described this “sublime spectacle.” She notes that the whole population
of Albany was down at the riverside in a moment when the first sound
was heard like a “loud and long peal of thunder.” She writes:
“The ice, which had been all winter very thick, instead of
diminishing, as might be expected in spring, still increased, as the
sunshine came, and the days lengthened. Much snow fell in February,
which, melted by the heat of the sun, was stagnant for a day on the
surface of the ice, and then by the night frosts, which were still
severe, was added, as a new accession to the thickness of it, above
the former surface. This was so often repeated, that, in some years,
the ice gained two feet in thickness, after the heat of the sun became
such as one would have expected should have entirely dissolved it.
So conscious were the natives of the safety this accumulation of ice
afforded, that the sledges continued to drive on the ice when the trees
were budding, and everything looked like spring; nay, when there was
so much melted on the surface that the horses were knee-deep in water
while travelling on it, and portentous cracks on every side announced
the approaching rupture. This could scarce have been produced by the
mere influence of the sun till midsummer. It was the swelling of the
waters under the ice, increased by rivulets, enlarged by melted snows,
that produced this catastrophe; for such the awful concussion made it
appear. The prelude to the general bursting of this mighty mass, was
a fracture, lengthways, in the middle of the stream, produced by the
effort of the imprisoned waters, now increased too much to be contained
within their wonted bounds. Conceive a solid mass, from six to eight
feet thick, bursting for many miles in one continued rupture, produced
by a force inconceivably great, and, in a manner, inexpressibly sudden.
Thunder is no adequate image of this awful explosion, which roused all
the sleepers, within reach of the sound, as completely as the final
convulsion of nature, and the solemn peal of the awakening trumpet
might be supposed to do. The stream in summer was confined by a
pebbly strand, overhung with high and steep banks, crowned with lofty
trees, which were considered as a sacred barrier against encroachments
of this annual visitation. Never dryads dwelt in more security than
those of the vine-clad elms, that extended their ample branches over
this mighty stream. Their tangled roots, laid bare by the impetuous
torrents, formed caverns ever fresh and fragrant; where the most
delicate plants flourished, unvisited by scorching suns, or snipping
blasts; and nothing could be more singular than the variety of plants
and birds that were sheltered in these intricate and safe recesses.
But when the bursting of the crystal surface set loose the many waters
that had rushed down, swollen with the annual tribute of dissolving
snow, the islands and lowlands were all flooded in an instant; and the
lofty banks, from which you were wont to overlook the stream, were now
entirely filled by an impetuous torrent, bearing down, with incredible
and tumultuous rage, immense shoals of ice; which, breaking every
instant by the concussion of others, jammed together in some places, in
others erecting themselves in gigantic heights for an instant in the
air, and seeming to combat with their fellow-giants crowding on in all
directions, and falling together with an inconceivable crash, formed a
terrible moving-picture, animated and various beyond conception; for
it was not only the cerulean ice, whose broken edges, combating with
the stream, refracted light into a thousand rainbows, that charmed
your attention; lofty pines, large pieces of the bank torn off by the
ice with all their early green and tender foliage, were driven on like
travelling islands, amid this battle of breakers, for such it seemed.
I am absurdly attempting to paint a scene, under which the powers of
language sink.”
Since the days of the old Dutch settlers the Hudson has witnessed
all the triumphs of modern ship-building and navigation. It was on
the Hudson that Robert Fulton made his first experiments in steam
navigation and into the Hudson have come the new turbine steamships
that have crossed the Atlantic in five days; and beneath its waters
tunnels have lately been opened.
Many changes have taken place on its banks since Washington Irving
wrote: “I thank God that I was born on the banks of the Hudson. I fancy
I can trace much of what is good and pleasant in my own heterogeneous
compound to my early companionship with this glorious river. In
the warmth of youthful enthusiasm, I used to clothe it with moral
attributes, and, as it were, give it a soul. I delighted in its frank,
bold, honest character; its noble sincerity and perfect truth. Here
was no specious, smiling surface, covering the shifting sand-bar and
perfidious rock, but a stream deep as it was broad and bearing with
honourable faith the bark that trusted to its waves. I gloried in its
simple, quiet, majestic, epic flow, ever straight forward, or, if
forced aside for once by opposing mountains, struggling bravely through
them, and resuming its onward march. Behold, thought I, an emblem of a
good man’s course through life, ever simple, open and direct, or if,
overpowered by adverse circumstances, he deviate into error, it is
but momentary; he soon resumes his onward and honourable career, and
continues it to the end of his pilgrimage.”
THE TIBER
STROTHER A. SMITH
Though the Tiber is insignificant in size, compared with the great
rivers of the world, it is one of the most famous, and even its
tributaries, down to the smallest brook, have some historical or poetic
association connected with them, or exhibit some singular natural
peculiarity. Its stream is swelled by the superfluous waters of the
historic Thrasymene; its affluents, the Velino and the Anio, form the
celebrated Cascades of Terni and Tivoli; the Clitumnus and the Nar are
invested with poetic interest by the verses of Virgil, Ovid, and Silius
Italicus; while the Chiana presents the singular phenomenon of a river
which, within the historic period, has divided itself into two, and now
forms a connecting link between the Arno and the Tiber, discharging
a portion of its waters into each. The smaller streams, also, the
Cremera, the Allia, and the Almo, have each their legend, historical,
or mythological; while the rivulet of the Aqua Crabra, or Marrana,
recalls the memory of Cicero and his litigation with the company which
supplied his establishment at Tusculum with water from the brook.
[Illustration: THE TIBER]
The Tiber rises nearly due east of Florence, and on the opposite side
of the ridge which gives birth to the Arno. It issues in a copious
spring of limpid water, which at the distance of a mile has force
enough to turn a mill. If we are to believe Bacci, it exhales so
warm a vapour that snow, notwithstanding the elevation of the region,
will not lie along its course within half a mile. For a distance of
fifty-six miles it flows in a south-easterly direction through an
elevated valley, in the upper part of which the cold, according to
Pliny the younger, who had a villa there, was too great for the olive,
and where the snow often accumulates to a considerable depth. Not far
from Perugia it turns to the south, and about fourteen miles lower
down by the windings of the stream, receives its first affluent, the
Chiascia, which brings with it the Topino (anciently Tineas), and
the waters of the classic Clitumnus, known to the readers of Virgil,
Propertius, and Silius Italicus as the river on whose banks were bred,
and in whose stream were washed, “the milk-white oxen which drew the
Roman triumphs to the temples of the gods,” and the same which is
so picturesquely described by the younger Pliny. At a place called
La Vene, one of the sources of the Clitumnus rises at the foot of a
hill. Like the fountain of Vaucluse, it issues a small river from
the earth, and according to Pliny, had sufficient depth of water to
float a boat. It is clear as crystal, delightfully cool in summer,
and of an agreeable warmth in winter. Near it stands a temple once
sacred to the river god, but now surmounted by the triumphant cross.
It seems to have been a favourite place of resort for the Romans, as
far as their limited means of locomotion would permit; since even the
ferocious Caligula, as Suetonius tells us, attended by his body-guard
of Batavians, was among the visitors to these celebrated springs.
The beauty of the scenery appears to have been the attraction; for
there were no mineral sources, and a refined superstition would
have prevented the Romans from availing themselves of the agreeable
temperature of the water to indulge in the luxury of bathing, rivers
near their sources being accounted sacred, and polluted by the contact
of a naked body. Of all the misdeeds of Nero none, perhaps, contributed
more to his unpopularity than his swimming, during one of his drunken
frolics, in the source of the Aqua Marcia, the same which is brought by
the aqueduct to Rome, and which rises in the mountains of the Abruzzi,
where Nero was staying at the time.
When the news of this act of profanation arrived in the city it created
a great sensation; and an illness with which he was shortly afterwards
seized was attributed to the anger of the god.
Seven miles lower down on the right, the Tiber receives the Nestore,
a large and impetuous torrent, or _torrentaccio_, as it is called by
the Italians. The Nestore, where it enters the Tiber flows in a bed
of sand and shingle no less than a third of a Roman mile in width,
and after heavy rains must bring down an enormous body of water. Into
the Cina, one of its tributaries, by means of a tunnel, the overflow
of the lake of Thrasymene is discharged. The emissary originates in
the south-eastern bay of the lake, but when, or by whom, the work was
executed is a matter of dispute. Thirty and a half miles further on,
the Tiber is joined by the Chiana (anciently Clanis), which, after
uniting with the Paglia, flows into it on the same side as the Nestore
and in the neighbourhood of Orvieto.
The Paglia rises in the high volcanic mountain of Monte Amiata, and
in summer is nearly dry; but its broad stony channel at Acquapendente
shows what a contribution it must bring to the main stream in time
of floods. The Chiana, which from the black and muddy colour of
its waters has received the name of the Lethe of Tuscany, but which
might with more propriety be called the Tuscan Cocytus, was once a
single stream originating in the neighbourhood of Arezzo, and flowing
southward into the Tiber. But in the Middle Ages a large portion of the
valley in which it flowed was filled up by the _débris_ which in time
of floods was brought down by the lateral torrents. A sort of plateau
was thus formed, sloping at its edges towards the valleys of the Tiber
and the Arno. The streams which entered this plateau stagnated in the
level which it formed, converting it into an unproductive and unhealthy
marsh, the abode of malaria and the pest-house of Dante’s _Purgatorio_.
They then flowed over the northern and southern edges of the plateau,
and, uniting with others, formed two distinct rivers called the Tuscan
and Roman Chianas.
The torrent of the Tresa, rising not far from the lake of Thrasymene,
and now diverted into the lake of Chiusi, may be considered as the head
waters of the Tuscan Chiana, the torrent of the Astrone, rising in the
direction of Montepulciano, as the main branch of the Roman Chiana. The
two are connected by canals and wet ditches, so that it is conceivable
that a small piece of wood thrown into one of these might, according to
circumstances and the direction of the wind, find its way to Florence
or to Rome.
The district which I have described, the celebrated Val di Chiana, is
now one of the most productive regions of Italy, green with vineyards
and pastures, and golden with waving crops. Nor is it unhealthy, except
in the immediate vicinity of the lakes. The change was effected by
canalizing the streams, and by the process called warping, which is
the method adopted in Lincolnshire for reclaiming land from the sea.
A certain space was enclosed with banks, into which the streams were
diverted when they were swollen and charged with mud. The opening was
then closed with a floodgate, and the water left to deposit the matter
which it held in suspension. In this way an inch or two of soil was
gained every year, until the land became sufficiently dry and firm. It
was then sown with crops, and planted with trees, which served still
further to purify the air by decomposing with their leaves and fixing
in their tissues the vapours which had given the Val di Chiana so
deadly a name.
Turning again to the south-east and at a distance of 136½ miles from
its source, the Tiber is swelled by the united streams of the Neva, the
Velino, and the Salto. The Neva, the “_sulphurea Nar albus aqua_” of
Virgil, and “_Narque albescentibus undis_” of Silius Italicus, rises
at the foot of the lofty peak of Monte Vettore, part of the Sibylline
range, and is the tributary which is most affected by the melting of
the snows.
The Velino also has its source in the great central chain of the
Apennines, and after being joined by the Salto and Turano, forms the
cascade of Terni by dashing over the precipice which terminates the
valley, and hastens to meet the Neva. The Salto, rising in the kingdom
of Naples, flows northward for fifty miles, and after passing beneath
the lofty range of Monte Velino, and receiving a contribution from its
snows, mingles its waters with the Velino. Swelled by these tributaries
the Neva rolls along a full and rapid stream, and sweeping past Terni
and Narni, loses itself in the Tiber.
About sixty-four miles lower down, and four and a half above Rome
by the river, the Tiber is joined by the Anio, or Teverone, the most
important, with the exception of the Neva, of all its tributaries.
No river is better known than the Anio. The scenery of its valley,
the classical associations of its neighbourhood, and the celebrated
cascades of Tivoli, have made it the favourite resort of tourists. The
Anio rises in the mountains of the Hernici, part of the modern Abruzzi,
and after flowing for about thirty-six miles through a narrow valley
whose general course is to the west, precipitates itself into the gorge
which is overlooked by the town of Tivoli; emerging from which it
turns west-south-west and joins the Tiber, after a further course of
twenty miles. Midway between its source and Tivoli, it passes the town
of Subiaco, anciently Sublaqueum, which derives its name from three
picturesque lakes, “_tres lacus amœnitate nobilis_.” Tivoli is well
known to have been the favourite retreat of the wealthy Romans from
the turmoil, and what Horace calls the “fumus,” of Rome. The names and
ruins of these villas yet remain, but no trace is left of those which
once adorned the banks of the Tiber, and perhaps of the Anio in the
lower part of its course.
Pliny the younger calls the Anio “_delicatissimus amnium_,” “softest
and gentlest of rivers”; and adds “that it was for this reason invited,
as it were, and retained by the neighbouring villas” for their own
exclusive use. Yet, this “delicate river” indulged occasionally in the
wildest escapades, and Pliny himself, in this very letter, describes
an inundation in which it swept away woods, undermined hills, and
committed extraordinary havoc among the neighbouring farms. From this
time to the year 1826 it was a source of apprehension to the people
of Tivoli, and an anxiety to the government at Rome, which expended
considerable sums in trying to prevent some great calamity, or in
repairing the damage which had been done. Once since the time of Strabo
the river is thought to have changed its course, discharging itself at
a lower level into the Grotto of Neptune, but still forming a lofty and
picturesque cascade.
At different periods it had destroyed buildings, undermined the
foundation of others, and defied every effort to control its violence.
At length these floods culminated in the great inundation of 1826,
which entirely altered the character of the cascade, and necessitated
the formation of the tunnel through Monte Catillo.
The work was let on contract to two rival firms, and pushed forward
with such vigour that, though it was considered a most arduous
undertaking in those times, it was completed in 1836, during the
Pontificate of Gregory XVI.
From the Anio, or its tributaries, was drawn the water which supplied
the principal aqueducts of Rome, the Anio Vetus, the Marcia, the Anio
Novus, and the Claudia. When the original Aqua Appia and Anio Vetus
were found insufficient for the increasing wants of Rome, it was
resolved to seek for a fresh supply. This was found in a stream of
limpid water rising about thirty-six miles from Rome in the Marsian
Mountains, and flowing into the Anio. As the water of the Vetus was
often turbid after rain, and even the Piscina, or reservoir, through
which it was made to pass, often failed to purify it, Quintus Marcius
Rex, who was appointed to superintend the work, was desirous that the
water of the new aqueduct should be taken from one of the tributaries
of the river, and as near as possible to its source.
As the source was in the country beyond the Anio, the aqueduct was of
course more expensive than any of the preceding ones, and the entire
length of it was no less than sixty-one miles, of which several were on
arches, the rest being subterranean. But, if the expense was greater,
the quality of the water was superior to that of any other with which
Rome was acquainted.
The aqueducts of the Anio Novus, and the Aqua Claudia, of which I have
spoken, were completed in the reign of Claudius. The Aqua Claudia,
which came from springs, was nearly equal in quality to the Marcia,
while the two Anios were often turbid, even in fine weather, from
the falling in of their banks. But Claudius improved the quality of
the Anio Novus, by abandoning the river at the point from which the
water had been drawn, and taking it from a lake, out of which the
stream issues limpid, after having deposited the greater part of its
impurities.
Altogether, according to the calculation of Fea, half the volume of
Anio was abstracted by the four aqueducts which have been mentioned.
Four tributaries remain to be described--the Cremera, the Allia, the
Aqua Crabra, and the Almo--streams insignificant in size, but famous in
the annals of Rome, or possessing an interest for the classical scholar
and the archæologist. The Cremera, a mere brook, over which an active
person might leap, rises in the little lake Baccano, and flowing past
the site of Veii, crosses the Flaminian way about six miles from Rome.
This brook must not be confounded with another a little higher up, and
which is a rivulet unknown to fame. The Cremera is associated, as every
student of Roman history is aware, with the patriotic devotion of the
Fabii.
On the banks of the Allia, the “_flebilis Allia_” of Ovid, a still
smaller stream, though dignified by the historians with the name
of river, was fought a battle with the Gauls, in which the Romans
sustained a signal defeat.
The Allia cannot be identified with certainty, but it is supposed to be
a small stream flowing in a deep ravine, which joins the Tiber on the
side opposite to Veii, and about three miles above Castel Guibileo, the
site of the ancient Fidenæ. This stream agrees with the description of
Livy.
The Aqua Crabra is generally known by the name of the Marrana, but is
also called Aqua Mariana, and Marrana del Maria; Marrana being a name
frequently given to brooks by the modern Romans. Thus we have Marrana
della Caffarella, another name for the Almone, and Marrana di Grotta
perfetta. The rivulet anciently known by the name of the Aqua Crabra
rises in the heart of the Alban hills, and after passing beneath the
heights on which Tusculum and Frascati are situated, turned northwards
in obedience to the configuration of the ground and flowed into the
Anio. But, at some unknown period after the fall of the Roman Empire,
it was diverted by means of a tunnel into the channel in which it at
present runs, for the purpose of turning mills and irrigating the land.
The little stream, also, which flows in the valley between Marino and
the ridge encircling the Alban lake, whose source is considered by some
to be the Aqua Ferentina of Livy, is conveyed through a similar tunnel
to swell the scanty waters of the Aqua Crabra. In ancient times this
rivulet was considered of such importance to the people of Tusculum,
who lived out of the way of the great aqueducts, that Agrippa, as
Frontinus tells us, consented not to turn it into the “caput,” or well
head, of the Aqua Julia, as he had originally proposed. It was looked
upon as a treasure to be doled out in measures to the thirsty people
of Tusculum, and was often contended for by legal proceedings. Cicero,
in his _Oration de lege Agraria, III, 2_, informs us that he paid rates
to the authorities of Tusculum for his share of the precious fluid.
And in his _Oration pro Balbo, ch. 22_, he refers to a litigation with
the municipality which furnished the water, probably on account of the
deficient supply. In this action “he was in the habit,” he tells us,
“of consulting the lawyer, Tugio, on account of his long experience in
similar cases.” Tugio seems to have justified his choice, and to have
frightened the municipality into granting a more abundant supply, for
we find Cicero in his letter to Tiro, observing, “that now there was
more water than enough.” “I should like to know,” he says, “how the
business of the Aqua Crabra is going on, though now indeed there is
more water than enough.”
The Almo is the stream which flows in the valley of Caffarella, close
to the Nymphæum, which does duty for the grotto of Egeria. Its most
remote source is about six miles from Rome, in the direction of Albano,
and this is usually dry; so that the Almo is with great propriety
called “_brevissimus_,” in comparison with the other rivers which Ovid
is enumerating. The perennial source is at Aqua Santa, not more than
three miles from the city. The stream that rises in the valley between
Marino and the Alban lake is represented in most maps as flowing into
the Almo. It is really diverted by a tunnel into the Aqua Crabra. At
the junction of the Almo with the Tiber were washed every year, the
statue of the Goddess Cybele, her chariot and the sacred instruments of
her worship.
Among the remaining tributaries of the Tiber may be enumerated the
Farfarus, which is a torrent joining the Tiber a little above Correse.
Also the little stream, the Aqua Albana, which is discharged by the
emissary of the Alban Lake, a work executed 393 years before Christ.
THE SHANNON
ARTHUR SHADWELL MARTIN
The greatest body of running water in the British Isles has long
claimed and received the love, admiration and praise of natives and
foreigners. Its banks are fringed with ruins of castles, round towers,
abbeys and churches, and its islands and hills reek with historical
associations, pagan folklore and mediæval tradition. Steamers now run
practically from its mouth to its source, and to the tourist all its
beauties are now displayed. The enthusiasm of foreigners over the
beautiful stream equals that of Erin’s own sons. Writing in 1844,
Johann Georg Kohl said:
“Well may the Irish speak of the ‘_Royal_ Shannon,’ for he _is_ the
king of all their rivers. A foreigner, when he thinks of some of our
large continental streams, may at first consider the epithet somewhat
of an exaggeration, but let him go down this glorious river and its
lakes, and he will be at no loss to understand that royal majesty, in
the matter of rivers, may be quite independent of length or extent.
“The British Islands certainly can boast of no second stream, the
beauties of whose banks could for a moment be compared to those of the
Shannon.