The Historians' History of the World 01

Another famous set of tablets records the adventures of Gilgamish, whose heroic trials and mighty deeds suggest the Hercules of the Greeks. All in all, these religious and mythological texts give us the closest insight into the moral nature of the Assyrian, not merely during the period of Asshurbanapal, but for many generations before, since these sacred books are in the main but copies of old Babylonian ones, dating from the most remote periods of antiquity.

The tablets of the next case illustrate a different phase of Assyrian mental activity. They are virtually books of reference, and schoolbooks—that is, “Grammatical Tablets, Lists of Cuneiform Signs, Explanatory Lists of Words, etc.—drawn up for use in the Royal Library at Nineveh.” They include a tablet of “words and phrases used in legal documents, to serve as grammatical examples; one column being in the Sumero-Accadian language, the other an Assyrian translation; also lists of a verbal formation, and an explanatory list of words”—a dictionary, if you please! Even more remarkable is a tablet giving a list of picture characters with the archaic forms of cuneiform signs to which they were thought to correspond; this list being supplemented by another in which the archaic forms themselves are interpreted with the “modern” equivalent. This tablet shows that, in the belief of the ancient Assyrian, the cuneiform character had been developed, at a remote epoch, from a purely historical writing (as was doubtless the case), but that the exact line of this development had faded from the memories of men in the latter-day epoch of the seventh century B.C.

In the case beyond are tablets with lists of “Names of Birds, Plants, Bronze Objects, Articles of Clothing, etc., for reference as an aid to writing literary compositions.” Then lists of officials, and other documents relating to the history of Babylonia-Assyria, including historical inscriptions of Sennacherib. Beyond, a set of letters, public and private, mostly inscribed on oval bits of clay, three or four inches long, and sometimes provided with envelopes of the same material. Of this numerous collection of letters, the one that attracts most popular attention is that in which King Sennacherib refers to certain objects given by him to his son Esarhaddon. This is commonly known as the “will of Sennacherib.” Near this is another letter that is interesting because it is provided with a baked-clay envelope, into which the letter slipped as a kernel of a nut into its shell. The envelope bears the inscription, “To the King, my Lord, from Asshur Ritsua,” and it is authenticated by two impressions of the writer’s seal.

This use of seals, by-the-bye, is quite general, particularly in the case of official documents. Sometimes, as in the case of a contract tablet shown here, the witness, in lieu of seal, gives the stamp of his finger nail, this being equivalent, I suppose, to “John Doe, his mark.” It is hardly to be supposed that the average Assyrian could write any more than the average Greek or Roman could, or, for that matter, the average European of a century ago. The professional scribe did the writing, of course, whence the necessity for seals to assure authenticity of even ordinary letters. Doubtless the art of gem engraving, which the old Chaldeans carried to amazing perfection, followed by the Greeks and Romans, has been allowed to decline in recent generations largely because the increasing spread of education—not to mention gummed envelopes—made seals less and less a necessity. Perhaps the art may be revived in the age of the typewriter. But if one stops to speak of seals, he could hardly be restrained from rushing off to the wonderful collection in the gem department of the British Museum, where the Græco-Roman intaglios would drive all thought of other collections from his head,—though even there the Cyprian finds would lead him back irrevocably to the Babylonian model,—whereas, for the moment, our true concern is not with seals of any sort, but with the documents they are purposed to authenticate.

These documents are of the strangest assortment; and yet not strange, so precisely similar are they to the official records of modern communal existence. Thus here is one tablet, of about the year 650 B.C., recording the sale of a house. There another tells of the leasing of certain property, for a term of six years, for twelve shekels of silver. And, capping the climax, here are tablets recording the loan of money, veritable notes, with even the rate of interest—twenty per cent—carefully prescribed. One learns that the money broker did a thriving business in old Nineveh. How near to us those days are, after all!