Читать книгу Empires of the Plain: Henry Rawlinson and the Lost Languages of Babylon - Lesley Adkins - Страница 12

Over two centuries before Rawlinson arrived in Persia, European courts had been attempting to establish trading links with Shah Abbas I, and while on a mission to the Persian court on behalf of Philip III of Spain and Portugal, Antonio de Gouvea visited Persepolis in 1602. He found the writing of the inscriptions very strange: ‘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.’¹ Back at the Spanish court, Antonio de Gouvea met Don Garcia Silva Figueroa, who was himself inspired to visit the site in 1618 when in Persia as ambassador. Don Garcia was the first person to identify the ruins as Persepolis, but was equally puzzled by the sight of the inscriptions: ‘The letters themselves are neither Chaldaean, 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 forme of a Pyramide, or such a little Obeliske as I have set in the margin.’²

Pietro della Valle, a traveller from Rome, became acquainted with Don Garcia at Isfahan, and when della Valle left the city towards the end of 1621, he spent two days at Persepolis and the neighbouring ruins. Like Don Garcia, he noted: ‘One cannot tell in what language or letters these inscriptions are written, because the characters are unknown.’³ He was unsure of the direction of writing, ‘whether the characters are written from right to left as is the Oriental custom, or the opposite, from left to right as with us’,⁴ but because of the way the signs were constructed, he correctly deduced from left to right. He copied five of the most common cuneiform signs, and even though publication of the account of his journey was delayed until 1658, these were still the first cuneiform signs ever to be published.

Dutch, English, French and German travellers and artists were in turn drawn to Persepolis, many publishing engravings of the inscriptions, although these were often inaccurate. Samuel Flower, an agent of the East India Company, copied several trilingual inscriptions, from which a random selection of twenty-three cuneiform signs from the three scripts, each one divided by a full-stop, was published in 1693. Scholars were misled into believing that this random selection represented a full inscription with punctuation, a confusion that lasted for over one hundred years. Thomas Hyde, a Professor of Hebrew and Arabic at Oxford, studied Flower’s so-called inscription and wrote in 1700 that the signs were purely decorative and could not represent writing, not least because they were all different and divided by full-stops. Although led astray by this composite inscription, he described the signs as ductuli pyramidales seu cuneiformes, so coining the term ‘cuneiform’.

The next significant advance was by Carsten Niebuhr, a Danish scholar and explorer who spent several days at Persepolis in 1765. When the account of his travels was published a few years later, his drawings of inscriptions at last provided reliable material for scholars to use in their attempts at decipherment. Niebuhr was the first to realize that the inscriptions comprised three different scripts and therefore probably three different languages. He misleadingly referred to each script as an alphabet, although only the Old Persian was an alphabet. Referring to the scripts as classes I, II and III, he thought that class I (recognized later as Old Persian) was more simple than the other two and had forty-two alphabetical signs (there are actually even fewer – thirty-six). He confirmed della Valle’s view that the writing was done from left to right, after observing that in two identical inscriptions the line endings were not in the same position. It did not seem to occur to Niebuhr that the three different scripts each reproduced the identical text.

Two decades later, in 1798, Oluf Gerhard Tychsen, a Professor of Oriental Languages at Rostock, published a paper wrongly alleging that the inscriptions at Persepolis were of Parthian date and claiming to make out the name of the first Parthian King, Arsaces (‘Aksak’), in a recurring group of signs. He did correctly identify one diagonal sign in the Old Persian script as a word divider, although he was incorrect to claim it could also signify the conjunction ‘and’.

That same year Frederik Münter, a Professor of Theology at Copenhagen, read two papers to the Royal Danish Society of Sciences that were published in 1800 (and translated into German in 1802). In his opinion the ruins and inscriptions could only belong to the Achaemenid kings, and among his many observations on the inscriptions he correctly concluded that the diagonal sign was only ever a word divider. He rejected Tychsen’s reading of the name Aksak and rightly suggested that it might be a Persian title, such as ‘king of kings’. However, he incorrectly suggested that the languages of the three scripts were Avestan (or Zend as it was then called), Pahlavi and Parsi.

The known languages of Persia are divided into Old Iranian (in use up to Alexander the Great’s conquest), Middle Iranian (used up to the Islamic conquest) and New Iranian. The Iranian language belongs to the Indo-Iranian branch of Indo-European languages, and around 1000 BC Iranian speakers spread from central Asia into Afghanistan and Persia (Iran). Old Iranian comprised two known languages, Old Persian and Avestan, and the former was the everyday speech of the Achaemenid kings and was probably the spoken language of south-west Persia. It is represented by a limited number of cuneiform inscriptions, as at Bisitun and Persepolis. At the same time, Avestan was spoken in north-east Persia and became the language used to compose the Avesta or Zend-Avesta, the holy texts of Zoroastrianism that became the state religion from the time of Cyrus the Great. The Avesta was originally handed down from one generation to another by word of mouth, but was written down for the first time in the Sasanian era, probably in the sixth century AD, long after cuneiform had gone out of use. The earliest surviving manuscripts date from the thirteenth century, just as most Latin texts from the Roman Empire survive only as medieval copies.

In 1771 Abraham-Hyacinthe Anquetil Duperron published the first translation, into French, of the Zend-Avesta. Because Avestan was similar to Old Persian, knowledge of this language was to prove invaluable as it enabled decipherers to work out the vocabulary of Old Persian. Münter at Copenhagen tried to compare the frequency of cuneiform signs in the Old Persian inscriptions with the frequency of letters in Avestan texts, and although his method did not succeed, it led him to suggest correctly that the other two scripts in the trilingual inscriptions from Persepolis were translations of the first.

In July 1802, Rafaello Fiorillo, secretary of the Imperial Library at Göttingen in Germany, was out walking with the twenty-seven-year-old schoolteacher Georg Friedrich Grotefend, a man ‘possessed of an extraordinary memory and excellent health, which allowed him to study from the earliest morning until late at night, without stint or relaxation … although he was considered by persons not in his intimacy, to be of a cold and reserved character, wholly occupied with his recondite studies, and uninterested in anything beyond them, this learned man was really full of feeling, and endowed with an almost child-like simplicity, which endeared him to all those who were of the circle of his friends.’⁵ Fiorillo asked if it could ever be possible to understand cuneiform inscriptions, when both the alphabet and the language were absolutely unknown. Rising to the challenge, Grotefend chose two trilingual inscriptions copied by Niebuhr at Persepolis that looked very similar, examining in each the most simple of the three scripts (the Old Persian). Just a few years earlier, Silvestre de Sacy, an Oriental scholar in Paris, had worked out the meaning of Sasanian (Middle Persian) inscriptions from Naqsh-i Rustam near Persepolis, using the aid of identical inscriptions in ancient Greek. Because they contained the names and titles of kings, Grotefend thought that his cuneiform inscriptions from Persepolis might be similar, but perhaps dating to the time of Xerxes. From these suppositions, he thought that the inscriptions would include the formula ‘Xerxes, great king, king of kings, son of Darius, great king, king of kings, son of Hystaspes’.

Using this method, Grotefend successfully identified the groups of signs for Xerxes, Darius and Hystaspes and also the group of signs for ‘king’, but did not work out all the individual cuneiform signs correctly. Using versions of the names derived from ancient Greek, Hebrew and Avestan, he thought that the cuneiform signs for Darius represented d-a-r-h-e-u-sh (darheush), although in fact they spell da-a-ra-ya-va-u-sha (darayavaush). The cuneiform signs for Xerxes were identified by him as kh-sh-h-e-r-sh-e (khshhershe), but they are actually xa-sha-ya-a-ra-sha-a (xashayarasha).

The group of signs that Grotefend believed meant ‘king’ gave him kh-sh-e-h-?-?-h, when looking at identical signs within darheush and khshhershe. From the Avesta, he knew that khsheio was a royal title, so he deduced that the missing signs were i and o, to give khshehioh, although the word is actually xa-sha-a-ya-tha-i-ya (xashayathaiya). By working out the values of the signs that he thought represented the name Hystaspes, and by filling in the gaps, Grotefend arrived at g-o-sh-t-a-s-p (goshtasp), although it is now spelled vi-i-sha-ta-a-sa-pa (vishatasapa).

From identifying these names, Grotefend next worked out part of the alphabet for Old Persian, not realizing that many signs represented syllables, not single alphabetical letters. Despite many errors, he had achieved the first steps in decipherment, and his remarkable results were announced to the Academy of Sciences at Göttingen in four papers from September 1802 to May 1803 and published in 1805 within a book by Arnold H. L. Heeren – Ideen über die Politik, den Verkehr und den Handel, der vornehmsten Völker der alten Welt (Ideas on the politics, communication and trade of the first peoples of the ancient world).

Grotefend’s results were applauded in Paris by de Sacy, whose own pupil Saint-Martin tried to improve on the alphabet, but with minimal success. Just before his death in 1832, Saint-Martin was studying copies of the trilingual Elwand inscriptions, which were subsequently handed to Burnouf, who was working on Avestan and Sanskrit, two closely related ancient languages. Burnouf’s Commentaire sur le Yaçna was published from 1833 to 1835 – the Yasna was part of the Zend-Avesta, and this commentary far outstripped Duperron’s earlier translation of the Zend-Avesta. It was while Burnouf was preparing the Elwand inscriptions for publication that Rawlinson was carefully copying the very same inscriptions on his way from Tehran to Kermanshah in April 1835.

Towards the end of April, Rawlinson reached Kermanshah, where he would become well acquainted with the town and its people. Situated at an altitude of over 4,000 feet, on the edge of an extensive plain and at the foothills of a range of the Zagros mountains, Kermanshah controlled trade between the surrounding region and Baghdad to the south-west in Turkish territory. A fortified mud-brick wall, roughly circular in plan and with five gates, surrounded the town’s flat-roofed mud-brick houses, extensive covered bazaars, palace, baths, caravanserais and mosques, although imposing domes and minarets were noticeably lacking, in spite of Shi’ite Muslims being in the majority. Equally obvious was the sparse population, which had more than halved to around 12,000 after a recent plague epidemic. Five years later, in 1840, the adventurer Austen Henry Layard (a future collaborator with Rawlinson on cuneiform) travelled to Kermanshah and gave his initial impressions: ‘It stands in a fine, well-watered plain, surrounded by lofty serrated mountains towering one above the other, with high precipitous peaks, then still covered with snow. It is a place of considerable size, in the midst of gardens, vineyards, and orchards, amongst which are wide-spreading walnut trees and lofty poplars. An abundant supply of water descended from the mountains, divided into numerous canals, irrigated the lands, and rendered them bright with verdure. Altogether I was very favourably impressed with the appearance of the place from a distance. I thought it one of the prettiest and most flourishing towns I had seen in the East.’⁶

Finding himself in this mountainous region with many tantalizing inscriptions, Rawlinson was instantly lured to nearby Taq-i Bustan, with its Sasanian rock-cut reliefs and grottoes, several centuries later in date than those trilingual cuneiform inscriptions at the foot of Mount Elwand that he had recently copied. The Taq-i Bustan reliefs included one of King Khusro II, who was a contemporary of the Prophet Muhammed and ruled from AD 594 to 628. The king, seated on his favourite horse Shabdiz, is in full armour and helmet, holding a lance and looking very much like the knights of medieval Europe. Throughout Persia, sculptured reliefs of Fath Ali Shah and his court had been carved next to Sasanian reliefs, including one here at Taq-i Bustan, so continuing a long tradition.

What really gripped Rawlinson’s attention, though, was hearing about another trilingual cuneiform inscription, located at Bisitun, 20 miles from Kermanshah. Frustratingly, no sooner had he discovered the inscription than his work as a soldier demanded his total commitment. Within weeks of arriving he had gained Bahram Mirza’s trust to such an extent that it was laid down that Persian soldiers of all ranks would take orders from him, while he himself would only take orders from the prince. ‘The Prince’, he recorded, ‘took to me, was very kind and gave me the practical command of the Province’⁷ – including arms, equipment, stores, and the recruitment and training of the troops.

Having put cuneiform inscriptions out of his mind for now, Rawlinson’s first concern was the raising of troops from local Kurdish tribes. Wild in their ways of living and independent in their attitude, the Kurds only felt allegiance to their own tribe and resented being ruled by Persians. In his journal at this time, Rawlinson set out his rules for his own conduct, demonstrating his grasp of the fragility of the situation: ‘Create business for yourself. Lose no opportunity of making yourself useful, whatever may be the affair which may happen to present the chance. Grasp at everything, and never yield an inch. Above all, never stand upon trifles. Be careful of outward observances. Maintain a good establishment; keep good horses and showy ones; dress well; have good and handsome arms; in your conversation and intercourse with the natives, be sure to observe the customary etiquette.’⁸ In this way, by unceasing work and tactful persuasion, Rawlinson succeeded in recruiting and training three regiments.

In mid-August Bahram Mirza ordered Rawlinson to assist Suleiman Khan, the governor of Kurdistan to the north of Kermanshah. Suleiman was, Rawlinson thought, ‘a regular tyrant, but made great friends with him’.⁹ Rawlinson took control from the governor of raising and training a regiment of troops from among the Guran Kurds, a most unruly mountain tribe. About six weeks later he was recalled to Kermanshah by Bahram Mirza, and that same day the Guran Kurds mutinied, murdered Suleiman Khan and headed off westwards towards the frontier, with the intention of crossing into Turkish territory where they would be safe from Persian reprisals. News of the revolt compelled Bahram Mirza to send Rawlinson straight back to the mountains to try to quell the rebellion. He managed to rescue Suleiman Khan’s son Muhammed Wali Khan, proclaimed him governor and began rounding up the less disaffected troops. Hurrying towards the border, Rawlinson persuaded those who had not reached it to accept Muhammed as their new leader and reaffirm their oath of allegiance to the Shah. Inevitably, many mutineers escaped into Turkish territory, but in the space of a few days Rawlinson’s military skills and diplomacy had put down the rebellion and restored peace.

After ten days of ‘continual excitement and very hard work’¹⁰ Rawlinson was struck down by ‘bed fever’, probably malaria from which he had last suffered over a year previously at Tabriz, and was forced to complete the journey back to Kermanshah in a litter. After trying all types of remedy, he was getting no better, so ‘made them cut the fever by bleeding me till I fainted – rather severe treatment’.¹¹ Remaining extremely weak and unable to face the long trek to Tehran for treatment, he chose to be transported along the shorter and easier route westwards out of Persia to Baghdad, in what was then Turkish territory, where he could be cared for by a European doctor. He reached Baghdad on 29 November 1835 and placed himself in the hands of Dr John Ross, the thirty-year-old surgeon to the British Residency. Under Ross’s treatment Rawlinson recovered rapidly.

A whole month was spent on sick leave recuperating at Baghdad, but ever anxious not to be idle, Rawlinson set about learning Arabic and ‘made the acquaintance of Colonel Taylor and was initiated into Arabic lore’.¹² Colonel John Taylor, the East India Company Resident at Baghdad, was an antiquarian and ‘so good an Arabic scholar, that when the Cadi or the Mufti met with a difficult passage in some old manuscript and were not sure of the correct reading, they sent or went to him. He never left his house and was always to be found in his study poring over Arabic books. Unfortunately he never wrote anything.’¹³

At the end of December, Rawlinson was sufficiently recovered ‘in health and spirits’¹⁴ to ride from Baghdad to the Persian town of Zohab at the foot of the Zagros mountains, at that time ‘a mass of ruins, with scarcely 200 inhabited houses’¹⁵ because of constant wars between Persia and Turkey. Here he met up with Bahram Mirza early in the new year and stayed for six weeks, training the Guran regiment, ‘until he had brought his new corps into a state of perfection almost unknown in these regions’.¹⁶ All the while, Rawlinson wrote down his observations of the district and took delight in the scenery, such as at the source of the Holwan River, which ‘rises in the gorge of Rijáb, on the western face of Zagros, about 20 miles E. of the town of Zoháb. It bursts in a full stream from its source, and is swollen by many copious springs as it pursues its way for 8 miles down this romantic glen. The defile of Rijáb is one of the most beautiful spots that I have seen in the East; it is in general very narrow, scarcely 60 yards in width, closed in on either side by a line of tremendous precipices, and filled from one end to the other with gardens and orchards, through which the stream tears its foaming way with the most impetuous force until it emerges into the plain below.’¹⁷

In a mountain gorge north of Zohab, Rawlinson copied a small sculptured relief with a cuneiform inscription, noting that it was ‘divided into three compartments of four lines each, and written perpendicularly in the complicated Babylonian character, which I had never before seen, except upon bricks and cylinders’.¹⁸ He had in fact already seen Babylonian at Bisitun, but did not yet realize it was the same script used on baked clay objects such as bricks, because without careful study they appeared so different. Just south of Zohab, at a place called Sarpol-i Zohab, as well as ‘Gates of Asia’, he recorded a sculptured relief on another rock face: ‘It represents a figure in a short tunic and round cap, with a shield upon his left arm, and a club resting upon the ground in his right, who tramples with his left foot upon a prostrate enemy; a prisoner with his hands bound behind him, equal in stature to the victor, stands in front of him, and in the background are four naked figures kneeling in a suppliant posture, and of a less size, to represent the followers of the captive monarch; the platform upon which this group is disposed is supported on the heads and hands of a row of pigmy figures, in the same manner as we see at the royal tombs of Persepolis. The face of the tablet has been much injured by the oozing of water from the rock, but the execution is good, and evidently of the same age as the sculptures of Bísutún and Persepolis.’¹⁹

This remarkable monument that Rawlinson had discovered was just over 100 miles due west of Bisitun, but he misinterpreted the sculpture, because the prisoner with the same stature as the victor did not have bound hands and was in fact the warrior goddess Ishtar, the most important female deity in Mesopotamia. She is shown offering King Anubanini the royal diadem, while he stands on a prisoner, with other captives shown around him, all of a smaller size. The relief dates to about 2000 BC, one thousand five hundred years earlier than that at Bisitun, but it must have been copied by Darius the Great, as he is shown at Bisitun in virtually identical pose, with the goddess Ishtar transformed into Ahuramazda.

Bahram Mirza next ordered Rawlinson to take the regiment on an expedition southwards through the Zagros mountains into Luristan and Khuzistan (the area in south-west Persia that was once ancient Elam) to suppress increasing trouble with the powerful and fiercely independent Bakhtiari mountain tribe. Rawlinson knew that the area ‘had seldom, if ever, before been trodden by the foot of an European’,²⁰ and recognizing this as an opportunity for pioneering exploration, he kept copious notes of everything of geographical and historical interest on the journey.

The expedition set off on 14 February 1836, with Rawlinson leading 3,000 Guran troops and their artillery southwards through the mountains. They marched between 20 and 40 miles a day, and Rawlinson met and talked with the chiefs of various local tribes through whose territory they passed. He often left his men to march to their overnight camp while he went ahead on horseback to explore the antiquities of the region, which were mostly Sasanian, ranging from ruined cities, temples, bridges and fortifications to small rock-cut inscriptions. Four days on he explained: ‘I halted to-day at Chárdawer, to enable the troops to come up and rest, after their very fatiguing march. I was in some apprehension at first; for there was blood between the Gúráns and the followers of Jemshíd Beg, the latter having joined the Kalhur tribe in their last foray on the Gúrán lands, and having lost several men in the skirmish which ensued. “Had they slain, however, a hundred of my men,” said Jemshíd Beg, “they are your sacrifice; the Gúrán having come here under your shadow, they are all my guests;” and he insisted, accordingly, in furnishing the regiment with supplies, as a part of my own entertainment. Neither could I prevail on him to accept of any remuneration.’²¹

The next day they marched 15 miles to the camp of another leader, Ahmed Khán, whose family, Rawlinson recorded, ‘are notorious for their intolerant spirit; and I should recommend any European traveller visiting the province of Pushti-kúh, in order to examine its remarkable antiquities, to appear in the meanest guise, and live entirely among the wandering I’liyát, who are mostly ‘Alí Iláhís, and are equally ignorant and indifferent on all matters of religion.’²² Rawlinson added: ‘In my own case, of course, I had nothing to apprehend, as I was marching at the head of a regiment, and the rulers of the province were anxious to propitiate the favour of the prince of Kirmánsháh, in whose service I was known to be; but I saw enough on this journey, and upon subsequent occasions, of the extreme jealousy and intolerance of the Wáli’s family, to feel assured that the attempt of an European to explore the country in an open and undisguised character, with any less efficient support, would be attended with the greatest danger.’²³

On 4 March they reached Dizful at the foot of the mountains, the chief city of the province of Khuzistan and with, Rawlinson reckoned, about 20,000 inhabitants. After five days camped here, he rode over 20 miles south-westwards to the ancient city of Susa (or Shush), on the edge of the great alluvial plain of Mesopotamia. Although it had been the summer capital of Darius the Great, it had been founded as far back as 4000 BC and became the principal city of Elam. ‘At the tenth mile from Dizfúl,’ Rawlinson wrote, ‘the river makes an abrupt turn to the S.E., and the road then leaves it, and stretches across the plain to the great mound of Sús, which is, from this point, distinctly visible on the horizon. As I approached the ruins, I was particularly struck with the extraordinary height of this mound, which is indeed so great as to overpower all the other ruins in the vicinity.’²⁴ Rawlinson described his first discovery: ‘Upon the slope of the western face of the mound is a slab with a cuneiform inscription of thirty-three lines in length engraved on it, and in the complicated character of the third column of the Persepolitan tablets.’²⁵ What he had found was an inscription in the Elamite script, and he was told that the slab was ‘part of an obelisk, which existed not many years ago, erect upon the summit of the mound, and the broken fragments of the other parts of it are seen in the plain below’.²⁶

At Susa he had hoped to be able to find and record an inscribed stone nearly 2 feet high, apparently written in cuneiform on two sides and Egyptian hieroglyphs on one face, that previous travellers had been prevented from removing. He felt that such a bilingual inscription would be an asset in decipherment, as hieroglyphs had been deciphered thirteen years previously by Champollion, but he was bitterly disappointed: ‘I visited at this spot the pretended tomb of the Prophet Daniel; but the famous black stone, with the bilingual inscription, cuneiform and hieroglyphic, which formerly existed here, and by means of which I trusted to verify or disprove the attempts which have been made by St. Martin and others to decipher the arrow-headed character, no longer remains. It was blown to shivers a short time ago by a fanatical Arab in hopes of discovering a treasure; and thus perished all the fond hopes that archaeologists have built upon this precious relic.’²⁷ Though this was a setback, Rawlinson found the place idyllic: ‘The ruins of Sús and the surrounding country are celebrated for their beautiful herbage: it was difficult to ride along the Shápúr [river] for the luxuriant grass that clothed its banks; and all around, the plain was covered with a carpet of the richest verdure. The climate too, at this season, was singularly cool and pleasant, and I never remember to have passed a more delightful evening than in my little tent upon the summit of the great mound of Sús – alone, contemplating the wrecks of time that were strewed around me, and indulging in the dreams of by-gone ages.’²⁸

In mid-March they continued their trek and came to the banks of the Kuran River, where the town of Shuster was visible on the other side, its population drastically reduced after the devastation of the plague four years earlier. That same year the bridge across the river had been swept away by floods, ‘and, not having been repaired when I was there,’ Rawlinson noted, ‘we were obliged to bring the troops and guns across the river upon rafts, or kalaks, as they are called, supported on inflated skins. We pitched our camp along the pebbly beach, in the bed of the river; a most unsafe position, as a sudden rise of the waters would have swept it away bodily; but there was positively no other ground available.’²⁹

A week later they began a five-day march towards the principal fortress of the Bakhtiari tribe, and after a halt of two days, ‘I accompanied the Prince a distance of 3 farsakhs [about eleven miles], to Khári-Shutur-zár, where he received the submission of the Bakhtiyárí chief, against whom our expedition was directed’.³⁰ The leader was Mohammed Taki Khan, and he held such power that he could ‘at any time, bring into the field a well-armed force of 10,000 or 12,000 men’.³¹ Of the Bakhtiari tribe, Rawlinson observed that their ‘language is a dialect of the Kurdish, but still differing in many respects, and more particularly in their method of pronunciation, from any of the other modifications of that tongue which are spoken by the different tribes extending along the range of Zagros. I believe them to be individually brave, but of a cruel and savage character; they pursue their blood feuds with the most inveterate and exterminating spirit, and they consider no oath nor obligation in any way binding, when it interferes with their thirst of revenge; indeed the dreadful stories of domestic tragedy that are related, in which whole families have fallen by each others’ hands … are enough to freeze the blood with horror … Altogether they may be considered the most wild and barbarous of all the inhabitants of Persia; but nevertheless, I have passed some pleasant days with their chiefs, and derived much curious information from them.’³²

Returning to Shuster, Rawlinson wrote to his brother George of his disappointment at the lack of military action: ‘I have marched to this place (Shuster) in command of a force of three thousand men, intending to attack and plunder the country of a rebellious mountain chief; but now that we are near his fort he shows the white feather, and wants to come to terms.’³³ He acknowledged to his brother that the time nevertheless passed pleasantly, because he could indulge two of his passions – shooting game and visiting antiquities: ‘I am in a country abounding both 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.’³⁴

It had been nearly nine years since Rawlinson had left England, and at times he felt isolated and missed the close relationship with his family, as he confided gloomily in the long letter to George: ‘The only evil is the difficulty of communicating with any other civilised place from this said province of Khuzistan; it is nine months since I heard from England, and three since I heard from either Teheran or Baghdad, so that I am completely isolated and utterly ignorant of what is going on in any of the other regions of the globe. News from England I am particularly anxious for.’³⁵ Moreover, friendships with other soldiers were proving to be ephemeral: ‘India has now ceased to be of any interest to me. I have few correspondents there, and each letter that I receive tells me a fresh tale of the worthlessness of worldly friendships. C—, who was wont to call himself my particular friend and chum, has never once written to me since he returned to India; and all my other quondam cronies have equally fallen off. But “out of sight, out of mind” is an old proverb, and I have no right, therefore, to complain of any particular grievance in my case.’³⁶

Rawlinson wrote to members of his family constantly, but whether or not they received his letters seemed a matter of chance. He explained to his brother how his latest letter would, if it survived, make its way to England: ‘From Shuster my letter is to be conveyed to Bussorah [Basra], from thence to Baghdad by another courier, then to Constantinople, and then put in the Vienna post-bag, so that, if the document reaches you safe and sound after all this chopping and changing, you must consider that Mercury [messenger of the Roman gods] has an especial favour for you.’³⁷ All Rawlinson wanted to do now was to return to England on leave once he had served ten years with the East India Company, intending to immerse himself in study at Oxford and Cambridge for three years: ‘Next year [1837], however, when my ten years expire, I shall certainly come home on furlough, unless in the interim some kind angel slips me into a caldron, like Medea’s, and wipes off the corrosion of nine glowing summers. So look out for a nice cheap lodging at Oxford, where (and at Cambridge) I think I shall pass most of my three years for the sake of consulting the classical and Oriental works which are there alone procurable, and a reference to which is absolutely necessary before I can prepare for publication my papers on the comparative geography of the countries which I am now visiting.’³⁸ His longing to return home came to nothing, as he became too immersed in affairs in Persia.

Six weeks were spent in the vicinity of Shuster and Dizful, but in mid-May Rawlinson left the regiment and returned to Kermanshah using a shorter, more difficult route through the mountains of Luristan, accompanied by only a few other soldiers on horseback, without the burden of baggage mules. At one point they passed a ‘very lofty range, called Sar Kushtí, where the Lurs suppose the ark of Noah to have rested after the Flood’.³⁹ After eleven days, dogged by attacks of fever, they reached Bisitun, from where it was a short ride back to Kermanshah.

For the next few weeks Rawlinson applied himself to his cuneiform studies, looking first at the Elwand inscriptions, but he soon realized that, with only these short inscriptions to work on, he was unlikely to make much progress. He therefore made the decision to try to copy the trilingual inscription at Bisitun.