Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Storm Front Matter

In 1786, between the first drafts of his Ur-Faust and the publication of Faust Part 1, the German writer Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, then the acknowledged leader of the Sturm und Drang movement in Germany, traveled down through the Brenner pass to Italy. On his trip he kept a notebook of his impressions and observations that he published much later in greatly revised form as The Italian Journey.

After leaving Innsbruck, Goethe's journey took him through the beautiful and perilous terrain of the South Tyrol. Though the weather often made the travel difficult, the combination of turbulent atmosphere and sublime landscape prompted some of his most interesting writing. At one point, as he approaches one of the mountain peaks of the Alps, a storm gathers and the sky darkens. From this spectacle of Nature Goethe discerns cosmological principles.

From page 31 of the Penguin edition of the book:

On the plains, one accepts good or bad weather as an already established fact, but in the mountains one is present at its creation. I have often witnessed this as I travelled, walked, hunted, or spent days or nights among cliffs in the mountain forests, and a fanciful idea has taken hold of my mind which is as difficult to shake off as all such fancies are. I seem to see its truth confirmed everywhere, so I am going to talk about it. It is my habit, as you know, to keep trying the patience of my friends.

When we look at mountains, whether from far or near, and see their summits, now glittering in the sunshine, now shrouded in mists or wreathed in storm-tossed clouds, now lashed by rain or covered with snow, we attribute all these phenomena to the atmosphere, because all its movements and changes are visible to the eye. To the eye, on the other hand, shapes of the mountains always remain immobile; and because they seem rigid, inactive and at rest, we believe them to be dead. But for a long time I have felt convinced that most manifest atmospheric changes are really due to their imperceptible and secret influence. I believe, that is to say, by and large, the gravitational force exerted by the earth's mass, especially by its projections, is not constant and equal but, whether from internal necessity or external accident, is like a pulse, now increasing, now decreasing. Our means for measuring this oscillation may be too limited and crude, but sensitive reactions of the atmosphere to it are enough to give us sure information about these imperceptible forces. When the gravitational pull of the mountains decreases even slightly, this is immediately indicated by the diminished weight and elasticity of the air. The atmosphere can no longer retain the moisture mechanically or chemically diffused through it; the clouds descend, rain falls heavily, and shower clouds move down into the plain. But when their gravitational pull increases, the elasticity of the air is restored and two significant phenomena follow. First the mountains gather round their summits enormous cloud masses, holding them firmly and immovably above themselves like second summits. Then through an inner struggle of electric forces, these clouds descend as thunderstorms, fog or rain. The elastic air is now able to absorb more moisture and dissolve the remaining clouds. I saw quite distinctly the absorption of one such cloud. It clung to the steepest summit, tinted by the afterglow of the setting sun. Slowly, slowly, its edges detached themselves, some fleecy bits were drawn off, lifted high up, and then vanished. Little by little the whole mass disappeared before my eyes, as if it were being spun off from a distaff by an invisible hand.