The object of the present work is to arrange and explain the names of European Rivers on a more comprehensive principle than has hitherto been attempted in England, or, to the best of my belief, in Germany.
I am conscious that, like every other work of the same sort, it must necessarily, and without thereby impugning its general system, be subject to correction in many points of detail. And in particular, that some of its opinions might be modified or altered by a more exact knowledge of the characteristics of the various rivers than can possibly in all cases come within the scope of individual research.
Among the writers to whom I am most indebted is Ernst Förstemann, who, in the second volume of his Altdeutsches Namenbuch, (the first consisting of the names of persons), has collected, explained, and where possible, identified, the ancient names of places in Germany. The dates affixed to most of the German rivers are taken from this work, and refer to the earliest mention of the name in charters or elsewhere.
I also refer here, because I find that I have not, as usual, given the titles elsewhere, to Mr. R. S. Charnock's "Local Etymology," and to the work of Gluck, entitled "Die bei C. Julius Cæsar vorkommende Keltische namen."
ROBERT FERGUSON.
The first wave of Asian immigration that swept over Europe gave names to the great features of nature, such as the rivers, long before the wandering tribes that composed it settled down into fixed habitations, and gave names to their dwellings and their lands. The names thus given at the outset may be taken therefore to contain some of the most ancient forms of the Indo-European speech. And once given, they have in many, if not in most cases remained to the present day, for nothing affords such strong resistance to change as the name of a river. The smaller streams, variously called in England and Scotland brooks, becks, or burns, whose course extended but for a few miles, and whose shores were portioned out among but a few settlers, readily yielded up their ancient names at the bidding of their new masters. But the river that flowed past, coming they knew not whence, and going they knew not whither—upon whose shores might be hundreds of settlers as well as themselves, and all as much entitled to give it a name as they—was naturally, as a matter of common convenience, allowed to retain its original appellation.
Nevertheless, it might happen that a river such as the Danube, which runs more than a thousand miles as the crow flies—being divided between two great and perfectly distinct races, might, as it passed through the two different countries, be called by two different names. So we find that while in its upper part it was called the Danube, in its lower part it was known as the Ister—the former, says Zeuss (Die Deutschen), being its Celtic, and the latter its Thracian name. So the Saone also was anciently known both as the Arar and the Sauconna—the latter, according to Zeuss, being its Celtic name. And Latham, (Tacitus, Germania,) makes a similar suggestion respecting the Rhine—"It is not likely that the Batavians of Holland, and the Helvetians of Switzerland, gave the same name to the very different parts of their common river." It does not follow then as a matter of course—though we must accept it as the general rule—that the name by which a river is known at the present day, when it happens to be different from that recorded in history, is in all cases the less ancient of the two. There might originally have been two names, one of which has been preserved in history, and the other retained in modern use.
It is also to be observed, that in the case of one race coming after another—say Germans or Slaves after Celts—while the newcomers retained the old names, they yet often added a word of their own signifying water or river. The result is that many names are compounded of two words of different languages, and in not a few cases both signifying water.
The names thus given at the outset were of the utmost simplicity, rarely, if ever, containing a compound idea. They were indeed for the most part simple appellatives, being most commonly nothing more than words signifying water. But these words, once established as names, entered into a different category. The words might perish, but the names endured. The words might change, but the names did not follow their changes. Inasmuch as they were both subject to the same influences, they would most probably in the main be similarly affected by them. But inasmuch as the names were independent of the language, they would not be regulated in their changes by it. Moreover, in their case a fresh element came into operation, for, being frequently adopted by races speaking a different language, they became subject to the special phonetic tendencies of the new tongue. The result is that many names, which probably contained originally the same word, appear in a variety of different forms. The most important phonetic modifications I take to be those of the kind referred to in the next chapter.
There is no branch of philological enquiry which demands a wider range than that of the origin of the names of rivers. All trace of a name may be lost in the language in which it was given—we may have to seek for its likeness through the whole Indo-European family—and perhaps not find it till we come at last to the parent Sanscrit. Thus the name of the Humber is probably of Celtic origin, but the only cognate words that we find are the Lat. imber and the Gr. ὄμβρος, till we come to the Sansc. ambu, water. Celtic also probably are the names of the Hodder and the Otter, but the words most nearly cognate are the Gr. ὕδωρ and the Lith. audra, (fluctus), till we come to the Sansc. ud, water.
Again, there are others on which we can find nothing whatever to throw light till we come to the Sanscrit. Such are the Drave and the Trave, for which Bopp proposes Sansc. dravas, flowing. And the Arve in Savoy, which I cannot explain till I come to the Sansc. arb or arv, to ravage or destroy, cognate with Lat. orbo, Eng. orphan, &c. And—far as we have to seek for it—how true the word is, when found, to the character of that devastating stream; and how it will come home to the frequenters of the vale of Chamouni, who well remember how, within the last few years, its pretty home-steads were rendered desolate, and their ruined tenants driven out like "orphans" into the world! With such fury does this stream, when swollen by the melted snows, cast its waters into the Rhone, that it seems to drive back the latter river into the lake from whence it issues. And Bullet relates that on one occasion in 1572, the mills of Geneva driven by the current of the Rhone were made for some hours to revolve in the opposite direction, and to grind their corn backwards.
Thus then, though we may take it that the prevailing element in the river-names of Europe is the Celtic, we must turn for assistance to all the languages that are cognate. And, for the double reason of their great antiquity and their great simplicity, we shall often find that the nearer we come to the fountain-head, the clearer and the more distinct will be the derivation. It will be seen also throughout the whole of these pages that, in examining the names of rivers, we must take not only a wide range of philological enquiry, but also an extensive comparison of these names one with another.
The first step in the investigation is of course to ascertain, whenever it is possible, the most ancient forms in which these names are found. We should scarcely suspect a relationship between our Itchen and the French Ionne, if we did not know that the ancient name of the one was Icene, and of the other Icauna. Nor would we suppose that the Rodden of Shropshire was identical with the French Rhone, did we not know that the original name of the latter was the Rhodănus.
In this, as in most other departments of philology, the industry of the Germans has been the most conspicuous. And Ernst Förstemann in particular, who has extracted and collated the ancient names of places in Germany up to the 12th cent., has furnished a store of the most valuable materials.
And yet after all there will be occasions on which all the resources of philology will be unavailing. Then we can but gather together the members of the family and wait till science shall reveal us something of their parentage. Thus the Alme that wanders among the pleasant meads of Devon—the Alm that flows by the quaint dwellings of the thrifty Dutch—the Alma that courses through the dark pine forests of the far North—the Almo that waters the sacred vale of Egeria—and the Alma, whose name brings sorrow and pride to many an English household—all contain one wide-spread and forgotten word, at the meaning of which we can but darkly guess.
We find that while there are many names of rivers which contain nothing more than the simple root from which they are derived, as the Cam, the Rhine, the Elbe, the Don, &c., there are others which contain the same root with various endings, of which the principal are a, en, er, es, et, el. Thus the Roth in Germany, contains a simple root; the Roth(a), Roth(er), and Rodd(en) in England, and the Röt(el) in Germany, contain the same with four different endings. The German Ise shows a simple root, and the Germ. Is(ar), Is(en), Eng. Is(is), Dutch Yss(el), Russ. Iss(et), shew the same with five different endings. So we have in England the Tame, the Tam(ar), and the Tham(es), &c. The question is—what is the value and meaning of these various additions?
With respect to the ending in a, found in some English rivers, there is reason to think that it is a word signifying water—the Old Norse â, Goth. ahva, Lat. aqua, &c. So that the a in Rotha may be the same as the a in the Norwegian Beina and the Swedish Tornea—as the au in the Germ. Donau (Danube)—and as the ava in the Moldava of Austrian Poland.
Others of these endings have by different writers been supposed to be also words signifying water. Thus Donaldson (Varronianus), takes the ending es to have that meaning. And Förstemann, though more cautiously, makes the same suggestion for the termination ar or er. "I allow myself here the enquiry whether possibly the river-names which contain an ar as the concluding part of the word may not be compounded with this unknown word for a river; to assume a simple suffix seems to me in this case rather niggardly." So also the ending en has been supposed by some of our own Celtic scholars, as Armstrong and O'Brien, to be the same as the Welsh aven, Gael. amhainn, water or river, an opinion which has also, though to a more limited extent, received the sanction of Pott.
There are various minor objections to the above theories which I forbear to urge, because I think that the main argument against them is to be found in the manner in which these endings run through the whole European system of river-names. And it seems to me therefore more reasonable to refer them to a general principle which pervades the Indo-European languages, than to a particular word of a particular language. The principle I refer to is that of phonetic accretion, and it is that upon which the above word aven or amhainn, is itself formed from a simple root, by one of the very endings in question, that in en. Instead then of explaining—as the followers of the above system have done—the Saone (Sagonna) by the Celt. sogh-an, "sluggish river", I prefer to point to the general principle upon which the root sogh has the power, so to speak, of making itself into soghan (e.g., in Lat. segn-is.)
Not but that the principle contended for by the above writers may obtain in some cases: the Garumna, ancient name of the Garonne, looks like one of them, though even in this case I think that the latter may be the proper form, and the former only a euphonism of the Latin poets: the geographers, as Ptolemy, call it Garunna.
Then again the question arises whether, seeing that en and es in the Celtic tongues, and el in the Germanic, have the force of diminution, this may not be the meaning in the names of rivers. Zeuss, (Die Deutschen), suggests this in the case of the Havel and the Moselle; but seeing that one of these rivers has a course of 180 and the other of 265 miles, I think they might rather be adduced to prove that these endings are not diminutive. We may cite also the Yssel and the Albula (Tiber), both large rivers, with this ending. While in Germany we have two rivers close together, the great and little Arl, (anc. Arla, or Arila)—here seems the very case for a diminutive, yet both rivers have the same ending. Not but that there are instances of a diminutive in river-names, but they seem of later formation. Thus there is no reason to doubt that the French Loiret, which is a small river falling into the large one, means "the little Loire." Etymology in this case is in perfect accord with the facts.
Upon the whole, then, I am inclined to the opinion, which seems in the main that of Förstemann, that, at least as the general rule, these endings are simply phonetic, and that they have no meaning whatever. In our own and the cognate languages, en is the principal phonetic particle—e.g., English bow, Germ. bogen—Germ. rabe, Eng. raven—Lat. virgo, Fr. vierge, Eng. virgin. But we have also traces in English of a similar phonetic er, (see Latham's Handbook of the Eng. Language, p. 199). The general reader will understand better what is here intended by comparing our words maid and maiden. Between these two words there is not the slightest shade of difference as regards meaning—the ending en is merely added for the sake of the sound, or, in other words, it is phonetic. Just the same difference then that there is between our words maid and maiden I take to be between the names of our rivers Lid and Lidden. The ending in both cases serves, if I may use the expression, to give a sort of finish to the word.
The question then arises—supposing these endings to be phonetic—were they given in the first instance, or have they accrued in after times? It is probable that both ways might obtain; indeed we have some evidence to shew that the latter has sometimes been the case. Thus the Medina in the Isle of Wight was once called the Mede, and the Shannon of Ireland stands in Ptolemy as the Senus. On the other hand cases are more frequent in which the ending has been dropped. Thus the Yare is called by Ptolemy the Garrhuenus, i.e., the Garron or Yarron. And the Teme appears in Anglo-Saxon charters as the Taméde or Teméde. Indeed the Thames itself would almost seem, by having become a monosyllable, to have taken the first step of a change which has been arrested for ever. So in Germany the Bille, Ohm, Orre, and Bordau, appear in charters of the 8th and 9th cent., as the Bilena, Amana, Oorana, and Bordine. And in France the Isara and the Oscara have in modern times become respectively the Oise and the Ousche; in both these two cases the ending er has been dropped; for Oise=is, not isar; and Ousche=osc, not oscar.
This latter principle is indeed only in accordance with the general tendency of language towards what Max Müller terms "phonetic decay"—a principle which seems less active in the rude than in the cultivated stages of society. It would appear as if civilization sought to compensate itself for the increased requirements of its expression, by the simplification of its forms, and the rejection of its superfluous sounds.
Upon the whole then I think that as the general rule these endings have been given in the first instance, and that they have but rarely accrued in after times. Such being the case, though in one point of view they may be called phonetic, as adding nothing to the sense, yet in another point of view they may be called formative, as being the particles by means of which words are constructed out of simple roots. And of the names in the following pages, a great part, in some language, or in some dialect, are still living words. And those that are not, are formed regularly upon the same principle, common to the Indo-European system.
The names of rivers may be divided into two classes, appellative and descriptive—or in other words, into those which describe a river simply as "the water" or "the river," and those which refer to some special quality or property of its own.
In the case of a descriptive name we may be sure that it has been given—not from any fine-drawn attribute, but from some obvious characteristic—not from anything which we have to seek, but from something which, as the French say, "saute aux yeux." If a stream be very rapid and impetuous—if its course be winding and tortuous—if its waters be very clear or very turbid—these are all marked features which would naturally give it a name.
But such derivations as the following from Bullet can only serve to provoke a smile. Thus of the Wandle in Surrey he says—"Abounding in excellent trouts—van, good, dluz