Instinctively the mind reverts to the vision of Moses coming down from the mountain, with the Ten Commandments graven on two tablets of stone. It may be that some such stone as that of Hammurabi was itself the foundation of the Ten Commandments, that the very code of laws on which all Christian morality is based may one day reward some ardent excavator. It is impossible to say. What was unknown to us yesterday may be revealed to us to-day.
England has cause to be proud of the part played by Britons in reading the story of mankind. Young in deciphering hieroglyphics, Rawlinson in reading cuneiform, and Professor Sayce in mastering the mysterious Armenian writing of Van—now known as Vannic—provide a glowing tribute to the intelligence and determination of the British race.
Mesopotamia, despite the many things to be found there, has no tombs like those of Egypt to yield up the secrets of its lost civilizations. The bodies of the dead were mostly burned. Sometimes they were buried in two huge jars placed mouth to mouth, at other times in a pottery coffin shaped something like a foot-bath, on which a stone cover was placed; sites of ancient cemeteries have been found, revealing strangely shaped pottery coffins, highly glazed in blue.
These things have told the diggers much, but the records written on clay bricks and barrel-shaped cylinders found in the temples and palaces have yielded more information than has yet been deciphered or translated. The ancient peoples used to place baked clay records in a special niche in the foundations of their buildings, and these have proved invaluable. The same custom persists to this day in our own land, for it is a common practice to place coins and other records under the foundation stones of modern large buildings of public importance.
It may truly be said that Layard gave the impetus to digging in the East, that all the men working in those parched lands are the disciples of the Englishman who gave up his best years to the science he loved. He suffered untold hardships, his life was often in dire danger, illness afflicted him, but through it all he went on digging. He was subjected to bitter attacks and intrigues, but he countered them to perform his lifework. The hardships did not weigh with him, the lack of money for carrying on the work was not an insuperable handicap, but he was terribly disappointed at the lack of interest shown by his countrymen in his discoveries, and by the way his priceless relics were damaged during transit. Apparently people thought they were so much rubbish, hardly worth the taking away.
He entered politics and gained honours as a diplomat, but his name and his fame will ever rest on his wonderful work in digging up ancient Assyria out of the deserts of Mesopotamia.
CHAPTER XIII
Romantic as are the Egyptian discoveries, amazing as the work of Layard remains, the discovery of Troy ranks as the most amazing and romantic of all. The excavation of Troy is, indeed, an epic, interwoven with boyish dreams, the pictures in a book, dire poverty, and a gallant struggle for fortune. While Layard’s lifework was largely inspired by the Tales of the Arabian Nights, Heinrich Schliemann, who excavated Troy, found his inspiration in Homer.
When the pastor of the hamlet of Neu Buckow in Mecklenburg Schwerin gazed for the first time on his new-born son in 1822, he little knew what strange experiences confronted the boy. A year or two passed, and the boy grew to love the stories of the Greek heroes of old that his father used to pour into his eager ear. Heinrich Schliemann was enraptured, transported with delight. To him the stories were real, the deeds which Homer sang were true. The gift of a book showing the burning of Troy set all doubts at rest in the boy’s mind. He saw Troy itself being devoured by flames, the people fleeing for their lives.
“I’m going to find Troy,” he said to his little playfellows.