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.