Chapter I (1)

THE DISCOVERY OF ACHAEMENIAN RUINS AND INSCRIPTIONS—BARBARO TO LE BRUYN, A.D. 1472-1718

The trilingual inscriptions of the Achaemenian Kings of Persia that have led to the decipherment of the whole cuneiform literature were found chiefly at Persepolis and Behistun; though a single line at Murgab and a short inscription at Hamadan, the ancient Ecbatana, also contributed to an important extent. Other inscriptions were observed at Van in Armenia; at Naksh-i-Rustam, a few miles from Persepolis; upon the site of the ancient Susa, and so far afield as Egypt. They are all monumental: chiselled upon the walls of buildings to record the name of the king who erected the edifice. They are written in three different methods of cuneiform writing, and reproduce the same text in three different languages.

The inscriptions at Persepolis were the first to attract attention. The ruins where they were found had excited curiosity long before their discovery by European travellers, and many legends had arisen to account for their origin. It was variously reported that they were the remains of a palace of Solomon, or of Cai Caius, a predecessor of Cyrus, or of the great national hero Jamshid. The literary classes described them as the Takht-i-Cai Khusrau, or Throne of Cyrus; and later on as the Khaneh-i-Dara or Mansion of Darius. The early travellers, however, learned that the popular name for them was Chehel Minar, or Forty Minarets, from the lofty columns that form their chief architectural characteristic. But during the eighteenth century Jamshid triumphed over all his competitors, and since then they have been more generally known as the Takht-i-Jamshid, or Throne of Jamshid. The question of their origin was not indeed finally settled till the inscriptions were interpreted. Chardin, at the end of the seventeenth century, and Heeren, a hundred years later, still supported the claims of Jamshid. Although it no longer admits of doubt that the buildings were erected by Darius and Xerxes, there is even yet no complete unanimity as to their original design. The more common belief is that they were the actual palaces of the sovereign, and that one of the buildings was the scene of the conflagration ordered by Alexander. Their dimensions and construction offer considerable difficulties to the supposition that they were the actual residence of the great king, though they may have been adapted for official receptions and other ceremonial purposes.

They lie on the south-east slope of a hill overlooking the plain of Mervdasht about forty miles north of Shiraz. Many other remains belonging to the same period are found on both sides of the neighbouring river Polvar. Three miles further up are the ruins of the fortress city of Istakhr; and four miles across the river are the Tombs of Naksh-i-Rustam. Doubtless the great city of Persepolis included within its circuit the whole of these isolated ruins, though the name has become restricted to those that now specially engage our attention. They rise upon a terrace partly hewn from the solid rock, partly constructed of massive blocks of stone. They now consist chiefly of the colossal jambs of doors and windows, the connecting walls having entirely disappeared. Their chief characteristics are the beautiful columns that formerly gave the place its name, and the profusion of bas-reliefs that ornament the stonework. The platform is of very irregular shape, and is encased by a magnificent wall varying in height from twenty to fifty feet. It is approached from the plain on the west side by (1) a Double Staircase sunk into the line of the wall and rising parallel to it. At the summit is (2) a Porch entered between two buttresses supported by colossal bulls; beyond are two other buttresses with winged, human-headed bulls looking in the opposite direction towards the east. In the centre of the edifice marked by these two entrances there were originally four columns designed to support the roof, of which two only are now standing. Turning to the right, towards the south, is (3) a Sculptured Staircase leading up to the Columnar Edifice. It differs from the one already mentioned by standing out considerably from the line of the terrace; indeed there are two projections, the first no less than two hundred and twelve feet in length; the second, which again projects from the centre of the first, is eighty-six feet in length. At either end of each projection is a single flight of steps; and the whole front is seen to be completely covered with bas-reliefs. Beneath the landing stage of the central projection the wall is divided into three compartments. In the centre is a plain polished slab intended for an inscription, and on either side are armed guards. In the spandrils formed by the ascent of the steps is a favourite device representing a contest between a lion and a bull. On the wall to right and left of the central stairs are three horizontal rows of bas-reliefs separated by an ornamental design of roses. They represent a procession of tributaries, leading animals or bearing gifts, about to ascend the central stairs. At either end is a polished slab occupying the whole height of the wall; but only the one to the west has been filled with an inscription. The Columnar Edifice (4), standing on the terrace above, is designed in the form of a Central Cluster and three colonnades—one in front and one on either side. The centre formed a square of thirty-six columns, and each of the colonnades consisted of two rows of six columns. The total number of columns should therefore be seventy-two, of which only thirteen now remain standing. They differ in height, and belong to two different orders. Those in the front colonnade and central group are lower than the others, and have a capital resembling the Ionic order, except that the volutes rise perpendicularly. In the colonnades a double bull or unicorn rests directly upon the shaft; and it has been generally assumed that similar animals were originally superimposed over the voluted capital to make the other columns of equal height. The edifice covered an area of three hundred and fifty feet from east to west, and two hundred and forty-six feet from north to south. Passing through the columns, and continuing in the same southerly direction, the ruins are reached that have yielded the largest number of inscriptions. First in order are the massive jambs belonging to the building now known as (5) the Palace of Darius; and beyond are the remains of three buildings lining the southern terrace. The one to the right is the scarcely discernible ruins of (6) the Palace of Ochus. In the centre rise the huge pilasters of the great (7) Palace of Xerxes; while beyond to the left is a small ruin called (8) the South-eastern Edifice. Turning back towards the north, between these ruins and the hill are the ruins of (9) the Central Edifice, a building resembling the Porch at the summit of the entrance. Beyond, in a line with the Columnar Edifice are the huge remains of the (10) Hall of the Hundred Columns. On the hill overhanging the Platform are two rock tombs similar to those at Naksh-i-Rustam; and, above, some travellers have traced three distinct walls and towers that formed the defence of the palace and city.

The palaces stand upon an artificial terrace of their own raised above the level of the platform, and the stairs leading up to them have afforded an opportunity for the display of ornamentation in bas-relief. The Porch is invariably protected by colossal guards hewn out of the stone. Over the great door of the main entrances the king is depicted entering or leaving the building, with attendants bearing the royal parasol and fly-chaser. On the doors leading to the lateral chambers he may be seen in dignified conflict with wild animals; or, as in the Palace of Xerxes, these scenes are replaced by attendants bearing viands to the royal table. Some of the most elaborate designs are met in the Central Edifice and in the Hall of the Hundred Columns. In the latter the king appears seated in a chair of state raised above the heads of five rows of warriors; while at the opposite door his throne is similarly supported by three rows of figures representing subject nations. These bas-reliefs are surrounded by an exquisite fretted fringe of roses, diversified above by small figures of bulls and lions; and over the whole the winged figure of Ormuzd is seen to hover.

A large inscription occupies the outside wall of the southern terrace. It is in four tablets, known as the H, I, K and L of Niebuhr. The I inscription enumerates the provinces of Darius: another contains the declaration that that Terrace or Fortress was built by Darius, and, ‘before him there was not any fortress in that place.’[4] Above the animals in the Porch is an inscription of Xerxes in three tablets, declaring that it was erected by him, and that it was one of the many beautiful works accomplished by him and his father Darius ‘in Parsa’ (Inscription D). The unilingual inscription on the sculptured staircase informs us that it also was constructed by Xerxes (Inscription A). As we ascend the south stairs to the Palace of Darius, we observe on the façade below the landing stage three tablets of inscriptions which are repeated upon the landing, on the anta in the south-west corner. It is again Xerxes who speaks, but he tells us that it was Darius who erected that palace (Inscriptions C and Cᵃ). Passing through the great doors we observe above the king and his attendants three tablets of inscriptions. They are in the three languages and run: ‘Darius, the great king, king of kings, king of nations, son of Hystaspes, the Achaemenian, has built this palace’ (Inscription B). Within, round the doors and windows is a single-line inscription written on the top in Persian, ascending on the left in Susian and descending on the right hand in Babylonian (Inscription L). On the west side of this palace is a second staircase, added later, of Artaxerxes Ochus, as we learn from a magnificent inscription on the façade (Inscription P). This inscription is repeated on the stairs leading to the palace of that king.[5] Adjoining the latter is the Palace of Xerxes, approached by two principal staircases, one to the east and the other to the west. On both occur inscriptions declaring Xerxes the builder in words repeated upon the wall above and upon the anta of the great Portico (Inscription E). Entering by the great doors we see a short inscription over the king and his attendants, which is repeated over the side doors and windows and even upon the royal robe (Inscription G).

These inscriptions, as we have said, do little more than record the name of the founders, and with the exception of the I inscription, they give no other information. But they are sometimes accompanied by a religious formula consisting of two paragraphs, of which occasionally the second only is given. It runs:

1. ‘A great god is Auramazda who has created this heaven, who has created this earth, who has created men, who has created happiness for men, who has made Darius [or Xerxes] King, the only King among many, the only ruler of many.

2. ‘I am Darius [or Xerxes] the great King, the King of Kings, the King of the lands of many races, King of this great earth far and near; son of Hystaspes [or Darius] the Achaemenian.’

The inscription at Hamadan contains nothing else.

The early travellers were attracted by Naksh-i-Rustam almost as early as by the Chehel Minar. It lies, as we have said, about four miles distant, across the Polvar, and no doubt it formed part of the great city. The bas-reliefs that excited the most curiosity belong to the Sassanian period and do not concern us here; but the tombs are Achaemenian. They are executed in the face of the rock and are four in number. They are comprised within a space of two hundred yards, and in exterior design they are precisely alike. They are in the shape of a Greek cross, and the transverse section reproduces in half relief the façade of a palace. In the topmost section there rests a rectangular stage ornamented with two rows of human figures, each containing fourteen persons in different costumes, designed to represent the various satrapies of the Empire. Upon it the king is seen standing on a dais; before him is an altar upon which the sacred fire is burning, and above floats the image of Ormuzd. The second tomb from the east is the only one that bears an inscription, and from it we learn that it was the resting place of the great Darius. The façade has four tablets of inscriptions, two in Persian and one each in the Susian and Babylonian languages. The Persian text inscribed in the upper limb of the cross is the best preserved and the most difficult of access. It consists of sixty lines and contains a second and later list of the provinces of the Empire (Inscription NR). Beneath it, between the half columns in the transverse section, is another Persian inscription, originally of about the same length, but so mutilated that only fifteen lines have been partly copied (Inscription NR ᵇ). The names of three of the great officers of the Crown have also been recovered (Inscriptions NR ᶜ, ᵈ, ᵉ), and quite recently the names of seven supporters of the throne have been added.

Ascending the valley of the Polvar, at a distance of forty miles to the north of Persepolis the traveller reaches another large group of Achaemenian ruins, which it is now generally admitted represent Pasargadae, the city of Cyrus. The early travellers were attracted by a curious edifice standing among them which they were told was the Tomb of the Mother of Solomon; but it was not till the nineteenth century that its similarity to the tomb of Cyrus, described by Arrian, struck the imaginative Morier, the author of ‘Hajji Baba.’ At the same time a single-line inscription was found repeated on several pillars with the legend: ‘I am Cyrus, the King, the Achaemenian’ (Inscription M).

The discovery of the Achaemenian ruins and inscriptions, to which we have briefly called attention, dates from the beginning of the seventeenth century. Till then Persia was almost entirely unknown to European travellers, and only a few scattered notices of the Persepolitan ruins come to us earlier. The first of these dates back to the end of the fifteenth century, and is due to a Venetian ambassador, Giosafat Barbaro, who visited the country in 1472. The account of his mission was not, however, published till 1545. He tells us that a day’s journey from Camara he came to a great bridge across the ‘Bindamyr,’ which he heard had been built by Solomon.[6] Not far distant he perceived a hill where on a level spot, stood forty columns, called from that circumstance ‘Cilminar.’ Some of them are in ruins, but from what remains it is evident the building was formerly very beautiful. Above the terrace there rises a rock on which human figures of gigantic size are sculptured, and over them appears a figure which resembles ‘God the Father in a circle.’[7] Elsewhere he observed a tall figure on horseback who he was told was Samson, and others clothed after the French fashion. ‘Two days distant from this place is a place called Thimar, and another two days farther we come to a village where there is a sepulchre, in which they say the mother of Solomon is buried. Upon it is a kind of chapel on which are engraven Arabic characters denoting “Mother of Solomon.” This place they call Messeth Suleimen, or Temple of Solomon. The door looks towards the east.’ Such is the earliest account in modern times of the famous ruins of Persepolis and Pasargadae, although Barbaro was quite unaware of their identity. It will be observed that he also visited Naksh-i-Rustam, and saw in the Sassanian bas-relief of Rustam the figure of Samson. It is possible that the notes of his journey were fuller than the published account, and they may have fallen into the hands of Sebastiano Serlio, a Bolognese architect. A few years before the appearance of the ‘Viagi,’ Serlio published his celebrated treatise on Architecture, which enjoyed extraordinary popularity, and was translated into many languages.[8] In it he gives a drawing of the façade of an edifice which he had heard was supported by a hundred columns. He had never seen it or its ruins, and seems to have had no idea where the building had stood, though he apparently gives us to understand that it was Grecian. The drawing shows a building with ten columns in front, adorned with Corinthian capitals, and supporting a second story of four columns and architrave. He had heard that only a few of the columns remained above ground, but he decided to present his readers with his conception of what it must have resembled. He ventures so far as to give the dimensions of the columns, although he anticipates that the whole thing will be flouted as a chimera or a dream. He thus gives us the first of a long series of conjectural ‘restorations,’ with which successive generations of architects have enlivened their books and obscured the subject in hand. He is certain that some such building with a hundred columns had existed somewhere, but it never seems to have entered his mind that he had to go so far afield as Persia to find it. Whether the idea was suggested by what he had heard from Barbaro we cannot say; but it is a complete error to suppose that he represented his drawing as ‘the plan and elevation of Persepolis.’[9] The first to suggest the identity was Don Garcia, who, however, does not appear to have read what Serlio had to say on the subject.[10] He thought Serlio had called his drawing the ‘Forty Alcorans’ and omitted its size and proportion. Serlio, on the contrary, says nothing about forty columns, and he gives the proportions of his imaginary edifice, which he leaves us to infer was one of the marvels of Greece.

It was not till the Portuguese found their way round the Cape of Good Hope that communication with Persia became regular and frequent. In 1508, Alboquerque conquered the island of Ormuz at the entrance to the Persian Gulf. Even at that time this barren rock was the resort of merchants from India; and under Portuguese rule it rapidly rose to great prosperity. Its king was permitted to retain his rank and a nominal authority, but his dominions, which included the islands of Kesem and Bahrein and the port of Gombrun on the mainland passed under Portuguese influence. In the division of the East among the religious orders, Persia fell to the Augustinians, to be the special field of their missionary labours. They erected a church and convent at Ormuz, which continued for a hundred years to be a centre of their activity. In the reign of Don Sebastian the Father Symon de Morales became its prior and applied himself to the acquisition of the Persian language. Soon after the union of the Portuguese and Spanish thrones, Philip II. instructed the Viceroy of the Indies to send an envoy to the King of Persia in order to settle the details of the commercial intercourse which had arisen between the two countries, and no one was better qualified to undertake the task than Morales, upon whom the selection fell (1583). The route from Ormuz to Ispahan, then the capital of Persia, passed within a short distance of Persepolis; and it is to the long succession of envoys who travelled that way that we are in great measure indebted for our knowledge of these ruins and the mysterious characters engraven upon their walls.

The missions took place chiefly in the reign of Shah Abbas (1587-1628), a monarch whose alliance against the Turk was eagerly sought for by the European powers. He had not only distinguished himself in the early part of his reign by considerable military capacity, but had evinced a strong desire to develop the commercial resources of his country. Indeed, he was as much of a merchant as a soldier. He was the chief, if not the sole, owner of the silk industry, and he sought to attract the merchants of all nations by permitting the freest competition among them. He did everything in his power to render the country agreeable to strangers. He erected sumptuous caravansaries for their accommodation upon the road. He made travelling even in remote districts absolutely safe, by the slaughter, it was said, of twenty thousand robbers. He received men of all nationalities and of the most diverse creeds with equal hospitality. He even sought to attract skilled artisans from Europe to instruct his subjects, and he caused his palaces to be decorated by foreign artists. The period of his reign was peculiarly favourable for the execution of his liberal projects. The Portuguese trade was carried on with great success from Ormuz. About 1595 the Dutch made their first appearance in the Indian Seas, and gave a great stimulus to competition. Nor were the English merchants indifferent to the opening of a new market. So far back as 1861 Antonie Jenkinson visited Persia with that object, but he was not favourably received. In the first year of the seventeenth century, John Mildenhall, accompanied by John Cartwright, a student of Magdalen, renewed the overtures, and they found Shah Abbas even then well disposed to cede a port on the Gulf. In 1609, Joseph Salbancke again reported favourably of the commercial prospects if an English fleet could contend successfully against the Portuguese and Dutch. At length the East India Company, which was founded in 1600, succeeded in opening the trade in 1614, and from that year a British Resident was regularly established at Ispahan. It thus happened that both political events and commercial enterprise concurred at the same time to bring Persia into communication with Europe, and a country that only a few years before was scarcely known became the frequent resort of travellers.

In 1601, Philip II. thought it advisable to renew diplomatic intercourse with this great monarch, and he instructed the Viceroy at Goa to despatch a second mission to Ispahan. The Viceroy chose three Augustinian friars, among whom was Antoine de Gouvea, who has left an interesting account of his travels. Gouvea was the Rector of the College of Goa, and Professor of Theology, and he had acquired a competent knowledge of Persian. The party landed at Ormuz early in 1602, and set out in May to join the king, but they turned aside from the direct route to visit ‘Chelminira,’ or the Forty Columns, which he believed to be the ‘sepulchre of an old king who was buried here.’[11] He found, however, that the tomb was on the side of the mountain, and was generally attributed to Cyrus. He thought it was more probably to be assigned to Assuerus or Artaxerxes, and the tomb close by to his wife, Queen Vasti. The ruins of the Forty Columns were locally known as ‘the Old Town,’ and it was thought that it had been the original site of Shiraz. Old writers confirmed this view, because they said the river Bondamiro[12] (which passes near the ruins) ‘washed the walls of Shiraz.’ Gouvea, following the geographical writers of the time, had no doubt that Shiraz was the ancient Persepolis. It never occurred to him to connect it with ‘the old town’ of Chelminar, to which tradition pointed as the original site of Shiraz. He called attention to the magnificent staircase that leads from the plain to the platform on which the ruins stand. Two staircases, he says, rise from the foot of the mountain, _vis-à-vis_ one to the other, consisting of numerous steps well adjusted, and cut out of immense blocks of stone. The two stairs converge to one common landing place; and, writing evidently from memory, he adds that the sides are adorned with figures in relief, so well made that ‘he doubts if it were possible to execute them better.’ The Porch is, he says, adorned with ‘figures of savage animals cut out of a single block, and so lifelike that they appear as though they desired to excite fear.’ He describes the columns as surmounted by beautiful statues. On the Portico and in various places among the ruins he saw the portrait of the king. He does not mention any of the ruins on the platform; they appear all to come under the comprehensive description of ‘chapels,’ which he says were built of huge blocks of stone. But he noticed the two tombs on the hill, one being ‘the sepulchre of the king, which is not very different from the other.’ He confuses the great entrance stairs leading to the Porch with the sculptured stairs leading to the Court of the Columns; and represents it as approached directly through the Porch. It was a long time before this error was cleared up. Gouvea called attention to the inscriptions. ‘The writing,’ he says, ‘may be clearly seen in many places, and it may explain by whom the building was erected and the purpose it was intended to serve; but there is no one who can understand it, because the characters are neither Persian, Arabic, Armenian, nor Hebrew, the languages now in use in the district; so that everything contributes to obliterate the knowledge of that which the ambitious prince desired to render eternal.’

When Gouvea arrived at the Court, which was then at Machad, the capital of Khorassan (or Bactria), he was met by Robert Sherley, an Englishman, who was then not more than twenty years of age. Sherley, we hear, was naturally of good disposition, though infected by the pestiferous errors he had imbibed in England.[13] He was no match in argument for the Professor of Theology, and after some discussion ‘he was converted and submitted to the Roman Church with seven or eight of his suite.’ Gouvea, as was natural, attributed great importance to these conversions, and although he publicly declared that the primary object of his mission was to kindle a war with the Turk, he lost no opportunity of assuring the king that his heart was set much more on ‘teaching the knowledge of the true God.’ He presented his Majesty with a ‘Life of Our Lord,’ richly bound, and certain religious pictures sent by the Archbishop of Goa; and he continued, in season and out of season, to press the faith upon his acceptance. The Shah, who was surrounded by Christians both in the harem and the Court, treated these importunities with toleration, and his courtesy encouraged the zealous priest to hope that he might number him among his converts.[14] A Persian merchant, who noticed with surprise the civility of the king towards Christians, had already circulated a report in Italy of his approaching admission into the Church, and Gouvea was surprised to meet at Ispahan with an embassy of Carmelite fathers sent by Clement VIII., with instructions to arrange the details attending the conversion of the country. These extravagances prejudiced the position of the Portuguese fathers, and they found that the Shah was beginning to grow weary of the whole affair. He, however, granted them leave to turn a large disused palace into a monastery, and to build a church.

Gouvea quitted Ispahan in company with a Persian envoy bound for Spain, who was the bearer of a letter from the Shah to Philip. The two other fathers remained behind to supervise the interests of their community. While Gouvea was still on his way to the coast, he received the pleasing news that war between Turkey and Persia had actually broken out.

The war was carried on by Rudolph in Europe and Abbas in Asia, till 1607, when the Emperor concluded the Peace of Sitvatorok, without consulting the convenience of his ally. The Shah was extremely displeased by an act that, without any warning, left him to bear the whole brunt of the campaign. It was while he was still suffering from the unfaithfulness of his European allies that Gouvea appeared for the second time at his Court. He left Goa in February 1608, and arrived at Ispahan in June; but it was with difficulty he could obtain an interview with the Shah. On his return to Portugal he was raised to the bishopric of Cyrene. He wrote his book in 1609, before he left Goa, and he evidently brought it with him to Lisbon, where it was published in 1611.

At the Spanish Court he had an opportunity of meeting Don Garcia de Silva Figueroa, who was subsequently to visit Persia as Ambassador, and to interest him in the ruins of Chehel Minar. In view of his projected journey, Don Garcia made a special study of the antiquities of the country in the original authorities, and in such modern books as were then available. He was a Castilian of high rank, and about fifty-seven years of age at the time he left on his mission, in 1614. He had an extremely difficult part to play, and one little suited to his haughty and irascible temper. The Portuguese authorities were greatly incensed at the appointment of a Spaniard, and they threw every obstacle in his way. The Viceroy detained him at Goa on one pretext or another from November 1614 to March 1617, when at length the Ambassador hazarded the voyage to Ormuz in a small vessel of two hundred tons.[15] On his arrival he found the Portuguese governor of the island nearly as intractable as the Viceroy, and it was not till October that he was able to continue his journey. He passed that winter at Shiraz, which he said was certainly the Cyropolis of the ancients and the place of burial of Cyrus, its founder. He found his sojourn intolerably dull: he complains that there was ‘not as much as any bookes except a few pamphlets intreating of Holy Confession, and Navarr’s Summes which the monkes of St. Augustine use.’ In April 1618, he set out for Ispahan, and reached the bridge across the ‘Bradamir,’ which river he had no doubt was the ancient Araxes. A league further on he came to the ruins of ‘Chelminara,’ of which he had heard so much from Gouvea. He did not hesitate to identify them at once with ‘those huge wilde buildings of the castle and Palace of Persepolis’; and he appears to have been the first to make this identification.[16] Gouvea, as we have seen, had no doubt that Shiraz was built on the site of Persepolis. Cartwright, to whose journey we have already alluded, was so convinced of the same that he heads a chapter ‘Description of Sieras, ancient Persepolis,’ and adds: ‘This is the city Alexander burnt at the request of a drunken strumpet, himself being the first president in that wofull misery.’[17]

Don Garcia is warm in his praise of ‘this rare yea and onely monument of the world (which farre exceedeth all the rest of the world’s miracles that we have seen or heard off).’ He found only twenty of the pillars left standing, but there were broken remains of many others close by; and half a league distant in the plain he noted another, and still farther off two short ones. He mentions the numerous bas-reliefs that ‘doe seele the front, the sides and the statlier parts of this building.’ The human figures are ‘deckt with a very comely clothing and clad in the same fashion which the Venetian magnificoes goe in: that is gownes down to the heeles with wide sleeves, with round flat caps, their hair spred to the shoulders and notable long beards.’ Some are seated in ‘loftier chayres’ with a ‘little footstoole neatly made about a hand high.’ He was particularly struck by the ‘hardnesse and durablenesse of these Marbles and Jaspers so curiously wrought and polished that yee may see your face in them as in a glasse.’ He was embarrassed to define the style of architecture, ‘whether Corinthian, Ionick, Dorick, or mixt.’ He called especial attention to ‘one notable inscription cut in a Jasper Table, with characters still so fresh and faire that one would wonder how it could scape so many ages without touch of the least blemish. The letters themselves are neither Chaldæan, nor Hebrew, nor Greeke nor Arabike, nor of any other nation which was ever found of old or at this day to be extant. They are all three-cornered, but somewhat long, of the form of a Pyramide, or such a little obeliske as I have set in the margin (△), so that in nothing doe they differ from one another but in their placing and situation.’ He notes that the threefold circle of walls said to have surrounded the castle ‘hath yielded to the time and weather.’ He mentions also the Tombs. ‘There stand,’ he says, ‘the sepulchres of their Kings placed on the side of that hill at the foote whereof the Castle itself is built.’ He did not himself visit Naksh-i-Rustam, but apparently his servants went, and ‘did see some horses of marble, large like a Colossus and some men also of giantly stature.’ This description is taken from a letter written by Don Garcia from Ispahan in 1619 to a friend at Venice. It was published at Antwerp in the following year, and appeared in English in 1625, in Purchas’ Pilgrims. A more detailed account is found in the ‘Embassy of Don Garcia,’ a work elaborated from his notes or memoirs by a member of his suite, and translated into French in 1667. It contains a very full, and on the whole accurate, description of the ruins. He noticed the irregular slope of the terrace, which he attributed to the exigencies of defence. The double staircase leading to the platform is so constructed that ‘one can easily ride up on horseback.’ On reaching the summit he noticed the Porch, the walls of which, he said, are supported by two great horses in white marble, larger than elephants, each with two wings, and with eyes expressive of the dignity of the lion. Beyond is another door adorned in the same manner, and exactly between the two stands a large column on its pedestal.[18] The Porch leads to the Columnar Edifice, where he saw twenty-seven columns still standing (not, as Purchas says, twenty), but there had evidently originally been forty-eight arranged in six rows of eight each.

He observed that they belonged to two different orders: the one resembled the column in the Porch; the others, he says, have no capitals except that upon one he perceived the half of a horse without its head. Singularly enough he falls into the same error as Gouvea, an error reproduced in some of the earlier engravings of the ruins; and represents the columns as standing upon the same level as the Porch. According to our author, therefore, on leaving the Columnar Edifice he came to a ‘very beautiful stair, which though not so large nor so high as the first, is incomparably more beautiful and magnificent, having on the walls and balustrade a triumph or procession of men curiously clothed, carrying flags and banners and offerings. At one extremity of the procession we see a chariot drawn by horses, in which there is an altar from whence a flame of fire is seen to rise. At the other are combats of animals, among which he observed a lion tearing a bull, so well represented that art can add nothing to its perfection: it is impossible indeed to discover the slightest defect.’ Having ascended the stairs, he reached a court on which he observed a ruined building, consisting of several parts, each part about sixty feet long by twelve feet wide. This is the first distinct mention of what is now known as the Palace of Darius. The walls are six or seven feet thick and twenty-four feet high, and are so profusely adorned with figures in relief that it would require several days to examine them adequately, and several months to describe them in detail. The one that struck him most was the representation of a ‘venerable personage,’ sometimes seated ‘on an elevated bench,’ sometimes walking, accompanied by two attendants holding a parasol and a fly-chaser over his head. He was greatly impressed by the ‘perfection and vivacity’ of the figures; and ‘especially by the drapery and dress of the men.’ They are cut in ‘white marble and incorporated in the black stone,’ the latter being of such exquisite polish that it reflects as clearly as a mirror—so much so indeed that the Ambassador’s dog, Roldan, shrank back in terror from the reflection of his own ferocity. This perfection of polish is the more remarkable, considering the great antiquity of the work, which must date from the monarchy of Assyria, or even earlier. He noted the strange peculiarity that among the immense number of figures there was not a single representation of a woman. He observed inscriptions in some places, but ‘the characters,’ he said, ‘are wholly unknown, and are no doubt more ancient than those of the Hebrews, Chaldeans and Arabians, with which they have no relation; and their resemblance to those of the Greeks and Latins is still less.’ The ruins of the Palace of Xerxes seem to have escaped his notice; but he visited the Hall of the Hundred Columns. It covers, he says, a square of a hundred paces, the ground in the centre being thickly strewn with fallen columns. It looks more like an accumulation of several ruins than the remains of a single edifice. Here also were bas-reliefs upon the walls, larger than life and representing ‘furious combats with terrible and ferocious animals; some resembling winged lions and others serpents.’

He noticed the two famous sepulchres on the side of the mountain overhanging the ruins, above the space enclosed by the walls of the terrace. He observed that they were formed by a wall of black marble thirty feet square, covered with figures in white marble. On the top appears a man of authority, possibly a king or prince, seated on a throne, with several figures standing round him. Before him is an altar with fire burning upon it. Near it is a coffer cut into the rock, which seems to have been the sepulchre. It is seven or eight feet long by three feet wide. The tombs are separated forty to fifty paces from each other but are of similar design. It might, he thought, be at first supposed, as Gouvea seems to have imagined, that the splendid ruins below were intended only as an ‘ornament’ for the tomb of the Great King: but further reflection convinced the writer that they were none other than the Palace and Citadel of the Persepolis described by ancient authors; and indeed there is distinct evidence of the conflagration due to the impetuosity of Alexander.

Till Don Garcia made the elaborate notes from which the writer of the foregoing account derived his information, ‘nothing assured’ was known in Europe concerning these remarkable remains. Sebastian Serlio, we are told in his work on Architecture, only knew of them from ‘an uncertain and barbarous relation,’ and he has given us merely a rough drawing of the edifice, showing forty small columns with Corinthian capitals.[19] Don Garcia even complains that Gouvea could only give him a ‘confused’ account. Don Garcia brought an artist with him, and he took the best means of dissipating the obscurity in which the subject was hitherto involved by having drawings made upon the spot. The artist said he intended to copy the triumphal procession on the stairs, but he probably found the time at his disposal insufficient for this labour, for he afterwards says he actually accomplished the drawing of four of the figures, upon one of which were ‘the characters composed of little triangles in the form of a pyramid.’ But of greater importance than these was the copy Don Garcia ordered to be taken of ‘a whole line of the large inscription which is on the staircase in the centre of the triumphal procession. It is to be found on a highly polished table, four feet in height, in which the letters are deeply cut.’ We are unable to say whether these drawings appeared in the original Spanish edition, but they have not been reproduced in the French translation.

Don Garcia finally reached Ispahan in 1618, where he was detained till August in the following year. His mission turned out a complete failure. One of its principal objects was to secure a monopoly of the Persian trade for Spain. Just as he reached Goa he heard that the Governor of Lara had taken Gombrun from the Portuguese. While he was in Persia, he had the mortification to find that port regularly used every year by the English to land their goods. In 1618, peace was concluded between Persia and Turkey, and the Shah was thus rendered independent of the Spanish alliance, while he was daily becoming more disposed to rely upon the English merchant fleet in the event of an open rupture with the Portuguese of Ormuz. He had always consistently opposed the concession of a monopoly to any one nation, and he now found himself sufficiently powerful to reject the demands of Spain. The discomfited Ambassador left in August 1619, and spent the winter at Ormuz in the hope of a favourable change in the aspect of affairs: and he finally reached Spain in 1622, after an adventurous voyage.

During his residence in the Persian capital, he made the acquaintance of Pietro della Valle, a Roman gentleman of considerable fortune, who had been travelling for some years in the East. In consequence of a disappointment in love he had sought relief in foreign adventure, and at the age of twenty-nine he embarked at Venice for Constantinople. After visiting Egypt and the Holy Land, he crossed the desert to Bagdad. At that time Bagdad was commonly supposed to be built on the site of the ancient city of Babylon. But Della Valle had no difficulty in pointing out that this was evidently an error, for we know that the one city was built on the Tigris, while the other stood on the Euphrates. He made several excursions through Mesopotamia, and visited the mounds near Hillah, which he had no doubt covered the ruins of the true Babylon. He has left an account of the state in which he found them, which may still be read with interest; and he picked up some of the bricks, both baked and unbaked, of which they are composed.[20] These he subsequently brought back with him to Rome, where they were included in his private collection of antiquities. They were perhaps the first specimens that ever reached Europe, and a few of them may still be seen in the Museo Kircheriano. He indulged his antiquarian tastes by endeavouring to ascertain the sites of some of the famous cities of antiquity, and he seems to have been the first to identify that of Ctesiphon correctly. At Bagdad he married a Mesopotamian lady, and afterwards crossed the mountains of Kurdistan into Persia. He was cordially welcomed to the Court by Shah Abbas, who enrolled him among the privileged number of ‘Guests of the King.’

In the autumn of 1621, after a sojourn of nearly five years, Della Valle thought it expedient for many reasons to turn his steps homewards. He had fallen into very bad health, and it was clear that he had ceased to be cordially received at Court, although he professes to have left without having forfeited its favour.[21] Accordingly on October 1, he quitted Ispahan without any formal leave-taking, and followed the usual road to the coast. After several days’ journey he came to the Puli Neu, or New Bridge over the ‘Kur,’ no doubt the ‘Cyrus’ of the ancients, and probably also identical with the Araxes, a word that simply means ‘river.’ He followed its course till he came to a small rivulet called the Polvar, which at first he thought must correspond to the Medus of Strabo, an opinion he subsequently rejected on the ground that the stream was not of sufficient importance. Having crossed it by a bridge, he at length reached Chehel Minar, and pitched his tents close to the ruins.[22] The ‘Geographical Epitome’ of Ferrari, which Della Valle carried with him, represented Shiraz as the probable position of Persepolis, an opinion which Gouvea had not controverted. We have seen, however, that Don Garcia had no difficulty in identifying Chehel Minar with the ruins of the ancient Persian Palace. Della Valle had no doubt often discussed the matter with him during the winter of 1618, which they spent together at Ispahan, and he accepts the identification of the site of Persepolis without hesitation. He was, however, by no means convinced that the ruins upon the Terrace are the remains of the Palace. Without decisively rejecting that supposition, he was more inclined to believe that they were originally designed for a great temple. The scene on the sculptured staircase he regarded as a sacrificial procession; and the imposing figure beneath the umbrella might represent a high priest no less than a king. He could not discover any indications that the principal buildings had ever been roofed, which he considered a strong confirmation of the temple theory. He observed that the ‘horses’ on the Porch were human-headed with wings like griffins, and that their backs were apparently protected by iron harness. He thought the monsters on the other two piers were the same, only facing in the opposite direction. Between them he saw there had originally been four columns, two of which were still standing, and the others fallen to the ground. Turning to the right towards the south, he observed a large vase of marble, about twenty-four feet square, that had evidently been intended for ablutions; and passing farther on in the same direction he came to the sculptured staircase, which he now places for the first time in its correct position beneath the Columnar Edifice. We also learn that the figures on both sides are turned towards the central stairs, and present the appearance of a procession about to ascend the steps. He gives a detailed account of the bas-reliefs, and observes that the different groups are separated from each other by a design representing the cypress tree. The various animals that figure in the procession lead him to think they were intended for sacrifice, and hence that the edifice had been probably a temple. He fixes the position of the inscriptions at the extreme end of the procession. He is much less enthusiastic in his praise than Don Garcia. He does not consider that the figures of men and animals, nor those of trees, are well designed; and he thinks the beauty of the work as a whole consists chiefly in its antiquity and in the magnificence of the marble of which it is composed. Don Garcia had counted twenty-seven columns, but at the time of Della Valle’s visit, only three and a half years later, not more than twenty-five remained. As he approached from the north he observed the traces of two rows of columns stretching from east to west. Beyond them is a vacant space, about sufficient for two rows of columns; and then we come to a central group of six rows of columns arranged from north to south. On either side, to west and east of the central group, but separated from it by the distance already mentioned, there are double rows of columns, as on the north side. He says nothing of any colonnade on the south, where in fact there is none. The columns are about twenty-six and a half feet apart, and some are higher than others, from which he inferred that the building was not roofed, and could not therefore have been the palace of a king. He could not find any trace of a staircase leading to an upper story.

Passing the columns and continuing in the same southerly direction, he observed two small chambers, one on the right hand, near the edge of the Terrace; the other on the left hand, towards the mountain. They are not really chambers, but open courts; nor are they surrounded by walls, but by the jambs of doors and windows. As in the Columnar Edifice, there are no indications that the buildings were roofed, and on that account he believes they were parts of a temple where sacrifices were offered in the open air; he does not consider they were designed for a sepulchre. In addition to the ‘venerable personage’ already noted by Don Garcia, he remarked that men are depicted on the side doors struggling or fighting with lions. Behind this chamber, in a small open court, he saw two high pilasters with inscriptions at the top, but at such an elevation that he could not distinguish the characters. From this point we fail to follow him with equal certainty. He detected a group of columns forming a square of six in a ruin that evidently corresponds to the Palace of Xerxes; and he observed the remains of an aqueduct below. He alludes to another enclosure which may possibly be the Hall of the Hundred Columns, although he thought it could have been no part of the original design of the fabric.

He remarked the great inscription near the lion on the wall of the sculptured terrace below the Columnar Edifice. ‘It occupies,’ he says, ‘the entire height of the wall from top to bottom. One cannot tell in what language or letters these inscriptions are written, because the characters are unknown. They are very large and are not united to one another, but divided and distinct, each by itself alone as in Hebrew: if indeed what I take for a letter only is not a complete word. I have copied five of them as best I could, and they are those that occur most frequently.’[23] The lines of the inscription are filled up ‘so that I cannot tell whether they are to be read from right to left as in Oriental languages, or from left to right as with us.’ He is, however, disposed to believe they are read from left to right, because when the ‘pyramidical figure’ is vertical the head is always uppermost, and when the figure slopes or is placed horizontally the head is to the left and the point inclined to the right. He remarked that the writing was composed entirely of the one pyramidical figure and of an angular character more slender than the other; and it was simply the number and disposition of these two forms that constituted the difference of the letter.

Don Garcia had no doubt that the ruins had been entirely devoted to the secular uses of a palace and citadel. We have seen that Della Valle, though he accepted their identification with Persepolis, could not readily believe that the large roofless buildings had ever been suited for a dwelling, and he therefore inclined to the theory that they were the remains of a temple.