless tangles of drapery, such as we see on the left-hand foreground, and vistas of ambrosial gloom, such as open down the ferny dell on the right.