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Title: The discovery and decipherment of the trilingual cuneiform inscriptions
Author: Arthur John Booth
Release date: October 18, 2023 [eBook #71905]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Longmans, Green, and Co, 1902
Credits: Wouter Franssen and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DISCOVERY AND DECIPHERMENT OF THE TRILINGUAL CUNEIFORM INSCRIPTIONS ***
Transcriber’s Note: For this book you will need to have a font installed
that can render cuneiform characters such as 𐎠, 𐎡, 𐎢. If these do
not display for you, then one suitable option is the font ‘Segoe ui
historic’. Cuneiform signs that have no Unicode equivalent are given as
[Persian] or [Susian], and as images in the HTML version.
THE TRILINGUAL CUNEIFORM INSCRIPTIONS
[Illustration: PLAN OF PERSEPOLIS.
(_From Curzon’s “Persia and the Persian Question”_)
_Longmans, Green & Co., London, New York & Bombay._]
THE DISCOVERY AND DECIPHERMENT
OF THE
TRILINGUAL CUNEIFORM
INSCRIPTIONS
BY
ARTHUR JOHN BOOTH, M.A.
_WITH A PLAN_
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
1902
All rights reserved
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION
Achaemenian Inscriptions, written in three styles of Cuneiform
character, and in three different languages ix
The Decipherment of the Persian Text afforded the clue to the others xi
Discovery of Sumerian, the ancient language of Babylonia xiii
The Historical Results xv
CHAPTER I
The Discovery of Achaemenian Ruins and Inscriptions: Barbaro to Le
Bruyn: A.D. 1472-1718 1
Barbaro visits Chehel Minar and the Tomb of the Mother of Solomon:
A.D. 1472 9
The Portuguese Missions—Gouvea first mentions the Inscriptions:
A.D. 1602 11
Don Garcia de Silva Figueroa identifies Chehel Minar with
Persepolis: A.D. 1618 17
The ‘Viaggi’ of Pietro della Valle: A.D. 1621 24
Sir Thomas Herbert, ‘Relation of Some Years Travaile’: A.D. 1627—The
first view of Persepolis 33
Mandelslo’s View of the Tomb of the Mother of Solomon: A.D. 1638 40
The French Travellers Daulier Deslandes, Thévenot, and Tavernier:
A.D. 1665 48
Dr. Hyde’s opinion: A.D. 1700 59
Chardin’s Travels—The Drawings of Grélot: A.D. 1711 61
Kaempfer first describes the writing as ‘Cuneiform’: A.D. 1712 69
He and Le Bruyn make the first copies of Inscriptions: A.D. 1718 71
CHAPTER II
Niebuhr to De Morgan: A.D. 1765-1897 76
Niebuhr’s ‘Voyage en Arabie’: A.D. 1765 76
Grotefend begins the Decipherment: A.D. 1802 82
Morier identifies the Tomb of Cyrus: A.D. 1809 85
Sir William Ouseley’s Travels: A.D. 1811 87
Sir R. Ker Porter becomes the chief authority: A.D. 1818 90
The Sphere of Discovery widens—The Elvend and Van Inscriptions:
A.D. 1827 94
Rich visits Persepolis: A.D. 1821—His book published: A.D. 1839 96
Westergaard copies Inscription at Naksh-i-Rustam: A.D. 1843 102
Major Rawlinson at Behistun: A.D. 1837-44 102
The French Expeditions: A.D. 1840, Texier 115
” ” ” Flandin and Coste 118
Stolze’s Photographic Views: A.D. 1878 128
Dieulafoy: A.D. 1881 131
Lord Curzon: A.D. 1890 131
Susa visited by Kinneir, Rawlinson, and Layard 133
Loftus excavates the Apadana: A.D. 1852 135
Dieulafoy discovers the Lion and Archers friezes: A.D. 1885 138
De Morgan and the Old Susian Inscriptions: A.D. 1897-9 143
Inscriptions found in Egypt 146
CHAPTER III
Decipherment of the First or Persian Column: Tychsen to Lassen:
A.D. 1798-1886 149
Niebuhr gives the first Old Persian Alphabet 149
The predecessors of Grotefend: Tychsen and Münter: A.D. 1798 151
Hager on Babylonian Inscriptions: A.D. 1801 163
Lichtenstein thinks them Arabic 166
Grotefend deciphers ‘Hystaspes, Darius, and Xerxes’: A.D. 1802 168
Discoveries on the site of Babylon: A.D. 1808-11 192
Rich’s Two Memoirs 193
St. Martin introduces Grotefend to France: A.D. 1822 195
Rask identifies two letters: A.D. 1826 202
Burnouf’s ‘Mémoires sur deux Inscriptions’: A.D. 1836 204
His Translations 215
Lassen’s ‘Altpersischen Keilinschriften’: A.D. 1836 220
Holtzmann’s charge of plagiarism 223
CHAPTER IV
Beer and Jacquet to Rawlinson: A.D. 1838-46 237
Jacquet’s contributions to the ‘Journal Asiatique’: A.D. 1838 239
Rawlinson translates two paragraphs of the Behistun Inscription
for the Royal Asiatic Society: A.D. 1838 244
He deciphers two new characters: A.D. 1839 248
Grotefend’s later contributions: Identifies Artaxerxes: A.D. 1837 251
Lassen and Westergaard’s edition of the Persian and Susian
Inscriptions: A.D. 1845 253
Holtzmann’s Criticism 262
Edward Hincks begins his contributions: June 1846 265
Rawlinson’s Supplementary Note and Memoir: A.D. 1846 271
Estimate of his claims as a decipherer 275
His revised Translation of the Inscriptions 291
Hitzig, Benfey, and Oppert: A.D. 1847 294
CHAPTER V
Decipherment of the Second or Susian Column: Westergaard to
Oppert: A.D. 1844-52 298
The early efforts of Grotefend 299
Westergaard’s Essay and Translations: A.D. 1844-5 300
Hincks’s Contributions: A.D. 1846-7 307
De Saulcy, Löwenstern, and Holtzmann: A.D. 1850 309
Norris: Contributions to ‘J. R. A. S.’: 1855 314
Oppert’s first success 320
Old Susian and Malamir Inscriptions 322
Various names proposed for the Second Column 324
Oppert on ‘Le Peuple des Mèdes’: A.D. 1879 326
CHAPTER VI
Decipherment of the Third or Babylonian Column: Hincks and
Rawlinson: A.D. 1846-51 337
The Babylonian Inscriptions: Michaux Stone and East India House 337
The Assyrian Inscriptions discovered by Botta and Layard:
A.D. 1843-5 339
Botta: ‘Essai de Déchiffrement’: A.D. 1845 343
On the Varieties of Writing 343
The language of the Babylonian and Assyrian Inscriptions shown
to be identical with that of the Third Column—It is Semitic 348
First attempt to decipher it—Grotefend: A.D. 1824-40 352
Löwenstern on Asdod: A.D. 1845 355
Hincks’s Essay of June 1846 357
Rawlinson: A.D. 1847 362
Criticised by Löwenstern in ‘Exposé des Eléments’: A.D. 1847 364
Hincks: The Khorsabad Inscription: June 1849 369
” The Appendix: Jan. 1850 374
” Mode of Writing: August 1850 375
Rawlinson: Second Memoir prepared: A.D. 1849 377
” The Two Lectures: Jan. and Feb. 1850 379
” Earliest Assyrian Translation from Black Obelisk 382
” Publication of Third Column of Behistun Inscription:
A.D. 1851 386
The Services of Hincks and Rawlinson compared 396
The Claims of De Saulcy examined 398
Conclusion 407
APPENDICES
A.—Table showing the different values assigned to each letter of
the Old Persian Alphabet 420
B.—Table showing the true values of the Old Persian letters and
the author and date of their decipherment 426
C.—Table showing the different values given to each sign of the
Susian (Median) Syllabary 430
INDEX 443
PLAN OF PERSEPOLIS _Frontispiece_
[The Plan of Persepolis is inserted by kind permission of Lord Curzon of
Kedleston from his work ‘Persia and the Persian Question.’]
INTRODUCTION
The decipherment of the cuneiform inscriptions of Western Asia is worthy
of being included among the great achievements of the nineteenth century.
Only a hundred years ago it was still possible to maintain that there
was no such thing as cuneiform writing, and that the mysterious figures
that went by that name were merely a grotesque form of ornamentation. We
propose to recount the method pursued by the long succession of scholars
who in the end succeeded in solving the perplexing problem that was
presented to them. Few, if any, of those who, in the beginning of last
century, occupied themselves with the subject, could have imagined the
brilliant discoveries that would result from their tedious labours. In
these pages we shall be chiefly occupied with the inscriptions of the
Achaemenian kings. They were the first to be discovered and studied,
and they possess the peculiar advantage of being, with few exceptions,
trilingual. They are, in fact, generally found in three parallel columns,
and it was seen that the characters and no doubt the languages also
varied in each. It was observed that the writing in one of the columns
was much simpler than in the others; the number of different signs being
limited to about forty-two. It was assumed that they were alphabetical,
whereas there could be little doubt from their great number that the
signs in the other columns were syllabic or ideographic. Notwithstanding
the comparative simplicity of the former, it was not till forty years
had been devoted to their study that the riddle was successfully solved.
At length the sound of each letter was fully established, and the words
they combined to form were found to belong to a language, akin to Zend,
to which the name of Old Persian is now given. From its analogy to
Zend and Pehlevi it was a comparatively easy task to assign correct or
approximately correct meanings to the words, and to arrive at the sense
of the short sentences that occur on the monuments. The first stage in
the progress of decipherment was reached in 1845, when Professor Lassen
of Bonn published a tentative but fairly correct translation of the
whole of the inscriptions then accessible, belonging to the first or
Persian column. This success was no doubt a matter of great interest to
the philologist; but the inscriptions themselves were found to be almost
wholly wanting in historical importance. They were nearly all taken
from buildings at Persepolis or elsewhere, and they simply commemorated
their erection by Darius or by Xerxes or by Artaxerxes Ochus. They are
uniformly conceived in the same set form of words, from which at the
most some deductions might be drawn as to the relations existing between
the Persian and his god Ormuzd. Two of them indeed were varied by a list
of the provinces included in the Empire. It is true the inscription at
Behistun was not included in this collection; but even it adds little of
importance except with reference to the revolt of the Magian impostor.
The publication of this inscription by Major Rawlinson, in 1846, marks
the successful termination of the task of deciphering the first column,
and a complete mastery over the Old Persian language had then been
obtained.
It was correctly supposed that the other two columns contained
translations of the same Persian text; and the knowledge now acquired
of the latter could not but afford an invaluable key to unlock the
difficulties of the others. The decipherment of the inscriptions in the
second column was attended by even less interest than the first. The
language was ascertained to be Scythic, but nothing was found written
in it except what was already known from the Persian. It, however, gave
rise to a very heated controversy as to who the people were by whom
it was spoken, which for a time enlivened an otherwise extremely dull
subject. The decipherment of the third column, however, at length led
to very important consequences that amply compensated for all previous
disappointments. It was clearly recognised that the writing closely
resembled inscriptions found on bricks that had been picked up from time
to time on the site of Babylon; and hence the third column received, even
in the beginning of the inquiry, the distinctive name of the ‘Babylonian
Column.’ Only very few specimens of these unilingual inscriptions in the
Babylonian character were collected during the first half of the century,
and no progress was made in their decipherment. Meanwhile, however,
the study of the third column proceeded with the help of the Persian
key; and at length the energy of scholars was stimulated by the sudden
discovery in Assyria of multitudes of unilingual inscriptions written in
a very similar character to that of the Babylonian and the third column.
M. Botta began his excavations at Khorsabad, in 1843, and Mr. Layard at
Nineveh, in 1845-6, and from that period there was no lack of material.
The walls, and even the floors, of the newly discovered palaces were
covered with long inscriptions which were afterwards found to record the
great achievements of their Royal founders. But of far greater interest
and importance than these were the numerous inscribed tablets found in
what was called the Library of Assurbanipal. The first stage in the
progress of this branch of the subject was reached in 1852, when Major
Rawlinson published a complete transliteration and translation of the
third column of the Behistun inscription, followed soon afterwards by
translations of a few of the unilingual inscriptions recently found.
The mastery he had obtained of the language of the third column by
means of the Persian key enabled him at length to dispense with its
assistance, and to pass on to the unilingual inscriptions where he had no
such guide. He found that the language belonged to the Semitic family,
and it came as a surprise to the learned world of that day to learn
that the polytheistic nations of the Euphrates Valley spoke a kindred
language to the Hebrew, and belonged presumably to a kindred race. It
was thus shown that the three languages of the Persian inscriptions
were representatives, of the Aryan, Turanian and Semitic families. The
difficulty of the task that remained was still very great, for it was
found that Babylonian and Assyrian were not exactly the same language,
but differed from one another at least as much as two strongly marked
dialects of the same speech. The decipherer also was greatly impeded by
varieties in the method of writing. Two very different systems prevailed
in each country, so that there were in fact four different methods of
writing the signs to be mastered; and when we consider that the language
is written by means of several hundred signs, it was no trifling matter
to find that each might be multiplied by four.[1] For a long time, no
doubt, the knowledge of Babylonian and Assyrian remained very imperfect,
but the labours of many scholars, reaching over fifty years and working
upon the extensive materials gradually accumulating, have cleared up most
of the difficulties, and both are now almost as well understood as any
other ancient language.
With so much work still in hand, it was extremely disheartening to
learn from Major Rawlinson that he had descried yet another and totally
different language in certain inscriptions sent to him from Southern
Babylonia. The intelligence was confirmed shortly afterwards by the
discovery in the Library of Assurbanipal of large numbers of tablets that
served as phrase-books for the acquisition of this newly found language.
Farther investigation showed that it belonged to the Turanian family;
and it has received the names of Akkadian and Sumerian. Some years
later the cities of Southern Babylonia were more thoroughly explored,
especially Tello, by M. de Sarzec, and the number of inscriptions in
this language largely increased. They are found written in a linear
or archaic character that evidently preceded the use of cuneiform.
The conclusion was soon reached that this Turanian language was the
original language of Southern Babylonia, and that the cuneiform writing
developed from its ancient script. But still more surprising was the
discovery that not merely the writing but the religion and literature of
later times descended from this ancient source. An immense collection
of tablets has been made from the various libraries of Babylonia and
Assyria, upon which a large and varied literature is inscribed. It
consists of epic poems, legends of creation, astronomical books, legal
judgments and contracts. In the field of religion it comprises magical
incantations, hymns and penitential psalms. But it was found that all
the most important part of this literature was simply translated from
the Sumerian, and that Assyrian literature proper is limited to the dry
and monotonous records of the kings. It is not the least interesting
result of these studies to have shown that the Turanian race lies at the
back of the civilisation of Western Asia. From them the Semitic races
of the valley of the two rivers derived their law, their religion, the
legends of their faith, their heroic literature, their science and art,
and all the chief elements of their culture. Scarcely less surprising
was the discovery of the immense antiquity of the Sumerian civilisation.
The evidence derived from the cuneiform documents, combined with the
results of the excavations carefully conducted at Nippur by Dr. Peters
and others, have carried back the beginnings of Sumerian history to an
almost incredible antiquity, sometimes estimated at B.C. 6000.[2] From
the written documents now in our possession, we are able to reconstruct
the records of Southern Babylonia from about B.C. 4000, and an entirely
new page in the history of the human race has been opened. We can trace
the beginnings of civilisation among the lagoons of the Persian Gulf,
the rise of a great commerce with the Mediterranean, with Egypt, and
possibly with India; the descent of the Semitic nomads into the rich
cities created by the industry of the Turanian population; the foundation
of a Babylonian Empire reaching across to the Mediterranean at a period
still anterior to the reputed age of Abraham. We can note many incidents
in the struggle for the possession of Syria in which Egypt for a time
remained the victor. We assist at the foundation of the infant kingdom
of Assyria some 2000 years after our records begin; all the events of
its rise and fall are engraved on our imperishable books of stone, and
many incidents in the writings of the Jews have received illustration.
Finally, on the fall of Assyria we see the old Empire of Babylon recover
from its partial eclipse and flourish for a time under the great
Nebuchadnezzar. Then follow the rise of Persia and the extinction of
the great Semitic Empires, events on which our cuneiform records have
thrown new and important light. Considering that the existence of the old
Babylonian Empire was previously entirely unknown; that our knowledge of
the Assyrian Empire hitherto depended altogether on a few passages in the
Hebrew Scriptures, and some absurd legends collected by Herodotus and
Ctesias; that the very existence of a second Babylonian Empire seems to
have entirely escaped the knowledge of the Greeks, we are in a position
to estimate the gain to the range of our historical information. The
inscriptions have also shown the origin of many myths popular in ancient
times; and of legends that even still enter into current theology. They
have exhibited the Semitic people in the new light of a polytheistic
race, and they have illustrated the important position filled by the
Turanians at the dawn of civilisation.
It was only natural that the accuracy of many of these results should
have been somewhat strenuously contested. M. Renan, for example, could
not be induced to believe in the polytheism of the Semitic race, though
the images of their gods began to crowd the Louvre in bewildering
numbers. M. Halévy disputed the very existence of the Sumerian race and
language, and the controversy he excited has not even yet wholly died
away. Others cannot reconcile themselves to the subordinate position
of the Semite to the Turanian in laying the foundations of all modern
culture, and they still endeavour to show that the two races were at
least contemporary workers from the earliest times, and contributed
equally to the great result. All this is perhaps symptomatic only of a
passing phase of irritation, for the evidence on the other side seems too
overwhelming to be long withstood.[3]
It is because the trilingual inscriptions have rendered such important
service that we have considered it worth while to recount the history
of their discovery after they had lain forgotten for some two thousand
years, and to explain the steps that were taken in the work of
decipherment by the many scholars whose patient toil was ultimately
rewarded with success.
TRILINGUAL CUNEIFORM INSCRIPTIONS
CHAPTER I
THE DISCOVERY OF ACHAEMENIAN RUINS AND INSCRIPTIONS—BARBARO TO LE BRUYN,
A.D. 1472-1718
The trilingual inscriptions of the Achaemenian Kings of Persia that have
led to the decipherment of the whole cuneiform literature were found
chiefly at Persepolis and Behistun; though a single line at Murgab and
a short inscription at Hamadan, the ancient Ecbatana, also contributed
to an important extent. Other inscriptions were observed at Van in
Armenia; at Naksh-i-Rustam, a few miles from Persepolis; upon the site of
the ancient Susa, and so far afield as Egypt. They are all monumental:
chiselled upon the walls of buildings to record the name of the king
who erected the edifice. They are written in three different methods
of cuneiform writing, and reproduce the same text in three different
languages.
The inscriptions at Persepolis were the first to attract attention. The
ruins where they were found had excited curiosity long before their
discovery by European travellers, and many legends had arisen to account
for their origin. It was variously reported that they were the remains
of a palace of Solomon, or of Cai Caius, a predecessor of Cyrus, or
of the great national hero Jamshid. The literary classes described
them as the Takht-i-Cai Khusrau, or Throne of Cyrus; and later on as
the Khaneh-i-Dara or Mansion of Darius. The early travellers, however,
learned that the popular name for them was Chehel Minar, or Forty
Minarets, from the lofty columns that form their chief architectural
characteristic. But during the eighteenth century Jamshid triumphed
over all his competitors, and since then they have been more generally
known as the Takht-i-Jamshid, or Throne of Jamshid. The question of
their origin was not indeed finally settled till the inscriptions were
interpreted. Chardin, at the end of the seventeenth century, and Heeren,
a hundred years later, still supported the claims of Jamshid. Although
it no longer admits of doubt that the buildings were erected by Darius
and Xerxes, there is even yet no complete unanimity as to their original
design. The more common belief is that they were the actual palaces
of the sovereign, and that one of the buildings was the scene of the
conflagration ordered by Alexander. Their dimensions and construction
offer considerable difficulties to the supposition that they were the
actual residence of the great king, though they may have been adapted for
official receptions and other ceremonial purposes.
They lie on the south-east slope of a hill overlooking the plain of
Mervdasht about forty miles north of Shiraz. Many other remains belonging
to the same period are found on both sides of the neighbouring river
Polvar. Three miles further up are the ruins of the fortress city of
Istakhr; and four miles across the river are the Tombs of Naksh-i-Rustam.
Doubtless the great city of Persepolis included within its circuit the
whole of these isolated ruins, though the name has become restricted to
those that now specially engage our attention. They rise upon a terrace
partly hewn from the solid rock, partly constructed of massive blocks
of stone. They now consist chiefly of the colossal jambs of doors and
windows, the connecting walls having entirely disappeared. Their chief
characteristics are the beautiful columns that formerly gave the place
its name, and the profusion of bas-reliefs that ornament the stonework.
The platform is of very irregular shape, and is encased by a magnificent
wall varying in height from twenty to fifty feet. It is approached from
the plain on the west side by (1) a Double Staircase sunk into the line
of the wall and rising parallel to it. At the summit is (2) a Porch
entered between two buttresses supported by colossal bulls; beyond are
two other buttresses with winged, human-headed bulls looking in the
opposite direction towards the east. In the centre of the edifice marked
by these two entrances there were originally four columns designed to
support the roof, of which two only are now standing. Turning to the
right, towards the south, is (3) a Sculptured Staircase leading up to
the Columnar Edifice. It differs from the one already mentioned by
standing out considerably from the line of the terrace; indeed there are
two projections, the first no less than two hundred and twelve feet in
length; the second, which again projects from the centre of the first, is
eighty-six feet in length. At either end of each projection is a single
flight of steps; and the whole front is seen to be completely covered
with bas-reliefs. Beneath the landing stage of the central projection
the wall is divided into three compartments. In the centre is a plain
polished slab intended for an inscription, and on either side are armed
guards. In the spandrils formed by the ascent of the steps is a favourite
device representing a contest between a lion and a bull. On the wall
to right and left of the central stairs are three horizontal rows of
bas-reliefs separated by an ornamental design of roses. They represent
a procession of tributaries, leading animals or bearing gifts, about to
ascend the central stairs. At either end is a polished slab occupying
the whole height of the wall; but only the one to the west has been
filled with an inscription. The Columnar Edifice (4), standing on the
terrace above, is designed in the form of a Central Cluster and three
colonnades—one in front and one on either side. The centre formed a
square of thirty-six columns, and each of the colonnades consisted of
two rows of six columns. The total number of columns should therefore
be seventy-two, of which only thirteen now remain standing. They differ
in height, and belong to two different orders. Those in the front
colonnade and central group are lower than the others, and have a capital
resembling the Ionic order, except that the volutes rise perpendicularly.
In the colonnades a double bull or unicorn rests directly upon the shaft;
and it has been generally assumed that similar animals were originally
superimposed over the voluted capital to make the other columns of equal
height. The edifice covered an area of three hundred and fifty feet
from east to west, and two hundred and forty-six feet from north to
south. Passing through the columns, and continuing in the same southerly
direction, the ruins are reached that have yielded the largest number
of inscriptions. First in order are the massive jambs belonging to the
building now known as (5) the Palace of Darius; and beyond are the
remains of three buildings lining the southern terrace. The one to the
right is the scarcely discernible ruins of (6) the Palace of Ochus. In
the centre rise the huge pilasters of the great (7) Palace of Xerxes;
while beyond to the left is a small ruin called (8) the South-eastern
Edifice. Turning back towards the north, between these ruins and the
hill are the ruins of (9) the Central Edifice, a building resembling the
Porch at the summit of the entrance. Beyond, in a line with the Columnar
Edifice are the huge remains of the (10) Hall of the Hundred Columns. On
the hill overhanging the Platform are two rock tombs similar to those at
Naksh-i-Rustam; and, above, some travellers have traced three distinct
walls and towers that formed the defence of the palace and city.
The palaces stand upon an artificial terrace of their own raised above
the level of the platform, and the stairs leading up to them have
afforded an opportunity for the display of ornamentation in bas-relief.
The Porch is invariably protected by colossal guards hewn out of the
stone. Over the great door of the main entrances the king is depicted
entering or leaving the building, with attendants bearing the royal
parasol and fly-chaser. On the doors leading to the lateral chambers he
may be seen in dignified conflict with wild animals; or, as in the Palace
of Xerxes, these scenes are replaced by attendants bearing viands to the
royal table. Some of the most elaborate designs are met in the Central
Edifice and in the Hall of the Hundred Columns. In the latter the king
appears seated in a chair of state raised above the heads of five rows of
warriors; while at the opposite door his throne is similarly supported by
three rows of figures representing subject nations. These bas-reliefs are
surrounded by an exquisite fretted fringe of roses, diversified above by
small figures of bulls and lions; and over the whole the winged figure of
Ormuzd is seen to hover.
A large inscription occupies the outside wall of the southern terrace.
It is in four tablets, known as the H, I, K and L of Niebuhr. The I
inscription enumerates the provinces of Darius: another contains the
declaration that that Terrace or Fortress was built by Darius, and,
‘before him there was not any fortress in that place.’[4] Above the
animals in the Porch is an inscription of Xerxes in three tablets,
declaring that it was erected by him, and that it was one of the many
beautiful works accomplished by him and his father Darius ‘in Parsa’
(Inscription D). The unilingual inscription on the sculptured staircase
informs us that it also was constructed by Xerxes (Inscription A). As
we ascend the south stairs to the Palace of Darius, we observe on the
façade below the landing stage three tablets of inscriptions which are
repeated upon the landing, on the anta in the south-west corner. It is
again Xerxes who speaks, but he tells us that it was Darius who erected
that palace (Inscriptions C and Cᵃ). Passing through the great doors we
observe above the king and his attendants three tablets of inscriptions.
They are in the three languages and run: ‘Darius, the great king, king
of kings, king of nations, son of Hystaspes, the Achaemenian, has built
this palace’ (Inscription B). Within, round the doors and windows is
a single-line inscription written on the top in Persian, ascending
on the left in Susian and descending on the right hand in Babylonian
(Inscription L). On the west side of this palace is a second staircase,
added later, of Artaxerxes Ochus, as we learn from a magnificent
inscription on the façade (Inscription P). This inscription is repeated
on the stairs leading to the palace of that king.[5] Adjoining the latter
is the Palace of Xerxes, approached by two principal staircases, one to
the east and the other to the west. On both occur inscriptions declaring
Xerxes the builder in words repeated upon the wall above and upon the
anta of the great Portico (Inscription E). Entering by the great doors
we see a short inscription over the king and his attendants, which is
repeated over the side doors and windows and even upon the royal robe
(Inscription G).
These inscriptions, as we have said, do little more than record the name
of the founders, and with the exception of the I inscription, they give
no other information. But they are sometimes accompanied by a religious
formula consisting of two paragraphs, of which occasionally the second
only is given. It runs:
1. ‘A great god is Auramazda who has created this heaven, who has created
this earth, who has created men, who has created happiness for men, who
has made Darius [or Xerxes] King, the only King among many, the only
ruler of many.
2. ‘I am Darius [or Xerxes] the great King, the King of Kings, the King
of the lands of many races, King of this great earth far and near; son of
Hystaspes [or Darius] the Achaemenian.’
The inscription at Hamadan contains nothing else.
The early travellers were attracted by Naksh-i-Rustam almost as early as
by the Chehel Minar. It lies, as we have said, about four miles distant,
across the Polvar, and no doubt it formed part of the great city. The
bas-reliefs that excited the most curiosity belong to the Sassanian
period and do not concern us here; but the tombs are Achaemenian. They
are executed in the face of the rock and are four in number. They are
comprised within a space of two hundred yards, and in exterior design
they are precisely alike. They are in the shape of a Greek cross, and
the transverse section reproduces in half relief the façade of a palace.
In the topmost section there rests a rectangular stage ornamented with
two rows of human figures, each containing fourteen persons in different
costumes, designed to represent the various satrapies of the Empire. Upon
it the king is seen standing on a dais; before him is an altar upon which
the sacred fire is burning, and above floats the image of Ormuzd. The
second tomb from the east is the only one that bears an inscription, and
from it we learn that it was the resting place of the great Darius. The
façade has four tablets of inscriptions, two in Persian and one each in
the Susian and Babylonian languages. The Persian text inscribed in the
upper limb of the cross is the best preserved and the most difficult of
access. It consists of sixty lines and contains a second and later list
of the provinces of the Empire (Inscription NR). Beneath it, between the
half columns in the transverse section, is another Persian inscription,
originally of about the same length, but so mutilated that only fifteen
lines have been partly copied (Inscription NR ᵇ). The names of three of
the great officers of the Crown have also been recovered (Inscriptions NR
ᶜ, ᵈ, ᵉ), and quite recently the names of seven supporters of the throne
have been added.
Ascending the valley of the Polvar, at a distance of forty miles to
the north of Persepolis the traveller reaches another large group
of Achaemenian ruins, which it is now generally admitted represent
Pasargadae, the city of Cyrus. The early travellers were attracted by a
curious edifice standing among them which they were told was the Tomb
of the Mother of Solomon; but it was not till the nineteenth century
that its similarity to the tomb of Cyrus, described by Arrian, struck
the imaginative Morier, the author of ‘Hajji Baba.’ At the same time a
single-line inscription was found repeated on several pillars with the
legend: ‘I am Cyrus, the King, the Achaemenian’ (Inscription M).
The discovery of the Achaemenian ruins and inscriptions, to which we have
briefly called attention, dates from the beginning of the seventeenth
century. Till then Persia was almost entirely unknown to European
travellers, and only a few scattered notices of the Persepolitan ruins
come to us earlier. The first of these dates back to the end of the
fifteenth century, and is due to a Venetian ambassador, Giosafat Barbaro,
who visited the country in 1472. The account of his mission was not,
however, published till 1545. He tells us that a day’s journey from
Camara he came to a great bridge across the ‘Bindamyr,’ which he heard
had been built by Solomon.[6] Not far distant he perceived a hill where
on a level spot, stood forty columns, called from that circumstance
‘Cilminar.’ Some of them are in ruins, but from what remains it is
evident the building was formerly very beautiful. Above the terrace there
rises a rock on which human figures of gigantic size are sculptured,
and over them appears a figure which resembles ‘God the Father in a
circle.’[7] Elsewhere he observed a tall figure on horseback who he was
told was Samson, and others clothed after the French fashion. ‘Two days
distant from this place is a place called Thimar, and another two days
farther we come to a village where there is a sepulchre, in which they
say the mother of Solomon is buried. Upon it is a kind of chapel on which
are engraven Arabic characters denoting “Mother of Solomon.” This place
they call Messeth Suleimen, or Temple of Solomon. The door looks towards
the east.’ Such is the earliest account in modern times of the famous
ruins of Persepolis and Pasargadae, although Barbaro was quite unaware of
their identity. It will be observed that he also visited Naksh-i-Rustam,
and saw in the Sassanian bas-relief of Rustam the figure of Samson. It
is possible that the notes of his journey were fuller than the published
account, and they may have fallen into the hands of Sebastiano Serlio, a
Bolognese architect. A few years before the appearance of the ‘Viagi,’
Serlio published his celebrated treatise on Architecture, which enjoyed
extraordinary popularity, and was translated into many languages.[8] In
it he gives a drawing of the façade of an edifice which he had heard
was supported by a hundred columns. He had never seen it or its ruins,
and seems to have had no idea where the building had stood, though he
apparently gives us to understand that it was Grecian. The drawing shows
a building with ten columns in front, adorned with Corinthian capitals,
and supporting a second story of four columns and architrave. He had
heard that only a few of the columns remained above ground, but he
decided to present his readers with his conception of what it must have
resembled. He ventures so far as to give the dimensions of the columns,
although he anticipates that the whole thing will be flouted as a chimera
or a dream. He thus gives us the first of a long series of conjectural
‘restorations,’ with which successive generations of architects have
enlivened their books and obscured the subject in hand. He is certain
that some such building with a hundred columns had existed somewhere, but
it never seems to have entered his mind that he had to go so far afield
as Persia to find it. Whether the idea was suggested by what he had heard
from Barbaro we cannot say; but it is a complete error to suppose that
he represented his drawing as ‘the plan and elevation of Persepolis.’[9]
The first to suggest the identity was Don Garcia, who, however, does not
appear to have read what Serlio had to say on the subject.[10] He thought
Serlio had called his drawing the ‘Forty Alcorans’ and omitted its
size and proportion. Serlio, on the contrary, says nothing about forty
columns, and he gives the proportions of his imaginary edifice, which he
leaves us to infer was one of the marvels of Greece.
It was not till the Portuguese found their way round the Cape of Good
Hope that communication with Persia became regular and frequent. In 1508,
Alboquerque conquered the island of Ormuz at the entrance to the Persian
Gulf. Even at that time this barren rock was the resort of merchants from
India; and under Portuguese rule it rapidly rose to great prosperity.
Its king was permitted to retain his rank and a nominal authority, but
his dominions, which included the islands of Kesem and Bahrein and the
port of Gombrun on the mainland passed under Portuguese influence. In
the division of the East among the religious orders, Persia fell to the
Augustinians, to be the special field of their missionary labours. They
erected a church and convent at Ormuz, which continued for a hundred
years to be a centre of their activity. In the reign of Don Sebastian
the Father Symon de Morales became its prior and applied himself to
the acquisition of the Persian language. Soon after the union of the
Portuguese and Spanish thrones, Philip II. instructed the Viceroy of the
Indies to send an envoy to the King of Persia in order to settle the
details of the commercial intercourse which had arisen between the two
countries, and no one was better qualified to undertake the task than
Morales, upon whom the selection fell (1583). The route from Ormuz to
Ispahan, then the capital of Persia, passed within a short distance of
Persepolis; and it is to the long succession of envoys who travelled that
way that we are in great measure indebted for our knowledge of these
ruins and the mysterious characters engraven upon their walls.
The missions took place chiefly in the reign of Shah Abbas (1587-1628),
a monarch whose alliance against the Turk was eagerly sought for by the
European powers. He had not only distinguished himself in the early part
of his reign by considerable military capacity, but had evinced a strong
desire to develop the commercial resources of his country. Indeed, he
was as much of a merchant as a soldier. He was the chief, if not the
sole, owner of the silk industry, and he sought to attract the merchants
of all nations by permitting the freest competition among them. He did
everything in his power to render the country agreeable to strangers. He
erected sumptuous caravansaries for their accommodation upon the road.
He made travelling even in remote districts absolutely safe, by the
slaughter, it was said, of twenty thousand robbers. He received men of
all nationalities and of the most diverse creeds with equal hospitality.
He even sought to attract skilled artisans from Europe to instruct his
subjects, and he caused his palaces to be decorated by foreign artists.
The period of his reign was peculiarly favourable for the execution of
his liberal projects. The Portuguese trade was carried on with great
success from Ormuz. About 1595 the Dutch made their first appearance in
the Indian Seas, and gave a great stimulus to competition. Nor were the
English merchants indifferent to the opening of a new market. So far back
as 1861 Antonie Jenkinson visited Persia with that object, but he was
not favourably received. In the first year of the seventeenth century,
John Mildenhall, accompanied by John Cartwright, a student of Magdalen,
renewed the overtures, and they found Shah Abbas even then well disposed
to cede a port on the Gulf. In 1609, Joseph Salbancke again reported
favourably of the commercial prospects if an English fleet could contend
successfully against the Portuguese and Dutch. At length the East India
Company, which was founded in 1600, succeeded in opening the trade in
1614, and from that year a British Resident was regularly established
at Ispahan. It thus happened that both political events and commercial
enterprise concurred at the same time to bring Persia into communication
with Europe, and a country that only a few years before was scarcely
known became the frequent resort of travellers.
In 1601, Philip II. thought it advisable to renew diplomatic intercourse
with this great monarch, and he instructed the Viceroy at Goa to despatch
a second mission to Ispahan. The Viceroy chose three Augustinian friars,
among whom was Antoine de Gouvea, who has left an interesting account of
his travels. Gouvea was the Rector of the College of Goa, and Professor
of Theology, and he had acquired a competent knowledge of Persian. The
party landed at Ormuz early in 1602, and set out in May to join the king,
but they turned aside from the direct route to visit ‘Chelminira,’ or the
Forty Columns, which he believed to be the ‘sepulchre of an old king
who was buried here.’[11] He found, however, that the tomb was on the
side of the mountain, and was generally attributed to Cyrus. He thought
it was more probably to be assigned to Assuerus or Artaxerxes, and the
tomb close by to his wife, Queen Vasti. The ruins of the Forty Columns
were locally known as ‘the Old Town,’ and it was thought that it had been
the original site of Shiraz. Old writers confirmed this view, because
they said the river Bondamiro[12] (which passes near the ruins) ‘washed
the walls of Shiraz.’ Gouvea, following the geographical writers of the
time, had no doubt that Shiraz was the ancient Persepolis. It never
occurred to him to connect it with ‘the old town’ of Chelminar, to which
tradition pointed as the original site of Shiraz. He called attention to
the magnificent staircase that leads from the plain to the platform on
which the ruins stand. Two staircases, he says, rise from the foot of the
mountain, _vis-à-vis_ one to the other, consisting of numerous steps well
adjusted, and cut out of immense blocks of stone. The two stairs converge
to one common landing place; and, writing evidently from memory, he adds
that the sides are adorned with figures in relief, so well made that ‘he
doubts if it were possible to execute them better.’ The Porch is, he
says, adorned with ‘figures of savage animals cut out of a single block,
and so lifelike that they appear as though they desired to excite fear.’
He describes the columns as surmounted by beautiful statues. On the
Portico and in various places among the ruins he saw the portrait of the
king. He does not mention any of the ruins on the platform; they appear
all to come under the comprehensive description of ‘chapels,’ which he
says were built of huge blocks of stone. But he noticed the two tombs
on the hill, one being ‘the sepulchre of the king, which is not very
different from the other.’ He confuses the great entrance stairs leading
to the Porch with the sculptured stairs leading to the Court of the
Columns; and represents it as approached directly through the Porch. It
was a long time before this error was cleared up. Gouvea called attention
to the inscriptions. ‘The writing,’ he says, ‘may be clearly seen in
many places, and it may explain by whom the building was erected and the
purpose it was intended to serve; but there is no one who can understand
it, because the characters are neither Persian, Arabic, Armenian, nor
Hebrew, the languages now in use in the district; so that everything
contributes to obliterate the knowledge of that which the ambitious
prince desired to render eternal.’
When Gouvea arrived at the Court, which was then at Machad, the capital
of Khorassan (or Bactria), he was met by Robert Sherley, an Englishman,
who was then not more than twenty years of age. Sherley, we hear, was
naturally of good disposition, though infected by the pestiferous errors
he had imbibed in England.[13] He was no match in argument for the
Professor of Theology, and after some discussion ‘he was converted and
submitted to the Roman Church with seven or eight of his suite.’ Gouvea,
as was natural, attributed great importance to these conversions, and
although he publicly declared that the primary object of his mission was
to kindle a war with the Turk, he lost no opportunity of assuring the
king that his heart was set much more on ‘teaching the knowledge of the
true God.’ He presented his Majesty with a ‘Life of Our Lord,’ richly
bound, and certain religious pictures sent by the Archbishop of Goa;
and he continued, in season and out of season, to press the faith upon
his acceptance. The Shah, who was surrounded by Christians both in the
harem and the Court, treated these importunities with toleration, and his
courtesy encouraged the zealous priest to hope that he might number him
among his converts.[14] A Persian merchant, who noticed with surprise the
civility of the king towards Christians, had already circulated a report
in Italy of his approaching admission into the Church, and Gouvea was
surprised to meet at Ispahan with an embassy of Carmelite fathers sent
by Clement VIII., with instructions to arrange the details attending the
conversion of the country. These extravagances prejudiced the position
of the Portuguese fathers, and they found that the Shah was beginning to
grow weary of the whole affair. He, however, granted them leave to turn a
large disused palace into a monastery, and to build a church.
Gouvea quitted Ispahan in company with a Persian envoy bound for Spain,
who was the bearer of a letter from the Shah to Philip. The two other
fathers remained behind to supervise the interests of their community.
While Gouvea was still on his way to the coast, he received the pleasing
news that war between Turkey and Persia had actually broken out.
The war was carried on by Rudolph in Europe and Abbas in Asia, till 1607,
when the Emperor concluded the Peace of Sitvatorok, without consulting
the convenience of his ally. The Shah was extremely displeased by an
act that, without any warning, left him to bear the whole brunt of the
campaign. It was while he was still suffering from the unfaithfulness
of his European allies that Gouvea appeared for the second time at his
Court. He left Goa in February 1608, and arrived at Ispahan in June; but
it was with difficulty he could obtain an interview with the Shah. On his
return to Portugal he was raised to the bishopric of Cyrene. He wrote his
book in 1609, before he left Goa, and he evidently brought it with him to
Lisbon, where it was published in 1611.
At the Spanish Court he had an opportunity of meeting Don Garcia de
Silva Figueroa, who was subsequently to visit Persia as Ambassador, and
to interest him in the ruins of Chehel Minar. In view of his projected
journey, Don Garcia made a special study of the antiquities of the
country in the original authorities, and in such modern books as were
then available. He was a Castilian of high rank, and about fifty-seven
years of age at the time he left on his mission, in 1614. He had an
extremely difficult part to play, and one little suited to his haughty
and irascible temper. The Portuguese authorities were greatly incensed at
the appointment of a Spaniard, and they threw every obstacle in his way.
The Viceroy detained him at Goa on one pretext or another from November
1614 to March 1617, when at length the Ambassador hazarded the voyage
to Ormuz in a small vessel of two hundred tons.[15] On his arrival he
found the Portuguese governor of the island nearly as intractable as the
Viceroy, and it was not till October that he was able to continue his
journey. He passed that winter at Shiraz, which he said was certainly
the Cyropolis of the ancients and the place of burial of Cyrus, its
founder. He found his sojourn intolerably dull: he complains that there
was ‘not as much as any bookes except a few pamphlets intreating of Holy
Confession, and Navarr’s Summes which the monkes of St. Augustine use.’
In April 1618, he set out for Ispahan, and reached the bridge across the
‘Bradamir,’ which river he had no doubt was the ancient Araxes. A league
further on he came to the ruins of ‘Chelminara,’ of which he had heard
so much from Gouvea. He did not hesitate to identify them at once with
‘those huge wilde buildings of the castle and Palace of Persepolis’;
and he appears to have been the first to make this identification.[16]
Gouvea, as we have seen, had no doubt that Shiraz was built on the site
of Persepolis. Cartwright, to whose journey we have already alluded, was
so convinced of the same that he heads a chapter ‘Description of Sieras,
ancient Persepolis,’ and adds: ‘This is the city Alexander burnt at the
request of a drunken strumpet, himself being the first president in that
wofull misery.’[17]
Don Garcia is warm in his praise of ‘this rare yea and onely monument of
the world (which farre exceedeth all the rest of the world’s miracles
that we have seen or heard off).’ He found only twenty of the pillars
left standing, but there were broken remains of many others close by; and
half a league distant in the plain he noted another, and still farther
off two short ones. He mentions the numerous bas-reliefs that ‘doe seele
the front, the sides and the statlier parts of this building.’ The human
figures are ‘deckt with a very comely clothing and clad in the same
fashion which the Venetian magnificoes goe in: that is gownes down to
the heeles with wide sleeves, with round flat caps, their hair spred to
the shoulders and notable long beards.’ Some are seated in ‘loftier
chayres’ with a ‘little footstoole neatly made about a hand high.’ He was
particularly struck by the ‘hardnesse and durablenesse of these Marbles
and Jaspers so curiously wrought and polished that yee may see your
face in them as in a glasse.’ He was embarrassed to define the style of
architecture, ‘whether Corinthian, Ionick, Dorick, or mixt.’ He called
especial attention to ‘one notable inscription cut in a Jasper Table,
with characters still so fresh and faire that one would wonder how it
could scape so many ages without touch of the least blemish. The letters
themselves are neither Chaldæan, nor Hebrew, nor Greeke nor Arabike, nor
of any other nation which was ever found of old or at this day to be
extant. They are all three-cornered, but somewhat long, of the form of
a Pyramide, or such a little obeliske as I have set in the margin (△),
so that in nothing doe they differ from one another but in their placing
and situation.’ He notes that the threefold circle of walls said to have
surrounded the castle ‘hath yielded to the time and weather.’ He mentions
also the Tombs. ‘There stand,’ he says, ‘the sepulchres of their Kings
placed on the side of that hill at the foote whereof the Castle itself
is built.’ He did not himself visit Naksh-i-Rustam, but apparently his
servants went, and ‘did see some horses of marble, large like a Colossus
and some men also of giantly stature.’ This description is taken from
a letter written by Don Garcia from Ispahan in 1619 to a friend at
Venice. It was published at Antwerp in the following year, and appeared
in English in 1625, in Purchas’ Pilgrims. A more detailed account is
found in the ‘Embassy of Don Garcia,’ a work elaborated from his notes
or memoirs by a member of his suite, and translated into French in 1667.
It contains a very full, and on the whole accurate, description of the
ruins. He noticed the irregular slope of the terrace, which he attributed
to the exigencies of defence. The double staircase leading to the
platform is so constructed that ‘one can easily ride up on horseback.’ On
reaching the summit he noticed the Porch, the walls of which, he said,
are supported by two great horses in white marble, larger than elephants,
each with two wings, and with eyes expressive of the dignity of the lion.
Beyond is another door adorned in the same manner, and exactly between
the two stands a large column on its pedestal.[18] The Porch leads to
the Columnar Edifice, where he saw twenty-seven columns still standing
(not, as Purchas says, twenty), but there had evidently originally been
forty-eight arranged in six rows of eight each.
He observed that they belonged to two different orders: the one resembled
the column in the Porch; the others, he says, have no capitals except
that upon one he perceived the half of a horse without its head.
Singularly enough he falls into the same error as Gouvea, an error
reproduced in some of the earlier engravings of the ruins; and represents
the columns as standing upon the same level as the Porch. According to
our author, therefore, on leaving the Columnar Edifice he came to a ‘very
beautiful stair, which though not so large nor so high as the first, is
incomparably more beautiful and magnificent, having on the walls and
balustrade a triumph or procession of men curiously clothed, carrying
flags and banners and offerings. At one extremity of the procession we
see a chariot drawn by horses, in which there is an altar from whence
a flame of fire is seen to rise. At the other are combats of animals,
among which he observed a lion tearing a bull, so well represented
that art can add nothing to its perfection: it is impossible indeed to
discover the slightest defect.’ Having ascended the stairs, he reached
a court on which he observed a ruined building, consisting of several
parts, each part about sixty feet long by twelve feet wide. This is the
first distinct mention of what is now known as the Palace of Darius.
The walls are six or seven feet thick and twenty-four feet high, and
are so profusely adorned with figures in relief that it would require
several days to examine them adequately, and several months to describe
them in detail. The one that struck him most was the representation
of a ‘venerable personage,’ sometimes seated ‘on an elevated bench,’
sometimes walking, accompanied by two attendants holding a parasol and
a fly-chaser over his head. He was greatly impressed by the ‘perfection
and vivacity’ of the figures; and ‘especially by the drapery and dress
of the men.’ They are cut in ‘white marble and incorporated in the black
stone,’ the latter being of such exquisite polish that it reflects
as clearly as a mirror—so much so indeed that the Ambassador’s dog,
Roldan, shrank back in terror from the reflection of his own ferocity.
This perfection of polish is the more remarkable, considering the great
antiquity of the work, which must date from the monarchy of Assyria, or
even earlier. He noted the strange peculiarity that among the immense
number of figures there was not a single representation of a woman. He
observed inscriptions in some places, but ‘the characters,’ he said,
‘are wholly unknown, and are no doubt more ancient than those of the
Hebrews, Chaldeans and Arabians, with which they have no relation; and
their resemblance to those of the Greeks and Latins is still less.’ The
ruins of the Palace of Xerxes seem to have escaped his notice; but he
visited the Hall of the Hundred Columns. It covers, he says, a square
of a hundred paces, the ground in the centre being thickly strewn with
fallen columns. It looks more like an accumulation of several ruins than
the remains of a single edifice. Here also were bas-reliefs upon the
walls, larger than life and representing ‘furious combats with terrible
and ferocious animals; some resembling winged lions and others serpents.’
He noticed the two famous sepulchres on the side of the mountain
overhanging the ruins, above the space enclosed by the walls of the
terrace. He observed that they were formed by a wall of black marble
thirty feet square, covered with figures in white marble. On the top
appears a man of authority, possibly a king or prince, seated on a
throne, with several figures standing round him. Before him is an altar
with fire burning upon it. Near it is a coffer cut into the rock, which
seems to have been the sepulchre. It is seven or eight feet long by three
feet wide. The tombs are separated forty to fifty paces from each other
but are of similar design. It might, he thought, be at first supposed,
as Gouvea seems to have imagined, that the splendid ruins below were
intended only as an ‘ornament’ for the tomb of the Great King: but
further reflection convinced the writer that they were none other than
the Palace and Citadel of the Persepolis described by ancient authors;
and indeed there is distinct evidence of the conflagration due to the
impetuosity of Alexander.
Till Don Garcia made the elaborate notes from which the writer of
the foregoing account derived his information, ‘nothing assured’ was
known in Europe concerning these remarkable remains. Sebastian Serlio,
we are told in his work on Architecture, only knew of them from ‘an
uncertain and barbarous relation,’ and he has given us merely a rough
drawing of the edifice, showing forty small columns with Corinthian
capitals.[19] Don Garcia even complains that Gouvea could only give him
a ‘confused’ account. Don Garcia brought an artist with him, and he
took the best means of dissipating the obscurity in which the subject
was hitherto involved by having drawings made upon the spot. The artist
said he intended to copy the triumphal procession on the stairs, but he
probably found the time at his disposal insufficient for this labour,
for he afterwards says he actually accomplished the drawing of four of
the figures, upon one of which were ‘the characters composed of little
triangles in the form of a pyramid.’ But of greater importance than these
was the copy Don Garcia ordered to be taken of ‘a whole line of the large
inscription which is on the staircase in the centre of the triumphal
procession. It is to be found on a highly polished table, four feet
in height, in which the letters are deeply cut.’ We are unable to say
whether these drawings appeared in the original Spanish edition, but they
have not been reproduced in the French translation.
Don Garcia finally reached Ispahan in 1618, where he was detained till
August in the following year. His mission turned out a complete failure.
One of its principal objects was to secure a monopoly of the Persian
trade for Spain. Just as he reached Goa he heard that the Governor of
Lara had taken Gombrun from the Portuguese. While he was in Persia, he
had the mortification to find that port regularly used every year by
the English to land their goods. In 1618, peace was concluded between
Persia and Turkey, and the Shah was thus rendered independent of the
Spanish alliance, while he was daily becoming more disposed to rely
upon the English merchant fleet in the event of an open rupture with the
Portuguese of Ormuz. He had always consistently opposed the concession
of a monopoly to any one nation, and he now found himself sufficiently
powerful to reject the demands of Spain. The discomfited Ambassador left
in August 1619, and spent the winter at Ormuz in the hope of a favourable
change in the aspect of affairs: and he finally reached Spain in 1622,
after an adventurous voyage.
During his residence in the Persian capital, he made the acquaintance
of Pietro della Valle, a Roman gentleman of considerable fortune, who
had been travelling for some years in the East. In consequence of a
disappointment in love he had sought relief in foreign adventure, and at
the age of twenty-nine he embarked at Venice for Constantinople. After
visiting Egypt and the Holy Land, he crossed the desert to Bagdad. At
that time Bagdad was commonly supposed to be built on the site of the
ancient city of Babylon. But Della Valle had no difficulty in pointing
out that this was evidently an error, for we know that the one city was
built on the Tigris, while the other stood on the Euphrates. He made
several excursions through Mesopotamia, and visited the mounds near
Hillah, which he had no doubt covered the ruins of the true Babylon.
He has left an account of the state in which he found them, which may
still be read with interest; and he picked up some of the bricks, both
baked and unbaked, of which they are composed.[20] These he subsequently
brought back with him to Rome, where they were included in his private
collection of antiquities. They were perhaps the first specimens that
ever reached Europe, and a few of them may still be seen in the Museo
Kircheriano. He indulged his antiquarian tastes by endeavouring to
ascertain the sites of some of the famous cities of antiquity, and he
seems to have been the first to identify that of Ctesiphon correctly.
At Bagdad he married a Mesopotamian lady, and afterwards crossed the
mountains of Kurdistan into Persia. He was cordially welcomed to the
Court by Shah Abbas, who enrolled him among the privileged number of
‘Guests of the King.’
In the autumn of 1621, after a sojourn of nearly five years, Della Valle
thought it expedient for many reasons to turn his steps homewards. He
had fallen into very bad health, and it was clear that he had ceased
to be cordially received at Court, although he professes to have left
without having forfeited its favour.[21] Accordingly on October 1, he
quitted Ispahan without any formal leave-taking, and followed the usual
road to the coast. After several days’ journey he came to the Puli Neu,
or New Bridge over the ‘Kur,’ no doubt the ‘Cyrus’ of the ancients,
and probably also identical with the Araxes, a word that simply means
‘river.’ He followed its course till he came to a small rivulet called
the Polvar, which at first he thought must correspond to the Medus
of Strabo, an opinion he subsequently rejected on the ground that
the stream was not of sufficient importance. Having crossed it by a
bridge, he at length reached Chehel Minar, and pitched his tents close
to the ruins.[22] The ‘Geographical Epitome’ of Ferrari, which Della
Valle carried with him, represented Shiraz as the probable position of
Persepolis, an opinion which Gouvea had not controverted. We have seen,
however, that Don Garcia had no difficulty in identifying Chehel Minar
with the ruins of the ancient Persian Palace. Della Valle had no doubt
often discussed the matter with him during the winter of 1618, which
they spent together at Ispahan, and he accepts the identification of
the site of Persepolis without hesitation. He was, however, by no means
convinced that the ruins upon the Terrace are the remains of the Palace.
Without decisively rejecting that supposition, he was more inclined to
believe that they were originally designed for a great temple. The scene
on the sculptured staircase he regarded as a sacrificial procession; and
the imposing figure beneath the umbrella might represent a high priest
no less than a king. He could not discover any indications that the
principal buildings had ever been roofed, which he considered a strong
confirmation of the temple theory. He observed that the ‘horses’ on the
Porch were human-headed with wings like griffins, and that their backs
were apparently protected by iron harness. He thought the monsters on the
other two piers were the same, only facing in the opposite direction.
Between them he saw there had originally been four columns, two of which
were still standing, and the others fallen to the ground. Turning to
the right towards the south, he observed a large vase of marble, about
twenty-four feet square, that had evidently been intended for ablutions;
and passing farther on in the same direction he came to the sculptured
staircase, which he now places for the first time in its correct position
beneath the Columnar Edifice. We also learn that the figures on both
sides are turned towards the central stairs, and present the appearance
of a procession about to ascend the steps. He gives a detailed account
of the bas-reliefs, and observes that the different groups are separated
from each other by a design representing the cypress tree. The various
animals that figure in the procession lead him to think they were
intended for sacrifice, and hence that the edifice had been probably a
temple. He fixes the position of the inscriptions at the extreme end
of the procession. He is much less enthusiastic in his praise than Don
Garcia. He does not consider that the figures of men and animals, nor
those of trees, are well designed; and he thinks the beauty of the work
as a whole consists chiefly in its antiquity and in the magnificence of
the marble of which it is composed. Don Garcia had counted twenty-seven
columns, but at the time of Della Valle’s visit, only three and a half
years later, not more than twenty-five remained. As he approached from
the north he observed the traces of two rows of columns stretching from
east to west. Beyond them is a vacant space, about sufficient for two
rows of columns; and then we come to a central group of six rows of
columns arranged from north to south. On either side, to west and east
of the central group, but separated from it by the distance already
mentioned, there are double rows of columns, as on the north side. He
says nothing of any colonnade on the south, where in fact there is none.
The columns are about twenty-six and a half feet apart, and some are
higher than others, from which he inferred that the building was not
roofed, and could not therefore have been the palace of a king. He could
not find any trace of a staircase leading to an upper story.
Passing the columns and continuing in the same southerly direction, he
observed two small chambers, one on the right hand, near the edge of the
Terrace; the other on the left hand, towards the mountain. They are not
really chambers, but open courts; nor are they surrounded by walls, but
by the jambs of doors and windows. As in the Columnar Edifice, there are
no indications that the buildings were roofed, and on that account he
believes they were parts of a temple where sacrifices were offered in
the open air; he does not consider they were designed for a sepulchre.
In addition to the ‘venerable personage’ already noted by Don Garcia, he
remarked that men are depicted on the side doors struggling or fighting
with lions. Behind this chamber, in a small open court, he saw two high
pilasters with inscriptions at the top, but at such an elevation that he
could not distinguish the characters. From this point we fail to follow
him with equal certainty. He detected a group of columns forming a square
of six in a ruin that evidently corresponds to the Palace of Xerxes;
and he observed the remains of an aqueduct below. He alludes to another
enclosure which may possibly be the Hall of the Hundred Columns, although
he thought it could have been no part of the original design of the
fabric.
He remarked the great inscription near the lion on the wall of the
sculptured terrace below the Columnar Edifice. ‘It occupies,’ he says,
‘the entire height of the wall from top to bottom. One cannot tell in
what language or letters these inscriptions are written, because the
characters are unknown. They are very large and are not united to one
another, but divided and distinct, each by itself alone as in Hebrew:
if indeed what I take for a letter only is not a complete word. I have
copied five of them as best I could, and they are those that occur most
frequently.’[23] The lines of the inscription are filled up ‘so that I
cannot tell whether they are to be read from right to left as in Oriental
languages, or from left to right as with us.’ He is, however, disposed to
believe they are read from left to right, because when the ‘pyramidical
figure’ is vertical the head is always uppermost, and when the figure
slopes or is placed horizontally the head is to the left and the point
inclined to the right. He remarked that the writing was composed entirely
of the one pyramidical figure and of an angular character more slender
than the other; and it was simply the number and disposition of these two
forms that constituted the difference of the letter.
Don Garcia had no doubt that the ruins had been entirely devoted to the
secular uses of a palace and citadel. We have seen that Della Valle,
though he accepted their identification with Persepolis, could not
readily believe that the large roofless buildings had ever been suited
for a dwelling, and he therefore inclined to the theory that they were
the remains of a temple.
From his tent at Chehel Minar he rode a league to the north to the base
of the hills that surround the plain, in order to visit a monument
called Naksh-i-Rustam—of which he is the first to give an account. He
explains that Rustam is a celebrated Persian hero who lived about the
time of Cyrus. Della Valle came to a large square space levelled in the
side of the rock, on which various figures larger than life were cut
in half relief. The subject represented two men on horseback, the one
endeavouring to wrest from the other a ring which he held in his hand.
A third person appears on horseback, holding the hand of a man by his
side. Elsewhere he observed figures of women, and other subjects to
which he could not assign a meaning. Near these sculptures he noticed
remains that could only have been intended for sepulchres. Among these
were two square pedestals with an aperture above to contain the ashes
of the body. Elsewhere he observed on the side of the mountain several
openings like windows, possibly intended to admit a corpse. But the
most remarkable discovery was a sculpture that could only be reached
by ladders. It represented the front of a house; a door in the centre
and several columns on each side, supporting an architrave—frieze and
cornice. The front was ornamented with various figures which he could
not accurately define on account of the height of the monument. But he
thought he discerned a man leaning upon a bow and contemplating an altar.
Above him, as if suspended in the air, was a figure which appeared to his
companions to resemble the Devil. He thought this was probably Jamshid,
who had reigned many years before Cyrus, and who is still remembered as
a great enchanter, and possibly to be identified with Nebuchadnezzar. He
had seen two somewhat similar sepulchres just over Chehel Minar (those
noticed by Don Garcia), and one of these he had been able to enter. He
found they were excavated from the rock, quadrilateral in shape, and
about the height of a man; with three large hollow niches at the sides,
which he somewhat fancifully imagined had been used as reservoirs for
water. A long stone he observed on the floor appeared to cover the place
of sepulture. He thought the city of Persepolis might have covered the
whole plain between Chehel Minar and Naksh-i-Rustam.
Della Valle only passed two days among these ruins, and then continued
his journey to Shiraz. His intention was to go to Ormuz and take a
passage to Goa, from whence he could find his way back to Europe. As
he approached the coast, however, he found his journey impeded from a
very unexpected cause. The departure of Don Garcia from Ispahan, in
the summer of 1619, had been followed by the interruption of the good
relations between the Portuguese and the Persians. While the Ambassador
was still detained at Ormuz (1619-20) he had the mortification to
witness the English merchant fleet arrive and calmly proceed to take
the soundings of the harbour of Gombrun, which, since its annexation to
Persia, had acquired the new name of Bunder Abbas, or Port of Abbas. In
the spring (1620), hostilities broke out between Persia and the Arabs of
the opposite coast, who were friendly to the Portuguese. With a view to
reprisals the latter threw the Persian merchants at Ormuz into prison.
As the year advanced, the Portuguese fleet arrived with positive orders
to recover Gombrun and the island of Bahrein, and also to build a fort
at Kesem to secure the water supply. The friction that existed between
the Portuguese and Spanish authorities delayed the immediate execution of
these instructions, and meanwhile the annual English fleet had time to
arrive. An engagement at once followed, and the Portuguese were forced
to withdraw (January 1621). When the English vessels left the Gulf with
their cargo the Portuguese returned, and speedily began hostilities by
landing a force on the island of Kesem and beginning the erection of
a fort (June 1621). In the autumn they destroyed the Port of the Two
Headlands on the mainland, and the Persian army immediately occupied the
whole coast line and cut off communications with Ormuz (October). This
event occurred just at the time Della Valle was on his journey to Bunder
Abbas. He approached sufficiently near to hear the roar of cannon from
Ormuz, and after making some useless attempts to cross to the island, he
retired to Mina, where, under the protection of the English merchants, he
waited the course of events (October 1621). The town was very unhealthy.
His wife died, and he himself was reduced to the point of death. As
soon as the English fleet arrived the Persians with their assistance
commenced hostilities in earnest. Kesem was occupied and the new fort
destroyed. Ormuz itself was attacked, and fell after an heroic resistance
(April 1622). The Portuguese held the port of Jask on the mainland till
the following year (1623), when it was taken by the English to avenge
the death of their commander Shilling, and handed over to the Persians.
Thus the Portuguese were finally driven from the Persian Gulf, and their
trade was transferred to the English and Dutch.[24] Della Valle returned
to Shiraz to recruit his health, and it was not till January 1623 that
he found a passage in an English vessel to Surat. He reached Rome in
1626, bringing with him the body of his wife, and a large collection
of curiosities. He gave an account of his adventures in a series of
letters to a friend at Naples: the one which contains his description of
Persepolis is dated from Shiraz, October 21, 1621. On his return to Rome
he made a collection of his scattered correspondence, but the first part
did not appear till 1650, only two years before his death; the portion
(Part III.) that contains the letter on Persepolis was first published in
1658. It included the five cuneiform letters he had copied on the spot,
and although their publication was delayed for nearly forty years they
still seem to have been the first to appear in Europe; for we are not
aware that the drawings of Don Garcia ever saw the light.
Meanwhile Persepolis was visited by an English traveller, whose
description long anticipated that of Della Valle. It will be recollected
that Gouvea met a young Englishman, Robert Shirley, at Ispahan in
1602, and won him over to the Catholic faith. Shirley was subsequently
employed by Shah Abbas as Envoy to the European Courts, and he resided
for many years in Spain. The fall of Ormuz put an end to his mission
in that country, and in 1623 we find him in England. He was a somewhat
absurd person who adhered to Oriental costume, and went about in a red
turban surmounted by a cross. A singular occurrence cast suspicion on
the validity of his credentials as a Persian envoy. A native Persian
arrived on the scene, who treated Shirley’s pretensions with contempt,
and gave himself out as the only true representative of the Shah. The
documents that could alone settle the dispute were all written in
Persian, and no independent person could then be found in the whole of
England who was able to read a word of that language. The controversy
grew warm, and the native Persian enforced his position by knocking his
rival down. At length it was determined to send an English ambassador to
Ispahan to clear up the matter, and Sir Dormer Cotton was selected. He
was accompanied by Sir Thomas Herbert, who has left an account of his
adventures. They sailed from Tilbury on Good Friday 1626 and reached
Bunder Abbas in January 1627. He found the English in enjoyment of
high favour in consequence of the assistance they had lately rendered
in driving the Portuguese from the Gulf. They were ‘privileged to wear
their flags displayed at the top of their publick houses’ or consulates,
and there were many merchants, both English and Dutch, living in the
town. Nor does it appear to have been a wholly undesirable residence.
Herbert speaks in praise of the ‘Buzaar,’ the numerous coffee-houses,
sherbet-shops, and other places of entertainment. Its prosperity had
increased immensely since the fall of Ormuz, ‘which of late was the glory
of the East, but had now become the most disconsolate.’
The description Herbert gives of Persepolis in the first two editions
of his Travels, which appeared in 1634 and 1638, is extremely meagre
and imperfect.[25] He says it was built by ‘Sosarinus, who lived in
the Median dynasty, the third Emperor from Arbaces, who gave end to
Sardanapalus.’[26] It flourished for two hundred and thirty years till
destroyed by Alexander. He does not believe that Shiraz was ever a part
of Persepolis, thirty miles distant, though the one may have risen out
of the other. He remarks that the ‘whole basis’ or platform ‘is cut
by incredible toyle out of the solid marble rock twice the compasse
of Wyndsor Castle.’ It is approached by ‘ninety-five easie staires,
dissected from the durable black marble,’ ‘so broad that a dozen
horsemen may ride up abreast together.’ The total ascent, however, is
not more than twenty-two feet, and at the summit is a gate ‘engraven
with a mightie elephant on one side and a Rhynoceros on the other.’
These majestic figures are thirty feet high; and a little beyond are two
other piers ‘wherein is engraven a Pegasus.’ Between them he noticed two
columns, and was consequently more accurate than Don Garcia. ‘Of like
work, bulk and matter are two gallant Towers.’ The gate leads to the
famous Columns, of which only nineteen now remain standing, and one other
below in the plain. ‘Howbeit the ruines and ground of four score more are
yet visible: this great roome was the Hall.’ He at first estimated the
height of the columns at ‘fifteen foote,’ but later (1638) he modified
this to from fifteen to twenty cubits. And they ‘rise beautifully in
forty squares or concave parallels; every square has three full inches.’
‘Adjoining is another square roome whose blacke marble wals are yet
abiding.’ It has eight doors ‘exquisitely engraven with images of Lions,
Tygres, Griffons and Buls of rare sculpture and perfection: a top of
each door is the image of an Emperour in state with staffe and scepter.’
Elsewhere he amplifies this account. ‘In other places (for the wals
are durable) Battailes, Hecatombs, triumphs, Olympick games, and the
like, in very rare sculpture and proportion.’ The country people gave
different accounts as to whom this figure was intended to represent, and
they variously proposed Jamsheat, Aaron, Sampson and Solomon, but they
excluded Rustam. This room measured ‘ninety paces from angle to angle, in
circuit three hundred and sixty paces, beautified with eight dores,’ and
joining it were two smaller apartments, one seventy by sixty, the other
thirty by twenty paces. He was told that the first was the Chamber of
the Queen and the other the nursery. He was particularly struck by the
appearance of the latter. ‘The wals are,’ he says, ‘rarely engraven with
images of huge stature, and have been illustrated with gold which in some
places is visible, the stones in many parts so well polisht that they
equal for brightnesse a steele mirrour.’ He was at a loss to assign this
wonderful building to any of the known styles of architecture: ‘whether
this Fabrick was Ionick Dorick or Corinthiack I cannot determine, but
such to this day it is that a ready Lymmer in three moneths space can
hardly (to do it well) depict out all her excellencies.’
He also noticed the tomb mentioned by Don Garcia. It lies, he says,
‘somewhat further, over heaps of stones of valewable portraictures.’ ‘It
is cut out of the perpendicular mountaine,’ and represents ‘the image
of a King (which may be Cambyses) adoring three deities, the fire, the
sunne and a serpent.’ He also mentions ‘Nasci Rustam,’ the monument of
Rustam, situated, he says, five miles west of Persepolis.[27]
Herbert gives an engraving of the ruins, which is the first general view
ever taken of Persepolis in modern times. It only occupies a portion of
a small folio page, and it is scarcely possible to imagine any drawing
more inaccurate and grotesque. We ascend to the platform by a series of
about fourteen steps leaning straight up against it, at right angles to
the line of the terrace. At the summit there is not a trace of the Porch,
but we pass through a narrow opening with posts on either side. On the
top of one of these appears an elephant with its proboscis stretched
out in a menacing attitude. On the top of the other post we observe an
unpleasant creature leaning forward, possibly intended for a tiger. When
we have made our way through these inhospitable guardians and gained
the platform, we find the whole of it on the left-hand side occupied by
columns. Facing the entrance, at some distance from it, we see three
doors and the high wall of a roofless building, and behind it a lofty and
ragged mountain. Behind the columns on the left at a great elevation we
observe a kneeling figure, worshipping a serpent coiling round a cross,
and beyond, an altar on which fire is burning. To the right, on the same
level, we observe a human-headed centipede. This misleading picture is
reproduced evidently from the same plate in the second edition of 1638.
It was not till the appearance of the second edition that he thought it
worth while to notice the existence of the cuneiform letters. ‘In part of
this great roome,’ he says, referring to the Palace of Darius ‘(not farre
from the portall) in a mirrour of polisht marble wee noted above a dozen
lynes of strange characters, very faire and apparent to the eye, but
so mysticall, so odly framed as no Hieroglyphick no other deep conceit
can be more difficultly fancied, more adverse to the intellect. These
consisting of figures, obelisk, triangular and pyramidall yet in such
simmetry and order as cannot well be called barbarous. Some resemblance,
I thought some words had of the Antick Greek shadowing out Ahashuerus
Theos. And though it have small concordance with the Hebrew, Greek and
Latine letter, yet questionlesse to the Inventer it was well knowne and
peradventure may conceale some excellent matter though to this day wrapt
up in the dim leafes of envious obscuritie.’[28]
The letter of Don Garcia had appeared in Purchas the year before Herbert
sailed for India, and it is obvious he had it before him when he wrote
his own account. Indeed he refers to Don Garcia, though he does not
acknowledge his own obligations to him. Don Garcia in his letter did not
mention the sculptured stairs, one of the most remarkable features of the
ruin; Herbert has likewise passed it over in silence. Don Garcia remarked
that it was possible to ride up the stairs to the platform. Herbert
adds that twelve horsemen might ride abreast; forty years later he
recollected that he had actually witnessed this feat accomplished. Both
writers express doubts in nearly the same language as to the style of the
architecture; they both compare the cuneiform letters to ‘pyramids’ and
‘obelisks,’ and they both note their dissimilarity to Hebrew, Greek and
Latin. Herbert had, however, the merit of giving the earliest published
account of the Palace of Darius.[29] His description of the animals on
the gate and his measurements are also wholly his own.
Having spent two days at Persepolis, he followed the mission to Asheraff,
on the Caspian, where Shah Abbas was holding his Court. The result was
extremely disappointing. The Shah indeed received Sir Dormer Cotton with
his usual courtesy, and declared his continued friendship for Sir Robert
Shirley. He acknowledged the services Shirley had rendered, and protested
his willingness to punish his traducer, if that miscreant had not
unfortunately escaped his vengeance by death. But the Shah was then an
old man, and he appears to have fallen under the influence of a favourite
Minister. This functionary interposed so successfully that the Ambassador
could never obtain a second interview, and, after considerable delay,
the courtier assured him that he had the royal authority to declare that
the credentials of Sir Robert Shirley were fictitious. This startling
communication was certainly false, and no doubt it originated with the
Minister himself; but it was no less decisive of the matter. Overcome by
disappointment, both Sir Dormer and Shirley fell ill and died shortly
afterwards. Herbert continued his journey, and after visiting Babylon,
returned to Surat, on his way home.
The account he gave of the ruins to his friends excited considerable
interest, which was stimulated by the publication of two editions of
his Travels. He often expressed his regret that adequate drawings were
not made by a competent artist before the monument was irrevocably
destroyed: ‘The barbarous people every day defacing it and cleaving
it asunder for grave stones and benches to sit upon.’ The result of
these representations was that Lord Arundel sent out a young artist
for the express purpose, who unfortunately died before he reached his
destination. It seems indeed that the ruins were for a time really
exposed to considerable danger. In consequence of the writings of Della
Valle and Herbert, they were visited by so many foreigners of distinction
that the Governors of Shiraz found their revenues seriously taxed by
the obligations of hospitality. Several, it was said, were ruined, and
at length one of the Governors made a deliberate attempt to destroy the
cause of so much inconvenience. But the solidity of the structure offered
serious obstacles to the execution of this design.
Meanwhile Persia was beginning to attract more general attention, and in
1637 it was visited by a German named Oelschloeger, more euphemistically
styled Olearus. His ‘Beschreibung’ was first published at Schleswig in
1647, and a revised edition appeared in 1656.[30] It is a magnificent
folio in black-letter, richly adorned with a profusion of excellent
engravings and a number of maps. The book was translated into Dutch in
1651, into French in 1656, and into English in 1666. Olearus was born
in Anhalt in the first year of the century, and entered the service of
the Duke of Holstein-Gottorp. The Duke had recently founded the town
of Friederichstadt, and he desired to open a trade with Persia by way
of Russia. He accordingly sent a commission to Moscow and Persia to
negotiate the business, and Olearus was attached to it as secretary.[31]
They left Gottrop in October 1635, but it was not till the end of
March 1636 that they even reached Moscow. They continued their journey
in the end of May, and arrived at Ispahan in April of the following
year (1637). Shah Abbas had died in 1629, but they were well received
by his successor, Shah Sefy, and the usual interchange of presents
followed. One of the Ambassadors, a merchant named Brugman, displayed
very undiplomatic conduct, and the embassy failed in its purpose. It
accomplished the return journey somewhat more rapidly, in about a year
and a half (December 21, 1637, to August 1, 1639). Olearus did not visit
Persepolis himself, but a member of the mission, the ‘hochedel gebornen’
Mandelslo, proceeded to India by the well-known route to Ormuz and passed
the ruins. Olearus devoted himself to Persian studies, and translated
‘Gulistan.’ But his chief service is the excellent edition he published
of the travels of Mandelslo, which he enriched by copious notes of his
own taken from various sources.[32] We learn from this work that, on his
way from Ispahan to the coast, in 1638, Mandelslo came to a large village
called Meshid Maderre Soliman, which, he said, derived its name from a
tomb half a mile distant. It was explained to him by the Carmelites of
Shiraz that no doubt it was the resting place of the mother of the great
Shah Solimans, though the popular opinion in the neighbourhood was that
it was the tomb of Solomon himself. He gives an excellent description
of the chapel of white marble resting upon successive tiers of square
blocks of hewn stone; and adds that in his day there might still be seen
within the chapel strange letters in unknown characters engraved upon
the walls. These, however, were afterwards ascertained to be merely
verses from the Koran, written in Arabic. He has given a drawing of it,
which conveys a fair impression of its appearance, and is curious as the
earliest known representation of the tomb of Cyrus. Continuing to the
south, he reached Persepolis. He heard many fabulous accounts of its
origin, some ascribing it to Tzemschied Padschach, others to Solomon,
and some even to Darius; but his informants were clear that it had
been destroyed by ‘Iskander as they call Alexander.’ The ascent is made
by four stairs with ninety-five marble steps. On reaching the summit
he found the remains of four walls, apparently designed for gates. On
the two first were horses carved in stone, with curious head-stalls and
saddles. On the other two the horses have lion heads and are adorned with
crowns and wings. He also, like Herbert, entirely omits to mention the
sculptured stairs, and passes direct from the gates to the describe the
columns. He found nineteen standing, and eleven others partly ruined,
but no doubt the original number was forty. He could not decide whether
the building had been roofed. Passing on, a slight ascent brought him to
two moderate-sized chambers, of which the door and window posts remained
as well as the walls, the latter remarkable for their beautiful shining
marble. On the sides of the doors he observed figures larger than life,
some sitting and others standing. They wore long beards and their hair
descended to the shoulder, while their robes extended to the feet. Not
far distant are other chambers, but of these nothing remains except the
door and window frames. ‘Not far from these rooms,’ he continues, ‘is a
square column in which is a polished stone, some say of jasper, in which
are engraved singular characters or writing, which no one can read. They
seem as if they had been inlaid with gold.’ The rest of the platform is
beautiful and level, and measures about 300 by 200 paces. Mandelslo has
illustrated his description by an engraving that scarcely does justice
to the text. After the statement that the platform was reached by four
stairs, we were not prepared to find in the illustration a single row of
steps leading straight up at right angles. The translator, Davies, seems
to have thought that by the four stairs were meant a single flight at
each corner of the platform. The four ‘walls’ of the Porch appear as a
series of detached stones placed in a row, one after the other, along
the western line of the terrace. The animals are cut out of the front
of each stone, but they have no appearance of supporting any portion of
the structure. Beyond, at some distance to the east, is a small square
building, having on one side the slab with the inscription. There is no
indication whatever of the sculptured terrace, which is indeed wholly
forgotten in the text. The columns, however, at length appear for the
first time in the true direction to the right of the entrance. From
them an immense wall extends right across the platform to the east. It
is pierced below by one large and three other smaller doors. Above,
apparently belonging to a second story, are a series of seven or eight
double windows, while still higher we observe several figures of men and
animals. This great structure obscures the view of the tombs on the hill,
and they are not mentioned in the text. Olearus, in his notes, refers to
Barbaro, and, at second hand, to Don Garcia. But his chief reference is
to Herbert, from whom he quotes the whole of the account given in the
earlier editions of the Travels.
Mandelslo’s book was translated into English by John Davies, and it
appeared in 1662, four years after its original publication; but the
illustrations were not reproduced.[33] The translator has adopted the
very singular method of incorporating with the text the notes that
Olearus added from other writers. Mandelslo is thus made to appear as
if he had quietly appropriated without acknowledgment the observations
made by Barbaro, Don Garcia, and Herbert. The translator is, however,
wholly responsible for this peculiar result. At the time Olearus issued
his edition (1658) the text, taken together with the notes, probably
resumed all that was then known concerning Persepolis and the cuneiform
letters; and the translator made no independent additions.[34] But in the
same year (1658) the third volume of Della Valle’s Travels was at length
published, in which he gives the account of his visit to the ruins. His
fame soon became well known in England, and a translation of his Travels
to India appeared in 1665, along with those of Sir Thomas Roe.
Nearly thirty years had now elapsed since the last edition of Sir Thomas
Herbert’s book was published (1638). He was still living, and no doubt
he became sensible of the deficiency of his own account of Persepolis in
comparison with that of Della Valle. It appears also that a Mr. Skinner
had recently returned from Persia, with whom Herbert had the advantage
of conversing. He had, moreover, preserved ‘the mixt notes’ he took at
the time of his visit, nearly forty years before, and with a memory thus
refreshed he sat down to compose a greatly enlarged account of the famous
ruins.[35] He also gave instructions to the engraver Holler to execute
an entirely new design of the place, which was accomplished in 1663. The
view is still characterised by the most surprising inaccuracy. It is
upon a much larger scale, and is a far more pretentious work than its
predecessor. We now ascend to the platform by a double staircase parallel
to the line of the terrace, but it is still erroneously represented
projecting prominently from beyond it. At the summit we observe the four
animals and the two columns of the Porch. There is, however, no trace of
the walls the animals supported. In front are an elephant on one side
and a rhinoceros on the other, having ‘visages with beards and long hair
like men, agreeable to that fourth beast which Daniel looked upon.’ One
of the other animals is ‘like unto a Pegasus,’ ‘trapped with warlike
mail’; but the fourth ‘is so disfigured that it cannot be described.’
Turning to the right, we see at the edge of the terrace a tombstone of
the usual pattern, engraved apparently with cuneiform letters. It stands
entirely by itself, and is no doubt the jasper or marble table referred
to in the text. Beyond it, upon the same level, are a large number of
columns and the ruins of many others are to be seen strewn upon the
ground. He tells us ‘there be but 19 pillars at this day extant, yet
the fractures and bases of 21 more are perspicable.’ ‘It is evident,’
however, he continues, ‘there were in all a hundred pillars when the
place was in perfection, as appears by the vacant spaces and also bases
... which are yet visible.’ The entire centre of the picture is occupied
by a raised platform, no less than thirty feet above the level of the
porch and columns. It is approached by a double staircase constructed in
precisely the same manner as the first. The north wall of this elevated
terrace stretches across, west to east, from the columns below to the
hill that bounds the platform on the east, and it is completely covered
from end to end with bas-reliefs. This sculptured wall was entirely
forgotten by Herbert in his earlier editions, and it is now described
elaborately, the description being evidently borrowed from Della Valle,
a few errors being introduced, possibly from the ‘mixt notes.’ Having
ascended to this elevated terrace, we come to a huge two-storied
building, open at the top, resembling a modern factory gutted by a fire.
It is divided into three compartments, and is represented as occupying
the whole western side of the platform. Both within and without, from top
to bottom, we observe the walls are entirely covered with bas-reliefs.
On turning to the text for an explanation, we find, however, that the
building still possesses its former modest dimensions; but ‘the walls
and broken arches were wrought or pourtrayed with figures resembling
some great persons on horseback, after whom proceed several others in
sacerdotal habits.’ He has still a clear recollection of the ‘gold that
was laid upon the Freez and Cornish, as also upon the trim of Vests.’
Turning away from this wonderful building, we observe a small ruin in
the north-east corner, standing like the one just described upon the
upper platform. This corresponds in position to that occupied by the
Hall of the Hundred Columns, and the description he gives of it is one
of the most singular portions of his narrative. He came, he says, to a
large square room, where he observed bas-reliefs of a great person, and
‘sundry petitioners, but in several habits, as men of several nations,’
besides guards armed with spears. Near this he penetrated into a vault,
‘flagged at the bottome with square marble stones,’ which led him into a
‘fair room or chappel,’ ‘supported by four pillars 4 yards about, 8 in
heighth and 4 yards from each other.’ He found the entrance elaborately
sculptured with the figures of men, apparently priests, with uplifted
hands. By another subterranean passage he reached a second chapel, also
supported by four pillars seven yards high. Upon the arch is a man of
colossal size with a lion couchant at his feet. Near him a king seated
on a chair of state and on either side two rows of flamens. A few paces
thence he beheld two giants, who by pure force subjugate two lions, and
not far off a great prince, holding a sceptre or Pastoral Staff. On one
side of him stand the Satraps, and on the other the Magi or priests.
Opposite is a prisoner in chains, who he conjectures may be Daniel or
Croesus. Beneath are six ranks of guards carrying spikes. Such is the
first detailed account we have of the Hall of the Hundred Columns, and
the elaborate sculptures with which it is adorned. It is remarkable
that the accumulation of rubbish should have been so great that Herbert
says ‘’tis presumed that the greatest part of the pile was vaulted
underground’; and that, according as he burrowed laboriously through
the _débris_, each of its great doors should appear to him like vaulted
chapels.[36]
The hill that overhangs the platform on the south-east is shown by the
drawing to be covered by a wonderful work of art. Four rows of figures
support a stage whereon we observe a kneeling figure; but the serpent is
now seen grovelling upon the ground, and the centipede of the earlier
edition has developed into ‘a demon of as uncouth and ugly a shape as
well could be imagined.’ ‘It is of a gigantic size ... discovering a
most dreadful visage twixt man and beast. This monster has seven several
arms.’ He now treats us to three lines of inscriptions ‘for better
demonstration, which nevertheless whiles they cannot be read, will in
all probability like the Mene Tekel without the help of a Daniel hardly
be interpreted.’ He agrees with Della Valle that each character might
represent a word—or at least a syllable. He also agrees with the same
authority that the writing ran from left to right, but in the sample
he gives us, two or three characters are placed upside down which, if
they had fallen under Della Valle’s notice in that position would have
entirely upset his argument from their ‘posture and tendency.’ Herbert
compared the characters with ‘twelve several alphabets in Postellus
and with the fifty-eight alphabets which Purchas had borrowed from the
learned Gromex,’ but he could not perceive the least resemblance. They
are, he says, ‘like Pyramids inverted, or with bases upwards, or like
Triangles or Deltas.’ He, however, recommends the study to ‘ingenious
persons who delight themselves in this dark and difficult art or exercise
of Deciphering.’ The language must have been known to Daniel, who was
probably the architect of this palace as of ‘Shushan and Ecbatan’; for
we know that he was a ‘civil officer’ under ‘Nebuchadnezzar, Belshazzar,
Astyages, Darius and Cyrus.’
During the remainder of the century we are chiefly indebted to French
travellers for the gradual accumulation of more correct information upon
this subject, and it was greatly to their advantage that they could
always depend upon a hospitable welcome and much store of information
from the friendly Superior of the Capuchins at Ispahan. When Persia
was first rendered accessible to Europeans by the liberal policy of
Shah Abbas, numerous missionaries flocked to the capital in the hope
of winning converts to the Roman faith. We have already seen that the
Augustinian Friars who arrived with Gouvea were awarded a disused palace
as a monastery. They were followed, in 1608, by Carmelites from Rome.
In 1627, Father Pacifique, of the French Order of Capuchins, obtained
permission to establish missions at Ispahan and Bagdad; and during the
second half of the seventeenth century their house became a resort of
the principal European travellers. The rule of Père Raphael du Mans
covered the whole of that period. He is first heard of at Ispahan, in
1644, where he remained as Superior of the Order till his death, in
1696, at the age of eighty-three. Not long after the settlement of the
Capuchins, the Jesuits also made a similar attempt, but without much
success; they were, however, given permission to open schools at Tauriz
and a few other places in the south of Persia. It must be recollected
that the object of these religious persons was not so much the conversion
of Mahomedans—an attempt which when discovered was always rigorously
punished—as the extension of the Roman sway over the Georgian and other
native Christians. Resident agents of the Dutch and English East India
Companies had also long been settled in the country. The Shah presented
them with handsome residences at Ispahan and Shiraz; and they had
permanent establishments at Bunder Abbas. The French still remained
at a great disadvantage. Their first East India Company was formed in
1604, but for more than thirty years it did not fit out a single ship.
At length its term of privilege expired without its ever having been
exercised (1635), and a merchant of Dieppe despatched a vessel on his own
account. A small Company was eventually formed and an attempt made to
found a trading colony at Madagascar in imitation of those possessed by
the English and Dutch at Bombay and Ceylon (1643); but no result followed
and its privileges likewise lapsed. In 1664 another effort was made, and
three agents were sent to Persia to reside at Ispahan, Shiraz, and Bunder
Abbas, while two envoys were accredited to the Court. These efforts were,
however, productive of little result, and were chiefly felt by the enmity
they excited among the Dutch against the eminent French travellers who
are now to engage our attention.
The names of Tavernier, Daulier Deslandes and Thévenot fill the latter
half of the seventeenth century. Tavernier enjoyed an exceptional
reputation as a traveller and merchant throughout the whole of that
period. He was born at Paris, in 1605, of a Protestant family, and began
his wanderings at the early age of fifteen. At first he followed the
profession of a soldier of fortune, but he soon exchanged that precarious
calling for the more lucrative pursuit of a travelling jeweller. He
visited the East altogether six times between the years 1632 and 1668.
His chief dealings were with the Shah of Persia, but he also extended
his travels to India, and he was the first Frenchman to visit the Court
of the Great Mogul. He brought back jewels from the mines of Golconda
and from the pearl fisheries of the Persian Gulf, and after having them
polished and set in Paris, he sold them at greatly enhanced prices to
Indian princes and to the Shah of Persia. He was the first to reveal the
riches of the East to his countrymen, and he enjoyed the favour of Louis
XIV., from whom he received a patent of nobility. It was on the occasion
of his sixth and last journey to Persia, in 1664, that he was accompanied
by Daulier Deslandes, a young artist who was included among his eight
‘serviteurs,’ and who passed the year with him.[37] Although travelling
together in this manner for the sake of convenience, Daulier was in
fact charged with a special mission on behalf of the French merchant
company.[38] The two travellers left Ispahan in 1665 on their way to
Bunder Abbas, and they seem on that occasion to have visited Persepolis
together. Some days later they overtook M. de Thévenot at Bihry, in
Lars (March 26) and the whole party proceeded to the coast. Tavernier
went on to India, but Daulier and Thévenot returned to Persepolis (May
1665), and it was probably during this second visit that Daulier found
time to make his investigations.[39] He published the account of his
travels in 1673, and among the illustrations that adorn his book there is
one of Persepolis or, as it is called, Tchelminar.[40] The engraving is
vastly superior to anything that had yet appeared: indeed the fanciful
and erroneous pictures given by Herbert and Mandelslo do not deserve
to be put in comparison with it. We now for the first time obtain some
idea of the real appearance of the ruins. The view is taken from the
west, and shows correctly the peculiar features of the stairs, sunk into
the wall of the terrace, and ascending in double flights parallel to
it. We observe also the remarkable indentations in the formation of the
platform, which Della Valle thought were designed for its defence. The
four walls of the Porch, separated by the two columns, are intelligibly
drawn, though their height is inadequate and the animals do not stand
out with sufficient boldness. The fourfold ascent by single flights to
the upper platform is clearly shown; and for the first time we find
the Columnar Edifice of Xerxes correctly placed above. The still more
elevated position of the Palace of Darius is plainly marked and its
ruins fairly represented. The absurd appearance it presented in the
drawings of Herbert and Mandelslo now finally disappears, and we obtain
something like a correct view of the southern portion of the platform.
Beyond the door and window frames of the Palace of Darius we observe
to the south-east the ruins of the somewhat similar edifice of Xerxes.
The latter is depicted upon a much higher elevation, and the western
staircase leading to it comes too prominently into view. The east side
of the platform is still indistinct. The Central Edifice and the Hall of
the Hundred Columns are somewhat confused: the latter edifice appears
erroneously placed upon the central platform. No adequate representation
of the Tombs upon the hill is attempted. The description that accompanies
the plate evinces much accurate observation. He treats the platform as
divided into three different elevations, and in many places he observed
that the rock itself was the foundation of the edifice. The first animal
he met on the porch resembles an elephant; the others, looking east, have
wings. Strangely enough he dismisses the sculptured stairs with a mere
passing notice. He merely observes that the Columnar Edifice is reached
by two single flights ‘whose sides are ornamented by bas-reliefs.’
Following Della Valle, he correctly divides the columns into a central
group of thirty-six and porticoes on the three sides; but he was wrong
in conjecturing that the front row consisted of only eight columns in
two rows of four, and in supposing that they were intended to support
idols. Only nineteen were then standing, but there were two in the
Porch, and another in the plain five hundred paces from the platform.
He noticed two others at a distance of three leagues ‘to the left.’ He
observed that the columns of the central group have a double capital
resembling those in the Porch, and have round bases. From this great
ruin he ascended ten or twelve steps to the remains of some chambers,
evidently the Palace of Darius. In front, he ‘saw the vestiges of several
small columns,’ the first reference we have to the ruins of the Palace
of Ochus. Turning towards the mountain, he came upon other chambers,
apparently the Palace of Xerxes from the description of the steps
descending abruptly to a lower platform. He also notes ‘a fine building
with bas-reliefs,’ possibly the Hall of the Hundred Columns. He mentions
the two sepulchres, where he observed a man with a bow sacrificing to
an idol which resembles a satyr. He was unable to visit Naksh-i-Rustam.
He was greatly impressed by the general effect produced by these ruins,
and he considered them ‘one of the finest remains of antiquity.’ He dwelt
especially upon the immense number of bas-reliefs; he estimated that
there were at least two thousand, many of them only showing their heads
above ground. In addition to the general view, he has drawn a few of
the bas-reliefs, among others that of the man sacrificing to the satyr.
Others represent the personage beneath the parasol, or fighting the lion.
These sketches are insignificant in size and execution, but they are a
great advance upon the preposterous attempts of his predecessors. He
shows an inscription round an arch, but it is of a purely imaginative
character; and he merely records the existence of letters ‘which no one
can read,’ many of which, he adds, were gilt. He adopted the opinion
of Père Raphael that the edifice was a Temple and erected by Assuerus,
though he tells us that others maintain that it was the Palace of Darius.
A year after the publication of the ‘Beautés de la Perse’ a much more
prosaic narrative appeared (1674), written by Daulier’s travelling
companion, M. de Thévenot.[41] De Thévenot was born at Paris, in 1633. He
found himself at an early age in possession of independent means, and he
began his travels at nineteen. He first visited England, which seems to
have been then regarded as the training ground where the traveller might
be inured to the perils of foreign adventure (1652). He subsequently
visited Holland and Germany, and he spent a few years in Italy. He had
the advantage of meeting M. d’Herbelot at Rome, who afterwards gained
a great reputation as a linguist and Orientalist. It may have been the
incentive communicated from this source that determined Thévenot to visit
the East and to devote himself to the acquisition of Eastern languages.
The two friends planned a journey together, but at the last moment
d’Herbelot was prevented from leaving. Thévenot left Rome in 1655, at the
mature age of twenty-two, and passed a considerable time visiting the
islands of the Mediterranean, Turkey, the Levant and Egypt.[42] After an
absence of seven years, he returned to Paris and published an account of
his journey, which appeared in 1664, in two volumes. He had taken pains
to acquire several Oriental languages, Turkish, Arabic and Persian, and
while staying in Paris, he devoted himself to the study of such sciences
as were then within reach. The proof-sheets of his book were scarcely dry
when he left for Persia (October 1663). His route lay by Aleppo to Mosul,
which he reached about the end of July 1664. From thence he dropped down
the Tigris to Bagdad, and struck across by Hamadan to Ispahan, where he
arrived in October.[43] Here he remained the guest of Père Raphael till
February 1665, when he took the opportunity of going to Bunder Abbas in
the suite of Tavernier. The larger portion of the baggage mules were
employed in carrying the merchandise of that enterprising traveller to
the coast; but it does not appear that he himself joined the party till
they were far on the road. They arrived at Bunder together, and here
Thévenot was destined to meet with a severe disappointment. The French
were at that time making an attempt to revive their East India Company,
a step that roused the jealousy of the Dutch to such an extent that
they positively refused to give him a passage. They wished to preserve
the secrets of the trade entirely to themselves, and Thévenot feared
that even if he were received on board, their patriotism might go to
the length of imperilling his life.[44] At Bunder Abbas itself, where
the Dutch had recently become completely the masters, he scarcely found
himself safe. The only person he could trust was the agent of the English
Company, who took him under his protection and gave out that he was an
Englishman. He was compelled, therefore, to return to Shiraz, and it was
on this occasion that he enjoyed the companionship of Daulier Deslandes.
They visited the ruins of Persepolis, and Thévenot made copious notes of
his impressions. In the autumn he made his way to Bassora, where he found
a passage to India on board an Armenian vessel. He seems to have returned
in the spring of 1667 in company with Tavernier.[45] On their way from
Bunder Abbas they once more visited Persepolis, and upon this occasion
they found Chardin there. Thus by a singular accident the three great
travellers stood together among the historic ruins.[46] Thévenot died
soon afterwards, at the early age of thirty-four, at Maiana, the ancient
Atropatena, thirty leagues from Tauris (November 1667). Two volumes of
his Travels, up to the time of his arrival at Surat, were published in
1674, and a third, on India, in 1684. A complete edition appeared in five
volumes in 1689. Numerous others followed, and before the end of the
century the work had been translated into English, Dutch and German.
It cannot be said that Thévenot’s description of Persepolis contributed
much to the elucidation of the plan of the building. He, however, gives
an accurate though somewhat complicated description of the double
staircase. He explains for the first time the position of the animals on
the pilasters of the Porch—their heads facing the front, and their half
bodies in demi-ronde adorning the inside of the passage. He thought they
were cut out of a single block, those facing the stairs representing
elephants and the others griffins. He gives a fair account of the
sculptured wall, which previous travellers had so frequently overlooked.
He describes the projection in the centre, with a single stair at either
end, and the single flights at each end of the terrace. They are, he
says, almost entirely buried beneath rubbish, which may perhaps account
for their having so frequently escaped observation. ‘Nevertheless one
sees several figures on that portion of the wall of the terrace which is
above ground.’ He noticed the combat—a lion and bull—and the three rows
of bas-reliefs, representing, as he thought, a sacrifice or a triumph.
He observed the various arms of the men, and the different animals, the
sheep, oxen and dromedary, that figure in the procession. He conducts the
reader up the stairs to the platform strewn with columns, some buried,
some broken, and others marked only by their bases. Seventeen were then
standing, and he conjectured that there were originally twelve rows of
nine in each. He remarked the strange style of the capitals, and fancied
they had been surmounted by statues, or perhaps by idols. He proceeds
to the square building beyond, where he beheld ‘an old man followed by
two valets,’ one holding a parasol and the other a crozier. But at this
point his narrative becomes confused and we follow him with difficulty.
In his description of the eastern part of the platform, however, he
enumerates six distinct buildings, which appear to be formed by the ruins
of the Great Hall of the Hundred Columns and those of the Central Edifice
united. Although the description of the arrangement of these buildings is
hopelessly confused, we obtain for the first time an adequate account of
the remarkable bas-reliefs found among them. He describes the personage
seated upon a chair of state, a staff or sceptre in his hand, while
beneath him are three rows of figures, one over the other, with uplifted
arms, supporting those above. The winged figure is, he says, an idol
seated upon an arc, with the body passed through a ring. He found another
similar piece of sculpture with three rows of figures among these ruins,
and he also mentions the great bas-relief in the north door of the Hall,
where the seated personage is elevated above five rows of figures, but he
failed to notice that these were guards.[47] He divides the edifices on
the platform into three rows of buildings one behind the other from west
to east, the first two ‘rows’ containing, he says, each four buildings
and the third five, of which the third is the largest, and we thus arrive
at the thirteen buildings in all. His description of the Tombs is more
intelligible. They resemble, he says, the façade of a temple cut into
the rock. Below are four columns with capitals representing the head and
throat of an ox. In the centre is the entrance to the tombs. They support
an architrave approaching to Doric in style, and ornamented by lions.
Above are two rows of arcades composed of human figures about two feet in
height. Over them, in the centre, is an idol, resembling a winged man.
On the right is a person praying, and to the left a pedestal surmounted
by a globe. At either end is a portion of a round column with the head
of a bull, and below, on each side of the second row are two men, one
over the other, armed with pikes. It was impossible to gain access to
this tomb, for it was full of water, but on entering the other to the
south of it he found three sepulchres cut into the rock like the basins
of a fountain. In the centre of the cave is a slab that appears to cover
a tomb. Beyond the platform, to the south, he observed a single column
still standing, and to the north the ruins of a porch. On his way to
Naksh-i-Rustam, he observed on his right hand another column standing. He
was inclined to believe that Chehel Minar had been a temple, for it is
evident the buildings have never been roofed, and the site itself was not
large enough for a palace.[48] Finally, he apologises for the confusion
in which part of his narrative is involved, and protests, probably with
truth, that if he had added anything more to his description he might
only have increased its obscurity.
Two years later, Tavernier added his contribution to the subject[49]
(1676). Although he seems, as we have said, to have visited Persepolis
along with Daulier, in March 1665, yet he was evidently but little
influenced by his opinion. He had seen the ruins several times, and his
judgment on the subject had been no doubt already formed. He tells us
that on the occasion of one of his visits he was accompanied by an artist
named Angel, a Dutchman, who, it appears, was commissioned by Abbas II.
to make drawings of the ruins; and the estimates they formed are in
striking contrast to those of Daulier. Tavernier was too much concerned
with practical affairs to be greatly interested in antiquarian research;
and his eye, trained to dwell on the minute beauty of the precious
stones, saw little to admire in colossal mounds of chiselled marble. Nor
was the prosaic Dutchman who accompanied him more susceptible to this
form of beauty. Angel spent eight days in making drawings of the various
ruins, and in the end expressed regret that he had wasted so much of
his time. As for Tavernier, he declared he did not consider them worth
the labour of a quarter of an hour. The bas-reliefs seemed to him to be
wretchedly executed, and he could only recollect to have counted twelve
columns.
Shortly afterwards there appeared a book by Jean Struys, a Dutchman, whom
Sir W. Ouseley rightly styles ‘the lying traveller.’[50] In it there is
an engraving of what is called the ‘Tomb of Persepolis,’ which is such
a grotesque misrepresentation that we can scarcely believe even Struys
responsible for the vagaries of the artist he employed. He observed that
the number of columns had been reduced to eighteen, and he estimated
their height at thirty-eight feet. He was especially struck by the beauty
of the staircase; and he was the first to make the correct suggestion
that the animals guarding the porch were lions. He noted the numerous
bas-reliefs whose beauty had not yet been effaced by time; but he fancied
he saw battle scenes depicted among them. He thought the cuneiform
‘characters strangely resembled the Arabian, though no one has yet been
able to decipher them.’[51]
An agent of the East India Company, Mr. S. Flower, made a collection of
various inscriptions, and among others of ‘one consisting of two lines
in the nail character, or pyramidal shape, such as is impressed on some
bricks lately found in the neighbouring countries.’ These appeared in the
‘Philosophical Transactions’ of 1693, and were reproduced by Dr. Hyde,
who, quoting Flower, says that the characters are not found except at
Persepolis, though some missionaries say they are known and in use in
Egypt. He adds that they appear to be written from left to right. The
inscription as copied in Hyde is punctuated after each letter,[52] and
exhibits a miscellaneous collection of characters selected from the three
descriptions of writing.
From what has been said it will be seen that down to the end of the
seventeenth century, or a hundred years after the visit of Gouvea to
Persepolis, the chief authorities upon the subject were still Don Garcia
and Della Valle. Herbert perhaps enjoyed a wider popularity, but so far
as his account was correct he depended chiefly upon other writers. The
description given by Mandelslo and Daulier added little to the knowledge
already acquired. Mere verbal descriptions, however, even by the most
graphic writer, could never convey so vivid an impression to the mind
as a pictorial representation. The drawings made by Don Garcia were
not reproduced by his translators, and if they enriched the original
Spanish edition, that work is so little known, that it has not even yet
found its way to the British Museum. The drawings of Della Valle had not
then[53] and, we believe, have never since been published. Mandelslo gave
a tolerable drawing of the tomb at Murgab; but his view of Persepolis
is little better than the plates in the earlier editions of Herbert.
The English translator omitted them, and it is little likely that a book
written in German and published in the remote town of Schleswig ever
enjoyed a wide circulation. The engraving given by Herbert, even in his
latest edition, is still grossly incorrect. It was executed by an artist
who had never visited the spot, and Herbert was himself entirely unable
to convey a true idea of the appearance and position of the different
ruins. Daulier Deslandes at length made a great advance upon all his
predecessors, and placed the student in a position to form a tolerable
conception of the general aspect of the buildings.
Still less progress had yet been made towards the reproduction of the
cuneiform letters. Della Valle had given five of the characters in the
Italian edition of his Travels, but his French translators omitted them.
Herbert contributed three lines; Daulier gave a short inscription taken
from an arch; and Flower had quite recently increased the available
material by two lines. They were all very imperfectly copied, but it was
known that large numbers of similar inscriptions appeared in various
parts of the ruins. Dr. Hyde, the learned Orientalist, concluded that
they were not letters at all, but simply designed as ornamentation. He
entirely repudiated the suggestion, which was already current, that they
had any resemblance to Chinese.[54] He went so far as to upbraid the
artist for having been the cause of so much torment to critics and men of
learning. The whole matter was, he declared, beneath his notice, and he
would not have alluded to it if he had not feared that his silence might
be misconstrued.[55]
This opinion was occasionally repeated both in France and Germany down
to the close of the eighteenth century. Early in that century, however,
the materials for forming a more accurate judgment began rapidly to
accumulate. The three travellers Chardin, Kaempfer and Le Bruyn all made
important contributions to the subject. Chardin was the son of a rich
jeweller in Paris, and early in life he was sent on business to Persia
and India. On his return in 1681 he settled in England and was knighted
by Charles II., who afterwards sent him to Holland as his ambassador.
Chardin’s three visits to Persepolis were made as far back as 1666,
1667 and 1674, but his account of it did not appear till 1711. It was
published at the same time in two different forms: in three volumes
quarto and in ten volumes duodecimo, but with the same text and plates.
This edition was somewhat expurgated to avoid giving offence to the
Catholics, but another came out in 1735, which included the suppressed
passages. Chardin died in London in January 1713, two years after the
publication of the complete edition of his Travels, but before he
had time to finish the most cherished work of his life, which was a
Commentary on the Bible, based upon his knowledge of Oriental customs. It
is said he was assisted in the composition of his works by Charpentier, a
Member of the French Academy, and the magnificent drawings, twenty-three
in number, made of Persepolis, are the work of M. Grélot, whom he brought
with him for the purpose.[56] They convey a most admirable impression,
and the student can for the first time realise the splendour of the
ruins: which he could never have grasped from the confused description of
travellers.
They include two general views upon a large scale. In the first a few
inaccuracies detract somewhat from its value. We observe birds of a
highly imaginative design perched upon the columns of the Porch; but
whether they are designed to represent portions of the capital, or
merely temporary visitors, does not appear. The sculptured stairs are
incorrectly represented, showing only a single ascent, and without the
projecting flight in the centre—a deficiency removed in the description
given in the text. The columns are massed too closely together; the
Palace of Darius is placed on the south-west extremity of the platform,
in the position that should be left vacant for the Palace of Ochus;
and the stairs appear on the north instead of on the south side of the
Palace. On the other hand, we find the Hall of the Hundred Columns
correctly placed for the first time on the same elevation as the Porch.
The second view is more valuable. It is taken from about the same place
as Niebuhr subsequently selected. The eye first rests upon the Hall of
the Hundred Columns with the cistern and entrance porch to the right.
Looking southwards, the Columnar Edifice is seen to occupy a prominent
position, and beyond it lies the Palace of Darius, standing upon its own
terrace, but, by an unaccountable error, with the façade turned to the
east instead of the south. It appears unduly cramped between the columns
and the Palace of Xerxes, which rises upon its terrace at an apparent
elevation considerably higher than that of Darius. The double stairs
leading to it on the east, and the straight flight down to the southern
terrace are given. Under the hill we see a tolerable representation of
the south-east edifice, and as we turn back to the Hall of the Hundred
Columns we observe a poor representation of the Central Edifice. There
is a tendency to represent the ruins in too perfect a condition: the
lower portion of the massive piers at the entrance have the appearance
of being intact; the eastern stairs of Xerxes are also represented as
far too well preserved, and the artist has entirely omitted the great
mound opposite the Central Edifice. Apart from these defects, the
drawing gives an intelligent design of the place, and it will enable
the reader to recover from the nightmare into which he may have fallen
after reading the account of Thévenot, and even the description of
Chardin himself. The other plates are devoted to separate drawings of
the more remarkable objects. One (Plate 54) makes the first attempt to
reduce the platform to scale; but the buildings are not indicated upon
it. Another gives the Great Staircase (Plate 55); two are devoted to the
Porch (Plates 56 and 57); two to the Sculptured Stairs (Plates 58 and
59); two to the Columns of the Hall of Xerxes (Plates 60 and 61). The
bas-reliefs are treated with special attention. Besides those on the
Porch and the Sculptured Stairs, we are shown the King walking beneath
the parasol (Plate 62); seated upon the chair of state above the five
rows of guards (Plate 63); and again over the three rows of suppliants
(Plate 64). Special plates are devoted to his contests with wild animals
(Plate 65), and to the guards at the entrance to the Palaces (Plate 66).
A plate is devoted to each of the Tombs on the hill (Plates 67 and 68),
and another to a general view of the tombs at Naksh-i-Rustam. By means
of these admirable drawings the Persepolitan ruins received their first
adequate illustration. Daulier had indeed contributed a general view of
some excellence; but the few and insignificant sketches he attempted
of the bas-reliefs were the only drawings that had yet appeared. It is
doubtful whether anything much better has since been produced than the
magnificent views of the sculpture on the Great Portal of the Hall of the
Hundred Columns and the drawing of the Tombs overhanging the Platform.
The sculptured staircase is drawn upon an immense scale. It fills two
plates, one opening out in length equal to twelve pages of the book,
and the other to five or six pages. The execution is admirable as a
work of art, and as such it has perhaps never been surpassed. In point
of fidelity to the subject it may not be more in error than many of
its successors. At that period the sculptures were no doubt in a more
perfect condition than they since became after a lapse of a century or
two, and Chardin describes them as being in his day ‘still so complete
and so sharply defined that the work appears to have only just come
from the sculptors’ hands.’ The plates are no doubt far from reaching
photographic accuracy; but this objection applies, if not equally, to the
later drawings of Porter and Flandin. When we look at the general view of
the platform and observe the remarkable precision with which the various
ruins are marked upon it, we are surprised to find the description in
the text so complicated and confused.[57] The pencil of the artist seems
to have followed with perfect clearness the relation to each other of
the various parts of the ruins; but in Chardin’s account of them, from
the point where he leaves the Columnar Edifice, we become lost in his
description of a perfect maze of apparently isolated structures. When we
advance from ‘the marvellous temple choir,’ as he calls that edifice, and
proceed to follow his ‘straight line,’ we can only very dimly recognise
where we are going. It is not, indeed, till we arrive at the Tombs that
we once more recover consciousness of our position. While nothing can
be learned of the general disposition of the ruins from the account of
Chardin, he has furnished a careful description of detached portions
of the edifice. From him we learn that there are inscriptions over the
animals on the Porch. He gives a long and minute description of the
bas-reliefs on the sculptured staircase. He shows that the dress and
arms of the various figures are intended to indicate the countries from
which they came, and he accompanies his dissertation with much learned
commentary. He thought the Columnar Edifice had originally consisted
of twelve rows of ten columns, or one hundred and twenty in all; and
he is quite sure he counted three rows with ten in each. He noted also
that ‘the capitals are different, not only in their ornamentation but
also in the fact that some are single and others double.’ The conflict
between men and animals depicted on the side doors he thought represented
the struggle of heroes with different nations, which, as in the Book
of Daniel, were symbolically represented by animals. He considered the
stately personage under the parasol united in his own person the offices
of both priest and king. The winged figure seemed to him to represent the
soul ascending to heaven, amid the clouds of sacrifice; and he rejected
the impious conjecture that it denoted a serpent or satyr or worse. He
was fully convinced that the ruins were those of a temple and that the
Columnar Edifice had been the ‘choir’ where the victims were immolated.
The great difficulty of supposing that the principal buildings had ever
been roofed favoured the supposition of its ecclesiastical character. He
reviews at great length the different opinions as to its origin; some
ascribe it to the period before the Deluge, others to Solomon; but he
finally decides in favour of Jamshid, the fourth King of Persia, who,
he ascertained, had flourished about the time of the descent of Jacob
into Egypt.[58] This opinion as he takes care to emphasise, would throw
back the construction of the edifice many centuries before Darius. The
idea that the ruins represented the castle and palace of Persepolis
was first advocated by Don Garcia, but it had long lost its popularity
and the rival opinion first put forward by Della Valle, that they were
the remains of a temple had already secured the adhesion of Daulier
and Thévenot. Chardin now gave it the support of his authority, and he
affected to scout the opposite view as ‘a vain and ridiculous tradition,’
although later investigation has affirmed its truth. He was followed by
Kaempfer, and encouraged by the English traveller Fryer, who qualified
the opinion that it was ‘Cambyses’ Hall’ with the doubt that it might
after all ‘be the ruins of some heathen temple.’[59]
Passing to the tombs, he rightly conjectured that the round object above
the fire altar represented the sun, ‘the great divinity of the Persians.’
More adventurous than Thévenot, he effected an entrance into the northern
tomb over the Hall of the Hundred Columns, and describes it as a square
space of twenty-two feet and twelve feet high. At the side he noticed two
tombs of white marble sixty-two by twenty-six inches and thirty inches
high, both full of water. Chardin thought that the entire façade of the
tomb was concealed after its construction by a covering of earth. It was
the common belief of the country people that Nimrod had been buried in
the first of these tombs and Darius in the second, but Chardin thought
that both had been occupied long before the time of Darius.
He mentions the column in the plain three hundred paces from the
platform, perfect except the capital. From this spot across to
Naksh-i-Rustam ruins may be seen scattered over the whole plain and it
was here he thought the city of Persepolis had stood, with the Temple to
the east and the Tombs to the west. It reached northwards between the
hills where fallen columns, pieces of architraves and bas-reliefs might
be observed, and he was told that there were traces of ruins within a
circuit of ten leagues.
Chehel Minar is honeycombed by subterranean passages, possibly drains
or aqueducts, and Chardin explored several of them. He found one of
sufficient height to walk through upright, and he advanced nearly a
mile, when he was forced to return. The people of the country told him
it extended for six leagues and leads to subterranean tombs. A similar
passage connects the temple with Naksh-i-Rustam.
Chardin noted many inscriptions among the ruins, sometimes even upon
the robes of the figures.[60] He observes that the strange characters
are sometimes three inches in height, and there can be no doubt that
some of them, especially the capitals, were gilt. This was in fact the
opinion of several of the early travellers, such as Mandelslo and Daulier
Deslandes; while Herbert saw gilding on the bas-reliefs themselves.
The writing is composed of only two kinds of characters: one resembles
an oblique triangle, the other a pyramid. The first has ‘la pointe ou
angulaire, ou en bas ou en travers.’ The second may assume six postures:
‘when perpendicular, the pointed end may be either top or bottom; when
horizontal, either to left or right; when diagonal, it may point either
way.’ It may be read not only from left to right, but also from top to
bottom like Chinese. Some consider the writing is purely hieroglyphical,
but Chardin thinks it is a true writing like our own—but it will be
impossible ever to tell whether it has vowels, or anything else about
it. In order to illustrate his opinion concerning the various directions
in which the characters might be read, he made a copy of the inscription
that runs round the window of the Palace of Darius. This is the first
complete inscription ever copied, and unfortunately it contributed much
to impede the progress of decipherment.[61] Although consisting of only
one line, it is in three different scripts, and its inspection served at
once to confirm the opinion of Chardin that the wedges might be turned
in any direction—for to the left of the window we see the thick end of
the wedge at the bottom; on the right of the window it is in the reverse
position; while on the top it is turned to the left. It was long before
it was discovered that this inscription was to be read, like the legend
running round a coin—the line to the left being written running up; and
the line to the right running down; so that in reality the wedge always
preserves the same direction.
He visited Naksh-i-Rustam, and was the first to give an account of the
Inscriptions on the second tomb. The one above consists, he says, of
fifteen lines; the other near the cornice and the door is shorter. He
induced his valet, by an offer of three crowns, to explore the interior,
and he was probably the first European who ever accomplished the task. He
was encountered at the narrow entrance by an immense flight of pigeons,
at first mistaken for demons, who were terrified by his intrusion and
hastened to make their escape. He reported that the cave measured forty
paces in a straight line from the entrance and thirty on either side.
Facing the entrance he noticed the lids of three sarcophagi upon the
ground, and to right and left were four tombs each six feet long.[62]
The general impression left upon his mind by the contemplation of
Persepolis was that the ruins were the most magnificent he had ever
seen.[63] Although not without fault, they are, taken as a whole,
characterised by excellent taste and worthy of admiration for the amount
of labour that lies concealed as well as for that which is displayed. He
attributed the destruction of the building more to the religious zeal of
the Mohamedans than to time. Istakhr early became the seat of a Viceroy
of the Khalifs, and since then the work of demolition has never ceased.
Even Shah Abbas adorned his palace at Ispahan with some of its marbles,
and others found their way to Shiraz. Not long before Chardin’s visit the
governor of that place gave orders that sixty men should be employed in
systematic destruction directed chiefly against the human figures; but
fortunately his orders were not fully carried into execution.
The year after the appearance of Chardin’s account of Persepolis
Engelbert Kaempfer published his Travels, (1712) which include a
description of the same monument.[64] He was a German physician who went
to Persia in 1684 in the capacity of secretary to the Swedish Envoy, and
he subsequently remained as surgeon to the Dutch fleet stationed in the
Persian Gulf. His visit to Persepolis occurred twelve years later than
that of Chardin, but unfortunately he was not accompanied by a skilful
artist (1686). He treats us to five drawings of Persepolis and three of
Naksh-i-Rustam. The former include two general views of the Platform,
one taken from the west and the other from the east: the Porch, the
sculptured stairs and the great door of the Hall of the Hundred Columns.
They are quite unworthy to be compared either in design or execution with
those of Chardin. But if it were not for the exceptional excellence of
the latter, we should feel more grateful to Kaempfer and his successor
Le Bruyn. As it is, Kaempfer’s drawing of the sculptured stairs almost
carries us back to the archaic period of art represented by Herbert,
and may best be described as grotesque. He is more successful in the
treatment of the façade of a tomb at Naksh-i-Rustam. He has, however,
merits peculiar to himself. The first attempt to draw the platform to
scale was made by Chardin; but Kaempfer improved upon this example by
marking the position and outline of the principal ruins upon it; and has
thus afforded the student invaluable assistance to guide him through the
intricacies of all future descriptions. He has added to its clearness by
numbering each of the ruins: a system he has also followed in his general
view.
But of still greater importance was the attention he directed to the
Inscriptions. It is to him we owe the designation of ‘cuneiform’ from the
wedge-like appearance of the signs that compose the groups—a name they
have since retained. He considered that the writing was ideographic, as
in the Chinese; it was unknown elsewhere, but here it was found cut into
the doors, windows, statues and walls, and it was certainly contemporary
with the construction of the edifice. He was told that the hollow
formed by the excision was formerly filled in with gold, which had been
removed by the cupidity of subsequent ages, though he fancied he could
still detect traces of it in some places. He was particularly struck
by the appearance of an inscription on the south wall of the Terrace.
It occupied a slab no less than ten paces in length, and was divided
into four tablets, each containing twenty-four lines. He copied the one
on his right hand as carefully as the difficulties of the situation
would permit; he was unfortunately prevented from copying the others,
but he observed that the characters in them varied to a certain extent.
The inscription he gave was afterwards known as the ‘L of Niebuhr,’
and belongs to the third or Babylonian system of writing.[65] He has
transcribed the whole of the twenty-four lines, and it was by far the
longest text that had ever yet been published to the world. Although the
copy is defective when compared with the perfection that has since been
achieved, yet as a first attempt upon so large a scale it deserves high
commendation. He also gives the trilingual inscription round a window in
the Palace of Darius, but in this he had been anticipated by Chardin.[66]
He is careful also to direct the reader’s attention to the position of
inscriptions in other parts of the ruins. He mentions the inscription
over the animals in the Porch (of which, however, we had already heard
from Chardin), but he also fixes the position of the inscription
in twenty-four lines on the sculptured stairs;[67] of the three
inscriptions on the south stairs of the Palace of Darius;[68] of the
three inscriptions, each of six lines, over the bas-relief on the great
doors of the same edifice,[69] and of the three inscriptions, each of
four lines, in the corresponding position in the Palace of Xerxes.[70]
Kaempfer favoured the opinion then most generally accepted that the
building was a temple rather than a palace, and he considered that the
columns were designed to support a roof.[71] He gives the earliest
description we have of the central edifice, and he explains clearly the
nature of the building. It consists, he says, of the remains of three
massive doors and the bases of two columns and although these ruins are
few in number he declares they are superb.[72]
He remarked that two months would be scarcely long enough to sketch the
principal objects, and he could only spare three days.
Nearly twenty years later the ruins were visited by another traveller
who had more time at his disposal. Corneille le Bruyn arrived early in
November 1704 and occupied himself for three months in sketching and
measuring the various edifices.[73] Unfortunately, the result is scarcely
equal to the effort. His book, which was published at Amsterdam in 1718,
contains eight plates of Persepolis; but they are greatly inferior to
those of Chardin and are executed on too small a scale to assist the
student in following the diffuse and confused description given in the
text. Two plates are devoted to four general views taken from different
points. In these the buildings are indicated by letters, which refer the
reader to the text, and they enable him to apprehend some of the more
obscure statements made by the writer. One plate is devoted to views of
the great stairs and entrance portico. Two others reproduce the figures
on the sculptured stairs. Though inferior to the same views given by
Chardin, they are immeasurably superior to the one by Kaempfer and fall
little short of those subsequently executed by Niebuhr. The remaining
plates contain a number of small vignettes, which convey but a poor
impression of the objects they are designed to represent. Le Bruyn has,
however, devoted one of the plates to Inscriptions and this is the most
important work he has achieved in connection with this subject. He has
copied five separate inscriptions, four of which were now published for
the first time. (1) The Inscription on the Sculptured Stairs.[74] (2) The
Inscription on the pilaster in the Portico of the Palace of Darius.[75]
It is in three tablets, each tablet containing from thirteen to fifteen
lines. (3) The Inscription seen over the King in the same palace.[76] It
is also in three tablets, each containing six lines. (4) The Inscription
in the folds of the royal robe—of which seven lines are given.[77] (5)
Finally, he has reproduced the window Inscription already published by
Chardin and Kaempfer, but instead of representing it as it occurs round
a window, he has placed the three lines under one another in parallel
lines.[78] By this simple change of position he has shown the fallacy of
the theory that the lines at the sides may be read from top to bottom:
or that the wedge can occur with the point upwards. Le Bruyn is a more
accurate copyist than Kaempfer, and in some respects he even excels
Ouseley, a hundred years later. With Le Bruyn the cuneiforms assume the
bold and regular appearance with which we are now familiar, although he
confuses many of the letters by too great compression.
Le Bruyn appears to have been one of the first travellers to attempt
to make a collection of these antiquities to send home to Europe. The
extreme hardness of the stone severely taxed the strength of his tools,
and it was with considerable difficulty that he secured a piece from a
window covered with cuneiform characters, and some other smaller objects.
These he despatched through the agent of the Dutch East India Company to
the Burgomaster of Amsterdam. So far as we know, the only other specimens
of cuneiforms that had hitherto been seen in Europe were those picked up
by Della Valle on the site of Babylon and sent to the Kircherian Museum.
He was not very happy in some of his criticisms. He described the animals
on the Entrance Portico as having a likeness to the Sphinx with the body
of a horse and the feet of a lion. He imagined that the animal attacked
by the lion on the sculptured stairs was a horse or even an ass. The
object that separates the various groups in the same place he describes
as a vase. He considered the capital surmounting the columns was the
figure of a kneeling camel. He is about the only competent observer,
with the exception of Niebuhr, who discerned female figures among the
sculptures.[79] He appears to say that there are no less than forty-six
of these in the Palace of Darius alone: among them are the King’s
attendants bearing the fly-chaser and parasol. He estimates the total
of human figures among the ruins at 1300; and, judging by the number of
bases, he considered there were originally not less than two hundred
and five columns.[80] He gives the measurements of the buildings, the
size and number of the figures with a detail that becomes irksome and
bewildering. The reader often regrets that he did not make better use of
his pen and pencil, and spare him some of the results of the measuring
tape. He is by no means too lavish of his praise. He censured the figures
as stiff and devoid of animation; the nude he found represented without
anatomical skill and the draperies without taste. He admits, however,
that the ornamentations, when they occur, are beautiful. He was of
opinion that all the stone for the construction of the various edifices
came from the neighbouring mountains, where he observed all the various
shades found at Persepolis. He had the good sense to reject the foolish
theory supported by Chardin as to the Jamshid origin of the ruins; and he
could see no evidence that they had ever been used as a temple. On the
contrary, he considered that they had been a palace, and his conviction
that the columns had originally supported a roof lessens the difficulty
of accepting that view. He argues with some force and great diffuseness
that it could only have been the Palace of the Achaemenides destroyed
by Alexander: an opinion confirmed by later investigation, and one
that greatly facilitated the attempt made by Grotefend to decipher the
inscriptions.
CHAPTER II
NIEBUHR TO DE MORGAN. A.D. 1765-1897
It was more than sixty years before any farther contribution was made
to the knowledge of Persepolis. In 1761, however, the King of Denmark,
Frederic V., fitted out an expedition chiefly for the purpose of
exploring Arabia. Five commissioners were nominated, to each of whom a
special branch of inquiry was assigned. Among them was Carston Niebuhr,
the father of the writer whose historical works agitated the early
part of last century. They left Copenhagen in January of that year,
and reached Constantinople after an adventurous voyage. From thence
they went to Egypt, and finally to Yeman, where they arrived in 1763.
Here three out of the five explorers died, and the two survivors left
for Bombay in 1764. Soon afterwards another died, and Niebuhr, the
sole survivor, determined to return home, and to take Persia and the
Euphrates Valley on his way. He received many courtesies from the English
merchants settled at Bushire and Shiraz, especially from Mr. Hercules,
the agent of the East India Company, in whose house he lived at Shiraz.
Through his influence Niebuhr went on to Persepolis, furnished with
the best introductions to the chiefs of the neighbouring villages. He
arrived on the 13th of March, 1765, and remained till the 3rd of April.
He afterwards returned for two days to compare his sketches with the
original. He wrote in German, and the French translation appeared in
1780.[81]
The magnificent views of Persepolis given to the world by Chardin, and
the very useful plan drawn to scale by Kaempfer, had already afforded
ample material for forming a tolerably accurate conception of the general
aspect of the ruins. Little remained now to be done except to work for
the archæologist, to whom the minutest attention to detail was the first
necessity. Niebuhr, unfortunately, cannot claim to have accomplished this
difficult task, so far at least as his drawings are concerned. He has,
however, contributed ten plates of illustrations of considerable artistic
merit. Following the example of Kaempfer, he begins with a ground plan
on which the various edifices are distinctly indicated by letters. This
is followed by a general view looking towards the west; three plates
are devoted to the sculptured stairs; one to the mysterious animals
on the porch that continued so long a stumbling-block; the Palaces of
Darius and Xerxes each occupy a plate, and two others portray the seated
figures in the Hall of the Hundred Columns. He was so satisfied with
this achievement that he thought even the student would have no need of
any farther assistance from the artist’s pencil.[82] This is, however,
so far from the case, that even the general reader has some cause to
complain.[83] Niebuhr has conveyed an entirely false conception of the
appearance of the sculptured terrace by the omission of the broken line
of sculpture, of which one half still remains above the other two. He
has also had the temerity to represent the figures as though they were
perfect, though he states in the text that the larger number on one side
are so mutilated that they are without their heads.[84] It would be
impossible in his drawings to distinguish the different nationalities;
it is difficult even to detect the ‘Kaffir,’ as he calls the famed
Ethiopian.[85]
On the other hand, the description he has given of the ruins has the
merit of being more concise than that of Chardin, and we follow him
throughout with clearness. He was disposed to accept the theory that the
edifice was originally a temple, the seat of an ecclesiastical chief,
comparable to the Roman Pontiff, who had gradually passed into a secular
prince. He did not doubt that it finally became the residence of the
Achaemenian Kings, and was the edifice destroyed by Alexander.
It is not necessary to refer to many of his criticisms. He had little
hesitation in deciding that the animals on the Porch were griffins
(licornes), and that a double griffin ornamented the capital of the
columns. Besides griffins, he fancied he discerned women among the
bas-reliefs, especially in the Palace of Xerxes.[86] He, however, made
the important observation that in the Columnar Edifice or Hall of Xerxes
the columns of the central cluster are four feet lower than those at the
side, and that there are the remains of four walls that seem to indicate
an entrance from the north. He did not consider that the evidence was
sufficient to conclude, as was generally done, that this edifice must
have been necessarily open at the top; on the contrary, he suggests the
possibility that the central group of columns supported a second stage,
and the side colonnades a terrace.[87] He thought it probable that the
whole assemblage of columns—seventy-two in number—had originally formed
one immense building, which would have exceeded in size the Hall of the
Hundred Columns. With regard to the latter, he had no doubt that it also
had been roofed, and he observed numerous fragments of columns both in
the great hall and in the portico. Della Valle had long ago traced the
bases of thirty-six columns in the Palace of Xerxes; Niebuhr now adds
the observation that there are four in each of the side rooms. He was
also the first to observe the third tomb to the south of the others near
Persepolis that has been left incomplete.[88]
But his principal merit lies in the great service he has rendered towards
the solution of the mystery of the cuneiform letters. It is true he
neglected to furnish a complete copy of all the inscriptions, which, with
the time at his disposal, he might perhaps have accomplished; but the
contributions he did make are of great value.
(1) He copied the inscription on the west end of the sculptured terrace,
25 lines, known as Inscription A.
(2) The six-line inscription in three tablets over the king in the Palace
of Darius: B, C, D.
(3) The corresponding inscription in the Palace of Xerxes: E, F, G.
(4) He also copied the large inscriptions in four tablets on the outside
south wall of the platform: H, I, K, and L. They each fill twenty-four
lines, and an idea of the size of the letters may be formed from the fact
that the original covers a space twenty-six feet long by six feet high.
Of these Le Bruyn had already copied the A inscription in the drawing he
gives of the stairs, the six-line inscription of Darius (B, C, D), and
a line of the inscription of Xerxes from the royal robe; while Kaempfer
copied one tablet (L) of the inscription on the south terrace.[89] The
others now appear for the first time. It has already been observed that
Kaempfer was the first to draw the characters with a bold and steady
hand; in this he has been followed by Niebuhr, so that his copies
differ in no respect from those produced in the present day. The few
remarks he has made upon the subject are of peculiar value and very
materially assisted later scholars. He was the first to observe that the
inscriptions are written in three different ‘alphabets,’ and that these
always recurred together.[90] So slow is the progress of discovery,
however, that he never seems to have advanced to what might appear to
be the obvious conclusion that the three tablets are repetitions of the
same text in different languages. He noted that the ‘alphabet’ in one
of the tablets of the series was comparatively simple, and consisted of
no more than forty-two different signs.[91] These he copied out, and
they appear in Plate 23. He thus limited the first step in decipherment
to the interpretation of a comparatively small number of signs. Till
then the greatest confusion was produced by the appearance of detached
portions of inscriptions, selected indifferently from all the three
kinds of writing, a process that inspired the fear that the number of
signs to be mastered was practically unlimited. Having clearly detected
each separate letter from among the number of confused signs in a line of
inscription, he farther assisted the student by marking off each separate
letter by a full stop or colon in the copies he made of the inscriptions
themselves.[92] From the division of the signs into letters he does not
seem to have made the next step and apprehended the division of the lines
into words by the diagonal wedges in the Persian column. He, however,
directed attention to two different copies of the same inscription, where
in one the letters that end the third line are in the other the first
that occur in the fourth line; he pointed out that this practically
settled the direction in which the writing should be read.[93] He also
showed that the lines supposed by Chardin to be written from top to
bottom are not in reality upright, but should be placed on their side,
and when horizontal the letters correspond to those already known.[94]
Before leaving the neighbourhood of Persepolis, Niebuhr visited Istakhr
and Naksh-i-Rustam, but he did not go on to Murgab. At Istakhr he saw
two columns still standing, and he noted the massive blocks of the
gateway.[95] He made no attempt to enter any of the tombs, which he says
could not be done ‘without the risk of losing one’s life.’ That risk,
such as it was, was, however, undertaken in the following year by Mr.
Hercules, who had provided himself with tools in the case of necessity;
but he found that some earlier visitor had pierced a hole through the
top, and that there was nothing but dust remaining. Niebuhr has not
noticed the inscription on the Tomb of Darius; but his accurate copies
of the Pehlevi made at this spot and at Naksh-i-Rejeb opposite were the
first that enabled Silvestre de Sacy to translate that language.
We shall see in a future chapter that before the close of the century
the writings of Le Bruyn and Niebuhr had attracted a fair share of
attention among European scholars; and the copies they had made of the
inscriptions became the object of sedulous study, especially in the
North. In Göttingen, the interest excited by the description of the
ruins of Persepolis gave rise to an extremely heated controversy between
Heeren and Herder. The former, in an early edition of the ‘Historical
Researches,’ maintained that they were of Achaemenian origin. Persepolis,
he says, ‘as the residence and place of sepulture of the Persian kings,
was considered in the light of a sanctuary, and held to be the chief
place in the kingdom.’ Herder, on the other hand, contended for its
Jamshid origin, and supported his opinion in a series of very acrid
‘Persepolitan Letters.’[96] The question was of more importance than
might at first sight appear, for upon its decision depended the royal
names that should be looked for in the inscriptions. George Grotefend,
a student in the University, who made the first successful attempt
to decipher them in 1802, adopted the opinion of Heeren, and his
investigations were largely based upon the conviction that the names of
Darius and Xerxes could not fail to be found hidden in the cuneiform
characters.
Meanwhile the new century opened with a continuance of the explorations,
and one of the most fruitful discoveries was the inscription of Cyrus
found by Morier at Murgab. For some time previous the disturbed state
of the country had led to a complete suspension of diplomatic relations
between Persia and European countries. Foreigners, who had been so
cordially welcomed by Shah Abbas became almost unknown. Englishmen were
gazed upon in the streets of the capital as ‘monsters of an unknown
genus,’ and thought to be Chinese.[97] At length Captain (afterwards Sir
John) Malcolm was sent by the Indian Government to solicit an alliance
for common action against the Afghans. The French, however, viewed this
friendly alliance with jealousy, and in 1805 they sent M. Jaubert, a
well-known Orientalist, to detach the Shah from the English alliance.[98]
The French envoy was successful; a Persian mission visited France, and
concluded a treaty with Napoleon, in May 1807; an embassy under General
Gardanne followed. These intrigues were, however, immediately met by a
special mission from England, headed by Sir Harford Jones; and James
Morier was appointed secretary. Morier was descended from a Huguenot
family who, after leaving France, settled first in Switzerland and
afterwards in Smyrna, where they engaged in business. Here James was
born, about 1780. Not long after, his father came to England, became a
naturalised subject, and sent his sons to Harrow. A reverse of fortune
compelled him to return to Smyrna, where James again resided till about
1800. His father was appointed Consul at Constantinople in 1804, and died
there of the plague in 1817. He had, however, the good fortune to secure
appointments for three of his sons in the diplomatic service, and a
commission in the navy for a fourth. Morier reached Bushire at the end of
1808, but upon this occasion he only spent a few months in the country.
He returned in 1810, once more filling the position of secretary to an
embassy of which Sir Gore Ouseley was chief. Ouseley brought his brother
William with him in the capacity of private secretary and Mr. Gordon, a
brother of Lord Aberdeen, was also attached to the mission. While the
party was detained at Shiraz, in 1811, they scattered in pursuit of
archæological discovery. Morier revisited Persepolis; Sir W. Ouseley went
to Fasa, which was then considered to be the ancient Pasargadae; while
Gordon undertook the dangerous journey to Susa.[99] Morier remained in
Persia for six years, devoting himself to study; and he has secured a
lasting fame as author of ‘Hajji Baba.’ Upon the occasion of his first
visit in 1809, he spent only two days at Persepolis, and he added nothing
to the knowledge already existing with reference to it. He, however,
went to Naksh-i-Rustam, and his friend Captain Sutherland succeeded,
as Mr. Hercules had done before, in entering the tomb farthest to the
left.[100] He afterwards continued his journey along the valley of the
Polvar, ‘between mountains whose brown and arid sides presented nothing
to cheer or enliven the way.’ When he had travelled, as he supposed,
about forty miles, and was still some two miles from Murgab, he turned
from the direct route to view the ruins known in the country as ‘Mesjid
Madre Suleiman,’ or Tomb of the Mother of Solomon. He observed the three
pilasters of what is now termed the Palace of Cyrus, and conjectured at
once that they belonged to a Hall, ‘the interior of which was decorated
with columns.’ They were surmounted by a short inscription, of which he
made a copy. He next observed a ‘building of a form so extraordinary
that the people of the country often call it the court of the deevis
or devil.’ He gives an excellent drawing of the well-known tomb, and
adds: ‘if the position of the place had corresponded with the site of
Passagardae as well as the form of this structure accords with the
description of the Tomb of Cyrus, I should have been tempted to assign
to the present building so illustrious an origin.’ He shows that the
plain in which it stands was once the site of a great city, ‘as is proved
by the ruins with which it is strewed’; the cuneiform inscriptions
indicate that it was of the same ‘general antiquity’ as Persepolis; the
two structures correspond in description, and in fact the only evidence
on the other side is the absence of the inscription which Aristobulus
declares he saw upon it. The place had been visited twice before, once
by Barbaro in the fifteenth century, and again by Mandelslo in 1638.
Mandelslo, indeed, gives an admirable drawing of it, which later artists
have scarcely excelled. But till it was seen by the imaginative Morier no
one had suggested that it was the Tomb of Cyrus. The opinion was readily
accepted by Grotefend,[101] and it guided him to no small extent in the
decipherment of the name of Cyrus in the inscription brought from the
immediate vicinity.[102] When, however, Morier paid his second visit
to Murgab in 1811, he was so overawed by the ponderous learning of his
travelling companion Ouseley, that he tacitly allowed the subject to
drop. On this occasion he succeeded in gaining access to the interior,
but found nothing worthy of mention. He also noticed for the first time
a very remarkable bas-relief of a winged human figure, and over it a
repetition of the inscription he had already copied.[103]
Kaempfer had set the example of collecting specimens, and we fear the
gentlemen of the embassy were only too ready to follow in his steps. They
even went so far as to bring stone-cutters with them, provided with the
requisite tools to carry their design into effect. We afterwards hear
rather ominously of ‘the specimens in the possession of Sir Gore Ouseley
and Lord Aberdeen.’[104] Morier published in 1812 the account of his
‘First Journey,’ containing the famous Cyrus inscription, and in 1818 the
account of his ‘Second Journey’ followed. These works were well received,
and can still be read with interest, but the fame of the author rests on
his ‘Hajji Baba,’ which appeared in 1824.
Ouseley, who accompanied the embassy, was a very learned Orientalist,
who was perhaps somewhat oppressed by the weight of his own
accomplishments.[105] He was born in Ireland, in 1771, and after serving
for a time in the army, he retired in 1794, and devoted himself wholly
to his favourite pursuits. He became a thorough Persian scholar, and the
author of many books bearing on Persian history and antiquities. He was
therefore well qualified to accompany the embassy, and it was a source
of keen pleasure to him to visit the country under such advantageous
circumstances.
We have said that he turned aside from Shiraz to visit Fasa or Pasa,
in the hope of finding the tomb of Cyrus; but, like Della Valle, he
discovered nothing except a venerable cypress tree, which ‘is said to
have been for above one thousand years the boast and ornament of the
place.’[106] He finally came to the conclusion that Pasargadae and
Persepolis were one and the same place, and firmly opposed the claim
put forward by Morier on behalf of Murgab. Ouseley seems to have spent
five days in all among the ruins of Persepolis, and he made excellent
use of his time. He added another to the increasing number of general
views (Pl. 40), and contributed a few small sketches of various parts of
the building (Pl. 41). He rendered considerable service by the accurate
copy he made of the cuneiform inscription round the window frames of the
Palace of Darius. He found it repeated no less than eighteen times, and
by a careful collation he was able to present a complete reading of the
mutilated text.[107] He finally dispelled the erroneous idea that it was
to be read from the top downwards; and he pointed out that certain of the
characters found on bricks and gems from Babylon are never to be seen at
Persepolis.[108] His description of the ruins is painstaking, but the
subject was now almost exhausted. He agrees with Niebuhr that the Hall of
Xerxes was roofed, and also that it may have supported another stage. He
went farther and suggested the comparison with the façade of the tombs,
an idea which Fergusson afterwards turned to excellent account.[109] But
the chief value of his narrative consists in the full account he gives
of Murgab and the illustrations that accompany it. Mandelslo and Morier
had, as we have seen, both sketched the tomb; Ouseley adds a third sketch
and by no means the best; but his other drawings are quite new, and from
them the reader gains his first impressions of the plain of Murgab. They
afford excellent views of the principal remains—the terrace, the square
building, the palace, the caravansary, and the winged figure. He gives a
satisfactory account of each, and when he comes to the palace, we find it
described simply as ‘a cluster of pillars and pilasters.’ Notwithstanding
all his prepossessions, he could not fail to be struck by the strange
likeness of the Murgab tomb to the description given of the tomb of
Cyrus, and he adds: ‘I should not have hesitated to believe it the tomb
of Cyrus had the discovery of it rewarded my researches in the vicinity
of Pasa or Fasa, or if, as Mr. Morier says, its position had corresponded
with the site of Passagardae.’ As it was, he even ventured to express
the opinion that it was a building of ‘doubtful antiquity.’[110] He
visited it just an hour after Morier had made his sacrilegious entry; the
startled female custodian had meanwhile returned, locked up the sacred
shrine, and fled; so he was unable to satisfy his curiosity by a near
inspection. He copied the Cyrus inscription from a solitary monolith
to the north of the palace, and there were thus three independent
versions of the same inscription taken from three different parts of the
ruins.[111] The copy made by Ouseley was sent to the Director of the
Imperial Library at St. Petersburg and through him it fell under the
notice of Grotefend. Ouseley succeeded in making a magnificent collection
of Persian manuscripts, especially relating to history and geography. His
later years were spent in France, and he died at Boulogne, in 1842.[112]
Two hundred years had now elapsed since Gouvea called attention to the
ruins of Persepolis. A considerable amount of literature had accumulated
on the subject, and large numbers of plans and drawings of the principal
objects were taken, which materially assisted the student. On looking
back over these, however, it was curious to observe how widely the
descriptions differed from each other, and how irreconcilable were the
various views of the same monument. The explanation was not far to seek.
Most of the travellers could only spare a few days from more pressing
occupations to devote to the work. They were afterwards compelled to
complete from memory the hasty sketches they had made on the spot, and
although many of them display considerable skill in the use of their
pencil, only a few had any professional knowledge of drawing. They were,
moreover, all alike at the mercy of the engraver, and some thought
they had good reason to complain of the treatment they received at his
hands. But there was another cause that led to inevitable discrepancies.
Few of them aimed to produce the minute accuracy of a photograph, or
could resist the temptation of idealising the work before them: on the
one hand, Le Bruyn exaggerated the ruin wrought by time; on the other,
Niebuhr repaired its ravages. According to the one, the sculptured
staircase is a confused mass of mutilated figures; according to the
other, it appears as perfect as when first completed by the sculptor.
Nor was it only in the drawings that inaccuracies were to be detected.
The measuring tape itself seemed to yield different results in different
hands. It was impossible to find agreement even as to the number of steps
in the great staircase. According to one, there were only ninety-five
(Herbert); according to another, one hundred and thirteen (Kaempfer); and
other accounts ranged between these two extremes.
It was with the professed object of giving a final and authoritative
representation that would satisfy the curiosity of the minute student
that Sir Robert Ker Porter undertook to go over the old ground once
more. He was an accomplished artist and he consequently possessed
qualifications many of his predecessors were without. He arrived at
Murgab on June 12, 1818, and left Persepolis on July 1, so that he
was not more than eighteen days engaged in the study of the numerous
antiquities in the neighbourhood. At the conclusion of his stay, he
congratulates himself upon finding that: ‘I had drawn nearly every
bas-relief of consequence, had taken a faithful plan of the place, and
copied several of the cuneiform inscriptions.’[113] His industry during
the time must certainly have been extraordinary. He surveyed the sites
of Murgab and Persepolis, and made two ground-plans of both places. The
former was now made for the first time, but the latter had been taken
as early as the days of Kaempfer. He took two drawings of Murgab, four
of the Achaemenian remains at Naksh-i-Rustam, six of the Sassanian
sculptures, and two of the same period at Naksh-i-Rejeb. In addition to
this he made twenty-four drawings of the monuments of Persepolis—some of
them upon a large scale—and copied inscriptions that occupy four plates:
that is to say, he accomplished in eighteen days work that now fills
forty-two plates of engravings. This is certainly wonderful, but if he
had executed less than one-quarter, the result would perhaps have been
more satisfactory. In addition to the drawings, he measured the various
buildings and the more important objects in each; and took notes for
his very elaborate description of the dress, the arms, and other minute
details of the various figures in the numerous bas-reliefs. Herbert had
long ago expressed the opinion that ‘a ready Lymmer in three moneths
space can hardly (to do it well) depict out all her excellences,’ and
certainly the twelve days (from June 22 to July 1), which were all that
Porter actually spent at Persepolis, were wholly inadequate for the
purpose. In looking through Porter’s drawings, we find indeed ample
evidence of haste, and of the absence of that minute accuracy which it
was his special object to achieve. Yet his book is still perhaps the best
that exists upon the subject in English. The drawings of his competitors
are certainly not more accurate, and his careful and minute descriptions
are quite unrivalled. His merit lies in the thorough investigations he
made upon the ground itself, in the painstaking and, upon the whole,
accurate measurements he took of each monument, and in the clear and
explanatory account he has given of the various subjects depicted on
the bas-reliefs. The care with which his investigations were made was
rewarded by the discovery of the remains of the second edifice at
Murgab, which had escaped the notice of Morier and Ouseley. His visit
to Naksh-i-Rustam resulted in the earliest drawings we possess upon an
adequate scale of the façade of a tomb, and it was completed by a ground
plan of the interior.[114] He expressed his conviction that the third
tomb with the long cuneiform inscription was in all probability that
of Darius, an opinion afterwards proved to be correct.[115] The long
debate as to the nature of the enigmatical animals on the Great Porch at
Persepolis was still undecided. Even Mr. Morier adhered to the notion
that they were horses, but Porter’s keen eye at once identified them with
the bull, which subsequent discoveries at Nineveh has confirmed.[116]
He also showed that the capital of the columns was composed of two half
bulls, but he does not seem to have recorded that they are elsewhere
varied by half griffins.[117]
Porter had no doubt that the Takht-i-Jamshid represented the ruins of the
palaces of Persepolis, although the subject had not yet passed beyond
the region of controversy. He inclines, however, to the compromise
favoured by Niebuhr, and dwells upon the pontifical character of the
sovereign, especially after the death of Zoroaster, when, he says, Darius
assumed the title of Archimagus. He accepted Morier’s suggestion that
Murgab was the site of Pasargadae and its principal monument the tomb of
Cyrus.[118] He had a thorough belief in the decipherment of Grotefend.
He not only accepted his recognition of the names of Darius and Xerxes,
but he followed him when he traced their descent from Jamshid. That
hero was, he thought, none other than Shem, whom sacred writ planted
in that very region of Persia, and possibly Persepolis bore his name
from the very earliest ages.[119] Porter did not himself advance our
knowledge of the inscriptions. He copied the inscription at Murgab, but
that had been previously done by Morier and Ouseley, and, as he candidly
remarks, he ‘found that we all differed in some of the lines from each
other.’[120] He also copied a portion of the inscription (A) on the
sculptured staircase, of which Niebuhr had already given a satisfactory
rendering;[121] and finally he took the trouble to execute an extremely
imperfect copy of the four tablets of inscriptions on the south wall,
which had also been much better done by Niebuhr.[122]
Notwithstanding its many defects, his book continued for thirty years
to be the chief authority on the subject.[123] Heeren popularised the
general result in the fourth edition of his ‘Researches’ (1824), and it
thus became equally well known to German readers. Texier complained, in
1842, that there was absolutely no book in French upon the subject, and
he had to refer to Porter for his information.[124] It was not till after
the publication of the elaborate works of Texier and Flandin, which did
not appear till 1849-51, that Porter was in any way superseded. Even then
the form in which the great French authorities are published has rendered
them inaccessible except to students in a great public library. The
general reader would have remained in complete ignorance of the results
but for the opportune publication, in 1851, of Fergusson on the ‘Palaces
of Persepolis,’ and Vaux on ‘Nineveh and Persepolis.’
Within this long period, the area of discovery widened. Hamadan was
identified with Ecbatana by D’Anville and Rennell, and it soon became
an object of curiosity. The city stands 6,000 feet above the level of
the sea, in a plain at the foot of Mount Elvend (the Orontes), and is
surrounded by vineyards, orchards and gardens. Morier visited it in 1813,
and discovered in the outskirts of the city a base of a small column
of the identical order found at Persepolis, and near it he observed a
large irregular terrace, perhaps the foundation of the Palace. Rawlinson
afterwards detected five or six other bases of the same type. Three years
before Morier’s visit, Kinneir had observed an inscription some seven
miles distant, carved on the surface of the rock on a steep declivity
of Mount Elvend.[125] ‘It consists,’ says Morier, ‘of two tablets,
each divided into three longitudinal compartments, inscribed with the
arrow-headed character of Persepolis. These inscriptions are called by
the Persians Genj-nameh, or “Tales of a Treasure.”’[126] When Porter
passed through Hamadan, he also went in search of the mysterious stone
which he heard bore unintelligible writing. After a fruitless ascent of
one of the highest peaks of Mount Elvend, he was fortunate enough in
the course of his descent to come across the object of his expedition.
The stone, he says, consists of ‘an immense block of red granite of
fine texture,’ and the inscription is in excellent preservation. The
natives believe that whoever succeeds in deciphering it will find a key
that will enable him to discover a large treasure in the mountain, and
hence the name they give it. Porter only reached it when the day was
far advanced, and he had not time to make a copy.[127] Bellino, of whom
we shall hear later, made another attempt, in 1820, but unfortunately
he was attacked by fever at Hamadan, and died without accomplishing his
object.[128] At length Mr. Stewart and M. Vidal, the consular dragoman at
Aleppo, obtained copies about 1827, and communicated them to M. Schulz,
who was then at Van. Professor Schulz of Hesse had been commissioned by
the French Foreign Minister to undertake a scientific journey to the
East, and he reached Van in July 1827, where he made copies of no less
than forty-two cuneiform inscriptions. Long afterwards they were found
to be written chiefly in the old Armenian language; but one was in the
three varieties adopted by the Achaemenian kings. It was engraved on
a large square tablet escarped on the precipitous face of the rock
about sixty feet above the ground. It was divided into three columns,
each column consisting of twenty-seven lines. Unfortunately, Schulz was
murdered in 1829, and his papers ultimately found their way into the
hands of M. Lajard of Paris, by whom they were sent to M. St. Martin for
publication.[129] St. Martin, as we shall see, had early busied himself
with cuneiform inscriptions, but in consequence of his early death, the
papers of Schulz fell into the possession of the very eminent Orientalist
Burnouf, by whom they were used with singular ability. The inscriptions
found at Mount Elvend and at Van[130] became the subject of his ‘Mémoire
sur deux Inscriptions,’ which appeared in 1836, and which marked the
first great advance in cuneiform decipherment that had taken place since
the memorable effort of Grotefend thirty-four years before.
Till the publication of Burnouf’s essay in 1836, the task of decipherment
had made but small progress, and so far as we are aware, no copy of a
Persian inscription had yet been published that had been taken by anyone
with the smallest knowledge of the meaning of the characters. Mr. Rich,
the British Resident at Bagdad, was, however, a zealous student of
Grotefend, and in constant correspondence with him. He kept him supplied
with copies of the few inscriptions that were then brought to light from
the ruined mounds of Mosul and Hillah. His German secretary Bellino, who
was also much interested in cuneiform discoveries, generally acted as
the medium of communication; and Grotefend’s later pamphlets are full
of recognition of the services he had received from both scholars. Rich
was a man of very unusual attainments.[131] When still quite a boy,
he mastered several Oriental languages, and in later years, amid the
pressure of official life he never lost his interest in these subjects.
He collected large numbers of Oriental manuscripts, and his mind was
filled with the lore they contained. His house at Bagdad became the
rendezvous of all the more eminent travellers who passed that way in
the early years of the century. His hospitality acquired a reputation
not inferior to that of Père Raphael at Ispahan during the latter half
of the sixteenth century. Rich was equally ready to place his vast
stores of Oriental knowledge at the disposal of his guests, and his
official position enabled him to afford them substantial assistance.
It was peculiarly fortunate that so eminent a man should have held
that office at a time when public interest was first awakened to the
archæology of the ancient cities of the East. He was himself able to
render important services in this field of inquiry, and he made a
collection of antiquities, afterwards acquired by the British Museum,
which, though limited, as it is said, to a single small case, was still
unequalled then in Europe, and was the beginning of the vast collection
that now fills the Babylonian and Assyrian rooms. In the summer of
1821, he found himself at Bushire on official business, and well-nigh
overpowered by the excessive heat. He accordingly decided to make a short
trip to Shiraz, where a friend, who had just returned, gave him the
refreshing intelligence that ‘the climate even then, in July, was so cold
that one was obliged to put on a fur jacket and actually suffered from
cold.’[132] Mr. Rich had, however, no cause to complain of the cold. The
usual temperature, he found, was 90° at the hottest time, but it fell
during the nights to 71°, which he considered ‘deliciously cool without
being chilly.’[133] It was impossible for him to be so near Persepolis
without gratifying his curiosity. ‘My expectation,’ he says, ‘was
greatly excited. Chardin, when I was a mere child, had inspired me with
a great desire to see these ruins.’ He was, however, merely travelling
for health; and he had no intention of undertaking the onerous duties
of an itinerant antiquarian. There was indeed no longer any necessity.
‘The ruins have been so accurately described, measured, and delineated
by our friend Porter that nothing remains to be done; and I can abandon
myself entirely to the luxury of imagination, of which the line, compass
and pencil, and the intolerable labour they bring on, are eminently
destructive.’[134]
On August 17, 1821, he enjoyed the first view of the ruins from his
resting place, a mile distant, and with unusual philosophy he repressed
his curiosity and continued his march to Murgab. ‘I took,’ he writes,
‘a capricious kind of pleasure in not going to them, and forcing myself
to be contented with this general survey.’ He passed the little nook of
Naksh-i-Rejeb and the ruins of Istakhr, and at length encamped before
the ‘Meshed i Mader i Suliman.’ It will be recollected that the learning
of Ouseley had decisively negatived the sagacious intuition of the more
brilliant Morier, and the subsequent discovery of the name of Cyrus on
the inscriptions at Murgab was as yet far from being accepted as decisive
of the matter. The true site of the tomb of Cyrus was therefore still in
dispute, and Rich could only venture to write that he ‘began to think
that this in reality must be the tomb.’[135] He hoped, however, to be
able to contribute something to the settlement of the question, but when
he left he confessed, after all, that he was still unconvinced.[136]
He, however, made another copy of the now celebrated inscription. After
a stay of only one day, Rich retraced his steps towards Persepolis, and
pitched his tent on the top of the great staircase, beneath the shadow of
the Entrance Porch.
His resolution to abstain from antiquarian labour entirely broke down
in presence of the inscriptions. He employed workmen to clear away the
rubbish which in some places concealed them, and he disclosed for the
first time the inscription on the south stairs leading to the Palace of
Darius,[137] and the one opposite on the façade of the stairs of the
Palace of Ochus. ‘I was actually diligent enough,’ he writes, ‘to fall to
work at copying the inscriptions; and during the six days we remained at
Persepolis I copied all the inscriptions except one. I have found much to
corroborate Grotefend’s system, and have admired his sagacity. The labour
I have gone through will greatly assist him.’[138] Indeed the result of
his industry, combined with that of his predecessors, was to leave little
more to be done by the copyist at Persepolis. The inscriptions over the
animals on the Porch, and the long inscription at Naksh-i-Rustam seem
indeed to be the only ones that remained.
1. He copied the three tablets of inscriptions of Xerxes on the Anta of
the Palace of Darius, which had been imperfectly done by Le Bruyn (Table
131).[139]
2. The three tablets of inscriptions of Xerxes on the Anta in his
palace—now first taken.[140]
3. The three tables of inscriptions of Xerxes, consisting of four lines
over the king’s head on the east portal of his palace.[141] This is the
same inscription as Niebuhr had copied from the north portal (his E, F,
G).
4. Fragmentary inscriptions of Xerxes found in his palace.[142]
5. The three inscriptions of Xerxes on the south stairs of the Palace of
Darius[143]—now first taken.
6. The central inscription of Artaxerxes Ochus on stairs to Palace of
Ochus[144]—now first taken.
7. His Seyid copied the three tablets of the inscription of Xerxes over
the colossal animals on the east walls of the Porch.[145] Mr. Rich was
unfortunately unable on account of giddiness to remain at a height; and
on this account he deputed the task to his Seyid, who had some experience
of the cuneiform letters found at Babylon. This inscription was now first
taken, but the copy turned out to be practically useless; and the first
adequate rendering was made by Westergaard.
Coming from Babylon, where all the inscriptions he had seen were
unilingual, he was much struck by the repetition of each inscription at
Persepolis in three distinct modes of writing. ‘Every inscription in
Persepolis,’ he says, ‘even the bits on the robes of the king, are in the
three kinds. When an inscription is round a door or window, the first
species is on the top, the second on the left hand running up, the third
on the right, running down. I speak as looking at the door.’ ‘If one
under the other, the first (or Zend) is always in the upper tablet; if
side by side over a figure, it is the one over the head of the king; if
on his robes, it is on the front fold; if on the face of a platform, it
is in the centre, with the figures on each side facing towards it.’ ‘The
other two species always preserve their order: the third (or Babylonian)
in the place of least consideration.’[146] He called special attention to
the inscriptions upon the tomb at Naksh-i-Rustam. ‘They are,’ he said,
‘the longest of all the cuneiform inscriptions I have ever seen. In
fact, there is a prodigious quantity of writing upon them, but so small
and so high up and so much worn that I should think it impossible to
copy them.’[147] He was neither surprised nor disappointed by his visit,
but the impression left was not one of unmixed admiration. The general
view presented by the ruins he declared to be grand; the colonnade to
be fine, and the execution and finish very beautiful; but he thought
the portals at the landing place were much too narrow, all the doors
too narrow and the windows too small, yet ‘formed of blocks that would
build a mole.’ There is no correspondence between the object and the
means, which gives to many parts of these remains, at least as they now
appear, rather a heavy, crowded and crushed effect, ‘proceeding from the
disproportionate application of vast materials, which is, after all, a
foolish ambition.’[148]
Shortly after leaving Persepolis, he was struck down by cholera, and
his death at the early age of thirty-five removed a man exceptionally
qualified to render important service to his country and to learning. It
had been his intention to send his valuable copies of the inscriptions to
Grotefend, who was probably less qualified than Rich imagined to make a
satisfactory use of them. As it was, they were not published till 1839,
when the progress of cuneiform studies had deprived them of much of
their importance.
Soon after the publication of Rich’s book, in 1839, the Danish scholar
Westergaard visited Persepolis, and completed the transcription of the
whole of the inscriptions. He was, as we shall see, fully qualified
for the task by his technical knowledge of the subject. Only two new
inscriptions, however, remained for him to copy: the one on the Porch
that Rich was unable to reach (Inscr. D), and the great inscription on
the tomb at Naksh-i-Rustam, which proved it to have been the sepulchre of
Darius (Inscr. NR).
Only one Persian inscription of first-rate importance now remained to
reward the zeal of the copyist. This was the famous one engraved in an
almost inaccessible position upon the rock of Behistun. It is situated on
the road from Hamadan to Kermanshah, about twenty miles before reaching
the latter place. The rock forms an abrupt termination to a long range
of barren hills, and presents a most remarkable appearance, rising in
perpendicular form to the height of 1,700 feet. As it lies on the direct
route to Media by the Holwan Pass, it was well known from the earliest
times. According to Greek legend the hill was dedicated to Zeus; and
Semiramis, on the occasion of an expedition against the Medes, caused
a portion of the face of the rock to be polished and her own effigy to
be carved upon it, surrounded by a hundred of her guards. She added
an inscription in Assyrian characters, commemorating her triumphant
march.[149] Whether any inscription of the kind ever existed is doubtful,
but if so, all traces of it have disappeared. The inscription that has
been recovered appears to have been executed in the fifth or sixth year
of the reign of Darius; and it gives a lengthy record of the suppression
of the revolts with which his reign opened. It occupies a surface of
about 150 feet in length by 100 feet in height.[150] The tablets rest
upon a narrow ledge of the rock, 300 feet from the ground, and the
engraver could only have executed his task from a scaffolding erected for
the purpose. Major Rawlinson tells us that the mere preparation of the
surface of the rock must have occupied months. Where a flaw occurred,
a piece was inlaid by embedding it in molten lead, and this tedious
work was so carefully executed that it can only be detected by close
scrutiny. After the letters were engraved, the whole received a coat
of silicious varnish, in order to impart clearness of outline and to
protect the surface against the action of the weather. ‘The varnish,’
he says, ‘is of infinitely greater hardness than the limestone beneath
it.’[151] Notwithstanding all this elaborate preparation, many fissures
have been made in the rock by the percolation of water, and the writing
is defaced in many places. The inscriptions are grouped round a central
tablet decorated with sculpture. The principal figure is Darius the
King. He has one foot placed on the prostrate form of a vanquished foe;
behind him are two attendants, and in front stand nine captives chained
together. The last of the series is evidently a later addition made after
the original work was accomplished; and he is distinguished from the
rest by the peculiarity of his pointed cap. Close to each figure is a
short inscription, giving the name and a relation of the evil deeds of
the individual; by which means they are identified with the leaders of
the rebellion. The prostrate form is no less a personage than Gaumates,
the Magian. Above is the winged figure which is now known to be a
representation of Ormuzd himself.[152] Rawlinson considers the execution
of the figures as inferior to that of the bas-reliefs at Persepolis.
‘The effigies of Darius and his attendants alone exhibit that grace
of outline and studied finish of detail which may place them at all
upon an equality with the Persepolitan sculptures.’ The figure of the
King is six feet in height, but the others are of diminutive stature,
designed no doubt to mark their inferiority of position.[153] The artist
seems to have even taken the trouble to represent them as repulsive in
appearance. This part of the work is covered by no less than thirty-three
short inscriptions—eleven in Persian, twelve in Median or, as it is now
called, Susian, and ten in Babylonian. To the left of the sculptured
tablet, and upon the same level, in a position exceptionally difficult
of access, are two large tablets in the Babylonian style. To the right
are four tablets—two in Susian and two in Babylonian—which were added
later, and refer to the events connected with the figure with the pointed
cap. This portion is so much defaced that it is difficult to do more
than conjecture its meaning. It seems, however, to relate to a revolt in
Susiana which, according to M. Oppert, occurred before the twelfth year
of the reign of Darius.[154] Its chief was captured and hanged upon a
cross. The main body of the inscription lies below the sculptured tablet.
Immediately beneath it are four columns in Persian, each twelve feet
high, and containing ninety-six lines of cuneiform writing; and a fifth,
half that length, relating to the events of the more recent rebellion.
To the left, below the large Babylonian inscription, are three columns in
Susian. It is calculated that the whole contains nearly a thousand lines
of cuneiform writing, of which no less than 416 are in Persian. It is
said to comprise ten times as many words as all the rest of the shorter
texts put together.[155]
The French traveller Otter seems to have been the first to call attention
to Behistun, about the year 1734, and it is also noticed in the travels
of Olivier.[156] Kinneir passed it in 1810, and he describes ‘a group of
figures in the form of a procession sufficiently perfect to show that
they are of the same age and character as those of Persepolis.’[157]
In 1818, Porter at length succeeded in getting sufficiently near to
sketch the figures.[158] He confirms Kinneir’s conjecture as to their
resemblance to those at Persepolis; and he recognises the winged figure
as ‘the floating intelligence in his circle and car of sunbeams, so often
remarked on the sculptures of Naksh-i-Rustam and Persepolis.’ He remarked
that there was a cuneiform inscription above the head of each figure and
below ‘eight deep and closely written columns in the same character.’
Notwithstanding the facility Porter had already acquired in copying
inscriptions at Persepolis, he was at too great a distance from these to
make the attempt. He calculated it would require a month to complete the
task, and adds that ‘at no time can it ever be attempted without great
personal risk.’
The extremely inaccessible position of the inscriptions long baffled
the zeal of explorers. M. Flandin, as we shall see, though specially
commissioned by the French Government to examine Persian antiquities,
retreated in dismay from the perilous task, which was left as usual to
the private enterprise of an Englishman to accomplish. So long indeed
as the history of cuneiform decipherment is remembered, the name of
Henry Creswicke Rawlinson will continue to be associated with Behistun.
He was not only the first to surmount the very considerable physical
difficulties of approaching the inscriptions, but he succeeded, while in
a position that was highly inconvenient, if not positively dangerous, in
making so accurate a copy that few errors or omissions of importance were
afterwards detected. The first copy appears to have been made entirely
with the pen—the process of taking paper casts being employed on a later
occasion—and it was a task that called for the display of extraordinary
patience and most scrupulous care. He had to transcribe, or more
properly to draw, vast numbers of signs of multitudinous and fantastic
shapes, without at that time having the smallest clue to their meaning—a
knowledge that would have served to check the accuracy of his work as
he went along. Soon afterwards indeed he became the most skilful of
decipherers. He cannot indeed claim to have been the first to solve the
difficulties of the Persian alphabet; but his translation of the Behistun
inscription was by far the greatest contribution ever made to a knowledge
of that language; and he rendered scarcely less remarkable service in
unravelling the mysteries of the third, or Babylonian, column.
Rawlinson was born at Chadlington Park, Oxfordshire, in 1810.[159] His
family was recognised for centuries among the principal country gentry
of Lancashire; but his father sold his ancestral estate and settled in
Oxfordshire. He enjoyed the supreme distinction of winning the Derby in
1841 with Coronation, an achievement that no doubt afforded him scarcely
less pleasure than the triumphs of his two illustrious sons, Henry and
George.
Henry was the seventh child of a family of eleven. He was educated at
Ealing School, which at that time enjoyed a great reputation, and had
recently numbered the two Newmans among its pupils. Here he acquired a
sound knowledge of the classical languages, so that in after life he
could master the contents of almost any Latin or Greek prose author
with facility. Indeed when he left he was first in Greek and second in
Latin of the whole school. He grew to be six feet high, broad-chested,
strong limbed, with steady head and nerve. He was fond of field sports,
a taste which he had every opportunity of indulging at Chadlington and
which he retained throughout the whole of his busy life. At sixteen
he obtained a nomination to the Indian Service, and after six months
spent in the study of Oriental languages under a private tutor at
Blackheath, he sailed for India, where he arrived in October 1827. He
had the good fortune to go out in the same ship with Sir John Malcolm,
who had just been appointed Governor of Bombay. He devoted himself to
the acquisition of the native languages and Persian, and also to various
studies, particularly that of history. On the voyage out he edited the
paper that was started for the amusement of the passengers, and this
early connection with the press he afterwards continued, so that at the
age of nineteen we find him contributing articles and short poems to
the Bombay newspapers. But he never forgot that he was a soldier, and
that it was no less part of his duty to cultivate physical activity.
He accordingly passed much time in hunting and shooting, and in various
athletic games, and one of his great achievements was an extraordinary
ride that might now incur the humanitarian censure of a less strenuous
age. In 1833, when still a lieutenant, he was one of eight officers
selected to proceed to Persia to assist in training the army of the Shah.
They landed at Bushire, where they were delayed for some months by the
heavy snow on the mountains between that port and Shiraz. Rawlinson’s
interest in archæological subjects was already awakened, and he took the
first opportunity of visiting Shapoor and Persepolis, and making numerous
sketches of both places. He was stationed at Tabriz during the summer of
1834, and with characteristic energy he endeavoured to reach the top of
Mount Ararat, but he was prevented by the great depth of snow. In the
following spring (1835) he was nominated by the Shah to act as Military
Adviser to the King’s brother, who was Governor of Kurdistan and resided
at Kermanshah. On his way he visited Hamadan, and copied the cuneiform
inscription at Mount Elvend (April 1835). At Kermanshah he was within
twenty miles of Behistun, which, as his biographer observes, ‘has been
in the Providence of God the great means by which the ancient Persian,
Assyrian, and Babylonian languages have been recovered, and a chapter of
the world’s history that had been almost wholly lost once more made known
to mankind.’ He passed his leisure time during 1835-37 in transcribing
as much of the inscriptions as he could reach, and in the endeavour to
fathom their meaning. Sometimes he ascended and descended the slippery
rock three or four times a day ‘without the aid of rope or ladder or any
assistance whatever.’ The difficulties are, he modestly says, ‘such
as any person with ordinary nerves may successfully encounter.’[160]
Towards the close of the year 1835, he paid a short visit to Bagdad, to
place himself under the care of Dr. Ross; and he there became acquainted
with Colonel Taylor, whom he was afterwards destined to succeed as
British Resident. In the early spring, he led a native force of three
thousand men through the mountains of Luristan, and took the opportunity
of visiting Dizful, Suza, and Shuster. By that time his interest was
fully aroused in cuneiform studies, and he no doubt heard from Colonel
Taylor of the efforts that had been made in Europe to interpret the
inscriptions. The vagueness of his information upon the subject is
evident from the prominence he accords to the abortive speculations of
St. Martin. We find him, in March 1836, lamenting over the destruction of
the famous black stone of Susa, for he had hoped by its means to ‘verify
or disprove the attempts which have been made by St. Martin and others
to decipher the arrow-head characters.’[161] His mind was also occupied
with geographical subjects, in which he afterwards attained to great
distinction. He wrote to his brother for particulars of the expedition
of Heraclius, and thought he had solved the mystery of the two rivers at
Susa, which was probably the same as that afterwards announced by Mr.
Loftus. He began to look forward to his three years’ leave of absence,
which he hoped to spend in ‘a nice cheap lodging’ at Oxford or Cambridge
‘for the sake of consulting the classical and Oriental works which are
there alone procurable.’ Meanwhile he had ordered out books from England,
and for the present he found life tolerable enough. ‘I am,’ he says, ‘in
a country abounding with game and antiquities, so that with my gun in
hand I perambulate the vicinity of Shuster, and fill at the same time my
bag with partridges and my pocket-book with memoranda.’ It was not till
the autumn of that year (1836), during a short visit to Teheran, that he
became acquainted with the alphabets of Grotefend and St. Martin, and
learned the progress that had been made by them in Germany and France.
He returned to his post at Kermanshah for the winter of 1836-7, and once
more directed his attention to the inscriptions at Behistun. During all
this period he continued to be practically the governor of the extensive
province of Kermanshah and the commander of a large portion of the army
stationed in it. In the summer of 1837, he was relieved of these duties,
and received a mark of the Shah’s favour by being appointed Custodian of
the Arsenal of Teheran. He passed that winter (1837-8) in the capital,
and when the British Envoy, Sir J. McNeill, accompanied the army of the
Shah to Herat, he found himself left in ‘quasi political charge.’ Soon
afterwards, the progress of political events led to the withdrawal of the
Mission from Persia, and Rawlinson found himself at Bagdad towards the
close of the year 1838, where he remained till October 1839.
While at Kermanshah (1835-7) he was able to make a nearly correct
transcript of the entire first column of the Persian text, together
with the opening paragraph of the second, ten paragraphs of the third
column and four of the detached inscriptions, amounting altogether to two
hundred lines, or one half of the whole inscription.[162]
The outbreak of the Afghan war, in 1839, summoned him to a very
different sphere of activity. He was recalled to Bombay in October of
that year, and in January 1840, he was ordered to Candahar, where he
filled the important office of Political Agent throughout the whole of
that trying period. It was due in a measure to his energy and prudence,
acting in combination with the military talent of General Nott, that
the town was saved, and a portion of the disaster at Kabul retrieved.
The evacuation of Candahar took place in August 1842, and by the end
of the year Rawlinson was back in India. He had been present at three
battles and on each occasion was honourably mentioned in despatches; in
addition to these services, he accompanied the General as aide-de-camp
during the hard fighting on the march to Cabul and the Sutlej. An
accidental meeting on board a steamer with Lord Ellenborough, who was
then the Governor-General, ripened into friendship, and procured for the
young officer an offer of the ‘Residency in Nepaul’ or of ‘the Central
India Agency’; but these were declined. Rawlinson had set his heart
on completing his cuneiform studies, which had now been suspended by
three years of adventure; and although these appointments were of much
greater dignity and emolument, he eagerly seized upon the opportunity of
returning to Bagdad as ‘Political Agent in Turkish Arabia,’ in succession
to Colonel Taylor. Here he arrived in December, 1843, to ‘work out the
Babylonian puzzle’ and to spend ‘twelve weary years of his life doing
penance in order to attain a great literary object.’[163]
As soon as he could spare time, in the early summer of 1844, he returned
to Behistun, accompanied by Mr. Hester and Captain Jones, R. N.[164]
It will be remembered that up to that time he had only secured two
hundred lines of the Persian column, or about one half of the whole.
A week of continuous work now enabled him to transcribe the whole of
the Persian, the whole of the Susian, and the whole of the detached
Babylonian epigraphs. The Babylonian version of the Great Inscription was
still found to be inaccessible without more elaborate appliances, and it
was abandoned for the present. He spent the year 1845 in completing a
Memoir on the subject, which he had begun to prepare in 1839, before the
outbreak of the war. The new materials he had just collected rendered
it advisable to rewrite the whole work, though the translation he had
attempted of the earlier portion remained substantially unaltered.
This task involved transcribing four hundred lines of cuneiform, which
was a work of no ordinary labour in that climate and among many other
conflicting claims upon his time. He began as soon as possible to
transmit instalments of his Memoir to England; and in May 1846 we learn
by the Report of the Asiatic Society that ‘the extraordinary discoveries
of Major Rawlinson are now passing through the press and will be shortly
published.’
Meanwhile the great discoveries of Botha and Layard had transferred the
interest of scholars from the Persian to the Babylonian column, for the
latter was seen to bear a close analogy to the inscriptions coming to
light with such startling rapidity on the banks of the Tigris. It was
evident that the possession of the long inscription at Behistun would
greatly increase the knowledge of this language; it covered no less than
a hundred and ten lines, and the Persian version, which was by this
time practically understood, would materially assist the translation.
Accordingly, in September 1847, Rawlinson returned to Behistun with
ladders, planks, ropes, and various other contrivances. But his chief
dependence was upon a wild Kurdish boy, who squeezed himself up a cleft
in the rock and drove in a wooden peg. To this he fastened a rope, and
endeavoured to swing himself across the inscription to a cleft on the
other side. This he failed to accomplish on account of the projection
of the rock. ‘It then only remained for him to cross over to the cleft
by hanging on with his toes and fingers to the slight inequalities on
the bare face of the precipice; and in this he succeeded, passing over a
distance of twenty feet of almost smooth perpendicular rock in a manner
which to a looker-on appeared quite miraculous.’[165] He then drove a
second peg, and the rope connecting the two enabled him to swing right
across. To it he attached a ladder like a painter’s cradle, and then,
under Rawlinson’s direction, he took paper casts of the whole Babylonian
text. The work occupied ten days, but unfortunately the inscription
was found to be sadly mutilated. ‘The left half, or perhaps a larger
portion even, of the tablet is entirely destroyed, and we have thus the
mere endings of the lines throughout the entire length of the whole
inscription.’[166] On his return to Bagdad, he applied himself to the
difficult task of deciphering and translating his new acquisition. In
this investigation he could as yet derive no assistance from other
scholars. Those who were beginning to study Assyrian in Europe, of whom
Dr. Hincks and M. de Saulcy were the most notable, had not as yet made
farther progress than himself. He devoted the whole of 1848 and part of
1849 to this laborious pursuit, and at the same time added Hebrew to
the number of his accomplishments. His ‘Second Memoir’ was, however,
completed in time to despatch to London in 1849, and he prepared to
return himself in order to superintend its publication. The ‘Memoir
on the Babylonian Translation of the Great Inscription at Behistun’
finally appeared in the fourteenth volume of the ‘Journal of the Asiatic
Society,’ 1851.
Rawlinson had made the rock of Behistun his own; and although many
complaints were heard of the delay that occurred before he could give
the results to the world, no one attempted to undergo the dangers he
had faced in order to dispute his title to possession. It is to him,
therefore, that we owe the recovery of this Memorial of Darius. It
afforded a few not very important additions to history, and it was
valuable by confirming the veracity and accuracy of Herodotus, which some
writers were still disposed to impeach. But its chief importance lay in
the length of the text, which for the first time presented sufficient
materials to enable the student to acquire a competent knowledge of the
old Persian language. Once in possession of this key, he could apply it
to the solution of the more difficult problems afforded by the other two
columns, and in this manner three ancient and forgotten languages were
restored to knowledge.
We have now come to the time when the enterprise of individual travellers
was about to be superseded by commissioners sent by foreign Governments
to collect information in an official capacity. We cannot say that the
general reader has cause to be thankful. We now part company with the
modest volume that could be purchased and handled with comparative ease.
In its place we have massive folios, which an enterprising student may
indeed find in the ‘large room’ of the British Museum, but which are
beyond the power of a private library to acquire. No one untainted by
African gold could contemplate their possession, and indeed it would
be necessary to build an addition to an ordinary house to find them
accommodation. They are not adapted for study, for they tax too severely
the physical endurance of the reader. The writer who is employed to fill
in the blanks between the magnificent illustrations, is probably sensible
of this, and one of them, M. Flandin, afterwards republished his text in
a more convenient form. These vast folios are designed, we should think,
mainly for the glorification of the Government who has paid for them,
and for the benefit of the various mechanical persons employed in their
fabrication. Sumptuously bound in red morocco, with richly gilt edges,
they serve only to be rolled into the room of a palace in order that the
pretty pictures that adorn them may be idly scanned amid the chatter of a
tea-table.
The first of these great compilations that comes under our notice was
made by Charles Texier, who had already gained fame and experience by
his ‘Description de l’Asie Mineure,’ published between 1838-48. He was
a Government Inspector of Public Works, and he subsequently became
Professor of Archæology at the Collège de France (1840). He obtained
a grant of 160,000 francs to enable him to publish his book, a sum
afterwards reduced to 100,000. He does not seem to have regarded this
measure with as much satisfaction as the reader, for he was compelled
upon this occasion to restrict his publication to only two folios; and
he complains that he had to suppress a considerable portion of his vast
collections. In 1839 he set out for Persia, and the account of his
travels was published by instalments between the years 1842 and 1852. In
1849 very few of the plates referring to Persepolis had appeared, and
no text,[167] but Fergusson was able to use a considerable part of the
drawings, in 1850, for his ‘Nineveh and Persepolis.’
Texier set out upon his enterprise, as Porter had done before, with a
desire to aim at the most scrupulous accuracy; but his fatal passion for
‘restorations’ has made sad havoc of his moral aspirations.
He began the Persian portion of his work at Van, and travelled steadily
round to Persepolis. Like Flandin, who followed closely on his track,
he was prevented by the disturbed state of the country from visiting
Susa. He devoted two days (January 12-14, 1840) to Murgab, and gives
six drawings. He was fully convinced that the famous tomb was that of
Cyrus, though the winged figure may be only ‘a prince or magus in the
attitude of devotion.’[168] He confessed he could make nothing of the
general disposition of ‘the Palace’; it consists, as he candidly admits,
of ‘a certain number of pillars, of which the relations cannot be easily
established; a large column and remains of walls.’ The second palace
noticed by Porter seems to have escaped his observation. Persepolis
occupied him for about ten days, and resulted in twenty-four drawings.
His general views have nothing of the artistic merit afterwards displayed
by Flandin, and they are probably in no degree more accurate. He observed
from the _débris_ at the bottom of the outside wall of the Terrace that
it had been originally ornamented by a parapet; and he considered there
were distinct traces of a triple wall of defence on the hill at the back,
which may in some degree account for the description given by Diodorus.
He thought that nearly all the buildings had been left incomplete, an
opinion that has since gained ground. He maintained that the central
group in the Columnar Edifice was intended to be enclosed by a wall and
roofed; and he suggested that the design on the tombs, with a stage
above, was a correct representation of the architecture of the palaces,
a view afterwards supported by the authority of Sir James Fergusson. He
was fully convinced that the bas-reliefs had been originally coloured;
and one of the chief objects of his journey was to collect evidence on
this point. It is singular to find that the writer completely ignores the
results already achieved in decipherment, and that he still describes the
Palaces of Darius and Xerxes as the Hareem and the Baths: an eccentricity
into which M. Flandin also falls. Texier excels in measurements; they
agree substantially with those of Flandin and Coste, and differ by about
ten per cent. from those of Porter.[169] The work of Texier was from
the first almost completely superseded by that of Flandin, who passed
over the same ground only a few months later (October 1840) and who, as
we have said, has wisely republished his narrative in a comparatively
portable form.
When the English mission to which Rawlinson was attached withdrew from
Persia, the Shah made overtures to Louis Philippe with a view to replace
the English by military instructors from France.[170] The French king
judged this a favourable opportunity to reopen diplomatic relations with
Persia, and he accordingly despatched the Count de Sarcey on a mission to
the Shah. The ambassador was accompanied by a numerous staff, each member
being charged with the investigation of a particular subject. The embassy
assumed the character of an exploring expedition quite as much as that of
a political mission. One attaché was required to make a special study
of the geology, another of the arts, a third of the industry, as if the
country had been hitherto wholly unexplored by Europeans. The proposed
adventure excited much interest, and the two Academies of Inscriptions
and Beaux Arts solicited permission to send representatives. This was
duly accorded, and MM. Flandin and Coste were elected by the suffrage
of the members of the Academies: the one in the capacity of artist, the
other in that of architect.
M. Coste was already familiar with the East, and was known by a work
on the Arabian monuments of Cairo. M. Flandin was apparently unused
to the inconveniences of Oriental travel, and his book presents us
with a harrowing picture of the sufferings he endured. It is indeed
wonderful that he survived his cook, whom he describes as a ‘véritable
empoisonneur,’ or the numerous lacerations of soul he underwent as,
one by one, his friends returned to the shade of the boulevards and
left him behind a prey to the tortures of the Persian sun. Still more
wonderful that he should have escaped alive from so many perils. At one
time, he and his horse roll together into a trench from which there
seemed no visible escape; at another, the enthusiastic artist is seen
scrambling up the rock of Behistun with bleeding feet and hands to find
his toil and peril fruitless, and to accomplish a descent backwards by
a ‘véritable gymnastique de lézard’;[171] or again his excitable temper
involves him in personal encounters with the natives, in which blows are
freely exchanged on both sides, and on one occasion he received a stab
with a poniard. These adventures, however amusing to himself and his
readers, unfortunately involved his antagonists in shocking punishments
by flogging, which the courtesy of the Persian officials thought it
necessary to inflict, although Flandin is not always free from the blame
of having been the first to give provocation.
The embassy left Toulon on October 30, 1839, but it was not till the
following June that the two artists settled down before the rock of
Behistun, where they found numerous traces of ruins in the plain on
both sides of the river, which indicate the former existence of a very
considerable town; but there was nothing that pointed to an earlier date
than the Greek and Sassanian periods. The only exception is the cuneiform
inscription on the rock itself. Three years before, Major Rawlinson had
succeeded, as we have said, in obtaining paper casts of about two hundred
lines of this inscription. M. Flandin does not seem to have been aware of
this achievement, otherwise he would have been less willing to declare
that it is impossible to approach. After having ‘done all that was
possible,’ the two travellers went on to Kermanshah. M. Coste proceeded
to Sar-i-Pul-i-Zohab, where he copied a bas-relief, which was afterwards
found to be of Medic origin; and Flandin was left alone to accomplish the
task of copying the Sassanian inscriptions at Takht-i-Bostan.[172] After
eighteen days of solitude, he returned once more to Behistun in a more
resolute frame of mind. Upon this occasion he brought ladders to assist
him to scale the rock; but these turned out to be too short. He declared
that without a scaffolding made expressly for the purpose, it would be
impossible to accomplish his object, and even then he foresaw great
difficulties in its erection. As it was, he was without rope, or wood, or
workmen. He, however, made one last effort, and succeeded at some risk
in scrambling up to the ledge at the base of the tablet. He found the
inscriptions were even then beyond his reach, and it was impossible to
recede a sufficient distance to obtain a tolerable view. He ascertained
that they consisted of seven columns, each of ninety-nine lines, and
that there were also tablets above the figures.[173] It must be admitted
that the result was extremely unsatisfactory, considering the official
position of the explorer. He abandoned the enterprise and left the
honour to Major Rawlinson, who, as soon as political events permitted,
revisited the scene and completed the task he had already begun. Flandin
and Coste returned to Ispahan in August, and after a period of rest they
proceeded, early in October, to Murgab. Here they remained for two days.
M. Flandin hesitates to accept the identification of the ruins with those
of Pasargadae, and prefers Fasa: an impression which, however, wears
off later, when he had visited that place.[174] He describes the ruins
of the principal palace at Murgab to consist of three pillars and a
column. ‘There are,’ he adds, ‘no means of obtaining sufficient data to
reconstruct the plan. Nothing is to be found except the foundations of
columns and pillars, which lead to the belief that it was formerly the
site of some important structure.’ Not more satisfactory is his notice
of the Terrace, which, he says, is the remains of an edifice of which it
is impossible to recognise the character. These descriptions scarcely
prepare us for the very elaborate plans that appear in the plates, upon
which the modern ideas of the place are chiefly based.[175] From Murgab
they proceeded to Naksh-i-Rustam, where they again allowed themselves to
be baffled by difficulties that they should certainly not have treated
as insuperable. They observed the long inscription on one of the tombs,
which they made no effort to copy, because it happened to be in a
position which they considered inaccessible. They reconciled themselves
to the omission the more easily on account of its mutilated condition,
which they thought would defy the perseverance of the decipherer;
otherwise indeed it might be found to record ‘the life of the illustrious
dead intombed within.’[176] Less than two years after they had left,
this very inscription was copied by the Dane Westergaard; and in 1843,
or seven years before Flandin published his book, it had been deciphered
by Lassen, who found that it declared the tomb on which it was inscribed
to be that of Darius Hystaspes. From their quarters at Husseinabad they
visited various objects of archæological interest, and made drawings and
plans of them. They finally removed their camp to Persepolis on October
25, and remained there to December 8. During that period of forty-three
days they made upwards of a hundred magnificent drawings of the place,
which will always remain a striking proof of the industry no less than
the talent of the two artists. The plates include highly-finished
pictures of the Terrace and surrounding country taken from various points
of view; admirable drawings of the different buildings, and of all the
numerous bas-reliefs they contain; ground plans of the platform and of
each of the principal edifices; besides copies of all the inscriptions.
The work is farther enlivened by a few pictures of Persepolis before it
fell into decay, restored according to the imagination of the ingenious
artists. The scale upon which this work is executed may be judged
from the number of plates devoted to the more important objects. The
sculptured staircase fills no less than twenty-two; the Palace of Xerxes
and the Hall of the Hundred Columns occupy twelve each; while sixteen
plates are appropriated to inscriptions.
There can be no doubt of the high artistic merit of these drawings;
but it must have been impossible within the time to complete them upon
the spot; and they have no doubt suffered in accuracy by subsequent
elaboration. Sir James Fergusson indeed goes so far as to declare that
they cannot be relied upon to decide any matter requiring minute accuracy
of detail, and he points out several ‘of their many mistakes.’[177] It
may be doubted also how far their plans and measurements are absolutely
trustworthy. There is certainly the most surprising and singular contrast
between the doubt and hesitation expressed in the text and the confidence
and minute execution displayed in the plates.[178] The surveys indeed
may be due chiefly to M. Coste: and it is possible he may not have
communicated all the results of his investigations to his volatile
companion. While the latter despairs of detecting the plan of the edifice
at Murgab, or those of the Palaces of Darius and Ochus at Persepolis, we
find all three set down with the utmost precision upon the plans; and
while the one traveller declares that all the tombs at Naksh-i-Rustam
contain accommodation for an equal number of bodies,[179] M. Coste
was quietly making the plans that refute this statement. It cannot be
admitted that the combined work possesses any exceptional authority, or
that it suffices to set at rest the many doubtful points that have arisen
with reference to these ruins. So far from its having superseded the more
careful labours of Porter, it is entirely deficient in the minute and
accurate verbal description in which that writer excels.
The copies of the inscriptions made by the two explorers have received
the praise of M. Burnouf, and they are certainly wonderful productions,
especially when it is considered that neither appears to have had the
smallest knowledge of the cuneiform writing. If they had been able to
face the perils of Behistun or the difficulties of Naksh-i-Rustam, they
might still have anticipated the work of Rawlinson and Westergaard.
At Persepolis itself there was little that was now left for them to
accomplish. They appear to have been the first in point of time to make
a serviceable copy of the inscriptions over the Porch; Rich, it will
be recollected, was forced to abandon them to his Seyid, who failed in
the attempt. But this inscription was first published by Westergaard,
although his copy was made two years after that of Flandin. Flandin
seems, however, to have been the first to publish the inscription of
Artaxerxes Ochus from the west stairs of the Palace of Darius; but the
same inscription occurs also on the Palace of Ochus, and this was already
well known through the copy made by Rich. MM. Flandin and Coste have
not therefore made any contribution to our knowledge of the cuneiform
inscriptions. They, however, carried on somewhat extensive excavations.
They employed labourers to clear away the rubbish that had accumulated
in the palaces and which obscured the lower portion of the bas-reliefs.
By this means they brought to light a Sassanian relief at Naksh-i-Rustam
which had hitherto been unobserved, and which they found to be covered
with a Pehlevi inscription.[180] At Persepolis they claim to have
discovered eight entirely new bas-reliefs, besides disclosing the lower
portion of many others.[181] They dug up the statue of a bull near the
east stairs of the Palace of Xerxes, the only monument _en ronde_ which
has been found among the ruins.[182] They disclosed the head of a bull
among the _débris_ of the Porch, and finally set at rest the long debated
question as to the nature of the colossal animals. They completed the
portraiture of the guards on the façade of the sculptured staircase,
by raising the fallen masonry.[183] They were the first to clear away
the rubbish that had collected in the Palace of Darius, and to disclose
the bases of the columns that had supported the roof.[184] They settled
the nature of the monster with which the king is seen to struggle, by
unearthing its tail, which proved to be that of a scorpion.[185] They
were the first also to show the correct position and number of the
columns in the Portico of the Palace of Xerxes. They were also the
first to show the former existence of columns in the South-Eastern
Edifice.[186] Fragments of columns strewn on the ground within the Hall
of the Hundred Columns had been remarked by Kaempfer and by Niebuhr;
but they do not seem to have been observed by Flandin and Coste. It was
due to their laborious excavations that it was ascertained, after six
and a half feet of rubbish had been cleared away, that the edifice had
originally contained ten rows of columns of ten in each in the centre,
and two rows of eight in the Portico.[187]
In the beginning of the year 1841, they found themselves at Fasa, and
speedily recognised that it could not compete with Murgab as the
representative of Pasargadae. On their return to Shiraz, they ascertained
that Baron de Bode, an attaché to the Russian embassy, had just left
for Susa. When at Kermanshah, in the preceding summer, they abandoned
an attempt to reach that place from the south through the defiles of
Luristan. Such an enterprise would probably not have been very easy even
to travellers much better suited to deal with the turbulent tribes; and
it would most likely have proved fatal to one of M. Flandin’s excitable
temperament. But now an opportunity offered to follow close upon the
steps of a traveller protected by the authority of a diplomatic mission,
and along a route that circumstances rendered at that time exceptionally
secure.[188] M. Flandin finds some difficulty in excusing his neglect to
perform a journey which his commission seemed to demand. He tells us that
his purse had begun to feel the strain of eight months’ travel, although
we find it was still sufficient to support the cost of another year in
safer and pleasanter quarters.[189] Having abandoned this project, they
returned for a few days to Persepolis, in order to obtain a few plaster
casts of the more striking bas-reliefs. They reached Teheran on March
20, where they met Baron de Bode, who had just returned from Susa. The
inspection of the antiquities he had collected ‘in that country, the
object of our regrets,’ must have excited some mortifying reflections;
though they gladly inferred from the drawings that the place ‘offered
in reality little of interest.’[190] The excavations of Mr. Loftus, ten
years later, dispelled this flattering illusion. After a month spent
in the enjoyment of royal favour, they left Teheran (April 24), and
proceeded by Tabriz and Urmia to Bagdad, which they reached in July.
M. Flandin bade farewell to Persian territory after a free interchange
of blows with the people of the frontier village.[191] From Bagdad he
paid hurried visits to Hillah and Mosul; and left early in September for
Aleppo and Beyrout, where he embarked for France on December 1, 1841.
He revisited the East in 1843, in order to sketch the monuments
discovered by M. Botta at Khorsabad. In consequence of this employment,
the publication of the results of the Persian journey was greatly
delayed. The ‘Voyage en Perse’ was not even written till 1850, and it did
not appear till the following year.[192] The folio edition with plates
bears no date. A portion of the plates was used by Mr. Fergusson in 1850,
for his book on the Palaces of Nineveh and Persepolis, but they were
not available the year before.[193] They brought home two hundred and
fifty-four drawings and thirty-five copies of inscriptions, most of which
they profess to have executed on the spot;[194] and the collection forms
an extremely valuable addition to our knowledge of the antiquities of
Persia. M. Flandin was strongly of opinion that no individual enterprise
could hope to compete with the minuteness of research and the untiring
industry of an official like himself, who was charged with a Government
mission, and invested with the confidence of two academical bodies.[195]
A Government can indeed afford to publish a book no one can afford to
buy, but it seems unable to imbue its commissioners with the energy so
frequently displayed by private individuals. The lamentable failure of
Messrs. Flandin and Coste before the rock of Behistun and the tomb of
Darius; besides the serenity with which they abandoned even an attempt
to reach Susa, afford sufficient evidence of this. M. Coste is scarcely
even mentioned in the ‘Voyage’; but we see enough of M. Flandin to
recognise that he did not possess the qualities that make a successful
explorer. His narrative is interrupted and disfigured by puerile details
of personal adventure in which he evinces a complete absence of the
coolness, the nerve and the tact requisite for his task. He magnifies to
absurd proportions the risks to which he is exposed; he is constantly
involved in humiliating personal encounters with the people of the
country, in which he displays vastly more temper than courage. The reader
might be tempted to regard these conflicts with some complacency, if it
were not for the excruciating punishment with which the politeness of the
Persian authorities thought fit to visit his assailants.[196]
Very little more now remained to be done to illustrate all that is
necessary to know of these Persian ruins. The inscriptions had been
successfully recovered and many times copied. The Persian text had
been fully translated, and only a few obscure passages awaited farther
elucidation. Still the most careful accounts were found to conflict
on many points, and neither Porter nor his successors had removed the
discrepancies and contradictions that had been so long remarked.
After the lapse of many years, it was determined to appeal to the new
art of photography, in order to obtain a degree of accuracy that could
not be achieved by the pencil. The first to make the attempt was a
Mr. Ellis, but his negatives were entirely destroyed in the course of
the rough journey to the sea. At length Herr Stolze made another and
very successful effort.[197] He was attached to a German scientific
expedition, sent out to the East in 1874, under the direction of Dr.
Andreas, to observe the transit of Venus. Stolze spent some time
travelling over Persia, and visited among other places Persepolis and
Fasa in the winter of 1874; but his real work began in June 1878, a
season of the year when the heat is excessive, and when the process
of developing the negatives within a closed box involved actual
suffering. Notwithstanding these disadvantages he took upwards of three
hundred plates between the date of his arrival on June 16 and his
departure on July 3. He found the vertical sun of summer better suited
for photographing the inscriptions than the bas-reliefs, especially
those situated in the deep shade of the doorways. One of his greatest
achievements was the photogrammetric plan of Persepolis, which surpasses
any previous attempt to arrive at an accurate survey. It is said that no
fewer than three hundred and fifty plates were used in the construction
of the three metrical plans at the end of his second volume.[198]
After a few days spent at Murgab, he hastened back to cooler quarters.
His negatives were so carefully packed that they all reached Europe in
safety. Unfortunately, one case was opened at the London Custom House,
and the plates were replaced so loosely by the bungling official that
a few were cracked; but even these have been pieced together without
retaining much trace of their ill usage. In the course of his travels he
took no fewer than fourteen hundred negatives, and in the spring of 1879
he had the satisfaction to find himself at Berlin with his treasures. In
September 1881, he submitted a few of the completed photographs to the
Fifth Oriental Congress, and they sanctioned the publication of those
relating to the Achaemenian and Sassanian periods. The result was the
appearance, in 1882, of ‘Die Achaemenidischen Denkmäler von Persepolis,’
photographed by Stolze and edited by Noeldeke; and two more ponderous and
magnificent folios were thus added to the growing mass of inaccessible
lore. Persepolis alone occupies ninety-nine plates, and the scale on
which the work is executed may be judged from the devotion of twenty-one
views to the Palace of Darius, eighteen to the Palace of Xerxes, twelve
to the Hall of the Hundred Columns, and twelve to the Hall of Xerxes.
Nine plates (106-14) are devoted to Naksh-i-Rustam and eleven (127-37)
to Murgab. It is doubtful how far the photographic process will assist
the student of the inscriptions. Noeldeke fears it will be of little
value as regards the Pehlevi; and certainly little can be made out of the
cuneiform except by the constant and painful use of a powerful magnifying
glass. They may, however, be occasionally useful to decide disputed
points: as, for example, the photograph of the inscription on the Anta
of the Palace of Darius proves that the transcription of Westergaard
is correct, and that of Rich wrong (Plate XIII.). Another photograph
shows that the error in one of Niebuhr’s copies is due to a defect in
the original.[199] Elsewhere Niebuhr is shown to be even more careful
than Westergaard.[200] The photographs of the monuments and bas-reliefs
meet with a very varying measure of success. Some are so blurred and
indistinct that it is fortunate that they are each labelled in German,
French and English; otherwise we might doubt whether they are correctly
described.[201] Comparative success is reached more frequently, and
excellence occasionally. It is particularly unfortunate that the great
sculptured staircase has not been taken on a sufficiently large scale
to bring out the figures with distinctness (Pl. 77 ff.); Noeldeke is,
however, of opinion that it is the best view of them taken since Ouseley,
thus passing over both Porter and the two French artists, Texier and
Flandin. Among the most valuable views from Murgab are the two plates
showing the Tomb of Cyrus (Pl. 128-9). The series closes with what might
pass for a snowy mountain in Switzerland, but which is explained to be
fragments of a bas-relief at Pasargadae (Pl. 137). Noeldeke, like Texier,
fully believes in the destruction of some of the buildings by fire, and
he also considers that few of them were ever thoroughly completed; indeed
he attributes to that cause the absence of all traces of walls round
the Hall of Xerxes, or of a roof. He thinks there never were any more
columns than can now be identified, and that some even of these were left
unfinished. The same applies to the Entrance Porch; possibly the gates
on the North and South sides (which are supposed to have been part of
the general design) were never erected; nor the second pair of columns.
At the instigation of Dr. Andreas, a trench was dug into the Central
Mound, which had long been the object of so many conjectures, with the
disappointing result that it was found to contain nothing but cuttings
discarded by the masons.
Three years later, in 1881, these ruins were visited by M. Dieulafoy
and his wife, Madame Dieulafoy, who notwithstanding the disabilities of
her sex, has been appointed a Chevalier of the Legion of Honour and an
Officer of the Academy. The journey has resulted in the production of two
vast works: one an elaborate treatise on ‘L’Art antique de la Perse,’
in five volumes, petit in-folio, 1884, by Monsieur Dieulafoy; and a
single volume of massive proportions descriptive of their travels by the
valiant and industrious lady.[202] M. Dieulafoy is one of the best known
writers in France on architecture, and his opinions, though at times as
fanciful as those of M. Flandin, are always worthy of respect. Madame
Dieulafoy displayed marvellous pluck in the course of her adventures,
and extraordinary expansiveness in their relation. When the span of life
is lengthened to that enjoyed by the patriarchs, there will be time to
study her works at leisure. One other traveller should be named who has
given an admirable account of Persepolis, and, if detached from its
cumbrous surroundings, one more adapted to the pressure of modern times.
Lord Curzon visited Persia in 1889-90 and he has devoted a chapter of
his Travels (chap. xxi. vol. ii.) to the subject. It is by far the best
description we know, and affords all the information that need be sought.
He frequently calls attention to the extraordinary contradictions to be
found in the various writings on the subject, which, from the days of
Porter, it has been the constant aim of successive travellers to remove.
In mere matters of opinion there is, of course, no prospect of reaching
unanimity in this or in any other subject. Whether the great halls were
walled and roofed, or protected only by falling curtains; whether the
palaces were ever occupied as residences or reserved only for state
ceremonial, and a host of other disputed questions, will remain points of
controversy. Each successive traveller with pretensions to originality
to establish will continue to put forward new theories, and he will
illustrate the beauty of his imagination by elaborate drawings of his
conjectural restorations. These are inevitable failings of humanity and
must be treated with toleration; but it is different when mere questions
of fact are involved. After three centuries of travellers to Persepolis,
we have still to reiterate the desire of Fergusson that some one may yet
be found ‘who will go there with his eyes open, which does not seem yet
to have been the case.’[203] Although the sun itself has been summoned
to share in the task, even still there is a conflict of evidence as to
the number of windows in the Hall of the Hundred Columns, as to the
number and position of the columns in the Palace of Darius, and many
other points too tedious to mention. There may indeed be more important
questions in the world awaiting solution than even the exact construction
of a Persepolitan palace, but it is irritating to find, notwithstanding
our painful quest, that Truth evades our grasp in this as in weightier
matters.
Persepolis was fully known and its inscriptions translated before any
attempt was made to explore the site of Susa. Major Rennell was among the
first to identify it with Shus, about fifteen miles S.W. of Dizful.[204]
The place was visited in 1810 by Captains Kinneir and Monteith, who
were attached to the mission of Sir John Malcolm.[205] The former
describes the ruins as lying about seven or eight miles to the west of
Dizful and not unlike those of Babylon. He describes it as consisting
of a succession of mounds covered with fragments of bricks and coloured
tiles extending over nearly twelve miles. Two mounds attracted special
attention. The first rises to a height of a hundred feet and is about
a mile in circumference. At its base is the reputed Tomb of Daniel, a
building that appears comparatively modern. The other mound is not quite
so high, but it is nearly two miles in circumference. They are composed
of a mixture of brick and clay, with irregular layers of brick and mortar
five or six feet thick to serve as a prop. Large blocks of marble covered
with hieroglyphics were reported to be occasionally discovered by the
Arabs.[206] One of these—the famous ‘black stone’—was seen by Captain
Monteith near the Tomb of Daniel, where it had recently been rolled down
from the summit of the Citadel Hill. It was not more than twenty-two
inches long and twelve broad, but it had a cuneiform inscription on one
side, and various sacred emblems represented upon the other. He made
a sketch of it and might then have purchased it at a moderate price;
but, though not large, it was found impossible at that time to remove
it. Shortly afterwards two other Englishmen—the unfortunate Grant and
Fotheringham—offered seventy pounds for it, but their intention to take
it with them on their return was frustrated by their murder.[207] The
value set upon it by the foreigners raised it in the estimation of the
natives to such a height that the subsequent effort of Mr. Gordon to get
possession of it utterly failed (1812).[208] It was already invested
with the mysterious virtue of a talisman, and its loss, it was thought,
would involve the country in disaster. To secure its retention resort was
had to the singular expedient of blowing it into a hundred fragments by
gunpowder. The destruction, however, was not complete, and the fragments
were afterwards carefully collected, and secretly built into a pillar in
the Tomb of Daniel, where they now are. In 1836 Rawlinson was able to
pass two days amid the ruins in the course of his march from Zohab to
Shuster. His visit, he thought, had enabled him to ‘unravel the mystery
of the two rivers Eulaeus and Choaspes.’ He heard that the ‘black stone’
had been blown to pieces, but he was evidently not informed that the
fragments were collected and were then in the Tomb of Daniel. He was
rewarded, however, by the discovery of a broken obelisk with ‘a very
perfect inscription of thirty-three lines,’ which was afterwards found to
be written in Old Susian.[209] Five years later, Mr. Layard penetrated
into the tomb disguised in Arab dress, and was told by a dervish that the
precious inscription was buried there. In the outer court he was shown
one or two small capitals and other vestiges of columns that had fallen
from the mound; and also the fragment of a slab with a few cuneiform
characters almost obliterated. The mound appeared to him little inferior
in size to the Mujelibi, and he found and copied an inscription from a
marble slab nine feet long by two feet six inches broad.[210] It was
during this visit to Persia that he went to Malamir, in the valley of the
Upper Karun, south-east of Susa, where he copied two long inscriptions,
in a dialect of the Susian, one of thirty-six lines and the other
of twenty-four, and made drawings of the singular bas-reliefs which
accompany them.[211]
The first information of importance concerning Susa comes, however, from
Mr. Loftus. He was attached as geologist to Sir W. F. Williams’s mission
for the delimitation of the Turkish and Persian frontier, between 1849
and 1852. His first visit to Susa was made in May 1850. The ruins, he
says, cover an area of about 3½ miles in circumference, within which four
separate mounds are distinctly marked. The loftiest he estimated at about
2,850 feet round the summit, and it had evidently been the citadel.[212]
To the north is a larger mound at a lower elevation, and here it was
that he was rewarded by the discovery of the ancient palace. To the east
of these is another, which he calls the Great Platform; it covers sixty
acres, and does not exceed seventy feet in height. Beyond it, still
farther eastward, may be discerned some remains that indicate the place
where the city itself stood (No. 4 on plan).
The excavations were begun in 1851 and at first without decisive result.
Three trenches were ‘dug into the citadel mound to the depth of nineteen
feet, but failed to discover anything except portions of a brick
pavement, fragments of moulded composition-bricks stamped with cuneiform
and covered with green glaze.’[213]
It was not till the following year that Mr. Loftus succeeded in
excavating a building almost exactly similar to the Columnar Edifice at
Persepolis. He determined the position of twenty-one bases of the central
group; two bases in each row of the eastern colonnade, and three of the
western. On the north he found three bases, all in the inner row, and
it is still doubtful if there ever was a second row on this side.[214]
He ascertained that the building consisted, as at Persepolis, of a
central square of thirty-six columns, surrounded on three sides by a
colonnade, and we are indebted to him for the measurements. His opinion
is that the central group was roofed, but not enclosed by a wall, and
the space between it and the colonnades was open.[215] He searched in
vain for the traces of walls such as Fergusson suggested had existed
at Persepolis; and was the more convinced that none had ever existed
because he found distinct traces of foundations elsewhere. He brought
to light a trilingual inscription, repeated four times on the bases of
the columns, which were found to have been written by Artaxerxes Mnemon
(Inscr. S). They are of more than usual interest, for the King traces
his genealogy back to Hystaspes, and confirms thereby the statement of
Herodotus. He states also that he built the hall, or, as he calls it, the
Apadana, on the site of an earlier edifice erected by the great Darius,
and afterwards destroyed by fire during the reign of Artaxerxes I. He
likewise invokes Mithra and Anahita for the first time side by side with
Ormuzd as tutelary deities. Another evidence of degeneracy is seen in the
corruption of the language, which exhibits several grammatical solecisms.
Another short trilingual legend of the same king was found round a
column in a different part of the mound, and several detached bricks and
vases with the names of Darius and Xerxes, but no other trilinguals of
importance. On the other hand, the long inscription in thirty-three lines
found by Rawlinson on the Citadel Hill, and the two inscriptions found
by Layard at Malamir, gave rise to fresh difficulties. It was recognised
that the writing was different from any yet known; and the perplexity
was heightened when it was farther observed that they differed from one
another. Here, then, were two new methods of writing, and possibly two
new languages added to those already in hand; and there seemed to be no
end to the task imposed on the cuneiform student. For some time little
effort was made to grapple with these new problems. The script found on
the Citadel Hill received the provisional name of ‘Old Susian,’ and many
other specimens of it gradually accumulated. Subsequent investigations
have shown that the writing and language found at Susa and Malamir are
related to those in the second column of the trilingual inscriptions.
It is now ascertained that the Old Susian is the most ancient form; and
that the script and language of the second column descends from it,
through the medium of the script and language found at Malamir. The
Old Susian inscriptions were translated by Oppert in 1876, and those
of Malamir by Professor Sayce in 1885. These documents were generally
referred to kings contemporary with Sargon and Sennacherib, though others
subsequently found were attributed to the fourteenth century B.C. Still
later discoveries have proved that the Old Susian was in use at least as
early as B.C. 3000. The origin of the ‘New Susian’ of the second column
has thus been carried back to a great antiquity; and the existence of a
very ancient population in Elam, speaking a Scythic language has been
established. The relation between the Scythic of Elam and the Scythic of
Southern Babylonia has not yet, we believe, been universally admitted.
There are powerful interests at work to dwarf or deny the extension and
influence of the Turanian races, both in Elam and in Babylonia, and till
these have been surmounted, it will be difficult to estimate correctly
the exact state of the evidence.
It was not till thirty-three years had elapsed from the date of Mr.
Loftus’s discoveries that Susa was again visited. Upon this occasion
(1885) the enterprising traveller was M. Dieulafoy, whom we have already
mentioned, and it is to these two travellers that we owe nearly all
we know of its Achaemenian remains. Mr. Loftus must always enjoy the
honour of being the first to reconstruct the Columnar Hall, and it was
he also through whom the two inscriptions of Artaxerxes Mnemon became
first known. M. Dieulafoy, on the other hand, has largely increased our
knowledge of Persian art by the discovery of the enamelled friezes. The
service he has rendered towards the reconstruction of the buildings is
more problematical, for a large portion of it depends upon the justness
of the imaginative faculty, which is never a very sure guide in such
matters. He found three or four bases in the central cluster of the
Hall not previously excavated by Loftus; but they add nothing to our
knowledge of its construction, which the earlier traveller had already
fully determined. M. Dieulafoy’s most successful work was achieved on
the occasion of his second visit to Susa, in 1885. At first it was
difficult to collect workmen, but a few deserters from the army were
attracted, when it became known that the pay offered was about equal to
that of their colonel. Before the end of the month nearly three hundred
men were collected, and excavations were energetically pursued upon
each of the three hills. A double-headed bull, broken into convenient
fragments, was found in the eastern colonnade of the great Hall, and the
pavement of a terrace on the south was reached.[216] At length (March
21), large quantities of bricks and enamelled tiles were found which,
when put together, formed various devices, men and animals of gigantic
size, triangles of alternate blue, green and white, palm leaves and other
decorative designs, evidently parts of a frieze.[217] The brilliant
colours were marvellously preserved from having lain so long face
downwards. Soon after, the base of a column, signed by Artaxerxes Mnemon,
was found in the larger mound. Meanwhile Madame Dieulafoy supervised the
collection of the enamels, and as they were pieced together the floor
of her tent was gradually enlivened by the apparition of a magnificent
lion set in blue turquoise.[218] Numerous repetitions of the same device
were found, indicating a procession of these majestic animals. A few
cuneiform letters were also met, tinted with blue. The enamels had
clearly fallen from a great height, and had formed the decoration of the
upper portion of a wall. It was evident also that the building they came
from had been preceded by a still more ancient edifice to which some of
the bricks had belonged.[219] Almost as interesting was the discovery
close to their camp on the south side of the Apadana of the parapet of a
staircase richly ornamented with yellow and blue lotus flowers, set in a
rich green foundation.[220] The excavations conducted at two points of
the Citadel Hill had as yet proved unproductive. They had occupied fifty
men constantly for two months, and had only resulted in the discovery
of a few bricks with Susian texts, and some fragments of cut stone. Not
much more success had rewarded their attack upon the large mound to
the east. Here little was found except immense walls of crude brick and
the remains of a cemetery of Parthian times. Farther search had now,
however, to be postponed on account of the approach of the hot weather.
On April 28 work was suspended and the treasures packed. Fifty-five cases
were despatched, containing the lion frieze and the decoration of the
stairs. They were, however, seized at the Turkish frontier, and all the
attempts of M. Dieulafoy to smuggle them on board a French steamer were
frustrated. Fortunately, the head of the lion and many small objects
were hidden away in the personal luggage and thus escaped detention.
The travellers got back to France in July, and were then informed that
the Shah had revoked the firman and would not permit them to return. It
appears that the Mollahs at Dizful had discovered that the torrential
rains and threatening clouds that had lately visited the country were due
to the presence of the foreigners so near the holy Tomb of Daniel. The
infidels had disturbed the resting-places of the faithful and removed
the talismans buried by the prophets for the protection of Susiana. It
was abundantly proved that their unholy presence was always accompanied
by signs of divine wrath and followed by terrible plagues. After much
negotiation, however, leave to return was obtained, on condition that
the French Government would waive the claim to indemnity if, as seemed
probable, their agents should perish in their forthcoming visit. This
singular condition was subsequently modified, and while the Shah
disclaimed all responsibility for the safety of the mission, he renewed
the firman for a limited time.[221] It was perhaps partly in consequence
of these negotiations, and partly to stimulate the Turkish Government
to surrender the fifty-five cases still in their possession, that the
travellers re-appeared in the Persian Gulf on board a French man-of-war,
which had not been seen in those waters for three years. On their way
they stopped at Muscat, and the officers were duly entertained at the
Lawn Tennis Club by the ubiquitous English.[222]
M. Dieulafoy resumed operations at Susa on December 13, 1885. The firman
was to expire on April 1, and their funds were now reduced to 15,000
francs.[223] They accordingly determined to abandon the hope of a
thorough investigation and to content themselves with the humbler task
of filling the Museum. They now concentrated all their efforts on the
Palace Hill: by the end of the year they had come upon the foundation
of the Palace of Darius, which had been buried beneath the ruins of
the later Palace of Artaxerxes. At this depth they made their second
great discovery of enamelled tiles, bearing the design of the archers,
an ornament attached to an earlier structure. It was, however, found
sixty metres from the Apadana and could not, therefore, have been a
portion of the decoration of the palace.[224] At a little distance, in
the plain, they came upon a small Achaemenian building which Dieulafoy
declared to be a covered fire temple.[225] By the middle of February the
exhausted state of their finances compelled them to dismiss a hundred
of their workmen. The clearance of the palace, however, continued.
Several more bases were found, and another double bull, which was
shattered into portable form by a stroke from the powerful arm of the
lady Chevalier.[226] A sketch was also completed of the fortification
for two-thirds of its circumference, a work that produces a startling
effect upon the reader who looks at Plate 2. Little now remained but
the task of collecting their treasures. The process of packing and
superintending the removal of such weighty objects occupied the rest of
their time, and when they left, at the end of March, they brought away
three hundred and twenty-seven cases and forty-five tons of baggage. When
the difficult journey to the coast was successfully overcome, they found
a man-of-war ready to transport them safely back to France. They had
acquired inestimable archæological riches, which are now to be seen among
the precious collections of the Louvre. These remains of Achaemenian
palaces, as they say, were not torn from some splendid ruin, but called
back to life from the hidden embrace of the grave; and they were acquired
at the peril of their lives. The Susian mission waged an almost hopeless
battle and came off victorious.[227] We fear, however, that a good deal
of M. Dieulafoy’s industry was misdirected. If a third plate were to be
prepared, marking only the ‘Restorations directes d’après les fouilles,’
and omitting the lines indicating the ‘Restorations calculées’ and the
‘Restitutions hypothétiques,’ the reader would be surprised to see how
little of the ‘Acropole de Suse’ remained. The great staircase ascending
to the Apadana or Columnar Edifice seems to be also entirely without
authority, and his most ingenious speculations are to a great extent
completely overthrown by the excavations of his successor.
Since the mission of M. Dieulafoy, a most advantageous concession has
been made to France. In 1895 the Shah accorded to that favoured nation
an exclusive right to carry on archæological excavations throughout the
whole of his dominions. This concession was extended in August 1900, and
was rendered perpetual, with the farther privilege of retaining all the
artistic objects discovered.[228] M. de Morgan, who had already acquired
a great reputation by his travels in Persia and his work in Egypt, was
appointed in 1897 to carry on the explorations, and with the protection
of a Persian garrison he began his operations in December of that year.
They are still in progress, but he has been able to publish an account of
his discoveries up to the spring of 1899. He has been described as the
Prince of Excavators; and it is indeed a most fortunate circumstance that
this work should have fallen into such unusually competent hands. He has
ample time at his disposal, and sufficient means to employ no less than
five hundred men at a time. He is satisfied to carry out his undertaking
in a patient and painstaking manner. He has the merit of keeping his
imaginative faculty under severe restraint, and we have little cause
to apprehend an apparition of the airy fancies that so many of his
predecessors have substituted for solid toil.
In his excavations on the site of the Apadana, he has been unable to
verify the existence of the three bases belonging to the inner row of the
northern colonnade. They were, however, among the first to be discovered
by Mr. Loftus, and as he did not belong to the inventive group of
travellers there can be no doubt they are to be found.[229] De Morgan is
of opinion that the northern colonnade could never have contained more
than a single row of columns, on account of the nature of the ground,
which, he says, would not admit of more. His careful excavations between
the central group and the lateral colonnades have proved the entire
absence of any foundations upon which a solid structure could rest. It
is clear, therefore, that the building could never have been enclosed
by brick walls, adorned, as so commonly supposed, by enamelled designs.
The theory supported by the Book of Esther that it was protected only by
hanging curtains gains, therefore, probability, though we do not see that
the supposition of its having been surrounded by wood is excluded. Below
the foundations of Artaxerxes he found farther remains of the earlier
edifice of Darius. Among these were the round base of a column and part
of a bull-headed capital.[230] Elsewhere, lying at a still greater
depth, he came upon a fluted column of a style entirely different from
those in the more modern edifice. His investigations on the southern
side have dispelled any hope of finding a sculptured staircase as at
Persepolis.[231]
His discoveries have contributed largely to widen the range of
information concerning the ancient civilisation of Susiana. He has found
upwards of eight hundred bricks bearing the inscriptions of various
Elamite kings and patesis written in the Old Susian language; some of
these are said to go back to B.C. 3000, or earlier, and a few of them are
written, according to M. de Morgan, in Sumerian and others in Semitic.
Besides bricks, a bronze bas-relief, and a few archaic tablets and a
stele with Susian inscriptions have also been discovered. Other objects
not of Elamite origin have been met which it is reasonable to conclude
were captured in the course of successful raids. They go back to the
earliest days of Babylonian history. One is an obelisk of a King of
Kish who lived, it is said, so far back as B.C. 3850.[232] Another is a
bas-relief of the famous Naram Sin carried off from Sippara; a third is
a brick of the same king, a possible indication that he was at one time
the suzerain of the country, and contributed to the embellishment of its
temples. In addition to these, many boundary stones have been found,
all relating to land in Chaldæa belonging to the late Cossaean period,
which prove how successful the Elamites continued to be in removing their
neighbours’ landmarks.[233]
Perhaps of greater interest is the glimpse these excavations have
afforded of a still more distant past. M. de Morgan found that the
Citadel Hill has reached its present altitude of one hundred and twenty
feet above the plain entirely by the accumulation of deposit left by
successive generations of settlers.
He sank a series of mines of considerable length into the side of the
hill, and at various depths, down to 24·90 metres below the surface. The
Achaemenian remains reach no farther down than 4·50 metres, and this
stratum represents a period extending over 2,500 years. If we assume a
similar rate of deposit for the remainder we arrive at more than B.C.
12,000 for the date of the lowest stratum examined. It is very remarkable
that it was precisely at this depth, representing in any case an
extremely remote period, that he found the most finished pottery, adorned
with the most perfect artistic designs; and these, he has no doubt, could
not have been produced except in a high state of civilisation.[234] There
is some resemblance between these objects and others recently found in
Egypt and ascribed to B.C. 6000.[235] This early civilisation seems to
have been swept away by the invasion of a people in a much less advanced
condition, who occupied the country for a long period of time;[236] it is
not till these had disappeared and we ascend to a level of 12·95 metres
below the surface that we come to the beginning of the Elamite deposit.
It has a thickness of from eight to nine metres, which, according to our
estimate, would require about five thousand years to form. It was in this
stratum, between 4·50 and 12·95 metres below the surface that he made his
principal discoveries. Here he came upon the walls of Elamite palaces and
temples, which have enabled him to show that the method of decoration by
means of enamelled brick of exquisite colour and design was extensively
practised. The quantity of carbonised material leads to the conclusion
that wood was largely employed in the construction of these edifices;
and the remains of columns prove that the Persians derived their idea of
columnar architecture direct from their predecessors. The inscriptions
so recently found are still in the hands of Father Scheil, who is now
engaged in the work of decipherment. They show, he says, the influence
of Semitic speech in Elam at an early period, and the advocates of the
antiquity of Semitic civilisation begin to hope they may still have
occasion to rejoice.
Very few other inscriptions remain for us to notice. Before the
end of the eighteenth century a vase of Xerxes was discovered in
Egypt containing a trilingual inscription translated into Egyptian
hieroglyphics. It was described by Caylus (after whom it was named),
and was long the object of much learned curiosity (Inscr. Qᵃ). Another
inscription was found near Suez, in A.D. 1800, and published in the
‘Travels of Denon,’ in 1807. It contains a legend of Darius, and appears
to have belonged to a larger monument, afterwards partly recovered, but
which has since been entirely destroyed. It was engraved upon a stele
and was also quadrilingual: having three cuneiform inscriptions on one
side and the Egyptian hieroglyphics on the other. On the Persian side
were two human figures with their hands resting upon three cartouches.
To the right was the Persian, to the left the Susian, and below the
Babylonian text, with the legend ‘Darius the great king, king of
kings, king of lands, the king of the wide earth, son of Hystaspes the
Achaemenian.’[237] Below, occupying the whole face of the stele, was
the longer inscription in twelve lines with the Persian on the top and
the others under. Nearly the whole of the Susian was lost, and only a
few letters of the Babylonian remained.[238] It begins with the long
introductory form, and Darius goes on to say that he has conquered Egypt;
and commanded a canal to be dug from the Nile to the ‘sea which is in
communication with Persia.’[239] It seems to say that the king ordered
the half of the canal toward the sea to be destroyed.[240] It is supposed
that this was done in accordance with the advice of the engineers who
thought the Red Sea was above the level of the Mediterranean (Inscr. Sᶻ).
Two other inscriptions have also been found in Egypt: one on a crystal
cylinder now in the British Museum and first described by Grotefend in
his ‘Neue Beiträge’ of 1840. It represents Darius in the act of killing
a lion. The king is standing upright in a chariot with the tiara upon
his head, and carrying a bent bow in his hand. Above him is the winged
figure, and in the background a trilingual inscription with the legend
‘I [am] Darius the king.’ The other occurs upon a vase of grey marble,
and like the one of Caylus, it is quadrilingual. It was first made
known by Longpérier in the ‘Revue Archéologique’ (1844), through an
imperfect copy taken by the Abbé Giacchetti, but a complete transcript
was afterwards sent by Sir Gardner Wilkinson to Rawlinson. It reads
simply: ‘Artaxerxes the great king.’ It is known as the Venice vase, and
is preserved in the Museum of St. Mark’s (Inscr. Qᵇ). A few other vases
were afterwards found at Susa and at Halicarnassus, but they all repeat
the same legend as that found upon the Caylus vase. A short inscription
of Darius, containing the long introductory form already described, is
also mentioned by Gobineau as having been found near Kermanshah.[241] Two
unilingual inscriptions, one of Arsaces and the other of Pharnuches, were
also afterwards found on seal cylinders which, with the trilingual of
Darius in the British Museum (Nᵃ) raise the number to three in all.[242]
CHAPTER III
DECIPHERMENT OF THE FIRST OR PERSIAN COLUMN—TYCHSEN TO LASSEN, A.D.
1798-1836.
We have already called attention to the important services rendered
by Niebuhr to the study of the cuneiform inscriptions. The copies he
made at Persepolis were by far the most accurate that had hitherto
appeared, and the scholars who first applied themselves to the difficult
task of decipherment worked chiefly upon them. He pointed out that the
inscriptions generally occur in groups of three columns, and that in
each the cuneiform signs are different. He pointed out also that the
three different systems always recur in the same definite order: the
signs characteristic of the first, second and third columns in one
inscription always correspond to those of the first, second and third
columns in the others. He observed also that the signs characteristic of
the first column are evidently much simpler than those in the other two.
After a careful comparison of the various places where they are found,
he remarked that they were limited to forty-two in number; and these he
collected and published together in his Plate 23, where they occupy a
position that might at first sight lead the reader to suppose that they
formed a part of the ornamentation of the sculptured staircase.[243]
This is the first cuneiform alphabet ever published, and it was not the
least important service rendered by Niebuhr to the study. Its formation
was not so simple as might be supposed, and it would have been difficult
to accomplish it except by a minute study of the monuments themselves.
The inscriptions had hitherto been so imperfectly copied that no mere
collation of them, however carefully made, could have succeeded in
eliminating the whole of the faulty signs arising from the errors of
the transcriber. The accidental addition or omission of a wedge, or an
alteration in its direction, had the effect of magnifying the apparent
number of the letters. It is a singular proof of the accuracy of
Niebuhr’s judgment that he should have been so successful in this first
attempt to distinguish between the genuine and the defective letters. In
his list of forty-two signs, he has only introduced nine that are not
true letters, including the sign that was afterwards found to be the mark
of separation between the words.[244] On the other hand, amid all the
conflicting signs found in the copyists, he passed over only two that
are genuine: one (𐎦) is included by Grotefend in his list of defective
signs; the other (𐎵) was first added to the alphabet by Rawlinson.[245]
It proved of great advantage to concentrate the attention of scholars
upon signs that were for the most part genuine, and to save them the
dissipation of energy that would have resulted if they had been left to
wander unguided among the inscriptions themselves. Niebuhr rendered a
farther service by separating each group of wedges that formed a letter
by a colon, an idea he copied from the Zend; and the eye thus soon
becomes accustomed to recognise the complicated combinations that belong
to each other. While he contributed so much to the correct apprehension
of the alphabet, it is singular that he never remarked that the words
themselves are regularly separated from each other by a diagonal wedge.
This fundamental fact also escaped the notice of Tychsen, who was the
first to make a serious attempt at decipherment. Tychsen’s family was
of Norwegian descent, but he was born in the small town of Tondern, in
Schleswig Holstein, in 1734. Although of humble origin, he was sent to
the University of Halle, where he early acquired a taste for Oriental
languages. He was appointed a lecturer in the University of Bützow (1760)
and subsequently transferred to the more important post of librarian and
curator of the Museum at Rostock (1789). He attained a great reputation
by his knowledge of Hebrew and Rabbinical archæology; and he was the
first to lay the foundation of modern Biblical criticism. His Oriental
studies embraced Arabic and Syriac; and he also wrote on the Cufic
inscriptions preserved in Venice and London. His works include six
volumes of archæological papers, which he calls ‘Pastimes of Bützow,’ ‘A
History of the Rostock Library’ (1790), and two treatises on Arabic and
Syriac (1791 and 1793). He is also mentioned as having written a treatise
on Zoroaster. His opinions on cuneiform are contained in a curious
tract entitled ‘De Cuneatis Inscriptionibus Persepolitanis Lucubratio’
(1798). He agreed with Niebuhr that the inscriptions are to be read
from left to right, and that the three columns contain three different
kinds of writing, which he thought concealed three different languages,
probably the Parthian, Median and Bactrian.[246] He recognised that the
characters in the first column are by far the simplest, and it is on
them that he fastened his attention. By some means which he has failed
adequately to explain,[247] he professes to be able to transliterate the
cuneiform signs, and he has gratified the curiosity of the reader by
presenting him with a table showing the values he has found for a great
variety of signs, among which he admitted several that are defective.
He saw that more than one sign may be used for the same sound; and he
assigned four each to the letters _l_, _r_, _s_ and _x_. Conversely,
he thought that the same sign might express the most diverse sounds.
_E_, _n_, _t_, are given as the different values of a single sign, No.
5 (𐎿). _B_, _k_, _r_, and _b_, _x_, _y_, are assigned respectively to
two others, Nos. 27 (𐎹) and 31 (𐎴); while two different values for the
same sign are quite common. Like many of his successors, he recognised
a profusion of vowels, and he has allotted nine different signs to his
three forms _a_, _ä_, _ă_. It is scarcely surprising that out of the
nine, one turned out to be correct, No. 21 (𐎠); and of the four signs he
allotted to _s_, one was correct, No. 38 (𐏁). He was also successful in
detecting the signs for _d_ and _u_: but as his system was based upon
no intelligible principle, these results were purely accidental, and
could not afford a guide to future inquirers.[248] Having succeeded to
his satisfaction in finding known equivalents for the unknown signs,
and being thereby enabled to transliterate the cuneiform text, the
next step was to endeavour to make some sense of it. This he sought to
do by comparing the singular words that resulted from his system with
those of languages he thought must be the most nearly allied, such as
Zend, Pehlevi, Chaldee, Arabic, Syriac and Armenian.[249] He failed to
recognise fully the intention of the diagonal wedge, so that upon some
occasions he rendered it by the conjunction ‘and.’ He had, however, the
merit of pointing out that a particular group of seven cuneiform letters
were continually recurring, often followed by the same group with three
or four other letters added to the termination. These are enclosed by
diagonal wedges, and we now know they are single words, the simplest
form being the nominative singular of ‘King,’ and the two longer the
same word with the addition of the genitive singular and the genitive
plural terminations. But Tychsen had no suspicion, at this time at least,
that the letters occurring between the diagonals must be treated as one
word,[250] nor that the terminal variation was a grammatical inflexion.
Accordingly he makes the simple form of seven letters represent two
words, which he transliterates and translates Osch Aksak, ‘is Aksak’; and
the two longer groups he treats as three words—Osch Aksak yka, ‘is Aksak
divus,’ for the first; and Osch Aksak acha, ‘is Aksak perfectus,’ for the
second.[251] The personage named Aksak, whom he had thus evolved, he took
to be Arsaces, the founder of the Parthian dynasty; and he accordingly
found himself compelled to attribute the inscriptions and monuments to
that comparatively late date.[252] Tychsen’s efforts at translation were
exhausted by his rendering of the B and G Inscriptions of Niebuhr both
of which he found to belong to Aksak; but he has transliterated the
Inscriptions A, H, I, and L, for the benefit of other scholars who may
wish to read some meaning into them. The curious feature of his system
is that some of his letters actually turned out to be correct, such as
his _a_, _u_, _s_, or _sch_. But as these results are purely accidental
he cannot be allowed to have made any real contribution to cuneiform
decipherment.
Immediately after the appearance of his tract, it was assailed by Witte,
a professor of his own university, who seized that occasion to revive the
old view of Dr. Hyde that the cuneiform characters were simply designed
as a fantastic ornamentation and had no other signification.[253] On the
appearance of Grotefend’s system, Tychsen had the singular magnanimity
to abandon his own and he became one of the principal exponents of the
theories of the younger scholar.
In the same year (1798) that Tychsen published his ‘Lucubratio,’ a paper
on the same subject was read before the Royal Academy of Copenhagen, by
Dr. Münter. Münter’s father, who was a clergyman and a poet, was born
at Lübeck and died at Copenhagen, where he was pastor of the German
church. His son Frederick was born at Gotha, in 1761, but his youth was
passed at Copenhagen, and many of his works were written in Danish and
subsequently translated into German. Like his father, he entered the
Church, and became a Professor of Theology at Copenhagen, and eventually
rose to be the Bishop of Seeland (1808). He was a very prolific writer,
especially upon theological subjects. His works include a ‘History of
Dogma’ (1801), a ‘History of the Danish Reformation’ (1802), and the
last, which is considered to be the most important, was on the ‘Symbols
and Works of Art of the Early Christians,’ published in Altona, 1824. He
also acquired considerable reputation as a philologist and Orientalist.
His paper on the Cuneiform Inscriptions was published in Danish in 1800,
and translated into German in 1802. It was not till then that it became
accessible to the general reading public, and very soon afterwards M.
de Sacy noticed it in the ‘Magasin Encyclopédique.’[254] Münter had
long been in correspondence with Tychsen on the subject of their common
studies; but the two scholars arrived at widely different results.
While the latter invented a system of interpretation that enabled him
to transliterate the inscriptions with comparative facility, the former
could not admit that the solution of the difficulty rested upon any
satisfactory basis. His own contribution, if much more modest, is not on
that account less valuable.
Münter, in the first place, rendered important service to his successor,
Grotefend, by sweeping away the foolish conjecture that the inscriptions
belonged to the Parthian age, and with it the misleading inference that
the name of Arsaces was to be sought for among them. In a few masterly
pages, remarkable alike for wide knowledge and accurate judgment, he
showed that Persepolis could only be referred to the Achaemenian kings,
an opinion that had already gained the support of Heeren, in opposition
to the authority of Herder, who ascribed it to the mythological age of
Jamshid.[255] It might be thought that the claims of Darius or Jamshid to
be the founder of Persepolis would not give rise to heated discussion;
yet in the beginning of last century the tranquillity of Göttingen was
convulsed by the fierce controversy that raged between the two learned
advocates of the rival theories.[256]
Münter did not profess to be able to transliterate and still less to
translate the inscriptions. His pretensions were limited to a very
tentative endeavour to assign values to thirteen characters; and of
these, four were not derived from Niebuhr’s list, and they turned out
to be merely errors of the copyist. Having fixed the date of Persepolis
and presumably therefore of the inscriptions, he inferred that the
language must be closely allied to the Zend or the Pehlevi. He made a
minute investigation of all the cuneiform inscriptions that were known
in his day in Europe, and studied Kaempfer and Le Bruyn with the same
attention as he studied Niebuhr. He accepted Niebuhr’s division of the
Persepolitan inscriptions into three different kinds of writing; and
he conjectured that the first was alphabetical, the second syllabic,
and the third ideographic. The latter he thought bore some resemblance
to Chinese. He saw that the language of the first column admitted of
too many vowels to be closely related to the Pehlevi. He was, on the
whole, disposed to think that the three columns contained translations
of the same text into different languages, which might probably be
Zend, Pehlevi and Parsi.[257] On this point, however, he did not
consider the evidence sufficient to exclude all doubt. Indeed, he said
the three columns might turn out to be in the same language, expressed
in different characters.[258] He studied carefully the inscriptions
that occur on vases, cylinders and bricks from Babylon, a few of which
were then beginning to find their way to the European museums and
the private collections of Sir W. Ouseley and Mr. Townley. The most
important of these was upon the vase described by Caylus, which, in
addition to the cuneiform inscription, was also inscribed with Egyptian
hieroglyphics.[259] Tychsen pronounced the latter to be Phoenician, and
he believed that the urn itself had formerly contained the ashes of
his friend Aksak.[260] Münter made the more important remark that the
characters on the Babylonian relics were nearly identical with that of
the third Persepolitan column.
Meanwhile, he devoted his attention exclusively to the simplest form of
writing, which is found in the first column; and he speedily recognised
that the diagonal wedge which occurs so frequently was evidently intended
to separate one word from the other. He compared it to the cypress tree
that divides the groups in the procession on the sculptured staircase
seen at Persepolis; and adds that in one of the old Hindu alphabets the
words are similarly separated by a small oval.[261] This discovery, now
announced for the first time, had till then escaped the observation of
Tychsen, who, it will be remembered, fancied he found three different
words enclosed within the same diagonals. In order to find values for
the cuneiform letters, he had recourse to a twofold method. He sought
out the signs that recurred the most frequently and that were the most
uniformly repeated in the same word, for he concluded that these would
naturally turn out to be vowels. He soon identified three in particular
(𐎠, 𐎹, 𐏂) that were constantly recurring: the first in almost every word,
and occasionally several times in the same word.[262] In the inscriptions
analysed, he found that the first was repeated 183 times, the second 146,
and the third 107 times.[263] He then proceeded to compare the forms
of these letters with those of the vowels in other kindred languages;
and he thought he discerned a strong resemblance between the first and
third in the Zend character for _a_ and in the Armenian for _o_.[264] He
could not find a letter anywhere that resembled the second. However, he
observed another cuneiform sign that also recurred with great frequency
(𐎶), and which might easily bear comparison with the Zend letter for _a_
long.[265] A likeness between a defective cuneiform sign ([Persian]) and
the Zend letter for _i_ gave him a fourth vowel. Similar considerations
led him to assign the values of _ou_ _w_ _ii_ _y_ to another sign (𐏁),
a conjecture that turned out to be less happy than that of Tychsen, who
accidentally hit upon its correct value, _s_. Münter had now pointed out
six signs he thought expressed vowels (viz. 𐎠 _e_ or _a_, 𐎹?, 𐎡 _o_,
𐎶 _a_, [Persian] _i_, 𐏁 _ou_, &c.). The second he dropped out of his
alphabet, for after careful search he could find no letter in any other
alphabet to give him a clue to its value. The fifth was not a genuine
letter; and of the four that remained two were, as he surmised, vowels
(Nos. 1 and 3). The other two were both consonants. Only one of the
former—the first, _a_—was found to be correct; but it had already been
recognised by Tychsen. The other—the _o_—was afterwards found to be _i_.
He also identified seven other signs with the consonants _p_, _kh_ (two),
_r_, _r_ strong, _s_ and _b_, which he obtained by the simple process of
comparing them with other letters found in Zend, Armenian and Georgian,
to which they had ‘no small similarity.’[266] Three of the signs he
selected were not genuine; and of the four others the only one that was
correct was _b_ (𐎲). His efforts in this direction were thus limited to
finding correct values for two signs (_a_ and _b_).[267]
Like Tychsen, he was attracted by the frequent repetition of the word
of seven letters. In one short inscription it may be found five times,
and it is repeated at least twenty-eight times in the inscriptions
copied by Niebuhr. He also observed that the same seven letters occur
frequently with a terminal addition of three or four other letters, and
this word is immediately preceded by the simpler form in seven letters.
He concluded that the additional letters must be an inflexion: not, as
Tychsen thought, an independent word, such as ‘pius’ or ‘perfectus.’
Münter confessed his inability to read the word, but he regarded it as
the key of the whole alphabet.[268] His first impression corresponded
with that of Tychsen, in so far as he supposed it to be a proper
name.[269] But its recurrence so frequently seemed to discredit this
supposition, particularly as no name of any king of the Achaemenian
dynasty appeared to fit into seven letters.[270] Then he assumed it must
be a title, possibly ‘king of kings,’ and in that case he clearly saw
that the preceding word must be the name of the king. Here he had got on
the right track, for the word does in fact signify ‘king,’ and the one
that precedes it, at the beginning of the inscriptions, was afterwards
found to be the royal name; but he ultimately rejected this explanation,
because in Niebuhr’s Table A it followed a word of two letters, which
could not possibly express the name of any of the Achaemenian kings. The
passage he refers to happens to be erroneously copied, for a diagonal
wedge has been introduced where there should be a letter, and Münter
was misled by this unfortunate mistake. He thus abandoned an hypothesis
that, if persevered in, might have led to some result. He may also have
thought that the word of seven letters was too long to be simply ‘king,’
and consequently he made the unfortunate guess that it signified ‘king
of kings.’ This assumption stood greatly in the way of his arriving at
the correct meaning. The truth is that the two words already referred
to as occurring together are required to make up the signification of
‘king of kings,’ the second being merely a repetition of the first with
the addition of the genitive termination, corresponding to ‘rex’ and
‘regum.’ Münter could derive no assistance from a Zend grammar, for at
that time none had been written.[271] What information he collected by
his own study afforded him no help in the present matter. According to
his transliteration, he knew three out of the four letters with which
the longer word terminates: these were _e_; an unknown sign, possibly a
_j_, followed by _ea_; but Zend could not guide him to the signification
of the inflexion ‘ejea.’ The transliteration was at fault, for the
four letters are really ‘anam,’ which corresponds exactly to the Zend
genitive plural. To be thus baffled when so near the truth is a curious
illustration of how completely even an exceptionally keen inquirer may
fail to recognise what might seem self-evident. With the very phrase
‘king of kings’ constantly present to his mind, it never struck him that
two words occurring one after the other, and differing in only what he
recognised to be an inflexion, were precisely the ‘king of kings’ he was
in search of.[272]
In this dilemma De Sacy suggested that the word or words were probably a
religious formula, such as an invocation of God or the Ferhouer, and this
opinion gained confirmation by its occurrence on cylinders and bricks
which Münter had no doubt were inscribed with magical incantations. He
was thus led far away from the true solution.[273]
Münter made a careful study of the words that showed a change of
termination, and he drew up a list of seven of the most common
inflexions.[274] The two last in this list are the ones added so often to
the enigmatical word he vainly sought to read, and which are, as we now
know, the signs of the genitive singular and plural.
His inquiries did not pretend to go beyond the first or simplest species
of writing, but he took occasion to point out the signs in the second
and third columns that correspond to the word of seven letters. Their
identification, he argued, is indisputable, for when the word occurs
twice in succession in the first column the corresponding signs are
similarly repeated in the second and third; and their restricted form
clearly indicates that they must be syllabic or ideographic.[275]
The Persepolitan inscriptions were now tolerably well known to
persons interested in such matters, by the plates of Le Bruyn and more
especially by those of Niebuhr. But the inscriptions from Babylon had
only just begun to attract notice. So far back indeed as the beginning
of the seventeenth century Della Valle, as we have seen, had sent a few
inscribed bricks to Rome, but they had received little attention.[276]
Later travellers do not appear to have mentioned the existence of
these curious relics till the end of the eighteenth century, when Père
Emanuel, a Carmelite, who resided at Bagdad, gave a description of
them in a manuscript referred to by D’Anville in the Memoirs of the
Academy of Inscriptions.[277] Soon afterwards the Abbé Beauchamp, in
his account of Hillah, says he found ‘large and thick bricks imprinted
with unknown characters, specimens of which I have presented to the
Abbé Barthélemy.’[278] His account excited some interest, and it was
translated into English in 1792, and also into German by Witte of
Rostock. Several of the bricks were deposited in the National Library at
Paris, and plaster casts of them were sent to Herder and Münter. Shortly
afterwards the same collection was enriched by the Egyptian vase already
mentioned, which Count Caylus had discovered, and which he described
in his ‘Recueil d’Antiquités.’[279] About the same time also various
cylinders and bricks found their way to different European museums and
private collections. Drawings of a few of these were also to be found in
Caylus; and in 1800 Münter published two others from Babylonian bricks
that had not seen the light before.[280]
Meanwhile the directors of the East India Company gave instructions to
the Resident at Bussorah to secure ten or a dozen specimens for their
museum (1797). They said they had heard that near Hillah ‘there exist the
remains of a very large and magnificent city, supposed to be Babylon,
and that the bricks contain an indented scroll or label in letters
totally different from any now made use of in the East.’[281] The bricks
reached London in 1801, and the task of copying and describing them was
entrusted to Joseph Hager. Hager was a curious specimen of the wandering
scholar, and he enjoyed a reputation that appears to have been quite out
of proportion to his acquirements. He was of Austrian descent, but he
was born at Milan in 1757, and died at Pavia in 1819. He early took to
the study of Oriental languages, and especially Chinese. He roamed about
Europe, visiting all the libraries from Constantinople to Madrid, and
from Leyden and Oxford to the south of Italy. He wrote both in Italian
and German, and apparently also in English and French. One of his first
works was in German on a Literary Imposture (1799), and he became known
in England as a contributor to Ouseley’s Oriental Collections, and by
a book on the ‘Elementary Characters of the Chinese’ (1801). It was in
this year that his Memoir on the Babylonian Inscriptions was written,
and shortly afterwards he settled in Paris, and was commissioned by
Napoleon to compile a Dictionary of Chinese in Latin and French (1802).
For this he was to receive 6,000 francs a year; but after some time a
suspicion arose as to his qualifications and industry. The result of
an inquiry was that he was removed from his post, and he left France
in 1806. We afterwards find him a teacher of German at Oxford, and in
1809 he retired to Pavia to fill the chair of Oriental Languages. He
wrote several books on Chinese, including a Grammar, a Prospectus of a
Dictionary, a ‘Panthéon Chinois,’ and the like; but they were severely
handled by the most competent critics. He, however, accomplished his work
on the Inscriptions with a fair degree of merit. He began by publishing
one of them in the ‘Monthly Magazine’ (August 1801) without note or
commentary. It fell into the hands of a M. Lichtenstein, and gave rise to
a very foolish essay, to which reference will shortly be made. Next year
Hager published the others, accompanied by a learned Dissertation on the
subject.[282] He pointed out, as indeed had been already done by Münter,
that the characters on the bricks are ‘formed of nearly the same elements
and nail-headed strokes’ as at Persepolis; but he showed for the first
time that the system of writing must have originated among the Chaldæans,
who ‘were a celebrated people when the name of the Persians was scarcely
known.’[283] He considered that many ancient alphabets were derived from
the cuneiform, even including Devanagari, the oldest Sanscrit character,
which was popularly ascribed to Divine revelation.[284] He finds many of
the Babylonian characters the prototypes of Samaritan or Cuthean, and
the similar Phoenician letters. Finally he shows with striking effect
the wedge-like and angular origin of our own alphabetical system.[285]
He called attention to the ancient custom of cutting inscriptions upon
pillars and columns, and he considers it natural on that account to
find that ‘the writing of the ancients was perpendicular rather than
horizontal, columns and pillars being much fitter for the former manner
of writing than for the latter.’[286] Such at least was the direction
of the Egyptian, Ethiopian and Chinese. On account of the absence of
stone in Babylon, it was necessary to substitute bricks, and we learn
from Clement of Alexandria that Democritus took his treatise on Morals
from an inscription written on a brick column.[287] The columnar origin
of writing is perhaps the reason that the inscription on the Babylonian
bricks is, as Hager asserts, ‘perpendicular rather than horizontal,’
an opinion he thinks he can prove by the gems he has studied. Various
conjectures as to the subject of the legend on the bricks had been put
forward. Münter and Grotefend thought it was a talisman;[288] others that
it recorded some historical event or an astronomical observation; but
Hager suggested that the subject was probably the same as that on the
Roman bricks: that is to say, that it recorded the name and the place of
the maker—a suggestion that turned out to be very nearly correct. He had
no doubt that the writing was the same as that discussed by Democritus
in his lost treatise, and which is referred to by many of the classical
writers.[289] He considers that it is ideographic, ‘for we find single
groups composed of abundance of nails, like the various strokes in the
Chinese characters, all different from each other and different from
the Persepolitan.’ Nor does he consider that they were developed from
hieroglyphics, but deliberately ‘formed and combined by an arbitrary
institution, and designed to express, not letters nor syllables, but
either whole sentences or whole words.’[290] Finally he suggests that the
Persepolitan mode of writing was directly derived from the Babylonian
by simply laying the perpendicular inscription upon its side; by that
means the heads of the wedges that were originally at the top are now all
turned to the left, and the inscription that was originally read from top
to bottom becomes by its changed position always read from left to right.
‘If we turn our perpendicular characters in such a manner as to make them
lie in a horizontal direction, the effect will be exactly what takes
place in the Persian writing.’[291] This is a remarkable anticipation of
a much later discovery.
Hager’s book was still going through the press when another important
inscription was added to the Paris Library (1802). It is on a stone
found by M. Michaux at Tak Kasra below Bagdad. The Vase of Caylus and
the Caillou Michaux continued for a time to be the two most celebrated
samples of the Persepolitan and Babylonian styles in Europe. Later on,
the Persepolitan collection was enriched by the discovery of the ‘Suez
Stone,’ published in the ‘Travels of Denon,’ in 1807. But all these were
entirely eclipsed by the long inscription found at Babylon and sent
by Sir Harford Jones to the India House. It was long known simply as
the India House Inscription, till later knowledge proved it to be the
Standard Inscription of Nebuchadnezzar. Shortly afterwards (1808) the
Library of Trinity College, Cambridge, received an inscription from Sir
John Malcolm of which we hear little till a much later period.
We have said that an inscription published by Hager without commentary
in 1801 fell into the hands of Lichtenstein, who made it the subject
of a Memoir published in the ‘Brunswick Magazine.’[292] This eccentric
writer put forward the theory that the bricks concerning which so much
noise was being made were in fact not older than the seventh or eighth
century A.D., and that the characters bore a ‘striking resemblance’ to
Cufic.[293] Nothing more was necessary than to remove the arbitrary
additions of unnecessary wedges, in order to detect the Cufic symbols
they concealed. Unlike most other scholars, he chiefly studied the
Babylonian bricks and the most complicated of the Persepolitan systems;
and he regarded an entire group of characters as only one letter. Having
reduced it to the necessary simplicity by simply dropping out all the
inconvenient wedges till he could discover something that suggested the
appearance of a Cufic letter, he was enabled to draw up an alphabet by
which he read all the cuneiform inscriptions with the greatest ease.[294]
He then discovered that the language was an ancient form of Arabic and
should be read from right to left. He was quite surprised that Hager
should have been so deluded by wild dreams of Belus and Semiramis that he
failed to see that his bricks ‘contained only a few miserable sentences
in Arabic.’ What the Arabic words really were he did not consider it
necessary to disclose to the public, but he communicated a few of them to
De Sacy, who pronounced that they were not Arabic at all. Lichtenstein
was good enough to translate Hager’s brick, and found that it was a
prayer; from thence he passed on to Niebuhr’s inscriptions, and selected
the difficult specimens (C, E, and L, Pl. 24). From C he obtained the
most astonishing result. The words ran as follows: ‘The King, the
Sovereign, Prince of all Princes, the Lord Saleh, Jinghis, son of
Armerib, governor-general for the Emperor of China, Orkhan Saheb.’[295]
Encouraged by this striking success, he next took in hand the long
inscription on the Caillou Michaux. It was written, he says, in Armenian,
and contains an exhortation addressed by a priest of the ‘Temple of the
God of the Dead’ to certain women mourning their departed friends.[296]
De Sacy, from whom our information is taken, gives more than a page of
this pious effusion, which he says is not more than a sixth part of the
translation. It is needless to say that the whole is a pure invention.
Indeed it does not clearly appear whether the Memoir was intended by
Lichtenstein as a _jeu d’esprit_, or whether it was simply an impudent
imposture. It is certainly curious that he succeeded in getting himself
treated seriously. Besides the solemn review and confutation by De Sacy
from which we quote, we find so late as 1820 that Grotefend still thought
it necessary to combat his theories, and De Sacy even at that period
classified together ‘the conjectures of Lichtenstein and the labours of
Grotefend’ as equally open to suspicion.[297]
We now come to the scholar to whose ingenuity we owe the first real
success that was achieved in deciphering the cuneiform letters.
George Frederick Grotefend was born at Münden, Hanover, in 1775. He
was sent to the University of Göttingen in 1795, where two years later
he obtained a tutorship. He applied himself to the study of philology
under Heyne, and in 1803 he became Pro-Rector. Soon afterwards he was
transferred to the Gymnasium of Frankfort on the Maine; and in 1821 he
became Rector of the Lyceum at Hanover, where he died in 1853. He was
always an industrious student, but he failed in after life to follow up
his first great success; and if it had not been for it, his name would
probably never have been known. In 1817 he published a Latin Grammar,
which was translated into English under the supervision of Dr. Arnold;
and subsequently he did some useful service by his inquiries into the
early Italian languages. In 1835 he published a book on the Rudiments of
the Umbrian, and, in 1837, another on the Oscan, and these were followed
in 1840 by a Geography and History of Ancient Italy. The paper on the
Cuneiform Inscriptions that first brought him into notice was read before
the Göttingen Academy on September 4, 1802; and, curiously enough, at the
same sitting Heyne first called attention to the Greek inscription on the
Rosetta Stone, from which the reading of Egyptian hieroglyphics takes its
departure.[298]
Grotefend himself informs us that he had no special knowledge of Oriental
languages,[299] and many of his critics, who were probably quite as
ignorant as himself, took care that the fact should not be forgotten.
Although he had no special qualification in this respect for the task
he undertook, yet he early displayed a remarkable aptitude for the
solution of riddles: a peculiar talent which he shared in common with
Dr. Hincks, who also acquired great distinction as a cuneiform scholar.
In consequence of this peculiarity a friend induced him to turn his
attention to Niebuhr’s enigmatical inscriptions, which were then exciting
very general curiosity;[300] and he now disclosed the result to the
Academy. He communicated the substance of it to the ‘Göttingen Literary
Gazette’ (Sept. 18, 1802); and in the following year Silvestre de Sacy,
the well-known Arabic scholar, gave a full account of it in the ‘Magasin
Encyclopédique’ of Millin.[301] It was subsequently reported in the
well-known Vienna periodical, the ‘Fundgruben des Orients’;[302] and in
1815 Grotefend had the opportunity of explaining the matter in his own
words in an appendix to Heeren’s ‘Historical Researches.’[303]
The careful investigations of Münter were found of great service by
his more successful follower. Münter had already pointed out that the
inscriptions belonged without doubt to the period of the Achaemenian
dynasty; that the words were separated from each other by a diagonal
wedge, and that the writing ran from left to right. He had directed
special attention to the word of seven letters, and to the fact that it
preceded in many cases another identical to it but terminating with some
unknown grammatical inflexion. He had suggested that the former probably
signified some such title as ‘king of kings’ and that the royal name must
be looked for in the word that precedes it, an opinion he only abandoned
in view of the difficulties already explained.
Such was the state of the inquiry when Grotefend entered upon it. The
Memoirs on the Antiquities of Persia, published by M. de Sacy in 1793,
afforded a sort of text-book to the decipherer. De Sacy had succeeded
in reading some inscriptions at Naksh-i-Rustam, written in Pehlevi.
Like those at Persepolis, they were engraved above the sculptured
representations of kings, and they were found to contain the royal name
and title. Grotefend inferred that the cuneiform inscriptions had very
probably served as models for these later legends. The simplest of
these and, from its brevity, the one that afforded the most striking
resemblance to the B and G of Niebuhr ran: ‘N N rex magnus rex regum
[rex-um] Filius ... [regis] stirps Achaemenis[?]’[304] The first step
Grotefend made in advance of his predecessor was to perceive that it
required two words to make up the phrase ‘king of kings,’ and that these
two words no doubt corresponded to the two in the cuneiform: the one with
seven letters and the longer form of the same word that followed it. This
apparently obvious necessity had, as we have seen, wholly escaped Münter.
When it was once recognised that the word of seven letters was clearly
‘king,’ it became obvious that, according to the analogy of the Pehlevi
model, the first word of the inscription was the name of the sovereign,
the third a qualifying title corresponding to ‘magnus’ and the two
following, where he found the word of seven letters again repeated, and
on this occasion followed by the longer form, evidently corresponded to
‘rex’ and ‘rex-um’ (‘regum’).
Comparing the two inscriptions (B and G), he found they began with
different words, which he now inferred were the names of two different
kings; but he observed that the name in B, which was presumably in the
nominative case, also occurred in the third line of G with a case-ending,
followed by the word for ‘king.’ also with a case-ending. The termination
differed from that already observed in the phrase ‘king of kings,’ and
it marked, no doubt, the genitive singular, as the other denoted the
genitive plural. Referring to his Pehlevi model, he inferred that the
passage indicated the relationship of the two monarchs, and that the king
of the second inscription (G) here declared himself to be the son of the
king of the first inscription (B). This little bit of ingenuity solved
the whole mystery. In the corresponding place in B he found another word
in the genitive case, which was no doubt the name of the father of the
king of that inscription; and he remarked that this name was not followed
by the royal title. He had thus discovered the cuneiform signs that,
with little doubt, expressed the names of three Achaemenian princes,
and he had recognised that these personages stood to each other in the
relation of father, son and grandson, and that the first was probably not
of royal rank. That is to say, from ‘G’ he found that ‘King Z’ was son
of ‘King Y’; and from ‘B’ he found that ‘King Y’ was son of ‘X’ without
the addition of ‘King.’ It only remained to determine who these three
princes were most likely to be: and as the Achaemenian dynasty was a
short one and their names already known from history, the task was not a
difficult one. The two kings at the head of the inscriptions could not
be Cyrus and Cambyses, because their names did not begin with the same
cuneiform letter; they could not be Cyrus and Artaxerxes, because there
is no such discrepancy in the length of the cuneiform words. There thus
only remained Darius and Xerxes for the names occurring first in the two
inscriptions; and this result was confirmed by the absence of the royal
title from the name of the father of the king in one of the inscriptions,
for he recollected that Hystaspes is not called king by the Greek
writers. He assumed, therefore, that the first word in B was Darius (and
it must have been satisfactory to notice that the second letter, _a_, was
precisely the _a_ of Münter) and the other Hystaspes; while the first
word in G he assumed was Xerxes.
From these three known words he now set himself to get at least the
approximate values for the letters they contained. According to De Sacy,
Grotefend first transliterated Darius and then Xerxes, from which two
names he obtained the word for ‘king,’ and finally he transliterated
Hystaspes. But according to Grotefend’s own account of the matter, he
fastened in the first instance on the word that should read ‘Hystaspes.’
It consists of ten cuneiform signs, including the inflexion. He learned
from Anquetil’s Zend-Avesta that the Zend form of the name was Goshtasp,
Gustasp, Kistasp. Placing a letter of the name under each cuneiform sign,
he arrived at the following result:
𐎻 · 𐎡 · 𐏁 · 𐎫 · 𐎠 · 𐎿 · 𐎱·
_G_ _o_ _sh_ _t_ _a_ _s_ _p_.
Here, then, were seven letters of the cuneiform alphabet for which
values were provisionally assigned and three left over for the genitive
termination. The word for Darius also consisted of seven letters, which
he at first read thus:
𐎭 · 𐎠 · 𐎼 · 𐎹 · 𐎺 · 𐎢 · 𐏁·
_D_ _a_ _r_ — — _u_ _sh_.
The process so far was confirmed by the repetition of the same letters
_a_ and _sh_ in both words in the position in which they were to be
expected. There was more difficulty with Xerxes. The cuneiform word
consisted of seven letters:
𐎧 · 𐏁 · 𐎷 · 𐎠 · 𐎲 · 𐏁 · 𐎠
— _sh_ — _e_ _r_[305] _sh_ _e_
of which he already knew, or guessed, five, and these known values
occurred in the order he expected; the first and third letters remained
to be determined. It happens that Herodotus mentions that the name of
Xerxes corresponded in sound to that of the Persian for ‘warrior’ or
‘king’; and Grotefend noted that the first two letters in the words for
‘Xerxes’ and ‘king’ were the same in the inscriptions. He ascertained
that the Greek letter ξ transliterates the Zend ‘kshe’; but he could
find nothing in the Zend vocabulary under ‘kshe.’ There were, however,
several forms under ‘kh,’ ‘sh,’ which left no doubt that the first letter
required should be read ‘kh.’ This assumption also enabled him to read
the word for ‘king’ which had so long attracted attention. Of the seven
letters that composed it he now knew four, which occurred in the order
𐎧 · 𐏁 · 𐎠 · 𐎹 · 𐎰 · 𐎡 · 𐎹.
_kh_ _sh_ _e_ — — _o_ —.
The Zend word for ‘king,’ ‘khsheio,’ corresponds almost exactly to the
form thus reached,[306] and it enabled him to add _i_ conjecturally to
his alphabet (𐎰). No explanation of the third letter in ‘Xerxes’ had yet
presented itself; but it nearly resembled the fourth and seventh in the
word for ‘king,’ and the fourth in the signs for ‘Darius’; and Grotefend
presumed—erroneously, as it turned out—that they were the same. He
observed that in Zend the aspirate is sometimes left out, and he thought
the Zend _kh_ _sh_ _e_ _i_ _o_ might very well be supposed occasionally
to take an _h_. He accordingly conjectured that this was the value of the
unknown letter, and he read _kh_ _sh_ _e_ h _i_ _o_ h for ‘king,’ _kh_
_sh_ h _e_ _r_ _sh_ _e_ for ‘Xerxes,’ and _D_ _a_ _r_ _h_ _e_ _u_ _sh_
for ‘Darius.’ It was not, therefore, till this point had been reached
that he completed ‘Darius’ by the addition of _h_. He was led to decide
for _e_ as the value of the fifth letter, 𐎺, by the pronunciation of
the name of Darius in Hebrew.[307] The form for Xerxes must have seemed
at first sight rather disconcerting; but by the time the Appendix was
republished, in 1824, Grotefend was able to announce that his conjecture
was fully confirmed by Champollion, who spelt out the hieroglyphics for
Xerxes on the Vase of Caylus to read _Kh_ _sh_ _h_ _a_ _r_ _sh_ _a_.
The result of his labours on the three proper names was that he arrived
at the values of thirteen cuneiform signs: _G_ _o_ _sh_ _t_ _a_ _s_ _p_
from Goshtasp or Hystaspes; _D_ _r_ _e_ _u_ from Darius, and _kh_ and _h_
from Xerxes. Of these thirteen letters, nine turned out ultimately to be
correct; but the _a_ had been previously recognised by Tychsen and by
Münter: so that Grotefend now added eight correct values to the cuneiform
alphabet, viz. _sh_ _t_ _s_ _p_—_d_ _r_ _u_—_kh_.
He did not, however, rest satisfied with this achievement. He sought to
transliterate and translate the remainder of the two inscriptions, but in
this his fortune failed him. He does not explain in his own Memoir the
method he pursued, but de Sacy has given us an insight into the process
which no doubt rests on good authority.[308] We may suppose that he kept
the Pehlevi inscription before him and continued to be guided by its
analogy. He accordingly expected to find that the word after ‘king’ would
express some honorary epithet corresponding to ‘magnus’ in the example
before him. It was in fact composed of four letters of which he already
knew the first and third, _e_ — _r_ —. The nearest word in Zend to suit
his purpose was _e_ _gh_ _r_ _e_, ‘strong.’ He therefore considered
himself entitled to add a _gh_ and another _e_ to his list—both wrong.
So also in the position in the cuneiform where he should expect to find
a word corresponding to the one translated ‘stirps,’ in the Pehlevi
he observed a word of three letters of which he knew the first two,
_p_, _u_ —. He hit upon a word in Pehlevi—_bun_—that had precisely the
signification of ‘stirps.’[309] So he gave his _p_ the alternate value
of _b_, and added _n_ to his list. These also were both wrong. His
attention was next turned to the two different inflexions which had been
remarked at the end of ‘king.’ In the one consisting of three signs, he
already knew the two last, — _h_ _a_, and, for some reason we have not
found explained, he assumed the first (𐏃) was a second sign for _a_.
In this addition to his alphabet he was nearly right, for the letter
has the value of _h_ before _a_, _i_, _u_. In the second inflexion of
four letters the first and third signs are the same, his _e_ or _a_;
and he learned from Anquetil that the Zend has a genitive ending _e_
_tsch_ _a_ _o_. This was sufficient to add _tsch_ and another _o_ to his
alphabet—both wrong. Here, then, are six more letters, _gh_, _e_, _n_,
_a_, _tsch_ and _o_, to be added to the thirteen already found, making
nineteen in all. There are twenty-five letters in the two inscriptions
given by De Sacy in 1803; and there is no doubt that before that time
Grotefend had, with two exceptions, completed his alphabet, as it is
found in the Appendix to Heeren in 1815.[310] According to it we see
that he had already attempted to assign values to thirty-seven cuneiform
signs, three of which are not to be found in Niebuhr’s list and are due
to defective copying. Two others occur in Niebuhr’s list, but are also
defective (_e_, [Persian], and _r_, letter No. 8), so that there remain
thirty-two genuine signs for which he has now found values. Several signs
are, however, allotted to express the same sound. Thus he gives three
signs for _e_ (Nos. 3 [defective], 4 and 10) besides the sign for _e_
or _a_ which he generally transliterates _e_. He also gives three signs
for _o_ (Nos. 12, 16 and 23). It was afterwards found that these signs,
which he took to be synonymous, are very far from being so: for example,
not one of his three signs for _o_ has that value, being respectively
_i_, _ch(a)_, and _m(a)_. Indeed, among all the additions we are now
considering he only succeeded in arriving at two correct values, 𐎳, _f_
(No. 39) and 𐏃, _a_ (No. 41), if indeed the second may be allowed to
pass. Its true value is the aspirate _h_. But, as we shall afterwards
see, it takes an inherent _a_, and it is very commonly used to express
the sound ‘Ha,’ the vowel _a_ being altogether omitted. In an inquiry
of this kind it is necessary to admit approximate values as correct;
and in the present case the value allotted to this sign by Grotefend
ultimately led to the important identification of the word ‘Achaemenian.’
Here the first syllable, ‘Ach,’ is represented by the two signs for _h_
and _kh_; and before it was known that the first letter had the sound
of ‘Ha’ it was a comparatively slight error to drop the aspirate and
set it down as _a_. We have therefore added this letter to the number
of Grotefend’s correct discoveries. He also observed that the word for
‘king’ is often represented by an ideogram (𐏋) which, like the word, is
subject to inflexions. This discovery he, however, generously attributes
to Tychsen;[311] but we have not found it in the ‘Lucubratio.’ De Sacy
was not aware of the origin attributed to it, and he has given the credit
entirely to Grotefend himself.[312]
Soon after the completion of the alphabet, but still before the
appearance of the Appendix in 1815, he was induced to change the value of
two of the signs.[313] One of these he now fixed correctly, _k_ (25), and
the other approximately _sr_ (40).
It will be recollected that Sir William Ouseley visited Murgab in 1811
and made a copy of the inscription that is found repeated there several
times. His book did not appear till 1821; but Grotefend had the advantage
of seeing a copy of the inscription in time to include it in his Memoir.
According to the alphabet as it then stood, the transliteration would
render _z_ _u_ _sch_ _u_ _d_ _sh_;[314] but if we follow his own account,
he saw reasons, which he does not explain, to change the first letter
from _z_ to _k_ and the third from _sch_ to _sr_; with the result that
he produced _k_ _u_ _sr_ _u_ _e_ _sch_, which he read ‘Kurus.’ He does
not mention the change of the _d_ into _e_, but a more correct copy of
the same inscription showed that that sign did not exist in the original,
which consists of five signs only. After he had arrived at this result,
he tells us, he came across the French translation of Morier’s first
Memoir, published in 1813, where, it will be recollected, that acute
traveller suggested that Murgab was Pasargadae, the city of Cyrus.[315]
This confirmation of his own studies was certainly satisfactory, though
the sequence of events as he describes them is remarkable. Grotefend had
now contributed eight correct values from the inscriptions B and G, two
from the Murgab inscriptions, and two from other sources—that is, twelve
in all (if we admit the _sr_, really _r_ before _u_, and the _a_ which is
_h_ before _a_, _i_, _u_). In addition to these the _a_ and _b_ of Münter
were known, though Grotefend erroneously changed the _b_ into _v_; and
hence in 1815 fourteen correct values had been reached.
Grotefend was now able to transliterate after his own fashion all the
inscriptions in the first style of writing. It was quite a different
matter to translate the mass of strange words that began to pour in
upon him. He had to seek for analogous words in Zend or Pehlevi, or in
other languages he considered akin; and he was assured by many candid
friends that this was an undertaking for which he was incompetent. In
the excitement of the first discovery he was much more reckless in this
matter than he afterwards became, when he had more experience of the
difficulties of the task. We find that he contributed the following
translation of the B and G inscriptions to the ‘Göttingen Literary
Gazette,’ August 1802. B: ‘Darius, the valiant King, the King of Kings,
the Son of Hystaspes, the Successor of the Ruler of the World, in the
constellation of Moro.’ This figures in De Sacy in 1803 as follows:
‘Darius, rex fortis, rex regum, rex populorum, Hystaspis stirps, mundi
rectoris in constellatione mascula Moro τοῦ Ized.’ For G we have:
‘Xerxes, the valiant King, the King of Kings, the Son of Darius the King,
the successor of the ruler of the world.’[316]
His next attempt at translation appeared in the ‘Göttingen Literary
Gazette’ of August 1803. In the interval he had made a study of Niebuhr’s
inscriptions A, H and I, and compared the A with Le Bruyn’s inscription
No. 131, which it nearly resembles.[317] The translation of the second
paragraph of A he gives thus: ‘Xerxes the Monarch, the valiant King,
the King of Kings, the King of all pure nations, the King of the pure,
the pious, the most potent assembly, the Son of Darius the King, the
descendant of the Lord of the Universe, Jemsheed.’[318] The H of Darius
ran to much the same effect and also culminated in Jamshid. Subsequently
he attempted the inscription on the windows of the Palace of Darius that
remained for so long a stumbling-block to his successors, and also the
one on the royal robe in the Palace of Xerxes given by Le Bruyn (No.
133). He likewise allowed the complete translation of the Le Bruyn No.
131 to appear in the Appendix to Heeren in 1815.[319] Many of these
attempts excited well-deserved ridicule, and even in 1815 we find him
much less eager to gratify public curiosity, and perhaps less confident
in his own ability to do so adequately. He willingly furnished Heeren
with the transliteration of the texts, but it was only by special
request that he added some of his translations. ‘If I have,’ he says,
‘as a decipherer established the value of the signs, it belongs to the
Orientalist to complete the interpretation of the writing now for the
first time made intelligible.’[320] He, however, still thought he could
answer for the general sense of his rendering, though not for its verbal
accuracy, and subject to that limitation the window inscription and the
Le Bruyn plate No. 131 appeared in 1815. In the later edition of 1824
they are, however, suppressed.
We have now given an account of this once famous discovery and the
results that were first attained. We have credited Grotefend with
having found correct, or at least nearly correct, values for twelve
characters; and the achievement may be allowed to merit the fame it
still confers upon its ingenious author. Each step in the process now
appears simple enough, and it is not easy for us to estimate the full
magnitude of the difficulties he surmounted. They can indeed only be
realised by remembering how completely a man like Münter had failed.
Yet it is exceedingly curious to consider how so ingenious a person
was baffled when he might seem to be on the point of farther success.
Grotefend was harassed by the continued recurrence of the two words he
transliterated ‘Bun Akeotscheschoh.’ There was, of course, no punctuation
to guide the translator, and he constantly connected these two words
together. His translation usually ran: ‘Darii regis [filius] stirps
mundi rectoris.’[321] He was quite satisfied from the beginning that
‘bun’ signified ‘stirps,’ and in the Pehlevi inscription, which was his
constant model, he had before him the very appropriate reading ‘stirps
Achaemenis.’ No phrase, he well knew, was more likely to appear in these
inscriptions than this very one. He had already arrived at the first
three letters of this word, _a_, _k_, _e_ or _a_, and it is strange the
suspicion never entered his mind that the rest of his transliteration
should be modified in accordance with the apparently inevitable
conclusion that the mysterious word was in fact ‘Achaemenian.’ This is
all the more remarkable from another consideration. De Sacy had expressly
exhorted him to keep a look out for ‘Ormuzd,’ which was certain to occur
frequently in the cuneiform, as it did in the Sassanian inscriptions. In
the Le Bruyn No. 131 he found a word which, according to his alphabet
read ‘euroghde’; and in this with singular acuteness he fancied he
detected some trace of Ormuzd.[322] But he identified the first portion
of the word with the Zend of Anquetil ‘éhoré,’ and read for the whole
‘Oromasdis cultor.’[323] Yet, according to his own transliteration the
word gave him _a_ _u_ _r_ . . _d_ _a_,
𐎠 · 𐎢 · 𐎼 · 𐎶 · 𐏀 · 𐎭 · 𐎠·
_a_ _u_ _r_ . . _d_ _a_.
He knew that a vowel may be omitted; and it is certainly strange that
he never suspected that the two intervening letters might express
‘muz,’ and the whole give him ‘Aurmuzda.’ In deference to the Murgab
inscription he had already changed his original _z_ into a _k_, and
his _sch_ into _sr_; and we should think he might have seen sufficient
ground in what has been said to justify his abandoning the _o_ _gh_.
His singular attachment to _o_ _gh_ prevented him from observing that
the fourth letter in this word is the same as the letter that follows
‘aka’ in the other; and it is curious he did not see that an _m_ in one
case would help him on with ‘Ormuzd,’ just as an _m_ in the other would
lead up to ‘Akam[enian].’ There was an additional reason indeed for his
changing his _o_ into _m_, for he knew that (according to Anquetil) _m_
was the sign of the accusative—a form from which he was forced to depart
when he made _o_ an accusative termination.[324] If he had advanced to
‘akam,’ we can scarcely suppose that he would have failed to recognise
‘Achaemenian,’ and would have modified his transliteration in accordance
with this new discovery. It was the identification of _m_ and _n_ long
afterwards by Rask that to a great extent facilitated the way for farther
progress towards completing the alphabet, an opportunity that Grotefend
unfortunately allowed to escape him.
One of the chief services rendered by Grotefend to the alphabet was to
draw up a long list of the various signs he found in the inscriptions
which were evidently due to errors on the part of the copyist. These he
ascertained by a careful collation of the inscriptions as they appeared
in the works of Le Bruyn, Niebuhr, and others.[325] Even Niebuhr had
admitted eight of these into his corrected list of forty-two letters, but
they existed in great numbers in the inscriptions, and till cleared out
of the way, they presented a serious obstacle to the decipherer. Some of
his detractors, like St. Martin, have accused him of wilfully excluding
these signs, or of changing them arbitrarily to suit the exigencies of
his own system; but the charge is entirely without foundation, as De Sacy
recognised from the first.
Grotefend was of opinion that the cuneiform system was intended only
for engraving, and that some other writing must have been in use for
ordinary purposes.[326] He divided the various specimens that had come
under his notice into three classes. The first included the Persepolitan
inscriptions; the second was to be seen upon the stone recently published
by Millin, which he says partly resembles the third Persepolitan and
partly the Babylonian bricks;[327] and the third the Babylonian
inscriptions, the most important being that published by the East India
Company. ‘These are the most complicated,’ and are to be ‘distinguished
by the number of the strokes of union and by the eight-rayed star.’ The
first class—namely, the Persepolitan—he again subdivided into three
kinds, according to the relative complexity of the writing. He considers
they represent different languages: the first or simplest is the ‘Zend,
which is apparently the Median language’; the second the Parsi, or
language of the true Persians; the third ‘perhaps a Persian dialect,
perhaps Pehlevi; but in consequence of the absence of prefixes it cannot
belong to the Aramean family,’ a reason also that excluded the two others
from the same classification. He thought the first system of writing
was the Old Assyrian; the second differs from it by having a greater
number of oblique and fewer angular wedges; while it differs from the
third system by avoiding, like the first, wedges placed diagonally, and
by having more wedges that cross each other.[328] He held that all the
three systems of Persepolitan are alphabetical and not merely syllabic
or ideographic; in the first system he finds words composed of eleven
characters, in the second of nine, and in the other of seven. On account
of the number of signs required in the second system to compose a word,
he concludes that it employs separate letters for long and short vowels;
and also to express the combination of a consonant and vowel. He thought
the number of letters in its alphabet was about forty, and he observed
that the monogram for ‘king’ is always used; neither here nor in the
third system is the royal title ever written alphabetically. In the Plate
(No. 2, 1815) he gives three short inscriptions: the Xerxes (G, Niebuhr),
the Cyrus (Murgab) and the Xerxes on the Vase of Caylus, arranged word
for word to show the signs in the three systems that correspond to each
other; and he found that the second system corresponds word for word
to the first, but that the third differs considerably. In the third
system he remarked also that a word could be formed with so few signs
that he thought it avoided the use of vowel signs as far as possible,
and employed a single character to express the threefold combination of
consonant, vowel and consonant; and to that extent he concedes that it
may be called syllabic.[329]
It is a very singular circumstance that Grotefend seems to have spent
the whole of his ingenuity upon his first efforts; from that time he
was unable to make any farther contribution of importance, and the work
of decipherment was carried on entirely by other scholars. Yet he never
withdrew his attention from the subject, and when he died, in 1853, all
the difficulties of the Persian column had been overcome with but little
farther assistance from him, and sufficient was already known of the
Babylonian to disclose a wonderland of new and unexpected knowledge.
Grotefend made a careful study of all the available inscriptions as they
came to light, and from first to last his interest in them never flagged.
We have already seen how carefully he analysed the three Persepolitan
columns, seeking out in each the signs that might be supposed to
correspond to each other. The classification of the Babylonian
inscriptions as they now began rapidly to accumulate afforded him fresh
material for the exercise of his ingenuity. It seems to have been some
time before he would admit the practical identity of the writing of the
third Persepolitan column with that of the simplest of the Babylonian
styles. According to his earliest classification the three Persepolitan
systems were kept entirely apart from the two that had been remarked
at Babylon. But it was not long before the similarity of the most
complicated of the Persepolitan with the simplest of the Babylonian
became apparent. This was fully recognised by Rich, in 1811, and we
cannot suppose that Grotefend was far behind.[330] Rich was the first
to announce that Grotefend had come to the important conclusion that
the two or three different forms which had been observed at Babylon
were mere varieties of one and the same method of writing, analogous to
our Roman and Gothic character. Grotefend’s attention was now chiefly
directed to the Babylonian inscriptions, mainly in consequence of the
articles contributed by Rich to the ‘Fundgruben des Orients,’ and
afterwards by the constant correspondence he maintained with Bellino,
the German secretary Rich had brought out with him to Bagdad.[331]
Grotefend now abandoned the idea that the third column was written in
Pehlevi. He described the language as Median Persian, and he called it
the ‘Babylonian column.’ He showed also that the many differences in the
writing of the simple Babylonian were due no doubt to the idiosyncrasies
of the engravers; but they added greatly to the difficulty of the
decipherment.[332] He noted also the frequent occurrence of different
ideograms for the same word, such, for example, as for ‘son.’ He
sharply contrasted it with such writing as is found in the India House
Inscription which he called ‘the complex’ (_zusammengesetzt_). Mr. Rich
had lately obtained several specimens of cylinders; two of these were
found on the site of Nineveh and a few others at Borsippa. The account
he gave of them in the ‘Fundgruben’ speedily attracted attention, and the
facsimile of one in red jasper from Nineveh was published by Dorow in
1820. Grotefend called attention to the well-marked differences in the
cuneiform writing that characterise these specimens, and which remove
the third Persepolitan still farther from them than even from the most
complicated Babylonian.[333] These opinions he expressed in his letter
to Dorow, and in a tract on the ‘Elucidation of certain Babylonian
Cylinders’ included in the same publication (1820).[334]
After his promotion, in the following year, to the rectorship of the
Lyceum at Hanover (1821) other studies began to engage his time. He wrote
a History of his Academy (1833); he edited the fragments of Sanchoniathon
(1836); and he dabbled somewhat deeply in such matters as the Oscan and
Umbrian languages (1835-1838). He had not, however, entirely forgotten
his old subject, and in 1832 he attempted a translation of the I
inscription, which he sent to the ‘Göttingen Gazette.’ He recognised that
it contained a list of geographical names, which, however, he was unable
to render correctly; but he had the merit of attracting the attention
of other scholars to their existence, and it was from them that Lassen
was afterwards enabled to make such remarkable progress.[335] In 1837 he
began to contribute a succession of papers to the Scientific Society of
Göttingen on his old subject, many of which were afterwards republished
in separate form. He was now sixty-two years of age, and his mind was,
no doubt, less able to grapple with the series of discoveries that were
just on the point of being made. In the previous year (1836) Burnouf
and Lassen had simultaneously published their Memoirs on the cuneiform
decipherment that soon carried the subject far beyond the point at
which Grotefend had left it some thirty years before. Grotefend accepts
the general results, but without much evidence of enthusiasm.[336] The
reading of ‘Auromazda’ is now satisfactorily established; but he clings
to his _ogh_ with unabated affection.[337] On the other hand, he suggests
the surrender of the _sr_ in ‘Kurus,’ and reads _r_ or _rh_. As regards
‘Achaemenian,’ the utmost he will concede is that the Greeks probably
derived it from ‘Akhâosô-schôh,’[338] and to do this he reluctantly
softens his _tsch_ to a soft _c_ to give the _s_; but he will on no
account admit the true reading, _n_.[339] He still contends that the
languages of the three Persepolitan columns are related to each other,
but he sees that the first, though resembling Zend, is not identical
with it. He entirely rejects the idea already broached that the third is
Semitic, and he adheres to his conviction that none of the three can be
called syllabic or ideographic in the strict sense of those terms.[340]
Notwithstanding the tenacity with which he adhered to some of his old
errors, his later contributions were not entirely without result. He
devoted great attention to the comparison of the language of the first
with those of the other two columns, and in this task he exhibited a
considerable amount of penetration.[341] For example the word ‘adam,’
which is constantly recurring in the Old Persian, continued to be
translated, even by Lassen in 1836, as ‘posui.’[342] It was Grotefend
who first observed that it was rendered in the other two columns by
words that were certainly elsewhere used for the pronoun, ‘mân, manâ,’
and the suggestion led to the recognition of ‘adam’ as the first person
singular, ‘ego.’[343] The writings of Burnouf and Lassen revived an
interest in cuneiform studies, and Grotefend was enabled for the first
time to publish inscriptions which he had received twenty or even thirty
years before from Bellino, and which had lain till now unseen in his
desk. He was still regarded as the chief authority upon the subject, and
newly discovered inscriptions were invariably forwarded to him. Among
these he received one that had recently found its way to the British
Museum, and in which he was able to read the name of Artaxerxes, a
king not previously met with in the inscriptions (1837). But his chief
triumph in this respect was the publication, in 1848, of an inscription
of Sennacherib. The original cylinder was said to have come from
Kouyunjik,[344] but Bellino had long ago made a copy of the inscription
and the cylinder is now called after him. When the inscription was at
length translated by Mr. Fox Talbot in 1856, it was found to relate the
first two years of the Annals of the King. Grotefend caused an admirable
engraving of it to be made on copper, and this, said the translator,
not without a tinge of irony, ‘was, I think, the greatest service that
painstaking savant rendered to the science of archæology.’[345]
Grotefend continued to write upon these subjects down to his death in
1853. He endeavoured to keep abreast of the new discoveries in Assyria.
He was familiar with the writings of Botta and Layard. He studied the
disquisitions of Westergaard, Hincks, and Rawlinson. He contributed
articles on the builder of the Khorsabad Palace; on the age of the Nimrud
Obelisk; on the foundation and destruction of the buildings of Nimrud;
and on inscriptions found at Babylon and Nimrud. When M. Mohl, the
well-known secretary to the French Asiatic Society, visited him shortly
before his death, he found his table littered with inscriptions, chiefly
those received from Bellino in the early years of the century.[346] He
professed to have given up his Persepolitan studies in favour of the new
Assyrian inscriptions; and he saw no reason why he should not succeed in
unravelling their mystery. It is somewhat pathetic to observe the old
man of seventy-eight, still animated by the recollection of a success
he had achieved fifty years before, but had never been able to repeat,
vainly hoping that at the last moment he might be rewarded by another
fortunate guess that would redeem the long failure of so many years. The
new discoveries were coming upon him with extraordinary rapidity and
magnitude, and he could not but feel crushed and helpless beneath such an
accumulation of fresh materials. The solution of the difficulties they
involved had passed into younger and abler hands than his, and he had to
comfort himself as best he might with the recognition so freely accorded
to him, that he had laid the foundation upon which others were now
building; and with the assurance that the recollection of his services
would not wholly pass away from the remembrance of men.[347]
Grotefend’s method of decipherment, when it first appeared, met with
a varying degree of success in different quarters. In Germany, as we
have seen, it was at once adopted by Tychsen, who became one of its
chief exponents; and it also secured the favour of Heeren, who allowed
it to share in the wide popularity accorded to his own writings. But
even in Germany it was some time before it gained general recognition.
The theory of Lichtenstein, absurd as it may now appear, continued to
command attention, and even in 1820 Grotefend still thought it necessary
to defend his own opinions against those of his rival.[348] His views,
however, gradually gained the ascendant, and in 1824 he felt he could now
allow the controversy to drop; and in the new edition of Heeren he left
out a large portion of the criticism he published in 1815. Since then
his merits have been fully acknowledged by his own countrymen, who are
rarely disposed to underrate any of the achievements of their kindred. In
England his system never had to contend with the rivalry of Lichtenstein.
It was received at once with general approval by all who were best
qualified to form a judgment. The learned Ouseley, the more brilliant
Morier, Sir R. K. Porter and Mr. Rich never doubted for a moment that
Grotefend had deciphered the names of Hystaspes, Darius and Xerxes.
Very different was its reception in France. De Sacy, who was really the
first to introduce it to the notice of Europe, could never feel any real
conviction that it rested upon solid grounds. He was quite uninfluenced
by the jealousies that blind the judgment of smaller men, and he would
gladly have given it his approval if he could have brought himself to
accept the evidence. But this he was entirely unable to do; and it was
certainly not because he failed to apprehend the process by which it was
reached. The explanation he has given of it greatly excels in lucidity
and in logical precision the account of Grotefend himself—so much so,
indeed, that we are inclined to think that Grotefend never thoroughly
understood his own system till it was explained to him by De Sacy. The
French scholar was fully acquainted with the subject, for he had himself
made frequent attempts at decipherment, always, he frankly acknowledges,
with a ‘total absence of success.’ The only point he considers tolerably
certain is that the word with seven signs is the title of King.[349]
He doubts altogether that the names of the kings had been correctly
ascertained, and he points out the difficulty of accepting an alphabet
that contains three or four signs for _e_, three for _o_, and so on. The
opinion he formed in 1803 he repeats in 1820. In his letter to M. Dorow,
he confesses that he is still unable to find the names of the Persian
kings or of the god Ormuzd in the cuneiform inscriptions; and he declares
he does not believe that anything hitherto published on the subject is
worthy of confidence.[350]
While the cuneiform inscriptions were thus engaging the attention of
European scholars, English travellers had begun the investigation of the
sites of Babylon and Nineveh that were so soon to yield such surprising
results. In 1808, Kinneir visited Hillah, accompanied by Captain
Frederick, of the Royal Navy; and two years later they extended their
explorations to the mounds near Mosul. Kinneir’s ‘Geographical Memoir,’
published in 1813, contains an excellent account of both these historic
ruins. Soon after his visit, Mr. Rich went to Hillah and began his
investigations (1811). He found the surface of the ground covered with
‘broken pans and bricks, some of which have writing on them.’[351] He
was able to make a small collection of antiquities, including a curious
basaltic stone covered with cuneiform characters, and these specimens
eventually found their way to the British Museum.[352] The Memoir he
published on the subject made its first appearance in the ‘Fundgruben
des Orients,’ but was, republished in England by Sir James Mackintosh.
A second Memoir, written in 1817 and printed soon afterwards, was
enriched by three plates containing several cuneiform inscriptions that
now appeared for the first time.[353] Rich considered there were three
different kinds of writing to be found at Babylon, which he divided
‘according to the order of their complication.’[354] The first, he
observed, corresponds to the third Persepolitan; and in Plate 8 he gives
three specimens of it, all found upon stones resembling the ‘Caillou
Michaux’ described by Millin. The second occurs rarely, and Mr. Rich says
he was the first to publish an example, although Grotefend had already
seen a copy of a similar kind. It is on a piece of baked clay in shape
like a barrel, about 4¾ in. long and 1½ in. in diameter (Plate 9, No.
4). The third species is that generally found on bricks and cylinders,
of which he gives four examples.[355] While he wrote, he learned that
the three different kinds of Babylonian writing had been submitted to
Grotefend, and that ‘learned and ingenious person’ had come to the
conclusion that they ‘are only varieties of different modes of writing
the same character, and that there is in fact but one real kind of
Babylonian writing.’[356] Although Rich found a vast number of bricks
at Babylon, he observed that the inscriptions were nearly all alike:
in fact only four different legends had up to that time been noticed
on the Babylonian bricks. The most common consists of seven lines. The
others are in six, four and three lines; of these Grotefend had seen
copies of the inscriptions in seven and three lines. The other two are
comparatively rare. The inscribed bricks are generally about 13 in.
square by 3 in. thick, and are of different colours, red, white and
black.[357] They were usually found with the inscriptions downwards, and
when they occur in a different position there is a strong presumption
that they have been moved from their original place. The cylinders found
by Mr. Rich varied from 1 to 3 in. in length and were of different
materials—some of stone, others of paste or composition.[358] They are
perforated to admit of the passage of a cord, and were carried about to
be used for seals. Rich was among the earliest to recognise that this was
their purpose; and he thus accounted for the writing being from right
to left, contrary to the invariable custom. He also made the useful
suggestion that, as the language of the first Persepolitan was no doubt
that of the court of Darius, the languages of the other two columns
were in all probability those of Susa and Babylon.[359] Rich exercised
considerable influence in Germany by his contributions to periodical
literature, and his cordial assent to the opinions of Grotefend was of
importance at that time. We have seen that his first Memoir was published
in Vienna before it appeared in London; and he continued to write to the
‘Fundgruben des Orients’ to describe the inscriptions he had procured
from Babylon and Nineveh. The cylinder from Nineveh is said to have been
the earliest specimen brought to light, and it was the first to attract
the attention of Grotefend to the Babylonian system of writing.[360]
It was published by Dorow in 1820, when inscriptions of that kind
were almost unknown. Rich’s secretary, Bellino, was also in constant
correspondence with Grotefend down to the period of his early death.[361]
He sent him a copy of the first column of one of the inscriptions at
Hamadan, which Grotefend presented to the University Library of Tübingen,
where Bellino had been educated.[362] He also sent him copies of
inscriptions on forty bricks in Mr. Rich’s collection, many of them of
service by illustrating slight differences in the writing of words and
characters.[363]
We have said that De Sacy remained unconvinced that the names of Darius
and Xerxes were to be found in the Persepolitan inscriptions. Two years
after he had solemnly repeated this confession, a M. St. Martin announced
that he had made the same discovery as Grotefend, which he professed to
have reached by an entirely different and far more scientific method: a
circumstance which, if true, would have afforded a strong confirmation
of the reality of the original discovery. St. Martin was born in 1791,
and died of cholera in 1832, at the early age of forty-one. He rose
from a comparatively humble sphere of life, and the aristocratic prefix
to his name seems to have been merely assumed. He was for a time a
traveller to his father, who was a tailor, but his talent for languages
soon transferred him from the mercantile to the learned world, and,
combined with his strong Monarchical opinions, enabled him to secure a
fair amount of success. He was especially devoted to Oriental studies,
and he learned Arabic, Persian, Turkish and Armenian; but his attainments
seem to have struck his contemporaries as more pretentious than profound.
He was appointed, when only nineteen, to be secretary to the Society of
Antiquaries (1810), and at thirty-one he became Curator of the Library
of the Arsenal (1824) and afterwards an Inspector of the Royal Printing
House, a position that enabled him to introduce the Zend and cuneiform
type. He was a very precocious scholar, for one of the writings on which
his fame rests was published at the age of twenty—‘Egypt under the
Pharaohs’ (1811). Seven years later his most important work appeared: ‘An
Historical and Geographical Memoir on Armenia’ (1818). He is remembered
also as one of the founders of ‘L’Universel’ (1829), a strong organ of
the Legitimist party.
His paper on the cuneiform inscriptions was read before the Académie des
Inscriptions, of which he was a member, in 1822, and it was afterwards
published in the ‘Journal Asiatique’ (February 1823). A more detailed
account of his discoveries was promised, but it never seems to have
appeared; and the only other authoritative expression of his opinion
occurs in Klaproth’s ‘Aperçu de l’Origine des diverses Ecritures’ (1832),
where we are favoured with the latest development of his cuneiform
alphabet. His treatment of this subject is not calculated to raise his
reputation as a scholar; and it certainly exposes him to the charge of
want of candour.
He is good enough to begin the account of his original discoveries by a
reference to the previous labours of Grotefend, of which he had a very
poor opinion. He has seen the analysis of Grotefend’s system given by
Tychsen in the ‘Göttingen Gazette’ of September 1802, and the Essay of
De Sacy, written in the following year. These publications, he says,
produced little impression at the time, and they were farther discredited
by Grotefend’s own contribution to Heeren, in 1805.[364] None of the
papers since contributed by Grotefend to periodical literature have
shown any improvement upon his earliest writings, and St. Martin lays
it down that the contents of the inscriptions are rightly regarded as
still wholly unknown. But in addition to this unfavourable opinion,
which was shared also by De Sacy, he brings charges of his own against
Grotefend’s system that are wholly without foundation. He accuses him of
frequently varying the values he assigned to the characters, whereas it
was in consequence of the extreme tenacity with which he clung to the
values he originally assigned that his progress was in great measure
arrested. St. Martin says Grotefend attributed five or six entirely
different values to the same character, and that he considered that
each character is susceptible of assuming a variety of different forms,
both statements being equally without foundation.[365] He affects to
regard the corrections introduced into the texts by Grotefend—which
is one of his most valuable services—as purely arbitrary, and he
professes to believe that interpretations based upon these emendations
can inspire no confidence, and can only be regarded as an exercise of
the imagination. He was surprised to find that his own interpretations,
which he reached by ‘proceeding in an entirely different way,’ should
have conducted, so far as they went, to precisely the same result: and he
will not dispute that Grotefend is entitled to the priority of merit in
detecting the royal names.[366] It does not appear that St. Martin got
any farther himself, and we may be permitted to doubt whether he would
have accomplished even this but for the labours of the predecessor he
is so careful to disparage. When we come to inquire into ‘the entirely
different way’ followed by St. Martin we find that in fact it is
precisely the same as that with which we are already familiar. He worked
on the same two inscriptions, the B and G of Niebuhr; he treats us over
again to the analogy of the Sassanian inscriptions: the well-known phrase
‘king of kings’; the genitive suffix; the position of the royal names;
the evident relationship of father and son, and so on. Our original
investigator continues to carry us over all the old ground. He is struck
by the similarity of the wedges in the word for ‘king’ and in one of the
royal names; he is guided by the Zend _khsheio_ to the cuneiform words
for ‘king’ and ‘Xerxes,’ and he tells us how dexterously he proceeded
from this to the decipherment of the names of Darius and Hystaspes. In
one name only he differed from his predecessor. It will be remembered
that Grotefend deciphered ‘Cyrus’ in the Murgab inscription. St. Martin
preferred to transliterate ‘Houschousch’ and to read ‘Ochus’;[367]
but in this single attempt at originality he turned out to be wrong
and Grotefend right. He has spared us all the reasons that led him
to these important results, as well as many grammatical and literary
considerations which he promised to publish in a more extended Memoir.
One success he may indeed claim. In reading the name of Hystaspes he
compared it to a Zend form ‘Vyschtaspo,’ which gave a more correct result
than the ‘Goshtasp’ of Grotefend.[368] This happy accident enabled him to
assign the correct value of _v_ instead of _g_ to one cuneiform sign; and
in the second letter of the same word he substituted _y_ for Grotefend’s
_o_, and thereby approached nearer the correct value, which is _i_. These
are the sole contributions he made to the work of decipherment.
It must not, however, be supposed that his treatment of the alphabet was
wanting in originality. It will be recollected that Grotefend was in
possession of thirteen correct values; but of these St. Martin rejected
five.[369] The eight that remained added to the two he determined himself
(_v_ and _y_ or _i_) gave him an alphabet of ten correct values, as
opposed to the thirteen in the possession of Grotefend. He altered the
values Grotefend had incorrectly assigned to nine other characters,
without making any improvement upon them.[370] He confessed with
admirable modesty that there were twelve characters of which he could
make nothing; and this struck Lassen as being the most satisfactory
portion of his work.[371] Among them Grotefend had already condemned
four as defective; one he had determined correctly as _f_, and he had
nearly approximated to two others, _th_ for _t_ before _u_ (22) and _dj_
for _j_ before _i_ (32). St. Martin’s alphabet in its complete form
consists of twenty-five letters, represented by twenty-seven cuneiform
signs.[372] But of these letters he has three different modifications
of the sound of _e_, which alone monopolise six cuneiform signs. Three
signs are allotted to _h_, two to _a_, two to _ou_, two to _ch_, and
two to _r_. In its latest form ten of the letters of our alphabet are
left without equivalents in cuneiform—_b_, _f_, _g_, _i_, _l_, _q_, _u_,
_w_, _x_, _z_. He was not, however, always without a _b_.[373] It was
probably not till after 1826 that he saw reason to substitute an _m_.
Rask had recently suggested that the word which Grotefend transliterated
‘Akeotchoschoh’ should be ‘Aqamnosoh,’ and signified ‘Achaemenian.’ St.
Martin had no suspicion of this when he first wrote his paper, and he
translated the phrase ‘race illustrious and very excellent.’[374] But
when Klaproth appeared, in 1832, the transliteration and translation
were made to run as follows: ‘Poun Oukhaamychye,’ ‘race d’Achémènes,’
which differs from the first only by the substitution of an _m_ where
_b_ occurred before.[375] This is a farther instance of unacknowledged
borrowing. St. Martin accommodates himself to the view taken by Rask;
but, as ill luck would have it, he changed the wrong letter: the sign he
altered into _m_ is in fact the _n_ in the word ‘Achaemenian.’[376] With
this our notice of St. Martin’s Memoir may fitly close. It is indeed a
singular production for a scholar of repute. He begins by assuring his
readers that the contents of the Persepolitan inscriptions were still
entirely unknown; he censures the method adopted by Grotefend that had
yielded him the names of three of the Achaemenian kings; for himself, he
leads us to suppose that he is about to announce an entirely different
and more scientific method. He then proceeds, without a word of warning
and in simple confidence in our ignorance, to follow precisely the method
he has just denounced, and he affects astonishment that it should lead
him to precisely the same result. He can make no progress beyond the
three names already known. In the case of the Murgab inscription he
ventures to take a step upon his own account and immediately blunders
into error. His alphabet is remarkable for its inferiority to the one he
desires to supersede. It has at most ten correct values to Grotefend’s
thirteen or fourteen.[377] Eight cuneiform letters are abandoned
altogether in simulated despair. Nine are changed without being improved,
and ten of the most important sounds in human language are left without
expression. We do not condemn him for being inferior to his master:
many pupils suffer from that disability; but we censure him for denying
his obligation and for affecting an originality he did not possess. One
service indeed he rendered. If he made no new discoveries in cuneiform,
he at least has the merit of discovering Grotefend’s discovery to
France. Many of his countrymen were willing to take upon his authority
what they would not accept from the German writer, and it gradually came
to be believed (though even yet by no means universally) that the names
of Hystaspes, Darius and Xerxes were to be read in the Persepolitan
inscriptions.[378]
The first advance in cuneiform decipherment after Grotefend was made
by Rask, a distinguished Danish scholar. He was born in 1782, and at
first he devoted himself entirely to Icelandic. He spent two years
in the island, and on his return, in 1817, he published an edition
of the Edda. Subsequently he added Oriental languages to the range
of his acquirements. For a time his serious attention was devoted to
Sanscrit, Persian and Arabic, while his leisure moments were diverted
by the acquisition of Russian and Finnish. He then went to India for
three months, to perfect himself in such trifling matters as Sanscrit,
Hindustani, Zend and Pehlevi. A short visit to Ceylon was devoted to
Cingalese, Pali and Elu. On his return to Copenhagen he filled two
professorial chairs—those of Oriental Languages and Icelandic. He is
regarded as one of the earliest founders of Comparative Philology, and
the number of his writings is very large. Among them are Grammars of
Anglo-Saxon, Icelandic, Cingalese, Acra, Lapp, Danish and Italian. But it
is to the little volume ‘Ueber das Alter der Zend-Sprache’ that we have
now to refer.[379] Some writers contended that Zend is merely a dialect
of Sanscrit, restricted in its use to sacred literature, and never
employed as a spoken language. It was also asserted that the Zend-Avesta
was of comparatively recent date, possibly not earlier than the third
century A.D.[380] One of the many arguments adduced by Rask to confute
these theories was the similarity between the Zend and the language of
the first Persepolitan column. He pointed out that, so far as it had been
deciphered by Grotefend, it bore a strong resemblance to that of ‘Father
Zoroaster’; and he argued that where they differed to a marked degree in
their case-endings, the probability was that the divergence is due to
an error in the values assigned to the letters by Grotefend. Thus, the
genitive plural as given by Grotefend ends in _e_ or _a_, _ch_ (_tsch_),
_a_, _o_, which bears no resemblance to anything to be found in Zend; and
he casually threw out the suggestion that it should read _a_-_n_-_a_-_m_,
which is a usual Zend form.[381] He farther showed, in support of this
view, that the change of an _o_ into _m_ would go a long way to solve
the difficulty of the word that follows ‘stirps’; and he hazarded the
improved transliteration ‘aqamnosoh,’ from which ‘Achaemenian’ might
be derived. The change of _tsch_ into _n_, and _o_ into _m_, which was
at once accepted and ultimately proved to be correct, was of great
importance; and both Burnouf and Lassen admit the extent of their
obligations. Rask’s own studies lay in an entirely different direction,
and he made no attempt to follow up his success in decipherment; but he
took occasion to point out that there must be some radical error in an
alphabet that assigns two different sounds—_e_ and _a_—to the same sign,
and two signs to the same sound, _a_; and he lays down the rule ‘that
one letter should have only a single sound, and two or more letters can
never denote one and the same sound.’ The last maxim was not, however,
verified, for it is found that some letters are represented by two and
even three signs, according to the vowel they precede. He added the
useful warning that the language of the inscription is probably Old
Persian, and not, therefore, identical with the language of Zoroaster.
Hence, while they are similar, and may be usefully compared, it by no
means follows that the grammatical forms and the vocabulary are always
identical.[382]
We now come to the two great scholars, Burnouf and Lassen, to whom, after
Grotefend, the decipherment of the cuneiform is chiefly to be ascribed.
Eugène Burnouf was the son of a distinguished father, who was a Professor
at the Collège de France. Eugène was born in 1801, and died in 1852.
At the age of twenty-five he acquired a great reputation for Oriental
scholarship by the publication of his essay ‘Sur le Pali,’ which he
wrote in collaboration with Lassen.[383] But his fame rests principally
upon his Zend studies, the first of which, the Vendidad, appeared in
1830. More than a hundred years had elapsed since the first copy of the
original text was brought to Europe by George Bouchier, an Englishman
(1718), who had obtained it from the Parsees at Surat. Bouchier
presented it to the University of Oxford, where it might be seen long
afterwards chained to a wall in the Bodleian. No one, however, could
read a word of it. At length a young Frenchman, Anquetil de Perron,
determined if possible to overcome the difficulty. He went to Surat in
1758, and put himself under the tutorship of the learned Parsees. He
was, however, surprised to find that, although they knew the value of
the characters, they were completely ignorant of the language itself.
Yet their sacred books were written in it, and they daily recited the
meaningless sounds in their ritual. It was sufficient, they said, that
God should understand the prayers they were enjoined to repeat. By an
ingenious comparison with the Pehlevi and Persian vocabularies Anquetil
at length arrived at a probable translation; and after his return to
Paris he published a French version of the Zend-Avesta (1771).[384]
His work was very unduly depreciated by Sir W. Jones, the leading
English Orientalist, but it attracted a larger degree of esteem on the
Continent, and a German edition by Kleuker appeared at Riga, in 1777,
which enjoyed a fair amount of popularity.[385] Both the language and
the subject-matter of the Zend-Avesta began to receive the attention
of scholars, and those especially who were interested in cuneiform
recognised their importance. Tychsen, for example, wrote on the
religion of Zoroaster,[386] and Rask on the relation of the language to
Sanscrit;[387] and the same conjunction of studies was preserved in later
times by Burnouf, Westergaard, Oppert and Spiegel. Down to the time of
Burnouf, however, the knowledge of Zend continued to be very imperfect,
and Grotefend was constantly impeded in his attempt to elucidate the
language of the cuneiform inscriptions by reference to the very defective
work of Anquetil. Burnouf was appointed to the chair of Sanscrit in the
Collège de France in 1832, and the idea occurred to him to connect his
Sanscrit and Zend Studies. He found that a translation of the Yaçna
into Sanscrit had been made by two Persian scholars some four hundred
years before, while the recollection of Zend was still preserved; and
it is entirely due to his labours upon this text that such remarkable
progress was made in the study. His ‘Commentaire sur le Yaçna’ appeared
in 1834; and in addition to its other merits it was at once recognised
that it afforded the most valuable assistance to the cuneiform student.
Indeed, Sir Henry Rawlinson admitted that it was to a great extent in
consequence of the knowledge he derived from it that he was enabled to
overcome the difficulties of the Behistun inscription. Burnouf’s ‘Mémoire
sur deux Inscriptions cunéiformes’ appeared in 1836. It was submitted
to the Académie des Inscriptions in March, and finally given to the
world on June 1. He considered that the Inscriptions B and G of Niebuhr
had been sufficiently worked upon; and if additional results were to
be obtained they should be sought from fresh materials.[388] Although
Schulz’s papers were not yet published, Burnouf obtained access to them;
and found they included two trilingual inscriptions from Elvend near
Hamadan, copied by Mr. Stewart, and a trilingual from Van.[389] The two
Hamadan inscriptions reproduce precisely the same text, except that
the name of Darius occurs in one in the place of Xerxes in the other.
Comparing these with the trilingual of Xerxes at Van, he found that the
first two paragraphs are the same in both; but the last paragraph of the
Van inscription is not found at Hamadan. At Persepolis the whole of the
Hamadan inscription is repeated on the Anta of the Porch to the Palace of
Darius; and considerably more besides. But the additional portion does
not correspond to that found in the last paragraph at Van. The whole of
it was copied long before by Le Bruyn (No. 131). Burnouf next observed
that the inscription on the sculptured stairs—the A of Niebuhr—bears a
strong resemblance to those just mentioned; but the beginning is clearly
imperfect. Ouseley, however, had published a five-lined inscription
from Persepolis, which corresponds exactly to the Darius at Hamadan;
and Grotefend pointed out that it was probably the beginning of the A
inscription.[390] With this addition the A runs for a time parallel to
the Hamadan, while at its close it corresponds to the Le Bruyn. Burnouf
had thus a considerable number of copies of the same text, and by careful
collation he sought to eliminate the errors due to the engraver or the
transcriber. By these means he obtained a correct recension of the
Hamadan inscription upon which his work was chiefly founded. But there
was another to which he made frequent reference, especially towards the
close of his Memoir. This is the I inscription of Niebuhr, which is
copied from the outside wall, on the southern side of the great platform
of Persepolis.[391]
It will be recollected that Grotefend had called attention to this
inscription in 1832, and had pointed out that it evidently contained a
long list of proper names.[392] Whether this suggestion ever reached
Burnouf it is impossible to say, but it is certain he made it an early
object of study; and from it he derived the cuneiform sign ‘B,’ with
which he signed his letters to Lassen.
The method he pursued to determine the value of an unknown sign was to
collect all the words in which it occurred, and endeavour to assign to
it a letter, from among those not already rigorously determined, that
would produce a word for which some meaning might be found by comparing
it with Zend. For example, the word with which the Darius at Hamadan
begins consists of only two letters, which, according to Grotefend,
would yield _vu_. But Burnouf could make no sense out of this, and he
accordingly substituted a _b_ for the first letter (𐎲). The result was
that he could not only extract a sense out of _bu_—which he compared with
the Sanscrit _bhû_ and _bû_ ‘to be,’ but two or three other words were
also rendered intelligible by the same change.[393] The consideration,
however, that finally settled the matter was the discovery of a name
in the I inscription, which, upon the supposition that the letter in
question was a _b_ would yield ‘Bakhtroch,’ and this he had no difficulty
in identifying with Bactria. Hence he altered the _v_ of Grotefend into
a _b_ without apparently recognising that he merely restored the value
originally given to that sign by Münter.[394]
Unfortunately, his method did not lead to very important results, for
it only enabled him to add two additional values correctly. Both of
these were suggested to him by the second word in this same Hamadan
Inscription.[395] The word occurs also in the B and G inscriptions, where
it was transliterated by Grotefend _e_ _gh_ _r_ _e_. Burnouf accepted the
change of the initial _e_ (𐎺) into _i_, which was made by St. Martin,
without approaching nearer to the correct value, which is in fact a _v_.
The emendation of the second letter lay ready at hand, and could not
well be longer overlooked. Since Rask had identified the sign for _m_,
this particular sign (𐏀) was the only one that required alteration in
order to read _Aur_ _m_ _z_ _da_,[396] and it was therefore inevitable
that Grotefend’s _gh_ should at length be surrendered for a _z_; the
only wonder is that this change should have been so long delayed.[397]
The emendation of the last letter of the word (𐎣) displays an entirely
different order of ingenuity. The letter occurs in only seven different
words in all the inscriptions of Niebuhr, Le Bruyn, and Schulz but in
one instance it is the initial sign in a word of which the others are
_t_ _p_ _d_ _h_ _u_ _k_. It was certainly no common feat of imagination
that led Burnouf to see that if a _k_ were to precede this remarkable
agglomeration, the province of Kappadocia would turn up. By these means,
however, he got rid of another of Grotefend’s _e_’s, and altered it into
a _k_, which proved to be correct. Having thus changed _e_ _gh_ _r_ _e_
into _i_ _z_ _r_ _k_, the next step was to find some similar word in
Zend that might suggest its meaning. This, however, was not easy; the
nearest he could think of was ‘yazata,’ which might bear to be translated
‘divine.’[398]
Such was the method that enabled Burnouf to restore one correct value,
_b_, that had been recently neglected, and to add two others, _z_ and
_k_, to the alphabet. He was on the point of increasing the number of
correct values by two or three others, but unfortunately he hesitated to
yield to his first intuition. In the twelfth line of the I inscription
he found a word which, according to his alphabet he transliterated
‘Arion.’[399] It occurred in a position in the geographical list that
would naturally suggest that it indicated ‘Armenia,’ and to obtain
this result it was only necessary to change the sign (𐎷) which he read
_i_ into _m_. There was a farther reason that appeared to justify this
alteration. In the Hamadan inscription the same sign occurs in _bu_ _i_
_om_, which he translated ‘excellent’; but if it were permitted to alter
the _i_ into _m_ we should obtain _bumom_, ‘earth.’ The meaning of the
sentence would then be: ‘He has given [or created] this earth; he has
given [or created] this heaven,’ which would be an evident improvement
in the sense.[400] He would not, however, allow that the alphabet could
include more than one _m_, and he was not prepared to sacrifice the
_m_ (𐎶) discovered by Rask in the genitive termination _anam_. Thus
he narrowly missed adding the _m_ (𐎷) before _i_ to the number of his
correct values. So also in line 11 there occurs a word he reads _ayura_,
but by the change of the _y_ into _th_ he would arrive at ‘Athura,’ the
ancient ‘Aturia.’[401] This change was farther sanctioned by another
name, which his system transliterated _pryi_; but by the hypothesis under
consideration, it would become _prthi_, a manifest form for ‘Parthia.’
Moreover, the same alteration would introduce an important improvement
in the word for ‘king,’ which would then read _khchâhthôh_ (from the
Zend _khchathrô_) in place of _khchâhyôh_.[402] Notwithstanding all
these probabilities, he finally rejected the alteration and lost the
addition of another correct value. It is interesting also to observe
how nearly he approached the correct value of Grotefend’s _h_ (𐎹, No.
27). He perceived that if it were changed into a _y_, it would yield
_yuna_ in the twelfth line, which there could be no doubt would indicate
‘Ionia.’ As it is, however, he retained the incorrect value; and he
could find no satisfactory explanation of _huna_; for he, of course,
rejected ‘Huns’ as an evident anachronism.[403] It would be tedious and
unnecessary to go through the other signs to which he gave new values,
for they unfortunately all turned out to be wrong. Indeed, if his
services to decipherment were to be estimated by this test alone, they
would not rank higher than those of St. Martin or Rask; for although he
lays claim to have ascertained the value of twelve characters, eight of
these are erroneous, one (the _b_) fairly belongs to Münter, another (the
_a_) to Grotefend, and only two remain to be placed to his own credit:
precisely the same number as were contributed by St. Martin and Rask.
His alphabet gives definite values to thirty cuneiform signs and an
uncertain value to three others.[404] Following the analogy of Zend, he
allots a separate sign to the long and short values of each of the vowels
_a_, _i_, _u_, and in this he considers he has reached ‘a result that
should satisfy criticism.’ With respect to the consonants, however, he
agrees with the maxim of Rask, and strives as far as possible to avoid
according more than one sign to each. He has, however, found it difficult
to avoid giving two signs to _l_ and _h_, and no less than four to _gh_.
As regards _l_ or _h_, he introduces the second signs apologetically,
followed by a mark of interrogation, indicating that they may be variants
or defective signs. We now know there is no well-authenticated _l_ in the
language, and his first sign turned out to be _d_ before _i_ (𐎮) and the
other _r_ before _u_ (𐎽). He was equally unfortunate with regard to _h_,
neither of his signs for that letter being correct. He felt that the four
signs for _gh_ required explanation. He places only one among the thirty
definite values in his alphabet. The others he labels as uncertain.
(These are 𐎦, 𐎪, 𐎸.) He thought that a comparison of these would convince
the student that they are composed of exactly the same elements, so that
they seem to differ from each other only by the caprice of the engraver,
who has arranged the wedges according to his fancy, while he has neither
altered their form nor increased nor diminished their number.[405] He
recognised, however, the objection that all cuneiform writing consists of
the same elements, and that the sole difference of one sign from another
consists in the arrangement of the wedges. He was forced to fall back
upon the impossibility of assigning different values to these signs and
at the same time preserving any sense in the words where they occur. The
second _gh_ (𐎦) he considered justified by its occurrence in the word he
thought must be ‘çughd,’[406] the third (𐎪) because it would enable him
to read ‘baghem,’ ‘destiny,’ and the fourth (𐎸) by its completing the
sense of ‘_gh_udraha,’ which he thought denoted the Gordyans.[407] In
this latter case the correct transliteration is ‘m’udray’; but it is not
likely, even if he had read the word correctly, he would have detected in
this form the name of Egypt. As a matter of fact, the first _gh_, which
he has put in his alphabet (𐎯, 34) as the usual form, is _d_ before _u_;
the second (𐎦) is _g_ before _u_; the third (𐎪, 32) is _j_ before _i_;
the fourth (𐎸, 33) is _m_ before _u_.
Grotefend thought he found four and St. Martin six signs for _e_, but
Burnouf correctly excluded that letter altogether from his alphabet.
He, however, incorrectly admits one sign for _ô_ long. He considers the
absence of _th_, a form that occurs frequently in Zend, is probably
due to the scarcity of documents. The want of the palatals, _tch_ and
_dj_, may perhaps be assigned to the same cause; though more probably it
arises from the nature of the alphabet itself, for these letters are only
developments of the consonants _k_ and _g_.[408]
Burnouf acknowledges his obligation to Grotefend for twelve letters; but
these should properly be raised to fifteen.[409] The twelve he admits
include eight correct values and four incorrect. The three he leaves
unacknowledged are _t_ (24), _u_ (36), and _a_ (41), all of which are
correct, and they raise the number of correct values accepted from this
source to eleven. Burnouf attributes three of his letters to St. Martin,
namely _t_, _u_ and _i_: the first two are already accounted for from
Grotefend; the _i_ is indeed due to St. Martin, but it is wrong. Burnouf
rejected the only absolutely correct value found by St. Martin, viz.
_v_. Two letters, the _m_ and _n_, he refers to Rask, from whom also
he must have derived the _q_ (25) which he erroneously substitutes for
Grotefend’s _k_.
The twelve values which Burnouf credits to his own account include the
_a_ of Grotefend and the _b_ of Münter.[410] There remain the two values
which he was the first to fix correctly, viz. _k_ (4) and _z_ (18); the
others are all incorrect. We have thus accounted for twenty-nine signs
out of the thirty of his alphabet;[411] the other, the _ng_ (28) of
Grotefend, he treated as uncertain, but suggested _h_, the true value
being _j(a)_[412] Besides the thirty just mentioned he gives three other
signs, to which he hesitates to assign any value, though he thought
they might all represent the sound of _gh_. These are, as we have
already explained, the _dj_ (32) and the ‘_k_?’ (33) of Grotefend, now
ascertained to be _j_ before _i_, and _m_ before _u_. The other does not
appear in Niebuhr’s list, and Lassen is the first to assign it a value,
_g_, which turned out correct (_g_ before _u_).
Burnouf dropped one letter entirely out of his alphabet (𐏂, No 13):
the _n_ that completed the _bun_ or ‘stirps’ of Grotefend. Since Rask
had found the true sign for _n_, a second _n_ might well seem to be
redundant;[413] and this supposition was confirmed by finding the sign
written at Hamadan with three horizontal wedges instead of with two: a
difference that transformed it into a _p_. Burnouf accordingly thought
the other form was an error of the copyist, and he read _pup_, upon which
he confesses neither Zend nor Sanscrit could throw any light; though
from the context it evidently means ‘son,’ and may therefore possibly
be a monogram for the Zend _puthra_.[414] He trusted, however, that
future research would re-establish the ejected sign; in which case he
proposed to give it the value of _th_, and to read _puth_. It was, in
fact, afterwards found to be a genuine sign entirely distinct from _p_,
and it has received the value of _tr_ or _thr_, which has completed the
transformation of _bun_ or _pun_ into _puthra_.
To sum up: of the thirty-three different cuneiform signs in Niebuhr’s
list for which values have been ultimately found, Burnouf knew only
sixteen correctly (two from Münter, _a_ and _b_; ten from Grotefend; two
from Rask and two from himself), or not quite one half.[415] Yet with
such imperfect materials to work with he was able to render important
service in the matter of translation. It is obvious that, according as
the letters became known, and the words of the new language began to
be made out, the task of finding their meaning would depend upon the
knowledge of the languages most nearly akin, and upon the acumen with
which the interpreter could apply the resources at his disposal. In other
words, the task would pass from the decipherer to the translator; and it
is in this department that Burnouf has earned the greatest distinction.
Although he could command only a limited number of correct values, and
consequently his transliteration was still extremely imperfect, yet his
knowledge of Zend, which was greater than that of any other scholar then
living, enabled him to make sense of many of these crude forms and for
the first time to approach to a correct translation of the words that
were not simply proper names. When he began his labours, there were
apparently only two words, ‘king’ and ‘son,’ that were correctly read, in
addition to a few proper names, such as Achaemenian, Hystaspes, Darius,
Xerxes, Cyrus and Persia;[416] but to these both Grotefend and St. Martin
had accumulated a vast number of worthless and misleading meanings, from
‘the constellation of Moro’ down to ‘Jamshid.’ Burnouf added several
correct words to the vocabulary, and he was always able to avoid falling
into extravagant error. He showed, for example, that the word Grotefend
had taken for the conjunction ‘and’ was in reality a form of the verb ‘to
give or create.’[417] He overcame the chief difficulty in the word he
read ‘aqunuch’ = ‘generator,’ really ‘ak’unaush,’ ‘to make,’ and read by
Grotefend ‘florentem.’[418] The word Grotefend translated ‘Dominus’ he
rendered ‘this is,’ and suggested the possibility of its being ‘I am,’
which turned out to be its correct meaning. Besides these contributions,
he recognised the demonstrative pronoun ‘this’ (_aim_ for _avam_, ‘ce’);
and he added the words ‘heaven,’ ‘man,’ ‘master,’ ‘province,’ ‘world,’
and some others.[419] The great improvement in translation that resulted
will be best appreciated by a comparison. The text of the first paragraph
in the Hamadan inscription, translated by Burnouf, is word for word the
same as that of the Le Bruyn (No. 131) translated by Grotefend, except
that ‘Darius’ in the former is ‘Xerxes’ in the latter. We have placed the
translation of Burnouf opposite that of Grotefend.
PARAGRAPH I
_Grotefend, Le Bruyn 131_[420] _Burnouf, Hamadan, Darius O_[421]
Pius probus[422] Oromasdis cultor L’être divin [est] Ormuzd
hanc constellationem sanctam il le Homa excellent
et hunc diem a donné; il ce
coelestem et illum defunctum ciel a donné; il l’homme
eumque lumine fulgentem a donné; il la nourriture
et defuncti [filium] a donné à l’homme;
hunc Xerxem regem il Darius roi
florentem summum a engendré ce
quorumlibet regem des braves roi,
summum quorumlibet ce des braves
amplificet chef.
_Paraphrase of above_[423] _Correct Version of Inscr. O_[424]
Ormuzd [est] l’être divin; Great God is Ormuzd
il a donné le Homa excellent: who this earth created,
il a donné le ciel: who that heaven created,
il a donné l’homme: who man created,
il a donné la nourriture who happiness has created
à l’homme: il a engendré for man: who has made
Darius roi, Darius king,
ce roi des braves, the one king of many,
ce chef the one Lord
des braves. of many.
PARAGRAPH II
_Grotefend_ _Burnouf_
Dominus Ceci est
Xerxes rex Darius roi
fortis rex divin roi
regum des rois
rex populorum Roi des provinces
quorumlibet purorum rex qui produisent les braves, roi
collegii puri du monde excellent
probi vi divin redoubtable
maxima [praediti] Darii protecteur, de Goshtasp
stirps mundi rectoris Djemschidis fils, Achéménide
_Paraphrase of above_ _Correct Version of Inscription O_
Ceci [est] I am
Darius roi Darius the great King,
divin, roi
des rois, King of Kings,
roi des provinces, King of countries
qui produisent les braves, which consist of many races,
roi du monde excellent king of this great earth
[et] divin; redoutable, afar and near,
protecteur: fils
du Goshtasp Achéménide. son of Hystaspes the Achaemenian.
A comparison of the two translations with the final version will show
at a glance how vastly superior Burnouf’s rendering was to that of his
predecessor. Not the least important of his contributions to the work of
translation was the identification of the names of some of the provinces
of Darius, which are contained in the I inscription. We have already
observed that Grotefend had attempted a translation of this inscription
in 1832;[425] and in 1836 he again drew attention to the circumstance
that it contained a series of geographical names. The list included no
less than twenty-four proper names, some of which were entirely beyond
Burnouf’s power to decipher; but he made an attempt to read sixteen,
and out of these eight were correct. He thus added Persia, Media,
Babylon, Arabia, Cappadocia, Sarangia, Bactria and Sogdiana to the names
deciphered from the cuneiform;[426] and we have seen how nearly he
arrived at four more—Athura (or Assyria), Armenia, Ionia[427] and Parthia.
Among his contributions to a knowledge of the grammar, he pointed out
that the change of Grotefend’s _o_ into _m_ brought the accusative
singular into line with the Zend and Sanscrit; the genitive _aha_ is also
found in Zend, and both languages alike use it as a dative. A nominative
ending in _oh_ has also its counterpart in the Zend termination in _o_.
He indicated the apparent barbarism that treats the nominative case as
inherent in the word itself; so that the case-ending is appended to it
without modification, as if we wrote ‘dominus-um’ for ‘dominum,’ or
‘dominus-i’ for ‘domini.’[428]
He inferred from the two words ‘Aurmzda’ and ‘izrk’ that cases occur in
which both the vowels and the aspirate are suppressed; and he concluded
that the system of cuneiform writing could not have been originally
applied to express a Sanscrit or Zend language, in both of which the
vowel is rigorously represented. He conjectured also that the cuneiform
signs for the vowels might include an aspirate that rendered its separate
expression unnecessary.[429] ‘There is therefore an evident disagreement
between the language of the inscriptions and the characters in which
they are written’; and this he ascribed ‘to the influence of a system of
transcription of Semitic origin.’[430] The discovery that there was a
marked discrepancy between the mode of writing and the characteristics of
an Indo-European language, now announced for the first time, was soon to
receive very ample confirmation, though it was no small surprise to most
scholars when the origin of the writing was traced, not to Semitic, but
to Turanian sources. In opposition to the opinion of Grotefend, Burnouf
thought that the greater simplicity of the mode of writing in the first
Persepolitan column indicated its later development, and he showed that
the language was not identical with Zend, as Grotefend at first imagined,
but a dialect less pure than Zend, and in actual process of developing
into a later form.[431] Indeed it already exhibited by its interchange of
letters some of the peculiarities noticed in modern Persian. He has no
doubt that it was the living language of the court of Darius; and it is
peculiarly interesting, inasmuch as its existence fully establishes the
greater antiquity of Zend, and removes for ever all the doubts that had
arisen as to the authenticity of that sacred language.[432]
We have already said that Burnouf was connected by ties of friendship
with Lassen from an early age. Lassen was a Norwegian, born at Bergen
in 1800, and consequently a year older than his friend. He was educated
at Christiania, and at the age of twenty-two he left Norway to continue
his studies at Heidelberg. He obtained a travelling studentship from
the Prussian Government, and visited London and Paris in the years
1824-6. During his stay in the latter capital he made the acquaintance
of Burnouf, and collaborated with him in the production of the ‘Essai
sur le Pali’ (1826). On his return to Germany he settled at Bonn, whither
he was attracted by the presence of Schlegel and Bopp. Like them, he was
devoted to the study of Sanscrit and the literature of India; and in
conjunction with Schlegel he became the founder of Sanscrit philology in
Germany. In 1829, he assisted him in the publication of the Râmâyana,
and subsequently edited other ancient texts. In 1830, he received a
Professorship at the University with the munificent stipend of three
hundred thalers, or about forty-five pounds, a year; and ten years later,
when he had attained a wide celebrity, a chair of Indian Languages and
Literature was created for him with a salary of seven hundred thalers.
Here he spent his life, writing and lecturing on his favourite studies,
which also included modern Persian and English literature. His chief
works were the ‘Prakrit Grammatik’ (1837), the Vendidad (1852), and
notably the ‘Indische Alterthumskunde,’ begun in 1847 and continued down
to 1867.
Lassen was troubled during the greater portion of his life by a weakness
of sight, which from 1840 became a serious impediment to his studies.
His last lectures were delivered in the session 1868-9, but he lived
on to 1876, when he died in the city which partly from his own labours
had acquired the name of ‘the second Benares, on the shore of a second
Ganges.’
When he left Paris in 1826 he continued to correspond with Burnouf, and
received letters from him subscribed with the cuneiform sign for B (𐎲).
Burnouf had in fact long devoted himself to cuneiform studies, as is
apparent from his edition of the Yaçna in 1833; but it is not stated when
Lassen first directed his attention to the same subject. Both scholars
published their essays upon it in 1836. When Burnouf communicated his
Memoir to the Academy of Inscriptions, in March 1836, Lassen confesses
that he was entirely taken by surprise.[433] His own Memoir on the
subject was already in the press, and his preface is dated in May. Both
essays were published about the same time, though we cannot say which had
the actual priority of appearance. It is perfectly certain that neither
scholar was dependent upon the published work of the other, and if they
had not been personal friends, the question of the complete independence
of their discoveries could never have arisen. As it is, however, we know
that in the summer preceding the publication of the Memoirs, Burnouf
visited Bonn, and had much conversation with Lassen on the subject of
their common pursuits.[434] He told him that he had ‘deciphered the
names of all the old Persian provinces,’ which sufficiently indicated
the direction of his studies; and it is quite possible that he told him
also of his identification of the letters _k_ and _z_ as well as _b_.
At all events, his Memoir preceded by a clear month (April) the writing
of Lassen’s preface, and he is entitled to claim these two letters.
Whatever confidences Burnouf may have imparted, Lassen was evidently more
reticent, for although the discoveries of the Bonn professor embraced the
re-discovered _b_ of Münter and the _k_ and _z_ of Burnouf, they include
also several other correct values of which Burnouf had no knowledge.
Lassen was not without enemies, and among them the bitterest was
Holtzmann, whom we shall afterwards meet as a contributor to cuneiform
studies. It appears that Lassen, writing to a friend in November 1835,
expressed great surprise to find that Burnouf had deciphered the names of
the Persian provinces. Holtzmann took this to mean that Lassen had till
then known nothing of either the I inscription or the Persian provinces,
and that he had borrowed the whole idea of his book and part of its
substance from his friend. There is, however, nothing inconsistent with
the far more probable assumption that he had been at work upon it long
before the summer visit of Burnouf, and was possibly annoyed as well as
surprised to find that his friend had gone so far upon the same track.
Much has been said of this matter, and it has even been attempted to
raise it to the dignity of a grave literary scandal; but it seems to
have originated in a misunderstanding of Holtzmann, prompted possibly by
personal antipathy, and to have been fostered by those unamiable persons
who love to sow discord, and whose delight it is to sever friendships
that are the chief joy of life. Happily, in this case their efforts were
unsuccessful. It is certain at least that the friendly relations between
the two scholars were never interrupted, and M. Jacquet, who knew both,
said that they had worked simultaneously and without communication with
each other.[435] It is quite possible also that Grotefend’s previous
mention of the inscription had escaped Lassen’s notice. However this
may be, we give his own account of the discovery. He tells us he
was attracted to the I inscription by recollecting the statement of
Herodotus that Darius set up a column on the banks of the Bosphorus
with an inscription in Assyrian and Greek, recording the names of the
nations that had followed his banner. He considered that the sculptured
staircase at Persepolis undoubtedly portrayed the representatives of
various nations bearing tribute to the great King, and he thought that
there must be a record of their names somewhere among the ruins.
Accordingly, with such assistance as he could obtain from Grotefend’s
alphabet, he examined the various inscriptions in Niebuhr and Le Bruyn,
till at length he discovered what he sought in the I inscription of the
former.[436] It was natural to suppose that the nations would be arranged
in geographical order and follow somewhat the same succession as in
Herodotus. The names given by the Greek historian, some of which are also
found in the Zend-Avesta, would afford a clue to their pronunciation in
the cuneiform language, and he might hope with this assistance to carry
on the work so successfully begun by Grotefend. It was in consequence
of the discovery of the names of the three kings in the B and G
inscriptions that Grotefend had been able to fix the values of some of
the signs; and it was natural to suppose that the list now brought to
light, which contained twenty-four proper names, would yield results of
proportionately greater importance. Indeed Lassen believed that he had by
this means found the values of almost all the signs that still remained
doubtful or unknown. Many other scholars had already indulged the same
delusion. St. Martin boasted that his system was ‘_à l’abri de la
critique_.’[437] Burnouf felt convinced that after his own labours ‘there
could be no further doubt except with reference to the letters that
rarely occur.’[438] Lassen was certainly more successful than any of his
predecessors, Grotefend alone excepted. He can lay an indisputable claim
to having correctly deciphered six additional signs; and this number may
be raised to eight if, as is not improbable, he independently discovered
the _k_ and _z_ of Burnouf; and to ten, if we allow two other letters
to pass, the _w_ (𐎺, No. 10) and the _t_ (𐏂, No. 13), which he brought
very close to their true values of _v_ and _tr_—or _ti_ as Spiegel writes
it.[439]
At the time we have now reached, the forty-two signs collected by Niebuhr
had been reduced to thirty-three by the elimination of the diagonal and
of eight others found to be defective. Lassen accounted for all the
thirty-three that remained, and he added three others he found elsewhere.
Of these one (𐎦) is treated by Grotefend as a defective sign for _n_;
but it turned out to be a genuine letter.[440] Burnouf was the first to
recognise its claim, and it figures as one of his three conjectural signs
for _gh_. Lassen gives it the definite value of _g_, which was correct,
for it was eventually determined as _g_ before _u_. The two other signs
he added, ([Persian]) _t_ and ([Persian]) _v_, were both ascertained to
be defective, and he subsequently dropped them from his alphabet. At
this period, therefore, he admitted thirty-four genuine signs and two
defective. His alphabet contained twenty-three correct values as opposed
to the thirteen of Grotefend and the sixteen of Burnouf. It was made up
of the
2 from Münter—_a_ and _b_;
10 from Grotefend—_s_ (or _ç_), _r_, _d_, _p_, _t_ (24), _u_ (36),
_sch_ (or _š_[441]), _f_, _a_ (41) and _kh_ or _k_—the same
as those accepted by Burnouf;
1 from St. Martin—_v_;
2 from Rask—_m_ and _n_;
2 deciphered simultaneously with Burnouf—_k_ and _z_;
6 added by himself—_i_, _t_ (22), _m_, _d_, _g_ (35), _g_ (44)—
twenty-three in all. There were also two added by himself nearly
correct—_w_ (10), _t_ (13), which, as approximate values, may be allowed
to pass, especially in consideration of the German pronunciation of _w_.
Nine were incorrect—_i_ (16), _k_ (19), _o_ (25), _z_ (26), _h_ (27), _n_
(28), _g_ (32), _g_ (33), _s_ (40).
But it contained a peculiarity of its own into which Lassen was betrayed
by a desire to press the grammatical forms of Zend upon the cuneiform
language. In the first place he insisted with not less force than
Burnouf, in distinguishing the long and short vowels. Each of the vowels
_a_, _i_, _u_ are accordingly allotted two distinct signs, and one of his
defective signs is pressed into the service in order to secure a _û_. But
in addition to this his _a_ (𐏃), when it occurs in the middle of a word,
takes the value of _ang_; and in a similar position his _î_ and _û_ may
become _y_ and _v_. Still more remarkable is his treatment of diphthongs.
He observed three instances in which two signs are seen frequently to
follow each other. Of one of these accidental combinations he made a
long _ê_,[442] of the second an _ô_[443] and of the third a _q_.[444] He
forfeited much of the advantage of his greater command of correct values
by falling into these errors. He, however, boldly recognised that some
consonants are represented by more than one cuneiform sign, among which
he includes _t_ with four signs; _s_, _v_, _n_ and _m_ with two each. He
was not uniformly correct in the signs he allotted nor in their number;
but if he gave too many to _t_, which has only two, he did not give
enough to _m_, which has three.
Lassen gave full credit to Grotefend for his ingenious discovery, and he
admitted that the values established upon the authority of the three
proper names were in all probability correct. But, so far as was known,
Grotefend had never published any account of the method he followed to
determine the other signs, a method that resulted in the production of
words that had no resemblance to any human language, and that could not
in fact be pronounced by any human tongue. Lassen did not put himself
forward as an opponent of Grotefend, but as a continuator of his work
from the point where he considered his predecessor had left it.[445] He
would not even accept his reading of ‘Cyrus’ in the Murgab inscription,
and in this his scepticism landed him in serious error. Lassen’s method
was much the same as that of Burnouf. The signs not explained in the
three proper names he regarded as doubtful or unknown, and he sought
for them elsewhere especially in the proper names in the I inscription,
where it might be possible to determine their sound by their occurrence
in a word identified as that of some well-known country or province. The
result of his special study of this text was that he made out correctly
no less than nineteen of the twenty-four names it contains, which
compares favourably with the eight of Burnouf. But in addition to these
he added three that are not to be found in the original, by fancying he
saw proper names in what are in fact merely common words. His nineteen
names, however, provided him with abundant material to continue the work
of decipherment.
One result of his study became immediately apparent to him. The constant
agglomeration of consonants without the intervention of a vowel proved
that in some cases the vowel must be inherent in the consonant. He
arrived at this conclusion from the word ‘Çprd,’ which he found as
the name of a country in his inscription, and which he concluded was
Çapardia, or the Sapeires of Herodotus.[446]. We have seen that Burnouf
was led to the same inference from the appearance of such forms as ‘izrk’
and ‘Aurmzda.’[447] Lassen also observed instances, such as the word
‘imam,’ where the word is sometimes written with and sometimes without
the _a_ (𐎠).[448] He at length laid down the rule that an _a_ is only
distinctly expressed at the beginning of a word, and in the middle before
_h_ or another vowel. On all other occasions, he says, it is inherent
in all the consonants, unless distinctly excluded by the occurrence of
another vowel.[449] This rule he afterwards applied more distinctly to
the short _a_ (𐏃), and adds that it is expressed when it follows the long
_â_ (𐎠), never after _i_ or _u_.[450] In his transliterations he assumes
the truth of this rule, and he invariably separates two consonants by the
interposition of an _a_.
We have said that he may indisputably claim to have added six new values
correctly to the alphabet, _i_, _t_, _m_, _d_, _g_ (25), _g_ (44).[451]
The sign for _i_ is the second letter in ‘Hystaspes,’ and it had been
variously given the value of _o_ by Grotefend and _y_ by St. Martin,
according as they followed the form ‘Goshtasp’ or ‘Vyschtaspo.’ But
Lassen pointed out that the correct Zend form is ‘Vistaçpa,’ and he
consequently, preferred _i_, a rendering confirmed by the word ‘imam,’
‘this,’ which corresponds exactly to the Zend and Sanscrit word.[452]
This alteration got rid of Burnouf’s _(h)ôma_ (‘excellent’), which went
to join the goodly company of Jamshid and the constellation of Moro.
The name ‘Katpatuk’ for Cappadocia, which Burnouf had already cited with
good effect, was turned to farther account by Lassen. He not only used
it to confirm the sign for _k_ (𐎣) with which it begins and ends; but it
enabled him to find a true sign for _t_, by comparison with other words
in which it occurs.[453]
We have already said that Burnouf suspected that _m_ was the true value
of the sign Grotefend made an _h_, and that he only rejected it because
he could not reconcile himself to the existence of two signs for the
same sound. Lassen was less influenced by such considerations, and when
he came to a word that transliterated ‘A r—i n,’ he had no scruple in
completing it by writing an _m_ for the unknown letter. Indeed the word
occurred exactly where, from geographical considerations he would be led
to expect ‘Armenia,’ and the conclusion would have been irresistible even
if it had not been confirmed by the name ‘Choras_m_ia’ which he observed
a little farther down in his list.[454] He made the useful remark that
the sign was always preceded by _i_, the full signification of which was
not then apparent. We now know that it is precisely the _m_ before _i_.
The discovery of the sign for _d_ was a happy intuition, and rested on
slight evidence. He found in the eighteenth line a name of which he knew
four letters, _a_ _i_—_u_ _s_, and he divined that the unknown letter
was _d_, which enabled him to read ‘Aidus’ = India.[455] This guess was
confirmed by one other instance only, where the same sign will make
‘_d_aquista,’ which he thought was Zend for ‘the wisest.’ The word is
really ‘duvaishtam’ and has quite another signification.
We have not noticed how he arrived at the value _g_ for Grotefend’s _u_,
or for the sign which Grotefend thought was a defective _n_. We find them
without explanation in the place where they appear to be mentioned for
the first time.[456] The first is _g_ before _a_; the other _g_ before
_u_.
In addition to the six correct values just enumerated, Lassen was also
very nearly successful in two others—_w_ (𐎺, 10) and _t_ (𐏂, 13), really
_v_ before _a_ and _tr_ before _a_. The latter he correctly acknowledged
in a later work.
The first is the _e_ of Grotefend in his ‘Darh_e_usch.’ Lassen had
the Hebrew form of the name ‘Darjavesch’ in his mind, and no doubt he
suspected the presence of the sound of _v_ in the Old Persian word. The
discovery of the _w_ was certainly ingenious, though scarcely convincing,
if it had not been supported from other sources.[457] At the end of the
B inscription there is a word in the nominative, ‘Akun_u_sh,’ which is
found elsewhere with the accusative termination _m_, but, instead of
the _u_, the sign now under discussion is substituted—that is, instead
of ‘nus,’ we have _n_ 𐎺 _m_. Now, he argued, it is impossible either in
Zend or Sanscrit for a word whose theme ends with _u_ to lose it in the
accusative; and therefore the unknown sign must either be a _u_ or the
corresponding half-vocal _v_.[458] But in Darius, the letter that follows
is a _u_, and therefore it must be the half-vocal—the only question being
whether it is the Zend _v_ or _w_. He eventually erroneously decided for
the _w_, and pointed to two other words _wᵃsna_ and _wᵃzᵃrk_, where as a
_w_ it would make excellent sense.[459]
With regard to the _t_, it will be recollected that Grotefend gave the
value of _n_ to a sign that completed the word ‘bun,’ to which he gave
the meaning ‘stirps.’ This word had long been a stumbling-block to Zend
scholars, and Lassen determined to get rid of it. He showed in the first
place that the _b_ or _p_ at the beginning could not be interchangeable,
and the word must at all events be treated as ‘pun’; but he proposed to
alter it still further by reading ‘put.’ By this means he came nearer
to its obvious meaning, ‘son’—that is, to the Zend ‘putra.’ He found
this innovation supported by another word, _k_ _s_ _t_ _m_, to which he
thought he could attach a Zend meaning.[460]
The nine incorrect values he admitted into his alphabet[461] show little
or no improvement on those suggested by Grotefend or Burnouf; and
unfortunately the decipherer himself can rarely distinguish the incorrect
values from the correct. A glance over a page of Lassen’s transliteration
will show the havoc these nine incorrect letters have made in his work.
But, as we have said, he introduced errors peculiar to himself that were
even more fatal than his failure to identify all the signs correctly. For
example, he remarked that the sign he took for a short _a_ (𐏃) seemed
composed of the sign for _n_ (𐎴) and an angular wedge which might be
an abbreviation of the sign itself. He was led to this hypothesis by
comparison with the Zend, where _ă_ is clearly a combination of _a_ and
_n_.[462] He goes farther and gives the short _a_ and _n_ the guttural
sound of _ang_, when it is found before the letter he thought was _h_
(𐎹, 27; really _y_), and he cites several instances which he thinks will
justify this opinion. He recognises, however, that the rule even thus
limited is not always applicable.[463]
Another error, due also to the deference he professed for Zend analogies,
arose from the supposition that the two letters which he took for _u_ and
_w_ had together the value of _q_. He compared them to the sound of _q_
which is produced in Zend by the two letters _sv_ or _hv_, the latter
being modified into _uv_ in the Old Persian.[464] Equally disastrous was
his introduction of the two diphthongs _hi_ for _ê_, and _au_ for _ô_.
He observed that these two letters are occasionally found together, and
he concluded they must correspond to the Sanscrit diphthong _ai_ = _ê_
and _au_ = _ô_. The occurrence of an _h_ for an _a_ in one of them was a
matter of small difficulty. Indeed he had actually found the _ai_ = _ê_
in Aidus = India; and suggests that _hi_ may be the form it assumes as
a medial.[465] The most eccentric peculiarities of his transliteration
may be traced to these unfortunate errors. His transformation of _a_
into _ng_ appears in his ‘Aurᵃngha Mᵃzdanga’ for ‘Aurahya Mazdaha.’
The diphthong _uv_ with the sound of _q_ seemed at first to yield a
better result. By it he was able to read ‘Quarᵃzmiᵃh’ and ‘Arᵃqᵃtis,’
which are more suggestive of the true words Chorasmia and Arachosia
than the correct forms ‘_Uv_arazamiya’ and ‘Hara_uv_atish.’[466] But,
on the other hand, it led him to read ‘qan’ or ‘qwan’ (Chaonia) for
‘Uvaja’ (Susa), ‘Aqᵃ’ for ‘Ha_uv_,’ Patᵃqᵃ for ‘patuv,’ ‘Dᵃqistᵃn’ for
‘duvaishtam,’ and so forth. The diphthong _hi_ (really _yi_) for the
long _ê_ produced ‘tesam’ in the place of ‘tyᵃisham.’ The diphthong _au_
(really _ku_) for the long _ô_ was still more disastrous. Burnouf, when
he wrote ‘aqunuch,’ had nearly reached the correct transliteration of
‘a_ku_naush,’ but it becomes scarcely recognisable in the ‘a_ô_nus’ of
Lassen. The first sign of this diphthong had been long since correctly
determined by Grotefend as a _k_. But its identification depended in
great measure on the belief that Murgab, where it is the first letter in
the inscription, represents the ancient Pasargadae, the city of Cyrus.
Lassen would by no means accept this as sufficient proof, for even upon
that hypothesis the inscription might not necessarily belong to Cyrus.
St. Martin read it ‘Houschousch,’ and conjectured that this name referred
to ‘Ochus.’ Lassen accepted this view, and saw in the first two signs,
which he took for _au_, the strongest confirmation that they had the
value of the _ô_ long in Ochus. In 1845, when the result of his farther
studies were published, we find that his original alphabet has undergone
considerable improvement. He has suppressed the second signs for each
of the vowels _a_, _i_ and _u_, and the two diphthongs for the long _ê_
and _ô_, that caused so much trouble, have disappeared. We hear no more
of the double letters for _q_, nor of the second value _ng_ which he
ascribed to his initial _a_, now found to be more correctly _h_. He has
also struck out the two defective signs he admitted for _t_ and _û_. For
the rest, the improvement consists chiefly in sweeping away the errors
into which his love of Zend analogies had at first hurried him. The only
addition he made to the number of his correct values was _thr_, suggested
by Grotefend, to which, as we have said, he had previously nearly
approached. The remaining signs now correctly represented are due to M.
Beer and M. Jacquet, who wrote in the interval that separated the two
Memoirs by Lassen.
Lassen’s translations are naturally much affected by the nine incorrect
values he still retained, and by the errors he introduced himself. Yet
if we compare the transliteration and translation of the Le Bruyn No.
131, as given by Burnouf and Lassen, we cannot fail to recognise the
superiority of the latter. For the ‘Bu izrk’ of the one we have ‘Baga
wazark’ of the other, which closely anticipates the ‘Baga vazraka’ of
the correct version. The ‘Omam buiom,’ the ‘Homa excellent,’ is replaced
by ‘imam buvam,’ ‘this earth;’ and many similar improvements may be
noted throughout. Both writers succeeded fairly well in rendering the
simple phrases, but great diversity still existed as to the meaning of
the obscurer passages. Both alike declare that Auramazda is the creator
of heaven and of man; and that he has established Darius or Xerxes as
King. But when we proceed to the second paragraph of the inscription our
translators go far astray. The passage beginning ‘king of countries’ is
thus variously rendered:[467]
B. oahunâm pl. ôznânam.
L. dᵃnghunâm ps‘uwᵃznânâm.
S. dahyunâm . par’uv . zanânâm.
_Trans._ B. [roi] des provinces qui produisent les braves.
L. [rex] populorum bene parentium.
S. [König] der Länder die aus vielen Stämmen bestehen [or
more simply by Menant: des pays bien peuplés].
B. âahâhâ buîôhâ izrkâhâ rurôh âpôh.
L. aᵃnghâhâ bu‘mihâ wᵃzᵃrkâhâ d’uriᵃh âpyᵃh.
S. ahyâyâ . bu‘miyâ . vazrakâyâ . d’uraiy . apiy.
_Trans._ B. [roi] du monde excellent, divin, redoutable, protecteur.
L. [rex] existentis orbis terrarum magni, sustentator, auctor.
S. [König] dieser grossen Erde auch fernhin [or, with Menant:
‘de cette vaste terre (qui commande) au loin et auprès’].
Lassen finishes thus: ‘Xerxes, rex magnus: ex voluntate Auramazdis
(palatium) domitor Darius rex constituit. Is meus pater. Memet tuere,
Auramazdes, heic felicitate: tum hoc ibi palatium, tum hoc patris Darii
regis palatium, excelse Auramazdes, tuere heic felicitate’—a passage
rendered by Menant: ‘Xerxès, le grand roi, déclare: Par la volonté
d’Ormuzd, Darius mon père a construit cette demeure. Qu’Ormuzd me protège
avec les autres Dieux, qu’Ormuzd avec les autres Dieux protègent mon
œuvre et l’œuvre de mon père le roi Darius.’ The I inscription, from
which Lassen derived so much assistance, fared badly at his hands when he
attempted to translate its concluding lines. Even in the list of proper
names he committed what must now appear to be the stupendous blunder of
mistaking three common words for the names of three provinces of the
Empire. The words so honoured are: ‘ushkahyâ,’ ‘darayahyâ,’ ‘parauvaiy,’
which figure as ‘Uscangha’ (the Uxii), ‘Drangha’ (the Drangii) and
‘Parutah’ (the Aparyten).[468]
His transliteration of the others is naturally frequently defective, but
nevertheless he identified twenty correctly. The four he failed in are
Susa, Arabia, Egypt and Ionia. It would have been difficult for him to
recognise either Susa or Egypt, even if his transliteration had been more
perfect. The first is represented in the cuneiform by three signs—_u_
_v_ _j_—and reads ‘uvaja,’ which certainly does not suggest Susa. But
Lassen turned the _uv_ into _q_; as the last letter in his opinion was
_n_ (𐎩, 28) he evolved _q’n_, from whence Chaona. The word for Egypt, as
correctly transliterated ‘M’udray,’ would perhaps have been even more
embarrassing than his own ‘Gudraha,’ in which he agreed with Burnouf
in recognising ‘Gordyene.’ The word he read ‘Arbela’ was correctly
translated ‘Arabia’ by Burnouf; and a somewhat too pedantic learning
reconciled him to ‘Huns,’ which Burnouf had rightly rejected.[469]
CHAPTER IV
BEER AND JACQUET TO RAWLINSON—A.D. 1838-1846
The simultaneous publication of the two essays by Burnouf and Lassen
roused considerable interest among those devoted to the obscure problems
of cuneiform decipherment. Grotefend, whose attention for the previous
twenty years had been chiefly diverted to other pursuits, returned once
more to the subject in which he had previously achieved such great
success, and in the year following he published ‘Neue Beiträge zur
Erläuterung der Persepolitanischen Keilschrift.’ We have already seen
that his mind had by that time lost much of its elasticity, and he
displayed more tenacity in defending his old errors than aptitude in
recognising the truth of the new discoveries. To some of these, however,
he is forced to give a qualified assent.[470] He may indeed claim the
merit of having now for the first time fixed the true value of one more
character. It may be recollected that the two signs 38 (𐏁) and 40 (𐎽)
had been long considered to express the same sound. Grotefend first
attributed to both the value of _sch_; but in consequence of the Murgab
inscription he afterwards considered that the last (40) must denote _sr_.
This opinion was not, however, generally accepted. St. Martin preferred
_ch_ for both, and Lassen _s_. Burnouf, however, suggested _ch_ for the
first and _l_ for the other. But Grotefend was now disposed to drop the
_s_ from the last letter (𐎽) and to read _r_, or some slight modification
of that sound, corresponding to the pronunciation adopted on the other
side of the Tigris for the letter which is rendered an _l_ on this side.
Accordingly in his translation of the Murgab inscription he writes simply
_Kurusch_ and elsewhere _Kurhush_. In his revised alphabet it appears
as _rh_.[471] Grotefend has also the merit in this tract of being the
first to indicate that (𐏂), the _t_ of Lassen, might sometimes have the
sound of _thr_, as in ‘puthra,’ and possibly in ‘Artakhshathra.’ In
his alphabet, however, he drops the sound of _r_ and makes the value
_th_.[472]
In the following year a more important contribution was made by the
appearance of two essays, one by E. F. F. Beer in Germany, the other by
Eugène Jacquet in France. The former was published in the ‘Hallische
Allgemeine Zeitung,’ the other in four papers inserted in the ‘Journal
Asiatique’ (1838).[473] Beer was a native of Bötzen, where he was born
in 1805 and received his early education. He went to Leipzig in 1824
and thenceforth he chiefly devoted himself to the study of Semitic
Palaeography. He died in 1841, at the age of thirty-six. Both he and
Jacquet showed that Lassen was entirely mistaken in supposing that
there were different cuneiform signs to indicate the long and short
signs of the vowels _a_, _i_, _u_.[474] They simultaneously discovered
the correct values of the two letters 27 (𐎹) and 41 (𐏃). The first, the
_h_ of Grotefend and Lassen, is ascertained to be _y_; the other, the
_a_ of Grotefend and the ‘_a_ long’ and _ng_ of Lassen, was found to
be the aspirate _h_.[475] The remaining corrections are due to the
ingenuity of Jacquet alone. Jacquet was born at Brussels, but the whole
of his short life was spent at Paris, where he died in 1838 at the age
of only twenty-seven. His extraordinary precocity and the wonderful
range of his acquirements place him among the most remarkable men of his
generation. He was distinguished at school by the critical accuracy of
his classical knowledge, and by the zeal with which he applied himself to
the geography, history and literature of ancient times. He had scarcely
ceased to be a school-boy when we find him studying Oriental languages
under the most distinguished masters. He was the pupil of De Chézy
in Sanscrit, of Silvestre de Sacy in Arabic and Persian, of Jaubert
in Turkish, and Abel Rémusat in Chinese.[476] His studies travelled
far beyond the ordinary course of even these learned professors, and
embraced the various languages of India, the Malay Archipelago, Java, and
even Ethiopia. At the same time he became familiar with most European
languages, including Danish and Portuguese. At the age of eighteen,
he began to contribute regularly to the ‘Journal Asiatique.’ It was
in its pages that he published his ‘Considerations on the Alphabets
of the Philippines,’ which appeared in 1831, when he had just reached
the age of twenty. It at once attracted the attention of M. G. von
Humboldt, who wrote to compliment the young author, and who farther
showed his appreciation by adopting in his own work most of Jacquet’s
conjectures.[477] This was followed by Memoirs on the languages and
literature of Polynesia, including the cabalistic writings of Madagascar.
From these subjects Jacquet passed to those affecting India. At the age
of twenty-four we find him in correspondence with Mr. James Prinsep,
the Secretary of the Asiatic Society of Calcutta, and well known as the
first decipherer of the Pali alphabet.[478] He has already planned the
execution of a ‘Corpus Inscriptionum Indicarum,’ and is busily occupied
collecting materials from every available source. He is associated with
Raoul Rochette in the study of Bactrian and Indo-Scythian medals, and
his extraordinary capacity as a numismatist is fully recognised. In the
midst of these various occupations he found time to devote himself to
cuneiform inscriptions, which his knowledge of Zend and Pehlevi qualified
him to investigate. From 1835 he was in constant correspondence with
Lassen upon this and kindred subjects; and his singular ability enabled
him to overcome many difficulties that had baffled previous inquirers.
He not only earned distinction in the somewhat arid fields of philology
and ethnology, but he was equally alive to the historical and literary
aspects of the subjects he investigated. He was particularly interested
in tracing the intellectual relations of the people of China, India, and
Upper Asia, and he devoted some interesting papers to the connection
between the East and West in ancient and mediaeval times. These were
mostly written at the age of nineteen to twenty. At nineteen we also find
him translating from the Danish and reviewing a tract by Rask on a Pali
and Cingalese manuscript. He amused his leisure moments by translating
from Chinese and from Sanscrit, in following the march of Alexander
through Bactria, and in studying the history and literature of Buddhism.
Jacquet’s life was inspired by two passions, devoted attachment to his
widowed mother and a boundless love of knowledge. To the one he was ready
to forego his hopes of fame: to the other he sacrificed his health.
There can be no doubt that his incessant and feverish labours induced
the fatal disease that first showed itself in the autumn of 1835, when
he was but twenty-four. The last three years of his life were ennobled
by an heroic struggle against increasing weakness. In the face of much
suffering, he continued his labours to the end; and he died as a scholar
might wish to die, seated at his desk, pen in hand, alone among his books
and manuscripts, his mind filled to the last moment of consciousness
with the work that had occupied his life. Thus passed away one of the
most promising scholars of the age. It is possible that the multitude
of his acquirements was incompatible with profound knowledge in each
of the many subjects he treated. M. Julien contested the accuracy of
his Chinese translations; and De Sacy seemed to doubt some other of his
qualifications; but he received the enthusiastic applause of many other
scholars—of the two Humboldts, of Ritter, Lassen, Burnouf, and Prinsep,
each in their several departments.[479]
His essay on Cuneiform Decipherment was among the works he left
incomplete. It was in the form of a review of Lassen’s recent Memoir, and
three papers on the subject appeared during his lifetime in the ‘Journal
Asiatique,’ and a fourth was published shortly after his death.[480] It
can scarcely be said that he has gone beyond the introduction. The first
essays are occupied chiefly with an account of what had been already
accomplished in the field of cuneiform research, and with a review of
the ethnological points raised by Lassen’s treatment of the provinces
of Darius. It is only incidentally that he touches upon the language
of the inscriptions, and he reserves the discussion of the alphabet to
a future paper. Unfortunately, his premature death prevented him from
accomplishing his task, and strange to say not a single note could be
found among his papers that might be used for the purpose. This is the
more remarkable from the frequent references he makes to that portion
of his work in which he proposes to explain the points of difference
with Lassen, and to the various passages from the inscriptions that he
intended to bring forward in support of his views.[481] On other subjects
he was in the habit of making the most elaborate notes, and it is
scarcely possible to suppose that in a matter of this kind he charged his
memory with an accumulation of detached words and phrases collected from
the numerous inscriptions then available.
The essays indicate some of the corrections he proposed, but for the
reason mentioned we are left very much to conjecture the foundation upon
which they were based.
We see, however, that his correction of 27 (𐎹) from _h_ into _y_
was suggested by the words read by Lassen ‘Arbah’ and ‘Huna,’ which
he recognised should be more properly read ‘Araba_y_a’ and ‘_Y_una’
(Ionians).[482] Similar etymological considerations led him to the
correction of the 𐏃 _a_ into _h_. This letter occurs at the beginning of
the words Lassen reads ‘aryᵃwᵃ,’ ‘arᵃqᵃtis,’ and ‘Aidhus,’ where Jacquet
points out that the corresponding Zend forms require an aspirate.[483]
In these essays we have only found two other corrections suggested. The
first is 10 (𐎺), the _e_ of Grotefend, which Lassen nearly approached in
_w_, but to which Jacquet rightly gives the value of _v_.[484] The other
is 26 (𐎰), the _i_ of Grotefend and _z_ of Lassen, which Jacquet changes
into _th_ in consideration of its occurrence in Assyria (Athuria) and
Sattagydes—which he reads ‘Thrataghadus’ and also (as Lassen adds) in
Mithra.[485]
If Jacquet’s contributions to the study of cuneiform had been limited
to the essays in the ‘Journal Asiatique,’ they would have been
comparatively unimportant. But he was also in correspondence with Lassen
on the subject, and he not only communicated to him the result of his
investigations, but also the reasons upon which they were based.[486] In
1837, Lassen took part in the foundation of a journal devoted to Oriental
subjects—the ‘Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes.’[487] Grotefend
became a contributor from the commencement,[488] and Lassen reported the
progress of cuneiform research as occasion required. His first essay
on the subject appeared in 1839,[489] and contained a criticism of the
recent writings of Beer and Jacquet; with, as regards the latter writer,
some important information derived from his correspondence. From this
source we learn that Jacquet recognised the correctness of the value of
_r_, already assigned to 𐎽 by Grotefend; and completed it by determining
it to be the _r_ before _u_.[490] He was led to this conclusion not only
by the occurrence of the letter in ‘Kurus,’ but also in ‘paru,’ which
compares with the Zend for ‘many’—‘the king of many lands.’ He showed
also that 16 (𐎨), the _o_ of Grotefend and _i_ of Lassen, is really
_ch_;[491] and finally 28 (𐎩), the _ng_ of Grotefend and _n_ of Lassen,
he finds to be _z_: which, if not correct, is a considerable improvement.
He was led to this conclusion by an ingenious conjecture. The letter
is found in the province Lassen transliterated _u_ _w_ _n_, and which,
from his theory of the diphthong, he read _q’n_ and supposed to denote
Chaona. The word occurs first in the list, and Jacquet inferred that it
must refer to the capital province, Susa. He did not altogether reject
Lassen’s _q_, but by changing the _n_ into _z_, he got near to what he
sought, either in ‘uwᵃzᵃ’ or ‘qᵃzᵃ’ for Susa.[492] To sum up: Beer and
Jacquet both independently found the correct values for 27 (𐎹) _y_ and 41
(𐏃) _h_; Jacquet added the correct value of 10 (𐎺) _v_, of 16 (𐎨) _ch_ or
_c_ of 26 (𐎰) _th_; and he completed the value of 40 (𐎽) _r_ before _u_.
Beer may thus be credited with having contributed two letters (27 and
41), Jacquet with six (10, 16, 26, 27, 40 and 41). He also suggested that
the name of the first province in the I inscription referred to Susa and
not to Chaonia, and that Babirus—not Babisus—was the correct reading for
Babylon.[493]
The year 1838 was memorable not only for the essays of Beer and Jacquet,
but also for the appearance of Major Rawlinson among the number of
cuneiform scholars. We have already related how his attention was
directed to the subject while he was stationed at Kermanshah during
the years 1835-7, and that he succeeded in making a transcript of two
hundred lines, or about one half of the great inscription at Behistun.
When he first began the study, in 1835, he was aware that Grotefend had
previously ‘deciphered some names of the early sovereigns of the house
of Achaemenes,’ but he could not obtain a copy of the alphabet, nor
ascertain from which inscription it had been formed. Rawlinson began upon
the two inscriptions he had copied at Elvend, and ‘when he proceeded to
compare them, he found that the characters coincided throughout, except
in certain particular groups, and it was only reasonable to suppose that
the groups which were thus brought out and individualised must represent
proper names. There were but three of these distinct groups in the two
inscriptions,’ and they were arranged so as ‘to indicate a genealogical
succession,’ no doubt ‘belonging to three consecutive generations of
the Persian monarchy; and it so happened that the first three names, of
Hystaspes, Darius and Xerxes, which I applied at hazard to the three
groups proved to answer and were in fact the true identifications.’[494]
This ingenious process was precisely the same as that already followed by
Grotefend, which we have described in detail. Rawlinson appears, however,
to have divined the method independently, though the application of the
three names to the three groups was no doubt suggested to him by what he
had heard reported by Grotefend’s discovery. He next turned his attention
to the first two paragraphs of the Behistun inscription, and by the same
means he detected five other proper names, which he identified with
Arsames, Ariaramnes, Teispes, Achaemenes and Persia. The recognition of
these eight proper names yielded him the values of eighteen cuneiform
characters, which later study showed he had correctly identified.[495]
Such was the progress he had made down to the autumn of 1836 by his own
independent research. Shortly afterwards he received copies of Heeren
and Klaproth’s writings, where at length he found the alphabets of
Grotefend and St. Martin explained; but he writes: ‘Far from deriving
any assistance from either of these sources, I could not doubt that my
knowledge of the character ... was much in advance of their respective
and in some measure conflicting systems of interpretation.’[496] He had
indeed some cause for congratulation, for he had discovered eighteen
correct values, while Grotefend was only successful in twelve, though,
with the two from Münter, he had at his disposal fourteen in all. St.
Martin only made out two letters by his own ingenuity, and disposed
altogether of not more than ten.[497]
Having thus greater means at his disposal, Rawlinson succeeded, in the
course of 1837, in arriving at an approximate translation of the first
two paragraphs of the Behistun inscription, ‘which,’ he says, ‘would
have been wholly inexplicable according to the systems of interpretation
adopted either by Grotefend or Saint Martin,’ the only ones with which
he was at that time acquainted. By the end of the year his paper was
complete, and on January 1, 1838, he forwarded the translation of the two
paragraphs to the Royal Asiatic Society, where it was received on March
14. In April a copy was submitted to the Asiatic Society in Paris, where
it excited great interest, and Rawlinson was at once elected an Honorary
Member. Steps were at the same time taken to put him in possession of
the latest results of European investigation. M. Burnouf sent him his
‘Mémoire’ of 1836. M. Mohl shortly afterwards forwarded him a copy of
the Yaçna. Sir Gore Ouseley, the Vice-President of the Asiatic Society,
introduced him to the notice of Lassen, who wrote to him from Bonn in
August (1838) to acquaint him with his alphabet and with the corrections
made since its appearance in 1836 ‘as well by others as by myself.’[498]
With the valuable assistance thus placed at his disposal, Rawlinson
continued to work at his translations during the remainder of 1838 and
till the autumn of 1839. So early as January 1839, we learn from Mrs.
Rich that he had already succeeded in deciphering a large part of the two
hundred lines.[499] He derived the greatest assistance from Burnouf’s
‘Commentaire sur le Yaçna.’ ‘To this work,’ he says, ‘I owe in great
measure the success of my translations.’ During his stay at Bagdad in
1839 he was in correspondence with Lassen and Burnouf, who informed him
of the progress recently made by Beer and Jacquet. Rawlinson, on his
part, was rapidly completing his alphabet, and he lost no time in making
his friends acquainted with the result. He was surprised to find that
the European scholars just about kept pace with his own progress, and
that he had little to learn from them, though perhaps he might be in a
position to add something to their knowledge. He observed that Lassen’s
newest version of the alphabet ‘coincided in all essential points with
my own,’ but that his labours ‘have been of no farther assistance to me
than in adding one new letter to my alphabet and in confirming opinions
which were sometimes conjectural.’[500] Rawlinson had indeed succeeded in
working out the whole of the alphabet by his own unaided ingenuity, so
that he was accustomed to say that there were only two letters he owed to
others: _k_, 𐎣 No. 4, which he learned from Burnouf, and _y_, 𐎹 No. 27,
from Lassen, who got it from Jacquet.[501]
On the other hand, his contributions to the general advance of the
study were necessarily limited. By the time he became known to European
scholars they had on their part advanced so far that only four letters of
Niebuhr’s list remained for which a correct or approximate value had not
been found. These were:
19 𐎮 _k_ of Lassen,
28 𐎩 _z_ of Jacquet,
32 𐎪 _g’_ of Lassen,
33 𐎸 _g_ of Lassen.
The appearance of Rawlinson did not, therefore, take place till after
the difficulty of the decipherment had been almost completely surmounted
without his assistance. When his correspondence with Burnouf and Lassen
began, in the autumn of 1838, he was, however, still in time to rectify
two out of the four incorrect values.
He found 32 (𐎪) in the name of Cambyses, where it occurs as the fourth
sign, which he transliterated correctly as _j_; Kₐbujᵢy. Hincks
afterwards read the sign _zh(i)_ and Oppert _z(j)i_; but both these
sounds have since yielded to the one proposed by Rawlinson, and it now
appears as _j_ before _i_. But Rawlinson’s most striking success was
with the last letter, 33 (𐎸), another _g_ of Lassen. In his letter to
Burnouf, he proposed to substitute _m_.[502] It is the initial letter
in the name Lassen read ‘Gudrâha’ and thought indicated the Gordyaei.
Rawlinson suggested the name was M’udraya, and should be compared with
the Phoenician ‘Mŭdra’ and the Hebrew ‘Mitsraim,’ and signified, in fact,
Egypt. Both of these emendations were, however, rejected by Lassen.[503]
There is another sign which came under discussion at this time. It will
be recollected that we have assigned 13 (𐎡) to Lassen, who gave it the
approximate value of _t_. Rawlinson, however, suggested to Burnouf
that its true value is not _t_ but _tr_. In this, however, he had been
anticipated, as we have seen, by Grotefend in 1837, who suggested
_thr_.[504] It is admitted that it is impossible to distinguish between
the comparative merits of _tr_ and _thr_;[505] and as Rawlinson probably
knew nothing of Grotefend’s ‘Beiträge’ at the time, he may be credited
with having discerned the correct sound of the sign.[506]
Then, as on subsequent occasions, his great merit lay in the superiority
of his translations. He was already in a position to criticise Lassen’s
efforts in this department with some severity. He thought that Lassen
had ‘in many cases misunderstood both the etymology of the words and
the grammatical structure of the language.’[507] When Rawlinson
found that he was obliged to renounce the claim to a ‘priority of
alphabetical discovery,’ and that he was continually being anticipated
in the values he gave to the signs which he had himself just ‘obtained
through continued labour,’ he was consoled by the reflection that he
was ‘the first to present to the world a literal and, as I believe, a
correct grammatical translation of nearly two hundred lines of cuneiform
writing.’ Unfortunately, however, he withheld his translation, in the
hope of making the accessories more perfect. A host of historical and
geographical questions started up in rapid succession, and he was
unwilling to limit his task to the series of critical notes which was
all he at first contemplated. He accordingly began to recast his Memoir
in the autumn of 1839, with the confident hope that it would be ready
for publication early in the spring of 1840; but the outbreak of the
Afghan War interrupted his literary projects and summoned him to a very
different sphere of activity. Before he left, however, he had time to
make a second communication to the Asiatic Society, in which he related
some of the results of his study. His paper, which was read before a
meeting of the Society, contained a ‘_précis_ of the contents of a
large part of the Behistun inscription, which differed in no material
respect’ from the translation he elaborated at a much later date.[508]
Indeed, we are told that, so far as the original materials extended, it
was ‘absolutely identical’ with his subsequent work, which, as we shall
presently see, was so perfect that later scholarship has found little to
correct.[509] This was certainly a great achievement on the part of a
young officer of twenty-nine years of age, and it was far in advance of
anything that had yet been accomplished.
Meanwhile the number of inscriptions available for study continued to
increase. In 1837, Grotefend published four lines of an inscription from
the collection of Lord Aberdeen and Sir Gore Ouseley, which had recently
been presented to the British Museum by Mountstuart Elphinstone. With the
assistance of Lassen’s alphabet he deciphered the name of the king to
whom it belonged. It read ‘Artks’t’â,’ which he easily identified with
Artaxerxes.[510] The last line contained what appeared to be a new letter
(𐏍), which he thought had the value of _v_.
Two years later (1839) the inscriptions copied by Mr. Rich so far back
as 1821 at last saw the light.[511] Several of them were already known
by the copies made by Le Bruyn and Niebuhr; but the plates were found
to contain the complete text of the Inscription of Artaxerxes, of which
Grotefend’s formed the four concluding lines (Pl. 23, Inscr. P). It
was taken from the north wall of the palace, now identified as that of
Ochus, facing the Palace of Darius. He also was the first to copy the
Inscription of Xerxes from the anta of his palace (Pl. 16, Inscr. E).
The same inscriptions are frequently repeated, and it was an advantage
to have copies of more than one version. Thus Rich gave the celebrated
four-line Inscription of Xerxes, copied from the east portal of the
palace, which was already so well known from Niebuhr’s copy, taken from
the north (Inscr. G, Pl. 18). Rich has also given two versions of the
Inscription of Darius—one taken from the anta of the palace and already
known from Le Bruyn (131) (Inscr. Cᵃ), the other from the south stairs,
which he was himself the first to disinter from the rubbish by which it
was hidden (Pl. 20, Cᵇ).[512]
Of greater importance than any of these were the copies taken by the
Danish Sanscrit scholar Westergaard. He was commissioned by the Danish
Government to visit Persia for the purpose of collecting inscriptions
and other matters of archæological interest. He went to Persepolis and
Naksh-i-Rustam in 1843, and not only did he carefully recopy all the
inscriptions already known, but some others that had hitherto been
neglected. Among the latter are the inscriptions over the animals on the
great Eastern Porch at Persepolis, and the long inscription upon the
tomb at Naksh-i-Rustam. The first is indeed to be found in Mr. Rich’s
collection (Pl. 24, 25, 26); but the copy, as we have seen, was made
by his Seyid and was found useless for purposes of study. All previous
travellers had recoiled before the difficulties of transcribing the tomb
inscription, but these were at length surmounted by Westergaard, and his
copy is the greatest prize he secured. It was found to be an inscription
of Darius, and it served to identify the rock-hewn sepulchre upon which
it is inscribed with the tomb of that king. It contained a more complete
enumeration of the provinces than the I inscription, and as it was
trilingual, it was hoped that so large a number of proper names would at
length afford a clue to the values of the signs in the second and third
columns, which had as yet remained unknown. Westergaard was the first
of the travellers who possessed a competent knowledge of the cuneiform
character, before he undertook the difficult task of transcribing them;
and consequently his copies are of exceptional value and accuracy. On
his return to Bonn he gave Lassen his copies of the first or Persian
column; and reserved to himself the study of the second or Susian column.
In the following year (1844) the two scholars published the results of
their labours in the ‘Zeitschrift,’ and their Memoirs afterwards appeared
together in a separate volume under the title ‘Ueber die Keilinschriften
der Ersten und Zweiten Gattung, von Chr. Lassen und N. L. Westergaard’
(Bonn, 1845).
Six years had now elapsed since Lassen published his first Memoir. During
the interval Beer and Jacquet had made their contributions to the general
knowledge; and although Major Rawlinson had not yet published his Memoir
on the Behistun inscription, he had been in correspondence with Lassen
since 1838, and had already corrected two letters. It is interesting
therefore to inquire how far Lassen profited by these investigations. We
have seen that he had nine incorrect values in 1836 for the letters in
Niebuhr’s list.[513] These were:
16 𐎨 _i_
19 𐎮 _k_
25 𐎤 with _u_ = _ô_
26 𐎰 (_z_)
27 𐎹 _h_
28 𐎩 _n_
32 𐎪 _g_
33 𐎸 _g_
40 𐎽 _s_
By 1844 he corrected the four following:
(1) 25 𐎤 into _q_, an approximate value for _k_.
(2) 26 𐎰 into _θ_, following Jacquet _th_.
(3) 27 𐎹 into _j_ for _y_, following Beer and Jacquet.
(4) 40 𐎽 into _r_, following Jacquet.[514]
He also accepted the corrected value of 41 (𐏃) as the aspirate _h_,
following Jacquet and Beer; but this value we have already allowed to
Grotefend’s _a_ for _ha_, as approximately correct. One other letter, 22
(𐎬) _t_, which he made correct in 1836, he now changes into _d’h_. Thus,
in 1844, he still had six wrong values; of these one had been correctly
fixed by himself in 1836, 22 (𐎬) _t_; another, 16 (𐎨) _ch_, recently by
Jacquet, and two by Rawlinson, 32 (𐎪) _j_, and 33 (𐎸) _m_ before _u_.
There thus remained only two letters not yet provided with correct
values: viz. 19 (𐎮), which was fixed by Holtzmann in 1845 as _d_ before
_i_,[515] and 28 (𐎩), fixed simultaneously by Hincks and Rawlinson in
1846 as _j_ before _a_.
In addition to the thirty-three signs in Niebuhr’s alphabet that gained
final recognition, two others have since been added. One of them was
first found at Behistun by Rawlinson, 43 (𐎵) _n_, and does not appear
in Lassen. The other, 44 (𐎦), was admitted in 1836 by both Burnouf
and Lassen as _gh_ and _g_, and is finally accepted as _g_ before _u_
(Spiegel). But in the Memoir of 1836, Lassen farther sanctioned two other
signs, ([Persian]) _t_, and ([Persian]) _u_, which he now rightly omits
as defective signs for 24 (𐎫) _t_ and 36 (𐎢) _u_.
His new alphabet shows also a great improvement in other respects. In
deference to the decisive opinions of both Beer and Jacquet, Lassen
has given up his double signs for the long and short vowels. He indeed
admits that his _a_ (𐏃) is in fact _h_; his _î_ (𐎨) is _k_, and his
_û_ ([Persian]) is defective.[516] His diphthongs (𐎹 · 𐎡) _ê_ and (𐎤
· 𐎢) _ô_, likewise disappear; and, what is even of more consequence,
his disastrous (𐎢 · 𐎺) for _q_ is quietly suffered to drop. Strange to
say, the unlucky conjunction of these two letters _u_ and _w_ with _q_
excited the unbounded admiration of Jacquet, who regarded it as the most
brilliant inspiration of its author.[517]
To compensate for these omissions, Lassen added a sign ([Persian]) which
with 44 (𐎦), in addition to the thirty-three signs in Niebuhr’s list,
made up the thirty-five letters which constitute his alphabet.[518]
This sign ([Persian]) is always found in conjunction with 31 (𐎴) _n_.
Grotefend pointed out long ago that the two signs 𐎴 · [Persian] replace
the word for ‘king’ and, whatever might be their pronunciation, there was
no doubt as to their signification.[519] It was at first supposed that
the last letter was an alternative sign for 27 (𐎹); but this had to be
abandoned, and Lassen now gives it the value of _rp_, and he reads the
combined letters ‘narap.’ He was led to this result because Westergaard
thought that the word corresponding to it in the second column had the
sound of ‘narap.’[520] The two signs are now treated as together forming
a monogram for ‘king,’ and in transliteration they are represented by
_khs_ to indicate an abbreviated form of the royal title. He adds also
the two new signs that occur in the Inscription of Artaxerxes. The one
(𐏍) first appeared in the copy published by Grotefend in 1837; the
other (𐏏) is dimly discernible in Rich (Pl. 23, line 10), and is no
doubt more clearly delineated by Westergaard. The first had evidently
the sound of _dah_, for it precedes the _j_ in the well-known word
‘dahjunam’; the other clearly denotes the complex sound ‘bumi’ in the
word ‘bumi-ja.’[521]
The long line of scholars from Münter to Jacquet, whose labours we
have now passed in review, had at length succeeded in deciphering the
cuneiform alphabet of the first species of writing found at Persepolis,
and, with the exception of two, they had attached correct values to
each of the thirty-five letters. When, therefore, Lassen wrote his
second Memoir, the task he had to perform was concerned much less with
the alphabet than with the numerous strange words formed by it, which
it was now necessary to assign a meaning to and connect together by
grammatical rules. It is clear there was only one method to pursue, and
that was to compare them with the words and forms of other languages
with which the Old Persian was likely to be connected. It was natural
in the first instance to turn to Zend, the sacred language of the
country in which the inscriptions were found; and the most superficial
comparison, which was all that was then possible, was sufficient to
prove that the two languages were closely allied. The early scholars
were, however, greatly impeded by the extremely imperfect knowledge
of Zend that as yet prevailed; and even if the cuneiform alphabet had
been completely deciphered by Grotefend, it may be doubted whether the
means were then available to grapple successfully with the difficulties
of translation.[522] At that time Zend was known only by the work of
Duperron, which, however remarkable for the time at which it appeared,
was quite inadequate for the purpose. Indeed some scholars, even long
afterwards, had doubts as to the genuineness of the language itself.
Since then, however, the edition of the Yaçna published by Burnouf
in 1833 placed the study upon an entirely different footing; and the
progress made by Bopp and many others in Sanscrit was also of material
service. It thus happened that concurrently with the improvement of the
cuneiform alphabet the chief obstacles to the translation of the language
were removed. When Burnouf and Lassen wrote their Memoirs in 1836, little
progress had been made in that direction beyond the identification of
the names of the Achaemenian kings, and of a few simple words. The
attempt to go beyond rested chiefly upon conjecture and frequently
resulted in absurdities of which the constellation of Moro is the typical
instance.[523]
Progress was at first considerably retarded by a misapprehension of
the relation between the Old Persian of the inscriptions and the
language of the Zend-Avesta. Grotefend for a long time thought the two
were absolutely identical, an opinion which, however, he subsequently
modified.[524] Both Burnouf and Lassen, especially the latter, were at
first inclined to suppose too close a resemblance between them. We have
already pointed out some of the errors that resulted, especially with
regard to the long and short vowels and the diphthongs. But this error
was speedily corrected, and Lassen afterwards showed that the relation
they bore to each other was that of descent from a common parent; and
although Old Persian is historically more modern, it continued to retain
some of the primitive forms which Zend had changed. While he recognised
that they were two distinct dialects, he admitted that they closely
resembled each other, and hence the great assistance he derived from
the Zend in the interpretation of the inscriptions.[525] After Zend,
he found that Sanscrit afforded him the greatest help. Indeed he was
surprised to observe how often it agreed with the Old Persian, and it was
particularly useful with respect to the grammatical forms.[526]
It is the natural affectation of the minute scholar to exaggerate the
importance of an accurate knowledge of grammatical construction, and to
disparage or ridicule even great results that may have been attained in
defiance of strict rule. It became the fashion to underrate the very
considerable achievements of Lassen as a translator, because it was
afterwards found that he fell into several errors which later knowledge
has cleared away. Major Rawlinson was unfortunately peculiarly liable
to depreciate the work of his competitors, and it is therefore with no
surprise that we find him dwell with more emphasis upon their failures
than upon their success. But it is certainly remarkable that Hincks,
the Irish cuneiform scholar, should have been betrayed into a judgment
that must now be regarded as singularly unfair and censorious. Writing
in 1847, he gave expression to the opinion that ‘Lassen seems to have
been completely destitute of the peculiar talent of a decipherer, and
his attempts at translation were consequently as bad as could be made
... the number and grossness of many of his mistakes are such as to
create astonishment.’[527] It is quite true that Lassen sometimes mistook
verbs for adjectives, and that in some places he had to warn the reader
that his translation was purely conjectural. But his services should be
estimated by the state of knowledge at the time he wrote. It must be
remembered that when he began these studies, in 1836, all that was known
were a few proper names, and every attempt to pass beyond had hitherto
led to ridiculous misrepresentations of the true meaning of the texts.
When, in 1844, he completed his translation of the whole series of
inscriptions of the Persian column—with the exception of the Behistun,
which was not accessible to him—he had succeeded in making their contents
as well known as they are at present in all the essential points of their
subject-matter. It must be recollected also that he had to contend with
difficulties that have since been in great measure removed. The texts
upon which he worked were in many places in need of emendation; and the
parallel columns in Susian and Babylonian, which have afforded so much
assistance to later translators, were then completely unknown. Moreover,
it should not be forgotten that, notwithstanding all the advantages that
are now at command, many of the passages over which Lassen stumbled are
still the subject of dispute.
His collection included the ten independent inscriptions at Persepolis;
the Tomb inscription at Naksh-i-Rustam, so lately recovered by
Westergaard; the Cyrus inscription from Murgab; the inscriptions of
Elvend and Van that only a few years before had acquired an entire
volume to expound. He added a translation of the short inscription on
the crystal cylinder brought from Egypt and now in the British Museum.
He reads: ‘Ego Darius hominum tutor.’ He also translated the Denon
inscription, found in 1800 near Suez, which, according to him, signifies
‘Darius hominum tutor magnus.’ Both these inscriptions write ‘King’
with the abbreviation to which Lassen assigned the value of ‘narpa’ and
translates ‘hominum tutor.’ The true meaning of the first is ‘I [am]
Darius the King,’ and of the second ‘Darius the great King.’[528] The
same abbreviation occurs in the inscription on the Caylus vase, but in
this case Lassen translates it simply as ‘rex’—‘Xerxes rex magnus.’[529]
Although Lassen may justly claim great praise for the skill he has
displayed in his translations, it must not be supposed that he succeeded
in overcoming all the difficulties that stood in his way. His task was
greatly simplified by the constant recurrence of a set form of words
with which the inscriptions usually begin.[530] At Persepolis this form
is first met with on the Porch, and it occurs altogether five times in
the ten Persepolitan inscriptions. The two Hamadan inscriptions consist
of nothing else. A shorter form, which begins at the second paragraph
of the one just mentioned, is repeated three times at Persepolis. The
longer form sometimes reaches over twenty lines, and as the whole series
of these inscriptions only amount to three hundred lines, it is evident
how considerably the task of the translator was reduced. Most of the
inscriptions are, as we have seen, repeated in several places: the window
inscription in the Palace of Darius no less than eighteen times. But the
very limitation thus imposed upon him was one of the chief obstacles to
his progress. Indeed, until the Behistun inscription became available it
was impossible to acquire any extensive knowledge of the language. To
this circumstance must be partly ascribed the inferiority of Lassen’s
rendering of difficult passages, when compared with the facility we
observe in Rawlinson from the first.
Between the publication of the First Memoir and the one we are now
considering, Lassen made considerable progress. In the I inscription
the names of the twenty-five provinces are now given correctly with
the exception of two: ‘Gordyaei,’ which Rawlinson had shown should read
‘M’udraya,’ Egypt; and ‘Parutia,’ which is not a proper name at all, but
means ‘east.’ Neither Lassen nor Rawlinson had much success in their
treatment of the new names of provinces found at Naksh-i-Rustam, and no
general agreement has even yet been reached with regard to some of them.
A careful collation of the difficult passages in the subject-matter of
the inscriptions is, however, sufficient to prove the great superiority
of Rawlinson over Lassen, both in the actual work of translation and
in the necessary emendation of a disputed text. An instance of the
comparative ingenuity of the two scholars is afforded by a passage in the
Naksh-i-Rustam inscription, where the last letter of the thirteenth line
is obliterated and the passage runs thus (Lassen’s transliteration):
line 13 ?
” 14 Arçahjâ puthra ârija ârija d—
” 15 thra
The omission of the letter led Lassen into one of the greatest blunders
in his revised translation. His ‘progenies Arçis’ commits him to a
definite historical error, while the rendering of the following words
‘ârija ârija’ is merely an instance of aberration to which the greatest
scholars are occasionally subject. Rawlinson, who greatly excelled him in
‘intuition,’ had no difficulty in supplying the missing letter as _p_,
and he translated the passage correctly: ‘son of a Persian, an Arian, of
Arian descent,’ in the place of ‘Progenies Arçis, a venerabilibus stirpis
auctoribus oriundi’! Lassen’s knowledge now enabled him to point out
several instances in the Inscription of Artaxerxes Ochus that served
to illustrate the decay of the language, though the interval from the
classical age of Darius was not more than a hundred and ninety years. It
is here that the two new signs—or rather contractions—for the syllables
‘dah’ and ‘bumi’ first occur. Of more interest is the evidence this
inscription affords of the degeneration of the Persian religion by the
admittance of Mithra into its worship. Artaxerxes the Third traces his
genealogy through Artaxerxes the Second (Mnemon), Darius the Second
(Nothus), Artaxerxes the First (Longimanus), Xerxes, Darius the First,
and Hystaspes, to Arsames the Achaemenian; and neither of the two last
are distinguished by the royal title.
The most important publication after Lassen’s essay in 1844 was a
criticism that appeared upon it by Adolf Holtzmann in the following
year.[531] It was written with much personal animosity to Lassen,
and this enlivens in an amusing fashion the extreme aridity of the
subject-matter.
Only two letters now remained to be correctly determined: 19 (𐎮),
the _k’h_ of Lassen, and this Holtzmann successfully accomplished.
The letter occurs in the words Lassen transliterated ‘jak’hija’
and ‘hak’hi(s).’[532] Holtzmann substituted _d_ and read the first
word ‘jadij,’ which he compared with the Sanscrit ‘jadi,’ Zend
‘jedhi’—‘when’—instead of Lassen’s ‘venerandus,’ a meaning that turned
out to be correct.[533] Finally, he reviewed all the words in which the
letter occurs, and he found that the substitution of _d_ for _k_ enabled
him to assign satisfactory meanings to the whole of them.[534]
Holtzmann is also credited[535] with having slightly improved the value
of 28 (𐎩), the _z_ of Jacquet, by giving it the sound of _g_—presumably
_g_ soft, but as it always precedes _a_ the reader would naturally assume
it to be hard, as in ‘gadija,’ ‘aga’mija,’ etc. It is in fact _j_ before
_a_.
Holtzmann has the merit also of rectifying several of Lassen’s verbal
errors. For example, he showed that ‘hadâ,’ which Lassen thought
signified ‘continually,’ in reality means ‘with.’[536] Of more importance
was his treatment of the word then read ‘Paru-ja’ (‘parauvaiy’).
Rawlinson had already annihilated two of Lassen’s provinces—Uscangha
(the Uxii) and Drangha (the Drangii)[537]—and Holtzmann now disposes of
the third—Paru-ja—which Lassen still cherished in 1845. Lassen derived
the word from the Sanscrit ‘parvata,’ ‘hill,’ and thought it was a
mountain district called Parutia, near the Persian frontier. Holtzmann
had recourse to the Sanscrit ‘purva’ (easterly), and translated the
sentence ‘the land of the east,’ meaning the eastern provinces whose
names followed.[538] When Holtzmann attempted the correction of longer
sentences he was not always so successful. For example, he rendered the
words that were then transliterated ‘jak’hija âwamâ (ma)nijâhja hak’â
ânijanâ mâ rçam imam Pârçam,’ ‘When one goes—from Anijana to the ocean,
this land they call Persia’!—the real meaning being ‘Wenn Du so denkst
vor Niemanden möchte ich zittern—so schütze dieses Persische Heer.’[539]
Another instance of ingenuity is the rendering of the line ‘hak’â
ânijanâ nija tᵃrçᵃtija,’ ‘ab Anjana usque ad Tarsatia’ (_sic_). It will
enable the reader to see how uncertain was the progress yet made when
these same words were rendered by Lassen, in 1844, ‘adoratio consecrata
contingit,’ and by Rawlinson, in 1846, ‘From the enemy feareth not’—which
closely approached the true translation: ‘fürchtet sich ... vor keinem
Anderen.’[540]
Sometimes, however, Holtzmann showed a marked improvement upon
Lassen. Thus the latter scholar translated the fiftieth line of the
Naksh-i-Rustam inscription ‘Auramuzdi adorationem attulere, quae
[regiones] illae palatium exstruxere.’ Holtzmann substitutes ‘Auromazdas
enim opem tulit dum opus feci,’ and Rawlinson, in 1846, correctly renders
the sentence ‘Aurmazd brought help to me so that I accomplished the
work.’[541]
When Rawlinson was writing his Memoir in 1846 he remarked upon the
singular fact that no Englishman except himself had yet taken part in the
work of decipherment. Many had indeed occupied themselves in the more
adventurous task of collecting the materials—among whom were Morier,
Ouseley, Ker Porter, and Rich—but so far Rawlinson was alone among his
countrymen as a decipherer. This special study arose first in northern
Europe, and it is remarkable how large a share was borne by Denmark.
Niebuhr, upon whose foundation all later scholars built, was born at
Ludwigsworth in North Hanover; but he served under the king of Denmark,
and his Travels were first published at Copenhagen. Münter, though a
German by descent and birth, was brought up at Copenhagen, and passed
his whole life in Denmark, where he died as Bishop of Seeland. Rask
was a Dane, and he laboured throughout his life as a Professor at the
University of Copenhagen. Westergaard belonged to the same nationality
and, as in the case of Niebuhr, his journey to the East was due to the
liberality of the Danish Government. Lassen was born and educated at
Bergen, though, it is true, he left Norway at the age of twenty-two and
passed the greater portion of his life at Bonn. Tychsen was also of
Norwegian descent, but born at Tondern, in Schleswig. Grotefend was a
Hanoverian, born at Münden. Beer, on the other hand, was an Austrian from
Bötzen. France was as yet represented only by two scholars, St. Martin
and Burnouf; Belgium by one, Jacquet; and England also by one, Rawlinson.
But the latter was soon joined by two others, Hincks and Norris, both of
whom, especially the former, were soon to acquire a brilliant reputation
in cuneiform studies. The Rev. Edward Hincks belonged to a Chester
family settled in Ireland since 1767. His father was a Presbyterian
minister who for a time kept a school at Cork, and afterwards became
classical master at the Belfast Academy (1821-36). He was a man of
the most varied learning, who lectured with equal success on two such
different subjects as Chemistry and Hebrew. He wrote a Greek Grammar,
and was a frequent contributor to the proceedings of the Royal Irish
Academy. He married a Chester lady, by whom he had a numerous family,
many of whose members rose to distinction. One son became Archdeacon of
Connor, another Professor of Natural Science at Toronto, a third was well
known in Canadian politics. He became Premier in 1851, and was called
the ‘Colbert of Canada.’ He was afterwards appointed to a Colonial
Governorship, and was made a K.C.B. in 1862. His brother Edward, the
cuneiform scholar, was born in 1792, and after a distinguished career
at the University of Dublin, he settled down in a remote country parish
as Rector of Killyleagh in the county Down. In that inhospitable region
he spent forty-one years, till his death in 1866. He first attracted
attention by his papers on Egyptian hieroglyphics, contributed to the
Irish Academy. His contributions to cuneiform literature began in June
1846, when he read a paper ‘On the First and Second Kinds of Persepolitan
Writing.’[542] This was followed by another in November ‘On the Three
Kinds of Persepolitan Writing and on the Babylonian Lapidary Character.’
In January of the following year a farther essay appeared, ‘On the Third
Persepolitan,’ and in the December after he published a long paper in the
‘Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society’ on the Inscriptions of Van.[543]
When he entered upon the study of the first column but little remained
to be done to complete the decipherment of the Persian alphabet. His
attention was therefore chiefly directed to the writing in the Susian
and Babylonian columns. In a postscript to his first essay he insisted
on the substantial resemblance of the language of the third column to
those of the Babylonian and Assyrian inscriptions. He supported the
opinion which had been even then suggested, that both of these ‘have
much in common with the Semitic languages’ and he announced that he had
read the names of Babylon and Nineveh on the bricks.[544] He devoted his
ingenuity in the first instance to prove the identity of the cursive mode
of writing found in the third column and in some Babylonian inscriptions
with the character seen on Babylonian bricks and in the East India House
Inscription. He published two elaborate tables in illustration of this
theme, and offered a few suggestions as to the meaning of the signs.[545]
His later contributions deal chiefly with the Assyrian inscriptions,
which, since the excavations made by Botta, began to attract the largest
share of public attention. In 1850, he wrote on Khorsabad, on the
Assyrio-Babylonian phonetic system, and on Assyrian mythology. Among
his more important contributions to Assyriology are his treatise on the
Assyrian Verb (1855-6) and his Assyrian Grammar, begun in 1866.[546] The
last was left unfinished, and, strange to say, no notes were found among
his papers to assist in its completion. Like Jacquet, he seems to have
charged his memory with the whole burden of the complicated task he had
set himself to accomplish. Few scholars enjoyed a higher reputation for
extraordinary acumen in unravelling the difficulties of this intricate
subject. The ‘intuition’ he displayed was specially remarkable, and often
led him to anticipate conclusions that other scholars only reached by a
slow and arduous course of inquiry. Even Rawlinson, who shared to a high
degree in this rare gift, often found himself anticipated by the Irish
scholar. Hincks, for example, was the first to decipher the name and
titles of Nebuchadnezzar in the India House Inscription and in many other
places, where Grotefend thought he had found ‘forms of prayer.’[547]
This was, however, after he had received the Behistun Inscription, where
‘Nebuchadnezzar’ was found by Rawlinson in the Persian column.[548]
Hincks’s paper ‘On the First and Second Kinds of Persepolitan Writing’
was read to the Royal Irish Academy on June 9, 1846, and he communicated
its contents to Mr. Norris, the secretary of the Royal Asiatic Society,
who sent a detailed account of it to Major Rawlinson at Bagdad. This
letter was despatched from London on August 20, and five days afterwards,
on the twenty-fifth of the same month,[549] Major Rawlinson sent off
a Supplementary Note in which, by a very singular coincidence, he
introduced some important modifications in his system of transliteration
that brought it into substantial agreement with that just then proposed
by Hincks. Thus the two documents crossed each other on the way,
a circumstance that affords conclusive proof of their independent
production.[550] But as Hincks’s paper was read in June and Rawlinson’s
note not despatched till August, the priority must be awarded to the
former. This was the first occasion on which Hincks had contributed
to cuneiform research, and, as we have said, he had the good fortune
to forestall Rawlinson in one of his most useful discoveries. When he
wrote, Lassen’s Second Memoir of 1844 was still the chief authority on
the subject, and it is to it that he directs his criticism. In looking
over Lassen’s alphabet, nothing was more remarkable than the number of
signs allotted to certain supposed modifications of the same sound. Thus
_k_, for example, was represented by no less than four different signs
expressing _k_ (No. 4), _k’_ (16), _k’h_ (19), and _kh_ (42): _d_ by
three different signs, _d_ (11), _d’h_ (22), and _dh_ (34). At the same
time it was beginning to be remarked that certain of these signs to
which modifications of the same sound were ascribed were only to be found
in combination with particular vowels. Lassen himself had pointed out in
his First Memoir of 1836 that _m_ (29) always preceded an _i_. Jacquet
added that _r_ (40) always occurred before _u_. Holtzmann also remarked
that 28 (𐎩), to which he gave the value of _g_, is always followed by
_a_, and 19 _d_ by _i_.[551]
The merit of Hincks consists in this: that he was the first to point
out that the various signs allotted to the same letter did not differ
from each other by any modification of sound as Lassen supposed, and
also that their employment was regulated according to the vowel that
succeeded them. He accordingly divided the signs for these consonants
into two classes, according as they were followed by _a_, inherent or
expressed, and by _i_ or _u_; and he added _r_: the former he called
primary, and the latter secondary, consonants. Lassen, as we have said,
was of opinion that the secondary letters must have a somewhat different
value, and in particular that they were all aspirated. He also thought
they might be used indifferently before any vowel. Thus, for example, he
supposed that the two signs for _m_ (𐎶 and 𐎷) might both be used before
_i_, and that they expressed a slightly different sound. Hincks, on the
contrary, maintained that 𐎶 could never really open upon _i_; and when
it appears to do so, as in the group 𐎶·𐎡, _a_ is always understood.
Thus 𐎷·𐎡 is ‘mi,’ but 𐎶·𐎡 is ‘mai’ or ‘mê,’ the secondary form of _m_
being equivalent to its primary form; and he ascribed the existence
in the alphabet of this peculiarity to a survival from a syllabic
mode of writing. Its utility is, however, obvious, for with only three
vowels—_a_, _i_ and _u_—it would otherwise be impossible to render the
sounds _ê_ and _ô_ (_ai_—_au_). As, however, the consonants themselves
were of the same value, Hincks writes them with the same sign, and
discards the _h_ which had till then been added to mark an imaginary
difference in the sound of the secondary consonants. This is precisely
what Rawlinson did in his Supplementary Note, and for the same reason.
Hincks lays down the general rule that when a primary consonant replaces
a secondary consonant before _i_ or _u_ ‘an _a_ must be interposed either
as a distinct syllable or as a guṇa to the vowel.’[552] This alteration
led to a considerable modification in the method of transliteration, but
its importance arose from the altered translation of which the words
became susceptible. Thus, in the instance already given, ‘miy’ is the
termination of the first person singular present tense of the verb; while
‘mey’ (properly ‘maiy’) is the enclitic pronoun used for _my_. So also
the words Lassen transliterates ‘utamija khsathram’ and renders ‘tum
hoc regnum,’ when properly transliterated ‘utamê’ (‘utamaiy’) signify
‘meumque regnum.’[553]
Hincks had also the merit of calling attention to the indiscriminate
addition of _a_ by Lassen to words ending in _iy_ and _uw_. This
lengthening of the syllable sometimes entirely obscured the sense—as in
‘thatija’ which Lassen supposed to signify ‘generosus,’ and which is in
fact the verb ‘he says.’[554]
When we compare Hincks’s alphabet with Lassen’s (passing over the mere
omission of the aspirates) we find that Hincks had only four incorrect
values, as opposed to the six of Lassen. These were:
26 _z_ for _th_;
32 _zh(i)_ for _j(i)_;
33 _kh(u)_ for _m(u)_;
39 _p(r)_ for _f(a)_.
Two of these were already correctly given by Lassen (Nos. 26 and 39). On
the other hand, Hincks corrected three out of Lassen’s six wrong values:
16 _ch_ instead of Lassen’s _k’_;
19 _d(i)_ instead of Lassen’s _k’h_ (due to Holtzmann);
28 _j_ instead of Lassen’s _z’_.
It may be observed also that Hincks has correctly indicated all of
what he termed the secondary consonants and distinguished between
those followed by _i_ and those followed by _u_. The others not so
distinguished are the primary consonants preceding _a_ inherent or
expressed.
When Hincks read his paper in June, Rawlinson’s Memoir on the Behistun
Inscription had been already received by the Asiatic Society and was in
the printer’s hands. It was no easy task at that time to carry it through
the press. Cuneiform type had to be cast, and the expense and trouble it
caused were very great. The work was, however, looked forward to with
the greatest interest. After the appearance of Professor Lassen’s essay,
in 1844, all the cuneiform inscriptions of the Persian column then known
had, as we have said, with one notable exception, been translated. There
remained the great inscription at Behistun, which it was known Major
Rawlinson had copied and was at work upon. We have already narrated the
succession of untoward circumstances that had delayed its publication
for seven years, from the time when two hundred lines had been prepared
for the press in 1839 down to the late autumn of 1846, when the completed
work was first made public. Meanwhile no other traveller appeared at all
disposed to anticipate him. There were indeed few who cared to undergo
the personal risk Rawlinson had so cheerfully faced, nor willing to
expend a thousand pounds upon the dangerous task, as he had so generously
done. Indeed down to 1884 only one other traveller subsequently
accomplished the ascent.[555] In February 1846, Rawlinson forwarded a
complete translation of the entire text to the Royal Asiatic Society. The
remainder, with the cuneiform original and notes, followed at intervals
in the course of the year. The editorial note, dated September 7, tells
us that the text and the first five chapters of the Memoir had been
already received. The work appeared in four parts, of which the first
three form the tenth volume of the Society’s Journal. The first was
published in 1846, and contained eight plates, two representing the rock
of Behistun and the figures sculptured upon it, executed by Lieutenant
Jones of the Indian Navy;[556] the others are devoted to the five columns
and appendices which form the text. Then follow the transliteration and
two translations, one in Latin and the other in English, with notes on
the state of the text. This was followed by the first two chapters of
his ‘Memoir on the Inscription’ to page 53. This portion of the work
was reviewed by Hincks, in the January number of the ‘Dublin University
Magazine,’ 1847, and by Benfey in a pamphlet published at Leipzig in
January 1847. Part II. was published before the meeting of the Society
in May 1847, and included the third chapter of the Memoir, treating
of the cuneiform alphabet and the important Supplementary Note on the
pronunciation, pages 55 to 186.[557]
Part III. was at the same time in the hands of the printer, and appeared
later in the year (1847). It contains Chapters IV. and V. of the Memoir.
The former gives a revised transliteration and translation of the text
with an Analysis; and the other a complete revised edition of all the
inscriptions previously published by Lassen. Mr. Norris, the Assistant
Secretary of the Asiatic Society, saw the whole of this complicated
work through the press, and he undertook to alter the transliteration
given in Chapter IV. in accordance with the principles laid down in the
Supplementary Note. For his services in this matter, he received a vote
of thanks from the Society. ‘He unites,’ said the proposer, ‘more varied
learning and more rare and extensive research and intelligence than I
have ever seen combined in the same individual’;[558] and he subsequently
attained an independent position in the first rank of cuneiform scholars.
Part IV. was not published till 1849. It included the sixth chapter
of the Memoir and treated of the Vocabulary, but the dissertation was
never completed. It breaks off in the middle of a sentence, when the
writer had not proceeded further than the words commencing with vowels
and with consonants of the first three classes. It purports to give a
few brief etymological explanations, but in reality it is admirable as
a display of learning in many fields of knowledge, and it is especially
interesting for the explanation it affords of the reasons that led to
the determination of words of doubtful meaning. While he was engaged in
this work, he received Lassen’s Second Memoir. It did not reach him
till August 1845, when his own translations were completed and already
beyond the reach of alteration. He had little cause, however, to regret
the delay that arose from the difficulty in those times of ‘communicating
between Bonn and Bagdad,’ for he could have derived small benefit from
the very inferior translations of his predecessor. In the philological
branch of the subject, however, he found the Memoir ‘of the greatest
convenience as a manual of reference,’ and his marginal notes show how
carefully he consulted it.[559]
By the publication of this work Major Rawlinson at length took his place
among the cuneiform scholars of Europe. We have shown that the study was
by that time far advanced, and most of the difficulties of the Persian
column were already surmounted. Rawlinson did not, therefore, put forward
any pretension to original discovery in that department, but was, he
said, ‘content to rest my present claims on the novelty and interest of
my translations.’[560] He hoped eventually to earn the higher distinction
of an original discoverer, ‘according to the success that may attend my
efforts to decipher the Median [Susian] and Babylonian inscriptions.’
It was not, however, without an effort that he presented himself in so
modest a garb upon this occasion. He was convinced that he had made each
step in the tedious process of decipherment by his own unaided effort;
and in whatever light he might appear to the public, he was certainly an
original discoverer to himself. He had no doubt that if Grotefend and
Lassen had never lived the world would have been indebted wholly to him
for the discovery, and, although we think he may have been influenced
more than he suspected by other scholars, there is no great improbability
in supposing that his own ingenuity would have been quite equal to
grapple singly with the task.
Notwithstanding his avowed disclaimer, he still cherished the opinion
that he had really made some important contributions to the determination
of the alphabet. On one occasion indeed he went so far as to claim the
paternity, directly or indirectly, of at least ten characters, and he
referred to his correspondence with Burnouf and Lassen as the medium
through which he had made his influence felt. It is clear, however, that
in this he was entirely mistaken. According to his own admission, he
knew as little of the Continental scholars as they did of him until his
first communication to the Asiatic Society, which was received in March
1838. It will be recollected that Burnouf and Lassen had published their
Memoirs two years before; so neither of these could have been influenced
by Rawlinson. It only remains to inquire whether he could have suggested
any of the six values ascribed to Jacquet, whose essay appeared in the
course of 1838. Here a comparison of dates is not sufficient in itself to
determine the question. Rawlinson’s communication was known in London on
March 14, and was submitted to the French Society on April 20. Jacquet
began that very month to publish his criticism of Lassen, and his active
mind was full of the subject. He was no doubt present at the meeting when
Rawlinson’s copy of the inscription was submitted to the Society, and
there was ample time for him to profit by any suggestions it contained
in his future papers on the subject. We have, however, conclusive proof
from Rawlinson’s own admission that the values of these six letters were
not then known to him. Nor could they have been communicated to Jacquet
through his subsequent correspondence with Burnouf. Jacquet died in
July 1838, and Rawlinson’s correspondence with Burnouf and Lassen did
not begin till the summer of that year.[561] From that period Rawlinson
himself accounts for all the letters in question. Writing after Jacquet’s
death, he tells us in a letter to Burnouf that he had just found the
value of 16 (𐎨) _ch_. Two other values, 26 (𐎰) _th_ and 41 (𐏃) _h_,
he fixed still later in the winter 1838-9; another, 27 (𐎹) _y_, he
acknowledges he received from Lassen.[562] The sign 10 (𐎺) he also fixed
in 1838-9; but he gave it the same value as Lassen had done in 1836, viz.
_w_. In Germany _w_ was no doubt equivalent to its correct value _v_, but
scarcely so to an English-speaking man, especially as he distinguishes
it from his _v_ (𐎻) No. 15. The other letter, 40 (𐎽) _r_, was known
correctly to Grotefend in 1837. With reference, therefore, to the six
letters attributed to Jacquet, it is seen that none of them were due to
the influence of Rawlinson, either through his Memoir or subsequently by
correspondence. One letter (_r_) was fixed before Rawlinson was known.
Three others were first announced after Jacquet was dead (16, 26, 41).
One was wrong (10), and the other (27) he acknowledged to have borrowed
from Lassen. It is impossible, therefore, to admit the pretension put
forward by Rawlinson, that he could ‘fairly claim the paternity, either
directly or indirectly, of at least ten characters’ on the ground
that ‘it was impossible to say by whom each individual letter became
identified.’ On the contrary, the history of the identification is plain
enough, and there is no difficulty in assigning the proportion of merit
due to each discoverer. It was not till after the essays of Jacquet that
Rawlinson bore any share in the general progress of the study; and then
not more than four characters remained to be correctly identified.
We have already seen with what conspicuous success Rawlinson had found
the true values of two of these, so far back as 1838. One still gave
Lassen a great deal of trouble, and he had variously valued it as _k_
(1836), _ich_ (1839), _k’h_ (1844). In his letter to Rawlinson he
preferred to leave it undetermined (1839).[563] Rawlinson suggested that
it had the sound of _t_ before _i_, which is so nearly correct and so
great an improvement upon all previous attempts that it might almost be
conceded to him as an approximate value if he had announced it earlier.
He acknowledges that he remained long in doubt concerning it, and
there is no evidence, as in the case of the other two letters, that he
suggested the emendation to Burnouf.[564] Before his alphabet appeared,
in 1846, the true value had been already fixed by Holtzmann in 1845 as
_d_ before _i_.
It thus appears that Rawlinson had a real aptitude for unravelling this
kind of puzzle. Only four letters were left to him by his predecessors;
and of these he determined two correctly and one nearly correctly.
The fourth, 28 (𐎩) the _z_ of Jacquet, he improves to an approximate
correct value _j’h_ in his first alphabet; and in his second he gives
it correctly as _j_ before _a_: a correction made simultaneously by
Hincks. He may also claim the merit of having restored the sound of _k_
(he writes _kh_) to 25 (𐎤). The value of this letter had long before
been fixed by Grotefend, but since then it had passed through many
vicissitudes. St. Martin thought it was _h_; Burnouf made it _q_; and
Lassen thought, in 1836, it stood for the _a_ in the diphthong _au_,
_ô_, till at length, in 1844, he reluctantly adopted Burnouf’s _q_.
Tn addition to these services, Rawlinson contributed two new letters,
one of which, No. 43 (𐎵), _n_ before _u_, has taken a permanent place
in the alphabet. The other (𐎾), _ñ_, is really a Susian letter with a
nasal sound, and is found in the Persian column in only two proper names.
Oppert suggests that it may be the missing _l_; and Spiegel is disposed
to agree.[565]
If we consult Rawlinson’s alphabet as it stood early in 1846, it will be
seen that he was in possession of correct values for the thirty-three
signs in Niebuhr’s list, with the exception of two, 10 (𐎺) _w_ for _v_,
and 19 (𐎮) _t_ for _d_, and both of these may be almost allowed to him as
approximately correct. In the case of the first, indeed, we have already
conceded it to Lassen, in consequence of the practical exclusion of _w_
from the German language; and we have only denied it to Rawlinson because
he distinguishes it from his 15 (𐎻) _v_.
We have not included the addition of the aspirate among the number of
errors, where it indicated only an unimportant modification of a correct
sound. It had its origin in the difficulty that was found in believing
that there could be more than one sign in the alphabet to express
precisely the same sound. We have seen that Hincks had just shown that
these signs do in fact express the same sound, and that their employment
depends solely upon the vowel that follows. After Major Rawlinson’s first
alphabet was in print, he arrived, independently, as we have already
stated, at precisely the same conclusion. He had long been struck with
the peculiarity that certain consonants are only to be found followed by
a particular vowel, and in his first alphabet he indicated five letters
thus distinguished. These were: 19, _t_ with _i_; 29, _m_ with _i_;
33, _m_ with _u_; 40, _r_ with _u_; 43, _n_ with _u_; and he observed
especially the affinity the vowel _i_ had for certain consonants—a
peculiarity he noticed also in some of the Scythic languages.[566] When
once his attention was directed to these facts it was not long before he
set himself to account for them. One of the most useful contributions
to decipherment made by Lassen arose from the suggestion that an _a_
is understood though not always expressed after a consonant, when not
followed by another vowel. Indeed until this idea occurred to him the
result of decipherment was the apparition of a long series of words
consisting of an agglomeration of consonants which no living tongue could
pronounce. The next step to be made, resulted from the observation that
some letters were always followed by _i_ and others by _u_. A laborious
classification of each letter according as it was followed by each of
these vowels was therefore undertaken, and the result was sufficiently
remarkable. It showed that in two cases in the grade of sonants (_d_ and
_m_) there was a different sign according as the letter was followed
by _a_, _i_, or _u_. Conversely, there were three cases in the grade
of aspirates (_th_, _y_, _sh_), where the same sign might be found
before any of the three vowels; and finally there were several cases in
the grade of surds (_k_, _t_, and _r_), where it was noticed that the
same sign was followed by either _a_ or _i_, and that a different sign
was used before _u_. Taking these facts into consideration, Rawlinson
thought he observed sufficient regularity to justify him in formulating
the general law that, for some unexplained reason, the grade of surds
in each class were expressed by two signs, one used before _a_ and _i_,
the other before _u_; the grade of aspirates by one sign only, equally
available before any of the three vowels; and the grade of sonants by
three signs, each applied to one vowel only. He admitted that there were
numerous exceptions to the rule; indeed, the class of dentals is the only
one where the series is complete, but the exceptions he was inclined to
attribute chiefly to the incompleteness of the alphabet.[567]
When the letters of Rawlinson’s original alphabet were distributed into
the various classes of gutturals, palatals, and so on, and among the
subdivisions of surds, aspirates, and sonants, they were found sufficient
to suggest the existence of some such law in the cases that have been
named. With Holtzmann’s correction of 19 (𐎮) from _t_ to _d_, he had the
three _d’s_ required to complete his sonants of the dental class. His
own list gave him the three _m’s_ required for the sonants of the nasal
class; and he already knew that one was used only before _i_, and the
other only before _u_. He knew also that the aspirates of three of the
classes were to be found indifferently before any vowel. In the case of
the surds, he had found that five of them (_k_ 𐎣, _ch_ 𐎨, _t_ 𐎫, _n_ 𐎴,
_r_ 𐎼) are always to be found before either an _a_ or an _i_. He knew
also that his second sign for _n_ 𐎵 (43) and his second sign for _r_ 𐎽
were only to be found before _u_; and he observed that the signs he still
read (𐎤) _kh_ and (𐎬) _th_ were also only found before _u_. It required,
therefore, no great effort to deprive them of their _h_, and to range
them with the others as the second signs in the surd grades for _k_ and
_t_.
Once the existence of this law was inferred, Rawlinson was led to make
other modifications in his original alphabet, in order to bring it
into strict conformity, and in every instance the alteration has been
confirmed. The following Table shows the distribution of the letters into
the various classes and grades, and the modifications they underwent.
When they fail to comply with the supposed law, the deficiencies are left
blank: when they violate it, the offence is marked by ‘!’.
RAWLINSON’S ALPHABET, AFTER AUGUST 25, 1846[568]
_Gutturals._ Followed by _a_ (𐎠) by _i_ (𐎡) by _u_ (𐎢)
_k_ surd 𐎣 𐎣 𐎤
_kh_ aspirate 𐎧 — 𐎧
_g_ sonant 𐎥 ? 𐎦
_Palatals_
_ch_ surd 𐎨 𐎨 —
_j_ sonant 𐎩 𐎪 —
_Dentals_
_t_ surd 𐎫 𐎫 𐎬
_th_ aspirate 𐎰 𐎰 𐎰
_d_ sonant 𐎭 𐎮 𐎯
_Labials_
_p_ surd 𐎱 𐎱 𐎱!
_f_ aspirate 𐎳? ? ?
_b_ sonant 𐎲 𐎲! 𐎲!
_Nasals_
_n_ surd 𐎴 𐎴 𐎵
_ñ_ aspirate 𐎾 ? ?
_m_ sonant 𐎶 𐎷 𐎸
_Semi-vowels_ Followed by _a_ (𐎠) by _i_ (𐎡) by _u_ (𐎢)
_r_ surd 𐎼 𐎼 𐎽
_y_ aspirate 𐎹 𐎹 𐎹
_v_ sonant 𐎺 𐎻 𐎺!
_Sibilants_
_s_ surd 𐎿 𐎿 𐎿?!
_sh_ aspirate 𐏁 𐏁 𐏁
_z_ sonant 𐏀 — 𐏀?!
_Aspirate_
_h_ 𐏃 𐏃 𐏃
Compound [Persian], _tř_
Doubtful final, [Persian]
One of the results of the classification of the consonants according to
the vowels that follow them was to introduce a considerable change in
the method of transliteration. It is only in exceptional cases that the
_a_, following a consonant, is found in the text, but its inherence is
inferred. When, therefore, an _i_ or _u_ immediately follows a consonant
with an inherent _a_, instead of transliterating as formerly such a group
as 𐎥 𐎡 _gi_ and 𐎥 𐎢 _gu_, they are now written _gai_ and _gau_; and
this modification has materially assisted the explanation of the words
in which such combinations occur. An interesting proof of the accuracy
of this system is afforded by the word ‘Kurus,’ which was so long an
object of contention. The genitive is denoted by the insertion of an
_a_—‘Kuraus.’ The letter 𐎽 (_r_), which is followed by _u_, is used for
the nominative ‘Kurus’; but the letter 𐎼 (_r_), which has an inherent _a_
is substituted in the genitive. Thus:
Nom. _Kurus_, 𐎤 · 𐎢 · 𐎽 · 𐎢 · 𐏁
k u r u s
Gen. _Kuraus_, 𐎤 · 𐎢 · 𐎼 · 𐎢 · 𐏁
k u r(a) u s
The interchange of these two signs in ‘Kurus’ finally disposed of a
supposition started by Burnouf and supported so lately as Holtzmann,[569]
that 𐎽 might be _l_, and that the Persians pronounced the name of their
great king ‘Kulus.’
Considerations of the same kind greatly assisted Rawlinson in rectifying
some of his values. For example, in the case of 𐎦, which he had hitherto
read _gh_, he found that it replaced 𐎥 the _g_ before _a_, in order
to form the locative singular ‘Mar_gau_w;’ and consequently he had no
hesitation ‘in placing the two characters, not merely in the same class,
but in the same grade of that class.’ It is therefore now found among the
gutturals as _g_ before _u_.[570]
Precisely the same considerations led to the rectification of 28 (𐎩)
_j’h_ to _j_. He found the locative of Susiana (‘uwajaiya’) written 𐎩 ·
𐎡, i.e. _ji_, which he knew from grammatical considerations must stand
for _jai_; and he therefore concluded that 𐎩 is _j_ before _a_; which is
correct.
A farther result of this classification is to supply the sounds of the
missing vowels _e_ and _o_, for when _i_ or _u_ follow a consonant
with an inherent _a_, the diphthongs _ai_ and _au_ are produced, which
correspond phonetically and grammatically to the diphthongs _ê_ and _ô_
in Sanscrit.[571] Such were the results communicated by Rawlinson in
his Supplementary Note, which, as we have seen, crossed the detailed
account of Hincks’s paper on the same subject. It was received in London
on October 8, and its substance was read at a meeting of the Society
on December 6, and noticed in the ‘Athenæum’ of December 19.[572] The
alterations in the method of transliteration required by the new
system were, as we have said, carried out under the supervision of Mr.
Norris.[573]
Rawlinson has not drawn up a formal grammar of Old Persian, but he
loses no opportunity of comparing its forms with Sanscrit and Zend,
and pointing out wherein they agree and wherein they differ. He shows
that the initial letter _a_, so frequently employed, is used to express
the temporal augment in the past tenses of verbs, and according to the
analogy of the Sanscrit it is short. But the short _a_ of Sanscrit
terminations is changed into long _a_ in the cuneiform; and the mute
terminal consonants of the former are usually omitted, as in the endings
‘as,’ ‘at,’ ‘an,’ ‘am,’ a rule applicable to both nouns and verbs. He
shows also that the suffixes in _i_, so common in Sanscrit and Zend,
are all lengthened into ‘iya’; a rule also applicable to the terminal
_u_.[574] If he had finished his chapter on the Vocabulary, the student
might have been able from it to put together a complete grammar. Under
their initial letters we find ‘adam,’ the personal pronoun ‘ego’;
‘aniya,’ ‘alius’; the two demonstrative pronouns ‘ava,’ ‘that,’ and
‘iyam,’ ‘this’;[575] correctly traced through all their cases so far
as they were known—and the same is done for the cases of the verbs
‘am‘iy,’ ‘I am,’ and ‘thah,’ ‘to say’;[576] and in each he shows the
close similarity they exhibit to Sanscrit and Zend. In his notes to the
translation he dwells especially on the construction of the sentences and
upon the historical questions raised by the subject-matter of the text.
He gives an elaborate analysis of each letter of the cuneiform alphabet,
comparing its use and pronunciation with those of other languages. He
can draw a wealth of illustration at pleasure from the kindred languages
of Sanscrit, Zend, Pehlevi, Persian, as well as from Pali, Devanagari,
Hebrew, Chaldee, Syriac, and Turkish; and although he displays an amount
of knowledge that is truly surprising, he defers with unaffected humility
to ‘the more experienced philologist.’[577] He classifies Old Persian as
belonging to ‘the Arian type, resembling Sanscrit very closely in its
grammatical structure; but in its orthographical development more nearly
approximating to the Zend: while in the peculiarity of organisation which
requires the juxtaposition of certain consonants with certain vowels it
exhibits something of a Scythic character.’[578] He was not disposed to
admit the antiquity then beginning to be claimed for Zend. He thought
that in comparison with Old Persian it was modern. He imagined that the
latter became gradually extinct after the age of Alexander, and that
it was succeeded by Zend and Pehlevi, the former as a hieratic and the
other as a demotic language but both derived from it.[579] He was clear
at least that Old Persian could never have descended from Zend, though
he reluctantly admits the possibility of their contemporary existence.
His unwillingness to allow the antiquity of Zend was due in great measure
to the legendary character of the Zendavesta, a book which he considered
could not have been written till after the cuneiform Persian had been
entirely forgotten. Otherwise, he said, ‘the priesthood could neither
have had the audacity nor the desire to darken authentic history by the
distorted and incomplete allusions to Jemshid and the Kayanian monarchs
which are found in the Vendidád Sadé and in the ancient hymns.’[580]
The appearance of Rawlinson’s work was received with feelings of
enthusiasm in Germany. The reproach that England had hitherto neglected
the cuneiform records was at length effaced, and in such a manner as to
entitle her to claim the first place in the roll of discovery. Benfey
declared that few, if any, of the contributions made in recent times in
the field of Oriental research could compare with it in importance.[581]
Major Rawlinson, he says, displays an extraordinary aptitude for
decipherment, and an accuracy and depth of philological learning that
render it peculiarly fortunate that such an important document should
have fallen into his hands. In mere length, the inscription exceeds by
more than a hundred lines all those published by Lassen put together.
It consists of five columns of about four hundred and ten lines, and,
although there is considerable repetition, it nevertheless offers a great
variety of words and phrases which added immensely to the knowledge
previously acquired.[582] One great difficulty with which he had to
grapple was the very imperfect state of the text. A glance over the
plates will show the numerous blanks left in the writing in consequence
of injury to the rock. Rawlinson’s copy was so carefully executed that he
committed only one serious error, the omission of a line in the fourth
column. The other imperfections are due entirely to the ravages of time.
In the first column there is a large fissure on the right hand, extending
from the top to the twenty-fifth line, and again from the sixty-third
line to the end, besides numerous occasional gaps elsewhere. But the
second column is in a much worse condition. ‘A fissure, varying in
breadth, caused by the percolation of water, bisects it and destroys the
continuity of the writing throughout its whole extent.’[583] The third
is nearly perfect, except at the bottom, where several lines are wholly
lost. The fourth column is worse than the second; ‘a fissure transects
the tablet longitudinally,’ and in the lower half ‘the rock is more or
less broken by the trickling of the water.’ But when we come to the
fifth, we find ‘a state of such deplorable mutilation that it would be
waste of time and ingenuity to undertake an analysis of the text, or
to attempt anything like a connected and intelligible translation.’ In
the face of these difficulties he was obliged to have recourse to very
elaborate and ingenious restorations. At the end of the second column,
for instance, he found the Susian copy perfect, and this enabled him
to ‘restore’ the Persian text. It is one of the first instances of a
long translation from the Susian, and his version of it turned out
afterwards to be correct.[584] In the numerous repetitions that occur so
frequently, he found a safe guide in other passages of the inscriptions.
Sometimes, however, he had to work on much less solid foundation, as when
he sought help from other sentences that were only ‘of nearly similar
construction’; or when his restoration was ‘generally borne out by the
context’; or merely by considerations of ‘grammatical propriety.’ In
such cases he could never arrive at more than a high probability. He had
frequently to measure the length of a blank and then tax his memory to
supply one or more words with the required number of letters that would
fit into the vacant place and at the same time make sense. Sometimes,
as in the fourth column, the sense was so obscure that he feared his
‘restorations will be considered rather bold than felicitous.’[585]
Occasionally his courage failed him altogether, and he was obliged to
confess that ‘I cannot restore the [passage] even conjecturally.’ It
is remarkable how uniformly successful his ‘conjectural restorations’
were found to be. He imposed the most admirable restraint upon the
intuitive faculty with which he was so eminently gifted; and his
emendations exhibit a patience and sobriety that many scholars engaged
in similar work might advantageously study. When he had surmounted the
imperfections of the text so far as possible, he set himself to the task
of translation, and achieved the most notable success in this department
of literature. When we consider that he had to unravel the intricacies of
long sentences, determine the grammatical relations of multitudes of new
words and fix their meaning by a patient comparison with Zend or Sanscrit
analogies, the unfailing divination he displays is absolutely marvellous.
A careful comparison of this first translation with that now accepted as
correct will show comparatively few alterations, although the labours of
many scholars have since been devoted to a rigorous study of the same
text. The main body of the translation remains the same, word for word,
down to the minutest particulars. Some doubtful passages, concerning
which Rawlinson himself entertained doubts, have been cleared up; but it
rarely happens even in these that the original translation was in fault
as to the general meaning.
The long list of commentators begins with Benfey, whose tract on the
subject was sent to the press in January 1847, when he could only have
seen the first part of Rawlinson’s work. Some of Benfey’s suggestions
have been accepted, others definitely rejected. A few instances will
illustrate the nature and extent of the earliest attempt at revision.
Almost the first error occurs in Column I. par. 10, where we find:
‘The troubles of the state ceased which Bardius excited.’ Rawlinson
warns us that ‘this sentence cannot be read with any certainty,’ on
account of a blank in the inscription, and the doubt attaching to the
word ‘azada.’ Benfey derives this word from the Sanscrit ‘ajatá,’ which
signifies ‘deprived of children,’ and he translates the passage: ‘The
kingdom was deprived of heirs because Bardius was killed.’[586] But this
alteration turned out to be quite unauthorised. ‘Azda,’ as the word
is now written, is identified with the Armenian ‘azd,’ ‘information,’
corresponding to the Sanscrit ‘addhâ,’ ‘certain’; and Rawlinson himself
corrected the passage in 1873 to ‘It was not known to the state that
Bardius was killed.’ The accepted version given by Spiegel is ‘The army
had no information that Bardius was killed.’[587] Soon after, we are
told that ‘Cambyses, unable to endure his [misfortunes], died’ (par.
11). Benfey attributes his death to ‘overwhelming anger’ (übergrossem
Zorn); but Oppert showed that the word really means ‘suicide.’ In 1873,
Rawlinson had made the rectification himself.[588] Not more happy was
the substitution of ‘Liebet mich’ for the often repeated exclamation
Rawlinson renders ‘Hail to thee!’ and which properly signifies ‘Go
forth!’ as Rawlinson said in 1873.
There are, however, some instances where the commentator makes a
useful correction. The erroneous reading, ‘he would frequently address
the state’ (par. 13), he altered to ‘er möchte das Reich mit Macht
vernichten,’ which approaches Spiegel, ‘er möchte viele Leute tödten,’
or, as Rawlinson said in 1873, ‘he slew many people.’ So also the passage
‘afterwards Dadarses remained away from me in the field’ (Col. II. par.
9), is improved to ‘dann erwartete mich dem Befehl gemäss Dadarses.’
This Rawlinson changed in 1873 to ‘afterwards Dadarses waited for me
there,’ the accepted version being ‘dort erwartete mich Dadarses so
lange’ etc. It will be observed that the critic was himself liable to
fall into superfluous additions not far removed from error. Sometimes,
however, he avoided this trap, as when he substituted ‘he lied’ (Col.
IV. par. 1) for Rawlinson’s ‘impostor,’ and ‘if you so think’ (par. 5)
for ‘if it should be thus kept up.’ But in a large proportion of cases
Benfey follows his leader into error with perfect complacency. In one
or two places Rawlinson is obliged to confess that the difficulties are
so great that translation is almost impossible. One of these occurs in
the description of the religious reform after the death of Gomates,
the Magian (Col. I. par. 14). Referring to this passage, he says: ‘Of
several of the most important words the orthography is doubtful; of
others the etymology is almost impenetrable, and the construction,
moreover, in some parts renders the division into sentences a matter
of serious embarrassment.’[589] But the difficulties have been found
almost as insuperable by his successors. They have not been able to
derive assistance from the Susian and Babylonian columns, where the
difficulties are even greater. The meaning of some words still remains
a mystery, and even the general drift of the passage is open to
discussion. Spiegel[590] warns his readers that the explanation of the
whole paragraph is still so uncertain that no opinion as to the religious
history of the times can be prudently based upon it. But such passages
as these are fortunately of rare occurrence; and from the moment of
Rawlinson’s publication the contents of the inscription were known as
thoroughly as they are at the present day. The careful study of two
generations of scholars has changed a word here and a word there, and
cleared up the meaning of a few doubtful passages, but in all substantial
respects the translation remains unaltered.
Rawlinson’s revised translation of the inscriptions published two years
before by Lassen forms the concluding chapter of his Memoir. We have
already had occasion to contrast the merits and demerits of the two
translators. Rawlinson’s transliteration presents an entirely modern
appearance in consequence of the correctness of the values of so many
signs. There are still a few errors, owing chiefly to the prolongation
of the final syllable in such words as ‘thatiya,’ ‘tyaia,’ and others,
an error already signalled by Hincks. But these are of small importance.
As regards the translations, he brought from the study of the Behistun
record a knowledge of the language that no one else then possessed, and
he was able at once to resolve difficulties that had baffled all previous
attempts. Such expressions as ‘generosus [sum]’ finally disappeared for
the correct rendering ‘he says.’ Sentences that were hitherto entirely
misapprehended now appear in their correct form. ‘The son of Arcis’ gives
place to ‘the son of a Persian, an Arian of Arian descent.’ The last
paragraph of the same inscription is satisfactorily explained. Even where
he fell short of success, as in the end of the I inscription, he made
important contributions to the elucidation of intricate passages.
Rawlinson added the inscription on the Venice vase, not known to Lassen.
It had been recently published by Longpérier in the ‘Revue Archéologique’
(1844), who thought it should be referred to Artaxerxes I. Rawlinson
translated it ‘Artaxerxes the King,’ and assigned it to Artaxerxes Ochus.
Opinion has since been divided upon the subject; Spiegel and Menant
follow Longpérier; Oppert and Weissbach follow Rawlinson.
Very few additional inscriptions in Old Persian have been brought to
light since the date of Rawlinson’s Memoir. But a good deal of labour has
been spent in clearing up the doubtful passages in those already known.
In some cases the text was, as we have said, so much mutilated as to
defy intelligible translation. This was the case with the fifth column
of the Behistun; and Rawlinson thought it best to omit it altogether
from his revised edition of 1873.[591] This diffidence, however, may
have stimulated M. Oppert to attempt a restoration of the text. We have
already described the process followed by Rawlinson. It consisted in
selecting a word or words containing the number of letters required to
fit into the space left vacant by the erasure of the text, and which
would at the same time make some kind of sense. It is obvious how
much of the success of this operation will depend upon the ingenuity
of the restorer; and still more upon the restraint he exercises over
his imagination. No one is more distinguished than M. Oppert for the
ingenuity of his conjectural restorations; and the column that Rawlinson
abandoned as hopeless appears in Oppert’s edition as the ‘Complementary
Behistun Text,’ and in a comparatively perfect condition. In this case
he could receive no assistance from the translations, because both the
other columns are destroyed; and not much by comparison, for there
are few parallel passages. His work is, therefore, the more admirable
as a display of the imaginative faculty. But his reading has not been
accepted by Menant or Spiegel, or by Weissbach.[592] No doubt we owe the
‘Testament of Darius at Naksh-i-Rustam’ to the same method which appears
to have been exercised upon the few lines copied by Westergaard from the
long inscription below the one known and which Spiegel declares it is
clearly impossible to translate.[593] One of the three short inscriptions
engraved above the figures of the Tomb has also given rise to some
discussion. Mr. Tasker, an English traveller, sent them to Rawlinson, by
whom they were published in the ‘Journal of the Asiatic Society,’ and an
improved version appeared some time afterwards.[594] Even at that period
considerable difference of opinion existed as to the meaning of at least
one of these short legends. According to Rawlinson, Norris, and Oppert,
Aspathines is the ‘keeper of the arrows’ of King Darius; but Norris adds
‘chamberlain’ and Oppert ‘quiver-bearer.’ Elsewhere Oppert translates it
quite differently: ‘Aspathines, minister of King Darius, who makes the
law observed.’ Spiegel’s version is: ‘Aspacanâ des Königs Darius genosse,
Zügelhalter (?).’[595]
In the autumn of 1846, when Rawlinson’s ‘Memoir’ was passing through
the press, Dr. Frederick Hitzig published a tract on the Persian Text
of the Tomb Inscription of Darius; but his translation shows little
advance beyond the point reached by Lassen.[596] The edition of the
Persian inscriptions by Theodore Benfey made its appearance early in
1847. His transliteration suffers from having been made before the
method of writing explained by Hincks and Rawlinson in the previous
year had become generally known. We have already sufficiently noticed
Benfey’s translations, which show considerable improvement on those of
Lassen, but fall far short of the comparative excellence obtained by
Rawlinson. In the course of the summer, another writer appeared whose
name has been already mentioned and who was destined to occupy a very
important place in the future history of Cuneiform Research. M. Oppert
was born in Hamburg in 1825, and studied successively at Heidelberg, Bonn
and Berlin. At Bonn he was a pupil of Lassen, and to this circumstance
probably we owe his early interest in cuneiform and the publication of
a tract on the subject at the age of twenty-two. The promising youth
was precluded by his Jewish faith from holding a professorship in
Germany, and consequently he went to Paris in 1847. His later writings
have all appeared in the French language, and for this reason he is
generally included among the number of French scholars, of whom, till
quite recent years, he was by far the ablest representative.[597] So
far as we are aware, the pamphlet on the ‘Lautsystem des Altpersischen’
was his first effort in this department of knowledge.[598] In it he
explains the principle that regulates the employment of the consonants
in substantially the same manner as Hincks and Rawlinson had done in the
previous year. He had evidently arrived at his conclusion independently,
and it is remarkable that he was not better informed of the progress
that had recently been made. It might be supposed that the attention of
everyone interested in the subject would be directed to the appearance
of Rawlinson’s ‘Memoir,’ which was then eagerly expected. It was in fact
published before May 1847, and Oppert’s tract was not sent to press till
July.
With the publication of Rawlinson’s Memoir, in 1846-7, the decipherment
of the Persian inscriptions may be considered accomplished. In 1850,
he could write that there ‘are probably not more than twenty words in
the whole range of the Persian cuneiform records upon the meaning,
grammatical condition or etymology of which any doubt or difference of
opinion can at present be said to exist.’[599] The value of his own
contribution to the general result received the fullest recognition.
Professor Max Müller declared to Canon Rawlinson that, ‘thanks mainly
to your brother, we have now as complete a knowledge of the grammar,
construction and general character of the ancient Persian language as
we have of Latin.’[600] He was greeted as the Champollion of the new
decipherment, a position he has retained to a large extent in Germany and
France. So late as 1895, M. Oppert found occasion to remark that, ‘after
Rawlinson it was only possible for other scholars to obtain gleanings
in the field of Persian cuneiform interpretation.’[601] In his own
country, however, he seems to have suffered for a time from the singular
affectation that was so long in fashion, of looking to Germany alone for
all the springs of knowledge. As a matter of fact, in this department at
least, few Germans, with the exception of Grotefend, made any important
contribution. Rask, Lassen, Westergaard, were all Scandinavians, and
it is certain that for many years Rawlinson continued to be the source
whence Continental writers drew most largely; and the neglect into
which he fell at home occasioned the surprise of at least one eminent
Frenchman. ‘Young English and Germans,’ says M. Oppert, ‘pretend not
to know him. An Englishman once told me he had never read a line of
Rawlinson. I replied: “I supposed just so; if you had read him, your
papers would be less imperfect than they are.”’[602] This testimony to
the great services of Sir Henry Rawlinson is given by the scholar who for
many years occupied by far the most prominent position among Continental
writers upon cuneiform subjects, and who has himself contributed largely
to the progress of the study.
In 1851, M. Oppert undertook a complete revision of the whole series of
Achaemenian inscriptions. The work appeared in the ‘Journal Asiatique,’
between February 1851 and February 1852, and was afterwards published in
a separate form.[603] He introduced a considerable number of alterations,
in both the transliteration and translation, and, so far as we have
noticed, a large proportion of them have been accepted. He criticised
some of Rawlinson’s opinions, but rarely with asperity, and he generously
acknowledges that the English scholar ‘a grandement mérité de l’histoire
du genre humain.’[604] He subsequently revised his own translations for
his book on the ‘Expédition en Mésopotamie,’ published in 1858. In the
same year Rawlinson made an amended version of the Behistun Inscription
for the edition of Herodotus published by his brother; and again in 1873
for the ‘Records of the Past.’[605] The other inscriptions were once
more revised by Oppert in 1877 for the same useful publication.[606] But
meanwhile a complete edition of the whole Persian inscriptions had been
published by Spiegel in Germany in 1862,[607] and in France in 1872, by
M. Menant.[608] The latest publications on the subject that have come
under our notice are the valuable treatises on the languages of the first
and second columns by Weissbach,[609] and of the third column by Dr.
Bezold,[610] accompanied in each case by a revised text, transliteration
and translation.
CHAPTER V
DECIPHERMENT OF THE SECOND OR SUSIAN COLUMN—WESTERGAARD TO OPPERT—A.D.
1844-52
The signal success that had been achieved in the decipherment of the
Persian column of the Achaemenian inscriptions greatly facilitated
the accomplishment of the difficult task that still remained. In the
other two columns it was comparatively easy, especially in the short
inscriptions, to identify the combinations of signs that corresponded to
the proper names in the Persian, and to check them by their recurrence
in the positions where they were again to be expected. The satisfactory
application of this process left no doubt that the writing in both
columns was from left to right; and that they were translations of the
same text. When the groups of characters composing the proper names
were ascertained, the next process was to separate them into letters
or syllables, and to identify each with the corresponding letter in
Persian. The result of this inquiry was to show clearly that the writing
was partly syllabic and to raise the suspicion that it was also partly
ideographic. It was seen that the signs were too numerous to be limited
to an alphabet, and that long words could be expressed with comparatively
few signs. In some cases its ideographic character was illustrated by the
occurrence of only one sign to represent an entire word—such as ‘King.’
It was also observed that in the second column a vertical wedge usually
preceded proper names as a determinative.
From the time when Niebuhr pointed out that there were three essentially
different styles of writing, and that each style was uniformly reproduced
in the same relative position in all the inscriptions, the subject had
given rise to much speculation. It was at first thought that the three
columns repeated the same text in the same language written in different
characters.[611] Grotefend, however, recognised that the languages also
were different, but he thought they were dialects closely related to
each other. The first, as we have seen, he considered to be Zend, which
he called the Median language; the second he thought was Parsi, or the
language of the Persians; and the third another dialect of Persian,
possibly Pehlevi.[612] Subsequently he changed the order of the last two,
and described them respectively as resembling Pehlevi and Parsi.[613]
As regards the signs, Münter thought that in the second column they
were syllabic and in the third ‘hieroglyphic’; Tychsen and Grotefend
thought that both had signs for vowels and consonants, which were at
times replaced by an ideogram. Grotefend further saw that the second
included signs for the combination of a consonant and vowel; the third he
considered had no vowel signs, but used signs for the triple combination
of consonant, vowel and consonant.[614] He entirely rejected the idea
that either system was purely ideographic. In 1824, he prepared a Table
for the third edition of Heeren, showing some words that corresponded to
each other in the three languages. The inscriptions he selected were the
G of Niebuhr, the inscriptions at Murgab and on the Caylus vase. These
he arranged word for word in parallel columns opposite to one another.
He used a full stop to indicate the combination of wedges that went to
form each letter or syllable; indeed at that period it required scarcely
less skill to divide the words into letters than to distinguish the words
themselves. No attempt was made to assign values to the characters, and
for many years no farther progress was made. In 1837 he still thought
the three columns represented dialects of Old Persian, though they might
not exactly correspond to Zend, Pehlevi and Parsi. The two first he
considered nearer to each other as regards language; but he remarked that
the two latter presented a closer resemblance to one another as regards
the writing. Still he said the resemblance was by no means so close as
that between the third column and the Babylonian inscriptions. He saw
indeed that the writing of the third column was a mere simplification of
the Babylonian; and he hazarded the useful conjecture that the writing of
the second might be only an arbitrary modification of the third. He would
not even yet admit that either could be, strictly speaking, described as
syllabic; and he entirely rejected the idea that the third was a Semitic
language.[615]
But the study was now upon the point of entering on an entirely new
phase. We have already seen the success with which Burnouf and Lassen
applied the discovery made by Grotefend to the long list of names in the
I inscription. The visit paid in 1843 by Westergaard to Naksh-i-Rustam
resulted in the recovery of a farther list of provinces from the Tomb
of Darius. On his return to Germany, he made over his copy of the first
column to Lassen, who was best qualified to turn it to account, and he
devoted himself to an attempt to decipher the language of the second
column. The result appeared in the ‘Zeitschrift für die Kunde des
Morgenlandes’ of 1844; and the same year, in English, in the ‘Mémoires
des Antiquaires du Nord.’[616] In 1845, the Memoir was republished in
German, along with Lassen’s Second Memoir, and this, as the latest, must
be regarded as the most authoritative version.[617] The investigation
is based upon an analysis of the various proper names contained in the
inscriptions. Westergaard began with the well-known names of the Kings
which Grotefend had turned to such good account, and afterwards reviewed
those of the provinces recently deciphered by Lassen. From these he
obtained a sufficient number of values to attempt a transliteration of
the more common words occurring in the Persian version, and especially
in the well-known form that opens so many of the inscriptions. He has
given us a transliteration of this passage, which is the first ever
made into Roman characters of a Susian inscription.[618] His work was
necessarily based upon Lassen’s defective decipherment of the Persian
signs; and it was therefore inevitable that it should reproduce the
same erroneous values. He transliterated all the various inscriptions,
beginning with those of Xerxes as the shortest and simplest, and
proceeding to those of Darius, including the one at Naksh-i-Rustam, which
he was the first to copy.[619] It is curious to compare the earliest
attempts at transliteration with those subsequently made by Oppert
and Weisbach. It will be seen that few of the words in his glossary
could now be recognised. He had little opportunity of displaying his
skill as a translator, for in this department he implicitly followed
Lassen’s rendering of the corresponding Persian column, and we find the
same errors in both, from ‘Arça’ downwards; but he concludes with the
K inscription, which has no Persian counterpart, and here he achieved
a respectable success. He was able to make out sufficient to show that
Darius laid claim to the foundation of the Persepolitan platform.[620] In
the German edition he omits his adventurous transliterations (as well as
the declination of Ku, ‘king,’ which it will surprise some scholars to
hear takes the forms of ‘Kuyoni’ in the accusative singular, and ‘Kuthin’
or ‘Kuthrar’ in the genitive plural), and he has consequently lessened
the interest, if not the value, of that work.[621]
The result of his investigations was to show that the language was partly
alphabetical and partly syllabic. Down to 1837, Grotefend had recognised
about sixty different signs.[622] Westergaard rightly calculated, from
the relation of the vowels to the consonants, that they must exceed
a hundred, but his actual identification only reached eighty-two. He
noticed two other probable groups, but he was unable to decide whether
they formed one sign or two. One of them has now gained admission.[623]
In consequence of the great care he exercised in the collation of his
copies only four defective signs found their way into his list.[624] He
noticed the recurrence of twelve other signs, which he ascribed to the
error of the copyist, though he thought three of them might be genuine.
It turned out that three were genuine, but only one of those that seemed
to him likely to be so.[625] In addition to the determinative sign before
proper names, which Grotefend had pointed out, he recognised another, the
horizontal wedge, which is sometimes interchangeable with it. It will
remain a curiosity in the history of decipherment that Westergaard should
have gone out of his way to declare that the words for God, Ormuzd and
Heaven were not preceded by a determinative—‘their importance being, no
doubt, thought too great to need any such distinction.’[626] He, in fact,
mistook the determinative sign itself for the vowel which happens to
precede his rendering of these three names.
He thought he had discovered signs for six vowels (_a_, _â_, _i_, _e_,
_u_ and _o_), and eighteen consonants.[627] Of the former only one (_u_)
turned out to be correct. His _a_ and _i_ have both syllabic values (_an_
and _in_). His long _â_ is a defective sign (No. 10). His _e_ should
be _i_ and his _o_ an _a_. Only four of his consonants were ultimately
found to be used as alphabetical signs, and for these his values are
correct (_t_, _kh_, _s_ and _m_). A few of the others represented correct
consonantal values, though used syllabically. For example, his _p_ is
_ap_, his _r_ is _ra_, his _s_ is _as_, his _n_ is _na_. He was more
fortunate in his syllabic values, sixteen of which have been accepted as
strictly correct, if we include two where _w_ is substituted for the
more usual _m_; and eight others may be passed as approximately correct
(Nos. 5, 11, 12, 22, 23, 60, 69, 81). The values he attached to about
fifteen other signs were, however, highly inaccurate and misleading;
and he was unable to assign any value whatever to twenty-two out of his
eighty-two signs.[628]
He could not identify the sign for _l_; no doubt because there was no
corresponding sound in the Persian by which he was guided, and he thought
that no syllable began with _m_. He considers all the syllables begin
with a consonant, though he detected two possible exceptions, where the
syllables appear to be _as_ (Nos. 8 and 82). Neither of these are in
reality exceptions, but there are numerous other instances where the
vowel is the initial. None of his syllables exceed two letters, though
later investigation has shown that there are several cases where a
vowel separates two consonants. He noticed that the syllabic sign was
frequently replaced by two signs to express the simple consonant and
the vowel. He observed the peculiarity that the language knows of no
difference between the sounds of _m_ and _w_, both being written with the
same letter; and he also showed that the sonants are generally absent,
for while _k_, _p_, _t_ are represented, he could not find _g_, _b_, or
_d_. He saw that the consonants are sometimes doubled in the middle of
a word; and he conjectured that this form was adopted to indicate the
distinction. Thus, he thought the syllabic sign for _pi_ might express
either _pi_ or _bi_; but if preceded by the alphabetical sign for _p_,
the two together denoted the surd.
At a time when the affinities of the language were entirely unknown St.
Martin had given it the name of Median, no doubt under the supposition
that it was allied to Persian and spoken by the Median branch of the
common Aryan race.[629] The investigations now concluded by Westergaard
showed for the first time that its affinities were with the Scythic or
Turanian family of languages, and the inconvenience of retaining the
name of Median first became apparent.[630] There could be no doubt that
the Median conquerors were Aryans, as may be shown from the names of
their leaders, and their close relationship to the Persians in race
and language was accepted by all the early historians as self-evident.
It is clear, therefore, that the language of the second column is not
theirs, yet Westergaard determined to adhere to the name of Median
as its most appropriate designation. He was led to adopt this course
chiefly because there appeared to be no other district except Media
where it could have been spoken, and also because its graphic system
seems to indicate contact with Assyria. There can be little doubt that
his decision was fully justified at the time, and, to avoid unnecessary
confusion, in referring to the earlier writers we have in this chapter
generally followed their description of the language of the second column
as Median. On the other hand, modern discovery has tended to increase the
importance of Susa, by showing that at least a portion of its territory
had become the hereditary dominions of Cyrus, before his accession to
the Persian throne. At the same time the connection between the language
of the second column and that of the ancient inscriptions found in the
district has been more completely recognised. There appears good ground
to believe that the Aryan race had been established throughout Media
long before they rose into historical importance. The inconvenience
of calling a Scythian language after the Aryan Medians has therefore
manifestly increased, while the name of ‘Susian,’ though not free from
objection, has become more appropriate, and is the one now generally
adopted. How far the language was spoken beyond the limits of Susiana,
among the subject tribes of Media, may still be open to conjecture. There
is, as we shall see, some evidence in favour of its extension.
It will be recollected that early in 1846 Rawlinson had been able to
translate the whole of the last paragraph of the second column of the
Behistun inscription from the Median or Susian text, the Persian version
of that passage having been found illegible.[631] Several years later
Mr. Norris, with all his special knowledge, was obliged to confess that
he was ‘unable to give a better translation than Colonel Rawlinson
has prepared’ of that very paragraph.[632] In the same year Rawlinson
announced the opinion his studies had led him to adopt upon this subject.
It does not appear that he was as yet acquainted with Westergaard’s
essay; but he had arrived at the same conclusion with reference to the
Scythic affinities of the language. He likewise estimated the number
of the signs at about a hundred, ‘the vowels, unless they commence a
syllable, being for the most part inherent.’ He does not appear to
have noticed the absence of sonants, but he saw that there must be
considerable interchangeability in letters of the same class, and perhaps
even between _n_ and _l_. He added that the language evinced a repugnance
to _r_. He held that ‘it resembles the Scythic in the employment of
post-positions and pronominal possessive suffixes.’ In the declension of
nouns it uses post-fixed particles that are frequently the same as in
modern Turkish, and he notified the existence of a Tartarian gerund.
The pronouns are, he says, Semitic; the adverbs Aryan; the vocabulary a
strange agglomeration of Turkish and Semitic. Although its construction
is more akin to Aryan than Scythic, yet upon the whole he decides that
its affinity is with the Scythic, and suggests that that would be a
more appropriate name for it than Median.[633] He thought some of its
peculiarities might be explained by comparison with the Georgian, which,
when time permitted, he proposed to undertake.[634] He suggested that
it was the language of the aboriginal race whom the Aryan Medes had
conquered, and whose settlements reached at least to Behistun, where an
inscription had been found without the Persian translation, apparently
indicating that it was locally comprehensible.[635]
When Rawlinson had finished his Persian Memoir he devoted himself to
a more elaborate study of the Median, and he appears to have nearly
completed an essay upon the subject. Meanwhile, however, he was drawn
from this branch of inquiry to the more attractive and useful study of
the Babylonian column: and his work on Median was never published.[636]
He did not, however, lose his interest in the subject. He handed over his
copies and other materials to Mr. Norris, who undertook the investigation
of the subject and to whom he continued to give valuable assistance as
occasion arose.
The study of Median was taken up in the meantime by Dr. Hincks from
the point where it was left by Westergaard and Rawlinson. Hincks’s
contribution is contained in three papers read before the Irish Academy
between June 1846 and January 1847; and the last two appeared after he
had seen the opinions of Rawlinson to which we have referred.[637] These
papers were communicated without delay to the Asiatic Society in London,
as we learn from a note by the Secretary, who says he had just received
(June 1846) a communication on the Median cuneiform from ‘a learned
clergyman in a remote part of Ireland.’[638]
Hincks differed in some material points from Westergaard. He would not
admit the long vowels, and limited them to _a_, _i_ and _u_, adding,
however, _er_ to their number. He restricted the simple consonants to
_m_, _p_, _t_, _k_, _s_, and _n_; and from these he thought all the other
signs were combined. He rightly admitted the compound syllabic form,
consisting of two consonants joined by a vowel, which Westergaard had
overlooked, and he even allows the occasional use of a double syllable,
such as ‘ersa’ and ‘washa.’ He showed that the vowel is never omitted,
though not always necessarily pronounced. Thus the group ‘an-na-ap’
reads simply ‘anap’; and he did not consider that the simple consonants
preceding its syllabic form altered the sound as Westergaard had
suggested.[639] Hincks adopted the eighty-two signs distinguished by
Westergaard, and attempted the identification of sixty-seven, or seven
more than Westergaard. His identification of the three vowels, _a_, _i_
and _u_, was correct: and his limited number of consonants were also
correct so far as they went, with the exception of _p_, which is the
syllable ‘pir’ (No. 40). He, however, allotted more than one sign to
some of his consonants: thus _k_ is represented by three signs, _t_ by
two; and conversely he allowed that several characters might express the
same value. He accepted fifteen of Westergaard’s correct syllabic values
and added nine of his own, to which we may add fifteen others nearly
correct, or thirty-nine in all; thus, including his three vowels and
five consonants, he had forty-seven signs available for transliteration,
as opposed to the twenty-nine of Westergaard. Singularly enough he made
little improvement in the misleading syllabic signs of his predecessor.
Some of them, indeed, he made considerably worse, and added others of his
own, so that, notwithstanding a few corrections, their number rose to
seventeen. He, however, pointed out that there was a determinative before
the words for ‘god,’ ‘Ormuzd’ and ‘heaven,’ contrary to the opinion of
Westergaard; and that the group the latter had mistaken for the vowel a
was precisely that sign. He was less successful in his classification of
the language, which he could not accept as Scythic. He considered its
affinity was with the Aryan family, but he could not find that any of the
Indo-European languages had similar inflections.[640]
A few years later De Saulcy wrote two articles in the ‘Journal Asiatique’
on the Median, without, however, making any important contribution to
the subject.[641] His papers deserve notice chiefly on account of his
eminence in other departments of study, and because he was the only
Continental writer whose attention was directed at that time to this
special branch of inquiry.[642] He thought he could recognise that it
bore a close relationship to Persian, sufficient to justify the opinion
of Strabo that the two languages were the same. Both Westergaard and
Rawlinson had already observed that some of its grammatical forms and
vocabulary could be best explained by reference to the modern Georgian
and Turkish; and De Saulcy, notwithstanding his opinion of its affinity
with Aryan, fully recognised that it had left traces in other quarters,
including Kurd, Mongol, Armenian and the Gipsy tongue, but nowhere to a
greater degree than in Turkish. He supports his opinion with a wealth of
illustration drawn from these sources that must have fairly distracted
his printer, and the indiscriminate use of the mechanism of philological
dictionaries has in fact led the writer into many serious errors. He
does not refer to Hincks, and notwithstanding all the resources at his
command, he has fallen far short of the Irish writer whose country
rectory was ill provided with these artificial appliances. De Saulcy
has not, in fact, added a single correct value to those already known,
and has failed to recognise several already established as correct. The
utmost generosity cannot concede to him the possession of more than
twenty-one correct values and nine nearly correct, all previously known;
so that he had not more than thirty available for transliteration, as
opposed to the twenty-nine of Westergaard and the forty-seven of Hincks.
But he introduced a host of errors that are wholly his own. He assigned
no less that thirty values that are absolutely wrong, although he only
attempted sixty-two out of the eighty-two in Westergaard’s list. But it
is not only in the details of decipherment that he went astray; his error
covers the whole conception of the structure of the language. He has no
less than fifteen different signs for vowels representing many fantastic
gradations of sound. Different modifications of _a_ and _ou_ monopolise
each three signs, besides the concession of one each for _hou_ and _ô_.
A simple _u_ is not suffered to appear; but _ha_, _he_ or _e_?, _ya_,
_aï_?, and _oui_ are classified among the vowels. Some difference still
exists as to the treatment of the vowels. The latest authority limits
them to _a_, _e_, _i_ and _u_, and excludes _o_.[643] M. Oppert ranks
_a_ or _ha_ among the consonants; and in addition to _e_, _i_ and _u_ he
admits _o_ and such sounds as _yi_, _ya_, _ah_ among vowels.[644]
But it is in the treatment of the consonants that De Saulcy has most
departed from the earliest and the latest scholars. He fully admits
the syllabic character of the language, but he has done the utmost
under the circumstances to conceal this peculiarity.[645] In his list
the only sign that appears in syllabic form is the semi-vowel _ar_
attributed to a defective sign (No. 10), and the eye already accustomed
to the appearance of syllabic combinations is struck by the singular
bareness produced by purely alphabetical letters. He admits altogether
twenty-one distinct consonantal sounds, of which fourteen are ‘quiescent’
or simple consonants, and each is represented by one sign only, except
_m_, _w_, to which three are allotted. He allows six gutturals to a
language that has at most but two, and fills the other classes with
scarcely less profusion. He recognises that the signs for _m_ and _w_
are interchangeable, and that _d_ and _t_, as well as _b_ and _p_, have
several signs common to both; but he gives both _p_ and _t_ the exclusive
use of others; and _dè_ and _dh_ have each a sign reserved to themselves.
His consonantal sounds are given different signs according as they are
supposed to be followed by _a_, by _e_ or _i_, and by _o_ or _ou_, an
idea no doubt suggested by the restricted use of the same principle in
Old Persian. These letters may be said to be practically syllabic signs,
as they are only used in conjunction with a vowel; but in reality the
classification involves serious error. It is now admitted that, with
few exceptions, the same sign never conveys the sound of more than one
vowel, and in the isolated cases where it occurs it is generally at the
end of a word. In the whole Syllabarium of Weisbach there is only one
instance where the same sign is given an optional sound of _pe_, _pat_,
and in that of Oppert there are only three where _a_ can be exchanged
for _i_.[646] In neither authority is there a single instance where _e_
and _i_ are interchangeable. It is therefore a fundamental error of the
gravest character to represent the same sign as systematically employed
to express either of two vowel sounds, even if the two selected were
ever interchangeable. It is, moreover, doubtful whether there was any
difference allowed between the sounds of _o_ and _u_, except in the
attempt to express foreign words. De Saulcy’s system also excluded the
compound syllables when two consonants are divided by a vowel. While
Hincks did good service in adding a third determinative to the two
acknowledged by Westergaard, De Saulcy actually refused to admit the
determinative character of the horizontal wedge, and thereby reduced the
number to one. On the other hand, he thought he had detected a sign to
indicate the plural, which is in fact nothing but the syllable _sin_.
Perhaps the most useful contribution he made was the remark that, while a
few of the Median signs bore a certain resemblance to those of the same
value in Persian, the larger number of them were actually ‘identical’
with the Assyrian.[647] It must be confessed that it was long before
this identity was detected, and even such a practised copyist as
Westergaard declared that the five different species of cuneiform writing
then known ‘differed from one another in the shape of nearly every letter
or group,’[648] and considerable practice is still required before their
identity can be brought home to the eye. The similarity—to employ a less
emphatic expression—proved, however, of great assistance in enabling
future inquirers to fix the value of the signs. Some time had yet to
elapse before they could take advantage of this discovery, for when De
Saulcy wrote, the Assyrian characters were themselves still undeciphered.
De Saulcy’s work was criticised by Löwenstern in the ‘Revue
Archéologique’ (1850), where he sought to trace the affinity of Median
to the Aramaic branch of the Semitic family, while he admitted that some
of the endings might be traced in Pehlevi and New Persian. He did not
consider it to be the Median language, which, he maintained, is properly
represented by Zend; and he suggested, as Mr. Rich had done before, that
it might have been the dialect of Susa.[649] Holtzmann fully recognised
that it contained Semitic elements, but still he considered that it
should be regarded as the mother of Pehlevi; and he subsequently added
that it was probably the language of the court at Susa.[650] Still
the opinion of its Scythic origin, first suggested by Westergaard
and Rawlinson, continued to gain ground, supported, no doubt, by the
numerous similarities to this linguistic stock that were pointed out in
the learned Memoirs of De Saulcy. In 1852, M. Oppert, writing on the
Persian column, went so far as to propose to drop the designation Median
altogether, and, following the suggestion of Rawlinson, to substitute
‘Scythic.’ At that time he considered it to be the language of the hordes
who overran Western Asia, and who, after twenty-eight years of domination
in Media, were finally expelled by Cyaxares. It must be admitted
that they were fortunate to leave such a permanent memorial of their
passage.[651]
A more important contribution than any of these was made by Luzzato, who
showed with sufficient clearness that twenty-four of the Median signs
corresponded to the Babylonian (1850).
Down to the time we have now reached the progress made was disappointing.
We have seen that much speculation was indulged as to the affinity of
the language and the people to whom it should properly be attributed;
but very little knowledge of the language itself had been acquired.
Dr. Hincks had read forty-eight signs with sufficient correctness, and
De Saulcy thirty-one, out of the one hundred and eleven with which the
language is written; but both scholars were encumbered by the multitude
of unknown or erroneous values. In 1852, however, a considerable step
was made in advance. On July 3 of that year, Mr. Norris read a paper
to the Asiatic Society on the result of his study of the Median column
of the Behistun inscription with which Colonel Rawlinson had entrusted
him; but the essay did not appear in the Journal in its completed
form till 1855. The much greater diversity of material at his command
enabled him to dispose of many difficulties that had obstructed earlier
scholars. In the first place, he was able to increase the number of signs
from the eighty-two that had puzzled his predecessors to one hundred
and three, and to all of these he endeavoured to assign values. He was
successful with fifty-seven, and twenty-one others were sufficiently
correct for purposes of transliteration, making a total of seventy-eight
in addition to two determinatives. One other sign has not even yet been
satisfactorily settled,[652] and he still had twenty-four incorrect
values. Unlike many decipherers, however, he was able to distinguish
the gradations of certainty attaching to the values he assigned. Those
that appear in his list allied to any vowel other than _a_, _i_ or _u_
are to be regarded as questionable. He estimated their number with
tolerable accuracy at about twenty. He fully recognised the true syllabic
character of the language. ‘Each character,’ he says, ‘represents a
syllable which may be either a single vowel or a consonant and vowel, or
two consonants with a vowel between them.’[653] He has, however, given
six signs in his list a purely consonantal value, _m_, _r_, _s_ and _t_,
the two latter being each represented by two signs.[654] Four of these
are correct, but the second signs for s and t are both wrong. He limited
the vowels to _a_, _i_ and _u_, but he has also allowed _e_ to appear in
his list, because he found a sign in Median that corresponds exactly to
the Babylonian for that letter, and it is now admitted as correct. He
reckoned eleven initial consonantal sounds: they include the consonants
already named with the exception of _m_, together with _th_, _ch_, _p_,
_k_, _v_, _l_, _n_ and _y_. With these united to one of the three vowels
all the syllables in the language are formed. The double syllables
are composed of the same consonantal sounds (excluding _th_ and _y_),
separated by _a_. He did not consider that any of the signs represented
the union of two consonants separated by _i_ or _u_, an opinion that has
been since over-ruled. He recognised that there was no difference between
the surd and sonant consonants at the beginning of a word, and he agreed
with Westergaard that the double letter in the middle emphasised the hard
sound. He saw also that the same sign was used equally to express the
Persian _m_ and _w_; and that ‘the aspirate, which is quite uncertain,
must also be disregarded.’ He accepted the two determinative signs
already admitted by Westergaard, and also the determinative before the
words for ‘god’ and ‘heaven’ which had been pointed out by Hincks.[655]
He also recognised the ideogram for ‘month.’ The gradual recognition of
the similarity of a large number of the Median and Babylonian signs was
at length beginning to bear fruit. Norris indicates a resemblance between
nearly fifty in his list of one hundred and three signs.[656] Twenty
of these are indeed ‘identical’ in form, and independent investigation
proved that they conveyed the same sound in both languages. In the
others the similarity was sufficiently striking to afford an important
confirmation of the values arrived at by the study of the text. Indeed
in a few cases—such, for example, as the _e_ already mentioned, the
similarity to the form of a Babylonian character was the only clue to
the value of the Median sign.[657] If he had allowed himself to be more
influenced by the Babylonian script he would have slightly increased
the number of his correct values;[658] though, on the other hand, a too
rigorous adherence to this rule might have landed him in some errors. He
hazarded the important statement, subsequently so remarkably confirmed,
that there are evident signs that the syllabarium had been originally
devised to express a Scythic tongue,[659] for, he said, ‘the unchangeable
roots, the agglutinative structure and the simple syllabisation of such
tongues are perfectly suited to such a mode of writing, while the Semitic
and Indo-Germanic cannot without the most awkward and unsystematic
arrangements be represented by it.’ He considered that the language of
the second column must have been that of the pastoral tribes of Persia;
and he pointed out that the omission from the Median text of the names
of the districts in which Otiara and Rhages are placed showed that those
towns were well known where the language was spoken, and it also afforded
some evidence of the area it covered. On the other hand, the discovery
of Scythic inscriptions at Susa seemed to point no less emphatically to
its southern range, and the possibility presented itself that that was
the source from which it spread. De Saulcy farther showed that a close
analogy might be traced to Turkish; but Norris was the first to point out
that its nearest modern relationship is with the Volga-Finnish branch
of the Scythic family, and that it bears a close resemblance to the
language now spoken by the Finns.[660]
He was the first to treat the grammar systematically. He pointed out
with sufficient accuracy the case-endings of nouns,[661] and explained
that, in common with Finnish, they distinguished more cases than the
Indo-European languages, such as the allative and the locative. He showed
that there was no distinction of gender, and that the adjectives had the
same case-endings as the nouns. He explained that the plural was formed
by the addition of _pa_ (which, however, ought to have been _p_, _pe_, or
_ip_), and that the case-ending was suffixed to it. He distinguished the
pronouns with tolerable correctness, and showed their relationship to the
Tartar languages. He also proved that the analogies with these languages
are more obvious in the verb than in the other parts of speech.
He has given an admirable transcript of the Median text of the Behistun
inscription in eight plates, accompanied by a transliteration that shows
a remarkable improvement on all previous efforts, though of course it
has since undergone considerable alteration. His translation follows
the rendering of the Persian column made by Rawlinson, and has received
little alteration from later scholars. He brought his essay to a close
by giving the Median transliteration and translation of the remaining
inscriptions, including two that were lately found by Mr. Loftus at Susa,
and which now appear for the first time. The unilingual at Persepolis
was at length intelligibly rendered. Westergaard had made out its
general purport; but even this imperfect result escaped the efforts of
De Saulcy.[662] The last paragraph was, however, found one of unusual
difficulty, and Norris suggested two alternative versions:
1. ‘Ormuzd, protect me, with all the gods, and also this
fortress. Moreover, do not doubt that those confined in this
place are wicked men;’
or
2. ‘Ormuzd, protect me, with all the gods, and also this fortress
and what is enclosed therein. This do not doubt that the wicked
men will be punished.’
In 1879, Oppert reads the same passage:
‘Que me protège Ormazd avec tous les Dieux, et cette forteresse,
et aussi ce qui est dans cette forteresse. Que jamais je ne voie
ce que l’homme méchant souhaite [que je voie]!’
The latest attempt was made by Weisbach, in 1890, and runs thus:
‘Mich möge Ahuramazda mit allen Göttern schützen, und diese
Festung, und wiederum zu diesem Platze...! Das möge er nicht
sehen (?), das, was der feindliche Mann ersinnt!’[663]
The work of Norris excited some controversy, and Holtzmann was especially
concerned to refute the Finnic-Tartar hypothesis. M. Haug revived the
theory of its closer relationship to Turkish, proposed by De Saulcy, and
he suggested that the Persians themselves were originally Tartars.[664]
M. Oppert had now become the chief representative of cuneiform studies
upon the Continent. His essays on the Persian column of the inscriptions
(1851-2), evinced a complete mastery of the subject and considerable
independence in the treatment of doubtful passages. The reputation
he had earned led to his being attached to the French scientific
expedition to Babylonia. On his return he undertook to write an account
of the expedition, and his second volume, which made its appearance in
1859, contains an elaborate account of the work of decipherment.[665]
Although the book is chiefly concerned with Assyrian, he has given a
Syllabarium of the Median, with the object chiefly of comparing it with
the Babylonian and Assyrian systems of writing.[666] The great importance
resulting from such a comparison now becomes apparent. The values of the
Assyrian signs were already ascertained in a large number of cases, and
it was recognised that, with some exceptions, the similar sign in Median
generally expressed the same value. The principle was also definitely
admitted that each sign has only one value,[667] and that an independent
sign may be looked for to express the combination of the vowels _a_,
_i_ and _u_ before and after each of the principal consonants, _k_,
_p_, _t_, _m_, _r_, _l_ and _s_, and therefore we may expect a sign for
each of such forms as _ka_, _ki_, _ku_, _ak_, _ik_, _uk_, and so on.
The application of this system enabled Oppert to make a very decisive
improvement in the Syllabarium. It will be recollected that Norris had
twenty-four wrong values, and twenty-one only approximately correct.
Oppert now corrects twelve of the former and eighteen of the latter. The
result was that he could dispose of eighty-three values absolutely and
six nearly correct. He was doubtful as to the sound of one, wrong as to
seven, and he omitted seven. Thus, when the determinatives are added,
all of the 106 signs in Menant’s list were deciphered except fifteen. He
also added a fourth to the list of determinative signs. He showed that
the one mistaken by Norris for _s_ was in fact used simply to indicate
that the following letter was an ideogram (No. 66 of Hincks). It had long
ago been observed that a single sign was employed for ‘king,’ and Norris
added another for ‘month.’ Oppert points out that the determinative
before ‘god’ was also an ideogram for ‘god,’ and that ‘man,’ ‘water,’
‘animal,’ or ‘horse’ and ‘road’ were likewise indicated by ideographic
signs. He considered that the grammatical forms show analogy first to
Magyar, then to Turkish, Mongol and Finnish. He gave it the name of
Medo-Scythic, and he now considered that it was spoken by the tribes at
Persepolis and Behistun—more particularly by those in the north of Media.
The student of the second column had at his command some ninety-nine
proper names, besides a large number of Persian official terms and titles
transliterated into the Median script; and with their assistance the
pronunciation of about a hundred and forty words was already known.
The remarkable success of Oppert was due almost entirely to the
successful comparison of the Median and Babylonian signs; and it had
something of an accidental character, for it appeared in a work chiefly
devoted to Assyrian and without special reference to this particular
branch of the subject. Indeed the attention of scholars was now so
thoroughly absorbed by the study of Assyrian and the many new discoveries
it opened to their view, that the second column fell into comparative
neglect. Mordtmann wrote papers upon it in 1862, and again in 1870, in
the ‘German Oriental Gazette,’ in which he appears to have ignored the
results already attained, and to have given different values to some of
the signs. He called the language Susian, in consequence of the order
in which the provinces of ‘Persia, Susiana and Babylon’ occur in the
Behistun inscription, and also because Susa bears an entirely different
name in the Median from that given to it in the Persian, while the other
names are alike in both. In support of his opinion he was the first to
show that the inscriptions on some bricks found at Susa, which were then
beginning to attract attention, though written in a different dialect,
were evidently similar in speech and writing to the second column.
It will be recollected that Rawlinson visited Susa in 1836, and observed
a few bricks and a broken obelisk bearing the peculiar inscriptions
to which we have just referred. He considered the style of writing to
be ‘the farthest removed of any from the original Assyrian type,’ and
he surmised that the language is ‘not even, I think, of the Semitic
family.’[668] In 1852, Loftus collected a few other inscriptions in
the same character and language, which were sent to Rawlinson. Mr.
Norris, who announced this acquisition in his Median Memoir, stated
that Rawlinson still thought that the characters were those of ‘the
Assyrian alphabet,’ but in a different language, and that he had made out
sufficient to show that they belonged to Susian kings who were anterior
to Darius.[669]
When Mr. Layard visited the same neighbourhood, in 1841, he was fortunate
enough to be able to copy two inscriptions at Malamir, one of thirty-six
lines and the other of twenty-four.[670] Rawlinson, in his classification
of the cuneiform inscriptions, called them the Elymaean, and from the
differences they presented, he considered that they ‘are entitled to an
independent place,’ apart from Babylonian or Assyrian. In 1850, he again
points out their dissimilarity from either of the two last mentioned, but
he adds that they are not so difficult to read as those he had found on
the bricks at Susa.[671] The surprising discovery of De Saulcy that the
Median and Babylonian characters are ‘identical,’ notwithstanding their
apparent diversity, naturally stimulated the ingenuity of other writers
to widen the sphere of the ‘identical’; and Mordtmann was among the first
who laboured in this direction. The work was continued by Lenormant, who
made his appearance within the circle of cuneiform scholars in 1871, by
the publication of his first series of ‘Lettres Assyriennes,’ followed,
in 1873, by the ‘Choix de Textes.’ The result of the minute comparison he
instituted was to show that the Old Susian script closely resembled Old
Babylonian, while the Elymaean of Malamir is simply an earlier form of
the Median or New Susian character. The development towards ‘identity’
had now gone so far that Bertin describes the difference between Old
Susian and Old Babylonian as very slight, while Elymaean and Median are
simple ‘variants of the same.’[672]
Mordtmann and Lenormant were successful also in showing that both these
two newly-discovered languages, or dialects, are closely related to
Median, and belonged therefore to the Scythic family. The remarkable
discovery that had recently been made that a Scythic language—the
Akkadian—was the primitive speech of Chaldæa, gave a very unexpected
extension to the range of the Turanian races; and it was now beginning to
be recognised that the civilisation of Western Asia is to be referred to
them, and not, as heretofore supposed, to a Semitic people. The effect
of these discoveries was to stimulate once more the flagging interest
in the writing of the second column, and efforts were now directed to
determine the nature of its relationship to the newly-found dialects,
and more particularly to ascertain the people to whom each might be
attributed. The first to enter upon this new field of inquiry after
Lenormant was Oppert, who submitted a tentative translation of an Old
Susian inscription to the Congress of Orientalists in 1873. In the
following year, Mr. Sayce attempted two short inscriptions published by
Lenormant. If we may judge by comparison with a later version given by
Oppert, no great measure of success was yet attained.[673] Indeed three
years afterwards, Oppert himself admitted that the Susian could not yet
be read. The inscriptions of Malamir caused less difficulty, and Sayce
declared that it was ‘the same as the Median with a few unimportant
variations.’ It must be confessed, however, that his subsequent analysis
tended to show that these ‘variations’ had a considerable range both in
grammar and vocabulary.[674]
Meanwhile the language of the second column continued to receive a
great variety of names which has produced immense confusion. Lenormant,
however, heroically adheres to ‘Median,’ because one of the Median tribes
is specially distinguished as Aryan, and it was therefore reasonable to
suppose that the mass of the people were of different, and presumably
of Turanian, race. Professor Sayce admits that it must have been ‘the
vernacular of the lower classes of Persia: in other words, of the Medes’;
but he preferred to call it Elamite, ‘as less likely to lead to ambiguity
and misconception.’ He suggests that Amardian would be still better,
for Susiana is always called ‘Khapirti’ in the Median text; and this is
evidently the same as the country of the Amardians of Strabo. He showed
that its relation to the dialect of Malamir was closer than to that of
Old Susian; and he thought there was no doubt that the latter was related
to the Akkadian.
One of the most interesting parts of Professor Sayce’s essay was the
publication of ‘a revised list of the powers of the Elamite’ (_i.e._
Susian) ‘character, which can now be determined by means of the Assyrian
syllabary.’[675] Written in 1874, this document illustrates the process
of development that occurred between the two works of Oppert, that of
1859 and the one of 1879, to be mentioned shortly. It will be recollected
that we left him with seven wrong values, six nearly correct and seven
omitted altogether. We find that when Sayce wrote, four of the first and
one of the second had been corrected, and three signs omitted by Oppert
were now provided with correct, or nearly correct, values. At the same
time a plentiful crop of fresh errors was introduced. Six or seven
values, correctly ascertained in 1859, were now rejected and erroneous
ones substituted. At least three of the values proposed for the signs
omitted by Oppert were very far indeed from the mark. The ideogram for
‘horse’ was rejected in favour of the syllable _az_, which may have
suggested to Weisbach the substitution of ‘donkey’ in place of the nobler
quadruped preferred by Oppert.
The two writers who have brought the knowledge of the Median syllabary
to its present standard are Oppert and Weisbach: the former in a special
treatise written in 1879 (‘Le Peuple des Mèdes’) long remained the
leading authority on the subject, and his conclusions have in the main
derived confirmation from the more recent investigations of Weisbach on
the language of the second column, which appeared in 1890. With very
few exceptions, to be noticed later, both scholars are in substantial
agreement as to the values of the signs; and it is this agreement
that forms for the present the standard of right and wrong, by which
the efforts of their predecessors have been judged. Both writers were
guided to a large extent by the values of the corresponding Babylonian
characters.[676] Oppert, as was said, thought he could trace a
resemblance between ninety-six of the Median signs and their Babylonian
equivalents. In each case, the sound as well as the form of the character
was appropriated. Weisbach is much less struck by the general application
of this law. He fully admits the strong similarity of many of the signs,
but some have, he says, so far diverged from their original types as
to be hardly recognisable. Others, he thinks, were borrowed from New
Assyrian, and a few from older forms. Indeed he is, on the whole,
indisposed to derive the syllabary direct from the New Babylonian. He
thinks it is more properly to be traced through the writing of Malamir
to the Old Susian, and the development from the Old Babylonian of the
latter was a parallel and independent process similar to that which
produced the New Babylonian. But as the Old Susian character has not yet
been sufficiently investigated, he restricts his comparison to the New
Babylonian, and he points out some of the principles that were followed
in the evolution of the new script. For example, the vertical wedge that
crosses the horizontal in the Babylonian is generally placed before them
in Median, and the same rule applies to the horizontal crossing the
vertical. There is an evident effort to simplify both the writing and the
language. The signs preserve the same signification in both, but when
it happens in Babylonian that the same sign has many different values
(sometimes no less than nine) it has never more than two in Median. So
also the number of homophones, or different signs with the same values,
are strictly limited. Indeed, he considers that the Median was an early
effort to approach an alphabetical system.[677]
We have seen that several of the errors made by Oppert in his list
of 1859 were corrected from various sources before 1874.[678] He was
still left with three wrong values, five only nearly correct and four
omitted altogether. Of the first class he now gives one a value that
accords with that of Weisbach—11ᵇ, ‘ko’ for ‘kam,’ the ‘gau’ of Norris
and Weisbach.[679] Of the second class he corrects four,[680] and he
supplies correct values to three of those previously omitted.[681]
He now presents us with a list of a hundred and twelve distinct signs,
and no less than fifteen ideographs; but when their syllabic values are
also known the majority are included in the hundred and twelve signs.
Four, however, appear among the ideographs for the first time, and
raise the total number of signs to a hundred and sixteen. Six of these
are,[682] however, repeated twice over to express different syllabic
values, thus reducing the number of distinct signs to a hundred and ten.
He accepts a hundred and five of the hundred and six signs that were
already known, rejecting only one (No. 21). He completes his number by
the addition of five other signs,[683] of which Weisbach has accepted
three. With these two exceptions, the whole of Oppert’s signs are to
be found in Weisbach: that is, a hundred and eight out of the hundred
and ten. Weisbach, however, includes in his list the No. 21 of Hincks,
omitted by Oppert.
The two writers are also substantially agreed as to the values of the
signs. Of the hundred and six given in Menant’s list, we find they
differ only as to seven. Of these, two are omitted by Oppert[684] and
one by Weisbach.[685] In four cases only have they arrived at absolutely
contradictory values.[686]
The discovery announced in 1859 of a determinative sign to indicate
that the one preceding it should be read ideographically led to the
identification of a number of signs to which ideographic values may be
attached, and their number is raised from the seven known in 1859 to
sixteen. The ones now added by Oppert are ‘town,’ ‘mountain,’ ‘race,’
‘arch’ (a window), ‘sea,’ ‘house,’ ‘head,’ ‘ship,’ ‘camel’; and Weisbach
has since contributed a fifth determinative which, he says, is placed
before articles of wood.[687]
The difficulty of the transliteration is greatly enhanced by the fact
that the same sign represents both _m_ and _w_, and the three gradations
of sound—the surd, aspirate and sonant—are not distinguished by separate
signs. It is therefore impossible to say in many cases whether to
transcribe _m_ or _w_, _k_ or _g_, _p_ or _b_, _f_ or _d_; and Oppert
has enumerated no less than six different modifications of sounds—_č_
(_tch_), _ḡ_ (_dj_), _z̆_, _ts_, _dz_, and _z_—that are all represented
by a single sign.[688] Weisbach points out that _g_, is only clearly
distinguished from _k_ when it occurs before _i_. The Median _z_
represents the Persian _z_, _c_, _j_, and the Babylonian _s_ (and _o_?);
the _r_ and _n_ are sometimes found to be interchangeable. When the sound
cannot be checked by its occurrence in a proper name, Oppert generally
adopts the hard sound; but he allows himself a certain latitude in the
application of this rule, and he shows a decisive preference of _w_ to
_m_. Weisbach follows the uniform practice of transcribing the gutturals,
dentals and labials by the tenues; he always uses _z_ for the Persian
_c_, _j_ and _z_, and for the Babylonian _z_ and _s_; and, contrary to
Oppert, he prefers _m_ to _w_.
Oppert recognises the five vowels _a_, _e_, _i_, _o_ and _u_; and,
following De Saulcy, he admits _yi_, _ya_ and _ah_ in his list, among
vowels. Weisbach excludes the _o_, for he considers there was no
difference of sound between it and _u_; the _y_ he includes among the
semi-vowels, with both _r_ and _l_. Although Oppert found that all
the five vowels follow the consonant to form the single syllable, he
considered that only _a_, _i_ and _u_ precede it. Both writers agree to
limit the consonantal sounds to about eleven. Oppert was the first to
treat the grammar with elaborate care, and when he claimed that his work
was ‘une création entièrement nouvelle,’ the statement was probably more
strictly accurate than he imagined.
The nouns do not admit of any distinction of gender, and have only the
singular and plural number. Oppert distinguishes no fewer than twelve
different cases, indicated by suffixes, a profusion limited by Weisbach
to eight, viz. nominative, genitive, accusative, dative, ablative,
allative, locative and comitative.
Oppert, however, did good service in unravelling the mysteries of the
verb, though his passion for systematising and ‘restoration’ has carried
him too far; and his verb, declined through all its moods and tenses,
presents a very different appearance from the skeleton which, according
to Weisbach, is all that can be strictly collected from the texts
themselves. For example, we are presented with the six persons of a
complete past tense, where Weisbach can only find authority for three;
and we get a complete imperfect, although only one termination is really
known, viz. that of the first person singular. With no less confidence we
find two verbs—a reciprocative (‘je me sus’), and an ‘intensive’ (‘savoir
bien’)—of which Weisbach can see no trace; and the same remark may be
applied to his desiderative (‘je veux savoir’) and his factitive (‘je
fais savoir’).[689]
Both writers agree as to the personal pronouns; but in the possessive
Weisbach can only find the third person singular and the first person
plural, while Oppert supplies us with the series complete.[690]
Weisbach calls attention to the dialectical differences in the
Naksh-i-Rustam inscriptions, and to the evidence of decay visible in the
language of Artaxerxes at Susa.
For the reasons already mentioned there is considerable diversity
observable in the transliterations made by the two writers, but so far
as we have observed they are in substantial agreement with regard to the
meaning of the text, as may be seen by a comparison of their rendering of
the unilingual inscription.[691] Occasionally, however, Weisbach finds
himself unable to follow the more imaginative flights of his predecessor.
He will have nothing to do with the ‘restoration’ of the concluding
paragraph of the Suez inscription of Darius.[692] He is equally unable
to accept the interesting completion of the detached inscription at
Behistun, marked L by Norris. Norris reads: ‘I made another tablet in
the Arian language, such as did not exist before, and I made a large ...
and a large ... and ... and....’ This not very promising attempt is
perfected by Oppert as follows: ‘I have made also elsewhere a book in
Arian language, that formerly did not exist, and I have made the text
of the Divine Law (Avesta) and a commentary of the Divine Law and the
prayer and the translation.’ He observes truly that ‘the passage is of
first-rate importance,’ and he adds encouragingly: ‘The explanation which
I give is sure.’ It is therefore somewhat disconcerting to find that the
latest writer cannot get much beyond the crudity of Norris. Weisbach
reads: ‘Machte ich Inschriften in anderer Weise (?) (nämlich) auf Arisch,
was vormals nicht war, und das grosse ... und das grosse ... und das ...
und das ... machte ich.’ Alas for the Divine Law and the commentary and
the prayers![693]
We have already said that in 1859 Oppert had abandoned the hypothesis
that the language of the second column was introduced by the Scythic
hordes who were expelled by Cyaxares. He recognised that it was
connected with the ancient Akkadian, and could not, therefore, be a
new importation, but an original native dialect. He considered that
the Median name itself is Turanian and related to ‘Mada,’ the Akkadian
for ‘land.’ He thought it is clear from Herodotus that the six tribes
who composed the Median nation were not all of the same origin. The
dominant caste were, he still held, of the same Indo-European race as
the Persians, but a large part of the population were Turanians, and the
language of the second column was that of the agricultural and nomadic
tribes of Media, especially those of the north. He accordingly gave it
the name of Medo-Scythic to distinguish it from the Aryan Median of the
classical writers.
This very tenable hypothesis he, however, abandoned in its turn, and
advanced one much more hazardous. He relies upon a fable of Herodotus
to show that the Aryans occupied the country from a much earlier period
than has been commonly supposed, and did not, therefore, make their
first appearance with Dejoces. Both Aryans and Turanians, he now thinks,
were long settled together in the same country, and it is impossible to
say which of the two were the first comers, though he inclines to give
precedence to the Aryans. The various tribes were upon an equality,
sometimes the Turanian and sometimes the Aryan gaining the ascendency. He
considers the former were known as the Medes, a word essentially Turanian
in its origin, while the others retained their proper designation of
Aryans. He holds that the Median dynasty of Dejoces was Turanian. He
carefully analyses the names of their kings, and he has succeeded in
affording a fresh illustration of the peculiar power of philology to
prove any thesis whatever, when employed by a skilful manipulator. Not
many years before, he laid it down as self-evident that these same names
were pure Aryan.[694] Now it becomes no less apparent that they are pure
Turanian. The dynasty of Dejoces marks the ascendency of the Turanian
Medes, and the language of the second column is that which was spoken
by them. He accordingly drops his previous qualification of Scythic,
and gives it simply the name of Median. The rise of the Persian power
enabled the Aryan Medes to recover the position they had temporarily
lost, and hence all the names that occur from the time of Darius clearly
belong to that race. Mada became a geographical name which embraced
the whole population of the country now under an Aryan aristocracy,
and Herodotus was therefore fully justified in speaking of the Medes
and Persians as one in speech and descent. The theory of the Turanian
origin of the Median dynasty has been almost universally abandoned.[695]
The attack upon it was led by the Jesuit scholar Delattre,[696] and
the whole controversy has been ably summarised by Weisbach. Recent
writers have thought it so necessary to insist upon the Aryan race of
the Median kings that they decline to give to the Turanian language
of the second column the name of Median. It has accordingly come into
fashion to indicate in an unmistakeable manner the source from which
it has sprung. Delattre called it ‘Anzanisch,’ from the name of the
territory ruled by the Malamir kings. Halévy adopted a suggestion made
by Mr. Sayce, and calls it ‘Amardian.’[697] Hommel speaks of it as
‘Susian-Median’ and ‘Susian,’[698] a term which Weisbach has qualified by
calling it New Susian. The more probable opinion seems to be that it was
the language of Susa at the time of the Persian conquest, and possibly
also of some of the subjugated tribes in Media. The name of Susian is
therefore more appropriate than one that might confuse the people who
spoke it with the Aryan conquerors of their country. Still it is very
far from satisfactory. The great importance of the inscriptions recently
discovered in the Old Susian language will tend more and more to reserve
to them the designation of Susian; and considerable confusion will arise
from its extension also to the language of the second column. The latter
may possibly be a descendant of the true Susian, but both in the system
of writing and in the language the connection is remote.
The relationship of the Median is now placed almost beyond the sphere
of controversy. M. Gobineau, who wrote in 1859, maintained indeed that
it was connected with Pehlevi, half Semitic and half Aryan: and M. Mohl
still earnestly hoped that we might ‘get rid of the Scythic hypothesis
and all the complications it involves.’[699] But this desire was not
destined to be realised, and its affinity to the Altaic branch of the
Turanian family is now admitted. Some doubt is felt as to whether it
has left any successor, and which of the modern languages approaches
the nearest. Oppert inclines to Turkish:[700] Weisbach is more guarded,
and considers that it exhibits marked differences from all the living
representatives of its Turanian relatives.[701]
There is little doubt that it and kindred languages were extensively
spoken in early times throughout Susiana and the lower valley of
the Euphrates down to the Persian Gulf. Its connection with the Old
Susian has never been doubted. Lenormant, Oppert, Sayce and Hommel
have testified to its more distant relationship with the Akkadian, the
primitive language of Babylonia. Weisbach is naturally more sceptical,
for in 1890 he had scarcely emancipated himself from the heresy
of Halévy, who doubted the existence of Akkadian as an independent
language.[702] Sayce and his disciple Hommel added the speech of the
Kossaeans to the same group.[703] They were indeed disposed to create a
new family of languages which they called Alarodian,[704] and included
within it the Elamite, embracing New and Old Susian, Kassite,[705]
Hittite[706] and Vannic.[707] They considered that the nearest modern
representative of this language is the Georgian and Basque, an opinion
which, it will be remembered, had somewhat fascinated both Westergaard
and Rawlinson. The propriety of this classification was, however, doubted
by Lenormant, and it has never been satisfactorily established.[708]
CHAPTER VI
DECIPHERMENT OF THE THIRD OR BABYLONIAN COLUMN—HINCKS AND RAWLINSON—A.D.
1846-1851
The task of deciphering the Third or Babylonian Column led to far more
important results, and cannot be so briefly summarised. The earliest
inscriptions found in Babylonia were observed to consist of two
well-marked styles of writing the cuneiform character. One of these
styles was to be seen on the Michaux Stone, published in the Collection
of Millin. The other occurs on the numerous bricks that were picked up
upon the ancient site of Babylon, and on a number of cylinders. But the
most remarkable example of this style was found in the long inscription
obtained by Sir Harford Jones and published by the East India Company.
The first style is by far the simplest, and it is known as the Cursive or
New Babylonian; the other is so elaborate that Grotefend called it the
‘Zierschrift’;[709] but it is generally described as the Lapidary or Old
Babylonian. All the early scholars were struck by the close similarity of
the writing in the third column at Persepolis to the first or simplest
form of Babylonian. Münter went a step farther, and pointed out that the
similarity extended to the Old Babylonian of the brick inscriptions. In
the collection of inscriptions made by Mr. Rich, he thought he discerned
three well-marked varieties of writing; but he was able to announce that
Grotefend, after a careful comparison, considered that they were all
closely related to one another and to the third Persepolitan.[710] It was
soon recognised that there are in fact only two varieties of Babylonian,
and what Mr. Rich supposed to be a third is due only to the vagaries of
the scribe, or, as Rawlinson explained, it ‘arises from the distortion of
oblique elongation.’[711] It was long, however, before the identification
of the two systems was satisfactorily established. In the fifth volume
of the ‘Fundgruben des Orients’ Grotefend demonstrated the essential
identity of the third Persepolitan and the simple Babylonian, and in
the following volume he illustrated the similarity of the two systems
of Babylonian.[712] In 1840 he succeeded in identifying a few lapidary
characters with their equivalents in New Babylonian. In his contribution
to the subject he endeavoured to render the names of Hystaspes and
Darius into the two Babylonian forms.[713] In Hystaspes he seems to
have succeeded in only one character—the lapidary sign for ‘as’—but his
spelling out of Darius was correct, both in the cursive and lapidary
forms.[714] He was able also to recognise that certain inscriptions on
vases written in the cursive style reproduced in part the same text as
those on the bricks written in the lapidary style. With a little farther
study he would have been able, from the material collected in this Table,
to draw up a short list of equivalent signs in the two systems. As it
was, he left this demonstration to be accomplished by Dr. Hincks in a
much more successful manner than it was in his power to attempt. He had
observed indeed that certain words in the East India House inscription
corresponded to those found on the bricks, and he has collected them
together in line 19 of his Table, and placed them word for word below the
brick inscription for purposes of comparison.[715] But both are in the
same lapidary character, and their juxtaposition served only to show that
the same words, and possibly portions of the same sentence, were to be
found in each. Grotefend, as we shall soon see, had not the smallest idea
of their meaning. It was the good fortune of Dr. Hincks to observe that
portions of the text of the East India House inscription are reproduced
in a fragmentary inscription written in cursive characters and published
by Ker Porter.[716] This, as he says, was ‘a most important discovery,
as the equivalence of certain cursive and lapidary characters which bore
scarcely any resemblance to one another was thus demonstrated, as well
as the equivalence to each other of different lapidary characters which
are constantly transcribed by one and the same cursive character.’ By
this means he succeeded in drawing up a Table of seventy-six cursive
characters, selected from the third Persepolitan column, and placing
opposite each its equivalent lapidary sign taken from the East India
House inscription.[717]
Hitherto the cuneiform inscriptions known to Europe had been practically
limited to the Persepolitan and Babylonian styles of writing. A few
examples of different varieties were, however, beginning to crowd upon
the bewildered student. Almost the first examples of the Assyrian style
were collected by Mr. Rich in 1820, during his visit to Nineveh, and
these were subsequently acquired by the British Museum.[718] In 1827,
Schulz found about forty inscriptions at Van, written in a very similar
character, and these were published in the ‘Journal Asiatique’ of
1840.[719] A prism with a long inscription was discovered at Nineveh in
1830, but it does not seem to have become accessible till purchased by
Colonel Taylor in 1846.[720] In 1840, Mr. Layard copied an inscription at
Malamir that presented another striking variety. But the first period of
great discoveries in Assyria had now approached. In 1843, M. Botta, the
French Consul at Mosul, began his excavations in the mound at Khorsabad,
and he soon uncovered the remains of a palace. He found the doors
adorned with monumental bulls, and the walls decorated with bas-reliefs
and inscriptions. He described the result in a series of letters to M.
Mohl, which appeared in the ‘Journal Asiatique’ between May 1843 and
June 1845. M. Flandin was hastily commissioned to take sketches; but
fortunately the task of copying the inscriptions was left entirely to
Botta. He faithfully transcribed upwards of two hundred, many of them
being, however, exact or slightly varied reproductions of each other.
A large collection of sculptures found its way to the Louvre, and the
drawings and inscriptions made their appearance in 1849 in the great work
‘Monument de Ninive.’ Like many similar productions in France, it was
executed upon such a splendid scale as to place it practically beyond the
reach of ordinary students. The inscriptions were, however, afterwards
published separately; and M. Botta contributed a valuable essay on the
newly found ‘Ecriture Assyrienne’ (1848).[721]
Meanwhile Mr. Layard was rapidly accumulating treasures upon even a
greater scale for the British Museum. He began to excavate at Nimrud—the
ancient Caleh—in November 1845, and speedily brought to light the remains
of three buildings, known as the North-West, Central and South-West
Palaces. In the following year he extended his labours to Kouyunjik, a
mound on the site of Nineveh, where he unearthed a palace of unusual
size, which he found had been erected by the son of the Khorsabad king.
He was rewarded by the discovery of the vast treasures now preserved
in the British Museum—colossal bulls and lions, winged human figures,
and many other symbolical objects; long rows of bas-reliefs depicting
battles, sieges and hunting scenes, and large numbers of inscriptions.
One of the most important of these was found in the autumn of 1846 on
a black obelisk in the central palace of Nimrud. It consists of two
hundred and ten lines, and enjoys the distinction of being the first
purely Assyrian inscription that was ever deciphered.[722] Of scarcely
less importance was the discovery of an inscription upon the pavement
where the names and titles of five kings were clearly recorded. Their
names could not indeed be read as yet, but sufficient was already
known from a comparison with the Persian inscriptions to indicate the
genealogical relationship of the unknown sovereign. The Assyrian signs
for ‘king,’ ‘son of’ and a few others had been made out, which left no
doubt as to the meaning of the document. It began with the father of the
founder of the North-West Palace, and ended with the grandson of the
builder of the Central Palace. On his return to England, in 1847, Layard
wrote an account of ‘Nineveh and its Remains,’ but the work did not
appear till 1849. It was followed in the same year by the ‘Monuments of
Nineveh,’ which contained drawings of the bas-reliefs and copies of the
inscriptions.
Two great collections of Assyrian inscriptions were now in the hands
of scholars, who found themselves face to face with the difficult
problems they suggested. In England the task was divided between Hincks
and Rawlinson; but Mr. Norris, Dr. Birch, and Mr. Layard gave valuable
assistance in the publication of documents. Mr. Norris was farther
engaged in the study of the Susian texts. In France the work was taken
up by Botta, Löwenstern and De Saulcy. M. Oppert does not seem to have
turned his attention to this branch of the subject till 1857, when for
the first time France was worthily represented. Germany was silent,
except for a few contributions made by Grotefend in his declining years
that added little to the general progress.
Nothing could at first be more bewildering than the immense number
of signs. Grotefend counted only a hundred and thirty different
characters in the third Persepolitan column. Mr. Fisher, in 1807,
found that the East India House inscription contained two hundred and
eighty-seven;[723] and Grotefend, in 1837, estimated that the whole
of the Babylonian inscriptions known to him contained about three
hundred different signs.[724] But Botta encountered no less than six
hundred and forty-two at Khorsabad alone.[725] The unskilled eye will
be disposed to agree with Löwenstern that at first sight the Ninevite
character presented no analogy with the Persepolitan, or even with the
characters on the Babylonian bricks. In his ‘Essai de Déchiffrement’
(1845) he was, however, the first to point out that a large number of
them do really correspond to the third Persepolitan; and he based his
attempted interpretation partly upon the analogy he had discovered.[726]
In his first Essay, of 1846, Hincks also stated his belief that ‘the
third Persepolitan agrees in character with the Babylonian and with the
Assyrian writing in Schulz’s inscriptions.’[727] Löwenstern afterwards
admitted that he would scarcely have recognised the similarity from
Schulz’s plates; but it became clearly apparent in the more perfect
drawing of Texier.[728] Indeed he was eventually so much struck by
the resemblance that he hesitated to classify the Persepolitan with
the Babylonian in preference to the Assyrian; in fact, he ultimately
persuaded himself that it was nearer the Assyrian. Meanwhile Botta
had begun the minute study of the Assyrian character to which later
investigators owe more than they are always willing to acknowledge.[729]
Those whose fortune it is to occupy the higher pinnacles of knowledge
are only too prone to despise the humbler artificers who constructed the
scaffolding that enabled them to achieve the ascent. Botta arranged the
signs with great care into fifteen classes, according to the number of
wedges they contain. The first class included all those with one wedge
only; and so on up to the fifteenth class, where we find signs composed
of fifteen wedges and upwards: though none appear to exceed eighteen.
The result of his classification was to persuade him that the graphic
system of Assyria was substantially the same as that found at Persepolis
and Babylon. He accepted Rich and Westergaard as the most faithful
copyists of the former, and he compared ninety-six of their signs with
those at Khorsabad. He found that seventy-two were so similar that
their identity could not fail to be recognised at first sight. Fourteen
others exhibit a greater difference, but their identity is capable of
demonstration. There are therefore eighty-six signs out of ninety-six
concerning which no doubt can exist. He thought the difference was not
so great as between Gothic and Latin characters. With respect to the
writing at Van, he counted a hundred and twelve to a hundred and fifteen
characters, and he found that ninety-eight or a hundred were reproduced
identically at Khorsabad.[730] When he began to write upon this subject
he had only just received a copy of the East India House inscription, and
it was some time before he could hazard an opinion as to the relationship
of the New Assyrian to the Old Babylonian.[731] The result of a first
study of the two hundred and eighty-seven signs in the East India House
inscription was the identification of a hundred and seven of the signs
with the Assyrian, and a more careful investigation ultimately raised the
number to one hundred and seventy-nine.[732] The remaining one hundred
and eight have not, he says, any proper equivalent at Khorsabad. He
was inclined to attribute a good deal of the diversity to the material
and the instrument used. Where, for example, the stone was brittle, as
at Van, the engraver showed a disinclination to make the wedges cross,
and the chisel would naturally produce a different effect from the
impress of a wedge upon soft clay. Much also was, no doubt, due to the
individuality of the scribes, who seemed to think they might increase or
diminish the number of the wedges according to fancy. Others were simple
errors on the part of the original scribe or his copyist, and some may
have been intended for abbreviations. He did not believe it possible to
establish any fundamental distinctions between any of these styles. Thus
he thought the Taylor prism combined the differences peculiar to Nineveh
and Babylon so equally that it would be impossible to decide to which
class it really belongs. He concluded, therefore, that, notwithstanding
considerable apparent variety, there was substantial identity; and that
one and the same mode of writing prevailed in Assyria and Babylon, at Van
and Persepolis. Indeed he went so far as to suppose that whoever could
read a Khorsabad inscription would be able also to read all the others.
It is true he could not himself read or pronounce a single word with any
degree of certainty;[733] and Rawlinson declared that his special studies
afforded him no facility. He could, he says, read the Babylonian of the
third column, but he has not ‘yet succeeded in identifying a single name
in the tablets of Van or Khorsabad.’[734]
At first indeed Rawlinson was much more impressed by the diversity than
by the similarity of the signs, and he described them as ‘constituting
varieties of alphabetical formation.’ He divided Babylonian into the
writing of the third Persepolitan and that of the bricks and cylinders;
the latter he considered was the primitive form ‘which must have embodied
the vernacular dialect of Shinar, when the earth was of one language and
one speech.’ Assyrian he also divided into two classes, Assyrian proper
and Medo-Assyrian or Vannic; but he also distinguished Assyrian proper
into two subdivisions, representing the lapidary and the running hand—a
specimen of the latter being the Taylor prism. The Elymaean inscriptions
he placed in a class apart, ‘as entitled to an independent rank.’ He
pointed out that even the third Persepolitan writing is not identical
with the cursive Babylonian, and that the variation is sufficient to
constitute a serious impediment to study. The writing on the Assyrian
cylinders is ‘quite distinct from any variety of character which occurs
on similar relics at Babylon’; and he found ‘characters at Van that
never occur at Khorsabad and _vice versa_.’ He cannot, therefore, agree
with Botta that they all ‘belong to one single alphabetical system,’ and
that the differences are merely ‘varieties of hand.’[735] Farther study,
however, led him to alter his opinion, and in 1850 he admits that ‘there
is no doubt but that the alphabets of Assyria, of Armenia, of Babylonia,
of Susiana and of Elymais are, so far as essentials are concerned, one
and the same. There are peculiarities of form, a limitation of usage—but
unquestionably the alphabets are “au fond” identical.’ Mr. Layard had
also arrived at the same conclusion. In his opinion, the varieties
appear to be mere ‘caligraphical distinctions.’[736]
The same important discovery was soon afterwards extended, as we have
already related, to include the writing in the second or Susian column
of the Persepolitan inscriptions. In 1846, Hincks called attention
to the similarity that existed between them. Both the Babylonian and
Assyrian modes of writing, he says, ‘agree in principle with the second
Persepolitan,’ and he farther observed that where the characters are
the same, they have generally the same, or nearly the same, value in
all three.[737] It is curious that Botta was quite unable to trace the
existence of this resemblance. Writing of the three columns, he says:
‘The elements of the groups are in each quite different, and even when
the form agrees the sound is quite different’; and this opinion was
shared by Westergaard, who, as we have said, maintained that the various
species of cuneiform writing ‘differed from one another in the shape of
nearly every letter or group.’[738]
A good deal has been said from the time of Botta downwards as to the
similarity of the various styles. There is no doubt that they are
sufficiently formidable to require a special training in reading
each kind,[739] and the Assyrians themselves found it necessary to
make transcriptions from the Babylonian in order to make the writing
intelligible. There was a greater diversity in the writing of Babylonian
than of Assyrian, in consequence of there being no standard official
type in the former as there was in the Assyrian,[740] and consequently
a copyist sometimes altogether mistook a sign, and occasionally he was
actually unable even to divine its meaning; indeed, so great was the
diversity in the manner of writing that the Assyrian scribes made use of
Tables of Variants, and in one of these no less than twenty different
ways of writing the same sign have been found. On the whole, most
students will be inclined to agree with Mr. Budge, who dwells more on the
differences than the similarity of the styles.[741]
The demonstration of the similarity of the cuneiform writing of
Babylon and Assyria was followed by the more important discovery that
the languages expressed by both were the same as that of the third
Persepolitan column. The Persian, now deciphered and translated, was thus
found to afford a key, not only to the language of the third column, but
also to the large collection of inscriptions from Nineveh. Hincks, in
a Postscript of June 1846, to which reference will be frequently made,
announces that he believes the third Persepolitan ‘agrees, to a great
extent at least, in language with the Babylonian inscriptions.’[742] In
1848, Botta endeavoured to establish beyond the possibility of doubt that
the Assyrian of Khorsabad likewise agreed with the language of Babylon
and Persepolis. He showed that the same grammatical inflexions, the same
personal pronouns, the same particles, and very many words agreed in
all three languages. With regard to the inscriptions at Van, Botta was
at first in doubt, but farther study led him to believe that here the
inflexions were not the same.[743] This was subsequently fully recognised
by Hincks[744] and by most other scholars. It did not, however, prevent
De Saulcy from hazarding a translation of one of them on the supposition
that it was written in Semitic.[745] In 1850, Rawlinson agreed that
both the Babylonian and Assyrian languages are to be included in a
common category; but he added that ‘they can hardly be called identical,
inasmuch as each dialect affects the employment of specific verbal roots
and certain particular nouns and adjectives.’[746] They are, in fact,
distinguished by certain dialectical differences which have been compared
in degree to that existing between the dialects of the West and North of
England; but other authorities think the differences scarcely amount to
provincialism.[747]
The suggestion that the newly-discovered language would turn out to
be Semitic was made at an early period of the inquiry. It had not,
however, occurred to Grotefend, who described it, in 1837, as Parsi,
and in 1840 he had apparently returned to his original opinion that it
was Pehlevi, and he expressly rejected a suggestion of Lepsius that the
writing might be compared to Phoenician.[748] Before the decipherment of
the cuneiform every conceivable hypothesis had been started as to the
probable affinities of the Ancient Assyrian language.[749] At length, in
1845, Löwenstern recollected that the Jewish Scriptures place Assur in
the same ethnological division as Heber, and he concluded that Assyrian
must therefore have been a Semitic speech.[750] In June 1846, Hincks
also announced that ‘both Assyrian and Babylonian appear to have much in
common with the Semitic languages’;[751] and in the following January he
stated emphatically that they ‘exhibit a much greater similarity to the
other Semitic languages than I had at first supposed.’ In consequence of
this similarity, he now for the first time sets the fashion, afterwards
generally adopted, of classifying the signs according to the letters of
the Hebrew alphabet, and he endeavoured for a brief time to assimilate
the vowel system to the Semitic method.[752] In a tract written in 1847
Löwenstern dwelt with increasing force upon the Semitic affinities of
the language; and he considered that Rawlinson is fundamentally wrong in
applying the laws of an Aryan speech ‘to a writing and a language that
are Semitic.’[753] It cannot be said that he contributed much towards
the proof of his assertion. He was entirely mistaken in the fundamental
principle of his comparison, the supposed similarity of the vowel systems
of the two languages; but he pointed out the analogy of a few words, such
as ‘rabu,’ ‘great,’ to its Hebrew equivalent, and this was the only word
which, according to Menant, was then correctly read.[754] In the December
previous, Hincks pointed out that the personal pronoun in Assyrian reads
‘a-na-ku,’ but he left it to the learning of his readers to recognise
the identity of this word with the Hebrew. This was afterwards done by
Botta,[755] who, however, continued on the whole to be doubtful of the
Semitic affinities of Assyrian.[756]
In 1849, De Saulcy contributed two memoirs on cuneiform, which seem to
have added considerably to the proof.[757] In the first he is said to
have shown that the two languages agreed in the feminine termination
_t_ and in the relative pronoun ‘sha’; and in the second he identified
the particles for ‘and’ and ‘with.’[758] In the following year, Hincks
added other forms and words that could be best explained by reference
to the Hebrew;[759] and Rawlinson definitely settled the question by an
elaborate comparison of its grammatical forms and vocabulary with those
of other Semitic languages.[760] Since that time its affinity to the
Semitic family has been fully accepted. Rawlinson showed that Babylonian
is found in a more primitive state than any other of the Semitic dialects
of Asia open to our research. It is held to be the oldest representative
of that family yet known, ‘the Ethiopic ranking next in point of
antiquity.’[761]
Hincks declared that it bears the same relationship to Semitic as
Sanscrit to Aryan, an opinion shared by Mr. Sayce and Professor Haupt.
It properly belongs to the northern group, which includes Hebrew,
Phoenician, Syriac and Chaldee; but there is some disagreement as to the
degree of relationship.[762] Mr. King describes it as ‘closely akin’
to the northern group, while Mr. Pinches considers the differences
are often very great, especially in the verbs.[763] Mr. Boscawen
finds striking affinities in grammar to Arabic, one of the southern
group.[764] It was some time, however, before these opinions prevailed.
M. Luzzato, in 1850, still maintained that Assyrian was an Indo-European
language;[765] and Holtzmann that it was a Persian dialect mingled with
Semitic elements.[766] Botta long remained in doubt, and Hitzig did not
hesitate to deny that it is Semitic.[767] So late as 1858 Ewald, the
German Hebraist, entirely refused to accept the grammatical forms of
Assyrian as Semitic.[768] M. Renan wrote to the same effect in 1859,
and he even retained his doubts in the fourth edition of his ‘Langues
Sémitiques,’ published in 1863.[769] The recent discoveries were indeed
peculiarly unacceptable to M. Renan. Not long before, he had laid down
that monotheism was the special ‘note’ of the Semitic races, and he
was naturally extremely disconcerted by the unexpected apparition in
the Louvre of a profusion of Assyrian gods, according as they were dug
up by M. Botta. In 1865 we are still assured that Assyrian, ‘though of
the Semitic type, is only distantly connected with known forms of that
language.’[770]
It is much easier to determine the grammatical affinity of a language
than to read it, and the place of Babylonian in the family of languages
was definitely fixed before much progress was made in the work of
translation. From the time that Grotefend’s attention was first directed
to cuneiform research, he endeavoured to include the second and third
columns, no less than the first, within his sphere of inquiry. But he
achieved very little success. In his Essay published by Heeren (1824) we
find that he had already singled out the groups in the third column that
corresponded to Cyrus, Hystaspes, Darius and Xerxes. The Babylonian,
unlike the Persian, has no sign to mark the division of the words, and
the difficulty attending their separation was at first very great. The
process was facilitated when it was recognised that each line begins and
ends with a word: that is to say, a word is never divided and carried
over from one line to another. In 1837, Grotefend successfully divided
eight lines of the Elvend inscription, with only a slight mistake. He
also divided the B inscription of Darius nearly correctly: the exception
being that at the end of his first line he seems to treat three words as
one.[771] Nor was the difficulty confined to the separation of the words
only. Some of the signs are so long that they were at first mistaken for
two or more letters. Thus the sign for _ar_ in the word for Xerxes was
treated by Grotefend as _th_ and _r_;[772] and Löwenstern divided the
sign for _gi_ into _r_ and _s_, which continued for a long time to be a
source of trouble.
In 1840 Grotefend gives a Table to show the transliteration of his four
royal names. He reads Cyrus ‘Kho · re · s’ for ‘Ku · ra · as’; Hystaspes
‘Wi · scht · as · p’ for ‘Us · ta · as · pa’; Darius ‘Da · r · ha · a ·
wesch’ for ‘Da · ri · ya · a · vus’; Xerxes ‘Kh · sch · ah · th · r ·
sch’ for ‘Hi · si’ar · si.’[773]
We have here sixteen different signs with their values attached; and of
these only three (_as_, _da_, _a_) are absolutely correct; though the
others give the consonantal values. These values appeared substantially
in his tract of 1837, with the addition of ‘wo-hu’ for the signs that
read ‘rabu.’[774] Hincks, writing in December 1846, makes the very
liberal admission that perhaps Grotefend knew the values of ten cursive
characters correctly and of ten others approximately.[775]
It will be seen from the transliteration that he recognised some of the
signs as syllabic and some as alphabetical. He also knew there was a
single sign for ‘son,’ which, he points out, occurred as _a_ in Darius;
and he had found three of the equivalent signs for ‘king.’ It is not
improbable that if he had persevered in analysing a larger number of
proper names, he might eventually have reached other solid results.
Unfortunately, these were not readily accessible. The I inscription,
that yielded so much assistance to Burnouf and Lassen, had no Babylonian
equivalent; and Westergaard had not yet copied the one at Naksh-i-Rustam.
Failing the only true method, he had recourse to another that once more
carried him far away to another ‘constellation of Moro.’
There was much speculation as to what could be the signification of
a certain inscription found on cylinder seals and ‘holy’ vases, and
reproduced with amplification on the bricks collected by Mr. Rich at
Babylon. Hager had long ago thrown out the useful suggestion that the
brick inscriptions most probably recorded the name of the maker or
the builder; but this opinion did not ultimately find favour. It was
contended that the inscriptions on the seals and ‘holy’ vases must have a
religious import, and were no doubt used as talismans, in accordance with
Oriental custom; and nothing could be more natural than that the same
mystical formulae should be impressed upon the bricks, in order to banish
the evil demons from the precincts of the building. Grotefend accordingly
looked about for guidance, and at length found something to suit his
purpose in the Zend-Avesta. He collected a number of brick inscriptions
together, and placed under them such portions of the inscriptions on
seals and ‘holy’ vases as he found to correspond. They are not, however,
exactly alike, for in the latter two or more words are omitted from the
middle of the sentence. The first legend contains sixteen words and,
according to Grotefend, it runs thus: ‘(1) Ich erhebe (2) demüthigst (3)
den grossen (4) König (5) Mithras (6) immerdar (7) mit Grösse (8) und
mit Stärke (9) an diesem (10) öffentlichen Orte (11) Ja (12) ich erhebe
(13) diesen (14) grossen (15) König (16) Mithras.’ The legend taken
from the brick of Nebuchadnezzar (line 13) differs slightly from this.
The name of the king or god is not the same (words 5 and 16); and the
two words ‘öffentlichen Orte,’ ‘ja,’ are also different. At the end, a
seventeenth word is added, signifying, as is supposed, ‘sei gnädig.’ Such
was the last attempt at translation before the breaking of the new light.
The meaning of this inscription is now known to be: ‘(words 1, 2, 3)
Nabu-kudur-usur, (4) King (5) of Babylon, (6-10) Restorer of Bit-Saggatu
and of Bit-Zida, (11) eldest son (12, 13, 14) of Nabu-pal-usur, (15) King
(16) of Babylon, (17) I.’[776]
Löwenstern, in his ‘Essai de Déchiffrement,’ published in 1845,
contributed little to the progress of the study. He, however, boldly
attempted to pass beyond the guidance of the Persepolitan inscriptions,
and to decipher two proper names in an inscription recently found at
Khorsabad. The one he selected is engraved over a bas-relief and appears
in Botta (Plate 25). The subject evidently referred to the capture of
a city, and Löwenstern learned from the Hebrew Scriptures that the
Assyrians had only captured four important places. One of these was
Asdod, which was taken by Esarhaddon, and the appearance of sea in the
bas-relief left no doubt that this was the place referred to. He had
thus ingeniously conjectured the names of the city and the conqueror
by independent means; and there was little difficulty in fixing the
cuneiform groups in which they were to be found. We have already said
that Löwenstern observed the close resemblance between the Assyrian and
Persepolitan characters; and he at first thought that the similarity
extended to the square writing of the Hebrews. It was by comparison with
these that he sought to achieve his decipherment. The name of the town
consisted of five characters. The first he did not know, but assumed to
be _a_; the second corresponded exactly to the Hebrew ‘shin,’ the third
to the Old Persian _d_; and, pursuing this method, he satisfied himself
that he had deciphered ‘Asdoh’ or ‘Asdod.’ Botta afterwards pointed out
that the word had been improperly transcribed, and that the first sign,
translated _a_, was simply the determinative of ‘city.’[777] As regards
the group that should contain the name of Esarhaddon, Löwenstern thought
it consisted of three signs. The first, he erroneously stated, had been
ascertained by Grotefend to be _r_;[778] the second was already known as
_s_ in ‘Asdod’; the third bore a remote resemblance to the Hebrew ‘koph’
turned over on its side. It remained to adapt the result, _r_ _s_ _k_, to
the name of Esarhaddon. The matter was simplified by Isaiah, who calls
the king in whose reign Asdod was captured Sargon. Another reading of
this name is ‘Sarak,’ which is evidently the word in the inscription,
the transposition of the _r_ and _s_ being obviously unimportant. It
happened, curiously enough, that Löwenstern guessed the name of the
Khorsabad king correctly, but his transliteration was entirely at fault.
Two years later, Longpérier pointed out that he had omitted the first
sign of the name altogether; and Botta protested against the separation
of the second sign into two, in order to evolve _r_ and _s_.[779]
In June 1846 Hincks began the series of contributions to the subject
which he continued down to the time of his death, twenty years later. In
his first paper he tells us he had just begun to apply himself to the
third Persepolitan, which, he says, he found to agree in ‘character and,
to a great extent at least, in language with the Babylonian inscriptions,
and to the Assyrian writing in Schulz’s inscriptions.’ ‘In both,’ he
says, ‘some of the characters represent elementary sounds and some
[represent] combinations. In both, two or more characters are used to
represent the same sounds. In both, no vowel is omitted; but vowels and
consonants are repeated in two consecutive characters.’ He also ‘found
it to be a general rule, though it admits of some exceptions, that when
a character occurred in two or more alphabets, it had the same value, or
nearly so, in all of them.’ Thus the _pa_ of the second Persepolitan is
_pa_ in Assyrian, and _ba_ in Babylonian. He claimed to be able to read
the names of ‘Babylon’ and ‘Nineveh’ on certain bricks that had been
brought from those places.[780]
A few months later he was able to announce that he had ‘made considerable
progress in deciphering the Babylonian cursive and also the lapidary
character of the East India House inscription.’ He found that the
writing in the third Persepolitan column was identical with the former,
or cursive, style, and that its title to be called the ‘Babylonian
column’ was therefore incontestable.
The only predecessor he will allow to have had in this inquiry is
Grotefend, who has discovered, he says, that the Babylonian characters
are partly syllabic and partly literal; and that ‘certain lapidary
characters correspond to certain cursive ones.’ Grotefend, he adds,
may also have discovered the values of about ten cursive characters
correctly, and possibly of ten others approximately. But he was not
aware that ‘several equivalent characters might be in use to represent
the same letter or syllable.’[781] Hincks was, however, more adequately
supplied with materials to work with. Besides the Persepolitan
inscriptions which he had the advantage to study in the more perfect
copies of Westergaard, he had also access to the list of provinces at
Naksh-i-Rustam lately copied by the same traveller. The discovery that
a clay cylinder published by Porter reproduced in cursive characters a
portion of the East India House inscription written in the lapidary style
had, as we have already seen, enabled him to compare together seventy-six
signs in the two different modes of writing. These he now attempted to
classify according to what he considered to be their values. The Table
is the first of the kind that appeared, and is consequently of very
exceptional interest. His decipherment was based in the usual manner upon
a comparison between the proper names in the Babylonian and those in
the Persian column. ‘But,’ he says, ‘even more [values] were determined
by comparing different modes of writing the same word.’ His success, so
far as it goes, is certainly remarkable. He recognises correctly the
signs for the three principal vowels, _a_, _i_ and _u_ (Nos. 1, 4 and 7);
a second sign for _u_, used in the late Babylonian, is also correctly
identified. The breathing sign is rendered with approximate correctness
by _ya_ (No. 2; _cf._ King 226), and the two diphthongs _ai_ and _ia_
figure as _yu_ and _ya_ (9 and 3). The list of consonantal sounds is,
of course, far from complete; but it is remarkable that in the great
majority of cases the signs are presented to us as syllabic. They even
include two compound syllables, ‘bar’ and ‘sar.’ They are distributed
among twenty-one different sounds: _r_ or _er_, _ra_, _ru_; _n_, _na_,
_nu_, _ana_; _ba_, _bu_, _bar_; _ak_, _ka_, _ku_; _ta_, _da_; _s_, _as_,
_us_; _sa_, _su_, _sar_, and the signs for the plural. It will be seen
that this affords a remarkable anticipation of a later discovery. A
careful examination will show that, so far as the consonantal sounds are
concerned, there are extremely few errors. Indeed, out of fifty-five
signs, we have only found twelve radical mistakes in this respect. On
the other hand, he was able to give to many signs their absolutely
correct syllabic value. At the time of writing he was of opinion that
the distinction between _i_ and _u_ was not observed; and he accordingly
classifies together the syllabic ending in either of these vowels.
He thought that the same confusion existed among the consonants. He
considered that the language did not admit of distinction between _r_ and
_l_, or between _b_ and _p_, or _w_ and _m_; nor between the gutturals
_k_, _g_ and _kh_; nor between the sibilants; and that _ch_ is expressed
by _s_, and _j_ by _k_. He identified the personal pronoun I—_a-na-ku_;
and he read the name and titles of Nebuchadnezzar in various inscriptions
which Grotefend had mistaken for forms of prayer. He saw clearly the
ideographic and determinative value of some of the signs, and fixed
correctly upon those for ‘and,’ ‘son,’ ‘great,’ ‘earth,’ ‘one,’ ‘house,’
‘god,’ ‘man’ (two), and another sign for ‘king’ not previously recognised
by Grotefend. He also pointed out two signs for the plural. (December
1846.)
In his paper of January 1847 he increases his list of primary signs to
ninety-five, and he analyses the remaining characters found in the East
India House inscription published by Mr. Fisher in 1807. He thinks he has
been able to assign values to a hundred and ninety-nine of these, and
to attach them to some one or other of the ninety-five primary values
to which, in his opinion, they corresponded. If this attempt had been
successful, he would have arrived at the values of the whole of the two
hundred and eighty-seven signs in Mr. Fisher’s list, and a few others
in addition. But the paper in other respects indicates a retrograde
tendency. ‘The language,’ he says, ‘has been brought to exhibit a much
greater similarity to the Semitic ones than I had at first supposed.’
He accordingly abandons the ‘transcription of Babylonian words into
Roman characters’ and assimilates them to the letters in the Hebrew
alphabet.[782] He distributes the signs into classes according as he
supposes them to be labials, gutturals, dentals, nasals, linguals and
sibilants. He does not attempt to subdivide the classes into surds and
sonants, but he separates each class into two divisions, according as
he considers that the consonant is followed by _e_ (:_sheva_) or by _a_
(-_pathac_). ‘Values different from these are annexed to the characters
which admit them.’ In so far as each sign is inseparably attached to one
or other vowel the system remains syllabic; but his new table exhibits
a strong desire to revert, if possible, to an alphabetical system in
correspondence with the Hebrew. His study of the inscriptions at Van
enabled him, even at this early date, to give ‘the mode of expressing
numbers in cuneatic characters from 1 to 100,000’: a system he farther
exemplified in his later paper on the Van inscriptions.
His manipulation of the two hundred and eighty-seven signs induced him to
take a much too favourable opinion of his own achievement, for we find
him, in the course of the following year (May 1848), announcing that
‘the values of the great majority of the [Babylonian] characters are,
in my judgment, already settled beyond the reach of criticism,’[783]
a statement which we now know is, in fact ‘beyond the range of
criticism.’ By that time he had, however, made the important discovery
that Sennacherib and Esarhaddon were the builders of the two palaces
at Nineveh. He would not, however, admit that Sargon was the Khorsabad
king, a fact that had just been demonstrated with remarkable ingenuity by
Longpérier.[784] Hincks suggested that the proper reading was Ni-Shar.
It is worthy of remark that the writings we have just reviewed of Hincks,
in 1846-7, were brought to the notice of Continental students by Mohl, in
his ‘Rapport’ to the Société Asiatique of 1848.
It is, in fact, in these essays that the first real progress in the
decipherment of Babylonian was made. In them Hincks laid the foundation
upon which all subsequent work was raised, a work to which he himself
contributed no small share.
The year 1847 was especially rich in contributions to the study. It
opened with the remarkable paper we have just reviewed; and during its
course Rawlinson expounded his views in the ‘Journal of the Asiatic
Society,’ Botta in the ‘Journal Asiatique,’ Longpérier in the ‘Revue
Archéologique.’ Löwenstern added another Memoir of greater value than
the first, and De Saulcy made his appearance in this field of inquiry by
a paper communicated to the Académie des Inscriptions, and by two essays
that have exposed him to much criticism.
Hincks, as we have seen, had worked exclusively upon the Persepolitan
and Babylonian texts; but the great discoveries of Botta and Layard
soon diverted attention to the more ample materials that were beginning
to pour in from Khorsabad and Nimrud. We have already alluded to the
enormous number of different signs that were found to be employed in
the Assyrian inscriptions—no less than six hundred and forty-two,
according to Botta’s computation. It seemed incredible that they could
all convey different shades of sound. Grotefend noticed that even in
the third Persepolitan some signs appeared to be interchangeable, and
therefore presumably of similar value; and this peculiarity became even
more noticeable in Babylonian.[785] Hincks, as we have seen, noticed
‘the equivalence to each other of different lapidary characters, which
are constantly transcribed by one and the same cursive character.’
In a paper read before the Académie des Inscriptions in 1845, Botta
explained that many Assyrian characters of very different form were
frequently substituted for one another, and the inference was that
there are several signs to express the same, or nearly the same, sound.
Rawlinson’s attention, up to the present, had been almost entirely fixed
upon the Persian column of the Behistun inscription, and his version
of it appeared early in 1847. He saw that it afforded the ‘only key to
the decipherment of the Babylonian alphabet.’[786] We have observed
that Grotefend found himself practically limited to four proper names;
Löwenstern had only twenty to work upon;[787] while Hincks and De
Saulcy, with the addition of the Naksh-i-Rustam inscription, had forty.
From the Behistun and other sources now available to Rawlinson, the
number gradually rose to ninety-four;[788] and with these before him, he
began to apply himself to ‘the determination of the phonetic powers of
the characters.’ Among the new names was that of Nebuchadnezzar, which he
at once recognised was the same as occurred so frequently on the bricks
at Hillah. This discovery was made quite independently of Dr. Hincks;
and Layard is inclined to think that, in actual date, the precedence is
due to Rawlinson.[789] He was able already (1847) to announce that he
had ‘obtained a tolerably extensive alphabet from the orthography of the
proper names’; but he adds: ‘I have left the grammar and construction of
the language hitherto untouched.’ He had, however, been greatly struck
by the number of signs with apparently equivalent sounds.[790] He found
it difficult to admit the existence of variants in the same inscription,
except such as were caused by slight changes in the writing of the same
character. He saw, however, that no such explanation would cover all the
difficulties of the case, for some of the substitutes were obviously
totally distinct in form. In this case he did not believe that they were
‘legitimately interchangeable.’ He thought the ‘phonetic organisation
of the language was so minute and elaborate that although each form was
designed to represent a distinct and specific sound, yet the artist
was perpetually liable to confound the characters.’ He suggested also
that each consonant had a different sign to express the surd and
sonant; and in some cases one might be substituted for the other. The
‘vowel-sounds,’ he declared, ‘were inherent’; but it was allowable also
to represent them by separate signs; and farther redundant consonants
were frequently introduced for the sake of euphony. These opinions were
immediately traversed by Löwenstern, in his ‘Exposé des Eléments’ (1847).
This tract followed the sudden, though happily transient, conversion of
Hincks to the application of the Semitic vowel system to the Babylonian
writing. Löwenstern embraced this view with characteristic energy; and it
was adopted also by De Saulcy, in whose case it became one of the chief
causes of the ultimate failure of his Assyrian studies.
Löwenstern, as we have said, considered that Rawlinson was fundamentally
wrong in applying the laws derived from Indo-European languages ‘to a
writing and a language that are Semitic.’ He absolutely denied that the
vowel is inherent.[791] The signs are simple consonants, and they may
be used in connection with any vowel sound. The vowels may or may not
be expressed, and the signs for them are to a large extent expressive
of any vowel sound. One sign he mentions may convey the sound of _hou_,
_a_, and _ya_; another of _a_ or _ha_, _w_ and _ü_.[792] The vowels are,
he says, by no means limited to the _a_, _i_ and _u_ of the Sanscrit,
but include also the _e_ and _o_ and the diphthong _ao_. He entirely
disagrees with the opinion of Rawlinson that the equivalent signs have
any modified value. He compares Assyrian with Egyptian, and regards the
signs that are apparently interchangeable as simple ‘homophones.’ He
shows the different ways in which the names of the Achaemenian kings are
written; and draws the apparently inevitable inference that the different
signs have one and the same sound. ‘The variants,’ he says, ‘may be used
indifferently without violating the phonetic laws of the language.’[793]
He was apparently the first to observe that some signs ‘express different
sounds’; and these he calls ‘homotypes.’[794] As was natural, he does
not appear to have had any idea of the importance of this discovery. His
homotypes seem limited to the signs for vowels, any one of which may
express almost any vowel sound, and also aspirates and liquids; and he
observed that _m_ and _w_, and _y_ and _i_, are each expressed by the
same signs.
His present pamphlet indicates how rapidly the study was progressing. He
now relies entirely upon the analysis of proper names, in accordance with
the suggestion of Longpérier; and he abandons his attempted comparison
with the form of the Hebrew letters. He surrenders his reading of
‘Ashdod,’ and suggests ‘No Kaschzar’ in place of it; and he even doubts
the identity of Arsak and Sargon. He thinks he has discovered from the
Naksh-i-Rustam inscription that the sign he mistook for _r_ is really
_s_, and that his _k_ is certainly _n_. Accordingly he reads the word _s_
_ch(kh)_ _n_ which somewhat revives his confidence in Sargon.
It is not clear to what extent, if to any, he was indebted to Hincks. His
exaggerated Semitism was probably of native growth. He was not yet aware
of the age of the Babylonian bricks, as explained by Hincks in 1846:
yet he knew the determinative sign for proper names, which apparently
was not known to Hincks.[795] Hincks, on the other hand, recognised a
sign ‘prefixed non-phonetically to the name Ormuzd, and also used by
abbreviation for the word “god.”’ Löwenstern says there is ‘no special
sign accompanying the names of the gods.’ He, however, recognised a
sign as the monogram for ‘god’; but when he found it in conjunction with
the name of ‘Aurmuzd’ he treated it as the initial letter, and gave it
the definite phonetic value of _a_.[796] Such were the difficulties
to be overcome before the determinative for ‘god’ was recognised. He
observed that a word may be expressed by its first and last signs, an
early indication of the phonetic complement.[797] Meanwhile Hincks and
Rawlinson announced the discovery already mentioned that the apparent
equivalent signs in Persian depended in reality upon the vowel that was
associated with the consonantal value. It at once occurred to Longpérier
that the great difficulty of the Assyrian homophones might be solved by
the application of the same principle. If, he says, there is a separate
sign for the consonant _m_ according as it is followed by _a_, _i_ or
_u_, ‘one can understand how a similar practice, if extended to many
consonants, would augment the number of alphabetical signs.’ He warned
scholars not to be too ready to accept the existence of homophones,
because he observed that ‘according as the work proceeds the number of
homophones decreases.’[798]
While these discussions were proceeding, Botta continued his
contributions to the ‘Journal Asiatique’ (1847-8), and afterwards
published them in a separate ‘Mémoire sur l’Ecriture cunéiforme’
(Paris, 1848). He endeavoured to introduce some degree of order among
the profusion of Assyrian signs. He drew up a Table, consisting of a
hundred and twenty-five signs that seemed to be most commonly used; and
under each of these he arranged the signs which he found were sometimes
apparently interchanged for them.[799] In this List of Variants we
constantly find six or seven signs—sometimes many more—grouped together
as of equivalent value. In view of later discoveries, it will be seen how
extremely useful this classification might become, for the signs thus
brought together were no doubt usually those that contained the same
consonantal values. In the meantime, however, Botta was at a loss to find
any reasonable explanation. Like Rawlinson, however, he could not believe
that any of them were, as Löwenstern maintained, real homophones, or
signs having identical values. They must, he thought, be distinguished
from each other by some slight shades of sound that were sufficiently
near to be easily confounded.[800] He explained, in anticipation of
the discovery so soon afterwards made by Hincks, that ‘it is possible
that the language is syllabic—so far, at least, as that each consonant
is represented by a different sign, according to the vowel to which it
is joined. Thus, for example, there would be one sign for _b_; others
for _ba_, _bi_, etc. In Semitic languages the short vowels have little
importance, and therefore the syllable _ba_ might be expressed by the
sign for _b_ only; by the two signs _b_ and _a_; and also in certain
cases, by the signs that represent _b_ in connection with the other
vowels.’ It will be seen that Botta was very far indeed from being the
mere painstaking classifier which it was once the fashion to describe
him. He and Longpérier were, in fact, the only two Continental scholars,
at present occupied with this subject, who were gifted with any real
penetration into its difficulties.
Botta succeeded in dividing nearly the whole of the Bull inscription
correctly into its words, but the difficulty of this task was still
so great that even he occasionally fell into error. He also first
pointed out that the sign Löwenstern mistook for two signs was one and
indivisible. He detected the determinative sign for ‘country’ that is
used in the Khorsabad inscription, and he made the important suggestion
that the phonetic value of the sign for ‘king’ is ‘sar.’[801] Longpérier
at once connected this word with its Hebrew equivalent, and showed that
it is used to express the first syllable in the name of the Khorsabad
king ‘Sar-gin.’ He made an attempt to decipher an inscription on the leg
of the Khorsabad bull, and he was the first to recognise ‘Assur.’ His
translation runs thus: ‘Glorious [is] Sargon, King, great King, King of
Kings, King of the country of Assur.’[802] He also showed that ‘great’
might be expressed by one sign only,[803] which added another step to
the discovery of the phonetic complement begun by Löwenstern. This
short contribution to the ‘Revue Archéologique’ shows that Longpérier
possessed to a high degree a true aptitude for these studies; and if
he had been able to pursue them, he might have vindicated for France
a more favourable position than it was her fortune to obtain. The
difficulty in these matters of recognising truth from error was nowhere
more clearly illustrated than in the case of the identification of
‘Sargon’ by Longpérier. So far was the correctness of this ingenious
suggestion from gaining immediate acceptance, that we find Hincks
subsequently conjectures that the name of the father of Sennacherib
should be read ‘Ni-Shar.’[804] A later attempt, in 1849, which resulted
in ‘Kin-nil-li-n’a’ showed little improvement. Even in 1850 Rawlinson
is still so far afield that he translates it ‘Arko-tsin’; and it is
not till August 1851 that he accepts ‘Sargina,’ the reading given four
years previously by Longpérier.[805] Yet the question was of no little
interest, for it really settled the controversy between Hincks and
Rawlinson as to the date of the Lower Assyrian dynasty in favour of the
former. It was not till Rawlinson read ‘Sennacherib’ in a tablet found
by Layard at Kouyunjik that he would acknowledge his error, and admit
that there was at last found ‘a tangible starting place for chronology.’
Hincks was satisfied, two years earlier, that he had identified the names
of Sennacherib and Esarhaddon.
In June 1849 Hincks read a paper on the Khorsabad inscriptions which
shows a great advance upon any contribution yet made to the decipherment
of the language. There is evidence in his essay on the Van inscriptions
that so early as December 1847 he had practically given up the attempt he
made in the previous January to assimilate the Assyrian writing as far as
possible to the Hebrew—at least as regards the vowel system.[806] He is
now satisfied that the Assyrian maintains a clear distinction between the
vowels, and also between the surd and sonant consonants at the beginning
of a word, though at the end the two sounds were confounded. He points
out that no distinction is made between the sounds of _w_ and _m_, and,
he adds, between _l_ and _r_; but he afterwards correctly admits the
independent existence of these sounds in his Syllabarium.[807] He has
also definitely arrived at the conviction that the Assyrian characters
are wholly syllabic or ideographic—in a large number of cases they
are both. He will not now admit that any of them represents a simple
consonant. He has still no doubt that there are many homophones. Many
characters appear to have precisely the same values, ‘though much fewer
than might be inferred from a mechanical comparison of inscriptions and
observance of interchanges.’ He recognises the existence of polyphones,
already described by Löwenstern in 1847 as ‘homotypes.’
‘Many characters,’ he says, ‘admit of two or more kindred values, the
distinction between which would appear not to have been considered so
great as to require different modes of representing them.’ This discovery
was so perplexing that he doubted how best to present it to the reader:
‘Whether it is more desirable to give different values to the same
character, or to give it one value only, with a warning to the reader
that he may, under certain restrictions, substitute another for it at his
pleasure.’
But the chief importance of his present essay consists in the light it
throws for the first time on the nature of the ideograms. The earliest
inquirers leant to the opinion that the language was at least partly
monogrammatic, though Grotefend was inclined to regard these signs more
in the light of abbreviations. He, however, distinctly pointed out the
existence of ideographic characters in the shorter inscriptions at
Persepolis. In 1846 (December) Hincks recognised a sign that was used ‘by
abbreviation for the word “god”’; and he noticed that ‘besides having
a phonetic value, it is used as a non-phonetic initial before the name
of Ormuzd.’ In the same essay he gave numerous other instances of the
existence of ideographic and non-phonetic determinative signs.[808] In
1849 he added for the first time the true phonetic value (_an_) for the
sign for ‘god’;[809] and in the present essay he shows the various uses
to which ideographic signs may be applied. He explains that many phonetic
characters also express words; these may be considered as abbreviations,
though possibly some ‘originally denoted ideas and thence, in process
of time, the initial sounds in the words which express them.’ A second
class resemble the mixed signs of the Egyptians: they may represent words
by themselves, but they sometimes require the addition of complements.
Another class never have complements, nor any phonetic value except
in compound nouns, of which the word they represent forms an integral
part. The ideograms, however, that give rise to the most interesting
speculation are those that have phonetic values, but where the words
that denote the ideas they express have no phonetic relationship to
the phonetic value of the ideogram. For example, we now know that the
phonetic value of the ideogram for ‘god’ is _an_; but this syllable
forms no portion of the Assyrian word for ‘god,’ which is _il-u_. A
glance over any table giving the syllabic values of ideograms will show
how extensively this peculiarity prevails; and its recognition soon led
Hincks to the important deduction that the writing was borrowed from some
other people where the phonetic value of the ideograms was in some sort
of agreement with the initial sound of the word they represented.[810]
Hincks dwelt on the great difficulty of deciphering a language in which
the characters are sometimes used as phonetic syllables and sometimes
as ideographs. In each case it was necessary first to determine in
which sense it occurred, and, if in the latter, the pronunciation could
only be ascertained when it was found spelt out phonetically in some
known word. For example, the pronunciation of the ideogram for ‘god’
was fixed by finding that it formed the _il-u_ in ‘Bab-ilu.’ When the
pronunciation of the ideogram was known, it afforded, as has been said,
in the majority of cases no clue whatever to the syllabic value of the
sign, and the transliterator was liable to fall into the error of reading
a word ideographically instead of phonetically, just as frequently as
to mistake ideograms for phonetics. Compound ideograms were also not
infrequent, where two or more were used to express an idea, but without
reference to the sound. For example, the word for ‘palace’ is composed
of two ideograms, _bit_ and _rab_, meaning respectively ‘house’ and
‘great’; but Hincks warned the reader that he might fall into a serious
error if he were to suppose that they are employed in conjunction
phonetically, and that ‘bitrab’ is the pronunciation of the Assyrian word
for ‘palace.’[811] He shows that several ideographs may be used as simple
determinative suffixes to words which are phonetically complete without
them. The determinatives probably all originally represented words, and
many of them preserved their phonetic values.[812]
This inquiry into the nature and use of ideograms was the first that
had been made, and it formed an important contribution to the knowledge
of the language. His attempted transliterations are not of equal value.
He rejected the reading of ‘Sargon’ given by Löwenstern, and he does
not seem to have heard of the solution of the difficulty proposed the
year before by Longpérier.[813] He recognised indeed that the sign for
‘king’ with which the word begins forms an integral portion of the name,
but he did not perceive, like Longpérier, that its counterpart is the
Hebrew ‘sar’; and he was led by other comparisons to assign the value
of ‘kin-nil’ to the ideogram. He knew also that the sign Löwenstern
had broken up into two and thought signified _r_, _s_ formed in fact a
single sign, which he pronounced _ri_ or _li_. These efforts resulted in
‘kin-nil-li-n’a,’ which might seem even less manageable than the _r_,
_s_, _k_ of Löwenstern. But Hincks was quite equal to the occasion, and,
with the customary imaginative faculty of the philologist, he found no
difficulty in connecting this person with the Chinzirus of Ptolemy,
who, it appears, was a contemporary of Porus. He had already detected
that the names of the son and grandson of this prince were Sennacherib
and Esarhaddon, the builders of Kouyunjik and the South-West Palace of
Nimrud. The first we find he transliterated ‘Sanki’ or ‘Sankin,’ with the
possible addition of ‘rav’ or ‘ram’—‘Sankin-rav’: the other came out as
‘Adar-ka-dan.’ He also explains how he arrived at ‘Nabiccudurrayuchur’
for Nebuchadnezzar, and how he fancied he had found ‘Jerusalem’; but
these instances only serve to illustrate the great obstacles that had
still to be overcome. We have already mentioned the suggestions that
were made first by Longpérier and afterwards by Botta with the view of
reducing the number of homophones. Hincks confesses he had not seen the
essay of the former, and we have not observed that he has acknowledged
his obligations to Botta, though he was evidently acquainted with his
work, as we see from an unpleasant reference to ‘a mechanical comparison
of inscriptions.’ It was, however, upon the principle these writers
suggested that Hincks was now about to solve one of the greatest
difficulties of the language. The solution is contained in an Appendix
to the essay just reviewed, and was sent to press on January 19, 1850,
the same day that Major Rawlinson read his first paper to the Asiatic
Society. Hincks now explains that there are four distinct vowel sounds in
Assyrian, _ā_, _a_, _i_ and _u_; but the difference between the first two
was not maintained when they preceded a consonant.[814] He laid down that
every sign represented a consonant either preceded or followed by one of
these vowels. Therefore, each consonant was represented by seven signs,
thus: _cā_, _ca_, _ci_, _cu_; _ac_, _ic_, _uc_. He thought there were at
least fifteen consonants, and that the syllabary was of Indo-European
origin, and need not therefore, as he had at first supposed, be adjusted
to the Hebrew alphabet. The principle thus announced has been accepted
with some modifications. The difference between the long and short
_a_ has not been maintained in this connection, and consequently the
syllabic representation of each consonant is reduced from seven to six.
His statement that the difference between surd and sonant is maintained
at the beginning but not at the end of the syllable has also been
admitted. We have thus separate signs for _ba_, _bi_, _bu_ and _pa_,
_pi_, _pu_; but the signs for _ap_, _ip_ and _up_ answer for both.
Hincks’s consonants have been accepted without material change. His
_y_ has been omitted and _h_ added; _z_ has been substituted for _j_.
Two signs for _k_ to represent _Caph_ and _Koph_, and two for _t_ to
represent _Teth_ and _Tau_ have been added, where Hincks only had one for
each, so that the number of consonants is now raised to seventeen. Not
only did Hincks arrive at a correct theory of the simple syllables, but
he identified correctly a very large number of the signs corresponding
to them. Of the seventy-one he gives in his Table at least fifty-seven
are accurate, and possibly even more. He closed the essay with a brief
specimen of a translation from the Khorsabad inscription.
This Essay of Hincks exercised a decisive influence upon the future
study of Assyrian. It demonstrated that, although the language was
Semitic, the mode of writing was not Semitic; and for a time it divided
scholars into two opposing camps. Those who followed Hincks maintained
that the language was syllabic, and that each sign expressed a consonant
associated with an inherent and invariable vowel. Those, on the contrary,
who sought to assimilate it to the Hebrew system were of opinion that
the signs represent simple consonants that might be preceded or followed
by any vowel. We have noted the gradual recognition of the syllabic
nature of the Assyrian writing. The earliest opinion was that the signs
were both syllabic and alphabetical, and we have seen that Grotefend
in his transliteration treated them in this manner. Hincks in his
first Essay followed the same method, but he found the vast majority
of the signs were syllabic, and his Table shows only four that are
purely alphabetical. Then came the discovery that the language itself
was Semitic, and the inference naturally followed that the writing was
so likewise. Under the influence of this conviction, Hincks drew up
his Second Table, showing only the consonantal value of the signs, and
leaving them to be associated indifferently with the vowel sounds. But
he remained in this opinion for a comparatively short time, and in the
end of the same year he had reverted to his original view. The effect
of the present essay was to establish the absolute syllabism of the
language; and in a paper read shortly afterwards before the British
Association ‘On the Language and Mode of Writing of Assyria’ (August
1850), he ‘maintained, in opposition to all other writers, that the
characters had all definite syllabic values, there being no consonants,
and consequently no necessity or liberty of supplying vowels.’ In this
opinion he then stood alone. Rawlinson, in reply, expressed his belief
that the signs had a syllabic origin, but that they were ‘subsequently
used to express a mere portion of a syllable.’ ‘He could,’ he says,
‘adduce numerous instances where the cuneiform signs were used as _bona
fide_ letters.’[815]
In France, the opinion Hincks expounded in his second essay took
immediate root. The logical instincts of the French mind clung with
desperate tenacity to the conviction that a Semitic language could only
be expressed by a Semitic mode of writing. Löwenstern at first (1845)
thought that the signs represented some sort of mechanical union of
consonant and vowel: that is to say, that there was a fixed portion of
the sign to represent the consonantal sound, and a variable portion to
indicate the conjunction of the vowel. ‘The signs,’ he said, ‘reproduce
in part the same forms differently combined, which suggests a syllabic
union in many of the signs.’ But he subsequently became the most
thorough-going champion of the alphabetical theory. Botta only just
found it ‘possible to conceive that the language was syllabic,’ yet he
followed Longpérier in the luminous suggestion already described.[816]
Even De Saulcy was haunted by dim fears that, after all, Assyrian might
turn out to be syllabic, and the consistency with which he adhered to
the opposite or Semitic mode of writing rendered his subsequent studies
almost valueless. Rawlinson, as we shall soon see, yielded in time, and
his transliteration of the Behistun inscription shows small traces of his
early heresy, which he was still ready to defend in August 1850.
Such was the progress already made in decipherment when Rawlinson at
length gave to the world some of the results of his labours in the same
field. It will be remembered that in the autumn of 1847 he succeeded in
taking a copy of the third column of the Behistun inscription. Whatever
leisure he could command during the year 1848 and the early part of 1849
he devoted to its study; and when he returned to England in the autumn
of that year, he brought the translation home with him. The work of
publication was one of great difficulty, in consequence of the multitude
of strange characters in many languages that had to be reproduced and
corrected; and although Rawlinson remained in England till 1851, he was
obliged to leave before it was accomplished. Some Continental writers
chose to make this delay a matter of complaint against Rawlinson, whom
they accused of deliberately withholding his copies for personal and
selfish motives. It would be difficult, however, to mention anyone who
was at that time at all likely to profit by their possession. The special
qualifications of a decipherer are by no means common, and M. de Saulcy
at least gave decisive proof that he did not possess them. M. Oppert, on
the other hand, was still absorbed in the Persian and Median versions.
But these gentlemen, and those who then shared their feelings, write as
though Major Rawlinson had appropriated the rock of Behistun as well as
the copy of the inscription that covered it.[817] They seem to forget
that if they were prepared to undergo the same sacrifice and overcome
the same difficulties, they could in a few weeks procure copies for
themselves. What would have been more natural than to give the commission
to M. Flandin, whose enterprise in such matters had already been so
conspicuously illustrated? Nothing, however, could be farther from
their intentions. They had no notion of foregoing the luxury of feeling
aggrieved with the English soldier whose energy, like his genius, so far
out-soared their own. Rawlinson was, we submit, fully justified in the
course he adopted. He had obtained his copy at great personal sacrifice;
no one in Europe was so qualified to accomplish the task of decipherment
as himself, and the eighteen months he devoted to the task was not
excessive. The subsequent delay in publication was incident to the nature
of the work itself, for which he was not responsible.
He, however, lost no time in placing the general results at which he had
arrived before the public. On January 19 and February 16, 1850, he read
papers before the Asiatic Society ‘On the Inscriptions of Assyria and
Babylon,’ and these, with a few additional notes, were published in March
of that year.
He tells us he had found more than eighty proper names in the trilingual
inscriptions, including those in the Behistun; and ‘by a careful
comparison of the duplicate forms of writing’ them in the Persian and
Babylonian columns he had been able, by means of the former, which were
known, to determine the values of about a hundred Babylonian characters.
The next step was by a collation of the inscriptions to ascertain ‘the
homophones of each known alphabetical power.’ By this means he ‘added
nearly fifty characters to those previously known through the Persian
key.’ He confessed that his knowledge of the Babylonian characters was
at present limited to these one hundred and fifty characters.[818] From
the direction of his studies we may infer that these signs were chiefly
taken from the trilingual inscriptions; and in that case they would be
practically exhaustive; but they would amount to less than one half
of those in general use in the Assyrian text.[819] The same process
of comparison with the Persian translation enabled him to draw up ‘a
list of about two hundred Babylonian words of which we know the sound
approximately and the meaning certainly.’ But in addition to these, he
was able, by ‘an extensive comparison of similar or cognate phrases, to
add about two hundred meanings certainly, and a hundred more, probably,
to the vocabulary already obtained through the Babylonian translation.’
He was thus acquainted with the meaning of about five hundred out of a
vocabulary which he estimated as containing five thousand words.[820]
These words, he explains, ‘are almost all found either in their full
integrity or subjected to some slight modification in Assyrian’; and
they enabled him ‘to arrive at a pretty correct notion of the general
purport of the phrases in which they occur.’ Although his vocabulary was
still limited to one-tenth of the vocabulary, it embraced ‘all the most
important terms in the language’; and he found it sufficient for the
interpretation of the historical inscriptions.
The present Memoir was intended simply as introductory to the subject,
and he did not give a list of the one hundred and fifty signs with their
values attached. We cannot, therefore, institute a comparison as yet with
the Syllabarium already drawn up by Hincks. It is sufficiently clear,
however, that he had not, at the time of writing the Memoir, realised
the essentially syllabic character of the language. There are, he says,
‘cases where a single alphabetical power appertains to the sign,’ and, he
adds, ‘it cannot certainly be maintained that the phonetic portion of the
alphabet is altogether syllabic.’ ‘There is,’ he observes, ‘an extensive
syllabarium; but at the same time many of the characters can only be
explained as single consonants.’ There is no indication that he had as
yet apprehended the principle that governs the combination of consonant
and vowel, as recently expounded by Hincks, and which is interwoven
with the whole structure of the language. Indeed he says distinctly:
‘I have neither adopted, nor do I conceive it possible to adopt, any
system with regard to the employment of the vowels in Assyrian and
Babylonian.’ In some other respects also he was still behind the great
Irish scholar. Hincks, for example, had laid down that the distinction
between the consonantal sounds is uniformly maintained; and the truth of
this statement has been since confirmed. Rawlinson was, however, still
of opinion that ‘the gutturals and sibilants everywhere interchange.’
‘There is the greatest possible difficulty in distinguishing between _k_,
_d_, and _t_. _L_ and _v_ interchange.’ It is evident also that he had
still much to learn from his rival on the subject of the ideograms. It
may be doubted indeed how far he had as yet apprehended the important
place they occupy. ‘The names of the gods,’ he says, ‘are represented by
signs which appear in some cases to be arbitrary monograms, but which
are more generally either the dominant sound of the name or its initial
phonetic power.’ He thought, for example, that the monogram for Bel was
simply the letter ‘B,’ an idea that is wholly unfounded. He is of course
aware that there are many other ideograms besides those used for the
gods, but he gives them no sort of prominence. He, however, attributes an
ideographic origin to the syllables. ‘When a sign represents a syllable,’
meaning apparently a compound syllable, ‘I conjecture that the syllable
in question may have been the specific name of the object which the sign
was supposed to depict; whilst in cases where a single alphabetical
power appertains to the sign it would seem as if that power had been
the dominant sound in the name of the object.’ But this is a purely
academical question. The important point lay in precisely the opposite
direction, and attention had been already called to it by Hincks. The
peculiarity most necessary to emphasise is that in a vast majority of
cases the pronunciation of the ideogram has no relation whatever to the
name of the object it represents, nor, when it has a syllabic power,
to the phonetic value of the syllable. Rawlinson, however, did good
service in the present Memoir by laying down the first rudiments of
the grammar, a branch of the subject that Hincks subsequently did much
to elucidate; and he was also the first to bring into prominence the
polyphonic character of the language. Hincks had indeed remarked that
‘many characters admit of two or more kindred values’; but Rawlinson
farther shows that ‘certain characters represent two entirely dissimilar
sounds—sounds so dissimilar that they cannot be brought into relation
with each other.’ He gives as an example the sign for the vowel _a_,
which also conveys the sound of ‘bar.’
But the great distinction of Rawlinson lay in his unequalled power of
translation. Large numbers of Assyrian inscriptions were now before
the world. The ‘Monument de Khorsabad’ had appeared in 1848; Layard’s
collection followed in 1849, and included the inscription on the Black
Obelisk found in 1846. So far only a few words had been made out with
more or less of accuracy; but nothing had yet been done in the way of
a connected translation. The few lines of the Khorsabad inscription
which Hincks attempted in the Addenda to his paper (Feb. 26, 1850) had
not as yet appeared.[821] Rawlinson, however, observed that many of the
common expressions used at Behistun were adopted almost verbatim from
the Assyrian annals; and it was the discovery of these known passages in
the Assyrian inscriptions that first encouraged him to undertake their
translation. He disclaimed all pretensions to be ‘a complete master
of the Assyrian language’; and he still speaks of it as to a great
extent unintelligible. ‘The first outwork,’ he says, ‘has been carried
in a hitherto impregnable position, and that is all’ Indeed he is so
discouraged by the difficulty of the task that he is sometimes disposed
‘to abandon the study altogether in utter despair of arriving at any
satisfactory result.’ In consequence of the profusion of ideograms
in proper names, he finds that their ‘pronunciation is a matter of
exceeding difficulty, nay, as I think, of absolute impossibility’;
and it was in this department that he achieved the least success. He,
however, passes in review many of the principal inscriptions that were
then known, and analyses the contents of each.[822] He begins with the
earliest in date, the one taken from the North West Palace at Nineveh,
which he ascribes to King Assur-adan-pal—really Assur-natsir-pal. He
passes on to the inscription of his successor, whom he calls Temenbar
II. (really Salmaneser II.), which covers the Black Obelisk, and it is
to it that he devotes the largest share of attention.[823] His analysis,
partly a verbal translation and partly a summary, fills no less than
seventeen pages, and the achievement cannot fail to elicit unqualified
admiration. The unfortunate failure to identify a large proportion of
the proper names gives to it an unreal appearance that no doubt strikes
the modern student unfavourably and may at first lead him to exaggerate
its deficiencies. If, however, he is careful to remember that it is the
first attempt of the kind ever made, his feelings will soon turn to
astonishment that so much should have been correctly made out of what had
hitherto been absolutely unintelligible. He may profitably compare a few
passages with a modern version. For example, Temenbar begins: ‘At the
commencement of my reign after that I was established on the throne I
assembled the chiefs of my people and came down into the plains of Esmes,
where I took the city of Haridu, the chief city belonging to Nakharmi.’
A recent translation of the same passage runs: ‘At the beginning of my
reign when on the throne of the kingdom I had seated myself in state,
my chariots and [my] armies I assembled. Into the depths of the land of
Simesi I penetrated; Aridu the strong city of Ninni I captured.’ Again
Rawlinson translates: ‘I went out from the city of Nineveh and crossing
the Euphrates I attacked and defeated Ahuni, the son of Hateni, in the
city of Sitrat, which was situated upon the Euphrates, and which Ahuni
had made one of his capitals. Ahuni, the son of Hateni, with his gods and
his chief priests, his horses, his sons and his daughters and all his
men of war, I brought away to my country of Assyria.’ The modern version
says: ‘I departed from Nineveh; the Euphrates I crossed at its flood; I
marched against Akhuni, the son of Adini. The country of Shitamrat, a
mountain peak on the banks of the Euphrates, he made his stronghold. The
peak of the mountain I captured; Akhuni, with his gods, his chariots, his
horses, his sons, his daughters and his army, I carried away and to my
city of Assur I brought’;[824] and so on through the events of thirty-one
years of the reign of the great king. On the other hand, it would be too
much to say that even the sense is always preserved. There are, in fact,
many and serious divergencies from the correct translation as it now
stands, after more than forty years’ continuous study. It is impossible
that it could have been otherwise with the means then at hand. The
wonder is that so much could have been accomplished with one hundred
and fifty imperfectly understood characters; and with only five hundred
words arrived at conjecturally out of some six thousand. Rawlinson
himself warned the reader that here and there ‘little dependence can be
placed on the translation’; and he confesses that sometimes he could
not ‘conjecture even the meaning of several passages.’ Notwithstanding
his difficulty with the proper names, a host of new ones were now for
the first time identified: Amanus; the Hittites; Chaldæans; the rivers
Tigris, Euphrates, Belikh; the cities of Borsippa, Tyre, Sidon, Gabal,
Caleh. On the other hand, the Akkadians now make their first appearance
in modern history as ‘Hekdi,’ ‘which may be connected with the Armenian
“Haik.”’ Hazael of Damascus is still concealed as ‘Khazakan of Atesh’ and
‘Jehu the son of Omri’ appears as ‘Yahua the son of Hubiri,’ ‘a prince,’
says the translator, ‘of whose native country I am ignorant.’ He called
attention to the name of Yehuda in a Khorsabad inscription in connection
with that of Hamath; but he hesitated to identify it with Judah. Indeed
at this period he could not bring himself to believe that the son of
the Khorsabad king was Sennacherib and his grandson Esarhaddon, as
Hincks ventured to assert.[825] The signs for Sargon he transliterated
‘Arko-tsin,’ and those for Sennacherib, ‘Bel — — Adonim-sha’; but
Esarhaddon came out almost correct as ‘Assar-Adan.’ He concludes his
paper by an analysis of the inscriptions found at Khorsabad, containing
the annals of ‘Arko-tsin.’
It was not till the following year, and till after Rawlinson’s return
to Persia, that the publication of the third column of the Behistun
inscription was completed. It fills the fourteenth volume of the
‘Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society,’ and the greater part of it was
laid on the table before May 1851.[826] A portion of the expense was
defrayed by a Government grant, made at the suggestion of Lord John
Russell; and the volume consists of seventeen large plates containing
the cuneiform text with transliteration and a Latin translation. Then
comes an ‘Indiscriminate List of Babylonian and Assyrian Characters,’
with their phonetic powers, and also such ideographic values as
had been ascertained. The list includes two hundred and forty-six
principal signs, many of which are followed by others varying in form;
and generally representing the different methods of writing found at
Persepolis, Babylon and Nineveh. An analysis of the text, extending over
a hundred pages, follows, but it has not been carried farther than to
the end of the first column. The ‘Memoir on the Babylonian and Assyrian
Inscriptions’ is even more incomplete. It covers only sixteen pages, and
breaks off in the middle of a sentence, before the analysis of the second
sign was concluded. No explanation is given of this abrupt termination.
The discovery of a separate sign for each combination of vowel and
consonant, explained by Dr. Hincks in his Appendix of January 1850,
no doubt exercised considerable influence on Rawlinson,[827] and we
are now in a position to recognise the full effect it produced in the
progress of the study. How far Rawlinson independently divined the
existence of some such principle is by no means clear, but we have no
doubt that when he read his first paper to the Society he was still of
opinion that the alphabetical system entered largely into the Assyrian
language. ‘Many of the characters,’ he then said, ‘can only be explained
as single consonants.’[828] In accordance with this view, when he had
occasion to refer to the Assyrian characters, he uniformly gives them
purely alphabetical values, although in many cases their correct syllabic
values had been already definitely fixed in Hincks’s Essay.[829] Hincks
himself pointed this out in one notable case. In 1850, Rawlinson said
that the suffix of the third person plural is a simple _n_; but soon
afterwards Hincks showed that the consonantal termination is followed by
_u_. This opinion Rawlinson adopted in 1851, and remarked of the word
‘Yatipsu,’ ‘the termination in _u_ marks, of course, the plural number
like the Hebrew.’[830] ‘When,’ says Hincks, ‘the commentary was published
[in 1850] no _u_ could be discovered. The sign he now reads _su_ was a
simple _s_.’[831] These facts are not sufficiently accounted for by the
explanation Rawlinson gives in his present Memoir. ‘In the articulation
_kat_, for example, which is composed of two characters, _ka_ and _at_,
either one or other of these signs must represent a simple letter rather
than a syllable; and as this peculiarity of expression pervades the
whole Assyrian alphabet, I think I am justified in still adhering to the
statement which I announced last year, that the phonetic signs were in
some cases syllabic and in others literal.’[832] However this may be,
he now finally abandons the description of the signs as letters, and no
simple alphabetical values are to be found in his ‘Indiscriminate List.’
There can be little doubt that the alteration in the method of writing is
to be best explained by a corresponding change of opinion.[833] However
great may have been his obligation to Hincks, he soon made the discovery
his own. He corrects the errors and supplies the deficiencies of his
predecessor. He suppresses the twofold signs for _a_, and limits the
regular syllabic combinations to the three vowels _a_, _i_ and _u_, which
thus yielded six instead of seven values for each of the consonants.
Following Hincks, he accepts only fifteen distinct consonantal values,
but he prefers to use _z_ and _kh_ in place of the _j_ and _g_ of Hincks,
now written _z_ and _ḫ_. With these he has given one hundred and seven
simple syllabic combinations, a much larger number than really exists;
but he has no less than seventy-eight correct, out of a possible number
that slightly exceeds eighty.[834] He, however, took no account of the
signs that indicated the exceptional combinations with the vowel _e_,
which amount to about a dozen. This defect was soon afterwards noticed
by Hincks, who, however, signally failed in his attempt to identify
them. On the other hand, we are now introduced for the first time to the
compound syllables that form so large a portion of the Babylonian signs.
These, unlike the simple syllables so successfully treated by Hincks,
consist of two consonants separated by a vowel. It is true that a few
made their appearance in Hincks’s short translation from the Khorsabad
inscription (February 1850), such as ‘sib,’ ‘kun,’ ‘bul’ and ‘gur,’ along
with three others that are incorrect.[835] We also learn from a later
publication that before the appearance of Rawlinson’s Syllabarium Hincks
knew the values of upwards of twenty other compound syllabic signs.[836]
But they do not seem to have been made known to the world, and they all,
with the exception of five, are now met in the Syllabarium for the first
time. Rawlinson gives sixty-eight of these syllables, and no less than
fifty are correct. He has been unable to give any phonetic value to sixty
out of his two hundred and forty-six principal signs, but in several
cases he has determined their ideographic meaning. The distribution of
the signs, as explained by Hincks, considerably diminished the number of
supposed homophones, and the compound syllables now enumerated tended
in the same direction. But Rawlinson dwells with increasing bitterness
on the extreme confusion introduced into the language by polyphones.
He complains that ‘after years of laborious research he has overcome
the difficulty to but a limited extent.’ ‘The meaning of a word,’ he
says, ‘may be ascertained from the trilingual inscriptions, or from its
occurring in a variety of passages with only one possible signification;
but unless its correspondent can be recognised in some Semitic tongue
it is often impossible, owing to the employment in it of a polyphone
character to fix its orthography; and this uncertainty presses on the
student with almost crushing severity.’[837] In addition to this, he had
to contend with the difficulty that besets all early decipherers—the
inability to distinguish between his own correct and incorrect values,
where the latter often cause more confusion than if the sound were
still regarded as doubtful. Notwithstanding all these obstacles, his
transliteration was sufficient to afford a considerable knowledge of
the nature of the language; and to enable the student to recognise the
connection of the words that resulted with their Semitic relatives. In
the forty years that elapsed between the version we are now considering,
and that given by Dr. Bezold, a whole army of scholars has been
ceaselessly at work upon the Babylonian and Assyrian inscriptions, and
the point they have reached is naturally far in advance of that in which
it was placed by the first Essay of Rawlinson. The comparison of a few
passages, taken almost at random, will enable the reader to appreciate
the position the study had reached in 1851.[838] The first lines of the
inscription are rendered thus by Rawlinson, De Saulcy and Bezold.
PARAGRAPH I.
_Raw._ X Ha Kha ma ni s a melek[839]
_De S._ A Kh m n s ah sar(?)
_Bez._ _ᵐ_a ḫa ma ni iš ’ šarru
_Raw._ (—) (—) x Par sa i melek
_De S._ sar i ? F(ar) s i sar
_Bez._ par -sa -a-a šarru
_Raw._ X Par su X Da ri ya sar melek
_De S._ ? F(ar) s D r ia s sar
_Bez._ par su _ᵐ_ da ri i’a muš šarru
_Raw._ ki ha m i gab bi at t u a ab u a
_De S._ r a m i t b at t ou a at ou a
_Bez._ Ki a am i gab bi at tu u a abu u a
_Raw._ X Vas ta s’ pi abi sa X Vas ta s pi
_De S._ Is t s p at s Is t s p
_Bez._ _ᵐ_ uš ta az pi abu ša _ᵐ_ uš ta az pi
PARAGRAPH II.
_Raw._ X Ar ya ra m n ’a abi sa
_De S._ ar ia r m n ah at s
_Bez._ _ᵐ_ ar i’a-ra am na ’ abu ša
_Raw._ X ar ya ra m n a X Si s pi s
_De S._ ar ia r m n ah Ch s p s
_Bez._ _ᵐ_ ar i’a ra am na ’ _ᵐ_ ši i pi iš
_Raw._ abi sa X si s pi s X Ha kha ma ni s a
_De S._ at s Ch s p s A kh m n s a
_Bez._ abu ša _ᵐ_ ši iš pi iš _ᵐ_ a ḫa ma ni iš ’
_Raw._ X Da ri ya sar melek ki ha m i gab bi
_De S._ D r ia s sar r a m i ts b
_Bez._ ᵐ da ri i’a muš šarru ki a am i gab bi
_Raw._ a n eb(?) bi ha g a
_De S._ a n k m a d a
_Bez._ a na lib bi a ga a
PARAGRAPH III.
_Raw._ ha ga ni ul tu abu t (—)
_De S._ a d n s t at t Nin
_Bez._ a ni ni ul tu abu u(?) zeru
_Raw._ u ni Melik iv? su n
_De S._ ou n sar i ou n
_Bez._ ú ni šarru (_pl._) šu nu
_Raw._ X Da ri ya sar melek ki ha m
_De S._ D r ia s sar r a m
_Bez._ _ᵐ_ da ri i’a muš šarru ki a am
_Raw._ i gab bi VIII as eb(?) (—) ya
_De S._ i ts b VIII B k (kim) Nin ia
_Bez._ i gab bi VIII ina libbu zeru i’a
_Raw._ at t u a as pa na t u a melik ut
_De S._ at t ou a B F n t ou a sar t
_Bez._ at tu u a ina pa na tu u a šarru tu
_Raw._ i t ip su
_De S._ i t kh ou(?)
_Bez._ i te ip šu
The passage is thus translated by the three scholars:
_Raw._ ‘[Ego Darius, rex magnus, rex regum, Hystaspis filius
Arsamis nepos] Achaemenis rex gentium Persicarum; rex Persidis.
Darius rex [ ] dicit: mihi pater meus Hystaspes: pater qui
Hystaspis [Arsames: pater qui Arsamis] Ariaramnes: pater qui
Ariaramnis Teispes: pater qui Teispis Achaemenes. Darius rex [ ]
dicit: ob hanc [rationem nos Achaemenses appellamur ab antiquo
oriundi (?)] sumus; ab antiquo stirps noster reges fuere(?)
Darius rex [ ] dicit: octo e genere meo ante me regnum egere.’
_De S._ ‘[_Lacune_] Akhéménès roi des rois, homme perse, roi du
pays de Perse, Darius roi grand, dit: Mes pères, Hystaspe; le
père de Hystaspe [_lacune_] Ariaramnès; le père de Ariaramnàh
Chispis: le père de Chispis, Akhéménès Darius, roi grand dit:
Pour raison cette [_lacune_] au temps de nos pères nous avons
régné, au temps des pères notre race [furent] leurs rois. Darius
roi grand dit: Huit dans l’état de ma race, mes pères dans mon
visage [avant moi] la royauté ont pris elle (?) [_lacune_].’
_Bez._ ‘[Ich, Darius, der grosse König, der König der Könige,
der König der Länder (?)] der Achämenide: König der Schar (?)
der Menschen, ein Perser, König von Persien. So spricht Darius
der König: Mein Vater [ist] Uštazpi; der Vater des Uštazpi
[war Arshâma, der Vater des Arshâma] Ariaramna, der Vater des
Ariaramna Šišpiš, der Vater des Šišpiš, [war] Aḫamanis. So
spricht Darius der König: Darum [werden wir Achämeniden genannt;
von Alters her sind wir erprobt], von Alters her (?) waren unsere
Sprossen Könige. So spricht Darius der König: Acht in mitten
meiner Familie übten vor mir die Königsherrschaft aus.’
In the August of this year (1851) Rawlinson was able to announce that
he had met with an inscription that satisfactorily fixed the date of
the Lower Assyrian dynasty. We have said that this was in reality done
long before by Longpérier when he identified the Khorsabad king with
the Sargon of Isaiah (1847); and by Hincks, who was satisfied that
the builders of the later palaces were Sennacherib and Esarhaddon
(1849). But we have seen that Rawlinson long refused to recognise these
identifications as satisfactorily established. At length, however, he
found in a tablet from Khorsabad (Pl. 70 Botta) an account which he
acknowledged referred to the capture of Samaria by Sargon in the first
year of his reign; and he also succeeded in identifying ‘Omri.’[840] He
thought that Sargon, whose identification he acknowledged in his Analysis
of the Behistun inscription,[841] was the same personage as Shalmaneser,
who figures in the same inscription as the conqueror of Ashdod; and he
made out the names of other cities that fell before the arms of that
king: ‘Hamath, Beroea, Damascus, Bambyce, Carchemish.’
But the inscription to which he now more particularly drew attention was
recently found by Mr. Layard on a colossal bull at the great entrance
of the Kouyunjik Palace; and Rawlinson speedily recognised that it
contained the Annals of Sennacherib, its founder, and son of Sargon. The
annals extend only to the seventh year of the king, but they recount the
subjugation of Babylon in the beginning of his reign, and the defeat of
Hezekiah and the capture of Jerusalem in his third year. The narrative
agrees with what was already known from the Hebrew writings and from
Polyhistor. The discovery, in a cuneiform inscription, of the three names
Hezekiah, Jerusalem and Judah, and an account of events related in the
Book of Kings, naturally stimulated the interest of a wider public than
is generally occupied with archæology.[842] From this period dates the
great popularity these studies enjoyed for a time, a popularity that
culminated more than twenty-five years later by the despatch of George
Smith on a mission to the East by the ‘Daily Telegraph.’
A year after the publication of the third column of the Behistun
inscription, Hincks read a paper ‘On the Assyrio-Babylonian Phonetic
Characters’ (1852), which may be regarded as having closed the early
stage of inquiry into the subject.[843] In this essay he contributes
no less than a hundred and eighteen new values, of which sixty-eight
certainly, and possibly more, are correct. When these are added to
the Syllabarium of Rawlinson, upwards of two hundred correct signs,
in addition to those for the vowels and diphthongs, were now at the
disposal of the decipherer. It had also been proved conclusively that
‘the characters all represent syllables and were originally intended
to represent a non-Semitic language.’ In opposition to the system that
still found an advocate in De Saulcy, it was shown that ‘instead of
the vowels being unrepresented, or only represented by points, as in
all Semitic writing that was first applied to a Semitic language, we
have in the cuneatic inscriptions every vowel definitely expressed.’
This new Syllabarium demonstrates for the first time how extensively
polyphony prevailed. Indeed one of its chief merits consists in the
enumeration of the different values expressed by the same sign. This had
been done to a slight extent by Rawlinson, who puts the polyphones in
an apologetic manner in a separate column, under the heading ‘Phonetic
Powers arising from Ideographic Values.’ This excited the contemptuous
criticism of De Saulcy, who was still so far from appreciating the true
nature of the language that he declared: ‘Either this language was for
the Assyrian an inextricable _gâchis_, or one or other of these values
must be chosen.’[844] The present Memoir of Hincks, which must soon after
have fallen into his hands, ought to have convinced him that the former
alternative is the only one available. Indeed the number of polyphones is
so great that the two hundred and fifty-four characters which Hincks now
deals with express no less than three hundred and forty-four different
values. In the Appendix to the Khorsabad inscription (January 19, 1850)
it will be recollected that he gave seventy-one simple syllabic values,
of which we found fifty-seven correct. In a lithographed paper, presented
to a meeting of the British Association in the course of the same year,
he added to their number, so that, with the vowels, his contribution
amounted to a hundred. These apparently include the twenty-five (correct)
compound syllables already mentioned. In the present Memoir he added
a hundred and eighteen new values (sixty-eight correct), so that he
claims to have discovered by his own unassisted ingenuity no less than
two hundred and eighteen values. He acknowledges that he is indebted to
Rawlinson for seventy-seven in addition to these, and he states that
they were substantially agreed as to the signification of one hundred
and seventy-seven signs.[845] They disagree as to forty-nine; but the
disagreement, generally speaking, does not extend to the consonantal
value; it arises from the doubt as to whether the sign conveys the
value of _e_ or _o_, as Hincks thought, or of _i_ or _u_, as Rawlinson
maintained. Hincks frankly confesses he received seventy-seven values
from Rawlinson after 1850; but Rawlinson has not told us how many
values he borrowed from Hincks during that year. The probability is
they were extremely few, if any; the transliteration and translation
of the inscriptions taken at Behistun and from the Black Obelisk were
made before the Appendix was sent to press, and neither could have
been accomplished unless Rawlinson had previously drawn up a very
comprehensive list for his own use. No doubt he took full advantage of
Hincks’s paper to introduce occasional corrections and emendations, and
it is to be regretted that he has not gratified our curiosity as to the
extent of his obligations.
In the present Memoir Hincks modified in some respects his original mode
of writing. Following Rawlinson’s example, he has discarded the use of
_c_ in favour of _k_ for the Koph series; and he adopts _s_ to express
the three Hebrew sounds of _s_, _s̱_ and _š̱_ (_s_, _ts_, and _sh_). He
also follows Rawlinson in substituting _z_ for _j_, and _kh_ for _g_.
All these modifications have been accepted except the last, which is now
written _ḫ_. On one other point, however, he was less conciliatory. In
deference to Rawlinson, he drops his two sounds for _a_: his long _ā_
becomes now simply _a_; but he insists on the distinct recognition of the
union of the consonant with _e_ or _o_. ‘We must,’ he says, ‘consider the
seven forms which might belong to each.’ These forms, therefore, are now
_a_, _e_ or _o_, _i_ and _u_; and one of the chief points of disagreement
with Rawlinson is that the latter ignores the sounds of _e_ or _o_ and
substitutes either _i_ or _u_. Hincks was quite right in maintaining
that Rawlinson unduly neglected the vowel _e_; for his ‘Indiscriminate
List’ only contains one syllable formed with _e_, viz. _ep_. Hincks
was, however, wrong in supposing that there is any regular syllabic
combinations so framed. The regular syllabic combinations are six, not
seven, and they are formed with _a_, _i_ and _u_ only—as Rawlinson
rightly saw. The combinations with _e_ are exceptions to the rule, and
have been ascribed to local or dialectic changes.[846] They amount to
about twelve and, strange to say, only one was correctly identified by
Hincks (_te_). The _o_ sound seems to be practically unknown.
In the passages we selected to illustrate Rawlinson’s transliteration of
the Behistun inscription, we placed that given by De Saulcy two years
later side by side with it, not on account of its intrinsic merit,
but because of the claims put forward on his behalf by some of his
countrymen. It seems to be generally admitted that the honour attaching
to the first decipherment of the Babylonian inscriptions cannot be justly
claimed by more than three scholars—Hincks, Rawlinson and De Saulcy. We
have endeavoured to lay before the reader the contributions made by the
first two. There can be no doubt that Hincks displayed remarkable insight
into the formation of the language, and that his ingenuity in detecting
the value of the signs, and in recognising their relation to one another
was very great. Whether he would have been able to go farther and acquire
equal distinction as a translator is another question. His genius seems
to have been more adapted to elucidate matters of grammar and philology.
Rawlinson had a rare ability of assimilating the suggestions of other
scholars so quickly as to be almost oblivious that they were not
original, and of carrying them rapidly to a perfection that was all his
own. Thus Hincks’s elementary Syllabarium of 1850 appears in Rawlinson’s
Memoir of 1851, so vastly improved as to be practically an independent
work. But the translation of the inscriptions was entirely his own, and
in this department Hincks never entered into competition with him. Here,
according to M. Menant, his rival was De Saulcy. It is unfortunate that
De Saulcy’s early contributions should have become almost inaccessible,
and we have not found any detailed account of their contents.[847] They
date from 1847, but his earliest efforts, even according to M. Menant,
only deserve mention because the author himself was disposed to treat
them too severely.[848] On June 20, 1847, in a letter to Burnouf, he
attempted to identify some of the kings mentioned in a genealogical
fragment found at Van. Ten days later he endeavoured to solve the riddle
of the second name in the Khorsabad inscription. In the following
July he suggested that the name on the Michaux stone should be read
‘Saosdoukin’; and in December he imagined that he had found the sense of
the Van inscriptions. He, however, honestly confesses that in the light
of subsequent knowledge all these efforts were vain. ‘He has,’ he says,
‘passed the sponge over all he has hitherto done, and has recommenced the
study of Assyrian _ab ovo_.’[849]
In 1849, however, he contributed two pamphlets which it is admitted
were of greater importance. In the first, which appeared on September
14, he undertook a transcription of the Babylonian column of the Elvend
inscription with translation and analysis. He succeeded, we are told, in
separating the Babylonian signs correctly, so that each group could be
compared word for word with the Persian. In his analysis he is said to
have justified the values he attributed to each sign, and the meaning
he attached to each word. He regarded the signs as purely consonantal,
and sought to bring them all into relation with the twenty-two Hebrew
letters. He seems to have thought that some of the signs are capable of
division: one portion fixed, representing the consonant, and the other
a variable appendix indicating the vowel. In the second pamphlet, dated
November 27, he treated the Persepolitan inscriptions in the same manner,
but with a growing suspicion that the Assyrian letters might after all
turn out to be syllabic.[850] By this means he arrived at the consonantal
sound of a hundred and twenty signs which M. Menant says were generally
correct. When Rawlinson published his Syllabarium, in 1851 (two years
later) De Saulcy observed that sixty-eight of these one hundred and
twenty signs received the same values. Not satisfied with this success,
he seems actually to have thought that Rawlinson had borrowed them
without acknowledgment from him: ‘J’avais donc lu et publié avant M.
Rawlinson soixante-huit des valeurs exactes publiées par lui; il eût
été de bon goût, peut-être, de prendre, ne fût-ce qu’une seule fois, la
peine de citer mon nom.’[851] It is, of course, quite impossible to admit
the claims made on his behalf. We have not been able to see the signs
to which reference is made, but it is quite certain that, in September
1849, there were not sixty-eight signs in the Persepolitan inscription
still remaining unknown either to Hincks or Rawlinson. It must be
recollected that De Saulcy’s pamphlets appeared more than two years after
Hincks had already accomplished a somewhat similar classification with
a considerable measure of success; and therefore after the consonantal
values of a large number of signs had long been correctly ascertained.
On the other hand, the earlier papers of Hincks were quite accessible to
De Saulcy, and we learn from Mohl that they were well known in France a
year before the appearance of his two pamphlets.[852] ‘What,’ asks M.
Menant, ‘did Rawlinson owe to De Saulcy’s labours on the Assyrian text?
It is impossible to say,’ he answers, ‘for Rawlinson has not given an
account of his preliminary studies.’[853] The answer is, however, much
simpler than this. Rawlinson owes nothing to De Saulcy, for the reason
that his transliteration of the Behistun inscription was accomplished
before he left Bagdad in October 1849,[854] and therefore before it
was possible for him to receive even the earliest of De Saulcy’s
pamphlets. Menant afterwards concedes that Rawlinson’s work on the
Obelisk proves preliminary labours which he graciously admits may justly
claim to be independent.[855] Nor is it true, as Menant says, that ‘it
was by following De Saulcy’s steps that all later progress has been
accomplished.’[856] The precise opposite approaches more nearly to the
truth. It was by abandoning the alphabetical system, to which De Saulcy
clung with strange pertinacity to the last, that all later progress
was in reality accomplished; and two months after these pamphlets were
written this was precisely what was done by Hincks with unmistakable
perspicuity in the Appendix to his Khorsabad Essay.
The two tracts of De Saulcy, written in 1849, gave the transliteration
according to his peculiar system of the whole of the Achaemenian
inscriptions accessible to him. The text of the Behistun inscription had
not, of course, escaped as yet from the jealous hands of the English
Major. The translation of these inscriptions was comparatively easy, for
it was only necessary to follow the Persian version, which was already
known. De Saulcy may therefore claim to be the first who accomplished
this task, which neither Hincks nor Rawlinson thought necessary to
attempt. But De Saulcy did not rest satisfied with this achievement. On
February 3, 1850, he published a transliteration of ninety-six lines of
the inscription engraved upon the bulls at the entrance to Khorsabad;
and he accompanied it by a translation, which two years later he still
considered was sufficiently accurate. On February 12, he also contributed
a Memoir on the Royal Names at Nimrud.[857] These two publications
appeared between Major Rawlinson’s lectures of January 19 and February
16. In the first lecture, Rawlinson gave the earliest translation of a
purely Assyrian inscription that had ever appeared, with the exception of
the few lines rendered by Longpérier and Hincks. It was taken from the
Black Obelisk, and he promised to read at the next sitting a _précis_
of the Khorsabad inscription.[858] It was clear, therefore, that he
had already prepared it. Meanwhile, after this announcement was made,
and thirteen days before it was carried into execution, De Saulcy’s
translation appeared. This forms the second long Assyrian inscription to
be translated, and it can scarcely be denied that De Saulcy and Rawlinson
had worked upon it independently of each other. The report of Rawlinson’s
second lecture was given in the ‘Athenæum’ on March 2. It is, as we have
said, impossible to estimate the comparative merits of the two works,
because we have not seen De Saulcy’s pamphlet. It can only be judged by
what we know of that writer’s later acquirements.
The transliteration from which we have quoted made its appearance in
February 1854, having apparently been sent to press in June 1853, or some
three years after Rawlinson’s version of the same text.[859] It cannot,
therefore, claim the indulgence so willingly accorded to a first effort;
on the contrary, it is distinctly put forward as a rival Essay, intended
to prove ‘the essential error of Rawlinson’s method of reading.’ It was
designed at the same time to show that not one of the general results
reached in the two Memoirs of 1849 had now to be abandoned, and also to
establish his legitimate right to a large share of priority of discovery
to which De Saulcy says he attached great value. We have already disposed
of his claims to priority so far as regards the consonantal values of the
Babylonian signs found in the trilingual inscriptions, and we are at a
loss to imagine in what other direction he fancied that he had achieved
priority. So far indeed from his studies having ever been in advance of
his contemporaries, they uniformly lagged far behind, and he evinces a
singular inability even to follow the results obtained by their genius.
A remarkable instance of this is seen in his rejection of Longpérier’s
reading of ‘Sargon’ in the Khorsabad inscription. ‘The _kh_, _k_ or _g_,’
he writes in 1852, ‘is in reality a _d_’; and in the Table he published
in 1854 it is actually found under that heading. He regrets that he is
obliged to renounce all hope of finding the ‘Sargon of the Bible’ at
Khorsabad; and he reads ‘Sardon’ instead.
De Saulcy still adheres to his alphabetical interpretation, and it is
no doubt the syllabarium of Rawlinson that is ‘the essential error’ he
sets himself to remove. His transliteration accordingly consists, as the
reader will have observed, of an immense agglomeration of consonants
which the student is left to bring within the possibilities of human
utterance as best he may. It is clearly a comparatively easy task to
arrange a number of signs according to the simple consonantal sounds they
contain. Hincks reached this point in 1847, and De Saulcy’s latest effort
seems to carry us back to that rudimentary stage of the inquiry. Here
we find the signs distributed among the various classes of gutturals,
dentals and so on, exactly as in Hincks’s Table seven years before. It
is possible that the later writer is more complete and accurate; it could
scarcely have been otherwise, considering the large amount of data now
available and the impossibility of not being guided, to some extent at
least, by the Syllabarium of Rawlinson and Hincks. Yet in this elementary
work of simple classification there are numerous errors he might have
escaped if he had condescended to place more dependence upon their
authority. Thus, for example, among his gutturals we find (of course bare
and stripped of their vocalic garments) the signs for _ip_, _up_, _al_
and _zi_. His dentals include two gutturals, the signs for _ga_ and _gi_.
Among his labials he gives us the signs for _as_ and _ku_. Among his
linguals are those for _ki_ and _su_ and they include the signs for the
syllables _tar_, _kur_ and _rit_; while the sign for _ul_ is found among
the sibilants. Notwithstanding all his efforts to escape syllabic values,
he was forced to enumerate a few—_kam_, _ak_, _akh_, _at_, _bar_, _far_,
_in_ or _an_, _ar_, _as_, _is_. Some of these are correct; but not even
here would he submit to authority, and he has accordingly blundered. His
_ak_ should be _uk_, his _akh al_, his _far par_, and of the two signs
he gives for _as_, one should be _si_ and the other _sur_, while his
_is_ should be _us_. With few exceptions all these might have been found
correctly given by Rawlinson three years before. Hincks had long ago
pointed out in his Khorsabad Essay (June 1849) that a clear distinction
is maintained between the vowels, and between the surd and sonant
consonants. Yet here we find the signs for _m_, _w_, _ou_ and _b_, and
those for _l_ and _r_ all classed indifferently together. His treatment
of the vowels is not less behind the knowledge of the time. The single
vowel _a_ is represented by no less than seven signs that really express
_an_, _a_, _ap_, _i_, _ruh_, _man_, _it_. Two of these signs, according
to De Saulcy, also express _ha_, and one either _e_ or _i_. _Ha_ has four
signs, none correct. They are really the signs for _a_, _it_, _i_ and
_il_. He was correct in supposing the language contained two diphthongs,
_ai_ and _ia_; but neither of his signs for _ai_ is correct: one has, in
fact, the value of _tir_.
It may be said in conclusion that on all points of difference between
Rawlinson and De Saulcy, both as regards the theory of the language
and the details of its expression, Rawlinson was right and De Saulcy
hopelessly wrong. De Saulcy was not only unable to teach Rawlinson
anything, but, as we have already observed, he was incapable to a very
remarkable degree of apprehending the truth from others. He lived for
many years afterwards, but his Essay on the Behistun inscription seems
to have been the last occasion on which he meddled with cuneiform
studies. He probably recognised more clearly than some of his admirers
how incompetent he was to make any useful contribution to the subject.
It is impossible to refrain from sympathy with him. He tells us he
spent a whole year in ‘comparing sign by sign and transcribing all the
Achaemenian texts without exception.’[860] Nothing is more calculated
to overwhelm the mind with despondency than to pass years of fruitless
toil amid such arid wastes as these and to discover in the end that the
natural ability to make useful application of the knowledge acquired
is wholly wanting. For the true genius of a decipherer is a rare gift,
and no amount of industry or learning can compensate for its absence.
Hincks and Rawlinson possessed it with exceptional intensity. Many
of the other scholars whose labours we have reviewed were endowed to
a less degree—Grotefend, Jacquet and Lassen. Even Longpérier, in the
few lines he contributed to the subject evinced no little aptitude in
this direction; but De Saulcy was singularly deficient in the special
qualifications it required. It would have been more worthy of the
position he occupied in other departments of study if he could have
restrained the irritation that the consciousness of the waste of so
much effort could not fail to produce. It was lamentable that he should
fretfully pretend to have anticipated the discoveries of Rawlinson, or
that he should have presented his own crude performance as a possible
rival to his. It would almost seem, from the extreme rarity of his
pamphlets, that he endeavoured to suppress the evidence of his failure,
and it would be well if his countrymen were to allow his work in this
department to pass out of the reach of farther controversy.
The translation of the Babylonian Column of the Behistun inscription
was apparently thought at the time to dispense with the necessity of
any special publication of the Semitic columns of the other Achaemenian
inscriptions at Persepolis and Naksh-i-Rustam. De Saulcy had indeed
devoted himself to this portion of the subject in 1849, and Menant
informs us that ‘all the trilingual inscriptions then known were
already translated.’[861] But they do not appear to have attracted
the attention of any more competent scholar till 1859, when M. Oppert
published a portion of them in the second volume of his ‘Expédition en
Mésopotamie.’ He gave the text, with transliteration and translation
of the Window inscription L and B (Darius); D and E (Xerxes), and the
unilingual H (Darius) from Persepolis; the long inscription and the
three short ones at Naksh-i-Rustam, the K of Xerxes at Van, and the S
of Artaxerxes Mnemon at Susa. He also gave a new translation of the
Behistun inscription without text or transliteration. A peculiar feature
of his book is that he has made a transcription of the inscription into
Hebrew characters. A complete edition of the Babylonian columns of the
Achaemenian inscriptions was published by Dr. Bezold in 1882, with text,
transliteration, translation and commentary, and is now the standard
edition.
We have now brought to a close this tedious history of the various steps
that led up to the decipherment of the Achaemenian inscriptions; and we
have described the share taken in its accomplishment by a long succession
of scholars, from Tychsen to Oppert. The whole of these inscriptions
were now interpreted and their contents made known to the world. The
difficulties of the cuneiform character, which at first appeared
insuperable, were at length surmounted.
The subject for a long time seemed to yield no results at all
commensurate to the labour and ability lavished upon it. Its interest
seemed to be limited to the arid domains of philology, or at best to
throw a sidelight upon a few matters of no great importance in ancient
history. Some scholars were gratified to find that their old and greatly
maligned friend Herodotus was ascertained to be much more trustworthy
than was long supposed; but these were matters that could only affect
a small and comparatively worthless class of _dilettanti_. At length,
however, there came the great Assyrian discoveries and the apparition in
the cuneiform records of ‘Jehu, the son of Omri,’ and a host of other
notabilities of sacred history. The study was raised at once, especially
in England, to an entirely different plane of interest. Lectures began
to be delivered upon it throughout the provinces; books were written
by Vaux, Bonomi, Fergusson, and many others, to explain the subject to
the public. The great work of Layard was quickly followed by a popular
edition, and was translated into German. Curiosity was stimulated
by the appearance, in 1853, of an account of the results of farther
explorations. Whether the new learning would tend to confirm the ancient
records or whether it would compel a revision of cherished beliefs
began to be debated in many quarters, far beyond the circle of learned
societies.
An account of the progress subsequently made in the knowledge of the
Assyrian language lies beyond the scope of our present work. It was
indeed a happy accident that the power of reading Assyrian should have
been acquired just as a countless number of inscriptions in that language
were brought to light. Excavations continued at Nineveh and elsewhere
under the direction of Mr. Layard during the winters of 1849 and 1850;
and in the autumn of 1851, Colonel Rawlinson returned to Bagdad.
He was charged with the general supervision of the work, while Mr.
Hormuzd Rassam assumed the practical direction in the field. Parliament
sanctioned a grant of three thousand pounds, and many large sums were
contributed by private individuals, including five hundred pounds
from Lord John Russell.[862] Soon after, Rassam discovered the famous
inscription of Tiglath Peleser, which afforded the earliest glimpse into
a long-forgotten history. In it the genealogy of the Assyrian kings was
traced back to the fourteenth century B.C., and the names of no less than
twenty-five sovereigns were recorded.[863] The inscription itself was
written at a time when Assur was still the capital of the kingdom and
Nineveh was too unimportant to be mentioned. Rawlinson was surprised to
find that the language was more polished then than at a later time, and
he was obliged to admit that the discovery ‘annihilates all my theories
about the modernicity of Assyrian civilisation.’[864] Shortly after, he
was able to announce that ‘all the Assyrian kings mentioned in the Bible
have now been identified,’[865] and many others who occur in profane
history, so, that almost a perfect list has now been obtained. Two French
expeditions were engaged at the same time on the work of exploration. M.
Place, from 1851 to 1854, devoted himself chiefly to Khorsabad, though
with scarcely the success his perseverance merited. But the chief effort
was made by the Commission headed by M. Fresnal, 1852-4, which included
M. Oppert among its members, and which concerned itself principally with
the exploration of the ruins of Babylon. Meanwhile Southern Babylonia
was explored by Mr. Loftus, whom we have already mentioned in connection
with Susa; and by Mr. Taylor, the Vice-Consul at Bussorah. It is to their
labours during the winters of 1853 and 1854 that we owe the recovery of
the history of the Early Babylonian Empire that long preceded even the
foundation of Assyria. The forgotten cities of Nippur, Erech, Larsa,
Ur and Eridu were once more summoned to surrender the records of a
civilisation reaching back many thousand years before the Christian
era. In 1854, Rawlinson was able to send home a list of eighteen of the
primitive kings of the ancient Babylonia and of twenty other personages
of less exalted station; and he records his surprise at the discovery of
‘monarchs who must have reigned before the establishment of the Assyrian
Empire.’[866] Till then it was generally held that Babylon owed its
foundation to the late period of the great Nebuchadnezzar.[867] Early in
1854, a fruitful discovery was made in the Lion Room of the North Palace
of Assurbanipal at Kouyunjik.[868] Here large numbers of tablets were
found, which subsequent investigation showed to consist of lexicons and
phrase-books to enable the student to acquire the primitive language of
Babylonia, from which it afterwards became apparent the larger portion
of the Assyrian literature had been derived. Rawlinson was the first to
detect the existence of this language in a tablet sent to him from Larsa
by Mr. Loftus.[869] He announced the discovery in a valuable paper,
contributed to the ‘Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society’ in 1855, on
the Early History of Babylonia. At that time, however, he had made but
little progress in this new study, for he says: ‘I have no hesitation in
pronouncing the language to be Semitic.’[870] In the following year he
found out his mistake, and, having carefully studied the vocabularies
from Kouyunjik, he speaks of it more guardedly as ‘the Chaldean or
Hamitic language of Babylonia.’[871] Six years later, we still hear
of the ‘Hamitian language, of which not much is yet understood.’[872]
For a time it was known also as the Proto-Chaldean;[873] Hincks seems
to have been the first to call it by its later name of Akkadian,[874]
but Rawlinson was the earliest to make any considerable progress in
its study. In 1866, he endeavoured to translate the tablets bearing on
astronomy and other scientific subjects; but he found ‘the primitive
Babylonian language’ was so extensively employed in these documents
that it was ‘advisable to undertake a thorough examination of this
ancient and most difficult language.’ The result was that he thought it
was intermediate between the African languages and the Proto-Turanian
or Finno-Ugrian, which he proposed to classify under the name of the
‘Erythean Group.’ He considered it came from the uplands of Central
Africa, and was the speech of the Akkads or Highlanders. From that
circumstance it gradually acquired the name of Akkadian, suggested by
Hincks.[875]
The recovery of this ancient language is among the most interesting
results of cuneiform discovery. The most ancient records in the world are
written in it, and it opens a page of history hitherto entirely unknown.
It shows that a Turanian race led the van of civilisation, and was the
founder of both the religion and literature of the Semitic people of Irak.
The first period of discovery was now drawing to a close. The French
retired in 1854, and Colonel Rawlinson in March 1855. Nearly twenty years
were to elapse before the excavations were renewed by George Smith, in
1873.
Meanwhile the number of scholars interested in these subjects began to
increase. Dr. Samuel Birch did good service in assisting the publication
of Layard’s inscriptions.[876] Mr. Bosanquet contributed a large
number of articles on the questions of chronology raised by these new
discoveries,[877] a matter that also occupied Rawlinson.[878] Hincks
also turned his attention to translation, and it is to him we owe the
translations in Mr. Layard’s ‘Nineveh and Babylon,’ published in 1853,
and also a version of the Bavian inscription.[879] In 1854 he wrote an
essay on Assyrian mythology, but he still continued to be chiefly engaged
with the grammar. His dissertation on the Pronoun appeared in 1853; on
the Verb in 1855 to 1856, a work that has been characterised as his most
valuable contribution;[880] on Akkadian, 1855; on Tiglath Peleser, 1857;
on Polyphony, 1863; and finally a treatise on Assyrian Grammar, begun in
1866 in the ‘Journal of the Asiatic Society,’ which was interrupted by
his death. Mr. Fox Talbot was also added to the number of translators.
In 1856 he rendered a portion of the East India House inscription, and
for a number of years he applied himself to the translation of the most
important inscriptions.[881] Mr. Norris, relieved from the burden of
the Susian Column, turned his attention to Assyrian weights (1856), and
subsequently became known as the author of the first Assyrian dictionary
(1866).[882] In France, M. Oppert acquired an interest in Assyrian during
his recent journey to the East, and he earned a reputation in this
department of study by the appearance of his ‘Etudes Assyriennes’ in the
‘Journal Asiatique,’ February 1857. From that period he has continued
to be one of the most prolific and the most useful of the cuneiform
scholars of France. The number of these was farther increased by the
appearance of M. Menant, in 1858, as the writer of a ‘Notice sur les
Inscriptions cunéiformes de la Collection de M. L. de Laval.’[883] Soon
afterwards (1860) he published the ‘Ecritures cunéiformes,’ an ‘Exposé
des Travaux qui ont préparé la Lecture des Inscriptions,’ which is still
a useful apology for the science.[884] For, notwithstanding all the
magnificent results already obtained, the science was still in need of
an apologist.[885] In 1852, Professor Wilson, the President of the Royal
Asiatic Society, went so far as to regard the Assyrian Inscriptions as
still ‘merely dumb memorials of antiquity.’[886] Very great discrepancies
were indeed yet to be found in translations of the same passages by
different scholars, and the true meaning of a large number of words
continued to be warmly disputed. It was found, in fact, that M. Stern of
Göttingen still maintained that the language was entirely alphabetical;
that there were no ideographs; and he read every syllable of one
inscription differently from De Saulcy, except the proper names.[887]
Mr. Fox Talbot attributed the prevailing incredulity ‘to the fact that
each cuneiform group represents not always the same syllables, but
sometimes one and sometimes another’: in other words, to the existence
of polyphones. Hence it was inferred that the system adopted ‘cannot be
true, and the interpretations based upon it must be fallacious.’[888]
He proposed, therefore, to submit the whole matter to a practical test.
He accordingly translated the inscription of Tiglath Peleser, recently
found at Kaleh Sherghat, and forwarded it in a sealed envelope to the
President of the Asiatic Society. Three other scholars—Rawlinson,
Hincks, and Oppert—were then invited to make independent versions of the
same inscription, and to communicate them under cover to the Society.
Carefully lithographed copies had been executed for this purpose, so that
there might be no variation in the text. A competent jury of examiners
were selected, among whom were Professor Wilson (the President), Mr.
Grote, Dean Milman, Sir Gardner Wilkinson, and Whewell; and on the day
appointed the sealed packets were opened in their presence. It was
found that Dr. Hincks had not had time to translate the whole, and that
Oppert had committed the double blunder of working from a copy executed
by himself, and of making his translation in English, a language with
which he was imperfectly acquainted. A careful comparison was, however,
undertaken, and the Jury issued their report on May 29, 1857. Grote and
Milman were of opinion ‘that the coincidences between the translations,
both as to the sense and the verbal rendering, were very remarkable.’
Wilkinson made a separate report, and stated that ‘the similarity is
quite equal to what it would be in the translation of an ordinary
historical inscription in Egyptian hieroglyphics.’ ‘Indeed,’ he adds,
‘the resemblance is so great (very often exactly the same, word for word)
that the interpretation could not be arbitrary’; but while ‘there is a
remarkable concurrence as to the general meaning of each paragraph ...
very many words were differently translated.’ The closest resemblance was
found to exist between the versions of Rawlinson and Hincks. Talbot was
‘less positive and precise,’ and Oppert showed the greatest divergence.
The examiners farther noted their opinion passage by passage, and as we
look down the pages, among many verdicts of ‘very near,’ ‘much alike,’
and so on, we find other judgments much less satisfactory, such as
‘many coincidences and many variations’; ‘some coincidences and great
variations’; and even ‘totally different.’
Much indeed yet remained to be done before accuracy could be achieved,
and the voice of the doubter was not yet stilled. In France especially,
the greatest scepticism prevailed as to the genuineness of the
translations, and those of Oppert, in the ‘Journal Asiatique’ were
received with general incredulity.[889] Neither De Saulcy nor Longpérier
took any farther share in the work, and their silence increased the
discouragement. A very eminent Frenchman, Count de Gobineau, had just
written on the ‘Ecritures des Textes cunéiformes’ and attacked the
whole system pursued by Rawlinson and Oppert.[890] The one he proposed
to substitute is too grotesque to merit description, but the defection
of a scholar so well known in Oriental studies intensified the growing
unbelief.[891] It was at this conjuncture that Menant published his
book on Cuneiform Writing, in which he related the successive steps
that had led up to the decipherment of the inscriptions (1860): an
undertaking which he describes four years later, in his second edition,
as having slowly produced a beneficial effect. Some people may have been
more influenced by the striking reward conferred upon M. Oppert by the
Institut in 1860, which awarded him the prize of twenty thousand francs,
founded by the Emperor for the ‘work or the discovery most calculated
to the honour of France,’ and this, we learn with surprise, afforded
‘une sanction qui devrait dissiper toutes les susceptibilités.’ These
susceptibilities were, however, by no means dispelled by any such
Imperial mandate. Mohl writes with evident sympathy that ‘people decry
a language in which one can never know if a syllable is ideographic or
phonetic, and, when phonetic, which of two or three different values
it may have in that place.’[892] Gobineau still remained recalcitrant
(1864), and Sir George Cornewall Lewis contended in the ‘Astronomy of the
Ancients’ that neither Egyptian nor Assyrian could ever be restored.[893]
Lord Macaulay also rejected the interpretation with undisguised
contempt.[894] It was only by slow degrees that these doubts were finally
extinguished, and that the cuneiform languages have conquered the
universal recognition of all competent inquirers.
When Rawlinson returned from Bagdad in 1855, he was appointed a Director
of the East India Company, and he entered Parliament as Member for
Reigate. In 1859 he went to Persia as British envoy, a position from
which he retired in the following year.
After his resignation, he devoted himself for some years almost
exclusively to his old cuneiform pursuits. He undertook to supervise
the publication of the ‘Inscriptions of Western Asia,’ and he might be
found at work upon them daily at the British Museum. Mr. George Smith
was appointed his working assistant, and in that position he gained
the intimate knowledge of the Assyrian language which he afterwards
turned to such excellent account. The first volume of the Inscriptions
appeared in 1859, and the last, or fifth, in 1884.[895] Rawlinson
entered Parliament once more in 1865, as Member for Frome, but retired
on his re-appointment to the India Office in 1868. He fell a victim to
influenza in 1895, at the age of eighty-five. During his life he was
gradually overwhelmed with honours bestowed upon him by learned Societies
in various quarters of the globe;[896] but a grateful country was long
reluctant to confer its seal of recognition. Military authorities are
naturally unwilling to acknowledge the merits of distinguished officers
who descend to civil employments; and in 1851, after the publication of
the Behistun inscription, he had to sue in somewhat humble terms for
promotion to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel. On his return from Bagdad
in 1855, when the walls of the Museum were lined with the trophies he
had accumulated and the country was enraptured with the new arcana of
knowledge his genius had unveiled, Lord Clarendon thought a knighthood
worthy of his acceptance. This he hastened to decline, and shortly
afterwards he received the more appropriate honour of K.C.B. (1856).
The dignities to which he subsequently rose were due to political
services and social position, and seem to have been entirely unconnected
with the achievements we have recounted.
As for Dr. Hincks, he appears never to have obtained any reward whatever,
unless the Gold Medal of a provincial academy can be regarded as
such.[897] He had the misfortune to be born an Irishman, and to fill
the obscure position of a country clergyman, so that he was, no doubt,
reconciled from the first to the inevitable sequence of disparagement
and neglect. After all, hieroglyphic figures and cuneiform signs are
inconvenient subjects for pulpit oratory, and not likely to edify a
rustic congregation or to lead to preferment in the Church. The estimate
in which he was held, even in learned circles, may be gathered from
the short paragraph allotted to him in the ‘Athenæum,’[898] where
he explained one of the most far-reaching discoveries in Assyrian,
as compared to the three long columns that follow, devoted to a few
unimportant observations made by Rawlinson. But notwithstanding his
apparent failure to obtain the recognition that was his due, when the
evening of life approached and the time for departure came, he could
dwell with satisfaction on the work of his life; and though in the years
to come few might remember his name, he could not fail to enjoy the
conviction that the rich fields of knowledge he had opened to view would
remain the assured possession of man for all generations to come.
APPENDICES
A.—TABLE SHOWING VALUES ASSIGNED TO THE LETTERS OF THE OLD PERSIAN
ALPHABET.
B.—TABLE SHOWING THE TRUE VALUES OF OLD PERSIAN LETTERS, AND THE AUTHOR
AND DATE OF THEIR DECIPHERMENT.
C.—TABLE SHOWING THE VALUES GIVEN TO EACH SIGN OF THE SUSIAN (MEDIAN)
SYLLABARY.
APPENDIX A
_TABLE SHOWING VALUES ASSIGNED TO THE LETTERS OF THE OLD PERSIAN ALPHABET_
+--------------+----------+----------+------------+-------------+-------
| Niebuhr | Tychsen, | Münter, | Grotefend,| St. Martin, | Rask,
| Alphabet | 1798 | 1800 | 1803-1815 | 1823-1832 | 1826
+----+---------+----------+----------+------------+-------------+-------
| 1 |[Persian]| | | Defective | |
| 2 | 𐏐 | | Sign of | Sign of | |
| | | |Separation| Separation | |
| 3 |[Persian]| ě | r | e | e |
| 4 | 𐎣 | l, ě | p | e | e |
| 5 | 𐎿 | ê, t, n | | s | s‛ |
| 6 | 𐎿 | | | Defective | |
| 7 | 𐎲 | l, s | b | v | r |
| 8 | 𐎼 | | | r | |
| 9 | 𐎼 | l, ê | | r | r |
| 10 | 𐎺 | ê i(u) | | e | i |
| 11 | 𐎭 | | kh | d | d |
| 12 | 𐎡 | m, ǎ, ä |o (vocal) | o | y |
| 13 |[Persian]| m | | n | n |
| 14 | 𐎱 | a, ǒ | | p or b | p |
| 15 | 𐎻 | ä | | g | v |
| 16 | 𐎨 | ǎ, ä, r | r (fort) | o | e |
| 17 |[Persian]| ä | | uncertain | |
| 18 | 𐏀 | ǎ | | gh | e |
| 19 | 𐎮 | l | | uncertain | |
| 20 |[Persian]| a | | Defective | |
| 21 | 𐎠 | a | e or a | e or a | a |
| 22 | 𐎬 | a | | th | |
| 23 | 𐎶 | | a | o | â | m
| 24 | 𐎫 | i(u) | | t | t |
| 25 | 𐎤 | d | | z, changed | h | q
| | | | | to k, 1815 | |
| 26 | 𐎰 | n, s | | i | h |
| 27 | 𐎹 | b, k, r | | h | e |
| | | | | | |
| 28 | 𐎩 | r | | ng | |
| 29 | 𐎷 | b, r | | h | e |
| 30 |[Persian]| k | | Defective | |
| 31 | 𐎴 | b, x, y | | tsch | b, changed | n
| | | | | | to m |
| | | | | | after 1826 |
| 32 | 𐎪 | x | | dj | |
| 33 | 𐎸 | x | | k | |
| 34 | 𐎯 | d, y | | z | |
| 35 | 𐎥 | u⁽ᵘ⁾ | | u | |
| 36 | 𐎢 | u, uᵘ | | u | ou |
| | | | | | |
| 37 |[Persian]| | | Defective | |
| 38 | 𐏁 | s | ou, w | sch, sh | ch |
| | | | ii, y | | |
| 39 | 𐎳 | ǒ | | f | |
| 40 | 𐎽 | s | |sch, changed| ch |
| | | | | to sr, 1815| |
| 41 | 𐏃 | j, y | | a | ou |
| | | | | | |
| 42 | 𐎧 | ô | | kh | kh |
| | Later | | | | |
| |Additions| | | | |
| 43 | 𐎵 | | | | |
| 44 | 𐎦 | | | | |
| 45 |[Persian]| | | | |
| 46 | 𐎾 | | | | |
| 47 | 𐏋 | | | King | |
| 48 | 𐏍 | | | | |
| 49 | 𐏏 | | | | |
| |Defective| | | | |
| | Signs | | | | |
| |[Persian]| x | i | | |
| |[Persian]| n | | v | |
| |[Persian]| n | | | |
| |[Persian]| t | kh | | |
| |[Persian]| sʹ | | | |
| |[Persian]| | s | | |
| |[Persian]| | o | | |
| |[Persian]| | | r | |
| |[Persian]| | | m | |
| |[Persian]| | | | h |
| |[Persian]| | | | | †
| |[Persian]| | | | | ‡
+----+---------+----------+----------+------------+-------------+-------
-------------+-----------+------------+---------+----------+----+
Burnouf, | Lassen, | Grotefend, | Beer, | Jacquet, | |
1836 | 1836 | 1837 | 1838 | 1838 | |
| | | | | |
-------------+-----------+------------+---------+----------+----+
| | | | | 1 |
| | | | | 2 |
| | | | | |
| | | | | 3 |
k | k | e | | | 4 |
ç | ç | ç | | | 5 |
| | | | | 6 |
b | b | b | | | 7 |
| | | | | 8 |
r | r | r | | | 9 |
i | w | i | | v | 10 |
d | d | d | | | 11 |
ô |y, medial | ô | | | 12 |
| t | th | | | 13 |
p | p | p | | | 14 |
g |v, initial | g | | | 15 |
v | î y, | è(n) medial| | ch or c | 16 |
| | w | | | 17 |
z | z | gh | | | 18 |
l? | kʹ | w | | | 19 |
| | | | | 20 |
â | â | â | | | 21 |
dh | t‘ | m | | | 22 |
m | m | ǒ | | | 23 |
t | t | t | | | 24 |
q | with u 36 | k | | th | 25 |
| equal ô | | | | |
y | z | i | | | 26 |
h | h with 12 | h | y | y | 27 |
| equal ê | | | | |
h? | ñ | ng | | z | 28 |
î | ‘m? | hh | | | 29 |
| | | | | 30 |
n | n | s | | | 31 |
gh? uncertain| gʹ | dsh | | | 32 |
gh? uncertain| g‛ | s s | | | 33 |
gh | d‛ | z? | | | 34 |
û | g | y | | | 35 |
u |u with 10 | u | | | 36 |
| equal q | | | | |
| | | | | 37 |
ch | s‛ | sh | | | 38 |
f | f | f | | | 39 |
l | s‛ | r_k_ (h?) | |r before u| 40 |
a |a, initial | ǎ | h | h | 41 |
|n̆g, medial | | | | |
kh | k‛ | kh | | | 42 |
| | | | | 43 |
gh? uncertain| g‛ | gʹ | | | 44 |
| | | | | 45 |
| | | | | 46 |
| | | | | 47 |
| | v | | | 48 |
| | | | | 49 |
† | t | | | | |
‡ | v, | | | | |
| û, medial | | | | |
-------------+-----------+------------+---------+----------+----+
----------+------------+-----------+-----------------+---------+----+
Lassen, | Hincks, | Rawlinson,| Rawlinson, | Hincks, | |
1844 | June 1846 | before | after August | Dec. | |
| |August 1846| 1846 | 1846 | |
----------+------------+-----------+-----------------+---------+----+
| | | | | 1 |
| | | | | 2 |
| | | | | 3 |
k | k | k | k before a & i | k | 4 |
ç | s | s |s before a, i, u?| s | 5 |
| | | | | 6 |
b | b | b | b before a, i, u| b | 7 |
| | | | | 8 |
r | r | r | r before a & i | r | 9 |
w | w | w | v before a & u | w? | 10 |
d | d | d | d before a | d | 11 |
i | i | i | | i | 12 |
thr | tr | tř | tř | thr | 13 |
p | p | p | p before a, i, u| p | 14 |
v | w before i | v | v before i | w(i) | 15 |
k’ | ch | ch | ch before a & | ch | 16 |
| | | | | 17 |
z | zh | z | z before a, u? | zh | 18 |
k’h |d (before i)| t with i | d before i | d(i) | 19 |
| | | | | 20 |
â | a | a | a | a | 21 |
d’h | t before u | t’h | t before u | t(u) | 22 |
ʹm | m | m | m before a | m | 23 |
t | t | t | t before a & i | t | 24 |
q | k before u | kh | k before u | k(u) | 25 |
θ | z | th |th before a, i, u| th | 26 |
j for y | y | y | y before a, i, u| y | 27 |
z’ | j | jh | j before a | j | 28 |
‘m | m before i | m (with i)| m before i | m(i) | 29 |
| | | | | 30 |
n | n | n | n before a & i | n | 31 |
g’ | zh before i| j | j before i | j(i) | 32 |
ψ | kh before u| m (with u)| m before u | m(u) | 33 |
dh | d before u| dh | d before u | d(u) | 34 |
g | g | g | g before a | g | 35 |
u | u | u | u | u | 36 |
| | | | | 37 |
s | sh | sh |sh before a, i, u| sh | 38 |
f | p before r | f | f before a? | ph(r) | 39 |
‘r | r before u | r (with u)| r before u | r(u) | 40 |
h | h | h |h before a, i, u | h | 41 |
kh | kh | kʹh | kh before a & u | kh | 42 |
| | n (with u)| n before u | n(u) | 43 |
gh | g before u | gh | g before u | g(u) | 44 |
rp | rp | q? | doubtful final | | 45 |
| | ñ | ñ | ñ | 46 |
| | | | | 47 |
dᵃh | | dah? | | | 48 |
bumi | | bumʹi | | | 49 |
----------+------------+-----------+-----------------+---------+----+
APPENDIX B
_TABLE SHOWING THE TRUE VALUES OF OLD PERSIAN LETTERS; AND THE AUTHOR AND
DATE OF THEIR DECIPHERMENT_
+----------------+------------------------+-----------------------------+
| Persian | Correct Values | Name of Decipherer and Date |
| Cuneiform | Spiegel, 1881 | |
| Signs | | |
+----+-----------+------------------------+-----------------------------+
| 1 | [Persian] | Defective | |
| 2 | 𐏐 | Sign of Separation | Münter, 1800 |
| 3 | [Persian] | Defective | |
| 4 | 𐎣 | k before a | Burnouf and Lassen |
| | | | independently, 1836, k |
| 5 | 𐎿 | s before a, i, u | Grotefend, 1802, s |
| 6 | 𐎿 | Defective | |
| 7 | 𐎲 | b before a, i, u | Münter, 1800, b |
| 8 | 𐎾 | Defective | |
| 9 | 𐎼 | r before a & i | Grotefend, 1802, r |
| 10 | 𐎺 | v before a & u | Lassen, 1836, w? Jacquet, |
| | | | 1838, v |
| 11 | 𐎭 | d before a | Grotefend, 1802, d |
| 12 | 𐎡 | i | St. Martin, 1823, y. |
| | | | Lassen, 1836, i |
| 13 | [Persian] | tř | Lassen, 1836, t? Grotefend, |
| | | | 1837, thr? th |
| | | | Rawlinson, 1836, tř |
| 14 | 𐎱 | p before a, i, u | Grotefend, 1802, p |
| 15 | 𐎻 | v before i | St. Martin, 1823, v |
| 16 | 𐎨 | c before a | Jacquet, 1838, ch or c |
| 17 | [Persian] | Defective | |
| 18 | 𐏀 | z before a, i, u | Burnouf and Lassen |
| | | | independently, 1836, z |
| 19 | 𐎮 | d before i | Holtzmann, 1846, d before i |
| 20 | [Persian] | Defective | |
| 21 | 𐎠 | a | Tychsen, 1798, a. Münter, |
| | | | 1800, e or a |
| 22 | 𐎬 | t before u | Lassen, 1836 |
| 23 | 𐎶 | m before a | Rask, 1826, m |
| 24 | 𐎫 | t before a & i | Grotefend, 1802, t |
| 25 | 𐎤 | k before u | Grotefend, 1815, k |
| 26 | 𐎰 | th before a, i, u | Jacquet, 1838, th |
| 27 | 𐎹 | y before a, i, u | Beer and Jacquet |
| | | | independently, 1838, y |
| 28 | 𐎩 | j before a | Hincks and Rawlinson |
| | | | independently, 1846, j |
| | | | before a |
| 29 | 𐎷 | m before i | Lassen, 1836, m before i |
| 30 | [Persian] | Defective | |
| 31 | 𐎴 | n before a & i | Rask, 1826, n |
| 32 | 𐎪 | j before i | Rawlinson, 1838, j |
| 33 | 𐎸 | m before u | Rawlinson, 1838, m before u |
| 34 | 𐎯 | d before u | Tychsen, 1798, d. Lassen, |
| | | | 1836, d |
| 35 | 𐎥 | g before a | Lassen, 1836, g |
| 36 | 𐎢 | u | Tychsen, 1798. Grotefend, |
| | | | 1802, u |
| 37 | [Persian] | Defective | |
| 38 | 𐏁 | s (sh) before a, i, u | Tychsen, 1798, s. Grotefend, |
| | | | 1802, sch, sh |
| 39 | 𐎳 | f before a | Grotefend, 1803, f |
| 40 | 𐎽 | r before u | Grotefend, 1815, sr |
| 41 | 𐏃 | h before a, i, u | Grotefend, 1803, a |
| 42 | 𐎧 | kh before u | Grotefend, 1802, kh |
| 43 | 𐎵 | n before u | Rawlinson, 1846, n before u |
| 44 | 𐎦 | g before u | Lassen, 1836, g |
| | [Persian] | Part of a contraction | |
| | 𐎾 | l? | Oppert, 1847, l? |
| | 𐏋 | k h s | Grotefend, 1802, king |
| | 𐏏 | bumi | Lassen, 1844, bumi |
| | 𐏍 | dah | Lassen, 1844, dah |
| | [Persian] | nâma (name) } | |
| | [Persian] | putřa (son) } | Oppert, 1874. Weissbach |
| | [Persian] | Pârsa (Persia) } | considers these signs of |
| | [Persian] | Auramazda } | doubtful authority |
| | [Persian] | Franâ? } | (‘Altpers. Keil.,’ p. 1). |
+----+-----------+------------------------+-----------------------------+
APPENDIX C
_TABLE SHOWING THE VALUES GIVEN TO EACH SIGN OF THE SUSIAN (MEDIAN)
SYLLABARY_
Vowels and consonants are indicated by capital letters.
+------------------------+-----------------------------------------------
| The number given to |
| each sign by |
+------------------------+ Cuneiform
|Westergaard and Hincks | Signs[899]
| +-------------------+
| |Norris |
| | +--------------+ +-------------+---------------+--------
| | |Oppert | | Correct | Westergaard, |Hincks,
| | | +-------+ | Values[900] | [901] |1846-7
| | | Weisbach| | | 1844-53 |[902]
+----+----+-------+------+--------+-------------+---------------+--------
| 1 | | 111 | 1 |[Susian]| Determin. | Aussonderungs | Det.
| | | | | | | Zeichen |
| 2 | 14 | 68 | 2 |[Susian]| al; city | ? |
| 3 | 65 | 42 | 3 |[Susian]| an; det. | A |an; det.
| _a_| 35 | 89 | 4 |[Susian]| tak | |
| 4 | 61 | 38 | 7 |[Susian]| na | na, N | na
| _a_| 60 |ideog. | 6 |[Susian]| month | |
| 5 | 85 | 56 | 8 |[Susian]| še | sa | si
| 6 | 9 | 28 | 9 |[Susian]| pu | ? |
| 7 | | 86 | 10 |[Susian]| muš | ? |
| 8 | 88 | 104 | 11 |[Susian]| šir, zir | as, ars | ersa
| 9 | | | |[Susian]| Defective | ? |
| _a_| 81 | 51 | 13 |[Susian]| la | | rus
| 10 | | | |[Susian]| Defective | ar, A | ar
| _a_| 47 | 61 | 12 |[Susian]| su | |
| 11 | 26 | 16 | 15 |[Susian]| ak | k | K
| _a_| 59 | 7 | 16 |[Susian]| H | |
| _b_| 18 | 14 | 17 |[Susian]| gau; sea | |
| 12 | 34 | 23 | 18 |[Susian]| tu | thu | tu
| _a_| 77 | 67 | 19 |[Susian]| ar; window | |
| 13 | 71 | 45 | 20 |[Susian]| ra | R | ra
| 14 | 10 | 78 | 22 |[Susian]| par | pha | per
| 15 | 33 | 21 | 23 |[Susian]| ti | ti | ti
| _a_| 57 | 84 | 24 |[Susian]| maz | |
| 16 | 63 | 40 | 59 |[Susian]| ne | ? | ser
| _a_| 15 | 60 | 26 |[Susian]| si | |
| 17 | 19 | 15 | 27 |[Susian]| gi | ? | su, sa
| 18 | | | |[Susian]| Defective | ? |
| 19 | 27 | 17 | 28 |[Susian]| ik, K | KH | K
| 20 | 31 | 105 | 29 |[Susian]| kup? | ? |
| 21 | |rejects| 25 |[Susian]| ziš? | ? |
| 22 | 99 | 10 | 30 |[Susian]| hu | ju [yu*] | yu, u
| 23 | 78 | 48 | 61 |[Susian]| ir, R | ra | ER
| _a_| 22 | 70 | 68 |[Susian]| kan | |
| _b_| 50 |ideog. | 31 |[Susian]| Ship | |
| 24 | 72 | 46 | 32 |[Susian]| ri | ri | ri
| 25 | 6 |76, 29 | 21 |[Susian]| pe, pat | tu | tu
| 26 | 54 |80, 81 | 35 |[Susian]| man | ve, we | wi
| _a_| 25 | 75 | 36 |[Susian]| kaš | |
| 27 | 13 | 31 | 37 |[Susian]| ap | P | ap, pu
| _a_| 64 | 97 | 38 |[Susian]| nap | |
| 28 | 28 |18, 69 | 39 |[Susian]| uk | Q | wa, K
| 29 | | 65 | 40 |[Susian]| az | pu | va
| _a_| 29 |ideog. | 41 |[Susian]|Horse, Donkey| |
| 30 | 43 | 24 | 42 |[Susian]| at | T | ta, T
| 31 | 17 | 11 | 34 |[Susian]| ka | ka, kha | ku
| 32 | 38 | 25 | 50 |[Susian]| ut, T | T | ta, T
| 33 | 8 | 72 | 51 |[Susian]| pi | pi | pi, pu
| 34 | 39 | 20 | 53 |[Susian]| te | phi | pu, pi
| _a_| 24 | 71 | 54 |[Susian]| kar | |
| 35 | 45 | 72 | 52 |[Susian]| am? | ? |
| 36 | 55 | 82 | 56 |[Susian]| mar; road | pe | ner, pi
| 37 | 58 | 36 | 57 |[Susian]| um, M | M | M
| _a_| 44 | 106 | 58 |[Susian]| sak | |
| 38 | 49 | 2 | 60 |[Susian]| U | jo [yo*] | yu, U
| 39 | 73 | 47 | 65 |[Susian]| ru | ru | ru
| _a_| 79 | 90 | 67 |[Susian]| tik | |
| _b_| 40 | 92 | 66 |[Susian]| tup | |
| _c_| 69 | 85 | 46 |[Susian]| muk | |
| _d_| 12 | 79 | 47 |[Susian]| pan | |
| _e_|102 | 102 | 48 |[Susian]| zik | |
| _f_| 70 | 87 | 49 |[Susian]| tum | |
| 40 | 11 | 77 | 55 |[Susian]| pir | PH | P
| 41 | 4 | 4 | 62 |[Susian]| E | |
| 42 | 67 | 44 | 68 |[Susian]| un | ? | na, N
| _a_|103 | 88 | 64 |[Susian]| tan | |
| 43 | 23 | 73 | 43 |[Susian]|kur; mountain| khu | ker
| 44 | 41 | 22 | 44 |[Susian]| tú | ? |
| 45 | 90 | 58 | 45 |[Susian]| iš, S | S | S
| 46 | 2 | 1 | 69 |[Susian]| I | | I
| 47 | 98 | 6 | 70 |[Susian]| ya |ja, J [y, ya*] | ya
| 48 | 66 | 43 | 71 |[Susian]| in, N | I | N
| 49 | 5 | 26 | 72 |[Susian]| pá | pa | pa
| 50 | 96 | 63 | 73 |[Susian]| zi | ? | ta?
| 51 | 32 | 19 | 74 |[Susian]| ta | ta | ta
| 52 | 86 | 55 | 76 |[Susian]| šu | su | su
| _a_| 74 | 99 | 77 |[Susian]| rap | |
| 53 | 36 | 95 | 78 |[Susian]| tur | T.H. | ter
| 54 | 93 | 64 | 79 |[Susian]| zu | ? | si
| 55 |101 | 108 | 75 |[Susian]| Man | wo |
| 56 | | 110 | 89 |[Susian]| Det. | Aussonderungs | Det.
| | | | | | | Zeichen |
| 57 | 56 | 83 |90, 91|[Susian]| me, maš | Z |sh, wash
| 58 | 46 | 59 | 98 |[Susian]| sa | ? |
| 59 | 42 | 93 | 92 |[Susian]| tar | ? |
| 60 | 16 | 30 | 93 |[Susian]| pa | phu, pu [po*] | pu
| _a_| 68 | 98 | 94 |[Susian]| tin | |
| 61 | 75 | 100 | 95 |[Susian]| rak | ? |
| 62 | 80 | 37 | 96 |[Susian]| ur? | ? |
| 63 | 7 | 32 | 97 |[Susian]| ip, P | T’H | ut, tu
| 64 | 89 | 57 | 99 |[Susian]| aš | S | as
| 65 | | | |[Susian]| Defective | ? |
| 66 | 94 | 112 | 100 |[Susian]| Det. | thi |
| 67 | 51 | 33 | 101 |[Susian]| ma | wa, W | wa
| 68 | 76 |101, 91| 102 |[Susian]| tuk, raš | ro, r‛u | rus
| 69 | 21 | 13 | 104 |[Susian]| ku | qu | ku
| 70 | 37 | 96 | 103 |[Susian]| taš | ? [qa*] | tas
| 71 | 30 |ideog. | 107 |[Susian]| King[907] | ku | ku
| _a_| 97 | 41 | 108 |[Susian]| ? | |
| _b_| 95 | 74 | 109 |[Susian]| en | |
| 72 | 48 | 5 | 106 |[Susian]| yi; water | H | I
| 73 | 84 | 53 | 105 |[Susian]| sǎ | s‛a | sa
| 74 | 91 | 62 | 110 |[Susian]| za | za | sha
| 75 | 1 | 8 | 111 |[Susian]| A | O | A
| 76 | 3 | 3 | 80 |[Susian]| U | U | O, U
| 77 | 62 | 39 | 81 |[Susian]| ni | ni | ni
| 78 | 82 | 52 | 83 |[Susian]| ul, L; house| ? | ER
| _a_| 83 | 50 | 84 |[Susian]| li? | ? |
| 79 | 52 | 34 | 85 |[Susian]| mi | vi (wi) | wi
| 80 | 92 | 54 | 87 |[Susian]| ši | s‛i | si
| 81 | 20 | 12 | 88 |[Susian]| ki |kha (ka) [kho*]| ku
| 82 | 87 | 103 | 86 |[Susian]| šin | as‛ ars‛ | ersa
+----+----+-------+------+--------+-------------+---------------+--------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------+
The number given to each sign by Westergaard and Hincks |
|
--------------------+--------+--------------+---------------------+ |
De Saulcy, | Norris,| Oppert, | Oppert, 1879[906] | |
1849-50[903] |1852-55 | 1859[905] | | |
| [904] | | | |
--------------------+--------+--------------+---------------------+----+
Ha | Det. | Det. | Det. | 1 |
He, E? | af | up | hal; city | 2 |
A |an; det.| an; God | | 3 |
| tak | tak | tak, dak | _a_|
n (a) | na | na | | 4 |
| month | month | | _a_|
s (a) | si | s‛i (ḥi?) | šē, sē | 5 |
| pu | bu | pu, bu | 6 |
| | mus, vus | mis, vis | 7 |
ç (a) | sar | ṣir | sar | 8 |
| | | | 9 |
| lu | la | lu | _a_|
Ar | | | | 10 |
| thu | ṣu | çu | _a_|
K | ak | ak | | 11 |
| ven | A‛, aḥ | Ah, Ih | _a_|
| gau | kam, kav | ko, go; sea | _b_|
t, (o, ou) | u | u | to, do | 12 |
| ar | ḥar |har, ar; arch, window| _a_|
rr (a) | ra | ra | | 13 |
p (a) | par | bar | par, bar | 14 |
t (e, i) | ti | ti | ti, di | 15 |
| vach | maś, vaś | maç, vaç, mać, vać | _a_|
N | nǐ | ni | nē | 16 |
| pe | | çi | _a_|
Aï | ga | gi | | 17 |
| | | | 18 |
KH | ik | k | | 19 |
| kwe | | ? | 20 |
| | kam, kav | Omits | 21 |
Hou | yu | ḥu | hu | 22 |
r or l (a) | R | ir | ir, ar, ur | 23 |
| kan | kan | kan, gan | _a_|
| he | nun | Ship | _b_|
r or l (e, i) | ri | ri | | 24 |
dè | pa | bi, bat | pē, bē, pat, bat | 25 |
| van | man, van | | 26 |
| kas | kas | kas, gas | _a_|
GH | ap | ap | | 27 |
| nabu | nap | | _a_|
| uk | uk | | 28 |
| | asʹ | aç, az | 29 |
| ke | Horse | Horse | _a_|
TH | T | at | | 30 |
G (hard) k (a) | ka | ḳa | ka, ga | 31 |
t (a) | T | ut | | 32 |
b or p (e, i) | pi | pi | pi, bi | 33 |
f or ph (e, i) | ṭa | ta | tē, dē | 34 |
| gar | ḳar, gar | | _a_|
|tye, am?| | git | 35 |
b or p (e, i) | var |mar, var; road| mar, var; head | 36 |
| | | (compound ideog.) | |
M or W | M | im | im, M | 37 |
| te | | sak (ideog.) | _a_|
M or W, Oû | hu | U | U, yu | 38 |
| ru | ru | | 39 |
| ro | sik | tik, dik | _a_|
| ṭi | lu, tip | tip, dip | _b_|
| no | | mak, vak | _c_|
| pat | pat | pan, ban | _d_|
| passan?| sik | sik, zik | _e_|
| nos | | mun | _f_|
F or PH, f or ph (a)| far | pir | pir, bir (par, bar) | 40 |
n (o, ou) | E | I | Ē | 41 |
Ô | un | un | | 42 |
| tin | tan | tan, dan, tin | _a_|
| kar | kur | kar, gar; mountain | 43 |
| tu | du | tu, du | 44 |
CH | S | is | is, us, S | 45 |
I | I | I | | 46 |
Ya | ya | ya | Ya | 47 |
Y | in | in | | 48 |
b or p (a) | ba | ba | pa, ba | 49 |
kch (e, i) | chi | ṣi | ći, ǵi, źi, zi | 50 |
d or t (a) | ta | da | ta, da | 51 |
s (o, ou) | su | su | šu, su | 52 |
| rab | rab | rap | _a_|
th (a) | tar | tur | tur, dur | 53 |
DT | su | sʹu | ću, ǵu, źu, zu | 54 |
m, w (o, ou) | yo | Man | | 55 |
| Det. | Det. | | 56 |
Z | vas | mas, vas | | 57 |
| tha | sʹa | ça | 58 |
| tar | tar | tar, dar | 59 |
q (e, i) | po | pa | po, bo | 60 |
| ne | | tin, din | _a_|
| rak | rak | | 61 |
| re | ur | um, perhaps ur | 62 |
MW, Ou | fa | ip | ip, P | 63 |
S | as | as | as | 64 |
| | | | 65 |
th (e, i) | Ṣ | Det. | | 66 |
m, w (a) | va | ma, va | | 67 |
Ç | ras | tuk, ras | ras | 68 |
q (o, ou) | ku | ku | ku, gu | 69 |
Q | tas | das | tas, das | 70 |
k (e, i) | ko | ga | King | 71 |
| cho | um? | nu | _a_|
| sen | ṭu | kin, gin | _b_|
A, Ha | hi | A; water | Yi; water | 72 |
ch (a) | sa | ša | ša, sa | 73 |
z (a) | ṣa | ṣa | ća, ǵa, źa, za | 74 |
A | A | ḥa | ha, a | 75 |
Ou (short) | U | U‛ | O | 76 |
n (e, i) | ni | nu | ni | 77 |
dh (e, i) | al | ul |al, il, ul, L; house | 78 |
| el | li | | _a_|
m, w (e, i), oui | vi | mi, vi | | 79 |
ch (e, i) | ṣi | si | ši, s | 80 |
kh (o, ou) | ki | k | | 81 |
Sign for plural | san | sin | san | 82 |
--------------------+--------+--------------+---------------------+----+
The preceding are the 110 signs given by Menant. The five other signs are
+-----------+------+------+--------+---------+-----------+------------+
|Westergaard|Norris|Oppert|Weisbach|Cuneiform| Correct | Oppert |
| | | | | Signs | Values, | |
| | | | | | Weisbach | |
+-----------+------+------+--------+---------+-----------+------------+
| | 53 | 35 | 5 |[Susian] | mu | mu, vu |
| | | 66 | 33 |[Susian] |iz, Z; det.| ić, iz, iç |
| | | 107 | 82 |[Susian] | race | race |
| | | 49 | |[Susian] | | la (found |
| | | | | | | once only) |
| | | 109 | |[Susian] | | Ideog. for |
| | | | | | | animal |
+-----------+------+------+--------+---------+-----------+------------+
FOOTNOTES
[1] Later Assyrian includes 570 different signs, but only 300 are in
common use (_British Museum Guide_, edited by E. A. W. Budge, 1900, p.
41).
[2] The _British Museum Guide_ goes so far as to mention B.C. 8000 as a
probable date (p. 3).
[3] On this subject see Sir Henry Howorth, _English Historical Review_,
April 1898; Weissbach (F. H.), _Zur Lösung der Sumerischen Frage_, 1897;
and especially Mr. Pinches’ ‘Sumerian or Cryptography,’ _J. R. A. S._
1900.
[4] _Die Achämenideninschriften Zweiter Art._, by F. H. Weisbach, 1890,
p. 77. Inscription H.
[5] A much defaced inscription at the corner is conjectured from
the position of the name Xerxes to have been set up by his son
Artaxerxes Longimanus: only the Semitic portion is partly legible, and
it is the only trace of that king at Persepolis. Carl Bezold: _Die
Achämenideninschriften_, 1882, pp. 47.
[6] _Viagi fatti da Vinetia alla Tana_ (Vinegia, 1545), p. 46.
Camara is no doubt the same place as the Comerum of Friar Odoricus, 1825
A.D. Cf. Curzon (Hon. G. N.), _Persia_, 1892, ii. 130. It must have been
about ten miles from Persepolis, which Barbaro seems to regard as about a
day’s journey.
[7] ‘_Dio Padre in uno tondo_,’ p. 46.
[8] _De le Antiquità_, Venetia, 1540. Cf. the edition in the British
Museum, _Il Terzo Libro di Sebastiano Serlio_, Venetia, 1534, p. 100.
[9] See Menant, _Les Achéménides_ (Paris 1872), p. 33, where, however,
the reader will find a copy of Serlio’s drawing.
[10] Don Garcia: _L’Ambassade_ (Paris, 1667), p. 163.
[11] _Relation des Grandes Guerres_, par le P. Fr. Anthoine de Gouvea
(Rouen, 1646), p. 78. The original was written at Goa, in 1609, and
published at Lisbon, 1611: _Relaçam em que se trata das Guerras, etc._
(Lisboa).
[12] So spelt in the Portuguese edition, p. 30; ‘Bandimico’ in the French
edition, p. 79.
[13] Gouvea, _Relation des Grandes Guerres_, p. 107.
[14] _Op. cit._ pp. 134, 174.
[15] _Ambassade de Don Garcia de Silva Figueroa en Perse_, traduit par de
Wicqfort (Paris, 1667), p. 5. The Spanish original does not appear in the
Catalogue of the British Museum, where, however, may be found the tract
_De Rebus Persarum_, Antwerp, 1620.
[16] See the letter of Don Garcia in _Purchas, His Pilgrimes_, ii. 1534.
[17] ‘_The Preacher’s Travels_, penned by J. C., sometime student in
Magdalen Colledge in Oxford,’ London, 1611, p. 84.
[18] He only mentions one (p. 146). He does not seem to have noticed any
difference in the animals in the farther Portico.
[19] ‘_Brute et grossière estampe_’: _Ambassade_, p. 163. We have already
said that this statement is incorrect. _Supra_, p. 11.
[20] _Viaggi di Pietro della Valle_ (Brighton, 1843), i. 382.
[21] _Viaggi_, ii. 231.
[22] _Viaggi_, vol. ii. For his account of Persepolis see _Lettera xv._
pp. 228-68.
[23] They are given on p. 253.
[24] Herbert (Sir Thomas), _Travels_, 1665, pp. 111-17.
[25] _Some Yeares Travels_, by Sir Thomas Herbert, Bart. See the various
editions published in 1634, 1638, 1665 and 1677. The first edition, _A
Relation of some Years Travaille, begunne anno 1626, by T. H. Esquier_,
London, 1634, has recently been practically withdrawn from the Museum
Library in order to enjoy the honour of appearing within a glass case.
[26] Ed. 1634, p. 56.
[27] _Cf._ ed. 1634, p. 59.
[28] Ed. 1638, p. 145.
[29] It will be recollected that Della Valle’s letters were not published
till 1658.
[30] _Vermehrte neue Beschreibung der Muscowitischen und Persischen
Reyse_ (Schleszwig, 1656).
[31] _Estat de la Perse en 1660_, par le Père Raphaël (Du Mans, Paris,
1890), p. xliii.
[32] _Morgenländische Reyse-Beschreibung des Hochedel gebornen J. A.
Mandelslo_ (Schleszwig, 1658), pp. 10-17.
[33] _The Voyage and Travels of J. Albert de Mandelslo, rendered into
English by John Davies of Kidwalley_, London, 1662.
[34] It will be remarked that Olearus does not mention Della Valle, whose
book was not then published.
[35] _Some Years Travels_, by Sir Tho. Herbert, Bart. (1665), pp. 145-59.
[36] Herbert (1665), p. 153. For a photograph of the north door see
Curzon, _Persia_, ii. 176.
[37] Joret (J. B.), _Tavernier_ (1886), p. 180.
[38] _Estat de la Perse_, p. lxxviii.
[39] Thévenot (Jean de), _Voyages_, 5 vols. (Amst. 1727), iv. 491.
[40] _Les Beautés de la Perse_, par le sieur A.D.D.V. (Paris, 1673), pp.
55-66.
[41] _Voyage de M. de Thévenot_, Bk. III. chap. vii. pp. 501 ff.
[42] Thévenot (Amsterdam, ed. 1727), vol. iii; see preface and pp. 1-2.
_Estat de la Perse_, pp. lxxv-lxxviii.
[43] Thévenot, iii. 262.
[44] Thévenot, iv. 486.
[45] Joret, p. 203.
[46] _Estat de la Perse_, p. lxxvi.
[47] Thévenot, iv. 510.
[48] Thévenot, iv. 520.
[49] For Tavernier see _Les Six Voyages_ (Utrecht, 1712, 3 vols.), i.
728; and the excellent Memoir of him by M. Joret, 1886.
[50] _Les Voyages de J. Struys_ (Amsterdam, 1681). Ouseley (Sir W.),
_Travels_, ii. 232.
[51] Struys, pp. 316-317.
[52] Cf. _Philosophical Transactions Abridged_, iii. 543, where reference
is made to _Phil. Trans._ June 1693; xvii. 776. Hyde (Dr. Thomas),
_Veterum Persarum ... Historia_, 1760, pp. 548, 557, Pl. 14. _Cf._ Evetts
(Basil T. A.), _New Light on the Bible_ (1892), p. 74. Menant, _Les
Langues perdues_ (Paris, 1885), p. 62.
[53] Daulier, _Les Beautés_, p. 55.
[54] This view may have been suggested by Chardin, who was known to Hyde.
(Hyde, p. 548, _note_.)
[55] Hyde, _Vet. Pers. Hist._ p. 557. _Cf._ Menant, p. 65.
[56] See _Voyages de Monsieur le Chevalier Chardin_ (Amsterdam, 1711),
iii. 98 ff, Plates 52-74; but four of these are devoted to copies of the
inscriptions (Pl. 69-73).
[57] _Voyages du Chevalier Chardin_ (ed. Langlès, Paris, 1811), viii.
242-318.
[58] Chardin, _Voyages_, viii. 401.
[59] _A New Account_, by J. Fryer (London, 1698), p. 251.
[60] Chardin, viii, 321-3.
[61] Now known as Inscription L. Not to be confounded with the L of
Niebuhr.
[62] _Ib._ pp. 343, 347-51.
[63] _Ib._ p. 385.
[64] _Amoenitates Exoticae_, by Engelbert Kaempfer (1712), 297-353.
[65] P. 332. The four inscriptions in Niebuhr are lettered H, I, K, and
L. H and I are Persian; K is Susian; and L Babylonian. L is the H of
Bezold, p. 39; Menant, p. 78. I is unilingual.
[66] P. 346. Chardin, Pl. 69, p. 320.
[67] Pp. 338, 339. A inscription.
[68] P. 348. C inscription.
[69] B inscription.
[70] P. 350. G inscription.
[71] P. 334.
[72] P. 349.
[73] _Voyages de Corneille Le Bruyn_ (Paris, 1725), iv. 301-408.
[74] A inscription, Table 126 (Le Bruyn).
[75] Cᵃ inscription, Table 131 (Le Bruyn).
[76] B inscription, Table 132 (Le Bruyn).
[77] G inscription, Table 133 (Le Bruyn).
[78] L inscription, Table 134 (Le Bruyn).
[79] _Ib._ pp. 317, 351. Buckingham also fancied he beheld a female in
the Palace of Xerxes.
[80] _Ib._ pp. 353-4.
[81] _Voyage en Arabie_, par C. Niebuhr (Amsterdam, 1783), vol. ii. pp.
98-133.
[82] Vol. ii. p. 122.
[83] Morier observes: ‘On comparing Le Bruyn’s, Chardin’s and Niebuhr’s
drawings with the sculptures, I found them in general correct in outline,
but imperfect in the details of dress, arms, &c.... They have not been
done justice to in the works of those travellers.’—_Second Journey
through Persia_ (London, 1818), p. 76.
[84] Morier says Le Bruyn has exaggerated the mutilation. _A Journey
through Persia_, by James Morier (London, 1812; referred to as _First
Journey_), p. 134. Elsewhere he says the faces of _all_ the figures to
the right are mutilated; _Second Journey_, p. 76.
[85] In Porter’s drawing this personage appears at the other end of the
row. _Cf._ Plates, Niebuhr, ii. 120, and Porter, _Travels in Georgia_, i.
670.
[86] Niebuhr, ii. 117.
[87] Niebuhr, _ib._ p. 111.
[88] P. 125.
[89] _Supra_, pp. 71, 73.
[90] Niebuhr, _ib._ p. 112.
[91] _Ib._ p. 113.
[92] This, as we have noticed, had been already done by Flower.
[93] P. 117. Professor Sayce makes the obvious remark that another easy
way of settling this point is the consideration ‘that the ends of all the
lines were exactly underneath each other on the left side, whereas they
terminated irregularly on the right.’ _Fresh Lights from the Monuments_,
by A. H. Sayce (1890), p. 10.
[94] ‘Quelques voyageurs en ont tiré la conséquence que les anciens
Perses ayent écrit de haut en bas, commes les Chinois. Mais si l’on
examine de plus près les inscriptions, comme quelques uns les ont copiées
icy, et qu’on les compare avec mes copies, on trouvera que les lignes
qui sont droites sont toutes couchées de côté, ce qui fait que le nombre
des lettres n’est à beaucoup près pas si grand que peut-être on a pu le
penser d’après les copies de mes prédécesseurs.’ Niebuhr, _ib._ p. 113.
[95] P. 126. Morier saw only one column. _First Journey_, p. 141.
[96] Heeren, _Historical Researches_ (Eng. ed. 1846), vol. ii. Appendix
VI.
[97] Morier, _Second Journey_, p. 264.
[98] For his fate see Flandin, _Voyage en Perse_, i. 113.
[99] _Second Journey_, p. 68.
[100] _First Journey_, p. 128. On Persepolis and Murgab see chaps. vii.
and viii.
[101] Ouseley (Sir W.), _Travels in various Countries_ (3 vols. 1821),
vol. ii. note p. 439.
[102] Inscription M.
[103] _Second Journey_, p. 117.
[104] _Second Journey_, p. 75; Ouseley, ii. 255. They were afterwards
given to the British Museum, and for a long time were the only materials
for the study of Persian art. The practice of taking away specimens
seems to have been continued by later travellers, and, as Porter says,
much of value was ‘doomed to the predatory mallet’ (p. 632). When Rich
visited the ruins in 1821, he observed that ‘many parts had been defaced
by the passion for preserving curiosities. This rage has induced some
even to chip off bits of inscriptions. One has endeavoured to chisel off
a very fine head, which was well preserved, and, not succeeding, he has
apparently in wrath thrown his mallet against the head and smashed it.’
(_Koordistan_, ii. 222.) Rich found the inscription on the robe of the
king in the Palace of Xerxes had suffered from these proceedings. ‘They
have been variously defaced by people chipping off pieces (mostly very
recently) for curiosities. I have copied what remains of three of them’
(_Babylon and Persepolis_, Pl. 19). A disease visited the people of the
country shortly after, and those of them who had assisted in these acts
of Vandalism thought themselves justly punished. Flandin, ii. 113, 127.
[105] Ouseley (Sir W.), _Travels_, vol. ii. For Persepolis and Murgab see
chaps. xi. and xii.
[106] Ouseley, ii. 91.
[107] Plates 41 and 47, pp. 256-7.
[108] Ouseley, p. 286.
[109] _Ib._ pp. 265-7.
[110] Pp. 426-9.
[111] Plate 49: 1. Morier, from a pillar of the palace. 2. Gordon (and
Morier), from over the winged figure. 3. Ouseley, from the solitary
monolith.
[112] Mohl, _Rapports annuels faits à la Société Asiatique, 1840-45_:
1843, p. 13.
[113] Porter (Sir Robert Ker), _Travels in Georgia_, &c. (London, 1821),
i. 679.
[114] Plates 17 and 18, pp. 516, 518. See the curious engraving of a
Royal tomb at Persepolis in Hyde, p. 307, where he says the soul or
Icuncula is about to ascend to heaven.
[115] Porter, p. 524.
[116] _Ib._ p. 587. D’Hancarville had, however, already suggested that
they were ‘partly bulls.’ See the various opinions on this question
stated by Ouseley, ii. 247, note.
[117] Porter, p. 634.
[118] Porter, p. 502.
[119] _Ib._ pp. 622-3.
[120] _Ib._ p. 488-9, Plate 13.
[121] Pl. 44, p. 616. He omits the first four lines.
[122] Pl. 55 and 56, p. 681. _Cf._ Niebuhr, Pl. 31. Porter left out lines
18 and 19 of Inscription H. Westergaard, _Ueber die Keilinschriften_
(Bonn, 1845), p. 2.
[123] Porter’s _Travels_ were published in 1821, the same year as
Ouseley’s, and three years after Morier’s _Second Journey_, 1818. Loftus
complains of the ‘exceedingly rough and incorrect sketch’ made by Porter
of a bas-relief at Susa: _Chaldæa and Susiana_, p. 415. Yet Flandin
admits Porter’s talent in drawing. The plates of all his predecessors
were, he says, superseded. He became the ‘oracle of the archæologists,’
especially in architecture and sculpture (Flandin, i. 9). The most
important contribution since made in English is the chapter on the
subject in Lord Curzon’s _Persia_, Vol. II. chap. xxi.
[124] Texier (Ch. F. M.), _Description de l’Arménie_ (1842-52), i. xv.
[125] Kinneir (J. Macdonald), _Geographical Memoir_ (1813), p. 126.
Flandin estimates the distance at eight kilomètres. See Menant, _Les
Achéménides_, p. 129. Murray says vaguely, ‘near’ Hamadan (Handbook,
_Asia Minor_, p. 328). Curzon uses the same expression (i. 566).
[126] Morier, _Second Journey_, p. 267.
[127] Porter, ii. 120.
[128] Rich (C. J.), _Narrative of a Residence in Koordistan_, ii. 126.
[129] Vaux (W. S. W.), _Nineveh and Persepolis_ (London, 1851), p. 441,
note A. _J. R. A. S._ (1882), vol. xiv., article on Van by Professor
Sayce.
[130] Elvend, O and F; Van, K.
[131] Rich, _Koordistan_, i. xvi, xviii.
[132] Rich, _Koordistan_, ii. 186.
[133] _Ib._ p. 215.
[134] Rich, _ib._ pp. 216-18.
[135] _Babylon and Persepolis_, by C. J. Rich (1839), p. 240.
[136] Rich, _Koordistan_, ii, 217-19.
[137] Niebuhr had found only 2½ feet of the stairs visible (_Voyage_, ii.
111).
[138] _Koordistan_, ii. 223.
[139] _Babylon and Persepolis_, Pl. 13, 14, and 15; Inscr. Cᵃ.
[140] _Ib._ Pl. 16, 17, 18; Inscr. E.
[141] Rich, _ib._ Pl. 18; Inscr. G.
[142] Pl. 19 (_a_, _b_, _c_, _d_).
[143] Pl. 20, 21, 22; Cᵇ.
[144] Pl. 23; P.
[145] Pl. 24, 25, 26; D. See Weissbach und Bang, _Die Altpersischen
Keilinschriften_ (1893), pp. 5-10.
[146] Rich, _Babylon and Persepolis_, pp. 250, 252.
[147] _Ib._ p. 256.
[148] _Ib._ pp. 247-55. Cf. _Koordistan_, ii, 222.
[149] Diod. Sic. ii. 13.
[150] Rawlinson (George), Herodotus edited by (1862), ii. 490; _The Five
Great Monarchies_ (1879: referred to as _History_), iii. 416. Perrot and
Chipiez, _History of Art in Persia_ (Eng. ed., 1892), p. 393, but _cf._
p. 38.
[151] _Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society_ (referred to as _J. R. A.
S._) x. 193.
[152] This was suggested by Dr. Hincks in the _Dublin University
Magazine_, Jan. 1847, p. 15.
[153] _J. R. A. S._ x. 187, 192.
[154] Rawlinson, in _Records of the Past_, O.S. i. 128. Oppert, _ib._
ix. 68. _Cf._ the later attempts of Spiegel, _Die Altpersischen
Keilinschriften_ (1881), p. 41, and Weissbach, _op. cit._ p. 29.
[155] Perrot, p. 33, translator’s note.
[156] Evetts (Basil), _New Lights on the Bible_, p. 42.
[157] Kinneir, _Geographical Memoir_, p. 181. _Ib._ ‘Asia Minor’ (1818),
p. 462.
[158] Porter, _Travels_, ii, 154-8.
[159] _Memoirs of Sir Henry Rawlinson, Bart., G.C.B._, by George
Rawlinson (Longmans, 1898). In the title-page he is described as K.C.B.
According to Dod the higher rank was conferred in 1889: K.C.B. in 1856.
[160] _J. R. A. S._ x. 15. Layard, however, says he sometimes at least
availed himself of a powerful telescope. _Nineveh and Babylon_ (1882), p.
xliii.
[161] _Memoir_, p. 63.
[162] _J. R. A. S._ x. 7, _note_.
[163] _Athenæum_, Nov. 8, 1884.
[164] _Memoir_, p. 144.
[165] _Memoir_, p. 156, _note_.
[166] Rawlinson, in _J. R. A. S._ xii. 408.
[167] Fergusson (James), _The Palaces of Nineveh and Persepolis_, p. vii.
[168] Texier, ii. 151.
[169] Fergusson, p. 160, _note_.
[170] Flandin (Eugène), _Voyage en Perse_ (2 vols., 1851), i. 5. _Cf._ p.
497.
[171] Flandin, _Voyage_, i. 451.
[172] I. 423, 443, 448.
[173] I. 450-1.
[174] II. 79, 362.
[175] II. 83-4. _Cf._ Pl. 194-203.
[176] II. 125.
[177] Fergusson, p. 107, _note_; p. 165, _note_; p. 176; Flandin
counted only three windows on the north side of the Hall of the Hundred
Columns. Their number is not yet ascertained. See Curzon, ii. 177. This
is a point, says Fergusson, ‘which nothing but the most inexcusable
carelessness could have left at all doubtful.’
[178] _Cf._ the account already given of the principal palace at Murgab
(Flandin, 8vo, ii. 83) with the Pl. 197. See also the account of the
Palace of Darius, p. 176, and the Palace of Ochus, p. 184, and compare
with the plates. Of the Palace of Darius he says: ‘C’est à peine si l’on
en retrouve assez de traces pour reconnaître la distribution intérieure
de l’édifice,’ p. 176.
[179] II. 125.
[180] Flandin, ii. 98, 106-10.
[181] _Ib._ i. 493.
[182] II. 186.
[183] _Ib._ p. 160.
[184] _Ib._ p. 177; Fergusson, p. 117.
[185] Flandin, ii. 179.
[186] _Ib._ p. 187; Fergusson, p. 132.
[187] Flandin, p. 196; Fergusson, p. 176; Ouseley, ii. 239; Niebuhr, ii.
121.
[188] Notwithstanding an escort of irregular horse, Baron de Bode,
however, narrowly escaped receiving a volley into his party from the
Bakhtiyari, whose impetuosity was only restrained by Mr. Layard, who
happened to be among them at the time. Layard, _Early Adventures_ (1894),
p. 210.
[189] Flandin, ii, 380-81.
[190] _Ib._ p. 433.
[191] Flandin, ii. 481.
[192] _Ib._ i. 489, _note_.
[193] Some of the plates seem to have appeared in 1848 (_J. R. A. S._
1848, ix. 393, _note_), but the earliest received in the British Museum
was in August 1850; others not till September 1851. The plan of the
S.E. edifice and the general plan of the ruins were not available for
Fergusson up to December 1850. See Fergusson, p. 96, _note_; p. 132,
_note_.
[194] Flandin, i. 492.
[195] _Ib._ i. 10.
[196] For a few of these scenes see ii. 28, 93, 103, 174, 397. He cared
little whether the punishment fell on the right man. After one of these
encounters he writes: ‘Au bout d’une heure le Ket-Khodâh arriva avec
quelques hommes qui en conduisaient un autre les mains liées, qu’ils me
présentèrent comme celui qui avait été instigateur des offenses dont je
me plaignais. _Je ne le reconnaissais pas; mais peu importait._ Ce que
je voulais, ce que je devais à mon habit de frengui, c’était de ne pas
laisser impunie une aggression comme celle dont j’avais eu à souffrir
... _je me contentai donc du prétendu coupable qui m’était amené_: le
Ket-Khodâh le fit coucher sur le dos; on lui attacha le bas des jambes à
un bâton dont les extrémités étaient tenues en l’air par deux hommes qui
lui administrèrent des coups de verges sur la plante des pieds. Lorsque
je crus avoir assez fait pour l’exemple j’arrêtai les coups’ (ii. 398).
[197] Noeldeke (Theod.), _Persepolis: Die Achaemenidischen Denkmäler_,
Berlin, 1882, 2 vols. fol.
[198] Noeldeke, _ib._ ‘Vorwort,’ vol. i.; Pl. 148-50.
[199] Note to No. 46. _Cf._ No. 76.
[200] Note to No. 95.
[201] The following may be referred to as complete failures: Plates 9,
10, 14, 33, 35, 36, 37 and 58.
[202] _La Perse_, par Mme Jane Dieulafoy, Paris, 1887.
[203] Fergusson, _Palaces of Nineveh and Persepolis_, p. 162.
[204] Kinneir, _Geographical Memoir_, p. 100; Porter, ii. 411; Curzon,
ii. 309.
[205] Kinneir, p. 92.
[206] _Ib._ p. 100.
[207] W. K. Loftus, _Chaldæa and Susiana_ (1857), pp. 417-19. A sketch of
the stone may be seen in Walpole’s _Travels in Turkey_, ii. 426, and is
reproduced in Loftus, p. 419.
[208] Ouseley, i. 420.
[209] Rawlinson, _Memoir_, p. 63; Bonomi, _Nineveh and its Palaces_
(1889), p. 479; Loftus, p. 344; _J. R. A. S._ xii. 482. This inscription
was long known as the Susra Inscription, from the name of the king as
deciphered by Rawlinson.
[210] Layard, _Early Adventures_, pp. 352-6.
[211] Layard, _ib._ p. 167. For drawings see Perrot and Chipiez, _History
of Art in Persia_, p. 378.
[212] Loftus (W. Kennett), _Chaldæa and Susiana_ (1857), p. 343.
[213] _Ib._ p. 352.
[214] Loftus, pp. 366-7.
[215] _Ib._ pp. 368, 375.
[216] ‘_A Suse_: Journal des Fouilles, par Madame Jane Dieulafoy,
Officier de la Légion d’Honneur’ (Paris, 1888), p. 115.
[217] _Ib._ p. 132.
[218] _Ib._ p. 158.
[219] _Ib._ p. 160.
[220] _Ib._ p. 167; for illustration see _L’Acropole de Suse_, par Marcel
Dieulafoy (Paris, 1893), p. 298.
[221] _A Suse_, pp. 194-5.
[222] _A Suse_, pp. 196-8.
[223] _Ib._ p. 263.
[224] De Morgan, _Recherches Archéologiques_, p. 69, _note_ 5.
[225] _A Suse_, p. 309.
[226] _Ib._ p. 319.
[227] ‘Nous avons acquis, au prix d’un travail opiniâtre et d’efforts
dont nul ne soupçonnera jamais l’âpreté, des richesses archéologiques
inestimables. Les reliques des Palais achéménides ne furent pas arrachées
à un monument superbe, mais ressuscitées des entrailles avares de la
terre et conquises au péril de notre vie. En ma qualité d’historiographe
des fouilles, il m’appartient de parler hautement et sans fausse
modestie. La mission de Susiane a livré une bataille désespérée et la
Providence aidant, elle revient victorieuse.’ _A Suse_, p. 353.
[228] _Recherches Archéologiques_, par J. de Morgan, G. Jéquier et G.
Lampre (Paris, 1900), vol. i. p. ix.
[229] _Recherches_, p. 79; Loftus, _Chaldæa_, p. 367.
[230] _Recherches_, p. 72.
[231] Tranchée 12.
[232] See Chronological Tablet in Radau, _Early Babylonian History_, p.
30.
[233] _Recherches_, pp. 145 and 165.
[234] _Ib._ p. 183. Gallery B.
[235] _Recherches_, pp. 187-8.
[236] Galleries C and D.
[237] Menant, _Les Achéménides_, p. 146.
[238] Oppert, _Records_, O.S. ix. p. 81.
[239] Spiegel, _Die Altpersischen Keilinschriften_, p. 53.
[240] Oppert, _Le Peuple des Mèdes_, p. 215. Quoted by Spiegel, p. 117.
[241] Menant, _Les Achéménides_, p. 143.
[242] Benfey, _Die Persischen Keilinschriften_ (1847), p. 68; Spiegel, p.
129; _Records_, O.S. ix. 87.
[243] Niebuhr (C.), _Voyage en Arabie_, ii. 106.
[244] See Appendix A. The defective letters are Nos. 1, 3, 6, 8, 17, 20,
30, 37 and the diagonal No. 2.
[245] _Cf._ the alphabets. Spiegel, _Altpersischen Keilinschriften_
(Leipzig, 1881), pp. 142, 144, 159.
[246] Tychsen (O. G.), (Rostock, 1798, 4to) p. 5.
[247] Tychsen, pp. 22-6.
[248] See Appendix A, which shows the letters of the cuneiform alphabet
arranged according to Niebuhr’s list, and the values Tychsen has assigned
to each. The numbers preceding the letters in the text refer to the
numbers of the letters in Niebuhr’s alphabet.
[249] Tychsen, p. 27.
[250] He made this discovery afterwards, either independently or else he
accepted it from Münter. See Heeren, _Historical Researches_ (Eng. ed.
1846), ii. 329.
[251] Tychsen, pp. 29-30.
[252] _Ib._ pp. 17, 22.
[253] Münter (F. C.), _Versuch über die keilförmigen Inschriften_
(Kopenhagen, 1802, 8vo), p. 8.
[254] _Magasin Encyclopédique_, rédigé par A. L. Millin, Year IX, vol.
iii.
[255] Münter, p. 25.
[256] Heeren (A. H. L.), _Historische Werke_: ‘Ideen über die Politik’
(1824), xi. 407.
[257] Münter, pp. 85, 106, 123.
[258] P. 123; but _cf._ p. 87, where he pronounces more definitely for
different languages.
[259] _Recueil d’Antiquités_, vol. v. Pl. 30; for the Babylonian bricks,
Millin, iii. 20.
[260] Münter, p. 78.
[261] _Ib._ p. 113.
[262] _Ib._ p. 105.
[263] _Ib._ p. 106, _note_.
[264] Münter, pp. 105, 109.
[265] _Ib._ p. 114.
[266] _Ib._ p. 117.
[267] Münter’s consonants are:
P 4 𐎣 wrong
Kh 11 𐎭 wrong
Kh [Persian] defective
R 3 [Persian] defective
Strong R 16 𐎨 wrong
S [Persian] defective
B 𐎲 right
his vowels:
E or A 21 𐎠 right A
A 23 𐎶 wrong
I [Persian] defective
Ou &c. 38 𐏁 wrong
O vocal 12 𐎡 wrong
O [Persian] defective
[268] Münter, p. 125.
[269] ‘Aber selbst die Flectionen, die mir überall im Wege standen,
mussten mich in meiner Erwartung, hier nomina propria anzutreffen,
immer ungewisser machen, und dadurch musste ich auch immer mehr davon
abgeschreckt werden in dem Wort mit den 7 Buchstaben einen Königstitel zu
suchen.’ p. 127.
[270] _Ib._ p. 126.
[271] Münter, p. 118.
[272] Münter, p. 128.
[273] _Ib._ p. 140.
[274] _Ib._ p. 120.
[275] _Ib._ p. 90.
[276] See above, p. 24.
[277] Vol. xxviii. Hager’s _Dissertation_, p. xv., _note_.
[278] _Journal des Savants_, 1790.
[279] Vol. v. Pl. 30. See _J. R. A. S._ xi. 389.
[280] Münter, Pl. 2, figs. 1 and 2.
[281] Hager (Joseph), _Dissertation on the Newly-Discovered Babylonian
Inscriptions_ (London, 1801), p. xvi.
[282] See Millin _Magasin Encyclopédique_ (Year IX), ii. 36.
[283] Hager, p. xviii.
[284] _Ib._ pp. xix. 40-41.
[285] _Ib._ pp. 20, 37, 40, 48.
[286] Hager, p. 50.
[287] Millin, _loc. cit._ p. 46.
[288] Dorow, _Die Assyrische Keilinschriften erläutert_ (Wiesbaden,
1820), p. 25.
[289] Hager, pp. 60-1.
[290] _Ib._ pp. 53, 56.
[291] Hager, pp. 52, 62.
[292] See Millin (Year VIII), v. 441. It was reprinted at Helmstadt,
1803, 1 vol. 4to.
[293] De Sacy, in Millin, _ib._ p. 450.
[294] _Ib._ p. 453.
[295] _Ib._ p. 443.
[296] Millin, pp. 445-7. The Michaux Stone, as is now well known, is a
Kudurru, or landmark, of which class it is still the oldest specimen.
It dates from B.C. 1120, and being chiefly an inventory of effects and
measurements, the difficulties of its translation have been only recently
overcome. See Maspero (G.), _Dawn of Civilisation_ (Eng. ed. 1894), p.
762.
[297] Letter to Dorow, _Die Assyrische Keilinschriften_ (1820), pp. 28,
59.
[298] Grotefend (G. F.), _Neue Beiträge_, Hanover, 1847, 4to.
[299] Heeren, _Werke_, xi. 344.
[300] _Ib._ pp. 345, 352.
[301] Year VIII (1803), v. 438. De Sacy’s essay is accompanied by a
plate giving the text, transliteration and translation of the B and G
inscriptions of Niebuhr.
[302] Vols. iv. and v.
[303] _Historische Werke_, xi. 325. We have used the edition of 1824 as
the more accessible. On comparing it with the earlier edition of 1815,
we have not found any difference of importance. Both editions contain
the same two plates. No. 1 is taken from De Sacy, as above, and edited
by Tychsen. It gives Grotefend’s alphabet exactly as it subsequently
appeared, but without the later emendations of the _sr_ and _k_, together
with the long list of defective signs. At the bottom is a transliteration
of the Xerxes inscription (G). No. 2 is by Grotefend. It gives the
cuneiform text in the three species of writing of the inscriptions of
Xerxes and Cyrus, and that on the Caylus Vase, with the translation. The
three columns are divided so as to show the words of each species that
correspond to one another. Kaulen says Grotefend’s essay appeared in
the second edition of 1805 (_Assyrien und Babylonien_, 1899, p. 126).
Weisbach says its first appearance was in 1815 (_Achämenideninschriften
Zweiter Art_, 1890, p. 3). We have not found the second edition in the
British Museum.
[304] De Sacy, _Mémoires sur diverses Antiquités_, Paris, 1793. It is
given by Heeren (Eng. ed.), vol. ii. App. 2, p. 332.
[305] 𐎲 was assumed to be the same as the 𐎼 _r_ in ‘Darius.’
[306] The true Zend spelling is ‘khchayo’; the ‘h’ before ‘y’ expressed
in cuneiform is understood in Zend. Burnouf (Eugène), _Mémoire sur deux
Inscriptions_ (1836), p. 76.
[307] Millin, Year VIII, v. 461.
[308] _Ib._ p. 462.
[309] _Cf._ Grotefend’s own account of how he heard of _bun_. Heeren
(Eng. ed.), ii. 337.
[310] It seems to have been completed by the time he wrote the tract on
the Zend alphabet, which is reviewed in Millin, Year VIII, vi. 96 (1803).
[311] Heeren (Eng. ed.), ii. 329.
[312] Millin (1803), v. 458.
[313] See Heeren (ed. 1815), vol. i. part 2, p. 704.
[314] Heeren (1824), xi. 372. See Eng. ed. ii. 350.
[315] _Ib._ p. 351.
[316] Heeren (Eng. ed.), 126; Millin (1803), v. 438, Plate.
[317] See _supra_, p. 73.
[318] Heeren, _ib._ p. 126. Millin, ii. 370, iii. 211.
[319] Heeren (ed. 1815), pp. 592, 595. _Cf._ Eng. ed. ii. 339.
[320] _Ib._ (1824), xi. 353, _Cf._ Eng. ed. ii. 337.
[321] Millin, iii. 212 (1803).
[322] The two words are as follows:
m n i sh i y correct
𐏃 · 𐎧 · 𐎠 · 𐎶 · 𐎴 · 𐎡 · 𐏁 · 𐎡 · 𐎹 ·
Grotefend A kh a o tsch o sch o h
m z correct
𐎠 · 𐎢 · 𐎼 · 𐎶 · 𐏀 · 𐎭 · 𐎠 ·
Grotefend A _or_ E u r o gh d a _or_ e
[323] Menant, _Les Langues perdues_, p. 111.
[324] Millin, xi. 99 (1803).
[325] Millin, vi. 96.
[326] Heeren (Eng. ed.), ii. 330.
[327] The Caillou Michaux. De Sacy also held that this inscription was
different from the third Persepolitan, and that the Babylonian bricks
and cylinders offered another variety (Millin, 1803, v. 440). De Sacy
reported that the inscriptions on the bricks at Paris differed entirely
from the inscriptions published by Hager (Hager, p. 58, _note_.)
[328] Heeren (Eng. ed.), ii. 324-5; Millin, ii. 372; cf. _Werke_, xi.
334, 339, 355. Heeren also thought the first species was the oldest.
[329] Heeren, _Werke_, xi. 342.
[330] Grotefend’s views on this point were explained in the _Fundgruben
des Orients_, vol. v. pt. 3. See Grotefend, _Neue Beiträge_ (1840), p. 7.
[331] Dorow, _op. cit._ p. 26. _Cf._ Grotefend, _Neue Beiträge_ (1840),
p. 23.
[332] Dorow, pp. 32, 38, 41. He recurs to this subject in _Neue Beiträge_
(1840), pp. 6 and 7, and refers for his original treatment of it to
_Fundgruben des Orients_, vol. iv. pt. 4, and vol. vi. pt. 2.
[333] Dorow, p. 42.
[334] _Erläuterung über einige Babylonische Cylinder_ (1820), by
Grotefend; and _Nachträgliche Bemerkungen_ which follow it.
[335] Cf. _J. R. A. S._ 1848 (Annual Report, 1846) p. vii. Holtzmann,
_Beiträge zur Erklärung der Persischen Keilinschriften_ (Carlsruhe,
1845), p. 13.
[336] _Neue Beiträge_ (1837), p. 17.
[337] _Ib._ p. 25.
[338] _Ib._ p. 35.
[339] _Ib._ p. 28.
[340] _Ib._ p. 39.
[341] Holtzmann, _Beiträge_, p. 16.
[342] In the same year Burnouf suggested ‘this is,’ or ‘I am’ (_Mémoire
sur deux Inscriptions_, p. 170).
[343] Holtzmann, _Beiträge_, p. 24.
[344] Smith’s _Biblical Dictionary_, art. ‘Nineveh,’ p. 560.
[345] _J. R. A. S._ (1861), xviii. 77.
[346] Mohl (Jules), _Vingt-sept ans d’Histoire des Etudes Orientales_, i.
546; Report, June 1854.
[347] See Grotefend’s Alphabet, App. A. _Cf._ Burnouf, _Mémoire_, Pl. 1.
See his correct values, App. B.
[348] Dorow, p. 28.
[349] Millin, v. 451, 465.
[350] Dorow, p. 58.
[351] ‘Journey to Babylon in 1811,’ by J. C. Rich, p. 6; published in
_Babylon and Persepolis_, 1839.
[352] Vaux, _Nineveh and Persepolis_ (1851), p. 187.
[353] It was translated into French by M. Raymond, the Consul at Bussora,
1818. _Journal Asiatique_, i. 58.
[354] Rich, p. 185.
[355] _Ib._ p. 188.
[356] Rich, p. 186, _note_. This statement is, however, too sweeping, for
Grotefend always clearly distinguished two distinct kinds of Babylonian,
corresponding to the cursive and the hieratic. Rich’s first and third
are examples respectively of these two styles. The former, or cursive,
occurs in lapidary inscriptions such as Rich has described; the second,
or hieratic, on bricks and cylinders, and in the long inscription of Sir
Harford Jones (the India House Inscription). Rich’s second species is
not a distinct variety. Its peculiarity consists only in the ‘distortion
of oblique elongation,’ due perhaps to the eccentricity of the engraver.
(See Rawlinson in _J. R. A. S._ x. 24.)
[357] Rich, p. 99.
[358] _Ib._ p. 190.
[359] Rich, p. 183.
[360] Dorow, p. 26.
[361] _Ib._ p. 26. _Neue Beiträge_ (1840), p. 16.
[362] _Neue Beiträge_ (1837), p. 6, Plate 1.
[363] _Ib._ (1840), p. 23.
[364] Klaproth (H. J.), _Aperçu de l’Origine des diverses Ecritures_
(Paris, 1832), p. 63.
[365] _Ib._ p. 63. Cf. _Journal Asiatique_ (1823), p. 69.
[366] _Journal Asiatique_ (1823), pp. 68-70.
[367] _Ib._ p. 85, _note_.
[368] _Journal Asiatique_ (1823), p. 82.
[369] St. Martin agreed with Grotefend in the signs for _s_, _r_, _d_,
_b_ or _p_, _a_, _t_, _kh_, and _sch_ (𐏁) which, in accordance with
French orthography, he read _ch_. He rejected _k_, _f_, _sr_, _a_ (No.
41), all of which are correct.
[370] The following is the list of _incorrect_ values assigned by
Grotefend, showing the changes made by St. Martin:
Grotefend St. Martin Correct
_v_ _r_ _b_
_e_ _i_ _v(a)_
_o_ _e_ _ch_
_gh_ _e_ _z(u)_
_o_ _a_ _m_
_i_ _h_ _th_
_h_ _e_ _y_
_h_ _e_ _m_
_tsch_ _b_ and _m_ _n_
[371] ‘Lob verdient, dass er sich bescheidet, einige Zeichen als
unentziffert hinzustellen.’ Lassen, _Altpersische Keilinschriften_ (Bonn,
1836), p. 18.
[372] Klaproth, _Aperçu_, p. 63.
[373] The _b_ (𐎴) is given in the _Journal Asiatique_.
[374] See Heeren, _Werke_, xi. 363; _Journal Asiatique_ (1823), p. 83.
[375] Klaproth gives St. Martin’s Darius Inscription.
[376] Rask (E.), _Ueber das Alter der Zend-Sprache_ (Berlin, 1826), p.
28; Klaproth, p. 67.
[377] See above, p. 179.
[378] For St. Martin’s alphabet see _Journal Asiatique_ (1823), p. 67,
Plate; Burnouf, _Mémoire_, Pl. 1; and Klaproth, _Aperçu_, p. 63. St.
Martin was engaged upon the second and third columns at the time of his
death. His Memoir remained incomplete, and, so far as we know, it has
never been published in a separate form. _Journal Asiatique_ (3ᵉ série),
v. 359.
[379] Translated from the Danish by Hagen, Berlin, 1826.
[380] In 1832 Schlegel asserted that the Zend and the Zend-Avesta were
forgeries by the Guebres (or Parsees) of Guzerat (Heeren, Eng. ed., ii.
341). Rawlinson, in 1847, was still of opinion that Zend dates after
Alexander, possibly some centuries (_J. R. A. S._ x. 50). He was also
convinced of the late origin of the Zend-Avesta.
[381] Rask, p. 28.
[382] Rask, p. 80. St. Martin had already intimated a doubt as to their
absolute identity (_Journal Asiatique_, 1823, p. 77).
[383] Published in _Journal Asiatique_, 1826.
[384] Menant (I.), _Les Langues perdues_, Perse, p. 21.
[385] _Zoroasters lebendiges Wort_, S. F. Kleuker, Riga, 1777.
[386] Tychsen, _De Religionum Zoroastricarum apud veteres gentes
Vestigiis_. See Heeren, i. 237.
[387] Rask, _op. cit._ 1826.
[388] _Mémoire_, p. 8.
[389] See above, p. 96.
[390] Ouseley (Sir W.), vol. ii. Pl. 46; Burnouf, _Mémoire_, pp. 9, 17.
[391] Niebuhr, vol. ii. Pl. 31, p. 123.
[392] See above, p. 187.
[393] Burnouf, _Mémoire_, p. 29.
[394] _Ib._ p. 25.
[395]
𐎺 · 𐏀 · 𐎼 · 𐎣
Grotefend _e_ _gh_ _r_ _e_
St. Martin _i_ _e_ _r_ _e_
Burnouf _i_ _z_ _r_ _k_
Correct _r(a)_ _z_ _r(a)_ _k(a)_
[396] See above, p. 182.
[397] _Mémoire_, p. 38.
[398] The true transliteration is ‘vazraka,’ and its meaning ‘great.’ See
Spiegel, p. 46.
[399]
𐎠 · 𐎼 · 𐎷 · 𐎡 · 𐎴
Burnouf _a_ _r_ _i_ _o_ _n_
Correct _a_ _r_ _m_ _i_ _n(a)_
[400] _Mémoire_, p. 149.
[401] Ib. p. 138:
𐎠 · 𐎰 · 𐎢 · 𐎼 · 𐎠
Burnouf _a_ _y_ _u_ _r_ _a_
Correct _a_ _th_ _u_ _r_ _â_
[402] _Mémoire_, p. 151.
[403] _Mémoire_, p. 148.
[404] _Ib._ p. 158.
[405] _Mémoire_, p. 157.
[406] _Ib._ p. 154.
[407] _Ib._ p. 133.
[408] _Mémoire_, p. 159.
[409] Correct values from Grotefend, acknowledged by Burnouf, are:
_r_, _d_, _a_ (Münter), _f_, _kh_, _p_, _s_ or _ç_, _ch_ 8 in all
Incorrect values from Grotefend, _o_, _u_, _g_, _h_ 4 in all
12 35 15 27
Correct values from Grotefend, not acknowledged by Burnouf,
_t_, _u_, _a_ 3 in all
24 36 41
---------
15 in all
=========
He credits St. Martin with _t_, because he agreed with him that the
central wedge should be drawn slightly lower than the other two (p. 137).
He credits the _u_ to St. Martin and the _a_ to himself, because he says
both are short, whereas Grotefend made them long (p. 142-3). But these
reasons are clearly insufficient to deprive Grotefend of the merit of
having suggested to Burnouf the values of the three letters.
[410] The twelve correct values claimed to have been discovered by
Burnouf are:
Grotefend Burnouf
4 𐎣 _e_ _k_ Correct
7 𐎲 _v_ _b_ Correct (from Münter)
16 𐎡 _o_ _v_ Wrong (from Münter), _ch_
18 𐏀 _gh_ _z_ Correct
19 𐎮 uncertain _l_? _d(i)_ }
25 𐎤 _k_ _q_ _k(a)_ }
22 𐎬 _th_ _dh_ _t(u)_ }
26 𐎰 _i_ _y_ _th_ } Correct values
29 𐎷 _h_ _î_ _m(i)_ }
34 𐎯 _z_ _gh_ _d(u)_ }
40 𐎽 _sr_ _l_ _r(u)_ }
41 𐏃 _a_ _a_ _h(a)_, Correct (from Grotefend)
[411] _I.e._ fifteen from Grotefend, one, _i_, from St. Martin, two from
Rask, and eleven of his own: that is, deducting the _a_ of Grotefend
already included. As we have seen, he credited himself with the _b_ of
Münter, which Grotefend did not accept—twenty-nine in all.
[412] Rawlinson; _z(j)i_, Oppert.
[413] Burnouf, _Mémoire_, p. 110.
[414] _Ib._ pp. 113, 115.
[415]
_I.e._ 2 from Münter, _a_, _b_
10 from Grotefend, _r_, _d_, _f_, _kh_, _p_, _s_ or _ç_, _ch_,
_t_, _u_, _a_ (41)
2 from Rask, _n_, _m_
2 from himself, _k_, _z_
--
16
[416] Burnouf, _Mémoire_, p. 166.
[417] _Ib._ p. 58.
[418] _Ib._ p. 82. _Cf._ Spiegel, p. 47.
[419] _Mémoire_, pp. 59-60, 89, 95, 100. In Grotefend these are
represented by ‘coelestem,’ ‘defunctum,’ ‘amplificet,’ ‘populorum.’
[420] Heeren (ed. 1815), vol. i. p. 601.
[421] _Mémoire_, Pl. 2 and 3.
[422] Elsewhere ‘fortis.’
[423] _Mémoire_, p. 119. Burnouf suspected, as we have said, that the
word he transliterated ‘buiom’ and translated ‘excellent’ should be
‘bumom’ and mean ‘earth’: ‘He has given this earth’ (p. 149). The change
of the _i_ into _m_ turned out afterwards to be correct, and the word
‘bum’im’ does signify ‘earth,’ the passage being ‘who created this earth.’
[424] See Spiegel, p. 47.
[425] _Göttingen Anzeigen_ (1832), p. 122. Holtzman (A.), _Beiträge_, p.
16.
[426] _Mémoire_, pp. 133, 138, 146, 154, 155. Grotefend had already
detected Persia.
[427] _Ib._ p. 148. He considers Ionia the probable reading, but he
cannot yet admit it decisively. Some writers add Aria to Burnouf’s
correct discoveries (_J. R. A. S._ x. 12, _note_, Rawlinson), but the
word he translates ‘Arion’ and identifies with Arran, between the Caspian
and Black Seas, occurs in line 12 and signifies Armenia. The word for
Aria is in the sixteenth line, and he identifies it with Haroyu of the
Parsees, the Indian Sarayu (p. 155).
[428] _Mémoire_, pp. 40, 61, 65-6.
[429] _Ib._ pp. 41-2, 55.
[430] _Mémoire_, pp. 87, 161.
[431] _Ib._ p. 163.
[432] _Ib._ pp. 57, 108, 163, 165.
[433] _Die Altpersischen Keilinschriften_ (Bonn, 1836), preface, p. iv.
[434] Holtzmann, _Beiträge_, p. 9.
[435] _Journal Asiatique_ (3ᵉ série), v. 372.
[436] Lassen, p. 15.
[437] Burnouf, _Mémoire_, p. 2.
[438] _Ib._ p. 128.
[439] Rawlinson generously credits him with twelve (_J. R. A. S._ x. 4).
[440] See Grotefend’s alphabet in Burnouf, Pl. 1.
[441] He states that by š he means to indicate the same sound as
Grotefend by _sch_ (_Altpers. Keil._ p. 24).
[442] 𐎹, _h_ (really _y_); 𐎡, _i_ = _ê_.
[443] 𐎤 (no independent value given, but in composition of the diphthong
he treats it as _a_: it is really _k_); 𐎢_u_ = _ô_.
[444] 𐎢, _u_; 𐎺, _w_ (really _v_) = _q_.
[445] Lassen, p. 6.
[446] I inscription, line 12. Lassen, pp. 89, 152. Rawlinson’s _Herod._
iv. 186.
[447] See above, p. 219.
[448] Lassen, p. 48.
[449] ‘Ich glaube nämlich erwiesen zu haben, dass der Vocal “_a_” nur
initial, in der Mitte nur vor “_h_” und vor andern Vocalen ausdrücklich
durch ein Schriftzeichen geschrieben, allen Consonanten dagegen
inhärirt, wenn er nicht durch ein anderes Vocalzeichen ausgeschlossen
wird.’—Lassen, p. 16.
[450] _Ib._ p. 53.
[451] See above, p. 224.
[452] Lassen, p. 42.
[453] Lassen, p. 88.
[454] _Ib._ pp. 84, 108.
[455] _Ib._ p. 113.
[456] Lassen, p. 117.
[457] Jacquet considered this correction one of the most ingenious Lassen
made (_Journal Asiatique_, 3ᵉ Série, vol. v. p. 562).
[458] Lassen, p. 38.
[459] _Ib._ p. 39.
[460] Lassen, pp. 41, 119-20.
[461] See above, p. 226.
[462] Lassen, p. 46.
[463] pp. 29, 54.
[464] Lassen, pp. 38, 107.
[465] _Ib._ p. 128.
[466] _Ib._ pp. 107, 112. _Cf._ Spiegel, p. 50.
[467] Spiegel is taken as representing the correct version. _Cf._
Spiegel, p. 64 (Inscr. Cᵃ); Burnouf, Plate III.; Lassen, p. 174; Menant,
_Les Achéménides_, p. 53, Inscr. C.
[468] Lassen, pp. 94-100.
[469] Lassen’s transliteration of the provinces is as follows:
Pârᵃça, p. 155; Mâd, p. 63; Bâbis‘us‘, p. 67; Ârᵃbâh, p. 69; Âzurâ, p.
79; G‘udrâhâ, p. 84; Ârᵃmin, p. 85; Kᵃtpᵃt‘uk, p. 88; Çᵃpᵃrd, p. 89;
Hunâ, p. 89; Açᵃgᵃrt, p. 101; Pᵃrzᵃwᵃ, p. 102; Zᵃrᵃk, p. 103; Aryᵃwᵃ, p.
105; Bâk‘tris‘, p. 106; Çug‘d, p. 106; Qârᵃzmiᵃh, p. 107; Zᵃtᵃgᵃdus, p.
108; Arᵃqᵃtis, p. 112; Aidus, p. 113; Gadâr, p. 114; Çᵃka, p. 114; Mᵃk,
p. 114; Qwan, p. 115.
The correct transliteration is:
Pârsa, Mâda, Bâbir’u, Arabâya, Athurâ, M’udrây, Arm‘ina, Katapat’uka,
Sparda, Yaunâ, Asagarta, Parthava, Zarâñka, Haraiva, Bakhtrish, Sug’da,
Uvârazami‘ya, Thatag’ush, Harauvatish, Hiñd‘ush, Gañdâra, Sakâ, Maka,
Uvaja.
Of these Lassen identified twenty correctly:
Persia, Media, Babylon, Assyria, Armenia, Cappadocia, Çapardia (Sparda),
Acagartia, Parthae, Zarangae, Areiae (Aria), Bactria, Çugdia, Chorazmia,
Sattagadus, Arachosia, India, Gadar (Gandara), Çacae, Maci.
He was wrong in Chaona, Arbela, Gudraha and Hunae (Lassen, _passim_;
Spiegel, p. 50; Menant, p. 80). When Jacquet wrote, in 1838, he
understood that Lassen had already given up the Huns. _Journal Asiatique_
(Oct. 1838), vi. 403.
[470] _Beiträge_ (Hanover, 1837), p. 17.
[471] Grotefend, _Beiträge_ (1837), pp. 34, 45. See Plate IV. where a
misprint makes it look like _rk_.
[472] _Ib._ p. 17. See alphabet in Plate IV.
[473] Spiegel, p. 140.
[474] _Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes_, ii. 172 for _i_ and
_u_; p. 174 for all three. Holtzmann, _Beiträge_, p. 15.
[475] As regards the _y_, Lassen always substitutes the palatal _j_ for
the half-vowel, and Holtzmann follows him; but this was, no doubt, due
to the practical exclusion of _y_ from the German alphabet. Lassen says
that Beer and Jacquet both corrected the sign to _j_, though we know that
Jacquet always wrote _y_; and Rawlinson acknowledges that he received
the _y_ from Lassen. From the time of Benfey (1847) the _y_ is finally
adopted in German transliterations.
[476] _Mémoire de E. Jacquet_, par Félix Nève (Bruxelles, 1855), p. 10.
[477] _Mémoire_, par Nève, p. 74.
[478] Rawlinson, _J. R. A. S._ x. 41, _note_.
[479] _Mémoire_, par Nève, p. 101.
[480] April, May, June, and October, 1838, _Journal Asiatique_, 3ᵉ série,
vols. v. and vi.
[481] _Mémoire_, p. 77. See _Journal Asiatique_, v. 561, 566, vi. 404,
424, _note_, and _passim_.
[482] _Journal Asiatique_, v. 591, vi. 403.
[483] _Journal Asiatique_, v. 571 (_cf._ 562), vi. 414, 421.
[484] _Ib._ v. 562, _note_.
[485] _Ib._ v. 592, vi. 419. _Zeitschrift für die Kunde &c._ ii. 171.
[486] Spiegel, p. 140. See _Zeitschrift_, ii. 165.
[487] Spiegel, p. 140.
[488] See his contributions in vols. i. ii. and iii. _Urkunden in
Babylonischer Keilschrift_.
[489] _Zeitschrift_, ii, 165.
[490] _Zeitschrift_, ii, 169.
[491] _Ib._ p. 172.
[492] _Ib._ p. 173.
[493] _Mémoire_, par Nève, p. 81.
[494] _J. R. A. S._ x. 5.
[495] Canon Rawlinson explains the process thus: ‘Applying to the letters
of these names the phonetic values previously obtained from the trio
Hystaspes, Darius, Xerxes, twenty-one out of the twenty-eight letters
were found exactly to suit their place. The remainder were new forms and
furnished the alphabet with four new letters, _m_, _n_, _h_, and _ch_.’
(_Memoir of Sir Henry Rawlinson_, p. 320.) Rawlinson himself, however,
confessed in 1846: ‘I am neither able, nor is it of any consequence after
the lapse of so many years, to describe the means by which I ascertained
the power of each particular letter, or to discriminate the respective
dates of the discoveries.’ (_J. R. A. S._ x. 6, _note_.)
[496] _J. R. A. S._ x. 7.
[497] See above, pp. 179, 201.
[498] _Memoir_ by Canon Rawlinson, pp. 311-17.
[499] _Babylon and Persepolis_, preface, p. vii. _Cf._ Vaux, _Nineveh and
Persepolis_, p. 426.
[500] _J. R. A. S._ x. 8-10.
[501] _Ib._ x. 10.
[502] _J. R. A. S._ x. 8, _note_. _Cf._ Behistun, Col. I. line 28.
[503] Lassen, _Ueber die Keilinschriften_, 1845 (henceforth referred to
as ‘Second Memoir’), p. 49. Rawlinson in _J. R. A. S._ x. 8, 17, 130.
[504] _J. R. A. S._ x. 8, 17. See above, p. 238.
[505] Spiegel, p. 152.
[506] The German periodicals of 1839 recognised Rawlinson as discoverer
of the _tr_. _Dublin University Magazine_ (1847), p. 21.
[507] _J. R. A. S._ x. 9, 12-13.
[508] His paper is noticed in the _Athenæum_, Jan. 1840. _J. R. A. S._
vol. viii. Report, 1845: _Athenæum_, Nov. 8, 1884.
[509] _J. R. A. S._ x. 18.
[510] _Beiträge_, p. 16.
[511] Rich, _Babylon and Persepolis_, 1839. See above, p. 99.
[512] These inscriptions were reviewed by Lassen in the _Zeitschrift_
(1840, iii, 442) when he attempted the translation of the Artaxerxes
Inscription.
[513] See above, p. 226.
[514] So late as 1839, he could not bring himself to give up ‘Ochus’ in
the Murgab inscription, although he felt greatly shaken by the arguments
of Jacquet in support of ‘Kurus.’ He ended by leaving 25 𐎤 unaltered,
but changed 40 (𐎽) from _s_ into _gh_ (_Zeitschrift_, ii. 169-71).
His acceptance of the correct value, _r_, appears in 1844: and the
approximate value of _q_ for 25 (𐎤) _k_, making ‘Qurus’ for ‘Kurus.’
[515] _Beiträge zur Erklärung &c._ (Karlsruhe, 1845), ap. Spiegel, p. 142.
[516] _Zeitschrift für die Kunde &c._ ii. 172.
[517] _Journal Asiatique_, vi. 416.
[518] Lassen, Second Memoir, p. 5.
[519] See Alphabet in Burnouf.
[520] Second Memoir, p. 76.
[521] _Ib._ p. 166. This was not discovered when Lassen wrote in 1839. He
then thought the new letter had the value of _x_ (_Zeitschrift_, ii. 175).
[522] Lassen, First Memoir, p. 14. In 1852 we are told that English
scholars were still disposed to distrust ‘the authenticity of the
Zendavesta as translated by Anquetil,’ and it is curious to learn that
the Achaemenian inscriptions were appealed to, to prove ‘that there was
in use in Persia in the time of Darius a language very much the same as
Zend.’ _J. R. A. S._ xiii. (1852) 200.
[523] Lassen, First Memoir, p. 3.
[524] _Ib._ p. 11. Cf. _Beiträge_ (1837), p. 24.
[525] Lassen, Second Memoir, p. 253. Burnouf seemed to think that the Old
Persian descended directly from the Zend. Jacquet, _Journal Asiatique_,
v. 371.
[526] Lassen, Second Memoir, p. 6.
[527] _Dublin University Magazine_, Jan. 1847, p. 21.
[528] Rawlinson in _J. R. A. S._ x. 313.
[529] Second Memoir, pp. 80, 145.
[530] See above, p. 7.
[531] Holtzmann, _Beiträge zur Erklärung_, Carlsruhe, 1845.
[532] I Inscription, line 19 (Second Memoir, p. 176); Eᵇ Inscription,
line 24 (_ib._ p. 173).
[533] Second Memoir, pp. 65, 68; Holtzmann, p. 62.
[534] Holtzmann, p. 78.
[535] By Spiegel, p. 142, who erroneously says he valued it as _j_.
[536] Lassen, Second Memoir, p. 28; Holtzmann, p. 74.
[537] First Memoir, p. 152; Second Memoir, p. 52.
[538] Lassen, Second Memoir, pp. 53, 64; Holtzmann, p. 120.
[539] I Inscription, lines 20-4; Second Memoir, p. 176; Holtzmann, p. 63;
Spiegel, p. 51.
[540] Inscription H, line 11; Second Memoir, p. 27; Holtzmann, p. 65;
Rawlinson, _J. R. A. S._ x. 274; Spiegel, p. 49.
[541] Holtzmann, p. 117; Second Memoir, p. 116; Rawlinson, _J. R. A. S._
x. 308.
[542] _Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy_ (1848), vol. xxi. pt. ii.
[543] _J. R. A. S._ ix. 387.
[544] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ loc. cit. p. 131.
[545] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ loc. cit. pp. 242, 244, 253.
[546] In _Journal of Sacred Literature_, 1855; _J. R. A. S._ (1866), vol.
ii.
[547] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ loc. cit. p. 243.
[548] _Ib._ p. 233; _J. R. A. S._ x. lxx.
[549] _Athenæum_, December 19, 1846.
[550] It took forty-four days to communicate between Bagdad and London.
If, therefore, Hincks’s paper had been forwarded earlier, say on June 12,
it would have been in Major Rawlinson’s hands on July 26; but we have
positive assurance on Mr. Norris’s authority that this was not the case.
See the _Athenæum_, loc. cit.
[551] See above, pp. 229, 244; Holtzmann, pp. 60, 78.
[552] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ loc. cit. pp. 117-18.
[553] _Ib._ p. 124; _cf._ Spiegel, E Inscription, line 18, p. 60.
[554] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ loc. cit. p. 116. For Hincks’s Alphabet see
_Trans. R. I. Acad._ loc. cit. p. 131 and App. A.
[555] _Athenæum_, Nov 8, 1884.
[556] _J. R. A. S._ x. 16. Hincks received Part I. in time for his
papers, read on Nov. 30 and Dec. 14, 1846. _Trans. R. I. Acad._ vol. xxi.
part ii. p. 233.
[557] Report, June 1847, _J. R. A. S._ x. p. vii.
[558] _Ib._ p. xvi.
[559] _J. R. A. S._ x. 18.
[560] _Ib._ x. 2.
[561] Lassen’s first letter to Rawlinson is dated August 19, 1838. See
_Memoir_ by Canon Rawlinson, p. 316.
[562] _J. R. A. S._ x. 8, 9, 10, _notes_.
[563] _J. R. A. S._ x. 10, _note_.
[564] See _ib._ p. 8, _note_.
[565] Spiegel, p. 154.
[566] Rawlinson wrote, early in 1846: ‘The cause of the affinity of
the vowel i for the characters _j_, _t_, _m_ and _v_ can neither be
explained, nor can we perceive any uniform effect which the coalition
produces upon the phonetic power of the consonant. I can only illustrate
the formation of the different groups by adverting to the law which
still prevails in the Tartarian dialects, requiring the juxtaposition of
certain vowels with consonants in order to render the latter articulable;
and by observing that, as a similar rule appears to hold good in the
so-called Median alphabet, which has every indication of a Scythic
origin, it is not improbable that the Persian writing may have been
indebted to that source for so remarkable a deviation from the true
principles of Arian orthography.’ _J. R. A. S._ x. 65.
[567] _J. R. A. S._ x. 176.
[568] _J. R. A. S._ x. 185.
[569] Holtzmann, _Beiträge_, p. 152.
[570] _J. R. A. S._ x. 177.
[571] _Ib._ x. 175.
[572] _Athenæum_, December 19, 1846, p. 1302. Cf. _ib._ November 22, 1884.
[573] _J. R. A. S._ x. 195, _note_.
[574] _Ib._ x. 56, 60, 65, 69.
[575] _Ib._ xi. 15, 20, 47, 72. _Cf._ Spiegel, pp. 180, 204, 208, 210.
[576] _Ib._ xi. 27, 176. _Cf._ Spiegel, p. 209, 222.
[577] _J. R. A. S._ x. 83.
[578] _Ib._ p. 40.
[579] _Ib._ p. 50.
[580] _J. R. A. S._ xi. 51.
[581] _Die Persischen Keilinschriften_, Leipzig, 1847.
[582] In the Persepolitan texts there are not more than four hundred
words; the Behistun comprises ten times as many as all the rest put
together. Darmesteter, quoted by Perrot, _History of Art in Persia_, p.
33, _note_.
[583] _J. R. A. S._ x. p. xlvi.
[584] Spiegel, p. 23.
[585] _J. R. A. S._ x. p. lvii.
[586] Benfey, _Die Persischen Keilinschriften_ (Leipzig, 1847), p. 9.
[587] _Records of the Past_, O.S. i. 112. Spiegel, pp. 7, 86.
[588] _Records_, loc. cit. p. 112.
[589] _J. R. A. S._ x. 206.
[590] Spiegel, p. 89. Spiegel translates (1881): ‘Die Plätze der
Anbetung, welche Gaumâta der Mager zerstört hatte, bewahrte ich dem
Volke, die Weideplätze (?), die Heerden, die Wohnungen je nach Clanen,
was Gaumâta der Mager ihnen weggenommen hatte’ (p. 9). Weissbach (1898):
‘Die Tempel, welche Gaumâta, der Mager, zerstört hatte, stellte ich
wieder her, für das Volk die Hilfsmittel, die Herden und das Wohnen in
den Häusern (?) welche Gaumâta, der Mager, geraubt hatte’ (p. 15).
[591] _Records_, O.S. i. 128.
[592] _Ib._ ix, 68, 69. _Cf._ Spiegel, pp. 41, 109; Menant, _Les
Achéménides_, p. 122; Weissbach, _Altpersischen Keilinschriften_. p. 31.
[593] _Records_, O.S. ix. 77; Rawlinson, _J. R. A. S._ x. 311; Spiegel,
p. 121. M. Benfey attempted to restore this inscription, but in 1852
Oppert declared that the labour was a simple loss of time. It is perhaps
to be regretted that he did not adhere to his first impression. _Journal
Asiatique_, xix. 172 (March 1852).
[594] Vol. xii. p. xix, xv. p. 432; Spiegel, p. 59; Oppert, _Rec._ O.S.
ix. 78.
[595] Spiegel, pp. 59, 122.
[596] _Die Grabschrift des Darius_, Zürich, 1847.
[597] Vapereau, _Dictionnaire des Contemporains_.
[598] Published at Berlin, 1847.
[599] _J. R. A. S._ xii. 403.
[600] _Memoir_ by Canon Rawlinson, p. 165.
[601] _Memoir_ by Canon Rawlinson, p. 324.
[602] _Ib._ p. 33.
[603] _Mémoire sur les Inscriptions des Achéménides_, Paris, 1852, 8vo.
_Journ. Asiatique_ (4ᵉ série), vols. xvii.-xix.
[604] _Journal Asiatique_, xviii. 560.
[605] _Rec._ O.S. i. 107.
[606] _Ib._ ix. 67.
[607] _Die Altpersischen Keilinschriften_, von Fr. Spiegel, second
edition, Leipzig, 1881.
[608] _Les Achéménides et les Inscriptions de la Perse_, par Joachim
Menant, Paris, 1872.
[609] _Die Altpersischen Keilinschriften_, von F. H. Weissbach und W.
Bang, Leipzig, 1893. _Die Achämenideninschriften zweiter Art_, von F. H.
Weisbach, Leipzig, 1890.
[610] _Die Achäm. Ins. des Babylonischen Textes_, von Dr. Carl Bezold,
Leipzig, 1882.
[611] This opinion is attributed to Niebuhr by M. Oppert (_Expédition en
Mésopotamie_, 1859, ii. 2); in the passage referred to Niebuhr merely
says there are three alphabets, but says nothing about their being in the
same language (Niebuhr, ii. 113).
[612] Heeren, _Historical Researches_ (Eng. ed.), ii. 324. Durow, _Die
Assyrische Keilschriften erläutert_ (Wiesbaden, 1820), p. 38.
[613] _Beiträge_, 1837, p. 24.
[614] Heeren, _ib._ pp. 329-30.
[615] _Beiträge_, 1837, p. 39.
[616] Copenhagen, 1844.
[617] Bonn, 1845. Westergaard wrote a later essay on the same subject in
Danish, which we have not been able to consult (Kjöbenhavn, 1856).
[618] Copenhagen edition, pp. 330, 338.
[619] _Ib._ pp. 340, 364. The E inscription from the seventeenth line may
be seen at page 347. _Cf._ with Weisbach, _Die Inschriften Zweiter Art_,
p. 82.
[620] _Cf._ Copenhagen edition, p. 419; Bonn ed. p. 113.
[621] Copenhagen edition, p. 323. _Cf._ this with the declination of the
same word by De Saulcy (_Journal Asiatique_, 1849, xiv. 179), where the
accusative singular is ‘Keiounay,’ and the genitive plural ‘Keiouyna’ or
‘Keioulara’!
[622] _Beiträge_, 1837, p. 42.
[623] No. 24 of Weisbach.
[624] Nos. 9, 10, 18, 65. Appendix C.
[625] No. 12 in Weisbach’s list: the others are 63 and 65 in the same
list.
[626] Copenhagen edition, p. 278. This statement is softened in the
Bonn edition (p. 6), where he merely says that neither of the two
determinatives he had recognised preceded these words. _Cf. ib._ p. 124.
[627] He thought possibly the vowels might be limited to the long and
short sounds of _a_, _i_ and _u_, and in that case he was disposed to
change his _e_ into _i_, which would have been correct (p. 118).
[628] Bonn edition, pp. 118-119. See Appendix C.
[629] Burnouf, _Mémoire sur Deux Inscriptions_ (1836), p. 2.
[630] Westergaard (Bonn edition), pp. 4, 123. _Cf._ Copenhagen edition,
272.
[631] _J. R. A. S._ x. 228.
[632] _Ib._ xv. 115.
[633] _J. R. A. S._ x. 20, _note_.
[634] Westergaard was also struck by the similarity of the Georgian
plural affix ‘bi.’ Copenhagen edition, pp. 300, 305.
[635] _J. R. A. S._ x. 37.
[636] _Ib._ vol. ix. Report, 1846, and Report, May 1848.
[637] In his last paper he made several corrections in the values of the
letters (_Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxi. 241) which Menant has not taken into
account in his Table. _Les Ecritures cunéiformes_ (second ed. 1864), p.
138.
[638] _J. R. A. S._ vol. ix. Report, 1846, p. xvii.
[639] _Transactions_, ib. pp. 125-28.
[640] _Transactions_, ib. p. 129. _J. R. A. S._ xii. 483.
[641] _Journal Asiatique_ (4ᵉ série), vols. xiv. xv. August 1849, May
1850.
[642] De Saulcy was distinguished for his success in reading the Egyptian
demotic character, which Mohl regarded as the greatest achievement since
Champollion (_Rapports Annuels à la Société Asiatique_, 1844, p. 36).
[643] Weisbach, _op. cit._ p. 47.
[644] _Le Peuple et la Langue des Mèdes_ (1879), p. 41.
[645] _Journal Asiatique_, xiv. 103, xv. 527.
[646] Weisbach, _op. cit._ p. 47. Oppert, Nos. 52, 77, 88.
[647] _Journal Asiatique_, xiv. 212: ‘Que certains signes de l’écriture
médique avaient une assez grande ressemblance avec les signes Persans
de même valeur, mais que la plupart d’entre eux étaient identiques avec
des signes de l’écriture Assyrienne.’ Hincks had already pointed out,
in 1845, that there were many characters common to both (_Trans. R. I.
Acad._ xxi. 131); and in June 1849 he added that a ‘very large proportion
of the Median characters can be identified with Assyrio-Babylonian
characters, having nearly the same phonetic values’ (xxii. 4).
Westergaard thought the writing originated in Babylon, ‘whence it spread
in two branches, eastward to Susiana and northward to the Assyrian
Empire, from whence it passed to Media, and last to ancient Persis’ (p.
273, Copenhagen edition). He thought the Median bore most resemblance to
Assyrian writing, and Persian to Babylonian writing (_ib._ p. 272; _cf._
Bonn edition, p. 4).
[648] Copenhagen ed. p. 271.
[649] Weisbach, p. 7; Mohl, _Vingt-sept ans d’Etudes_, i. 419;
_Athenæum_, July 6 and September 7, 1850. _Cf._ above, p. 194.
[650] Holtzman’s essays appeared in the _Zeitschrift D.M.G._ between 1851
and 1854. They are reported by Weisbach and Mohl, _loc. cit._
[651] _Journal Asiatique_ (4ᵉ série), xvii. 541. Cf. _Les Mèdes_, p. 2.
[652] Norris, No. 97; Weisbach, No. 108.
[653] _J. R. A. S._ xv. 5.
[654]
_m_ Norris, No. 58 Weisbach, No. 57
_r_ ” ” 78 ” ” 61
_s_ ” ” 90 ” ” 45
_s_ ” ” 94 ” Determinative
_t_ ” ” 38 ” No. 50
_t_ ” ” 43 ” ” 42 _at_
[655] He attributes this observation to Holtzmann, who wrote in 1851; but
Hincks’s opinion was published three years previously in the _Trans. R.
I. Acad._ 1848. Norris had heard of De Saulcy, but did not read him; see
_J. R. A. S._ xv. 153, _note_.
[656] We have counted 47, _ib._ pp. 7-46.
[657] See also Nos. 67, 74 (Norris’s list).
[658] For example, Nos. 17, 35, 58.
[659] Oppert takes the credit of this to himself: ‘Depuis 1851, j’avais
entrevu l’origine touranienne de l’écriture cunéiforme’ (_Les Mèdes_, p.
5), but he acknowledges that Norris had suggested it.
[660] M. Oppert claims to have suggested in 1847 that Median belongs to
the ‘Finno-ouralienne’ race (_Expédition_, p. 82). He has not given any
reference, and we know of no writing of his of that date except the tract
already reviewed: and this opinion does not appear to be stated there.
[661] Cf. _J. R. A. S._ xv. 63; _cf._ Weisbach, p. 49.
[662] _Cf._ Westergaard, Bonn edition, p. 113; _Journal Asiatique_, xv.
426.
[663] Cf. _J. R. A. S._ xv. 149; _Les Mèdes_, p. 197; Weisbach, p. 77.
[664] Mohl, _op. cit._ vol. ii. Report, June 1855; Weisbach, p. 7.
[665] _Expédition scientifique en Mésopotamie_ (1851-4), par Jules
Oppert, vol. ii. Paris, 1859.
[666] M. Oppert cannot always be taken seriously where his own claims are
concerned. Writing in 1859, he says of the Median: ‘Tous nos devanciers,
y compris M. Norris, l’ont prise pour une écriture distincte de celle
des Assyriens’ (p. 71). Leaving out of account Norris’s identification
of 47 of the characters, De Saulcy had pronounced them to be ‘identical’
in 1848. Oppert now compares 97 Median signs and 8 ideograms with both
Babylonian and Assyrian groups.
[667] ‘Deux caractères n’expriment jamais le même son,’ p. 35. ‘Les mêmes
sons syllabiques sont toujours attachés au même signe,’ p. 77.
[668] Bonomy, _Nineveh and its Palaces_ (1889), p. 479; _J. R. A. S._
xii. 482.
[669] _J. R. A. S._ (1855), xv. 97; _Memoir_ by Canon Rawlinson, p. 174.
[670] Layard (Sir H.), _Early Adventures_ (1894), pp. 168, 220. _Cf._
Professor Sayce in _Trans. Soc. Bib. Arch._ iii, 472.
[671] _J. R. A. S._ x. 28; _ib._ xii. 483.
[672] ‘Development of Cuneiform Syllabary’ (1887), _J. R. A. S._ vol.
xix. They appeared to Mr. Vaux in 1851 ‘to contain a considerable
number of new characters, for which no conjectural equivalent can be
found either in the Babylonian or the Assyrian alphabet’ (_Nineveh and
Persepolis_, p. 431).
[673] _Trans. S. B. A._ vol. iii. (1874), p. 479; _Records of the Past_,
O.S. vol. vii. (1876), p. 81.
[674] _Trans. S. B. A._ loc. cit. p. 472.
[675] The word ‘Assyrian’ is often used as interchangeable with
‘Babylonian,’ especially by French writers. Professor Sayce, although he
here lapses into this habit, is careful to explain that ‘the form of the
character proves that the syllabary was derived from Babylonian, and not
from Assyrian as the Armenian.’ _Trans. S. B. A._ (1874), iii, 471.
[676] Menant, _Les Ecritures_, p. 137.
[677] Weisbach, _Die Achaemenideninschriften Zweiter Art_, pp. 25-27.
[678] _Trans. S. B. A._ vol. iii, article by Prof. Sayce ‘On the
Cuneiform Inscriptions of Elam and Media,’ p. 465.
[679] _Cf._ Oppert, _Les Mèdes_, p. 41; Weisbach, p. 33. With regard to
the other two, he now omits No. 21, to which he had formerly assigned
‘kam’—the ‘zis’ of Weisbach (No. 25). The other, 71ᵇ, he changes from
‘tu’ to ‘kin,’ the ‘en’ of Weisbach (No. 109).
[680] These are: 16, ‘ni’ to ‘ne’; 34, ‘ta’ to ‘te’; 75, ‘ha’ to ‘a’; 77,
‘nu’ to ‘ni.’
[681] 16ᵃ, ‘çi’; 39ᶜ, ‘mak’; 60ᵃ, ‘tin.’
[682]
No. 5 appears as Nos. 9 and 56.
No. 28 ” Nos. 18 ” 69.
No. 25 ” Nos. 29 ” 76.
No. 16ᵃ ” Nos. 60 ” 94.
No. 26 ” Nos. 80 ” 81.
No. 68 ” Nos. 91 ” 101.
[683] These are:
Oppert No. 35, ‘mu’ = Weisbach No. 5.
” No. 66, ‘iz’ = ” No. 33.
” No. 107, ‘race’ = ” No. 82.
” No. 49, ‘la’ Not in Weisbach.
” No. 109, ‘paz’ (animal) Not in Weisbach.
[684] Namely, No. 21, which Weisbach values as ‘zis’ No. 25. No. 20
Oppert includes among his signs, but cannot find its value. In Norris it
is ‘kwe.’ In the list given in Sayce’s article it is ‘khub.’ Weisbach
gives ‘kup (?)’ No. 29.
[685] Weisbach fails to find a value for 71ᵃ, to which Oppert gives ‘nu’
(No. 41).
[686] No. 35 Oppert ‘git,’ Weisbach ‘am’; 39ᶠ Oppert ‘mun,’ Weisbach
‘tum’; 71ᵇ Oppert ‘kin’; Weisbach ‘en’; 76 Oppert _o_, Weisbach _u_.
[687] Weisbach, _op. cit._ p. 33.
[688] Oppert, _op. cit._ p. 30.
[689] Oppert, pp. 77, 81-4. Weisbach, pp. 51, 53.
[690] Oppert, p. 62. Weisbach, p. 50.
[691] Oppert, p. 196. Weisbach, p. 77.
[692] Oppert, p. 215. Weisbach, p. 79.
[693] Norris in _J. R. A. S._ xv. 145; Oppert, _Records of the Past_,
vii. 109. Cf. _Les Mèdes_, p. 155; Weisbach, p. 77. See also the
surprising expansion into ‘the future life,’ Col. IV. par. 7 (_Les
Mèdes_, p. 149), which, however, he softens in the English version to
‘May I die as a Mazdean’ (_Records_, loc. cit. p. 106). _Cf._ Weisbach,
p. 73. par. 46, line 99.
[694] ‘Nous ne connaissons pas un seul nom propre de Mède qui ne soit
Aryan—ceux de Déjocès et d’Ecbatane sont du perse le plus pur.’—1852,
_Les Mèdes_, p. 2.
[695] Sayce seems to be the only noteworthy exception. See _Early
Israel_, p. 242.
[696] _Le Peuple des Mèdes_, Bruxelles, 1883.
[697] _Trans. S. B. A._ iii. 468.
[698] Hommel (Dr. Fritz), _Geschichte Babyloniens und Assyriens_ (Berlin,
1885), p. 101.
[699] Gobineau, _Lectures des Textes cunéiformes_. He afterwards wrote
_Traités des Ecritures cunéiformes_, 2 vols. 1864. Mohl, _op. cit._
Report 1859, ii, 257.
[700] Major Conder also, _J. R. A. S._ (1892), xxiv. 734. He thinks
Akkadian is also nearest to Turkish, though Akkadian words survive
unchanged to the present day in Finnic-Hungarian and Ugric (_ib._).
[701] _Op. cit._ p. 46.
[702] Weisbach, _op. cit._ pp. 13, 45. He has since given in his adhesion
to the orthodox view. See _Zur Lösung der Sumerischen Frage_ (Leipzig,
1897), pp. 16, 36.
[703] _Trans. S. B. A._ iii. 466.
[704] Rawlinson was the first to show that the Alarodians of Herodotus
(iii. 94, vii. 79) were probably the Uradhians or people of Ararat of the
Assyrian texts. See Sayce on Van, _J. R. A. S._ 1882, vol. xiv.
[705] The knowledge of Kassite is limited to about fifty words found
in a lexicon list (Hommel, p. 47, _note_ 3). Delitzsch denies their
relationship to Susian.
[706] Of Hittite it could still be said in 1893, ‘So far we know nothing
whatever about the Hittite language’ (_J. R. A. S._ 1893, p. 404). _Cf._
Conder’s notes in the same volume, p. 823.
[707] Mr. Sayce succeeded in deciphering the Vannic in 1893 and 1894 (_J.
R. A. S._ 1894, p. 699).
[708] Conder on Lycian, _J. R. A. S._ 1891, p. 614.
[709] _Beiträge_, 1840, p. 60.
[710] Rich, _Babylon and Persepolis_, p. 185, _note_.
[711] The third system is seen in Rich, Pl. IX. No. 4. _Cf._ Rawlinson,
_J. R. A. S._ x. 24.
[712] _Beiträge_, 1840, p. 7.
[713] See Table, _ib._ p. 65.
[714] See Hincks, _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxi. 242.
[715] _Beiträge_, p. 33. See Table, p. 72.
[716] Ker Porter, Pl. 78, vol. ii. East India House Inscription, Col.
III. lines 15-65. Ap. Menant, _Ecritures_, p. 144.
[717] Nov. 1846; _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxi. 243-5.
[718] In _Koordistan_, ii. 130, he gives a facsimile of writing from
Nimrud. See also _Babylon and Persepolis_, Pl. IX. No. 5. Rawlinson, _J.
R. A. S._ x. 27.
[719] _Journal Asiatique_, ix. 257.
[720] Menant, _Ecritures_, p. 170.
[721] In July 1849, 88 plates were out, but not the descriptive text. The
work was finally in five volumes folio, and contained 220 inscriptions.
The inscriptions were sold separately for 60 francs.
[722] See the drawing of it in Menant, _Ecritures_, p. 168. It is
published by Layard, Pl. 53-6, and translated by Rawlinson, 1850, and by
Hincks, 1854.
[723] Hincks, _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxi, 253.
[724] _Neue Beiträge_ (1837), p. 41.
[725] Menant, _Les Langues perdues: Assyrie_ (Paris, 1886), p. 135.
[726] _Essai de Déchiffrement_ (1845), p. 11. Cf. _Exposé des Eléments
constitutifs_ (1847), p. 11.
[727] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ 1846, xxi. 131.
[728] _Exposé_, p. 14, _note_.
[729] _Journal Asiatique_ (4ᵉ série, 1847-8), vols. ix-xi, _Mémoire sur
l’Ecriture Assyrienne_, Paris, 1848.
[730] _Journal Asiatique_, 1848, xi. 248 ff.
[731] _Ib._ 1847, ix. 376.
[732] _Ib._ xi. 249.
[733] Hommel, _Geschichte_, p. 95, _note_.
[734] _J. R. A. S._ 1847, x. 28.
[735] _J. R. A. S._ x. 22 ff. Rawlinson’s classification of the writing
is as follows (1847):
{ Bricks and cylinders
{ (Lapidary)
{ Babylonian proper { East India House
{ { Inscription
{1. Babylonian { {
{ { { Cursive
{ {
{ { Third Persepolitan { Practically the same as
{ { Column { the Cursive Babylonian
Cuneiform {
Signs { { Lapidary
{ { Assyrian proper {
{2. Assyrian { { Cursive
{ {
{ { Van
{
{3. Elymaean (found by Layard at Malamir)
[736] _J. R. A. S._ xii. 407. Layard, _Nineveh and its Remains_ (1849),
ii. 171.
[737] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxi. 131.
[738] Westergaard, Copenhagen edition, p. 271.
[739] Bertin in _Trans. S. B. A._ 1885, vol. viii. _Cf._ his article on
the Syllabary in _J. R. A. S._ 1887, vol. xix.
[740] Sayce, _Hibbert Lectures_, 1887, p. 13.
[741] _Athenæum_, Sept. 20, 1884.
[742] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxi. 131.
[743] _Journal Asiatique_, ix. 377, xi. 266-71.
[744] _J. R. A. S._ 1848, ix. 414.
[745] The Armenian inscription Schulz, No. 8, was the one De Saulcy
attempted (Mohl, _Vingt-sept ans d’histoire_, i. 350). Nos. 9, 10, and 11
are the trilingual of Xerxes.
[746] _J. R. A. S._ 1850, x. 410.
[747] Boscawen, _The Bible and the Monuments_, p. 18; Pinches, _S. B.
A._, 1882, vol. vii. ‘On Assyrian Grammar.’ _Cf._ Sayce, _The Science of
Language_ (3rd ed. 1890), ii. 168.
[748] _Beiträge_, 1887, pp. 24, 37, 39; 1840, p. 65, Plate. _Cf._ above,
pp. 184, 299.
[749] See these stated by Löwenstern, _Essai de Déchiffrement_, 1845, p.
12.
[750] Löwenstern, _op. cit._ p. 13.
[751] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxi. 131.
[752] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ p. 249-52.
[753] _Exposé_, p. 44.
[754] _Ib._ p. 38; Menant, _Ecritures_, p. 224.
[755] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxi. 247; Menant, p. 216; _Journal Asiatique_,
x. 146.
[756] _Journal Asiatique_, xi. 272.
[757] Sept. 14 and Nov. 27.
[758] Hommel, _Geschichte_, p. 95.
[759] ‘On the Khorsabad Inscription,’ _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxii. 71.
[760] _J. R. A. S._ xii. 410-16.
[761] _Ib._ p. 414. Prof. Haupt in _J. R. A. S._ 1878, x. 244-6.
[762] King (L. W.), _First Steps in Assyrian_, 1898, Introduction, p.
xvii. See Sayce, _J. R. A. S._ 1877, ix. 23. Cf. _Science of Language_,
ii. 167.
[763] _Trans. S. B. A._ 1882, vol. vii. ‘On Assyrian Grammar.’
[764] _The Bible and the Monuments_, p. 30.
[765] Menant, _Ecritures_, p. 224.
[766] Mohl, _op. cit._ i. 419.
[767] Evans (George), _Essay on Assyriology_, p. 1.
[768] Evetts, _New Lights_, p. 123.
[769] Menant, _Ecritures_, p. 245; _Langues Sémitiques_, 1863, p. 63.
[770] _J. R. A. S._ vol. i. N. S. Report, May 1865, p. x.
[771] _Beiträge_, 1837, Pl. I.; _cf._ Menant, _Manuel de la Langue
Assyrienne_, 1880, p. 282. _Beiträge_, Pl. III.; Menant, p. 278.
[772] _Beiträge_, 1840, Plate, p. 65.
[773] _Ib._ p. 65.
[774] _Ib._ 1837, Pl. IV.
[775] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxi. 242.
[776] _Beiträge_, 1840, pp. 56-7, and Plate. _Cf._ Menant, _Manuel_, p.
305.
[777] _Journal Asiatique_, ix. 377.
[778] _Cf._ Grotefend, _Beiträge_, 1840, p. 65. Löwenstern’s _r_ is only
the first portion of Grotefend’s sign.
[779] ‘Lettre de Longpérier,’ Sept. 1847, in _Revue Archéologique_, 1848,
p. 503.
[780] Postscript, written June 1846, to paper ‘On the First and Second
Kinds of Persepolitan Writing,’ _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxi. 131.
[781] ‘On the Three Kinds of Persepolitan Writing,’ read Nov. and Dec.
1846: _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxi. 242.
[782] _Transactions_, ib. p. 249.
[783] _J. R. A. S._ ix. 432.
[784] ‘Lettre a Löwenstern,’ Sept. 1847, in _Revue Archéologique_, 1848.
[785] _Journal Asiatique_, 1848, xi. 247.
[786] _J. R. A. S._ 1847, x. 24.
[787] _Exposé_, p. 10, _note_.
[788] Hommel, _Geschichte_, p. 98.
[789] Layard, _Nineveh and its Remains_, ii. 173.
[790] _J. R. A. S._ x. 29.
[791] _Exposé_, p. 44.
[792] _Ib._ p. 73.
[793] _Exposé_, p. 58.
[794] _Ib._ pp. 56, 73.
[795] See No. 21 of Hincks, where it is unnoticed. Cf. _Exposé_, p. 28.
[796] _Exposé_, pp. 27, 85-6. Cf. _Transactions_, xxi. 247.
[797] He instances the word for ‘earth,’ p. 86.
[798] ‘Lettre à Löwenstern,’ _loc. cit._ p. 506.
[799] Rawlinson thus describes Botta’s labours. He has been employed in
‘constructing a complete table of variants, the frequent repetition of
the same word with orthographical variations furnishing him with a key to
the equivalent signs: and by these means he has succeeded, he informs me,
in reducing the Assyrian alphabet to some manageable compass.’—_J. R. A.
S._ 1846, x. 29.
[800] _Journal Asiatique_, 1848, March, xi. 245.
[801] _Journal Asiatique_, ix. 378; ‘Lettre à Letronne,’ _Revue
Archéologique_, 1848, p. 466.
[802] Cf. _Rev. Archéol._ 1848, p. 504.
[803] _Rev. Archéol._ ib. p. 503. See Oppert, _Expédition_, p. 123.
[804] _J. R. A. S._ Dec. 1847, ix. 439.
[805] _Athenæum_, Aug. 23, 1851.
[806] _J. R. A. S._ 1848, vol. ix.
[807] ‘On the Khorsabad Inscription,’ _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxii. 12.
[808] _Transactions_, xxi. 241, 247.
[809] _Ib._ xxii. 328; _Athenæum_, Sept. 21, 1850, p. 1000.
[810] ‘It will appear,’ he says later on, ‘that I consider the syllabary
to be of Indo-European origin.’ In 1852 he adds: ‘The characters all
represent syllables, and were originally intended to represent a
non-Semitic language.’ _Transactions_, xxii. 57; _ib._ p. 295.
[811] _Transactions_, xxii. 25. In this case, however, it is so. Hincks
afterwards instanced _an_, which, followed by _ac_, he reads, not ‘anac,’
but ‘nabu.’ _Athenæum_, Sept. 21, 1850.
[812] He explained this matter with great clearness in 1850, when he
showed that the sign for _an_ is used (1) as a simple phonograph in some
words, as in ‘zarangu’; (2) elsewhere it occurs alone as an independent
ideograph for ‘god,’ and forms the plural ‘gods’ by the mere addition of
the plural sign. (3) Again, it is found before the proper names of gods,
as before Aurmuzd. Here the name is phonetically complete without it,
and it is therefore simply a non-phonetic determinative. (4) Elsewhere
it forms part of a compound ideograph, and may entirely change its
phonetic value; and (5) it may be used ideographically for ‘god’ in
Semitic proper names, where its value is not _an_ but _ilu_, or sometimes
_Assur_.—_Transactions_, ib. pp. 27-30; _Athenæum_, _ib._
[813] He admits in Sept. 1850 that he had not yet seen Longpérier’s paper
(_Athenæum_, Sept. 21, 1850).
[814] He explained, however, that his short a corresponds to the Greek
epsilon (_Transactions_, p. 10). In his list the consonants followed
by _ā_ are really those followed by _a_, and those followed by _a_
correspond to the consonants followed by _i_. His view of the four vowels
dates from the paper on Van, Dec. 1847 (_J. R. A. S._ 1848, vol. ix.).
[815] _Athenæum_, Aug. 24, 1850, p. 908.
[816] _Essai de Déchiffrement_, p. 11; cf. _Journal Asiatique_, 1848, xi.
246.
[817] Thus Löwenstern, writing in 1847, before the third column was
taken, says: ‘Rawlinson a, durant nombre d’années, interdit au public
savant la vue des trésors dont il s’était réservé de faire un usage si
utile à sa gloire.’—_Exposé_, p. 10.
[818] _J. R. A. S._ xii. 404.
[819] Mr. King has given a list of 329 signs (_First Steps in Assyrian_,
p. cxxxii.). Conder reckons about 550 in all (‘On Hittite Writing,’ _J.
R. A. S._ 1893, p. 829).
[820] Menant, in 1864, reports 6,000 words, _Ecritures_, p. 256.
[821] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxii. 70.
[822] He refers to the British Museum series recently edited by Layard
and Birch.
[823] _J. R. A. S._ xii. 430 ff. The greater part, if not the whole of
the Obelisk inscription was translated before the publication of Layard’s
book in 1849. Layard, _Nineveh and its Remains_ (1849), ii. 192, _note_.
[824] Cf. _J. R. A. S._ xii. 482-3; _Records of the Past_, N.S. 1890,
iv. 39-40. The translator is Father Scheil, who has not thought it worth
while to mention the name of his great predecessor. From what he says the
reader might suppose the inscription was first translated by Oppert (p.
37).
[825] He thought the dynasty of Nimrud flourished B.C. 1300-1200, and the
later dynasty of Khorsabad from B.C. 1100-1000. _J. R. A. S._ xii. 471.
[826] ‘The cuneiform text accompanied by a transcript in Roman characters
and an interlineary Latin translation was printed’ before May; see
Report, May 1851, _J. R. A. S._ xiii. p. vi. The complete volume appeared
in January 1852 (_ib._ p. 199). Rawlinson returned to Bagdad in the
autumn of 1851 (_Memoir_, p. 171).
[827] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxii. 56.
[828] The report of his lecture, given in the _Athenæum_, leaves no
doubt on this point. It says: ‘Major Rawlinson could not admit that the
phonetic system was entirely syllabic, as had been sometimes stated.
There was no doubt an extensive syllabarium, and the literal characters,
moreover, required a vowel-sound either to precede or follow the
consonant: _but such vowel sound was rarely uniform_. He preferred,
therefore, distinguishing the literal signs as sonant and complemental,
_and leaving the vowels to be supplied according to the requirements of
the language_’ (_Athenæum_, March 2, 1850). And in August of the same
year he vindicated the use of _bona fide_ letters, in opposition to
Hincks, who maintained that ‘the characters had all definite syllabic
values’ (_Athenæum_, Aug. 24, 1850).
[829] For example, he describes the signs for _ut_ and _ti_ as _t_; for
_bu_ and _bil_ as _b_; for _la_ and _li_ as _l_; _su_ as _s_, and _ku_ as
_k_ (_J. R. A. S._ xii. 405, 406, 424, 433). Hincks already knew that the
signs indicated _ti_, _bu_, _la_, _li_ and _ku_.
[830] Cf. _J. R. A. S._ xii. 413, xiv. p. xi.
[831] Hincks, _Trans. R. I. Acad._ 1852, xxii. 306, _note_. _Cf._
Rawlinson, _J. R. A. S._ xii. 406.
[832] _J. R. A. S._ xiv. 4.
[833] Dr. Hommel has, however, come to a somewhat different conclusion,
_Geschichte_, p. 99.
[834] Menant estimates ‘the necessary simple syllables’ at eighty-two,
though this number is slightly modified in practice (_Manuel_, p. 6).
[835] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxii. 70.
[836] See those marked H 1849 or 1850 in ‘Assyrio-Babylonian Phonetic
Characters’ (_Trans. R. I. Acad._ 1852, xxii. 293, ff).
[837] _J. R. A. S._ xiv. 3.
[838] For Rawlinson see _J. R. A. S._ vol. xiv. Plate 1; for De
Saulcy, _Journal Asiatique_, 1854, iii. 95; for Bezold, _Die
Achämenideninschriften_, p. 24.
[839] The sign for ‘king’ was written ‘melik,’ after the Hebrew, till it
was seen that the Assyrians pronounced it ‘sarru’ (Menant, _Manuel_, p.
265). In Rawlinson’s analysis he points out that one of the terms for
‘king’ was certainly ‘sarru,’ as in the Window inscription of Darius at
Persepolis and also at Khorsabad. ‘This discovery,’ he adds, ‘of course
tends to discredit the reading of “melik,” and to suggest the uniform
adoption of “sarru”’ (_J. R. A. S._ xiv. p. iii, _note_). The discovery
was made by Longpérier in 1847, and he gives the Hebrew equivalent
(_Revue Archéologique_, 1848, Longpérier to Löwenstern, Sept. 1847, p.
503). Oppert assigns the credit to De Saulcy (_Journal Asiatique_, 1857,
ix. 142), who mentions it in 1849. Hincks seems to have been the first to
suggest ‘melik’ or ‘malek’ (1849). ‘On Khorsabad,’ _Trans. R. I. Acad._
xxii. 39.
[840] Singularly enough, Hincks had just independently deciphered in
the Obelisk inscription the names of Menahem and Jehu the son of Omri.
Prof. Wilson, Jan. 1852, _J. R. A. S._ xiii. 198. See also George Smith,
_Assyrian Discoveries_, 1883, p. 10. Hincks did not at first recognise
Rawlinson’s identification of Samaria (see _Athenæum_, Sept. 13, 1851).
[841] _J. R. A. S._ 1851, xiv. p. iii.
[842] _Athenæum_, Aug. 23, 1851, p. 902.
[843] _Trans. R. I. Acad._ xxii. 293-363.
[844] _Revue Orientale_, 1852, ii. 162.
[845] These figures may be arranged thus:
100 signs valued by Hincks up to 1850. } In these Hincks and
77 signs taken from Rawlinson. } Rawlinson agree.
49 signs, decipherer not mentioned; values disputed.
118 signs newly valued.
---
344 discussed in present paper.
[846] See Menant, _Manuel_, p. 10.
[847] Although the British Museum contains a multitude of tracts by De
Saulcy on numismatics and other subjects, those on Assyrian do not appear
to be among the number, and we have advertised for them in Paris without
result.
[848] _Les Langues perdues: Assyrie_, p. 139. De Saulcy’s early
contributions were letters to Burnouf, June 20 and 30, 1847.
[849] _Revue Orientale_, 1852, ii. 165.
[850] Menant, _op. cit._ pp. 141-5.
[851] _Revue Orientale_, loc. cit. p. 167.
[852] Mohl, _op. cit._ Report, Aug. 1848.
[853] Menant, _op. cit._ p. 149.
[854] _Memoir_ by Canon Rawlinson, p. 159.
[855] Menant, p. 151.
[856] _Ib._ p. 146. For an even more enthusiastic appreciation of his
services see p. 148.
[857] _Sur les Inscriptions de Ninive_ (Paris, 1850); _Revue Orientale_,
1852, ii. 168. _Cf._ Menant, _Les Ecritures_, p. 225; _Langues perdues_,
p. 150.
[858] _Athenæum_, Jan. 26, 1850, p. 105.
[859] _Journal Asiatique_, 1854, iii. 93.
[860] _Revue Orientale_, loc. cit.
[861] _Langues perdues_, p. 146.
[862] _Memoir_, p. 172.
[863] _Ib._ p. 181.
[864] _J. R. A. S._ Report, 1853, xv. p. xvii.
[865] _Ib._ Report, 1854, vol. xvi.
[866] _Ib._ Report, 1854, xvi. p. xiv.
[867] _Ib._ xii. 477.
[868] See Rassam’s account in _Trans. S. B. A._ vol. vii. _Cf._ Hommel,
_Geschichte_, p. 86.
[869] Bertin acknowledges in 1887 that Rawlinson was the first to
discover the existence of the Akkadian language (_J. R. A. S._ 1887, N.S.
xix. 644).
[870] _J. R. A. S._ 1855, xv. 221, _note_.
[871] _Ib._ Report, 1856, xvi. p. vii.
[872] Talbot in _J. R. A. S._ 1862, xix. 196.
[873] Talbot, _ib._ 1867, N.S. iii. 7. _Cf._ _ib._ 1873, vi. p. xxix.
[874] _On Akkadian_, 1855.
[875] _J. R. A. S._ Report, June 1866, N.S. ii.
[876] _Trans. S. B. A._ 1886, ix., article by Mr. Pinches. Dr. Birch’s
interest in the subject dates from 1846, when he wrote on the discovery
of the name of Babylon, in _Proceedings of the Society of Literature_.
[877] See _Athenæum_, Sept. and Oct. 1851; _J. R. A. S._ 1854-5, and many
others.
[878] _Athenæum_, March and April, 1854.
[879] Layard, _Nineveh and Babylon_, 1882, p. xlvii.
[880] _J. R. A. S._, N.S. Report, 1867, iii.
[881] _Ib._ Report, 1856, xvi.
[882] _Ib._ N.S. 1866, ii. The first instalment of the separate
publication appeared in 1868 (_J. R. A. S._ Report, May 1868, iii. p. xv).
[883] Mohl, _op. cit._ Report, June 1859.
[884] Second edition in 1864.
[885] Menant, _Ecritures_, p. 239; _Langues perdues_, p. 165.
[886] _J. R. A. S._ 1852, xiii. p. 196.
[887] Mohl, _op. cit._ i. 418, Report, 1851.
[888] _J. R. A. S._ 1861, xviii.
[889] See Menant, _Langues perdues_, p. 177. He refers to _Athenæum_, May
1857, p. 663.
[890] Mohl, _op. cit._ Report, June 1869, ii. 257.
[891] _Ib._ June 1864, ii. 565.
[892] Mohl, _op. cit._ June 1861, ii. 364.
[893] _Trans. S. B. A._ 1886, ix., article by Mr. Pinches. _Cf._ Report,
May 1862, _J. R. A. S._ 1862, xix.
[894] Layard, _Nineveh and Babylon_, new ed. p. xxxviii, _note_.
[895] _J. R. A. S._ 1860, xvii. Report, 1859. _Memoirs_, p. 241.
[896] For a list of these see _Memoir_, p. 170.
[897] He received the Conyngham Medal of the Royal Irish Academy in 1848
(_Athenæum_, May 1850). Layard has well said: ‘In any other country but
England a man of such attainments and so eminently calculated to confer
honour upon the nation to which he belonged, would have received some
reward, or would have been placed in a position of independence to enable
him to pursue his studies. But in spite of numerous representations to
Government and of the European reputation he had established, he was
allowed to remain without any public recognition of his literary and
scientific acquirements.’—_Nineveh and Babylon_, new ed. p. xlvi, _note_.
[898] Aug. 24, 1850.
[899] The signs are reproduced from M. Oppert, _Le Peuple des Mèdes_,
1879.
[900] The values in this column assumed to be correct are taken from
Weisbach, _Die Achämenideninschriften_, Zweiter Art., 1890, p. 33.
[901] _Keilinschriften_, Bonn, 1845. _Mémoire des Antiquaires_,
Copenhagen, 1844. The values in brackets [*] in this column are from the
Copenhagen Edition.
[902] _Transactions R. I. Acad._ xxi., 241.
[903] _Journal Asiatique_, 4ᵉ série, xv., 526. The vowels in brackets in
this column are those supposed to follow the consonant.
[904] _Journal Royal Asiatic Society_, 1855, vol. xv.
[905] _Expédition en Mésopotamie_, 1859, ii., 71.
[906] _Le Peuple des Mèdes_, 1879, p. 41.
[907] Ideogram recognised by Grotefend.
INDEX
Abbas, Shah of Persia (1587-1628):
encourages merchants and travellers; Persian antiquities and
inscriptions first became known to Europe in his reign by the
voyages of Gouvea and others, 12;
his relations with Robert Shirley, 32;
he adorned his palace at Ispahan with marbles from Persepolis, 69
Abbas II., Shah, 57
Aberdeen, Lord: his Persian specimens given to British Museum, 86_n._
Achaemenes, 245
Achaemenian inscriptions:
first mentioned by Gouvea, 1609, 15;
described by Don Garcia, 19;
five letters copied by Della Valle, 28;
Herbert, 46;
found at Behistun, Elvend, Persepolis, Susa, Van, written in three
languages: _see_ Babylonian, Persian, Susian (Median)
Akkadian language first discovered by Rawlinson, 410.
_See_ Sumerian
Akkadians, their first appearance in modern history, 385
‘Alarodian’ family of languages, 336
Alarodians or Uradhians, 336_n._
Alexander (of Macedon), 2, 18, 75
Amanus, 385
Amardians, the, of Strabo, 325
Anahita, 136
Andreas, Dr., expedition to Persia (1874), 128
Angel, M., Dutch artist, 57
Anquetil de Perron, on Zend and the Zendavesta, 173, 176, 182, 204,
256_n._
Apadana of Susa, 136, 139, 143
Arabia, 219, 235
Ararat, Mount, 108
Araxes, river, 18, 25
Aria, 219_n._
Ariaramnes, 245
Aristobulus, 85
Armenia, 210, 219, 229
Arran (on Caspian Sea), 219_n._
Arrian, on the tomb of Cyrus, 9
Arsaces, seal cylinder of, 148
Arsames, 245, 262
Artaxerxes I. (Longimanus):
his defaced inscription at Persepolis, 6_n._, 136, 262;
Venice Vase attributed to him, 292
Artaxerxes II, (Mnemon):
his inscription at Susa, 136;
rebuilds the Apadana, _ib._;
invokes Mithra and Anahita, _ib._, 262, 406
Artaxerxes III. (Ochus):
palace and inscriptions at Persepolis, 6, 51;
inscription copied by Rich, 99, 100;
by Flandin, 123;
shows decay of language, 262;
Venice vase also assigned to him, 292
Arundel (Lord), 38
Aryans, the, in Media, 333 _sq._
Asdod or Ashdod, 355, 365, 394
‘Aspathines,’ 293 _sq._
Assuerus, 14, 52
Assyria, 219
Assyrian inscriptions:
their discovery, 340-2;
identification of writing and language with Babylonian, 343-48;
their Semitic affinity established, 349-52;
first steps in decipherment by Grotefend (1840), Löwenstern (1845),
342, 353-56;
Hincks (1846), 343, 357, 369, 375;
Botta (1847), 343, 362;
Longpérier (1848), 368;
Rawlinson (1847), 363, (1850), 379;
language found to be syllabic:
Botta, 367;
Hincks, 374;
Rawlinson, 380, 387;
and ideographic, 370-72, 383;
its homophones, 362-64;
Longpérier’s suggestion, 366, 367, 374;
its polyphones, 365, 370, 395;
determinatives, 371;
first translations made by Rawlinson, 382, 390;
De Saulcy’s claims, 397;
Assyrian opens a new literature and history, 341, 382, 409;
later works on, 412
Assur-adan-pal, or Assur-natsir-pal (Nineveh), 383
Astyages, 47
Atropatena (= modern Maiana), 54
Aturia (= Assyria), 210, 219
Augustinian Friars, 11, 47
Babylon: the site of, 24, 163
Babylonian:
language of third column; similarity of writing and language to the
unilingual inscriptions of Babylonia, 185, 338, 343-45, 357;
name fully justified, 186, 358;
first deciphered by help of Persian column, 338, 348, 353, 362;
two styles, Cursive and Lapidary, compared, 186, 337-39;
Michaux stone and East India House inscriptions, 337;
substantial identity with Assyrian, 344-49;
large number of signs, 342, 362;
their classification, 343.
_See_ Assyrian inscriptions
Bactria, 15, 208, 219
Bagdad, 24
Bahrein, island, 11, 31
Bakhtiyari (a Persian tribe), 125_n._
Bambyce, 394
Barbaro, Giosafat: Venetian ambassador to Persia (1472): gives the
first account of Persepolis and Pasargadae, 10
Bardius, 289
Barthélemy, Abbé, 162
Bassora, 54
Bavian inscription, the, 412
Beauchamp, Abbé, 162
Beer, E. F. F. (1805-41):
his contributions to the ‘Hallische Allgemeine Zeitung,’ 238;
he finds correct values for two Persian signs, _ib._, 244
Behistun, the rock of, 102;
earliest descriptions of it, 105;
copied by Rawlinson, 106, 108, 110, 112, 245, 272;
the failure of Flandin, 119;
its mutilated condition, 286
Belikh, river, 385
Bellino, M., German secretary to C. J. Rich, 95;
his correspondence with Grotefend, 96, 186, 195
Bellino cylinder, inscription, 189
Benfey, Theodore: criticises (1847) Rawlinson’s edition of the
Persian column of the Behistun inscriptions, 272, 286, 288;
his edition of the Persian inscriptions, 294
Beroea, 394
Bertin, M., 323, 347, 410_n._
Bezold, Dr. Carl, 7_n._, 297, 390 _sqq._, 407
Birch, Dr. Samuel, 411 and _n._
Black Obelisk (Nineveh), 341, 383, 396, 401 _sq._
‘Black Stone’ of Susa, 133
Bode, Baron de: journey to Susa, 125;
adventure with the Bakhtiyari, 125_n._
Bondamiro (Portuguese form), Bandimico (French), Bindamyr (Barbaro),
9, 14;
Bradamir (Figueroa), 18
Bonomi, Joseph, 407
Bopp, Professor, 221, 257
Borsippa, 385
Bosanquet, Mr., 411
Boscawen, W. St. Chad, 351
Botta, Paul E. (French consul at Mosul):
his excavations at Khorsabad described in letters to Mohl
(1843-45), 340;
his ‘Ecriture Assyrienne’ (1848), and ‘Monument de Ninive’ (1849),
_ib._, 366;
his minute study of the Assyrian signs and their classification,
343;
he compares them with the Babylonian, 344;
shows the ‘identity’ of the two languages, 348;
doubtful as to their Semitic relationship, 350;
indicates the existence of homophones (1845), 362, 367;
his list of variants, 366;
his services to decipherment, 343, 367-68
Bouchier, George, brought original text of the Vendidad to England,
204
Bricks, Babylonian: the first brought to Europe, 24, 162;
Hager’s conjecture as to the legend on them, 165
Buckingham, J. S., 74_n._
Budge, E. A. Wallis, 348
Bunder Abbas, 31, 33, 53 _sq._
Burnouf, Eugène (1801-52): his ‘Mémoire’ on the inscriptions at
Elvend and Van (1836), 96, 206;
his great reputation as a Zend scholar, 204;
he contributes two correct values to the Persian alphabet, 208;
identifies ‘Ormuzd’ and other proper names and words, 209;
his alphabet compared with Grotefend and St. Martin, 211;
his skill as a translator, 216;
his identification of the provinces of Darius, 218;
contributions to grammar, 219;
his translations compared with Lassen’s, 234;
correspondence with Rawlinson, 247
Bushire, 76, 108
Cabul, 111
Cai Caius, 1
Caillou Michaux, the, 166;
a Kudurru, or landmark, 168_n._;
its translation only recently accomplished, _ib._;
style of writing, 337
Caleh, city, 385
Camara (‘Comerum’), 9
Cambyses, 289
Candahar, 111
‘Çapardia’ (‘Çprd,’ Lassen’s cuneiform for the Sapeires of
Herodotus), 227 _sq._
Cappadocia, 209, 219
Capuchins at Ispahan, 47
Carchemish, 394
Carmelites, 16;
at Ispahan, 47
Cartwright, John (1601), 13, 18
Catholic missions in Persia, 48
Caylus, Count: his ‘Recueil d’Antiquités,’ 162
Caylus Vase, quadrilingual inscription upon, 146, 156, 166, 170_n._,
175
Central Edifice, 50, 56, 62, 72
Champollion, M., 175
Chardin, Sir John (1643-1713):
with Thévenot and Tavernier at Persepolis, 54;
knighted by Charles II., 61;
his Travels published (1711): the drawings convey the first
adequate impression of the ruins, 61;
his confused description, 64;
built by Jamshid, 65;
designed for a temple, 66;
the cuneiform signs were gilt, 67;
he thinks the wedges can be turned in any direction, _ib._;
he makes the first complete copy of an inscription, 68;
he gives the first account of the Tomb Inscriptions at
Naksh-i-Rustam, _ib._
Charpentier, M., 61
Chehel Minar, or Forty Minarets [variant spellings: ‘Cilminar’
(Barbaro), ‘Chelminira’ (Gouvea)]:
first mentioned by Barbaro, 9;
traditionally ‘the Old Town’ of Shiraz, 14;
identified with Persepolis by Figueroa, 18;
speculations as to its origin, 2, 40, 57.
_See_ Persepolis
Chinzirus, the, of Ptolemy, 373
Choaspes, river, 134
Citadel Hill (Susa), 133, 137;
De Morgan’s mines into its side, 145
Clarendon, Lord, 417
Columnar Edifice, the, 20, 26, 28, 50 _sq._, 62, 65 _sq._, 78, 117,
136
Columnar origin of writing, 164 _sq._
Conder, Major:
on the relationship of Akkadian to other languages, 335;
on Lycian, 336_n._;
on the number of Assyrian signs, 379_n._
Coste, Pascal, and Flandin, Eugène:
travels in Persia, 118;
Coste surveys and plans the principal ruins, 122
Cotton, Sir Dormer: his mission from England to Persia (1626), 33, 38
Crystal cylinders with inscriptions, 147
Cufic: Lichtenstein on, 167
Cuneiform signs compared to Chinese, 60, 70, 156, 165;
to Cufic, 167;
some think they were gilt, 67, 70, 139;
doubts as to whether writing or ornamentation, ix, 60, 154;
first called cuneiform by Kaempfer (1712), 70
Cursive writing distinguished from Lapidary by Hincks, 339
Curzon, Lord, 131
Cyaxares, 314
Cylinder seal inscriptions, 354
Cyropolis, 17
Cyrus:
inscription, 9;
found by Morier at Murgab, 83, 89;
deciphered by Grotefend, 178;
tomb at Murgab described by Arrian, 9;
and Barbaro, 10;
drawn by Mandelslo, 40, 59;
identified by Morier, 85;
the discussion raised concerning it, 87;
his tomb was thought by Gouvea to be at Persepolis, 14;
by Figueroa at Shiraz, 17
Cyrus, river, 25
Dadarses, 290
Damascus, 394
Daniel, architect of Persepolis, 47;
his tomb at Susa, 133, 140
D’Anville, M.: on Della Valle’s Babylonian bricks, 162
Darius I. (Hystaspes): built Terrace and Palace at Persepolis, 2, 4.
_See_ Persepolis.
Bas-relief and effigy of, at Behistun, 104;
built Apadana at Susa, afterwards burnt, 136, 144;
tomb at Naksh-i-Rustam, 8, 102;
inscription on South Terrace, Persepolis:
copied by Kaempfer, 71;
Niebuhr, 80;
on Palace:
copied by Le Bruyn, 73;
Niebuhr, 79;
on Window, 6:
copied by Chardin, 68;
Kaempfer, 71;
Le Bruyn, 73;
inscription at Behistun, 102;
copied and translated by Rawlinson, 102, 244;
at Elvend, copied by Schulz, 95;
translated by Lassen, 206;
at Naksh-i-Rustam, 8;
copied by Westergaard, 102;
at Suez, 146;
Kermanshah, 147;
on a seal cylinder, _ib._
Darius II. (Nothus), 262
Daulier Deslandes: ‘Beautés de la Perse’ (1673), gives improved
drawing of Persepolis, 50, 60;
he estimates number of bas-reliefs at 2,000, 52;
he shows a short inscription over an arch, 60
Davies, John, translator of Mandelslo’s ‘Travels,’ 42
Dejoces, dynasty of, 333
Delattre, Père A., S.J.: calls language of second column ‘Anzanisch,’
334
Delitzsch, M., 336_n._
Democritus, 165
D’Hancarville, M., 92_n._
Dieulafoy, Marcel:
his first visit to Persia (1881), 131;
his excavations at Susa (1885), 138;
discovery of enamelled tiles:
frieze of the lions, 139;
frieze of the archers, 141;
his restorations of the Acropolis, 142
Dieulafoy, Mme. Jane:
her book on Persia, 131;
describes the excavations at Susa, 139
Dizful, 109, 132 _sq._
Dorow, M., 192, 195
Duperron, M., on Zend, 256
Dutch in Indian Seas (1595), 13
East India Company, Dutch: resident agents in Persia, 48, 54
East India Company, English:
opens trade with Persia (1614), 13;
has a resident agent in Persia, 48, 54;
collection of Babylonian bricks in their museum, 163;
Hager’s discussion of them, 164
East India Company: efforts of French to found one, 48, 54
East India House Inscription, 166, 194_n._, 337, 339, 357, 412
Ecbatana. _See_ Hamadan
Egypt, inscriptions found in, 147
Elamites:
spoke a Scythic language, 137, 325, 336;
antiquity of their remains at Susa, 146
Ellenborough, Lord, 111
Ellis, Mr.: applies photography to Persian antiquities, 128
Elvend, Mount: inscription, 94 _sq._, 206
Elymaean writing, 23, 346
Emanuel, Père, 162
Erech, city, 409
Eridu, city, 409
Erythean group (of languages), 411
Esarhaddon, 356, 361, 385, 393
Eulaeus, river, 134
Ewald, Dr.: doubts (1858) Semitic character of the Assyrian grammar,
352
Fasa, 120, 125, 128
Fergusson, Sir James, 94, 116, 117, 122, 126, 136, 407
Ferhouer, the, 161
Ferrari’s ‘Geographical Epitome,’ 25
Figueroa, Don Garcia de Silva:
his embassy from Spain to Persia (1614), 17;
identifies Chehel Minar with Persepolis, 18;
his description of the ruins and inscriptions published in
‘Purchas’ Pilgrims’ (1625), and in the ‘Embassy of Don Garcia’
(1667), 19;
his drawings and copies were not reproduced, 23, 59
Fisher, Mr., 390
Flandin, Eugène, 64;
he admits Porter’s talent in drawing, 93_n._;
his travels in Persia in 1840, 115, 117;
he fails to reach the inscription at Behistun, 119;
he visits Murgab and Naksh-i-Rustam, 120;
his admirable drawings of Persepolis, 121;
his contributions to our knowledge, 123;
he fails to reach Susa, 125;
he returns to the East to sketch the monuments at Khorsabad
(1843), 126;
his ‘Voyage en Perse’ not published till 1851, 126
Flower, S., 58, 59
Fotheringham, Mr., 133
Frederick, Capt., R.N. (1808), 192
Frederic V. (of Denmark): his expedition (1761) for exploring Arabia,
76
Fresnal, M.: his exploration (1852-1854) of the ruins of Babylon, 409
Fryer, J.: his travels (1698), 66
Gabal, city, 385
Gardanne, General: his embassy from Napoleon to Persia, 83
Gaumates (or Gomates), the Magian, 104, 290
Georgian Christians, 48
Giacchetti, Abbé, 148
Goa, College of (Portuguese), 13
Gobineau, Count de, 335, 415
Golconda, the mines of, 49
Gombrun (Bunder Abbas), 11, 23, 31
Gordon, Mr.: his visit to Susa, 84, 89_n._, 134
Gouvea, Antoine de:
his mission to Ispahan (1602), 13;
visits Chehel Minar, which he considers to be the tomb of Assuerus
and built on the site of the ancient Shiraz, 14;
describes the double staircase, porch, and tombs, _ib._;
he is the first to mention the bas-reliefs and inscriptions, 15;
second visit to Persia, 17
Government grant in aid of publishing third column of Behistun
inscription, 386;
and to the Bagdad excavations (1851), 408
Grant, Mr., visit to Susa, 133
Great Mogul, the Court of, 49
Grélot, M.: drawings of Persepolis made by him for Chardin, 61 _sqq._
Gromex: fifty-eight alphabets borrowed from, by Purchas, 47
Grote, George: one of the jury on Fox Talbot’s test translation, 414
Grotefend, George F. (1775-1853):
educated at Göttingen—rector of the Lyceum at Hanover, 168;
his paper on Cuneiform read September 4, 1802: communicated to
‘Göttingen Literary Gazette,’ September 18, 169;
he deciphers Hystaspes, Darius and Xerxes, 173;
he thus obtains eight correct values, 175;
his total contribution being twelve, 179;
identifies ideogram for ‘king,’ 177;
reads Cyrus, 178;
his translations from Old Persian, 179;
compared with Burnouf, 217;
his work on the other columns, 183, 189, 338;
he shows that the different kinds of Babylonian writing were only
varieties of the same, 186, 193, 338;
calls the third Persepolitan ‘the Babylonian column,’ 186;
directs attention to the geographical names in the I inscription,
187, 207, 223;
he denies that language of the third column is Semitic, 188;
recognises ‘Artaxerxes,’ 189;
criticises Burnouf and Lassen, 188, 237;
publishes Bellino’s cylinder, 189;
thought languages of the three columns were closely related, 299;
his study of the East India House inscription, 339;
his division of the Babylonian column of the Elvend inscription
(1837), 353;
his attempted translation of a Babylonian brick, 355;
mistakes the name and titles of Nebuchadnezzar for a form of
prayer, _ib._, 359
Guebres (or Parsees) of Guzerat, 203_n._
Hager, Joseph (1757-1819):
his ‘Dissertation on the Babylonian Inscriptions,’ 1801, 163;
suggests that the legend on the bricks records the name of the
founder, 165;
he derives the Persepolitan writing from the Babylonian, and
traces the latter to the Chaldæans, _ib._, 354;
the origin of horizontal writing, 168
Halévy, J.:
disputes the existence of Sumerian, xvi, 336;
would substitute ‘Amardian’ for ‘Median’ for the second language,
334
Hall of the Hundred Columns, the, 22, 28, 36, 45 _sq._, 50 _sq._,
56, 77 _sqq._, 121, 129, 132
Hamadan (Ecbatana), 1, 7, 94, 102, 108, 206
Hamath, 385, 394
Hamitian language, 410
Haridu, city of, 384
Haroyu (Parsi), or Sarayu (Indian), 219_n._
Hateni or Adini, 284
Haug, M., 319
Haupt, Prof.: on Semitic affinities of Babylonian, 351
Hazael of Damascus, 385
Heeren, A. H. L.:
controversy with Herder on origin of ruins of Persepolis, 82, 155;
introduced Porter’s Travels to German readers, 93 _sq._;
published Grotefend’s paper in his ‘Historical Researches,’
170_n._, 176
Herbelot, M. d’, 53
Herbert, Sir Thomas:
early editions of his Travels (1634-1638), 34;
his grotesque engraving of the ruins of Persepolis, 36;
his account derived chiefly from Figueroa and Della Valle, 37, 46;
later editions of the Travels (1663), with Holler’s engraving, 43;
singular description of the Hall of the Hundred Columns, 45
Hercules, Mr.:
assistance rendered to Niebuhr by, 76;
enters the tombs at Naksh-i-Rustam, 82, 84
Herder, J. G.: controversy with Heeren on origin of ruins of
Persepolis, 82, 155
Herodotus: his veracity and accuracy confirmed, 114, 136, 223 _sq._,
334, 407
Hester, Mr., 111
Heyne, Professor, 168;
first called attention to Greek inscription on Rosetta Stone, 169
Hezekiah, 394
Hieratic writing, in Babylon, 194_n._
Hieroglyphics, Egyptian: beginning of our knowledge of, 169
Hillah, the mounds near, 24, 162, 192
Hincks, Rev. Edward (1792-1866; rector of Killyleagh, co. Down):
suggests that Ormuzd is represented by the winged figure in the
Persian bas-reliefs, 104;
is an early student of Assyrian, 113;
depreciates Lassen’s talent as a decipherer, 258;
his own contributions devoted chiefly to the Susian and Babylonian
columns, 266;
he reads the names of Babylon, Nineveh (1846), _ib._, 357,
and Nebuchadnezzar, 267, 359, 363, 373;
his paper ‘On the First and Second Kinds of Persepolitan Writing’
(1846), 268;
he anticipates Rawlinson’s supplementary note, _ib._;
his alphabet compared with Lassen’s, 270;
he reviews Rawlinson’s Memoirs (1846), 272;
his three papers on Susian (Median), 1846-47, 308;
showed (1845) that many Susian signs were found in the Assyrian,
312_n._;
he compares the East India House inscription with a fragment
written in the cursive character, 339;
his table comparing ‘certain cursive and lapidary characters,’
_ib._;
comparison with the third Persepolitan, 343, 347;
the languages also agree, 348, 357;
they are Semitic, 350;
his method and its results, 358;
his paper of January 1847, 360;
on the Khorsabad inscription, 369;
Assyrian signs are wholly syllabic or ideographic, 370;
of Indo-European origin and originally designed to represent a
non-Semitic language, 371 and _n._;
the appendix of January 1850 explains the principle of Assyrian
writing, 374;
influence of this essay upon the study, 375;
his paper ‘On the Language and Mode of Writing of Assyria’ (August
1850), 376;
his compound syllables, 389;
deciphers ‘Menahem’ and ‘Jehu son of Omri,’ 393_n._;
paper on the ‘Assyrio-Babylonian Phonetic Characters’ (1852), 394;
his contributions compared with those of Rawlinson, 396;
his genius as a decipherer, 405;
suggests the name ‘Akkadian,’ 411;
his translations in Layard’s ‘Nineveh and Babylon,’ _ib._;
works on Assyrian mythology and grammar, and on Akkadian, 412;
his translation for Fox Talbot’s test inscription, 414;
his great services ill rewarded, 417
Hittite language, 336_n._
Hitzig, Dr. Ferdinand:
on the Persian text of the Tomb inscription of Darius (1847), 294;
he denies that Assyrian is Semitic, 352
Holler’s engraving of Persepolis for Sir T. Herbert’s work, 43, 50, 60
Holstein-Gottorp, Duke of: sends a trading mission to Persia, 39
Holtzmann, Adolf:
his charge of plagiarism against Lassen, 222;
his contributions to the decipherment of the Persian column (1845),
262, 271;
he suggests that the language of second column was spoken at Susa,
perhaps mother of Pehlevi, 313;
he attempts to refute the Finnic-Tartar hypothesis, 319;
he considers Assyrian a Persian dialect mingled with Semitic
elements, 352
Hommel, Dr. Fritz:
calls second column language ‘Susian-Median’ and ‘Susian,’ 334;
relation of Median with Akkadian, 335;
his fifty words of Kassite, 336_n._
Humboldt, G. von: his appreciation of Jacquet’s work, 239
Husseinabad, 121
Hyde, Dr. Thomas, 59 _sq._
Hystaspes, 136;
name deciphered, 178, 245, 262
India, 229
Inscriptions. _See_ Achaemenian
Ionia, 210, 219
Iskander (= Alexander), 41
Ispahan, 12;
British Resident established at (1614), 13
Istakhr: seat of a Viceroy of the Khalifs, 2, 69
Jacquet, Eugène (1811-38):
his remarkable precocity, 239;
his essay on Cuneiform Decipherment (1838), 241;
his correspondence with Lassen, 240, 243;
adds six correct values to the Persian alphabet, 244;
his admiration for Lassen’s diphthongs, 255;
his results arrived at independently, 275
Jamshid, the legendary builder of Persepolis, 2, 30;
the fourth king of Persia, 65, 75;
his claims supported by Herder and opposed by Heeren, 82, 155;
possibly identical with Shem, 93;
Grotefend reads his name into the inscriptions, 180
Jask (on Persian Gulf), 32
Jaubert: his embassy from France to Persia (1805), 83
Jehu the son of Omri, 385, 393_n._, 407
Jenkinson, Antonie: visit to Persia (1561), 13
Jerusalem, 394
Jesuits, the: mission at Tauriz, 48
Jones, Captain, R.N., 111;
his drawings of the figures at Behistun published in Rawlinson’s
Memoir (1846), 272
Jones, Sir Harford:
his embassy to Persia, 83;
presented the celebrated inscription to India House, 166
Jones, Sir William: on Anquetil’s Zend-Avesta, 205
Kaempfer, Engelbert (1651-1716):
his ground plan of Persepolis, 70, 77;
confers the name of ‘cuneiform’ upon the inscriptions, _ib._;
he copies a twenty-four line inscription, 71;
gives the earliest description of the Central Edifice, 72
Kaleh Sherghat, the Tiglath Peleser inscription from, 413
Kassite language, 336_n._
‘Katpatuk’ (Burnouf and Lassen’s reading for ‘Cappadocia’), 229
Kermanshah, 102, 108, 110, 119
Kesem (island in Persian Gulf), 11, 31
Khaneh-i-Dara (Mansion of Darius), Persepolis, 2
‘Khapirti’ (in Median text = Amardians of Strabo), 325
Khorassan (or Bactria), 15
Khorsabad, date of the dynasty of, 385_n._
King, Mr. L. W.:
on Semitic affinities of Babylonian, 351;
his list of 329 Assyrian signs, 379_n._
Kinneir, Sir J. Macdonald:
on inscription at Mount Elvend, 94;
on figures at Behistun, 105;
description of Susa (1810), 133;
visits Hillah and Mosul (1808), 192;
his ‘Geographical Memoir,’ _ib._
Kish, obelisk of a King of, found at Susa, 145
Klaproth, M., his ‘Aperçu de l’Origine des diverses Ecritures,’ 196;
contains the latest development of St. Martin’s alphabet, 196, 200
Kossaean language, 336
Kouyunjik, 189, 341
Kur, river (= the ‘Cyrus’ of the ancients), 25
Kurdistan, 108
Lapidary characters compared with their equivalents in the cursive
style, 339
Larsa, city, 409 _sq._
Lassen, Christian (1800-76), 189, 204;
his fame as a Sanscrit scholar, 231;
his essay on cuneiform accidentally synchronous with that of
Burnouf (1836), 222;
Holtzmann’s unfounded charge of plagiarism, _ib._:
Lassen’s account of his study of Inscr. I, 223;
he deciphers correctly six to ten additional signs, 224;
analysis of his alphabet, 225;
his identification of words and proper names, 229;
his translation compared with Burnouf, 233;
on the provinces of Darius, 235;
influence on Jacquet, 240, 243;
on Rawlinson, 247;
his second Memoir (1845), 253;
his amended alphabet, _ib._;
his achievements disparaged by Rawlinson and Hincks, 258;
his complete translation of all the Persian inscriptions then known
to him, 259;
comparison with Rawlinson, 261
Laval, M., 412
Layard, Sir A. H.:
entered the Tomb of Daniel at Susa, 134;
copied two inscriptions and made drawings of bas-relief at Malamir,
185, 323;
his excavations at Nimrud and Kouyunjik (1845), 341;
discovery of the black obelisk at Nimrud, with first purely
Assyrian inscription ever deciphered, _ib._;
published ‘Nineveh and its Remains,’ and ‘Monuments of Nineveh’
(1849), 342;
his excavations at Nineveh (1849-50), 408;
popularity of his book, _ib._;
his eulogy of Dr. Hincks, 417_n._
Le Bruyn, Corneille:
visited Persepolis 1704: he copies five inscriptions, 73;
his criticism and measurements, 74;
he rejects Chardin’s theory of the Jamshid origin of the ruins, 73
Lenormant, François:
his ‘Lettres Assyriennes’ (1871), and ‘Choix de Textes’ (1873), 323;
shows the resemblance of the Old Susian and Old Babylonian scripts,
_ib._;
the writing of Malamir an earlier form of Susian (Median), _ib._;
both belong to the Scythic family, 324;
he adheres to name of ‘Median,’ 325;
opinion as to the Alarodian languages, 336
Lepsius, Professor, 349
Lewis, Sir George Cornewall: contended that neither Egyptian nor
Assyrian could be restored, 416
Library of Assurbanipal, the, xii
Lichtenstein, M.: considers Babylonian bricks date from seventh
century A.D.: that the writing resembles Cufic and the language
Arabic, 167
Löwenstern, Isidore, 313;
his ‘Essai de Déchiffrement’ (1845), 343;
points out the resemblance of Assyrian writing to the third
Persepolitan, _ib._;
maintained that it is a Semitic speech, 349;
his attempt to decipher a Khorsabad inscription, 355;
only twenty proper names then available, 362;
he treats the signs as simple consonants, 364, 377;
the variants as homophones, 364;
he was among the first to observe polyphones, 365;
his theory of the mechanical union of consonant and vowel, 376.
Loftus, W. Kennett:
on a drawing by Porter, 93_n._;
his excavations at Susa (1851-2), 125, 135;
discovered the Apadana of Artaxerxes Mnemon with his inscription,
136;
translated by Norris, 318;
found some Old Susian inscriptions which Rawlinson attempted to
decipher, 322;
Loftus’s explorations of South Babylonia, 409;
found a tablet at Larsa from which Rawlinson inferred the existence
of the Akkadian language, 410
Longpérier, Adrian de:
made known the Venice Vase, 148, 292;
criticism of Löwenstern’s identification of Esarhaddon, 357;
treatment of Assyrian homophones, 366;
identifies Sargon and Assur, 368, 393;
his aptitude for cuneiform studies, 367, 368, 405
Luristan, 109, 125
Luzzato, M.:
showed (1850) that twenty-four of the Median signs corresponded to
the Babylonian, 314;
maintained that Assyrian was an Indo-European language, 352
Macaulay, Lord: disbelieved in cuneiform interpretation, 416
Machad, capital of Khorassan, 15
McNeill, Sir J., 110
Madagascar: French effort to found a trading colony in (1643), 48
Maiana (ancient Atropatena), 54, 137
Malamir: inscription found by Layard at (1841), 135, 137.
_See_ Susian (Old)
Malcolm, Sir John, 83, 107, 110, 133, 166
Mandelslo, J. A.:
visits Murgab (1638);
gives the earliest known view of the Tomb of Cyrus, 40;
thought cuneiform signs were inlaid with gold, 41;
his engraving of Persepolis, _ib._;
his book translated into English (1662), 42
Mans, Père Raphael du (Superior of the Capuchins at Ispahan,
1644-96), 47, 52 _sq._
Median language. _See_ Susian (Median)
Medo-Assyrian (Vannic) writing, 346
Medus, river (of Strabo), 25
Menant, Joachim:
on the Venice Vase, 292;
his edition of the Persian inscriptions, 297;
his table of Susian (Median) signs, 308_n._, 328, 442;
on the only Assyrian word correctly read in 1847, 351;
estimate of ‘the necessary simple syllables’ in Assyrian, 388_n._;
on De Saulcy’s contribution to cuneiform decipherment, 398;
his work on the ‘Ecritures Cunéiformes’ (1860), 413
Mervdasht, plain of, 2
‘Meshed i Mader i Suliman,’ 98
Mesopotamia, 24
Messeth Suleimen, 10
Michaux, M., 166
Mildenhall, John (1601), 13
Millin, M., 183
Milman, Dean: one of the jury on Fox Talbot’s test translation, 414
Mina (on Persian Gulf), 31
Mithra, 136, 262
Mohl, M. (Secretary to French Asiatic Society):
his visit to Grotefend, 190;
sent the Yaçna to Rawlinson, 247;
protested against the Scythic hypothesis about Median, 335;
introduced Hincks’s writings to Continental students (1848), 361;
decries a language which puzzles translators by polyphones and
ideographs, 416
Monteith, Captain: visited Susa (1810), 133
Morales, Father Symon de (Augustinian Friar): his mission to Persia
by Philip II. (1583), 12
Mordtmann, M.:
his papers (1862, 1870) on the second column, 322;
his reasons for calling the language Susian, _ib._;
his endeavours to prove the ‘identity’ of the Median and Babylonian
characters, 323;
he shows that both the newly discovered languages belonged to the
Scythic family, 324
Morgan, J. de:
excavations at Susa (1898), 143;
great discovery of bricks with old Susian inscriptions, 144;
his investigations into the antiquity of the mounds, 145
Morier, James:
identifies the tomb of Cyrus, 9, 85, 88;
his comparison of the drawings of Le Bruyn, Chardin and Niebuhr
with the original sculptures, 77_n._, 78_n._;
publication of his Travels (1812 and 1818), 86;
his copy of the Cyrus inscription, 89_n._, 93;
its influence on Grotefend, 178
‘Moro, the constellation of’ (Grotefend), 179, 216, 257, 354
Mosul, 192, 340
Mudray, name for Egypt, 212, 235;
deciphered by Rawlinson, 249
Müller, Max, 295
Münter, F. C. (Bishop of Seeland):
his paper on the Cuneiform Inscriptions (1800), 155;
proves that they belong to the Achaemenian dynasty, _ib._, 170;
shows the use of the diagonal wedge in Old Persian, 157;
deciphers two signs correctly, 159;
his opinion as to meaning of the legend on Babylonian bricks, 165;
on the writing of the second and third columns, 156, 299;
compares the latter to Old Babylonian, 337
Murgab, 1, 59, 83, 85 _sqq._
Museo Kircheriano: some of Della Valle’s collection of antiquities
there, 24, 74
Nakharmi, 384
Naksh-i-Rejeb, 82, 91
Naksh-i-Rustam, inscriptions found at, 1;
Sassanian bas-reliefs and Achaemenian tombs there, 7 _sq._;
inscriptions described, 8;
referred to, 19, 29, 57, 67 _sq._, 91
Naram Sin, 145
Nebuchadnezzar, 47, 359, 363, 373;
‘Standard Inscription’ of, 166
Niebuhr, Carsten (1733-1815):
his ‘Voyage en Arabie’ (1780), 77;
his valuable copies of the inscriptions at Persepolis, 79, 149;
he is the first to observe that each column is written in a
different character, 80, 299;
he is the first to make an alphabet of Old Persian, 81, 149;
he shows the direction in which the writing is to be read, _ib._;
he admits eight defective signs into his alphabet, 150, 183;
the general accuracy of his results, 150;
he makes one unfortunate mistake, 160
Nimrod, 66
Nimrud: Layard’s excavations at, 341
Nimrud: date of the dynasty of, 385_n._
Nineveh, 384
Ninni, city of, 384
Nippur, city, 409
Noeldeke, Theodor: on the results of the photographic process applied
to inscriptions, 129
Norris, Edwin:
Secretary of Royal Asiatic Society, 269;
saw Rawlinson’s Memoir (1846) through the press, 273;
undertakes the translation of the Susian (Median) column of the
Behistun inscription, 307;
reads a paper on the results of his study (1852: published 1855),
314;
thinks the syllabarium originally devised to express a Scythic
tongue, 317;
its nearest modern relationship is to Volga-Finnish, _ib._;
his translation of a unilingual inscription, 319;
translation of a defective inscription at Behistun, 330;
his work on Assyrian weights, 412;
author of the first Assyrian dictionary, _ib._
Ochus. _See_ Artaxerxes III.
Odoricus, Friar: his visit to Persia (1325), 9_n._
Olearus (Oelschloeger):
account of his mission to Persia (1637), 39;
his edition of the Travels of Mandelslo (a member of the mission),
40, 42
Olivier, M.: on Behistun, 105
Oppert, Jules:
on the Behistun inscription, 104;
his translations of Old Susian inscriptions (1873, 1876), 137, 324;
on death of Cambyses, 289;
on the Venice Vase, 292;
his restorations of mutilated texts, 292, 331;
his ‘Lautsystem des Altpersischen’ (1847), 295;
his tribute to Rawlinson, 296;
his edition of the Achaemenian inscriptions (1852, 1877), 296, 406;
claims to have suggested the Turanian origin of cuneiform writing,
317_n._;
and the ‘Finno-ouralienne’ origin of Median (1847), 318_n._;
his translation of the Susian (Median) unilingual inscriptions
(1879), 319;
his ‘Expédition scientifique’ (1859), 320;
his Susian (Median) syllabarium: the comparison with Babylonian
signs, _ib._;
his ‘Peuple des Mèdes’ (1879), 326;
completes the knowledge of language of second column, _ib._;
comparison with Weisbach, 328;
his treatment of the grammar, 330;
different views as to the people who spoke the language and the
name it should bear:
Scythic, 314, 318_n._;
Medo-Scythic, 321, 332;
Median, 333;
transcribes cuneiform into Hebrew characters, 407;
his ‘Etudes Assyriennes’ (1857), 412;
his translation for Fox Talbot’s test, 414;
receives the prize from the Institut (1860), 415
Ormuz (island in Persian Gulf):
its importance in 16th century, 11, 18, 24;
taken by Persians from Portuguese (1621), 31
Ormuzd (Auramazda), 5, 7 _sq._, 104, 136, 182, 219
Orontes, the, 94
Otiara, 317
Otter, M. (French traveller): first to call attention to Behistun, 105
Ouseley, Sir Gore:
his embassy from England to Persia (1810), 84;
‘specimens’ of ruins in his possession, afterwards given to British
Museum, 86
Ouseley, Sir William:
his estimate of Jean Struys, 58;
his copies of the inscriptions, 73;
he visits Fasa, then thought to be the site of Pasargadae, 84;
he opposes Morier’s claim on behalf of Murgab, 87;
his visit to Persepolis, _ib._;
his views of Murgab, 88;
his copy of the Cyrus inscription came to the notice of Grotefend,
89, 178;
his collection of Persian antiquities, 156
Pacifique, Father, 47
Parthia, 210, 219
Pasargadae (the city of Cyrus), Achaemenian ruins at, 8;
referred to, 120, 125, 130, 178
Pehlevi (language), 82
Persepolis, supposed to be Shiraz, 14, 18, 25;
identified with ruins at Chehel Minar by Figueroa, 18, 92;
various opinions as to their origin, 1, 2, 14, 34, 40, 41, 52, 65;
and design:
a tomb, 13;
temple, 26, 47, 52, 57, 66, 78, 92;
palace, 18, 34, 75;
importance of question to decipherment, 82, 155;
details of ruins, 2-7;
described by Gouvea, 14;
Figueroa, 18;
Della Valle, 25;
Herbert, 34;
Mandelslo, 41;
Herbert’s second account, 43;
Daulier, 50;
Thévenot, 55;
Chardin, 60;
earliest engravings:
by Herbert, 36;
Mandelslo, 41;
Herbert, second view, 43;
later views by Daulier, 50, 59;
Chardin, 61;
Kaempfer, 69;
Niebuhr, 77;
Texier, 115;
Flandin, 121;
Stolze, 128;
ground plan by Chardin, 63;
Kaempfer, 70;
inscriptions found of Darius, Xerxes, Artaxerxes I. and Artaxerxes
III., 6
Persia: its relations with Europe in 15th and 16th centuries, 9, 11;
missions to, 12 _sq._;
European commerce with, 13;
suspension of diplomatic relations with European countries, 83;
English officers sent to train the Shah’s army (1833), 108;
withdrawal of the British Mission (1838), 110;
recent concessions to France to carry on archæological excavations
throughout Persia, 143
Persian (Old), language of first column:
the earliest alphabet of signs formed by Niebuhr, 149;
their decipherment first attempted by Tychsen (1798), 151;
and Münter (1800), 155;
Grotefend deciphers names of the Achaemenian kings (1802), 173;
the contributions made by St. Martin (1823), 195;
and Rask (1826), 202;
the task accomplished by Burnouf (1836), 206;
and Lassen (1836), 221, and (1844), 259;
contributions of Jacquet and Beer, 238;
Rawlinson, 245, 272, 295;
Holtzmann, 262;
Hincks, 266;
the criticisms of Benfey, 288;
it afforded the key to decipher the other columns, xi;
conjectures as to its linguistic affinities, x, 152, 156, 167, 184,
204, 220, 257.—See Appendix A and B.
Peters, Dr.: results of his excavations at Nippur, xv
Pharnuches, unilingual seal cylinder of, 148
Philip II. (of Spain and Portugal):
his embassy to Persia (1583), 12;
another mission (1601), 13
Pictorial representations of cuneiform inscriptions, summary of, to
end of 17th century, 59
Pinches, Theo. G.:
on differences between Assyrian and Semitic languages, 351;
on the publication of Layard’s inscriptions, 411_n._
Place, M. (1851-54), 409
Platform, the, 56 _sq._
Polvar, river, 2, 7, 25
Polyhistor, 394
Porch, the, 20, 50 _sq._, 55, 65, 71, 78, 122, 124, 130
Porter, Sir Robert Ker:
his drawings of Persepolis, 64, 78_n._;
his visit to Murgab and Persepolis, (1818), 90;
importance of his drawings, _ib._;
suggests that the tomb at Naksh-i-Rustam was that of Darius, 92;
he was long ‘the oracle of the archæologists,’ 93_n._;
his visit to Mount Elvend, 95;
he sketches the figures at Behistun, 105
Portugal:
desire of trade with Persia, 23;
contest with Persia (1620), 30;
result, 31;
finally driven from Persian Gulf, 32
Postellus, the alphabets in, 47
Proto-Chaldean (later called Akkadian), 410
Prinsep, Mr. James (Secretary of Asiatic Society of Calcutta): in
correspondence with Jacquet, 240
Puli Neu (New Bridge) over the ‘Kur’ (= ‘Cyrus’ of the ancients), 25
Purchas: alphabets borrowed from Gromex, 47
‘Purchas, his Pilgrims,’ letters of Figueroa in, 18_n._, 19
Rask, R. (1782-1832), 183, 200;
an early founder of Comparative Philology, 202;
suggests correct termination of genitive plural in Old Persian,
which adds two correct values to the alphabet, 203;
he leads to the decipherment of ‘Achaemenian,’ _ib._
Rassam, Mr. Hormuzd:
had practical direction of excavations at Bagdad (1851), 408;
discovered the inscription of Tiglath Peleser, _ib._
Rawlinson, Canon: his Memoir of his brother, Sir Henry, 106_n._, 295
Rawlinson, Sir Henry Creswicke (1810-95):
on the Behistun inscription, 106;
officer in Indian army, 107;
sent to Persia on military duty (1833), 108;
copies inscriptions at Mount Elvend and Behistun (1835-7), _ib._;
ordered to Candahar (1840), 111;
appointed Political Agent at Bagdad (1844), _ib._;
resumes work at Behistun, _ib._;
Memoir on Persian Column (1846), 112, 272;
Second Memoir on Babylonian Column (1849), 114, 386;
visited Susa (1836), 134
Rawlinson: Sir Henry, decipherment of Persian Column:
identifies eighteen cuneiform characters, 245;
independently of Grotefend, 246;
completes alphabet, having borrowed only two letters, 248;
deciphers two signs wrongly valued, 249;
chief merit in translation, 249;
compared with Lassen, 261;
the Supplementary Note (1846), 268;
claims to originality of discovery examined, 275;
his alphabet in 1846, 279;
notes on the grammar, 284;
his conjectural restorations, 286;
complete translation of all the inscriptions in Old Persian, 291-3;
revises the Behistun inscription for George Rawlinson’s ‘Herodotus’
(1858), and again for ‘Records of the Past’ (1873), 297
Rawlinson, Sir Henry: on the Susian (Median) Column:
first scholar to make a long translation from it, 287, 306;
recognises its Scythic affinities, 306;
abandoned its further study and presented his notes to Mr. Norris,
307
Rawlinson, Sir Henry: decipherment of the Babylonian Column:
on the varieties of writing, 345, 349;
he definitely settles its Semitic affinity, 351;
his progress down to 1847, 363;
recognises ‘Nebuchadnezzar,’ 363;
his difficulty with proper names, 369, 383;
his delay in publication wrongly censured, 377;
his papers on the ‘Inscriptions of Assyria and Babylon’ (January
and February 1850), 379;
results compared with Hincks, 380, 387, 396;
Black Obelisk inscription, 383;
large numbers of historical names brought to light, 385, 393, 407;
publication of the Behistun inscription (1851), 386;
treatment of syllables, 380, 387_n._;
his translations compared with De Saulcy and Bezold, 390;
he and Hincks share between them the honour of accomplishing the
task of deciphering the Babylonian signs, 397;
their exceptional genius, 405
Rawlinson, Sir H.: subsequent career:
returned to Bagdad to supervise excavations (1851), 408;
detected the existence of Sumerian or Akkadian (1855), 410;
Director of E. India Company, member of Parliament, British envoy
to Persia, 416;
undertook supervision of ‘Inscriptions of Western Asia’ (1859-84),
_ib._;
at the India Office (1868), 417;
his death (1895), _ib._;
overwhelmed with honours from learned Societies, _ib._;
K.C.B. in 1856: subsequent honours due to political services, _ib._
Rémusat, Abel (French Orientalist), 239
Renan, Ernest, xvi, 352
Rennell, Major: identified Susa with Shus, 132
Resident agents of Dutch and English East India Companies settled in
Persia, 48, 54
Rhages, 317
Rich, Claudius J., British Resident at Bagdad (1808-21):
visits Murgab and Persepolis (1821), 98;
copies the inscriptions, 99;
he collects examples of Assyrian writing, 187, 195, 340;
visits Babylon, and makes a collection of antiquities, now in the
British Museum, 193;
his Memoir on Babylonian inscriptions (1817), _ib._;
suggests that the second Persepolitan was the language of Susa, 194;
he accepts Grotefend’s conclusions, 195;
his correspondence with him, _ib._;
publication of his book delayed until 1839, 251, 338, 340
Rochette, Raoul, 240
Roe, Sir Thomas, 43
Rosetta Stone, the, 169
Ross, Dr., 109
Russell, Lord John:
suggested Government grant (1851) in aid of Rawlinson’s work, 386;
personal gift towards the Bagdad excavations, 408
Rustam, bas-relief of, 10, 29
Sacy, Silvestre de, his suggestion to Münter, 161;
confutation of Lichtenstein’s theories, 167;
his account of Grotefend’s discovery (1803), 169, 173, 175, 179;
his reading of the Pehlevi inscription at Naksh-i-Rustam, 171;
his suggestion with regard to Ormuzd, 181;
on the varieties of cuneiform character, 183;
he doubts the validity of Grotefend’s discovery, 191
St. Martin, M., 96, 109;
his paper on the inscriptions (1823), 196;
criticises Grotefend’s method, 197;
his successful treatment of ‘Goshtasp,’ 199;
he introduces Grotefend to France, 202;
example of his transliteration, 208_n._
Salbancke, Joseph (1609), 13
Salmaneser (or Shalmaneser) II. (Nineveh: Rawlinson’s ‘Temenbar
II.’), 383, 394
Samaria, capture of, by Sargon, 393
Samson, alleged figure of, at Chehel Minar, 9 _sq._
Sapeires, the (of Herodotus): Lassen’s supposed identification of,
227 _sq._
Sarangia, 219
Sarayu (or Haroyu), 219_n._
Sarcey, Count de:
his political and exploring mission from France to Persia, 117
_sqq._
Sargon, 356, 361, 365, 369, 373, 385, 393
Sar-i-Pul-i-Zohab, 119
Sarzec, M. de: his inscriptions from Tello, xiv
Sassanian period, bas-reliefs of, at Naksh-i-Rustam, 7, 10
Saulcy, F. de:
an early student of Assyrian, 113, 302, 342;
essays on Susian (Median) in ‘Journal Asiatique’ (1849-50), 309;
his erroneous treatment of the syllabary, 311;
his useful indication of the resemblance of the signs to the
Persian, 312;
its Scythic origin confirmed by his studies, 314;
his treatment of a Vannic inscription, 349;
his essays on Assyrian (1847), 362;
his insistance on the Semitic mode of writing, 377;
his transliterations and translations compared with Rawlinson, 390;
his criticisms of Hincks’s syllabarium, 395;
examination of his claims as a decipherer, 397;
he afforded no assistance to Rawlinson, 400;
his work on the Khorsabad Bull inscription (1850), 401;
his essay in ‘Journal Asiatique’ (1854), 402;
his comparative failure as a decipherer, 403
Sayce, A. H., 81_n._;
his translation of Old Susian inscriptions, 137, 324;
relation of the language of Malamir to Susian (Median), _ib._;
prefers to call the latter ‘Elamite’ or else ‘Amardian,’ 325;
his ‘revised list of the syllabarium,’ _ib._;
its linguistic relationship to Akkadian, 335;
his decipherment of Vannic (1893-94), 336_n._;
on the Semitic ‘affinities’ of Babylonian, 351
Scheil, Father, 146, 384
Schlegel, Professor, 203_n._, 221
Schulz, Professor:
copies inscriptions at Van and Mount Elvend, 95-96;
his papers published by Burnouf, 96, 340
Scythic of ancient Elamites and that of Southern Babylonia: relation
not yet determined, 137
Seal cylinders, 148
Sefy, Shah, 39
Semiramis and the rock of Behistun, 102
Sennacherib:
inscription of, on a cylinder at Kouyunjik, translated by Fox
Talbot, 189;
Grotefend’s copperplate of it, _ib._;
referred to, 361, 369, 373, 385, 393;
Annals of, at Kouyunjik, 394
Serlio, Sebastiano (Bolognese architect, 1534): incorrectly supposed
to have drawn the Chehel Minar, 10
Shapoor, 108
Shiraz, 2;
believed by Gouvea to be the ancient Persepolis, 14;
by Figueroa, to be Cyropolis, 17;
by Ferrari, to be Persepolis, 25;
English merchants at, 76
Shirley, Robert:
his relations with Gouvea, and conversion to the Catholic faith,
15, 32;
employed by Shah Abbas as Envoy to European Courts, 32;
mission from England to Persia to test validity of his credentials,
33 _sqq._;
result of mission: death of Shirley, 38
Shuster, 109, 134
Sidon, 385
Sippara, 145
Skinner, Mr., 43
Smith, George:
his mission to the East by the ‘Daily Telegraph,’ 394;
resumed Rawlinson’s excavations in 1873, 411;
his working assistant on the ‘Inscriptions of Western Asia,’ 416;
Smith’s intimate knowledge of Assyrian, _ib._
Sogdiana, 219
Solomon, supposed Palace of, at Persepolis, 1;
tomb of his Mother (so-called) at Pasargadae, 8, 10;
bridge said to have been built by him, 9
Southern Babylonia, exploration of, by Mr. Loftus, 409
Spiegel, M.:
his transliteration and translation of Le Bruyn No. 131, 233;
his translation of the Gomates passage in Behistun inscription, 291
and _n._;
on Venice Vase, 292;
his edition (1862) of all the Persian inscriptions, 297
Staircase, the, 51, 55, 62 _sq._, 72 _sq._, 130;
differing accounts of the number of its steps, 60
Standard Inscription of Nebuchadnezzar (also called East India House
Inscription), 166
Stern, M. (of Göttingen), 413
Stewart, Mr.: obtains copies of Mount Elvend inscriptions, 95, 206
Stolze, Herr:
his photographs of Persian antiquities, 128;
his photogrammetric plan of Persepolis, _ib._;
general estimate of the plates, 130
Struys, Jean (‘the lying traveller’): his ‘Tomb of Persepolis,’ 58
Subterraneous passages at Chehel Minar and Naksh-i-Rustam, 67 _sq._
Suez Stone inscription, a quadrilingual found in 1800, 146, 166
Sumerian, the ancient Scythic language of Irak, xiv;
the inscriptions found at Susa, 144;
importance of the discovery, 324, 335;
called Akkadian by Hincks, 410
Sumerians, the founders of civilisation in Western Asia, xiii, 410
Susa, discovery of Achaemenian ruins and inscriptions at, 109, 125,
132-45;
described by Loftus (1850), 135;
Dieulafoy (1885), 138;
De Morgan (1899), 143;
cuneiform name of, 235
Susian [Median] language of second column:
the decipherment accomplished by Westergaard (1844-5), 300;
Hincks (1846-7), 308;
De Saulcy (1850), 309;
Norris (1852-5), 307, 314;
Oppert (1859), 320;
Sayce (1874), 325;
Oppert (1879), 326;
number of signs, 302, 321, 328;
their resemblance to Persian and Assyrian, 312, 316, 320, 321, 323;
language syllabic, 299, 300, 302, 327;
the ideograms, 328;
the determinatives, 298, 303;
supposed to be Aryan, 299, 309;
Semitic, 313;
half Semitic, half Aryan, 339;
shown to belong to the Altaic branch of Turanian, 305, 314, 317,
319, 321, 335;
variously called Median, 304, 325, 333;
Scythic, 307, 314;
Medo-Scythic, 321, 333;
Susian, 306, 322, 334;
Elamite or Amardian, 325, 334;
‘Anzanisch,’ 334;
Susian-Median, 334;
New Susian, 334;
supposed to be language of Susa, 313;
of pastoral tribes of Persia, 317;
of northern Media, 321;
of the Scythic hordes, 314;
of the lower classes of Persia, or Medians, 325;
of Median dynasty of Dejoces, 333.
See Appendix C.
Susian [Old]:
long inscription discovered by Rawlinson (1836), 134, 137, 322;
others by Dieulafoy (1885), 139;
and De Morgan (1899), 144;
a dialect of it found at Malamir, 135;
their relations to Susian (Median) and Sumerian, 137, 323;
translated by Oppert and Sayce, _ib._
‘Susra Inscription,’ the, 134_n._
Sutherland, Captain, 84
Tabriz, 108
Tak Kasra (near Bagdad), stone found at (the Caillou Michaux), 166
Takht-i-Bostan, Sassanian inscriptions at, copied by Flandin, 119
Takht-i-Cai Khusrau (Throne of Cyrus), Persepolis, 2
Takht-i-Jamshid (Throne of Jamshid), Persepolis, 2
Talbot, H. Fox:
he translates the Annals of Sennacherib, 189;
and other important inscriptions, 412;
he proposes to subject the knowledge of Assyrian to a test
translation, 413;
names of the translators, _ib._;
verdict of the jury of examiners, 414
Tasker, Mr. (English traveller): his three inscriptions from
Naksh-i-Rustam tomb, 293
Tauris, 54
Tavernier, J. B. (1605-89):
his travels, 49;
in Persia with Daulier Deslandes and Thévenot, _ib._;
at Persepolis: finds nothing worth admiring in the ruins, 57
Taylor, Colonel (British Resident at Bagdad), 109, 111;
his prism from Nineveh (1830), 340;
assisted Mr. Loftus in the exploration of Southern Babylonia, 409
Teispes, 245
Tello, xiv
‘Temenbar II.’ (Nineveh: Rawlinson’s reading for Salmaneser II.), 383
Texier, Charles F. M., 94:
his travels in Persia (1840), 115;
he excels in measurements, but his work superseded by that of
Flandin, 117
Thévenot, J. de (1633-67):
his Oriental travels suggested by d’Herbelot, 53;
joins Daulier Deslandes and Chardin at Persepolis, 54;
his description of the ruins: he gives first adequate account of
the bas-reliefs, 56;
describes the interior of a tomb, 57
Thimar, 9
Tiglath Peleser, 408, 412 _sq._
Tombs:
at Chehel Minar, 22, 51, 56, 68;
of Naksh-i-Rustam, 2;
‘Tomb of the Mother of Solomon’ at Pasargadae, 8, 10;
‘Tomb of Daniel’ (Susa), 133 _sq._
Townley, Mr., his private collection of antiquities, 156
Trilingual inscriptions. _See_ Achaemenian inscriptions
Turanian origin of the cuneiform writing, 220
Two Headlands, Port of the (Persian Gulf), 31
Tychsen, O. G., of Rostock: makes the earliest attempt to decipher
the inscriptions (1798), 151
Tyre, 385
Unilingual inscriptions, 148
Upper Karun, valley of the, 135
Ur, city, 409
Uradhians (people of Ararat), 336_n._
Urmia, 126
Valle, Pietro della:
visits Persia (1617): identifies the mounds at Hillah with site of
Babylon, 24;
made the first collection of Babylonian bricks brought to Europe,
24, 162;
his description of Persepolis, 26;
copies five cuneiform signs, 28, 32;
considers the ruins the remains of a temple, 29;
gives the earliest account of the tombs of Naksh-i-Rustam, 29;
his letters not published till 1658, 32
Van, inscriptions found at, 1, 206
Vannic language, 336_n._;
writing, 346
Variants: Assyrian scribes made use of Tables of, 348
Vases, ‘holy’: import of inscriptions on, 354
Vases with identical inscriptions, 148
Vasti, Queen (wife of Artaxerxes), 14
Vaux, W. S. W.:
his work on ‘Nineveh and Persepolis,’ 94;
endeavours to popularise cuneiform study, 407
Vendidad, original text of, brought to England, 204;
Anquetil’s work on it, 204 _sq._
‘Venice Vase,’ the, 148
Vidal, M. (dragoman at Aleppo): sends Prof. Schulz copies of Mount
Elvend inscriptions, 95
Weisbach, F. H.:
on the inscriptions of the second column (1890), 297;
treatment of vowels in his syllabary, 312;
translation of the unilingual inscription at Persepolis, 319;
his results compared with Oppert, 326-32;
calls the language New Susian, 334
Weissbach, F. H., and W. Bang: on the old Persian inscriptions
(1893), 297
Westergaard, N. L.:
copies the inscriptions in the Porch at Persepolis, and on Tomb of
Darius at Naksh-i-Rustam (1843), 102, 121, 123, 130;
his exceptional qualifications, 252;
he undertakes the translation of the Susian (Median) column, 253,
255, 301;
found a farther list of proper names on tomb inscriptions, 300;
summary of his results, 302;
establishes the affinity of the Susian (Median) with the Scythic
family of languages, 305
Whewell, Professor: one of the jury on Fox Talbot’s test translation,
414
Wilkinson, Sir Gardner, 148;
one of the jury on Fox Talbot’s test translation, 414
Williams, Sir W. F., 135
Wilson, Professor (President of Royal Asiatic Society, 1852):
regarded the Assyrian inscriptions as still ‘merely dumb memorials
of antiquity,’ 413;
one of the jury on Fox Talbot’s test translation, 414
Witte, of Rostock, 162
Yaçna, Burnouf’s Commentary on the, 206, 247
Yehuda (Judah), in a Khorsabad inscription, 385, 394
Xerxes:
buildings at Persepolis, 2, 6, 28, 50, 55, 62;
drawn by Niebuhr, 77, 117;
by Flandin, 121, 124;
photographed by Stolze, 129;
his bricks found at Susa, 136;
name deciphered by Grotefend, 173;
inscriptions at Persepolis on Porch, 6, 100, 102;
on stairs and palaces, 6, 73, 79, 99;
at Van and Elvend, 95, 206;
on Caylus Vase, 146, 148
Zend-Avesta, the, 173, 203_n._, 204 _sq._, 256_n._
Zohab, 134
Zoroaster, 203
_Spottiswoode & Co. Ltd., Printers, New-street Square, London._
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