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.