Empires of the Plain: Henry Rawlinson and the Lost Languages of Babylon

Seven: Royal Societies

On his arrival at Tehran, Rawlinson learned that Muhammed Shah had already left with his army for the planned expedition to the north-east. Because the British were alarmed that the Shah was being urged by the Russians to resume their attack on Herat, just over the border in Afghanistan, the British Envoy at Tehran, John McNeill, had prevented any of the British detachment from accompanying the Shah. Known as the ‘Gateway to Afghanistan’, Herat was also a gateway to India, and there was fear that its capture would enable the Russians to expand their influence throughout western Afghanistan and threaten British interests in neighbouring India.

In the eighteenth century, the Afghan Empire extended into parts of modern-day Iran, Pakistan and India – including Kashmir, Punjab, Baluchistan and Sind. Ruled by the Sadozai dynasty, this powerful empire controlled trade routes between Persia, India, Turkestan and central Asia, but by the early nineteenth century the empire had shrunk and fragmented through civil war into several independent regions. When Muhammed Shah was planning to capture Herat, that city was still under the Sadozai ruler Shah Kamran, while Muhammedzai rulers had seized control elsewhere, with Dost Mohammed Khan at Kabul and three half-brothers (the ‘Dil’ brothers) at Kandahar. At the same time that Rawlinson was ordered to the royal camp by the Shah of Persia, Lord Auckland, the Governor-General of India, had sent a mission to Kabul under Captain Alexander Burnes in an attempt to persuade Dost Mohammed to act in the British interest. A few years older than Rawlinson, Burnes was similar in many ways, having entered the East India Company army as a cadet at Bombay at the age of sixteen, with an enthusiasm and mastery of Hindustani, Persian and Arabic that enabled his career to progress rapidly. With the British involved with both Persia and Afghanistan, a complex situation was developing.

As Russian influence in Persian affairs was suspected, McNeill found it useful to allow Rawlinson to catch up with the Shah, as originally directed, and so he rode night and day on virtually unserviceable post-horses. After a week, on 8 October 1837, Rawlinson stumbled across the first evidence of a Russian connection with the Shah of Persia and with Dost Mohammed at Kabul: ‘Our whole party were pretty well knocked up; and in the dark, between sleeping and waking, we managed to lose the road. As morning dawned, we found ourselves wandering about on the broken plain … and shortly afterwards we perceived that we were close to another party of horsemen … I was not anxious to accost these strangers, but on cantering past them, I saw, to my astonishment, men in Cossack dresses … I thought it my duty, therefore, to try and unravel the mystery. Following the party, I tracked them for some distance along the high road, and then found that they had turned off to a gorge in the hills. There at length I came upon the group seated at breakfast by the side of a clear, sparkling rivulet … I addressed him [the officer] in French – the general language of communication between Europeans in the East – but he shook his head … All I could find out was, that he was a bona fide Russian officer, carrying presents from the Emperor [Tsar Nicholas I] to Mohammed Shah.’1

That evening Rawlinson met up with the Shah in his new camp close to the Afghan border. Rawlinson was completely exonerated for the dispute with Manuchar Khan, and the Shah appointed him to the post of Custodian of the Arsenal at Tehran, with responsibility for training new recruits. On mentioning that the Russian officer was bringing him presents, the Shah exclaimed: ‘Bringing presents to me! Why, I have nothing to do with him; he is sent direct from the Emperor to Dost Muhammed of Cabul, and I am merely asked to help him on his journey.’2 Two days later, the Russians turned up at the camp, and the officer Rawlinson had met on the road was introduced as Captain Vitkievitch, who now managed to converse in fluent French. In order to warn McNeill of the ominous mission of the Russians to Kabul, which would prove an even greater threat to India than the capture of Herat, Rawlinson returned to Tehran a few days later in what became a famous epic ride of 750 miles accomplished in 150 consecutive hours. His discoveries would precipitate the first Anglo-Afghan War.

At the end of the year Vitkievitch reached Kabul only to find that Burnes had for the last few weeks been in talks with Dost Mohammed. Three years earlier the Sikh army of the Maharajah Ranjit Singh had captured the city of Peshawar, incorporating it into his Punjab Empire. He now threatened to march up the Khyber Pass and take Kabul, so Dost Mohammed wanted the support of the British to regain Peshawar and also to prevent his half-brothers at Kandahar entering into an alliance with the Shah of Persia, who had begun to besiege Herat in November and was promising them that city in return for their support. Because Vitkievitch was also offering Dost Mohammed financial aid to regain Peshawar, Burnes advised the British government that they should do everything possible to assist Dost Mohammed in Afghanistan in order to keep the Russians at bay, while McNeill in Tehran largely supported these views, believing that a united Afghanistan would be better security against Persia and Russia.

Newly promoted to the rank of Major, Rawlinson was now involved with duties at the Arsenal at Tehran, but the task was not running smoothly. When recalled from Kermanshah by the Shah, Rawlinson had sent a copy of the order to his commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Benjamin Shee, who had replaced Lindesay-Bethune the year before. On Rawlinson’s return to Tehran from the royal camp in late October, he found a letter from Shee asking for an explanation of his activities in Kermanshah over the last few months. In the ensuing exchange of correspondence, Shee accused Rawlinson of wrong-doing and disobedience, and objected especially to his appointment at the Arsenal. Rawlinson was furious, and on 10 January 1838 Shee informed him that ‘the whole of this correspondence will form the subject of my next Report to India’.3 It must have been very satisfying to receive notification from Shee on 16 February that: ‘I have the honor to send you a Royal Firman transmitted to me by the Military Secretary of Her Britannic Majesty’s Embassy at the Court of Persia – appointing you to the superintendence of the Arsenal and to drill recruits in Tahran.’4

Rawlinson’s duties were nevertheless not onerous, leaving him much time for studying. His first task was to compose a formal account of his Zohab to Susa expedition, which was published by the Royal Geographical Society at London in their journal for 1839. He also began to look at cuneiform again. Although he had copies of far more inscriptions than any other researcher, he had no access to the most recent research: ‘I was still under the impression that Cuneiform discovery in Europe was in the same imperfect state in which it had been left at the period of Saint Martin’s decease [in 1832].’5 Without full knowledge of what other scholars had subsequently done, Rawlinson was working in a vacuum, but he did succeed in translating several paragraphs of the Bisitun inscription. His method of working was to transcribe the Old Persian signs into Roman characters, and then translate this version into English.

On 1 January 1838, at the age of twenty-seven, Rawlinson sent the translation of the first two paragraphs of Bisitun to the Royal Asiatic Society in London, with an accompanying letter in which he explained: ‘I avail myself of the kindness of my friend Mr McNeill [the Envoy] in giving me a note of introduction to you to open a correspondence on the subject of some very interesting researches in which I am now engaged in this country and the results of which I am anxious to communicate to the world thro the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society. On my arrival in Persia about four years ago, I applied myself with diligence to the study of the history, geography, literature and antiquities of the country. The latter field of research as being the least cultivated I found possessed of the most interest, and at an early stage of my enquiry, I could not of course but recognise the great importance of the Arrow headed inscriptions, the most ancient historical records that we possess in Persia … If you consider the subject of sufficient interest to be laid before the Society in its present incomplete state, I shall have much pleasure, when I receive your answer, in forwarding a statement of my researches as far as at the time they may extend. I anticipate the most extraordinary results, as far as the elucidation of ancient history is concerned from the interpretation of these inscriptions.’6

Rawlinson also explained in his letter that he had seen the results of Grotefend and Saint-Martin, but that much of the work of these two scholars was flawed, and that out of forty Old Persian cuneiform signs, he had discovered the meaning of around thirty and was also analysing the language, using clues from Zend and Sanskrit. He went on to describe how the inscription at Bisitun related the eastern victories of Darius and said that he was working on its most simple script. For now, he sent the society a transcription and translation of the opening two paragraphs (the titles and genealogy of Darius the Great), with a promise to send much more if they were interested.

The long letter was received in London in March. While other scholars in Europe were unknown to Rawlinson, he himself was unknown in England. The reply to him in early April by Major-General John Briggs, Secretary of the Royal Asiatic Society, demonstrated the genuine interest and enthusiasm of the society and a willingness to encourage and guide this young scholar ‘removed from the information which European libraries and scholars might afford you if on the spot’.7 Briggs first of all emphasized ‘that the Society is extremely happy to learn from you that there is a prospect of obtaining the contents of the cuneiform tablets … and it will thankfully receive and publish anything new which you may have the goodness to send on the subject’.8 Briggs went on to say that he had written to Dr Julius Mohl of Paris, an Oriental scholar who had been acquainted with Saint-Martin, entreating him to contact Eugène Burnouf, ‘one of the most profound Oriental scholars in Europe, and I believe the last who has occupied himself in translating the cuneiform character. He has succeeded in making out (according to his own alphabet, and from his thorough acquaintance with the Sanscrit and Zend languages) two inscriptions, one procured at Murghab, near Hamadan [Elwand], and the other at Van … His alphabet differs from that of Professor Grotefend and M. St. Martin, and, as you have both these, I believe, I now send that of Burnouf, showing the differences between it and those of his predecessors in the same study.’9

There was a genuine sense of excitement as word about Rawlinson’s achievements spread through the academic community, and a few days later his translation was exhibited to the Société Asiatique in Paris. His work was perceived to be so pioneering that, on 21 April, the Royal Asiatic Society informed him that he had been elected an honorary Corresponding Member, and the Société Asiatique did the same soon after. Mohl and Burnouf also sent copies of additional relevant publications to London for the Royal Asiatic Society to forward to Rawlinson.

At a meeting in London in May, the Royal Asiatic Society recorded: ‘Among other subjects of congratulation the Council cannot refrain from noticing the discovery made by our countryman, Major RAWLINSON, (at present in the army of the King of Persia) of vast tablets existing in various parts of that country, covered with cuneiform inscriptions, some of which contain a thousand lines each. The Society is aware of the efforts which have been made by some of the most learned Orientalists in Europe to decipher these inscriptions – efforts in which they have only partially succeeded hitherto, but which, through the energy of Major Rawlinson, and the aid of which he will be able to avail himself in the published Transactions of Messrs. Grotefend, St. Martin, Klaproth, Müller, Rask, Bellino, and Eugene Burnouf, may, it is hoped, be crowned with success.’10

Their report continued with the significance of Rawlinson’s discoveries: ‘A remarkable feature in the translation of a portion of one of these inscriptions, sent to the Society by Major Rawlinson, is the fact that the genealogy of a race of kings found on a tablet (which records, as he informs us, the conquests of Darius Hystaspes), corresponds very closely with the list of the same line of monarchs given in the seventh chapter of the second book of Herodotus. It is not, therefore, too much to hope that at no distant period, the mysteries of these inscriptions may be developed, and it seems probable these interesting monuments may throw additional light on the ancient history of Persia, beyond what has been transmitted to us by Greek authors.’11

Scholars were especially willing to extend every assistance to Rawlinson, because of the prospect of verifying Herodotus and increasing their knowledge of ancient Persia. They had no idea that the decipherment of cuneiform would also lead to momentous revelations about virtually unknown civilizations in Assyria and Babylonia. The society announced that Rawlinson had been urged ‘to devote himself, in the first place, to obtain copies of all the cuneiform inscriptions which are procurable in Persia, and to send one set for deposit in this Society’.12 A long relationship with the society developed, with Rawlinson frequently communicating his latest results by letter.

That summer, on 28 June 1838, the coronation of Queen Victoria took place in London, while in Tehran, Rawlinson received Burnouf’s report on the Elwand inscriptions, Mémoire sur deux Inscriptions Cuneiformes trouvés près d’Hamadan, that had been published two years earlier. He was disappointed to discover that he was not the first to copy and study this inscription and that Burnouf had pre-empted his own work. In the report, Burnouf discussed the work of other scholars on Old Persian cuneiform and reproduced the alphabet that Saint-Martin had worked out, commenting: ‘M. Saint-Martin assured me more than once that he believed his system of decipherment beyond criticism, at least in its general results. According to him, what still needed to be made clear were both the language in which these inscriptions was written … and the two other systems of writing to which he had given the names Median and Assyrian.’13 Nevertheless, Burnouf suggested a new alphabet of his own, thirty letters in all with three uncertain ones.

Rawlinson’s own work did not completely coincide with Burnouf’s, and he disputed several points: ‘The memoir of M. Burnouf on the Inscriptions of Hamadán [Elwand] … showed me that I had been anticipated in the announcement of many of the improvements that I had made on the system of M. Saint Martin, but I still found several essential points of difference between the Paris alphabet and that which I had formed from the writing at Behistun, and my observations on a few of these points of difference I at once submitted to M. Burnouf.’14 On 30 July Rawlinson wrote again to the Royal Asiatic Society, enclosing a long letter to Burnouf in Paris, which gave his own Old Persian alphabet and extensive copies of the cuneiform inscription at Bisitun. He explained to the Royal Asiatic Society that he was waiting to receive Burnouf’s report on the Yasna ‘before I forward you my copy and attempted translation of the great Bisitoon inscription. I have still thought it advisable to lose no time in putting myself in communication with that gentleman with a view to defining the exact points of coincidence and variance between our respective alphabets of the Cuneiform character. I have therefore written him a letter upon the subject which I forward to your address, and as it is possible that discussions may hereafter arise regarding the priority of claim to the determination of certain characters, perhaps you will kindly allow the letter to be copied and preserved among the records of your society.’15 Rawlinson explained that once he had received the Yasna and tested various points, ‘I trust to be able to bring my remarks on the Bisitoon Inscription to a state that will enable me to send off a considerable portion of the copy and translation by the next courier’.16

In fact, Burnouf’s Commentaire sur le Yaçna arrived that same day, and later Rawlinson wrote that ‘I there, for the first time, found the language of the Zend Avesta critically analyzed, and its orthographic and grammatical structure clearly and scientifically developed’.17 While he concentrated on Avestan (what he called Zend), Rawlinson learned much more about the language of Old Persian, appreciating that Avestan would give clues about vocabulary and grammatical structure. He began to progress beyond Burnouf’s achievements and seriously confronted Old Persian as a language, not just as a cuneiform script.

A few months earlier McNeill had gone to the Shah’s camp outside Herat in Afghanistan in an effort to persuade him to lift the siege and, Rawlinson noted, ‘left the confidential direction of the Legative affairs in my hands’.18 Having failed in his mission, McNeill returned to Tehran in June and subsequently led the British detachment to Tabriz near the Turkish frontier, with a view to quitting Persia. At the same time Lord Auckland sent a force from India, which occupied the strategically important island of Karak in the Persian Gulf and was threatening to invade the Persian mainland. The siege at Herat dragged on, with the Persian army making little progress, but when news of the British threat reached Herat in mid-August, the Shah was so alarmed that he abandoned the ten-month siege in early September. No good reason remained for the British to intervene in Afghanistan, especially as any real threat from Russia had now evaporated under British pressure. The Russians recalled their agent Vitkievitch, officially reprimanding him, and Rawlinson recorded that ‘not having accomplished all that had been expected of him, [he] was disavowed on his return to St Petersburg, and blew his brains out’.19

Although the problem had been resolved, Lord Auckland was intent on interfering in Afghanistan. Earlier in the year he had ignored the advice of Burnes to support Dost Mohammed at Kabul, but instead followed the advice of William Macnaghten, who was Chief Secretary of the Calcutta government. Support was guaranteed for the exiled Sadozai ruler of Afghanistan, Shah Shuja, and a treaty was signed between Shah Shuja, the Sikh leader Ranjit Singh and the British, with Shah Shuja agreeing to cede all territories that were once held by Afghanistan but were now occupied by the Sikhs, including Peshawar. At the summer capital of Simla in northern India, in the foothills of the Himalayas, Lord Auckland issued on 1 October 1838 what was in effect a declaration of war on the states of Kabul and Kandahar. It became known as the Simla Manifesto and was an attempt to justify an invasion of Afghanistan.

While based at Tabriz, Rawlinson received permission to undertake an expedition to explore north-west Persia that he had planned, but first of all he sent a letter to the Royal Asiatic Society apologizing for not sending the Bisitun inscription, but the troubled state of Persia made it too difficult. On 16 October he left the camp, and his journey over the next few weeks took him south and south-east of Tabriz, constantly compiling notes on the antiquities, villages, tribes and countryside. This time he was on his own, without the backing of an army of a few thousand men – a hazardous undertaking in which he relied on local guides. After two days he stopped at a village near Lake Urmia, where ‘Melik Kásim Mírzá, a son of the late Sháh of Persia … has built himself a palace in the European style near the village … To great intelligence and enterprise he unites a singular taste for the habits of European life, and the cultivation of many useful arts which belong to European civilization.’20

The following day was spent with the prince, ‘giving him such information and assistance as I was able in his various objects of pursuit. His acquaintance with European languages is extensive. Of French he is a perfect master; and in English and Russian he converses with much fluency. His habits of domestic life are also entirely European: he wears European clothes, breakfasts and dines in the European style; and, as far as regards himself, has adopted our manners, to the minutest point of observance; and this singular transition – a change which a person accustomed to the contrasts of European and Oriental life can alone appreciate – has arisen entirely from his own unbiased choice, and without his having had either means or inducement to effect it beyond his occasional intercourse with European society at Tabríz.’21 Rawlinson confessed that the village ‘presents a phenomenon in social life, which I should little have expected to meet with in Persia; and when I reflect that moral development can alone proceed from an improvement in the social condition, I fervently hope that the prince may have many imitators, and that a brighter day may thus be opening upon Persia.’22 Like many Victorians, Rawlinson believed that the adoption of European values could only bring about an improvement in the way of life.

The region south-west of Lake Urmia, near the Turkish border, had seen very few Europeans, and Rawlinson noted that its Kurdish tribesmen ‘are a remarkably fine, active, and athletic race, and are, perhaps, the most warlike of the many warlike clans who inhabit this part of Persia. From their exposed position, indeed, upon the immediate frontier of Turkish Kurdistán, they are constantly engaged in frays with the wild tribes who inhabit the neighbouring mountains; and I saw several of the chiefs who wore their shirts of mail day and night, and always kept their horses ready saddled, not knowing at what moment they might be called on to sally forth and repel a foray. Their common weapon is a spear, and they are loth to give it up; but finding that the mountain clans with whom they engage have almost universally adopted the use of fire-arms, they are beginning gradually to follow their example.’23

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