2 from Münter—_a_ and _b_;

10 from Grotefend—_s_ (or _ç_), _r_, _d_, _p_, _t_ (24), _u_ (36),

_sch_ (or _š_[441]), _f_, _a_ (41) and _kh_ or _k_—the same

as those accepted by Burnouf;

1 from St. Martin—_v_;

2 from Rask—_m_ and _n_;

2 deciphered simultaneously with Burnouf—_k_ and _z_;

6 added by himself—_i_, _t_ (22), _m_, _d_, _g_ (35), _g_ (44)—

twenty-three in all. There were also two added by himself nearly

correct—_w_ (10), _t_ (13), which, as approximate values, may be allowed

to pass, especially in consideration of the German pronunciation of _w_.

Nine were incorrect—_i_ (16), _k_ (19), _o_ (25), _z_ (26), _h_ (27), _n_

(28), _g_ (32), _g_ (33), _s_ (40).

But it contained a peculiarity of its own into which Lassen was betrayed

by a desire to press the grammatical forms of Zend upon the cuneiform

language. In the first place he insisted with not less force than

Burnouf, in distinguishing the long and short vowels. Each of the vowels

_a_, _i_, _u_ are accordingly allotted two distinct signs, and one of his

defective signs is pressed into the service in order to secure a _û_. But

in addition to this his _a_ (𐏃), when it occurs in the middle of a word,

takes the value of _ang_; and in a similar position his _î_ and _û_ may

become _y_ and _v_. Still more remarkable is his treatment of diphthongs.

He observed three instances in which two signs are seen frequently to

follow each other. Of one of these accidental combinations he made a

long _ê_,[442] of the second an _ô_[443] and of the third a _q_.[444] He

forfeited much of the advantage of his greater command of correct values

by falling into these errors. He, however, boldly recognised that some

consonants are represented by more than one cuneiform sign, among which

he includes _t_ with four signs; _s_, _v_, _n_ and _m_ with two each. He

was not uniformly correct in the signs he allotted nor in their number;

but if he gave too many to _t_, which has only two, he did not give

enough to _m_, which has three.

Lassen gave full credit to Grotefend for his ingenious discovery, and he

admitted that the values established upon the authority of the three

proper names were in all probability correct. But, so far as was known,

Grotefend had never published any account of the method he followed to

determine the other signs, a method that resulted in the production of

words that had no resemblance to any human language, and that could not

in fact be pronounced by any human tongue. Lassen did not put himself

forward as an opponent of Grotefend, but as a continuator of his work

from the point where he considered his predecessor had left it.[445] He

would not even accept his reading of ‘Cyrus’ in the Murgab inscription,

and in this his scepticism landed him in serious error. Lassen’s method

was much the same as that of Burnouf. The signs not explained in the

three proper names he regarded as doubtful or unknown, and he sought

for them elsewhere especially in the proper names in the I inscription,

where it might be possible to determine their sound by their occurrence

in a word identified as that of some well-known country or province. The

result of his special study of this text was that he made out correctly

no less than nineteen of the twenty-four names it contains, which

compares favourably with the eight of Burnouf. But in addition to these

he added three that are not to be found in the original, by fancying he

saw proper names in what are in fact merely common words. His nineteen

names, however, provided him with abundant material to continue the work

of decipherment.

One result of his study became immediately apparent to him. The constant

agglomeration of consonants without the intervention of a vowel proved

that in some cases the vowel must be inherent in the consonant. He

arrived at this conclusion from the word ‘Çprd,’ which he found as

the name of a country in his inscription, and which he concluded was

Çapardia, or the Sapeires of Herodotus.[446]. We have seen that Burnouf

was led to the same inference from the appearance of such forms as ‘izrk’

and ‘Aurmzda.’[447] Lassen also observed instances, such as the word

‘imam,’ where the word is sometimes written with and sometimes without

the _a_ (𐎠).[448] He at length laid down the rule that an _a_ is only

distinctly expressed at the beginning of a word, and in the middle before

_h_ or another vowel. On all other occasions, he says, it is inherent

in all the consonants, unless distinctly excluded by the occurrence of

another vowel.[449] This rule he afterwards applied more distinctly to

the short _a_ (𐏃), and adds that it is expressed when it follows the long

_â_ (𐎠), never after _i_ or _u_.[450] In his transliterations he assumes

the truth of this rule, and he invariably separates two consonants by the

interposition of an _a_.

We have said that he may indisputably claim to have added six new values

correctly to the alphabet, _i_, _t_, _m_, _d_, _g_ (25), _g_ (44).[451]

The sign for _i_ is the second letter in ‘Hystaspes,’ and it had been

variously given the value of _o_ by Grotefend and _y_ by St. Martin,

according as they followed the form ‘Goshtasp’ or ‘Vyschtaspo.’ But

Lassen pointed out that the correct Zend form is ‘Vistaçpa,’ and he

consequently, preferred _i_, a rendering confirmed by the word ‘imam,’

‘this,’ which corresponds exactly to the Zend and Sanscrit word.[452]

This alteration got rid of Burnouf’s _(h)ôma_ (‘excellent’), which went

to join the goodly company of Jamshid and the constellation of Moro.

The name ‘Katpatuk’ for Cappadocia, which Burnouf had already cited with

good effect, was turned to farther account by Lassen. He not only used

it to confirm the sign for _k_ (𐎣) with which it begins and ends; but it

enabled him to find a true sign for _t_, by comparison with other words

in which it occurs.[453]

We have already said that Burnouf suspected that _m_ was the true value

of the sign Grotefend made an _h_, and that he only rejected it because

he could not reconcile himself to the existence of two signs for the

same sound. Lassen was less influenced by such considerations, and when

he came to a word that transliterated ‘A r—i n,’ he had no scruple in

completing it by writing an _m_ for the unknown letter. Indeed the word

occurred exactly where, from geographical considerations he would be led

to expect ‘Armenia,’ and the conclusion would have been irresistible even

if it had not been confirmed by the name ‘Choras_m_ia’ which he observed

a little farther down in his list.[454] He made the useful remark that

the sign was always preceded by _i_, the full signification of which was

not then apparent. We now know that it is precisely the _m_ before _i_.

The discovery of the sign for _d_ was a happy intuition, and rested on

slight evidence. He found in the eighteenth line a name of which he knew

four letters, _a_ _i_—_u_ _s_, and he divined that the unknown letter

was _d_, which enabled him to read ‘Aidus’ = India.[455] This guess was

confirmed by one other instance only, where the same sign will make

‘_d_aquista,’ which he thought was Zend for ‘the wisest.’ The word is

really ‘duvaishtam’ and has quite another signification.

We have not noticed how he arrived at the value _g_ for Grotefend’s _u_,

or for the sign which Grotefend thought was a defective _n_. We find them

without explanation in the place where they appear to be mentioned for

the first time.[456] The first is _g_ before _a_; the other _g_ before

_u_.

In addition to the six correct values just enumerated, Lassen was also

very nearly successful in two others—_w_ (𐎺, 10) and _t_ (𐏂, 13), really

_v_ before _a_ and _tr_ before _a_. The latter he correctly acknowledged

in a later work.

The first is the _e_ of Grotefend in his ‘Darh_e_usch.’ Lassen had

the Hebrew form of the name ‘Darjavesch’ in his mind, and no doubt he

suspected the presence of the sound of _v_ in the Old Persian word. The

discovery of the _w_ was certainly ingenious, though scarcely convincing,

if it had not been supported from other sources.[457] At the end of the

B inscription there is a word in the nominative, ‘Akun_u_sh,’ which is

found elsewhere with the accusative termination _m_, but, instead of

the _u_, the sign now under discussion is substituted—that is, instead

of ‘nus,’ we have _n_ 𐎺 _m_. Now, he argued, it is impossible either in

Zend or Sanscrit for a word whose theme ends with _u_ to lose it in the

accusative; and therefore the unknown sign must either be a _u_ or the

corresponding half-vocal _v_.[458] But in Darius, the letter that follows

is a _u_, and therefore it must be the half-vocal—the only question being

whether it is the Zend _v_ or _w_. He eventually erroneously decided for

the _w_, and pointed to two other words _wᵃsna_ and _wᵃzᵃrk_, where as a

_w_ it would make excellent sense.[459]

With regard to the _t_, it will be recollected that Grotefend gave the

value of _n_ to a sign that completed the word ‘bun,’ to which he gave

the meaning ‘stirps.’ This word had long been a stumbling-block to Zend

scholars, and Lassen determined to get rid of it. He showed in the first

place that the _b_ or _p_ at the beginning could not be interchangeable,

and the word must at all events be treated as ‘pun’; but he proposed to

alter it still further by reading ‘put.’ By this means he came nearer

to its obvious meaning, ‘son’—that is, to the Zend ‘putra.’ He found

this innovation supported by another word, _k_ _s_ _t_ _m_, to which he

thought he could attach a Zend meaning.[460]

The nine incorrect values he admitted into his alphabet[461] show little

or no improvement on those suggested by Grotefend or Burnouf; and

unfortunately the decipherer himself can rarely distinguish the incorrect

values from the correct. A glance over a page of Lassen’s transliteration

will show the havoc these nine incorrect letters have made in his work.

But, as we have said, he introduced errors peculiar to himself that were

even more fatal than his failure to identify all the signs correctly. For

example, he remarked that the sign he took for a short _a_ (𐏃) seemed

composed of the sign for _n_ (𐎴) and an angular wedge which might be

an abbreviation of the sign itself. He was led to this hypothesis by

comparison with the Zend, where _ă_ is clearly a combination of _a_ and

_n_.[462] He goes farther and gives the short _a_ and _n_ the guttural

sound of _ang_, when it is found before the letter he thought was _h_

(𐎹, 27; really _y_), and he cites several instances which he thinks will

justify this opinion. He recognises, however, that the rule even thus

limited is not always applicable.[463]

Another error, due also to the deference he professed for Zend analogies,

arose from the supposition that the two letters which he took for _u_ and

_w_ had together the value of _q_. He compared them to the sound of _q_

which is produced in Zend by the two letters _sv_ or _hv_, the latter

being modified into _uv_ in the Old Persian.[464] Equally disastrous was

his introduction of the two diphthongs _hi_ for _ê_, and _au_ for _ô_.

He observed that these two letters are occasionally found together, and

he concluded they must correspond to the Sanscrit diphthong _ai_ = _ê_

and _au_ = _ô_. The occurrence of an _h_ for an _a_ in one of them was a

matter of small difficulty. Indeed he had actually found the _ai_ = _ê_

in Aidus = India; and suggests that _hi_ may be the form it assumes as

a medial.[465] The most eccentric peculiarities of his transliteration

may be traced to these unfortunate errors. His transformation of _a_

into _ng_ appears in his ‘Aurᵃngha Mᵃzdanga’ for ‘Aurahya Mazdaha.’

The diphthong _uv_ with the sound of _q_ seemed at first to yield a

better result. By it he was able to read ‘Quarᵃzmiᵃh’ and ‘Arᵃqᵃtis,’

which are more suggestive of the true words Chorasmia and Arachosia

than the correct forms ‘_Uv_arazamiya’ and ‘Hara_uv_atish.’[466] But,

on the other hand, it led him to read ‘qan’ or ‘qwan’ (Chaonia) for

‘Uvaja’ (Susa), ‘Aqᵃ’ for ‘Ha_uv_,’ Patᵃqᵃ for ‘patuv,’ ‘Dᵃqistᵃn’ for

‘duvaishtam,’ and so forth. The diphthong _hi_ (really _yi_) for the

long _ê_ produced ‘tesam’ in the place of ‘tyᵃisham.’ The diphthong _au_

(really _ku_) for the long _ô_ was still more disastrous. Burnouf, when

he wrote ‘aqunuch,’ had nearly reached the correct transliteration of

‘a_ku_naush,’ but it becomes scarcely recognisable in the ‘a_ô_nus’ of

Lassen. The first sign of this diphthong had been long since correctly

determined by Grotefend as a _k_. But its identification depended in

great measure on the belief that Murgab, where it is the first letter in

the inscription, represents the ancient Pasargadae, the city of Cyrus.

Lassen would by no means accept this as sufficient proof, for even upon

that hypothesis the inscription might not necessarily belong to Cyrus.

St. Martin read it ‘Houschousch,’ and conjectured that this name referred

to ‘Ochus.’ Lassen accepted this view, and saw in the first two signs,

which he took for _au_, the strongest confirmation that they had the

value of the _ô_ long in Ochus. In 1845, when the result of his farther

studies were published, we find that his original alphabet has undergone

considerable improvement. He has suppressed the second signs for each

of the vowels _a_, _i_ and _u_, and the two diphthongs for the long _ê_

and _ô_, that caused so much trouble, have disappeared. We hear no more

of the double letters for _q_, nor of the second value _ng_ which he

ascribed to his initial _a_, now found to be more correctly _h_. He has

also struck out the two defective signs he admitted for _t_ and _û_. For

the rest, the improvement consists chiefly in sweeping away the errors

into which his love of Zend analogies had at first hurried him. The only

addition he made to the number of his correct values was _thr_, suggested

by Grotefend, to which, as we have said, he had previously nearly

approached. The remaining signs now correctly represented are due to M.

Beer and M. Jacquet, who wrote in the interval that separated the two

Memoirs by Lassen.

Lassen’s translations are naturally much affected by the nine incorrect

values he still retained, and by the errors he introduced himself. Yet

if we compare the transliteration and translation of the Le Bruyn No.

131, as given by Burnouf and Lassen, we cannot fail to recognise the

superiority of the latter. For the ‘Bu izrk’ of the one we have ‘Baga

wazark’ of the other, which closely anticipates the ‘Baga vazraka’ of

the correct version. The ‘Omam buiom,’ the ‘Homa excellent,’ is replaced

by ‘imam buvam,’ ‘this earth;’ and many similar improvements may be

noted throughout. Both writers succeeded fairly well in rendering the

simple phrases, but great diversity still existed as to the meaning of

the obscurer passages. Both alike declare that Auramazda is the creator

of heaven and of man; and that he has established Darius or Xerxes as

King. But when we proceed to the second paragraph of the inscription our

translators go far astray. The passage beginning ‘king of countries’ is

thus variously rendered:[467]

B. oahunâm pl. ôznânam.

L. dᵃnghunâm ps‘uwᵃznânâm.

S. dahyunâm . par’uv . zanânâm.

_Trans._ B. [roi] des provinces qui produisent les braves.

L. [rex] populorum bene parentium.

S. [König] der Länder die aus vielen Stämmen bestehen [or

more simply by Menant: des pays bien peuplés].

B. âahâhâ buîôhâ izrkâhâ rurôh âpôh.

L. aᵃnghâhâ bu‘mihâ wᵃzᵃrkâhâ d’uriᵃh âpyᵃh.

S. ahyâyâ . bu‘miyâ . vazrakâyâ . d’uraiy . apiy.

_Trans._ B. [roi] du monde excellent, divin, redoutable, protecteur.

L. [rex] existentis orbis terrarum magni, sustentator, auctor.

S. [König] dieser grossen Erde auch fernhin [or, with Menant:

‘de cette vaste terre (qui commande) au loin et auprès’].

Lassen finishes thus: ‘Xerxes, rex magnus: ex voluntate Auramazdis

(palatium) domitor Darius rex constituit. Is meus pater. Memet tuere,

Auramazdes, heic felicitate: tum hoc ibi palatium, tum hoc patris Darii

regis palatium, excelse Auramazdes, tuere heic felicitate’—a passage

rendered by Menant: ‘Xerxès, le grand roi, déclare: Par la volonté

d’Ormuzd, Darius mon père a construit cette demeure. Qu’Ormuzd me protège

avec les autres Dieux, qu’Ormuzd avec les autres Dieux protègent mon

œuvre et l’œuvre de mon père le roi Darius.’ The I inscription, from

which Lassen derived so much assistance, fared badly at his hands when he

attempted to translate its concluding lines. Even in the list of proper

names he committed what must now appear to be the stupendous blunder of

mistaking three common words for the names of three provinces of the

Empire. The words so honoured are: ‘ushkahyâ,’ ‘darayahyâ,’ ‘parauvaiy,’

which figure as ‘Uscangha’ (the Uxii), ‘Drangha’ (the Drangii) and

‘Parutah’ (the Aparyten).[468]

His transliteration of the others is naturally frequently defective, but

nevertheless he identified twenty correctly. The four he failed in are

Susa, Arabia, Egypt and Ionia. It would have been difficult for him to

recognise either Susa or Egypt, even if his transliteration had been more

perfect. The first is represented in the cuneiform by three signs—_u_

_v_ _j_—and reads ‘uvaja,’ which certainly does not suggest Susa. But

Lassen turned the _uv_ into _q_; as the last letter in his opinion was

_n_ (𐎩, 28) he evolved _q’n_, from whence Chaona. The word for Egypt, as

correctly transliterated ‘M’udray,’ would perhaps have been even more

embarrassing than his own ‘Gudraha,’ in which he agreed with Burnouf

in recognising ‘Gordyene.’ The word he read ‘Arbela’ was correctly

translated ‘Arabia’ by Burnouf; and a somewhat too pedantic learning

reconciled him to ‘Huns,’ which Burnouf had rightly rejected.[469]

CHAPTER IV

BEER AND JACQUET TO RAWLINSON—A.D. 1838-1846

The simultaneous publication of the two essays by Burnouf and Lassen

roused considerable interest among those devoted to the obscure problems

of cuneiform decipherment. Grotefend, whose attention for the previous

twenty years had been chiefly diverted to other pursuits, returned once

more to the subject in which he had previously achieved such great

success, and in the year following he published ‘Neue Beiträge zur

Erläuterung der Persepolitanischen Keilschrift.’ We have already seen

that his mind had by that time lost much of its elasticity, and he

displayed more tenacity in defending his old errors than aptitude in

recognising the truth of the new discoveries. To some of these, however,

he is forced to give a qualified assent.[470] He may indeed claim the

merit of having now for the first time fixed the true value of one more

character. It may be recollected that the two signs 38 (𐏁) and 40 (𐎽)

had been long considered to express the same sound. Grotefend first

attributed to both the value of _sch_; but in consequence of the Murgab

inscription he afterwards considered that the last (40) must denote _sr_.

This opinion was not, however, generally accepted. St. Martin preferred

_ch_ for both, and Lassen _s_. Burnouf, however, suggested _ch_ for the

first and _l_ for the other. But Grotefend was now disposed to drop the

_s_ from the last letter (𐎽) and to read _r_, or some slight modification

of that sound, corresponding to the pronunciation adopted on the other

side of the Tigris for the letter which is rendered an _l_ on this side.

Accordingly in his translation of the Murgab inscription he writes simply

_Kurusch_ and elsewhere _Kurhush_. In his revised alphabet it appears

as _rh_.[471] Grotefend has also the merit in this tract of being the

first to indicate that (𐏂), the _t_ of Lassen, might sometimes have the

sound of _thr_, as in ‘puthra,’ and possibly in ‘Artakhshathra.’ In

his alphabet, however, he drops the sound of _r_ and makes the value

_th_.[472]

In the following year a more important contribution was made by the

appearance of two essays, one by E. F. F. Beer in Germany, the other by

Eugène Jacquet in France. The former was published in the ‘Hallische

Allgemeine Zeitung,’ the other in four papers inserted in the ‘Journal

Asiatique’ (1838).[473] Beer was a native of Bötzen, where he was born

in 1805 and received his early education. He went to Leipzig in 1824

and thenceforth he chiefly devoted himself to the study of Semitic

Palaeography. He died in 1841, at the age of thirty-six. Both he and

Jacquet showed that Lassen was entirely mistaken in supposing that

there were different cuneiform signs to indicate the long and short

signs of the vowels _a_, _i_, _u_.[474] They simultaneously discovered

the correct values of the two letters 27 (𐎹) and 41 (𐏃). The first, the

_h_ of Grotefend and Lassen, is ascertained to be _y_; the other, the

_a_ of Grotefend and the ‘_a_ long’ and _ng_ of Lassen, was found to

be the aspirate _h_.[475] The remaining corrections are due to the

ingenuity of Jacquet alone. Jacquet was born at Brussels, but the whole

of his short life was spent at Paris, where he died in 1838 at the age

of only twenty-seven. His extraordinary precocity and the wonderful

range of his acquirements place him among the most remarkable men of his

generation. He was distinguished at school by the critical accuracy of

his classical knowledge, and by the zeal with which he applied himself to

the geography, history and literature of ancient times. He had scarcely

ceased to be a school-boy when we find him studying Oriental languages

under the most distinguished masters. He was the pupil of De Chézy

in Sanscrit, of Silvestre de Sacy in Arabic and Persian, of Jaubert

in Turkish, and Abel Rémusat in Chinese.[476] His studies travelled

far beyond the ordinary course of even these learned professors, and

embraced the various languages of India, the Malay Archipelago, Java, and

even Ethiopia. At the same time he became familiar with most European

languages, including Danish and Portuguese. At the age of eighteen,

he began to contribute regularly to the ‘Journal Asiatique.’ It was

in its pages that he published his ‘Considerations on the Alphabets

of the Philippines,’ which appeared in 1831, when he had just reached

the age of twenty. It at once attracted the attention of M. G. von

Humboldt, who wrote to compliment the young author, and who farther

showed his appreciation by adopting in his own work most of Jacquet’s

conjectures.[477] This was followed by Memoirs on the languages and

literature of Polynesia, including the cabalistic writings of Madagascar.

From these subjects Jacquet passed to those affecting India. At the age

of twenty-four we find him in correspondence with Mr. James Prinsep,

the Secretary of the Asiatic Society of Calcutta, and well known as the

first decipherer of the Pali alphabet.[478] He has already planned the

execution of a ‘Corpus Inscriptionum Indicarum,’ and is busily occupied

collecting materials from every available source. He is associated with

Raoul Rochette in the study of Bactrian and Indo-Scythian medals, and

his extraordinary capacity as a numismatist is fully recognised. In the

midst of these various occupations he found time to devote himself to

cuneiform inscriptions, which his knowledge of Zend and Pehlevi qualified

him to investigate. From 1835 he was in constant correspondence with

Lassen upon this and kindred subjects; and his singular ability enabled

him to overcome many difficulties that had baffled previous inquirers.

He not only earned distinction in the somewhat arid fields of philology

and ethnology, but he was equally alive to the historical and literary

aspects of the subjects he investigated. He was particularly interested

in tracing the intellectual relations of the people of China, India, and

Upper Asia, and he devoted some interesting papers to the connection

between the East and West in ancient and mediaeval times. These were

mostly written at the age of nineteen to twenty. At nineteen we also find

him translating from the Danish and reviewing a tract by Rask on a Pali

and Cingalese manuscript. He amused his leisure moments by translating

from Chinese and from Sanscrit, in following the march of Alexander

through Bactria, and in studying the history and literature of Buddhism.

Jacquet’s life was inspired by two passions, devoted attachment to his

widowed mother and a boundless love of knowledge. To the one he was ready

to forego his hopes of fame: to the other he sacrificed his health.

There can be no doubt that his incessant and feverish labours induced

the fatal disease that first showed itself in the autumn of 1835, when

he was but twenty-four. The last three years of his life were ennobled

by an heroic struggle against increasing weakness. In the face of much

suffering, he continued his labours to the end; and he died as a scholar

might wish to die, seated at his desk, pen in hand, alone among his books

and manuscripts, his mind filled to the last moment of consciousness

with the work that had occupied his life. Thus passed away one of the

most promising scholars of the age. It is possible that the multitude

of his acquirements was incompatible with profound knowledge in each

of the many subjects he treated. M. Julien contested the accuracy of

his Chinese translations; and De Sacy seemed to doubt some other of his

qualifications; but he received the enthusiastic applause of many other

scholars—of the two Humboldts, of Ritter, Lassen, Burnouf, and Prinsep,

each in their several departments.[479]

His essay on Cuneiform Decipherment was among the works he left

incomplete. It was in the form of a review of Lassen’s recent Memoir, and

three papers on the subject appeared during his lifetime in the ‘Journal

Asiatique,’ and a fourth was published shortly after his death.[480] It

can scarcely be said that he has gone beyond the introduction. The first

essays are occupied chiefly with an account of what had been already

accomplished in the field of cuneiform research, and with a review of

the ethnological points raised by Lassen’s treatment of the provinces

of Darius. It is only incidentally that he touches upon the language

of the inscriptions, and he reserves the discussion of the alphabet to

a future paper. Unfortunately, his premature death prevented him from

accomplishing his task, and strange to say not a single note could be

found among his papers that might be used for the purpose. This is the

more remarkable from the frequent references he makes to that portion

of his work in which he proposes to explain the points of difference

with Lassen, and to the various passages from the inscriptions that he

intended to bring forward in support of his views.[481] On other subjects

he was in the habit of making the most elaborate notes, and it is

scarcely possible to suppose that in a matter of this kind he charged his

memory with an accumulation of detached words and phrases collected from

the numerous inscriptions then available.

The essays indicate some of the corrections he proposed, but for the

reason mentioned we are left very much to conjecture the foundation upon

which they were based.

We see, however, that his correction of 27 (𐎹) from _h_ into _y_

was suggested by the words read by Lassen ‘Arbah’ and ‘Huna,’ which

he recognised should be more properly read ‘Araba_y_a’ and ‘_Y_una’

(Ionians).[482] Similar etymological considerations led him to the

correction of the 𐏃 _a_ into _h_. This letter occurs at the beginning of

the words Lassen reads ‘aryᵃwᵃ,’ ‘arᵃqᵃtis,’ and ‘Aidhus,’ where Jacquet

points out that the corresponding Zend forms require an aspirate.[483]

In these essays we have only found two other corrections suggested. The

first is 10 (𐎺), the _e_ of Grotefend, which Lassen nearly approached in

_w_, but to which Jacquet rightly gives the value of _v_.[484] The other

is 26 (𐎰), the _i_ of Grotefend and _z_ of Lassen, which Jacquet changes

into _th_ in consideration of its occurrence in Assyria (Athuria) and

Sattagydes—which he reads ‘Thrataghadus’ and also (as Lassen adds) in

Mithra.[485]

If Jacquet’s contributions to the study of cuneiform had been limited

to the essays in the ‘Journal Asiatique,’ they would have been

comparatively unimportant. But he was also in correspondence with Lassen

on the subject, and he not only communicated to him the result of his

investigations, but also the reasons upon which they were based.[486] In

1837, Lassen took part in the foundation of a journal devoted to Oriental

subjects—the ‘Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes.’[487] Grotefend

became a contributor from the commencement,[488] and Lassen reported the

progress of cuneiform research as occasion required. His first essay

on the subject appeared in 1839,[489] and contained a criticism of the

recent writings of Beer and Jacquet; with, as regards the latter writer,

some important information derived from his correspondence. From this

source we learn that Jacquet recognised the correctness of the value of

_r_, already assigned to 𐎽 by Grotefend; and completed it by determining

it to be the _r_ before _u_.[490] He was led to this conclusion not only

by the occurrence of the letter in ‘Kurus,’ but also in ‘paru,’ which

compares with the Zend for ‘many’—‘the king of many lands.’ He showed

also that 16 (𐎨), the _o_ of Grotefend and _i_ of Lassen, is really

_ch_;[491] and finally 28 (𐎩), the _ng_ of Grotefend and _n_ of Lassen,

he finds to be _z_: which, if not correct, is a considerable improvement.

He was led to this conclusion by an ingenious conjecture. The letter

is found in the province Lassen transliterated _u_ _w_ _n_, and which,

from his theory of the diphthong, he read _q’n_ and supposed to denote

Chaona. The word occurs first in the list, and Jacquet inferred that it

must refer to the capital province, Susa. He did not altogether reject

Lassen’s _q_, but by changing the _n_ into _z_, he got near to what he

sought, either in ‘uwᵃzᵃ’ or ‘qᵃzᵃ’ for Susa.[492] To sum up: Beer and

Jacquet both independently found the correct values for 27 (𐎹) _y_ and 41

(𐏃) _h_; Jacquet added the correct value of 10 (𐎺) _v_, of 16 (𐎨) _ch_ or

_c_ of 26 (𐎰) _th_; and he completed the value of 40 (𐎽) _r_ before _u_.

Beer may thus be credited with having contributed two letters (27 and

41), Jacquet with six (10, 16, 26, 27, 40 and 41). He also suggested that

the name of the first province in the I inscription referred to Susa and

not to Chaonia, and that Babirus—not Babisus—was the correct reading for

Babylon.[493]

The year 1838 was memorable not only for the essays of Beer and Jacquet,

but also for the appearance of Major Rawlinson among the number of

cuneiform scholars. We have already related how his attention was

directed to the subject while he was stationed at Kermanshah during

the years 1835-7, and that he succeeded in making a transcript of two

hundred lines, or about one half of the great inscription at Behistun.

When he first began the study, in 1835, he was aware that Grotefend had

previously ‘deciphered some names of the early sovereigns of the house

of Achaemenes,’ but he could not obtain a copy of the alphabet, nor

ascertain from which inscription it had been formed. Rawlinson began upon

the two inscriptions he had copied at Elvend, and ‘when he proceeded to

compare them, he found that the characters coincided throughout, except

in certain particular groups, and it was only reasonable to suppose that

the groups which were thus brought out and individualised must represent

proper names. There were but three of these distinct groups in the two

inscriptions,’ and they were arranged so as ‘to indicate a genealogical

succession,’ no doubt ‘belonging to three consecutive generations of

the Persian monarchy; and it so happened that the first three names, of

Hystaspes, Darius and Xerxes, which I applied at hazard to the three

groups proved to answer and were in fact the true identifications.’[494]

This ingenious process was precisely the same as that already followed by

Grotefend, which we have described in detail. Rawlinson appears, however,

to have divined the method independently, though the application of the

three names to the three groups was no doubt suggested to him by what he

had heard reported by Grotefend’s discovery. He next turned his attention

to the first two paragraphs of the Behistun inscription, and by the same

means he detected five other proper names, which he identified with

Arsames, Ariaramnes, Teispes, Achaemenes and Persia. The recognition of

these eight proper names yielded him the values of eighteen cuneiform

characters, which later study showed he had correctly identified.[495]

Such was the progress he had made down to the autumn of 1836 by his own

independent research. Shortly afterwards he received copies of Heeren

and Klaproth’s writings, where at length he found the alphabets of

Grotefend and St. Martin explained; but he writes: ‘Far from deriving

any assistance from either of these sources, I could not doubt that my

knowledge of the character ... was much in advance of their respective

and in some measure conflicting systems of interpretation.’[496] He had

indeed some cause for congratulation, for he had discovered eighteen

correct values, while Grotefend was only successful in twelve, though,

with the two from Münter, he had at his disposal fourteen in all. St.

Martin only made out two letters by his own ingenuity, and disposed

altogether of not more than ten.[497]

Having thus greater means at his disposal, Rawlinson succeeded, in the

course of 1837, in arriving at an approximate translation of the first

two paragraphs of the Behistun inscription, ‘which,’ he says, ‘would

have been wholly inexplicable according to the systems of interpretation

adopted either by Grotefend or Saint Martin,’ the only ones with which

he was at that time acquainted. By the end of the year his paper was

complete, and on January 1, 1838, he forwarded the translation of the two

paragraphs to the Royal Asiatic Society, where it was received on March

14. In April a copy was submitted to the Asiatic Society in Paris, where

it excited great interest, and Rawlinson was at once elected an Honorary

Member. Steps were at the same time taken to put him in possession of

the latest results of European investigation. M. Burnouf sent him his

‘Mémoire’ of 1836. M. Mohl shortly afterwards forwarded him a copy of

the Yaçna. Sir Gore Ouseley, the Vice-President of the Asiatic Society,

introduced him to the notice of Lassen, who wrote to him from Bonn in

August (1838) to acquaint him with his alphabet and with the corrections

made since its appearance in 1836 ‘as well by others as by myself.’[498]

With the valuable assistance thus placed at his disposal, Rawlinson

continued to work at his translations during the remainder of 1838 and

till the autumn of 1839. So early as January 1839, we learn from Mrs.

Rich that he had already succeeded in deciphering a large part of the two

hundred lines.[499] He derived the greatest assistance from Burnouf’s

‘Commentaire sur le Yaçna.’ ‘To this work,’ he says, ‘I owe in great

measure the success of my translations.’ During his stay at Bagdad in

1839 he was in correspondence with Lassen and Burnouf, who informed him

of the progress recently made by Beer and Jacquet. Rawlinson, on his

part, was rapidly completing his alphabet, and he lost no time in making

his friends acquainted with the result. He was surprised to find that

the European scholars just about kept pace with his own progress, and

that he had little to learn from them, though perhaps he might be in a

position to add something to their knowledge. He observed that Lassen’s

newest version of the alphabet ‘coincided in all essential points with

my own,’ but that his labours ‘have been of no farther assistance to me

than in adding one new letter to my alphabet and in confirming opinions

which were sometimes conjectural.’[500] Rawlinson had indeed succeeded in

working out the whole of the alphabet by his own unaided ingenuity, so

that he was accustomed to say that there were only two letters he owed to

others: _k_, 𐎣 No. 4, which he learned from Burnouf, and _y_, 𐎹 No. 27,

from Lassen, who got it from Jacquet.[501]

On the other hand, his contributions to the general advance of the

study were necessarily limited. By the time he became known to European

scholars they had on their part advanced so far that only four letters of

Niebuhr’s list remained for which a correct or approximate value had not

been found. These were:

19 𐎮 _k_ of Lassen,

28 𐎩 _z_ of Jacquet,

32 𐎪 _g’_ of Lassen,

33 𐎸 _g_ of Lassen.

The appearance of Rawlinson did not, therefore, take place till after

the difficulty of the decipherment had been almost completely surmounted

without his assistance. When his correspondence with Burnouf and Lassen

began, in the autumn of 1838, he was, however, still in time to rectify

two out of the four incorrect values.

He found 32 (𐎪) in the name of Cambyses, where it occurs as the fourth

sign, which he transliterated correctly as _j_; Kₐbujᵢy. Hincks

afterwards read the sign _zh(i)_ and Oppert _z(j)i_; but both these

sounds have since yielded to the one proposed by Rawlinson, and it now

appears as _j_ before _i_. But Rawlinson’s most striking success was

with the last letter, 33 (𐎸), another _g_ of Lassen. In his letter to

Burnouf, he proposed to substitute _m_.[502] It is the initial letter

in the name Lassen read ‘Gudrâha’ and thought indicated the Gordyaei.

Rawlinson suggested the name was M’udraya, and should be compared with

the Phoenician ‘Mŭdra’ and the Hebrew ‘Mitsraim,’ and signified, in fact,

Egypt. Both of these emendations were, however, rejected by Lassen.[503]

There is another sign which came under discussion at this time. It will

be recollected that we have assigned 13 (𐎡) to Lassen, who gave it the

approximate value of _t_. Rawlinson, however, suggested to Burnouf

that its true value is not _t_ but _tr_. In this, however, he had been

anticipated, as we have seen, by Grotefend in 1837, who suggested

_thr_.[504] It is admitted that it is impossible to distinguish between

the comparative merits of _tr_ and _thr_;[505] and as Rawlinson probably

knew nothing of Grotefend’s ‘Beiträge’ at the time, he may be credited

with having discerned the correct sound of the sign.[506]

Then, as on subsequent occasions, his great merit lay in the superiority

of his translations. He was already in a position to criticise Lassen’s

efforts in this department with some severity. He thought that Lassen

had ‘in many cases misunderstood both the etymology of the words and

the grammatical structure of the language.’[507] When Rawlinson

found that he was obliged to renounce the claim to a ‘priority of

alphabetical discovery,’ and that he was continually being anticipated

in the values he gave to the signs which he had himself just ‘obtained

through continued labour,’ he was consoled by the reflection that he

was ‘the first to present to the world a literal and, as I believe, a

correct grammatical translation of nearly two hundred lines of cuneiform

writing.’ Unfortunately, however, he withheld his translation, in the

hope of making the accessories more perfect. A host of historical and

geographical questions started up in rapid succession, and he was

unwilling to limit his task to the series of critical notes which was

all he at first contemplated. He accordingly began to recast his Memoir

in the autumn of 1839, with the confident hope that it would be ready

for publication early in the spring of 1840; but the outbreak of the

Afghan War interrupted his literary projects and summoned him to a very

different sphere of activity. Before he left, however, he had time to

make a second communication to the Asiatic Society, in which he related

some of the results of his study. His paper, which was read before a

meeting of the Society, contained a ‘_précis_ of the contents of a

large part of the Behistun inscription, which differed in no material

respect’ from the translation he elaborated at a much later date.[508]

Indeed, we are told that, so far as the original materials extended, it

was ‘absolutely identical’ with his subsequent work, which, as we shall

presently see, was so perfect that later scholarship has found little to

correct.[509] This was certainly a great achievement on the part of a

young officer of twenty-nine years of age, and it was far in advance of

anything that had yet been accomplished.

Meanwhile the number of inscriptions available for study continued to

increase. In 1837, Grotefend published four lines of an inscription from

the collection of Lord Aberdeen and Sir Gore Ouseley, which had recently

been presented to the British Museum by Mountstuart Elphinstone. With the

assistance of Lassen’s alphabet he deciphered the name of the king to

whom it belonged. It read ‘Artks’t’â,’ which he easily identified with

Artaxerxes.[510] The last line contained what appeared to be a new letter

(𐏍), which he thought had the value of _v_.

Two years later (1839) the inscriptions copied by Mr. Rich so far back

as 1821 at last saw the light.[511] Several of them were already known

by the copies made by Le Bruyn and Niebuhr; but the plates were found

to contain the complete text of the Inscription of Artaxerxes, of which

Grotefend’s formed the four concluding lines (Pl. 23, Inscr. P). It

was taken from the north wall of the palace, now identified as that of

Ochus, facing the Palace of Darius. He also was the first to copy the

Inscription of Xerxes from the anta of his palace (Pl. 16, Inscr. E).

The same inscriptions are frequently repeated, and it was an advantage

to have copies of more than one version. Thus Rich gave the celebrated

four-line Inscription of Xerxes, copied from the east portal of the

palace, which was already so well known from Niebuhr’s copy, taken from

the north (Inscr. G, Pl. 18). Rich has also given two versions of the

Inscription of Darius—one taken from the anta of the palace and already

known from Le Bruyn (131) (Inscr. Cᵃ), the other from the south stairs,

which he was himself the first to disinter from the rubbish by which it

was hidden (Pl. 20, Cᵇ).[512]

Of greater importance than any of these were the copies taken by the

Danish Sanscrit scholar Westergaard. He was commissioned by the Danish

Government to visit Persia for the purpose of collecting inscriptions

and other matters of archæological interest. He went to Persepolis and

Naksh-i-Rustam in 1843, and not only did he carefully recopy all the

inscriptions already known, but some others that had hitherto been

neglected. Among the latter are the inscriptions over the animals on the

great Eastern Porch at Persepolis, and the long inscription upon the

tomb at Naksh-i-Rustam. The first is indeed to be found in Mr. Rich’s

collection (Pl. 24, 25, 26); but the copy, as we have seen, was made

by his Seyid and was found useless for purposes of study. All previous

travellers had recoiled before the difficulties of transcribing the tomb

inscription, but these were at length surmounted by Westergaard, and his

copy is the greatest prize he secured. It was found to be an inscription

of Darius, and it served to identify the rock-hewn sepulchre upon which

it is inscribed with the tomb of that king. It contained a more complete

enumeration of the provinces than the I inscription, and as it was

trilingual, it was hoped that so large a number of proper names would at

length afford a clue to the values of the signs in the second and third

columns, which had as yet remained unknown. Westergaard was the first

of the travellers who possessed a competent knowledge of the cuneiform

character, before he undertook the difficult task of transcribing them;

and consequently his copies are of exceptional value and accuracy. On

his return to Bonn he gave Lassen his copies of the first or Persian

column; and reserved to himself the study of the second or Susian column.

In the following year (1844) the two scholars published the results of

their labours in the ‘Zeitschrift,’ and their Memoirs afterwards appeared

together in a separate volume under the title ‘Ueber die Keilinschriften

der Ersten und Zweiten Gattung, von Chr. Lassen und N. L. Westergaard’

(Bonn, 1845).

Six years had now elapsed since Lassen published his first Memoir. During

the interval Beer and Jacquet had made their contributions to the general

knowledge; and although Major Rawlinson had not yet published his Memoir

on the Behistun inscription, he had been in correspondence with Lassen

since 1838, and had already corrected two letters. It is interesting

therefore to inquire how far Lassen profited by these investigations. We

have seen that he had nine incorrect values in 1836 for the letters in

Niebuhr’s list.[513] These were:

16 𐎨 _i_

19 𐎮 _k_

25 𐎤 with _u_ = _ô_

26 𐎰 (_z_)

27 𐎹 _h_

28 𐎩 _n_

32 𐎪 _g_

33 𐎸 _g_

40 𐎽 _s_

By 1844 he corrected the four following:

(1) 25 𐎤 into _q_, an approximate value for _k_.

(2) 26 𐎰 into _θ_, following Jacquet _th_.

(3) 27 𐎹 into _j_ for _y_, following Beer and Jacquet.

(4) 40 𐎽 into _r_, following Jacquet.[514]

He also accepted the corrected value of 41 (𐏃) as the aspirate _h_,

following Jacquet and Beer; but this value we have already allowed to

Grotefend’s _a_ for _ha_, as approximately correct. One other letter, 22

(𐎬) _t_, which he made correct in 1836, he now changes into _d’h_. Thus,

in 1844, he still had six wrong values; of these one had been correctly

fixed by himself in 1836, 22 (𐎬) _t_; another, 16 (𐎨) _ch_, recently by

Jacquet, and two by Rawlinson, 32 (𐎪) _j_, and 33 (𐎸) _m_ before _u_.

There thus remained only two letters not yet provided with correct

values: viz. 19 (𐎮), which was fixed by Holtzmann in 1845 as _d_ before

_i_,[515] and 28 (𐎩), fixed simultaneously by Hincks and Rawlinson in

1846 as _j_ before _a_.

In addition to the thirty-three signs in Niebuhr’s alphabet that gained

final recognition, two others have since been added. One of them was

first found at Behistun by Rawlinson, 43 (𐎵) _n_, and does not appear

in Lassen. The other, 44 (𐎦), was admitted in 1836 by both Burnouf

and Lassen as _gh_ and _g_, and is finally accepted as _g_ before _u_

(Spiegel). But in the Memoir of 1836, Lassen farther sanctioned two other

signs, ([Persian]) _t_, and ([Persian]) _u_, which he now rightly omits

as defective signs for 24 (𐎫) _t_ and 36 (𐎢) _u_.

His new alphabet shows also a great improvement in other respects. In

deference to the decisive opinions of both Beer and Jacquet, Lassen

has given up his double signs for the long and short vowels. He indeed

admits that his _a_ (𐏃) is in fact _h_; his _î_ (𐎨) is _k_, and his

_û_ ([Persian]) is defective.[516] His diphthongs (𐎹 · 𐎡) _ê_ and (𐎤

· 𐎢) _ô_, likewise disappear; and, what is even of more consequence,

his disastrous (𐎢 · 𐎺) for _q_ is quietly suffered to drop. Strange to

say, the unlucky conjunction of these two letters _u_ and _w_ with _q_

excited the unbounded admiration of Jacquet, who regarded it as the most

brilliant inspiration of its author.[517]

To compensate for these omissions, Lassen added a sign ([Persian]) which

with 44 (𐎦), in addition to the thirty-three signs in Niebuhr’s list,

made up the thirty-five letters which constitute his alphabet.[518]

This sign ([Persian]) is always found in conjunction with 31 (𐎴) _n_.

Grotefend pointed out long ago that the two signs 𐎴 · [Persian] replace

the word for ‘king’ and, whatever might be their pronunciation, there was

no doubt as to their signification.[519] It was at first supposed that

the last letter was an alternative sign for 27 (𐎹); but this had to be

abandoned, and Lassen now gives it the value of _rp_, and he reads the

combined letters ‘narap.’ He was led to this result because Westergaard

thought that the word corresponding to it in the second column had the

sound of ‘narap.’[520] The two signs are now treated as together forming

a monogram for ‘king,’ and in transliteration they are represented by

_khs_ to indicate an abbreviated form of the royal title. He adds also

the two new signs that occur in the Inscription of Artaxerxes. The one

(𐏍) first appeared in the copy published by Grotefend in 1837; the

other (𐏏) is dimly discernible in Rich (Pl. 23, line 10), and is no

doubt more clearly delineated by Westergaard. The first had evidently

the sound of _dah_, for it precedes the _j_ in the well-known word

‘dahjunam’; the other clearly denotes the complex sound ‘bumi’ in the

word ‘bumi-ja.’[521]

The long line of scholars from Münter to Jacquet, whose labours we

have now passed in review, had at length succeeded in deciphering the

cuneiform alphabet of the first species of writing found at Persepolis,

and, with the exception of two, they had attached correct values to

each of the thirty-five letters. When, therefore, Lassen wrote his

second Memoir, the task he had to perform was concerned much less with

the alphabet than with the numerous strange words formed by it, which

it was now necessary to assign a meaning to and connect together by

grammatical rules. It is clear there was only one method to pursue, and

that was to compare them with the words and forms of other languages

with which the Old Persian was likely to be connected. It was natural

in the first instance to turn to Zend, the sacred language of the

country in which the inscriptions were found; and the most superficial

comparison, which was all that was then possible, was sufficient to

prove that the two languages were closely allied. The early scholars

were, however, greatly impeded by the extremely imperfect knowledge

of Zend that as yet prevailed; and even if the cuneiform alphabet had

been completely deciphered by Grotefend, it may be doubted whether the

means were then available to grapple successfully with the difficulties

of translation.[522] At that time Zend was known only by the work of

Duperron, which, however remarkable for the time at which it appeared,

was quite inadequate for the purpose. Indeed some scholars, even long

afterwards, had doubts as to the genuineness of the language itself.

Since then, however, the edition of the Yaçna published by Burnouf

in 1833 placed the study upon an entirely different footing; and the

progress made by Bopp and many others in Sanscrit was also of material

service. It thus happened that concurrently with the improvement of the

cuneiform alphabet the chief obstacles to the translation of the language

were removed. When Burnouf and Lassen wrote their Memoirs in 1836, little

progress had been made in that direction beyond the identification of

the names of the Achaemenian kings, and of a few simple words. The

attempt to go beyond rested chiefly upon conjecture and frequently

resulted in absurdities of which the constellation of Moro is the typical

instance.[523]

Progress was at first considerably retarded by a misapprehension of

the relation between the Old Persian of the inscriptions and the

language of the Zend-Avesta. Grotefend for a long time thought the two

were absolutely identical, an opinion which, however, he subsequently

modified.[524] Both Burnouf and Lassen, especially the latter, were at

first inclined to suppose too close a resemblance between them. We have

already pointed out some of the errors that resulted, especially with

regard to the long and short vowels and the diphthongs. But this error

was speedily corrected, and Lassen afterwards showed that the relation

they bore to each other was that of descent from a common parent; and

although Old Persian is historically more modern, it continued to retain

some of the primitive forms which Zend had changed. While he recognised

that they were two distinct dialects, he admitted that they closely

resembled each other, and hence the great assistance he derived from

the Zend in the interpretation of the inscriptions.[525] After Zend,

he found that Sanscrit afforded him the greatest help. Indeed he was

surprised to observe how often it agreed with the Old Persian, and it was

particularly useful with respect to the grammatical forms.[526]

It is the natural affectation of the minute scholar to exaggerate the

importance of an accurate knowledge of grammatical construction, and to

disparage or ridicule even great results that may have been attained in

defiance of strict rule. It became the fashion to underrate the very

considerable achievements of Lassen as a translator, because it was

afterwards found that he fell into several errors which later knowledge

has cleared away. Major Rawlinson was unfortunately peculiarly liable

to depreciate the work of his competitors, and it is therefore with no

surprise that we find him dwell with more emphasis upon their failures

than upon their success. But it is certainly remarkable that Hincks,

the Irish cuneiform scholar, should have been betrayed into a judgment

that must now be regarded as singularly unfair and censorious. Writing

in 1847, he gave expression to the opinion that ‘Lassen seems to have

been completely destitute of the peculiar talent of a decipherer, and

his attempts at translation were consequently as bad as could be made

... the number and grossness of many of his mistakes are such as to

create astonishment.’[527] It is quite true that Lassen sometimes mistook

verbs for adjectives, and that in some places he had to warn the reader

that his translation was purely conjectural. But his services should be

estimated by the state of knowledge at the time he wrote. It must be

remembered that when he began these studies, in 1836, all that was known

were a few proper names, and every attempt to pass beyond had hitherto

led to ridiculous misrepresentations of the true meaning of the texts.

When, in 1844, he completed his translation of the whole series of

inscriptions of the Persian column—with the exception of the Behistun,

which was not accessible to him—he had succeeded in making their contents

as well known as they are at present in all the essential points of their

subject-matter. It must be recollected also that he had to contend with

difficulties that have since been in great measure removed. The texts

upon which he worked were in many places in need of emendation; and the

parallel columns in Susian and Babylonian, which have afforded so much

assistance to later translators, were then completely unknown. Moreover,

it should not be forgotten that, notwithstanding all the advantages that

are now at command, many of the passages over which Lassen stumbled are

still the subject of dispute.

His collection included the ten independent inscriptions at Persepolis;

the Tomb inscription at Naksh-i-Rustam, so lately recovered by

Westergaard; the Cyrus inscription from Murgab; the inscriptions of

Elvend and Van that only a few years before had acquired an entire

volume to expound. He added a translation of the short inscription on

the crystal cylinder brought from Egypt and now in the British Museum.

He reads: ‘Ego Darius hominum tutor.’ He also translated the Denon

inscription, found in 1800 near Suez, which, according to him, signifies

‘Darius hominum tutor magnus.’ Both these inscriptions write ‘King’

with the abbreviation to which Lassen assigned the value of ‘narpa’ and

translates ‘hominum tutor.’ The true meaning of the first is ‘I [am]

Darius the King,’ and of the second ‘Darius the great King.’[528] The

same abbreviation occurs in the inscription on the Caylus vase, but in

this case Lassen translates it simply as ‘rex’—‘Xerxes rex magnus.’[529]

Although Lassen may justly claim great praise for the skill he has

displayed in his translations, it must not be supposed that he succeeded

in overcoming all the difficulties that stood in his way. His task was

greatly simplified by the constant recurrence of a set form of words

with which the inscriptions usually begin.[530] At Persepolis this form

is first met with on the Porch, and it occurs altogether five times in

the ten Persepolitan inscriptions. The two Hamadan inscriptions consist

of nothing else. A shorter form, which begins at the second paragraph

of the one just mentioned, is repeated three times at Persepolis. The

longer form sometimes reaches over twenty lines, and as the whole series

of these inscriptions only amount to three hundred lines, it is evident

how considerably the task of the translator was reduced. Most of the

inscriptions are, as we have seen, repeated in several places: the window

inscription in the Palace of Darius no less than eighteen times. But the

very limitation thus imposed upon him was one of the chief obstacles to

his progress. Indeed, until the Behistun inscription became available it

was impossible to acquire any extensive knowledge of the language. To

this circumstance must be partly ascribed the inferiority of Lassen’s

rendering of difficult passages, when compared with the facility we

observe in Rawlinson from the first.

Between the publication of the First Memoir and the one we are now

considering, Lassen made considerable progress. In the I inscription

the names of the twenty-five provinces are now given correctly with

the exception of two: ‘Gordyaei,’ which Rawlinson had shown should read

‘M’udraya,’ Egypt; and ‘Parutia,’ which is not a proper name at all, but

means ‘east.’ Neither Lassen nor Rawlinson had much success in their

treatment of the new names of provinces found at Naksh-i-Rustam, and no

general agreement has even yet been reached with regard to some of them.

A careful collation of the difficult passages in the subject-matter of

the inscriptions is, however, sufficient to prove the great superiority

of Rawlinson over Lassen, both in the actual work of translation and

in the necessary emendation of a disputed text. An instance of the

comparative ingenuity of the two scholars is afforded by a passage in the

Naksh-i-Rustam inscription, where the last letter of the thirteenth line

is obliterated and the passage runs thus (Lassen’s transliteration):

line 13 ?

” 14 Arçahjâ puthra ârija ârija d—

” 15 thra

The omission of the letter led Lassen into one of the greatest blunders

in his revised translation. His ‘progenies Arçis’ commits him to a

definite historical error, while the rendering of the following words

‘ârija ârija’ is merely an instance of aberration to which the greatest

scholars are occasionally subject. Rawlinson, who greatly excelled him in

‘intuition,’ had no difficulty in supplying the missing letter as _p_,

and he translated the passage correctly: ‘son of a Persian, an Arian, of

Arian descent,’ in the place of ‘Progenies Arçis, a venerabilibus stirpis

auctoribus oriundi’! Lassen’s knowledge now enabled him to point out

several instances in the Inscription of Artaxerxes Ochus that served

to illustrate the decay of the language, though the interval from the

classical age of Darius was not more than a hundred and ninety years. It

is here that the two new signs—or rather contractions—for the syllables

‘dah’ and ‘bumi’ first occur. Of more interest is the evidence this

inscription affords of the degeneration of the Persian religion by the

admittance of Mithra into its worship. Artaxerxes the Third traces his

genealogy through Artaxerxes the Second (Mnemon), Darius the Second

(Nothus), Artaxerxes the First (Longimanus), Xerxes, Darius the First,

and Hystaspes, to Arsames the Achaemenian; and neither of the two last

are distinguished by the royal title.

The most important publication after Lassen’s essay in 1844 was a

criticism that appeared upon it by Adolf Holtzmann in the following

year.[531] It was written with much personal animosity to Lassen,

and this enlivens in an amusing fashion the extreme aridity of the

subject-matter.

Only two letters now remained to be correctly determined: 19 (𐎮),

the _k’h_ of Lassen, and this Holtzmann successfully accomplished.

The letter occurs in the words Lassen transliterated ‘jak’hija’

and ‘hak’hi(s).’[532] Holtzmann substituted _d_ and read the first

word ‘jadij,’ which he compared with the Sanscrit ‘jadi,’ Zend

‘jedhi’—‘when’—instead of Lassen’s ‘venerandus,’ a meaning that turned

out to be correct.[533] Finally, he reviewed all the words in which the

letter occurs, and he found that the substitution of _d_ for _k_ enabled

him to assign satisfactory meanings to the whole of them.[534]

Holtzmann is also credited[535] with having slightly improved the value

of 28 (𐎩), the _z_ of Jacquet, by giving it the sound of _g_—presumably

_g_ soft, but as it always precedes _a_ the reader would naturally assume

it to be hard, as in ‘gadija,’ ‘aga’mija,’ etc. It is in fact _j_ before

_a_.

Holtzmann has the merit also of rectifying several of Lassen’s verbal

errors. For example, he showed that ‘hadâ,’ which Lassen thought

signified ‘continually,’ in reality means ‘with.’[536] Of more importance

was his treatment of the word then read ‘Paru-ja’ (‘parauvaiy’).

Rawlinson had already annihilated two of Lassen’s provinces—Uscangha

(the Uxii) and Drangha (the Drangii)[537]—and Holtzmann now disposes of

the third—Paru-ja—which Lassen still cherished in 1845. Lassen derived

the word from the Sanscrit ‘parvata,’ ‘hill,’ and thought it was a

mountain district called Parutia, near the Persian frontier. Holtzmann

had recourse to the Sanscrit ‘purva’ (easterly), and translated the

sentence ‘the land of the east,’ meaning the eastern provinces whose

names followed.[538] When Holtzmann attempted the correction of longer

sentences he was not always so successful. For example, he rendered the

words that were then transliterated ‘jak’hija âwamâ (ma)nijâhja hak’â

ânijanâ mâ rçam imam Pârçam,’ ‘When one goes—from Anijana to the ocean,

this land they call Persia’!—the real meaning being ‘Wenn Du so denkst

vor Niemanden möchte ich zittern—so schütze dieses Persische Heer.’[539]

Another instance of ingenuity is the rendering of the line ‘hak’â

ânijanâ nija tᵃrçᵃtija,’ ‘ab Anjana usque ad Tarsatia’ (_sic_). It will

enable the reader to see how uncertain was the progress yet made when

these same words were rendered by Lassen, in 1844, ‘adoratio consecrata

contingit,’ and by Rawlinson, in 1846, ‘From the enemy feareth not’—which

closely approached the true translation: ‘fürchtet sich ... vor keinem

Anderen.’[540]

Sometimes, however, Holtzmann showed a marked improvement upon

Lassen. Thus the latter scholar translated the fiftieth line of the

Naksh-i-Rustam inscription ‘Auramuzdi adorationem attulere, quae

[regiones] illae palatium exstruxere.’ Holtzmann substitutes ‘Auromazdas

enim opem tulit dum opus feci,’ and Rawlinson, in 1846, correctly renders

the sentence ‘Aurmazd brought help to me so that I accomplished the

work.’[541]

When Rawlinson was writing his Memoir in 1846 he remarked upon the

singular fact that no Englishman except himself had yet taken part in the

work of decipherment. Many had indeed occupied themselves in the more

adventurous task of collecting the materials—among whom were Morier,

Ouseley, Ker Porter, and Rich—but so far Rawlinson was alone among his

countrymen as a decipherer. This special study arose first in northern

Europe, and it is remarkable how large a share was borne by Denmark.

Niebuhr, upon whose foundation all later scholars built, was born at

Ludwigsworth in North Hanover; but he served under the king of Denmark,

and his Travels were first published at Copenhagen. Münter, though a

German by descent and birth, was brought up at Copenhagen, and passed

his whole life in Denmark, where he died as Bishop of Seeland. Rask

was a Dane, and he laboured throughout his life as a Professor at the

University of Copenhagen. Westergaard belonged to the same nationality

and, as in the case of Niebuhr, his journey to the East was due to the

liberality of the Danish Government. Lassen was born and educated at

Bergen, though, it is true, he left Norway at the age of twenty-two and

passed the greater portion of his life at Bonn. Tychsen was also of

Norwegian descent, but born at Tondern, in Schleswig. Grotefend was a

Hanoverian, born at Münden. Beer, on the other hand, was an Austrian from

Bötzen. France was as yet represented only by two scholars, St. Martin

and Burnouf; Belgium by one, Jacquet; and England also by one, Rawlinson.

But the latter was soon joined by two others, Hincks and Norris, both of

whom, especially the former, were soon to acquire a brilliant reputation

in cuneiform studies. The Rev. Edward Hincks belonged to a Chester

family settled in Ireland since 1767. His father was a Presbyterian

minister who for a time kept a school at Cork, and afterwards became

classical master at the Belfast Academy (1821-36). He was a man of

the most varied learning, who lectured with equal success on two such

different subjects as Chemistry and Hebrew. He wrote a Greek Grammar,

and was a frequent contributor to the proceedings of the Royal Irish

Academy. He married a Chester lady, by whom he had a numerous family,

many of whose members rose to distinction. One son became Archdeacon of

Connor, another Professor of Natural Science at Toronto, a third was well

known in Canadian politics. He became Premier in 1851, and was called

the ‘Colbert of Canada.’ He was afterwards appointed to a Colonial

Governorship, and was made a K.C.B. in 1862. His brother Edward, the

cuneiform scholar, was born in 1792, and after a distinguished career

at the University of Dublin, he settled down in a remote country parish

as Rector of Killyleagh in the county Down. In that inhospitable region

he spent forty-one years, till his death in 1866. He first attracted

attention by his papers on Egyptian hieroglyphics, contributed to the

Irish Academy. His contributions to cuneiform literature began in June

1846, when he read a paper ‘On the First and Second Kinds of Persepolitan

Writing.’[542] This was followed by another in November ‘On the Three

Kinds of Persepolitan Writing and on the Babylonian Lapidary Character.’

In January of the following year a farther essay appeared, ‘On the Third

Persepolitan,’ and in the December after he published a long paper in the

‘Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society’ on the Inscriptions of Van.[543]

When he entered upon the study of the first column but little remained

to be done to complete the decipherment of the Persian alphabet. His

attention was therefore chiefly directed to the writing in the Susian

and Babylonian columns. In a postscript to his first essay he insisted

on the substantial resemblance of the language of the third column to

those of the Babylonian and Assyrian inscriptions. He supported the

opinion which had been even then suggested, that both of these ‘have

much in common with the Semitic languages’ and he announced that he had

read the names of Babylon and Nineveh on the bricks.[544] He devoted his

ingenuity in the first instance to prove the identity of the cursive mode

of writing found in the third column and in some Babylonian inscriptions

with the character seen on Babylonian bricks and in the East India House

Inscription. He published two elaborate tables in illustration of this

theme, and offered a few suggestions as to the meaning of the signs.[545]

His later contributions deal chiefly with the Assyrian inscriptions,

which, since the excavations made by Botta, began to attract the largest

share of public attention. In 1850, he wrote on Khorsabad, on the

Assyrio-Babylonian phonetic system, and on Assyrian mythology. Among

his more important contributions to Assyriology are his treatise on the

Assyrian Verb (1855-6) and his Assyrian Grammar, begun in 1866.[546] The

last was left unfinished, and, strange to say, no notes were found among

his papers to assist in its completion. Like Jacquet, he seems to have

charged his memory with the whole burden of the complicated task he had

set himself to accomplish. Few scholars enjoyed a higher reputation for

extraordinary acumen in unravelling the difficulties of this intricate

subject. The ‘intuition’ he displayed was specially remarkable, and often

led him to anticipate conclusions that other scholars only reached by a

slow and arduous course of inquiry. Even Rawlinson, who shared to a high

degree in this rare gift, often found himself anticipated by the Irish

scholar. Hincks, for example, was the first to decipher the name and

titles of Nebuchadnezzar in the India House Inscription and in many other

places, where Grotefend thought he had found ‘forms of prayer.’[547]

This was, however, after he had received the Behistun Inscription, where

‘Nebuchadnezzar’ was found by Rawlinson in the Persian column.[548]

Hincks’s paper ‘On the First and Second Kinds of Persepolitan Writing’

was read to the Royal Irish Academy on June 9, 1846, and he communicated

its contents to Mr. Norris, the secretary of the Royal Asiatic Society,

who sent a detailed account of it to Major Rawlinson at Bagdad. This

letter was despatched from London on August 20, and five days afterwards,

on the twenty-fifth of the same month,[549] Major Rawlinson sent off

a Supplementary Note in which, by a very singular coincidence, he

introduced some important modifications in his system of transliteration

that brought it into substantial agreement with that just then proposed

by Hincks. Thus the two documents crossed each other on the way,

a circumstance that affords conclusive proof of their independent

production.[550] But as Hincks’s paper was read in June and Rawlinson’s

note not despatched till August, the priority must be awarded to the

former. This was the first occasion on which Hincks had contributed

to cuneiform research, and, as we have said, he had the good fortune

to forestall Rawlinson in one of his most useful discoveries. When he

wrote, Lassen’s Second Memoir of 1844 was still the chief authority on

the subject, and it is to it that he directs his criticism. In looking

over Lassen’s alphabet, nothing was more remarkable than the number of

signs allotted to certain supposed modifications of the same sound. Thus

_k_, for example, was represented by no less than four different signs

expressing _k_ (No. 4), _k’_ (16), _k’h_ (19), and _kh_ (42): _d_ by

three different signs, _d_ (11), _d’h_ (22), and _dh_ (34). At the same

time it was beginning to be remarked that certain of these signs to

which modifications of the same sound were ascribed were only to be found

in combination with particular vowels. Lassen himself had pointed out in

his First Memoir of 1836 that _m_ (29) always preceded an _i_. Jacquet

added that _r_ (40) always occurred before _u_. Holtzmann also remarked

that 28 (𐎩), to which he gave the value of _g_, is always followed by

_a_, and 19 _d_ by _i_.[551]

The merit of Hincks consists in this: that he was the first to point

out that the various signs allotted to the same letter did not differ

from each other by any modification of sound as Lassen supposed, and

also that their employment was regulated according to the vowel that

succeeded them. He accordingly divided the signs for these consonants

into two classes, according as they were followed by _a_, inherent or

expressed, and by _i_ or _u_; and he added _r_: the former he called

primary, and the latter secondary, consonants. Lassen, as we have said,

was of opinion that the secondary letters must have a somewhat different

value, and in particular that they were all aspirated. He also thought

they might be used indifferently before any vowel. Thus, for example, he

supposed that the two signs for _m_ (𐎶 and 𐎷) might both be used before

_i_, and that they expressed a slightly different sound. Hincks, on the

contrary, maintained that 𐎶 could never really open upon _i_; and when

it appears to do so, as in the group 𐎶·𐎡, _a_ is always understood.

Thus 𐎷·𐎡 is ‘mi,’ but 𐎶·𐎡 is ‘mai’ or ‘mê,’ the secondary form of _m_

being equivalent to its primary form; and he ascribed the existence

in the alphabet of this peculiarity to a survival from a syllabic

mode of writing. Its utility is, however, obvious, for with only three

vowels—_a_, _i_ and _u_—it would otherwise be impossible to render the

sounds _ê_ and _ô_ (_ai_—_au_). As, however, the consonants themselves

were of the same value, Hincks writes them with the same sign, and

discards the _h_ which had till then been added to mark an imaginary

difference in the sound of the secondary consonants. This is precisely

what Rawlinson did in his Supplementary Note, and for the same reason.

Hincks lays down the general rule that when a primary consonant replaces

a secondary consonant before _i_ or _u_ ‘an _a_ must be interposed either

as a distinct syllable or as a guṇa to the vowel.’[552] This alteration

led to a considerable modification in the method of transliteration, but

its importance arose from the altered translation of which the words

became susceptible. Thus, in the instance already given, ‘miy’ is the

termination of the first person singular present tense of the verb; while

‘mey’ (properly ‘maiy’) is the enclitic pronoun used for _my_. So also

the words Lassen transliterates ‘utamija khsathram’ and renders ‘tum

hoc regnum,’ when properly transliterated ‘utamê’ (‘utamaiy’) signify

‘meumque regnum.’[553]

Hincks had also the merit of calling attention to the indiscriminate

addition of _a_ by Lassen to words ending in _iy_ and _uw_. This

lengthening of the syllable sometimes entirely obscured the sense—as in

‘thatija’ which Lassen supposed to signify ‘generosus,’ and which is in

fact the verb ‘he says.’[554]

When we compare Hincks’s alphabet with Lassen’s (passing over the mere

omission of the aspirates) we find that Hincks had only four incorrect

values, as opposed to the six of Lassen. These were:

26 _z_ for _th_;

32 _zh(i)_ for _j(i)_;

33 _kh(u)_ for _m(u)_;

39 _p(r)_ for _f(a)_.

Two of these were already correctly given by Lassen (Nos. 26 and 39). On

the other hand, Hincks corrected three out of Lassen’s six wrong values:

16 _ch_ instead of Lassen’s _k’_;

19 _d(i)_ instead of Lassen’s _k’h_ (due to Holtzmann);

28 _j_ instead of Lassen’s _z’_.

It may be observed also that Hincks has correctly indicated all of

what he termed the secondary consonants and distinguished between

those followed by _i_ and those followed by _u_. The others not so

distinguished are the primary consonants preceding _a_ inherent or

expressed.

When Hincks read his paper in June, Rawlinson’s Memoir on the Behistun

Inscription had been already received by the Asiatic Society and was in

the printer’s hands. It was no easy task at that time to carry it through

the press. Cuneiform type had to be cast, and the expense and trouble it

caused were very great. The work was, however, looked forward to with

the greatest interest. After the appearance of Professor Lassen’s essay,

in 1844, all the cuneiform inscriptions of the Persian column then known

had, as we have said, with one notable exception, been translated. There

remained the great inscription at Behistun, which it was known Major

Rawlinson had copied and was at work upon. We have already narrated the

succession of untoward circumstances that had delayed its publication

for seven years, from the time when two hundred lines had been prepared

for the press in 1839 down to the late autumn of 1846, when the completed

work was first made public. Meanwhile no other traveller appeared at all

disposed to anticipate him. There were indeed few who cared to undergo

the personal risk Rawlinson had so cheerfully faced, nor willing to

expend a thousand pounds upon the dangerous task, as he had so generously

done. Indeed down to 1884 only one other traveller subsequently

accomplished the ascent.[555] In February 1846, Rawlinson forwarded a

complete translation of the entire text to the Royal Asiatic Society. The

remainder, with the cuneiform original and notes, followed at intervals

in the course of the year. The editorial note, dated September 7, tells

us that the text and the first five chapters of the Memoir had been

already received. The work appeared in four parts, of which the first

three form the tenth volume of the Society’s Journal. The first was

published in 1846, and contained eight plates, two representing the rock

of Behistun and the figures sculptured upon it, executed by Lieutenant

Jones of the Indian Navy;[556] the others are devoted to the five columns

and appendices which form the text. Then follow the transliteration and

two translations, one in Latin and the other in English, with notes on

the state of the text. This was followed by the first two chapters of

his ‘Memoir on the Inscription’ to page 53. This portion of the work

was reviewed by Hincks, in the January number of the ‘Dublin University

Magazine,’ 1847, and by Benfey in a pamphlet published at Leipzig in

January 1847. Part II. was published before the meeting of the Society

in May 1847, and included the third chapter of the Memoir, treating

of the cuneiform alphabet and the important Supplementary Note on the

pronunciation, pages 55 to 186.[557]

Part III. was at the same time in the hands of the printer, and appeared

later in the year (1847). It contains Chapters IV. and V. of the Memoir.

The former gives a revised transliteration and translation of the text

with an Analysis; and the other a complete revised edition of all the

inscriptions previously published by Lassen. Mr. Norris, the Assistant

Secretary of the Asiatic Society, saw the whole of this complicated

work through the press, and he undertook to alter the transliteration

given in Chapter IV. in accordance with the principles laid down in the

Supplementary Note. For his services in this matter, he received a vote

of thanks from the Society. ‘He unites,’ said the proposer, ‘more varied

learning and more rare and extensive research and intelligence than I

have ever seen combined in the same individual’;[558] and he subsequently

attained an independent position in the first rank of cuneiform scholars.

Part IV. was not published till 1849. It included the sixth chapter

of the Memoir and treated of the Vocabulary, but the dissertation was

never completed. It breaks off in the middle of a sentence, when the

writer had not proceeded further than the words commencing with vowels

and with consonants of the first three classes. It purports to give a

few brief etymological explanations, but in reality it is admirable as

a display of learning in many fields of knowledge, and it is especially

interesting for the explanation it affords of the reasons that led to

the determination of words of doubtful meaning. While he was engaged in

this work, he received Lassen’s Second Memoir. It did not reach him

till August 1845, when his own translations were completed and already

beyond the reach of alteration. He had little cause, however, to regret

the delay that arose from the difficulty in those times of ‘communicating

between Bonn and Bagdad,’ for he could have derived small benefit from

the very inferior translations of his predecessor. In the philological

branch of the subject, however, he found the Memoir ‘of the greatest

convenience as a manual of reference,’ and his marginal notes show how

carefully he consulted it.[559]

By the publication of this work Major Rawlinson at length took his place

among the cuneiform scholars of Europe. We have shown that the study was

by that time far advanced, and most of the difficulties of the Persian

column were already surmounted. Rawlinson did not, therefore, put forward

any pretension to original discovery in that department, but was, he

said, ‘content to rest my present claims on the novelty and interest of

my translations.’[560] He hoped eventually to earn the higher distinction

of an original discoverer, ‘according to the success that may attend my

efforts to decipher the Median [Susian] and Babylonian inscriptions.’

It was not, however, without an effort that he presented himself in so

modest a garb upon this occasion. He was convinced that he had made each

step in the tedious process of decipherment by his own unaided effort;

and in whatever light he might appear to the public, he was certainly an

original discoverer to himself. He had no doubt that if Grotefend and

Lassen had never lived the world would have been indebted wholly to him

for the discovery, and, although we think he may have been influenced

more than he suspected by other scholars, there is no great improbability

in supposing that his own ingenuity would have been quite equal to

grapple singly with the task.

Notwithstanding his avowed disclaimer, he still cherished the opinion

that he had really made some important contributions to the determination

of the alphabet. On one occasion indeed he went so far as to claim the

paternity, directly or indirectly, of at least ten characters, and he

referred to his correspondence with Burnouf and Lassen as the medium

through which he had made his influence felt. It is clear, however, that

in this he was entirely mistaken. According to his own admission, he

knew as little of the Continental scholars as they did of him until his

first communication to the Asiatic Society, which was received in March

1838. It will be recollected that Burnouf and Lassen had published their

Memoirs two years before; so neither of these could have been influenced

by Rawlinson. It only remains to inquire whether he could have suggested

any of the six values ascribed to Jacquet, whose essay appeared in the

course of 1838. Here a comparison of dates is not sufficient in itself to

determine the question. Rawlinson’s communication was known in London on

March 14, and was submitted to the French Society on April 20. Jacquet

began that very month to publish his criticism of Lassen, and his active

mind was full of the subject. He was no doubt present at the meeting when

Rawlinson’s copy of the inscription was submitted to the Society, and

there was ample time for him to profit by any suggestions it contained

in his future papers on the subject. We have, however, conclusive proof

from Rawlinson’s own admission that the values of these six letters were

not then known to him. Nor could they have been communicated to Jacquet

through his subsequent correspondence with Burnouf. Jacquet died in

July 1838, and Rawlinson’s correspondence with Burnouf and Lassen did

not begin till the summer of that year.[561] From that period Rawlinson

himself accounts for all the letters in question. Writing after Jacquet’s

death, he tells us in a letter to Burnouf that he had just found the

value of 16 (𐎨) _ch_. Two other values, 26 (𐎰) _th_ and 41 (𐏃) _h_,

he fixed still later in the winter 1838-9; another, 27 (𐎹) _y_, he

acknowledges he received from Lassen.[562] The sign 10 (𐎺) he also fixed

in 1838-9; but he gave it the same value as Lassen had done in 1836, viz.

_w_. In Germany _w_ was no doubt equivalent to its correct value _v_, but

scarcely so to an English-speaking man, especially as he distinguishes

it from his _v_ (𐎻) No. 15. The other letter, 40 (𐎽) _r_, was known

correctly to Grotefend in 1837. With reference, therefore, to the six

letters attributed to Jacquet, it is seen that none of them were due to

the influence of Rawlinson, either through his Memoir or subsequently by

correspondence. One letter (_r_) was fixed before Rawlinson was known.

Three others were first announced after Jacquet was dead (16, 26, 41).

One was wrong (10), and the other (27) he acknowledged to have borrowed

from Lassen. It is impossible, therefore, to admit the pretension put

forward by Rawlinson, that he could ‘fairly claim the paternity, either

directly or indirectly, of at least ten characters’ on the ground

that ‘it was impossible to say by whom each individual letter became

identified.’ On the contrary, the history of the identification is plain

enough, and there is no difficulty in assigning the proportion of merit

due to each discoverer. It was not till after the essays of Jacquet that

Rawlinson bore any share in the general progress of the study; and then

not more than four characters remained to be correctly identified.

We have already seen with what conspicuous success Rawlinson had found

the true values of two of these, so far back as 1838. One still gave

Lassen a great deal of trouble, and he had variously valued it as _k_

(1836), _ich_ (1839), _k’h_ (1844). In his letter to Rawlinson he

preferred to leave it undetermined (1839).[563] Rawlinson suggested that

it had the sound of _t_ before _i_, which is so nearly correct and so

great an improvement upon all previous attempts that it might almost be

conceded to him as an approximate value if he had announced it earlier.

He acknowledges that he remained long in doubt concerning it, and

there is no evidence, as in the case of the other two letters, that he

suggested the emendation to Burnouf.[564] Before his alphabet appeared,

in 1846, the true value had been already fixed by Holtzmann in 1845 as

_d_ before _i_.

It thus appears that Rawlinson had a real aptitude for unravelling this

kind of puzzle. Only four letters were left to him by his predecessors;

and of these he determined two correctly and one nearly correctly.

The fourth, 28 (𐎩) the _z_ of Jacquet, he improves to an approximate

correct value _j’h_ in his first alphabet; and in his second he gives

it correctly as _j_ before _a_: a correction made simultaneously by

Hincks. He may also claim the merit of having restored the sound of _k_

(he writes _kh_) to 25 (𐎤). The value of this letter had long before

been fixed by Grotefend, but since then it had passed through many

vicissitudes. St. Martin thought it was _h_; Burnouf made it _q_; and

Lassen thought, in 1836, it stood for the _a_ in the diphthong _au_,

_ô_, till at length, in 1844, he reluctantly adopted Burnouf’s _q_.

Tn addition to these services, Rawlinson contributed two new letters,

one of which, No. 43 (𐎵), _n_ before _u_, has taken a permanent place

in the alphabet. The other (𐎾), _ñ_, is really a Susian letter with a

nasal sound, and is found in the Persian column in only two proper names.

Oppert suggests that it may be the missing _l_; and Spiegel is disposed

to agree.[565]

If we consult Rawlinson’s alphabet as it stood early in 1846, it will be

seen that he was in possession of correct values for the thirty-three

signs in Niebuhr’s list, with the exception of two, 10 (𐎺) _w_ for _v_,

and 19 (𐎮) _t_ for _d_, and both of these may be almost allowed to him as

approximately correct. In the case of the first, indeed, we have already

conceded it to Lassen, in consequence of the practical exclusion of _w_

from the German language; and we have only denied it to Rawlinson because

he distinguishes it from his 15 (𐎻) _v_.

We have not included the addition of the aspirate among the number of

errors, where it indicated only an unimportant modification of a correct

sound. It had its origin in the difficulty that was found in believing

that there could be more than one sign in the alphabet to express

precisely the same sound. We have seen that Hincks had just shown that

these signs do in fact express the same sound, and that their employment

depends solely upon the vowel that follows. After Major Rawlinson’s first

alphabet was in print, he arrived, independently, as we have already

stated, at precisely the same conclusion. He had long been struck with

the peculiarity that certain consonants are only to be found followed by

a particular vowel, and in his first alphabet he indicated five letters

thus distinguished. These were: 19, _t_ with _i_; 29, _m_ with _i_;

33, _m_ with _u_; 40, _r_ with _u_; 43, _n_ with _u_; and he observed

especially the affinity the vowel _i_ had for certain consonants—a

peculiarity he noticed also in some of the Scythic languages.[566] When

once his attention was directed to these facts it was not long before he

set himself to account for them. One of the most useful contributions

to decipherment made by Lassen arose from the suggestion that an _a_

is understood though not always expressed after a consonant, when not

followed by another vowel. Indeed until this idea occurred to him the

result of decipherment was the apparition of a long series of words

consisting of an agglomeration of consonants which no living tongue could

pronounce. The next step to be made, resulted from the observation that

some letters were always followed by _i_ and others by _u_. A laborious

classification of each letter according as it was followed by each of

these vowels was therefore undertaken, and the result was sufficiently

remarkable. It showed that in two cases in the grade of sonants (_d_ and

_m_) there was a different sign according as the letter was followed

by _a_, _i_, or _u_. Conversely, there were three cases in the grade

of aspirates (_th_, _y_, _sh_), where the same sign might be found

before any of the three vowels; and finally there were several cases in

the grade of surds (_k_, _t_, and _r_), where it was noticed that the

same sign was followed by either _a_ or _i_, and that a different sign

was used before _u_. Taking these facts into consideration, Rawlinson

thought he observed sufficient regularity to justify him in formulating

the general law that, for some unexplained reason, the grade of surds

in each class were expressed by two signs, one used before _a_ and _i_,

the other before _u_; the grade of aspirates by one sign only, equally

available before any of the three vowels; and the grade of sonants by

three signs, each applied to one vowel only. He admitted that there were

numerous exceptions to the rule; indeed, the class of dentals is the only

one where the series is complete, but the exceptions he was inclined to

attribute chiefly to the incompleteness of the alphabet.[567]

When the letters of Rawlinson’s original alphabet were distributed into

the various classes of gutturals, palatals, and so on, and among the

subdivisions of surds, aspirates, and sonants, they were found sufficient

to suggest the existence of some such law in the cases that have been

named. With Holtzmann’s correction of 19 (𐎮) from _t_ to _d_, he had the

three _d’s_ required to complete his sonants of the dental class. His

own list gave him the three _m’s_ required for the sonants of the nasal

class; and he already knew that one was used only before _i_, and the

other only before _u_. He knew also that the aspirates of three of the

classes were to be found indifferently before any vowel. In the case of

the surds, he had found that five of them (_k_ 𐎣, _ch_ 𐎨, _t_ 𐎫, _n_ 𐎴,

_r_ 𐎼) are always to be found before either an _a_ or an _i_. He knew

also that his second sign for _n_ 𐎵 (43) and his second sign for _r_ 𐎽

were only to be found before _u_; and he observed that the signs he still

read (𐎤) _kh_ and (𐎬) _th_ were also only found before _u_. It required,

therefore, no great effort to deprive them of their _h_, and to range

them with the others as the second signs in the surd grades for _k_ and

_t_.

Once the existence of this law was inferred, Rawlinson was led to make

other modifications in his original alphabet, in order to bring it

into strict conformity, and in every instance the alteration has been

confirmed. The following Table shows the distribution of the letters into

the various classes and grades, and the modifications they underwent.

When they fail to comply with the supposed law, the deficiencies are left

blank: when they violate it, the offence is marked by ‘!’.

RAWLINSON’S ALPHABET, AFTER AUGUST 25, 1846[568]

_Gutturals._ Followed by _a_ (𐎠) by _i_ (𐎡) by _u_ (𐎢)

_k_ surd 𐎣 𐎣 𐎤

_kh_ aspirate 𐎧 — 𐎧

_g_ sonant 𐎥 ? 𐎦

_Palatals_

_ch_ surd 𐎨 𐎨 —

_j_ sonant 𐎩 𐎪 —

_Dentals_

_t_ surd 𐎫 𐎫 𐎬

_th_ aspirate 𐎰 𐎰 𐎰

_d_ sonant 𐎭 𐎮 𐎯

_Labials_

_p_ surd 𐎱 𐎱 𐎱!

_f_ aspirate 𐎳? ? ?

_b_ sonant 𐎲 𐎲! 𐎲!

_Nasals_

_n_ surd 𐎴 𐎴 𐎵

_ñ_ aspirate 𐎾 ? ?

_m_ sonant 𐎶 𐎷 𐎸

_Semi-vowels_ Followed by _a_ (𐎠) by _i_ (𐎡) by _u_ (𐎢)

_r_ surd 𐎼 𐎼 𐎽

_y_ aspirate 𐎹 𐎹 𐎹

_v_ sonant 𐎺 𐎻 𐎺!

_Sibilants_

_s_ surd 𐎿 𐎿 𐎿?!

_sh_ aspirate 𐏁 𐏁 𐏁

_z_ sonant 𐏀 — 𐏀?!

_Aspirate_

_h_ 𐏃 𐏃 𐏃

Compound [Persian], _tř_

Doubtful final, [Persian]

One of the results of the classification of the consonants according to

the vowels that follow them was to introduce a considerable change in

the method of transliteration. It is only in exceptional cases that the

_a_, following a consonant, is found in the text, but its inherence is

inferred. When, therefore, an _i_ or _u_ immediately follows a consonant

with an inherent _a_, instead of transliterating as formerly such a group

as 𐎥 𐎡 _gi_ and 𐎥 𐎢 _gu_, they are now written _gai_ and _gau_; and

this modification has materially assisted the explanation of the words

in which such combinations occur. An interesting proof of the accuracy

of this system is afforded by the word ‘Kurus,’ which was so long an

object of contention. The genitive is denoted by the insertion of an

_a_—‘Kuraus.’ The letter 𐎽 (_r_), which is followed by _u_, is used for

the nominative ‘Kurus’; but the letter 𐎼 (_r_), which has an inherent _a_

is substituted in the genitive. Thus:

Nom. _Kurus_, 𐎤 · 𐎢 · 𐎽 · 𐎢 · 𐏁

k u r u s

Gen. _Kuraus_, 𐎤 · 𐎢 · 𐎼 · 𐎢 · 𐏁

k u r(a) u s

The interchange of these two signs in ‘Kurus’ finally disposed of a

supposition started by Burnouf and supported so lately as Holtzmann,[569]

that 𐎽 might be _l_, and that the Persians pronounced the name of their

great king ‘Kulus.’

Considerations of the same kind greatly assisted Rawlinson in rectifying

some of his values. For example, in the case of 𐎦, which he had hitherto

read _gh_, he found that it replaced 𐎥 the _g_ before _a_, in order

to form the locative singular ‘Mar_gau_w;’ and consequently he had no

hesitation ‘in placing the two characters, not merely in the same class,

but in the same grade of that class.’ It is therefore now found among the

gutturals as _g_ before _u_.[570]

Precisely the same considerations led to the rectification of 28 (𐎩)

_j’h_ to _j_. He found the locative of Susiana (‘uwajaiya’) written 𐎩 ·

𐎡, i.e. _ji_, which he knew from grammatical considerations must stand

for _jai_; and he therefore concluded that 𐎩 is _j_ before _a_; which is

correct.

A farther result of this classification is to supply the sounds of the

missing vowels _e_ and _o_, for when _i_ or _u_ follow a consonant

with an inherent _a_, the diphthongs _ai_ and _au_ are produced, which

correspond phonetically and grammatically to the diphthongs _ê_ and _ô_

in Sanscrit.[571] Such were the results communicated by Rawlinson in

his Supplementary Note, which, as we have seen, crossed the detailed

account of Hincks’s paper on the same subject. It was received in London

on October 8, and its substance was read at a meeting of the Society

on December 6, and noticed in the ‘Athenæum’ of December 19.[572] The

alterations in the method of transliteration required by the new

system were, as we have said, carried out under the supervision of Mr.

Norris.[573]

Rawlinson has not drawn up a formal grammar of Old Persian, but he

loses no opportunity of comparing its forms with Sanscrit and Zend,

and pointing out wherein they agree and wherein they differ. He shows

that the initial letter _a_, so frequently employed, is used to express

the temporal augment in the past tenses of verbs, and according to the

analogy of the Sanscrit it is short. But the short _a_ of Sanscrit

terminations is changed into long _a_ in the cuneiform; and the mute

terminal consonants of the former are usually omitted, as in the endings

‘as,’ ‘at,’ ‘an,’ ‘am,’ a rule applicable to both nouns and verbs. He

shows also that the suffixes in _i_, so common in Sanscrit and Zend,

are all lengthened into ‘iya’; a rule also applicable to the terminal

_u_.[574] If he had finished his chapter on the Vocabulary, the student

might have been able from it to put together a complete grammar. Under

their initial letters we find ‘adam,’ the personal pronoun ‘ego’;

‘aniya,’ ‘alius’; the two demonstrative pronouns ‘ava,’ ‘that,’ and

‘iyam,’ ‘this’;[575] correctly traced through all their cases so far

as they were known—and the same is done for the cases of the verbs

‘am‘iy,’ ‘I am,’ and ‘thah,’ ‘to say’;[576] and in each he shows the

close similarity they exhibit to Sanscrit and Zend. In his notes to the

translation he dwells especially on the construction of the sentences and

upon the historical questions raised by the subject-matter of the text.

He gives an elaborate analysis of each letter of the cuneiform alphabet,

comparing its use and pronunciation with those of other languages. He

can draw a wealth of illustration at pleasure from the kindred languages

of Sanscrit, Zend, Pehlevi, Persian, as well as from Pali, Devanagari,

Hebrew, Chaldee, Syriac, and Turkish; and although he displays an amount

of knowledge that is truly surprising, he defers with unaffected humility

to ‘the more experienced philologist.’[577] He classifies Old Persian as

belonging to ‘the Arian type, resembling Sanscrit very closely in its

grammatical structure; but in its orthographical development more nearly

approximating to the Zend: while in the peculiarity of organisation which

requires the juxtaposition of certain consonants with certain vowels it

exhibits something of a Scythic character.’[578] He was not disposed to

admit the antiquity then beginning to be claimed for Zend. He thought

that in comparison with Old Persian it was modern. He imagined that the

latter became gradually extinct after the age of Alexander, and that

it was succeeded by Zend and Pehlevi, the former as a hieratic and the

other as a demotic language but both derived from it.[579] He was clear

at least that Old Persian could never have descended from Zend, though

he reluctantly admits the possibility of their contemporary existence.

His unwillingness to allow the antiquity of Zend was due in great measure

to the legendary character of the Zendavesta, a book which he considered

could not have been written till after the cuneiform Persian had been

entirely forgotten. Otherwise, he said, ‘the priesthood could neither

have had the audacity nor the desire to darken authentic history by the

distorted and incomplete allusions to Jemshid and the Kayanian monarchs

which are found in the Vendidád Sadé and in the ancient hymns.’[580]

The appearance of Rawlinson’s work was received with feelings of

enthusiasm in Germany. The reproach that England had hitherto neglected

the cuneiform records was at length effaced, and in such a manner as to

entitle her to claim the first place in the roll of discovery. Benfey

declared that few, if any, of the contributions made in recent times in

the field of Oriental research could compare with it in importance.[581]

Major Rawlinson, he says, displays an extraordinary aptitude for

decipherment, and an accuracy and depth of philological learning that

render it peculiarly fortunate that such an important document should

have fallen into his hands. In mere length, the inscription exceeds by

more than a hundred lines all those published by Lassen put together.

It consists of five columns of about four hundred and ten lines, and,

although there is considerable repetition, it nevertheless offers a great

variety of words and phrases which added immensely to the knowledge

previously acquired.[582] One great difficulty with which he had to

grapple was the very imperfect state of the text. A glance over the

plates will show the numerous blanks left in the writing in consequence

of injury to the rock. Rawlinson’s copy was so carefully executed that he

committed only one serious error, the omission of a line in the fourth

column. The other imperfections are due entirely to the ravages of time.

In the first column there is a large fissure on the right hand, extending

from the top to the twenty-fifth line, and again from the sixty-third

line to the end, besides numerous occasional gaps elsewhere. But the

second column is in a much worse condition. ‘A fissure, varying in

breadth, caused by the percolation of water, bisects it and destroys the

continuity of the writing throughout its whole extent.’[583] The third

is nearly perfect, except at the bottom, where several lines are wholly

lost. The fourth column is worse than the second; ‘a fissure transects

the tablet longitudinally,’ and in the lower half ‘the rock is more or

less broken by the trickling of the water.’ But when we come to the

fifth, we find ‘a state of such deplorable mutilation that it would be

waste of time and ingenuity to undertake an analysis of the text, or

to attempt anything like a connected and intelligible translation.’ In

the face of these difficulties he was obliged to have recourse to very

elaborate and ingenious restorations. At the end of the second column,

for instance, he found the Susian copy perfect, and this enabled him

to ‘restore’ the Persian text. It is one of the first instances of a

long translation from the Susian, and his version of it turned out

afterwards to be correct.[584] In the numerous repetitions that occur so

frequently, he found a safe guide in other passages of the inscriptions.

Sometimes, however, he had to work on much less solid foundation, as when

he sought help from other sentences that were only ‘of nearly similar

construction’; or when his restoration was ‘generally borne out by the

context’; or merely by considerations of ‘grammatical propriety.’ In

such cases he could never arrive at more than a high probability. He had

frequently to measure the length of a blank and then tax his memory to

supply one or more words with the required number of letters that would

fit into the vacant place and at the same time make sense. Sometimes,

as in the fourth column, the sense was so obscure that he feared his

‘restorations will be considered rather bold than felicitous.’[585]

Occasionally his courage failed him altogether, and he was obliged to

confess that ‘I cannot restore the [passage] even conjecturally.’ It

is remarkable how uniformly successful his ‘conjectural restorations’

were found to be. He imposed the most admirable restraint upon the

intuitive faculty with which he was so eminently gifted; and his

emendations exhibit a patience and sobriety that many scholars engaged

in similar work might advantageously study. When he had surmounted the

imperfections of the text so far as possible, he set himself to the task

of translation, and achieved the most notable success in this department

of literature. When we consider that he had to unravel the intricacies of

long sentences, determine the grammatical relations of multitudes of new

words and fix their meaning by a patient comparison with Zend or Sanscrit

analogies, the unfailing divination he displays is absolutely marvellous.

A careful comparison of this first translation with that now accepted as

correct will show comparatively few alterations, although the labours of

many scholars have since been devoted to a rigorous study of the same

text. The main body of the translation remains the same, word for word,

down to the minutest particulars. Some doubtful passages, concerning

which Rawlinson himself entertained doubts, have been cleared up; but it

rarely happens even in these that the original translation was in fault

as to the general meaning.

The long list of commentators begins with Benfey, whose tract on the

subject was sent to the press in January 1847, when he could only have

seen the first part of Rawlinson’s work. Some of Benfey’s suggestions

have been accepted, others definitely rejected. A few instances will

illustrate the nature and extent of the earliest attempt at revision.

Almost the first error occurs in Column I. par. 10, where we find:

‘The troubles of the state ceased which Bardius excited.’ Rawlinson

warns us that ‘this sentence cannot be read with any certainty,’ on

account of a blank in the inscription, and the doubt attaching to the

word ‘azada.’ Benfey derives this word from the Sanscrit ‘ajatá,’ which

signifies ‘deprived of children,’ and he translates the passage: ‘The

kingdom was deprived of heirs because Bardius was killed.’[586] But this

alteration turned out to be quite unauthorised. ‘Azda,’ as the word

is now written, is identified with the Armenian ‘azd,’ ‘information,’

corresponding to the Sanscrit ‘addhâ,’ ‘certain’; and Rawlinson himself

corrected the passage in 1873 to ‘It was not known to the state that

Bardius was killed.’ The accepted version given by Spiegel is ‘The army

had no information that Bardius was killed.’[587] Soon after, we are

told that ‘Cambyses, unable to endure his [misfortunes], died’ (par.

11). Benfey attributes his death to ‘overwhelming anger’ (übergrossem

Zorn); but Oppert showed that the word really means ‘suicide.’ In 1873,

Rawlinson had made the rectification himself.[588] Not more happy was

the substitution of ‘Liebet mich’ for the often repeated exclamation

Rawlinson renders ‘Hail to thee!’ and which properly signifies ‘Go

forth!’ as Rawlinson said in 1873.

There are, however, some instances where the commentator makes a

useful correction. The erroneous reading, ‘he would frequently address

the state’ (par. 13), he altered to ‘er möchte das Reich mit Macht

vernichten,’ which approaches Spiegel, ‘er möchte viele Leute tödten,’

or, as Rawlinson said in 1873, ‘he slew many people.’ So also the passage

‘afterwards Dadarses remained away from me in the field’ (Col. II. par.

9), is improved to ‘dann erwartete mich dem Befehl gemäss Dadarses.’

This Rawlinson changed in 1873 to ‘afterwards Dadarses waited for me

there,’ the accepted version being ‘dort erwartete mich Dadarses so

lange’ etc. It will be observed that the critic was himself liable to

fall into superfluous additions not far removed from error. Sometimes,

however, he avoided this trap, as when he substituted ‘he lied’ (Col.

IV. par. 1) for Rawlinson’s ‘impostor,’ and ‘if you so think’ (par. 5)

for ‘if it should be thus kept up.’ But in a large proportion of cases

Benfey follows his leader into error with perfect complacency. In one

or two places Rawlinson is obliged to confess that the difficulties are

so great that translation is almost impossible. One of these occurs in

the description of the religious reform after the death of Gomates,

the Magian (Col. I. par. 14). Referring to this passage, he says: ‘Of

several of the most important words the orthography is doubtful; of

others the etymology is almost impenetrable, and the construction,

moreover, in some parts renders the division into sentences a matter

of serious embarrassment.’[589] But the difficulties have been found

almost as insuperable by his successors. They have not been able to

derive assistance from the Susian and Babylonian columns, where the

difficulties are even greater. The meaning of some words still remains

a mystery, and even the general drift of the passage is open to

discussion. Spiegel[590] warns his readers that the explanation of the

whole paragraph is still so uncertain that no opinion as to the religious

history of the times can be prudently based upon it. But such passages

as these are fortunately of rare occurrence; and from the moment of

Rawlinson’s publication the contents of the inscription were known as

thoroughly as they are at the present day. The careful study of two

generations of scholars has changed a word here and a word there, and

cleared up the meaning of a few doubtful passages, but in all substantial

respects the translation remains unaltered.

Rawlinson’s revised translation of the inscriptions published two years

before by Lassen forms the concluding chapter of his Memoir. We have

already had occasion to contrast the merits and demerits of the two

translators. Rawlinson’s transliteration presents an entirely modern

appearance in consequence of the correctness of the values of so many

signs. There are still a few errors, owing chiefly to the prolongation

of the final syllable in such words as ‘thatiya,’ ‘tyaia,’ and others,

an error already signalled by Hincks. But these are of small importance.

As regards the translations, he brought from the study of the Behistun

record a knowledge of the language that no one else then possessed, and

he was able at once to resolve difficulties that had baffled all previous

attempts. Such expressions as ‘generosus [sum]’ finally disappeared for

the correct rendering ‘he says.’ Sentences that were hitherto entirely

misapprehended now appear in their correct form. ‘The son of Arcis’ gives

place to ‘the son of a Persian, an Arian of Arian descent.’ The last

paragraph of the same inscription is satisfactorily explained. Even where

he fell short of success, as in the end of the I inscription, he made

important contributions to the elucidation of intricate passages.

Rawlinson added the inscription on the Venice vase, not known to Lassen.

It had been recently published by Longpérier in the ‘Revue Archéologique’

(1844), who thought it should be referred to Artaxerxes I. Rawlinson

translated it ‘Artaxerxes the King,’ and assigned it to Artaxerxes Ochus.

Opinion has since been divided upon the subject; Spiegel and Menant

follow Longpérier; Oppert and Weissbach follow Rawlinson.

Very few additional inscriptions in Old Persian have been brought to

light since the date of Rawlinson’s Memoir. But a good deal of labour has

been spent in clearing up the doubtful passages in those already known.

In some cases the text was, as we have said, so much mutilated as to

defy intelligible translation. This was the case with the fifth column

of the Behistun; and Rawlinson thought it best to omit it altogether

from his revised edition of 1873.[591] This diffidence, however, may

have stimulated M. Oppert to attempt a restoration of the text. We have

already described the process followed by Rawlinson. It consisted in

selecting a word or words containing the number of letters required to

fit into the space left vacant by the erasure of the text, and which

would at the same time make some kind of sense. It is obvious how

much of the success of this operation will depend upon the ingenuity

of the restorer; and still more upon the restraint he exercises over

his imagination. No one is more distinguished than M. Oppert for the

ingenuity of his conjectural restorations; and the column that Rawlinson

abandoned as hopeless appears in Oppert’s edition as the ‘Complementary

Behistun Text,’ and in a comparatively perfect condition. In this case

he could receive no assistance from the translations, because both the

other columns are destroyed; and not much by comparison, for there

are few parallel passages. His work is, therefore, the more admirable

as a display of the imaginative faculty. But his reading has not been

accepted by Menant or Spiegel, or by Weissbach.[592] No doubt we owe the

‘Testament of Darius at Naksh-i-Rustam’ to the same method which appears

to have been exercised upon the few lines copied by Westergaard from the

long inscription below the one known and which Spiegel declares it is

clearly impossible to translate.[593] One of the three short inscriptions

engraved above the figures of the Tomb has also given rise to some

discussion. Mr. Tasker, an English traveller, sent them to Rawlinson, by

whom they were published in the ‘Journal of the Asiatic Society,’ and an

improved version appeared some time afterwards.[594] Even at that period

considerable difference of opinion existed as to the meaning of at least

one of these short legends. According to Rawlinson, Norris, and Oppert,

Aspathines is the ‘keeper of the arrows’ of King Darius; but Norris adds

‘chamberlain’ and Oppert ‘quiver-bearer.’ Elsewhere Oppert translates it

quite differently: ‘Aspathines, minister of King Darius, who makes the

law observed.’ Spiegel’s version is: ‘Aspacanâ des Königs Darius genosse,

Zügelhalter (?).’[595]

In the autumn of 1846, when Rawlinson’s ‘Memoir’ was passing through

the press, Dr. Frederick Hitzig published a tract on the Persian Text

of the Tomb Inscription of Darius; but his translation shows little

advance beyond the point reached by Lassen.[596] The edition of the

Persian inscriptions by Theodore Benfey made its appearance early in

1847. His transliteration suffers from having been made before the

method of writing explained by Hincks and Rawlinson in the previous

year had become generally known. We have already sufficiently noticed

Benfey’s translations, which show considerable improvement on those of

Lassen, but fall far short of the comparative excellence obtained by

Rawlinson. In the course of the summer, another writer appeared whose

name has been already mentioned and who was destined to occupy a very

important place in the future history of Cuneiform Research. M. Oppert

was born in Hamburg in 1825, and studied successively at Heidelberg, Bonn

and Berlin. At Bonn he was a pupil of Lassen, and to this circumstance

probably we owe his early interest in cuneiform and the publication of

a tract on the subject at the age of twenty-two. The promising youth

was precluded by his Jewish faith from holding a professorship in

Germany, and consequently he went to Paris in 1847. His later writings

have all appeared in the French language, and for this reason he is

generally included among the number of French scholars, of whom, till

quite recent years, he was by far the ablest representative.[597] So

far as we are aware, the pamphlet on the ‘Lautsystem des Altpersischen’

was his first effort in this department of knowledge.[598] In it he

explains the principle that regulates the employment of the consonants

in substantially the same manner as Hincks and Rawlinson had done in the

previous year. He had evidently arrived at his conclusion independently,

and it is remarkable that he was not better informed of the progress

that had recently been made. It might be supposed that the attention of

everyone interested in the subject would be directed to the appearance

of Rawlinson’s ‘Memoir,’ which was then eagerly expected. It was in fact

published before May 1847, and Oppert’s tract was not sent to press till

July.

With the publication of Rawlinson’s Memoir, in 1846-7, the decipherment

of the Persian inscriptions may be considered accomplished. In 1850,

he could write that there ‘are probably not more than twenty words in

the whole range of the Persian cuneiform records upon the meaning,

grammatical condition or etymology of which any doubt or difference of

opinion can at present be said to exist.’[599] The value of his own

contribution to the general result received the fullest recognition.

Professor Max Müller declared to Canon Rawlinson that, ‘thanks mainly

to your brother, we have now as complete a knowledge of the grammar,

construction and general character of the ancient Persian language as

we have of Latin.’[600] He was greeted as the Champollion of the new

decipherment, a position he has retained to a large extent in Germany and

France. So late as 1895, M. Oppert found occasion to remark that, ‘after

Rawlinson it was only possible for other scholars to obtain gleanings

in the field of Persian cuneiform interpretation.’[601] In his own

country, however, he seems to have suffered for a time from the singular

affectation that was so long in fashion, of looking to Germany alone for

all the springs of knowledge. As a matter of fact, in this department at

least, few Germans, with the exception of Grotefend, made any important

contribution. Rask, Lassen, Westergaard, were all Scandinavians, and

it is certain that for many years Rawlinson continued to be the source

whence Continental writers drew most largely; and the neglect into

which he fell at home occasioned the surprise of at least one eminent

Frenchman. ‘Young English and Germans,’ says M. Oppert, ‘pretend not

to know him. An Englishman once told me he had never read a line of

Rawlinson. I replied: “I supposed just so; if you had read him, your

papers would be less imperfect than they are.”’[602] This testimony to

the great services of Sir Henry Rawlinson is given by the scholar who for

many years occupied by far the most prominent position among Continental

writers upon cuneiform subjects, and who has himself contributed largely

to the progress of the study.

In 1851, M. Oppert undertook a complete revision of the whole series of

Achaemenian inscriptions. The work appeared in the ‘Journal Asiatique,’

between February 1851 and February 1852, and was afterwards published in

a separate form.[603] He introduced a considerable number of alterations,

in both the transliteration and translation, and, so far as we have

noticed, a large proportion of them have been accepted. He criticised

some of Rawlinson’s opinions, but rarely with asperity, and he generously

acknowledges that the English scholar ‘a grandement mérité de l’histoire

du genre humain.’[604] He subsequently revised his own translations for

his book on the ‘Expédition en Mésopotamie,’ published in 1858. In the

same year Rawlinson made an amended version of the Behistun Inscription

for the edition of Herodotus published by his brother; and again in 1873

for the ‘Records of the Past.’[605] The other inscriptions were once

more revised by Oppert in 1877 for the same useful publication.[606] But

meanwhile a complete edition of the whole Persian inscriptions had been

published by Spiegel in Germany in 1862,[607] and in France in 1872, by

M. Menant.[608] The latest publications on the subject that have come

under our notice are the valuable treatises on the languages of the first

and second columns by Weissbach,[609] and of the third column by Dr.

Bezold,[610] accompanied in each case by a revised text, transliteration

and translation.

CHAPTER V

DECIPHERMENT OF THE SECOND OR SUSIAN COLUMN—WESTERGAARD TO OPPERT—A.D.

1844-52

The signal success that had been achieved in the decipherment of the

Persian column of the Achaemenian inscriptions greatly facilitated

the accomplishment of the difficult task that still remained. In the

other two columns it was comparatively easy, especially in the short

inscriptions, to identify the combinations of signs that corresponded to

the proper names in the Persian, and to check them by their recurrence

in the positions where they were again to be expected. The satisfactory

application of this process left no doubt that the writing in both

columns was from left to right; and that they were translations of the

same text. When the groups of characters composing the proper names

were ascertained, the next process was to separate them into letters

or syllables, and to identify each with the corresponding letter in

Persian. The result of this inquiry was to show clearly that the writing

was partly syllabic and to raise the suspicion that it was also partly

ideographic. It was seen that the signs were too numerous to be limited

to an alphabet, and that long words could be expressed with comparatively

few signs. In some cases its ideographic character was illustrated by the

occurrence of only one sign to represent an entire word—such as ‘King.’

It was also observed that in the second column a vertical wedge usually

preceded proper names as a determinative.

From the time when Niebuhr pointed out that there were three essentially

different styles of writing, and that each style was uniformly reproduced

in the same relative position in all the inscriptions, the subject had

given rise to much speculation. It was at first thought that the three

columns repeated the same text in the same language written in different

characters.[611] Grotefend, however, recognised that the languages also

were different, but he thought they were dialects closely related to

each other. The first, as we have seen, he considered to be Zend, which

he called the Median language; the second he thought was Parsi, or the

language of the Persians; and the third another dialect of Persian,

possibly Pehlevi.[612] Subsequently he changed the order of the last two,

and described them respectively as resembling Pehlevi and Parsi.[613]

As regards the signs, Münter thought that in the second column they

were syllabic and in the third ‘hieroglyphic’; Tychsen and Grotefend

thought that both had signs for vowels and consonants, which were at

times replaced by an ideogram. Grotefend further saw that the second

included signs for the combination of a consonant and vowel; the third he

considered had no vowel signs, but used signs for the triple combination

of consonant, vowel and consonant.[614] He entirely rejected the idea

that either system was purely ideographic. In 1824, he prepared a Table

for the third edition of Heeren, showing some words that corresponded to

each other in the three languages. The inscriptions he selected were the

G of Niebuhr, the inscriptions at Murgab and on the Caylus vase. These

he arranged word for word in parallel columns opposite to one another.

He used a full stop to indicate the combination of wedges that went to

form each letter or syllable; indeed at that period it required scarcely

less skill to divide the words into letters than to distinguish the words

themselves. No attempt was made to assign values to the characters, and

for many years no farther progress was made. In 1837 he still thought

the three columns represented dialects of Old Persian, though they might

not exactly correspond to Zend, Pehlevi and Parsi. The two first he

considered nearer to each other as regards language; but he remarked that

the two latter presented a closer resemblance to one another as regards

the writing. Still he said the resemblance was by no means so close as

that between the third column and the Babylonian inscriptions. He saw

indeed that the writing of the third column was a mere simplification of

the Babylonian; and he hazarded the useful conjecture that the writing of

the second might be only an arbitrary modification of the third. He would

not even yet admit that either could be, strictly speaking, described as

syllabic; and he entirely rejected the idea that the third was a Semitic

language.[615]

But the study was now upon the point of entering on an entirely new

phase. We have already seen the success with which Burnouf and Lassen

applied the discovery made by Grotefend to the long list of names in the

I inscription. The visit paid in 1843 by Westergaard to Naksh-i-Rustam

resulted in the recovery of a farther list of provinces from the Tomb

of Darius. On his return to Germany, he made over his copy of the first

column to Lassen, who was best qualified to turn it to account, and he

devoted himself to an attempt to decipher the language of the second

column. The result appeared in the ‘Zeitschrift für die Kunde des

Morgenlandes’ of 1844; and the same year, in English, in the ‘Mémoires

des Antiquaires du Nord.’[616] In 1845, the Memoir was republished in

German, along with Lassen’s Second Memoir, and this, as the latest, must

be regarded as the most authoritative version.[617] The investigation

is based upon an analysis of the various proper names contained in the

inscriptions. Westergaard began with the well-known names of the Kings

which Grotefend had turned to such good account, and afterwards reviewed

those of the provinces recently deciphered by Lassen. From these he

obtained a sufficient number of values to attempt a transliteration of

the more common words occurring in the Persian version, and especially

in the well-known form that opens so many of the inscriptions. He has

given us a transliteration of this passage, which is the first ever

made into Roman characters of a Susian inscription.[618] His work was

necessarily based upon Lassen’s defective decipherment of the Persian

signs; and it was therefore inevitable that it should reproduce the

same erroneous values. He transliterated all the various inscriptions,

beginning with those of Xerxes as the shortest and simplest, and

proceeding to those of Darius, including the one at Naksh-i-Rustam, which

he was the first to copy.[619] It is curious to compare the earliest

attempts at transliteration with those subsequently made by Oppert

and Weisbach. It will be seen that few of the words in his glossary

could now be recognised. He had little opportunity of displaying his

skill as a translator, for in this department he implicitly followed

Lassen’s rendering of the corresponding Persian column, and we find the

same errors in both, from ‘Arça’ downwards; but he concludes with the

K inscription, which has no Persian counterpart, and here he achieved

a respectable success. He was able to make out sufficient to show that

Darius laid claim to the foundation of the Persepolitan platform.[620] In

the German edition he omits his adventurous transliterations (as well as

the declination of Ku, ‘king,’ which it will surprise some scholars to

hear takes the forms of ‘Kuyoni’ in the accusative singular, and ‘Kuthin’

or ‘Kuthrar’ in the genitive plural), and he has consequently lessened

the interest, if not the value, of that work.[621]