Monday, September 05, 2005
Throughout the empire the Romans seemed to spare little expense constructing aqueducts, supplying cities prosperous enough to afford them with a lavish system of water distribution that could potentially realign urban structures. As exemplified at Pompeii, an aqueduct was not necessary to support the water needs of many Roman communities; most domi incorporated a well or cistern collecting unpolluted rainwater as a matter of course. The public fountains at Pompeii itself were positioned such that the majority of its citizens carried water no more than fifty meters. Plenty of large cities, especially those of Britain, never acquired aqueduct-supplied water. Aqueducts were introduced to some important urban areas, such as the port city of Ostia, only much later in the empire in relation to the nine established at Rome itself by the time of Frontinus, who wrote De Aquis Urbis Romae in AD 97.
An aqueduct, then, was a luxury good, not an essential commodity. However, its service to a community signified an important connection to Rome, for it made possible the construction of more extravagant baths, fountains, and gardens. Baths, for instance, could and did exist without an aqueduct supply, but this lacking limited size and the volume of water available.
Additionally, households received a constant, unending flow of fresh water, displacing sole reliance on stored rainwater. Collecting rainwater usually sufficed, but could prove inadequate during particularly dry months. Though it is difficult to precisely assess accurate amounts, a typical Roman household might consume in one day what a modern household consumes in two months. Notions of water conservation did not occur to the Romans, who at any rate did utilize excess water to flush city drains and streets. Less potable water, such as that of Rome’s Alsietina aqueduct, could be diverted for gardening or irrigation.
Visibly asserting a community’s importance and considerably the most recognizable feature of an aqueduct, arcades were usually constructed within the final several kilometers of the channel’s approach to a city. Interesting studies of this particular element abound, but I nevertheless found myself asking the question A. Trevor Hodges states many modern students of classical technology ponder, ‘How did it all work?’
The evidence for the answer is sometimes complicated, at least for someone such as myself who is of minimal engineering bend, and certainly scanty, there existing only two main ancient literary sources devoting works to the subject and a very limited archaeological record. These have their own restrictions, which I shall discuss as I encounter them, and perhaps, as a result of those limitations, Hodges’ Roman Aqueducts and Water Supply is the most detailed recent English publication to probe the matter. It is also, as I have discovered, the one most paraphrased on classical websites illustrating the Roman aqueduct system, which were therefore not at all useful to me in my model conceptualization.
I shall address first, then, the notable omission of an arcade from my model, with the simplified explanation that it is an element about which one may find information more readily with a website search engine. My brief explanation should not be viewed as a dismissal, but the arcades are nonetheless nonessential to my overall theme of how the Romans used gravity to force water from source A to city B in a day or less. Also, the arcades were brilliant architectural marvels which I could not hope to recreate, for I have never molded anything beautiful with my own hands. My model effectively demonstrates the principal of constant throughput, which is my aim, but I shall not pretend that it does so with any finesse.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 2:36 PM]