Undying Curiosity: Carsten Niebuhr and The Royal Danish Expedition to Arabia (1761–1767) 9783515107686, 3515107681

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Lawrence J. Baack

Undying Curiosity Carsten Niebuhr and The Royal Danish Expedition to Arabia (1761–1767) History Franz Steiner Verlag

Oriens et Occidens 22

Lawrence J. Baack Undying Curiosity

ORIENS ET OCCIDENS Studien zu antiken Kulturkontakten und ihrem Nachleben Herausgegeben von Josef Wiesehöfer in Zusammenarbeit mit Pierre Briant, Amélie Kuhrt, Fergus Millar und Robert Rollinger Band 22

Lawrence J. Baack

Undying Curiosity Carsten Niebuhr and The Royal Danish Expedition to Arabia (1761–1767)

Franz Steiner Verlag

Cover illustration: Carsten Niebuhr in the attire of a distinguished Arab in Yemen, the clothing a gift from al-Mahdī ‛Abbās, Imam of Yemen, drawn in Copenhagen, from Carsten Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung nach Arabien und andern umliegenden Ländern, 2 vols. Copenhagen (1774–1778), Vol. I, Tab. LXXI. Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek: Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über abrufbar. Dieses Werk einschließlich aller seiner Teile ist urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung außerhalb der engen Grenzen des Urheberrechtsgesetzes ist unzulässig und strafbar. © Franz Steiner Verlag, Stuttgart 2014 Druck: Offsetdruck Bokor, Bad Tölz Gedruckt auf säurefreiem, alterungsbeständigem Papier. Printed in Germany. ISBN 978-3-515-10768-6 (Print) ISBN 978-3-515-10773-0 (E-Book)

To Jane, With much Love in celebration of our Golden Wedding Anniversary September 12, 2014

Contents Acknowledgments ............................................................................................. 11 Introduction ...................................................................................................... 15

Chapter One

The Idea of the Expedition: “Benefit for the World of Scholarship” ............................................................. 25 Michaelis’ Proposal: Arabia and the Search for Meaning in the Bible ................................................................................................. 26 Johann David Michaelis and the Georgia Augusta University, Göttingen ................................................................................................... 30 Why Denmark and Johann Hartwig Ernst von Bernstorff ? ....................... 36 Assembling the Team: The Philologist – Frederik Christian von Haven................................................................................................... 44 The Cartographer and his Teacher: Carsten Niebuhr and Tobias Mayer........................................................................................ 46 The Botanist – Peter Forsskål: An “Apostle” of Linnaeus............................ 55 Fragen an eine Gesellschaft gelehrter Männer: A European Exercise in Inquiry ................................................................. 63 Bernstorff the Manager. Driving the Project: New Suggestions, Additions and Problems ............................................................................. 68

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Niebuhr and his Instruments: A Detour on the Lunar Distance Method and the Problem of Determining Longitude ................................ 74 Changing the Route and the Royal Instructions ........................................ 81

Chapter Two

Exploration and Death. Learning about Egypt, the Red Sea and Yemen ........ 92 The Outbound Voyage – Copenhagen to Alexandria ................................. 93 Introduction to Egypt: Alexandria, the Nile and Arrival in Cairo ............ 114 Niebuhr – Ethnography, Map Making, the Great Pyramids and Hieroglyphs ....................................................................................... 119 Forsskål – The Flora Aegyptiaco. ................................................................. 136 Haven – Manuscripts and Hebrew Codices ............................................. 139 Frustration and Failure in the Sinai .......................................................... 143 Sailing the Red Sea – Discovering Marine Life and Creating a Chart ...................................................................................................... 156 Scientific Discovery in Yemen: Exploring the Tihāmah and the Coffee Mountains ........................................................................ 172 A Tragic Ending in Yemen: al Mukhā, San‘ā’, Bombay ............................. 182

Chapter Three

The Solitary Explorer. The Long Road Home: India, the Persian Gulf and the Lands of the Middle East ............................. 203 Rejuvenation and Inspiration: A Brief Exposure to the Culture of Western India ....................................................................................... 204 The Voyage from Bombay to al Başrah: Oman, Persepolis and Pirates of the Persian Gulf .................................................................................... 215 “Do not order me to travel too hastily. Now is the time when I can learn something.”: The Lands and Peoples of Iraq and the Levant ........... 235 From Caravans to Kings: The End of the Expedition ............................... 275

Chapter Four

Presenting the Expedition to the World and the Expedition’s Significance for the 18th Century.................................... 284 The Struggle to Publish the Findings of the Expedition .......................... 286 From Geography to Philology: The Results of the Expedition ................. 295 Geography.......................................................................................... 297 Cartography ....................................................................................... 314

contents

Astronomy ......................................................................................... 316 Antiquities ......................................................................................... 322 Botany and Zoology........................................................................... 331 Philology ............................................................................................ 326 The Evaluation of Niebuhr’s Works in the 18th-Century and Since .......... 340 Epilogue – Niebuhr’s Return to a Rural Tradition: The Meldorf Years, 1778–1815 ..................................................................... 343 Conclusion ...................................................................................................... 354 List of Illustrations, Maps and Charts ............................................................. 402 Bibliography of Published Sources .................................................................. 404 Index................................................................................................................ 432

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Acknowledgments

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study of this nature, touching upon many disciplines and drawing on the resources of many intitutions in many locations, is not possible without the very kind and expert help of many individuals, and it is a pleasure to acknowledge their assistance here. First, I would like to thank my long-time mentor in the study of history, Peter Paret, Mellon Professor in the Humanities, Emeritus, at the Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton, and Spruance Professor of International History, Emeritus, Stanford University, for his interest early on in this project. Our stimulating discussions about the topic’s major themes, his insights into the key issues and questions of the study and his critical review of the entire manuscript added greatly to the final work. Dieter Lohmeier, former Professor of Modern German Literature at the Christian-Albrechts University in Kiel and Director, Emeritus, of the Schleswig-Holsteinischen Landesbibliothek, has also been of immense help during the research and writing of this book. I am very grateful for his generosity in sharing his extensive knowledge of the details of the topic and its primary sources. His careful reading of the entire manuscript and our discussions of some of the problems inherent in the subject were extremely helpful throughout this project. It has been a great personal pleasure to share our common interest in Carsten Niebuhr and the expedition. Similarly, I would like to thank Josef Wiesehöfer, Professor of Ancient History at the Institut für Klassische Altertumskunde at the Christian-Albrechts University, who read the entire manuscript, offered many suggestions for improvement and shared not just his extensive knowledge of Ancient Persia and the Ancient Near East, but of the entire expedition. I have greatly appreciated his enthu-

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siasm for and interest in the project, and, of course, his marvelous support as the main Editor of the series Oriens et Occidens. Jürgen Osterhammel, Professor of Modern and Contemporary History at the University of Konstanz, also took time to critically evaluate the draft manuscript, bringing to bear on the subject his extraordinarily broad and stimulating perspective on the character of the European travel and exploration experience in Asia during the closing decades of the eighteenth Century. I am very grateful for his comments and encouragement. Stig Rasmussen, recently retired Head of the Department of Orientalia and Judaica at the wonderful Royal Library in Copenhagen, who did pioneering work on the history of the expedition and its scientific results, carefully read the entire manuscript and was very helpful in many other ways, including making available a sample of the valuable manuscripts Haven purchased during the expedition, as well as the manuscript of Haven’s travel diary. I very much appreciate his support of this study. The book also benefitted from the helpful comments and interest of Michael Harbsmeier, Professor at the Department of Culture and Identity at Roskilde University. He took the time to read the entire manuscript. Here in Berkeley, I want to express my thanks to Ira Lapidus, Professor of Middle Eastern History, Emeritus, who was kind enough to read all of the sections dealing with the descriptions of Islamic societies, helping me to avoid obvious errors. Also Robert Middlekauff, Preston Hotchkis Professor of American History, Emeritus, was very supportive of my work on the project, read most of the manuscript and was extremely helpful in a number of other very important ways. It is a special pleasure to express my gratitude to him. Finally, I also want to thank Søren Møller Christensen at Forlaget Vandkunsten who took a very early interest in this project and has been very helpful in a number of ways including very generously sharing the high quality images of some of the illustrations in this book. Obviously, the natural sciences were a very important part of the work of the expedition and thus a central component of an examination of it. Not being a botanist or zoologist, I have been dependent on the knowledge of others for the evaluation of my discusssion of those topics. No one has been more helpful in this regard than Ib Friis, Professor of Botany at the University of Copenhagen and the Natural History Museum of Denmark, Botanical Museum. He reviewed many sections of the manuscript and helped me navigate through some of the technical aspects of Forsskål’s research, of which he has unparalled knowledge. He also took time to show me Forsskål’s large Herbarium at the Botanical Museum, and together with Peter Rask Møller, Curator of Fishes and Associate Professor of Zoology, Zoological Museum, to whom I am also grateful, Forsskål’s fish herbarium and the other remaining preserved specimens from the expedition. Regarding Forsskål, I would also like to thank Lars Hansen of the IK Foundation and Editor-in-Chief of the very valuable Linnaeus Apostles project for commenting on the first chapters of the manuscript, for being helpful in a variety of other ways, and for granting permission to use a passage from their translation of Forsskål’s Journal.

acknowledgments

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Research for this study was also dependent on the support and expert assistance of many institutions and their staffs. First and foremost, I would like to thank the History Department at The University of California, Berkeley where in retirement I have been a Visiting Scholar for the duration of this project. It is a great department. Second, I am indebted to the librarians of Berkeley’s marvelous complex of research libraries, whose collections and assistance were essential for this study. These include the Doe Main Library, and its Interlibrary Services Department, the Biosciences and Natural Resources Library, the Anthropology Library, the Earth Sciences and Map Library, the Physics-Astronomy Library, the Environmental Design Library and the Bancroft Library with its extensive collection on exploration. In Denmark I would like to express my appreciation to the staffs of the Rigsarkiv and Royal Library in Copenhagen for their expert assistance during my research trips. I would especially like to thank Dr. Asger Svane-Knudsen at the Rigsarkiv for his help on the map of the route the expedition followed, and his permission to use it. I am also grateful to Dr. Helmut Rohlfing, Director of the Department of Manuscripts and Rare Books, and Bärbel Mund, of the Niedersächische Staats-und Universitäts-Bibliothek in Göttingen for their help in accessing the immense archive of Michaelis and other collections and materials at the university. Similarly, Dr. Klára Erdei and her staff at the University Library of the Christian-Albrechts University in Kiel were extremely helpful as I worked through Niebuhr’s papers at the Library, and in granting permission to reproduce here documents from those papers. Also Heike-Fanny Braun at the Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften was of great assistance regarding the Niebuhr family papers deposited there. Finally, Dr. Jutta Müller, Director of the Dithmarscher Landesmuseum in Meldorf, and her staff, were very generous with their time in showing me the materials on Niebuhr in the museum’s collections, including the original version of the Royal Instructions for the expedition, and the instruments which Niebuhr took on the trip. I very much appreciate their help. There are a number of other individuals who assisted me in various ways. I would like to take this occasion to thank them for their help. These include Dr. Armin Hüttermann of the Tobias Mayer Museum in Marbach, Jakob Seerup of the Naval Museum in Copenhagen, Søren Nørby of the Danish Defense Library, Dan Andersen, Historian, Susan Pomerey, a direct descendant of Niebuhr, Reimer Hansen, Professsor of History, Emeritus, at the Friedrich Meinecke Institute, Free University of Berlin, Han Vermeulen, Cultural Anthroplogist at the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology, Halle, Andreas Isler of the Ethnographic Museum, Zurich University, and Lisbet and Kurt Kvorning for their kind hospitality and interest during one of our stays in Copenhagen doing research. Also I would like to express my special thanks to Katharina Stuedemann and Harald Schmitt at Franz Steiner Verlag for guiding this project through the publication process so expertly and efficiently. It has been a great pleasure to work with them on the book. Finally, I would like to thank my extended family for all of their interest and help. In Dithmarschen, where my father’s family has a long history, I would like to

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thank especially Rolf and Ingrid Wilstermann, Gisela Schöpke, and Elke and Gerd Remané for their hospitality while I was doing research in the area. Closer to home I want to express my debt of gratitude to members of my immediate family, to Jim and Michelle, and Sally, fine writers all, who, with good humor and attentive eyes and minds, read through the entire manuscript and caught many errors and awkward or unclear expressions. In closing, this book is dedicated to my wife, Jane, who has had to endure too many discussions of Niebuhr and the expedition at breakfast but nonetheless was willing with her scholar’s touch to provide honest and cogent comments about the project and to apply her discriminating eyes to the proof reading of the entire manuscript. As a person of great curiosity herself and with a love of Europe, travel and adventure, she has been my special partner in life for fifty years.

Introduction

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n November 10, 1753, the members of the Königliche Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften (The Royal Society, later Academy, of Sciences) in Göttingen, gathered, as they did each year at this time, to celebrate the endowment of the Society by the Elector of Hanover. A thirty-six year old professor of philosophy, Johann David Michaelis, gave the main address. His talk focused on the need to send a scholar, fully conversant in Arabic, to Palestine and Arabia to investigate the geography, natural history and language of the region in order to better understand the Bible as a cultural document of the ancient Israelite civilization. His attention was drawn especially to Arabia, which he judged had been little affected through the centuries by foreign conquest or foreign trade. There he believed “the old customs of the House of Abraham” would be still discernible.1 Around the same time, under less exalted circumstances, a young man of rural background was working on his relatives’ farm located on the North Sea coast, near the mouth of the Elbe River. His education at the school in the local town had been interrupted by the early death of his father (his mother had already died when he was six weeks old). His name was Carsten Niebuhr.2 He was an unlikely candidate to carry out Michaelis’ call for new scholarship on the Hebrew Bible in the Middle East. 1 Göttingische Anzeigen von gelehrten Sachen, 139 (17 November 1753): 1241–1244. 2 Dieter Lohmeier, “Heinrich Wilhelm Schmeelkes Biographie seines Onkels Carsten Niebuhr,”

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How the professor of philosophy and the farm boy came together with the help of the King of Denmark-Norway to produce one of the great journeys of exploration and investigation in the Eighteenth Century is the subject of this study. The study has two themes. One is the idea of an expedition; not only what the idea represented, but also how it evolved and was transformed by the influences of others and by the difficult realities of an expedition. The other is the life story of the young man and the expedition – an account of exploration, adventure, tragedy, courage and, above all else, curiosity. Both played out in the changing environment of the Northern European Enlightenment and the stimulating setting of the Middle East. The journey that resulted from the intertwining of these two themes within the milieu of 18th Century Europe and the lands of the Arab world was the Royal Danish Expedition to Arabia, or in Denmark usually, Den Arabiske Rejse, The Arabian Journey. Funded by the King of Denmark-Norway, Frederik V (1723–1766), the expedition brought together a team of six men – a philologist, a botanist/zoologist, a cartographer/astronomer, a physician, a professional illustrator and an orderly. It was a truly Northern European group – two Danes, two Germans and two Swedes. The party left Copenhagen in January 1761, and in that year traveled by ship to Istanbul and Alexandria. They then visited Cairo and the Sinai Peninsula before traversing the Red Sea via Jiddah to Yemen, which was the group’s main destination. After investigating Yemen the journey took the expedition across the Arabian Sea to Bombay before entering the Persian Gulf and visiting Shīrāz, Persepolis, al Başrah (Basra), Baghdād, al Mawşil (Mosul), Halab (Aleppo), Damascus, Jerusalem and Cyprus. Thus, the expedition circumnavigated the Arabian Peninsula, and touched upon a number of neighboring territories, and India, along the way. The return trip overland crossed Anatolia to Istanbul, and then home by way of Bucharest and Warsaw to Copenhagen, returning in November of 1767. The expedition lasted almost seven years, and of the original six participants, only one, Carsten Niebuhr, survived through the fourth year. For the remaining years he continued the work of the expedition as a solitary explorer. As an historical event, the expedition stands out for a number of reasons. At the human level it is simply an incredible tale of personal courage and unrelenting intellectual curiosity. As an endeavor in exploration, it was the only major scientific expedition to emanate from Scandinavia and Germany in the entire 18th Century, and it was primarily land-based, less common in an era noted for seaborne exploration, principally in the Pacific. Institutionally it was unique because its purpose, methodologies and organization were shaped by the universities of Northern Europe, namely Göttingen, Copenhagen and Uppsala. It operated solely as a scholarly endeavor. It was always called “die gelehrte Gesellschaft,” “the scholarly party or association”. It was not part of a military unit or some other government agency; and Jahrbuch der Männer vom Morgenstern 88 (2009): 193–194. Also see Barthold Georg Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, in his Kleine Schriften (Bonn, 1828), 5–7.

introduction

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The Route of the Royal Danish Expedition to Arabia 1761–1767*

despite many difficulties, the expedition produced an abundance of valuable scientific results that were applauded in the 18th Century, and are still impressive today. Its cultural and geographic descriptions of Arabia and parts of the Ottoman Empire with their emphasis on people and religions, were the most comprehensive, accurate and unbiased available in that era. Its maps constituted the most important contribution to the cartography of the region produced in the 18th Century. It greatly advanced the science of navigational astronomy, particularly its use in hydrography and cartography, and the determination of longitude. Its work in the natural sciences – botany and zoology (especially marine biology) – led to important scientific discoveries pioneering for the times, that are still valued today in those fields. Finally, its meticulous examination of various antiquities introduced new scholarly standards to that kind of work and contributed to the understanding of several ancient languages.3 * From, with permission, Asger Svane-Knudsen, “Den Arabiske Rejse og Asiatiske Kompagni 1763–1766. Fire breve og den veksel fra Carsten Niebuhr i Bombay til guvernør Abbestée i Trankebar.” Danske Magazin 51/2 (2012): 483–513. 3 Its significance is summarized in Stig T. Rasmussen, “‘Niebuhriana’ in Kopenhagen,” in Carsten Niebuhr (1733–1815) und seine Zeit, ed. Josef Wiesehöfer and Stephan Conermann (Stuttgart, 2002); Dietmar Henze, “Carsten Niebuhr und sein Beitrag zur Erforschung des Orients,” the Foreword to the reprint of Carsten Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung nach Arabien und den umliegenden Ländern, 3 vols. (Copenhagen/Hamburg, 1774–1837), reprint ed. (Graz, 1968), I, pp. III–XXII; the same author’s “Carsten Niebuhrs Bedeutung für die Erdkunde von Arabien,” Foreword to the reprint of Carsten Niebuhr, Beschreibung von Arabien (Copenhagen, 1772), reprint ed. (Graz,

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Modern popular interest in the expedition was awakened first by the entertaining historical novel, Det Lykkelige Arabien, by Thorkild Hansen, published in Denmark in 1962.4 In more recent years there also has been renewed scholarly interest in the expedition in Denmark and Germany. This was first stimulated by an exhibition in Riyadh organized by the Kongelige Bibliotek (Royal Library) in Copenhagen and the Danish Ministry of Foreign Affairs upon the occasion of the visit of Queen Margrethe II to Saudi Arabia in 1984. The exhibit subsequently was expanded and then shown at the Kongelige Bibliotek in Copenhagen, the Schleswig-Holsteinische Landesbibliothek in Kiel and the Dithmarscher Landesmuseum in Meldorf in 1986 and 1987. The exhibition included a substantial scholarly catalog.5 In 1990, Stig Rasmussen, the author of the exhibition catalog, produced a handsome volume on the expedition concentrating especially on a fuller discussion of its results and significance. It included chapters by specialists in a variety of fields and was published in cooperation with the Kongelige Bibliotek with support from the crown.6 This scholarly activity in Denmark has been complemented by work in Germany. The Center for Asiatic and African Studies at the Christian-Albrechts University in Kiel convened in Eutin a symposium entitled “Carsten Niebuhr und seine Zeit.” It brought together scholars on the Middle East, geographers, natural scientists, philologists, theologians and historians. The proceedings of the symposium, edited by Josef Wiesehöfer and Stephan Conermann and published in 2002, included an outstanding group of specialized papers on the expedition and its meaning.7 Individual scholars in Germany have also produced a number of very valuable works. These have included especially Dieter Lohmeier, who has published a series of important essays and collections of letters on Niebuhr and the expedition, based on extensive work in the archives.8 In addition, the fine book publisher, Forlaget Vandkunsten, 1969), pp. III–XIII; and Stephan Conermann, “Carsten Niebuhr und das orientalistische Potential des Aufklärungsdiskurses – oder: Ist das Sammeln von Daten unverdächtig?” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, pp. 404–405. 4 Thorkild Hansen, Det Lykkelige Arabien (Copenhagen, 1962). It was translated into English in 1964 by James and Kathleen McFarlane, and published as Arabia Felix. The Danish Expedition of 1761–1767 (New York, 1964). It is the only extensive account of the expedition in English. While lively and interesting as a novel, Hansen’s work is not reliable as a historical study. 5 Stig T. Rasmussen, Carsten Niebuhr und die Arabische Reise 1761–1767. Ausstellung der Königlichen Bibliothek Kopenhagen in Zusammenhang mit dem Kultusministerium des Landes Schleswig-Holstein (Heide, 1986). 6 Stig T. Rasmussen, ed., Den Arabiske Rejse 1761–1767. En dansk ekspedition set i vedenskabshistorisk perspektiv (Copenhagen, 1990). 7 Wiesehöfer and Conermann, eds., Carsten Niebuhr. 8 Dieter Lohmeier, “Ein Leben im Zeichen der Arabischen Reise: Carsten Niebuhr,” in his collection of essays entitled, Die weltliterarische Provinz. Studien zur Kultur- und Literaturgeschichte Schleswig-Holsteins um 1800 (Heide, 2005), 187–244; the same author’s “Gregorius Wiedemann (1735–1762). Ein unbekannter Schüler Carl von Linnés und Freund Carsten Niebuhrs aus Kopenhagen,” Fund og Forskning 41 (2007): 57–87; “Carsten Niebuhr, Tobias Mayer und die Längengrade,” Fund og Forskning, 42 (2008): 73–114; “Monddistanzen und Längengrade.

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in cooperation with the University of Copenhagen and the C. L. Davids Foundation, has published new Danish translations of Niebuhr’s main works and an excellent critical edition of the diary of one of the other participants.9 That same publisher will also be issuing a new, scholarly, English translation of Niebuhr’s major work, which is badly needed. Finally, there has been continuing interest in the natural history results of the expedition. In 1994, The Royal Botanical Gardens, Kew, and the Botanical Museum, Copenhagen, published a detailed update of the pioneering botanical studies completed by the expedition’s Swedish naturalist, Peter Forsskål, entitled The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, by F. Nigel Hepper and Ib Friis. Most recently, the Royal Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters has issued an analysis of the very valuable use of Arabic in Forrskål’s description of Middle Eastern flora, entitled The Arabic Plant Names of Peter Forsskål’s flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, by Philippe Provençal.10 The history of the expedition is noteworthy because it provides so many opportunities for useful analysis of the period. For example, the Danish project took place at a time in Europe that saw the integration on a new scale of exploration and the sciences. By the 18th Century much of the world had been explored by Europeans in the most basic sense. With the notable exception of the far reaches of the Pacific and Antarctica, and isolated regions such as Siberia and Arabia, the configuration of the world’s land masses at their peripheries in the most general sense was known. What the 18th Century experienced was the deployment of a range of scientific disciplines in support of more detailed exploration of areas already known in only a superficial way by Europeans. The three voyages of James Cook to the Pacific, the imperial Russian expeditions to Siberia, Kamchatka and the Caucasus, the Spanish royal scientific expeditions to South America, and indeed, the Lewis and Clark expedition to the American West at the end of our period, all had a strong, but certainly not exclusive, scientific focus and usually were staffed with men professionally trained in the natural sciences and other disciplines. In another arena, some Der Briefwechsel zwischen Carsten Niebuhr und Tobias Mayer 1761,” Fund og Forskning 49 (2010): 135–165; and his “Carsten Niebuhr: Briefe von der Arabischen Reise,” Dithmarschen, 13 installments, 2004–2009, whose accompanying commentaries provide a great deal of detailed information about the expedition. This last work has been expanded and elaborated in a booklength study entitled Mit Carsten Niebuhr im Orient. Zwanzig Briefe von der Arabischen Reise 1760–1767 (Heide, 2011), and is an essential work on the expedition. Finally see his aricle, co-authored with Stig Rasmussen, “Carsten Niebuhrs Stambog,” Fund og Forskning 49 (2010):103–133. 9 See Carsten Niebuhr, Rejsebeskrivelse fra Arabien og andre omkringliggende lande, 2 vols. (Copenhagen, 2003), which includes an informative Introduction by Michael Harbsmeier, and Beskrivelse af Arabien ud fra egne iagttagelser og i landet selv samlede efterretninger (Copenhagen, 2009); also Anne Haslund Hansen and Stig T. Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis. Frederik Christian von Havens Rejsejournal fra Den Arabiske Rejse 1760–1763 (Copenhagen, 2005). 10 F. Nigel Hepper and Ib Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’. Collected on the Royal Danish Expedition to Egypt and Yemen 1761–63 (Kew, 1994); and Philippe Provençal, The Arabic Plant Names of Peter Forsskål’s flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica (Copenhagen, 2010).

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nineteen students of the great Swedish botanist, Carl Linnaeus, sometimes attached individually as a kind of one-person scientific team to various exploratory and commercial ventures that touched many parts of the globe, were experimenting with a new kind of scientific travel.11 Peter Forsskål, the naturalist for the Danish expedition, was one of Linnaeus’ most capable students. In this setting of scientific exploration and travel the Danish expedition provides opportunities for comparative analysis with other expeditions of this era and particularly distinguishes itself. It assembled a multi-disciplinary team of scholars who prepared specifically for the trip, and the role of the university as an institution in the expedition is particularly noteworthy and precedent setting. It was not predominantly ship-based, nor in the field part of a European military presence or other manifestation of European power. Its findings were unusually broad and scientifically rigorous. Indeed because there is no evidence that territorial, military, commercial or proselytizing objectives were behind its sponsorship, it has been called by some the first modern, purely scientific or scholarly expedition in history.12 It is precisely its essentially scientific or scholarly character that has led some scholars to see the Danish expedition as a prime example of what Mary Louise Pratt has articulated as the Enlightenment’s “anti-conquest conquest” of non-European lands through the phenomenon of European scientific travel. Exploring the relationship between scientific research and European imperialism, she argues that what is notable about such travel is that “within its innocence the naturalist’s quest does embody … an image of conquest and possession.”13 Then utilizing Pratt’s analysis the expedition has been described by other scholars as “an ideological exercise in domination.”14 Our examination of the Danish Arabian journey as a case study of 18th Century exploration concludes that this is an incorrect characterization of the expedition. It simply does not present most of the essential elements of Pratt’s thesis. As the obliteration of local language and culture is a central consequence of scientific travel according to Pratt, the expedition by way of contrast, in its method11 For the students of Linnaeus see the important multi-volume project, The Linnaeus Apostles. Global Science and Adventure, edited by Lars Hansen, 8 vols. in 11 (London, 2009–2012), which has published in English translation the scientific foreign travel journals of the students of Linnaeus. 12 See Wiesehöfer and Conermann, Preface, and Lohmeier, “Carsten Niebuhr. Ein Leben im Zeichen der Arabischen Reise,” both Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 11 and 17 respectively. Also see Hanno Beck, Alexander von Humboldt, 2 vols. (Wiesbaden, 1959–1961), I: 3 and 85. 13 Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes. Travel Writing and Transculturation, 2nd ed. (London, 2008), 55, and see especially Chapters 3 and 4. She does not specifically reference the Danish Expedition, but is especially interested in the scientific travel inspired by Linnaeus. 14 Jonathan Sheehan, The Enlightenment Bible. Translation, Scholarship, Culture (Princeton, 2005), 197; and Jonathan M. Hess, “Johann David Michaelis and the Colonial Imaginary: Orientalism and the Emergence of Racial Antisemitism in Eighteenth-Century Germany,” Jewish Social Studies 6 (2000): 80. This article also comprises Chapter Two in his Germans, Jews and the Claims of Modernity (New Haven, 2002), and see specifically 78.

introduction

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ologies of investigation, and its written accounts and findings, is notable for its retention of local language usage, its acknowledgment of local inhabitants as the sources for its information and its respect for rural peoples and cultures. The expedition also was a quintessential endeavor of the Enlightenment in Northern Europe, integrating different intellectual developments that were taking place in Germany, Denmark and Sweden. As a historical concept the meaning of the Enlightenment is much debated, and a discussion of that debate is well beyond the scope of this study.15 But briefly within that discussion, an examination of both the experience and the intellectual products of the expedition supports a pluralistic view both of scientific exploration as an activitiy and institutional manifestation of the Enlightenment process, and of the Enlightenment itself in a broader context. At the same time it also exhibits some of the core beliefs identified typically with the Enlightenment such as a robust curiosity about the wider world in its many dimensions, empiricism, religious toleration, cosmopolitanism, opposition to oppression and respect for human dignity. More specifically, the expedition pursued three broad lines of inquiry that were especially representative of the Enlightenment project – namely in neologist biblical philology, geography broadly defined (that is including navigational astronomy, cartography and cultural geography) and the natural sciences, principally botany and zoology. It also reflected broad shifts in the nature of European inquiry about the non-European world, especially regarding the notions of curiosity, open-mindedness and the character of cultural description. For example, in their important work, Wonders and the Order of Nature, 1150– 1750, Lorraine Daston and Katherine Park identified the disaggregation in the Eighteenth Century of the notions of “curiosity” and “wonder”, terms whose integration was so characteristic of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. 16 They argue that “wonder,” “the marvelous,” or “the miraculous” were relegated as concepts to the quaint, the unsophisticated, or even the vulgar in the emerging intellectual environment of the 18th Century. “Curiosity,” in their view, now stood alone, but was changed in meaning, losing its aspect of “delight.” Now it focused, according to David Hume in his A Treatise of Human Nature (1739–40), on “the love of truth,” and was characterized in the words of the Encyclopédie as “continuous work and 15 There are numerous discussions of the changing landscape of historical interpretation of the Enlightenment. Some of the ones that I have found useful are the thoughtful essays in Keith Michael Baker and Peter Hanns Reill, eds., What’s left of enlightenment? A post modern question (Stanford, 2001); and the summary discussions in John Robertson, The Case for the Enlightenment. Scotland and Naples 1680–1760 (Cambridge, 2005), 1–28; Charles W. J. Withers, Placing the Enlightenment. Thinking Geographically about the Age of Reason (Chicago, 2007), 25–41 (especially relevant for this study); and Dorinda Outram, The Enlightenment, 2nd Edition (Cambridge, 2005), 1–10. 16 See Lorraine Daston and Katherine Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature, 1150–1750 (New York, 1998), 13–20. This point is also developed in the essay by Michael Harbsmeier, “Orientreisen im 18. Jahrhundert,” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 64–66.

22

introduction

application.” Inquiry was now based on a “diligent curiosity”.17 It had become systematized and sober. For example, Forsskål, we know, was much influenced by the philosophy of Hume. In short, the Danish expedition demonstrates the validity of this analysis and brings out its nuances in some detail. The scholarly investigations of Peter Forsskål and Carsten Niebuhr are a striking example of precisely what is meant by “diligent curiosity.” Some of these developments are seen particularly in the encounters of Europeans with the cultures of Asia. As was the case with the Danish expedition, a variety of disciplines were used by European visitors to further what Jürgen Osterhammel has called being “freed from enchantment” with Asia in the 18th Century, by which he meant a sort of demystification of the mature cultures of the region in the minds of Europeans. According to Osterhammel, this was a time-specific development that occurred during the second half of the 18th Century in Europe. It was characterized by a kind of straightforward, non-embellished, but detailed, pre-orientalist (in the sense of Edward Said) approach to describing and understanding Middle Eastern and Asian societies. It was a period when some of the disciplines mentioned previously were used frequently by practitioners for whom cosmopolitanism and a degree of open mindedness were meaningful elements in their perspective on other cultures, by individuals to whom the “ambivalence of Entzauberung was clear and who sought to place the intrinsic harmony and conflict of cultures in a rational relationship to each other.”18 In this context, the Danish expedition and the character of its cross-cultural encounters and Niebuhr’s accounts provide a clear, rich and instructive supporting example of Osterhammel’s overall thesis. Finally, during this period Copenhagen had close ties to other intellectual centers in Northern Europe such as Uppsala and Göttingen, and was especially influenced by cultural developments taking place in Germany. Thus the expedition not only brought together members from Denmark, Germany and Sweden, it also integrated and parallels intellectual and academic developments that were taking place in the region. It provides a prism through which to see the operation of vigorous networks of intellectual exchange between localities such as Göttingen and Copenhagen, as well the evolving character of various disciplines from botany, marine biology and navigational astronomy to philology, cultural geography and ethnography, in the second half of the 18th Century in Northern Europe. It presents us with periodic glimpses characteristic of the beginning of the Late Enlightenment, of the tension, notably, but not exclusively, in cultural studies between the identification of the universal and the importance, or validity of the particular. In the history of the expedition these processes play out in a specific geographic region – predominantly the Arab lands, the Islamic societies of the Middle East. The deployment of these disciplines enabled the expedition to present knowledge and perspec17 Daston and Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature, 326–328, and 355. 18 Jürgen Osterhammel, Die Entzauberung Asiens, Europa und die asiatischen Reiche im 18. Jahrhundert (Munich, 1998), 13. There is also a new edition (Munich, 2010).

introduction

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tives on the lands and peoples of the Middle East that were new to Europe and of great importance in the 18th Century. They have been valued highly down to the present time. Fortunately, a rich documentary record exists of both the prehistory and the actual course of the Expedition. Thus this study is able to describe in detail the origins of the venture and to appreciate the realities encountered in trying to carry out a scientific enterprise of this nature in the Middle East during the 18th Century. The challenges faced by these scholars were not trivial, and in the end the expedition saw much tragedy. But the human story of investigation is a remarkable one and the encounters with the peoples and physical environments of the Middle East and India are filled with many experiences that are memorable and instructive. To summarize, the study has several purposes. In the most general sense, it presents an integrated account and analysis of the expedition based on the author’s research in the archival collections located in Copenhagen, Göttingen, Kiel, Berlin and Meldorf, as well as the work of scholars in a wide variety of fields.19 More specifically, it places the idea of the expedition within the context of European intellectual developments during the Enlightenment. Second, it aims to bring alive the actual phenomenon of exploration as experienced by the expedition’s members, based in particular on the use of the expedition’s manuscript records, correspondence, journals and field notebooks. Third, it takes the science of the expedition seriously, and presents the findings of the journey in all of its fields of inquiry, defining their significance in the 18th Century. Finally, it analyzes the expedition’s distinctive features and comparative place in the wider discussion of European scientific exploration and cultural inquiry. Thus the book has a simple structure that flows from these purposes. 19 The most important documents are in the Rigsarkiv, in Copenhagen. The main collection is contained in three cases under the title: Tyske Kancelli. Udenrigske Afdeling-Arkiv 301. Almindelig Del III, Nrs. 3–003, 3–004, and 3–005. These will be cited as RaK (Rigsarkivet København), AR (Arabiske Rejse). Also important is the correspondence of the embassy in Constantinople. See Tyske Kancelli Udenrigske Afdeling. Topografisk henlagte saager: Tyrkiet, especially Cartons 8, 9, 10, 13, 14, 16 and 18. These are cited as RaK, Tyrkiet. The materials in the archives of the Niedersächsische Staats-und Universitäts-Bibliothek in Göttingen are essential for an understanding of the prehistory of the expedition. The archive holds the private papers of Johann David Michaelis, as well as other important correspondence. All of these materials are cited as NSuUG. The Library of the Christian-Albrechts Universität in Kiel is the depository for most of Niebuhr’s private papers. These are collected in five cartons under Nachlass Carsten Niebuhr. The Nachlass includes fragments of his journals for the expedition, the drafts and research for his publications, and correspondence. These are cited as UB (Universitäts-Bibliothek) Kiel. Also the Archive of the Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften holds many of Niebuhr’s family papers as well as a collection of his scholarly works after he returned from Arabia. This is housed in 38 files under Nachlass C. Niebuhr. All of these materials are cited as BBAW. Finally, the archives of the Dithmarscher Landesmuseum in Meldorf contain the only original copy of the Royal Instructions for the expedition, as well as some of Niebuhr’s instruments and a variety of other materials relevant to the topic.

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The first chapter analyzes the genesis of the expedition and the preparations for it. This discussion is about ideas and people. It introduces the expedition’s protagonists and lays out the three initial lines of Enlightenment scholarly inquiry (philology, geography and the natural sciences) that shape the research agenda of the expedition. Chapters Two and Three tell the story of the expedition itself. Drawing on letters, reports and diaries it tries to capture the actual experiences of the members as they learned about the peoples of the Middle East and did their scientific work. These two chapters, which form the heart of the book, will be of special interest to readers most intrigued by the saga of exploration. Chapter Four evaluates the scholarly accomplishments of the expedition in the three main arenas of inquiry, mentioned above, and adds as a fourth category, archeology and paleography which emerged organically in the course of the expedition by virtue of the personalities and events of the expedition, supplanting philology in importance. Integrating the personal experience with the scientific findings, the study concludes in its final chapter with analysis of the expedition within the context of a cluster of related interpretive issues and questions mentioned earlier in this introduction. These include comparing the Danish expedition to other scientific expeditions in the 18th Century to better understand what makes it important and distinctive. Our comparative analysis focuses in particular on the voyages of James Cook, the most famous example of scientific exploration in the 18th Century. This discussion leads naturally to examining in the context of the Danish expedition, the question of the relationship of Enlightenment scientific inquiry, as seen in the phenomenon of European scientific exploration, to European imperialism. Next, using the expedition and Niebuhr as the context, the chapter explores the nature of European inquiry from several perspectives – the changing character of curiosity, the momentary emergence of a more open-minded, less Eurocentric approach to the investigation of Asia, and the issue of orientalism. It also looks at the alignment of the expedition’s multi-disciplinary field research with the evolving landscape of a variety of disciplines of inquiry during the later decades of the Enlightenment in Northern Europe, and ends with a brief analysis of the notions of universalism, pluralism and cultural interpretation as seen in the thinking of Herder and Niebuhr. As 2011 marked the 250th Anniversary of the beginning of the trip, and 2015 is the 200th Anniversary of the death of Carsten Niebuhr, perhaps this is an appropriate time to reflect upon the work of Niebuhr and his fellow adventurers, and of those who conceived and supported this pioneering scientific endeavor.

Chapter One

The Idea of the Expedition: “Benefit for the World of Scholarship”

I

n 1756, Johann David Michaelis, the young professor of philosophy at the University of Göttingen, decided to pursue the idea he had first raised in his speech to the Königliche Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften in Göttingen. In a letter written in May of that year to Johann Hartwig Ernst Freiherr von Bernstorff, the Foreign Minister of Denmark-Norway, he outlined his proposal for how Denmark could make an important contribution to biblical scholarship. He suggested that the King sponsor the sending of a scholar, fluent in Arabic, to Yemen to undertake research in biblical philology, the natural sciences and geography. The trip would be an especially “distinctive” opportunity for Denmark as Yemen heretofore had been ignored by scholars because they could not speak Arabic. The proposed scholar, he added, could be inexpensively based out of the Danish trading and missionary settlement at Tharangambadi (Tranquebar), on the Coromandel Coast of India. The resulting scholarly work would not only be of the greatest value to theology, but would also contribute to the broader understanding of the natural sciences, and in this way would bring fame to the Danish nation. Included in his letter was a related request for several years of support from the Danish crown for two students from the Danish-Norwegian Kingdom studying oriental philology under Michaelis in Göttingen. This support would enable them to master Arabic, and to then come to Copenhagen to help train a scholar to undertake the voyage to Arabia, or perhaps even to embark on such a journey themselves. The students were Jens Henrik Ström from Norway and Frederik Christian

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von Haven from Denmark.1 Bernstorff replied on August 3, 1756, and much to Michaelis’ satisfaction, he agreed to help obtain support for the two students, and concurred that sending someone “who was already fluent in Arabic to Tharangambadi and from there to Arabia could produce nothing but benefit for the world of scholarship.”2 He asked Michaelis to submit a fully developed proposal which he indicated he would consider sympathetically. Thus was set in motion a nearly five year process of planning and preparation that would end in the departure of a team of scholars to the Middle East, fully supported by the Danish crown. This chapter explores the idea of the expedition in some detail because it is in the elaboration of that idea that its numerous and specific connections to major threads of Enlightenment inquiry are made clear and the origins of distinct features of the expedition are identified. Michaelis’ Proposal: Arabia and the Search for Meaning in the Bible

B

uoyed by Bernstorff ’s encouraging response, Michaelis quickly crafted a twenty-page outline of the project which he sent to Bernstorff on August 3 30, 1756. This proposal encapsulates the initial orientation of the subsequent Arabian Expedition. First, Michaelis set forth a number of prerequisites for the success of the venture. The scholar must have a thorough knowledge of both academic and colloquial Arabic upon arrival. He needed to be well versed in many fields – botany, paleontology, oriental and biblical philology, travel literature on the Middle East, celestial navigation, mathematics, cartography and geography. Above all he should understand how the language and customs of Arabia could be used to explain the Old Testament. Michaelis acknowledged it might be difficult to find such a person, but fortunately one of the very students he had mentioned to Bernstorff, Ström, had the ability to take on the assignment. Michaelis suggested that if Ström had “two years time and support, and studied hard, without a break, in these disciplines, then he would be the best candidate that one could hope for.”4 Michaelis also seized the opportunity to try to expand the effort slightly by proposing the addition of an assistant who could illustrate and also knew Arabic. As added insurance such a person could retain the papers and other records of the trip in case the principal participant died. To make sure the effort was supported with the appropriate scholarly resources, he recommended that the expedition be equipped with a small number 1 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 20 May 1756, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 1a-b. 2 Bernstorff to Michaelis, 3 August 1756, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 211. Also Ström to Michaelis, 18 May 1756, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 329, Bl. 178–179; and Ström to Michaelis, 7 August 1756, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 329, Bl. 180–181. 3 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 30 August 1756, 2 Drafts, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 212–230. 4 Ibid., Bl. 213.

michaelis’ proposal:

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of books, such as Samuel Bochart’s Hierozoicon, the famous treatise on biblical zoology, and Olof Celsius’ study of the plants of the Bible, his Hierobotanicon, as well as excerpts from books in Arabic on botany and geography.5 With this introduction he proceeded to set forth the objectives of the trip. The first goal was to provide better information on the plants and fossils of Yemen to European scholars. Biblical scholars, he noted, were constantly hindered in their work by their inability to properly identify the many plants referred to in the Old Testament. Here the linguistic relatedness of Arabic to Hebrew provided a useful mechanism for addressing this problem. “Hebrew and Arabic,” he wrote with considerable exaggeration, “were just different dialects of the same language, and despite the great span of time there was still spoken in Arabia a language that was more closely related to ancient Hebrew than, for example, Upper Saxon was to Lower Saxon.”6 Thus, following Michaelis’ reasoning, contemporary Arabic provided a marvelous opportunity to identify almost all of the names of plants in the Bible. However, as Arabian botanists tended to describe plants according to their medicinal use, not their botanical classification, it was important in order to be consistent to obtain proper botanical descriptions according to current systems of classification, such as those of Linnaeus or von Haller, supplemented with preserved specimens and illustrations. Conducted in this careful manner, the field work would be of great value to those studying the textual history of the Bible. The second goal was to describe as fully as possible the customs and general way of life of the people of Yemen. This also was driven by his interest in the historical context of the Bible, for he wrote “it would be hard to find a people whose customs have remained unchanged for so long as the Arabs. This is because they were never conquered by other nations. Based on what we know, their customs appear to match so closely the oldest customs of the Israelites that they provide for rich and bright elucidations into the Bible.”7 He was especially intrigued by the huts and tents of Bedouins who lived in the desert, and how knowledge of them might help to better interpret the many places in the Bible that make reference to structures and nomadic life. He was also interested in any special linguistic charac5 See Samuel Bochart, Hierozoicon sive bipartitum opus animalibus sacrae scripturae, 2 vols. (London, 1663), and Olof Celsius, Hierobotanicon, sive de plantis sacrae scripturae (Uppsala, 1745–1747). 6 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 30 August 1756, 2 Drafts, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 214. The classification of the Semitic Languages by subgroup has been the subject of some disagreement over time. But the consensus is that the Central Semitic subgroup includes the languages, not dialects, of Canaanite (and subsequently Biblical Hebrew), Classical Arabic, Old Aramaic and perhaps Epigraphic South Arabian. See Robert Hetzron, “La Division des Languages Sémitiques,” in Actes du Premier Congrès International de Linguistique Sémitique et Chamito-Sémitiques, Paris 16–19 juillet 1969, ed. André Caquot and David Cohen (The Hague, 1974), 181–194; Aaron D. Rubin, Studies in Semitic Grammaticalization (Winona Lake, 2005), esp. Chapter 2, “Classification of Semitic,” pp. 11–16; and Rainer M. Voigt, “The Classification of Central Semitic,” Semitic Studies 32 (1987): 1–21. 7 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 30 August 1756, 2 drafts, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 214–215.

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teristics of the Arabic spoken in Yemen that would shed new light on the vocabulary of the Bible. Third, the expedition should gather as much geographical data as possible. Geographical studies by Arab scholars, he asserted, were very incomplete. For example, little was known of the Red Sea coasts and of the Red Sea itself. Better knowledge of the area would help to resolve the controversy over the conditions in the Red Sea at the time of the exodus of the Israelites. “Exact information on not whether there are tides, but on the extent of the tides, could settle this dispute once and for all.”8 The fourth goal was to obtain historical information about Yemen, particularly about different Arab sects that may have existed over time. History reveals the soul or spirit of a people, Michaelis wrote, and thus his interest focused again on early Jewish and Christian communities that may have lived in the area. Discovering their rules and regulations would help, in particular, the understanding of Mosaic Law. The fifth and last goal was to purchase or copy significant works in Arabic on history, the natural sciences and geography. Poetry was of special value because it most authentically retained the old values of a people. Copies of the Bible in Greek and Hebrew would also be valuable. Having outlined the main goals of the trip, Michaelis turned his attention to operational issues. First, the expedition must have a formal Instruction, which set forth the purpose of the endeavor and the responsibilities of the scholar. The participant was to send regular reports to Europe on his findings, keep a careful journal of his travels and send it to Europe periodically as well. Finally, Michaelis suggested a kind of scholarly dialog from afar that would focus on resolving specific academic questions. He proposed gathering questions from scholars in oriental philology which, in turn, were to be incorporated into the instructions and then would direct the detailed work of the scholar. Then, especially if the length of the trip was sufficient (he proposed three years, but was hoping for five), the investigator in the field would send back his answers to the relevant experts, these would be evaluated for accuracy and completeness, and new or revised questions would be transmitted back to further guide the work in the field. Regarding this interesting innovation, he discussed various options for basing the scholar on a seasonal basis out of Tharangambadi, which would reduce the cost of the trip, and provide for the regular exchange of correspondence with Europe. He also suggested the idea of assigning a physician from the missionary settlement to initially support the work of the scholar. Doctors were valued throughout the Middle East, he wrote, and would help the scholar safely gain entry to the community. Above all, he emphasized that the scholar must be energetic and well-prepared. He had to learn to speak the language fluently, gather all the specified information, record it carefully using the correct Arabic letters, and answer the questions posed by scholars. This was not to be a lackadaisical trip, but one requiring dedication and commitment. He was aware that the trip would be demanding and that the scholar 8 Ibid, Bl. 215–216.

michaelis’ proposal:

29

might not survive. He concluded with a discussion of the cost of the trip to the King of Denmark-Norway, which he estimated at 2,000–3,000 Reichsthalers, depending on the length of the stay. Obviously he added, it made sense that “the nation, whose king is supporting this journey, should get the acclaim that would derive from it,” and it would be best if the person selected came from the Danish Kingdom.9 One month later, Bernstorff replied to Michaelis’ proposal, “I have the pleasure to report that the King has fully approved your very intelligently crafted proposal for a trip to Yemen, and in view of your good recommendation, has selected the student Ström for it.” Bernstorff concluded that the King wished to add an “industrious and intelligent botanist” to work with Ström on the trip, and he asked Michaelis to identify such a person. Ström was directed to return immediately to Göttingen to begin his studies under the guidance of Michaelis for as long as necessary to fully prepare him for the journey. Bernstorff also asked Michaelis to undertake all of the preparations necessary to move the project along successfully.10 Thus began the Danish minister’s intense involvement in the project, and during the next four years it resulted in a supporting correspondence with Michaelis of over 50 letters, with numerous attached documents. All of the communications were conducted by mail. There is no evidence they ever met face-to-face. Michaelis’ proposal to Bernstorff determined the fundamental character and initial focus of the expedition. As Michaelis wrote in his memoirs, its purpose was scholarship. It was not to have any missionary intent. And although it was, as he later wrote, “a very small project that soon grew under Bernstorff ’s hand,”11 Michaelis was, without a doubt, its intellectual father. Given the central role that Michaelis would now play in crafting the details of the expedition, and that it was through him, and his association with Göttingen, that the intellectual environment of the German Enlightenment exerted its influence on the character of the expedition, it is important to know more about him as a scholar, and about the University in Göttingen as an institution. In the same vein, it is essential to understand why Michaelis suggested this idea to the Danish government, and not to his own in Hanover, and equally important to appreciate why Bernstorff recommended approval of this obscure project to King Frederik V, for it is through these avenues that intellectual developments in Denmark and Sweden were brought to bear upon the expedition.

9 Ibid., Bl. 220. 10 Bernstorff to Michaelis, 2 October 1756, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 231–232. 11 Johann David Michaelis, Lebensbeschreibung von ihm selbst abgefasst (Leipzig, 1793), 65–67.

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Johann David Michaelis and the Georgia Augusta University in Göttingen

A

t the peak of his career, in the middle of the 18th Century, Johann David Michaelis was considered one of the foremost biblical scholars and specialists in ancient near eastern languages in Europe. Some of the scholarly questions that occupied him throughout his long career were apparent during his education and subsequent early years in Göttingen, and these in turn had a direct influence on determining the specific elements or characteristics of the Danish Expedition.12 As one historian of the German Enlightenment has written, “The most potent and deeply ingrained set of symbols for the Aufklärers was still the biblical. As sons of pastors, teachers, professors, and merchants, the Aufklärers were brought up on the Bible and stories from it.”13 This was certainly true for Michaelis. Both his great-uncle and his father were professors of theology and oriental languages at the University of Halle and both played important roles in the pietistic institutions in Halle that prepared young theologians for missionary work.14 Thus Michaelis grew up in an environment that was permeated by biblical scholarship, and this subject, plus oriental languages, was the focus of his studies at the university there. Upon reflection, he considered his education to be traditional and his religious beliefs to 12 For an overview of Michaelis’ entire career see the excellent studies of Anna-Ruth Löwenbrück, including “Johann David Michaelis’ Verdienst um die philologisch-historische Bibelkritik,” in Historische Kritik und biblischer Kanon in der deutschen Aufklärung, ed. Henning Graf Reventlow, Walter Sparn and John Woodbridge (Wiesbaden, 1988), 157–170; “Johann David Michaelis et les débuts de la critique biblique,” in La siècle des Lumières et la Bible, ed. Yvon Belavel and Dominique Bourel (Paris, 1986), 113–128; and her more comprehensive work, Judenfeindschaft im Zeitalter der Aufklärung. Eine Studie zur Vorgeschichte des modernen Antisemitismus am Beispiel des Göttinger Theologen und Orientalisten Johann David Michaelis (1717–1791) (Frankfurt am Main, 1995). Also see the thorough review by Ulrich Hübner, “Johann David Michaelis und die Arabien-Expedition 1761–1767,” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 364–376. 13 Peter Hanns Reill, The German Enlightenment and the Rise of Historicism (Berkeley, 1975), 77. 14 Michaelis’ great-uncle was Johann Heinrich Michaelis (1668–1738), who, in addition to his work at the University, was director of the Collegium orientale theologium, founded by the great pietist August Hermann Francke as part of his famous Waisenhaus. The institute offered instruction in Chaldean, Syriac, Arabic, Ethiopian and Persian. As director, J. H. Michaelis led a team of thirteen scholars who worked from 1702–1720 to produce the first critical edition of the Old Testament in Germany, his Biblia Hebraica. J. D. Michaelis’ father was Christian Benedikt Michaelis (1680–1764), who worked at the Institutum Judaicum with its founder, Johann Heinrich Callenberg. It trained theological students to work as missionaries, especially in Jewish communities. See Dominique Bourel, “Die deutsche Orientalistik im 18. Jahrhundert. Von der Mission zur Wissenschaft,” in Historische Kritik und biblischer Kanon in der deutschen Aufklärung, ed. Reventlow, Sparn and Woodbridge, 116; Christoph Bochinger, “Arabischstudien und Islamkunde im Hallenser Pietismus des 18. Jhs.,” in Annäherung an das Fremde, ed. Holger Preissler und Heidi Stein (Stuttgart, 1998), 47–54; and Hendrik Budde and Mondechay Lewy, eds., Halle – ein Zentrum der Palaestinakunde im 18. und 19. Jahrhunderts (Halle, 1994), esp. 10–11, 49–50, and 52–53.

johann david michaelis and the georgia augusta university

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be unsettled by the time he finished his education in 1740.15 However, after completing his dissertations (he did two of them), he was exposed to a number of new developments in biblical scholarship and as a result, certain features of his proposal to Bernstorff reflect specific intellectual experiences during this period, 1740–1756. For example, his selection of Yemen as the destination for the expedition, and his discussion of the relationship of biblical Hebrew to Arabic come directly from his meeting at the University of Leiden with the Dutch scholar Albert Schultens. Schultens was the first to unequivocally define Hebrew as a semitic language, and to argue that Arabic, as the most pure of the semitic languages, offered the best new path for the grammatical and lexicographical investigation of ancient Hebrew.16 Yemen made particular sense because it was thought that the interior of Yemen was the most isolated populated region in Arabia and the Arabic spoken there would be the least altered from biblical times. In that same sense, exposure to English theologians during a visit to Oxford opened Michaelis to the importance of broader, more contextual approaches to biblical interpretation and introduced him to the significance of sacred Hebrew poetry.17 Thus, in Michaelis’ proposal Yemen was important because the isolation of its highlands might have preserved language usage and a way of life that more closely resembled the way people lived in biblical times. Research there could inform a better understanding of the historical context of the bible. His emphasis on the importance of tales, fables and poetry, and his desire to acquire more specimens of Arab poetry supported this same objective.18 All of this reflected his more highly developed interest in historical analysis. As he later wrote in his memoirs, although he concentrated on theology and oriental languages at the University of Halle, “History actually would have been my favorite subject.”19 A number of scholars have called Michaelis a Neologist, that is a thinker of the Enlightenment who according to Peter Hanns Reill, “sought to redefine the nature of Christian and religious belief with the aid of historical analysis.” Neologists tried 15 Michaelis, Lebensbeschreibung, 1–20. 16 Hans-Joachim Kraus, Geschichte der historisch-kritischen Erforschung des Alten Testaments, 3rd ed. (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1982), 81–82; and Rudolf Smend, “Johann David Michaelis und Johann Gottfried Eichhorn – zwei Orientalisten am Rande der Theologie,” in Theologie in Göttingen, ed. Bernd Möller (Göttingen, 1987), 65. Schultens, however, was incorrect on a number of points. See the critique by Johann Fück, Die Arabischen Studien in Europa bis in den Anfang des 20. Jahrhunderts (Leipzig, 1955), 105–107. 17 See Löwenbrück, “Johann David Michaelis’ Verdienst um die philologisch-historische Bibelkritik,” 159–160, esp. n. 21; and Bourel, “Die deutsche Orientalistik im 18. Jahrhundert,” 118, esp. n. 18. 18 For a more detailed discussion of this topic see, Jacques Ryckmans, “Biblical and Old South Arabian Institutions: Some Parallels,” in, Arabian and Islamic Studies. Articles presented to R. B. Serjeant on the occasion of his retirement from the Sir Thomas Adams’s Chair of Arabic at the University of Cambridge, ed. R. L. Bidwell and G. R. Smith (London, 1983), 14–25. 19 Michaelis, Lebensbeschreibungen, 17.

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to apply “all of the historical and philological tools at their disposal in an effort to understand the religious and social milieu in which the Old and New Testaments were composed.”20 Michaelis’ entire career was dedicated to this task. More recently, his scholarly work and the Danish Expedition, as one of his brainchilds, have been revisited in three related contexts: first, his central role in crafting “The Enlightenment Bible,” variously described as “The Cultural Bible” or the “Modern Academic Bible;”21 second, his participation, somewhat more broadly defined in what has been called the development of the “Science of Culture” in the second half of the Eighteenth Century;22 and third, his contribution to the 18th Century origins of anti-semitism in Germany.23 All three are substantial topics about which scholars have developed differing interpretations. But except as some of these relate to interpretations of the expedition itself, they are beyond the scope of this study. However, certainly the mobilization of a wide range of disciplines, some in their infancy, to examine the dimensions of culture, as described thoughtfully by Michael Carhart, is important to understanding the context of Michaelis’ proposal. In the same sense, Michaelis’ attempt to revivify the Bible as a literary and philosophical artifact of a hypothesized classical ancient Israelite civilization, manifested in his thinking about the Arabian trip, helps to define more precisely the theoretical basis for the expedition. Certainly, Michaelis cannot be discussed separately from his multidisciplinary approach to the study of the Bible. As Michael Legaspi concluded, “The growth and unification of these disciplines – ethnography, history, comparative Semitics, textual science, and biblical poetics – constitute the durable legacy of Michaelis. Anyone who has studied the Bible at a modern university will recognize the success of Michaelis’ methodological achievement.”24 As the overwhelming majority of Michaelis’ seminal works were written and published after 1756, we cannot necessarily argue that the themes set forth in them appear directly in the proposal for the trip to Yemen. However we can certainly see his emerging approach to biblical scholarship and we can identify the influence of that approach on the initial plan for the trip. In a way, the proposal of August 30, 1756, was a presen-

20 Reill, The German Enlightenment, 44. Also see Löwenbrück, “Johann David Michaelis’ Verdienst um die philologisch-historische Bibelkritik,” 170. On his deployment of philological tools see, Kraus, Geschichte der historisch-kritischen Erforschung des Alten Testaments, 98. Also see Marie Rosa Antognazza, “Revealed Religion: The Continental European Debate,” in The Cambridge History of Eighteenth-Century Philosophy, vol. 2, ed. Knud Haakonssen (Cambridge, 2006), 673– 676. 21 Sheehan, The Enlightenment Bible; and the very interesting study by Michael C. Legaspi., The Death of Scripture and the Rise of Biblical Studies (Oxford, 2010). 22 Michael C. Carhart, The Science of Culture in Enlightenment Germany (Cambridge, 2007). 23 See especially, Löwenbrück, Judenfeindschaft im Zeitalter der Aufklärung, and Hess, Germans, Jews and the Claims of Modernity. 24 Legaspi, The Death of Scripture, 165.

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timent of his later scholarship, and contextually articulates the role of an important dimension of Enlightenment philological inquiry in the genesis of the expedition.25 A discussion of Michaelis’ work naturally leads us to the context spatially in which much of his thinking took place, namely the newly established Georgia Augusta University in Göttingen. There is no doubt that the Danish Expedition bears the imprint of the pedagogic and scholarly characteristics of this institution. The proposal’s emphasis on direct field work and the deployment of many scientific disciplines derived from both the character of the University and Michaelis’ own role at it. Founded in 1737, Göttingen was, until the establishment of the University of Berlin, Germany’s most progressive institution of higher education.26 Its founder and first Curator, Gerlach Adolf Freiherr von Münchhausen, was determined to create a University which emphasized a wide range of scientific and practical disciplines, such as Medicine, Law and the Staatswissenschaften, free from the domination of the theological faculty. His primary goals were to establish a University of which the Electorate of Hanover could be proud and an institution which would effectively train the future officials of the state. Professors were given wide latitude to pursue their research interests unrestricted by departmental affiliation. As Charles McClelland has pointed out, “Göttingen’s freedom to think, write and publish was unsurpassed in Germany.”27 Many Professors worked in different disciplines simultaneously. Because of this multi-disciplinary freedom, their scholarly interests and student lectures ranged widely from physics, the natural sciences, chemistry, anatomy, and medicine to law, history, the Staatwissenschaften and geography. For example, Albrecht von Haller pursued the fields of medicine, the natural 25 For his most important works, see especially his Mosaisches Recht, 6 vols. (Frankfurt am Mayn, 1770–1775), Deutsche Übersetzung des Alten Testaments mit Anmerkungen für Ungelehrte, 13 vols. (Göttingen, 1769–1785), and his own journal, the Orientalische und Exegetische Bibliothek, 24 vols. (Frankfurt am Mayn, 1771–1785). 26 For the history of the University during this period see the standard work by Götz von Selle, Die Georg-August-Universität zu Göttingen, 1737–1937 (Göttingen, 1937), 5–128. Michaelis is discussed on pp. 84–92. Also see Hans-Günther Schlotter, Die Geschichte der Verfassung und der Fachbereiche der Georg-August-Universität zu Göttingen (Göttingen, 1994); Gerhard Lutz, “Geographie und Statistik im 18. Jahrhundert. Zu Neugliederung und Inhalten von ‘Fächern’ im Bereich der historischen Wissenschaften,” in Statistik und Staatsbeschreibung in der Neuzeit, vornehmlich in 16.–18. Jahrhundert, ed. Mohammed Rassem and Justin Stagl (Paderborn, 1980), 249–263; and Anne Saada, “Die Universität Göttingen. Traditionen und Innovationen gelehrter Praktiken,” in Die Wissenschaft vom Menschen in Göttingen um 1800. Wissenschaftliche Praktiken, institutionelle Geographie, europäische Netzweke, ed. Hans Erich Bödeker, Phillipe Büttgen and Michel Espagne (Göttingen, 2008), 23–46. In 1756, the University had about 600 students and 50 members of the faculty, Rudolf Vierhaus, “Göttingen vom Ende des Dreißigjährigen Krieges bis zur Zeit der Französischen Revolution und Napoleons,” in Göttingen: Geschichte eine Universitätsstadt, Vol. 2, ed. Ernst Böhme and Rudolf Vierhaus, (Göttingen, 2002), 31. Also see the discussion on Göttingen in Charles E. McClelland, State, society and university in Germany 1700–1914 (Cambridge, 1980), esp. 34–57; and Legaspi, The Death of Scripture, 27–78. 27 McClelland, State, Society and University in Germany, 39.

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sciences (especially botany), and literature. This was not unusual. These disciplines were supported by a University Library that received substantial resources and by the end of the 18th Century had grown to become one of the most important scholarly libraries in Europe with 133,000 volumes.28In addition, some Professors such as Gottfred Achenwall (law, economics, history and Statistik) and von Haller pioneered the practice of taking students on field trips to gather botanical specimens, develop their skills of observation or to experience directly certain activities, such as mining.29 At a different level, the establishment of the Königliche Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, connected the University with other scientific and scholarly societies throughout Europe, institutions which, as we know, played a dramatic and dynamic role in the dissemination of scientific information and the exchange of ideas in the 18th Century.30 The creation of the Göttingische Anzeigen von gelehrten Sachen, which became one of Europe’s leading scholarly journals, added to the University’s prestige and connections in Europe.31 Thus in the broadest sense, Göttingen was especially conducive to the spawning of a multidisciplinary field expedition to the Middle East. It was a locality of Enlightenment activity, or a “center of calculation,” in Bruno Latour’s sense, connected dynamically to a network of other localities in Northern Europe, such as Copenhagen, Uppsala and Halle, and beyond to Europe as a whole.32 28 See Graham Jefcoate, “Die Göttinger Universitätsbibliothek und die Beziehungen zwischen Hannover und Grossbritannien im 18. Jahrhundert,” in “Eine Welt allein ist nicht genug,” Grossbritannien, Hannover und Göttingen 1714–1837, ed. Elmar Mittler (Göttingen, 2005), 342. Also see William Clark, Academic Charisma and the Origins of the Research University (Chicago, 2006), 316–325, for a good discussion of the importance of the Library. He quotes the size of the collection in 1800 as 200,000 volumes and calls it probably the largest academic library in the world at that time. See 317. 29 Reimer Eck, “Christlob Mylius und Carsten Niebuhr. Aus den Anfängen der Wissenschaftlichen Forschungsreise an der Universität Göttingen,” Göttinger Jahrbuch 1986 (Göttingen, 1986), 11–12. 30 Ludwig Hammermayer, “Akademiebewegung und Wissenschaftsorganisation. Formen, Tendenzen und Wandel in Europa während der zweiten Hälfte des 18. Jahrhunderts,” in Wissenschaftliche Gesellschaften, Akademien und Hochschulen im 18. und beginnenden 19. Jahrhundert, ed. Erik Amburger, Michal Ciesla and Laszlo Sziklay (Berlin, 1976), 1–84. The importance in the 18th Century of societies with a scientific focus is discussed in James E. McClellan III, Science Reorganized. Scientific Societies in the Eighteenth Century (New York, 1985). The Göttingen society and its close relationship with the University is described on pp. 114–116. For the Göttingen society specifically, see Rudolf Smend, “Die Göttinger Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften,” in Festschrift zur Feier des zweihundertjährigen Bestehens der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen (Berlin, 1951), v.–xix; and Otto Sonntag, “Albrecht von Haller on Academies and the Advancement of Science: The Case of Göttingen,” Annals of Science 32 (1975): 379–91. 31 Albrecht von Haller was its first editor. For an outstanding study of his connections see Martin Stuber, Stefan Hächter and Luc Lienhard, eds., Hallers Netz. Ein europäischer Gelehrtenbriefwechsel zur Zeit der Aufklärung. (Basel, 2005). 32 On this important point, see especially the stimulating study by Withers, Placing the Enlightenment, 9, 41–42 and 63–76.

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The potential influence of the institution on the expedition was made real through Michaelis, whose emerging role at Göttingen was as multifarious and energetic as any member of the faculty at that time.33 Appointed to the University in 1745 at the age of 28, he was quickly promoted to an Ordentlicher Professor of Philosophy in 1750. He liked to emphasize that he never was a Professor of Theology at Göttingen. In 1751, Albrecht von Haller asked him to be the Secretary of the Königliche Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, and in 1753 he became the Director and Editor of the Göttingische Anzeigen von gelehrten Sachen. In this dual capacity he was the focal point for submissions of scholarly materials from many disciplines at the University, and he corresponded with scholars throughout Europe, receiving books and articles in almost all fields of learning.34 Indeed it is likely that his idea of a scholarly conversation between the researcher in the field and scholars in Europe, as mentioned in the proposal, came from his experience as the editor of the journal and secretary of the Société. Today his personal archive in the Niedersächsische Staats- und Universitäts-Bibliothek in Göttingen is a mammoth collection of letters and scholarly papers. It documents his wide ranging interests, great curiosity and sometimes frenetic level of activity.35 Because of his responsibilities and inquiring nature, he followed research in the natural sciences, mathematics, astronomy (in which he took special interest), history, geography, Statistik, and, of course, his own fields of biblical philology and oriental languages. His interest in areas outside his own concentration caused one contemporary observer to note, “that his manner was more that of a natural scientist or a businessman than a biblical scholar.”36 Until the late 1760’s he had a close relationship with Münchhausen, and he came to wield great influence over academic appointments. Some even called him the “Regent of Göttingen.”37 Over time he became well-known throughout Germany and Europe and drew in many prominent visitors to his home including Georg Forster, 33 For his responsibilities at Göttingen, see Michaelis, Lebensbeschreibungen, 41–60; Selle, Die Georg-August Universität zu Göttingen, 84–93; and Tilman Nagel, “Die Arabistik an der Georg-August-Universität,” in Begegnung mit Arabien. 250 Jahre Arabistik in Göttingen, ed. Tilman Nagel (Göttingen, 1998), 13–14. 34 For example, the first known correspondence between Bernstorff and Michaelis concerned the Königliche Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften. See Bernstorff to Michaelis, 19 June 1753, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 210. 35 For a detailed description of this collection see Wilhelm Mayer, ed., Die Handschriften in Göttingen, Vol. 3 (Berlin 1894), 181–245. When Michaelis was editor of the Göttingische Anzeigen von gelehrten Sachen, about 700–900 reviews appeared annually. His correspondence appears to have been very similar to von Haller’s, which has been analyzed in great detail. Von Haller’s comprised 17,000 letters from 1200 correspondents. For an outstanding study of the nature, distribution and function of a large European scholarly correspondence of this period, see the excellent analysis of Stuber, Hächter and Lienhard, eds., Hallers Netz, xxii–xxix. It provides striking data on what being a member of the so-called “Republic of Letters” really meant. 36 Smend, “Johann David Michaelis und Johann Gottfried Eichhorn,” 67. 37 Rudolf Smend. Festrede im Namen der Georg-Augusts-Universität zur Akademischen Preisvertheilung. Johann David Michaelis (Göttingen, 1898), 12.

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Benjamin Franklin, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (who in his youth wanted to study with him), Alexander von Humboldt, Gotthold Ephraim Lessing and Friedrich Nicolai.38 In the 1750’s and 1760’s he was an immensely popular lecturer with a flamboyant and dramatic style.39 Michaelis was the perfect vehicle for incorporating the strengths of Göttingen as an institution into the theoretical foundation of the trip. Moreover, his energy, breadth of interests, respect for disciplines other than his own, and connections throughout Europe made him the ideal creative initiator of the project. Why Denmark and Johann Hartwig Ernst von Bernstorff?

A

t first glance it may appear curious that Michaelis did not propose this trip to Münchhausen, who, in addition to being the head of the university, was a member of the Privy Council in Hanover, and later was King George II’s Chief Minister in the Electorate. But probably any hope of local sponsorship was unrealistic because of the recent memory of the embarrassing Mylius venture. In 1752, Albrecht von Haller got involved in organizing an effort to send a “Philosoph und Naturforscher” to America to gather scientific information about the people and the natural environment of the American colonies.40 Financial support came from a society of subscribers who contributed to the cost of the journey and in return were to receive specimens (seeds, plants, etc.) and a copy of the published account of the findings of the researcher. The budget for the three-year trip was 3,000 Reichstalers. Haller had been roped into this project by Christlob Mylius, a young scientific journalist and scholar from Berlin, who wanted to undertake the trip. 38 Hübner, “Johann David Michaelis,” 370. 39 One student described him as “A man with a splendid build, dressed like a cavalier, with laced garments, wearing boots and spurs, his sword at his side, elegant in his gait, an exalted demeanor that at once revealed a great intellect and boldness, with fiery eyes that were so penetrating that one did not want long to stare at them – thus he entered into the auditorium, the Bible under his arm  …. He had no podium, but leaned very casually on a small table. Soon he was pacing back and forth in the lecture hall, calculating exactly his behavior according to his topic and delivery. As an actor he would have been able to play perfectly any role …. As he then explained the 26. and 137. Psalms, everyone was moved to tears.” in Smend, Festrede, 10–11. For a more concise and critical assessment of Michaelis later in his career, see Georg Christoph Lichtenberg’s comment, “The man really wanders about in his theories and biblical interpretations, but despite all of his foolery, it seems to me the great man always shines through.” Lichtenberg to Johann Andreas Schernhagen, Göttingen, 19 June 1783, in Georg C. Lichtenberg, Briefwechsel, ed. Ulrich Joost and Albrecht Schöne, 4 vols. (Munich, 1983–92), 2: 631. He also provoked much controversy because of constant disputes with the theological faculty and students, and later in life his egotism, arrogance and propensity for intrigue damaged his reputation. His influence waned and the quality of his lectures declined. 40 For a full discussion of the Mylius venture see Eck, “Christlob Mylius und Carsten Niebuhr,” 13–18. It appears likely that Haller’s project was a product of his rivalry with Linnaeus, who had just sent one of his students, Per Kalm, on a similar trip to the North American colonies.

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Haller never met Mylius and the young man’s credentials for such an adventure seem somewhat questionable. But Mylius was Lessing’s cousin, well-connected socially and somewhat known professionally through his publications and work for various journals.41 The subscription was promoted by Haller in the Göttingische Anzeigen von gelehrten Sachen, by Lessing in the Berlinischen Privilgierten Staats- und Gelehrten-Zeitung and by another colleague in Leipzig. From the start Mylius proved to be a poor choice. Before leaving Berlin he spent a good portion of his first year’s budget on clothes for the trip. Following instructions prepared by Haller he then proceeded to London where he was to formally prepare for his journey. But in London he was easily distracted. Instead of doing research at the Botanical Gardens, he appears to have been more interested in the theater, boat trips, cockfights and horse racing. He never left London, wasted 1,500 Reichtalers and died in March 1754 from some illness in a run-down part of the city. The desultory end of the proposed expedition was soon well-known throughout Germany and indeed elsewhere in Europe. It killed any prospects that the subscription method of financing could be used again in the near term, and it certainly ended any chance that Münchhausen would support a similar undertaking just two years later. Moreover, the beginning of the Seven Years War in 1756 had immediate repercussions for Hanover because of its connection to Great Britain, as a result of which it was immediately drawn into the conflict. Göttingen, for example, was occupied by French forces only one year later in 1757. Thus support from the Hanoverian government was simply not an option for Michaelis. If Michaelis wanted to proceed he would have to look to some other country, and to a funding strategy that was both more secure and less exposed to wide embarrassment in case of failure than the subscription method. This leads to the question of why he approached the Kingdom of Denmark-Norway and why Bernstorff would recommend approval? It appears that Michaelis’ interest specifically in Denmark was awakened by the publication one year earlier of the account of the voyage of the Danish Naval Captain Frederik Ludvig Norden to Egypt in 1737–38.42 Aiming to expand trade to Egypt and to 41 For Lessing’s connection to Mylius and his interest in America, see Heinrich Schneider, Lessing. Zwölf biographische Studien (Munich, 1951), 198–199. 42 See Frederic Louis Norden, Voyage d’Égypte et de Nubie par Mr. Frederic Louis Norden, Capitaine des Vaisseaux du Roi. Ouvrage enrichi de Cartes et des Figures dessinées sur les lieux, par l’Auteur même. (Tome Premier. Tome Second). Á Copenhague, d’Imprimerie de la Maison Royale des Orphelins. MDCCLV. Norden’s work has recently been reissued in a beautiful edition under the sponsorship of the Royal Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters in a Danish translation in honor of Queen Margethe II, on the occasion of her 70th birthday. Published by Forlaget Vandkunsten, it includes an introduction by Paul John Frandsen. See Rejse i Egypten og Nubien Af Frederik Ludvig Norden Kaptajn i den Kongelige Flåde, 2 vols. (Copenhagen, 2010). For Norden’s trip and the publication of the account, also see Frits Hammer Kjølsen, Capitain F. L. Norden og Hans Rejse til Aegypten 1737–38 (Copenhagen, 1965), and Olaf Pedersen, Lovers of Learning. A History of the Royal Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters 1742–1992 (Copenhagen, 1992), 66–67.

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extend commercial contacts into Ethiopia, the King of Denmark-Norway, Christian VI, sent Norden to Egypt to explore the length of the Nile. The trip encountered many difficulties and was cut short, but Norden was still able to gather much valuable information and execute many handsome drawings and charts. He returned to Copenhagen in 1738, but died a few years later at the age of 32 from complications of an illness he had contracted in Egypt. The publication of his report was then delayed many years but finally appeared in French in a beautiful two-volume set with magnificent illustrations as a publication of the Royal Academy of Sciences. We know that Michaelis had seen the two volumes just prior to contacting Bernstorff, so at a time when he was shopping around for a sponsor for his idea, Denmark’s support of a similar undertaking years earlier was brought to his attention.43 Denmark also seemed a well-positioned and logical prospect for another reason. Michaelis was aware of the Danish missionary settlement at Tharangambadi. Originally established as a trading station in the 17th Century, it added a missionary community in 1705. Organized through the leadership of the court chaplain in Copenhagen and August Hermann Francke in Halle, and supported by the Danish crown, the Dänisch-Hallische Mission became a well-known model for protestant missionary efforts in the 18th Century. The reports of the missionaries and the accounts of individuals such as Bartholomew Ziegenbalg, published in Halle, were important sources of information on India.44 Michaelis, as a voracious reader of travel literature, was aware of these materials and, as certain passages in his proposal indicate, he was quite familiar with the mission’s operations and staff. Tharangambadi’s location almost across the Arabian Sea from Arabia made it a convenient jumping off point for work in Yemen. Finally, there was at least one other compelling reason to look to Denmark and its foreign minister: Bernstorff was a Hanoverian, born in the city of Hanover in 1712. His family was one of the most prominent in the Electorate and maintained its residence at the vast estate of Gartow, east of Celle, not far from Göttingen.45 43 The books were reviewed in the Göttingische Anzeigen von gelehrten Sachen, February 1756. There it was noted that Norden made many orthographical errors in recording place names on his charts because he did not know Arabic. This criticism was repeated in Michaelis’ proposal, see Bl. 217–218, see fn. 3. 44 For the history of the Dänisch-Hallische Mission see Anders Nørgård, Mission und Obrigkeit. Die Dänisch-hallische Mission in Tranquebar 1706–1845 (Gütersloh, 1988); Raabe, Pietas Hallensis Universalis, 61–84; and Brijraj Singh, The First Protestant Missionary to India. Bartholomaeus Ziegenbalg (1683–1719) (Oxford, 1999). For its trading activities during this period, see Martin Krieger, Kaufleute, Seeräuber und Diplomaten. Der dänische Handel auf dem Indischen Ozean (1620– 1868) (Cologne, 1998), 132–146. 45 The only detailed, but unfortunately incomplete, treatment of the Bernstorff family during this period is Aage Friis, Bernstorfferne og Danmark, 2 vols. (Copenhagen, 1903–1919). It is also available in a German translation; the first volume is entitled Die Bernstorffs (Leipzig, 1905), and the second, Die Bernstorffs und Dänemark (Bentheim, 1979). For a selection of the family papers

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Bernstorff ’s grandfather, Andreas Gottlieb von Bernstorff, was the premierminister to the Elector Georg Louis and remained his chief German advisor when the Elector became George I of Great Britain and Ireland. Bernstorff ’s older brother was one of the most respected members of the local Landtag. Bernstorff ’s nephew, protégé and successor in Denmark, Andreas Peter von Bernstorff, had just completed his studies in the Staatswissenschaften at Göttingen in 1755. Thus Bernstorff was closely identified with Hanover, and in addition Michaelis was already corresponding with him on other matters. All of these many connections and Europe’s pronounced cosmopolitan values made Michaelis’ letter to Bernstorff a natural and logical approach. But did these same connections to Hanover play the decisive role in Bernstorff ’s decision to say yes? The answer to that question is probably no.46 Rather, he recommended approval to the King, and that approval was easily gained, because such a project was consistent with the cultural policies of the monarchy and coincided with Bernstorff ’s own academic and religious interests. In order to understand the political environment in Denmark at the time of the expedition, it is necessary to provide some background on the Danish government and its policies during the middle of the 18th Century. The reign of Frederik V, from 1746–1766, was a twenty year period of unbroken peace and prosperity for the absolute monarchy of Denmark-Norway. This stability, however, was not attributable to the capable leadership of the King. Frederik was a benign ruler, but, unfortunately, also a heavy drinker with many bad habits and few serious talents for governing. His greatest strengths were an ill-defined interest in European culture and science, mainly to enhance his legacy as a monarch, and his willingness to let a dedicated and gifted team of cosmopolitan, mostly German, officials run the country.47 His trusted personal advisor, and the most influential minister within the government, was the Oberhofmarschall Adam Gottlieb Graf von Moltke, from Mecklenburg. Wise and restrained in the exercise of his considerable power and careful in controlling expenditures from the King’s special account, Moltke protected the King see Aage Friis, ed., Bernstorffske Papirer, 3 vols. (Copenhagen, 1904–1913). For an analysis of the Bernstorffs in the 18th Century see the following studies by Lawrence J. Baack: “State Service in the Eighteenth Century: the Bernstorffs in Hanover and Denmark,” The International History Review 1 (1979): 323–348; Agrarian Reform in Eighteenth-Century Denmark (Lincoln, Nebraska, 1977); and Christian Bernstorff and Prussia: Diplomacy and Reform Conservatism 1818–1832 (New Brunswick, 1980), 1–6. 46 Indeed Bernstorff ’s support may have been inspite of, not because of, any formal connections to Hanover. He disliked and distrusted Münchhausen who had caused him many problems during his assignment as a special envoy to Hanover early in his career. Friis, Die Bernstorffs, esp. 94–121. 47 The literature on Denmark during this period is extensive. For an overview see Ole Feldbæk, Tiden 1730–1814. Danmarks Historie (Copenhagen, 1982). Still useful is the work by Edvard Holm, Danmark- Norges Historie fra den store Nordiske Krigs Slutning til Rigernes Adskillelse 1720–1814, 7 vols. (Copenhagen, 1891–1912, esp. vol. 3. Also see Friis, Bernstorfferne og Danmark, Vol. 2, which covers the period up to 1770.

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and facilitated the smooth and effective operation of government during Frederik’s reign. Moltke worked especially closely with Bernstorff, who held one of the most important positions in the state.48 As Obersekretaire of the German Chancellery, Minister for Foreign Affairs and a member of the Kommerzkollegium since 1751, he crafted Denmark’s foreign policy, oversaw the administration of the monarchy’s German speaking principalities and participated in shaping Denmark’s economic strategy.49 He brought to this task a first-rate education from the University of Tübingen and seventeen years of diplomatic experience at various posts in Germany and as Denmark’s minister to France. As foreign minister, his greatest contribution was his success in keeping Denmark out of war during Frederik’s reign. Bernstorff ’s ability to safeguard Denmark’s neutrality during the Seven Years War and to resolve effectively a number of sensitive and convoluted diplomatic problems during his twenty years in office ensured for Denmark an international position by which its trade could flourish and its economy prosper.50 As a consequence, revenues for the crown were abundant and the king could afford to be generous. 48 The best description of Moltke and Bernstorff ’s relationship is Friis, Die Bernstorffs und Dänemark, 13–37. 49 By way of explanation, the central government of the multinational Danish monarchy was made up of two regional agencies; the Danish Chancellery, which administered Denmark, Norway, the Faroe Islands, Greenland and Iceland, and the German Chancellery, which administered the ancestral territories of Oldenburg and Delmenhorst, the Duchy of Slesvig and the so-called ‘royal portion’ of Holstein (which was also part of the Holy Roman Empire). In addition, several specialized boards directed the military, financial and economic affairs of the entire kingdom. Under this organization, the Obersekretaire of the German Chancellery was also the foreign minister for the state as a whole, and diplomatic business was conducted out of a separate department within the chancellery. Language usage within the government reflected the fact that its bureaucrats, diplomats and officers came from different parts of Europe. German, French and Danish were used interchangeably. For example, in the Danish Chancellery and the administration of the navy, affairs were usually conducted in Danish; in the German Chancellery and the army, the language was German, and within the foreign department, naturally, French as well. The Kommerzkollegium used both German and Danish, while the Department of Manufacturing within it frequently used French. In the meetings of the Privy Council it appears that German and Danish were used interchangeably. No attempt was made to impose uniformity of usage. Ibid., 66. On language usage also see Vibeke Winge, Dänische Deutsche – deutsche Dänen. Geschichte der deutschen Sprache in Dänemark 1300–1800 mit einem Ausblick auf das 19. Jahrhundert (Heidelberg, 1992). The King, Frederik V, whose mother was Sophia Magdalene of Brandenburg-Kulmbach, was raised speaking German. Winge, 193. For a full discussion of issues of national identity and language, see Ole Feldbæk, ed., Dansk Identitetshistorie. Vol. 1. Fæderland og Modersmål 1536–1789 (Copenhagen, 1991), 89–230. 50 The most up-to-date analysis of Denmark’s foreign policy during this period is Knud J. V. Jesperson and Ole Feldbæk, Revanche og Neutralitet 1648–1814, Vol. 2 of the Dansk udenrigspolitiks Historie (Copenhagen, 2002), esp. 203–347. Also see Holm, Danmark-Norges Historie, vol. 3, pt. 1; Jørgen Schoube, “J. H. E. Bernstorffs udenrigspolitik i dansk forskning,” Historisk Tidsskrift 12 (1966): 535–607; Otto Brandt, “Das Problem der ‘Ruhe des Nordens’ im 18. Jahrhundert,” Historische Zeitschrift 140 (1929): 550–564; and Walther Hubatsch, “Die ‘Ruhe des Nordens’ als voraus-

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It is in this political and economic context that Moltke and Bernstorff pursued their strong and sincere interest in making real Frederik’s fuzzy notion of emulating the artistic and scientific renown of the other more powerful and well-known absolute monarchs of Europe – Maria Theresia, Elizabeth of Russia, Louis XV, and, above all, Frederick II of Prussia. It was these two officials who enriched the cultural milieu of Copenhagen, a city of some 80,000 inhabitants, with artists, writers and scientists from all over Europe.51 Moltke focused mainly on the arts attracting to Denmark talented painters, engravers, sculptors and architects from France, Italy, Sweden and Germany. He ensured that the crown endowed the new School, later Academy, of Art with permanent funding. However, he also shared with Bernstorff a strong interest in the natural sciences which he wanted to strengthen in Denmark, partly, it is likely, because of a quiet competition in the sciences with Sweden, where the work of Linnaeus, in particular, was commanding so much attention. As the University of Copenhagen was notably conservative in the natural sciences, Moltke pushed for the establishment of a new Botanical Garden and the maintenance of the crown’s own collection of natural history specimens at the palace of Charlottenborg.52 Bernstorff ’s interest lay elsewhere. He wanted to connect Denmark intellectually to the rest of Europe, especially Germany and France, and reciprocally, to make Denmark better known and culturally respected beyond its borders. He recruited setzung der Adelskultur des dänischen Gesamtstaats,” in Staatsdienst und Menschlichkeit, ed. Christian Degn and Dieter Lohmeier (Neumünster, 1980), 11–22. 51 The best discussion of cultural developments in Copenhagen, particularly the connections to Germany is Dieter Lohmeier, “Kopenhagen als deutsches Kulturzentrum des 18. Jahrhunderts,” in Dietrich Jöns and Dieter Lohmeier, eds., Festschrift für Erich Trunz zum 90. Geburtstag. Vierzehn Beiträge zur deutschen Literaturgeschichte (Neumünster, 1998), 167–198. Also excellent is Ole Feldbæk, “Aufklärung und Absolutismus. Die Kulturpolitik Friedrichs V,” in Klaus Bohnen and Per Øhrgaard, eds., Aufklärung als Problem und Aufgabe. Festschrift für Sven-Aage Jørgensen zum 65. Geburtstag (Munich, 1994), 26–37, and his “Dänisch und Deutsch im dänischen Gesamtstaat im Zeitalter der Aufklärung,” in Der Dänische Gesamtstaat, Kopenhagen, Kiel, Altona, ed. Klaus Bohnen and Sven-Aage Jørgensen (Tübingen, 1992), 7–22. In addition see Klaus Bohnen, “Der Kopenhagener Kreis und der Nordische Aufseher,” also in Der Dänische Gesamtstaat, ed. Bohnen and Jørgensen, 161–179. and the still useful older works of Leopold Magon, Ein Jahrhundert geistiger und literarischer Beziehung zwischen Deutschland und Skandinavien 1750–1850 (Dortmund, 1926); J. W. Eaton, The German Influence in Danish Literature in the Eighteenth Century (Cambridge, 1929); and by the same author, “The French Influence in Denmark in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries,” The Germanic Review 6 (1931): 321–362. The population of Copenhagen according to the census of 1769 was 83,000, and for Denmark proper (not the non-Danish parts) approximately 810, 000. See Aksel Lassen, “The Population of Denmark 1660–1960,” The Scandinavian Economic History Review 14 (1966): 134–157. 52 This interest is summarized in Lohmeier, “Gregorius Wiedemann,” 65–66. Also see Carl Christensen, Den Dansk Botaniks Historie med tilhørende Bibliografi, Vol. I, Den Danske Botaniks Historie fra de ældste Tider til 1912 (Copenhagen, 1924–26), 63–79; and Holger Hansen, “Natural-og Husholdnings-Kabinettet paa Charlottenborg,” Historiske Meddelelser om København 5 (1915): 181–201.

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many writers from Germany and France and encouraged their work. The most famous was Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock for whom he secured a life-long royal pension to support his writing of the Messias during his twenty year stay in Copenhagen.53 He supported at least three journals, written in French and German, which made available to readers in Denmark articles on literary and political developments elsewhere in Europe. He arranged for a young French historian, Paul-Henri Mallet, to receive a professorial appointment at the University of Copenhagen paid for by the crown. Mallet was charged with the task of writing a history of Denmark for a wider European audience. Working quickly he published his Introduction á l’histoire de Dannemarc and his Monumens de la mythologie et de la poésie des anciens Scandinaves in 1755. It was also Bernstorff who got the botanist Georg Christian Oeder to come to Copenhagen. With the full support of the crown, Oeder embarked on his monumental project to catalog the plants of Denmark, Norway and Iceland, the famous Flora Danica, as well as assuming the directorship of the Botanical Gardens. The first volume of the Flora Danica appeared in 1761. These publications, combined with others such as the aforementioned issue of the account of Norden’s voyage to Egypt, demonstrated the Danish government’s interest in history and the sciences. In short, Moltke and Bernstorff formed a powerful team who initiated and nurtured an unprecedented blossoming of European culture in the somewhat distant and parochial city that was the Danish Royal capital. Bernstorff we know, because of his frequent use of the term, saw himself as a facilitator of the “Republic of Letters.” Seen in this context Bernstorff ’s affirmative response to Michaelis’ proposal was simply a further manifestation of the government’s cultural policies and an indication of Copenhagen’s strengthened role as a center of Enlightenment activity. Still, a proposal to send an expedition to Yemen, of all places, focusing on obscure biblical scholarship, was not an everyday project even in these prosperous and culturally sympathetic times. And looking ahead to the entire history of the expedition, Bernstorff ’s devotion of fourteen years of attention to the details of this enterprise, an effort that in the end was greater than Michaelis’, surely went beyond a routine interest in government-sponsored cultural activities that would enhance the reputation of the Kingdom. No, this project had to have captured the imagination of Bernstorff himself in order to garner such sustained involvement and very substantial financial support. Not only was Michaelis’ venture compatible with Frederik’s Kulturpolitik, the ideas behind it coincided with Bernstorff ’s own personal interests. Bernstorff was highly religious in a non-dogmatic, but sincerely devout way. His extended family was heavily influenced by the Halle pietists and adhered to a simple, very personal Lutheran Christianity. His faith may have been 53 For Bernstorff ’s important support of Klopstock while he finished his historic poem, and his inclusion of the poet in his social circles, see Klaus Hurlebusch, “Dänemark – Klopstocks ‘zweites Vaterland’?” in Deutsch-Dänische Literaturbeziehungen im 18. Jahrhundert, ed. Klaus Bohnen, Sven-Aage Jørgensen and Friedrich Schmöe (Munich, 1979), 75–104.

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simple, but his interest in matters theological was not. He conducted an extensive correspondence with pastors and theologians in Geneva, Germany and England, with clergy, as he wrote, “who love both godliness and knowledge.”54 Tolerant on issues of faith, he frowned on sectarian disputes that obstructed a clear appreciation of fundamental Christian beliefs as communicated by the Bible. His piety was combined with a broad thirst for knowledge and a robust curiosity. Some of this was awakened by his service as the Danish minister to the Court of Louis XV. He relished his participation in the literary salons of Paris, meeting many of the leading philosophes of the day. He became an earnest reader of literature, drama, science, theology, medicine, art history, economics and philosophy. Friends in England, Holland and Italy, in addition to France, sought out books for his ever-expanding library.55 His interests in scholarship in a wide range of fields and his unquestioned Christian faith made him intellectually sympathetic to, and intrigued by, Michaelis’ proposal. Here was an opportunity to use science to gain a clearer understanding of the Bible. What could be more perfect? Thus, the evolution of Michaelis’ initial rather brief idea of some sort of scholarly investigation in Southern Arabia into a formal commitment by the Crown to a serious scientific trip to Yemen reflected a number of institutional and intellectual characteristics of Denmark and Germany in the middle of the 18th Century. For his part, Michaelis was certainly pleased with the King’s approval of the project. He extolled Frederik’s promotion of learning, free from what he called the calculation of any commercial or financial benefits. He wrote Bernstorff that he would get busy preparing Ström for the trip, a process that would take one to two years.56 But in an early indication of the many complications that would emerge before the expedition was launched, Ström was surprised by his appointment and quickly withdrew because he was simply afraid to go on the trip.57 Michaelis immediately recommended that Frederik Christian von Haven, the other Danish student mentioned in his initial proposal, take over the assignment and prepare for the trip, as Ström was to have done. At the time, Michaelis noted that Haven had been intensely jealous of Ström’s opportunity to go on the expedition. In a case of what would prove to be mistaken judgment, Michaelis took this “passion of Herr von Haven as a good omen for the enterprise.”58 54 Friis, Die Bernstorffs, 250. 55 For Bernstorff ’s very extensive library see Catalogus Alphabeticus Bibliothecae Bernstorfianae (333 folio pages), and Bibliotheca Bernstorfiana, Ordine Scientiarum Digesta (554 folio pages), both Det Kongelige Bibliotek, Copenhagen, KB Arkiv E 69 and 68. 56 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 14 October 1756, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 6; and NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320 (Draft), Bl. 232 and 234. 57 Ström to Michaelis, 5 October 1756, and 12 December 1756, both NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 329, Bl. 182–185; and Michaelis to Bernstorff, 18 October 1756, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 6c. Born in Norway, Ström (1729–1800), went on to a distinguished career ending up as the Mayor of Oslo, then Kristiania. Dansk Biografisk Leksikon, vol. 14 (Copenhagen, 1983), 160. 58 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 18 October 1756, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 6c; Haven also wrote

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Assembling the Team: The Philologist – Frederik Christian von Haven

H

aven’s appointment, with a stipend of 500 Danish Rigstalers (rtlrs) per year was quickly approved. Bernstorff told Haven that the trip provided an opportunity for him to stand out among “the Republic of Letters.”59 In terms of background and training, Haven appeared, at first glance, to be a good choice.60 We know very little about his early life. He was born on 26 June 1727 in Vester Skerninge, on the Island of Fyn, where his father was the pastor. The family was originally from northern Germany, but had been in Denmark for generations, active as architects, painters and clergymen. Apparently the family was not in a strong economic position, a condition that worsened with his father’s death in 1738 when Haven was still a boy. With support from relatives he was able to go to school in Odense. At the University of Copenhagen, where he studied theology for five years, he received two scholarships and obtained the equivalent of a bachelor’s and master’s degree. He also attended the famous Academy at Sorø. 61 In June 1751, he began directly to Bernstorff to ask for the assignment, as he had previously done to try to get scholarship support. Haven to Bernstorff, 18 October 1756, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 6e, and Haven to Bernstorff, 18 August 1756, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 2a. Over time the possibility of other candidates for Haven’s position have been investigated. For a good summary, see Hübner, “Johann David Michaelis,” 380–382. By far the most capable would have been Johann Jakob Reiske (1716– 1774), Germany’s foremost Arabist whom Michaelis knew from his days in Halle, and someone who befriended Niebuhr upon his return from the journey. Michaelis approached Reiske about the expedition in 1756, but Reiske declined, writing that he considered himself “zu alt, zu stumpf und zu verdrossen” to take on such a difficult assignment. Reiske to Michaelis, 20 December 1756, Literarische Briefwechsel von Johann David Michaelis, 1:71–72. In any case, the relationship between the two men soured over an academic appointment Reiske was seeking. Reiske’s many accomplishments in Arabic Studies are summarized in Fück, Die Arabischen Studien in Europa, 108–124. His discussion includes a scathing evaluation of Michaelis. The name of August Ludwig Schlözer, later a member of the Göttingen faculty, has also been mentioned, but his name does not appear as a possibility in the correspondence of Michaelis with Bernstorff, nor is there any evidence that Michaelis discussed the matter with Schlözer. Well after the expedition’s departure, Johann Reinhold Forster, later the naturalist for Cook’s Second Voyage, also expressed interest in the expedition to Michaelis. See Michael E. Hoare, The Tactless Philosopher: Johann Reinhold Forster (1729– 1798) (Melbourne, 1975), 24. 59 Bernstorff to Michaelis, 2 November 1756, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 236, and RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 6 (Draft); and Bernstorff to von Haven, 2 November 1756, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 5. 60 The best information on Haven’s early life is in the Introduction by Anne Haslund Hansen to his travel diary of the expedition. See Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis. Also see Vello Helk, Dansk-Norske Studierejser 1661–1813 II Matrikel over studerende i udlandet (Odense, 1980), 135. 61 Haven to Bernstorff, 18 August 1756, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 2a.

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his studies in Göttingen in theology and philology.62 He became one of Michaelis’ students, trained in Arabic, biblical philology and the natural sciences. Michaelis thought very highly of his ability, but we know that he already had evidence of what would prove to be Haven’s difficult personality.63 While Haven was bright, academically well-prepared and capable of conscientious work, he was also petulant, pretentious, and egotistical to an extreme, which meant, most importantly, that for an endeavor such as the Arabian trip, he had little capacity to be a good team player. Unfortunately these personality traits were made more irritating by a sometimes remarkable laziness. Also because of his lack of family resources, he was constantly worried about his finances. And thus despite a superficial elegance, his impecunious circumstances made him greedy and petty. Haven’s selection introduced to the project a problem of personalities that would plague the expedition and consume a considerable amount of Bernstorff ’s time. It also meant that Michaelis’ fields of philology and biblical scholarship would not be as strongly represented in the expedition as they might have been with the selection of a stronger, more compatible scholar. In any case in preparation for the trip, Haven continued his studies in Göttingen working with Michaelis and reading Arabic and Hebrew texts in the library. In the summer of 1758, Bernstorff, based on the recommendation of a scholar in Copenhagen, suggested to Michaelis that perhaps one of the prospective members of the expedition should be sent to Rome to study conversational Arabic and Syriac at the Collegio Maronitico, run by Maronite Christians.64 Michaelis did not believe that instruction from the Maronite monks would be very useful for improving speaking ability in contemporary Arabic, but he did think it would be a good idea to send Haven to Rome to study manuscripts and to improve his writing and copying skills in the language. He was hopeful that copies of the manuscripts could be sent back to Göttingen to be used in the preparation of the other members.65 Although the trip was approved and funded that fall, it was more than a year before Haven reached Rome.66 In a presentiment of future problems, Haven took a leisurely route, providing Bernstorff and Michaelis with infrequent reports on his whereabouts and many frivolous excuses for why it was taking so long. Once he arrived, his work took months to get underway. However, by February, he had ar62 Götz von Selle, ed., Die Matrikel der Georg-August-Universität zu Göttingen, 1734–1837 (Hildesheim,1937), see the entry Fridericus Christianus von Haven. Hafniensis, Theol. Juni 28, 1751. Nr. 184 (3835), p. 89. 63 Haven to Michaelis, 2 November 1755, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 324, Bl. 50. 64 Bernstorff to Michaelis, 27 June 1758, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 245–247; and Haven to Bernstorff, 21 April 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 21. 65 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 10 July 1758, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 247–251; and Michaelis to Bernstorff, 10 August 1758, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 15a. 66 Bernstorff to Michaelis, 9 September 1758, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 252–253; and Haven to Bernstorff, 11 November 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 36. Also see Haven to Michaelis, 15 November 1760, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 324, Bl. 58–59.

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ranged a serious program for studying Arabic and Syriac with a priest born in Halab (Aleppo), and a native speaker of Arabic. Haven judged the instruction to be useful and indicated he was making good progress in learning colloquial Arabic. In addition, he received some assistance in his language studies from the monks at the Maronite cloister. Haven also studied manuscripts in the Vatican Library and sought out relevant books elsewhere in Rome. We do not have many details on these activities, but we do know he was able to collect some 33 books and had them shipped to Copenhagen.67 Subsequently, it would develop that the next challenge for Bernstorff and Michaelis concerning Haven would be to get him to return in time for the trip. Finally, early on in his preparation, and well before his departure for Rome, Haven became overwhelmed by the potential breadth of his responsibilities. So in addition to the need for a botanist, which had already been called for by Bernstorff, Haven requested that a third person, a mathematician, be assigned to the project, someone proficient in Arabic and responsible for astronomy, geography and architecture.68 The addition of a mathematician was approved by the King, but again it proved difficult to find a suitable candidate.69 The Cartographer and his Teacher: Carsten Niebuhr and Tobias Mayer

M

ichaelis’ first recommendation for a mathematician was a Swedish student of Carl Linnaeus who was in Copenhagen at the time.70 He had the requisite skills in mathematics, but was embroiled in political controversy in Sweden, and perhaps for this reason was not acceptable to Bernstorff. Bernstorff also pursued at least three other candidates in Copenhagen, but had no luck. Those who were capable, he wrote, were afraid; and those who were not afraid were not capable. He asked Michaelis to renew his efforts to find someone, perhaps in Germany, where, he thought, there ought to be a number of mathematicians and physicists eager for new discoveries. He thanked Michaelis for his efforts, inspired “out 67 Haven to Bernstorff, all RaK, AR, Case 3–003, 21 April 1759, Nr. 21, 26 January 1760, Nr. 45, 23 February 1760, Nr. 47, 22 March 1760, Nr. 48, 23 April 1760, Nr. 49, 24 May 1760, Nr. 50, 28 May 1760, Nr. 52, and 7 June 1760, Nr. 51; and Haven to Michaelis, 2 February 1760, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 324, Bl. 67–68, and Haven to Michaelis, 15 March 1760, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 324, Bl. 64–67. 68 Haven to Michaelis, 27 March 1757, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 9a; and Michaelis to Bernstorff, 11 April 1757, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 8, and Draft, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 237–239. 69 Bernstorff to Michaelis, 24 May 1757, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 240; and Michaelis to Bernstorff, 21 June 1757, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 11. 70 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 1 October 1757, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 12a; also Michaelis to Söderberg, n. d., RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 12b and Pro Memoria, n. d., RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 12c.

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of a love of science, the enhancement of which is the purpose of this undertaking.”71 Michaelis soon identified another candidate by the name of Böltzing, whom he evaluated as being fully appropriate for the trip. He formally recommended him to Bernstorff, requesting a yearly stipend of 500 rtlr to support his study of Arabic. This proposal was taken by Bernstorff to Moltke and the King, and was approved.72 Little did Bernstorff know (because of the normal delay in the mail) that Böltzing had already withdrawn his name out of anxiety over the trip.73 Michaelis was deeply embarrassed by this failure and wrote to Bernstorff, “… if I were in circumstances where I could undertake a trip of some years, I would seize the opportunity.”74 It was under these increasingly frustrating circumstances that Michaelis, while attending a meeting of the Königliche Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, asked a fellow member, Abraham Gotthelf Kästner, a professor of mathematics, if he could suggest someone who would be suitable as a mathematician for the trip. Kästner’s response was encouraging. He indicated that one of his current students was just such a person. He was referring to Carsten Niebuhr. As the story within the Niebuhr family goes, Kästner then dropped by Niebuhr’s room on his way home from the meeting and asked him: “Would you perhaps like to make a trip to Arabia?”75 Without apparently taking much time to think, Niebuhr replied, “You bet! If someone is going to cover the costs.” Kästner told him the King of Denmark was paying for the trip and cautioned him not to take the matter lightly. Niebuhr explained that he was interested in broadening his knowledge of the world, and his only doubts were whether he actually had the capability and academic training for such an endeavor. Kästner assured him that if he were chosen, he would have plenty of time to prepare and that he would get instruction and support from Professor Tobias Mayer, the University’s famous astronomer. Kästner urged Niebuhr to take some time to think it over and to notify Michaelis directly of his decision. Niebuhr must have been motivated by the opportunity because he wasted no time. That very evening he talked to Mayer who agreed to help him. But Mayer also warned Niebuhr to consider carefully the dangers and hardships of such a trip and to be cautious about prematurely making a decision which in the end he would have to honor. Niebuhr did not follow Mayer’s counsel. The following day he told Michaelis he was ready to accept the appointment. Michaelis, however, like Kästner and 71 Bernstorff to Michaelis, 22 April 1758, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 243, (draft RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 12). 72 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 25 May 1758, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 13b and Bernstorff to Michaelis, 27 June 1758, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 245–247. 73 Böltzing to Michaelis, 9 June 1758, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 14c. 74 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 10 July 1758, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 14a, (draft NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 247–251). 75 See Lohmeier, “Heinrich Wilhelm Schmeelkes Biographie,” 196–197, and Barthold Georg Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 13–14. The basic details of this account were confirmed many years later by Niebuhr in a letter to Christian Gottlob Heyne. See Niebuhr to Heyne, 20 August 1800. NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Lit. hist.. 179 II, Bl. 136.

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Mayer, was worried that Niebuhr was being too hasty and asked him whether his father would approve. Niebuhr explained his father had died and he no longer had a guardian. He was a free man, dependent on no one. Michaelis was convinced of Niebuhr’s interest, but he wisely told Niebuhr to take a week to ponder his decision. The week passed and Niebuhr did not change his mind. Thus it was that a 25 year old undergraduate at the University in Göttingen, who had completed only one year of study, was selected as the mathematician, astronomer and cartographer for the expedition. He would be its sole survivor, and the one, in the end, most responsible for its success. Niebuhr’s path to selection was certainly non-traditional and his preparation for the trip at the time of his acceptance was far weaker than the other eventual academic members of the team. He was born on March 17, 1733 in Lüdingworth-Westerende, a village in the Land Hadeln, a low-lying district on the North Sea coast of Hanover. It was an area of prosperous, independent farmers, many of whom held important positions in the region’s largely self-governing local institutions. Niebuhr’s family had been in the area at least since the 1500’s and they were “proud of their independence, vigor and strong-mindedness.”76 His father Barthold Niebuhr (1704–1749) was a farmer, owned his own property and was reasonably successful. His mother, Caecilie, née von Duhn, died when Carsten was only six weeks old. His father remarried two years later and the family moved to the nearby village of Altenbruch, which Niebuhr always considered his home town. His father believed in education, so Niebuhr and his sister were tutored at home by a local school teacher. Later Niebuhr attended the Latin School in the larger community of Otterndorf, near Cuxhaven and took room and board with the local notary. This was the school to which respected families were expected to send their sons.77 Niebuhr’s education was interrupted, however, by the death of his father in 1749. As his stepmother had died three years earlier, he had no surviving parents. His studies at the Latin School therefore ended and he returned to Altenbruch where he studied music for a year with the local organist, thinking that perhaps he would become an organist himself. He learned to play several instruments, including the violin and 76 Hans Staack, “Die Ahnen des Arabienforschers und Süderdithmarscher Landschreibers Karsten Niebuhr,” Dithmarschen 3 (1967): 70. 77 Thus Niebuhr’s rural environment should not be confused with the sometimes more impoverished and limited conditions that existed in some of Germany’s agrarian communities, especially toward the east. Niebuhr’s younger half-brother, Barthold, was also educated. A young relative, Heinrich Wilhelm Schmeelke, described meeting him once in his garden in the village while reading a copy of Virgil’s Georgica. When asked why he was reading Virgil, he replied in Plattdeutsch, “Ach, ick hebb mi Immen anschaft un will mal sehn, vat Virgil von de Immen schrift. (Oh, I have bought some bees, and I want to see what Virgil writes about bees).” in Benno Eide Siebs, “Des Staatsmanns und Geschichtschreibers Barthold Georg Niebuhr Geschlecht,” Familiengeschichtliche Blätter 19 (1921): 73. Also see Barthold Georg Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 5, and Lohmeier, “Ein Leben im Zeichen der Arabischen Reise,” 189–190.

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mandolin as well as the organ. After the death of his father, the farm was inherited by another member of the family, and Niebuhr received a lump sum payment. This combined with other monies that he had been entitled to as a result of the death of his mother, comprised a small corpus which eventually he was able to invest and would draw on to support his education when he was older.78 However, in the near term, not yet being an adult (he was 17), he was placed under the guardianship of a well-meaning relative who, unfortunately, did not value education as had Niebuhr’s father. Niebuhr had to give up his schooling to work as a farm hand on his guardian’s farm for the purpose of learning to become a farmer. Niebuhr continued to play music and read on his own during this period, beginning a process of self-education that continued his entire life. While working on the farm he heard about a land dispute in the district that could only be settled by hiring a surveyor to conduct a proper survey of the property in question. Niebuhr was bothered and intrigued by the fact that a surveyor had to be brought in from a neighboring district to do the work because there were no surveyors in the Land Hadeln. Niebuhr decided to correct this deficiency by studying to become one, and as a consequence, at the age of 22, and now free of his guardianship, he went to Hamburg to restart his education. He studied with a tutor in Latin to make up for his lost years of schooling and in 1756, he finally enrolled in the Akademisches Gymnasium in Hamburg.79 Beginning a pattern that would continue for the next five years, Niebuhr was fortunate to be exposed to educators and scientists who were both practical and innovative, and who went on to important academic or pedagogical careers. The first was Johann Georg Büsch, his young mathematics teacher in Hamburg. Büsch was beginning a distinguished 44 year career at the Gymnasium. Later in 1771, he also became Director of the Hamburg Handelsakademie, an institution that offered practical instruction in finance, trade and commerce. He developed an innovative, modern curriculum for the Academy and played an important role in the development of modern commercial law in Germany.80 He certainly was the perfect teacher for Niebuhr who must have blossomed under his down-to-earth approach to mathematics. They became life-long friends. As Büsch had only recently studied at Göttingen, it seems likely that he suggested that Niebuhr go to the University, which he did in 1757. 78 See Lohmeier, “Heinrich Wilhelm Schmeelkes Biographie,” 193. Also see Niebuhr’s correspondence with Johann Beymgraben for numerous references to his financial situation. BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 24. 79 Niebuhr to Johann Beymgraben, 25 August 1755, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 24. The tutor was Johann Witke, a distant relative of Niebuhr’s, also born in Lüdingworth. He became a close friend for the rest of Niebuhr’s life. For a good discussion of Witke, see Lohmeier, “Heinrich Wilhelm Schmeelkes Biographie,” 195, and notes 58 and 59. 80 On Büsch’s interesting career see Götz Landwehr, “Johann Georg Büsch und die Entwicklung des Handelsrechts im 18. Jahrhundert,”in Gelehrte in Hamburg im 18. und 19. Jahrhundert, ed. Hans-Dieter Loose (Hamburg, 1976), 59–131, esp. 74–77. Also Niebuhr to Johann Beymgraben, 22 March 1757, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 24.

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Encouraged by his success in Hamburg, his career goals became more ambitious. He decided, at the suggestion of his former tutor to try to become an engineer in the Hanoverian Army’s Engineer Corps, which was responsible for the construction of roads, fortifications and a variety of other military structures.81 This required much more serious study in mathematics, architecture, cartography and related fields which he began by concentrating on mathematics. His primary instructor was Kästner. Once again he was fortunate in his teacher. Kästner was an important mathematician, astronomer, poet and satirist, who also had a strong interest in geography and travel literature – another one of those multidisciplinary enthusiasts common in the 18th Century. He was also a great pedagogue. His textbooks set forth mathematical principles in a simple, practical way and were used extensively throughout Germany. Because of their impact he was called, with justification, “Germany’s teacher of mathematics.”82 We must assume that Niebuhr was a strong student because otherwise Kästner would not have recommended him highly to Michaelis, nor to Tobias Mayer, already one of the premier astronomers of the Eighteenth Century.83 In August, Bernstorff notified Michaelis that his nomination of Niebuhr had been approved by the King. As with Haven, he was to begin serious academic preparation for the trip immediately and would receive an annual stipend of 500 rtlrs to support his work. Michaelis committed to getting Niebuhr started and to overseeing his studies.84 Niebuhr was delighted to receive official word that his appointment was approved. The same day he wrote a letter of appreciation to Bernstorff expressing his “greatest joy” over the news, and pledging “to strive to the utmost to be worthy of the King’s grace, to prepare for the trip and to execute all of the required duties with all my strength.”85 His one paragraph letter was short and to the point. During the next nine years, with only one exception, Niebuhr did not waver in his commitment to an expedition about which he initially knew practically 81 Lohmeier, “Heinrich Wilhelm Schmeelkes Biographie,” 195. Also see Niebuhr to B. G. Niebuhr, 28 December 1806, BBAW, Nachlass B. G. Niebuhr, Nr. 230. 82 On Kästner see Rainer Baasner, Abraham Gotthelf Kästner, Aufklärer (1719–1800) (Tübingen, 1991), esp. 76–127, and 531–597; also Selle, Die Georg-August-Universität zu Göttingen, 101–104. For his interest in geography and travel literature, see Peter Boerner, “Die großen Reisesammlungen des 18. Jahrhunderts,” in Reiseberichte als Quellen europäischer Kulturgeschichte. Aufgaben und Möglichkeiten der historischen Reiseforschung, ed. Antoni Maczak and Hans Jürgen Teuteberg (Wölfenbüttel, 1982), 68. 83 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 10 July 1758, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 14a. 84 Bernstorff to Michaelis, 12 August 1758, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 251. To put 500 rtlrs in perspective, Bernstorff ’s annual salary in 1758 was 6,000 rtlrs, plus a sinecure that brought him an additional 3,500 rtlrs a year. In 1760, when his nephew, Andeas Peter von Bernstorff, the later distinguished reform minister, joined the German Chancellery, he started with a salary of less than 700 rtlrs. a year. See Friis, Die Bernstorffs, 2: 26. Also Michaelis to Bernstorff, 7 September 1758, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 16a. 85 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 7 September 1758, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 16b.

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nothing. Michaelis and Bernstorff, without knowing it, had chosen well. Niebuhr brought to the team an understated confidence, clearheadedness and resourcefulness. Although modest sometimes to an extreme, he was independent in his views, persistent in exploring new opportunities, conscientious in almost everything he did and quietly stubborn. Over time he developed an intense curiosity in many areas which moved beyond, by weight of sheer diligence, mere dilettantism into serious inquiry. He also brought to the team people skills that no other member of the expedition possessed and that would prove to be of the greatest value in a challenging cross-cultural environment. He was, it appears, naturally convivial, with many acquaintances and friends with whom he maintained contact for many years. He was kind, helpful and generous with his time and money, although in his own personal affairs he was frugal and kept a tight account of his expenses and funds. His correspondence with relatives and family accounts are full of little references that offer glimpses of some of these qualities. At one time he is helping two neighbor girls get ready to dance at a wedding ceremony by playing a minuet for them over and over and helping them to learn the dance steps as well.86 Later he is loaning more than 100 rtlrs to a classmate at Göttingen who is leaving school and is in need. He takes an indulgent interest in his younger relatives. In one letter he inquires about his nephew: “How is our little Schmeelke? He recently wrote me a little note, which gives me good hope. Don’t worry, don’t be too severe with the little boy. If he enjoys drawing, playing music and dancing – just let him learn.”87 Although still a young man, he had earned his extended family’s respect. After achieving his majority, his guardian, who had recently lost his wife, asked Niebuhr to be the guardian of his two daughters, ages six and seven, which he agreed to do.88 In addition, Niebuhr early on displayed a genuine empathy for others, a trait that would aid him in appreciating and understanding people from other cultures. Finally, he brought a sturdy endurance to the adventure that lay ahead. His ability to live simply, accept inconvenience and endure hardship was most likely aided by his years of working on a farm. Niebuhr’s preparation for the trip consisted of continuing to attend his regular classes in mathematics and some in history. He studied Arabic privately with Michaelis, but by his own admission, he was slow in making progress. Having barely learned Latin, he was ill-prepared in classical languages, had no previous exposure to semitic languages and with his practical bent, wished that the texts he was trying to master were more related to geography.89 Michaelis judged Niebuhr 86 Lohmeier, “Heinrich Wilhelm Schmeelkes Biographie,” 194. 87 Niebuhr to Johann Beymgraben, 11 May 1760, and 14 August 1760, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 24. 88 Lohmeier, “Heinrich Wilhelm Schmeelkes Biographie,” 194. 89 B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 15; Niebuhr to Johann Beymgraben, 4 January 1759, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr.24; Michaelis to Bernstorff, 2 April 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 20a; and Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 2 April 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 19a.

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to be a hard working student, but Niebuhr was not able to truly master written Arabic in Göttingen and did not actually learn the language until after he had arrived in the Middle East.90 It was only through travel that he came to appreciate the importance of knowing the local language well. Niebuhr’s tutoring in astronomy was quite a different experience than his instruction in Arabic. His two years of study and mentoring at the hands of Tobias Mayer was the most important formal educational experience of his life.91 As Niebuhr’s son later wrote: “Among German astronomers and mathematicians of his time, Mayer was, without a doubt, the most preeminent; his passion to teach Niebuhr was just as great as his student’s passion to learn from him. Among all the men whom Niebuhr got to know in his long life, none were as honored and loved by him as Mayer; there developed between them a deep friendship.”92 Mayer had such a decisive intellectual impact on Niebuhr because he combined powerful theoretical insights with practical, technical application. It also helped that their backgrounds were similar and their ages quite close. Mayer was only ten years older than Niebuhr. As he was one of the key intellectual contributors to the expedition, and because he today still is not well known, some discussion of his background is appropriate. Tobias Mayer (1723–1762) was born in Marbach am Neckar, Württembürg (also the birthplace of Friedrich Schiller), but his family soon moved to nearby Esslingen.93 His father was originally a cartwright and later a craftsman for water systems 90 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 6 August 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 27. 91 Niebuhr to Franz Xaver von Zach, 3 June 1803, “Biographische Nachrichten aus Tobias Mayer’s Jugendjahren. Aus einem Schreiben des königl. Dänischen Justiz-Raths C. Niebuhr,” Monatliche Correspondenz zur Beförderung der Erd- und Himmels-Kunde 8 (1803): 257. 92 B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 15. This high estimation of Mayer was not just the opinion of B. G. Niebuhr. For example, in 1760, the mathematician, Leonhard Euler called Mayer “undoubtedly the greatest astronomer in Europe,” in a letter to Gerhard Friedrich Müller of the St. Petersburg Academy of Sciences, cited in Eric Gray Forbes, “Tobias Mayer (1723–69): A Case of Forgotten Genius.” The British Journal for the History of Science 5 (1970): 1. Also Jean Delambre wrote in his Histoire de l’astronomie au XVIIIième siècle (Paris, 1827) that “Tobias Mayer is universally considered as one of the greatest astronomers not only of the eighteenth century, but of all times and of all countries”. For this and other similar assessments, see Eric G. Forbes, Tobias Mayer (1723–62). Pioneer of enlightened science in Germany (Göttingen, 1980), 16–17. 93 The leading authority on Tobias Mayer is Eric G. Forbes of the University of Edinburgh. His most important work is the biography of Mayer cited in fn. 92 above. Also see his The Birth of Navigational Science. Tobias Mayer (Greenwich, 1974), and Erwin Roth, ed., Tobias Mayer. Pioneer der Positionsbestimmung. Wegbereiter der modernen Navigationssysteme. Eine Ausstellung des Tobias Mayer Museum Vereins (Marbach am Neckar, 1995). Also important are the collection of articles in Erhard Anthes, Werner Quehl and Erwin Roth, eds. Tobias Mayer und die Zeit der Aufklärung (Marbach am Neckar, 1990). Most recently Dieter Lohmeier has written two important articles on Mayer that are based on much new information. See his “Carsten Niebuhr, Tobias Mayer und die Längengrade,” and “Monddistanzen und Längengrade. Der Briefwechsel zwischen Carsten Niebuhr und Tobias Mayer 1761.” Finally see the articles by Reimer Eck, “Tobias Mayer, Johann

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– wells, pumps, piping and the like. Mayer’s parents died when he was young, but as he was recognized already as something of a prodigy, he obtained elementary tutoring from helpful members of the community who took him under their wing. Early on he demonstrated prodigious talent in drawing and mathematics. Admitted to the local Latin School, he advanced through the classwork that normally took six years in only two. After completing the Latin School he never attended a university and received no additional formal education. Nonetheless he published his first book, a modest study on geometry, at the age of eighteen.94 During a short period in Augsburg he was introduced to map making, learned about the manufacture of fine scientific instruments and published a Mathematical Atlas modeled on Christian Wolff ’s famous Anfangs-Gründe aller mathematischen Wissenschaften.95 Beautifully illustrated by Mayer, the text effectively synthesized the work of many of the leading mathematicians of the period. In 1746 he joined the famed Homann-Erben map publishing firm in Nürnberg. The Franconian city was the center for map making in Germany, and Homann its leading producer of cartographic works. In the next five years Mayer prepared over thirty maps – including an important comprehensive map of Germany, his Germaniae mappa critica, 1750.96 Indeed it was cartography that caused him to focus on the problem of the imprecision that existed in the determination of geographic location. It was this esential problem of 18th Century science, that of being able to determine accurately one’s location anywhere on the earth that led him to the field of astronomy.97 He began making his first astronomical observations from the Homann building in Nürnberg and directed his attention to the use of observations of the moon for the purpose of determining longitude. This research question would be the focal point of his scientific career. In Nürnberg he did much work on lunar mapping, lunar parallax, the oscillation or libration of the moon and lunar and solar eclipses. Some of his findings were published in the scientific journal of the newly established Deutsche Akademie der Weltbeschreibungs-Wissenschaft, or Cosmographische Gesellschaft. This was Germany’s first geographical society, and Mayer became a memDavid Michaelis, Carsten Niebuhr und die Göttinger Methode der Längenbestimmung,” Mitteilungen – Gauss-Gesellschaft e. V. Göttingen 22 (1986): 73–81, and Armin Hüttermann, “Carsten Niebuhr und sein Göttingen Lehrer Tobias Mayer, “ in Dithmarschen 2 (2001): 47–56. 94 Tobias Mayer, Neue und allgemeine Art, alle Aufgaben aus der Geometrie vermittelst der geometrischen Linien leichte aufzulösen; insbesondere wie alle reguläre und irreguläre Vielecke, davon ein Verhältnis ihrer Seiten gegeben, in der Circul geometrisch sollen eingeschrieben werden, sammt einer hiezu nötigen Buchstaben-Rechnenkunst und Geometrie (Esslingen, 1741). 95 Tobias Mayer, Mathematischer Atlas, in welchem auf 60 Tabellen alle Theile der Mathematik vorgestellt, und nicht allein zu bequemer Wiederholung, sondern auch den Anfängern besonders zur Aufmunterung durch deutliche Beschreibung und Figuren entworfen werden (Augsburg, 1745). 96 Roth, Tobias Mayer, 12; and Armin Hüttermann, “Tobias Mayer als Kartograph und Geograph,” in Tobias Mayer und die Zeit der Aufklärung, ed. Anthes, Quehl and Roth, 73–90. 97 Forbes, Tobias Mayer, 42.

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ber. It was this research that caught the attention of Münchhausen in Hanover. He had just overseen the establishment of a new observatory in Göttingen in 1748, and was looking to add strength to the faculty in astronomy. Münchhausen was also interested in attracting the Cosmographische Gesellschaft away from Nuremberg, which he subsequently succeeded in doing. Personal connections to the society and to the Homann firm were important. This is why in 1751 he offered Mayer a professorship. Mayer accepted the appointment and thus Göttingen became his home for the next eleven years until his early death at the age of thirty-nine in 1762. At Göttingen he soon became Director of the Observatory and conducted his pioneering work on lunar tables, research that was crucial to the accurate determination of longitude in the 18th Century. This is a topic we will discuss later, as Niebuhr played a significant role in this achievement during the first months of the actual expedition. In addition to his astronomical studies, Mayer did important work on the theory of color, earthquakes and especially, magnetism. He laid the foundation for Göttingen’s later famous work in magnetism under Carl Friedrich Gauss.98 Thus Niebuhr’s assigned task of preparing for the trip gave him the rare opportunity to work one-on-one not only with one of Germany’s leading Orientalists, Michaelis, but also with one of the great scientists of Europe. He had, in effect, a two-year tutorial with Mayer, a scholar who was a singular contributor to the pivotal role of geographical and cosmographical inquiry in the activities of the Enlightenment. Niebuhr first studied the basics of astronomy and only later was introduced to the art of observation. He learned celestial navigation and mastered, as we shall see later, Mayer’s new and difficult Lunar Distance Method for determining longitude. He also met with Mayer each week to practice drawing maps and town plans. This was supplemented by work on his own to learn engraving from the University’s copper plate engraver.99 Mayer introduced Niebuhr to the complexity of map making, to the necessity of applying a wide variety of geographic aids to the task, and to the methodological challenge of appreciating, according to Mayer, the “infinite number of inter-relationships [that] can be found in the construction of a map.”100 Astronomy, navigation, geography and cartography – this is what Niebuhr learned from Mayer. But in addition to subject matter, Niebuhr learned to apply sophisticated observational methodologies correctly, to be accurate and precise in the making of observations and to be thorough in the collection of data. In an age that greatly valued quantification and measurement, Niebuhr had the good fortune to learn from one of the masters, from “Mayer, the measurer of land and sea and 98 Ibid., 16. 99 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 2 April 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 19a; Carsten Niebuhr, “Biographischen Nachrichten aus Tobias Mayer’s Jugendjahren aus einem Schreiben des Königlich Dänischen Justiz-Raths C. Niebuhr,” in Franz Xaver von Zach, Monatliche Correspondenz zur Beförderung der Erd- und Himmels-Kunde 8 (1803), and 9 (1804): 45–56, and 487–491, respectively. 100 Forbes, Tobias Mayer, 43.

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boundless space,” as Kästner said in his eulogy for his much admired colleague in 1762.101 The Botanist – Peter Forsskål: An “Apostle” of Linnaeus

W

ith the selection of the astronomer/cartographer completed, Michaelis and Bernstorff turned their attention to the selecting of a botanist, the last of the primary scholarly positions for the expedition.102 The identification of a natural scientist, originally suggested by Bernstorff two years earlier, had languished. Two candidates, Georgius Tycho Holm and Gregorius Wiedemann, both Danish students of Linnaeus, had withdrawn already from the assignment for various reasons.103 Bernstorff complained in October 1758 to Michaelis that once again he had been unable to find a scholar with both the knowledge and the courage to undertake the trip. He asked Michaelis to help.104 At the beginning of 1759, Michaelis suggested a former student of his, Peter Forsskål, from Sweden, who seemed to be uniquely suited for the project and would require little preparation.105 He was a theology student who had also studied Arabic and biblical philology with Michaelis in Göttingen and botany with Carl Linnaeus in Uppsala. The student had stayed in touch with Michaelis sending him updates on his studies in Sweden and academic letters full of botanical and philological information.106 At the same time that Michaelis was writing to Bernstorff, he was also contacting Forsskål, outlining the purpose of the trip, telling him that a philologist and mathematician had already been selected, and inviting him to become the natural scientist.107 Forsskål’s response was equivocal. He wrote that while he would like to undertake the adventure, and Linnaeus was encouraging him to go, he must await the approval of his father, and of that he was not assured. Furthermore, he added two 101 Ibid., 15–16. 102 This section includes material previously published in L. J. Baack, “A naturalist of the Northern Enlightenment: Peter Forsskål after 250 years,” Archives of natural history 40 (2013): 1–19. 103 For a very thorough discussion, based on much new documentation, of these attempts to fill the post of natural scientist, see Lohmeier, “Gregorius Wiedemann.” 104 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 7 September 1758, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 16A; Bernstorff to Michaelis, 31 October 1758, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 254; Michaelis to Bernstorff, 13 November 1758, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 17a. Also see Arvid Hj. Uggla, Resa till lycklige Arabien. Petrus Forsskåls Dagbok 1761–1763 (Uppsala, 1950), 10; and Henrik Schück, Från Linnés Tid. Petter Forsskål (Stockholm, 1923), 238 and 244. 105 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 1 January 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 17b, (draft 1 January 1759, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 255). 106 For example, see Forsskål to Michaelis, 26 October 1756, 3 December 1756 and 3 April 1757, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 322, Bl. 249–254. 107 Michaelis to Forsskål, 1 January 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 17c, (draft, Michaelis to Forsskål, 1 January 1759, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 322, Bl. 255–256.

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conditions: “I am requesting from the outset that all members of the party be viewed as equals and friends and that no one will be subordinated to another.” Secondly he asked that as the voyage to Arabia would go around the Cape of Good Hope, he wanted to stop there to gather biological data, based on instructions he would be getting from Linnaeus.108 Only a month later, however, Forsskål seemed to decline the appointment. “My father considers the trip to be far too dangerous and without sufficient benefits,” he wrote, thanking Michaelis for the offer. He added, that whoever was chosen as the natural scientist would benefit greatly from studying with Linnaeus in Uppsala. “More than any scholar alive,” he wrote, “he would be able to guide and prepare the naturalist for the trip.”109 Meanwhile Bernstorff, Moltke and the King were getting impatient at the lack of news. What was the status of the botanist from Sweden? Why had they heard nothing? The King, Bernstorff wrote to Michaelis, wanted to see progress: “Since you are the promoter and director of the whole enterprise, you are the one who must get the project moving after it has been delayed by so many incidents and refusals.”110 Bernstorff did not know that in addition to the hesitation of Forsskål, Michaelis’ wife had died, further delaying the process. Moreover, the impact of the Seven Years War on Göttingen was making life more difficult for Michaelis. Because of the Electorate’s personal union with Great Britain, Hanover quickly found itself in the middle of the conflict. Göttingen capitulated without a fight to French troops on July 16, 1757 and was subject to recurring occupations and a siege by Prussian troops as the conflict surged back and forth until the end of the war in 1763. In that time the population of the town declined from 8,000 in 1756 to 6,500 in 1763. The community was burdened with the quartering of troops, labor services and financial payments. Transportation, supplies and mail were disrupted. The University, originally exempted by the French from many of the hardships, eventually also suffered in its operations.111 Thus Michaelis, as his correspondence shows, was in-

108 Forsskål to Michaelis, 30 January 1759, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 322, Bl. 257–258. 109 Forsskål to Michaelis, 27 February 1759, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 322, Bl. 259–260. The father’s concern was well founded. Out of nineteen students of Linnaeus who went on scientific trips to foreign lands, seven died as a result of their travels and one went insane. See Sverker Sörlin, “Scientific Travel – The Linnean Tradition,” in Science in Sweden. The Royal Academy of Sciences, 1739–1989, ed. Tore Frängsmyr (Canton, MA., 1989), 121, fn. 23. 110 Bernstorff to Michaelis, 20 March 1759, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 258–259 (draft RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 18).. 111 See Selle, Die Georg-August-Universität zu Göttingen, 116–119; Vierhaus, “Göttingen,” 32–34; and Samuel Christian Hollmann, Die Universität Göttingen im siebenjährigen Kriege, ed. Alfred Schöne (Leipzig, 1887).

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creasingly anxious and preoccupied because of the war.112 This no doubt delayed his work113 Despite these obstacles, Michaelis persevered with his pursuit of Forsskål. As both he and Bernstorff thought Forsskål would be an ideal choice for the trip, he wrote again to the young botanist in April trying to convince him to reconsider.114 This time he succeeded. While Forsskål accepted, he did so only with a substantial list of conditions. He requested that he be made a full professor, that he receive a lifetime pension after completing the trip, that he have the freedom to settle anywhere he wished, and that he receive a preparation stipend of 500 rtlr per year retroactive to the beginning of 1759. He reiterated his requirement that all members of the party be of equal status and authority.115 With some trepidation this request was forwarded by Michaelis to Bernstorff. In a lengthy correspondence, the terms of Forsskål’s appointment were finally negotiated and the appointment was forwarded by Bernstorff to Moltke for approval by the King. The recommendation included all of Forsskål’s conditions and added that the Danish Government would attempt to find him a university professorship in Denmark if a vacancy occurred. Finally it was agreed that he would be able to conduct research in South Africa during the voyage around the Cape of Good Hope. He was to report to the Danish Ambassador to Stockholm for further instructions and was to begin immediately his preparation under the guidance of Linnaeus. The King approved these terms. Forsskål had driven a hard bargain, a bargain Forsskål argued that helped to assuage his father’s concerns and allowed him to go.116 Although the negotiation was an early indication that Forsskål might be a difficult person to manage, Bernstorff and Michaelis were relieved to have finally enlisted someone of great talent for the expedition and 112 For example, Michaelis to Bernstorff, 10 August 1758, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 15; Michaelis to Bernstorff, 13 November 1758, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 17a (in which Michaelis specifically noted he would try to find a botanist but it would be difficult because of the war); and Michaelis to Bernstorff, 20 July 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 24a. Also Bernstorff to Michaelis, 9 September 1758, NSuUG. Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 252–253; and Bernstorff to Michaelis, 31 July 1759, NSuUG. Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 266. 113 Niebuhr to Johann Beymgraben, 4 January 1759, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 24. 114 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 2 April 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 20a and 9 April 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 20b Bernstorff to Michaelis, 17 April 1759, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 260. 115 Forsskål to Michaelis, 11 May 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 20d. 116 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 31 May 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 20c; Forsskål to Michaelis, 6 July 1759, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 322, Bl. 261–262; Bernstorff to Michaelis, 21 July 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 24; Bernstorff to Forsskål, 21 July 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 25; Michaelis to Bernstorff, 6 August 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 27; Forsskål to Michaelis, 8 August 1759, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 322, Bl. 263–264; Forsskål to Bernstorff, 8 August 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 30a; Bernstorff to Moltke, 20 August 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 28; Moltke to Bernstorff, 5 September 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 29; Bernstorff to Forsskål, 11 September 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 31; and Bernstorff to Michaelis, 11 September 1759, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 267.

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in the process secured a powerful link to Carl Linnaeus, the foremost botanist of their time. In first suggesting Forsskål, Michaelis was bringing forth a person whose talent and immense energy were matched by unrelenting ambition and a strong ego. He was, without a doubt, a child of the Northern European Enlightenment, manifesting in his brief life intellectual currents and personal experiences that were a microcosm of this transitional period of the 18th Century. Peter Forsskål was born on January 11, 1732 in Helsinki, Finland, Finland being attached to Sweden at that time. He was the youngest of six children and had two older brothers. His father, Johan Forsskahl, was a prominent pastor, continuing a long tradition in the family of serving the church. His mother, also from a clerical family, died when he was only three. The elder Forsskål reportedly had the largest private library in Helsinki.117 In 1740, the family moved to Sweden where the father had accepted a position as the Pastor for the Parish of Tegelsmora, about five miles from Uppsala, in the province of Uppland. Subsequently his father went on to a distinguished clerical career in Stockholm and became a member of the clerical estate in the Swedish Riksdag. In November 1742, the three Forsskål brothers were admitted to the University of Uppsala as a group. Peter was only ten. Although he was especially young, younger students were not unusual at Uppsala, and indeed elsewhere in Europe, at this time. For example, in 1761, out of 623 students at Uppsala, 195 were under the age of fifteen.118 For the younger students this was really a period of college preparatory work typical of someone who would later enter the church. Well-educated by tutors, Forsskål studied Latin, Greek, Hebrew, philosophy and theology. An outstanding student, he was awarded in 1750 the Stipendium Guthermuthianum. This prestigious endowed scholarship provided support for five years of more advanced study at Uppsala, and support for an optional two years of study at a foreign university. At Uppsala he studied philosophy and oriental languages with Carl Aurivillius, Sweden’s most prominent Orientalist, and a former classmate of Michaelis’ at Halle. Forsskål also accompanied his older brother, a medical student, to the hugely popular lectures of Linnaeus. This began a decade long association with Linnaeus, and Forsskål became one of his so-called “apostles.”119 The importance of Linnaeus to the work of the expedition is a topic we will return to shortly. Because Forsskål demonstrated real ability, Aurivillius arranged with his friend Michaelis for his student to go to Göttingen. Forsskål arrived in Göttingen in October of 1753 and began work with Michaelis and others in oriental philology, philosophy, theology and Arabic. He also studied insects and plants with Johann Gottfried Zinn, who had replaced Albrecht von Haller as Head of the Botanical Gar117 Torston Steinby, Peter Forsskål och Tanker om Borgerligen Friheten (Helsingfors, 1970), 16 118 Schück, Frän Linnés Tid, 19. 119 For the meaning of the word “apostle” in the Linnaean context, see Kenneth Nyberg, “Linnaeus’ apostles, scientific travel and the East India trade,” Zoologica Scripta 38 (2009): 9.

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dens. In 1756, he was examined by his committee in the following subjects: Classical and Semitic Philology, Philosophy, Politics, Mathematics, Physics, and Astronomy. On June 12, 1756, he successfully defended his dissertation. Entitled Dubia de principiis philosophae recentioris, it was a sharply negative examination of the philosophy of Christian Wolff, the interpreter of Leibniz and, of course, the most prominent German philosopher of the early 18th Century.120 A critical attitude towards Wolff was typical of many of the younger generation of Aufklärers-to-be, but none the less his dissertation commanded a good deal of attention – generally favorable in Germany, but controversial in Sweden, where prevailing philosophical views at Uppsala were strongly Wolffian.121 Returning to Sweden he began an academic career as a private tutor and resumed work with Linnaeus. But to compete for a better position at the University of Uppsala, he was required to submit a scholarly paper to the Philosophical Faculty for review. This he did in 1759, choosing a topic which quickly got him into difficulty. Inspired by the freer intellectual environment in Göttingen, and Germany, generally, his treatise was entitled De Libertate Civili. It was a polemic against press censorship in Sweden, which was still substantial and a broad advocacy of greater civil liberties for Swedish subjects, a civil service based on examinations and merit and public education for all. The paper was rejected by the faculty committee, and with that rejection went any hope of obtaining a higher academic position. Forsskål, however, did not let the matter rest. Out of frustration he had his paper published at his own expense as a pamphlet in both Swedish and Latin. The Swedish version, which he distributed personally around Uppsala was entitled, Tankar om Borgerliga Friheten, or Thoughts on Civil Liberty. Although it had been reviewed by the censor, and modified, it was still immediately banned by the government who ordered it confiscated and destroyed. Forrskål was given a warning and the censor was dismissed. Linnaeus, his mentor, who was now the Rector of the University, had the uncomfortable task of carrying out the order.122 Although this controversy had the benefit of eventually contributing to the relaxation of censorship in Sweden in 1766, in the near term it damaged Forsskål’s career prospects. But as 120 The most detailed discussion of Forsskål’s philosophical views is Johan Dellner, Forsskåls Filosofi (Stockholm, 1953). 121 See Tore Frängsmyr, “The Mathematical Philosophy,” in The Quantifying Spirit in the 18th Century, ed. Tore Frängsmyr, J. L. Heilbron, and Robin E. Rider (Berkeley, 1990), 38–43. Also see Forsskål to Michaelis, 7 January 1761, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 322, Bl. 268–269. 122 For a discussion of the controversy see especially Steinby, Peter Forsskål, 48–78. A facsimile of the Order is on pp. 73–75. Also see the background essay in the recent Swedish/English publication of the pamphlet, Peter Forsskål, Thoughts on Civil Liberty, ed. David Goldberg, Gunilla Jonsson, Helena Jäderblom, Gunnar Persson and Thomas von Vegesack (Stockholm, 2009), 23–39. It is also probable that the faculty committee’s rejection influenced Forsskål’s decision to accept the appointment. It is worth noting that the committee made its final decision on May 9, 1759, and although it was not officially posted until May 17, it seems likely that Forsskål had heard of the decision. He wrote to Michaelis of his positive interest on May 11, 1759.

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someone who was proficient in theology, philology, the natural sciences and Arabic he had much to offer to Michaelis as a member of the upcoming expedition, and the negotiated benefits accompanying his participation, must have looked attractive to Forsskål as he was working his way through his difficulties in Sweden. He added enthusiasm, energy, and certainly rigor in the natural sciences to the team. At the beginning of the expedition he was, without a doubt, the best prepared member of the group and the one most intensely engaged in a wide range of scholarly fields. Most notably, he connected the expedition to the work of Carl Linnaeus. This was significant for shaping some of the scientific work of the expedition and through Forsskål, it probably influenced Niebuhr in his approach to field work. It also introduced a curious tension or ambivalence into the expedition. Danish authorities no doubt valued the association with Linnaeus and the credibility it brought to their efforts. But they were also sensitive to the Swedish connection because of the historic rivalry between the two nations and probable envy over Sweden’s achievements in science. Thus, as we shall see, Forsskål, in part also because of his own national pride, became the focal point for a small subplot of Danish-Swedish competition in the expedition. Still, there can be no doubt that the Linnaean association brought benefit to the expedition. The contribution of Linnaeus to 18th Century natural science is well known. The literature on his life and work is huge.123 It dwarfs by comparison the attention paid to figures like Michaelis or Tobias Mayer. His remarkable career in the sciences is characterized by many seminal achievements, but also by complexities, contradictions and anachronisms that in their totality are well beyond the scope of this study. However, it is necessary to highlight at least four areas in which his impact on the expedition would be important. First, he was an extraordinarily gifted observer, a trait especially seen in his earliest field studies and travel accounts. His interests ranged widely beyond the natural sciences, but surely his ability to see the slightest detail or characteristic in a plant was remarkable. Through his stimulating lectures and legendary field trips, his students, such as Forsskål, learned as well to be alert, discriminating and accurate observers of plant and animal life. As Sten Lindroth has pointed out, “Linnaeus was thus an empiricist. As an observer and a describer of objects of the sciences he has had few if any equals. He belongs to the great empirical tradition of the West.”124 Second, although Linnaeus explored many topics in plant biology with varying degrees of completeness, he is, of course, best known 123 For an introduction see Tore Frängsmyr, ed. Linnaeus. The Man and His Work (Berkeley, 1983), especially the essay by Sten Lindroth, “The Two Faces of Linnaeus,” 1–62; Wilfrid Blunt, The Complete Naturalist. A Life of Linnaeus (London, 1971); Gunnar Broberg, ed., Linnaeus. Progress and Prospects in Linnaean Research (Stockholm, 1980); and Lisbet Koerner, “Carl Linnaeus in his time and place,” in Cultures of natural history, ed. N. Jardine, J. A. Secord and E. C. Spay (Cambridge, 1996), 145–162. 124 Lindroth, “The Two Faces of Linnaeus,” 4, and Karl-Gustav Hildebrand, “The Economic Background of Linnaeus. Sweden in the Eighteenth Century,” in Linnaeus, ed. Broberg, 18–29

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as the great systematizer in botany.125 As detailed knowledge of plants in Europe and elsewhere became more available, the problem of a lack of a standard system of description and classification became apparent. Individual botanists created their own descriptive criteria and nomenclature, information could not be easily shared, and different systems competed against each other. Motivated by his well known desire to better understand God’s natural creation, Linnaeus sought to establish an orderly and rational methodology for plant description, identification and labeling. He standardized the terminology, and limited it to a set number of terms and phrases. His sexual system of plant classification and his binomial nomenclature introduced stability and uniformity – a rigid discipline – to the description and categorization of plants.126 He personally described and classified an incredible number of plant forms and preserved them in herbaria sheets, an achievement probably unmatched by any other botanist.127 His approach became widely adopted in Europe in the 18th Century.128 Having a Linnaeus-trained scholar on the expedition meant that botanical, and also zoological, data would be described and classified according to emerging international standards and would be accurate, transferable and, therefore, useful. Third, Linnaeus paid great attention to travel as a strategy for acquiring scientific knowledge.129 Based on his own botanical exploration in Sweden, and the use of university field trips in Uppsala, he trained his graduate students to conduct travel seriously and systematically. As they went off on their trips, sometimes to distant lands, he provided them with detailed instructions and guidelines that went well beyond the natural sciences into economics and ethnography. His students were not to travel in a lackadaisical manner or to gather information casually or haphazardly. Rather he saw them as well-organized, meticulous and dedicated scholarly soldiers in the service of their mentor, science, Sweden and God. Fourth, Linnaeus was devoted to his students. He developed and nurtured a personal relationship with each of them. They were his “apostles”, as he 125 For an excellent, concise discussion of this aspect of his work, see Gunnar Eriksson, “Linnaeus the Botanist,” in Linnaeus, ed. Frängsmyr, 63–109. 126 For a good discussion of Linnaeus’ system see James L. Larson, Reason and Experience. The Representation of Natural Order in the Work of Carl von Linné (Berkeley, 1971). 127 Sten Lindroth, “The Two Faces of Linnaeus,” 31; and Gunnar Erikson, “The Botanical Success of Linnaeus. The Aspect of Organization and Publicity,” in Linnaeus, ed. Broberg, 60. 128 On the spread of his ideas see especially Frans A. Stafleu, Linnaeus and the Linnaeans. The spreading of their ideas in systematic botany, 1735–1789 (Utrecht, 1971). 129 See Sörlin, “Scientific Travel – the Linnean Tradition”; Nyberg, “Linnaeus’ apostles, scientific travel and the East India Trade”; and especially the first volume of The Linnaeus Apostles. Global Science and Adventure, edited by Lars Hansen (London, 2011). Also see Koerner, “Carl Linnaeus in his time and place,” 151–154, and the same author’s chapter, “Should Coconuts Chance to Come into My Hands: Acclimatization Experiments,” in Linnaeus: Nature and Nation, 113–139, and also her “Purposes of Linnaean travel: a preliminary research report,” in Visions of Empire. Voyages, botany and representations of nature, ed. David Philip Miller and Peter Hanns Reill (Cambridge, 1996), 117–152.

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himself described them. He got them scholarships, wrote their dissertations (which was frequently the practice of the day in Sweden), corresponded with them extensively and was deeply saddened when they died. Most, but by no means all, were, in turn, intensely loyal to him. Although, as recent research has shown, their motivations for participating in these travels to the far flung corners of the world sometimes may have varied (as it did in the case of Forsskål), they were usually enthusiastic champions of their teacher and his teachings.130 This gave his students an unusual zeal that enhanced the energy of their work. This was certainly true of Forsskål. Finally, we should note one relevant area where Linnaeus’ influence was not evident. As Lisbet Koerner has demonstrated in her excellent work, Linnaeus: Nature and Nation, a strong national economic motivation was also an element in Linnaeus’ work.131 He was a cameralist, influenced by the group of German economic and monetary philosophers who advocated the development of self-contained, largely self-sufficient domestic economies by the state. This was not unusual. Cameralism was a common approach in the 18th Century to questions of political economy in Northern Europe, especially in varying degrees for many of the German states. Münchhausen, for example, was a cameralist.132 For Linnaeus, scientific travel was to serve, in part, the strengthening of the domestic agricultural and manufacturing economy by gathering new information on plant types, habitats, cultivation and uses, as well as data on the economic activities and technologies of the societies visited so as to identify opportunities for developing or enhancing a domestic competitive advantage and pursuing import substitution. As has been mentioned, there is no evidence that the Danish expedition was carried out for economic reasons. National pride in science – the stature of the King – these were important motivations, but Bernstorff repeatedly emphasized that the pursuit of scholarly knowledge was the purpose of the expedition. It would be the quality and extent of the scientific information discovered that would produce recognition, respect and fame for the Danish crown and nation. Michaelis applauded the fact that the motivation behind the expedition was devoid of any “cameralist” tendencies.133 But with this exception, Linnaeus’ influence on the expedition was important. It 130 Hanna Hodacs and Kenneth Nyberg, Naturalhistoria på resande fot. Om att forska, undervisa och göra karriär i 1700-talets Sverige (Lund, 2007). 131 In addition to Koerner’s works cited in fn. 128, also see her “Linnaeus’ Floral Transplants,” Representations 47 (1994): 144–169. 132 For cameralism see Andre Wakefield, The Disordered Police State. German Cameralism as Science and Practice (Chicago, 2009). It contains an extensive discussion of cameralism in Hanover and at Göttingen. Also see Keith Tribe, Governing Economy. The Reformation of German Economic Discourse 1750–1840 (Cambridge, 1988), and the older work of Albion Small, The Cameralists. Pioneers of German Social Policy (Chicago, 1909). 133 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 26 April 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 101 a-b. In fact he specifically uses the word “cameralist”. Moreover, Linnaeus did not think highly of the expedition’s destination of Southern Arabia. As Elizabeth Koerner has noted, “Linnaeus preferred his students to travel the well-worn Cadiz-Ghuangzhou trade route, instead of visiting ‘wild deserts’ (as

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was because of Linnaeus, through the person of his reform-minded protégé, that the expedition was connected robustly to another dominant thread of intellectual inquiry during the Enlightenment – the investigation and understanding of Nature. Because of Forsskål’s Linnaean training, intelligence and diligence the expedition would produce very significant results in the natural sciences, and Forsskål would also serve as a good and much admired role model as a field scientist for the uninitiated Carsten Niebuhr. Fragen an eine Gesellschaft gelehrter Männer: A European Exercise in Inquiry

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ith the appointment of Forsskål completed, Bernstorff ’s attention turned from assembling the team of investigators to the scheduling of their departure, the crafting of their instructions, the acquisition of equipment and other details. In January, 1760, Bernstorff notified Michaelis that upon checking the sailing schedule of merchant ships serving the Danish Asiatic Company, the members of the expedition would need to be in Copenhagen by the beginning of October in order to make passage to Tharangambadi. He asked Michaelis to inform Haven and Niebuhr of the schedule and to send him a draft of the proposed instructions.134 Up to this point, Michaelis had done nothing about preparing in detail what the team should actually do when they got to Arabia, but Bernstorff ’s letter got him started. As was mentioned early on in his proposal of August 30, 1756, the first step in the process was to involve other scholars in the identification of questions the team should attempt to answer.135 Michaelis was slow in initiating this part of his proposal, but finally in February 1760, he published a notice in the Göttingische Anzeigen von gelehrten Sachen announcing the expedition. He briefly summarized the purpose of the trip, listed its members and their responsibilities and invited scholars to submit questions to him by Easter of that year so that the inquiries could be incorporated into the expedition’s instructions.136 While the issuing of instructions to expeditions or travelers by the sponsoring authority had become routine, the notion of soliciting questions from scholars throughout Europe was an innovation. Michaelis received responses from specialists and interested parties in England, Holland, France, Germany and Denmark, and all of the outside questions were subsequently transmitted to Bernstorff towards the end of the year.137 he even-handedly designated Pennsylvania and Yemen).” Koerner,”Carl Linnaeus in his time and place,” 152. 134 Bernstorff to Michaelis, 8 January 1760, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 273–274; also Bernstorff to Michaelis, 8 January 1760, draft, RaK AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 43. 135 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 30 August 1756, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 2; also see Michaelis to Bernstorff, 11 April 1757, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nrs. 8–9. 136 Göttingische Anzeigen von gelehrten Sachen, 7 February 1760, 129–131. 137 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 29 November 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 86, with enclosures 86a-86q.

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The submissions varied greatly in content. For example, John Collet of London wrote: “Mr. Kennicott of Oxford is now examining all the various Manuscripts, which we have of the Hebrew Bible in England, in order to give us a perfect copy of all the Books of the Old Testament. But it unfortunately happens, that we have no Hebrew manuscripts above 900 years old. If therefore these Gentlemen could purchase in Arabia Felix any ancient Manuscript of the Old Testament, as old, as our blessed Saveurs time, it would be an inestimable treasure, and of the greatest value.”138 Another writer from Amsterdam had no questions, but instead offered advice on food, transportation, and the need for letters of introduction. He cautioned that “Mohamedism is practiced with a zeal which is practically inconceivable in Europe. The people hate and even detest Christians.”139 A provincial official in the monarchy’s ancestral territory of Oldenburg, Anton Wilhelm von Halem (1711–1771), reading about the impending trip offered some important comments on the proposed route. Rather than going to Tharangambadi, he suggested that they sail directly to Istanbul, and then via Alexandria and the Red Sea to Yemen. This would be more efficient and convenient and would give the party an opportunity to get letters of introduction and to become familiar with Middle Eastern customs before arriving at their ultimate destination, Yemen. This is the first mention of the approximate route that the group eventually took.140 By far the most important response came from the Académie royale des inscriptions et des belles lettres in Paris.141 Over forty pages in length, it was well organized, dividing the questions into three logical sections. These included the history and chronology of Yemen, its geography, and finally, a large cluster which covered the religion, government, language, science and customs of the Southern Arabians. Under history the submission included a partial listing of the old Kings of Yemen, and as half of the entries were missing, requested that the members complete an accurate chronology. In geography, the greatest need was for an accurate map of Yemen, including a correct description of the route from al Mukhā (Mocha) on the coast to San’ā’ in the highlands. It also had 138 John Collet to Michaelis, 1 August 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 86h; also printed in Buhle, Literarische Briefwechsel, 1: 441–444. 139 Navarre to Michaelis, 20 May 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr, 86; Buhle, Literarische Briefwechsel, 1, 427–435. 140 Von Halem to Michaelis, 27 February 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 86i; also in Buhle, Literarische Briefwechsel, 1: 419–425. Little is known about Halem, but his son, Gerhard Anton von Halem, later became known for his travel accounts of visits to France in 1790 and 1811. See Egbert Koolman and Peter Reindl, eds. Im Westen geht die Sonne auf. Justizrat Gerhard Anton von Halem auf Reisen nach Paris 1790 und 1811 (Oldenburg, 1990). The father is mentioned on p. 11. 141 Mémoire adresssé au nom de l’Académie Royale des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres de France à Messieurs les Académiens Danois qui se disposent à faire le voyage de l’Arabie Heureuse, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 86d; a German translation of the document is also in Michaelis, Fragen an eine Gesellschaft gelehrter Männer, 350–397. For a discussion of the expedition’s contacts with the Académie, see Michel-Pierre Detalle, “Die Dänische Expedition nach Arabien, Carsten Niebuhr und Frankreich,” Historische Mitteilungen der Ranke-Gesellschaft 16 (2003): 1–14.

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questions on the Red Sea, sources of fresh water, the desert region between Oman and Yemen and the character of the royal capital of San‘ā’. For the social and political categories, the range of questions was quite broad. For example: What was the influence of the Ottoman Turks? What was the character of contemporary spoken Arabic? How did it compare with the classical language of the Qur’ān? What was the state of current scholarship in astronomy, poetry and history? It appeared, the submission indicated, that there were fewer scientific works emanating from Arabia than in the past. If this was the case, what accounted for the decline? Other questions dealt with the reported warm hospitality of the people in Yemen, the history of coffee and its use, and current information on money, weights and measures. The questions referred to the Bible only once, and then in the context of seeking out old translations of the scriptures. Instead, the questions focused primarily on understanding Arabia in its own right during its Islamic period. However, with the exception of the Paris Academy, and the contributions directly sent to Bernstorff from scholars in Copenhagen, which we will discuss later, the vast majority of the questions were crafted by Michaelis himself. In their printed form, his questions comprised 349 pages of material. They were the product primarily of evening discussions with four of his scholarly friends in Göttingen who “enjoyed many satisfying hours” going over potential assignments for the expedition. The group included a physician, a natural scientist and two theologians.142 But the idea and content of the questions may also have been influenced 142 See Michaelis, Fragen an eine Gesellschaft gelehrter Männer, “Vorrede”; and the Göttingische Anzeigen von gelehrten Sachen, 4 November 1762, 721–723. The four colleagues were: Johann Georg Röderer (1726–1763), a Physician and professor of anatomy, surgery, and forensic medicine. He was a pioneer in women’s medicine holding the first formal academic position in history in obstetrics, and was the author of the Elementa artis obstetriciae (1753), the foremost text in Germany in the field. Christian Wilhelm Büttner (1716–1801), a professor of philosophy who specialized in the natural sciences, linguistics and pharmacology. In 1771, he would publish a significant work in linguistics, his Vergleichungstafeln der Schriftarten verschiedener Völker in den vergangenen und gegenwärtigen Zeiten (Göttingen, 1771). He was also a great collector of Naturalia. Christian Wilhelm Franz Walch (1726–1784), was a professor of theology, church historian and proponent of a critical historical methodology in the study of Christianity, but also the author of an important work in the emerging field of Statistik, his Entwurf der Staatsverfassung der vornehmsten Reiche und Völker in Europa ( Jena, 1749). Lastly, Johann David Heilmann (1727–1764), also a professor of theology and a classics scholar, whose religious views were considered quite liberal by the Theological Faculty at Göttingen. He was well known for an important translation of Thucydides. Also Michaelis sent a draft of the questions to his father in Halle for comment. The father sent back quite a detailed review with 50 specific comments. See Christian B. Michaelis to Michaelis, n. d., NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 146–152. For an excellent discussion of the Fragen, setting the work in a broad context of such writings historically, see Daniel Carey, “Arts and Sciences of Travel, 1574–1762: The Arabian Journey and Michaelis’s Fragen in Context,” in Early Scientific Expeditions and Local Encounters – New Perspectives on Carsten Niebuhr and the Arabian Journey, ed. Ib Friis, Michael Harbsmeier and Jørgen Bæk Simonsen (Copenhagen, 2013), 27–60.

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by the historian and early ethnographer, Gerhard Friedrich Müller of the St. Petersburg Academy of Sciences. Müller crafted extraordinarily detailed instructions for the scientific members of the Second Kamchatka Expedition in the 1730’s and 1740’s, part of the Great Northern Expedition of Imperial Russia. Müller had good connections with Göttingen and it is likely that Michaelis was aware of Müller’s approach.143In any case, when the Fragen was finally sent in its entirety to the expedition party in 1762, Michaelis’ questions were in their organization, focus, scope and character an interesting contrast to those submitted by the Paris Academy. First, they were not organized into logical groupings, but were presented in a haphazard, almost random manner. In fact, Michaelis stated that in the selection or rejection of potential questions, he and his colleagues were not following any “system,” but were just following considerations of “fact”.144 Second, as would be expected, the focus was almost entirely on the Bible. Eighty of the one hundred questions made specific reference to the Bible, and a connection to Scripture was implied in most of the others.145 There was little sustained interest in investigating contemporary Arab culture as a subject in itself. Third, they covered a wide range of subjects, although again there was little interest in governmental institutions, economic affairs and so on. While categorization is difficult because the questions sometimes covered multiple topics, they did fall into several clusters. Approximately ten questions dealt with geography – for example, the characteristics of the Red Sea, rivers and streams in Egypt, other sources of water, wind storms, rain patterns and specific topographical and geographical terminology. Twenty-two dealt with zoology, all of them asking for explanations of references in the Bible to animal life, such as flying fish, birds, swarms of flies, locusts (Arabia is the fatherland of locusts, he wrote), wasps, bats, manatees, worms, antelopes and especially snakes (including flying ones).146 Customs were not as extensively treated as one might anticipate, but still thirteen questions were listed. They included ones on dwellings, rules for agri143 See in particular the discussion of his all encompassing Instruction for Johann Eberhard Fischer, a scientific member of the expedition. The instruction contained 1287 different points, 923 of them ethnographic. See the excellent study by Gudrun Bucher, “Von Beschreibung der Sitten und Gebräche der Völcker.” Die Instruktionen Gerhard Friedrich Müllers und ihre Bedeutung für die Geschichte der Ethnologie und der Geschichtswissenschaft (Wiesbaden, 2002), throughout, but esp. 101–127. For the possible connections to Michaelis and the Fragen, see pp. 187–190. That Müller corresponded with Michaelis is clear from Michaelis’s papers in Göttingen. See NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 227–230 for four letters from Müller to Michaelis in the years 1757–62. 144 “Vorrede,” Fragen an eine Gesellschaft gelehrter Männer. 145 As Michaelis wrote in the Preface or “Vorrede” to the Fragen, “Almost all of the questions I have posed refer to the elucidation of the Holy Scripture. I can see from the outset that this might displease some, and will appear as much too theological.” 146 A question on flying snakes was not unusual. There were numerous references to them in classical antiquity, especially by Herodotus, as well as in the Old Testament. And mention of them still can be found in the late Byzantine period. See Robert Rollinger and Martin Lang, “Die fliegenden Schlangen Arabiens: Transfer und Wandlung eines literarischen Motivs in der antiken Überlieferung – ein Florilegium,” in “Eine ganz normale Inschrift” … und ähnliches zum

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culture, foodstuffs and their preparation, water systems, verification of virginity upon marriage, polygamy and sexual practices. Botany was the subject of fifteen questions, again based on references from the Bible. These included queries on vine stocks, specific trees and Manna and its preparation. The questions on medicine addressed leprosy, and a list of other diseases including elephantiasis and the plague. Some were procedurally oriented as in the case of male and female circumcision and castration. Concerning the operation for castration, Michaelis wrote: “Because Arabia is almost the natural location for eunuchs, I am hoping that it will shed some light on Mosaic Law in which the different kinds of castration are discussed. One could speculate that because of the close relationship of the languages, that the procedures would be characterized by the same terminology in Hebrew and Arabic” (No. 54). Finally, numerous questions, many overlapping with other topical areas, dealt with issues of language, namely the definitions of specific ancient Hebrew words. Of course, in the end, nearly all the questions shared the same purpose – a clarification of the meaning of words used in the Bible. Fourth and finally, the questions varied greatly in length and character. Some were just a paragraph. Others, such as one on male and female circumcision, had many subquestions. Another on birds was forty-nine pages in length. On the latter Michaelis commented, “Of all the names of animals mentioned in the Bible, none are subject to so much imprecision as the names of birds”(No. 100). Most questions averaged about three to four pages in length. Some wandered through background information before presenting the question; others presented hypotheses that were to be tested. Assignments were made to named members of the expedition and in many cases they provided specific instructions. For example, to test whether it was possible for the Israelites to cross the Red Sea, he wrote: “It is therefore requested that on the day on which the observation is made, you make a precise record of the day, hour and minute in which the highest and lowest tide occurs, and of when the ebb and flood again commence. It would be best if the observations are repeated one day after the other, including specifically days between the 17th and the 24th of the Lunar Calendar (not the month, but from the new moon on)” (No. 2). Concerning one site mentioned by Moses, and reportedly seen by subsequent travelers, he wants the accuracy of the reports to be verified. If actually sighted, they were to “describe objectively, and as precisely as if it had never previously been described, and to render complete attention to uncovering its authenticity or fraudulent character”(No. 21). For a question concerning the taking off of shoes, he wrote, “I am not interested in conjecture (of that the seminar rooms of European scholars are not lacking), but of facts”(No. 59). The format in which Michaelis chose to write the questions demonstrates that indeed he saw them as the beginning of a conversation between European scholars, himself and the members of the team. The questions were intended to inaugurate Geburtstag von Ekkehard Weber. Festschrift zum 30. April 2005, Althistorisch – Epigraphische Studien Vol. 5, ed. Franziska Beutler and Wolfgang Hameter (Vienna, 2005), 101–109.

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the kind of scholarly dialog Michaelis had envisaged in his initial proposal. They attempted to give a dynamic character to the work of the expedition. Also with the volume’s focus on the past and the particular, that is on trying to understand more precisely the context and original meaning of specific references, practices and occurrences in the Old Testament, it was a disorganized but still historicist document. It shows Michaelis as a neologist and presents the antecedents of the emerging critical methodologies in the study of history in the practice of philology in the middle of the 18th Century. Michaelis’ Fragen commanded a lot of interest in Europe. It was immediately translated into French and later into Dutch as well.147 It was used as a model by scholars and scientific travelers for the rest of the 18th Century.148 Bernstorff – the Manager Driving the Project: New Suggestions, Additions and Problems

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hile the “Fragen” is an interesting document in its own right, we have to remember that its purpose was to inform the content of the instructions for the expedition and to provide specific assignments to its members. In that role, Michaelis’ effort largely failed. As Niebuhr noted in the preface to his Beschreibung von Arabien, the party received only two short questions composed by Michaelis himself before their departure from Copenhagen, and although Bernstorff, after finally receiving fuller submissions from Michaelis, subsequently sent two installments to them in the course of the trip, the members did not have a complete set in manuscript form until 1763, and the full printed volume was not received until Bombay, when Niebuhr was the only surviving member. 149 This contrasted markedly with the questions and comments received from the outside respondents to Michaelis’ request, all of which had been transmitted to Bernstorff, and were provided to the expedition upon their departure. These problems in execution by Michaelis were mirrored in the slow progress he made in crafting the instructions. Indeed, five months after his request, Bernstorff still had not received a draft. Frustrated, he again reminded Michaelis that he still needed to see a copy and that the 147 For the French translation see Recueil des questions proposées á une société de savans qui par ordre de Sa Majesté Danoise font le voyage de l’Arabie (Frankfurt, 1763), also later London, 1768 and Amsterdam, 1774; for the Dutch see Vragen an een gezelschap van geleerde mannen, die op bevel zyner Majesteit des Koning van Deenmarken naar Arabie reizen (Amsterdam, 1774). 148 See Hübner, “Johann David Michaelis,” 390–391; and Justin Stagl, A History of Curiosity. The Theory of Travel 1550–1800 (Chur, 1995), 270. 149 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, xvi. Also Bernstorff to Gähler, 7 July 1761, RaK, Tyrkiet, Gesandtskabsarkiver, Case 79–13, Bernstorff to Gähler, 28 March 1762, RaK, Tyrkiet, Gesandtskabsarkiver, Case 79–13, and Niebuhr to Temler, 30 October 1764, BBAW, C. Niebuhr Nachlass, Nr. 28. Michaelis’ two questions are recorded on just two short lines in the manuscript version of Haven’s writings, in the manuscript collections of the Kongelige Bibliotek, København (KBK), NKS 133, 2º, Vol. 11, 306.

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group must be assembled and ready to depart Copenhagen by the beginning of October.150 With apologies for being so tardy, Michaelis finally transmitted the set of draft instructions to Bernstorff on July 15, 1760, asking him to send it out for review to scholars in Copenhagen. The document comprised 35 numbered sections and was 19 manuscript pages in length.151 Thoughtful in its content, it formed the core of the eventual final Instructions, but over time it was modified in significant ways by others. It will be discussed later in the context of the final document governing the expedition. After consulting with Moltke, Bernstorff sent the draft to three scholars at the University of Copenhagen: Johann Christian Kall (1714–1775), a professor of oriental languages and former tutor to the King when he had been Crown Prince, Peder Ascanius (1723–1803), professor of zoology and mineralogy, and Georg Christian Oeder (1728–1791), the royal professor of botany referenced earlier.152 Kall, Ascanius and Oeder responded to Bernstorff quickly and made valuable suggestions that were later incorporated into the final version of the instructions. These included the following: first, adding a Doctor to provide medical care for the team and to assist with work in the natural sciences; second, assigning a botanical illustrator to produce detailed, accurate drawings of the specimens identified; third, quadrupling the budget for the purchase of manuscripts from 500 rtlr to 2,000 rtlr, and adding the stipulation that all manuscripts must be sent directly to Copenhagen to be deposited in the Royal Library; fourth, allocating at least three years time for the expedition, as the first year would be spent just learning the language and becoming familiar with the customs of the inhabitants; and finally, ensuring that questions from other scholars, not just Michaelis, would be sent to the expedition, and that all answers would be sent directly to Copenhagen.153 These comments and other revisions were transmitted to Michaelis in October as the process of refining the Instructions continued, a process that would take until December 15, 1760, only three weeks before the Expedition departed.154 Bernstorff liked the suggestion of expanding the party still further, and he obtained approval from Moltke and the King to add a medical specialist and an illus-

150 Bernstorff Pro Memoria, 18 June 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 53c, and Bernstorff to Michaelis, 23 June 1760, NSuUG. Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 275. 151 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 15 July 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 55a and NSuUG. Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 276–285. 152 Bernstorff to Moltke, 4 August, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 56a; Bernstorff to Michaelis, 5 August 1760, NSuUG. Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 286; Moltke to Bernstorff, 12 August 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 56; Bernstorff to Michaelis, 19 August 1760, NSuUG. Cod. Ms. Mich.320, Bl. 287–288, and Bernstorff to Michaelis, 19 August 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 59 (draft). 153 J. C. Kall to Bernstorff, 26 August 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 69c-d, and NSuUG. Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 294–299; and Ascanius and Oeder Pro Memoria, 29 August 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 69b and NSuUG. Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 300–301. 154 Bernstorff to Michaelis, 21 October 1760, NSuUG. Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 292–293, and RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 75 and 75c-d.

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trator. He also got approval to increase the manuscript’s budget as recommended.155 He moved quickly to fill the position of physician to the expedition, selecting Christian C. Kramer (1732–1763), a Danish medical student, and protégé of Christian Gottlieb Kratzenstein (1723–1795), professor of experimental physics and medicine, and a popular student-oriented teacher, at the University of Copenhagen. Kramer had just finished his dissertation, Specimen insectologiae danicae, a description of 307 insects using Linnaeus’ system. It was the first entomological compilation on Denmark.156 We have little additional information on Kramer’s background. At the same time an artist originally from Nürnberg was selected as the expedition’s illustrator. Georg Wilhelm Baurenfeind was born in 1728, the son of an imperial notary. He was trained as an engraver and subsequently moved to Copenhagen to do the illustrations for a book on the history of the Danish nobility. He studied at the Academy of Art and was awarded a Gold Medal for a piece he had done on Moses and the Burning Bush. It was the first time that the Academy had so recognized a copper-plate engraving. He had also just completed a well-received portrait of Moltke and had done much work illustrating a history of the royal family. He was probably recommended by the Academy of Art, but the combination of Moses and Moltke did not hurt, in all likelihood, his chances of being selected. In the end, both Niebuhr and Forsskål thought highly of his ability and his hard-working, conscientious nature.157 While shepherding the development of the Instructions, Bernstorff also spent a good deal of time and mental energy managing issues raised by the three very different primary members of the team, Haven, Forsskål and Niebuhr. Some were easier to deal with than others. With Haven the problem was quite simple. He refused to respond expeditiously to Bernstorff ’s directive to return to Copenhagen by the beginning of October. Notified in July by Michaelis and Bernstorff of his reporting date, Haven replied that he would need more money, and in any case, it was unlikely he would be in the Danish capital by October. Perhaps, he suggested, they should investigate ships departing in December or January.158 Despite two more admonitions from Bernstorff in August and receipt of additional money to travel 155 Bernstorff to Moltke, 22 September 1760, draft Pro Memoria, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 69; and Moltke to Bernstorff, 3 October 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 69. 156 Kratzenstein to Bernstorff, 15 November 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 77. We have few details on Kramer’s life, see Torben Wolff ’s description in Rasmussen, Den Arabiske Rejse, 93. 157 On Baurenfeind see Dansk Biografisk Lexikon, vol. 2 (Copenhagen, 1933), 260–261; Leo Swane, J. F. Clemens; biografi samt fortegnelse over hans kobberstik (Copenhagen, 1929), 91; Rasmussen, Den Arabiske Rejse, 94–97; Uggla, Resa till lycklige Arabien, 89; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 451. 158 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 15 July 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 55a; Haven to Bernstorff, 6 August 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 62, references Bernstorff ’s letter to him of 18 July 1760; and Haven to Michaelis, 2 August 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 64c. Also Haven to Michaelis, 2 August 1760, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 324, Bl. 62–63, and Haven to Michaelis, 15 November 1760, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 324, Bl. 58–59.

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home, Haven still made no effort to return on time. At the beginning of October he was not in Copenhagen but still in Rome. He reported that he had had to delay his departure because he had to say good bye to the French Ambassador, after which he was going to Venice to visit the library there (he arrived in Venice on October 9). As a result Haven did not arrive in Copenhagen until the beginning of December.159 This stalling may not have been just a demonstration of his lack of drive and respect, but perhaps also of an effort to avoid the proposed long sea route to Yemen via the Cape of Good Hope and Tharangambadi. As will be seen later, he was simply afraid of, or averse to, the hardships of a long ocean voyage. Already in August and September, Haven was proposing that the route be changed. Because the expedition no longer had any real connection with the Missionary Settlement in Tharangambadi, it made no sense to go there. Instead, he argued, it would be shorter and more convenient to go to al Mukhā via Alexandria, Cairo and the Red Sea. A preliminary stay in Egypt would give them the opportunity to practice Arabic and to make a visit to the important sites in Sinai.160 Indeed, immediately upon his arrival in Copenhagen he met with Bernstorff and lobbied hard for his proposed change in route, one which closely matched the earlier suggestion of Halem in his response to Michaelis’ call for questions.161 There is no doubt that Haven’s proposal was worthy of consideration, and as we shall see, it was adopted due to his urging when an opportunity presented itself. But regardless of the merit of his suggestion, his behavior had called into question his character and the seriousness of his commitment to the endeavor. Perhaps because of his diplomatic experience, Bernstorff was a man of remarkable patience and forbearance, but nonetheless Haven’s attitude influenced some of Bernstorff ’s subsequent personnel decisions. Peter Forsskål posed a different kind of problem for Bernstorff. In contrast to Haven, there was no question about his seriousness or energy, or that he would be in Copenhagen by the end of September, fully prepared to embark on the voyage. Rather it was Forsskål’s passion for and loyalty to Linnaeus, as well as his ego, that presented a challenge to the Danish Minister. With his appointment formalized in the fall of 1759, Forsskål threw himself into getting ready for the trip. He worked hard with Linnaeus practicing his system of plant observation and classification in the Botanical Garden in Uppsala. He studied Linnaeus’ just published Instructio peregrinatoris, his instructions for scientific travelers, a copy of which Forsskål sent to Michaelis for use by the team.162 The instructions directed the traveler to gather 159 It took him eight weeks to make the trip to Copenhagen with leisurely stops not just in Venice (eight days), but also in Augsburg, Brunswick, Hamburg and Odense, for a total of 27, what he called “rest days.” See Hansen and Rasmussen, eds. Min Sundheds Forliis, 49. 160 Haven to Bernstorff, 23 August 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 65; and Haven to Bernstorff, 24 September 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 73. 161 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 50–52. 162 Carl Linnaeus, Instructio peregrinatoris, Uppsala, 1759; in Swedish, Instruktion för Resande Naturforskare, in Skrifter af Carl von Linné, ed. Th. M. Fries, vol. 2 (Uppsala, 1906), 195–213.

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information on an area according to a systematic plan. The topics included geography and topography, geology and then the flora and fauna. Then these subjects were revisited in an economic context under Mineral Resources and Mining, Agriculture and Animal Husbandry. Finally he included topics on food and diet, disease and medicine. As was mentioned earlier, the instructions had a clear economic interest, and in its logical arrangement it was similar to the document submitted to Michaelis by the Académie des inscriptions et des belles lettres. Forsskål also pored over travel accounts to learn about the customs and culture of the Middle East, and he worked with his earlier professor, the orientalist Carl Aurivillius, to improve his knowledge of Arabic.163 Forsskål was dedicated, he later wrote to Bernstorff, to using the time funded by the King “to become a better disciple of Linnaeus.”164 However, it was this same devotion that then caused Forsskål, at the urging of his mentor, to try to get permission to go on a Danish ship to the Cape of Good Hope months in advance of the expedition to do research there, rejoining the main party when they passed by later in the year. This request was the product of Linnaeus’ long standing fascination with the exceptional qualities of the flora and fauna of South Africa, but obviously had nothing to do directly with the purpose of the expedition. Then in October and November 1760, Forsskål sent two proposals to Bernstorff enumerating his requirements. These included basic items for his biological work such as small containers for samples of insects, plant seeds and the like, paper to lay out plants for drying, bottles with alcohol to preserve specimens, oyster baskets for marine life and large storage chests for transportation. He listed eight books on Natural History which he needed to obtain, in addition to the works of Linnaeus, which he already owned.165 These initial items were easily approved and Forsskål was told he could obtain the books from the Royal Library.166 Notably, these books included studies of plant life in America, Asia and Africa demonstrating his interest in world global species, expected similarities to flora in Arabia and early notions of plant distribution. He also wanted to ensure that he would receive appropriate funding from the Danish Consul at each of their stops, and that he would be allocated additional expense money for a variety of personal expenses and sundries. Significantly, he wanted the ability to immediately send samples directly to Linnaeus, bypassing Copenhagen. He wanted the Instructions to indicate the exact number of samples for each of seventeen different categories (for ex. birds, amphibians, worms, corals, medical materials, etc.) that he would be required to obtain so that upon completion of each assignment, he would be free to gather additional 163 Forsskål to Michaelis, 25 September 1759, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 322, Bl. 265–267; also see the report of the Danish envoy to Sweden, Larrey to Bernstorff, 30 November 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 38. 164 Forsskål to Bernstorff, 25 December 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 42a. 165 See Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 25–26. 166 Bernstorff to Moltke, 5 October 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 72a; and Moltke to Bernstorff, 11 October 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 72

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samples and to send them directly elsewhere in Europe. Finally, he asked for an assistant to be assigned to him to help organize the specimens, as well as a botanical illustrator to execute drawings of plants and animals. As his assistant he asked for Johann Peter Falck, a Swedish student of Linnaeus and a good friend, who accompanied Forsskål from Sweden in anticipation of the assignment. He further emphasized that a Swedish student should be selected because “the opportunity to learn natural history was far better” in Uppsala than in Denmark, where, he said, instruction was still in its infancy.167 When he found out that Bernstorff already had picked Kramer as the medical specialist and assistant naturalist, he took great offense and blasted the selection. He opposed it, he said, because Kramer was not to be subordinate to him and he had no assurance that he was qualified. He insisted that if he was not able to select “the intelligent Disciple of Linnaeus,” then at least he should be able to examine Kramer to determine if he was acceptable to him.168 Needless to say Bernstorff and Kratzenstein, who was involved now in making recommendations for the trip, were not pleased by his outburst or some of his demands. Kratzenstein, who had spent a good part of his academic career introducing and advocating Linnaean principles in the natural sciences, took personal offense to Forsskål’s remarks.169 He wrote to Bernstorff that Forsskål was such an “idolatrous worshiper” of Linnaeus that he believes only someone who has studied directly with Linnaeus for six years could be or become a naturalist. Clearly Forsskål was against working with “a Danish naturalist “ and it was very apparent that he wanted to send his findings directly to his mentor. Kratzenstein’s concern, he wrote, was based on the premise that besides the main purpose of the trip, the furtherance of learning, it was supposed to serve “the honor of the Danish Nation.”170 The response of Bernstorff and Moltke was less overtly nationalistic, but was prompt, brief and to the point. First, they told Forsskål, since the Crown was paying for the trip, each and every specimen of every category, in its entirety, was to be sent directly, and without any detours, to Copenhagen. If there were found to be any duplicates left over that the government did not want, then they would consider Forsskål’s wishes. Second, since they “alone were paying the costs of the trip from beginning to end,” it was a self-evident consequence that they would make the personnel decisions, including the selecting of Kramer. Third, as they were already paying the principal members of the expedition 500 rtlrs. annually for the trip, they would only consider additional miscellaneous expenses if the three members unanimously presented the in167 Forsskål to Bernstorff, Pro Memoria or Ansøgning, 1 October 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 72c; Forsskål to Bernstorff, Pro Memoria or Ansøgning, 7 November 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 78a. 168 Forsskål to Bernstorff, 24 November 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 81a. 169 On Kratzenstein and his main interests, see Egill Snorrason, C. G. Kratzenstein, professor physices experimentalis Petropol. et Havn. and his studies on electricity during the eighteenth century, (Odense, 1974). 170 Kratzenstein to Bernstorff, 15 November 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 77.

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voice, and if the Danish consul or representative of the Asiatic Company thought the expenses were appropriate.171 Forsskål later tried to apologize for his intemperate response, but the damage was done. His behavior ensured that there would be strict rules in the Instructions concerning the ownership of the scientific results of the expedition. His abrasive and presumptuous attitude also introduced doubt regarding his loyalty to the undertaking. In retrospect, however, Forsskål was right on one point. Falck would have been a far better choice than Kramer. Falck went on to become the Director of the Botanical Garden in St Petersburg and Naturalist for the important Orenburg Expedition into the Caucasus, Central Asia and Siberia, of which he wrote a valuable account.172 Kramer, by comparison, turned out to be less than mediocre. This incident with Forsskål, just prior to the departure of the expedition, is interesting in several respects. First, it shows the powerful and very active influence that Linnaeus exerted, an influence that would shape some of the work and results of the trip. Second, it was an early indication of the dissension and conflict within the team that would plague the first years of the expedition. And, third, it demonstrates a characteristic coexistence of cosmopolitanism and nationalism within the Republic of Letters and the periodic tensions that were part of that coexistence during the Enlightenment.173 One has to wonder whether Bernstorff ever doubted at the time the wisdom of the project with its complications, difficult personalities and rising costs, especially in view of the time it was taking while he was also consumed with affairs of state. But there appears to be no evidence of such doubt. Rather he maintained a patient but sustained determination to pull the project together and to get it finally launched. Niebuhr and his Instruments: A Detour on the Lunar Distance Method and the Problem of Determining Longitude

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he third principal member of the party also kept Bernstorff busy with his requirements as the departure date approached, but these were much more straightforward, complicated in the end only by the impact of the Seven Years War on Göttingen. Nearly all of Niebuhr’s requests focused on the purchase of scientific instruments for land and sea navigation, and in isolation, these requests would normally deserve only a brief discussion. However, in Niebuhr’s case they became directly tied to Tobias Mayer’s most important contribution to science, his 171 Bernstorff Pro Memoria, 27 November 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 81a-b; and Extract of Königliche Resolution of 29 November 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 82. 172 On Falck, see especially Lars Hansen, ed., The Linnaeus Apostles. Global Science and Adventure. Europe, Arctic, Asia, Vol 2, Books One and Two (London, 2007). 173 For a discussion of some of these issues see Lorraine Daston,”The Ideal and Reality of the Republic of Letters in the Enlightenment,” Science in Context 4 (1991): 367–386.

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lunar tables and the so-called “Quest for Longitude.” As Niebuhr’s participation in this quest during the first months of the expedition was significant, it is important to review the background to that achievement.174 In November 1759, Niebuhr submitted a request for several instruments, instruments, he said, that needed to be both accurate and practical. These included a quadrant, a telescope with a long focal length, a watch accurate to seconds, a good astrolabe (by which he meant a kind of theodolite) and two boussolen, or magnetic compasses.175 After getting additional information on the cost of the instruments from Michaelis, who had consulted with Mayer, Niebuhr was authorized 176 German Reichstalers to purchase them.176 Thankful for the approval, he told Bernstorff they would enable him “to use them to improve the geography and the practice of navigation not just in Arabia, but also in other Middle Eastern lands and along the coast as ordered by the King.”177 Thus their purpose was, as would be appropriate, to accomplish the general geographical and astronomical work of the expedition. We have already discussed briefly Niebuhr’s studies and preparation for the trip under the guidance of Mayer. In the summer of 1760, at Niebuhr’s urging, he received specialized training in Mayer’s Lunar Distance Method of determining longitude. It was this work that caused Niebuhr to purchase, at his own expense, additional instruments to be used specifically for the “determination of longitud [inis] maris” using Mayer’s method.178 Thus in addition to his primary responsibilities in cartography for the expedition, Niebuhr was now clearly focused on also helping Mayer in his efforts to test a successful method for finding longitude at sea. The significance of this requires some explanation. As has already been mentioned, the determination of longitude was one of the most important scientific endeavors of the 18th Century. The underlying concept of a solution to the problem was not difficult to comprehend, it was rather its execu174 In addition to the archival sources cited, I am especially indebted to Dieter Lohmeier’s excellent article on this topic, which I saw in manuscript before its publication as “Carsten Niebuhr, Tobias Mayer und die Längengrade.” It goes into more detail than is possible in this account. This section includes material previously published in Lawrence J. Baack, “‘A Practical Skill that Was Without Equal’: Carsten Niebuhr and the navigational astronomy of the Arabian journey, 1761–67,” The Mariner’s Mirror 99 (2013): 138–152. 175 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 15 November 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 39c, Extract in 39b. For a good description of the instruments used in navigation typical of this period, see Derek Howse, “The Principal Scientific Instruments Taken on Captain Cook’s Voyages,” The Mariner’s Mirror 65 (1979): 119–136. 176 Michaelis’ estimate did not include any money for the magnetic compasses, and he indicated that Niebuhr was not able to find the telescope he wanted locally, and would have to find it later in Copenhagen. See Bernstorff to Michaelis, 15 December 1759(draft), RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 40; Bernstorff to Michaelis, 15 December 1759, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 270–271; Michaelis to Bernstorff, 27 December 1759, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 43a, with a list of Instruments and their costs, 43b, and Bernstorff to Michaelis, 8 January 1760(draft), Nr. 43. 177 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 28 January 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 46. 178 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 8 September 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 68a.

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tion.179 If, for example, one is located somewhere on the globe, then theoretically the longitude can be computed simply by comparing the local time at the location simultaneously with the local time at a meridional reference point such as Greenwich or Paris. Elements of this exercise were not difficult to do even in the 18th Century. The local time at the location of a ship could be established by measuring the altitude of a fixed star, planet, sun or moon and doing some simple calculations. The difference between the local time at the location of the vessel and the reference point was also easily converted to degrees of longitude, thus establishing the local meridian. However, determining the exact time at the reference point was difficult in the 18th Century. There were two potentially accurate approaches for doing so, one was very straightforward and the other quite complicated. The simplest was to have a clock on the ship that was set to the local time of the reference point, ie. for today Greenwich Mean Time. But for that you needed a timepiece that could maintain very accurate time over an extended period under difficult climatic and motion conditions. Such a timepiece did not yet exist, but of course Pierre Le Roy, Ferdinand Berthoud, John Harrison and others were working hard at mid-century on the invention of an accurate chronometer. The other more complicated approach to determine local time at the location of a vessel or of some geographical feature, was to make an observation of a celestial relationship, for example the angular distance between the moon and a fixed star, or of an eclipse, whose time could be predicted in advance with precision at a meridional reference point such as Greenwich. As eclipses were infrequent and therefore not practical for sea-going navigation, the “Lunar Distance” method was used. But to make this method work, one required a very accurate instrument to make the angular measurements of celestial bodies relative to the moon, an accurate star catalog, and astronomical tables which predicted the motion of the moon and the sun.180 Two of these three requirements were already available. John Hadley had invented the reflecting quadrant, or octant, in 1731, the basis for the modern day sextant.181 Because it enabled the observer to view the reflected image of a star or other body and the horizon simultaneously it was able to produce readings of the 179 The literature on the history of the determination of longitude is quite extensive. I have used Charles H. Cotter, A History of Nautical Astronomy (New York, 1968), esp. 180–267; William J. H. Andrewes, ed., The Quest for Longitude, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, Ma., 1998); J. E. D. Williams, From Sails to Satellites, The Origin and Development of Navigational Science (Oxford, 1992), esp. 1–127; and, of course, Forbes, Tobias Mayer. 180 See Cotter, A History of Nautical Astronomy, 195–237; Derek Howse, “The Lunar-Distance Method of Measuring Longitude,” in The Quest for Longitude, ed. Andrewes, 149–162; Williams, From Sails to Satellites, 85–106; and Forbes, Tobias Mayer, 151–152. 181 Actually the reflecting quadrant was invented simultaneously and independently by Hadley and Thomas Godfrey, a friend of Benjamin Franklin’s in Philadelphia. However, it is always referred to as Hadley’s reflecting quadrant or octant. See Derek Howse, “Navigation and Astronomy in the Voyages,” in Background to Discovery: Pacific Exploration from Dampier to Cook, ed. Derek Howse (Berkeley, 1990), 168–169.

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required accuracy. The second, an accurate and extensive star catalog had been produced in France by the Abbe Nicolas-Louis de LaCaille in 1757 when he published his Astronomie fundamenta covering 400 bright stars. He then published accurate solar tables the following year.182 But the remainder of the third requirement and the most complex theoretically, namely reliable lunar tables, did not exist prior to the research of Tobias Mayer at Göttingen. As we have already noted, compiling accurate astronomical tables for the moon was Mayer’s greatest scientific achievement. Basing his work on formulas developed by the brilliant Swiss theoretical mathematician Leonhard Euler (1707–1783), as well as methods Euler discussed in his treatise Recherches sur les irregularitiés du mouvement de Jupiter et de Saturne (1748), Mayer began to refine his understanding of the motion of the moon.183 Euler became a great supporter of his work, and in a correspondence of 31 letters they were able to work through many of the challenges posed by accurately accounting for the effects of lunar parallax and atmospheric refraction on lunar observations, as well as issues raised by the variations in the eccentricity of the lunar orbit.184 Mayer also drew on the work of the prominent French astronomer Alexis-Claude Clairaut (1713–1765), specifically his De l’orbit de la lune dans le système de Newton.185 Through this work Mayer was able to make many theoretical improvements to the understanding of lunar observations and motion and to complete in 1754 his first set of lunar tables. Euler applauded his work, calling the tables “the most admirable masterpiece in theoretical astronomy.”186 It was also due to the encouragement of Euler and the active support of Michaelis, who also took great interest in Mayer’s work, that Mayer somewhat reluctantly agreed to submit his tables, together with instructions for using the Lunar Distance Method, to the British Admiralty for consideration of the famous Longitude Prize.187 182 For an excellent discussion of the derivation and importance of de LaCaille’s tables, see Eric G. Forbes and Curtis Wilson, “The solar tables of Lacaille and the lunar tables of Mayer,” in The General History of Astronomy, Vol. 2. Planetary astronomy from the Renaissance to the rise of astrophysics, Part B: the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, ed. René Taton and Curtis Wilson (Cambridge, 1995), 55–68. 183 See Eric G. Forbes, The Euler-Mayer Correspondence (1751–1755). A New Perspective on Eighteenth-Century Advances in the Lunar Theory (London, 1971), 7–14; and Forbes, Tobias Mayer, 134–150. For a discussion of Euler’s many contributions, especially to the field of mathematical analysis, see the concise summary by Craig Fraser, “Mathematics,” in The Cambridge History of Science, Vol. 4. Eighteenth-Century Science, ed. Roy Porter (Cambridge, 2003), 307–320. 184 For the correspondence, see Forbes, The Euler-Mayer Correspondence, 33–115. 185 Ibid., 10 186 Euler to Mayer, 26 February 1754, Forbes, The Euler-Mayer Correspondence, 78–80. Also see, Tobias Mayer. Schriften zur Astronomie, Kartographie, Mathematik und Farbenlehre, ed. Erhard Anthes, vol. 2 (Hildesheim, 2004), 53–218, and the Introduction by Anthes in the same volume, pp. 7–26. 187 Euler to Mayer, 11 June 1754, Forbes, The Euler-Mayer Correspondence, 85–86.

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The story of the prize is well known, so it will be mentioned only briefly here. In 1707, ships of a squadron of the Royal Navy ran aground off the Scilly Islands with the loss of 2,000 men. The cause of the disaster was attributed to navigational error.188 This tragedy highlighted the inadequacies of the navigational sciences at the beginning of the 18th Century. As a consequence, Parliament, petitioned by maritime representatives to address the issue, passed the Longitude Act in 1714. The Act established a schedule of prizes to be awarded for the discovery of accurate and practical methods to determine longitude at sea. For a solution that was within one degree of accuracy, the prize was £10,000, for an accuracy of 45’, £15,000, and for one of 30’, the maximum award of £20,000. These amounts were large sums in the Eighteenth Century. For example, earlier in the century, the Astronomer Royal, John Flamsteed, was initially paid a salary of only £100/year, and was expected to provide for his own instruments out of this stipend.189 The Act also established a Board of Longitude to evaluate claims for the prize money. These were the conditions of the competition to which Mayer applied. With the assistance of Michaelis’ cousin, William Philip Best, who was the Hanoverian representative in London, Mayer submitted his papers to Lord Anson, First Lord of the Admiralty, in January of 1755.190 Mayer subsequently also submitted his “Repeating Circle,” a circular instrument like a octant, but with a greater range of angular measurement, in a wood-crafted version to the Admiralty. Mayer believed it would produce more accurate observations than Hadley’s instruments. The then current Astronomer Royal, James Bradley, was ordered to evaluate Mayer’s tables and his method for finding Longitude at sea. Comparing the results he obtained from using Mayer’s tables with 230 observations he had made at the Greenwich Observatory over the previous five years, Bradley found that the tables would determine a longitude within less than 1 degree of error. Therefore he recommended to the Admiralty that Mayer’s tables and method be tested at sea, and he directed John Bird, the foremost maker of nautical instruments in England, to make a fine brass repeating circle based on Mayer’s wood model.191 From 1757–1759, Captain John Campbell, one of the Royal Navy’s most experienced navigators, conducted sea trials using Mayer’s instructions, tables and repeating circle. Based on information that Mayer subsequently received, and on the later experience of Nevil Maskylene, the successor to Bradley as Astronomer Royal, it appears that Campbell found Mayer’s approach more than an experienced mariner could be expected to accomplish. The calculations alone took over four hours. Sim188 For the disaster, which also claimed the life of the commanding admiral, see William E. May, “The Last Voyage of Sir Clowdisley Shovel,” Journal for the Institute of Navigation 13 (1960): 324–332. 189 Williams, From Sails to Satellites, 81. 190 See the lengthy correspondence of Best in Buhle, Literarischer Briefwechsel, 1:271–297, and especially Best to Michaelis, 11 February 1755, with Best’s cover letter to Anson delivering Mayer’s tables and instructions on January 20, 1755, pp. 279–283. Also Forbes, Tobias Mayer, 151–172. 191 Bradley to Best, 14 February 1756, Buhle, Literarische Briefwechsel, 1:293–295.

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ilarly he found Mayer’s repeating circle harder to use than Hadley’s octant, and although it had some features that Hadley’s lacked, it did not produce significantly better results. Interestingly it was Campbell’s combining of the features of Hadley’s instrument with those of Mayer’s that led to his invention of the modern sextant. However, there was no question, it appears, that Mayer’s tables were capable of producing accurate longitudes within the degree of accuracy stipulated by the Act. Rather the issue was whether his method was practical, a requirement for the prize. In other words, could an average naval officer or master use it successfully under sea-going conditions. On this point Campbell’s tests were evidently insufficient to justify consideration of an award at that time. With the advent of the Seven Years War the Admiralty’s attention was directed elsewhere and Mayer’s application languished.192 Thus this was the context in the summer of 1760 as Mayer began to instruct Niebuhr in the Lunar Distance Method. Initially, according to Niebuhr, Mayer was reluctant to do so, and probably did not believe that Niebuhr would be able to employ the method correctly at sea. We must remember that Niebuhr was not a naval officer or a navigator. He had never been to sea and had no experience dealing with the challenges of shooting stars on a ship rolling and pitching in heavy seas, with difficult footing and imperfect visibility. In addition he was faced with completing hours of calculations based on Mayer’s method that experienced naval personnel and astronomers found difficult. Thus Mayer’s hesitancy to teach Niebuhr his theories was understandable. But Niebuhr saw the voyage to Arabia as an opportunity to work on the longitude problem and wanted to try. He pushed Mayer “to entrust me with something beyond the ordinary,” and thus Mayer undertook to give him detailed instruction in the method. The efforts were successful. “As in the end,” Niebuhr wrote in 1762 to the Danish envoy in Istanbul, “he considered me to be sufficiently competent, he believed himself that I could serve him better than all the naval officers in England, and he saw as well, that I was not afraid of the extensive calculations, as was the typical officer who was not educated sufficiently in astronomy. He allowed me to copy all of the tables that were needed for the determination of the moon, its parallax and refraction. He also taught me how to make the calculations most advantageously. I then ordered at my own cost the Second Watch, which your Excellency has seen, as well as the Octant by Hadley, which I also had in Constantinople. Both were made by the most famous technicians in England, namely the watch by [Thomas Mudge], a student of Graham, who the famous technician Bird had recommended, and the Instrument, or Octant, made by Bird himself.”193 Thus it was really because of Niebuhr’s initiative and curiosity that 192 See Williams, From Sails to Satellites, 95; Howse, “The Lunar Distance Method,” 154–155; and the same author’s Nevil Maskelyne, The Seaman’s Astronomer (Cambridge, 1989), 14–15. 193 Niebuhr to Gähler, 21/22 July 1762, RaK, AR Case 3–005, File 1, Nrs. 21–21a, 22–22a. For a detailed discussion of these points see Lohmeier, “Carsten Niebuhr, Tobias Mayer und die Längengrade,” 86–93, and the letters published in “Carsten Niebuhr: Briefe von der Arabischen Reise

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Mayer came to see the voyage to Arabia as a timely and unique opportunity to test the practicality of his methods. It remained to be seen whether a true novice would execute his methods correctly now using for the first time a new set of tables, tables which incorporated the many improvements Mayer had made to them since 1755 and the instruments produced by Bird and Mudge. As it turned out, it was the acquisition of these instruments that caused some difficulties for Niebuhr. He still had not received them by September as transportation to Göttingen had been disrupted by the war. With the planned departure of the group drawing near, Niebuhr asked Bernstorff for permission to wait in Göttingen until his instruments arrived, which would delay his arrival in Copenhagen until the middle of October.194 Niebuhr’s request was strongly endorsed by Michaelis, who, as we know, was a strong champion of Mayer. He emphasized to Bernstorff the importance of Mayer’s work and he applauded Niebuhr’s efforts. “I am extremely pleased,” he wrote, “with Niebuhr’s eagerness; his willingness to use his own money demonstrates through action that he is doing the trip not out of a love of money, but out of a love of science and his own inner motivation.”195 Bernstorff approved Niebuhr’s request and indicated he had no problem with delaying his arrival in Copenhagen until the middle or even the 20th of October.196 Niebuhr finally left Göttingen on October 2 and arrived in Copenhagen around the 18th.197It is not clear exactly when his instruments from England arrived, but he did receive them eventually in Copenhagen, and, of course, he brought with him from Göttingen his other instruments including his quadrant of two-foot radius, calibrated by Mayer himself.198 Forsskål was already in the Danish capital, but it would be more than a month before Haven would arrive. Niebuhr in contrast to the other two members had raised no vexing problems for Bernstorff. Like Forsskål he demon(Folge 2 and 3)” Dithmarschen, No 4, (2004): 82–87, and No. 1, (2005): 11–17. For a discussion of the instruments and their makers see, Alan Adamson, “The Longitude Problem: The Navigator’s Story,” and David Penney, “Thomas Mudge and the Longitude: A reason to Excel,” in The Quest for Longitude, ed. Andrewes, 71–84 and 293–310, respectively. 194 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 8 September 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 68a. 195 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 8 September 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 66/66a. 196 Bernstorff to Niebuhr, 20 September 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 68. 197 At the time of his departure, Niebuhr had not received any money for his trip to Copenhagen. It was tied up in Hamburg because of the war. He asked Michaelis if he would loan him the money for the trip, but Michaelis turned him down, saying he never loaned money to students. Fortunately, Kästner, hearing of the problem, immediately gave Niebuhr the funds he needed. As Niebuhr later wrote, “After 40 years I have not forgotten this and other proof of the friendship of this good man.” Niebuhr to Christian Gottlob Heyne, 20 August 1800, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Hist. Lit. 179II, Bl. 136. It is also likely that Niebuhr did not forget the lack of help from Michaelis, and that this contributed to his sometimes critical view of him. 198 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, XXIII. For his receipt of the octant and watch shortly before he left on the journey, see Carsten Niebuhr, “Ueber Längen-Beobachtungen im Orient u. s. w.. Aus einem Schreiben des königl. Dänischen geheimen Justiz-Raths Carsten Niebuhr,” Monatliche Correspondenz zur Beförderung der Erd- und Himmels-Kunde 4 (1801): 244.

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strated considerable passion for his field, and he was interested in doing good work for his mentor, Mayer, as Forsskål wished to do for Linnaeus. Niebuhr, however, was always courteous and deferential, and made clear that he would always be working through Copenhagen, not around it. Also his work with Mayer was associated with the University in Göttingen, which from the beginning was viewed by Bernstorff as the key partner through Michaelis in the Arabian project. Finally, Bernstorff continued to get ideas from scholars in Copenhagen. In late November, he received a lengthy paper from Kratzenstein which contained many suggestions for Forsskål and Niebuhr.199 For botany, Kratzenstein urged Forsskål to go beyond the conventions of the Linnaean system into varietal characteristics. This meant gathering information on the colors of flowers and fruits, the characteristics of root systems and the size of the plants or trees. However, most of his comments were directed to marine biology. He argued that on the outbound voyage and in the Red Sea, the Persian Gulf, and the Indian Ocean the party would be able to visit marvelously rich and largely unknown environments for marine life. He gave instructions on which species to seek out during the different phases of the trip, including various kinds of sea vegetation, corals (especially in the Red Sea), snails, mussels, worms, marine insects and many varieties of fish. He discussed methods of preservation of whole specimens as well as the dissection of larger animals and the preservation of their anatomical parts. In his guidance for Niebuhr, Kratzenstein showed his interest in oceanography and the navigational sciences. Niebuhr was told to gather data on the depth and speed of currents, water salinity at different depths and climates and sea vegetation. He also included comments on the Lunar Distance Method, about which he had many doubts, and whose calculations he believed were very difficult for an astronomer, not to speak of a sea captain. Kratzenstein’s paper was pure science. There was no mention of the Bible. The paper was subsequently given to members of the team before they departed, was referenced in the final Instructions, and directly contributed to the growing scientific focus of the expedition. There is no doubt that it drew attention to the importance of marine biology for the project, a topic which was touched upon only briefly in Linnaeus’ instructions, and thus contributed to the pioneering work done by Forsskål in that field. Changing the Route and The Royal Instructions

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y the beginning of December, the entire team was assembled for the first time in Copenhagen. Niebuhr and Forsskål had been there for more than a month, Kramer, Baurenfeind and Lars Berggren, a former Swedish soldier, who 199 See Kratzenstein to Bernstorff, 26 November 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 80, with the attached “Vorschlag”, Nr. 80a. Also see Buhle, Literarische Briefwechsel, 1: 465–488, and Kratzenstein’s paper, “Verhältnis der Reisegesellschaft unter sich,” RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 86j, which may have been transmitted by Michaelis.

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had been added as the expedition’s orderly, were already in the city, while Haven, of course had just arrived. Niebuhr continued to work on completing his inventory of navigational instruments, charts and tables. He received an azimuthal compass on loan from Kratzenstein and hoped to obtain a telescope with a shorter focal length.200 He, and later Haven, visited the merchant ship they were to take to Tharangambadi. It appears they were worried about the cramped quarters, and rough conditions.201 Niebuhr also met with Bernstorff and Christian Friedrich Temler (1717–1780), Bernstorff ’s trusted Private Secretary, and his key staff person for assisting him with administering the affairs of the expedition. It was at these meetings that Niebuhr found out that he was to be the treasurer for the expedition and that he, like the others, would be given a title. It was Michaelis who recommended Niebuhr as the person to be in charge of the finances for the trip. Both Michaelis and Bernstorff were impressed with his responsible handling of funds up to that point and his personal meeting with Bernstorff in Copenhagen must have also gone well.202 In addition, as he found out that not only Forsskål, but also Haven was to hold the title of “Professor”, and as Kramer was about to graduate and be recognized as a “Doctor”, Niebuhr raised the issue of a title for himself. Bernstorff, through Temler, offered to make him a professor as well. Niebuhr declined this as he did not think he was worthy of an academic title. But not one to lose sight of his original career goals, he took the opportunity, when asked, to request that he be made a Lieutenant of the Engineers. This was a title, he thought, which was both appropriate and would command respect when he returned home to the District of Hadeln.203 Niebuhr was not presumptuous, but he was practical and determined. While Niebuhr’s meetings with Bernstorff and Temler went well, he initially was not particularly enthralled with the situation in Copenhagen. It appears that neither Forsskål nor Haven took him seriously. His Arabic was poor and his command of High German and French was not elegant. Plattdeutsch was his native tongue, and he undoubtedly spoke with the strong accent of the rural North Sea coast.204 He also chafed under the formalities of life in the royal capital. As he wrote to a relative, “Without a doubt I would enjoy Copenhagen a lot more if I was able 200 Niebuhr to Moltke, 12 November 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 78c; and Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 19 November 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 78b. 201 Niebuhr to Johann Beymgraben, 27 December 1760, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 24; and Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 50. 202 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 25 August 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 64a; B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 16–17. 203 Niebuhr to Johann Beymgraben, 27 December 1760, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 24. Also see B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, p. 17 for a slightly different characterization of his appointment as a Lieutenant than Niebuhr’s contemporaneous description. 204 See Kratzenstein to Bernstorff, 15 November 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 77, in which Kratzenstein reports: “Herr Forsskål hat schon hier den letzt angekommenen Mathematician, Herr Nieber so begrüsst, als ob er ihn als seinen Subaltern ansähe.” Also for Haven see various entries in Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 50–61.

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to live here as freely as in other places. When I make a visit to a distinguished gentleman I must observe all of the ceremonies. I have to ride everywhere in a coach and be properly attired from head to toe. There are so many attendants everywhere. In short, I am already weary of this way of life.”205 But circumstances must have improved because when Niebuhr left the city in January, his writing reflected a change in attitude: “I really wish that I would be able to live my life as I have since I came to Copenhagen.”206 When Haven finally arrived he immediately took up the issue of changing the outbound route with Niebuhr and Forsskål. Despite some misgivings, he convinced them to support an itinerary that would take them to Istanbul instead of Tharangambadi. Haven then met with Bernstorff to repeat the argument for a different route. At the meeting, he found out from an admiral who was in attendance that a Danish warship, the Grønland, had just been ordered to the Mediterranean for convoy duty. It was a fortuitous coincidence that made the ship available to transport the members of the expedition to the Middle East. The Grønland’s unexpected availability had come about as a result of Bernstorff ’s activities in another arena. In the early 1750’s, he undertook a diplomatic initiative to expand Danish commercial activities in the Eastern Mediterranean. He dispatched Sigismund Wilhelm von Gähler (1706–1788), an experienced and linguistically well-equipped military administrator, to Istanbul to conclude a commercial treaty with the Ottoman Empire.207 The Treaty was signed in 1756, and Gähler, who would come to play an important supporting role for the expedition, was appointed the Danish minister to Istanbul. In 1760, Gähler became concerned over the threat to Danish shipping from the operation of British privateers in the Mediterranean because of the Anglo-French conflict. He requested in October 1760, that a Danish warship be assigned to convoy Danish shipping from Marseilles to near Istanbul. The Grønland was assigned this duty and thus suddenly became available as a viable alternative for immediately taking the members of the expedition to the Mediterranean.208 205 Niebuhr to Johann Beymgraben, 15 November 1760, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 24. 206 Niebuhr to Johann Beymgraben, 13 January 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 24. 207 See Dan H. Andersen, “Denmark’s Treaty with the Sublime Porte in 1756,” Scandinavian Journal of History 17 (1992): 143–166. The initiative was an expensive failure. Gähler was recalled in 1766, and Bernstorff was criticized for the venture. For a full discussion see the same author’s “Danske handelsforsøg på Levanten 1752–1765,” Erhvershistorisk Årbog. Meddelelser Fra Erhversarkivet 42 (1992): 132–182. 208 Bernstorff to Gähler, 6 December 1760, RaK, Tyrkiet, Gesandtskabsarkiver, Case 79–13; and Lohmeier,”Ein Leben im Zeichen der Arabischen Reise: Carsten Niebuhr,” 200–202. Thorkild Hansen makes quite a point in his book that Haven’s delay in arriving in Copenhagen meant that the last merchant ships had already left for Tharangambadi. Thus Bernstorff had no choice but to use a Danish warship. This is simply not true. In fact, as has been explained, the merchant ship assigned to the expedition under the command of a Captain Elfinstowns, was in the harbor and was visited by Haven in December. This is clearly indicated in Haven’s journal, which Hansen

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Armed with this information, Haven, Niebuhr and Forsskål met with Moltke on December 4, 1760 to present the idea of abandoning the “unnatural” route via India in favor of traveling directly to Istanbul and Egypt, before heading to Yemen via the Red Sea. Haven noted the important benefits of visiting Egypt. They would be able to purchase rare manuscripts more easily in Cairo than elsewhere and would have the opportunity to investigate ancient sites and inscriptions in the Sinai that were associated with Moses. Moltke and Bernstorff were convinced and took the matter to the King. Evidently the mention of the sites in Sinai was decisive in gaining the King’s approval for a route that would now take them first through Egypt.209 Within a couple of days the members were told that Frederik V approved the change. Naturally Haven was delighted because now they would avoid “a boring and dangerous voyage.”210 Niebuhr also welcomed the new arrangements. “We will now travel in a lot more comfort,” he wrote, “because we are going on a warship. And the Commander Captain Fischer as well as all of the other officers are the most civilized people, and not as rude as is otherwise the case with a civilian crew. Had we gone to Tranquebar on a merchant ship we would have had to make do with a miserable compartment.”211 The month of December saw a flurry of activity as the final arrangements for the trip were made. The new titles for Niebuhr and Haven were approved, as were the stipends for Kramer and Baurenfeind. The King authorized a budget of 12,000 rtlrs, or 18,000 piasters, for the expedition, and, most importantly, the final changes were made to the Instructions.212 The Royal Instructions were not finished until December 15, 1760, when the final version was signed by Frederik V and Bernstorff. A comparison of Michaelis’ initial draft of the Instructions with the approved document demonstrates that his ideas still formed the core of the document.213 But writes he read. See Arabia Felix, 48; and Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 50– 52. 209 See Bernstorff to Gähler, 21 June 1763, RaK Tyrkiet, Gesandtskabsarkiver, Case 79–13, (draft, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 15), in which Bernstorff commented on the importance of the research in the Sinai desert the “Objêt pour lequel seul Sa Majesté s’estoit determinée à leur permettre deprendre la Route de l’Egypte.” 210 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 52. 211 Niebuhr to Johann Beymgraben, 27 December 1760, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 24. 212 See Bernstorff to Moltke, 5 December 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 84a; Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 5 December 1760, RaK 301, Nr. 84b; Moltke to Bernstorff, 9 December 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 84; the new route change appears for the first time in the Instructions in an undated December draft, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 85d. On the budget, Bernstorff initially made an error because he did not compute correctly the exchange rate for piasters to rigstalers. Thus his initial request for 12,000 piasters amounted to only 8,000 rtlrs, when he actually needed 12,000 rtlrs. This was corrected in January. See Bernstorff to Moltke, 16 January 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3– 003, Nr. 92 and Fabritius to Bernstorff, 14 January 1761, Nr. 92a. 213 The original document, signed by the King and Bernstorff, and retained by Niebuhr, is located in the archives of the Dithmarscher Landesmuseum, Meldorf, file DLM 26000 and is the copy used for this study. Bernstorff also sent a copy to Michaelis. See Bernstorff to Michaelis, 4

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eight new paragraphs had been added and other changes were made throughout. These came from the ideas of scholars at the University of Copenhagen, Bernstorff, and members of the expedition themselves.214 It also shows the impact of some of the issues that had arisen in the fall of 1760. While instructions were by now commonplace, the character of the Danish Instructions was unusual. They are instructive as a document of the period for what they contain, the style of their wording and for what they fail to say. The directives can be organized into the following clusters: general goals and route, organizational philosophy, procedures for reports and results, cultural awareness, and finally individual assignments for the five academic members. The document was quite simple in stating its overall goal. The members were ordered to proceed to Yemen “to make as many discoveries as possible for the world of scholarship”(§ 1). As advocated by Haven, it set forth the new route. They would now travel by sea to Istanbul, from there to Alexandria and Cairo, and then through Egypt to the mountains of Sinai and the area around a reported Gebel El Mocateb. After Sinai they were to traverse the Red Sea to al Mukhā, and Yemen, their final destination. The return trip was to take them as a group (they were to stay together) from Yemen by sea to al Başrah (Basra), and then overland to Halab (Aleppo), Smyrna and back to Europe. The trip was to take two, or if necessary three, years (§ 3,13, &2). They were specifically directed to explore the interior and not to remain on the coast. They were authorized to stay together or split up as necessary to do their work, that decision being “illuminated by their passion for the pursuit of learning”(§ 5). On the outbound voyage Michaelis encouraged Niebuhr and Forsskål to complete as much scientific work as possible, but he also told them to be disciplined. They were cautioned against making “detours or side trips” out of general curiosity. After all, the main purpose, he reminded them, was to explore Southern Arabia. Only in cases where the group agreed unanimously that there was an opportunity to make a “very important discovery” was a modest side trip authorized. The Instruction went on, “We are issuing this prohibition against making discoveries in other countries out of a general curiosity because a commendable curiosity could otherwise easily come into collision with the main purpose of the trip”(§ 2). This was a general admonition for the whole team, but was also directed at Forsskål’s March 1761 with the enclosed copy, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 319–328. These can be compared with Michaelis’ original draft, see Michaelis to Bernstorff, 15 July 1760, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 276–285, and RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 55a. For the final version a more accessible copy is reproduced in Rasmussen, Carsten Niebuhr, 59–78. It is based on a copy of the original document written by Haven in his diary. Another version is contained in Michaelis, Fragen, but some sections were omitted. 214 For an identification of the sources of the additional eight paragraphs see the draft and enclosures in Bernstorff to Michaelis, 21 October 1760, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 292–317. For the final changes to the December 15 document see the many iterations retained in the files of the Rigsarkiv under RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nrs. 85a-85j.

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earlier requests to do work elsewhere. Michaelis also added that if there was any spare time left on board ship after their observational work was completed, they were to study Arabic(§ 4). Finally, they were directed to take special care to answer the questions that Michaelis would be giving them, or sending to them later. To this Bernstorff added, responding to the request of the professors in Copenhagen, that they should also provide detailed answers to questions from other scholars, which were attached, foremost among them those of the Académie des inscriptions et des belles lettres. Equally important the mathematician and the naturalist were to make the best possible use of the assignments and recommendations of Kratzenstein (§ 14). Thus even in the Instructions, we can see that the the prominence specifically of Michaelis’ Fragen was reduced, with more attention paid to the questions of others. Next the Instructions set forth the organizational design and culture for the group. These sections were not long. Honoring his commitment to Forsskål, Bernstorff insisted that all of the scholars were to be equal, and that no one, under, “any pretext was to assume an authority or superiority over the others.” He and Michaelis inserted wording to emphasize that the entire team was expected to work together to maintain “the peace and harmony” of the group and to avoid “all dissension, quarrels and strife.” Compromise and accommodation within the group was to be viewed as a positive. Niebuhr was the only member given special responsibilities, that of treasurer for the expedition. But once again, this responsibility was shared. In instances of disagreement, a majority vote would prevail (§ 6 & 7). The wording of these paragraphs shows how worried Bernstorff and Michaelis were that personal conflict within the team would mar their work. In fact, despite their best efforts, these paragraphs did not encourage harmony on the expedition, but exactly the opposite. Haven was infuriated by the wording. As the philologist, the first named to the party, the oldest and a Dane, he viewed himself as the senior member of the expedition and its logical leader. As we shall see later he never accepted the equality concept and constantly fought against Niebuhr’s responsibility for the finances.215 The reporting and collecting procedures were quite specific. First, every member was to maintain a diary or journal, extracts of which were to be sent “as often as possible” to Moltke in Copenhagen. Normally entries were to be made before the end of each day, or if there were “insurmountable obstacles” to doing so, at the end of each week. Entries were to be complete and clearly able to be understood by the other members of the party in case of the death of the diarist. They were advised, however, not to consult beforehand among themselves to try to make their accounts more consistent. Rather, and this was in Michaelis’ original draft, they were encour215 For an early indication of his attitude see the entries in his diary prior to departure, Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 55–56. Also see his complaints about the Instructions, and in particular about the appointment of Niebuhr, in the manuscript version of Haven’s journal, KBK, NKS 133, 2º, Vol. II, 266–267.

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aged to take divergent views based on the differing perspectives of their disciplines. It was very desirable for scholars in Europe “to study a matter that two travelers have described from a different viewpoint and then to evaluate which is confirmed by more evidence …” Disagreement between the writers should be viewed positively as “an indication of historical truth.”(§ 8 & 9). The expedition was authorized a budget of 2,000 rtlr. for the purchase of manuscripts. If there were differences of opinion on the purchases, then two-fifths of the allocation was for the use of Haven, two-fifths for Forsskål and one-fifth for Niebuhr. They were instructed not to focus on the beauty of an item, but on “the usefulness of the contents, and especially its age.” They were to emphasize acquisitions in the natural sciences, geography, history, old codices of the Hebrew and Greek Bible, old copies of Arabic translations of the Bible and old Hebrew texts with noteworthy orthography. Items on poetry were also useful. All manuscripts, without exception, were to be delivered to Moltke and then to the Royal Library (§ 11). It was not just the copies of diaries and manuscripts that were to be sent directly to Copenhagen, but also, according to wording added by Bernstorff, “all drawings, plans, maps, all biological, astronomical, geographical, historical, philological and, in general, all other kinds of notes and observations that may be authored separately from the diaries, and all collected natural specimens.” In addition, answers to any questions from foreign scholars were to be sent unsealed to Copenhagen so that copies could be made before being forwarded to the appropriate person. Finally, the same rules applied to any items which members brought home personally (§ 15). Clearly these requirements were appropriate given the sponsorship of the expedition but were also emphasized because of Forsskål’s issues in the fall. The last general directive in the Instructions was the order to show respect for Arab culture. Crafted by Michaelis, it read in part: “The entire party must assiduously endeavor to show the greatest possible politeness (grössesten Höflichkeit) toward the inhabitants of Arabia. They should not contradict their religion, nor in the slightest display any disdain; in short, they should refrain from anything that would be disagreeable to them [the Arabs].” As the members did their work they should avoid any activities that would arouse suspicions among Muslims. Above all they should take no “European liberties” with Arab women. Bernstorff then added that anyone “who violates these prohibitions and thereby incurs misfortune, will be left to their fate, and the remaining members are under no obligation to undertake anything that would bring them into danger”(§ 10). For a team of young men, the paragraph could not be more clear. Each member was also given specific assignments. They contained no surprises and only in two instances information that has not already been discussed, so our discussion will be brief. Forsskål was told to follow the instructions laid out in Linnaeus’ Instructiones peregrinatoris. He was to concentrate on improving the accuracy of existing plant descriptions for the region, such as those contained in Bochart’s

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Hierozoicon and Celsius’ Hierobotanicon, and to methodically describe in their natural environment every botanical and zoological specimen listed in Arabic dictionaries. As expected, special attention should be paid to any species or variety referred to in the Bible. Arabic terms should be written in both Arabic and Latin letters. His work should be supported by illustrations and whenever possible, he should collect, organize and preserve natural specimens. He was also authorized to go ashore with members of the crew during the outbound voyage to gather biological specimens. He was to gather data on weather, climate and tidal conditions and he was to conduct research on marine life when circumstances allowed, with the assistance of the crew. “In short,” Michaelis wrote, “he should pay attention to everything that Linnaeus has recommended for a traveling naturalist.”(§ 16–22). The section for Kramer was entirely new and had been written in Copenhagen. His main responsibility was to provide medical care to the team, treating illness, bringing along the proper medicines, and tending to issues of diet etc. He was also directed to serve the Arab community with medical services, to earn their trust and to try to help the party gain acceptance in the community. He was counseled however, not to use any medicine or medical practice that would be offensive or would arouse resentment or antagonism. He was also instructed to assist Forsskål in the natural sciences. Based on wording that first had been suggested by Kratzenstein, he was to concentrate on the zoological sciences, not the botanical, out of respect for Forsskål’s expertise in that area. He was to assist in the collecting, preparing, describing and preserving of animal specimens, and he was to make every effort to learn Arabic. The Instructions made clear that he was not an underling of, or in any way subordinate to, Forsskål, but he was to be helpful. Both men were to treat each other with respect and courtesy, and were directed to work together in a friendly manner to accomplish their assignments. Finally, Kramer was to answer the questions from scholars that had to do with medicine and disease (§ 23–26). Niebuhr’s responsibility was for cartography and geography. He was to establish the latitude and longitude of places, the distance between towns and the location of the “timeless” features of Arabia, its mountains, rivers and springs. He was to gather geographical information from knowledgeable inhabitants such as the names of towns, mountains, valleys, rivers, streams and springs which were to be recorded in Arabic, using Arabic letters, with meticulous attention to the employment of correct orthography. It would also be desirable to gather historical geographical data – population changes, land fertility, the growth or decline of towns and the like. He was to assess the impact of polygamy on the demographics of the population and to study relations between the sexes. He was to monitor precipitation in the mountains and the tides of the Red Sea, especially as the latter related to the flight of the Israelites. He was authorized to carry out astronomical observations so long as that work did not interfere with the main purpose of the trip, and if possible, he was to observe the transit of Venus on 6 June 1761. If he had time and inclination, he was to assist the other members with mathematical questions (§ 27– 34).

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As would be expected, Haven’s assignments focused almost exclusively on the Bible and religion. He was to observe Arab customs for the light they might shed on understanding Holy Scripture and Mosaic law. He was instructed to gather information from contemporary, colloquial Arabic that might illuminate terminology in the Bible, and he was to observe and compare the dialects of the different Arab countries and compare those with the current knowledge of Arabic in Europe. Under paleography, he was to study the oldest Arabic, Hebrew and Syriac scripts. He was to seek out ancient writings on the religion of the Sabeans and other pre-Islamic religious practices. He was to make copies of old Hebrew and Greek Codices of the Bible, with his copies co-signed by another member of the party for accuracy. Finally, he was to copy old Arabic and middle eastern inscriptions, and most particularly to produce “with the most assiduous care” accurate copies of inscriptions at the Gebel el Mocateb, and if possible to make plaster impressions of them (§ 12, and 35–42). The last paragraph, § 43, discussed the work of the illustrator. Baurenfeind’s primary responsibility was to assist Forsskål with botanical and zoological drawings. As time allowed, he was also to help the others in the copying of inscriptions and other subjects that required artistic ability. He was specifically directed to assist Haven in the copying of the inscriptions they hoped to find at the Gebel el Mocateb. All of the members were directed to cooperate and work together in a “friendly” manner regarding Baurenfeind’s assignments so that the requests of one did not hinder the requests of the others. As in so many other aspects of the trip, Bernstorff and Michaelis were trying to emphasize the importance of cooperation and teamwork. For the times, the document is unusual and noteworthy in several ways. First, it was essentially university-generated, either in Göttingen or Copenhagen. It was not produced by the military or by a government ministry, nor did the Royal Academy of Sciences in Copenhagen play an official role.216 Bernstorff and Moltke were, of course, officials of the crown, but they deferred to the expertise of academics. Their goal was to carry out a successful and valuable scholarly undertaking that by virtue of its academic quality would bring credit to the crown and nation. Second, we can observe within the Instructions the changing emphasis of the expedition since it was first proposed in 1756. It was no longer an assignment for a single philologist, but now the undertaking of a multidisciplinary team of scholars. In fact, the emphasis was shifting imperceptibly away from Biblical philology to more general science. The naturalist, the cartographer and the physician were additions that focused on the sciences even though, to be sure, the work of the naturalist, in particular, was to inform a better understanding of the Bible. Also the bulk of the scholarly questions that the team actually had in their hands upon departure came primarily from natural and physical scientists, and dealt mainly with the sciences and geography. Third, the Instructions emphasized cooperation among its members 216 Pedersen, Lovers of Learning, 90.

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and set forth the principle of egalitarianism among fields of study and individuals. It was anti-authoritarian in structure and philosophy. We know of no other example in the 18th Century of an expedition in which no one was in charge. To be sure, some of this had its origins in the necessity to deal with the difficult personalities of some of the participants, but it also reflected a collegial, scholarly approach to the task at hand that came from Forsskål’s political philosophy and Michaelis’ own multidisciplinary, eclectic interests and his seminar-like approach. It was also an approach that was compatible with Bernstorff ’s broad interests, his commitment to scholarship, and his tolerant, sometimes indulgent tendencies. Both Michaelis and Bernstorff hoped the effort would constitute a small scale, traveling “Republic of Letters”. In fact, in his correspondence to the expedition, Bernstorff always referred to the group as “die gelehrte Gesellschaft,” which, as we noted, can be translated in this context as “the scholarly party or association.” In short, the Instructions had a strong pedagogic character. Fourth, the Instructions tried to inculcate a tolerant and cooperative attitude towards Islamic culture. The document communicates no arrogance, air of superiority or judgmental characterizations of others. Rather the party is instructed to be respectful and circumspect in their behavior. The region is not characterized as being exotic or bizarre, but rather Arabia is a place to gather historical and contextual information about the Bible and to be simply observed and described. In fact, some of Bernstorff ’s most pointed wording is to enforce the imperative of being respectful of Arab culture and mores. Finally, the Instructions are noteworthy for what they do not contain. There is no request to evaluate potential trading posts or new trade routes, or strategies for enhancing Danish commercial interests in the Middle East (this despite Bernstorff ’s position on the Board of Trade). There is no request for information on the diplomatic, military and commercial activities of other countries. There is no interest in obtaining information about food products, agricultural practices or mineral resources that might be of some value or applicability in Europe. Thus, although they urged that Forsskål follow Linnaeus’ instructions, it was in the context of comprehensive and systematic description and classification, not for any so-called cameralist purposes. In fact, Michaelis, upon receiving the final Instructions from Bernstorff, applauded the fact that the venture was free from any cameralist intent.217 Also, there was no directive to promote the Christian religion or to display European capabilities, other than medical services. Quite the contrary, the party was instructed to be modest and unassuming in their activities. Thus, despite the years of preparation, the many contributors to the crafting of the Instructions and the increase in the size, scope and cost of the expedition, the content of the document was never hijacked by other

217 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 26 April 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 101 a-b. In this instance, Michaelis was in a well informed position to make such a judgment, as he was very knowledgeable about Linnaeus’ cameralist views and supported them. See Wakefield, The Disordered Police State, 75–77.

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interests. Its overall focus remained what Michaelis and Bernstorff had originally envisioned; it was to be exclusively a scholarly endeavor. On January 4, 1761, the members of the expedition finally boarded the Grønland to embark on their trip to Arabia. They had been given a copy of the Royal Instructions and were loaded down with equipment and supplies. Bernstorff had told them to report to Gähler for further guidance upon their arrival in Istanbul. Gähler, in turn, had been told by Bernstorff to give his full support and assistance to the members of the expedition so that their efforts would bring honor to the King and the nation.218 After more than five years of preparation, Michaelis’ idea had been transformed into a full-blown expedition. He could take pride in his role in this achievement. Most of the ideas expressed in his address to the Königliche Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften in Göttingen in 1753 and in his proposal of 1756 had come to fruition. Because of his initiative and connectedness, three major threads of Enlightenment inquiry were represented in the expedition’s intellectual charge – those of biblical philology, geography and the natural sciences. Within limits, the team was well-prepared both in their disciplines and to varying degrees in Arabic. They were going to a part of the Middle East that had been largely ignored up to this time. They were given comprehensive instructions and scholars from around Europe had been able to participate in the process of shaping their work. Funding for the enterprise was secure and its scholarly focus had been retained. But there is no doubt that in the last few months Michaelis’ role had declined in importance. It was not until March 1761, that he was sent a copy of the Final Instructions and learned that the group had left and was to travel to Istanbul instead of India. This was due in part to the difficulty of getting mail through to Göttingen because of the war. Nonetheless, in his letter Bernstorff expressed his great appreciation and gratitude for the “energy, intelligence and knowledge” that Michaelis had brought to the project. Bernstorff also had taken the initiative to ensure that Michaelis would be recognized by the King for his efforts and he was pleased to transmit to him an honorarium of 400 gold ducats for his contribution.219 Michaelis’ work was largely completed. He would have little involvement in the expedition from this point on. Still, more than anyone, he shaped directly and indirectly the initial intellectual content of the Danish expedition and it was his initiative that made it possible.

218 Bernstorff to the Expedition, 1 January 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 90; and Bernstorff to Gähler, 30 December 1760, RaK, Tyrkiet Gesandtskabsarkiver, 1752–1767, Case 79–13. 219 Bernstorff to Michaelis, 4 March 1761, two separate letters, NSuUG. Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 318–319, and 319–330.

Chapter Two

Exploration and Death Learning about Egypt, the Red Sea and Yemen

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hen the members of the expedition went on board the Grønland and embarked on their journey to Arabia, they were filled with a sense of anticipation and trepidation. None had ever undertaken such an adventure and no one knew what lay ahead. Forsskål captured these conflicting feelings best in the opening to his diary of the trip where he described the unique purpose and challenge of a scholarly trip to Yemen. He wrote: “The coastal areas of Arabia Felix (Yemen), a large province of this remarkable peninsula, have long been known, but few Europeans had reached the hinterland, and all we knew about it came from the Arabs’ own geographical and historical descriptions, imperfectly accessible in a language which, even among the learned, was known to few but philologists. Mocha, its only town and harbour, was visited by none but traders, while the murderous squadrons of the Portuguese were more interested in invasion than enlightenment …. [But] European scholars had turned to this land with a higher purpose. The more secluded and withdrawn it was, the more they believed things new and unknown to them must be hidden there. Ancient customs, the surviving traces of old towns, the uncorrupted purity of the language, the contents of old libraries and unusual species of animals and plants; these were what was likely to tempt people with inquiring minds to make expeditions of discovery, either singly or in groups. But for several centuries the wild way of life of the Arabs had instilled an understandable dislike and hostility in travelers, and particularly in scholars, who tend not to expect to risk danger as part of their call-

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ing. And if the Arabs were so audacious and predatory round the circumference of their peninsula, might it not be even worse in the interior? So it needed something more than a mere craving for novelty for anyone to dare to undertake such a journey. A thorough knowledge of the local language, geography and history is the most suitable preparation for a traveler to any country; but in this case a heroic temperament was needed as well; one had to be prepared to give one’s life in the service of science.”1 Thus from the outset, the members were acutely aware that the Danish expedition would be difficult and dangerous. The Outbound Voyage – Copenhagen to Alexandria

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he vessel they boarded on the evening of January 4, 1761, the Grønland, was one of the newer warships in the Danish Royal Navy. Its commanding officer was Commandeur Capitain Hendrick Lorents Fischer, one of the Navy’s most skilled and experienced officers. He had just made a similar voyage to Istanbul in 1757 as commander of the warship Neptunus.2 The Grønland was a fifty-gun ship, armed with twenty-two 18 pounders on the lower gun deck, an equal number of twelve pounders on the deck above, and six-six pounders on the quarter deck. It had a crew of 325 men, which in addition to the Captain included five other officers, seven midshipmen, a chaplain and a doctor.3 Among the midshipmen was the Captain’s own eight-year old son, and later Admiral Lorents Hendrick Fischer, and the son of a then current Vice Admiral in the Danish Navy. The ship would be home for the members of the expedition for the next six months. For three days the Grønland did not have sufficient wind to set sail from Copenhagen. Even after getting underway on January 7, the breeze was light, so by evening they were only abreast of Helsingør where Captain Fischer decided to 1 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 1–2 (trans. Hansen, ed., The Linnaeus Apostles, Vol. 4, Peter Forsskål’s Journal [hereafter cited as Hansen, ed., Apostles], 283–284). 2 See the Journal of Dederich Top, Naval Chaplain on the Danish Warship, Island, which accompanied the Neptunus to Istanbul, in the collections of the Naval Museum, Copenhagen, courtesy of Jakob Seerup, Curator. The voyage is also discussed in Dan H. Andersen, “En dansk præst ved Sultanens hof 1758,” Siden Saxo. Magazin for Dansk Historie 8 (1991): 38–49. 3 The original Log or Journal of the voyage of the Grønland has been lost, but a copy made by Premier Lieutenant Jørgen Balthazar Winterfeldt is contained in his papers at the Danish Defense Library in Copenhagen. I am grateful to Søren Nørby of the Danish Defense Library for providing me with a copy of the Journal. The ship’s log was maintained by the Navigator, but on the Grønland at least, the practice was that each officer and midshipman was required to make a copy of each entry. This is the source of Winterfeldt’s journal. See Niebuhr to Mayer, 2 March 1761, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Philos., 159, Bl. 32–33. The cover pages and the entries for December 1760 describe the ship’s armaments and the details of its complement. A detailed model of the vessel is also in the exhibits of the Dithmarscher Landesmuseum, Meldorf. Also see Niebuhr to Beymgraben, 13 January 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 24, and Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 61–66, for useful information on the ship.

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anchor and wait for better conditions. This lull gave the group time to settle into the routine at sea. The two compartments which they shared may have been small and therefore cramped, but Niebuhr, at least, quickly became enamored with the camaraderie of shipboard life.4 He and the others ate each meal with the Captain and the ship’s officers in the wardroom and “almost every day,” he reported, “we have concerts and dancing.” “In short,” he went on, “we could hardly have a more enjoyable (lustig) life.”5 Niebuhr was, in fact, one of the music makers as both he and Baurenfeind were violinists, joined by one of the officers who played the flute and the ship’s trumpeters.6 But this merry calm was short-lived. On January 14th, the Grønland set sail again, quickly encountering a strong storm with contrary winds. This time they could make it only as far as the island of Læsø off the east coast of Jutland, before being driven back to Helsingør. On the 26th of January, Fischer tried again to make the transit of the Kattegat and the Skagerrak to the North Sea. This time the ship was able to approach the coast of Norway before it was hit by a violent winter storm. The Grønland was battered by heavy winds, snow and extremely high seas. At 4:00 a. m. on February 9, the Captain called his officers together and they decided to return once more to Helsingør, which, with the wind behind them, they reached in only thirty hours.7 The Grønland had taken a beating. In the two attempts to transit the straits, the ship had lost seven sailors who had fallen from the yardarms and drowned or had landed on deck and subsequently died. Thirty sailors were so seasick that they had to be taken ashore.8 These losses were soon replaced by new crew members.9 4 See Niebuhr to Mayer, 2 March 1761, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Philos 159, Bl. 32–33. 5 Niebuhr to Beymgraben, 13 January 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 24. 6 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sunheds Forliis, 65–66. 7 See the entries in Winterfeldt’s Journal for the relevant dates in January and February 1761; see especially the entry for 9 February at 4:00 a. m. for the Captain’s conference with his officers. See also Niebuhr to Temler, 11 February 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28; Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 64–79; Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 1–4; and Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 3–4. 8 See the entries in Winterfeldt’s Journal for 24 January, 1, 2, 3, 10, and 15 February, 1761. These losses were not unusual. For an indication of the losses at sea caused by disease and accidents in the 18th Century, see Dudley Pope, Life in Nelson’s Navy, Annapolis, 1981, 131. For example Pope reports, “In the Seven Years War (1756–63), the Royal Navy lost 133,700 men by disease and desertion, but only 1,512 were killed in battle. In the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars, which lasted with a short break for twenty-two years, the Royal Navy lost 1,875 killed in the six major and four minor battles fought by its fleets and four by its squadrons, compared with more than 72,000 who died from disease or accident on board and another 13,600 who died in ships lost by accident or weather.” 9 The fact that the Grønland could replace so quickly more than 10 % of its crew reflected the strong organizational capabilities of the Danish Royal Navy in the 18th Century. The Navy maintained on a permanent basis in Copenhagen four divisions of sailors of 1300 men each, divided into ten companies. These divisions were used to man the ships and also serve as dockyard work-

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As might be expected, the members of the expedition, with the exception of Niebuhr, were also horribly seasick and exhausted.10 One month at sea turned out to be enough for Haven. Upon returning to Helsingør he immediately tried to leave the ship for good, but Captain Fischer refused to allow him to do so without written approval from either Bernstorff or Moltke. The same day Haven wrote to Bernstorff arguing that in order to protect his health and life, he needed permission to travel by land to the Mediterranean.11 The following day he received the word he was hoping for. Letters from Bernstorff and Moltke gave him permission to leave the ship, to travel overland to Marseilles and to rejoin the Grønland there.12 Haven wasted no time. He left the ship the next day, February 17, leaving most of his luggage behind.13 Haven had been unhappy on board ship and he was frequently grumbling about Forsskål, Niebuhr, Baurenfeind and Michaelis.14 His departure exacerbated the tension that existed within the group, no doubt lost him the respect of some of his colleagues and broke up the team and the shared heritage of their joint experience from the beginning. On the 19th of February, the Grønland left Helsingør on a third attempt to reach the Atlantic. This time they made it only as far as Skagen, the small town on the tip of the Jutland peninsula, before turning back to Helsingør once again because of unfavorable winds. When they anchored off Kronborg, Niebuhr calculated that since leaving in January they were only about 20 nautical miles closer to the Mediterranean despite having covered nearly 2,000 nautical miles at sea.15 Niebuhr apparently took the delay with good humor. He joked in a letter to a relative that ers. They normally provided at least 50 % of the ship’s crew. The remainder came from a quite efficient conscription system based in the maritime communities of Denmark and Norway. Danish naval officers were well educated and well trained. They were not placed on half pay, but were expected to lead both the shipboard and shore based units. This organization appears to have been inspired in part by the French navy. The Danish Navy’s organizational capabilities compared favorably to the French and the British navies and certainly surpassed that of the Swedish navy. I am indebted to Jacob Seerup of the Naval Museum, Copenhagen, who is undertaking a study of the social and organizational characteristics of the Danish Navy in the 18th Century, for this information. For comparisons with the British Navy, also see Pope, Life in Nelson’s Navy, 262. 10 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 65 and 73; Niebuhr to Temler, 11 February 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28, and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 5. 11 Haven to Bernstorff, 15 February 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 94a. 12 Bernstorff to Haven, 16 February 1761 (draft), RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 94; also Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 81; and Moltke to Haven, 16 February 1761, also, Min Sundheds Forliis, 80. 13 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 5. He also transferred to Niebuhr his copy of the Royal Instructions, and letters of introduction from Bernstorff mainly to French consuls in nine different locations, as well as to Gähler, the French ambassador, Vergennes, and the banking firm of Couturier, all in Istanbul. See Niebuhr to Temler, 25 February 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 14 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 65–68. 15 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 5.

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he hoped the entire trip to Arabia would not take proportionately as long as their getting from Copenhagen to Helsingør because otherwise his good friends at home would have completely forgotten him. Despite all the storms, he wrote: “I am still very content with travel at sea for life on a Royal warship with 50 canons is not bad. One feels really quite secure with skilled officers and more than 300 sailors on board  …. We are never lacking for meals, only it’s too bad that we have so much meat and not once in a while some dairy based dishes or chicken.”16 Forsskål, on the other hand, was not happy with the trip’s beginning. He wrote: “Never has such an important expedition had such a persistently difficult and unpromising start. We would easily have been disheartened to the point of deciding to give up if we had attached importance to presentiments. But we knew that the time of year and the weather had not been deliberately arranged to hinder us, just as we knew that they would never be deliberately arranged to help us. So we decided to make the best of a voyage which contained every possible hardship.”17 Indeed as it turned out, the Danish Expedition got off to an extended slow start in its first two years, but this did not prevent it from achieving outstanding results in the end. This period on the Grønland was not entirely wasted. Haven, before he left the ship, studied Arabian history, and Forsskål, when the weather permitted, was already busy gathering samples of small fish and other marine life.18 The officers and crew were courteous and helpful, especially the ship’s baker, who after completing his baking duties for the ship, assisted Forsskål in catching marine specimens. Forsskål studied the phosphorescence of the sea water looking at samples under his microscope in an effort to explain its source. Up to that time it was thought that this was caused by free swimming bristle worms, or Nereids. Forsskål discovered that not to be the case, but he was not sure what did account for the phenomenon. As he wrote in his diary, “I filtered this sea water through both linen and grey paper four layers thick, and scrutinized the resulting sediment most carefully. An occasional spark did shine in it for a moment, but without body or life. I refuse to believe that this light comes from sea-salt, as was earlier supposed and believed. Nor did the water filtered through paper shine any more later on, even if the glass was shaken. The water filtered through linen shone very little when agitated. I filled a glass bottle with unfiltered sea water; this shone at the edges every time I shook the bottle, and its power lasted a full three weeks, latterly growing weaker until it finally disappeared. I haven’t yet been able to discover anything more than this ….”19 He subsequently hypothesized to Linnaeus that the phosphorescence must come from the slimy residue of jellyfish.20 His microscope was, of course, not strong enough to 16 Niebuhr to Beymgraben, Middle of February, 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 24. 17 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 3 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 284). 18 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 64. 19 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 8–9 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 287). 20 Forsskål to Linnaeus, 4 September 1761, in Th. M. Fries, ed., Bref och skrifelser af och till Carl von Linné, vol. 6 (Stockholm, 1912), 148–151.

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identify the single cell organisms Noctiluca scintillans, that mainly accounted for the phenomenon. Nonetheless, this work by Forsskål represents one of the earliest historical examples of a formal modern scientific experiment conducted at sea in marine biology. He also collected different kinds of seaweed and algae from the anchor when it was hauled up. These too were examined under his microscope and identified. He learned to preserve them properly with alcohol in order to retain them for further study, and he asked Baurenfeind to illustrate some of the specimens. Finally he and Niebuhr conducted salinity tests in the water to determine its changing salt content as they sailed from the Baltic eventually to the Atlantic. Niebuhr gave up this practice when he concluded that Forsskål’s testing probe was superior to his own. Subsequently, Forsskål also tried to examine variations in salinity according to the depth of the water, but he concluded that his equipment was inadequate to produce meaningful results.21 According to the Royal Instructions, Niebuhr was supposed to study Arabic on board ship to improve his knowledge of the language and to conduct astronomical observations. He did, in fact, work on his Arabic on his own, but there is no doubt that his main interest was celestial navigation.22 He concentrated on learning how to make accurate observations with his new Hadley octant. While he asked for and received lots of advice from the ship’s officers and men, he still struggled with getting the adjustments on the octant properly set and with shooting the stars precisely when the ship was rolling and pitching. In correspondence with Bernstorff and Tobias Mayer from Helsingør, he described these difficulties and admitted that his observations were probably not accurate. However, by March, it appears that despite the poor conditions and the lack of clarity in the definition of the horizon, he had worked through these problems. He had mastered the proper use of the instrument and was making the required calculations correctly, with the assistance of their orderly, Berggren, who noted the exact time of Niebuhr’s observation of each celestial body. While he believed the results were still not perfect, he was at least confident enough in their quality to send them to Mayer for review.23 As it turned out, his mentor was delighted with his work. He wrote back: “Your last correspondence is all the more satisfying to me since I can see how skillfully you know how to use this instrument and how correctly you are following the rules that I have had the good fortune to show you. The observations that you have sent me from 21 Uggla, ed., Resa till Lycklige Arabien, 8–13; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 7. Also see Torben Wolff, Danske Ekspeditioner pa Verdenshavene (Copenhagen, 1967), 22–25. Of course in the 18th Century the marine sciences were not very developed. See for example, Margaret Deacon, Scientists and the Sea, 1650–1900. A study of Marine Science, 2nd ed. (Great Yarmouth, 1997), 175–198; and Anthony L. Rice, “Marine science in the age of sail,” Zoologica Scripta 38 (2009): 25–31. 22 As Niebuhr wrote to Temler, “Practically my only occupation on board ship has been the observations and calculations for longitude.” Niebuhr to Temler, 20 May 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28, and Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 66. 23 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 22 May 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 103a; and Niebuhr to Mayer, 2 March 1761, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Philos. 159, Bl. 32–33.

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Helsingør (I have not seen any more recent ones) are more accurate than I ever would have hoped for. You have barely taken your first steps at Sea and you already can determine longitude better than 80 year old navigators.”24 On March 10, the Grønland left Helsingør for the fourth time. This attempt to pass through the Kattegat and the Skagerrak to the North Atlantic was finally successful. Stormy conditions and heavy winds drove them northwest, nearly to Latitude 63 degrees north, close to the coast of Iceland, where on the 31st of March they unexpectedly encountered beautiful, spring-like, weather.25 From here they began to head in a southerly direction with generally favorable winds. One day they covered 180 nautical miles in a 24-hour period.26 After a rough start, they were finally on their way to the Mediterranean. Toward the evening of April 21st, they sighted to the southeast Cape St. Vincent on the coast of Portugal at a distance of five miles.27 Niebuhr noted that all of the officers and midshipmen had been required to calculate the expected position of the ship based on data from the ship’s log. But when the calculations were presented and compared, none were as accurate as the Captain’s. After 42 days at sea, Fischer’s position was off by less than one degree.28 Because of the naval actions of the Seven Years War, the atmosphere at sea was somewhat tense. On April 25th the Grønland was approached by a British squadron and the crew was called to General Quarters. Luckily after a visit from a British officer they passed on without further incident.29 The following day they sailed through the Straits of Gibralter, entering the warm waters of the Mediterranean. These waters brought to Forsskål an abundance of marine life, including clouds of gelatinous organisms, which he now tried to catch and study. “My fish tool,” he wrote, “was a net of very fine mesh, stretched flat rather more than a foot in diameter. This proved a handy implement for catching these soft, jelly-like creatures unharmed …. My work was much helped by the Captain’s kind order that I should be allowed to use one of the gun ports on the lower deck when the sea was calm.” When he put the specimens in water on board ship, he discovered “they formed a mass of almost invisible small points …; I could see clearly that each point was a 24 Lohmeier,”Carsten Niebuhr, Tobias Mayer und die Längengrade,” 97, and Mayer to Niebuhr, 2 July 1761, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, Nr. 8 25 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 8; Winterfeldt’s Journal entries for March 10 and 28. 26 Winterfeldt’s Journal entry for 7 April 1761. 27 Winterfeldt’s Journal entry for April 21, 1761; Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 14; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 9–10. 28 Fischer gave Niebuhr a copy of his calculations and it is reproduced in Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 10–12. It shows a difference of only 44 minutes. In a letter to Bernstorff, Niebuhr cites the difference as only six miles, which, if he meant a German Geographical Mile, instead of a Nautical Mile, would be somewhat similar. As later in his actual Journal for the trip to Yemen and to Bombay he refers to distances at sea using the German Geographical Mile, this seems likely. See Tagebuch, 87(1) entry for 2 September 1763, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 6. 29 Winterfeldt Journal entry for April 25, 1761.

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living creature.”30 He worked hard to devise a successful method of preservation, but realized that a preserved specimen was inevitably greatly degraded. In these early explorations in marine biology, Forsskål was impressed by both their value and their difficulty. His work showed, he recorded, “how rich in inhabitants the sea is, right down to the smallest species, but at the same time one realizes how difficult of access they are; anyone who thinks of conducting new research in this field must not only live near the sea, but actually live out on the open sea during the most favorable part of the year.”31 During the voyage, Niebuhr continued work on his navigational assignment. He became skilled with the octant and wrote that the ship’s motion no longer affected the accuracy of his readings. He was correct in this evaluation. For example, Niebuhr’s determination of the longitudes of Cape St. Vincent and Marseilles were evaluated forty years later by a team of European astronomers, whose work we discuss in more detail in Chapter Four. Using more advanced methods, the astronomers established that Niebuhr’s longitude for Cape St Vincent was off by only six minutes (4.79 nm) from the best available data in 1801, and his longitude for Marseilles was in error by only two and one-half minutes (1.82 nm).32 For the times, this was a very high degree of accuracy.33 On May 13th, the Grønland reached Marseilles after days of languid sailing in the Western Mediterranean. They anchored off the town of l’Estaque, a short distance from the city. On the following day the party went ashore and were met by Haven who had already arrived in Marseilles after a leisurely trip from Copenhagen. Haven had left the ship, it may be recalled, on February 17, planning to go by land to Marseilles, but he did not leave Copenhagen until March 26. During that time he made many social calls, but he also met with Kratzenstein who gave him a copy to study of Balthasar de Moncony’s account of his visit to the Sinai. He also received from Rome the shipment of the thirty-three books he had acquired there.34 As he apparently thought these were not required for the trip, he left them behind in Bernstorff ’s library. His stay in Copenhagen, close to Bernstorff and Moltke, 30 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklig Arabien, 15 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 290–291). 31 Ibid., 16–17 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 291). 32 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 22 May 1761, RaK, AR, 3–003, Nr. 103a; Niebuhr, “Über Längen-Beobachtungen im Orient u. s. w.,” 248n. Baack, “‘A Practical Skill that Was Without Equal’,” 143. 33 For example, for a contemporaneous comparison, Cook’s longitudes for the Australian coast accomplished during his First Voyage (1768–1771) were evaluated by Mathew Flinders in 1814 as part of his survey of the Australian coastline. At Cape Gloucester, Cook’s differed from the best available data of Flinders by 20 1/3 minutes, and at Cape York by 58 ½ minutes. See Frederick White, “Cook the Navigator,” in G. M. Badger, ed. Captain Cook. Navigator and Scientist (Canberra, 1970), 62. Of course by then Cook had the advantage of using Nevile Maskelyne’s Nautical Almanac with its improved tables and simplified method (whose significance we will discuss later), as well as the expertise of the voyage’s astronomer, Charles Green, the assistant at the Royal Observatory to the Astronomer Royal, Maskelyne. 34 For a full listing see Hansen, and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 101–103.

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gave him an opportunity to lobby for changes in the design of the expedition. In letters to the two ministers, he made a number of requests. These included the addition of another artist, presumably because he disliked Baurenfeind and probably wanted someone over whom he could have more control. He asked that the party be granted an extended stay in Istanbul in order to study Arabic, Greek and Turkish. He also requested the establishment of a contingency fund that they could draw on in case of an emergency, additional monies to cover his travel to Marseilles and a variety of travel documents to facilitate their movement in the Middle East. Most importantly, he tried to gain more control over the expedition. He asked that he alone be given authority to determine the route they would follow, how long they would stay in each place, the way in which they would travel, and who they would employ to assist them. He added somewhat disingenuously that he was not trying to control the work of his colleagues, just the logistics and itinerary of the trip itself.35 This ploy to fundamentally alter the expedition’s governance in the absence of his fellow scholars fell on deaf ears. Much to his apparent surprise and disappointment, all of his requests were denied with the eventual exception of granting him a small stipend to cover his travel expenses to Marseilles. Instead he was directed to leave Copenhagen immediately as the Grønland had already departed.36 This he did on March 26th, traveling by way of Paris to Marseilles. According to his journal it was a comfortable journey with much socializing along the way. In Paris he attended the opera and the theater, met with D’Alembert and others and sought out rare scholarly editions from book dealers.37 He arrived in Marseilles on May 7, 1761. The almost three week stay of the Grønland in southern France enabled the party to rest after the long voyage, to examine private collections of shells and marine specimens and to visit the local observatory with its excellent inventory of instruments.38 Their stay in Marseilles was also significant in a number of other ways. First, Forsskål made a trip to Montpellier where he met with the French botanists Antoine Gouvan and Francois Boissier de Sauvages, both of whom were strong advocates of Linnaeus’ system.39 They introduced him to the botany of the Mediterranean. It was also in Montpellier, while visiting the botanical gardens there, that 35 Haven note (to Bernstorff ), 4 March 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 98; Haven to Bernstorff, 7 March 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 99; and Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 90–91. 36 Moltke to Haven, 17 March 1761, reprinted in Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 96, also see 96–97. He was eventually granted 200 rtlrs. for the trip. 37 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 105–140; Haven to Bernstorff, 8 May, 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 102b. 38 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 13; Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 18–19; and Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 139–150. 39 On the varied interests of Sauvages and the importance of Montpellier for science, see Louis Dulieu, “François Boissier de Sauvages (1706–1767),” Revue d’Histoire des Sciences et des leurs Applications 22 (1969): 303–322.

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the chief gardener made a proposal that answered Forsskål’s long-standing desire to be able to send discoveries made during the trip directly to Linnaeus in Uppsala. The gardener, Antoine Banal, proposed that he would send seeds for rare plants in the South of France to the botanical gardens in Copenhagen, if Forsskål could share with him seeds from his trip to Arabia. In a persuasively argued letter to Bernstorff, Forsskål expanded the idea so that he could send seed specimens directly to botanical gardens not only in Montpellier, but also in Paris, Amsterdam, Chelsea, and most importantly, Uppsala, in addition, of course, to Copenhagen.40 This arrangement was subsequently approved by Bernstorff and to a limited degree allowed Forsskål the direct access to Linnaeus he had been seeking.41 It was also in Marseilles where Forsskål wrote to Linnaeus that he would be disguising the numbering of the genus and species he discovered in letters to Linnaeus which had to first go through Copenhagen unsealed. The 10th Edition of Linnaeus’ Systema Naturae was the primary reference for Forsskåls taxonomy. Thus in making reference to the species he identified, he used the numbering system in the “new” edition, and he indicated he would list the first number second and the second number first, as for example 435 for 345, so that scholars in Denmark would not be able to accurately use the information before Linnaeus received the data. Thus Forsskål’s loyalty to Copenhagen vis-a-vis Linnaeus was still questionable.42 There are no documents that indicate Forsskål ever actually used this system, despite his continued paranoia that scholars in Denmark would prematurely steal his information.43 Second, Forsskål made a botanical excursion into the hills behind l’Estaque during which he identified 265 species, an inventory that subsequently was judged to be a quite accurate and complete survey of the region. It was published years later by Niebuhr as the first section of the Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, under the title Florula Littoris Gallae ad Estac.44 Forsskål found his work there quite valuable for it “yielded me,” he wrote,”a large collection of plants, all known to botanists, but for me a proof of the range of Europe’s latitudes, and a fine taste of the new things I could expect on the shores of Asia and Africa.”45 Here already is a hint of his later interest in the geography of plants. 40 Forsskål to Bernstorff, 28 May 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 104c-d. Also see Christensen, Naturforskeren Pehr Forsskål, 27; and Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 5. 41 Bernstorff to Forsskål, 17 and 18 July 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nrs. 104–104a. 42 Forsskål to Linnaeus, 27 May 1761, in Fries, ed., Bref och skrifelser af och till Carl von Linné, Vol. 6, Nr. 1351, 139–140. 43 Forsskål to Linnaeus, 30 July 1762, Ibid., Nr. 1358, 158–159; and Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 23 and 26. 44 See Petrus Forskål, Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica sive Descriptiones Plantarum quas per Aegyptum Inferiorem et Arabiam Felicem, ed. Carsten Niebuhr (Copenhagen, 1775), I–XII; Ludovic Legré, La Botanique en Provence au XVIIIe siècle. Pierre Forskal et le Florula Estaciensis (Marseilles, 1900), cited in Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 5. 45 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 18 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 292).

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Third, Baurenfeind executed one of only three drawings, out of scores of illustrations he produced for the trip, that includes any of the expedition’s actual members. It is of their anchorage at l’Estaque, and is one of the two drawings that show multiple members of the group – presumably Forsskål bending over examining plants, Niebuhr looking out at the harbor and Baurenfeind sketching. The Grønland, with the Dannebrog flying, lies in the harbor below and the three Danish merchantmen, whom they would soon escort, are nearby.46 Fourth, from Marseilles Niebuhr sent copies of his latest astronomical observations to Bernstorff. He requested that they be sent to Mayer or even James Bradley, the British Astronomer Royal, for review. As always he was modest in the characterization of his ability. But there can be no doubt that he believed his readings to be accurate even if he was not completely confident that he had carried out all of the complicated calculations correctly.47 (The subsequent importance of these calculations will be discussed in Chapter Four.) Finally, it was in Marseilles that Bernstorff ’s hope and expectation of good cooperation and harmony within the group was dealt another blow. One evening, while Captain Fischer was having a dinner for the party on board the Grønland, Haven and Forsskål had a bitter and profanity-filled argument over Swedish politics. The dispute poisoned relations between the two men, who then barely spoke to each other the rest of the voyage. This outburst meant that no sooner had Haven rejoined the team, than acute tension was reintroduced among its members. The group, for the moment, divided into two factions: Haven and his fellow Dane, Kramer, on the one hand, and Forsskål, Niebuhr and Baurenfeind on the other.48 On June 3, the Grønland departed Marseilles for Malta, escorting the three Danish merchantmen to the Eastern Mediterranean.49 They arrived at the island on the 14th. Along the way they encountered British warships several times, one of which wanted to inspect the Danish merchant vessels for contraband from France. Each time the Grønland went to General Quarters, the Captain refused the British request, and the convoy proceeded without further incident. Amidst these frequent preparations for battle, Niebuhr was trying to carry out astronomical observations of the transit of Venus. This task was called for in the Royal Instructions. Transits of Venus, which occur in pairs eight years apart, about once a century, were important to European astronomers in their efforts to more precisely deter46 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: Tab. II, between pp. 14 and 15. 47 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 22 May 1761, with its attachment Beobachtungen über die Länge Observiret auf dem Königl. Dänischen Kriegs-Schiffe Grønland und daselbst nach den Monds Tabellen d. Hrn. Prof. Mayers berechnet von Carsten Niebuhr.” RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nrs. 103a and 103b/c. In a letter to Temler, he suggested that his observations could also be sent to Kratzenstein, and two other professors in Astronomy and Mathematics at the University of Copenhagen. Niebuhr to Temler, 20 May 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 48 The best account of the incident is in Gähler’s letter to Bernstorff, 17 November 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 118d-f. 49 Winterfeldt’s Journal entry for 3 June 1761.

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mine solar parallax (solar parallax was essential to the methodology for measuring the astronomical unit – the mean distance between the earth and the sun). Sir Edmund Halley had previously argued that if observations of the transit could be made from locations that were widely distributed in a north-south direction around the globe, then it would be possible to determine solar parallax to an accuracy of 1/500th of a degree. The exercise of which Niebuhr was a part, was a major undertaking in Europe, commanding considerable popular attention. One hundred twenty observers were dispatched to different locations around the world; France alone had 31 observers taking part. In Sweden, the staff at the observatory in Stockholm had difficulty making the observations because the building was so crowded with the Queen and her entourage, foreign diplomats and other spectators. For Niebuhr the challenge was of a different nature. The transit of Venus, visible as a small dot crossing the solar disc, takes six or seven hours to complete. The time of ingress and egress has to be determined exactly, and simultaneously the longitude of the location of the observation must be established. Thus the exercise is not trivial, especially for a solitary observer. Unfortunately, Niebuhr was unable to observe the ingress of Venus to the sun because it commenced before sunrise and then the egress of the initial rim of the planet was obscured by clouds, but despite the motion of the ship and the frequent hustle and bustle of preparing the Grønland for possible conflict with the British Navy, he was able to observe the egress of the final rim clearly, establish its time, and determine the ship’s position at the time of the observation. He doubted, however, that his work would be very useful in comparison to the much more precise observations that would be carried out on land by astronomers around the world. Nevertheless he had done his best to complete the assignment conscientiously.50 The Grønland only stayed in Malta for a week.51 While there the members of the expedition had an audience with the Grand Master of the Knights of St. John, and saw many of the local sights, including the churches of St. Paul and St. John, 50 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 14–15. For a good discussion of the transit of Venus in Sweden, see Ulf Sinnerstad, “Astronomy and the First Observatory,” in Science in Sweden, ed. Frängsmyr, 45–71, and esp. 60–62. Accuracy, it turned out, was not just a concern of Niebuhr’s. Difficulty in establishing longitude around the globe and the challenge of correctly observing the moment of internal contact with the sun’s disk as Venus made its transit caused the precision of the observations to be less than was hoped for. See the standard work by Harry Woolf, The Transits of Venus. A Study in Eighteenth-Century Science (Princeton, 1959), 148–149. The Transit of 1761 is discussed in detail on pages 23–149; the transit of 1769 is reviewed on pages 150–197; and the outline of the scientific problem and Halley’s proposal is covered on pages 3–22. Also very useful and detailed is the explanation in Albert Van Helden, “Measuring solar parallax: the Venus transits of 1761 and 1769 and their nineteenth-century sequels,” in The General History of Astronomy, Vol. 2. Planetary astronomy from the Renaissance to the rise of astrophysics. Part B: The eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, ed. René Taton and Curtis Wilson (Cambridge, 1995), 153–168. 51 For a review of the visit in Malta, see Dieter Salto, Ganz am Anfang einer langen Reise. Begegnung mit Carsten Niebuhr auf der Insel Malta (Norderstedt, 2009).

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the Catacombs and the famous Hospital. Haven continued his search for important books, while Forsskål and Niebuhr explored the island visiting salt pans, windmills, graveyards, fields and the like. Forsskål completed a botanical survey of Malta, identifying 87 different plant species. The results were later published by Niebuhr as the Florula Melitensis, a short section in the Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica. A local scholar also gave Forsskål a list of the fish in the waters around Malta. This was also published by Niebuhr in his edition of Forsskål’s zoological work, the Descriptiones Animalium: Avium, Amphibiorum, Piscium, Insectorum, Vermium.52 Forsskål and Niebuhr gathered much descriptive information about the island, an early indication of the interest they both would have in assembling useful, accurate profiles of the places they visited.53 This experience was Niebuhr’s first exposure to field work and it seems likely that he profited from observing Forsskål’s work based on training by Linnaeus. They left Malta on the 20th of June, sailed through the Greek archipelago to Smyrna, present day Izmir. There Forsskål did his first botanical work on Asian soil and Haven practiced copying some Greek inscriptions. Niebuhr, who complained of illness, stayed on board.54 After a short stay they left for the small island of Tenedos, today called Bozcaada, almost at the entrance to the Dardanelles and nearly abreast of the site of ancient Troy. There the expedition was ordered to leave the Grønland to travel privately to Istanbul. As a warship the Grønland did not have permission to enter the Straits, and in any case, was supposed to continue with its convoy duties.55 The Danish Ambassador to the Ottoman Empire, Sigismund Wilhelm von Gähler, had sent a representative to Tenedos to meet the party and to accompany them safely to Turkey.56 Now, as Niebuhr noted, they would have to learn how to travel with Muslims. Their initial experience in Turkey was unnerving. A number of local Turkish dignitaries came on board the Grønland to enjoy the Captain’s hospitality, and as Niebuhr later wrote: “Their language, dress, their entire behavior was so strange to us that we held out no great hope that we would find

52 See Forskål, Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, xiii–xiv; and Descriptiones Animalium, xviii–xix. 53 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 15–20; Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 19–27; and Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 153–161. 54 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 21; Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 27–29; and Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 165–172. 55 Fischer’s earlier concern about British warships was not misplaced. That fall his convoy was intercepted by a British Ship-of-the-Line (74 guns), and one of the Danish merchant ships was seized by the British. Fischer was immediately replaced as Captain, but was exonerated in the hearing that followed. For a full description of the incident, see Dan Andersen, “Linieskibet ‘Grønland’. Historien bag en konvoj i Middelhavet i 1761,” Marinehistorisk Tidsskrift 24 (1991): 23–31. 56 Gähler to die gelehrte Gesellschaft, 25 March 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 1; also see Gähler to Zohrab, 8, 12, 27 June and 12 July, RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–16, File 4, and Guy to Gähler, 16 and 18 July 1761, RA, Tyrkiet, Case 79–16, File 4.

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much enjoyment in the Middle East (in den Morgenländern).”57 Their cultural education was about to start. The Grønland had served the expedition well and as a consequence the voyage from Copenhagen was scientifically significant. Pioneering work was begun by Forsskål in the marine sciences and he completed two botanical surveys that were of use to scholars in Northern Europe. Niebuhr carried out important navigational work utilizing the Lunar Distance Method for finding longitude, and he completed his assignment to observe and record the transit of Venus. Captain Fischer and the ship’s company were consistently cooperative and helpful to the team. The Grønland had been an excellent platform for their scientific work.58 But they would now be on their own, no longer under the care of the Danish Navy. The time of the separation could not have been worse for Niebuhr. He was suffering terribly from dysentery which he must have contracted in Malta; at one point he was so sick and discouraged that he had doubts that he would make it to Istanbul and Arabia.59 On July 19th, the group boarded a Turkish vessel for the trip from Tenedos to Istanbul. For the most part it was a slow voyage of coastal sailing through the Straits in a light breeze. Only when they crossed the Sea of Marmara did they encounter strong winds causing some anxiety because of their lack of confidence in the ability of the Turkish crew and Captain, primarily because the crew was reluctant to reef the sails.60 Along the way Forsskål rarely missed an opportunity to go ashore to observe the local plant life and to add to his growing inventory of Mediterranean flora. When they finally arrived in Istanbul on July 29, 1761, they entered an imperial capital full of economic and cultural vitality at a time of peace and economic prosperity for the Ottoman Empire. The mid-18th Century saw an increase in international trade, relative political stability and considerable artistic innovation. Istanbul was a socially dynamic, multicultural city filled with architecturally interesting new 57 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 22; Also see Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 28. Niebuhr uses the terms “Morgenland” or “Morgenländer” throughout his accounts and correspondence when referring to the entire region they were visiting, or to the people of the region generally, as opposed to individual countries, areas or peoples (Arabs, for example). The terms translate as the “Orient”, “the East”, “the Levant”, and “orientals”. They correspond to “occident” and “the West”, or “Abendland” in German. For the most part they are coterminous with Asia and Asians, but also Middle Easterners. For the purposes of this study they will be translated as the Middle East and Middle Easterners so as to be more specific. As his references do not apply to East Asia, Southeast Asia or South Asia, with one exception, this is appropriate, but it is not intended to deny the broad label that Europeans used in the 18th Century to refer to most of Asia and its peoples, or that the geographical/cultural boundaries for the term were vague, as in the case of Egypt for example. 58 For an interesting discussion of the role of the ship in furthering scientific inquiry in the 18th Century, see Richard Sorensen, “The Ship as a Scientific Instrument in the Eighteenth Century,” Osiris, 2nd Series,11 (1996): 221–236. 59 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 21. 60 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 29.

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buildings, beautiful private and public gardens and bustling markets. It was also a period during which the Sultan, Mustafa III, reemphasized the Muslim character of the Empire. New mosques were built in the city and elsewhere in the provinces, the laws regulating the life of women were made more restrictive, and the highly differentiating and discriminatory clothing regulations were strictly enforced. The forces of authority, tradition and internally generated change were co-mingled in this period of transformation. But on the whole, the expedition’s members entered the sprawling Empire at a time of peace. This would help facilitate the pursuit of their work.61 While in Istanbul they stayed at the residence of Sigismund von Gähler, the Danish Ambassador.62 It is clear that they were extraordinarily fortunate to have in Istanbul a diplomat who was as capable, knowledgeable and sympathetic as Gähler proved to be. He had nine years of experience in the Turkish capital, and as the negotiator of the 1756 Treaty of Trade and Friendship between Denmark and the Sultan, he had extensive knowledge of the empire and useful relations with the foreign envoys and merchants who worked there. He was a talented linguist and in time he took an active and personal interest in the well-being of the members of the expedition.63 From the start of the trip Bernstorff was explicit in communicating to Gähler the importance the King and his ministers attached to the success of the expedition. As he wrote soon after the Grønland departed Copenhagen, the assignment for the party was to make “discoveries in literature and the natural sciences, as well as to do research in astronomy and geography.” They were to serve “the advancement of science and the honor of the nation …. What more is required to inspire a goal so full of purpose, so enlightened and so patriotic as theirs.”64 Gähler 61 Naturally the literature on the Ottoman Empire is extensive. For the middle of the Eighteenth Century, I have consulted Karen Barkey, Empire of Difference. The Ottomans in Comparative Perspective (Cambridge, 2008), esp. 193–263; Rhoads Murphey, “Westernization in the Eighteenth-Century Ottoman Empire: how far, how fast?,” in Studies in Ottoman Society and Culture, 16th-18th Centuries (Padstow, 2007), 116–139; the very interesting study by Shirine Hamadeh, The City’s Pleasures. Istanbul in the Eighteenth Century (Seattle, 2008); Donald Quataert, “Clothing Laws, State and Society in the Ottoman Empire, 1720–1829,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 29 (1997): 403–425; and Caroline Finkel, Osman’s Dream. The Story of the Ottoman Empire, 1300–1923 (New York, 2006), 367–371. Also see the thoughtful discussion of European perspectives on the Ottoman Empire in the Introduction to Daniel Goffman’s, The Ottoman Empire and Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, 2002), 1–20, as well as his analysis of the maturation of the Ottoman state in the periods before the 18th Century. For general background throughout our discussion of the Middle East I have relied on Ira M. Lapidus, A History of Islamic Societies, 2nd Edition (Cambridge, 2002); Halil Inalcik and Donald Quataert, eds., An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 1300–1914 (Cambridge, 1994); and Albert Hourani, A History of the Arab Peoples (Cambridge, Mass., 1991). 62 Gähler to Bernstorff, Relation 34, 1 August 1761, RaK, Tyrkiet, Handel og Søfart Afskrifter, 1761–63, Case 79–8. 63 On Gähler, see Andersen, “Denmark’s treaty with the Sublime Porte in 1756.” 64 Bernstorff to Gähler, 13 January 1761, RaK, Tyrkiet, Gesandtskabsarkiver, 1752–1767, Case 79–13.

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was directed to assist the expedition in every possible way in order to ensure its success. He took this charge seriously and he certainly was impressed by the difficulty of the task that lay ahead for the team.65 Over the course of the entire expedition, it would become apparent that Haven, Forsskål, Niebuhr and the others could not have had a more conscientious and well-connected supporter in the region. In addition to providing comfortable quarters for the members, Gähler made many contributions to the expedition’s success during their almost six week stay in Istanbul. He reviewed the Royal Instructions with the entire group and discussed their specific needs. He introduced them to the diplomatic community, which included the French Ambassador, Charles Gravier, Comte de Vergennes, later famous as the French Foreign Minister during the American Revolutionary War, and the envoys of Great Britain, Venice, Sweden, Prussia, Naples, Holland and Russia.66 The representatives of France, Great Britain, Holland and Venice were, of course, very useful because of their network of consuls throughout the empire, so he obtained letters of introduction from the envoys to their consuls in Alexandria and Cairo requesting that they assist the expedition. At various points in the expedition their support was important. He also arranged for an Imperial Passport to enable the party to travel relatively freely throughout the Ottoman Empire, letters of credit and formal arrangements for drawing on the 18,000 piasters that had been authorized, and finally letters of introduction to foreign merchants in Egypt. Gähler took the lead in getting an augmentation to the budget to cover the cost of the initial purchase of additional equipment for the trip. For example, so as not to stand out when they arrived in Egypt, they were advised to buy Turkish attire. They also bought copper pots for cooking, five sets of pistols, three flintlock rifles and two sabres. The cost of these and other purchases came to 3,732 Piasters, or about 2,500 rtlrs., an expenditure that had not originally been planned for in the budget for the trip. So Gähler’s assistance in getting additional funding was very helpful.67 It was also Gähler who provided clarity to Niebuhr in his role as the treasurer for the expedition. Previously, Niebuhr had received virtually no guidance on precisely what procedures he was to follow.68 Gähler filled this void. He emphasized that the total expenditures for the trip were not to exceed 12,000 rtlrs., or 18,000 piasters, and that the group should be frugal. He explained which expenses could be charged against the general account and which would have to come out of their individual stipends. For example, transportation costs, freight charges, gratuities to 65 Gähler to Bernstorff, 17 August 1761, RaK, Tyrkiet, Handel og Søfart Afskrifter, 1761–63, Case 79–8. 66 The best description of these visits is in Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 183–223. 67 Niebuhr account record, for Moltke, 8 September 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 113c; and Gähler to Bernstorff, Relation Nr. 41, 17 September 1761, RaK, Tyrkiet, Handel og Søfart Afskrifter, 1761–63, Case 79–8; and Bernstorff to Gähler, 1 December 1761, RaK, Tyrkiet, Gesandtskabsarkiver, 1752–1767, Case 79–13. 68 Niebuhr to Temler, 25 February 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28.

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a ship’s crew, rental charges for camels, horses and donkeys, tips to the camel drivers, lodging and gifts to officials to facilitate the needed transactions of the expedition – all of these could appropriately be charged to the general fund. Any special foods, wines or spirits which they purchased would be charged against their individual stipends, but he advised the group to eat according to the customs of the locality they were visiting and to eat commonly available dishes. He also admonished them to avoid any ostentatious display that would arouse envy or invite a robbery. Any expenditures Niebuhr considered questionable would be dealt with upon their return, and the members were directed to keep their receipts. These instructions were helpful to Niebuhr.69 Keeping track of the accounts would prove to be a difficult and thankless job, and arranging for funds along the way at competitive rates was a constant challenge. Gähler also tried to mediate the increasing dissension that existed within the group. Evidently immediately after their arrival in Istanbul, Forsskål complained to Gähler about Haven’s behavior and recounted the argument they had had on the Grønland. Gähler had already noted the tension within the group and the existence of the two factions. He brought the party together, discussed the issues and reminded them of the Royal Instructions which called for a spirit of cooperation and respect among the members. He asked Forsskål and Haven to apologize and reconcile their differences, to promise to work together amicably, and finally, as a sign of good faith, to embrace in front of the others. Gähler hoped, thereby, that an atmosphere of cooperation and amity would return.70 But we know from the subsequent entries in Haven’s diary that his attitude towards Forsskål had not changed. The account of his stay in Istanbul is full of invective towards Forsskål and ridicule of Niebuhr, his work and even his mentor, Tobias Mayer.71 Although Forsskål’s diary is silent on the matter, as is his correspondence with Linnaeus, with whom he shared quite a lot, it is unlikely that his attitude towards Haven had changed much either. Subsequent events in Istanbul would further deepen the already unfortunate animosity that existed within the group. Although Gähler was unable to change the character of the relationships among the members of the expedition, he did provide valuable assistance and guidance to the group. His subsequent extensive correspondence with Niebuhr, and his close relationship with him until he was reassigned in 1766, demonstrates that his interest in the expedition and the well-being of its members was sincere and long-lasting. The members of the expedition, with the exception of Niebuhr who continued to be sick, took the opportunity in Istanbul to accomplish some useful work.72 Ha69 Gähler to Niebuhr, 5 September 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 4, Nr. 1. 70 Gähler to Bernstorff, 17 November 1761, RaK, AR, Nr. 118d-f. 71 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis,185–201. For the entire incident and subsequent developments, see Schück, Från Linnés Tid. Petter Forsskål, 334–375; and Christensen, Naturforskeren Pehr Forsskål, 30–34. 72 Niebuhr was well only for about one week during their entire stay in Istanbul, and for some

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ven seems to have been always most active in urban centers such as Paris, Rome and now Istanbul. He loved the social life of the diplomatic corps and took interest in seeing the historic sites of the city. He noted the architecture and visited libraries. He worked hard to locate rare books and manuscripts that would be of value to scholars in Copenhagen. His diary contains a rich account of his many activities in Istanbul, and he lobbied to have the party stay there for an extended period. His search for manuscripts in Arabic proved fruitful. For a total of 450 piasters he acquired from local book dealers 34 manuscripts, most of them in history and poetry, but also reference works on biography and geography. The purchases included two important Arabic dictionaries, the Lexicon dictum Kamus, Oceanus, and the Lexicon Gieuharii, that is the dictionary by Abu Nasr Isma’il al-Djwhari.73 He also got much information and advice on Egypt and the Sinai from James Porter, the British Ambassador to the Sublime Porte. Porter, who had some scholarly interest in the region himself, discussed the translation by Robert Clayton, Lord Bishop of Clogher, of a visit to the Sinai and the purported sighting of the possible inscriptions of Moses near a Gebel el-Mocatab. He, like others in Istanbul, was skeptical of the account, but he was very helpful in obtaining letters of recommendation from a Patriarch in Istanbul to clerics and merchants whom he believed could assist the party in their work in the mountains of the peninsula. (It is unfortunate that in the end the letters were not the appropriate ones for the work they needed to do in the Sinai.) Forsskål also made the rounds with the group to the foreign legations, and as he wrote, “I had the opportunity to study not only the ceremonial, but the botanical disposition of the place as well.”74 He made excursions to several of the villages and towns outside of Istanbul, including Buyukdere, Battalimani, Ortakoy and Belgrad, where Gähler maintained his summer residence. As Niebuhr later wrote, “The flora of Constantinople brought [Forsskål] to a richer field and gave him more leisure for thorough investigations [than had Estac and Malta]. Therefore a richer harvest was gathered than the season would suggest. In order not to tire the reader with an empty enumeration of names, he often gathered additional information and inreason his eyesight was badly affected. See Niebuhr to Temler, 17 October 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 73 See Hansen and Rasmussen, eds.,, Min Sundheds Forliis, 212, 214–215. For a full listing of his purchases see his Catalog of Purchases, sent to Bernstorff, 7 September 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3– 003, Nr. 109 (also listed under Nr. 115c.) A listing is also published in Hertha Kirketerp-Møller, “Fra København til Konstantinopel 1761. På Grundlag af F. C. von Havens Dagbog,” Fund og Forskning 17 (1970): 79–94, esp. 92–93. Useful as well is the discussion in Stig T. Rasmussen, “Frederik Christian von Haven og de filologiske resultater,” in Den Arabiske Rejse, ed. Rasmussen, 332. Finally, see the account records for the purchases in Haven to Niebuhr, 7 September 1761, RaK, Reviderede Regnskaber Videnskabelig Institutionen mm. 1760–1767, Kaptajn C. Niebuhrs rejse, Bilag Litra C. 74 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 194–195, and 217. Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 32 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 299).

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serted annotations; and Forsskål studied his plants so carefully that he discovered new species among them. The Greek names which he often added are not due to casual information. Some of these names he has received from peasants, others from a Greek who was well versed in pharmacology. In the town he met a community of priests belonging to a distinguished order, and visited their gardens.”75 Indeed, Forsskål apparently visited many gardens, gardens which were such an important part of the social and cultural character of the region.76 Forsskål’s botanical work in the area was later published by Niebuhr as the Flora Constantinopolitana, Littoris ad Dardanellos et Insularum Tenedos, Imros, Rhodi. It listed some 481 species of plant life that he had identified.77 Although Forsskål did not consider his collection complete, he did hope that it showed “that as a botanist I respected the places where I found something worthy of my interest and calling.”78 Forsskål was not just a botanist, but also a zoologist. So he continued to be curious about sea life in the area. As he recorded in his diary, “Having had a quick look at the countryside outside the city, and the conditions of the gardens within it, I wanted to find out what would be new to natural history.”79 He arranged to accompany some local shellfish fishermen in their small boat as they went to fish at the entrance to the harbor. In addition to describing how they fished, and how the shellfish were prepared and eaten, he identified ten varieties of marine plants, three species of crabs and twelve species of molluscs. These he considered “small additions to the marine natural history of Constantinople”.80 As we have seen, Forsskål was developing the ability to work with and learn from the local inhabitants in his gathering of botanical and zoological data. His work in southern France, Malta and around Istanbul were certainly useful opportunities for him to become familiar with the botany and marine biology of the Mediterranean and to improve his skills at field work. For the most part however, neither he nor Haven, and certainly not Niebuhr because of his illness, had much involvement with Turkish culture. They interacted mainly with the European diplomatic community and with minorities in the city from the Empire’s European lands. More thorough immersion in the life and culture of Middle Eastern peoples would have to wait until their arrival in Egypt. By the beginning of September, Niebuhr had recovered from dysentery. The group had purchased their needed equipment and they were prepared to leave for Alexandria. They boarded a Turkish ship on September 8th, and set sail three days 75 Forskål, Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, 16 (trans. Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 7. 76 On the importance of gardens in Istanbul see Hamadeh, The City’s Pleasures, 110–170. 77 See Forskål, Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, XV–XXXVI. 78 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 33 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 299). 79 Ibid., 37 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 301). 80 Ibid., 39 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 302). He also took time to answer one of several questions from Michaelis which they had received in Istanbul, one concerning birds. See Forsskål to Michaelis, 4 September 1761, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 322, Bl. 270–271.

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later. The captain was from Ulcinj (Dulcigno), a small port on the Adriatic coast of present day Montenegro, and he had a crew of 45 sailors. The ship carried 150 passengers – about 50 Turkish merchants with their merchandise, and 100 slaves, mostly from Georgia in the Caucasus, one third of whom were women. Unbeknownst to the members of the expedition, the trade in slaves from the Caucasus to Mamluk Egypt was a regular occurrence. These mamluk, or kul/harem slaves served in the households of dignitaries and supplied the Egyptian, and indeed the entire Ottoman, administration and military with essential recruits. Male slaves regularly rose to positions of importance and received their freedom in the process, continuing the long-standing tradition of the powerful mamluk class. The women were enslaved in harems of the elites of Ottoman society and did menial household work.81 The sailing to Alexandria was smooth and uneventful except for a few incidents that are worth noting.82 First, the ship carried the plague, brought from Istanbul where the disease was an ongoing problem. As a result, during the voyage slaves intermittently died from the disease and were immediately thrown overboard.83 It was a brutal introduction and a reminder of the threat of disease. Second, some of the female slaves were berthed in a large compartment directly over the space that was assigned to the expedition. As Forsskål recorded in his diary: “The hope of finding nereids [bristle worms] often caused me to draw up water through our cabin window. This attracted the attention of the female merchandise lodged in the upper cabin, who looked down at the fishing foreigner. I heard the ladies talking and looked up, at which they pulled their heads in hastily though none too shyly, because soon one after another would look out again, first for a quick glance, then for increasingly long periods, till finally acquaintanceship and conversation.”84 As neither he nor Niebuhr spoke a word of Turkish or the languages of the Caucasus, the verbal communication was limited, but much was accomplished with gestures and the like. The two travelers were soon putting sugar and fruit in scarves lowered by the women from above. This was reciprocated, Niebuhr wrote, by them sending back little gifts. Soon their female neighbors were knocking on their own windows so they could attract the attention of the two young Europeans below. “And so,” Niebuhr recalled, “we had much fun during our 81 See the works of Ehud R. Toledano, Slavery and Abolition in the Ottoman Middle East (Seattle, 1998), and As if Silent and Absent. Bonds of Enslavement in the Islamic Middle East (New Haven, 2007), although both concentrate on the 19th Century. Also see Madeline C. Zifli, “Servants, Slaves and the Domestic Order in the Ottoman Middle East,” Hawwa 2 (2004):1–33. Mamluk slavery is also mentioned in André Raymond, Cairo. City of History (Cairo, 2001), 196–197, and 202–203, and Lapidus, A History of Islamic Societies, 122 and 259. 82 During the voyage Niebuhr continued to make astronomical observations with good success. See Niebuhr to Temler, 17 October 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28, and interestingly assisted the captain with navigation along the way. Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I, 39. 83 Haven to Gähler, 7 October 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 5. 84 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 43 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 304).

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trip.”85 This was a presentiment of the generally friendly and engaging attitude both Niebuhr and Forsskål would adopt towards people of all classes and ethnicities during their travels through the lands of the Middle East, although Niebuhr later realized that such contact with women in an Islamic setting was foolish. Third, they had an interesting discussion with the ship’s yeoman on religion. He had visited various Italian ports, including Venice, spoke Italian well, and had even been to Vienna. He observed to the group that Catholics he had talked to were just as disparaging about other Christians as Sunnis were about other Muslim sects. When asked whether there were any heathens in the lands of the Ottoman Empire, he replied that there were, and they were called Lutherans. When one of the members of the expedition, it appears Haven, tried to convince the yeoman of the truth of Christianity, he stood up and said that anyone with such beliefs was an ass and left the room. Niebuhr concluded from this that the crew member showed himself to be a good Muslim, and that in religion, he said, every one believes his own religion is best. But he added, “I did not consider it my calling to proselytize.”86 Thus early on Niebuhr displayed the kind of comparative awareness, repeating the reference to Catholics and Sunnis, and general tolerance towards all religions, that would become a hallmark of his way of thinking and describing in the Middle East and India. Finally, another unfortunate incident occurred which deeply damaged relationships among the team of explorers. It seems that the last day that the party was in Istanbul, Kramer accompanied Haven to a local apothecary. There Haven picked up a number of medications and two large packets of white and yellow arsenic. Kramer became immediately alarmed about Haven’s intentions, because earlier, after the meeting with Gähler in which the envoy had forced Haven and Forsskål to reconcile publicly, Haven vowed to Kramer that he would still get even with Forsskål when he got home for the wrong he had done him. With this threat in mind, during the voyage Kramer told Forsskål, Niebuhr and Baurenfeind about the arsenic which they concluded was enough for the last meal of “two regiments”. It is hard to believe that Haven, despite his arrogance, hostility and jealousy, had sinister plans of murder in mind. Surely if he was planning to poison Forsskål or the others, he would not have had Kramer accompany him to the apothecary. But, under the strained circumstances, one can appreciate their fear. As Haven’s erstwhile ally, Kramer would not have informed Forsskål and the others unless he was truly worried. But no one since has come up with an explanation of why Haven would want to purchase quantities of arsenic for the trip, and because of a later directive from Gähler, Haven was never confronted on the issue, so the matter remains a mystery.87 Rather Forsskål immediately wrote a letter, cosigned by Niebuhr and Baurenfeind, 85 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 42. 86 Ibid., 39–40. 87 A possible explanation is that Haven obtained the arsenic to poison rats and other vermin that were a consistent problem for supplies and baggage, particularly on board ship, in those days.

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to Gähler from Rhodes, where they stopped briefly. In it he repeated what Kramer had told them and argued that given Haven’s consistently “despotic nature and violent temper,” they could do nothing other than imagine the “most gruesome purpose” for the arsenic. They were prepared to encounter the usual dangers of such a trip, he said, but not a threat from within their own party. They demanded that Haven no longer be a member of the group.88 It is not clear when Gähler received the letter about the arsenic problem, but on November 17, 1761, he reported it to Bernstorff and provided his own recommendation. He had verified the purchase of the arsenic, but did not believe that Haven was capable of carrying out such a “dark” and “inhumane” plan. He blamed both Haven and Forsskål for the sad conflict. Both were talented but possessed difficult personalities, and their animosity was exacerbated by the traditional friction between the two nationalities, Danes and Swedes. Given the seriousness of the situation and the distrust that existed Gähler believed there was little alternative to pursuing Haven’s separation from the group. He recommended that Haven be assigned to conduct research in Egypt and Syria, principally Cairo and Damascus, where his interest in antiquities and literature could be well employed. He reasoned that Haven had little inclination for the dangers and hardships of a trip to Arabia. Forsskål, Niebuhr, Kramer and Baurenfeind, on the other hand, should continue on to Sinai and Arabia to achieve the main objectives of the expedition. He understood, he wrote, how disappointed Bernstorff would be in his report.89 Gähler’s recommendation showed good insight into the personalities of the group. This would account for the large quantity, but there is no way to know definitively. On the use of arsenic see Hansen, ed., The Linnaeus Apostles, Introduction, Vol. 1, 362. 88 Forsskål, Niebuhr and Baurenfeind to Gähler, 21 September 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 118a. This letter is reprinted in Lohmeier, “Carsten Niebuhr: Briefe von der Arabischen Reise,” Dithmarschen, 2 (2004): 30–34. Two weeks later, Niebuhr sent a letter to Gähler with additional thoughts on Haven. He explained that while he personally was not afraid of him, he was concerned about his behavior. For example, he reported that when they initially left Copenhagen, Haven openly complained that he should have had control over the finances, that he should at least have two votes and the authority to overrule the decisions of the others, all because they did not posses his intelligence or sense of discernment. “What should one conclude,” he wrote, “about a man who has not a shred of courage and yet possesses a lust to dominate.” While he did not believe that they were in immediate danger in Alexandria, he was worried about the future, and should misfortune strike, he hoped that Gähler would stand behind him if “I out of necessity (Heaven forbid such a situation) had to avenge such a vile deed, as an officer should.” Niebuhr to Gähler, 2 October 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 118b, and Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 4a (copy). For a similar comment about avenging any wrong doing with honor, see Niebuhr to Schumacher, 29 September 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 6. 89 Gähler to Bernstorff, 17 November 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 118d-f. Interestingly, as an aside, Gähler saw Niebuhr as somewhat apart from the conflict, as we shall see. He noted that the Lieutenant lacked neither qualifications nor diligence and was a “fine man of honor”. Responsibility for the accounts could not have been placed in better hands, although he thought Niebuhr could be more firm in his administration of the funds. The most complete discussion of the entire stay in

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With deep distrust hanging in the air, the party finally arrived in Alexandria, Egypt on September 26, 1761. The relations between Haven and his colleagues could not have been more at variance with Michaelis’ and Bernstorff ’s vision of dedicated scholars, working together as a team, sharing their enthusiasm and expertise, in service to the world of science and to the king and nation. It was a decidedly inauspicious beginning to their assigned work in Egypt, Arabia and adjacent lands. Introduction to Egypt: Alexandria, the Nile and Arrival in Cairo

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pon the expedition’s arrival in Alexandria the members were invited to stay at the home of the French Consul, Marion.90 He also served as the Vice Consul for Denmark, Sweden, Tuscany and Naples, and had been unsuccessful in finding other accommodations for the group. They were advised to remain in Alexandria for a few weeks before proceeding to Cairo because of unrest and uncertainty in the Egyptian capital. The ruling Governor, or Pasha, had been deposed and a new one was in the process of establishing his authority. The sudden changes in Cairo, which will be discussed later, were not unusual in the Ottoman provincial administration, but still this kind of momentary instability was frequently accompanied by an increase in banditry by groups of Bedouins, particularly on the land route from Alexandria to Cairo. Their five-week stay enabled them to start work, to see the historic sites of Alexandria, and to get a sense of life in this thriving port city. Haven made contacts to investigate books and manuscripts, especially Hebrew texts, Niebuhr made astronomical observations to determine the city’s exact latitude and longitude, and Forsskål began to botanize. They met many of the members of the small European community – foreign consuls, merchants, sea captains and the like from whom they received some useful advice for their trip.91 The Dutch Consul showed them two rare mummies, one of which was an aborted fetus, only seven inches in length, which Baurenfeind took the opportunity to draw.92

Egypt is Lucian Reinfandt, “Vierzig Jahrhunderte mit dem Astrolabium auf den Kopf gestellt. Carsten Niebuhr in Ägypten,” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 105–119. 90 Die gelehrte Gesellschaft to Gähler, 2 October 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 4 (written by Forsskål); Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I, 52; Marion to Gähler, 27 September 1761, RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–13; and Niebuhr to Temler, 17 October 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 91 Haven gives the best description of their social life in Alexandria. The stay is covered on pp. 233–258, Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis. Niebuhr’s comment on all the socializing was “I find for that reason many opportunities to be lazy and so if right from the start of the day I do not pull myself away from this socializing, I would be making very poor use of my time.” Niebuhr to Schumacher, 29 September 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 6. 92 Niebuhr to Temler, 17 October 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28; Kramer to Gähler, 28 October 1761. RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 7; and Niebuhr to Gähler, 30 October 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 8.

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They also noted some of the interesting features of Egyptian life that might impact them. For example, Christians were forbidden to ride horseback in the city, but this turned out to not be a great inconvenience because, as Forsskål noted: “Donkeys may be found ready saddled everywhere in the streets, ready to hire for a small fee.”93 Communication with the residents was also somewhat easier than they had anticipated. Niebuhr was impressed with the language facility of some of the Egyptians, as many could speak Italian fluently and some he met could even speak Provençal, Danish and Swedish nearly as well as a native speaker.94 They also got an early introduction to the chronic tension that existed between the urban communities in Egypt and the Bedouin tribes who were constantly marauding the countryside robbing merchants, travelers and even military units. For example, on October 11, 1761, the group watched from the balcony of Marion’s residence as in the large square below a clash unfolded between mounted Bedouins who had evidently been raiding travelers outside the city, and the suspicious and resentful townspeople.95 In the ensuing melee, one Bedouin was stoned and killed, another was shot and fifteen were taken prisoner. Two of the prisoners, Niebuhr reported, later died from the beating they had received from their captors. The scene increased the sense of apprehension of the group as they anticipated their upcoming trip to the south. Their visits to the important monuments of Alexandria with the French and Dutch consuls also made a strong impression. They explored two sets of catacombs in the area, including the famous Roman cemetery of Kom el-Shougafa. There they crawled through the entrance, worked their way through the sand and dirt that had accumulated over many centuries and, with lighted torches in hand, investigated the different chambers of the site. These included the so-called “temple,”or domed hall that had been visited and vividly drawn by Frederik Norden years earlier on his trip to Egypt. It appears that they only visited the first level of the site, as although they were apparently aware of three levels in the complex, there is no mention of the great circular staircase that led to the main tomb on the second level. Niebuhr took measurements of some of the spaces and niches and produced a floor plan of the domed hall.96 They also saw the remains of Cleopatra’s Palace, and Pompey’s Column or Pillar, which Forsskål termed “a grotesque and time-defying relic of ancient archi93 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 44, (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 305). Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 235. This regulation, together with other rules for non-Muslims were codified in the 9th Century as part of an agreement for safe conduct and protection of property for the non-Muslim communities. For a convenient summary see Bruce Masters, Christians and Jews in the Ottoman Arab World (Cambridge, 2001), 22. 94 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 52. 95 Ibid., 53–54. The event is described in some detail in each of the principals’ diaries, and obviously made a strong impression. See Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 46 and Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 243. 96 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: Plate V.

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tecture.”97 There Haven tried without too much success to make copies of the inscriptions on the pillar, but they had been greatly degraded over the ages and were barely legible.98 They saw the so-called Cleopatra’s Obelisks, one of which had fallen over and was partially buried. At these sites Niebuhr was busy measuring with his astrolabium. Cleopatra’s standing obelisk he calculated to be 61 feet 11 inches high and seven feet, three inches at the base. He noted that some of the inscriptions on the obelisk were an inch deep, which demonstrated, he observed, “What foresight the ancient Egyptians had used as though they were preserving their message for eternity. It is not their fault that their ancestors can no longer read them.”99 He noted too that the inscriptions on Pompey’s Pillar were no longer legible which caused him to compare the care in the crafting of the two obelisks – Cleopatra’s (Egyptian) with Pompey’s (Greek). “Had the Greeks cut their inscriptions as deeply as the Egyptians did the hieroglyphs on their obelisks, their inscriptions would be equally recognizable. In addition, the ancients had the foresight to inscribe all four sides of the obelisks. The inscriptions on the Greek column, however, were only placed [on one side], precisely the one that would suffer most from exposure to the weather.”100 It was this kind of attention to detail that over time would make Niebuhr stand out as an astute observer. The antiquities of Alexandria were important for setting the stage for the impending work of the expedition. They immediately gave the group an historical perspective on the lands they would be visiting. Even Forsskål was struck by the structures’ meaning and caused him to place his own botanical investigations in an historical context. As he wrote: “My lack of experience in historical studies would not inhibit my intention, in the presence of these valuable ruins, to hold in respect the wisdom and hard work of those who lived so long before us and at the same time to bear in mind that our own labours, which we believe to be so magnificent today, will perhaps, in a shorter time, also become ruins, and perhaps not be so highly valued by those who come after us as we rightly value the memory of the ancient Egyptians. Apart from these excursions, my botanical expeditions were what mattered most to me, and I saw the immortal flora still producing plants which in similar species and forms were already growing three or four thousand years ago.”101 97 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 50, (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 308). 98 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 249. 99 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 45–46. His measuring in Alexandria is also described in Niebuhr to Moltke, 21 October 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 123b-c. He had studied Norden’s drawings of the monuments and sites, and, in general, he found them to be quite accurate. Also he reports that he was not able to do a town plan in Alexandria, as would later become his usual practice, because his Janissary escort would not go with him if he took his instruments. They aroused too much suspicion. Thus, Niebuhr considered such an attempt to be ill-advised. 100 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 48–49. 101 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 44, (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 305).

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In a format that followed quite closely the travel instructions of Linnaeus for natural scientists, Forsskål gathered information which he recorded in his diary on the minerals and geologic characteristics of the area, its climate, agriculture, weights and measures, language, and of course, plant life. As a scientist the opportunity to investigate for the first time the species of Egypt filled him with a sense of awe. As he wrote: “When after a long and barren sea voyage a botanist familiar with little but the Nordic lands is set down in a land so far away and so utterly different as Egypt without crossing the intervening latitudes overland, he cannot avoid experiencing a sensation so overwhelming as to be almost beyond description. The people, the soil and the natural surroundings were new to me, as were all the plants. All I could do was collect and stare.”102 He soon found at Râs-ettin, the peninsula that overlooked the harbor in Alexandria, a site rich in specimens which he called “my botanical island.” Here he found much variety in plant species because of the variations in habitat. “The salt pans contain plants that enjoy salty conditions, seashore, high ground, valleys, hollows, arable fields, shaded and open land can all be found here mixed together in a little world of their own.”103 He marveled at the unusual fertility of the land on the peninsula with some fields yielding seven or eight crops of corn annually.104 It was on this first visit to Alexandria (he would make another) that Forsskål began to catalog the hundreds of plant specimens that would form the core of his major work, the Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica. The expedition left Alexandria for Cairo on October 31, 1761. They traveled by a small flat boat up the western arm of the Nile. They marveled at the green fields on either side of the river, fields made especially fertile by the annual flood of the Nile which deposited rich sediment from upriver. The wind was light so their progress was slow. Forsskål, Haven and Baurenfeind decided to travel part of the way, to Rashîd or Rosetta, by land. Niebuhr, however, stayed on the boat. His task was to gather cartographic information on the lower parts of the Nile that had not been charted by Norden in 1738 – namely the stretch between Cairo and the Mediterranean. Niebuhr identified each village and town along the river as they proceeded south, careful to establish its location and correct name in Arabic. On this trip he collected data on 135 communities, 77 on the eastern bank of the river, and 58 on the western. The establishment of an accurate name in Arabic tested Niebuhr’s knowledge of the language, and in particular, his ability to hear correctly each name as it was spoken in different dialects. His skill in this work would improve as time went by.105 His work on the chart of the Lower Nile would continue in Cairo and we will discuss its completion later.

102 103 104 105

Ibid., 64 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 315). Ibid., (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 316). Ibid., 66, (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 316). Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 84–90.

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They paused in Rashîd briefly, staying in a Franciscan hostel on a rise with a sweeping view over the great river. As Forsskål recorded: “When day dawned I was able to see the Delta in all its glory, complete with its shores and green and fertile islands.”106 Their progress from Rashîd to Cairo also continued to be slow and frequently the boat had to be man-hauled on paths along the shore. When they pulled in and stopped at night they were in constant fear of robbers; an armed sentry was posted each night, firing warning shots at the sound of any movement along the shore to ward off attack and to demonstrate on-going vigilance. They arrived in Bulak, the river port of Cairo on November 10. 107 The following day they had their baggage off-loaded and, amidst much commotion, it was packed on seven camels, a horse and a donkey for the short trip to Cairo itself.108 Lodging in the city had been arranged for them by the consul in Alexandria, Marion. The house had several rooms and a cooking area, but as it had no windows, and as was the custom, was rented without furniture, Haven declared it totally inadequate, at least for himself. In the end, only Niebuhr and Forsskål stayed in these quarters which belonged to a French apothecary. Haven and Baurenfeind took rooms with a French merchant and Kramer resided with the Dutch Consul.109 When they arrived in the Egyptian capital they were entering a very important, but still subordinate, city of 250,000 people within the Ottoman Empire. As André Raymond wrote in his classic history of Cairo: “Before the Ottoman conquest Egypt constituted the center of an empire that included Palestine, Syria and the Hijaz. Afterward it was reduced to a simple province, one of thirty-two (thirteen of them within the Arab world). Cairo retained an eminent position as the second city of the Ottoman Empire after Istanbul and as the center of the richest, most populous and most culturally prestigious province in the Arab territories under the sultan’s rule, but Egypt was henceforth governed from Istanbul as were all the other provinces of the Empire.”110 It was a city that was growing in population, economically vibrant and culturally diverse. However, their stay also coincided with a period of political instability. Between 1760 and 1765, Cairo had eight Pashas and, as we shall see, three alone during the year they were there.111 It was a period of reassertion of power by the mamluk class, the surviving oligarchy from the Mamluk Sultanate overthrown by the Ottomans in the 16th Century. This reemergence of the 106 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 69, (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 318). 107 Niebuhr to Gähler, 11 December 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 123e; copy from Gähler Kanzlei, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 10. 108 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 270. 109 Niebuhr to Gähler, 8 January 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 123f; Haven to Gähler, 23 November 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 9, 9a, 9b., and Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 270 and 276. 110 André Raymond, Cairo. City of History (Cairo, 2001), 191. For a full description of the city during this period see 189–288. 111 Ibid., 192.

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Mamluk beylicate was symbolized by the rise of ‘Ali Bey al-Kebir. The Ottoman administration may still have had substantial control over urban centers, but the countryside was dominated by Bedouin tribes and mamluk factions. Thus security in the countryside was a constant problem. Trade and the movement of peoples, such as the pilgrimage to Makkah (Mecca) were disrupted frequently by conflict in the region.112 These circumstances had an impact on the expedition as it made plans to proceed to Yemen, causing it, in part, to stay in Cairo almost one year, although the main reason for their lengthy visit was the need to wait until the thorny issue of Haven had been resolved by Bernstorff. In an artful letter addressed to the scholarly expedition Gåhler directed them to wait in Cairo for further instructions from Copenhagen on how best to proceed. He did not reveal the real cause of the delay. In a separate letter to Forsskål, Niebuhr and Baurenfeind he instructed them not to discuss the matter with Haven or with anyone else, to maintain the appearance of friendly relations with Haven, and to avoid anything that would bring dishonor upon themselves or their nation. They would simply have to wait for a decision from Copenhagen.113 Niebuhr – Ethnography, Map Making, the Great Pyramids and Hieroglyphs

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espite sometimes frustrating circumstances, it was in Cairo that Niebuhr blossomed as an explorer/investigator. He was not only a cartographer, but also became a novice ethnographer, a more broadly defined geographer and a recorder of antiquities. His facility in Arabic grew dramatically as he was forced to use the spoken language daily in the streets of Cairo and areas outside the city. He was busy constantly, almost relentlessly, during his stay in Cairo, and in retrospect the quantity and range of his work is impressive. Paragraph Thirty of the Royal Instructions directed that, if possible, Niebuhr should obtain historical geographical data, such as the changing size of the population of the places he visited. But in Egypt, in addition to a review of the region’s antiquities and towns, and the characteristics of the Nile, he took this assignment in a much more ethnographic direction. Whether it was machinery, puppet shows, 112 For analysis of developments in Egypt during the middle third of the eighteenth Century see Thomas Philipp and Moshe Perlmann, eds., Abd al-Rahman al-Jabarti’s History of Egypt, Vol. I (Stuttgart, 1994), 415–429; P. M. Holt, “The Pattern of Egyptian Political History from 1517 to 1798,” in P. M. Holt, ed., Political and Social Change in Modern Egypt (London, 1968), 86–90; and Daniel Crecelius, The Roots of Modern Egypt. A Study of the Reigns of ‘Ali Bey al-Kebir and Muhammad Bey Abu-al Dhahab, 1760–1775 (Minneapolis, 1981), 11–63. For the Bedouin Arabs and their strong position in the 18th Century, see Michael Winter, Egyptian society under Ottoman rule, 1517–1798 (London, 1992), Chapter 3, “The Bedouin Arabs and the State”, esp. 104–108. 113 Gähler to die gelehrte Gesellschaft, 17 November 1761 (draft), RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 2, and Gähler to Forsskål, Niebuhr and Baurenfeind, 17 November 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 3.

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wedding ceremonies or performing monkeys, Niebuhr was curious about the daily life of the Egyptians. For example, he was fascinated with the water wheels and pumps that were used to irrigate the fields in the countryside outside of Cairo.114 These he described in great detail accompanied by his carefully drawn illustrations. [Fig. 1] He grasped the central role of water and the movement of it to the culture of Egypt. He did the same for mills which ground grain or saffron flowers, and for oil presses. He took extensive notes on the process for producing salmiak or nushadir salt (ammonium chloride) from animal dung, and he made a drawing of the ovens used. He studied the operation of an Egyptian egg incubator, which he visited with Forsskål in 1762, and again he completed a precisely labeled illustration. As a former farm worker, the quality of Egyptian agricultural equipment caught his eye. He did not think it was very high. A number of times he and Forsskål observed the process of threshing grain. Again he took copious notes.115 As was the case with many travelers to the Middle East before him, the variety of clothing and the customs that governed attire were quite intriguing to Niebuhr. For example, in Egypt, Christians and Jews were allowed to wear clothing of any color except green, because in the Ottoman Empire that color, symbolic of nature and associated with paradise, was by custom reserved for Muslims. Niebuhr made the observation that there was probably no actual law that set forth this prohibition, “but one could be insulted by the people if one wore green, and therefore it is wisest not to be stubborn or hardheaded about such small matters.”116 He took notes on a wide variety of male, and especially female, dress, but no item of clothing was as interesting, because, he noted, it so clearly differentiated nationality, function and class, as the headgear worn by the people of the Ottoman Empire.117 The topic was so rich, he thought, that one could write an entire book just on it alone. He cataloged some forty-eight different kinds of hats, caps, turbans and other headdress used by the officers, soldiers, sailors, clerics, various officials, women and different nationalities, each with a description of its use and a drawing by Baurenfeind.118 [Fig.2] He examined other aspects of the daily life around him, such as the physical

114 He also knew that Michaelis had a question about a water pump from the time of Moses. He answered the question and sent Michaelis a drawing. See Niebuhr to Michaelis, 30 July 1762, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 272–274. 115 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 148–156. His drawings of water-related machinery are printed in Plate XV, of mills, presses and the salmiak oven, on Plate XVI, and of an incubator on Plate XVIII, all Reisebeschreibung, I. Also see Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 24 August 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 139. 116 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 159. 117 Ibid. As Donald Quataert also noted, until the 1829 reform regulation on headgear, headgear had “provided the critical and central marker of identity, status and rank” for Ottoman society. “Clothing Laws in the Ottoman Empire,” 412. 118 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 156–167; the drawings of headgear are reproduced in Plates XIX–XXIII, Reisebeschreibung, I.

Fig. 1. Water wheels and pumps in Egypt, drawn by Niebuhr

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exercises practiced by men, wrestling, play equipment and children’s games, for all of which he made a careful drawing himself.119 Because of his own avocation, he was curious about Middle Eastern music and dance, which he described in some detail. He began to put together a collection of drawings, which he drew himself, for eventually twenty different instruments. Included in the drawings were brief musical passages for several motifs or melodies.120 [Fig. 3] He noted it was improper for respectable Arabs and Turks to enjoy music or dance. Therefore, it was not surprising, he believed, that these art forms were not as highly developed as in Europe. The melodies, he thought, were earnest and simple. But in a characteristic aside, he commented that just as Egyptian music was not necessarily to European liking, Middle Easterners “did not find European music very beautiful either.”121 One evening Niebuhr and Baurenfeind, together with some European merchants and a monk, played a small concert for the residents. Niebuhr felt they had played quite well, but as they were going home, they asked one of the attendees how he liked the music. He replied; “Your music is a wild and unpleasant screech in which no serious man can find enjoyment.”122 Baurenfeind and Niebuhr played for Arab visitors on other occasions, and while the visitors were not as outspoken as the attendee in the streets of Cairo, Niebuhr knew “that they believed that their music was far more masculine and therefore beautiful than ours.”123 He described the role of coffee houses and smoking habits, and he even drew several pipes and smoking devices. Some assignments that he felt obligated to complete were uncomfortable. For example, Michaelis and others had expressed great interest in the practices of castration, and circumcision, and had specifically requested that they try to observe the procedures for female circumcision. Niebuhr, Forsskål and Baurenfeind thus felt obliged to observe this procedure which Forsskål arranged with a landowner outside of Cairo.124 With others in attendance they watched the procedure performed on an eighteen year old peasant girl. Baurenfeind did a drawing of the mutilation “with a shaking hand,” and they were extremely worried that the Arabs in attendance would take offense at their presence. But as the land owner was their friend, there was no incident. Niebuhr asked for explanations for the practice and received responses that ranged from cleanliness to the control of female sexual arousal, and the concomitant maintenance of virtue.125 119 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 24 August 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Rr. 139; Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I, 168–173, and Plate XXV. 120 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I, 175–186, and Plate XXVI. 121 Ibid., 176. 122 Ibid. 123 Ibid. 124 Niebuhr to Temler, 30 October 1764, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 125 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, 80. For a discussion of female circumcision in Egypt during a slightly later period, see Mervat F. Halem, “The Professionalization of Health and the Control of Women’s Bodies as Modern Governmentalities in Nineteenth-Century Egypt,” in Women in the Ottoman Empire, ed. Madeline C. Zifli (Leiden, 1997), 66–80, and esp. 70, 73 and 76–77. Baurenfeind’s

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Fig. 2. Headgear of the Ottoman Empire, drawn by Bauernfeind

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Fig. 3. Middle Eastern musical instruments from the journey, drawn by Niebuhr

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While in Cairo he investigated the administration of the city, its economy and the general composition of its population.126 He noted that during their stay of almost one year there were three different governors, including Mustafa Pasha, who had been the Grand Vizir when Gähler was negotiating the Danish Treaty with the Porte. He studied the role of the Beys, the Mamluk Amīrs, who, as we noted, at this time had increased their influence. He discovered that many were freed slaves, originally transported from the Caucasus and sold in Cairo. He took notes on the names and background of all eighteen Beys who were important during that period. He described the policing and judicial arrangements for the city. Every district or quarter had a local judge, or Qādi who administered justice and handled disputes.127 Patrolling Janissaries, whose commander, the Agha, was in effect the Chief of Police for the city, maintained order on the major streets and watched for thieves in the market places. As a result he judged the threat of robbery and murder in the narrow streets of Cairo to be less than in many of the large cities of Europe.128 He concluded that in most essentials the form of government inherited by the Turks still persisted and he noted, “deserved to be more precisely understood although not always imitated.”129 He also noted that in Cairo, as they had experienced in Alexandria, Middle Eastern Christians, Europeans, and Jews were not allowed to ride horses, but only donkeys. Furthermore, when a Bey or other ranking official approached, they were required to immediately dismount until he had passed. The Bey was accompanied by his retinue of armed retainers, some forty to fifty Sarrājūn, one of whom carried a stout staff or truncheon.130 He would yell out “dismount” as they passed, and would berate or strike any Christian or Jew who did not dismount quickly enough. Kramer was the victim of this on one occasion. As a consequence Niebuhr often preferred to go on foot around the city to avoid any difficulties.131 drawing was not published later by Niebuhr, but may be seen in the archives in Göttingen. The drawing is attached to a letter Niebuhr sent to Christian Gottlob Heyne, 23 September 1788. NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Hist. Nat. 24, Bl. 1–2. 126 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 131–148. 127 For a description of the role of the judges, or local Qādis, see Lapidus, A Hisory of Islamic Society, 265–266. 128 For a discussion of this system, see Raymond, Cairo, 192–195. Niebuhr’s judgment on crime in Cairo has been affirmed by modern historians. As Raymond states: “Cairo enjoyed a remarkable degree of law and order.” 240. 129 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I, 137. 130 On the role of the Sarrājūn, see Daniel Crecelius, “The Mamluk beylicate of Egypt in the last decades before its destruction by Muhammad ‘Alī Pasha in 1811,” in The Mamluks in Egyptian politics and society, ed. Thomas Philipp and Ulrich Haarmann (Cambridge, 1998), 128–152, and esp. 139–142. Also see Winter, Egyptian society under Ottoman rule, 66–67. 131 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 140. Of course, harsh discipline for transgressions of law or custom was not reserved just for Christians, Jews and foreigners in Cairo. Raymond cites a description of the Chief of Police, or Ali Agha, and a judge’s deputy making the rounds early in the century. “Anyone found,” he quotes, “ in violation of the law … was beaten senseless, often dying

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He gathered information on the economy of Cairo and the surrounding area, including the trade in leather, saffron, flax, cotton, rice, sugar beets, salmiak, wax, paper, rubber from Sub-Sahara Africa, coffee, elephant tusks, gold and slaves. He studied the weights and measures used in transacting business. He described the guild system in Cairo, and noticed that even the prostitutes and thieves were organized and had a master who represented their interests.132 He took time to understand the composition of the population of the city. Its inhabitants, he saw, came from all parts of the Ottoman Empire – Arabs, Turks, North Africans, Tatars, Persians, Greeks, Armenians and the peoples of the Caucasus. Native born Muslims, he noted, were Sunnis, for the most part adhering to the Shafi‘i school of law.133 Coptic Christians were the second largest religious community in Cairo, followed by Jews. Conditions for the Jewish community in Egypt were quite good, he believed. They were given control over customs tolls in Cairo, Alexandria, Dumyat (Damiat) and Masr el Atik. City officials in Cairo respected their observation of the sabbath, so all customs houses were closed on Saturdays and no trade was cleared on that day.134 Finally, he noted that the Greeks had two Orthodox churches in Cairo where the Patriarch of Alexandria and the Archbishop of Sinai resided. While in Cairo, Niebuhr decided to tackle the job of crafting an accurate town plan, or map for the city and the neighboring communities of Bulak, Masr el Atik and Dsjise. No European traveler had undertaken such a project up to that time, in part, Niebuhr believed, because of the perceived danger involved. However, he discreetly paced off every through street in the city, determining its orientation with a small compass. Periodically he changed his clothes so as not to become too noticeable.135 He identified the different quarters that made up the city, established the location of the main buildings and sites (mosques, churches, residences, cemeteries, hospital, animal slaughters and the like). He named and located fourteen bridges, in both Arabic and Latin letters, that crossed over the canals that flowed through the city, as well as nine different lakes and bodies of water within it. All thirty-one from the punishment …. Thus did Ali Agha inspire great terror. Passersby drew aside as soon as they saw him. No woman dared look out the window while the procession was patrolling the streets.” Raymond, Cairo, 228. 132 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 138. This was not unusual. See Lapidus, A History of Islamic Societies, 272. 133 For an introduction to the Islamic schools of law, see Lapidus, A History of Islamic Societies, 134–137, and 141–142. 134 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 132. However, Jews were soon to lose the monopoly over this function. See Inalcik and Quataert, An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 706, and André Bittar, “Les juifs, les grec-catholiques et la ferme des douanes en Égypte sous ‛Alī Bey al-Kabīr,” Annales Islamologiques 27 (1993): 255–270. 135 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 108–109; Forsskål, Niebuhr and Baurenfeind to Gähler, 15 March 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 14; and Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 10 April 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 126.

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gates were also listed in Arabic and Latin letters and were properly located. In addition, he identified over fifty sites of significance in the three adjoining towns of Bulak, Masr el Atik and Dsjise.136 [Fig. 4] Niebuhr’s plan of Cairo was one of the most complete that he undertook on the trip. It demonstrated at an early stage both his dedication to gathering information, within the limits of what was possible, and his considerable skill as a mapmaker. No other European traveler up to that time, and perhaps not even any Middle Easterner, had walked the streets of Cairo recording geographic information as conscientiously, and with an equal eye to detail, as had Niebuhr in 1761–1762. One has to ask what drove this intense interest in gathering such a wide range of material on the community of Cairo; indeed his efforts greatly surpassed that of any other member of the expedition. Certainly he took his assignments in the Royal Instructions seriously. But the answer also lies in his innate curiosity and open-mindedness about other peoples, his ability to just work hard, and his willingness to take risks. During this period he was also intent on completing the missing segments of Norden’s map of the Nile from the Second Cataracts to the Mediterranean Sea. He had already mapped the western arm of the Nile on the trip to Cairo from Rashîd. Now he turned his attention to the eastern arm of the river, the section from Cairo to Dumyat. After getting a recommendation for a reliable skipper from a local merchant, Niebuhr and Baurenfeind booked passage and set sail for the coastal city on April 30, 1762.137 He had delayed his departure until that time because of constant rain which inhibited his ability to make astronomical observations. After more than a half-year in Egypt, Niebuhr was much more at ease in using and hearing correctly, spoken Arabic.138 This made the gathering of geographic data much easier than on his previous trip from Rashîd to Cairo. He visited many villages along the way, periodically established his position with sightings from his quadrant and learned more about life in Egypt. For example, he saw the rafts made out of earthen pots tied together with palm logs, some of them 70 feet in length with crews of six to eight people, their cooking equipment and other belongings piled on top. Near the town of Mansura he saw twenty boats loaded with bee hives. The local district chieftain, the Sanjak of Mansura, had established his camp by the river to levy a toll on each hive. Niebuhr figured that there were about 200 hives on each boat. Thus on 20 vessels he calculated there were about 4,000 hives, so the trade was lucrative for the local ruler. He visited a Coptic community, attended 136 Niebuhr’s map of Cairo is reproduced in Plate XII, and its annotations are listed on pp. 109–112, Reisebeschreibung, I. 137 The voyage and his work during it are described on pp. 60–70, Reisebeschreibung, I. Niebuhr was concerned that the trip might be considered a side trip, not specifically mentioned in the Royal Instructions. Therefore he paid for it himself. 138 In addition to practice on the street, Niebuhr and Forsskål studied in Cairo a language handbook that contained dialogs, fables and sayings in colloquial Arabic. See Niebuhr to Michaelis, 5 March 1768, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 274.

Fig. 4. Townplan for Cairo and environs, prepared by Niebuhr

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church services, and noted their poverty. He paid attention to the irrigation equipment on this part of the river, which was quite different from what he had seen in Cairo. Thieves were a regular problem. On one occasion they were approached by a boat load of robbers and had to ward them off by firing their weapons. In Dumyat, he completed chronologically the first of his twenty-eight town plans.139 He was too scared to use his astrolabium, so again he simply paced off the main streets and the perimeter of the city, identified the major buildings and landmarks, and indicated the character of the surrounding countryside. The final map is much less rich in detail than Niebuhr’s plan of Cairo. Baurenfeind also completed a handsome drawing of Dumyat from a distance.140 They left the coast for the return trip on May 12th and with a favorable wind they were back in Cairo on the 15th. Over the entire journey Niebuhr had collected a great deal of cartographic information. He had recorded the location of 100 villages on the eastern side of the Nile, and 74 on the western bank. He was the first to use celestial observations to establish the location of such sites. As he later wrote, in crafting his chart of the Nile from Cairo to the Mediterranean, he did not rely on previous maps, but only on data that he had observed and gathered himself, or on locations and names he had carefully verified with local inhabitants. Concerned about the orthography of the names he had previously collected on his earlier trip from Rashîd to Cairo, he asked Forsskål, who was returning to Alexandria to botanize in the spring, to collect again the names of the villages he passed. Forsskål’s subsequent list he also used in completing his chart. Because he was aware that Norden’s chart contained many errors in orthography (Norden did not know Arabic), Niebuhr took particular care to try to get an accurate name for each town. After collecting the data from his two voyages on the Nile, he worked in Cairo with an Arab scribe or copyist, to get the name correctly in Arabic. Then he tried to identify the transliteration into the Latin alphabet that best captured the phonetics of the word.141 When completed, Niebuhr’s small scale (1:725,000) map of the Nile Delta included a list, that when printed was twenty pages in length, of all the towns and villages with their names in Arabic and transliterated forms, as well as the orientation of the curve in the river for each location.142 [Fig. 5] This was Niebuhr’s first major map or chart, as opposed to a town plan, such as the one for Cairo, on the expedition, but it already bore the mark of the attention to detail and attempts at precision that would characterize his later work.143 139 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: Plate VII. 140 Ibid., Plate VIII. 141 Ibid., 72. 142 It is reproduced in Ibid., Plate X. The annotations are listed on pp. 75–94. 143 For an overall discussion of Niebuhr’s cartography see Ib Rønne Kejlbo, “Carsten Niebuhrs Kartografiske opgaver,” in Den Arabiske Rejse, ed. Rasmussen, 239–302; and the evaluation by I. W. J. Hopkins, “The Maps of Carsten Niebuhr: 200 Years After,” The Cartographic Journal 4 (1967): 115–118. In the process, Niebuhr was able to answer a question Michaelis had had about

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Fig. 5. Chart of the Nile Delta, prepared by Niebuhr

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Like many European visitors before him, Niebuhr did not want to leave Cairo without seeing the nearby three pyramids of the Giza Necropolis. With his technical bent, he was especially interested in accurately determining their height. This task proved to be more difficult than he anticipated. On the first trip that he and Forsskål made to the site, Niebuhr had paused at some distance to begin to take sightings of the orientation of the Great Pyramid, or the Pyramid of Khufu, when they saw an Arab riding towards them at a full gallop. Niebuhr decided it was prudent to pack up his instrument and to mount his donkey. The rider turned out to be the son of a local sheik who wanted to escort them to the site. As Niebuhr and Forsskål already had hired two Bedouins for that purpose, they declined and rode off. But shortly over the next rise, the young rider appeared again, threw his lance in the ground in front of Forsskål, and demanded payment of a fee. He was on horseback and they were on their donkeys and unarmed. Nonetheless, Forsskål, stubborn as always, refused to pay the gratuity, which provoked the man to grab Forsskål’s turban. Next he also tried to seize Niebuhr’s astrolabium, which was packed across the front of Niebuhr’s saddle. Niebuhr, ever protective of his instruments, grabbed the rider by his long cloak and pulled him off his horse. Humiliated in front of the two Bedouins and other farmers who had gathered, the man pulled out one of his two pistols and thrust it into Niebuhr’s chest. Niebuhr later admitted that “with that first attack I believed death was near, however the weapon was probably unloaded.”144 The matter was resolved when the other Arabs calmed the young man down and Niebuhr paid him half a silver dollar. However, their trip was over and they had to return without actually reaching the Pyramids. What is interesting in Niebuhr’s account is his concluding observation on this incident. He later wrote: “Had we simply agreed right from the beginning to pay the third Arab something, we could have made the trip to the Pyramids in complete safety. The Arabs are not as frightening as we Europeans generally believe before we have become familiar with their way of thinking and are able to speak their language.”145 Niebuhr, who was usually careful to judge, viewed this as a learning experience. Their second trip to the pyramids was more successful. Led by a French merchant with years of experience in Egypt, and accompanied by a large entourage, Niebuhr and the others reached the site and he was able this time to concentrate on measuring the height of the Pyramids of Khufu and Khafre. Still his work was restricted by his need to be discreet and because of his constant fear of robbers. The base sides of the Pyramids, for example, he measured purely by paces rather than taking a series of readings with his astrolabium from the fields surrounding the site. Nevertheless, he established the height of the Great Pyramid to be 440 Danish feet,

Buheirat el (the Bay of Egypt), which he had visited on his trip to Dumyat. Niebuhr to Michaelis, 30 July 1762, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 272–274. 144 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 192. 145 Ibid., 193.

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or 138.09 meters.146 This compares with a height of 5409.2 inches or 137.39 meters obtained by Sir William Flinders Petrie in his comprehensive survey of the Great Pyramid in 1880–82, a difference of 70 centimeters, or 27.3 inches.147 Given variations in base definition because of rubble and the possible effects of more than a century of erosion, Niebuhr’s measurement was remarkably accurate. Using his compass, he also determined that the orientation of the sides of the Great Pyramid was almost exactly East-West, and North-South, which has been found to be correct. He went inside the Great Pyramid to visit some of the chambers with his French escort and he climbed the two largest Pyramids to their very top to examine their construction and the composition of their stone blocks. Although he had no knowledge of today’s estimates that the Great Pyramid was built of some 2,300,000 separate blocks, each averaging two and one-half tons in weight, he was still amazed by “the incredible work and cost” that went into the structure.148 He was also struck by the many fossils of crustaceans deposited in the structure’s limestone blocks quarried from the nearby hills. As was the case in Alexandria, the Pyramids and these fossils, with even more impact, defined the historical context of the region they were visiting. For as he wrote: “How many years were required for such a multitude of small snails to have been born and died before these hills attained their height? How many years would have been required before Egypt became dry, particularly if the waters receded from the coast in prehistoric times as slowly as they did in the last thousands of years? How many years would be required until Egypt was so heavily populated that one could even contemplate the building of the first pyramids? How many years would be needed for the many great Pyramids which we still see today to be created, and yet we still do not know with certitude, in which Century, and by whom the last ones were built.”149 In short, the fossils in the blocks of stone spoke to him of the great sweep of time that was encompassed in the evolution of what he called these “astounding” monuments. It was this almost overwhelming sense of being in the presence of history that led Niebuhr to be curious about Egyptian hieroglyphs. As he wrote: “We would be much more familiar with the ancient history of this remarkable country if we were 146 For an explanation of Niebuhr’s methodology see, Reisebeschreibung, I: 195–196, and Plate V, figures D and E. 147 See Roger Herz-Fischler, The Shape of the Great Pyramid (Waterloo, 2000), 192, n. 9. As the later Cole Survey in 1925 did not calculate the height, Petrie’s survey remains today the most accurate. As a recent scholar has noted: “Petrie, indeed, measured and surveyed the main axes of the architecture of the Pyramid with such extraordinary skill that along with the earlier and more detailed plans of Piazzi Smith, his survey stands to this day as the basis for all modern plans and computer graphics of this most ancient monument.” John Romer, The Great Pyramid. Ancient Egypt Revisited (Cambridge, 2007), 42. 148 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 197. For general background on the Pyramids at Giza, see in addition to Romer, The Great Pyramid, I. E .S. Edwards, The Pyramids of Egypt (New York, 1986), 102–163. 149 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 208.

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able to read the writing of its previous inhabitants.”150 As he realized that Haven, whose charge was to examine inscriptions and texts in old Arabic and Hebrew, had no interest in hieroglyphs, he decided “for my own enjoyment” to start copying them.151 It took time to develop the precision and speed he desired, but soon he felt he was quite adept at accurately copying the inscriptions he saw in Cairo. But the process of copying met with other difficulties. On one occasion he was copying the hieroglyphs on a sarcophagus near a busy street in Cairo, accompanied by a local Islamic scholar. His work quickly attracted a crowd of curious onlookers who quietly watched in amazement as he drew the characters carefully with his pencil. His progress was abruptly interrupted when a Sarrāj, one of the personal guards for the Bey from that district of the city, began to berate him in front of the crowd. Niebuhr’s escort advised him to quickly pack up and leave before he was physically attacked, which they did. But while riding back to their quarters on their donkeys, the angry Niebuhr told the scholar that he was going to complain to the Sarrāj’s superior, the Bey. But Niebuhr later wrote: “My friend, the Mullah, who knew these people much better than I, advised against this and tried to calm me down with some aphorisms that demonstrated nothing would be accomplished by lodging a complaint. ‘Can you forbid a dog from barking?’ he said. ‘Or, if you are kicked by a donkey, does it serve your honor, or are you benefited, if you kick back? No, return another day, and in peace draw all that you desire.”152 He took his friend’s advice and after a few days they returned. This time Niebuhr paid another Sarrāj to protect him from his colleagues. Once again as he set to work he attracted a crowd, and once again he was confronted by a Sarrāj, different than the one he had hired, who demanded to know who had given him permission to copy the hieroglyphs on the sarcophagus. Niebuhr’s escort explained his superior had approved Niebuhr’s work, but the other insisted it was not allowed. So, as Niebuhr recounts, “We went home again.” A few days later he went a third time, and on this occasion he was harangued by an Imam from a nearby Mosque. So once again he had to stop copying and returned to his quarters. Nonetheless, he had persevered, and with the exception of a handful of characters, he had completely copied the inscriptions on the seven foot long sarcophagus.153 [Fig. 6] There were other occasions in which in front of others he was harassed or ridiculed as a European with a worthless curiosity.154 In the drawing of antiquities in the Middle East, Niebuhr concluded one must antic150 Ibid., 200. 151 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 24 August 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 139; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 202. 152 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 205. 153 The sarcophagus, made out of black granite, was at that time used as a water trough for animals. It was located at the Teilun Mosque in the Kalla el Kabsch quarter of Cairo. Niebuhr’s copy of the inscriptions is shown in Reisebeschreibung, I, Plate XXX. Originally, Niebuhr had hoped that Baurenfeind would copy the inscriptions, but evidentally the artist had no interest in doing so. See Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 10 April, 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 126. 154 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 206.

Fig. 6. Hieroglyphs from sarcophagus in Cairo, copied by Niebuhr

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ipate, but not be deterred, by such obstacles. Besides Niebuhr was also helped and befriended in his tasks by many Egyptians in the city. And, for example, one of the district chiefs in Cairo who became his friend presented him with an ancient stone scarab, beautifully designed, with small hieroglyphs on the underside.155 By the time Niebuhr left Cairo, he had spent countless hours copying hieroglyphs from sarcophogii, obelisks, large urns, small alabaster pots and other stone and wood surfaces. He completed some twenty different sheets of characters, all drawn with painstaking precision, which subsequently he would publish in twelve plates.156 These included one sheet that grouped some 250 elements he had observed according to like characteristics. He noted correctly that the Egyptian writing was written from both left to right, and right to left, and he also noted their frequently strictly perpendicular alignment. He speculated correctly that one was dealing with the concurrent use of different categories of characters, what he called the larger symbols, or embellishments, and the more numerous, basic and smaller signs.157 When finished he became the first modern scholar to copy hieroglyphs with such great precision and he had copied more of them than any traveler to Egypt up to that time.158 Thus Niebuhr made excellent use of his time in Egypt. He demonstrated curiosity, energy and determination. For a novice, he collected a remarkable variety of information on both contemporary and ancient Egypt and he completed several important cartographic projects. He did not keep a bound journal, but took his notes on separate sheets of paper, which he then bundled, together with a copy of his town plan of Cairo, and shipped to Copenhagen by way of the Danish Consul in Livorno.159 These he later used for his published account of the stay in the Reisebeschreibung which fills 149 pages. Moreover, he had honed and broadened his observational skills, markedly improved his spoken Arabic and educated himself on the way of life in Egypt. By the time the expedition left Cairo, he was a much more skilled, experienced and confident traveler. 155 Ibid., Plate XI, Figure C. 156 Ibid., Plates XXX – XLI. As Niebuhr reported to Bernstorff, in identifing 250 different hieroglyphic elements, he hoped that this large inventory of characters would help scholars to understand their meaning. Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 24 August 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 139. Also see Niebuhr to Michaelis, 30 July 1762, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 272–274. 157 For an explanation of the deciphering of the hieroglyphic system of writing, and its concurrent use of different signs, see Richard Parkinson, Cracking Codes. The Rosetta Stone and Decipherment (Berkeley, 1999), and Lesley and Roy Adkins, The Keys of Egypt. The Obsession to Decipher Egyptian Hieroglyphs (New York, 2000), esp. 183. 158 See Anton Friedrich Büsching, Wöchentliche Nachrichten von neuen Landcharten, geographischen, statistischen und historischen Büchern und Sachen 3 (1775): 116, cited in Dietmar Henze, “Carsten Niebuhr und sein Beitrag zur Erforschung des Orients,” preface to the reprint edition of the Reisebeschreibung nach Arabien und den umliegenden Länder, vol. I (Graz, 1968), VI. Also see Alain Faure, Champollion. Le savant déchiffre (Saint-Amand Montrond, 2004), 69. 159 Niebuhr to Temler, 30 October 1764, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28.

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Forsskål – The Flora Aegyptiaco

F

orsskål, like Niebuhr, was very productive during the expedition’s stay in Cairo. However, we know much less about the details of his daily activities and experiences. Curiously, his journal for the period is extremely brief – only nine pages, and three of those are taken up with lists of caravan goods.160 The most likely reason for the sparseness of the record is that he was intensely occupied with his botanical research and his writing was focused on the hundreds of note papers he completed on the plant species he identified and on at least two scientific papers, only one of which has survived. Nonetheless Niebuhr’s and Haven’s accounts and other correspondence provide a good deal of information on his activities. We know that Forsskål spent some of his time with Niebuhr on activities already described, and he also made the social rounds with the others as reported by Haven. It seems likely that he also accompanied Niebuhr on the visit to the encampment of the great pilgrimage caravan to Makkah. He certainly was fascinated by the variety of goods that the merchants and traders carried on the caravans to Makkah and to other destinations. It was a rich list – silver and gold thread woven into silk, French and Venetian clothing, fine linens, sewing needles, gun powder and shot, sesame oil, white honey and all kinds of legumes, grains and rice. The caravan returning from Makkah to Cairo brought an equally impressive array of products – emeralds, pearls, diamonds, hyacinths, silk, camel hair turban bindings, and Mecca Balsam. He also described the caravan that came in June or July each year to Cairo from the Sudan and Sub-Sahara Africa. Its merchandise included slaves of various ages, including castrated males and young virgin females. He indicated the going prices for each category or age group of slaves. The traders also brought a number of standard, but probably to him exotic items – captured apes and parrots (ones that talked were ten times as valuable as those that did not), ivory tusks, rhinoceros horns, ostrich feathers, elephant skins and gold, as well as a variety of more basic commodities such as salt, beans, vegetable oil and tamarind pulp.161 Mainly, Forsskål conducted botanical research in the countryside surrounding Cairo, examining plant specimens during the different seasons of the year. He also made, as we already know because of his cartographic assistance to Niebuhr, a separate trip back to Alexandria to visit Râs-ettin, the area he had investigated previously, but now in the blossoming spring season.162 As with Niebuhr, his work did not always proceed without incident. In March, 1762, he was attacked, thrown to the ground and robbed by a Bedouin while botanizing near a village outside of Cairo. As he saw other Bedouins approaching he decided it was prudent to abandon his work. He wrote in his journal on this occa160 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 76–84. 161 Ibid., 81–84. 162 Ibid., 65.

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sion, “These were the adventures I had when I was out; in the village itself the younger Arabs were on the whole much rougher than the older ones, so I learned to accept the offer of a sort of botanical local agent (commissionair) and had no reason to regret it.”163 Later, while on his return trip to Alexandria, he was robbed again, stripped of most of his clothes, but left otherwise unharmed. Fortunately he had contemplated this possibility and carried few items of value.164 Indeed, Forsskål had been advised many times to limit, for reasons of safety, his excursions into the open countryside, and instead to have local inhabitants bring plants and seeds to him. As Niebuhr later wrote: “As Forsskål could not see what use the progress of Botany could have from the activities of such simple men, he had rejected these proposals but later he accepted them reluctantly, and finally, when he had put them into effect, he praised them as being beneficial. For,” – Niebuhr then added as his own aside – “the Arabs here as country dwellers from childhood learnt the plants by name, and when offered the opportunity they quickly understood the art of herbarizing and the gathering of specimens. In this way he bought for himself for small expense the needed peace and security, and made a messenger for the world of science of a robber, who traveling among his own people brought rare desert plants that would never have been seen by the stranger.”165 This statement reveals as much about Niebuhr as it does about the approach of Forsskål to his work. Coming from a rural background himself, Niebuhr always had a healthy respect for the knowledge and capabilities of people who lived in the countryside and were part of the indigenous culture. And he was never confused over who was the real stranger, that is who was the “other”. Despite these occasional difficulties, Forsskål had great success botanically in Egypt. By April, he could report to Linnaeus that he had already identified 120 plant species, a great number of which were new to European science.166 His return trip to Alexandria yielded more than 100 additional plant species, half of which were new to him.167 We know that he certainly kept Baurenfeind busy with drawing assignments. As the artist reported to Gähler, “All the time I have been painting many curious plants, insects and spiders along with still other things.”168 It was in Cairo, that Forsskål completed the main part of his catalog of plant species (only items from an upcoming trip to Suez were missing) published later by Niebuhr as a main section in the Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, entitled Flora Aegyptiaco: Sive Cata163 Ibid., 78, (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 323. Translation modified slightly). 164 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 29 April 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 126; and Forsskål, Niebuhr and Baurenfeind to Gähler, 29 April 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nrs. 16 and 17. 165 Forsskål, Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, Introduction, 27 (trans. Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 10). 166 Forsskål to Linnaeus, 2 April 1762, in Fries, ed., Bref och Skrifelser af och till Carl von Linné, VI, #1357, 156–157. 167 Niebuhr, Forsskål and Baurenfeind to Gähler, 21 May 1762, written by Niebuhr, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 18. 168 Baurenfeind to Gähler, 26 July 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 25.

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logus Plantarum Systematicus Aegypti Inferioris: Alexandriae, Rosettae, Kahirae, Suez. As the most complete modern study of Egyptian Flora conducted up to that time, the Flora Aegyptiaco listed 576 different plant species. While in Cairo, he also wrote two interpretive papers. One was on the fertility of the soil in Egypt. It was lost in the process of being sent back to Copenhagen.169 The other was the introductory essay to the Flora Aegyptiaco entitled, Florae Aegyptiacae Idea Geographica-Physica. In this essay he portrayed the plants of Lower Egypt as a collection of species especially appropriate for the climate and topographical characteristics of the region. It is considered one of the earliest examples of work in ecological and floristic phytogeography.170 A fuller articulation of his growing interest in biogeography will be presented later as part of his research in Yemen. It was also in Egypt, at Rashîd, that Forsskål made a small, but important, observation regarding the metamorphosis of the plant species Corchus olitorius. This observation was based on his assessment of a so-called monstrosity (singularum arbortum) in which he noted that all the flowers had green serate petals that looked like cauline leaves (leaves of the stems). He posed the question: are the petals in fact proper leaves and the petals in fact stipules of the leaves that have been metamorphosed into petals? He then added as a general conclusion that “a flower is a condensation of as much mass of the stalk as it has mass in the leaves” (Flos est compendium tantae caulis massae, quantae foliorum habet).171 This statement has been interpreted by the German botanist Ascherson as a formulation of the theory that “the flower is a condensation (Zusammendrängung) of a number of internodes with their attached leaves, a foliated shoot.” 172 This interpretation of the morphology of blooms predates, he argued, the more extensive work of Goethe and the German natural scientist, Caspar Friedrich Wolff, a point that has been reasserted more recently by botanists in Denmark and Great Britain.173 Regardless of its ultimate contribution to the history of botany, this observation demonstrates that Forsskål was a thoughtful and discriminating interpreter of nature in addition to being a diligent collector of data. Finally, Forsskål was constantly selecting, preparing and 169 Niebuhr to Moltke, 10 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 45/45a. Niebuhr wrote: “Der Prof. Forsskål sandte von Cairo eine Abhandlung von der Fruchtbarkeit der Erde in Egypten nach Copenhagen.” Marginal comments by Temler say “nicht angekommen,” “not received.” 170 See Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, XXXIX–L; and Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 10. 171 Forsskål, Flora Aegyptiaco – Arabica, Centuria IV, 101. 172 P. Ascherson, “Forskal über die Metamorphose der Pflanze,” Berichte der Deutschen Botanischen Gesellschaft, 2 (1884): 295. 173 Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 10. I am indebted to Professor Ib Friis of the Botanical Museum, Copenhagen, for clarifying the details of this observation. For a discussion of the early history of work on the metamorphosis of plants, see Michel Guédès, “La théorie de la métamorphise en morphologie végétal: Des origines à Goethe et Batsch,” Revue d’Histoire des Sciences et de leurs Applications 22 (1969): 323–363.

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shipping plant specimens to Copenhagen, as well as packets of seeds to various botanical gardens. In Egypt he was in his element as a botanist. He pursued his investigations with seriousness and enthusiasm, and he was not deterred by the inconveniences of field work or concerns of personal safety. Haven – Manuscripts and Hebrew Codices

W

hile Niebuhr and Forsskål maintained an apparently vigorous and certainly focused level of activity during their months in Cairo, Haven approached his stay in a much more leisurely manner. As he wrote to Temler in April of 1762, with the exception of a couple of short trips “we have spent the entire winter peacefully here.”174 Setting aside for the moment his important work on the acquisition of additional books and manuscripts, and self study in Arabic, his main focus appears to have been on sustaining a satisfying social life. His journal up to March 26, 1762, when his fully developed account ends, is full of detailed elaboration of his interaction with foreign consuls and European merchants. His environment in Cairo remained substantially European and Christian. His meetings included at least two sessions with the Archbishop of Sinai during which he discussed the issue of the Sinai inscriptions. But, as we shall see, he failed to obtain an essential letter of introduction to the Monastery of St. Catherine, which fell under the Archbishop’s jurisdiction. He ventured out little into the Arab world. He did visit the pyramids with Niebuhr and Forsskål, and during the visit paid attention to some of the details of the interior spaces. But on the whole he was not energized by the visit, as was Niebuhr. For example, he complained that he was too tired to climb with the others to the tops of the monuments and therefore “wanted to be allowed to pass on this curiosity.” He did copy two sets of inscriptions in Arabic that were on two bridges by the Giza site, but otherwise he was unimpressed by their visit.175 As he commented, “Regarding the Pyramids, I don’t believe any of us made new observations because none of us understood architecture.” 176 Looking at the structures he was struck more by a sense of fear than wonder as he considered “these monstrous and unnatural piles of stone.”177 As the philologist he was the member most schooled in antiquities, but he displayed little interest or natural curiosity in what he saw, and he certainly did not use any compelling words to describe his experience in this new land. We know that he did make some brief notes in his journal on a variety of topics. For example, he made corrections to the Arab names that Norden had applied to his map of the Nile.178 He took a few notes on the main Mosque in Cairo, the city gates, the layout of the city (just a sketch) and a page on 174 175 176 177 178

Haven to Temler, 16 April 1762, in Michaelis, Literarische Briefwechsel, 2: 63–68. See Haven’s manuscript journal, KBK, NKS 133, 2º, Vol. I, 548, 548.1 and 549. Haven to Temler, 16 April 1762, in Michaelis, Literarische Briefwechsel, 2: 66. Hansen and Rasmussen, eds. Min Sundheds Forliis, 304. See Haven’s manuscript journal, KBK, NKS 133, 2º, Vol. I, 453–460.

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the military units in the capital. He also began work in Alexandria and Cairo on lexicography, especially Italian to Arabic.179 Thus his productivity was not high and he admitted as much to Moltke when he wrote: “My other attention has been on doing separate philological observations, but they will not have been fully developed because that would require much more time than my current stay in this country, and as a consequence they will not be able to be communicated presently to scholars. Besides, Mons. Michaelis did not ask me to do much philological research in Egypt, but just in Arabia.”180 What Haven did accomplish was the purchase of additional valuable manuscripts. By December, he was looking for new acquisitions and he had hired a copyist to produce a copy of a catalog of all the manuscripts in Arabic at the Gami al-Azhar mosque, useful for the history of Arab literature.181 In July, 1762, he could report to Gähler that he had acquired four important Hebrew Codices, three of them from around the 13th Century, and 62 other manuscripts, most of them in history and poetry.182 By the end of August he had purchased three additional Hebrew manuscripts of the Bible, all of them, he thought incorrectly, more than a thousand years old.183 Thus, by the time the expedition left Cairo, he had purchased a total of 73 books and manuscripts, many of them quite valuable. All of these acquisitions were subsequently shipped to the Royal Library in Copenhagen, as instructed.184 The seven Hebrew Codices proved to be useful, and, as we will discuss later, two of them were subsequently sent to Oxford and were used by Benjamin Kennecott in the compilation of his famous edition of the Bible.185 Thus while Haven’s accomplishments in total and his breadth of interests were quite limited in Cairo, and his overall approach languid, his identification and purchase of significant Arab and biblical manuscripts was an important and lasting contribution to the work of the expedition. t

179 See for example, Ibid., 588–614, 616–669, and 694–739. 180 Haven to Moltke, 5 July 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 127/127a, but his letter did include copies of the inscriptions he had recorded (Nrs. 127b-127 l). 181 Hansen, and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 292–293. 182 Haven to Gähler, 27 July 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 27/27a. Thorkild Hansen’s statement in his Arabia Felix, “That von Haven’s activity in Egypt consisted in the purchase of two Hebrew Testaments” (122), is an intentional distortion. As he reports that he had read the correspondence to Moltke and Gähler, which clearly give the much larger figures, he knew in fact what Haven had actually accomplished. But Hansen wanted to paint a negative picture of Haven in order to sustain his story line. 183 Haven to Gähler, 26 August 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 32/32a. 184 The most thorough discussion of Haven’s collection is Stig Rasmussen, “Frederik Christian von Haven og de filogiske resultater,” in the same author’s, Den Arabiske Rejse, 303–337. For Haven’s very thorough inventory of his acquisitions in Istanbul and Cairo, see his journal, KBK, NKS 133, 2º, Vol. I, 3–70. 185 See Egon Keck, “De hebraiske manuskripter og Kennicott bibelen,” in Den Arabiske Rejse, ed. Rasmussen, 339–346.

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Of course, in Cairo, Haven still symbolized the dissension that plagued the expedition, and the arsenic controversy still needed to be resolved. The group’s dispersed lodging, and the work in the field and around the city by Niebuhr and Forsskål limited their daily contact with Haven, but relations between the members remained tense. On one occasion Forsskål and Haven got into another bitter argument over European politics. Haven became so enraged that he threatened to hit Forsskål over the head with a jug and had to be restrained by the others. Haven also unnecessarily irritated the group over routine matters. When it was time for the members to review and sign off on Niebuhr’s account sheets, he walked out of the room and refused to sign. In a letter to Gähler in March, Niebuhr, Forsskål and Baurenfeind renewed their call for Haven to be detached from the expedition.186 Their request was not to be granted. Already on the 9th of February, Bernstorff sent a skillfully written dispatch to Gähler addressing the Haven problem. First, he was obviously greatly disappointed with Gähler’s news of the group. “Sad,” he wrote, “to see an enterprise run aground which has cost so much effort and so much expense, and to see frustrated from the outset the benefits which the Letters and Sciences have a right to expect from the voyage of the group.” He then went on to state that if Gähler truly saw no effective alternative to the separation of the group, then the detachment of Haven was approved. He was enclosing written authorization from Moltke to that effect. It was for Gähler to decide – “Vous serés le Maître,” he wrote. However, he then went on to outline all the reasons for why Gähler should instead decide to keep the party intact. For example, the success of the trips to the Sinai and Arabia were dependent on Haven’s expertise as a philologist and his knowledge of antiquities. In the Sinai it was the resolution of the uncertainty over the reported inscriptions that made Haven’s continued participation so important. Moreover, if Haven was separated from the group, then Forsskål, a Swede, would take his place as the most senior member of the expedition and he would command all the attention of the “Republic of Letters.” It did not make sense that “the Nation should stand by and see a foreigner steal the glory of an expedition that was conceived in its womb, and was carried out because of the generosity of its King.”187 Bernstorff may have been a pronounced cosmopolitan, but issues of national pride were still very important to him. His dispatch had its intended effect. As Gähler wrote in his response to Bernstorff, he realized that the need to separate the group because of its problems, must be “balanced by the sagacity and force of the reflections of Your Excellency and those of Count von Moltke.” He reported that he would work to “preach reason” to the group, to calm those who were concerned and to counsel

186 Forsskål, Niebuhr and Baurenfeind to Gähler, 15 March 1762 (written by Niebuhr), RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 14; and Niebuhr to Gähler, 8 January 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 123f. 187 Bernstorff to Gähler, 9 February 1762, RaK, Tyrkiet, Gesandtskabsarkiver, Case 79–13; also Bernstorff to Gähler, 3 or 5 February, 1762 (draft), RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 118.

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Haven to improve his behavior. In addition, he identified Niebuhr as the member most appropriate “to manage at least the appearance of tolerance.”188 In May Gähler then sent a bundle of separate letters to the group. First, he informed Forsskål, Niebuhr and Baurenfeind that based on the views in Copenhagen, there was no way in which the crown would approve the separation of Haven from the expedition. Keeping the original mix of disciplines intact was simply too important to the success of the enterprise. He counseled that they should stop obsessing over their colleague, focus on their mission, demonstrate their love of science and devotion to the King, and avoid conflict.189 To Haven he wrote that as the senior member of the expedition and a Dane, he was identified especially closely with the expected success of the trip. Therefore, he needed to work to avoid dissension within the group because it affected its ability to achieve the expedition’s goals. His message to Haven was for him to cooperate with his compatriots in order to ensure the expedition’s success and eventual acclaim.190 Gähler’s confidential letter to Niebuhr gave the cartographer the unenviable task of mediating between the two primary antagonists. In times of conflict, he was supposed to “encourage and exhort” them to interact in “a polite and friendly” manner, and he should avoid siding with one party against the other, or he wrote “as we say in plain German, to wear the cape on both shoulders.” “I understand,” Gähler went on, “that this approach will require much effort and attention, but on my word you may be assured that it will bring you much honor and merit.”191 Finally, Gähler gave the group as a whole marching orders to end their stay in Egypt and to depart without delay for Arabia. Their assignment was clearly spelled out in the Royal Instructions and he had no doubt, he wrote, that they would follow them. As they did so, he urged them to keep in mind the motto of the Dutch State: Concordia res parvae crescent, discordia maximae delabuntur, “In peace (time of agreement) little things will grow, in discord (time of disagreement) the greatest ones will slip away.”192 Reaction to Gähler’s letters varied. Forsskål, as might be expected was deeply disappointed by the response. He immediately sent off a diatribe objecting to the decision and reiterating all of his complaints against Haven.193 Niebuhr, on the other hand, accepted the decision as a good soldier might. However, he expressed grave doubts about his ability to mediate between the philologist and the botanist. Since Alexandria, he had tried to follow Gähler’s earlier advice to do his best to try to maintain the unity of the group, but he had to admit that he had had little impact 188 Gähler to Bernstorff, 17 April 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 123. 189 Gähler to Forsskål, Niebuhr and Baurenfeind, 8 May 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 6. 190 Gähler to Haven, 8 May 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 8. 191 Gähler to Niebuhr, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 5. It was the only one of the letters that was entitled “Lesen und Behalten Sie diesen Brief für sich allein.”) 192 Gähler to die gelehrte Gesellschaft, 8 May 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 7/7a. 193 Forsskål to Gähler, 22 July 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 41/41a.

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and little influence. Still he did pledge that he would not be a party to any more written complaints.194 Finally, Haven’s only reference to Gähler’s letter in his diary is that it was received and that they had been ordered to depart, and he made only scant reference to Gähler’s advice in a letter written at the same time focusing on other matters. It appears that Haven never had an inkling of the controversy over the arsenic incident initiated months earlier and had no knowledge of the most recent background to Gähler’s counsel.195 Thus the group headed off for their two main assignments – the trip to the Sinai Peninsula and the exploration of Yemen with the problem of chronic discord and distrust still lingering in the background. Frustration and Failure in the Sinai

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he group’s departure for Yemen and its important side trip to the Sinai Peninsula were further delayed for two reasons. Travel from Cairo to Makkah was blocked by a conflict between Bedouin tribes and Cairo, and furthermore, the ships sailing to Jiddah and thence to Yemen left traditionally in late September and October. But finally, on August 27, 1762, a canon shot from the castle in Cairo announced that a courier from the great pilgrimage caravan from Makkah had arrived in the city and that the caravan had made its way safely to its encampment outside of Cairo.196 With that news, the members of the expedition knew that the route to Suez was once again open and relatively secure. Already packed and prepared to leave, they left the next day for a caravan waiting outside of the city. There they made arrangements to have their equipment and personal effects loaded on rented camels and they waited for the entire caravan to depart. That afternoon the camp began to come to life, formed up and slowly embarked on the multi-day journey to the port city. Reports of the caravan’s size vary greatly in the accounts of the members. Forsskål wrote, “we saw a multitude of several thousand loaded camels.” 197 Haven reported they joined up with a caravan “consisting of 1500 to 1600 camels,” whereas Niebuhr puts the size at “barely 400 camels.” 198 Given Niebuhr’s usual care with figures and his tendency not to exaggerate, his estimate is probably more accurate. The party was able to ride by horseback to Suez with the exception of Niebuhr, who “out of curiosity,” chose to ride a dromedary. He found 194 Niebuhr to Gähler, 21/21 July 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 21/21a and 22/22a. This letter is reprinted in Lohmeier, “Carsten Niebuhr: Briefe von der Arabischen Reise (Folge 2),” Dithmarschen, 4 (2004): 82–87. 195 Haven to Gähler, 27 July 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 27/27a. It appears that Kramer never mentioned the incident and the ensuing controversy to Haven; and Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, entry for 30 June 1762, p. 332. 196 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 209–213. 197 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 86. 198 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 337, and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 214. In a letter to Gähler, Haven also cites the figure of 3,000 camels. Haven to Gähler, 26 August 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 32/32a.

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the ride to be quite comfortable.199 This particular caravan carried a large quantity of timbers for shipbuilding in Suez, the heavy planks carefully loaded on the camels so that they were evenly balanced. Most interesting was the transport of the heavy iron anchors which were hung from a beam suspended between two, or sometimes four, camels, swinging slowly as the caravan proceeded.200 The trip was completed in three days without incident, after, according to Niebuhr’s calculations, 32 hours and 40 minutes of riding time covering some 170.5 kilometers.201 From Suez the initial and most important task was to complete a trip to the Sinai Peninsula before the ships were scheduled to depart for Jiddah. The Sinai journey was a symbolic link of the entire expeditionary effort to its biblical philological origins. The importance of investigating the inscriptions reported by Robert Clayton, Bishop of Clogher at what he called the Gebel el-Mocatab, was articulated by Michaelis in Paragraph Eleven of his very first draft of the expedition’s instructions, and was clearly spelled out in Paragraphs Three, Twelve and Forty-three of the Royal Instructions. This task was specifically assigned to Haven as the philologist and to Baurenfeind as the illustrator/copyist.202 This side trip took on added significance when the route was changed from traveling via Tharangambadi to traveling by way of Istanbul and Alexandria. Bernstorff reported that crucial to the King’s approval of the change was the great value he placed on the Sinai trip, which as a result would occur earlier. Here was an opportunity to make pioneering discoveries about Moses and the Israelites that would add greatly to biblical scholarship and bring much recognition to Denmark. Bernstorff ’s press release on the progress of the expedition, which he sent out in December of 1761, emphasized in particular that it was hoped that new contributions would be made to the history of the Holy Scripture as a result of the expedition’s investigation of the inscriptions in the Sinai.203 All along Haven also knew that Michaelis placed great value on a formal visit to the Monastery of St. Catherine at Mt. Sinai to gather information about possible manuscripts in the library there. But the Sinai trip was problematic from the beginning. Robert Clayton’s description and other reports were imprecise and fragmentary. Furthermore, Haven had never actually read Clayton’s account, which, as we shall see, added to the confusion.204 Haven’s discussions with knowledgeable people in both Istanbul and Cairo cast doubt on whether such inscriptions 199 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 215. 200 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 87; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 214. 201 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I, 217. 202 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 15 July 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 55a, and NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 276–285; Bernstorff to Michaelis, 4 March 1761, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 319–328. 203 For the announcement to be inserted in the papers, see RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 116w/a-b, with clippings from the Kiobenhavnske Danske Post-Tidender of 21 December 1761 and the Reichs-Postreuter of 28 December 1761. 204 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 350.

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even existed.205 Moreover there were no maps of the area and they were not familiar with the geographic nomenclature for the region. Significantly they did not have the same infrastructure of European merchants, consuls and European-friendly Arabs they had relied on for guidance heretofore. As travelers in the region they were still amateurs. This would be their first extended venture in the desert relying solely on Bedouins as guides. Staffing the trip also became an issue. When it was time for Haven to leave, Baurenfeind, who evidently had not been looking forward to the trip, had become ill and said he was unable to go. Likewise, Kramer then decided to stay with Baurenfeind and Forsskål chose to do the same.206 Thus it fell to Niebuhr to accompany Haven if the assignment was to be completed. At a minimum, one can conclude that because of the tension within the group there was little enthusiasm among the members to accompany Haven on the trip. Certainly it would have been better if Forsskål had gone because he too had been a student of Michaelis in philology and was trained in theology. Furthermore, of all the members he was the most fluent in Arabic, an important asset for a field trip of this nature. It was originally planned that Forsskål and the others would try to rejoin the group in the Sinai later, but that never happened for a variety of reasons. It also appears that Forsskål may have preferred to stay with Baurenfeind not just because he disliked Haven, but because he wanted to retain Baurenfeind to do his botanical illustrations.207 Thus it was that Niebuhr, no doubt mindful of the mediating role he had been asked to play, took on the assignment.208 The route to the southern Sinai was controlled by three different Bedouin tribes, so Haven was advised locally to hire three guides, or sheiks, one from each tribe, for the trip. In a fairly complicated final agreement, negotiated by Forsskål because of his superior language ability, and overseen by the local Qādi and the governing Bey, both of whom were trying to be helpful, they hired the guides, rented the camels, bought provisions for themselves and the three Arabs and settled upon the other details covering the trip. They were encouraged that at least one of the guides said he knew of the Gebel el-Mokatab and the “many, many, many” inscriptions there.209 On the morning of September 6th, Haven and Niebuhr left Suez by small boat together with a cook and a couple of attendants, to sail across the northern tip of the Gulf of Suez to the eastern shore opposite the town. The next morning they joined their three guides who were now accompanied, not surprisingly, by a large group of friends and helpers who, much to Haven’s consternation, they soon learned

205 Ibid., 195 and 274. 206 Ibid., 340 207 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 222–223; Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 340; and Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 89. 208 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 223. 209 Ibid., 224; and Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 341.

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they were going to have to feed as well.210 They departed in a south-easterly direction, slightly inland from the coast. After only a few hours they reached ̔Uyûn Mûsa, the Spring of Moses. There they camped for the night because of the availability of water. Niebuhr was certainly cognizant of the historic importance of the territory they were traversing and its relevance to the Bible, an awareness he would exhibit on many other occasions during the expedition as he visited historical sites mentioned in the Bible. “I endeavored to measure as precisely as possible,” he wrote, “the path of our journey and to try to set forth what might improve maps and perhaps also to contribute to the elucidation of the Holy Scripture.” But soon he identified what would be one of the greatest challenges of the trip: “The most difficult thing was to find out the correct names for the mountains and valleys, because the guides appeared to have decided to regularly give us false names. They could not grasp why we wanted to know them.” Niebuhr attempted to mitigate this problem by “winning the trust” of one of the Bedouins in the group, partly with small gifts and partly by letting him ride with him on his dromedary instead of walking. He was a big help and he provided Niebuhr with names that were generally consistent on both the outbound and return trips. By contrast, Niebuhr noted, “Haven did not want to lower himself to making common with the Bedouins and he received as a consequence sometimes absurd or completely disagreeable answers to his questions.” 211 Niebuhr carried his instruments with him and Haven was frequently helpful in distracting the attention of the guides so that Niebuhr could discreetly make measurements without raising suspicion. In addition, Niebuhr worked out a formula for measuring distance traveled. By walking alongside the caravan in the cool of the morning and the evening, and then again during the heat of the day, he found that he took 1620 double steps in a half hour when it was cool and 1580 at midday. This averaged to 1600 double steps per half hour. He knew that 1180 of his double steps equaled one-fourth of a German Mile, or 1.85 km. This standard he used for his compilation of distances for his map of the trip.212 The group made their way slowly through a series of coastal valleys, – the Wādi al-Tawrig, the Wādi Wirdan, the Wādi Etti, and across the Wādi Gharandal – mostly dry, desolate terrain, eventually to a location they were told was before the Gebel el-Mocatab, the Mountain of Inscriptions. It was September 10, 1761, and Niebuhr was filled with cautious anticipation that finally “they were to see the rea210 The entire trip is described by Haven in Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 337–362, and by Niebuhr in his Reisebeschreibung, I: 209–254. Also see Niebuhr’s report to Bernstorff, 4 October 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 134/134a, and to Gähler, 2 October 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nrs. 33 and 34 (2 copies). Also see the excellent discussion in Detlev Kraack, “Der Abstecher von Suez auf die Sinaihalbinsel (6.–25. September 1762.” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 121–153. 211 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 226. 212 This is assuming that Niebuhr was referring to a German Geographical Mile, which is 7,412.7 meters or 1/15 of a degree. See ibid., 226–227.

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son for their journey in the desert.” 213 They were to be disappointed. The actual location they were probably seeking was not a single mountain, but the famous “Valley of Inscriptions,” the Wādi Mukattab, not far away to the south. In that Valley, as later documented, were hundreds of inscriptions, mainly Nabataean writings and graffiti from the second and third centuries, A. D. Scholars would subsequently discover that none were relevant to the time of Moses or the route of the Israelites.214 Their visit to the mountain was momentarily delayed while a delegation of local tribal leaders met with the guides, ate, and discussed access to the mountain. Meanwhile, Niebuhr, who was getting impatient, and had some worries about the accuracy of their location, explored on his own the surrounding hills and valleys. That night he returned without having seen a single inscription on the rocks. However, he did note in his journal that while exploring, he passed by the tent of the family of one of the sheiks who was guiding them. There he had a long conversation with the Sheik’s young son. Niebuhr was greatly impressed with the young boy’s self-assurance and genuineness, despite Niebuhr’s limited command of Arabic and the fact that the child had probably never met a foreigner from distant lands before. Equally interesting is the enjoyment Niebuhr derived from talking to a child in the middle of the desert.215 On September 11th, Niebuhr and Haven arose early and accompanied by some of their party, they explored the mountain. The terrain was too steep for the camels so they ascended on foot. But much to their disappointment the plateau at the summit appeared to be the site only of what Niebuhr determined to be a magnificent ancient Egyptian cemetery and burial monument. It was filled with some upright, but mainly recumbent slabs covered with weathered hieroglyphs, and Niebuhr believed, the remnants of the walls and chamber for a significant building, most of it buried. The chamber, with some of its roof still intact, contained a number of hieroglyphs and sculptured busts. Haven asked the guides where were the many inscriptions to which they had previously referred and could there be any more elsewhere, on other mountains or at other locations. They replied that this was the extent of the inscriptions and were surprised that these were not viewed as being sufficient. Thus, Haven concluded, there was nothing more for them to see.216 Despite their disappointment, Niebuhr recognized the importance of the site and at least wanted to copy the hieroglyphs that were legible to add to his collection of 213 Ibid., p. 231. 214 These have been cataloged by Michael E. Stone, editor of the Rock Inscriptions and Graffiti Project, 3 vols. (Atlanta, 1992), see esp. Vol. I, pp. 158–210 and Vol. 3, pp. 244–246. The inscriptions are overwhelmingly Nabataean, but also included Armenian, Latin, Greek and Arabic writings. For a broader discussion of Nabataean presence in the Sinai, see Avraham Negev, Nabataean Archaeology Today (New York, 1986), esp. 113–118. 215 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 234. 216 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 348.

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ancient Egyptian writings. His intuition was correct. They had in fact been led to the ancient Egyptian site of Serabit el-Khâdim, and the ruins of the Temple of Hathor. Niebuhr was the first to describe the site and correctly determine its purpose.217 Little did Niebuhr or Haven know, or later Bernstorff and Michaelis, that subsequent excavations at the site and analysis of the Proto-Sinaitic inscriptions discovered there would yield important information about the history of the Canaanites in the Sinai from the fifth millennium onwards and therefore was indeed relevant to connections between the Land of Israel and the Sinai, and possibly to the evolution of writing Moses may have used, but not to Moses and the time of the Israelites.218 Niebuhr’s desire to copy the hieroglyphs was blocked, however, by the local sheik and guides who refused to give him permission to do so without payment of a sizeable fee, or a share of the discovered treasure which they believed the Europeans were seeking at the site. As agreement was not possible, Niebuhr instead made a private arrangement with a member of their party to return to the site on their own during their return trip to Suez whereupon he could quietly make his copies. With that their visit to the mountain was over. Instead of spending an anticipated 2–3 weeks studying and copying inscriptions that would shed light on the Old Testament, they were finished in one day. As communications with their guides, the three Sheiks, had been full of misunderstanding from the outset, it is not surprising that their escorts became more suspicious with their sudden lack of interest. As they had always suspected that the motivation for investigating the inscriptions was to find buried treasure, they now surmised that Haven and Niebuhr had simply memorized the inscriptions, and therefore had the information they needed. With these clues, they concluded that later, like some sort of sorcerers, they would conjure up the hidden riches from the ground.219 These notions were evidently difficult to dispel. In any case, they returned to camp that day and decided to proceed to the Monastery of St. Catherine, the other important destination of the Sinai trip. Curiously there is no evidence that Haven or Niebuhr tried again to press their guides vigorously to explore more extensively the surrounding region for other possible sites that might contain the reported inscriptions. Niebuhr, of course, was not a philologist, and although by the time he published his works in the 1770’s he had 217 See Thomas Hikade, Das Expeditionswesen im ägyptischen Neuen Reich. Ein Beitrag zu Rohstoffversorgung und Außenhandel. Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens, Vol. 21 (Heidelberg, 2001), which reviews the archeology of Ancient Egyptian ventures in the Sinai Peninsula on pages 3–32, and Niebuhr’s discovery on p. 3. The fullest description of the site, complete with excellent photos of some of what Niebuhr saw, is by Dominque Valbelle and Charles Bonnet, Le sanctuaire d’Hathor, maîtresse de la turquopise. Sérabit el-Khadim au Moyen Empire (Paris, 1996). On Niebuhr’s role see p. 48. 218 See Itzhaq Beit-Arieh, “Canaanites and Egyptians at Serabit el-Khâdim,” in Egypt, Israel, Sinai. Archeological and Historical Relationships in the Biblical Period, ed. Anson F. Rainey ( Jerusalem, 1987), 57–67; and James K. H. Hoffmeier, Ancient Israel in Sinai (Oxford, 2005), 159–181. 219 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I, 236.

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become quite well-informed on Biblical topics and ancient writings, at the time he was in the Sinai he was neither well-prepared nor knowledgeable in the field, and besides he was not in charge. We know that he was skeptical about the existence of the inscriptions, and he may have also simply concluded that the hieroglyphs were in fact the inscriptions that Clayton had written about.220 However, we also know that he had doubts that they had reached the right location. Regardless he did not display his normal curiosity and persistent thoroughness at the reputed Gebel elMokatab. Haven, on the other hand, was academically prepared and he knew this was an important assignment for which he was personally responsible. But he labored under some disadvantages. His spoken Arabic was quite poor and the journey was his first field trip of any significance. In contrast to Niebuhr and Forsskål, he had had little direct experience with Arabs. He was extremely suspicious of his escorts and they of him. In a cultural sense, communications were very poor. The failure to find any inscriptions of Biblical importance at the site may also for him have confirmed his suspicion that the reports were fallacious in the first place. In both Istanbul and Cairo, he seems to have concluded that it was unlikely that the inscriptions reported by Clayton existed. As that appears to have been his mindset, he seems to have had little interest in being persistent to see if there were inscriptions elsewhere in the region. Nonetheless, he admits in his journal that “I remained in great confusion whether we had seen the right mountain or not.” 221 Some of this confusion could have been reduced from the outset if during his time in Copenhagen before traveling to Marseilles, or through a visit to Michaelis on his way to the Mediterranean, he had simply taken the time to read Clayton’s actual commentary upon which their task was based. If he had done so, he would have immediately known that Clayton’s translation of a travel account to the Sinai by a Franciscan monk referred to the Gebel el-Mokatab as hills alongside a long plain or valley, not a high mountain. Moreover, the inscriptions he described stretched for some distance, as opposed to being located on the summit of a mountain.222 Thus the mountain they had climbed, which rose steeply to an altitude of 2,789 feet, did not match Clayton’s description. Moreover, Haven also knew that the French nobleman, Balthazar de Moncony had reported a century earlier that he had seen in the same vicinity “a pleasant valley” where there were “letters and whole lines of writing” on large blocks of stone. Kratzenstein had given Haven a German translation of Moncony’s work, which he read, and in his journal of the Sinai trip he recalls Moncony’s 220 Niebuhr to Gähler, 21 July 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nrs. 21–21a, and 22–22a. 221 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 350. 222 For the relevant passage see Clayton’s A Journal from Grand Cairo to Mount Sinai, and back again. Translated from a Manuscript, Written by the Prefetto of Egypt, in company with some Missionaries de propaganda fide at Grand Cairo. To which are added Remarks on the Origin of Hieroglyphics and the Mythology of the ancient Heathens. Dedicated to The Society of Antiquaries, London. By the Right Reverend Robert Lord Bishop of Clogher, The Second Edition, Corrected (London, 1753), 45–46.

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reference to a valley with inscriptions, not a mountain.223 This description was also more consistent with a discussion he had had with an elderly merchant from Halab who had seen inscriptions during a visit to the Sinai forty years earlier.224 Regardless, Haven chose not to pursue the matter further. Thus it was, that after traveling thousands of miles from Copenhagen, and ending up only a few miles from the probable site mentioned by Clayton, they were not able to complete their scholarly assignment, namely to verify whether or not the inscriptions reported by Clayton and others had any connection to Moses and the time the Israelites spent in the Sinai desert. Of course, if they had reached the Wādi Mukattab they would have seen and copied inscriptions that had nothing to do with Moses. In a more comprehensive sense, present day scholars have concluded that there is “no specific archeological evidence of the Israelite presence in the Sinai.”225 This was an outcome that might have been received with disappointment in Copenhagen, and probably Göttingen.226 Michaelis, Bernstorff, Moltke and the King were so enamored with Clayton’s description of “the very secret mysteries” the inscriptions might reveal about Moses and the Israelites that any other conclusion may well have been a let down. Thus these underlying expectations for this part of the trip were also an issue. On September 12th, the little caravan began the journey to the remarkable Monastery of St. Catherine, today a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Slowly winding their way through the rich Wādi Firan and other valleys, they reached the Monastery on the 15th of the month. Situated in a dramatic, but desolate and foreboding setting at the base of Gebel Mûsa, believed to be Mt. Sinai, St. Catherine’s is today, and was at that time, the centerpiece of Sinaitic monasticism. Built by the Emperor Justinian I in the Sixth Century A. D., in response to a request from the burgeoning community of monks already there, the Monastery enclosed the existing Chapel of the Burning Bush. The Chapel was on the site, where according to tradition, Moses was believed to have seen the Angel of God in the Burning Bush.227 The Monastery is obviously of immense importance to the history of Judaism and Christianity, and of art.228 It contains beautiful mosaics, in a high state of preservation, from the time 223 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 93 and 359. 224 Ibid., 350. 225 Hoffmeier, Ancient Israel in Sinai, 149. 226 For example, in his Introduction, Clayton, referring to the inscriptions, writes, “By carefully copying a good quantity of these letters, I should apprehend, that the ancient Hebrew Character, which is now lost, may be recovered.” A Journal from Grand Cairo to Mount Sinai, 4, and 45–46 fn.a. 227 See Uzi Dahara, Monastic Settlements in South Sinai in the Byzantine Period ( Jerusalem, 2000), esp. Chapter 2, “The Monastic Center around Mount Sinai, “ pp. 54–64. Also for a handsome, profusely illustrated overview of the monastery which captures its important cultural significance, see John Galey, Sinai and the Monastery of St. Catherine, New York, 1980, and George H. Forsyth and Kurt Weitzmann, The Monastery of Saint Catherine at Mount Sinai. The Church and Fortress of Justinian (Ann Arbor, 1973). 228 See Kurt Weitzmann’s essay, “The Arts” in Galey, Sinai and the Monastery of St. Catherine,

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of Justinian, and striking frescoes from the 15th Century. It is the depository for one of the most magnificent collections of icons in the world, some 2,044 individual pieces. Michaelis, not surprisingly, was primarily interested in the Monastery because of the reports of the riches in its libraries. Indeed, they contained, then and still today, one of the world’s largest collections of illuminated manuscripts and it held many other historic volumes, service books, and rare manuscripts some predating the time of the Monastery’s founding. Michaelis hoped, Haven knew, that they would be able to gather specific information on the holdings at St. Catherine’s and perhaps purchase or copy some valuable manuscripts. Standing before the Monastery’s walls Haven and Niebuhr’s Arab guides called for the monks to come out. After an initial discussion and explanation of who they were, and a long delay, Haven was able to present the letter of introduction he had obtained from the Patriarch in Istanbul through the good offices of the British Ambassador. After a cursory glance, the letter was returned to Haven unopened and permission to enter the Monastery was summarily denied. Speaking through a small hole, a monk explained that only the Archbishop of Sinai had the authority to allow admittance to St. Catherine’s. The Patriarch’s letter was insufficient. After some protests to the monk from the guides who could not believe the monks would be so inhospitable as to deny entrance to fellow Christians traveling from afar, and a subsequent gift of some food from the monks, which Haven had requested, their visit was over. Once again, poor preparation by Haven led to dismal results. While in Cairo, he had met at least twice with the Archbishop of Sinai. They had discussed the Monastery and the issue of Clayton’s inscriptions, but Haven failed to ask for a letter of admittance even though he knew that the Monastery fell under the Archbishop’s authority. This omission was costly. As a consequence, Haven was not able to obtain any inventory of the libraries’ collections and certainly was not going to be in a position where he might be able to see and copy manuscripts of scholarly significance. Thus, for example, he potentially missed the opportunity to see the famous 4th Century manuscript of the Bible, The Codex Sinaiticus. It was subsequently discovered in the libraries by the German theologian Lobegott Friedrich Constantin Tischendorf in the 19th Century. Tischendorf was able to copy the entire manuscript, which eventually made its way via Russia to the British Library, where it has been of immense importance for Biblical research.229 Haven, of course, had demonstrated a serious interest in rare manuscripts and he had, as we have seen, done good work in this area. As Haven prepared to return to their encampment empty handed, he opened and read the sealed letter of introduction from the Patriarch. It described the old and new libraries at the Monastery, and mentioned

81–159. 229 Dahari, Monastic Settlements, 62–63; K. Tischendorf, Aus dem heiligen Lande (Leipzig, 1862), 25–114; H. J. M. Milne and T. C. Skeat, Scribes and Correctors of the Codex Sinaiticus (London, 1938); and Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie, Vol. 38 (1894), 371–373.

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the extremely old “Codices of the Evangelists” in the collection. Only then did Haven fully realize, with regret, what he had missed.230 Niebuhr decided to make the best of a poor situation. As he wrote: “In as much as we could not gain admittance to the Monastery, I still did not intend to come so far in the desert without climbing Mt. Sinai.”231 After paying a gratuity to a local guide he was able to arrange the ascent the following day. Haven, who was not feeling well and had a sore foot, did not accompany him on the trek. Gebel Mûsa is 7,345 feet, or 2,285 meters high, and is normally climbed following a long series of stone steps. Niebuhr climbed 500 steps to the Spring of Simeon, then another 1,000 steps to what he called the Chapel of the Virgin Mary, today known as the Chapel of our Lady of the Steward, and then an additional 500 steps to the Chapel of Elijah. They continued on but Niebuhr was unable to convince the guide to go to the very summit, nor could he get him to agree to climb the nearby, and still higher, Mt. St. Catherine. Nonetheless he got a fine view of the surrounding area with its peaks and towns, such as el Tûr on the Red Sea coast, in the distance. After ten and one-half hours of hiking they returned to camp.232 During his absence, Haven had done some brief exploring of the immediate territory with their guides. He saw scattered sites with inscriptions, none of which he copied, and he wondered whether the sites had any connection to what Moncony had mentioned. They spent three more days in the area during which Niebuhr worked on three drawings he had begun while waiting on the 15th for admittance to the Monastery. Two of them are his first of what would be many landscapes he would later have to do – both views of the Monastery and its surrounding mountains, with a few figures in the foreground. They have a certain naïve quality reflecting his lack of formal artistic training. The third was a site plan typical of the plans he had produced on the trip up to this point. Later on their trip back to Suez he completed two more landscapes.233 On September 20, 1762, the caravan got underway for the return trip to Suez following the same route they had used for the outbound trip. Along the way Niebuhr stopped to copy four different sets of inscriptions on large rocks and cliff faces. The letters, completely unfamiliar to him, were Nabataean.234 Eighty years later his copies of the inscriptions were among those examined by the German scholar E. F. F. Beer to decipher the Nabataen script.235The next day, as he had previously arranged, he rode ahead with one of the guides and climbed to Serabit 230 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 356. 231 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 246. 232 Ibid., 247–248. 233 See Plates XLIII, XLIV, XLVII and XLVIII, Reisebeschreibung, I. 234 Ibid., Plate XLIX, Figures A, B, C, and D; and N. N. Lewis and M. C. A. MacDonald, “W. J. Bankes and the identification of the Nabataen Script,” Syria 80 (2003): 43–44. 235 E. F. F. Beer, Inscriptiones Veteres litteris et lingua hucusque inconitis ad Montem Sinai magno numero servatae quas Pocock, Niebuhr, Montagu, Coutelle, Seetzen, Burckhardt, de Laborde, Grey allique descripserunt. Explicat E. F. F. Beer. Studia Asiatica; Fasc. 3 (Leipzig, 1840).

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el-Khâdim, the mountain they had thought was the Gebel el-Mokatab to copy the hieroglyphs he had seen at the site, but had been refused permission to copy. In addition he completed a site plan for the Temple of Hathor and its surrounding terrain.236 Because of the quality of the inscriptions, he speculated that in ancient times there must have been a nearby community with prosperous inhabitants. He was correct. The temple complex was in a region of extensive turquoise mining dating from at least 3500 B. C., and many of its memorials commemorated the miners and their chieftains.237 As he descended the mountain he saw some primitive drawings of animals which he also took time to copy.238 After leaving the site of the temple and proceeding back towards the Wādi Gharandal, Niebuhr spied some more inscriptions. As he described it, “I immediately jumped down from my dromedary in order to examine them closely and to copy them.”239 He disliked passing up an opportunity to obtain more samples of ancient writings. The guides thought this was an unnecessary waste of time, but Haven was able to get them to wait while Niebuhr copied nine sets of characters.240 On September 24th, while about 40 kilometers south of Suez, Niebuhr left the group to measure the width of the Red Sea. His calculations produced a figure of about 22 km, but he was not confident that the result was accurate. He had made a number of similar measurements on the outbound trip, also he believed without a high degree of accuracy.241 Of course, Niebuhr had been gathering cartographic information throughout the Sinai trip and during his stay in Suez. This data he used to produce a map of their entire trip to the Monastery, and a chart of the northern end of the Gulf of Suez.242 Thus, despite the failures of the Sinai trip, Niebuhr was still productive during the month of September – he copied, he drew, he made maps and he gathered additional ethnographic information on Arab culture which he later used in Chapter IX, “Die Wüste des Berges Sinai,” in the Beschreibung von Arabien. Although Haven regretted that Baurenfeind had not made the trip, and that as a result the quality of the illustrations had suffered, he nonetheless wrote that Niebuhr had indeed done very well in replacing the artist, especially considering that art was not his vocation.243 Haven’s appreciation of Niebuhr’s work was an indication of the generally smooth working relationship between them during the Sinai journey. There are no instances of arguments or other conflicts between the two men in either of their accounts, and both journals do relate examples of their working together. Probably the absence of Forsskål and their difficult circumstances 236 Ibid., Plates XLIV, XLV and XLVI. 237 See Hinkade, Das Expeditionswesen in ägyptischen Neuen Reich, 3–32, and Valbelle and Bonnet, Le sanctuaire d’Harthor, maîtress de la turquoise. 238 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: Plate L, Figure P. 239 Ibid., 250. 240 Ibid., Plates XLIX and L, Figures E, F, G, H, I, K, L, M, N. 241 Ibid., 251. 242 Niebuhr, Beschreibung von Arabien, Plates XXIII and XXIV. 243 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 191.

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created a more cooperative environment, but perhaps Gähler’s counsel and admonitions also had their intended effect. Of course, it could also be that both men simply chose not to mention any disagreements or criticism of the other because they knew that when their journals were read eventually in Copenhagen such comments would be viewed with disfavor. On September 25, 1762, they had their last breakfast with their Arab guides at the Spring of Moses where they had started, and that afternoon they arrived in Suez and rejoined the other members of the expedition. While Haven and Niebuhr were gone, Baurenfeind had recovered. Forsskål tried to do some work in the area around Suez, but he found it to be botanically unrewarding and therefore, he wrote, that he did not enjoy his time in this “desolate place.”244 Aside from a couple of short side trips, one to do zoological work, he did little. As they prepared for their departure to the south, Niebuhr finished his maps and chart of the area, and he asked Baurenfeind to put the finishing touch on his two drawings of St. Catherine’s. He also wrote and sent concise letters to Bernstorff, Moltke and Gähler reporting on the Sinai journey. He included drawings of the inscriptions he had copied in his letter to Moltke.245 Finally he took measurements of the high and low tides in the Gulf, a practice he had started when they first arrived in Suez.246 Haven took time to edit his journal into a more polished account of the trip, a task he finished during the first part of the voyage to Jiddah. It was sent to Bernstorff via Gähler on October 12th from the town of el Tûr.247 Their reports unfortunately could only describe their failures at the Gebel elMokatab and the Monastery of St. Catherine, and relate the many difficulties they had had with their guides along the way. Thus it was not surprising that their accounts were received months later in Copenhagen with great displeasure. We only have evidence of Bernstorff ’s reaction, but it could not have been more negative, and presumably it also reflected the views of Moltke and the King. All of them had held high hopes for this part of the trip. In writing to Gähler, Bernstorff took the opportunity to get a lot off his chest. He deplored the growing “spirit of indolence (Esprit d’Indolence)” displayed by most of the members. He thought it was unconscionable that with the exception of one small submission by Forsskål in April 1761, none of them had obeyed Paragraphs 8 and 9 of the Royal Instructions 244 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 89. 245 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 4 October 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 134 w/a (two copies); Niebuhr to Moltke, 4 October 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 133 and 133a (enclosure); and Niebuhr to Gähler, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nrs. 33 and 34 (two copies). 246 He took readings on September 4th and 30th, and on October 2nd, 3rd, and 4th, noting the height, time, date and day of the lunar calendar. See Niebuhr, “Beobachtungen über Ebbe und Fluth auf dem arabischen Meerbusen in den Jahren 1762 und 1763 – zu Suez,” Beschreibung, 421– 423. 247 Relation Om en Reyse fra Suez til Gebel Elmocateb og til Gebel Musa fra den 6 til 25 Septembre 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File V, Bl. 1–14; and Bernstorff to Gähler, 21 June 1763, RaK, Tyrkiet, Gesandtskabsarkiver, 1752–1767, Case 79–13; and RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 15 (draft).

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by regularly submitting installments of their journals. Kramer, he noted, who had not sent a single letter or other document during the entire trip, stood out in particular for his lassitude. It was inexcusable, Bernstorff went on, that Forsskål did not make the trip to the Sinai, and Haven’s account of the trip was a mediocre piece at best, totally devoid of any serious content. Their failure to gain admittance to the Monastery when permission could have been obtained easily from the Archbishop of Sinai in Cairo, and their brief, superficial investigation of the Gebel el-Mokatab were equally reprehensible. All of this, he wrote, was extremely troubling. Therefore he directed Gähler to impress upon the group, in whatever manner he thought appropriate, that they must dedicate themselves to completing the purpose of their mission with much more attention and care than they had displayed up to this point if they were to gain the approbation of the King.248 His blistering letter to the actual members repeated these same criticisms. He reprimanded them for not submitting their journals and he commanded them to immediately start doing so from this point on. Moreover, because of the entirely unsatisfactory results of the Sinai trip, he directed that on their return trip from Yemen, all of the members, without exception, were to travel again to the Sinai Peninsula. This time they were to carry out their investigations with much more “exactness, industry and vigilance.” Above all, they were to bring back much more detailed and insightful descriptions and reports of their findings. This, he wrote, was a one-time opportunity to demonstrate anew their dedication to the King, in other words a last chance for redemption.249 In a separate letter to Haven, he attacked the poor quality of his journal which he assumed was just an extract of a fuller document. He made it clear that he expected Haven to submit a much more extensive and detailed account of their journey, one reflective of his principal role as the philologist for the expedition. Anything less would be a grave disappointment to the King and the public at large.250 His letter to Niebuhr repeated his concerns over the failure of the members to submit their journals, an admonition he also repeated in his brief letter to Forsskål. He told Niebuhr that he expected a much more comprehensive account of the Sinai trip would be forthcoming. However, he also complimented Niebuhr for the industry and untiring attention to detail he displayed in his work and communicated his wish that the other members would follow his “laudable example” in the execution of their instructions.251 Little did Bernstorff know that these letters would have no impact on the further success or failure of the ex248 Bernstorff to Gähler, 21 June 1763, RaK, Tyrkiet, Gesandtskabsarkiver, 1752–1767, Case 79–13; and RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 15 (draft). 249 Bernstorff to die gelehrte Gesellschaft, 21 June 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 27b; and RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 16 (draft). 250 Bernstorff to Haven, 21 June 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 17/17a (draft); and RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 17c. 251 Bernstorff to Niebuhr, 21 June 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 18 (draft); and RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 17c; and Bernstorff to Forsskål, 21 June 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 14; and RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 17d.

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pedition. There is no evidence that they were ever received by the members, and if they were, it was certainly not in a time frame that would have made much difference. Niebuhr, we know, reported nearly two years later, that the last communication he had received from Gähler, not to mention Bernstorff, was from June 8, 1762.252 Thus the expedition proceeded for the next stage of its journey without its members knowing that the Sinai trip was viewed in Copenhagen as a dismal failure and that their overall performance needed to improve dramatically. Instead, at the end of September 1762, their attention was directed solely towards preparing for the voyage on the Red Sea to their long anticipated, ultimate destination, Yemen. Sailing the Red Sea – Discovering Marine Life and Creating a Chart

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n October 5, 1762, the members of the expedition boarded the most substantial ship they could find in Suez bound for Jiddah, part of a flotilla of ships taking pilgrims going to Makkah.253 They had paid for a large compartment on the uppermost deck, and because of the crowded conditions, they stored all of their equipment and supplies in the room with them. The ship was carrying pilgrims, merchants transporting their wares, a group of slaves and a variety of other passengers. Housed in the compartment before them was a rich eunuch of African descent, bound for al Madīnah (Medina). He traveled, Niebuhr noted, with his own harem, as did other individuals of rank in the Ottoman Empire. On the other side was an important Ottoman official, a Sardar, who delighted in periodically ridiculing the scientific work they were doing.254 The ship, which Niebuhr thought would have been large enough to carry 45 guns, was overflowing with people and cargo. The decks were packed with the pilgrims and with the merchants who rented a small station for their water, food, cooking and sleeping gear, and merchandise. The holds were stuffed with larger cargo and, in addition, large water jugs and light cargo were hanging from the outside of the hull. The ship had a crew of forty sailors (who also brought their wives), aided by 26 quarterdeck boys who manned the capstan for the anchor and the steering gear for the rudder. When the sailors worked the sails there was much grumbling because with the crowded conditions there was little space on deck for them to do so. There were also six Greek sail makers on board. The Captain and the pilot were situated forward on the bow in a split bridge so they could watch from both sides for reefs and other obstacles to navigation. The ship also had four tenders. One could sail independently, but the other three were always towed behind 252 Niebuhr to Gähler, 27 May 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 47. 253 The voyage to Jiddah is described by Forsskål in Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 100–112, and in more detail in Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 255–271. Haven’s notes on the trip are quite brief. See Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis, 364–367. 254 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 99–100.

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them. They were full of poorer passengers, horses and sheep.255 Tips for the sailors had to be paid in advance of the trip, which irritated the group. Later, however, Niebuhr reflected, “we had to become comfortable with the customs of the country, and actually we had no cause to complain. One finds after all in the Middle East, just like in Europe, travelers who promise a lot of gratuities but in the end pay nothing. These sailors therefore take their payment upfront, and then let the passengers depart the ship in Jiddah without asking for anything more.”256Niebuhr had a natural ability to re-frame common cross-cultural experiences from the strange to the sensible and to avoid thereby the consequences of selecting out in the evaluation of behaviors in Arab society. They weighed anchor and departed for Jiddah on October 9, 1762.257 The Red Sea, one scholar has written, “is an extreme example of a sea on the way to somewhere else. It is a sea that bisects the globe’s most extensive arid zone, the Sahara-Arabian.”258 It has no great river systems that flow into it. With few exceptions both its eastern and western shores are barren and desolate. There was in Niebuhr’s time little internally generated trade excepting Jiddah, the Yemeni coast and Eritrea. Thus much of the area had not been systematically explored. In that sense Niebuhr and Forsskål were presented with an opportunity to add greatly to the knowledge of the region. Upon departure the wind was favorable and the waters calm. They made good progress along the eastern coast of the Gulf of Suez, seeing now from seaward much of the same territory that Haven and Niebuhr had crossed in September.259 Niebuhr made celestial observations and took soundings as they headed in a south to southeasterly direction. Early on the 11th they encountered their first coral reefs, a natural feature for which the Red Sea is famous. Niebuhr was nervous as the ship threaded its way carefully through the reefs, the coral literally within a stone’s throw, Niebuhr wrote, on either side. He was more comfortable with sailing the high seas and as a consequence he thought the voyage from Suez to Jiddah to be “perhaps the most dangerous in the world.”260 On the same day they anchored off of el Tûr, where they took on water and were able to go ashore. In the distance they could see Gebel Mûsa and Gebel Katherîna. Baurenfeind took the opportunity to draw the anchorage with the mountains in the distance, and Niebuhr drew a map of the coastal region around the town.261 255 Ibid., 101–103; Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 256–257. 256 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 258. 257 Niebuhr to Gähler, 2 December 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 36a. 258 William Facey, “The Red Sea: The Wind Regime and Location of Ports,” in Trade and Travel in the Red Sea Region. Proceedings of the Red Sea Project I, ed. Paul Lunde and Alexandria Porter (Oxford, 2004), 7. This collection of papers provides a good discussion of the historic patterns of trade and transportation in the Red Sea from antiquity. 259 Forsskål to Gähler, 12 October 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 35; and Niebuhr to Gähler, 2 December 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 36. 260 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 20 January 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 3. 261 See Plates LI and LII in Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I.

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Forsskål could not refrain from exploring the coast for botanical specimens. In a nearby village he met a Greek priest who was quite helpful, and as a result he was able to hike some distance to a monastery garden of date palms. He returned by way of the shore, observing many molluscs and jellyfish in the tidal waters. He was gone for some time and consequently, Niebuhr reported, some Janissaries who were passengers on the ship became worried about his fate. Based on local reports of a wandering foreigner, they hurried to a nearby village where they found Forsskål on his return walk along the coast and escorted him safely back to the ship. Commenting rhetorically on the little incident, Niebuhr wrote: “Would many Christians in all likelihood decide to walk half a mile [3.75 kms.] to save a Jew they hardly knew from some potential danger, as did these Muslim travelers?”262 Using the analogy of Christian attitudes towards Jews was one that Niebuhr employed often and will be discussed further in Chapter 4. On the 14th they left el Tûr and continued sailing between coral reefs in a southerly direction. Niebuhr took more celestial fixes as they proceeded, although the definition of the horizon was not as distinct as he would have liked. They passed through the Strait of Gûbâl, past the Râs Muhammad, and in the open sea across the entrance to the Gulf of Aqaba to the northeast. On October 17, Niebuhr observed an eclipse of the sun, quickly alternating the use of his telescope with that of his octant to time the obscuration exactly and to simultaneously establish latitude. He presumably was assisted, as had become his practice, by Berggren. Niebuhr and Forsskål helped the skipper and some of the passengers observe the eclipse through some glasses which Niebuhr had darkened for the occasion.263 Sailing before a favorable wind they continued eastward back towards the Arabian coast, past the al-Hāssanī Islands and stopped briefly on October 23 at Yanbu‘al Bahr, the port city for al Madīnah. There, as Forsskål noticed, the passengers were grateful to be once again in sight of land: “To reach harbor again after three or four days in the open sea was a big thing for those with us, and they celebrated it as a special event. Lamps were lit in the rigging and the passengers hung their lanterns about the ship. Canons were fired, drums were beaten and people congratulated each other for having survived Bahha, the savage sea.”264 At Yanbu‘al Bahr Baurenfeind completed another drawing of a harbor and Niebuhr plotted another map of the immediate area.265 There the passengers bound for al Madīnah left the ship and soon it was underway sailing to the south, again with coral reefs hard on both sides of the vessel. Typical of most Red Sea sailors, the skipper preferred to sail close to shore, as opposed to in the open sea, because he was more comfortable with coastal navigation and could more quickly seek a safe harbor in case of a storm. They anchored in the roadstead off Jiddah on October 262 263 264 265

Ibid., 260 Ibid., 262. Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 108–109 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 338). Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: Plates LIII and LVIII.

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29th. With the exception of the chronic drunkenness of the pilot and a fire on board one of the tenders loaded with women (they survived), the trip was relatively uneventful. The members of the expedition were not looking forward to their visit to this famous port for the holy city of Makkah. As Niebuhr confessed, “We were never before as fearful of the residents of a city as we were in the case of Jiddah. Because Europeans were met with so much scorn in Egypt, we believed that the passion of the Muslims against Christians would steadily increase the closer we got to the cities considered to be holy … but we found that we were very mistaken.”266 Dressed in Middle Eastern clothes, the group blended in easily without incident, visiting coffee houses and the market. Because of letters of introduction to merchants, a local scholar and the ruling Pasha, they were able to establish useful relationships in the city quickly. Their meeting with the Islamic scholar and some of his colleagues was lively and interesting. They asked many questions about European customs, religion and science. Niebuhr set up his telescope so that they could view the planets, but he had to go to some lengths to explain that he was not an astrologer. He later concluded that they “thought of the Europeans approximately as we think of the Chinese.”267 Thus again Niebuhr tried to relate a foreign experience to something that was familiar and appropriate, while at the same time embracing its foreignness. In Niebuhr’s time, European attitudes towards China mixed respect for and curiosity about an old and capable civilization with a recognition of its fundamental difference from Europe.268 He was trying to help Europeans see themselves through the eyes of others. A few days later they presented their letter of introduction from Gähler to the Pasha, who knew Gähler from his own service previously in Istanbul. The governor also took great interest in Niebuhr’s astronomy, and the officials in attendance wanted detailed specifications and a drawing of his octant, as well as a look at his astronomical tables. They spoke only Turkish and Arabic, so Niebuhr tried to explain his instruments and materials in Arabic – a difficult task, he admitted, because heretofore he had rarely had a need to discuss scientific topics.269 As had become his custom, Niebuhr gathered a good deal of information about the city and the region. He noted that it was an important commercial center, not just because of the pilgrimages to Makkah, but also because it was an entrepôt for trade from India to Egypt. He described the categories of commerce, customs regulations, monetary 266 Ibid., 271–272. For a similar remark see Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 20 January 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 3. 267 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 274. 268 For the sinophile perspectives of Enlightenment thinkers, see Willy Richard Berger, China-Bild und China-Mode in Europa der Aufklärung (Cologne, 1990), esp. 52–85. This attitude would change abruptly in the last decade of the century. 269 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 275. Niebuhr to Gähler, 2 December 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3– 005, File 1, Nr. 36a.

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Fig. 7. Fisherman with catch, Jiddah, drawn by Bauernfeind

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Fig. 8. Woman selling bread, Jiddah, drawn by Bauernfeind

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system and the role of the Janissaries, who were active there, as elsewhere, as merchants.270 He continued to collect ethnographic information as well. Baurenfeind did two of his best drawings of people conducting routine daily activities – one of a fisherman taking his catch to market and the other, a wonderful, simple scene of a woman selling bread.271 [Figs. 7 & 8] They stayed in Jiddah six weeks waiting for one of the coffee ships to Yemen and hoping to take passage before the wind shifted in the southern Red Sea and travel by sea would end for the season. Soon they were advised to take a boat that had arrived from Oman. But when they went to inspect the vessel and meet its skipper they had second thoughts. Instead of a large ship they saw a rounded boat only 42 feet in length with a beam of 15 feet. It had a barrel-like or stubby appearance. As Forsskål described it: “Our ship was of the most remarkable construction: in a word, an original. It had been built from wooden planks sewn together with thick sail yarn. No wooden nails had been used.” It was an open vessel, with no deck or cabin. It was “crammed with goods” upon which the group was to sleep, having to provide their own beds.272 The Master was dressed only with a brief wrap around his waist and a belt to hold his dagger. The crew consisted of 9 slaves from Africa and the Malabar coast. Despite the boat’s rustic appearance, they were strongly advised to take it. Vessels of this kind were known to be especially seaworthy, and to possess good sails and a competent crew. They did so, but not without concern about the adventure that lay ahead.273 On this occasion, Niebuhr later took the opportunity to relate an instructive little story about correcting European assumptions through experience, as he did many other times. During the voyage Kramer dropped his watch through the large matting that covered the bilges. He was sure that it was lost, and even if found would be unusable as it would have been sitting in the bilge water that no doubt, they assumed, seeped in through the planks that were tied together only with heavy yarn. However, when they finally arrived he found his watch in the bowels of the ship dry and quite undamaged. Niebuhr observed: “The stitched together ship was therefore certainly not as lacking in watertight integrity as it appeared at first glance to we Europeans.”274 Niebuhr continued to gather geographical data on the Red Sea. He became friends with the boat’s pilot who during the long hours of sailing supplied him with the names of the many geographical features they passed. He made additional ce270 On this role of the Janissaries, which was a common development in the Ottoman Empire, see Lapidus, A History of Islamic Societies, 277. 271 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: Plates LVI and LVII. Niebuhr’s description of Jiddah is on pp. 271–285. 272 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 113 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 340). 273 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 285–286. Also Niebuhr to Gähler, 20 January 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 2. 274 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 287.

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lestial observations as they proceeded south, but he found that shooting the stars accurately in a small boat, especially when the wind was strong, required much care and skill.275 Sailing close to shore between barren, uninhabited islands and coral reefs during the day, and anchoring at night, they made their way steadily southwards. They stopped at al Qunfudhah to take on water and provisions. On December 23rd, they anchored near al Birk, where Niebuhr and Haven went ashore with some of the crew to purchase more food. The coral reefs were so large and high that they had difficulty with their small skiff making their way to shore, and even then had to wade through deep water to get to land and a small settlement.276 On December 29, 1762, they finally arrived in al Luhayyah (Loheia), the northern-most port of Yemen. Their voyage through the Red Sea had taken two and a half months. Considering the difficulties they could have encountered along the way, it had gone quite smoothly. Most importantly, the voyage had provided a useful platform for some of the most significant cartographic and zoological work of the entire expedition, and it is worthwhile to discuss these accomplishments in some detail. t Paragraph 27 of the Royal Instructions directed Niebuhr to obtain geographical data on Arabia, including the Red Sea, that could be used subsequently to revise and improve the best-existing maps in Europe of the region. Michaelis and Bernstorff thought that the map of Arabia by Isaak Tirion (1740) was the most up-todate and they therefore listed it as the starting point for Niebuhr’s work. Actually Tirion was a publisher in Holland, not a cartographer, and his map was not the most current. His work was based mainly on the publications of the French mapmaker, Guillaume de l’Isle (1716) at the beginning of the century, and these had been superseded by the work of the French Royal Cartographer, Jean-Baptiste Bourguignon d’Anville.277 In the middle of the 18th Century, knowledge of the Red Sea, except for its southern entrance and western shore, was minimal. Mapmakers compiled historic information and made up configurations to fill in the blanks so that the final piece of work would be attractive. With the exception of the important work in the 16th Century of the Portuguese navigator and Captain, Joao de Castro (1500–1548), which focused on the Egyptian, or western shore of the Red Sea, no actual measurements had been taken to determine with some degree of accuracy the geographical configuration of the Red Sea. At the time of the expedi275 Ibid., 289. 276 Ibid., 291. 277 Bernstorff to Michaelis, 4 March 1761 with the enclosed copy of the Instructions, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 320, Bl. 276–285; A reproduction of Tirion’s map of Arabia and the surrounding area is in Kejlbo, “Carsten Niebuhr’s kartografiske opgaver,” 244–245. In the Instructions, Niebuhr was also asked to sort out fact from fiction in the fantastical descriptions of the area by ancient writers such as the Greek geographer/historians Strabo and Diodorus Siculus.

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tion, the chief source remained the work of Ptolemy (87–150), and no trained cartographer had undertaken work in its waters.278 Niebuhr’s methodology, as we have already mentioned, was not based on the perpetuation or evaluation of historic information, but on his own measurements in an area, and information he gathered personally from local inhabitants whom he considered reliable. Thus, for example, from the beginning of the expedition’s transit of the Red Sea, Niebuhr was busy, weather permitting, making astronomical observations to establish a series of benchmarks for his chart. In all he computed 42 positions, 33 of latitudinal fixes only, and nine determining both latitude and longitude. In addition, as most of the voyage involved sailing coastal waters, he used his compass and triangulation to identify the orientation of geographical features along the way. Finally, he spent considerable time talking to people familiar with the Red Sea, particularly the pilots, and he thereby obtained information on distances and on the location and names of many towns and topographical features along the coast. In all he gathered over 200 geographical names with which to annotate his chart.279 Compiling information was not always easy. On the ship from Suez to Jiddah, he wanted to avoid the many pilgrims whom, he thought, might take umbrage at the presence of a Christian on board. Therefore he tried to be discrete in making his observations. He did all of his work from a small catwalk by the members’ compartment, as opposed to the main deck. This may have limited the distribution of the array of stars he was able to shoot. In addition, the horizon was frequently indistinct causing him to worry about the accuracy of his readings. On the passage from Jiddah to al Luhayyah, celestial navigation was more difficult because of the cramped space and the motion of the boat. Finally, obtaining consistent, accurate names in Arabic was a continuing challenge, as was evaluating hearsay evidence on the configuration of an area he had not personally observed.280 Through this basic cartographic work Niebuhr was able to gather important data covering the entire length of the Gulf of Suez and the eastern shoreline of the Red Sea, which he used to craft his chart.281 [Fig. 9] Drawn to a scale of 1:3,750,000, it quite accurately set forth the east coast of the Red Sea, named and located its 278 Henze, “Carsten Niebuhr’s Bedeutung für die Erdkunde von Arabien,” v–vii; Facey, “The Red Sea; the wind regime and location of ports,” 15–17; and Kejlbo,”Carsten Niebuhr’s kartografiske opgaver,” 239–250, and 276–280. 279 Forty years later Niebuhr’s calculations for his positions in the Red Sea were published in four articles in Freyherrn von Zach, Monatliche Correspondenz zur Beförderung der Erd- und Himmels-Kunde, and later the articles were reprinted in the third volume of the Reisebeschreibung, published posthumously in 1837. 280 These issues are discussed in the texts that accompany the calculations cited above, and are scattered throughout the Reisebeschreibung, I: 255–271, and 285–311. 281 For Niebuhr’s Map see Mare Rubrum seu Sinus Arabicus ad observationes maximam partem ab Auctore Annis MDCCLXII et MDCCLXIII institutas delineatus a C. Niebuhr, in Beschreibung, Plate XX.

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towns and villages, identified islands, coral reefs, and coastal promontories, and situated inland mountain peaks. It established the location of the important benchmark, Râs Muhammed, at the entrance to the Gulf of Suez, and reestablished the existence of the Gulf of Aqaba, with the town of al ’Aqabah at its head (a configuration that had been lost in the most recent maps of d’Anville). There were also notable omissions. The description of the western shore was imprecise, as he had not observed it, and in some cases was simply left blank. His depiction of the Gulf of Aqaba reduced its actual length by one half, as he had only seen its mouth and his hearsay evidence was inaccurate. Nonetheless, his chart is considered a major contribution to cartography in the 18th Century. As Dietmar Henze has written: “Niebuhr surveyed scientifically the greatest part of the West Arabian Coast and thereby produced a chart which we recognize as the first of its kind and a glittering achievement of the Age of Measurements.”282 For seventy years Niebuhr’s chart was the standard for navigation in the Red Sea. It contributed to the opening of the Red Sea as a communications route between India and Europe, and was depended upon, in particular, by the British. It was only in the 1830’s that its accuracy was surpassed as a result of an official survey conducted by the British.283 Combined with the large-scale plans that Niebuhr completed for Suez, el Tûr, Yanbu‘al Bahr, al Qunfudhah, al Luhayyah, and later Bayt al Faqīh and al Mukhā, Niebuhr’s map of the Red Sea added greatly to European knowledge of this ancient maritime region. t The voyage along the Arabian shore of the Red Sea also gave Forsskål ample opportunity to conduct zoological research. His trips in small boats, wading through tidal zones and walks along the shoreline enabled him to inspect and describe many specimens new to him, and, in quite a few cases, new to European science. Although he sometimes complained that the lands immediately surrounding the Red Sea were botanically unrewarding, he found the sea itself a fertile and fascinating setting for biological work.284 Some 1,400 miles in length, the Red Sea is one of the world’s most interesting marine environments. Its warm waters, relatively calm surface conditions and more than 1,000 miles of ancient coral reefs support rich communities of marine life. Of course in Forsskål’s time, as we noted previously, oceanography was in its infancy, marine biology was really unknown as a separate discipline, and the Red Sea was scientifically an unexplored body of water. In that con-

282 Henze, “Carsten Niebuhr’s Bedeutung für die Erdkunde von Arabien,” vi. 283 See Chart of the Red Sea, Jiddah, the Straits of Bab el Mandeb surveyed in the Years 1830–1833 by Capt. T. Elvon and L. Pinching and completed in 1833–1834 by Commodore R. Moresby, Indian Navy, engraved by C. Walker, cited in Henze, “Carsten Niebuhr’s Bedeutung für die Erdkunde von Arabien,” xii., n. 40. 284 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 107–117.

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Fig. 9. Chart of the Red Sea, prepared by Niebuhr

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text, Forsskål’s identification and collection of marine specimens was truly pioneering. He was the first biologist to investigate systematically the Red Sea. The stay in Jiddah was especially productive and a majority of his fish specimens came from the waters nearby. But he also found valuable species in Suez, el Tûr, al Luhayyah and later al Mukhā, to a lesser degree. By the time he was finished and headed inland to explore the interior of Yemen, he had classified over 120 species of fish, numerous mollusks, jellyfish, crustaceans and other sea animals, as well as 26 species of coral. He took detailed notes on each species and he preserved scores of specimens, either by drying them or by sealing them in alcohol-filled jars.285 The expedition was soon loaded down with crates filled with his retained samples. He also directed Baurenfeind to complete biological illustrations in color of over seventy marine animals. It is appropriate to reflect briefly upon the significance of Forsskål’s zoological work in the Red Sea, and to a lesser extent in the Mediterranean, in as much as after al Luhayyah, his attention shifted inland and the focus of his work was once again on botany. The overall number of species that he described and the range of new species he discovered is impressive. They included large floating sea slugs,286 and a significant number of beautiful jellyfish, [Fig. 10] including the unusual upside down species Cassiopea andromeda (Forsskål, 1775).287 He did a great deal of work on the Family Salpidae, free-swimming and fast-growing tunicates about which little was known. He not only identified entirely new species in this family, such as Pagea confoederata (Forsskål, 1775), but in the process he uncovered the shrimp-like Phronima sedentaria (Forsskål, 1775), a small amphipod that feeds on salpa and then lives in its victim’s hollowed out body.288 A discriminating observer, he also described, well before any other biologists, the free swimming microscopic cilia-clad larvae of 285 For a discussion of his work see Torben Wolff, “De zoologiske resultater af den Arabiske Rejse,” in Den Arabiske Rejse, ed. Rasmussen, 231–237; Ragnar Spärck, “Peter Forsskåls Arabiske Rejse og zoologiske Samlinger,” Nordenskiöld-samfundets tidskrift 23 (1963): 110–136; and Wolfgang Klausewitz and Jørgen G. Nielsen, “On Forsskål’s Collection of Fishes in the Zoological Museum of Copenhagen,” Spolia Zoologica Musei Hauniensis 22 (1965): 5–29. Also see Forsskål’s letter to Linnaeus of 16 January 1763, in Fries, Bref och Skrivelser af och till Carl von Linné Vol. VI, 1912, #1359, 159–161. 286 For example, Pterotrachea Coronata (Forsskål, 1775), described p. 117, Nr. 41, Animalium, and illustrated by Baurenfeind, Plate XXXIV, Figure A., Icones. 287 For example, Physophora hydrostatica (Forsskål, 1775), a physonat siphonophone, described p. 129, Nr. 45, Animalium, and illustrated Plate XXXIII, Figure E., Icones; the Aequorea forsskalea (Forsskål, 1775), described on p. 110, Nr. 28, Animalium, and illustrated in a beautiful drawing, Plate XXXII, Icones; Neoturris pileatea (Forsskål, 1775), described p. 110, Nr. 26, Animalium, and illustrated Plate XXXIII, Figure D, Icones; Athorybia rosacea (Forskal, 1775), described p. 120, Nr. 46, Animalium; Geryonica proboscidalis (Forsskål, 1775, described p. 108, Nr. 23, Animalium. The Cassiopea andromeda (Forsskål, 1775), is described on p. 107, Nr. 19, Animalium and drawn in a particularly handsome illustration Plate XXXI, Icones. 288 K. Stephensen, “Phronima Sedentaria (Forskål) et Krebsdyr, som svømmer med sit Hus,” in Dyr i natur og museum (1946–1947): 17–24, and Spärck, “Peter Forsskåls Arabisk Rejse og zoolo-

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the ocean snail, Janthina janthina.289 Not surprisingly, Forsskål also contributed to the knowledge of corals in the 18th Century, identifying for the first time a number of solid as well as soft body corals, and characterizing the abundance of coral species in the Red Sea so that their scientific significance was recognized.290 As has already been mentioned, he described and collected a large number of fishes [Fig. 11] – many, such as the Humphead Snapper,291 the Thornfish292 and a kind of Milkfish293 were identified by him for the first time. Today, many of his descriptions remain valid. For example the comprehensive study of Red Sea reef fishes by John E. Randall lists a total of 325 species, 58 of which were first identified accurately by Forsskål.294 He did not prematurely narrow the range of his identifications, but literally cast his net broadly describing crabs, bivalves, shrimp and many other marine animals. Interestingly, in selecting the nomenclature of the various species he described, he frequently utilized the transliteration of an appropriate Arabic word, either the locality of the species or its common name, a subject we will return to later when discussing his botanical work in Yemen.295 Forsskål’s research in marine biology was the product of prodigious, persistent and skilled effort on his part throughout the time they were in marine environments. His accomplishments in zoology, while not widely known, were valued early on by specialists in the 19th Century and his published work has been called among the most remarkable of its kind to appear in the 18th Century.296 His importance to the marine sciences was recognized in 1853 when an entire genus of zooplankton (Genus Forskalia) was named in his honor.297 More recent scholars also have rated his work highly and as having continuing importance. His descriptions, one group of specialists in mollusks noted, are “generally detailed and informative far beyond the practice of his times,” and contain “comments concerning localities, relative giske Samlinger,” 126–127. The Pagea confoederata, together with a number of other salpas are depicted in Plate XXXVI, Icones, and described in Animalium, Nrs. 30–36, 38, and 40, pp. 112–116. 289 Ragnar Spärck, “Peter Forskål and the Arabian Expedition,” The American Scandinavian Review 53 (1965): 167. 290 See for example, Porites rus (Forsskål, 1775), described p. 135, Nr. 14, Animalium; Porites solida (Forskal, 1775), described p. 131, Nr. 1, Animalium; Pavona cactus (Forsskål, 1775), described p. 134, Nr. 13, Animalium; and Parerythropodum fulvuum fulvuum (Forsskål, 1775), described p. 139, Nr. 33, Animalium. Also see Cyril Crossland, On Forskåls Collection of Corals in the Zoological Museum of Copenhagen. Skrifter uggivet af Universitetets Zoologiske Museum, Copenhagen, 1941, for a full discussion of the classification issues of Forsskål’s corals. 291 Lujanus gibbus (Forsskål, 1775), described p. 46, Nr. 48, Animalium. 292 Terapon jarbua (Forsskål, 1775), described p. 50, Nr. 57, Animalium. 293 Chanos chanos (Forsskål, 1775), described p. 36, Nr. 32, Animalium. 294 John E. Randall, Red Sea Reef Fishes (London, 1986), 12 and passim. 295 As just one of dozens of examples see the description for the fish, Scomber sansun, derived from the cited name in Arabic, Abu sansun, p. 56, Nr. 74, Animalium. 296 C. C. A. Gosch, Udsigt over Danmarks zoologiske Litteratur, 2nd. ed., Vol. I (Copenhagen, 1873), 439. 297 Spärck, “Peter Forsskåls Arabiske Rejse og zoologiske Samlinger,” 127.

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Fig. 10. Medusa Cephea, jellyfish from the Red Sea ( Jiddah), drawn by Bauernfeind

abundance, local vernacular names, observed usage … in the diet of the local people, etc.”298 And as the Danish Zoologist, Ragnar Spärck has pointed out: “Many of his descriptions are the first truly precise ones in Zoological literature,” and he emphasized “that Forsskål’s collections are not just a historical curiosity, but are of the greatest scientific importance even today. Since Forsskål’s descriptions are in almost all cases the first of the species concerned, they comprise the type on which the 298 Issac Yaron, Tom Schiøtte and Gudrun Wium-Andersen, “A review of molluscan taxa described by P. Forsskål and C. Niebuhr with citation of original descriptions, discussion of type-material available and selection of some lectotypes,” Steenstrupia 12 (1986): 162.

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Fig. 11. Chaetodon Teira, reef fish from the Red Sea (al Luhayyah), drawn by Bauernfeind

standard descriptions of the species are based, and must be referred to constantly by any biologist concerned with the … fauna of those regions.”299 Thus Forsskål’s research in the Red Sea, in particular, produced significant new knowledge in the marine sciences and represents an important chapter in the development of zoology in the 18th Century. Kratzenstein, the professor at the University of Copenhagen who provided the detailed guidance to Forsskål on marine biology in his memorandum of November 28, 1760, could be proud. 299 Spärck, “Peter Forsskål and the Arabian Expedition,” 167–168.

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Scientific Discovery in Yemen: Exploring the Tihāmah and the Coffee Mountains

W

ith a successful voyage and weeks of productive work on the Red Sea behind them, the attention of the expedition turned to Yemen. Yemen, as we may recall, had been proposed by Michaelis as the ultimate destination for the expedition because of its political and cultural isolation. It was his hope that this seclusion, most especially in the interior of the country, had preserved customs and language that had direct relevance to the times of the Bible. Indeed, Yemen, located in the southwestern corner of the Arabian Peninsula, was remote. With the exception of its coastal communities, it had been relatively cut off from significant interaction with the rest of the Arab world, India and Europe, although never to the degree hypothesized by Michaelis. There were several reasons for this isolation.300 The terrain of the country was challenging and in places foreboding. A narrow coastal plain almost 300 miles in length, the Tihāmah, bordered the Red Sea. It was a barren stretch of low-lying sand dunes, desert and isolated, mosquito-infested, coastal marshes, with extremely high temperatures and high humidity most of the year. Temperatures regularly exceeded 100 degrees Fahrenheit. But aside from this uninviting, arid coastal strip, Yemen is a rugged, mountainous country, with an average elevation of close to 1,800 meters. Its Western Highlands rise steeply from the Tihāmah with general elevations ranging between 900 meters and 2,700 meters, and peaks up to 3600 meters. Yemen’s famous coffee growing region was, and is, located in the Highlands, where the crop was cultivated on terraced mountainsides and in small valleys. Geologically, this coastal range is young, and therefore the mountains are jagged and precipitous. In the 18th Century, the trails were narrow, winding and steep. There is little rain on the coast, but inland parts of the Western 300 For Yemen in the 18th Century see Husayn b. ‘Abdullah al-‘Amri, The Yemen in the 18th and 19th centuries. A political and intellectual history (London 1985), esp. 3–13, and for a brief discussion of al-Mahdī ̔Abbās, by the same author, “A document concerning the sale of Ghayl al-Barmakī and al-Ghayl al-Aswad by al-Mahdī ̔Abbās, Imam of Yemen, 1131–89/1718–75,” in Arabian and Islamic Studies, ed. R. L. Bidwell and G. R. Smith (London, 1983), 29–37; Joseph Chelhod, ed., L’Arabie du Sud. Histoire et Civilisation, Vol. I, Le peuple yéménite et ses racines (Paris, 1984); R. B. Serjeant, “The Post-Medieval and Modern History of San‘ā’ and the Yemen, ca 953–1382/1515– 1962,” in San‘ā’, an Arabian Islamic city, ed. R. B. (Robert Bertram) Serjeant and Ronald B. Lewcock (London, 1983), 68–107; and the excellent discussion by Friedhelm Hartwig, “Carsten Niebuhrs Darstellung von Jemen – Eine Skizze von Jemen im 18. Jahrhundert” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 171–188. Important background information on Yemen during this period is also in the beginning chapters of the fine study by Nancy Um, The Merchant Houses of Mocha. Trade and Architecture in an Indian Ocean Port (Seattle, 2009). Hugues Fontaine and Mourir Arbach, Yémen. Cités d’écritures (Manosque, 2006), contains excellent photos of the region capturing the character of some of the terrain that the expedition traversed. Also see Jane Hathaway, A Tale of Two Factions. Myth, Memory, and Identity in Ottoman Egypt and Yemen (Albany, 2003), esp. 79–93; and Eric Macro, Yemen and the Western World, (London, 1968), xi-15.

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Highlands receive more than 30 inches of rainfall a year, feeding free-flowing streams that drain down to the Tihāmah, where they disappear in the sand. As is often the case with many societies based in the mountains, the steep terrain was a barrier to sustained penetration by outsiders. Religiously and politically Yemen had been dominated since the ninth century by a Zaydite Imamate, tied closely to a pronounced and durable tribal structure. The Ottoman Turks attempted to conquer the region in the 16th Century, but failed. Although the Sultan still retained theoretical suzerainty over the area in the 18th Century, there was in reality no meaningful Ottoman presence in Yemen. In the 1760’s, the country was ruled by the Imam, al-Mahdī ̔Abbās, the tenth Imam in the line of the House of Qasim. He was both the secular leader of the country and the spiritual leader of the dominant Zaydi sect of Shi‘ite Islam.301 The middle of the 18th Century was a period of relative political stability and economic prosperity for the area, but generally the Zaydite Imamate did not encourage contact with the world outside Yemen’s borders. The only exception was the country’s ports along the Red Sea, principally al Mukhā, al Hudaydah and al Luhayyah. They had played an important role in commerce since ancient times, and more recently with the rise in the trade of coffee, the Portuguese, Dutch and English successively supplemented the continued dominant presence of Egyptian and Indian traders. Coffee became an important export crop, although by the 1760’s, the Yemeni coffee trade was in decline due to competition from European colonies in Martinique and elsewhere. Still these contacts based on trade did not extend deep into the interior of the country. For example, when Niebuhr and his colleagues arrived in Şan‘ā’, they were the first Europeans to enter the city in forty-four years, and no Westerner had spent any substantial time there for 150 years.302 Thus by design and circumstance, Yemen remained one of the most secluded and protected areas in the Arab Middle East. As a result the members of the expedition had little accurate information about the country, and Yemen, from their standpoint, was truly unknown and potentially formidable. In al Luhayyah they presented their papers to the governor, the Amīr, an engaging former black slave from Africa who had been well-educated by his owner, now a minister for the Imam in Şan‘ā’.303 The Amīr was impressed that they were a group of scholars and not merchants and he was helpful to them in a variety of 301 For Niebuhr’s field notes on the Zaydi sect, see Niebuhr, Tagebuch, 223–224, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 1. For a brief review of the Zaydis within Shī‘ite Islam, see Farhad Daftary, “Varieties of Islam,” in The New Cambridge History of Islam, Vol. 4. Islamic Cultures and Societies to the End of the Eighteenth Century, ed. Robert Irwin (Cambridge, 2010), 131–136. 302 Niebuhr to Gähler, 25 July 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 42. This letter is reprinted in Lohmeier, “Carsten Niebuhr: Briefe von der Arabischen Reise (Folge 5),” Dithmarschen 4 (2005): 108–112. Also see the excellent review by R. L. Bidwell, “Western Accounts of San‘ā’ 1510– 1962,” in San‘ā’, ed. Serjeant and Lewcock, 108–110. 303 Their stay in al Luhayyah is described in Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 295–311; and in Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 118–139. The appointment of slaves to administrative positions, such

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ways. He immediately obtained accommodations for them in the town and presented them with a gift of a sheep. He ensured that all of their baggage from the ship went through customs without incident. He was also curious about their scientific instruments. Forsskål demonstrated his microscope by magnifying a louse, much to the Amīr’s satisfaction. Niebuhr set up his telescope so that the governor, and a gathering crowd, could look through it. The reaction was positive. As Niebuhr recorded, “With each object they called out in wonderment, Allah akbar (God is Great!) All were pleased that such special foreigners had come to their town, and we felt likewise to meet such goodhearted residents.”304 The Amīr became an enthusiastic supporter of their work and he allowed them to move freely about the region. They took advantage of that freedom. As Forsskål wrote: “You may be sure that I made the most of my opportunity to enjoy botanical excursions in this new world which had proved so supportive and safe for me. Although it was the middle of winter and the rain had long ceased so that the plants were hibernating, nonetheless nearly all of them seemed new to me, as a newly arrived botanist in these places.”305 Forsskål made at least four short trips from al Luhayyah, one to the Naeman Valleys slightly to the northeast, and three to the east and southeast, to the villages of Mawr (Mor), Kudmiyah (Kudmie), and the Wādi (Valley) Surdud.306 The soil in the Naeman Valleys was sandy and salinic from periodic inundations by sea water, so it was not particularly hospitable to an abundance of plant life. Nonetheless, he noted a number of species, particularly grasses on knolls and elsewhere that were used for roofing material on the dwellings in the region. In Kudmiyah, a small village not far from al Luhayyah, he mainly described the inhabitants’ gardens and their eating habits. The trip to Mawr was a five-day journey with a guide, and it presented him with another opportunity to observe and describe local life, which he included in his diary. He was lodged by the local Sheik and felt so secure that he enjoyed “going botanizing together with the Sheikh’s brother, as if I had been at home in Sweden.” The collecting was somewhat sparse but in the end rewarding. As he later recorded, “The first day we searched the cultivated land and in the second we went through the tamarisk woods east of the village; our third expedition was to the south-west to the little village of Adir, where we came on a as that of amīr, by the imamate was not unusual in the 18th Century. See Um, The Merchant Houses of Mocha, 76. 304 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 300. Also see Niebuhr to Gähler, 18 May 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 11. 305 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 131 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 350). 306 The best analysis of Forsskål’s botanical work in Yemen with a clear identification of the collecting localities is in Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco Arabica’, 13–17, with useful annotations on one of Niebuhr’s maps of Yemen on pp. 59–61. Also see Forskål, Flora Arabico-Yemen, IV, “Ordo & Itineris Botanci,” LXXXVIII – LXXXIX, Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 131–139, and Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 10 January 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 32/32a-b.

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field of sand with bushes. But unfortunately we did not find the enormous number of new plants people tried to make me believe we would. Even after careful research, my collection was enriched by no more than 78 wild and 13 cultivated items. But whatever may have been lacking in quantity was compensated for in novelty, for they were plants I had never seen before, and I hope they will prove just as unfamiliar and valuable to the great connoisseurs in this field.”307 Plants were more plentiful in the Wādi Surdud, which he listed as “A royal place for the flora of Yemen (Regia fedes Florae Yemen).”308 Based on Forsskål’s notes, Niebuhr later wrote, “the Wādi Surdud, which, surrounded by mountains, and profiting from cool climate and abundant water, was exuberantly rich in plants.”309 Back in al Luhayyah, Forsskål worked diligently to record the species he had collected in Arabic. In this he had the help of a local notable, whose name he records in his diary, as Schibbâr. Forrskål goes on, “He had some knowledge of the local plants and their names, and if I have transcribed them accurately I have him to thank. This is a difficulty that faces all foreigners, since we can never be certain of having correctly understood the pronunciation of what is said unless it is written down, and in any case cannot accurately reproduce in our own orthography what we hear; such things need to be written in the script used for them from time immemorial.”310 Forsskål had deep respect for the validity of the local language, and he acknowledged repeatedly the help he received from local residents in his scientific work. In addition, he gathered some information about the people, especially the local economy, trade, system of weights and measures, and the important role of coffee in the community. He took special pleasure in watching the weekly review of the town’s military garrison.311 Niebuhr was busy as well. He met with local scholars to gather information on the town’s history and economy and on the geography of the surrounding area. He also walked around al Luhayyah, measuring its size, establishing the layout of its streets and getting a sense of its houses and other buildings. These details he used in drawing a large-scale map of the town and its harbor, and for writing his description of the community later on.312 At night, he and Baurenfeind played duets on their violins much to the interest, if not necessarily to the enjoyment, Niebuhr thought, of their neighbors.313 The group had approached their visit to Yemen with trepidation because of their experience in Egypt, and the unknown and remote character of the country. 307 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 135 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 352–353). 308 Forsskål, Flora Aegyptiaco Arabica. Flora Arabico-Yemen, IV, “Ordis & Itineris Botanci,” LXXXIX, and Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco Arabica’, 13. 309 Forsskål, Flora Aegyptiaco Arabica, 10 (trans. Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco Arabica’, 14–15. 310 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 138–139 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 354). 311 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 121–122. 312 For the map of al Luhayyah, see Plate LX, Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I, and for information on the town see pp. 304–308. 313 Ibid., 302.

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But their experience in al Luhhayyah put their minds at ease. As Forsskål concluded: “After such a reception we could not but form the highest opinion of Arabia Felix. Up to this point we had suffered from rough and contemptuous people; now we found courtesy, security and freedom of movement, after the briefest acquaintance and among Arabs. All of this was as sudden as it was unexpected; it contradicted all our preconceptions and was particularly agreeable to me, as I needed to be able to venture into the wilder parts of the country and not just be content with towns and antiquities.”314 They left this receptive environment for Bayt al Faqīh on February 20, 1763, riding on donkeys with their baggage loaded on rented camels. Niebuhr had noticed that horses were rare in Yemen and therefore, in contrast to Egypt, everyone, regardless of religion or nationality, traveled by donkey. He felt much more relaxed feeling that one could travel as safely in the Tihāmah as one could in Europe.315 They followed the coast in a southeasterly direction passing through small villages and stopping at the traditional coffee houses or huts of Yemen. There they could get Gischr (Kisher), a light, almost tea-like coffee drink, made from the dried outer shells of coffee beans, or fresh water.316 The second night they stayed in a hostel or Manzale. There travelers could sleep on a serir without charge, a basket woven bench, and receive a meal of durra bread and camels’ milk or melted butter, which traditionally were mixed together and eaten with one’s hands. The innkeeper, upon discovering they were Europeans, baked a bread out of wheat flour as a sign of hospitality and offered it to them with cow’s milk – a special treat. They continued on along the coast before heading inland through rocky, arid territory to Bayt al Faqīh, which they reached on February 25th. They averaged between 35 and 40 kilometers a day, and Niebuhr continued to make astronomical observations on the way. They made Bayt al Faqīh their headquarters for exploring the Tihāmah and the nearby highlands. They rented a house for their two month stay, but unfortunately it was overrun with small, ant-like insects with whom they had an ongoing battle. The insects ate, according to Niebuhr, everything in sight – food, clothing, outside gardens and even trees, but they did not keep them from their work. The town, Niebuhr thought, had an outstanding location for trade. It was one day’s travel to the coffee-growing region, one and one-half days to the Red Sea port of al Hudaydah, four days to al Mukhā, four and one-half days to al Luhayyah and six days to 314 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 119 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 343). Also see Niebuhr’s comment to Bernstorff, “The inhabitants of Yemen are quite different from the subjects of the Turkish Sultan, for they talk in a friendly way, like foreigners and especially Franks. Your Excellency can be assured that we will try to stay in the country as long as possible; it is only that a party of 5 Franks [Europeans] who have not come to buy coffee, draws great attention in this country.” Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 20 January 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 3. Also expressed in Niebuhr to Gähler, 20 January 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 2f, and Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 38. 315 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 313. 316 The trip is described in Ibid., 311–317, and Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 139–142.

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the royal capital of Şan‘ā’. It was the largest coffee market in all of Yemen, and perhaps, he speculated, “in the entire world.”317 Buyers came to the town from Hijaz, Egypt, Syria, Istanbul, North Africa, the east coast of the Arabian Peninsula, Persia, India and even occasionally, Europe. There was, he noticed, a large community of Indians in the town, reflecting their important role in trade around the Arabian Sea. The members had a letter of introduction from al Luhayyah to a prominent merchant in Bayt al Faqīh. He was helpful in getting them through customs, giving them a nice initial meal at his own home, and helping them get settled into their rented quarters. Over time they also got to know a number of other merchants and teachers from whom Niebuhr, in particular, gained a lot of useful geographical information on the area. The local administrator, or Dola, was also cooperative and apparently unconcerned with their presence. They were able to travel freely whenever they wanted without any special permission or papers. Niebuhr completed a large-scale map of Bayt al Faqīh and the surrounding area.318 He also spotted in the town some ancient Kufic inscriptions, which he copied.319 [Fig. 12] After all his struggles in Egypt, he was pleasantly surprised by the benign setting in which he was able to do his work. “I copied them in the presence of many onlookers and not a single one spoke of buried treasure or the sorcery of Europeans as was common in Egypt when they wanted to get payment. All of my observers were very polite, especially the sheiks or educated Muslims. They appeared to be pleased that foreigners were also making an effort to understand the Kufic inscriptions, or in other words, the ancient Arabic language.”320 While in Bayt al Faqīh, he and Forsskål made another series of short trips, heading off in separate directions to explore the region.321 Niebuhr’s first such journey was to the towns of Ghalef ’ka and al Hudaydah. On these treks, he traveled alone with a rented donkey and a helper. He had learned to travel quite simply, establishing a pattern he would maintain throughout most of the rest of the expedition. He has left us a wonderful description of his dress and equipment which is worth citing. “My clothes consisted only of a turban, a long sleeveless surcoat, a loose Arabian shirt, broad linen pants and a pair of slippers. Although one does not have to be fearful of robbers in the Tihāmah, one still travels armed at all times. I had a sabre sheathed by my shoulder (under the arm and not on the hip) and a pair of pistols in my belt … An old carpet served as a blanket on my saddle, something upon which to sit and eat when resting, and at night as a pad to sleep on. My blan317 Niebuhr to Gähler, 18 May 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 11; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 318. On the central role of Bayt al Faqīh as a coffee emporium, see Um, The Merchant Houses of Mocha, 41. 318 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: Plate LXII. 319 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, Plate VI. 320 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 320. 321 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 10 January 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 32/32a-b.

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ket was a cloak or large scarf which Arabs carry over their shoulder during the day time to protect them from sun and rain. I also needed a water jug which I hung on the horn of the saddle … For some time I had tried to live like a good Arab so therefore I did not need a knife, a fork or a spoon.” 322 He left on March 7th, heading in a southwesterly direction towards the coast, he covered about 40 kilometers, passing by small villages and around huge sand dunes, measuring the distances between features as he went. He had re-calibrated his standards for determining distance over land. To keep up with the steady pace of a donkey in Yemen he calculated that a person had to take 1750 double steps in a half hour. However, if one was traveling with camels the pace was somewhat slower. A large camel averaged 975 steps and a small one 1050 per half hour. This converted to a rate of 1500 double steps per half hour for a person walking along side. These were the standards he used for determining the number of German geographical miles traveled between points of geographical interest.323 He found the coastal town of Ghalef ’ka to be in a state of serious decline. It had once been the site of an important harbor, but encroaching sands and the increase in coral reefs made access to the sea difficult. All that remained were 20–30 run-down dwellings, date palms and some ruins. With the help of the local school master, he was able to copy some additional Kufic inscriptions.324 The next day he traveled to the port city of al Hudaydah. There he met Haven and Kramer who had traveled on their own to the town to present some letters of introduction to the Dola. Haven and Kramer stayed for several days, but Niebuhr started back to Bayt al Faqīh the next morning. In a long day’s ride he covered 55 kilometers. Normally, people traveled at night in the Tihāmah because of the heat. But Niebuhr did not like to travel in the dark because he could not see the features along his path, the location of which he needed to record for his mapping. Therefore he, and Forsskål, usually had to travel during the heat of the day. After spending one day at Bayt al Faqīh, he departed on another trip – this time in a southerly direction towards Zabīd and Tuhaytah. He plotted distances, changes in direction in the path, and the locations of villages and even coffee houses as he went. He arrived in Zabīd after seven hours of travel. The town was located in the most fertile valley of the Tihāmah, although he was there during the dry season. At one time it had been a princely residence and the commercial center for the region. But the silting in of Ghalef ’ka meant that trade now went elsewhere. Thus the town was just “a shadow of its former greatness.”325 This was the kind of historical geographical data Niebuhr had been instructed to collect. Still of all the towns that Niebuhr visited in the Tihāmah, he thought Zabīd was the most beautiful. It retained a number of handsome mosques and crypts, which because of the approach 322 323 324 325

Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 322. Ibid., 311–312, footnote. Niebuhr, Beschreibung, Plates VII and VIII. Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 327.

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Fig. 12. Kufic inscriptions on tombstone in Bayt al Faqīh, copied by Niebuhr

of Ramadan, were especially well-maintained. The great Arab geographer, Abulfeda, Niebuhr knew, had written that Zābîd had once had eight town gates, but Niebuhr was only able to find four, much of the town’s walls having fallen into ruin. He took special notice of the Islamic Academy which was located in the town. It was the residence for a Mufti and three Qādis in both the Shafi̔i school of law, and the Zaydite sect, and the location of a school for young students studying Islam. He stayed in a simple hostel and had long conversations there with a visiting scherif and his young son. He then traveled the next day to the town of Tuhaytah. The innkeeper there was very kind and prepared him a special meal. Niebuhr gave him a

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small gift “which was accepted with the same great appreciation I had accepted the meal.”326 He then returned to Bayt al Faqīh on March 13, before setting out on still a third trip to the village of Kahme to inspect some ruins. With the completion of that inspection, he had explored the areas to the south, west and north of Bayt al Faqīh, thus he decided next to travel eastward to join Baurenfeind and Kramer who were already in the coffee growing highlands. Niebuhr looked forward to the cooler temperatures and lighter, fresher air of the mountains. He left on March 21st and worked his way up into the hills. It soon became too steep to ride so he went on foot. At the end of the day he met the others outside the village of Bulgose, where they decided to spend the night. He experienced coffee trees for the first time. They were in full bloom so their lovely fragrance filled the air. As might be expected the presence of the three strangers attracted much attention, especially among the women and girls who were curious to see a European. Their faces were not covered, and Niebuhr wrote that they spoke quite openly with them. Baurenfeind drew a scene of a peasant girl hauling water in a jug, with a good representation of her linen clothes decorated in blue and white.327 The next day they continued on to Hadîe, a small coffee market town. They stayed with the local administrator, whose house had a beautiful view of the terraced farm lands with the higher mountains in the background. Baurenfeind captured this scene in one of his drawings.328 They returned to Bayt al Faqīh the next day. These short, unspectacular trips around the Tihāmah and into the highlands were examples of Niebuhr’s daily work as a cartographer. They provided, little by little, the data and other ancillary information he needed to craft his map of Yemen. He also gathered valuable anthropological and ethnographic information on Southern Arabia. Together with Forsskål, his examination of the region was quite complete. As one scholar, who has explored the Tihāmah has noted, “They travelled the length of the Yemeni Tihāmah from al-Luhayyah to al Mukhā (Mocha) and were able to describe every aspect of Tihāmah life.”329 These investigations, carried out day after day, demonstrated his sturdiness as a traveler. Carrying his kit, and sometimes his instruments, he averaged 40–50 kilometers a day of walking and riding in the hot desert, recording his measurements and other descriptive information in a little notebook as he went.330Of course, their Arab friends in Bayt al Faqīh 326 Ibid., 331. 327 Ibid., Plate LXIV 328 Ibid., Plate LXV. 329 Francine Stone, ed., Studies in the Tihāmah. The Report of the Tihāmah Expedition 1982 and Related Papers (Essex, England, 1985), 34. 330 The daily descriptions of his journey are remarkably detailed. His original field journal, or Tagebuch, still exists for this part of the trip. Typically his record for each day filled two pages in his journal, with some 28–30 lines of small handwriting, listing the distance, time and direction traveled for each segment of the trip, even if only a few minutes long. These historic itineraries were interspersed periodically with sometimes lengthy descriptive information on the place they visited. See UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 6

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were perplexed by the routines of Niebuhr and Forsskål. To them, Niebuhr wrote, “it was incomprehensible that Herr Forsskål and I would regularly find enjoyment riding around in such intense heat.”331 We know from Niebuhr’s account, the Introduction to the Flora Arabico-Yemen and a few letters, that Forsskål was busy botanizing with success in the region around Bayt al Faqīh, although Forsskål’s own diary goes into very little detail about his scientific work. In March he made an extended trip into the coffee growing region of the al Hadiyah mountains. He visited a number of villages including Bulgose, Makaja and Örs, and he explored several mountain peaks in the area. This was his first opportunity to see coffee being grown in the highlands. As Niebuhr recorded in his outline of Forsskål’s itinerary, “After Bulgose a flat valley enclosed on all sides in which coffee was grown and in which was seen various ferns and orchids that had not been collected hitherto. The gardens are on the steep hillsides; coffee is the principal crop.”332 This trip was followed by a short trip to the town of Jiblah about which we know little. Then because Forsskål knew both the terrain and the local dialects, Niebuhr talked him into making yet another trip into the highlands. On March 26th they embarked on a twelve day journey, heading initially in a southeasterly direction from Bayt al Faqīh with two donkeys and some helpers.333 By now they had both grown a “respectable Arabian beard,” and had taken Arab names, so with their simple, long attire, they took on, Niebuhr thought, “a real middle eastern appearance.”334 They worked their way towards the mountains, passing by the Wādi Zabīd, the first fast-flowing river Niebuhr had seen in Yemen. As they moved into the higher country, ascending on winding trails, calculating distance and noting direction with his compass became more complicated for Niebuhr, and required more care. They stayed in small hostels and coffee huts along the way, normally eating durra bread and camels’ milk. They passed through many small hamlets and some larger villages which had markets. On March 29th they stopped in Udayn, a small town consisting of perhaps 250–300 houses. Niebuhr reported that the coffee from this area was reputed to be the best in all of Yemen. Along the way they saw small water huts, where travelers could get a drink of clear, fresh mountain water, and small stone refuges where walkers could take shelter from the frequent rain storms. The temperature had dropped to a comfortable 71 degrees Fahrenheit during the day. Niebuhr noticed the change in local clothing. While farmers in the Tihāmah wore almost nothing, the people of the mountains wore sheepskins. They passed through Jiblah on March 30th and turned south towards Ta‘izz, where they hired a mountain guide to take them to the top of Mt. Choddra 331 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 337. 332 Forskål, Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, Flora Arabico-Yemen, LXXXIX (trans. Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco Arabica’, 15). 333 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 10 January 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 32/32a-b; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 337–355. 334 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 338.

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to inspect a ruined castle. The ruins turned out to be old but undistinguished and Niebuhr found no inscriptions there, as he had hoped. On April 2 they arrived in the historic community of Ta‘izz (it will be discussed later), which they passed through inconspicuously. On this occasion they carried no letters of introduction or special passes and did not want to draw attention. From Ta‘izz they headed back towards the Tihāmah, arriving in Oude on April 4th. There Forsskål made an important discovery. He noticed a large Balsam tree in full bloom outside the town and determined that it was the famed Balsam of Mecca – Commiphora gileadensis.335 He had been seeking the species, at the request of both Michaelis and Linnaeus, without success, since their arrival in Egypt. The tree figured prominently in the Old Testament as the Balm of Gilead, specifically in Genesis 37:25, and Jeremiah 8:22 and 46:11. He took time to describe it in detail and took some samples of its flowers. They continued back towards Bayt al Faqīh through the towns of Has and again Zabīd, where Niebuhr was struck with a cold fever.336 The next day he felt somewhat better and was able to proceed to their headquarters town. They had covered around 350 kilometers in this long, loop-like journey, and had botanized regularly, it appears, along the way. Upon their return, however, they found that Haven was quite sick, which they attributed to an attack of scurvy or another incident of a cold fever.337 Niebuhr believed that too often when staying in their main towns they had eaten too much meat and had failed to adapt to the local diet. This was particularly true, he thought, for those, principally Haven, who had failed to get regular exercise. By now Haven rarely went outside, remaining in bed except to eat. Niebuhr’s assessment was completely wrong. Haven had contracted malaria, the cause of which was still unknown in the 18th Century. A Tragic Ending in Yemen: al Mukhā – Şan‘ā’ – Bombay

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his bad news was followed by a disaster in Bayt al Faqīh, where a fire broke out on April 17th. Because of the heat, high winds and the grass roofs on the houses, the fire quickly spread and the greatest part of the town was destroyed. Niebuhr was most struck by the reaction of its citizens. “I saw proof of the steadfastness of Arabs in the face of misfortune …. Throughout the Arabs remained calm. There was no howling or screaming in the streets, and when we expressed regret over their fate, they answered: It is God’s Will.”338 It was time to leave. After 335 Forsskål to Linnaeus, 18 April 1763, in Fries, ed., Bref och Skrifelser af och till Carl von Linné, VI, #1360, 162–164; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 351–352. In violation of the Royal Instructions, Forsskål immediately upon their return to Bayt al Faqīh informed Linnaeus directly of his discovery. 336 Niebuhr to Gähler, 18 May 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 11. 337 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 354. 338 Ibid., 355.

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a few days, both Haven and Niebuhr seemed to be feeling better, so having thoroughly explored the Tihāmah and some of the highlands, the expedition left for al Mukhā on April 20, 1763. The weather remained very hot so the party traveled at night, with the exception of Niebuhr and Forsskål who continued to focus on their work during the day. Initially, the latter two passed through some valleys and scattered farmland, but soon they were struggling through desolate, sandy stretches where the heat was almost unbearable.339 Niebuhr continued to make his astronomical observations and to record geographic data. After four days, he and Forsskål arrived in al Mukhā on the 23rd of April, ahead of the other members of the expedition. All travelers by land arriving in the town must pass through the Bāb al-Schādilī, a gate through which, in a reminder of Cairo, all Europeans must dismount and walk.340 Forsskål and Niebuhr did so without incident. Because arrangements had been made ahead of time from al Luhayyah, they were able to go directly to a house rented for them and deposit their baggage. The next morning the other members of the expedition arrived in al Mukhā with their baggage, which was immediately taken to the Customs House, where the Dola was waiting for them. Their friend the Amīr in al Luhayyah had tried to ease their reception by writing that they were a group of scholars and not merchants and therefore had no products of value. The group asked that their bedding, kitchen equipment and other personal effects be inspected and cleared first, but the inspector chose to start with the chests of Forsskål’s natural specimens which had arrived earlier by ship and had been stored, unopened, in the building. He opened one of Forsskål’s jars with fish specimens preserved in spirits, dumped out the fish, and spilled the alcohol on the floor. The room was immediately filled with the horrible stench of rotten fish and alcohol. Niebuhr wrote: “One can only imagine what the Arabs, whose religion strictly forbids strong drinks, said, and how shamed we must have been because the Dola and his assessor saw their customs house so defiled by our things.”341 Next the inspector broke open a case with jellyfish and other marine animals from al Luhayyah that were, as specimens, not completely dried. They also had a robust odor. This caused more grumbling and complaints about the visitors. Then boxes of shellfish were opened, scattered about and broken as the inspector stirred the chest with an iron rod. Finally, as Forsskål recounts, “they found a bottle containing a snake preserved in spirits. This created total confusion. Both the Dola’s men and the Dola assumed we were the sort of people who use such things to practice sorcery and decided the stuff

339 Ibid., 355–358. 340 The important function of the gate is described in Um, The Merchant Houses of Mocha, 180– 181. 341 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 364. Also Niebuhr to Gähler, 8 June 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3– 005, File 1, Nr. 40. This letter is reprinted in Lohmeier, “Carsten Niebuhr: Briefe von der Arabischen Reise,” Dithmarschen 3 (2005): 80–85.

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should be thrown into the sea.”342 The group was accused of trying to poison the entire town, whereupon the Dola declared, “By God, these people should not be allowed to spend a single night in our town!”343 With that some of the specimens were thrown into the street, the Customs House was closed without their being able to obtain any of their equipment, and they and their gear were summarily thrown out of the house Forsskål and Niebuhr had already visited. The situation looked bleak, and following their generally warm reception in Yemen to date, was unexpected. As Forsskål wrote with great understatement, “all of this tested our patience.” 344 Fortunately, thanks to the help of a Scottish merchant, Francis Scott, and some officers from an English ship, who had heard of their plight, and the local Qādi, the situation in al Mukhā stabilized. Scott was an agent for the British East India Company attached to one of the company’s ships that lay in the harbor.345 They paid the Dola 50 gold ducats, a sizable sum, to facilitate the release of their goods, they found new lodging, the natural specimens were retrieved and safely stored, and good relations with the Dola were established.346 Meanwhile during the month of May, Haven’s condition had steadily worsened. He suffered from the heat during the day, and by the end of the month, he had become so weak that he could barely walk. On May 25th he wrote his testament, and that night Niebuhr reported that he was delirious, speaking at random in Arabic, French, Italian, German and Danish. He died that night.347 The last entry in his journal, made that day, read: “After midday God granted me, I have faith, a blessed end. I was born the 26th of June 1728.”348 342 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 145 (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 357). 343 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 365. This strong reaction may have been colored by the fact that the Akhdam, a tribe of people living in the Tihāmah, believed in an ancient snake cult and were strongly suspected of witchcraft. See Stephan and Nandy Ronart, Concise Encyclopedia of Arabic Civilization (New York, 1960), 565. 344 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 145, (trans. Hansen, ed., Apostles, 357). 345 Scott was extremely helpful to the members in al Mukhā, and later especially to Niebuhr in Bombay. While Niebuhr was in al Mukhā Scott wrote in Niebuhr’s Stambog, his autograph album from his student days, which he continued to keep on the journey, “May all Pursuits after usefull Knowledge be crowned with Success, and those employed in them with Honour. I will always be proud Sir, of Acknowledging the happiness I have had in your acquaintance ….” 7 June 1763, Niebuhrs Stambog, Kongelige Bibliothek, Copenhagen, bl. 41b. Niebuhr’s Stambog was discovered in 2010 in New Zealand and acquired by the Kongelige Bibliothek. It is now part of the Manuscript Collection. A full analysis of the Stambog as a genre in the 17th and 18th Centuries, as well as a summary of its contents is in Dieter Lohmeier and Stig Rasmussen, “Carsten Niebuhrs Stambog,” Fund og Forskning 49 (2010): 103–133. Later in 1798, Niebuhr’s son, Barthold Georg Niebuhr visited the elderly Scott and his family during a visit to Edinburgh. Dore Hensler, Lebensnachrichten über Barthold Georg Niebuhr, Vol. 1 (Hamburg, 1838), 203–205. 346 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 366–368. 347 Niebuhr to Gähler, 8 June 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 40. Also Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 369. 348 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min sundheds Forliis, 385. He was actually off by one year as he

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Forsskål makes no mention of Haven’s death in his diary, but to Linnaeus, he wrote with no compassion that Haven’s death would make their journey much easier, because “His temperament was downright troublesome.”349 In a letter he drafted for the group to Bernstorff he concluded coldly, after briefly reporting Haven’s death, that: “We find our obligations and work enlarged because of this occurrence and we will endeavor together to continue in the best possible way the historical and other investigations which previously were incumbent upon him.”350 Niebuhr’s comment on Haven’s death is much shorter. He merely states that both he and Haven were ill in al Mukhā; he recovered, but Haven became weaker and died.351 Years later, in the Reisebeschriebung, Niebuhr presented a detailed account of Haven’s last days, and concluded, “Herr von Haven had principally dedicated himself to oriental literature. Scholarship thereby lost the one in our party from whom one properly in the future could have expected the most important discoveries in Middle Eastern scholarship.” 352 It was a terse but polite evaluation. Clearly at the time of his death, relations between the members had not substantially improved. Haven’s overall contribution to the expedition will be discussed in Chapter Four, but certainly before becoming sick he accomplished almost nothing during his visit to Yemen. Indeed after returning from the Sinai and then departing from Suez, there are almost no entries of scholarly substance in his journal and scant evidence that he took other notes of importance. The exception was the purchase of six manuscripts in Bayt al Faqīh and possibly others in al Mukhā.353 The Red Sea and Yemen periods of the expedition, that is the Arabian stage which was the main purpose of the entire enterprise, simply did not match well with his talents or disposition. The exploration of Yemen was an exercise in field work. Conditions were rough and rustic. Away from a major city and cultural center such as Cairo, which had a significant European presence, members were dependent almost entirely on local Arab support. Even the capital city of Şan‘ā’, had he reached it, would have tested his ability to speak and interact with a highly educated, exclusively Arab community. While his disposition had nothing to do with his death from malaria, it is true that Haven appears not to have had the capabilities, fortitude or basic curiosity to do productive work in such an environment. Michaelis’ original vision for the expedition was focused on philological investigations in Yemen because, as we have said, of his belief that language use and customs in this remote part of Arabia would inform a better understanding of the historical times in which the was born in 1727. 349 Forsskal to Linnaeus, 9 June 1763, in Fries, ed., Bref och Skrifelser af och till Carl von Linné, VI, #1363, 167. 350 Die gelehrte Gesellschaft to Bernstorff. 9 June 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 12. 351 Niebuhr to Gähler, 25 July 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 42. 352 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 369. 353 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min sundheds Forliis, 380 and 382; and Rasmussen, “Frederik Christian von Haven og de filogiske resultater,”334.

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Bible was written. This scholarly objective now became a casualty of the realities of the expedition, and its philological dimension, one of the original three main lines of inquiry for the journey, while not entirely lost, would be severely weakened. Francis Scott, and the crew of the English ship which had been so helpful to the expedition during their stay, arranged for six Catholic sailors from India to carry Haven’s casket to a European cemetery outside of town where he was buried on May 26, 1763.354 Haven’s death may have been a relief to Forsskål, but it also created an underlying anxiety within the group. The threat of death, always present as a potential danger, now became real. This anxiety, together with their uncomfortable reception in al Mukhā, caused them to reevaluate how long they would stay in Yemen. They pondered their next steps. Niebuhr and Forsskål had explored much of northern and western Yemen to their satisfaction, but they had not visited the stretch inland through the mountains from al Mukhā to Şan‘ā’, nor the area immediately surrounding the port. They also knew that the English ship would be leaving shortly for the season. If they failed to take passage on the ship, they would be stuck in Yemen for another year, or possibly two, and during most of that period there would be no British presence, which had been of such help to them. They were running low on funds and they were concerned about their security in the absence of the British.355 As a result they decided to leave immediately for the city of the Imam, although Niebuhr probably would have preferred first to make some short side trips from al Mukhā to explore the region as he had done from Bayt al Faqīh. The plan, unless they possibly decided to stay longer in Şan‘ā’, was to return before the East India Company ship sailed.356 With this decision they fundamentally shortened the length of stay in Yemen called for in the Royal Instructions, which was to have been at least two years.357 The Dola agreed to contact the Imam to obtain permission for their visit and to provide them with the required letters of introduction, but he would not allow them to begin the first part of the trip. As it turned out, while watching his detachment of soldiers do their drills, one of his own men had accidentally discharged his weapon and shot the Dola in the foot. He now demanded that the group stay in al Mukhā so that Kramer could treat his wound. It was only when an Arab doctor 354 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 369. 355 Niebuhr to Gähler, 8 June 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 40. They believed the East India Company ships normally came only once every two years. See Niebuhr to Gähler, 18 May 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 11 and Die gelehrte Gesellschaft to Bernstorff, 9 June 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 12. 356 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 370; and Die gelehrte Gesellschaft to Bernstorff, 9 June 1763 (drafted by Forsskål), RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 12. 357 Although Forsskål had written to Gähler already in January of 1763, that he thought one year in Yemen would suffice to explore the country because of its relatively small size. Forsskål to Gähler, 21 January 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 2d. Also Haven had noted in his journal early on that their lack of money would necessitate shortening their stay in Arabia. See KBK, NKS 133, 2º, Vol. 1, 490.2.

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arrived in town two weeks later, and other complications had been resolved, that they were allowed to leave, which they did on June 9th.358 Their route took them to Ta‘izz, where they would wait for official approval from the Imam for their visit. They traveled once again across the desert into the mountains, heading this time in a northeasterly direction, passing through small villages and stopping periodically in coffee houses to drink. Forsskål identified a variety of plant species similar to what he had seen in the Wādi Surdud and the al Hadiyah mountains. They slept on the bare ground as they went.359 They arrived in Ta‘izz after five days of travel. Although pressed for time, Niebuhr was still conscientious in his collection of geographical data. His entries in his journal for each day of travel recorded in detail the time, distance and direction of travel for each segment of their journey, and he gathered descriptive information about the places they stayed. He was equally diligent in his astronomical observations. For example, on June 14, he determined their latitude to be 13º 34' 16" N, an extremely accurate reading. This was based on shooting eight stars. He discarded the lowest and highest readings, and determined his calculations from the remaining six. Thus he was not cutting corners, but followed sound and conservative procedures for the exercise.360 In Ta‘izz they presented their papers to the Dola, who initially was very helpful in getting them settled. Now they had to wait for the Imam’s approval. In the meantime, Niebuhr gathered a good deal of information on the current political situation and administrative arrangements in the district. Ta‘izz, he found out, had just come through a period of great turbulence, having been plundered by the forces of the Imam in 1760. Niebuhr walked the streets collecting data for a plan he later executed of the town. He also drew a simple scene of the walled city, its buildings climbing up the slopes of mountains that lay behind.361 On June 19th, Forsskål was able to make a short trip to botanize, but he was disappointed to find only four new plants.362 He returned to Ta‘izz on the 21st of June. This appears to have been his last journey specifically for botanizing. He and Niebuhr wanted to make additional short excursions, but this was blocked by the Dola who became uncooperative. Finally, they received notification that the Imam had approved their entry to Şan‘ā’. Still it took the intervention of the local Qādi before the Dola allowed them to leave. These complications frustrated the group and wasted time. They left Ta‘izz on June 28th, but now they were worried because Forsskål had become ill. 358 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 373. 359 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 147. 360 Niebuhr, Tagebuch, 14 June 1763, 20(1), UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 6. Calculated in Ta‘izz, it coincides very closely with a number of satellite readings for Ta‘izz taken today, especially when the variation in those GPS readings is taken into consideration as well as the fact that the precise location of Niebuhr’s observations within the community of Ta‘izz remains, of course, unknown. . 361 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: Plates LXVI and LXVII. 362 Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 156.

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They traveled with intermittent thunderstorms through the mountains on steep, narrow paths. The terrain was rocky, crisscrossed with fast-flowing streams, and interspersed with scattered cultivated farmland. By the beginning of July, Forsskål’s condition had worsened.363 They decided to stop in a village so he could rest. But the village was too small for them to stay, so the next day they pressed on to the town of Yarīm ( Jerim). By now Forsskål was so weak they had to strap him in his bed to the back of a camel in order to make the short trip.364 There they rented a house in the hope that with rest Forsskål would recover. In the first days after their arrival he seemed to improve. This gave Niebuhr time to use his quadrant to determine their position, to inspect the town, complete two drawings, and ask many questions of the residents. The area had not had precipitation in three months, and because of the drought, it was being devastated by locusts. On July 8th, Niebuhr observed a procession in which the town’s inhabitants prayed for rain.365 After a few days Forsskål’s fever returned and became worse and the night of July 10th he fell into a coma. He died the next morning and was buried a day later. It was at this time that Niebuhr pledged to himself that Forsskål’s research would be published for the scientific world, and we shall see later that Niebuhr made every effort to keep that pledge.366 Forsskål was only 31 years old. His death was particularly hard on Niebuhr, who by now was once again sick. Forsskål had become a good friend, colleague and, probably, methodological influence with whom he had tromped many miles in the Middle East and for whom he had great respect. Forsskål had gathered geographical information for Niebuhr, and likewise Niebuhr collected plant specimens for Forsskål during some of Niebuhr’s independent geographical explorations.367 As Niebuhr later wrote: “We greatly regretted his loss; for because he interacted so much with ordinary people through his energetic botanizing, he not only among the entire group spoke the best Arabic and had learned its different dialects (and was as a consequence very often our spokesperson), but he embraced with passion the successful consummation of our expedition. It was as though he was born to make an Arabian journey.”368 Niebuhr was right. Forsskål tackled the work of the expedition with skill and enthusiasm. Even though his research in Yemen was cut short slightly, he had already accomplished a great deal. His many botanical excursions in Yemen turned out to be significant for a number of reasons and are worthy of further discussion. First, he was simply very productive. He identified, described and collected 693 plant specimens of which 33 represented new genera, and 361 new species.369 These 363 See Niebuhr Tagebuch, 2 July 1763, 30(1)-31(2), UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 6. 364 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 399. 365 Ibid., 401. 366 Niebuhr, Tagebuch, 30(2) and 35(2), UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 6. 367 See Entwürfe Niebuhrs für Widmung und Vorort zur Ausgabe der Aufzeichnungen Forsskåls, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.3, Nr. 11–4, p. 3. 368 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 401 369 Christensen, Naturforskeren Pehr Forsskal, 73.

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were studied in a wide variety of habitats based on considerations of soil, terrain, altitude and climate. His descriptions have been called “detailed and competent.”370 Second, it was especially in Yemen that Forsskål preferred, when possible, to incorporate Arabic names into the nomenclature he adopted. As Niebuhr wrote, almost certainly based on notes by Forsskål, in the Introduction to the Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, “If the names of natural objects in Arabic agree with our pronunciation and flow freely in the form outlined by the system, then they should be adopted [as scientific names] and not lack protection from my part, as this language when priority of age is concerned far exceeds Greek and Latin, from which we often adopt names for species which neither a Greek nor a Roman can possibly have known. Nor are the Arab names meaningless. In Yemen, as in Europe, each province often uses “nomina trivilia” which is formed on the basis of common names recognized in the entire region. These common names are in no way of recent date, but have come about through a long development, and can be found both in the works of learned people and in the oral tradition.”371 Interestingly, as F. Nigel Hepper and Ib Friis have pointed out, Forsskål also used much more frequently the Arab common name than a name in Arabic based on geographic place. Thus, as common names are frequently a more integral reflection of the culture of which they are a part than a place name, this choice too established a still closer fit between the indigenous culture and the scientific name he chose for a plant genus or species, although Forsskål considered place names also to have an honored connection to a locality. So, to provide a few representative samples, he named a genus of herbs in the Boraginaceae, Arnebia, from the Arab “sagaret el arneb,” a genus of shrubs and small trees in the Capparaceae, Cadaba, from the Arab “Kadhab,” or finally, a genus of shrubs and lianas in the Malpighiacae, Caucanthus, for the Arab common name “kauka”. Forsskål’s approach to nomenclature shows that exclusively European-based terminology did not have automatic primacy over the traditional, locally-based vernacular. Quite the contrary, he favored the vernacular unless it did not fit for some reason the overall structure of scientific classification.372 Third, it was his investigation of plants in Yemen, because of the great variations in altitude and habitat there, that stimulated the more extensive development of his thoughts on biogeography. This had been a topic of interest for Linnaeus, and we know from a letter to Linnaeus on June 9, 1763, from al Mukhā, that Forsskål was also very much occupied with the problem of defining plant zones.373 At some 370 Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 28. 371 Forskål, Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, Intro, 22 (trans. Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskåls ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 27). 372 Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 27–28. For a full discussion of Forsskål’s use of Arabic names, see especially Provençal, The Arabic Plant Names of Peter Forsskål’s flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica. 373 Forsskål to Linnaeus, 9 June 1763, Fries, ed., Bref och Skrifelser af och till Carl von Linné, VI, Nr. 1363, 166–169. On Linnaeus’ interest see Gunnar Ericksson, “Linnaeus the Botanist,” in Linnaeus. ed. Frängsmyr, 105–107.

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point in al Mukhā, or perhaps in Ta‘izz, he must have taken time to put down his ideas on paper. It seems likely that these were subsequently the basis for the parts of the Introduction to the Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica written by Niebuhr that deal in a somewhat convoluted way with this subject. Niebuhr’s section discusses the importance of gathering information on plant habitats and distribution, and of analyzing the differences and the relationships between plant localities. As Niebuhr, on Forsskål’s behalf, emphasized: “I have wished to stress this to those who do not, with the same conviction as Forsskål feel the necessity to add to the description of each species information of its habitat, which could be called the dialect with which it speaks to the botanist. These words, which are not unimportant, but of great significance, I have preserved in connection with the actual localities. In order to give the reader a clear impression of the composition of the flora from where it has originated, and on which principles it rests in this overseas part of the world, I shall add a general physical-geographical sketch.” Based on Forsskål’s extensive notes, Niebuhr did exactly that in both the Flora Aegyptiaco and the Flora Arabico-Yemen. With this kind of data generally collected and compared, Forsskål’s analysis argued that the results had broader implications for the botanist regarding plant geography. Thus Forsskål’s point that “When the plants are known, it is therefore possible to draw conclusions about the latitude of the country, about the variation in altitude, further about the zonation of the vegetation, from their base to the highest peaks. Such observations are equally profitable whether they relate to gardening or to botany. From these rules deductions can be made about the place of origin and colonization, and about the history of plant migrations, how they moved over the world, as foreigners, migrants, harmful, or as cultivated, harmless, splendid or home-born.”374 Thus in both his methodology for observation and collection of data, and in the conclusions he drew from the data and the personal experience of observation, Forsskål was one of the pioneers in the development of floristic biogeography. As the Encyclopedia Britannica had already recognized in its 1855 edition, “Forskål laid the foundation of geographical botany, which has proved of such interest and importance in the hands of Humboldt and other recent scientific travelers.”375 Indeed we can see that Forsskål’s investigations in the different habitats of the region, culminating with his observations in the mountains of Yemen, with their greatly varied altitudes, was a revelatory experience for him much like that of Alexander von Humboldt in South America in 1802. Humboldt’s climbing of Mount Chimborazo was decisive in helping to define his detailed and creative scientific work in plant geography. To be sure we cannot know the full extent of Forsskål’s thinking on the topic based on Niebuhr’s fragmentary presentation. But it is clear that in his 374 Introduction to Forskål, Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, 11, (trans. Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 35–36). 375 Encyclopedia Britannica, Vol. IX, 1855, cited in Christensen, Naturforskeren Pehr Forsskål, 52.

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identification of altitudinal vegetation zones and the articulation of other variables that shape plant colonization, distribution and migration, Forsskål represents a significant figure in the development of plant geography in the 18th Century. This is a development with contributors as diverse as Linnaeus, Johann Reinhold Forster, the naturalist on Cook’s Second Voyage, Immanuel Kant, and ultimately, Humboldt.376 When he died at such a young age, the 18th Century lost one of its most promising natural scientists. Forsskål combined energy and determination with technical excellence and creative intelligence. He did not just catalog plants and animals according to the emerging Linnaean protocols, he was also expansive in his gathering of data and experimental and speculative in his analysis of what the data meant. He was an astute observer, an indefatigable collector and a discriminating evaluator of scientific findings. In short, he was a very able representative of the 18th Century age of inquiry and classification in the Natural Sciences. The group, now diminished in size, left Yarīm for Şan‘ā’ on July 13th. Their first stop was the town of Dharmār where the news of their presence in the region had created a stir. No European had been by in many years. As a result, a crowd of onlookers met them two kilometers outside of town and the crowd increased in number as Niebuhr and the group tried to approach the dwelling where they were to stay. Outside the building, with the residents pressing upon them, Kramer maneuvering his donkey accidentally knocked down a spectator. The mood in the crowd quickly turned ugly. People, Niebuhr wrote, “began to grumble about the insolence of the infidels,” and they started to throw stones at the building once Niebuhr and the others got inside.377 It turned out that most of the rock throwers were young students at the Islamic Academy in the town. The unrest slowly subsided, a local official arrived to meet with them, and soon, when the townspeople found out that Kramer was a doctor, the group was overrun with people seeking medical advice.378

376 For a discussion of Humboldt and others, see the three articles by Malcolm Nicolson, “Alexander von Humboldt, Humboldtian Science and the Origins of the Study of Vegetation,” History of Science 25 (1987): 167–194; “Humboldtian Plant Geography after Humboldt: The Link to Ecology,” The British Journal for the History of Science 29 (1996): 289–310, esp. 289–292; and “Alexander von Humboldt and the geography of vegetation,” in Romanticism and the Sciences, ed. Andrew Cunningham and Nicholas Jardine (Cambridge, 1990), 169–185. Also important is the excellent introduction by Stephen T. Jackson, in Alexander von Humboldt and Aimé Bonpland, Essay on the Geography of Plants, ed. Stephen T. Jackson and trans. Sylvie Romanowski (Chicago, 2009), 1–52. The very beginnings of such investigations are discussed on pp. 5–13. Also see the interesting presentation in Marie-Noëlle Bourguet, “Landscape with numbers. Natural history, travel and instruments in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, “ in Instruments, Travel and Science. Itineraries of precision from the seventeenth to the twentieth century, ed. Marie-Noëlle Bourguet, Christian Licoppe and H. Otto Sibum (London, 2002), 96–125. 377 Niebuhr, Tagebuch, 39(1)-39(2), UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 6; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 406 378 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 407

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They left Dharmār the next day. Now in addition to the intermittent sickness of Niebuhr, their reliable orderly, Lars Berggren, became ill. He had to stay behind one day because he was too weak to travel.379 They rode up a crooked trail through more villages with small, but fertile plots of grapes and fruit trees. The mountains above were still rocky and barren. After two more days of travel they approached the outskirts of Şan‘ā’. It was July 16th. About three kilometers outside the city they were met by a representative of Fakih Achmed, the Senior Minister to the Imam. The group had already changed into their Turkish clothes so as to be more presentable. He welcomed them to the royal city, explained that they had been long expected, and that the Imam had rented a country house for them in the nearby village of Bir el Assab. As the official and his entourage led them to their quarters, they were ordered to dismount and walk, while the official and his escorts rode. This again was an unpleasant reminder of previous experiences and reinforced their sense of being strangers. Regardless, the house had beautiful rooms and a lovely natural garden with many fruit trees. The day after they arrived, the Imam presented them with five sheep, three camel loads of wood (firewood being scarce and expensive), rice and other food. They soon found out, however, that they were not to leave the house nor accept visitors until they had had an audience with the Imam. The audience occurred two days later on July 19th. The minister’s secretary escorted them to the Imam’s Palace, through its outer courtyard, crowded with officials, soldiers and horses, and into the large, high-ceilinged throne room. The center of the room was dominated by a large fountain whose spray of water rose fourteen feet, Niebuhr estimated, into the air. The floor of the room was covered with fine Persian rugs, and at the end, behind the fountain, was a dais. Upon the dais was a small square platform, covered with silk and large, richly upholstered, cushions. There cross-legged sat the Imam, al-Mahdī ‘Abbās, dressed in a bright green robe with long flowing sleeves and wearing a very large white turban. To the Imam’s right stood all of his sons, and to his left his brothers.380 The Imam’s senior minister, Fakih Achmed, stood in front, and along the length of the throne room on both sides back to the entrance were assembled the officials of the court. In this imposing setting, with the room completely silent, the group of four was led to the throne, each in turn kissing the palm and back of the Imam’s hand, and then the hem of his robe. Each time they did so, a herald would cry out “God Save the Imam!”which all in attendance would repeat. Niebuhr then made a brief greeting and statement. He had decided to use an interpreter to convert his imperfect and colloquial Arabic into the elegant language of the court. The Imam in turn welcomed them to his country and granted them permission to stay as long as they wished. With that the audience was over. They again kissed the hand of the Imam 379 Ibid., 408 380 The Imam, Niebuhr recorded in his Tagebuch, had 15–20 brothers and 10 sons, 48(1), UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 6.

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and withdrew from the hall. It was quite an experience for the entire group, especially for the son of a farmer from the north coast of Hanover.381 That afternoon they were directed to meet with the senior minister at his country house. They were told that he was especially interested in their scientific instruments about which he had already heard so much in reports from their stops along the coast. Niebuhr, however, decided to leave his main instruments at their quarters because he feared that they might be coveted by the Imam and he would be required to relinquish them as an act of courtesy. So he brought only a compass, a spy glass, a microscope and some charts. His fear, he discovered, was unfounded. They had a very pleasant meeting with the minister, who Niebuhr thought was a learned man with strong interests in science and geography.382 With these formalities completed, Niebuhr turned his attention to the historic city of Şan‘ā’ The city he was about to explore was not just a royal residence, but was an ancient cultural center for southern Arabia. It maintained a rich intellectual tradition, based on a strong community of scholars and writers active in literature, and the study of history, philosophy, science and religion. It was a walled, medieval-like city, situated on a high plain with an average elevation of about 2300 meters. It was not large, having probably a population of 12,000 to 14,000 people in the 18th Century. Its narrow, twisted streets were lined with tall, tower-like, architecturally distinctive buildings constructed out of orange/brown brick, with the walls, window openings, doorways and roof lines trimmed in white stone and handsome filigrees. In 1986, this architectural treasure was recognized by UNESCO when the old city was declared a World Heritage Site.383 Once again Niebuhr began the process of gathering information about a community he was visiting.384 He completed astronomical observations to determine accurately the location of the city, and he began to explore its streets and compact neighborhoods. For example, he recorded that it took him one hour and eight minutes to walk around the entirety of the town walls and that the walls’ numerous small towers were spaced about thirty double steps apart. He determined the location of the four main gates and three smaller gates. His original goal was to pace the streets and passageways with his compass in hand to determine the city’s layout. But everywhere he went he was accompanied by a large crowd, so he was reluctant to make his data-gathering obvious. As a consequence he rarely used his compass. He walked by six mosques, including the Jami al-Kabir, one of the most important in the Middle East, counted the minarets and took note of the beautiful palaces in the city, many built by the reigning Imam. It was a period of economic prosperity 381 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 413–415. 382 Ibid., 416. 383 For a marvelous study of the many dimensions of Şan‘ā’, especially its architecture, see Serjeant and Lewcock, eds., San‘ā.’ Also see Ronald Lewcock, The old walled city of San‘ā’ (Paris, 1986), commissioned by UNESCO. 384 For his description of Şan‘ā’, see Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 418–425.

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in Şan‘ā’. He visited the city’s large caravansaries and many markets, each filled with a separate food product, such as apricots, pears, peaches, dried fruit, bread (sold only by women), butter and one with 20 different varieties of grapes. He passed by tradesmen selling their services and wares – barbers, goldsmiths, bookbinders, scribes with little tables, tailors and cabinet makers. He saw a market where one could exchange used clothing for new. He visited the Jewish community, located in a town outside the city. It had a population of about 2,000 people. Niebuhr reported that Jews were suffering because one of their leaders had fallen into disfavor with the Imam and had been imprisoned. As a consequence, twelve of the fourteen synagogues and other buildings in the town had been destroyed. Conditions for the small Indian community were likewise difficult. Thus Niebuhr was able to add to his growing collection of notes on life in Arabia. He also completed a town plan for Şan‘ā’, although he did not consider it to be highly accurate, a judgment shared by present day scholars.385 Although Niebuhr examined the city in some detail, overall his treatment is brief. After all, the group was there just for ten days, only seven of which could be used for exploring. From the outset it appears he was understandably preoccupied with the return trip to al-Mukhā and their departure for India. The deaths of Haven and Forsskål weighed upon him.386 As his son later wrote, “This is the only time in the journey where he gave in to depression and closed down. He found himself at last in a condition of gloomy resignation.”387 Nonetheless, looking at the pages of information he gathered in his Tagebuch during his stay, it is remarkable given his health that he was able to explore and describe as much as he did.388 Still it has been noted, for example, that he spent little or no time meeting with members of the substantial scholarly community in the city who would have been a valuable source of information on life in Yemen. It may be that he felt inadequate because of the absence of Haven and Forsskål. And perhaps because of what he perceived to be his limited command of academic Arabic and knowledge of the area, he also thought that true scholars would not be interested in wasting time with him. In any case, Niebuhr missed an opportunity to gain a deeper appre-

385 Ibid., Plate LXX. On the accuracy of Niebuhr’s map of Şan‘ā’ see Ronald Lewcock, Paolo Costa, R. B. Serjeant, and Robert Wilson, “The Urban Development of San‘ā’,” in San‘ā’, ed. Serjeant and Lewcock, 137. 386 In his letter to Gåhler of July 25, 1763, written in Şan‘ā’, Niebuhr writes of “the fear that not a single member of the expedition will return.” RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 42. 387 B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhr’s Leben, 27. It was also at this time that he asked to be relieved of the responsibility for the accounts as soon as he reached Syria or Istanbul on the return trip. Niebuhr to Gähler, 25 July 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 42. 388 For example, see Niebuhr, Tagebuch, 49–58, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 6. In fact current scholars consider his contribution to be important. As R. L. Bidwell concluded, “He spent a mere ten days in the city but has left an account which contains more useful information than any previous visitor.” R. L. Bidwell, “Western Accounts of Şan‘ā’ 1510–1962,” in San‘ā’, ed. Serjeant and Lewcock, 109.

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Fig. 13. Niebuhr in the attire of a distinguished Arab in Yemen,

gift from al-Mahdī ̔Abbās, Imam of Yemen, drawn in Copenhagen

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ciation of the intellectual environment in Şan‘ā’, an environment which surely the senior minister would have helped him access.389 On the other hand, perhaps such an expectation given his situation is unrealistic. First, Niebuhr was extremely ill in Şan‘ā’ suffering from the effects of malaria.390 Second, despite a welcome that was “friendlier and more polite” than they expected, Niebuhr and his colleagues were still eager to leave the city as soon as possible. They did not want to miss the ship to India, and, in addition to the threat of disease, they were also worried about the unpredictability and ruthlessness of the Imam. The security of their situation could change without warning.391 Thus after only a week in the area, not the year or more that was originally intended, Niebuhr requested permission to return to al Mukhā. Their request was quickly granted, but first they were required to take their leave of the Imam. On July 23rd, they were called to the throne room at the Imam’s Palace. This time Fakih Achmed told Niebuhr that his Arabic was entirely adequate and therefore there was no need for an interpreter. They kissed the hand of the Imam and again the hem of his robe, and then Niebuhr was asked a variety of questions on European trade, art and science before the group exited the hall.392 As they left Şan‘ā’ the Imam gave them a gift of a very handsome set of fine Arab dress for each member. It was this set of clothes that Niebuhr was wearing when years later an artist in Copenhagen executed the oft cited drawing of Niebuhr in the attire of a distinguished Arab.393 [Fig. 13] The Imam also provided them with a letter of instructions for the Dola in al Mukhā, and 200 silver dollars to cover any payments they owed to him. The Imam could not have been more gracious. They left Şan‘ā’ on July 26, 1763. Niebuhr decided not to return to al Mukhā by the same path they had taken coming, but to follow a new route to Mofhat and then Bayt al Faqīh. This would allow him to collect new data for his map of Yemen, 389 This point is well documented in Friedhelm Hartwig’s excellent analysis in his essay “Carsten Niebuhrs Darstellung von Jemen in seiner Beschreibung von Arabien (1772) und dem ersten Band seiner Reisebeschreibung nach Arabien (1774),” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 155–202. 390 Niebuhr, Tagebuch, 23 July 1763, 58(1), UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 6. 391 Niebuhr to Gähler, 10 January 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 44b/44c; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 425. From the beginning of their visit in Yemen, Niebuhr had been concerned that in as much as they were not coffee merchants their activities might raise suspicion that they were spies. See for example, Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 20 January 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 3 and elsewhere. Also the reason they provided officially for their visit was that they were a team of scholars en route to a Danish settlement in India. Therefore a long stay might also raise suspicion. 392 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 426–427. Niebuhr actually became faint during the audience and briefly had to excuse himself. He was assisted by the Imam’s Lord High Master of the Horse so that he could rest and return. 393 Ibid., 427–430; the drawing in Plate LXXI. For verification that it is actually Niebuhr in the drawing, see Lohmeier, “Heinrich Wilhelm Schmeelkes Biographie,” 213, and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 429.

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for he continued to record in his Tagebuch a detailed account of each day’s journey. Initially this trail proved to be slow and difficult. The second day they encountered the worst stretch of trail that Niebuhr had experienced during his entire stay in Yemen. The path in the steep rocky mountains, he thought, had not been worked on in a hundred years.394 Two days later they came to a section of trail that had been completely washed away by a recent storm, leaving a chasm seven to eight feet deep. The Arab helpers in their party thought there was no alternative but to return to Şan‘ā’ and to try a different route. But instead Niebuhr and the others insisted that they try to repair the break. So the group began to haul rocks to fill in the gully so that the camels and donkeys could pass. Soon they were able to talk their Arab drovers into helping as well. In two and one half hours of “very hard work,” the trail was repaired and they were able to proceed.395 By the second of August, after covering 54 kilometers that day, they reached Bayt al Faqīh. There the Dola was again helpful to them. Then traveling at night, because Niebuhr had already mapped this stretch of trail, they finally arrived in al Mukhā on the morning of August 5th, completely exhausted.396 They had hurried back to the port city so as not to miss the sailing of the East India Company ship to Bombay, but upon arrival they were told by their friend, Scott, that the ship was not ready to sail. They had to wait until August 23rd to leave. In the meantime, every member of the party became sick – Kramer, Baurenfeind, Berggren and Niebuhr. But despite being “still constantly ill,” Niebuhr completed a town plan and harbor map of al Mukhā while waiting for the ship’s departure, and he gathered a substantial amount of information on the trade, customs tolls and other economic aspects of the town as a port.397 In one of the only observations he made about Danish trade on the trip, he concluded that Danish merchants sailing from Tharangambadi could compete well with the English in bringing goods from India, and iron products from Europe to the markets in Yemen.398 By the time the ship was ready to depart, only Niebuhr was able to actually walk on board without assistance. The other members of the expedition were too weak. After some delay because of bad weather, they set sail for India on August 24, 1763.399 Their visit to Yemen was over. The next day they exited the Red Sea, passed through the Bab el Mandab, taking the narrow channel between the island of 394 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 432. 395 Ibid., 433; and Niebuhr, Tagebuch, 70(1), UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 6 396 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 437. They traveled 11 hours and 5 minutes. He also noted that almost all of the burned houses had been repaired since the fire that swept through the town at the end of the earlier visit. Tagebuch, 74(1). UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 6. 397 Niebuhr, Tagebuch, 83(2), UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 6. 398 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 447. This point had been mentioned months earlier in a letter by Forsskål to Moltke, see Forsskål to Moltke, 21 January 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 2d. For al Mukhā, see the very full discussion in Um, The Merchant Houses of Mocha. 399 The vessel was the Bombay Merchant, whose Captain was a J. W. Martin. Niebuhr’s Stambog, Kongelige Bibliothek, Copenhagen, bl. 42 (a).

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Barîm and the Arabian coast, and entered the Gulf of Aden. Niebuhr took celestial observations as they headed toward the Arabian Sea. On board ship, the condition of Kramer seemed to improve gradually, but both Baurenfeind and Berggren got steadily worse. Baurenfeind went into a coma and died on August 29, 1763 and Berggren died a day later.400 Both were buried at sea, and both were an added loss for Niebuhr. Baurenfeind had been a travel companion with whom he had spent much time. They had discussed the different drawings done by the artist on ethnographic and geographic subjects, and Niebuhr had enjoyed their many sessions playing the violin together. He thought highly of Baurenfeind’s contribution to the expedition. As he wrote years later, “It would be superfluous for me to say something in praise of this artist. The many views of towns and the drawings of different clothes, which we see in this volume, and above all, the many drawings which he completed for Herr Forsskål, these suffice to demonstrate his skill and industry.”401 Berggren had also worked closely with Niebuhr. He had been, as we noted earlier, his regular assistant when making astronomical observations, noting the time on Niebuhr’s watch when Niebuhr said “mark” for each celestial body he shot. He had been a reliable and tireless helper who handled well the rigours of most of the journey. But in the end, Niebuhr wrote, “he was just not strong enough to survive.”402 Niebuhr and Kramer arrived in Bombay on September 11, 1763.403 We know very little about their first months in India. Niebuhr’s last existent letter to Gähler was dated 25 July 1763, written from Şan‘ā’, and the group’s last letter to Bernstorff was dated June 9, 1763.404 Financial records, however, show that the day after they arrived, probably with help from Scott, Niebuhr rented a house for 50 rupees per month from an English woman by the name of Mary Cross.405 We also know that they came under the care of an English doctor and that they received much support and assistance from the English community in Bombay.406

400 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 10 January 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 32/ 32a-b. This letter is reprinted in Lohmeier, “Carsten Niebuhr: Briefe von der Arabischen Reise (Folge 6),” Dithmarschen 2 (2006): 54–59. Also see Tagebuch, 86. UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 6. 401 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 451. 402 Ibid. Also, for Berggren’s assistance to Niebuhr in navigation, see Niebuhr to Franz Xaver von Zach, 2 October 1802, reprinted in Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III, Anhang I, Nr. 14, “Längenbestimmungen auf und an dem Arabischen Meerbusen,” 76. 403 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 10 January 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 32/32a-b. 404 Niebuhr to Gähler, 25 July 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 42; Die gelehrte Gesellschaft to Bernstorff, 9 June 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 12; and Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 10 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 62b/62c. 405 RaK, Reviderede Regnskaber. Videnskabelige Institutioner mm: Kaptjain C. Niebuhrs rejse 1760–67, summary entry for 1764. “Für Hausmiethe vom 12ten September bis auf den 12ten December.” Laut Beylage No. 45 (which includes three receipts from Mary Cross). 406 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 51; and B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 28–30.

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Finally on January 10, 1764, Niebuhr wrote letters to Bernstorff and Gähler to inform them of the fate of the expedition. The letters are quite different in tone. To Bernstorff he wrote that of the six members who arrived “frisch und gesund” in Yemen, only two now survived – the doctor and himself, both sick. He reported that they had left Yemen on August 23rd for Bombay in order, if possible, “to save our papers and our lives.” Nonetheless in the time they had spent in Yemen, he believed they gathered as much information as could possibly be expected. He then gave Bernstorff a summary of their itinerary and accomplishments in the country. He included an excerpt from his journal covering their journey in Arabia, the contents of which he hoped Bernstorff would communicate to the interested public. He added should they die before returning to Europe, he was including for Bernstorff ’s attention a map of Yemen, a chart of the Red Sea, maps of the Gulf of Suez and their trip to the Sinai, and town plans for Bayt al Faqīh, Jiddah, Ta‘izz and al Mukhā. He then requested that as Arabia had been the main objective of the expedition, and as so many members of the group had died, and he was in poor health, that he be allowed to return to Europe directly by ship via London – a route, he argued, that was less expensive and more secure than the prescribed route through al Başrah (Basra) and Halab (Aleppo), which was the one that Kramer still wanted to follow on his own. Moreover, should he die on the way, then his papers, as well as all the work of Forsskål and Baurenfeind, which he had under his protection, could be delivered to the Danish Ambassador in London. Finally, as they had virtually exhausted their funds, he hoped that additional monies could be waiting for him in London.407 To Gähler he composed really two letters. One which was jointly signed with Kramer covered the same ground as the letter to Bernstorff, and added that Kramer would need to have additional funds forwarded to al Başrah if he was to complete the trip home.408 However in a private post scriptum to Gähler, Niebuhr wrote much more openly about his worries and discouragement. He confessed, “I am so tired of this journey that I have no desire to explore another of the Muslim countries.” It is also clear that all of the past tensions within the group were festering in his mind. Kramer was irritating him by insisting that he always address him by his full title, Herr Doctor Kramer, and Niebuhr was extremely worried that Forsskål, because of the conflict with Haven, would not receive the proper credit for his work if Kramer was the only survivor. Thus he added that if Kramer made it to Istanbul, he would like Gähler to examine Haven’s journal. Niebuhr was highly skeptical of the quality and extent of Haven’s observations in Arabia; in one case, he thought, the events of one and a half months covered only half a page in his journal, and most of the materials in Arabic in the manuscript version of the journal that Haven had put together were copies from published books Haven had examined prior to leaving for the trip. Likewise, he asked Gähler to look through Kramer’s materials, which he obviously believed did not contain much of value. Finally, he 407 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 10 January 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nrs. 32, 32a-b. 408 Niebuhr and Kramer to Gähler, 10 January 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 44b/44c.

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asked for Gähler to support his request to immediately return via London, so that a live member of the expedition could ensure that its research actually made it back to Europe. He had had, for the moment, his fill of the Middle East. As he told the Ambassador, “I really want to forget riding a donkey with a piece of half-baked coarse bread and some hard boiled eggs on one side, and a water bottle on the other; although these are pleasant dreams, who knows if heaven will decide to ever lead me back to Europe. I have only completed one half of my journey.”409 This is the point in the expedition where Niebuhr was the most depressed, where executing the Instructions was no longer important to him, and where he had lost his sense of adventure and curiosity. He was, of course, a very sick man, suffering from the recurring cycles of fever, extreme fatigue, muscle and joint pain and headaches characteristic of Plasmodium falciparum malaria, the species of the disease that is most fatal and which the members appear to have contracted. Based on the symptoms he was reporting, it is likely he had had malaria since April 1763, when Forsskål and he were returning from the highlands of Yemen. Niebuhr’s anxiety may have increased further when on February 10, 1764, one month to the day after he had written his letters, Kramer died as well.410 From this point on, he knew he would travel alone, assuming he was able to survive. Despite the tragic end to the expedition’s visit in Yemen, the results of their eight months stay were still very significant. The importance of Forsskål’s work has already been discussed. To this should be added the work of Niebuhr. While discouraged, it is apparent that he believed he had accomplished much in Yemen. History would agree. He had, in fact, collected an impressive amount of ethnographic and geographic information on the country which he would later use for his extensive description of Arabia, and of Yemen, in particular, in his Beschreibung von Arabien. This work will be discussed in Chapter Four. He also walked and rode by donkey over hundreds of kilometers of trails in the country, recording in his little field notebook the names of the towns, villages, hamlets and coffee houses that he passed. He carefully recorded the distances between locations and changes in the direction of trails to help determine proper orientation. He established the latitude for twenty different locations, although the latitude and longitude of just one, al Luhayyah, to use as benchmarks for his map. Longitude, of course, was difficult to determine with his methodology when traveling alone in frequently difficult terrain. He took notes on the configuration of topographical features – mountains, 409 Niebuhr to Gähler, 10 January 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 46a-b. This letter is reprinted in Lohmeier, “Carsten Niebuhr: Briefe von der Arabischen Reise (Folge 7)” Dithmarschen 3 (2006): 69–74. 410 According to Niebuhr, Kramer died a horrible death. In addition to suffering from malaria, his hands and feet were infected with Dracunculiasis, or Guinea Worm disease. The parasitic worms are typically two-three feet in length and cause severe pain. See his letter to an official in Tharangambadi, Niebuhr to Georg Christian Huulbech, 24 April 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 56a.

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Fig. 14. Itinerary Map of Yemen, prepared by Niebuh

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valleys, stream beds and the like. Finally, he also questioned local sheiks, merchants, members of Jewish communities, camel and donkey drivers and many others about the geographical character and proper nomenclature for various regions he had not visited himself. He was careful only to use information that had been confirmed by not fewer than two people.411 All of this data was then used by him in Bombay to craft two maps of Yemen. One, drawn to a scale of approximately 1:1,150,000, and reproduced in the Beschreibung, covers Southern Arabia from 18˚ north to roughly 12˚ 10’ north, or the western half of present day Yemen, plus a small strip of southwestern Saudi Arabia. It shows the boundaries between districts and includes several hundred named features.412 A smaller map, drawn to a scale of 1:650,000 and containing more detail, covers mainly the areas he actually explored, namely from al Luhayyah to al Mukhā, and eastward slightly to a line running from Dharmār to Şan‘ā’. It was later published in the Reisebeschreibung.413 [Fig. 14] It indicates the routes that he, Forsskål or the entire group had followed during their stay in Yemen. Using icons, towns are labeled according to size and the many coffee houses and hostels (Hospitium) are identified along the way. Topographical features are named and characterized with careful hachuring on both maps. A comparison of the larger, less detailed, smaller scale map with an official British map of the area compiled in 1926, shows that Niebuhr’s map contains 40 % of the detail shown in the modern survey map, quite an achievement for a single cartographer gathering data in the manner Niebuhr did 160 years earlier.414 Niebuhr’s maps of Yemen greatly surpassed in accuracy and detail any map of the area that existed in the 18th Century, and for most of the 19th Century they were the most comprehensive cartographic representation of southwestern Arabia, and certainly the only ones based on substantial measurements.415 In addition, Niebuhr completed town plans of al Luhayyah, Ta‘izz and San‘ā’, and large scale maps of Bayt al Faqīh and environs, and of al Mukhā and its harbor. These maps have varying amounts of detail, with the one for Bayt el Faqīh containing much information and others, like the one for San‘ā’, substantially less. But they are of real historical value because in most cases there are no other maps for this period that describe these communities. Taken together these maps are a significant contribution to the cartography of the Middle East. Because of sustained effort, attention to detail and technical skill, Niebuhr properly could take satisfaction in the fact that in Yemen he had indeed completed the assignment set forth in Paragraph 27 of the Royal Instructions. 411 Niebuhr to Gähler, 27 May 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 47. 412 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, Terrae Yemen maxima Pars seu Imperii Iamni, Principatus Kaukeban, nee non ditionum Hachid u Bekil, Nehm, Chaulan, Abu Arisch et Aden. 413 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I, Tabula Itineraria sistens illam partem Terrae Yemen. 414 Hopkins, “The Maps of Carsten Niebuhr: 200 Years After,” 116–117. 415 Dietmar Henze, “Carsten Niebuhr und sein Beitrag zur Erforschung des Orients,” Introductory essay to the reprint edition of Niebuhr’s Reisebeschreibung nach Arabien und den umliegenden Ländern, I (Graz, 1968), x.

Chapter Three

The Solitary Explorer The Long Journey Home: India, the Persian Gulf and Lands of the Middle East

N

iebuhr arrived in Bombay, along with Kramer, in September 1763, depressed and discouraged. He was in terrible health and was determined to abandon the prescribed plan for the expedition. He intended to return to Europe as quickly as possible in an effort to preserve the findings of the expedition and to save his own life. Yet, more than a year later, in December 1764, he embarked not on a ship to London or Copenhagen, but on a small warship of the British East India Company for a voyage to Masqaţ, the first step in a longer voyage during which he would investigate Eastern Arabia, the ancient ruins of Persepolis and the Persian Gulf. This was followed by a long journey through present day Iraq, Syria, Palestine, Cyprus, Anatolia and eventually across Eastern Europe to Copenhagen. This trip would involve three years of solitary travel during which Niebuhr would add significantly to the findings of the expedition. What caused him to change his mind, to muster the resolve to continue the journey, knowing that it would mean months of loneliness, hardship and possible death? The answer to that question lies partially in the nature of his personality, but also in the character of his experiences in India, an unplanned and unknown destination.

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Rejuvenation and Inspiration: A Brief Exposure to The Culture of Western India

A

s mentioned previously, the record of Niebuhr’s daily activities in India during his fifteen month stay is sparse. But the broad outline of what he did can be reconstructed from the handful of letters he wrote during this time, and from his own subsequent account. For example, by December 1763, he and Kramer had completed work on what was their highest priority, other than staying alive, namely preserving and preparing the expedition’s collection of scientific specimens and other findings for safe transport to Copenhagen. When they disembarked in Bombay, Niebuhr and Kramer brought with them 25 chests of scientific samples and materials, and a bundle of flat mats containing dried fish (Forsskål’s “fish herbarium”) and other dried specimens.1 Some of these materials were then organized into nine chests, one leather bound case and two packages of mats (with the dried specimens) and were shipped in December 1763 to Tharangambadi, via Calicut, in the care of a Danish merchant.2 Kramer died shortly thereafter. Subsequently, in July 1764, Niebuhr packed two additional chests, one with natural specimens Forsskål and he had collected, and another which contained Forsskål’s Herbarium and a variety of books purchased on the trip, as well as volumes that had been loaned from the Royal Library. All of these items were cataloged with instructions for their disposition. These he sent to Tharangambadi as well. At that time he decided to keep the manuscript collections of the deceased members of the expedition with himself in order to ensure that they, in particular, would arrive safely in Copenhagen. Both shipments eventually arrived in Tharangambadi, where in 1765, they were combined into one shipment of 14 chests and two packages of mats and were subsequently sent to Copenhagen on a ship of the Danish Asiatic Company.3 With these shipments Niebuhr had completed the task of preserving the scientific materials of the voyage, assuming they would safely arrive in the Danish capital. By 1764, it appears that Niebuhr’s health had already begun to improve, for on March 24th he undertook a brief sea voyage to the port city of Surat (the details of that trip will be discussed shortly). His energy started to return and he displayed a wide-ranging curiosity about life in India. He began to gather information on British rule in Bombay and on Indian society and culture. The thirty-three pages of 1 See Niebuhr to Bombay Customs, 30 November 1763, RaK 571, Reviderede Regnskaber, Bilag Litra A, and the discussion of their later handling in Svane-Knudsen, “Den Arabiske Rejse”. 2 Niebuhr and Kramer to Moltke, 6 December 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 72c. 3 Niebuhr to Moltke, 2 August 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr 39. I am also grateful to Dieter Lohmeier for copies of the relevant documents from the records of the Asiatisk Kompagni in the Rigsarkiv, København. See Niebuhr to Hermann Abbestée, Governor in Tranquebar, 2 August 1764, RaK, Asiatisk Kompagni, Nr. 1374; and for the records of the eventual shipment of the chests to Copenhagen, see RaK, Asiatisk Kompagni, Nr. 1300, 55–56, and Case 201, Nr. 18.

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notes he took then formed the basis for his fairly lengthy description of Bombay and Surat in Volume Two of the Reisebeschreibung.4 In doing so he followed an approach quite similar to what he had used previously in Egypt and Yemen. He took celestial observations to establish the latitude of Bombay Island and he gathered cartographic data needed in order to draw his map of the island.5 He estimated the population of the city to be 140,000 people, and he cataloged the different religious communities that lived in the region. These included Hindus, obviously the dominant group, but also Indian Catholics, Shi‘ite and Sunni Muslims, Parsis (Zoroastrian merchants of Persian descent), and Greeks and Armenians belonging to their orthodox denominations. He was struck by the peaceful coexistence of so many faiths. He noted, “All inhabitants in Bombay enjoy full freedom of religion under British rule … [and] all of the different religious groups get along with each other so well that each group cannot only worship peacefully in their temple, but can conduct their processions in public without the others appearing to be offended.”6 He did not see this acceptance of diverse religions as a function of British administration, but rather to be a fundamental trait of the Indian people. As he wrote: “The Indians are probably more tolerant than any other nation in the world. After all, which countries in Europe would allow foreign religious groups to openly preach against the dominant religion? In India they do not appear to be concerned.”7 But while he believed India to be an unusually tolerant country, he also considered it to be the most socially segregated society he had encountered. Niebuhr, of course, was not knowledgeable about Indian social structures or religious philosophies. He did not speak any Hindi and therefore, much to his regret, had to employ an interpreter for his discussions with educated Indians.8 Those with whom he met were nonetheless very generous and open in discussing religion and other topics, but still Niebuhr struggled to explain adequately the underlying concepts of Indian culture, or for example, the nature of the caste system. Interestingly, he understood that there appeared to be many dimensions to the concept of caste, including the spiritual, occupational, notions of clean and unclean, ritual and marriage rules. He even tried to analogize to the familiar, as he frequently did in his descriptions, by trying partially to explain it as a kind of guild system based not on profession but on ancestry.9 Niebuhr recognized his own inadequacies in India, and because of this 4 See, Tagebuch B, 109–192, UB Kiel, KB Cod. M.S. 314.1, Nr. 1; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 1–80. 5 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 8, Plate I. 6 Ibid., 3. 7 Ibid. 8 Ibid., 22. 9 Ibid., 16–18. For a very thoughtful discussion of the phenomenon of caste in India, with an emphasis on its multi-dimensional character, and an important discussion of its evolution in the 18th Century, see Susan Bayly, Caste, Society and Politics in India from the Eighteenth Century to the Modern Age, The New Cambridge History of India, vol. 4.3 (Cambridge, 1999).

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he subsequently strongly advocated the undertaking of serious scholarly investigation of Indian society and civilization by scholars fully conversant in the language.10 Many aspects of Indian life caught his attention. They varied greatly in character from a detailed discussion of the Indian calendar and festival days to dietary customs, which he considered to be simple, but healthy, and superior in many ways to those of Europeans.11 He described the Parsi community and Zoroastrianism, which he found quite interesting.12 He continued to pursue his interest in how languages were written. He added to his collection of Indian alphabets, which he started in al Mukhā. Later he would publish charts representing alphabets from three different regions of India, and two different Parsi scripts. He noted the strong similarity between Indian and European or Arabic numerals.13 On a matter of a kind of morbid, but often righteous, fascination, and one prone frequently to exaggeration, by some Europeans, he noted correctly that Sati, the immolation of widows upon the death of their husband, was in fact a rare occurrence in Bombay and its surrounding areas.14 He also took notes on some of the attributes of the British community in Bombay and the administration of the East India Company. British trade to Bombay was dominated by iron wares, copper, tin, canons and other weapons, and also fabrics, especially bedding. Trade to England included linens, perfumes, rubber, pepper and other spices from the different regions of India, the Persian Gulf, and the Red Sea. The British docks and port facilities he judged to be excellent, and the customs arrangements reasonable. He described the organization and character of the military units of the British East India Company (17 companies of infantry, three of artillery, and 8–10 small warships). He noted that the British especially respected the Arab soldiers from Oman and the Persian Gulf for their courage.15 He outlined in some detail the organization of British administration in Bombay and its relationship with local Indian elites. Niebuhr was very appreciative of the assistance and friendship he received from the British community. It certainly gave him an opportunity to learn English. He respected the British administration, but he was also sometimes critical of the Brit10 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 44–45. 11 Ibid., 30–31. 12 Ibid., 46–47. 13 Ibid., 24, Plate II, Figures A-E. Indeed, Niebuhr showed a strong interest in collecting a wide variety of Middle Eastern and Asian alphabets. His Stambog is filled with pages of such letters and charts of letters comparing different languages. For example see pages 13(b), 14(a), 14(b), 15(a), 15(b), 17(a), 17(b), 18(a), 18(b), 20(b), 21(a), 21(b), 22(b), 25(a) (Tibetan), and 26(a). Niebuhrs Stambog, Kongelige Bibliothek, Copenhagen. 14 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 25. For a good introduction to the subject, including the reaction of Europeans to the practice, see Andrea Major, ed., Sati. A Historical Introduction (Oxford, 2007), especially her introductory essay. As she notes, “Even at the height of its occurrence sati was an exceptional act, claiming the lives of only a tiny minority of Hindu widows.” xv. 15 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 5.

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ish and European presence. Small but symbolic things bothered him. For example, he was greatly irritated that Europeans considered it disgraceful to simply walk unaided through the streets of Bombay. Even able-bodied men insisted that they be transported in a palanquin carried by four Indians, with a slave alongside holding a parasol for the sun.16 The Europeans in Bombay, he observed, failed to adopt the local customs. They ate too much beef and pork, and drank too much Portuguese wine. They insisted on wearing tight fitting European clothing instead of outfits appropriate for the climate. The Indians, he believed, ate and dressed much more sensibly and as a result lived much longer.17 Mainly he was disturbed by European attitudes towards the people. “We Europeans,” he later wrote, “are in the habit of calling them pagans and idolaters, and because of such scornful names do not think of them very highly. But, those who take the opportunity to get to know them more accurately, will find they are a good tempered, virtuous and industrious people, who perhaps among all the nations of the world, are least interested in harming their fellow human beings.”18 Finally, he was also convinced of the transitory nature of British rule, and of the inherent strength of Indian society, for as he observed, “Should one day the power of the English fall in this far distant region, which perhaps will occur sooner than one now imagines, then it can come to pass that the Indian people will once again rise in the world and prosper, and that the formerly populous provinces that have been plundered by foreign nations, will again flourish.”19 Niebuhr’s brief trip to Surat, to the north of Bombay, in March of 1764, also provided a rich setting for him to gather additional information about India.20 This city of perhaps, he thought, 700,000 people, had been the most important port for the Moghul Empire, but Moghul authority had been virtually eliminated by the British since 1759, a result of them working with local Muslim notables and Indian merchants.21 Upon arrival, Niebuhr quickly got to work (he was there only two weeks). He completed his astronomical observations to establish the location of the city, he recorded temperatures daily, and he noted the tidal conditions in the harbor. He described the region’s recent history and discussed British utilization of local elites to extend the power and authority of the East India Company. He described in detail the Indian system of time, and the water clock which traditionally was used for time-keeping.22 He also reported on the commercial activities and trade of the city, and noted, of course, British dominance. He was impressed by the high 16 Niebuhr to Gähler, P. S., 10 January 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 46a-b. 17 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 3. 18 Ibid., 16. 19 Ibid., 19–20. 20 His visit there is discussed in Tagebuch C, 193–198, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 1; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 51–78. 21 C. A. Bayly, The New Cambridge History of India, Vol. II, 1, Indian Society and the Making of the British Empire (Cambridge, 1988), 63. 22 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 74–75.

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quality of the various woods used in shipbuilding, describing them in considerable detail.23 Following his long-standing habit, he listed all 23 gates in the walls surrounding the city. He also took time to draw a number of illustrations similar to the ones he and Baurenfeind had done in Egypt and Arabia. These included drawings of a Hakkris, the small two-wheeled oxcart used to transport people around the city, two palanquins (one for the dry season, and one for the rainy season), the attire of a typical merchant, and a simple rain cover made of woven palm fronds used to protect Indian farmers as they worked.24 He also completed a very basic chart of the harbor of Surat and an annotated plot plan for a large garden in the city.25 Finally, he was again impressed that, as in Bombay, the residents enjoyed “full freedom of religion.”26 Although Niebuhr was in the city only a short time, he used his time well, talking with many people, and recording what he learned. He was still suffering from the effects of malaria, but his activity in Surat is proof that his energy was beginning to return. This was clearly evident in May 1764, when, without a doubt, he embarked on his most important experience in India – his visit to the famous caves on the island of Elephanta or Gharapuri.27 At Elephanta, Niebuhr explored and described what today is judged to be “the most ancient and splendid manifestation of Hindu art in Western India.”28 The site was known by Europeans in Niebuhr’s time, but only superficially. The island is located in the harbor of present day Mumbai, about ten kilometers from the city. On the island are a series of caves, both Hindu and Buddhist, the most important of which is the so-called Great Cave, in which is located a shrine to Shiva.29 It was this cave that Niebuhr visited and described in considerable detail.30 A thorough discussion of the architectural character, religious symbolism and artistic significance of the shrine is beyond the scope of this study. But briefly, the shrine or temple is an artificial excavation into a small mountain on the island, accessed by a long series of steps which lead down into an imposing main hall approximately 27 meters square. The hall’s overhead is supported by rows of impressive stone columns. The layout of the columns or pillars and the other spaces establish a symmet23 See for example his notes on 16 different kinds of wood in his field notebook, Tagebuch B, 139–141, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 1. 24 Ibid., 72, Plates XII, Figures A, B, and C, p. 66, and Plate XIII, Figures A and B. 25 Ibid., 80, Plate XVI. 26 Ibid., 55. 27 The most extensive discussion of Niebuhr’s examination of Indian antiquities is Martin Brandtner, “‘Merkwürdig’: Carsten Niebuhr begegnet dem indischen Altertum,” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 203–242. 28 George Michell, Elephanta (Mumbai, 2002), 96. 29 For detailed information on the shrine, see Charles Dillard Collins, The Iconography and Ritual of Śiva at Elephanta (Albany, 1988); Carmel Berkson, Elephanta. The Cave of Shiva (Princeton, 1983); and Michell, Elephanta. 30 Tagebuch A, 1–18, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 1, with other Pagodas in the area mentioned on 18–19.

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rical pattern of 36 chambers, the overall design being consistent with a number of possible theoretical mathematical and geometrical relationships. The walls of the shrine contain dramatic panels of carved sculpture or reliefs, almost five meters tall, which depict Shiva in his many manifestations. The exact history of the site is still not fully known, but it appears that it probably dates from the late Sixth Century, A. D. The monument certainly made an immediate impression on Niebuhr. He found it so “remarkable that I made three trips there, and made drawings of the most noteworthy features that I found.”31 Indeed, during the next several months he completed an annotated floor plan drawn to scale for the temple32, a careful, dimensioned elevation of one of the columns33, and some eighteen drawings of the wall figures which he subsequently used as the basis for seven plates in the Reisebeschreibung.34 [Fig. 15] The floor plan was very accurate for the times and compares favorably with the plan of James Burgess, executed in 1871 and still regarded today as the most complete.35 Niebuhr’s drawings of the wall reliefs are frequently amateurish and of varying accuracy, but nonetheless scholars consider them to be important today because “they introduce the panels into the literature for the first time, and his very detailed descriptions open the way for further study.”36 Although in retrospect his interpretations of the figures in the Shiva Temple, based in part on discussions he had with the boatmen who took him to the island, were incorrect because he knew little about the Hindu religion, he still had great respect for the site’s beauty and age.37 His visit to Elephanta shaped his entire judgment concerning the importance of Indian antiquities. As he later wrote: “One still encounters in India, one of the oldest nations of the world, so many magnificent remains of antiquity that certainly deserve greater attention by European scholars than has heretofore been the case. They are not as striking as the great Pyramids of Egypt, but they represent no less effort and in comparison, far more artistic skill.”38 He added, “In order to construct one of the temples mentioned, one had to excavate the rock with an astounding amount of work and the effort to carve the many groups of figures on the walls certainly required more artistic ability in design and sculpture than the Egyptians ever possessed.”39 31 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II, 32. 32 Ibid., 30, Plate III. 33 Ibid., 32, Plate IV. 34 Ibid., 34, 36, 38, 40, 42, 44, and 46, Plates V – XI. The list of actual drawings is in his Tagebuch A, 5–14, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 1. 35 Collins, The Iconography and Ritual of Śiva at Elephanta, 20. 36 Berkson, Elephanta. 43. Niebuhr commented in his field journal that he wished Baurenfeind had been with him in Elephanta to better capture the character of the reliefs, see, Tagebuch A, 5, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 1. 37 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 33 and 39. 38 Ibid., 43. Also see Tagebuch A, 1, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 1. 39 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 44.

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Fig. 15. Bas-relief of Shiva, Elephanta, drawn by Niebuhr

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It should be remembered that Niebuhr’s visit to India was never planned in the original itinerary for the expedition, nor did the Instructions call upon him or any other member to gather information about the subcontinent. The only reason he went to India was to get well and to organize and pack the expedition’s scientific materials for a safe trip home to Copenhagen. Therefore, his work in India was really the product of his being placed in a cultural setting that was new to him, and his own sense of inquiry to try to understand that culture better. His efforts there are significant in two ways beyond what they contributed to the enhanced knowledge of Indian civilization by Europeans.40 First, they demonstrate his open-mindedness to other cultures, a trait first displayed in Egypt and later Arabia, which was now transferred to India. After all, Niebuhr had prepared in Göttingen for the journey to Arabia, and had a slight familiarity with what to expect. But, in comparison, India was entirely unknown to him. Still he did not characterize it as strange or exotic, but rather he described Indian culture in a straightforward way as a civilization of great importance, worthy of careful understanding, and manifesting historically an additional variation of human experience. This is a theme to which we will return in the Conclusion. Second, his stay in India, particularly his visit to Elephanta, which he considered similar in importance to his work on the monuments and hieroglyphs in Egypt, may have helped, at least partially, to lift him out of his state of deep discouragement.41 It stimulated again his interest in other cultures and thereby indirectly appears to have encouraged him to complete the remaining work of the expedition as planned. Thus, for example, upon his return from Elephanta, and feeling once again in better health, he wrote to Gähler, that he no longer planned to return immediately by ship to London, or even to Copenhagen by way of China, both of which he had been prevented from doing because of poor health, but now was “fully resolved to pursue the route ordered by his Majesty through Basora (al Başrah) and Aleppo (Halab).”42 At the time he wrote this letter, he still had not received any correspondence from either Copenhagen or Istanbul since June 8, 1762 – nearly two years before, and he had virtually exhausted all the funds for the expedition. Thus, he would still have felt his situation to be tenuous. Therefore, having recovered his health momentarily, and having completed the shipping of the expedition’s scientific materials, he could have simply decided to take the 40 Indian scholars have rated Niebuhr’s descriptions as useful. As Pranab Ghosh concluded, “Although Niebuhr’s stay in India was short and was limited to Bombay and Surat, his accounts give a very lucid picture of the social, political, economic and cultural developments on the western coast of India.” See his article, “The 18th Century India through a German Eye: Carsten Niebuhr (1733–1815) in India,” The Quarterly Review of Historical Studies, Institute of Historical Studies Calcutta 20 (1980–81): 65. 41 Niebuhr to Temler, 30 October 1764, and Niebuhr to Hauber and Temler, Beginning of November 1764, both BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 42 Niebuhr to Gähler, 27 May 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 47. For his earlier proposal to return home via China, instead of the earlier idea of London, see Niebuhr to Gähler, 14 April 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 46.

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earliest ship to London to return home safely. It would have been the sensible and prudent thing to do. But he did not. For as he indicated to Gähler in the same letter, he had already been to Elephanta and was very impressed by what he saw, telling him that “Not far from Bombay are outstanding antiquities, namely Pagodas hewn out of hard rock, with many beautiful figures sculpted in stone.” Although he nowhere states so explicitly, it appears likely because of the timing and wholehearted character of his decision and his simultaneous enthusiasm over Elephanta, that his experience there reminded him of the purpose of the expedition and the exhilaration of working in antiquities. This renewed sense of purpose combined with his improved health encouraged him to complete the journey as planned, despite knowing that many difficulties almost assuredly would lie ahead (as he mentioned to Gähler, “Who knows where the All mighty has decided to end my life, after all my journey is only half completed.”)43 Niebuhr had to wait more than six months before he was able to secure passage to the Persian Gulf. During that time his health continued to improve.44 However, it is also apparent that having made the decision to complete the expedition, he was greatly concerned that he might not survive the journey.45 Therefore, to be prudent, and, as we shall see, out of a sense of personal pride, he went to great lengths to get his affairs in order. He brought the financial accounts for the trip up-to-date and transmitted them to Gähler in Istanbul. They showed that the funds for the expedition were completely gone.46 In order to have money for the next stage of the journey, he was able to obtain, on his own authority, an advance of 1,000 Rupees from the British governor in Bombay, which was to be repaid by Danish officials in Tharangambadi.47 He decided to send additional materials to Moltke by way of London, some of which he had previously decided to carry himself on the return journey. These included all of Baurenfeind’s illustrations, Niebuhr’s remaining charts, town plans and other drawings, his daily journal in two volumes, brief answers to some of Michaelis’s questions and a short summary of the expedition up to that point, because he realized many of his letters covering the expedition apparently had not been received in Copenhagen. He asked that his papers remain sealed until after his death. He did not want them to be prematurely published or used in some other way in case he survived the trip.48 He also wrote his Will and Testa43 Niebuhr to Gähler, 27 May 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 47. 44 Niebuhr to Gähler, 1 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 49–49a. 45 Niebuhr to Moltke, 2 August 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 39, and Niebuhr to Gähler, 30 October 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 48, 48a-b. 46 Niebuhr to Gähler, 30 October 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 48, 48a-b. 47 Niebuhr to Abestée, 22 November 1764, RaK, Asiatisk Kompagni, Nr. 374: Indkomne breve til rädet iii, 1765–1768, Nr. 43, courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier. 48 Niebuhr to Moltke, 5 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 44–44b. Also see Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 10 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nrs. 62b-c, 62e-g, 62h-o, Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 20 November 1764, RaK, AR Case 3–004, Nr. 68, and Niebuhr to the Danish Ambassador in London, 20 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 46.

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ment, which together with several other letters outlined the disposition of his belongings, most especially his papers.49 He clearly was still obsessed with the notion that the findings of Forsskål and himself, and the drawings of Baurenfeind would be somehow released to the scholarly world without proper attribution to the three non-Danes. The long record of insults and disdain by Haven and the more recent display of superiority by Kramer, in light of the fact that he believed both men had accomplished little, made Niebuhr overly sensitive on this issue. Regardless, as he wrote to the two men who he asked to oversee his affairs, “the foreigners [meaning Forsskål, Baurenfeind and himself ] have, after all, certainly done a lot of work,” and he wanted to make sure their individual efforts were recognized.50 His letters at this time also demonstrate his concern for others. He was very worried about the impoverished situation of Baurenfeind’s fiancée of nine years, and he hoped that some accommodation could be arranged for her. Similarly he hoped that an effort would be made to locate Berggren’s mother and sister who lived in Sweden so that they could properly receive the proceeds from his belongings.51 This burst of activity to send off materials that demonstrated the substantial results of the expedition, may also have been caused by his reaction to the contents of a bundle of letters he finally received on October 22, 1764 from Copenhagen and Istanbul, all of them more than a year and a half old.52 Written by Bernstorff and Gähler, the letters reflected their knowledge of the expedition when it was still in Egypt prior to the trip to the Sinai; they had no awareness of the difficulties encountered by the members in Yemen. In any case, included in the mail was a letter from Bernstorff, dated 11 December 1762, in which he chastised the group for not periodically submitting copies of their journals, as called for in Paragraph IX of the Royal Instructions.53 He also transmitted four copies of the published version of Michaelis’s Fragen. He directed the members to be “assiduous in answering the different questions with precision and exactitude,” or at least to investigate them thoroughly. This, he wrote, would provide further proof of their dedication to the advancement of literature and science. Having struggled through four years of the expedition, Niebuhr probably felt he had already dis49 Niebuhr to Cappel and Müller, 2 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 62d; and Niebuhr to Temler, 30 October 1764, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. For background on the two friends in Copenhagen whom he asked to take care of his affairs, and for a reprint of the letter, see Dieter Lohmeier, ed., “Carsten Niebuhr: Briefe von der Arabischen Reise (Folge 8),” Dithmarschen 1 (2007): 25–30 50 Niebuhr to Cappel and Müller, 2 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 62d. 51 Niebuhr to Gähler, 1 November 1764, RaK, AR, 3–005, File 1, Nr. 49–49a; and Niebuhr to Cappel and Müller, 2 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 62d. 52 Niebuhr to Gähler, 1 November 1764, RaK, AR, 3–005, File 1, Nr. 49–49a. 53 In the archives there are various versions of the letter, dated both 11 December and 10 December 1762. See UB Kiel, Cod. Ms. KB 314.5, File 1, Nrs. 7 and 8, and RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 140 (draft) and RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Bl. 27c (out of order). Niebuhr reports that he received the letter dated 11 December.

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played proof of his dedication, and he was momentarily irritated by Bernstorff ’s letter. As a result his private comments to Bernstorff ’s secretary, Temler, were defensive.54 The preparation and transmission of excerpts from the members’ journals, he wrote, was simply “impractical.” He provided a lengthy explanation to prove his point and he concluded that he hoped the King would understand the realities they had to deal with and would excuse them from this requirement. Regarding Michaelis’s Fragen, he took strong exception to a statement in the Preface which he interpreted as meaning that Michaelis had in the beginning provided the members with a full manuscript version of all the questions.55 He reminded Temler that in fact they had received only two questions in writing upon their departure, and the remainder in two installments – one which they received in Egypt (actually Niebuhr remembered incorrectly, because it was received just before leaving Istanbul in September, 1761), and the other in Yemen, only five months before they left for Bombay. Furthermore, he observed, it might be easy for Michaelis to craft artful questions in Göttingen, but it was, in reality, going to be difficult for Niebuhr to complete Bernstorff ’s assignment, since, he wrote, “I do not understand natural history or Hebrew.”56 Niebuhr’s frustrated attitude was probably fueled by a not unusual feeling of someone in the field who perceived that the authorities at home did not understand the difficulties of their circumstances, nor appreciate what in fact had been accomplished. Despite these festering resentments and worries, by the time Niebuhr left Bombay he appears to have been fully focused on the task of completing the expedition. He looked forward to the journey with seriousness and renewed enthusiasm. The region of the Persian Gulf, he wrote, “was completely unknown,” and he would be pleased if he could complete a chart of the area similar to the maps he had done of the Red Sea and Yemen.57 He hoped he would be permitted sufficient time to carry out his portfolio of responsibilities, which now included, he envisioned, not just investigations in geography and astronomy, but also in the history, government and antiquities of the lands he visited. He would also have to be the illustrator.58 And echoing the phrase that Forsskål wrote in his diary at the very beginning of the expedition, Niebuhr told Bernstorff, “that I will not fail to work with vigor and I am willing to risk my life to make discoveries in the field of Science.”59 After fifteen 54 Niebuhr to Temler, 30 October 1764, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 55 Michaelis’s statement is in fact ambiguous. See Michaelis, Fragen, “Vorrede,” unpaginated, “Ich hatte die Fragen, die ich hier drucken lasse, anfangs nur schriftlich entworfen, und den Reisenden eine Abschrift davon zugestellt.” 56 Niebuhr to Temler, 30 October 1764, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 57 Niebuhr to Gähler, 1 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 49–49a; and Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 10 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 62a-b. 58 Niebuhr to Gähler, 6 January 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 50–50a, and Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 10 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 62b-c. 59 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 20 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 68.

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months of recovery in India, Niebuhr was ready to return to the work of the expedition. His sense of curiosity and purpose had returned. The Voyage from Bombay to al Başrah: Oman, Persepolis and Pirates of the Persian Gulf

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iebuhr finally departed Bombay on December 8, 1764, on a small warship of the British East India Company.60 Crossing the Arabian Sea to the Gulf of Oman, he was struck by the marine life he saw. Near the coast of India, the ocean was teeming with water snakes, and in the middle of the night of December 12th, the phosphorescence of the sea was greater than he had ever seen before. Stretching for more than three kilometers, the surface of the water appeared to be on fire. He recalled Forsskål’s “experiments,” as he called them, on the outbound voyage and the naturalist’s conclusion that the phenomenon was caused by the residue of jellyfish.61 Indeed he saw jellyfish in great numbers, some of which were the largest he had seen on the entire expedition. He was also fascinated by the schools of porpoises that swam and leaped so easily alongside the ship as it steadily plowed through the water.62 On the nights that were clear, he was busy assessing the brightness of the stars shining in the skies above. Question #88 of his newly acquired copy of the Fragen asked him to determine if it was true, as some travelers contended, that the stars in the Middle East were not as bright as in Europe. On December 15th, a particularly clear night, he observed Jupiter, Sirius, Procyon and a variety of other stars, and wrote down that they shone just as brightly in the heavens above the Arabian Sea as in the night skies of Europe.63 By the 23rd of December they had approached the coast of Oman, near Masqaţ, but contrary winds and strong currents made it too dangerous to make landfall. They laid off for a number of days before reaching the port city on January 3, 1765.64 Niebuhr decided to leave the ship in Masqaţ to take time to explore the town. But before it left he gave the Captain more papers and mail to send to Copenhagen. These included additional copies of his summary of the trip from Egypt to Bombay, charts of the Red Sea and Yemen, and five letters for Moltke, Bernstorff and Gähler.65 He stayed in Oman for two weeks. At that time, as today, it was an independent Arab principality ruled from nearby Ar Rustāq by the Imam of Oman. Niebuhr brought with him letters of introduction to the chief customs official in 60 Tagebuch G, 4–5, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 80–82. 61 Tagebuch G, 6–7, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 62 Ibid., 9. 63 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 81. 64 Ibid., 82, and Tagebuch G, 10–12, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 65 Niebuhr to Gähler, 14 February 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 51, and Tagebuch G, 18, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3.

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the town and to a prominent Indian shipping agent, both of whom were quite helpful.66 The broker connected him with two Arabs and the leader of the small Jewish community. It was evidently from them that he obtained most of the geographical and other descriptive information about the area, which later served as the basis for his section on Oman in the Beschreibung.67 He completed a simple annotated town plan of Masqaţ and its harbor, and most importantly, completed one of the very first maps of Eastern Oman, delineating its coast from Ra’s al Hadd to Ra’s Musandam. It contained some details on the interior as far west as Bahlah and Nazwá.68 He determined the town’s latitude and checked its tidal conditions. He recorded that the community had two Mosques, both small and without minarets. It also had two formerly Catholic churches, built by the Portuguese. One was being used as the residence of the Wali, or Commandant for the area, and the other had been converted to a warehouse. He noted that although Masqaţ was surrounded by barren mountains, between the mountains lay fertile valleys which produced an abundance of fruit and other products for the town. He was amazed by the great quantities of fish caught in the nearby waters, more than he had seen anywhere else on the trip. However, he had to report that there was no evidence to support the account of one European traveler that the Arab fishermen could simply stand on the shore and call: “Come, Come, Come!” to the fish and they would automatically be caught. No, Niebuhr observed, the fishermen had to use their nets and poles like everyone else.69 The Muslims in Masqaţ, he found out, belonged to the Ibadhi sect.70 He respected that they lived simply and made so little display of luxury. The wealthy dressed the same as those of modest means, except they wore a more elaborate turban and carried a more elegant saber. They smoked no tobacco and did not drink coffee, much less alcohol. Although they were polite to foreigners and tolerant of people of different faiths, there was no European presence in Masqaţ.71 Niebuhr would have liked to have stayed longer in order to explore the 66 Tagebuch G, 13, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 67 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, 295–308. For his notes on Masqaţ and Oman, see Tagebuch G, 73–82, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3, and Tagebuch D, 234–240 and 252–257, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 1. 68 For the map of Masqaţ, see Plate XV, Reisebeschreibung, II: 88. For that of Oman, see Plate XVIII, Beschreibung, 296. It was the first map to provide “reliable data on the interior of Oman.” See Sultan Bin Muhammad Al-Qasimi, ed., The Gulf in Historic Maps 1478–1861, Second Edition (Leicester, 1999), 8. 69 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 87n. 70 Ibadhites are one of the more moderate branches of the Kharijites, an early Islamic, puritan-like, sect, and today the only remaining sub-sect of that grouping. As Niebuhr noted in Oman, they emphasize austerity and simplicity, and are known for a strict adherence to Islamic Law. For a general discussion see Daftary, “Varieties of Islam,” 139–141, Ahmed Hamoud AlMaamiry. Oman and Ibadhism (New Delhi, 1989), and the recent study by Adam R. Gaiser, Muslims, Scholars, Soldiers. The Origin and Elaboration of the Ibādī Imāmate Traditions (Oxford, 2010), esp. 139–145. 71 Ibid., 83–85.

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interior of Oman, still an area essentially unknown to Europeans. But when a goodsized English merchantman, not so common for Masqaţ, arrived in port from Bombay bound for al Başrah, he took advantage of the opportunity to leave.72 He had been told that smaller vessels were much less safe because of winter storms and the constant threat of pirates in the Persian Gulf.73 He departed Oman on January 18th.74 His destination was Bandar-e Būshehr. The evening of the 19th they sailed quietly at 5 knots through an unusually glassy sea, glistening with white luminescence. It looked, Niebuhr wrote, like the surface was covered with snow.75 By the 20th they had crossed the Gulf of Oman, and Cape Jāsk, on the coast of Iran, came into view.76 Weather permitting, Niebuhr made celestial observations along the way to determine the ship’s latitude. They passed through the Strait of Hormuz, entered the Persian Gulf, and after stormy weather and much rain, they arrived on February 4th at Būshehr, the port city for Shīrāz.77 From Būshehr, Niebuhr originally intended to travel to Bahrain. But stormy weather in the Persian Gulf and the ship’s pause in this port provided Niebuhr with an unexpected, unauthorized, but no doubt secretly hoped for alternative – namely an opportunity to visit the ancient ruins of Persepolis. While in town he met its only European resident, Benjamin Jervis, a British merchant, who also served as the agent for East India Company. He had just arranged a small caravan to carry his and the company’s goods to Shīrāz. The caravan included other merchants of modest means and some poor Armenian families, previously displaced by turbulence in Iran, but now returning home. So as he later wrote in the Reisebeschreibung, and told Gähler, “I did not want to pass up such a nice opportunity to be able to go to Shīrāz, and then to see the famous ruins of Persepolis, which lay only two short days ride from the city.” He told Gähler that he had no doubt that the King would approve of this side trip, but just to make sure he asked the ambassador to present the journey “in a good light” to Bernstorff.78 While the caravan was an unplanned chance to go to the ruins, it is clear that Niebuhr had harbored an interest in visiting the site for some time. He had read the accounts of previous travelers to Persepolis. He knew the work of Engelbert Kaempfer whose book he carried with him on the trip, and it appears he was also quite familiar with the well-regarded descriptions of Cornelis de Bruijn and Jean Chardin.79 These stimulated his interest and prepared 72 It was the ship London, commanded by a Captain Webb. See Niebuhr’s Stambog, bl. 28(b), Kongelige Bibliothek, Copenhagen. 73 Niebuhr to Gähler, 14 February 1765, 14 February 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 51; and Tagebuch G, 20 and 22, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 74 For a description of the trip, see Tagebuch G, 23–28, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. 314.1, Nr. 3. 75 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 89. 76 Tagebuch G, 24, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 77 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 89–90. 78 Ibid., 96, and Niebuhr to Gähler, 14 February 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 51. 79 B. G. Niebuhr, Niebuhr, 31, Tagebuch G, 22 and 124, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 1, and Engelbert Kaempfer, Amoenitatum Exoticarum Politico-physico-medicarum fasciculi V, quibus conti-

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him for the visit. In Bombay and Surat he had also questioned members of the Parsi community about the ancient inscriptions at the site, even though he knew the Instructions did not provide for such an excursion.80 Thus his trip to Persepolis was simply a case of his sense of curiosity getting the best of him. In the 1760’s, the Iran through which Niebuhr would travel for the next three months was a land that was still suffering from years of intermittent instability and conflict. Following the fall of the Safavid Dynasty in 1722, the country went through a period of turmoil culminating in the sometimes successful, but ultimately violent and cruel regime of Nâdir Shāh. He created conditions that left the country impoverished and oppressed, and his attempt to force Iran to abandon Shi‘ism and return to Sunni Islam caused additional tension.81 Murdered in 1747 by members of his own entourage, the ensuing years saw the rise of a capable soldier and chieftain of the Zand tribe, Karim Khân. By the time Niebuhr arrived in Iran, Karim Khân, or the Vakil-ol-ra̔âyâ (the Deputy or Regent of the People), as he called himself after 1759, had extended his authority over most of what is present day Iran. He established his residence in Shīrāz, the capital of Fars, the historic cultural heartland of Persia. There he worked to restore prosperity to Iran’s countryside and towns. His conservative and defensive foreign policy avoided the costly and disastrous conflicts of earlier periods in the century. His generally thrifty approach to government meant that the country was relieved of much of the onerous taxation and exploitation that had devastated rural communities in particular.82 Thus, in many ways, Niebuhr came to Iran at a fortunate time, during an era viewed as one of general peace and economic improvement in Iranian history. Niebuhr, however, saw so much destruction and impoverishment as a result of the earlier periods, and the Vakil’s efforts to consolidate his power, that he did not have a very high opinion of Karim Khân.83

nentur variae relationes, observationes et descriptiones rerum persicarum et ulterioris Asiae (Lemgo, 1712); Cornelis de Bruijn, Reizen over Moskovie, door Persie en Indie (Amsterdam, 1711); and Jean Chardin, Voyages du Chevalier Chardin en Perse et autres lieux de l’Orient (Amsterdam, 1735). 80 Niebuhr to Cappel and Müller, 2 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 62d. Also see Niebuhr to Hauber, 5 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 66a-b. 81 See Peter Avery, “Nādir Shāh and the Afsharid Legacy,” in The Cambridge History of Iran, Vol. 7, From Nadir Shah to the Islamic Republic, ed. Peter Avery, Gavin Hambly and Charles Melville (Cambridge, 1991), 3–62. Also Moojan Momen, An Introduction to Shi‘i Islam. The History and Doctrines of Twelver Shi‘ism (New Haven, 1985), 124–126. 82 See especially the detailed study of John R. Perry, Karim Khan Zand. A History of Iran, 1747– 1779 (Chicago, 1979); and the same author’s “The Zand Dynasty,” in The Cambridge History of Iran, Vol. 7, From Nadir Shah to the Islamic Republic, ed. Avery, Hambly and Melville, 63–103. Also see the discussion in Birgitt Hoffmann, “Carsten Niebuhr und seine Beobachtungen im zeitgenössischen Iran,” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 287–299. 83 Niebuhr to Gähler, 2 July 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 54.

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When the group left Būshehr on February 15th, it had been nearly a year and a half since Niebuhr had been part of a caravan.84 Its members walked and rode on donkeys or horses. There were no camels. Niebuhr traveled on horseback. Among the travelers was an Armenian merchant, born in Iran, who had lived in Italy for a number of years. He helped Niebuhr as an interpreter as most of the caravan did not speak Arabic, and Niebuhr knew none of the Persian languages. As on earlier trips, Niebuhr kept track of the distances between villages and their location. Along the way he also made 12 latitudinal observations. This data he used to produce a travel map of his route from Būshehr to Persepolis.85 On the 18th, they stopped by a Persian army encampment.86 The commanding officer, having been informed of Niebuhr’s presence in the area, asked to see his astronomical instruments, which Niebuhr showed him. They had coffee and fruit and Niebuhr answered many questions about Yemen and the activities of the British. Leaving the encampment, and continuing on his journey, he noticed deteriorating water systems, fields devastated by locusts and towns destroyed by recent warfare. He took a side trip to visit an encampment of nomadic Turkmens, about which he had heard a good deal. He marveled at the beauty and craftsmanship of the small rugs woven by the women.87 In a characteristic observation, Niebuhr recorded in his field journal that their caravan was composed of Sunni and Shi‘ite Muslims, Armenians, Georgians, a Catholic and some Jews, in addition to himself, a Protestant. The first two were fasting because it was near the end of Ramadan, the fasting period for middle eastern Christians had just begun, and the Armenian, who was Catholic, had also started to fast regarding meat, a practice that Niebuhr and the Jewish members also followed because meat, especially kosher meat, in any case, was hard to find. Thus he concluded, in one way or the other, “the entire caravan was fasting.”88 Its members may have come from different religions and backgrounds, and they were fasting for different reasons, but they were all following the same simple custom. It is this kind of unobtrusive observation and intriguing awareness that in this case combines the spiritual and the practical, and examines the particular in a context of the universal that adds meaning and richness to Niebuhr’s accounts of his experiences in the Middle East. On the 28th of February, the caravan ran into heavy rain and hail. They were forced to stop to camp. At the beginning of the trip Niebuhr had made a miscalculation which now caused him some difficulty. He had assumed that the villages in Iran would be close enough together that they could find lodging each night if needed. Therefore, as he observed that the members of the caravan, most of whom 84 85 86 87 88

The notes on the trip are in Tagebuch G, 36–72, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. See Plate XVII, in Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 112. Tagebuch G, 47–50, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 108. Ibid., 110, and Tagebuch G, 64 (in the margin), UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3.

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were very poor, did not own tents, he left his tent in Būshehr because, as he wrote, “I had no desire to act like a man of privilege,” and simply slept in the open like everyone else.89 However, now with the bad storm raging he went to a nearby village to try to find some shelter. There he succeeded in renting a small house on a steep slope. He had the upper floor and the owner lived below. He fetched some wood for a fire and then invited some of the poor Armenians to join him. This kindness made the situation a little more complicated. Soon the house was filled with women and children crowded around the fire, undressing and drying their clothes. As a man he had to be discreet and polite, so he stayed outside or in the far corner of the building away from the hearth. The rain continued to pour through the night, the roof leaking profusely around its periphery, meaning Niebuhr had to move repeatedly to find a dry spot. As he commented, “I had to have patience.”90 During the night he had another problem. His horse, which was housed in a stall next to them, fell through the weak floor into the owner’s room below, creating, of course, much alarm in the house. The horse was apparently unharmed. Meanwhile the area continued to be pelted with rain, hail and even snow. The next day they were told that the trail to Shīrāz was impassable because of high water in a nearby river and as a result they would have to spend another day in the village. Niebuhr concluded, trying to keep the situation in perspective, that despite all the inconveniences he was glad that they had a place for lodging.91 With the bad weather, poor trails and slow pace of the group, it took 18 days to get from Būshehr to Shīrāz, a trip that Niebuhr estimated should have been made in six. They arrived on March 4th.92 In Shīrāz, Niebuhr stayed with the only European in the city, an Englishman by the name of Hercules, who represented Jervis, the British agent in Būshehr. During his one week stay, his host arranged an audience with the Provincial Governor, or Beglerbegi, who was the brother of Karim Khân. The Governor was gracious during their meeting. Niebuhr noted and appreciated that in contrast to audiences he had had with Pashas in Cairo and Jiddah, not to speak of the meetings with the Imam of Yemen, he did not have to stand the entire time, but after bowing, was immediately offered a seat in the reception room.93 After the meeting he was taken on a tour of the Governor’s Palace. He admired the beauty of the marble walls and the carpets covering the floors in the rooms they visited.94 Niebuhr also found out during his stay that the Governor was a stern administrator of the law. While Niebuhr was in Shīrāz, two butchers were punished for selling bad meat. 89 90 91 92 93 94 3.

Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 102. Ibid., 111. Also Tagebuch G, 67–68, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 112. Tagebuch G, 83, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3, and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 113. Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 115–116. For a detailed description of the visit, see Tagebuch G, 85–86, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr.

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They were nailed to a post by their ears and left for half a day in public view as an example to other butchers.95 While in the city he also visited a large, very handsome, octagonal garden house with side buildings in a formal garden, beautifully decorated inside and out. He later would write: “ I encountered no building in Turkey, Egypt and Arabia that was built with such fine taste as this garden house.”96 Niebuhr left Shīrāz for Persepolis on March 12th, accompanied by a helper/interpreter offered to him by the local authorities, and armed with a letter of introduction to the headman of the village near the site.97 After two days of travel through mountainous terrain and “ruined villages and wasted fields,” he arrived near Merdast, the village where he was to stay.98 But as he later wrote, “after having heard and read about these ruins, I had created such an image of them, that I could not refrain from visiting them immediately, and then only later checking into my quarters.”99 He was not disappointed. When he arrived at Persepolis, and looked down from a hillside on the dramatic array of ruins below him, he was so struck by their “majesty” that he immediately took time to explore the ruins.100 It was a moment of excitement and satisfaction. As Barthold Georg Niebuhr wrote, his father “could not rest until he had reached Persepolis, and the last night he did not sleep. The image of these ruins remained indelible his entire life. For him they were the jewel of everything he had seen.”101 That evening he returned to Merdast, the poor village that would be his headquarters for the next three weeks. It lay about an hour’s ride south of the ruins. There he was warmly greeted by the village headman who arranged for him to rent a room in a small hostel. He stayed there with other visitors, mainly craftsmen going from village to village looking for odd jobs in the area. The next day he began his work.102 The literature on Persepolis is extensive and the purpose of this study is not to articulate the importance of the site, which is well-known. As summed up by L. Vanden Berghe, “The architectural and sculptural complex of Persepolis is, beyond dispute, the most celebrated monument of Ancient Iran.”103 Rather our purpose is to indicate the extent and character of Niebuhr’s investigations at the site, and later in Chapter 4, to discuss the impact of his accomplishments there on scholars in Europe. Still a brief orientation to the site is useful in order to understand the context of Niebuhr’s work.104 Persepolis, or Takht-i Jamshid as it is known in contem95 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 116. 96 Ibid, 118. 97 Tagebuch H, 97, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. 314.1, Nr. 3. 98 Ibid., 99. It was March 13th. 99 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 121. 100 Tagebuch H, 101, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 101 B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhr, 31. 102 Tagebuch H, 101, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 103 L. Vanden Berghe, Archéologie de L’Irān Ancien (Leiden, 1959), 27. 104 The most complete investigation of Persepolis is Eric F. Schmidt, Persepolis I: Structures,

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porary Iran, is an impressive collection of ruins situated on a high mountain plain at an elevation of 1,770 meters. Most of the original structures were built between 520 B. C. and 450 B. C., by Darius I, Xerxes I, and to a lesser degree by the latter’s son, Artaxerxes I, as an administrative and ceremonial center for the vast Achaemenid Empire. It was mostly destroyed by Alexander the Great in 330 B. C. as a consequence of his successful campaign against the Persians which brought an end to the Achaemenid Empire and dynasty. The foundation for the complex, built into a large hillside, is a huge terraced platform built of stone, about 450 meters in length, 300 meters in width, and on its down slope sides more than 18 meters high. Located on the terraces are the ruins of a number of ceremonial halls, palaces, and other buildings linked by magnificently designed portals and staircases. The most famous structures include The Gateway of All Nations, located at the top of a massive set of stairs through which the royal complex was originally entered. This large portal is guarded on either side by impressive bull-like sculptures, and its interior is punctuated by four large columns. This entrance led to the Apadana, or Audience Hall of Darius I. This is the best known and most distinctive structure at the site, and the one at which Niebuhr spent the most time. Built on a higher terrace, this large hall of some 3,700 square meters originally had a ceiling over 20 meters high supported by 36 handsome, decorated columns. There were a total of 72 columns associated with the structure of which thirteen still remain today. It has been estimated that it could hold 10,000 people. The most dramatic elements of the Apadana are two double staircases on the north and east sides, their ascending and facing walls adorned with intricate bas-reliefs. These depict in great detail a procession of court officials, officers, bodyguards, chariots, dignitaries and representatives of the empire’s 23 subject nations (Susians, Bactrians, Arabians, Ethiopians, Armenians, Babylonians, Egyptians, Scythians and the like) coming to pay tribute to the King, symbolizing most likely their loyalty to him, and his concern for their welfare.105 Reliefs, Inscriptions, Oriental Institute Publications 68 (Chicago, 1953), and Persepolis II: Contents of the Treasury and Other Discoveries, Oriental Institute Publications 69 (Chicago, 1957). A very clear introduction to the site may be found in the article by Michael Roaf, “Persepolis,” in Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie, ed. D. O. Edzard, Vol. 10 (Berlin, 2004), 393–412. Also see Donald N. Wilbur, Persepolis. The Archeology of Parsa, Seat of the Persian Kings (New York, 1969). The ruins are placed in historical perspective in the important study by Josef Wiesehöfer, Ancient Persia from 550 BC to 650 AD (London, 1996), 7–28. Also see the work by John Curtis and Nigel Tallis, eds., Forgotten Empire. The world of Ancient Persia (Berkeley, 2005). The most extensive discussion of Niebuhr’s visit is Josef Wiesehöfer, “‘… sie waren für ihn das Juwel von allem, was er gesehen’ –Niebuhr und die ruinenstätten des Alten Iran,” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 267–285. 105 For the most comprehensive assessment of the meaning of the procession depicted in the bas-reliefs see Josef Wiesehöfer, “Nouruz in Persepolis? Eine Residenz, das Neujahrsfest und eine Theorie,” in Orbis Parthicus. Studies in memory of Professor Jósef Wolski, ed. Edward Dądrowa, (Electrum 15) (Kraków, 2009), 11–25. Also see Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg, “Nowruz in Persepolis,” in Achaemenid History VII. Through Travellers’ Eyes, ed. Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg and Jan Willem Drijvers (Leiden, 1991), 173–201.

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Fig. 16. View of Persepolis, drawn by Niebuhr

Nearly adjoining the southeastern corner of the Apadana, is the Tripylon, a small central palace, also known as the Triple Portal. It too had handsome stairs and beautiful reliefs. Also important is the Hall of a Hundred Columns, which was Xerxes’ throne room. Comparable in size to the Apadana, it was leveled by Alexander and his forces and had not been excavated at the time of Niebuhr’s visit. The site also contains the ruins of the smaller private palaces of Darius and Xerxes, a very large complex of about 100 rooms and chambers that served as the Treasury, and remnants of barracks, stables and other structures. Outside the site, a few kilometers away are the necropolis of Naqš-i Rustam, which contains the tombs of Darius I, Xerxes, Artaxerxes and Darius II, and with them Sasanian reliefs depicting Ardashir I, founder of the Sasanian dynasty, as well as the structure or short tower of Ka‘ba-i Zardušt. Also nearby are the important Achaemenid and Sasanian reliefs at Naqš-i Rağāb, and the Sasanian ruins at Istakhr, all of which Niebuhr visited.106 106 Tagebuch H, 102 and 113–114, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. Also Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 154–159. The Sasanian period and the importance of the sites are discussed in Wiesehöfer, Ancient Persia, 153–221, and esp. 153–164, and the same author’s article, “The late Sasanian

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These were the ruins that Niebuhr attacked with scholarly discipline and sustained energy. Nearly everyday he was at the site by 8:00 o’clock in the morning, and he worked until 5:00 at night.107 As he later wrote, his overall goal was quite simple. He wanted to accurately describe the ruins and its inscriptions so that Persepolis and the ancient Persian alphabet could be better interpreted by scholars.108 This involved four main tasks. First, he completed a scaled plan of the site and a view of the ruins from the hillside above it so that the general layout and orientation of the complex could be understood.109[Fig. 16] On the plan he properly identified the Gateway of All Nations, and in the more technical, or quantified part of his accompanying text, he determined its dimensions. This he did for all the major structures he evaluated. He also labeled the Apadana, its columns, staircases and remaining decorated walls. He indicated the number of stairs in the staircases and measured their height. He located the remains of seventy of the 72 columns in the Hall and noted that 17 of them were still standing in his time (these were specially marked in his plan). 110 He also located the palaces of Darius and Xerxes, the Tripylon and the outline of the Hall of One Hundred Columns. Finally, sparse remnants of other structures, hints of archeological remains, were indicated on the plan. Second, he made figurative drawings of a large number of the bas-reliefs and of other elements and structures at the site.111 These included extraordinarily intricate and precise representations of the famous processional depictions on the facades of the staircases of the Apadana.[Fig. 17] For the staircases on the eastern side, he took time to excavate the earth covering the base of the lower walls so that the fourth and largest panel of the figures in the procession could be seen.112 He also drew two additional drawings of the capital and the base for one of the columns at the Apadana, and individual exterior views of the Palaces of Darius and Xerxes. Additional drawings were done of the reliefs at two other sites nearby. For example, he copied important Sasanian reliefs at Naqš-i Rağāb and Naqš-i Rustam.113 [Fig. 18] The illustrations of the reliefs are well crafted. It appears that his artistic skill had improved as a result of his work at Elephanta, but mainly the more geometric and

Near East,” in The New Cambridge History of Islam, Vol. 1. The Formation of the Islamic World Sixth to Eleventh Centuries, ed. Chase F. Robinson (Cambridge, 2010), 98–152. 107 Tagebuch H, 113, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3, and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 161 108 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: Anhang II, “Persepolis”, 125, reprinted from Deutsches Museum, March 1788. 109 We know that he worked on the plan at the site, not after the fact; namely, he spent the entire day of March 19th working at his quarters in the village on the plan. See Tagebuch H, 107, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. For the printed plan and perspective, see Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 120–122, Plates XVIII and XIX. 110 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 134. 111 Ibid., 126–150, and 154–158, Plates XX–XXIII, XXV–XXX, XXXII and XXXIII. 112 Ibid., 128. 113 Ibid., 154–158, Plates XXXII and XXXIII.

Fig. 17. Processional figures, Apadana Steps, Persepolis, drawn by Niebuhr

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Fig. 18. Bas-relief at Naqš-i Rustam, drawn by Niebuhr

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stylized design of the Persian reliefs was probably easier for him to capture than the free-flowing and aesthetically challenging depictions of Shiva. Third, he was once again thoroughly intrigued by the remains of the ancient inscriptions accompanying the reliefs. He sat and stood for hours before the flat, gray marble walls and copied with painstaking accuracy the cuneiform characters that were carved into the stone.114 As with the Egyptian hieroglyphs, he admired the care with which the ancient Persians had located and written their messages, but he regretted that the languages they used could no longer be understood.115 As we shall see, his efforts produced a collection of copied inscriptions that were, because of their precision and quantity, of invaluable use to later scholars.116 [Fig. 19] He was the first to identify clearly the inscriptions as an alphabet, actually he decided three alphabets, which for a time were then labeled Niebuhr I, Niebuhr II, and Niebuhr III.117 He was correct. The inscriptions at Persepolis are written, we know today, in Old Persian, Babylonian and Elamite. He identified what he thought were 42 different characters in a base alphabet of what turned out to be Old Persian.118 The actual number is 36, 34 of which he identified correctly. He also confirmed through analysis of the placement of the letters that the lines should be read from left to right, an observation that had been made by Pietro Della Valle, who had visited the site for two days in 1621, and later by Cornelis De Bruijn.119 Niebuhr also took time to carefully copy other sets of trilingual inscriptions at Naqš-i Rustam and Naqš-i Rağāb. These were from the period of the Sasanian Empire (Third-Seventh Century A. D.), and were written, it was later discovered, in Greek, Parthian and Middle Persian.120 [Fig. 20] He also copied a number of more recent inscriptions, mainly New Persian, Hebrew, Old Arabic and Kufic.121 The subsequent importance of all of this work for European scholars is a topic we will return to in Chapter 4. 114 For example, we know that already by March 17th, he was spending the entire day just copying inscriptions, see Tagebuch H, 101, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 115 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung II: 138. 116 Ibid., 135, 142, and 152, for Plate XXIV, Panels A-G, Plate XXVII, Panels A-I, and Plate XXXI,, respectively. 117 Ibid., 138. See Wiesehöfer, “‘… sie waren das Juwel von allem, was er gesehen’,” 279–280, and Irving L. Finkel, “The Decipherment of Achaemenid cuneiform,” in Forgotten Empire. ed. Curtis and Tallis, 26–27. Niebuhr’s identification of three alphabets took place in the field, not later when he was working on publishing his works. See Niebuhr to Gähler, 24 June 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 83a. 118 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 139. 119 Wiesehöfer, Ancient Persia, 233. 120 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 142 and 160, Plate XXVII, Panels F, G, H, and I and Plate XXXIV, respectively. The latter Plate is a copy of part of a Middle Persian inscription of the third century Priest Kirdīr, an important source for understanding the period. Wiesehöfer, “‘… sie waren das Juwel von allem, was er gesehen’,” 279, n. 66. 121 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 139.

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Fig. 19. Cuneiform inscriptions in Old Persian, Babylonian and Elamite, Persepolis, copied by Niebuhr

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Fig. 20. Middle Persian inscriptions at Naqš-i Rustam, copied by Niebuhr

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Finally, Niebuhr accompanied his plans, drawings and copies of inscriptions with remarkably detailed narrative descriptions. The location of every drawing was clearly indicated on his plot plan, and the character of each illustration as seen at the site was elaborated upon with care. These descriptions filled some 52 pages in his field journal and formed the basis for his very complete presentation of the site in Volume Two of the Reisebeschreibung. These were not just of Persepolis, but also of Naqš-i Rustam and Naqš-i Rağāb, including the short tower or structure of Ka‘bai Zardušt.122 As was frequently the case, Niebuhr was circumspect in some of his interpretation. He was undecided on whether Persepolis was a ceremonial palace or a temple.123 He was unable to determine with certainty whether the procession depicted on the Apadana staircases was a secular celebration or of a more religious nature (although he was inclined towards the latter).124 But there is no doubt that he admired the marble craftsmanship of the architects, stone masons and artists who worked at the site.125 He considered the Apadana staircase to be “the most beautiful and durable that has ever been built.”126 He understood that the structures were built in phases and that the complex was still under construction when it was substantially destroyed by Alexander.127 He judged correctly that the reliefs at Persepolis and the facades on the tombs at Naqš-i Rustam and Naqš-i Rağāb were older than the Sasanian reliefs at the two latter sites.128And he summarized what he saw in the following way: “These are the most grand remains of the once magnificent Palace of Persepolis that was destroyed more than 2,000 years ago. All the useful pieces, which could be taken away without too much effort, have not been here for a long time. Nonetheless, what remains deserves to be admired by everyone. One sees throughout that the Persians had brought architecture and sculpture to a high level well before the Greeks.”129 Niebuhr’s own work at Persepolis demonstrated his respect for the site. His precise drawings and extensive descriptions surpassed in accuracy and insight that of any previous known visitor to the monument.130 And as Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenberg concluded, “His description of Persepolis is generally considered as the beginning of truly scientific exploration in the area.”131

122 Tagebuch, 20–72, UB Kiel, KB 314.1, Nr. 1, and Reisebeschreibung, II: 121–160. Also see his notes in Tagebuch H, 113–114, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 123 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 121–123, 130 and 149. 124 Ibid., 130. 125 Ibid., 124 and 135. 126 Ibid., 125. 127 Ibid., 123. 128 Ibid., 156–157. 129 Ibid., 148. 130 For a detailed discussion of Niebuhr’s contribution to an enhanced understanding of the site, see Wiesehöfer, “‘… sie waren das Juwel von allem, was er gesehen’,”, 277–279. 131 Sancisi-Weerdenburg and Drijvers, eds., Achaemenid History VII. Through Travellers’ Eyes, 21.

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During his visit to Persepolis Niebuhr enjoyed the hospitality of the villagers of Merdast. He recorded “All of these good people were unassuming and I lived among them as safely as in any village in Europe.”132 He was invited to take part in the community’s celebration of the vernal equinox, on the 20th of March. When he was at the site, alone with his interpreter, he had many observers. Wandering families of Kurds and Turkmens, with small flocks of sheep often came to visit him, amazed that someone would be curious enough to spend the whole day drawing and writing. On the days celebrating the New Moon and the end of Ramadan, many farmers, women and girls from the nearby villages came to Persepolis to walk about and to observe the foreigner at work in their midst. This sometimes led to interesting requests. Many of the young women wore amulets, or small leather pouches with messages inside to protect them from sickness and other evils. Because the women did not know how to write, Niebuhr was asked many times to write just these kinds of notes, which he did. He was interested that although they were Muslim, he heard from different people, that the religion of the writer, whether “Muslim, Christian or Jewish,” did not matter at all. What mattered was that the scribe be a good and literate person, a point Niebuhr surely agreed with. In fact he took note of one Muslim girl who had an amulet of silver with the writing in Hebrew, and she believed “that she would never be without friends so long as she wore this piece.”133 At Persepolis, as was the case elsewhere in his travels, Niebuhr was friendly and generous with his time. He especially enjoyed the visits of an Arab sheik from Syria, with whom he could speak without a translator. The sheik had lived in Persia for 30 years. They visited the ruins together and had many interesting discussions, but Niebuhr regretted that the Sheik had no interest in trying to interpret the inscriptions, even the Kufic ones. He thought “it was completely unnecessary to rack ones brains over such things.”134 Niebuhr lived simply at the hostel in Merdast, eating mainly chicken and pilaf. By the beginning of April, however, the daily work at the ruins was taking a toll on his health. He had a cold, a bad cough, and of greater consequence, copying the inscriptions in the full sun with the glare coming off the marble, was damaging his eyes and in some cases led to momentary blindness at the end of the day. In fact, it is probable that the injury to his vision that occurred at Persepolis contributed to his impaired sight in old age.135 Then his interpreter, an Armenian who had replaced his original helper, and who had not been feeling well, died in the first week of April. Thus when Hercules, the British merchant in Shīrāz, paid him a visit at the site for a few days and afterwards was preparing to leave, Niebuhr writes: “I took the death of my helper as a warning, and traveled on the 7th of April with Hercules back again to Shīrāz.”136 Although he 132 133 134 135 136

Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 161. Tagebuch H, 110, UB Kiel, KB 314.1, Nr. 3; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 162. Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 163. Ibid., 150, and Tagebuch H, 111 and 113, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 164, and Tagebuch H, 114–115, and 117–119, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S.

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would continue to refine his drawings and other descriptions of Persepolis, his task there was over. The side trip, no doubt undertaken because of “a commendable curiosity” of the kind he had been admonished to avoid in the Royal Instructions, was completed. There was, however, little chance that Moltke, Bernstorff or the King would disapprove, for in the end his work would indeed produce “benefit for the world of scholarship.” He had to wait in Shīrāz for more than a month before a caravan attempted the trip to Būshehr. This was because merchants in the city had just gotten word that a large caravan had been raided by a pirate chieftain, Mīr Muhannā (about whom we will learn more shortly) with a loss of goods worth 40,000 piasters.137 They were waiting until they knew the route was secure. In the meantime, Niebuhr stayed with Mr. Hercules and got well. He was not entirely idle, however. He visited the tomb of Hāfiz, the famous lyrical poet of the fourteenth century who later had such an influence on European literature, as well as the burial sites of other poets and men of letters near this city known, in the Islamic history of Iran, for being a center of learning and literature. He noted the deteriorating condition of the water systems in the outlying agricultural areas and the accompanying abandonment of farm plots. He gathered information on the sizable Armenian population and its history in the area, and he drew a very simple town plan and view of the city.138 He made two visits to one of the three local zūrhānes, the Persian exercise gyms. He described the facility in some detail – its aroma (it appears it smelled like a gym), the niches surrounding the workout space where men could sit and smoke or drink coffee, listening to music performed by a small group of musicians. He described the different calisthenics and exercises that people practiced and the culture of exercise in which individuals of all classes participated. He described actual sessions, the participants working out doing their routine, accompanied by music – an early form of the modern fitness class. He completed a drawing of the gym, with annotated illustrations of men performing eleven different exercises.139 On April 23rd he also experienced a strong earthquake. The building in which he was staying shook so violently that people feared it would collapse. But it did not.140 Finally, on May 14, 1765, a caravan left the city for Būshehr and Niebuhr departed with it.141 The trip to the coast was completed without incident.142 Members of his caravan included three Arabs from Bahrain returning from a pilgrimage to the grave of ‘Alī al-Rida, the Eighth Imam of the Twelve Imams of Shi‘ism. They were paid KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 137 Niebuhr to Gähler, 2 July 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 54. 138 For his notes on Shīrāz, see Tagebuch H, 83–96, 120–124, and 136–156, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 139 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 174, Plate XXXVII. 140 Tagebuch H, 124, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 141 Ibid., 156. 142 Ibid., 157–165.

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pilgrims, hired for a small fee on behalf of a Shi‘ite Muslim who in his or her lifetime had been unable to make a pilgrimage to Makkah or to the burial place of one of the Imams. On the way they met a small caravan, mainly composed of similar hired pilgrims from Bahrain going to the same burial site. They were extremely poor and traveled mainly on foot, their only belongings – a little bread, some dates and a copper water container – tied in a bundle on their backs. Not even in Arabia had Niebuhr seen, he wrote, such a destitute caravan of people. But in the end, what he noted most was the unrestrained joy and affection expressed by the two groups from Bahrain when they met on the trail. They embraced, kissed and exchanged news. “The unexpected meeting of these Arabs in a foreign land brought me much enjoyment.”143 On May 27th, Niebuhr and a few others who were on horseback, left the slow-moving caravan, and covered the remaining short stretch to Būshehr quickly, reaching the town the next day. Immediately upon his arrival he had an opportunity to board a small English ship bound for al Başrah by way of the island of Khārg. But he had to wait for his baggage which was still with the caravan. It arrived the next day, but the ship had already set sail. However, on the 30th of May, he was able to take a small vessel to Khārg in an effort to catch the English ship before it proceeded to al Başrah. Niebuhr got there in one day, but only 12 hours before his arrival, the English merchantman once again had sailed.144 It was unfortunate because now he would be stuck on the island for two months before passage became available to al Başrah.145 The Dutch East India Company had taken control of the small island of Khārg in 1753. There they established a trading station, a continuation of their commercial activities in the Persian Gulf dating back to the 17th Century.146 Niebuhr arrived on the island at an interesting and particularly unstable time. Karim Khān was in the process of rooting out the aforementioned pirate, Mīr Muhannā from his base at Bandar-e Rig, a campaign the Persian ruler had been intending to carry out for some years with the assistance of the British, the Dutch and local rulers.147 His disorganized assault on the base was partially successful and its fall to his forces was imminent. As a result, Mīr Muhannā made plans to abandon Bandar-e Rig, sending the women and children to the small, uninhabited island of Khargu, lying just a mile from Khārg. On June 1–2, he and his men escaped and joined their families on the island. The pirate had been dislodged, but not defeated. Niebuhr was staying 143 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 178, and Tagebuch H, 158, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 144 Niebuhr to Gähler, 2 July 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 54. 145 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 181. 146 For a discussion of commercial activities in the Persian Gulf, see Rose Greaves, “Iranian Relations with European Trading Companies, to 1798,” in The Cambridge History of Iran, Vol. 7, From Nadir Shah to the Islamic Republic, ed. Avery, Hambly and Melville, 350–373; for Dutch activities, see especially, J. R. Perry, “Mīr Muhannā and the Dutch: Patterns of Piracy in the Persian Gulf,” Studia Iranica, 2 (1973): 79–95. 147 Perry, Karim Khan Zand, 154–158.

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in a house owned by the Dutch agent in charge, a man by the name of Buschmann. Thus he was in a position to gain first hand information on the events and to observe for a period of time, the on-going conflict.148 His description of it goes into far more detail than is appropriate here.149 But briefly, Niebuhr described the five weeks of inept British and Persian seaborne operations against the pirate, an effort that was subsequently abandoned on July 12th. “It was,” he wrote, reflecting upon the conflict’s irregular operations, “a war the likes of which had probably never been seen in Europe.”150 To complete the story, the Dutch, under great pressure from the Persians to take action, undertook an ill-advised and poorly-executed direct assault on the nearby pirate stronghold. They suffered horrific losses, which led to Mīr Muhannā seizing control of Khārg itself. He ejected the Dutch from the island, ending 140 years of Dutch presence in the Persian Gulf. Mīr Muhannā met his fate four years later, when under an extended siege by Persian and British forces, his men mutinied. He fled to al Başrah in a small boat only to be caught by Ottoman authorities and executed. Niebuhr’s account of these events is still considered today to be an essential source for this period in the history of the Persian Gulf.151 Of course, as there was only a fort and a small village on the island, there was not much for Niebuhr to do.152 Thus in addition to writing his account of contemporary events in the Gulf, he spent most of his time making copies of his drawings from Persepolis so that in case he was later robbed or even died, he presumably would have already sent the copies to Copenhagen for safe-keeping and further examination.153 Before leaving Khārg, Buschmann loaned Niebuhr 1,000 rupees, without interest, so that he could continue his journey. Niebuhr praised his generosity, for Buschmann would not be able to be repaid for at least two years, at which time the Dutch agent expected to return to Europe.154 On July 31st, Niebuhr set sail from Khārg for al Başrah. Two days later, his ship entered the Shatt al Arab, the mouth of the combined Tigris and Euphrates Rivers, as they flowed into the Persian Gulf. On his way up the river, he recorded 111 vil148 For the best discussion of Niebuhr’s stay on Khārg, see Dieter Lohmeier’s commentary in “Carsten Niebuhr: Briefe von der Arabischen Reise (Folge 10), Dithmarschen, 3 (2007): 86–90; also see Hoffmann, “Carsten Niebuhr und seine Beobachtungen im zeitgenössischen Iran,” 290– 293. 149 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 184–196. For his notes, see Tagebuch H, 166–179, and 181–209, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 150 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 181. 151 Perry, “Mīr Muhannā and the Dutch: Patterns of Piracy in the Persian Gulf,” 81, and footnotes throughout. 152 He did establish the island’s latitude as 29º 19'40", See Tagebuch H, 212, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 153 Niebuhr to Gähler, 2 July 1765, and 24 November 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nrs. 54 and 56. The second letter is reprinted in Lohmeier, “Carsten Niebuhr: Briefe von der Arabischen Reise (Folge 10).” 154 Niebuhr to Gähler, 24 November 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 56.

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lages on both its western and eastern banks, and an island in the middle.155 Some of this data he subsequently used for crafting his map of the region. The resulting chart of the Shatt al Arab is unique as prior to its publication there was no chart of the region in existence that was based on scientific observation and the systematic gathering of descriptive data.156After several days of river travel Niebuhr arrived in al Başrah. It had been eight months since he left Bombay. The voyage to Iraq had been slow with interruptions both wanted and unwanted. But along the way from the phosphorescence of the Gulf of Oman, to the ruins of Persepolis, from Pirate fiefdoms to a recovering Persia, he had seen a great deal and had gathered much valuable information. This he later used for creating his chart of the Persian Gulf, which will be discussed shortly, and his published descriptions of some of the lands bordering the waters through which he had sailed. Now his attention was turned to al Başrah, an important destination on the official itinerary of the expedition and a reentry for Niebuhr into Arabic speaking-lands. “Do not order me to travel too hastily. Now is the time when I can learn something.”: The Lands and Peoples of Iraq and the Levant

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ith Niebuhr’s arrival in al Başrah, he began the longest period of overland travel of the entire expedition. With the exception of two short trips by water at the very beginning and end of this part of his journey, and one short sea voyage to Cyprus, all of his travel would be by caravan – some as large as 2,000 pack animals and others with only twenty to thirty riders. This journey would take him through many of the historic cities of the Middle East such as Baghdād, al Mawşil (Mosul), Halab (Aleppo), Jerusalem, Damascus, Saydā (Sidon), Akka (Acre) and Tarābulis (Tripoli), and later in its second stage through Konya, and Bursa back to Istanbul. During the next year and a half, he would travel thousands of kilometers on horseback through open country and hundreds of towns and villages. He would encounter and study myriad peoples and religions. He would learn the geography of the areas through which he traveled in the broadest sense of the word, meaning the land and its local inhabitants, and he would record with care what he learned. His work during this period would prove to be an unexpected and valuable contribution to the results of the expedition. Niebuhr’s arrival in al Başrah enabled him to reconnect briefly with Danish authorities. We may recall, that communications from Gähler in Istanbul and Bernstorff in Copenhagen were two years behind.157 Of course, Bernstorff and 155 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 205–206. 156 Ibid., Plate XL. 157 We know that as of 27 March 1765, the most recent letters that Niebuhr had received were dated 13 April 1763 (from Gähler) and 11 December 1762 (from Bernstorff ). See Niebuhr to Gähler, 27 March 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 52, and Niebuhr to Gähler, 1 November 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr 49–49a.

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Gähler were as much in the dark about the more recent progress of the expedition as Niebuhr was about Bernstorff ’s and Gähler’s reaction to these events and their guidance for his future. It was only in the middle of June 1764, when Gähler received the letter that Niebuhr and Kramer had written on January 10, 1764, from Bombay, informing him of the deaths of the other members of the group, that he understood the misfortune that had struck the expedition. He immediately reported to Bernstorff “with great sadness” – “la fatale dissolution de la société litteraire,” and conveyed the tenuous situation of the survivors; they had only 2,239.14 piasters remaining in the expedition’s account at the time of their writing and the last communication they had received from Copenhagen was dated June 8, 1762.158 Naturally Bernstorff was extremely disappointed when he received Gähler’s dispatch on July 23, 1764. For him it was a sad end to an endeavor to which so much time and resources had been devoted. But with his ingrained Lutheran stoicism, he accepted that “Providence has wished it so.” He told Gähler to take all necessary measures to ensure the safety of the surviving members, assuring him that he would be reimbursed for any accompanying expenses. He also directed him to turn his attention to the preservation of the expedition’s papers, “the loss of which would be irreparable.”159 Later in October 1764, Gähler reported to Bernstorff that Kramer had died as well in a dispatch that arrived in Copenhagen in November. Thus by the end of 1764, both Bernstorff and Gähler finally knew that Niebuhr was the only remaining member of the original expedition.160 Gähler immediately took action to assist the expedition when it arrived in al Başrah. He asked the French Ambassador in Istanbul, Vergennes, and the Dutch Consul in Halab, Nicolaas van Maseyk (who had recently been appointed the Danish representative in the area as well) for help.161 Months before Gähler knew of the deaths of the members, he had been in contact with Maseyk to make sure that credit would be available for the expedition when it eventually arrived in al Başrah. Thus it was not unexpected when he asked Maseyk to make arrangements for Niebuhr to obtain funds as he continued his journey.162 As a result, all of these arrangements were reflected in Gähler’s letter to Niebuhr of December 17, 1764, which Niebuhr received upon his arrival in al Başrah. He was told first, that he had a letter 158 Gähler to Bernstorff, 16 June 1764, RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–9. 159 Bernstorff to Gähler, 28 July 1764, RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–13, and draft RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 35. 160 Gähler to Bernstorff, 1 October 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 47b; and Bernstorff to Gähler, 27 November 1764, RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–13, draft RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 47. 161 See for example, Gähler to Vergennes, 17 June 1764, RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–14; Gähler to Kramer, 17 June 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 25; Gähler to Maseyk, 17 and 28 December 1764, draft?, RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–18, File 6. Also see Bernstorff to Gähler, 15 December 1764, 6 February 1765, RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–13, draft RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 48. 162 Gähler to Maseyk, 8 January 1764, Maseyk to Gähler, 28 February 1764, and 11 April 1766, all RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–18, File 6. Also see Bernstorff to Gähler, 15 December 1764, RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–13.

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of credit for 1,000 to 1,200 piasters upon which he could draw, second, that the French consul in al Başrah had been asked by Vergennes to assist him, and third that he should proceed by the “most direct and secure route” to Halab and report to Maseyk. It appears that this letter and a note from Maseyk, dated March 12, 1765, inviting Niebuhr to stay with him when he arrived, were the only letters Niebuhr would receive until he arrived in Halab nine months later.163 Although Gähler did not elaborate in his letter to Niebuhr, we have a good idea of what Bernstorff and he meant at that time by “the most direct and secure route.” It meant no side trips to view ruins such as those at Baalbek and Palmyra. It meant no second trip to the Sinai Peninsula as Bernstorff had directed following the first trip (of course Niebuhr remained unaware of this assignment because he had not received Bernstorff ’s letters of June 21, 1763). The only exception was to be a potential trip to Cyprus to investigate purported Phoenician inscriptions, about which we will learn more later. Otherwise it meant “accelerating” his return to Europe.164 As we shall see Niebuhr would tend to heed the word “secure” and ignore “most direct.” As an aside, it is also worth mentioning that when Bernstorff found out about the deaths of the members, he also gave Michaelis the discouraging report on the expedition. He assured Michaelis that every effort would be made to preserve the scholarly findings of the journey so that all would not be lost.165 This contact was not unusual. Bernstorff had made an effort to keep Michaelis abreast of the progress of the expedition since its departure. Michaelis’ Nachlass in Göttingen is full of copies of letters and other documents from and to the members that Bernstorff had sent to him. These included Bernstorff ’s own letters such as those of June 21, 1763 following the disappointing Sinai trip when he complained of the “esprit d’indolence” that had descended upon some of the expedition.166 At the same time he was writing Michaelis, he also had a press release prepared to announce the deaths of the members of the expedition and that the survivors would already have embarked on their return trip home at the time of printing.167 It is clear from Bernstorff ’s correspondence that he was resigned to the reality that the expedition was over.168 But this feeling of total disappointment was premature. Because of the delay in communications he could not know that some of his concerns had been dealt with. The expedition’s scientific specimens and many of its 163 Gähler to Niebuhr, 17 December 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 26, and Niebuhr to Gähler, 30 August 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 55. 164 Bernstorff to Gähler, 12 November 1765, RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–13. 165 Bernstorff to Michaelis, 31 July 1764, NSuUG, Cod. M.S. Mich. 320, Bl. 433–434. 166 See various, NSuUG, Cod. M.S. Mich. 320, Bl. 347–445. 167 See the draft release with Bernstorff ’s corrections dated 31 July 1764, and clippings from the Reichs Post Reuter of 7 August 1764, and the Addresse-Cont. Efterretning, of 1 August 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nrs. 38 and 38a-b. 168 Bernstorff to Gähler, 27 November 1764, RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–13, draft RaK, AR, 3–004, Nr. 47.

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papers had already begun their voyage to Denmark, and the journey was not over, for as we know, Niebuhr had decided to continue the expedition as planned. Niebuhr spent a long time, nearly four months in al Başrah, in part because apparently he was told when he arrived that the passage to Baghdād was unsafe. However, it is also clear that he wanted to stay to expand his knowledge of the area and its people. As he wrote to Gähler, “I am finding a great deal to learn.”169 His primary objective was to gather “Historical-Geographical” information on the area and his main source for this information appears to have been an Arab sheik with whom he ate daily and had a “friendly association.”170 He was also intent on improving his foreign language ability, a necessity, he believed, because of the deaths of the other members. He was proud to report that he was simultaneously working on his knowledge of French, English, Dutch, Italian and, of course, still Arabic.171 Arriving on Arab soil once again he was invigorated and ready to work. He told Gähler, “I am, God be praised, completely fresh and healthy,” and that he needed time to explore. “For God’s sake, on behalf of the King, do not order me to travel too hastily. Now is the time when I can learn something. After my return to Copenhagen, I don’t intend to travel again.”172 During his stay in al Başrah Niebuhr studied and explored a city that was still an essential entrepôt, a vital link between two very important commercial worlds – the world of the caravans crossing Syria, Iraq and Anatolia and the world of the sea-going trade of the Indian Ocean. In addition, because of its borderlands location, it was a city that was subject to the instability inherent in being at a focal point of the changing constellation of power between Ottoman, Arab and Persian forces.173 Since 1733, al Başrah was administered as a dependency of the Province of Baghdād, within the greater Ottoman Empire. It was not the city famous in the Middle Ages for its commercial and intellectual activity, and great wealth. The old al Başrah, which Niebuhr visited during his stay, had fallen into decay and ruins by the 14th Century and had been abandoned. The new city, which lay to the north of the old, and closer to the river, was therefore not particularly old, nor in Niebuhr’s opinion very attractive. Nonetheless he was visiting the city at a time when com-

169 Niebuhr to Gähler, 30 August 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 55. 170 Niebuhr compiled extensive notes on al Başrah, see Tagebuch H, 210–279, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 171 Niebuhr to Gähler, 24 November 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 56. From the entries in Niebuhr’s Stambog, we know that he interacted with the small European community in al Başrah, English sea captains and at least one visitor from France. See Niebuhrs Stambog, pp. 36(a) and 37(a), Kongelige Bibliothek, Copenhagen. 172 Niebuhr to Gähler, 30 August 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 55. 173 For a good discription of al Başrah in the 18th Century, see Thabit A. J. Abdullah, Merchants, Mamluks and Murder. The Political Economy of Trade in Eighteenth-Century Başra (Albany, 2001). For the background of the city see Willem M. Floor, The Persian Gulf: a political and economic history of five port cities, 1500–1730 (Washington, D. C., 2006), 479–597.

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mercial activity was increasing and its administration under Suleyman Agha, the governor, was competent.174 Niebuhr carried out his usual workman-like job of describing this sizable community and its people. He established its latitude and longitude and he completed an annotated town plan, drawn to scale.175 The walls around the city had five gates which he named in Arabic and Latin letters, and a perimeter of approximately 12 kilometers. The city had a total of 49 Mosques, one with two minarets, eight with one and forty that were quite small.176 He noted that al Başrah was a city of water, interlaced with numerous small canals and other waterways. Stagnant water, periodic flooding and poor maintenance made the city unsanitary and therefore unhealthy. It was, he believed, the dirtiest city he had visited in the Arab Middle East.177 He listed the names in Arabic and in Latin letters of each of the 72 quarters, or neighborhoods, in the city. He found they varied greatly in size from as few as 10 or 20 houses to almost 400. In some quarters, the houses were co-mingled with small groves of date palms. Based on an assessment that on average each of the neighborhoods had about 100 houses, and that each dwelling had seven inhabitants, he initially calculated that the population of the city could be as high as 50,000. More realistically though, he estimated the population to be approximately 40,000, a figure which today is considered to be reasonable and in line with the much earlier census of the Ottomans.178 174 Abdullah, Merchants, Mamluks and Murder, 49–54. 175 Niebuhr to Gähler, 24 November 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 56; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 209, and 216, Plate XXXIX. His field notebook shows the latitude to be 30º 30' 5". The longitude, which he did not publish, he determined to be 3 hrs. 2 minutes east of the Paris meridian. Difficult to complete as a solitary observer, it appears he accomplished the task through the observation of the eclipses or occultations of the first two satellites of Jupiter. Tagebuch H, 213, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. 314.1, Nr. 3. Further mention of his observations of Jupiter’s moons is contained in a later letter to the Swedish astronomer Pehr Wargentin, who had just published on the subject of Jupiter’s satellites. See Niebuhr to Wargentin, 11 October 1776, Kungl. Vetenskapsakademien. Centrum för Vetenskapshistoria, Stockholm (courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier). For a discussion of the methodology, see Cotter, A History of Nautical Astronomy, 184–189. Niebuhr’s result is given in his letter to Gähler, of 24 November 1765, listed in this note. This calculation appears to have been his final determination of longitude. In addition to having no one to assist him, he had learned in Bombay of the death of Tobias Mayer. This disappointment caused him to lose interest. See Niebuhr to Franz Xaver von Zach, 2 October 1802, reprinted in Reisebeschreibung, III, Anhang I, Nr. 14, “Längenbestimmungen auf und an dem Arabischen Meerbusen,” 76. 176 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 210. He even recorded the names of the nine with minarets in his field notebook, see Tagebuch H, 271, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 177 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 210. 178 Ibid., 211 and 219, and Abdullah, Merchants, Mamluks and Murder, pp. 25–26, and Inalcik and Quataert, eds., An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 654, who also list the population as 40,000. Also see Tagebuch H, 273, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3, for Niebuhr’s actual calculations at the time. The role of quarters, or residential districts, was an important or-

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Niebuhr also learned about the administration of the city. He described the authority of the different officials, the great freedom of the Janissaries, and, with considerable insight, the complicated historic relationship between Baghdād and al Başrah. He also gathered information on the dominant position of the a̔yan, the region’s powerful and sometimes quarrelsome nobility or notables. They were influential in the city and they controlled the countryside, deriving their wealth from the cultivation of dates, a product whose importance he soon recognized. Niebuhr listed more than twenty different kinds of dates in Arabic and included information on their role in the diet, and even on the use of the pits as animal feed.179 In addition to date palms the fields around the city were filled with fruit trees and vegetables. He also noted that the city had a predominantly Sunni Arab population, although the presence of Shi‘ites had increased because of years of turmoil in nearby Iran. There were also significant Armenian, Indian and Jewish communities. With the exception of the British, some Italians and a single French consul, the European population was insignificant.180 Finally, while he was there, Niebuhr recorded a timely, fairly extensive, and therefore, historically useful account of another pirate band, an Arab tribe, the Banū Ka’b.181 Under the aggressive and skilled leadership of Sheik Salmān, they had come to control much of the mouth of the Shatt al Arab estuary. In Niebuhr’s time, they raided Ottoman, British and Indian ships in the area, as well as the nearby groves of cultivated dates. The tribe had a sizable water borne-flotilla of, according to Niebuhr, some 80 boats and vessels, most of them quite small, which gave them great mobility in the waterways of the estuary. In 1765, the Governor of al Başrah, the British and Karim Khān carried out various military operations against the Banū Ka’b with dismal success. Sheik Salmān’s ability to divide his opponents and the skill and nimbleness of his fighters carried the day in a sequence of events somewhat similar to the story of Mīr Muhannā. Niebuhr’s record of this skirmish between a local fiefdom and the major forces of the Persian Gulf is detailed and contemporaneous. Thus it is still today a valuable and accessible source for the history of al Başrah and the Gulf during this period, and is one that highlights the complex and multi-layered dynamics of the region.182 Indeed it is interesting to note that both in the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf, Niebuhr observed that the European presence in most cases was quite modest. For example, in the Gulf there were “absolutely no Europeans” in Masqaţ and also Banganizing feature of the Ottoman Arab cities. See André Raymond, The Great Arab Cities in the 16th-18th Centuries. An Introduction (New York, 1984), 58–90. 179 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 225–226. 180 Ibid., 220. 181 Ibid., 227–234. 182 See John R. Perry, “The Banū Ka’b: an Amphibious Brigand State in Khūzistān,” Le Monde Iranien et L’Islam, Vol. 1 (Paris, 1971), 131–152; and the same author’s Karim Khan Zand, 161–166. Niebuhr also mentions the tribe in Niebuhr to Gähler, 24 November 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 56.

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dar-e Abās. As we have seen there were only two British representatives in Būshehr and Shīrāz. The Portuguese had left the area completely years earlier, the French presence in Persia and al Başrah, he reported had virtually disappeared, and the Dutch were ejected from the Gulf while he was there. Clearly British influence was important and growing, as evidenced by their control of Bombay and Surat, and their presence elsewhere. But still there was no question of domination by the British as local chieftains such as Mīr Muhannā and the Banū Ka’b were able to survive and even succeed for a time. For Niebuhr it was Indian and Arab traders, and their vessels, that stood out. Thus in the middle of the 18th Century, his experience would tend to support the notion that the European presence supplemented the much broader and extensive activities of the regional and local economic players (Indian, Arab, Persian, and Ottoman) in this maritime region. Niebuhr was observing non-systematically the economic world of the Arabian Sea before it had come to be dominated by the British in the wake of their victories in the Seven Years War, and similarly well before any significant impacts from the Industrial Revolution. Thus he was in the area during a decade when the dynamics of trade and commerce were momentarily somewhat quiescent; it was a twilight period before momentous change would affect the control of trade and products, and the structures that supported them.183 Two other items are worth mentioning as part of his stay in al Başrah. First, it was there that Niebuhr appears to have completed his important chart of the Persian Gulf.184 [Fig. 21] The chart was based on his own observations while traversing the Gulf, notes he had taken for the region and an extensive list of astronomical observations he had acquired from English mariners.185 He had not visited the southwestern coast of the Gulf after leaving Masqaţ, so it remained unknown to him (the orientation of Bahrain, for example, which he was not able to see, is incorrect). Thus, the chart is much more accurate and detailed along the Persian coast line for which he had many notes. The chart delineated scores of towns, islands and other topographical features, and both latitude and longitude for the region.186 It is 183 For example see Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II, pp. 85, 94, and 220.; also see Niebuhr to Gähler, 24 November 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 56. For a good discussion of some of these issues, see Michael Pearson, The Indian Ocean (London, 2003), esp. 62–112, 153 and 190–197, and his Before Colonialism. Theories on Asian European Relations 1500–1750 (Dehli, 1988), esp. 51– 68; also see Ashin Das Gupta, “India and the Indian Ocean in the Eighteenth Century,” in India and the Indian Ocean, 1500–1800, ed. Ashin Das Gupta and M. N. Pearson (Calcutta, 1987), 131– 161; and Abdullah, Merchants, Mamluks and Murder, 4–5. For the Ottoman Empire, trade was overwhelmingly internal, and the European role in external trade was less significant than the nearby regional players. See Inacik and Quataert, eds., An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 724. 184 See Sinus Persicus maximam partem ad observationes proprias A. MDCCLXV institutas delineatus a C. Niebuhr, in Niebuhr, Beschreibung, 310, Plate XIX. 185 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, 310, and 333–339. 186 Some of the data he received from English mariners he did not use because they assigned

Fig. 21. Chart of the Persian Gulf, prepared by Niebuhr

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the first chart to mention Kuwait by that name and to present nomenclature for the Gulf that has largely continued into modern times.187The latitudes are very accurate, while the longitudinal orientation is in error by about one degree. After Bombay, Niebuhr made no additional longitudinal observations at sea, probably because he had no one to assist him. Thus, he had to rely on the observations of others for establishing longitude.188 Despite its deficiencies, the chart overall surpassed the accuracy of any existing map of the Persian Gulf at that time, and was not superseded until 1821, when a British coastal survey was completed.189 Second, it was also while in al Başrah, presumably as a result of his discussions with the Arab Sheik with whom he ate, that Niebuhr was told of the establishment of a new religious sect or group by a Sheik Ibn al-Wahhāb in Najdi, about which little was then known. This is the first, by several decades, known reference to the Wahhābi reform movement in the literature, the fundamentalist Sunni sect that was adopted by a then local Arabian ruler, Muhammad ibn Saud in the 18th Century. As a result, as is well known, it came to be, with the subsequent ascendancy of the Saud dynasty in a substantially unified Arabian Peninsula, the dominant religion for the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and it had an important influence on the development of Arab nationalism.190 Niebuhr’s brief characterization of the religious views of the Wahhābis is quite accurate, and his assessment of the situation in the interior of Arabia regarding the power and ascendancy of the movement at that time has been called “almost prophetic in its exactness.”191 European names to geographical features, a common practice, he noted, of the English. Niebuhr to B. G. Niebuhr, 2–6 September 1810, BBAW, Nachlass B. G. Niebuhr, Nr. 230. 187 See Ahmad Mustafa Abu-Hakima, The Modern History of Kuwait, 1750–1965 (London, 1983), 1; B. J. Slot, The Origins of Kuwait (Leiden, 1991), 105; and C. Edmund Bosworth, “The Nomenclature of the Persian Gulf,” Iranian Studies 30 (1997): 93. 188 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 76, and B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 19. 189 Henze, Foreword to the reprint of the Reisebeschreibung, xi; and Al-Qasimi, The Gulf in Historic Maps, 214. 190 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, 19, 347–349 and 395, and Michael Cook, “On the Origins of Wahhābism,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, Third Series 2 (1992): 195. For Wahhābism, see Natana J. Delong-Bas, Wahhabi Islam: from revival and reform to global Jihad (New York, 2004); Wayne H. Bowen, The History of Saudi Arabia (Westport, 2008), 69–75; and Georg Rentz, “Wahhabism and Saudi Arabia,” in The Arabian Peninsula, Society and Politics, ed. Derek Hopwood (Totowa, 1972), 54–66. As Rentz has summarized: “Not only was Arabia rent by sectarianism, but an old and deep division also set the nomads against the town dwellers. Scores of Bedouin tribes and scores of little towns all sought to maintain themselves as independent, and they were often at war with each other. Islam in Arabia was a far cry from the Islam of the Prophet. Reverence for sacred stones and trees and the cult of saints, both living and dead, were common everywhere. In the eyes of orthodox Muslims, many of the practices prevailing were examples of the cardinal sin of syntheism, the association of anything or anyone with God, Who alone is deserving of worship. The grand accomplishment of Wahhabism was that it brought unity to the larger part of this fragmented land, and within its domains it restored Islam to its early undeified form.” 54–55. 191 H. St. J. B. Philby, Arabia (New York, 1930), 27.

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By the end of November Niebuhr told Gähler that the road to Baghdād was judged to be more secure and therefore he had made arrangements to leave al Başrah traveling on a small vessel up the river. He was already adding items to his itinerary. He wanted to see the site of the ancient Aramaic city of Tadmor, or Palmyra, with its famous ruins, in Syria, as well as the Roman temple complex of Baalbek, or Heliopolis, in eastern Lebanon. To this he added the idea of a short trip to Upper Egypt. It is not at all clear what he intended to do in Egypt.192 On November 28, 1765, Niebuhr and his helper left al Başrah on a 21-day voyage on the Shatt al Arab, and then on the Euphrates River to the village of Lemlum, where Niebuhr would decide to disembark and proceed overland to Baghdād.193 His unfortunate neighbor on the trip was a deathly ill Janissary officer, housed in a small compartment forward of his own. Not knowing his illness, Niebuhr was worried the entire time about contracting some disease. During the river voyage Niebuhr was busy gathering information about the geography and peoples of the region. At nearly every town where they stopped (it was like a kind of postal run) he took the time to make a latitudinal observation. Evidently, the conditions were frequently quite windy. On these occasions some of his fellow passengers, no doubt interested in his work and trying to be helpful, would often circle around him, and with their long traditional attire, would protect him from the wind as he took his sightings with his quadrant – quite a wonderful cross-cultural scene. He completed eight observations during the voyage.194 He recorded the names of scores of villages on both banks of the river and collected data for brief profiles he later did of the major towns and the itineary maps of the area that he produced. He took notes on the different Arab tribes that ruled the desert region between al Başrah and Baghdād, and he recognized that they had little regard for the authority of the Ottoman Sultan and his Pashas.195 The river route was overrun with petty thieves and resident robbers from nearby villages. One night Niebuhr interrupted thieves taking clothing from his cabin; he fired his pistol in the air and they jumped overboard. On another occasion, the riverboat ran aground in an area where only three weeks before a boat had been robbed and some of the passengers killed. While the crew was trying to man-haul the boat to free it from the sandbar, a group of menacing villagers approached the 192 Niebuhr to Gähler, 24 November 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 56. At Tadmor he wanted to copy inscriptions, not just “perspectives” of the site. See Niebuhr to Gähler, 24 June 1766, RaK, AR, case 3–004, Nr. 83a. On the significance of Tadmor, see Udo Hartmann, Das palmyrenische Teilreich (Stuttgart, 2001), especially as an introduction, 45–64. Also see Ted Kaizer, The Religious Life of Palmyra (Stuttgart, 2002). The ruins are discussed on pp. 41–43. Also see Klaus Stefan Freyberger, Die frühkaiserzeitlichen Heiligtümer der Karawanenstationen im hellenisierten Osten (Mainz, 1998), esp. 62–69 (Baalbek), and 74–88 (Palmyra). 193 The trip is described in Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 240–254. 194 Ibid., 242. 195 Ibid., 245–246. See for example, his notes on Suäb and Korne, Tagebuch H, 278–280, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3.

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vessel. To deter the anticipated raid, it was decided to have Niebuhr stand on deck, fully armed with his two pistols and saber, and wearing the impressive turban of the sick Janissary officer, while a group of merchants posed as his personal guard awaiting orders. It was announced that Niebuhr was “an Agha from Baghdād.” The villagers decided to be prudent. Niebuhr was not convinced that they actually had fallen for this ruse, but no robbery took place. Niebuhr concluded, “One can therefore see that a good weapon is more important to traveling Europeans to frighten the Arabs than to actually use,” an act against which he strongly advised.196 When they arrived in the village of Lemlum, he decided to leave the boat to travel by land to al Hillah and then to Baghdād. Instead of continuing by the more direct river route, he wanted to visit the Masjid ‘Alī in an Najaf and the Masjid alHusayn in Karbalā’, the Holy Shrines of the First and Third Imams respectively of Shi‘ite Islam.197 For this reason he also decided to pay the travel expenses of a Mullah from Baghdād who agreed to accompany him to the sites. In addition he planned to see the ruins of Babylon near al Hillah. It was December 20th.198 They reached an Najaf on December 22nd, and stayed there for three days before moving on by way of al Hillah (without stopping) to Karbalā’, where they arrived on the 27th. Niebuhr described both sites in considerable detail and recorded their importance to Shi‘ite Islam.199 In an Najaf he asked about the custom he observed of bringing the dead from other areas, some as far as Iran, to be buried near the Masjid ‘Alī, and ever the quantifier, was told that his estimate of about seven per day, or 2,000 a year, for these after-death pilgrimages was about right.200 He completed a town plan for an Najaf and made drawings of the famous Mosques at both sites.201 Through discussions with the Mullah, other clerics, pilgrims and inhabitants he learned a great deal about Islamic history, the difference between the beliefs and practices of Shi‘ite and Sunni Muslims, and even the impact of the recent rule of Nadir Shāh upon Shi‘ism. It was Niebuhr’s understanding that he was the first European to visit the Imām ‘Alī Holy Shrine. 202 He also went to the historic town of Kufa, now abandoned, and made a detailed description and floor plan of the ruined mosque there. He took time to copy four sets of old Kufic inscriptions on the walls of the ruins and he subsequently translated them.203 On December 25, Christmas Day, he rode for four and one-half hours to the town of Kekil, the burial site of Ezekiel, and a pilgrimage destination for Jews. He examined and measured the site 196 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 251. 197 The significance and history of these shrines for Shi‘ism is discussed in Heinz Halm, Shi‛ism, 2nd ed. (New York, 2004), 7–15, and in Momen, An Introduction to Shi‘i Islam, 23–26, and 28–33. 198 Tagebuch H, 280, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 3. 199 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 254–270. Also see Niebuhr to Gähler, 8 February 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 57. 200 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 255. 201 Ibid., 272, Plate XLII. 202 Ibid., 264, and 271–285. 203 Ibid., 272, Figure B, Plate XLII.

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(its walls were nine meters high and it had a perimeter of 250 double steps). He also learned of the difficult circumstances under which Jews were allowed to make their visits to this particular area.204 Thus Niebuhr used his time well and in different ways as he explored the region (he also interrupted another robbery along the way). These inquiries into the details of Islam, in particular, are evidence of his continuing interest in understanding and describing the religions of the people he encountered.205 It also demonstrates how Michaelis’ plan to have the members mine the areas they were visiting for information that would enrich and explain the historical context of the Bible had been superseded by circumstances and personal interests. Niebuhr was neither a biblical scholar, a philologist nor a natural scientist. He simply focused, in a broad sense, on gathering geographical, cultural and historical data on the communities through which he traveled. He let the lands and their peoples come to him. He asked many questions and he collected what he heard and saw. Although he tried to be somewhat systematic, he had no rigid typology or other construct that he imposed on his work or on those he was studying. Rather he was most interested in describing and comprehending peoples and societies as they were in his time, and contextually, in understanding their historical and cultural backgrounds.206 He was flexible and open-minded. His attention simply shifted to what seemed to be most distinctive, characteristic or otherwise noteworthy in the areas through which he passed, and thus his focus changed as he went. This is a point we will return to later. He left Karbalā’ on December 30, joining some 200 pilgrims to travel back to al Hillah. He immediately made a brief visit to the scant (and greatly degraded) ruins of Ancient Babylon. He speculated on why, in contrast to Egypt or Persia, so little of the original structures still survived. He concluded it was because of the availability of limited building materials. Persepolis was built with marble in the area, the Pyramids with limestone quarried from nearby. With quarried stone not an option, Babylon was built with mud bricks. The structures simply could not survive. Thus, he thought, the existence of greatly degraded ruins should not reflect poorly on the scientific or construction abilities of the Babylonians, which Niebuhr judged to be quite strong.207 Of course, the use of mud bricks, which were easily removed and transported, meant that the site also suffered because local inhabitants 204 Ibid., 264–266, and Tagebuch, 16–17, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4. 205 For some of his field notes on Islam, see Vermischte Anmerkungen, 26–126, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 2. 206 For an excellent overview of the diversity of the Arab world Niebuhr was about to traverse, see Masters, Christians and Jews in the Ottoman Arab World, especially Chapter Two, “The Ottoman Arab World: a diversity of sects and peoples,” pp. 41–67. 207 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 289–291; also see I. L. Finkel and M. J. Seymour, Babylon (Oxford, 2009). For a very full discussion of Babylon from many different perspectives see the handsome catalog edited by Joachim Marzahn and Günther Schauerle, Babylon – Wahrheit (Munich, 2008).

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used the ruins as a convenient source for building materials.208 Thus, beyond the outline of foundations and a few other features, there was little for Niebuhr to see. He stayed in al Hillah only three to four days. He established its latitude and noted that the Euphrates River was 400 feet wide as it passed by the town.209 He departed on the 4th of January for Baghdād.210 The four day trip was not particularly pleasant. It rained heavily along the way, and his only company, aside from his helper, were some muleskinners packing some merchandise to Baghdād. They were the most profane travelers he had encountered on the entire expedition. Niebuhr had to listen, he later wrote, to a steady stream of “scandalous” obscenities that left out no one – including wives, daughters, mothers and even grandmothers. He arrived in the city on January 9, 1766.211 Baghdād in the 18th Century was a much-diminished city from its days as a great Islamic center of science, literature and commerce in the 8th and 9th Centuries. The city was sacked by the Mongols under the grandson of Ghengis Khan in 1258, with much of its population massacred and its highly developed infrastructure, especially its irrigation systems, destroyed. The city was sacked again by Timūr in the beginning of the 15th Century. In 1534, the Ottoman army, led by Suleyman the Magnificent, conquered Baghdād, and the surrounding region was added to his growing empire. As a result the city had experienced a long period of decline and stagnation. Its population in the 18th Century is not known, but is estimated to have been 80,000–100,000 people, less than half its size during its golden age.212 Baghdād’s situation had also suffered because the province, as an Ottoman borderland with Persia, was periodically subject to conflict. For example, Nadir Shāh attacked the city in 1733. Instability also derived from the weak control exercised by Istanbul over the region. The Baghdād Province in the 18th Century was governed by a line of Mamluk Pashas, officially appointed by the Sultan, but largely autonomous and sometimes obstreperous. Beyond the cities and towns, Ottoman rule was even less consequential. The desert and countryside was dominated by traditional and unruly tribal clans, making caravan travel uncertain.213 Once again Niebuhr embarked on the task of describing a major city he was visiting. He established its latitude and drew a town plan.214 Baghdād’s defensive 208 Benjamin R. Foster and Karen Polinger Foster, Civilizations of Ancient Iraq (Princeton, 2009), 97. 209 Tagebuch, 37 and 27, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S., KB 314.1, Nr. 4, and Reisebeschreibung, II: 287 210 In the Reisebeschreibung, II: 291, Niebuhr dates his departure as the 5th, but his field journal gives the date of January 4, 1766. see Tagebuch, 31, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4. 211 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 292.. 212 Raymond, The Great Arab Cities, 12, and Inalcik and Quataert, eds. An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 654. 213 Hans J. Nissen and Peter Heine, From Mesopotamia to Iraq (Chicago, 2009), 134–154; Finkel, Osman’s Dream, 406–407; and Raymond, The Great Arab Cities, 3. 214 For his description of Baghdād, see Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 293–334, and 296, Plate XLVI, and Tagebuch, 33–87, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4.

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walls with their many towers and parapets, its narrow streets and relatively tall buildings constructed out of mud bricks and mortar, its public baths and its vaulted bazaars – all of these he described in considerable detail. It was unusually cold in the city with ice on the water. He was told twenty people had frozen to death, which was not surprising, Niebuhr thought, because the poor people had hardly any clothing.215 He took notes on the problems of the pontoon bridge across the Tigris River which periodically was torn apart by the strong current in the river, particularly in the winter when the snow in the mountains melted following a storm. He recorded the number of larger mosques in Baghdād (at least twenty), but he was especially interested in learning about the Takīyahrs, the individual monasteries for the different Dervish orders, with which he was not familiar. One, which he visited, served as a hostel for pilgrims bound for Makkah. While there admiring the cupola of its mosque and the grave of the order’s revered founder, he talked with a member of the order who regaled him with tales of the miracles attributed to the founding sheik. These he simply recorded without additional comment. He also discovered that Baghdād had what was called a hospital, really, he wrote, a sealed-off quarter, or ghetto, for those with leprosy and severe venereal disease. He also noted the large Jewish population in the city, but the absence of Indians and Parsis, which he had been used to seeing in so many communities tied to the trade of the Indian Ocean. The European presence was slight. He met a Venetian, who was quite helpful, and two Carmelite monks. The British East India Company had had an agent in the area, but he had been recalled because the operation was not profitable. Indeed European trade with Baghdād was not great, in Niebuhr’s opinion.216 Niebuhr took considerable time to find out about the recent history of the region, presumably from local residents. He created a list of every Pasha that had been appointed since 1638, including their year of appointment and term of service. Most terms were of short duration, a characteristic of Ottoman administrative policy, but also a source of instability. He developed capsule accounts of the events that occurred during the most noteworthy administrations. He also pursued his growing interest in the details of Ottoman bureaucracy, a topic he would return to later in life. He wrote, “the structure of government in Baghdād is completely ‘constantinopolitanisch’, by which he meant that it was bulging with officials, titles and procedures. He accumulated information on all of the positions supporting the Pasha from the Mufti for the Hanafi school of Islamic Law, and his counterpart for the Shafi̔i school, to the Ibrikar, who was in charge of bringing water to the Pasha so he could wash, and the Sudsji Bâschi, who brought him his water to drink.217 He also

215 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 293–294. 216 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 307. 217 Ibid., 323–326. We know that Niebuhr acquired this kind of information during his visit, not after his return, because it also appears in his Tagebuch, 84, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4.

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took notes on the military units available to the Pasha in Baghdad – infantry, cavalry and other special units, totaling 3,500 men.218 During his stay Niebuhr had to plan the next stage of his trip – namely getting to Halab, as directed by Gähler in his letter of December 17, 1764. He could travel directly across the Syrian Desert or he could follow the longer, but geographically more interesting, route north by way of al Mawşil (Mosul), and then east to Halab. He also badly wanted to visit the Holy Land and the ruins of Tadmor before returning to Europe. If he knew ahead of time that Copenhagen would not press him to return immediately to Europe, he wanted to follow the more rewarding northern route and then to see the Holy Land. If, on the other hand, his time in the Middle East was to be cut short, then he would take the faster route across the desert, and use the time he saved for a brief trip to Palestine.219 He had hoped to get some guidance from Copenhagen, but he received none. Thus he pondered his alternatives. Niebuhr knew that caravan travel across the Syrian Desert was problematic. As he later wrote about such trips, “If there is no fighting between the different Arab tribes or between them and the Turkish Pashas, if the leader of the caravan (the Karavanbaschi) is an upright man, and if the travelers understand the local language, and are already used to living according to Middle Eastern customs, then a trip through the desert is neither unpleasant nor dangerous. However,” he added with his understated sense of humor, “it is rare that all of these occur together.”220 He could find no large caravans that were departing from Baghdād directly to Halab and the route was considered too dangerous for him to travel alone. So he contemplated instead joining a caravan to Damascus, and in fact he had one of his chests of basic items included in its packed baggage. But at the last minute, he heard of fighting on the route and decided not to go. It was a wise choice. Outside of Damascus the caravan was “plundered” and Niebuhr’s chest was one of the items broken into.221 Therefore, having still heard nothing from Bernstorff or Gähler, he decided to follow the more circuitous, but safer and more interesting route north through Kirkûk to al Mawşil, and from there to proceed to Halab. Using his letter of credit from Maseyk, he drew 500 piasters to cover his expenses for the next stage of the journey.222 He joined a small caravan of 25–30 Jewish merchants who were quite poor and unarmed. They each rode a donkey carrying both themselves and their wares. Niebuhr noted, as Jews were heavily discriminated against in the Middle East, as they were in Europe, his choice of travel companions for an incident-free trip was a poor one. But as he later wrote that he “was not trying to give himself airs in these 218 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II, 327, and Tagebuch, 71, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S., KB 314.1, Nr. 4. 219 Niebuhr to Gähler, 8 February 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 57; also Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 22 February 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 77. 220 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 237. 221 Ibid., 334; and Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 22 February 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 77. 222 Niebuhr to Gähler, 28 February 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 58.

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lands” and might have to wait longer for another caravan, he did not care.223 The leader of the Jewish party was friendly and had asked him to join their group, and he was from al Mawşil. He knew the area, and Kurdistan in particular, well, and Niebuhr thought he was someone from whom he could learn a great deal.224 They started their journey on March 3rd. As in the past, Niebuhr traveled and ate simply. His kit, two satchels for his books, papers and clothes, and cases for his instruments all fit easily on one horse or mule. His helper was on another, and Niebuhr rode on a third.225 He still carried his Firman, or imperial passport from the Sultan, as well as a travel pass from the Pasha of Baghdād.226 Traveling north by northwest, they made their way through scattered villages to Kirkûk, where they joined another caravan heading in the same direction.227 Along the trail, as he had done since leaving al Başrah, Niebuhr kept track of the distances between towns and villages and recorded other cartographic information. This data he used to produce two maps that covered his trip from Lemlum on eventually to al Mawşil. The maps included nine latitudinal observations, the names of scores of villages and towns and the delineation of key topographical features on either side of the route.228 He also continued to add to his growing collection of observations about village life and religious groups such as Nestorians, Chaldeans and Jacobites.229 223 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 335. 224 Ibid, 335; and Tagebuch, 98, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4. 225 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 372–374. For the care with which he transported his instruments, see his letter to Franz Xaver von Zach, 25 January 1802, reprinted in Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung III, Anhang I, Nr. 10, “Geographische Ortsbestimmungen in Aegypten,” 49. 226 Ibid., 335. See Reisepaß für Niebuhr, Basra [1764], UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.3, Nr. 3. 227 Tagebuch, 106, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4. 228 Ibid., 100–101; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 256 and 352, Plates XLI and XLV, respectively. 229 Both Nestorians and Chaldeans have their origin in the Christian Church of the East, which followed the East Syrian Rite. The Church of the East was formed in the 5th Century A. D., after a schism with Rome over conflicting interpretations of the relationship between the divinity and humanity of Jesus. The church grew rapidly for a time throughout Asia, including China, before a pronounced contraction in the 14th Century. In the 16th Century, a dispute over the Office of the Patriarch led to a division of the Church of the East into the Chaldeans (not to be confused as a term with the Chaldean Kingdom of Babylon), who were subsequently readmitted into the Roman Catholic Church, and The East Syrians, sometimes referred to historically as Nestorians, who continued as The Church of the East. Today the term East Syrian Church is preferred. Both the Patriarch for the East Syrian Church and the Patriarch for the Chaldean Catholic Church are located in Baghdād, and both use Syriac and Arabic as the liturgical languages. See John Joseph, The Nestorians and their Muslim Neighbors (Princeton, 1961), esp. 3–39. The Jacobites also have their origin in the 5th Century as a result of the continuing controversy over the divine and human nature of Christ. Centered around the Patriarch of Alexandria they came to emphasize the primacy of the divine essence of Jesus, and became what are referred to as Monophysites. Suppressed as a non-conforming sect by Justinian I, they evolved into the Jacobite Church, better known today as the independent Syrian Orthodox Church, or the West

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In one place where they stopped for the night, the town was alive with the celebration of Id al-Fitr, the feast at the end of Ramadan. Pugilists, other performers, vendors and celebrants filled the streets. One vendor offered a “Middle Eastern” massage, to use Niebuhr’s term. At first glance, he wrote, such an experience might seem strange to a European, but out of curiosity he decided to give it a try. “One needs only to lie down on the floor lengthwise, and then the fellow vigorously pummels and pounds all the muscles in your body with his fists, and the blood is thereby once again circulating properly.” He found it to be quite helpful after a long day’s ride.230 They continued on until they reached the town of Irbīl on March 16th. This was the destination for most of the travelers who had joined them in Kirkūk, and thus they left the caravan. But fortunately, early the next morning Niebuhr’s group of Jewish merchants was able to join with another caravan bound for al Mawşil. On the 17th they rode for nine hours, covering about 40 kilometers, until they reached the Zāb River. It originated in the snowed-capped mountains of Kurdistan and the spring thaw had already begun. The water level on the river was dangerously high and the current strong. In a very characteristic account in the Reisebeschreibung, Niebuhr explained that the caravan would need help in order to cross.231 The village on the other side of the river normally would have been an easy and obvious source of assistance. But it was inhabited by members of the Yezidi sect, purported to be devil worshipers and shunned as a result by Muslims, Jews and Christians alike. In the 18th Century they were heavily persecuted in the Ottoman Empire, as they have continued to be in modern Iraq and elsewhere. However, as there were no other villages for a long stretch of the river, help from the Yezidi community was the only real option. Adding to the discomfort of the group was the rickety nature of their traditional river rafts, or Keleks. They were made up of 32 inflated sheep skins tied to a board. Nonetheless, Niebuhr wrote, “even a high-ranking Ottoman, as well as all of the remaining Muslims, Christians and Jews who were in our caravan, had to trust these people with their lives if they wanted to cross the River Zāb.” The entire group was frightened by this prospect, and Niebuhr admitted that he too was “not a little afraid.” Meanwhile, as he continued with wonderful irony, “my baggage and the saddle from my horse and mules were loaded on the raft, I laid on top of them, the current was very rapid, with every wave I imagined that I would be swallowed Syrian Church. The Patriarch is located in Damascus and the liturgical languages are Syriac and Arabic. See John Joseph, Muslim-Christian Relations and Inter-Christian Rivalries in the Middle East. The Case of the Jacobites in an Age of Transition (Albany, 1983), 1–49. Also see the discussions in Michael Angold, ed., The Cambridge History of Christianity. Volume 5. Eastern Christianity (Cambridge, 2006), especially the articles by Françoise Micheau, “Eastern Christianities (eleventh to fourteenth century): Copts, Melkites, Nestorians and Jacobites,” pp. 373–403, and Anthony O’Mahony, “Syriac Christianity in the modern Middle East,” pp. 511–535. 230 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 340–341. 231 Ibid., 344–348. Also see the description in Tagebuch, 113–115, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4.

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up together with my two boatmen who at that time I believed worshiped the devil; however, with God’s help we came happily to the other side.”232 With the exception of the loss of one pack mule, the crossing was successfully negotiated by all members of the caravan in spite of much swearing and consternation. Not surprisingly the Yezidi awakened Niebuhr’s curiosity, and he subsequently talked to many people in the area about their religion. As a result he was able to later write a remarkably informative description of their syncretic beliefs, history and practices. Except for postulating incorrectly a possible relationship to the Ibadhi sect in Oman, a connection that probably would have occurred to few, if any other Europeans in the 18th Century, his description, though brief, is even-handed and accurate given his limited resources.233 He did not blindly accept the common notion that the group revered Satan, but instead he probed and in the end he reported that that he had found out that the Yezidi “did not worship the devil, but simply just honored God as the creator and benefactor of all people.”234 Aside from the interesting little episode of crossing the Zāb and encountering the Yezidis, the overall journey to al Mawşil went relatively smoothly. It was only Niebuhr’s initial reception in the city that was disappointing. He had a letter of introduction to Dominican missionaries there with whom he had planned to take lodging. However, as soon as the monks heard that he was a Danish subject and a Protestant, they refused to take him in. He soon discovered that they looked down on him “as virtually a heathen.” Even Muslims in the city wondered why, as a Christian, he had so little contact with his fellow believers, the missionaries. Niebuhr decided he needed to improve his reputation. As he later wrote, “In order to show the inhabitants that I was not a completely insignificant person, although I simultaneously had arrived with Jews and was proclaimed an “Unchrist” by the Dominicans, I sought out an opportunity to make an official visit to the Pasha.”235 This he was able to arrange and he had a pleasant meeting with the governor. Subsequently, he met with the Mufti, and representatives of the Chaldeans (for which al Mawşil was a center), Nestorians and Jacobites. Thus after his cold reception by the Dominicans, Niebuhr, showing a touch of his stubborn pride, noted, “In short, during the latter part of my stay in Mosul, I had cause to be very content with all the Middle Eastern peoples represented here.”236 232 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II, 347–348. 233 Ibid., 344–348. 234 Ibid., 345. For a full discussion of the Yezidi and their religion, see Philip G. Kreyenbroek, Yezidism – Its Background, Observances and Textual Tradition. Texts and Studies in Religion, Vol. 62 (Lewiston, 1995). As the author notes in his Introduction, “There is probably no factor that has influenced the perception of Yezidism, both in the Middle East and in the West, as much as the erroneous epithet ‘devil worshiper’.” This was used to justify their persecution in the Islamic world, and stimulated a sort of romantic fascination with them on the part of western scholars in the 19th Century. 235 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 357. 236 Ibid.

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Niebuhr’s somewhat rocky reception did not prevent him from learning about the city. He asked questions, measured, drew and took notes to build his inventory of information.237 He established Al Mawşil’s latitude as 36º 20' N and assembled data for another annotated, drawn-to-scale, town plan of the city. When completed it designated its main but narrow streets, and all of its major buildings – the town gates (eight), the Pasha’s palace, the Great Mosque, Christian churches and others.238 It also showed the location of Nineveh, across the Tigris River, which he visited by crossing a shaky pontoon bridge. Niebuhr also went to the city’s armory and over time received a good deal of information on the organization and scale of the Pasha’s military units. Niebuhr discovered that al Mawşil was a Sunni community following predominately the Hanafite school of law. There were a large number of Christians (1,200 households, he estimated), including Jacobites, Nestorians and Chaldeans. They had ten churches and were well treated in the city.239 This was not always the case with the significant Jewish community. Niebuhr observed that although Jews had more economic freedom in the Ottoman Empire than in Europe, where they were prohibited from joining the guilds, they otherwise were just as maltreated in the Middle East, and in some cases more so, as in Europe. For example, especially in the Christian neighborhoods of al Mawşil they could not appear on the streets during the Passion Week without being abused by young men.240

237 For his description see Ibid., 355–370; also Tagebuch, 126–145, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S., KB 314.1, Nr. 4. An extremely interesting discussion of al Mawşil, especially its economic and administrative culture, political power structure and evolving relationship with the Ottoman state is in Dina Rizk Khoury, State and provincial society in the Ottoman Empire. Mosul, 1540–1834 (Cambridge, 1997). 238 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 360, Plate XLVI. 239 Niebuhr later wrote, “In no city in the Turkish Empire do Christians live in such a good relationship with Muslims as in Mosul.” Ibid., p. 363. This figure is in alignment with the scant data available on the population of the city’s non-Muslims. See Khoury, State and provincial society in the Ottoman Empire, 112. 240 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 364. Niebuhr was correct in his observations. Jews were admitted to the guilds, and in fact some were exclusively Jewish and/or Christian. Economic life tended to be integrated but the economic well-being of the Jewish community had been declining in the Empire. The Ottoman environment was a mixture of tolerance and discrimination, with many rules, traditions and laws enforcing the social inferiority of non-Muslims such as Jews. See Masters, Christians and Jews in the Ottoman Arab World, 16–40, and Avigdor Levy, ed., The Jews of the Ottoman Empire (Princeton, 1994), 71–97. Nonetheless despite this discrimination, local differences and isolated incidents which Niebuhr found troubling, the position of Ottoman Jews was not insecure and as Avigdor Levy has concluded, “What makes their experience unique, however – especially when compared with that of European Jewry – is that over a period lasting six centuries, in good times or bad, Jews were never singled out for persecution or oppression because of their religion.” Avigdor Levy, ed., Jews, Turks, Ottomans: a shared history, fifteenth through the twentieth century (Syracuse, 2002), xix.

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Niebuhr thought al Mawşil was a prosperous and well-administered city. Indeed the 18th Century was a period of economic growth. While its borderlands location was periodically affected by instability in the region, the economy benefited from constant military expenditures in the area by Istanbul.241 Customs tolls and poll taxes were reasonable under the current Pasha. The city’s coffee houses, bazaars, public baths and most of the hostels were attractive. In the 18th Century, coffee was popular throughout much of the Empire and coffee houses were lucrative. The endowment of a member of the city’s most prominent family included six and oneeighth coffee houses out of 28 properties.242 The surrounding countryside with some 300 villages that fell under the jurisdiction of the Pasha seemed to be thriving.243 Except in times of drought, they produced an abundance of wheat, lentils, peas, sesame seeds and cotton. The town was also a center for the production of linen and the printing of fabrics. Part of al Mawşil’s success he attributed to the fact that the ruling Pasha came from a prominent local family and had served a long time in office. For, as he commented, “a Pasha who thinks he will remain in authority a long time, seeks to maintain the love and trust [of his subjects]. A stranger, on the other hand, who does not know how long he might be able to stay, seeks only to gain money not only to cover his travel expenses, but also to buy gifts in Constantinople, in order to obtain his next post when he is reassigned.”244 Niebuhr was right. The Ottoman administration was notorious for often leaving Pashas in office for only a short time and for rotating them frequently so that they did not become too embedded with the local community. In al Mawşil, the arrangement was an example of the shared distribution of power, also common in the Empire, between family-based elites and the administration in Istanbul. The Pasha had great influence over the Sultan’s appointments in the Province, Niebuhr was told, but he also paid between 17,500 and 20,000 piasters each year to Istanbul, on top of a poll tax on Christians and Jews which went directly to the Sultan.245 Niebuhr’s ultimate destination for this part of the expedition was Halab. Therefore when he discovered that a large caravan was going to leave al Mawşil for the long trek to the Syrian city, he decided to join it. It was not a small group. The caravan included 1,500 camels – 1,300 carried gallnuts from Kurdistan (used for the tanning of leather, and the production of ink and dyes), 120 had various linens from India, Iran, Baghdād and al Mawşil, and 45 more were packed with coffee beans.246 241 Khoury, State and provincial society in the Ottoman Empire, 111–112. 242 Ibid., 217. 243 Niebuhr received a list with the names of most of the villages in the area, to which he added brief information on some of the most important. Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 367–370. 244 Ibid., 363. 245 Ibid., 365. In the 18th Century, the office of Pasha was dominated by the Jalili family, whose members held positions throughout the administration, and derived their wealth from tax farming and military contracts. Khouri, State and provincial society in the Ottoman Empire, 57–58, and 123–126. 246 The caravan he described was remarkably typical for the trade out of al Mawşil. See Khouri’s

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There were also 500–600 horses, mules and donkeys loaded with other goods. The merchants, drivers and random travelers, such as Niebuhr, added 400 people to the group and they were joined by 150 soldiers who had been hired to protect the caravan from marauders.247 Niebuhr, his helper and their three horses rode with the group for two weeks in a northwesterly direction until they reached the town of Mārdin, located in southern Turkey, today just north of the Syrian border. Niebuhr, as we have learned, believed in simplicity in many matters. At the beginning of this trek he decided to simplify the situation concerning his name. He had become tired of constantly explaining what “Niebuhr” meant in Arabic to people who considered his name to be very strange, that is “barbaric.” Therefore, once again he decided to take an Arab name, that of of “Abdallah” (which meant a servant of God), a name that was used in the Middle East by Muslims and Christians alike. This he retained until he reached Halab.248 On the trip Niebuhr continued to be busy gathering geographical information – data for another travel map, and descriptions of local villages, towns and the myriad religious groups and peoples inhabiting this diverse borderlands region (Kurds, Yezidis, Arabs and various Christian sects). This he later found useful for his lengthy discussion in the Reisebeschreibung.249 For the most part the trip went quite smoothly, but there were several interesting incidents which Niebuhr noted. While camped one day, the members of the caravan saw a huge cloud of dust behind a nearby hill. It was soon reported that they were about to be attacked by 2,000 Kurds. The number quickly grew to 4,000. The camp stirred into action to gather together all the pack animals that were grazing nearby. However, calm was restored when it was discovered that the cloud of dust was caused by a large herd of sheep and four horsemen.250 In an episode of a different character, it turned out that Niebuhr’s helper for this part of the trip, hired in al Mawşil, was evidently quite gregarious and therefore he met quite a few people in the caravan. One of them turned out to be a Rabbi from Prague who had come to Iraq to visit the burial sites of some of the Prophets. Evidently he did not speak Arabic and he had gotten into a variety of difficulties with the Arab in charge of his pack animals and with some of his fellow travelers. Niebuhr decided to take him under his wing and arranged for a new muleteer. As he was now under Niebuhr’s protection, he was able to proceed without further incident, and, as Niebuhr wrote, he was able to bring him “towards Friday evening by sunset quite happily to Mārdin” (the next town).251 Niebuhr stayed for a description for caravans, “Coffee and Indian cottons became the major commodities of long distance trade among Mosuli merchants in the eighteenth century, and gallnuts continued to be the major local item sold to European merchants in Aleppo.” State and provincial society in the Ottoman Empire, 142. 247 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 374, and Tagebuch, 146–147, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4. 248 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 381–382. 249 Ibid., 371–422. 250 Ibid., 376, and Tagebuch, 149, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4. 251 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 383.

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week in Mārdin, but the Rabbi continued on with the caravan. Later, Niebuhr met him again in Halab and the Rabbi told him that near the end of his caravan journey he had been robbed. Evidently he had decided to leave the group to observe the sabbath in one town where they had spent the night. As soon as the caravan left he was attacked and stripped of his clothes. He now had no choice but to try to catch up with the caravan in his somewhat disrobed and destitute state, which he was able to do. As a result when Niebuhr met him, Niebuhr recounts, “The Rabbi was greatly troubled with Middle Easterners in general; I could, however, give him no other advise except that if he wanted to travel in a foreign country he should learn the language of the inhabitants and become familiar with the customs of the local people.”252 Niebuhr usually tended to put the responsibility on the visitor. As mentioned previously, Niebuhr left the large caravan in Mārdin. The town was located in the mountains overlooking the northern plains of Syria. He enjoyed its fresh, healthy air. While there he gained information about its religious communities, administration, and agricultural products (it was an area where Manna was gathered, a product of special interest in Michaelis’ Fragen). The residents of Mārdin put the town’s population at 60,000, but Niebuhr thought it was a fraction of that. He established its latitude as 37º 19' 0" N, which is correct to the second, and he drew a view of the town.253 Historically, Mārdin had been an important fortress town with a famous castle. Niebuhr visited it and found it to be falling apart. Nonetheless, the townspeople were very proud of its history. As Niebuhr recorded, “When the inhabitants of Mārdin want to describe the strength of their castle, they recount that Tamerlane [Timūr] laid siege to it for so long that he was able to harvest figs and grapes from the trees and vines he had planted on the hillsides below the town. Still he had to withdraw.” Niebuhr enjoyed the legend, but ever the realist he felt required to add that he did not want to comment further on this particular version of events except to say that indeed “the castle was under siege for a very long time. And although the Tartars probably found that the grapes and figs were quite tasty, they probably did not think about planting trees during the siege. The town was conquered and destroyed.”254 Niebuhr’s record of his visit to Mārdin, as is the case for many of the other places he observed along this route, is the only published description existent for the 18th Century, and therefore is of considerable value. 252 Ibid. 253 Ibid., 391–397, and the drawing is reproduced in Plate XLVII, p. 392; also see Tagebuch, 158– 162, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4. On the question of population, Niebuhr was undoubtedly right. An estimate in 1808, put the town’s population at 27,000. See the article by V. Minorsky and C. E. Bosworth, “Mārdin” in The Encyclopedia of Islam, New Edition, ed. C. E. Bosworth, et al., Vol. 6 (Leiden, 1991), 542. 254 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 392. Niebuhr was being a little harsh. While the town was conquered the upper fortress was never taken by Timūr. On the history of Mārdin, see Minorsky and Bosworth, “Mārdin,” 539–542, esp. 540.

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On May 10th, he left Mārdin with a small caravan bound for Diyarbakir, which he reached in two days without incident. Just as in Mārdin, Niebuhr stayed for a few days to learn about the town. Situated on the western bank of the upper reaches of the Tigris River, Diyarbakir stood out in the 18th Century because of its high, completely intact town walls built out of black stone and over five kilometers in length. They are still substantially intact today. Niebuhr completed a town plan, drawn to scale of, the city, including its major buildings and detailed description of its walls, with its large bastions or towers, and five gates. He took time to copy three sets of early Kufic inscriptions that were carved into the stone of the towers.255 He had a hard time establishing its population as the figures he was given were greatly exaggerated. A recent famine had hit the community hard and many houses were empty. Still he estimated that 16,000 were being used, of these about one-fourth were inhabited by Christians. He counted sixteen minarets in the town and was told it was the residence of the Patriarchs of the Jacobite and Chaldean sects.256 After a week, Niebuhr had an opportunity to join another small caravan going to Halab. He left Diyarbakir on May 19, 1766.257 The same day he wrote Gähler, “I am extremely impatient to learn which way Your Excellency will order me to undertake my return trip from Aleppo.”258 Naturally Niebuhr had heard nothing because no one in Istanbul or Copenhagen knew where he was. On the way to Halab, he decided to make a brief trip to the historic Greek Assyrian city of Edessa or Urfa, as it was then called.259 It was the birthplace of Abraham according to the Islamic tradition and was near the town of Harran, now in ruins, from which Abraham is thought to have departed for Canaan.260 Leaving his helper with the caravan, he rode with a muleskinner for two days to reach the city perched on the side of a steep mountain. Its location reminded him of Ta‘izz in Yemen. Once there he must have worked quickly because he only stayed two days. He completed a town plan and visited the beautiful mosque built to honor Abraham.261 As in Diyarbakir, he noted that the main language was Turkish, in contrast to al Mawşil and Mārdin where it was Arabic, and in the countryside between Urfa and al Mawşil, predominantly Kurdish. The town had a large Armenian population which maintained a handsome church. He had a disappointing meeting with the physician to the local Pasha – a Greek educated in Italy. Niebuhr asked him a number of questions, but got few answers. The Doctor preferred, Niebuhr noted, to talk about himself.262 255 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 402, Plate XLIX. 256 Ibid., 400–405, and Tagebuch, 166–170, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4. 257 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 405, and Tagebuch, 171, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4. 258 Niebuhr to Gähler, 19 May 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 59. 259 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 406, and Tagebuch, 174–175, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4. 260 For the histories of Edessa and Harran, see J. B. Segal, Edessa. ‘The Blessed City’ (Oxford, 1970), and Tamara M. Green, The City of the Moon God. Religious Traditions of Harran (Leiden, 1992). 261 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 400, Plate XLVIII. 262 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 406, and Tagebuch, 175–177, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4.

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On the first of June, they left Urfa to rejoin their caravan.263 On the trail (they rode for fourteen hours that day) they stopped at one of the many springs along the way. Young women, probably Turkmen or Kurdish from the nearby area, were there watering their livestock. They were not veiled. As soon as Niebuhr and his driver dismounted and greeted the women, they were brought fresh water to drink. Niebuhr went on to describe the scene in virtually the only dreamy passage in all of Niebuhr’s later writings. “They were fully-grown beauties tanned by the sun … this kind of courtesy had been shown to me before in other areas. But here it appeared to me to be particularly memorable, because Rebecca, who certainly had grown up in this region, had provided precisely this kind of help to travelers… Perhaps I had even drunk from the spring from which she had drawn water.”264 Niebuhr was quickly brought back to reality when a short time later, as it became dusk, they were approached by four Kurds who had heard about the European leaving Urfa and were intent on robbing him. Niebuhr sat on his horse with his musket across his saddle, a pistol in his belt and his sword at this side. His second pistol, which he usually carried, he had given to his wrangler, who also had a sword. The Kurds were only armed with a lance and swords, and therefore they decided it was prudent to let Niebuhr ride on in peace. Thus, he later wrote with some satisfaction, he was able to complete his excursion to Urfa and back without incident. Still, traveling alone was a practice he did not recommend.265 He rejoined the caravan in the town of Birecik, and by June 6th, riding ahead of the caravan with a few merchants, he arrived in Halab.266 The caravan trip from al Mawşil had lasted nearly two months including the brief interruptions in Mārdīn, Diyarbakir and Urfa. During the journey Niebuhr collected detailed information about the diverse peoples and religions of the areas in Northwestern Iraq, Southern Turkey and Northern Syria. He had passed through scores of towns and villages gaining glimpses of everyday life in the countryside in many different settings. It is not possible in this discussion to fully capture the variety and specificity of the material he collected, but certainly Niebuhr put this to good use in crafting his published works, and the experience gave him a natural appreciation for the richness of the local culture and history of this part of the Middle East. Niebuhr’s stay in Halab was a most enjoyable pause in his journey home. As he wrote to Copenhagen, “My current lifestyle is so different from my prior that I hardly know what to do.”267 In Halab, he was hosted, as previously planned, by the Dutch consul, Nicolaas van Maseyk. He had, Niebuhr thought, the finest home in the entire city. The milieu was thoroughly European and very convivial. Maseyk had 263 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II, 410, and Tagebuch, 178, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4. 264 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 410. The account in Niebuhr’s Tagebuch, 179, is somewhat more elaborate, see UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4. 265 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 411, and Tagebuch, 179–180, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4. 266 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II, 412, and Tagebuch, 181, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.1, Nr. 4. 267 Niebuhr to Temler, 20 June 1766, BBAW, Nachlaß C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28.

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been born in Friedrichsstadt, the interesting town in Schleswig settled by the Dutch. His wife was from Hamburg and an aunt who lived with them was from Ireland. The consul’s associates came from Neufchatel, Upper Saxony and Holland. The servants were Armenian and spoke Italian, Turkish and Arabic. Niebuhr thrived amidst this cornucopia of languages. Because of his travels he was the center of attention with Maysek’s many visitors. Niebuhr was quite delighted. “In such a situation, nearly everyday I have an opportunity to speak Plattdeutsch, Hochdeutsch, Dutch, English, French, Italian and Arabic; only this kind of life takes so much time that I cannot get as much work done as I would like.”268 Interested in languages as a result of his travels, Niebuhr later remembered the learning environment for the children in the home. “I noticed with wonderment how easy it is for children to learn languages if they have the opportunity. The youngest daughter of Herr van Maseyk, a child not quite three years old, made her requests to her Armenian nurse in Armenian, to her parents in French, and to her aunt in English.” 269 This was a lesson he would keep in mind when he later had his own family. In short, Niebuhr concluded, “In this charming family I soon forgot all of the difficulties that occurred on my journey.270” The Maseyks would remain his friends for years after his visit.271 Niebuhr not only received warm hospitality at the Maseyks, but also important news and a bundle of letters from Bernstorff, Gähler, Temler and family members. From Maseyk he found out that Frederik V had died and Christian VII had been proclaimed King. His death would prove to be a loss for some of those connected to the expedition. Certainly regardless of Frederik’s shortcomings as a ruler, the expedition had benefited greatly from his generosity and, within certain limits, from his personal interest in the endeavor as well. He did not meddle in its planning or its operation. He valued its success. He had been a benign benefactor who unfortunately did not live to learn of the full importance of the expedition’s results. Only later did the expedition come to be considered an important symbol of his reign. Among the most notable accomplishments listed on the equestrian statue of Frederik V in the center of the courtyard of the Royal Palace, Amalienborg, in Copenhagen, is his support for the dispatch of a team of scholars to the Middle East. In the years to come, this change in monarchs would have, as we shall see, a significant impact on Niebuhr’s situation. The letters from Bernstorff and the others contained four additional useful pieces of information. First, Bernstorff and Gähler made it clear to Niebuhr that with the deaths of the other members, he should take no unnecessary risks so that in Bernstorff ’s words, he could return home “hale and hearty, to fame and honor.”272 268 269 270 271 272

Ibid. Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 10–11. Ibid., 11. See UB Kiel, Cod., M. S. KB 314.5, Nr. 4, for the continuing correspondence. Bernstorff to Niebuhr, 15 June 1765, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, File 1, Nr. 10, draft, RaK,

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This meant specifically that he should not go to places, such as Tadmor and Baalbek, which had been examined by others. Second, the route he had followed, including his visit to Persepolis, had their full support. Third, he was directed to undertake a new assignment, namely to proceed immediately to the Island of Cyprus to investigate purported Phoenician inscriptions and ruins located there, and to obtain a few pounds of asbestos rock, which had been mined there centuries earlier. Scholars in Copenhagen and Regensburg had contacted Bernstorff with these requests because one of them wanted to learn more about the Phoenician writings, in particular, and the other wanted to rediscover the lost art of using shredded asbestos in the production of paper and cloth. Finally, if he should choose to return to Copenhagen overland by way of Eastern Europe (clearly the choice that Copenhagen preferred), then he should plan to meet with Stanisław II August, the King of Poland, in Warsaw. The Polish king had expressed an interest in hearing about the expedition to Frederik V. 273 The latter two items will be discussed in some detail shortly. Niebuhr’s attention immediately turned to the task of going to Cyprus. The origin of this assignment may be found in the account by the Englishman, Richard Pococke, of his time in the Middle East in which he makes brief reference to ancient inscriptions, which he presumed to be Phoenician, he had seen in some ruins at a site he called Citium.274 Bernstorff ’s letter of March 19, 1763, designated Haven, Niebuhr and Baurenfeind as the members who were to investigate the location of the inscriptions and make accurate copies of them. People in Halab initially told Niebuhr he should delay his trip because of conflict on the island between Turkish authorities and Greek rebels.275 But he soon found out that the situation was not dangerous so with his funds replenished with 200 piasters from Maseyk, and a letter of credit for 300 piasters more when he got to Cyprus, he decided to leave Halab on June 24th, traveling with a small caravan to Iskenderun (Alexandretta).276 He did so with mixed feelings. As he told Gähler, “In six years I have not enjoyed AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 63. 273 See Ibid.; Bernstorff to Niebuhr, 24 August 1765, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, File 1, Nr. 11, draft, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 69; Bernstorff to die gelehrte Gesellschaft, 19 March 1763, with its enclosure Eberhard David Hauber to Bernstorff, February/March 1763, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, File 2, Nr. 9 and RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 27d. Also see Bernstorff to unknown, 8 March 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 4a-b and draft Bernstorff to die gelehrte Gesellschaft, 19 March 1763, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 5 (draft) and Nr. 5a-b; Gähler to Niebuhr, 24 July 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 29; Gähler to Niebuhr, 25 August 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 30; and Gähler to Niebuhr, 20 November 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 31. 274 Richard Pococke, A description of the East, and some other countries (London,1743–1745), reprinted in John Pinkerton, A general collection of the best and most interesting voyages and travels… (London, 1808–14), Volume 10, 406–770, specifically 576–577, and 589. 275 Niebuhr to Gähler, 10 June 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 60. 276 Niebuhr to Gähler, 25 July 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 87; Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 18 September 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 88–88a; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 11.

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any 18 days as much as I have those with the family of Herr van Maseyk. It is just that I must hasten to leave so that I do not become so accustomed to the good life that I do not complete my oriental journey.”277 His group arrived on June 30th in Beilan, the small town near Iskenderun, favored as a place to stay over the port city with its heat and “unhealthy air.”278 Even on this short trip Niebuhr could not refrain from collecting information on the area he was visiting. In one village he stayed in a hostel whose innkeeper was an Ismaili. Niebuhr saw this as an opportunity to learn about this Islamic Shi‘ite sect.279 In Antioch, where they stopped briefly, he paced off the town walls (he determined they were 2,300 double steps long by an average of 950 double steps wide) and established its latitude. The city, he thought was much reduced from its days as a residence for the Kings of Syria (Seleucids), and only a fraction of the land inside the town walls was actually built upon. He noted Antioch’s importance to the early history of Christianity, measured the width of the Orontes River that flowed by the town and plotted its course as part of the town plan he did for the city.280 In Beilan he had to wait two weeks for a ship to depart for Cyprus.281 Thanks to Maseyk, arrangements had been made for him to stay at the summerhouse of the Dutch Vice Consul. From Beilan he had a beautiful view of the Mediterranean. He noted that he had not seen the sea since he left the Persian Gulf. While in Beilan he broke out his quadrant and once again established a town’s latitude.282 On the evening of July 11th, he went to the port and boarded a small French ship bound for Larnaca on the Island of Cyprus.283 The wind was light and unfavorable, so it took nearly a week to make the short voyage. When he arrived on Cyprus on July 18th to investigate the Phoenician ruins, he had few details with which to work. Bernstorff just directed him “to prepare, with the greatest industry and care, accurate copies or drawings of purported scattered Phoenician monu277 Niebuhr to Gähler, 24 June 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 83a. 278 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 12. 279 Ibid., p. 12. Ismailites are a schismatic branch of Shi‘ite Islam, founded in the Eighth Century. They recognize only the first seven Imams of Shi‘ism, hence they have sometimes been called “seveners”. Over time Ismailism split into several groups and their teachings, which emphasized the mystical aspects of Islam, also absorbed a variety of other beliefs (for example, Zoroastrianism and Hellenistic philosophy) and became highly varied and syncretic. The sect spread from Iran and Iraq to Syria, Palestine, North Africa and India and today forms the second largest group of Shi‘ite Muslims. An erroneous association by Medieval Europeans of Ismailis with the term “Assasins” continued to shape a negative perception of Ismailis well into the 19th Century. See the exhaustive work by Farhad Daftary, The Ismā‘īlīs: Their History and Doctrines, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, 2007), and the summary discussion by the same author in his article, “Varieties of Islam,” 123–131. 280 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 16, Plate II. 281 Niebuhr to Gähler, 10 July 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 63. 282 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 18–19. 283 Niebuhr to Gähler, 25 July 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 65; Niebuhr dates his departure as July 13th in the Reisebeschreibung, III: 20.

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ments, inscriptions or other remnants of antiquity that can be discovered in and around the ruins of Citium.” If possible, he should try to bring back actual samples of the stone inscriptions if it could be done without incident or great cost. He included an excerpt of a letter from the Copenhagen Theologian, Eberhard David Hauber, which discussed the assignment in slightly more detail. Clearly, for Hauber, the main purpose of this endeavor was to go to Citium, where there was “still a number of Inscriptions in the old Phoenician letters, which without a doubt are the oldest and the basis for all subsequent letters and writing.” His reference for the existence of these inscriptions was the aforementioned travel account of the British cleric, Richard Pococke, who traveled in the Middle East between 1737 and 1740, published in 1743–1745. Pococke’s account included a copy of the inscriptions he reported seeing at Citium, but Hauber believed the quality of his copy was so poor that it was virtually useless to scholars. Therefore, it was essential to obtain a precise copy of the writing or to bring back an original piece of stone with the writing on it. Hauber, however, did not provide a copy of Pococke’s description of the site, the location of the inscriptions, nor a copy of the actual writing. Thus Niebuhr did not know exactly where to look, nor even what he was looking for. He had no sample of the actual writing.284 Pococke’s Citium was really the ancient Kition-Kathari, a Mycenaean and Phoenician settlement dating from the Second Millennium, B. C., located on the coast, near Larnaca. It is one of many such sites on an island rich in ancient archeological ruins. It is a large site with remnants of religious, port and military facilities, and it has been the location of extensive excavations in recent decades. It is characterized by a warren of foundations and low lying walls constructed originally out of mud bricks, stones and some slabs.285 Niebuhr arrived on July 18th and was met by the British Consul, who had been asked beforehand by Maseyk to assist Niebuhr during his stay. Niebuhr immediately asked the consul, and the French consul, who was there as well, about the “Phoenician Inscriptions” (Niebuhr was already skeptical about their existence).286 They reported that they had scoured the ruins of Pococke’s Citium, located not far from Larnaca, and could find nothing. Nonetheless, Niebuhr went to the site directly to investigate for himself. As he later 284 Bernstorff to die gelehrte Gesellschaft, 19 March 1763, with its enclosure Eberhard David Hauber to Bernstorff, February/March 1763, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, File 2, Nr. 9 and RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 2, Nr. 27d. Hauber (1695–1765) was the pastor for the German St. Petrigemeinde in Copenhagen, a Professor of Theology and Court Pastor. He also had a strong interest in geography. See Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie (Berlin, 1969–1980), 11: 36–37. 285 For photographs of the site, see for example, Plates IX and X, with explanations, p. 18, in Kyriakos Nicolaou, Ancient Monuments of Cyprus, Book 4 (Nicosia, 1968), and Vassos Karageorghis, Early Cyprus. Crossroads of the Mediterranean (Milan, 2002), 57–62, and Plates 120, and 122–125. For an example of the complex nature of the site, see the Plans and Sections in V. Karageorghis and M. Demas, Excavations at Kition V. The Pre-Phoencian Levels (Nicosia, 1985). 286 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 10 July 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 90, and Niebuhr to Gähler, 10 July 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 63.

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reported, “I searched through every nook and cranny (jeden Winkel) of this destroyed town and found not a thing.”287 Subsequently, however, while visiting a nearby town he noticed some writing on blocks of stone in a pillar that that supported the wall of a Greek Orthodox Church. He saw that some of the blocks did not have any inscriptions and that the writing from block to block was not aligned. Therefore, he concluded that they had been salvaged from another site and put together by stone masons working on the church. Moreover, he recognized that the blocks were very similar to ones he had seen in the ruins at Citium. Therefore, he decided to copy several sections of the inscriptions.288 As it was not clear to him that Pococke had ever actually seen the original inscriptions himself, Niebuhr concluded that it was more likely that he had obtained from another traveler a copy of the writings on stones that then had been moved long ago. Returning to Larnaca he felt quite satisfied that perhaps he had indeed discovered the inscriptions that Pococke and others had thought to be Phoenician. As he later wrote, he showed his copy of the writings to the British and French consuls, and “they shared in my joy until the house steward of the English Consul, an Armenian, asked to see the writings and declared them to be Armenian.”289 He translated the words for them. As Niebuhr, of course, did not have a copy of Pococke’s work with him, it was not possible to verify if these letters were similar to the ones Pococke referred to. In any case, Niebuhr concluded that as the stone at the ruins was not particularly hard, it was unlikely that inscriptions carved into it would have survived from Phoenician times. Perhaps, he speculated, the stone mason for the church had been an Armenian who had recognized the old language of his nation and wanted to preserve the letters. A Greek or Arab mason might not have recognized the writing and would even have preferred to mortar in the side that was marred by it.290 Niebuhr’s conclusion was logical but incorrect. Pococke had been to the site, and most likely had seen the original inscriptions.291 Furthermore, the inscriptions later found in the area were written in marble and thus would have survived over the centuries. However, his speculation that the stones had been moved at some point was probably correct, and possibly occurred prior to his visit.292 After all, 287 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 23. 288 Ibid., 22, Plate III; and Niebuhr to Gähler, 25 July 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 65. 289 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III, p. 24. 290 For a full description of his search see Ibid., 24–25, and Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 21 July 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 84–84a. Also see his critical discussion in Niebuhr to Gähler, 18 September 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 92a-b, and Niebuhr to Temler, 30 October 1766, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. The letter of 18 September is reprinted in Lohmeier, “Carsten Niebuhr: Briefe von der Arabischen Reise (Folge 11),” Dithmarschen No. 4 (2007): 119–124. 291 Pococke’s description is somewhat ambiguous about the inscriptions, but it is clear that he visited the site. See Pococke, Travels in the east, 576–577. 292 For a full description, interpretation and deciphering of Pococke’s inscriptions, see Maria Guilia Guzzo Amadasi and Vassos Karageorghis, Fouilles de Kition. III Inscriptions Phéniciennes (Nicosia, 1977), 11–13, and Plate 1. Also see Marguerite Yon, Kition dans les Textes. Testimonia

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Niebuhr was by now an experienced seeker of ancient writing, so if the blocks with inscriptions were somewhat visible, it is likely he would have found them. Of course, the site is quite complicated, so there also remains the reality that he just did not explore in the right areas, or missed the inscriptions for some other reason. Afterwards, Niebuhr searched the environs nearby for other possible ruins, but found nothing significant. The rest of the island, he had been advised, was unsafe for further exploration, and as he had not found any ruins worth describing, he decided, with a sense of disappointment, that his work on antiquities was done.293 He did accomplish two other tasks while on the island. We may recall, that Niebuhr had also been directed to bring back a small quantity of asbestos ore.294 It was not difficult to find, he reported, but it was no longer a commercial product and its use in making paper and cloth was no longer understood. He subsequently had some samples shipped to Copenhagen so that “scholars in Copenhagen could conduct experiments with it.”295 Second, he also completed a plan of Larnaca with an indication of the perimeter of the site at Kition and some additional ruins. He believed correctly that Pococke’s drawing of the site greatly underestimated its size. Niebuhr also established the latitude of Larnaca.296 His work completed, Niebuhr did not stay in Cyprus long. In contrast to many places he had visited, he had little desire to explore the island further because of the ongoing conflict between the Turks and Greeks. Niebuhr, as frequently had been the case elsewhere on his journey, was very critical of Ottoman rule. He thought the population of the island was the most oppressed he had seen in any of the provinces of the Empire. “The harshness and injustice of their tyranny has progressively ruined so many families that they must leave their homeland.”297 Thus, when he heard that seven European Franciscan monks were going to leave the island to travel to Jerusalem, he seized the opportunity to go. He had wanted to visit Palestine all littéraires et épigraphique et Corpus des inscriptions, Paris, 2004, pp. 169 and 173. The original texts were lost, but Pococke’s copies were used by the Abbé Barthélemy at the Académie des inscriptions et belles lettres in Paris to decipher the Phoenician alphabet, 173. 293 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 33. 294 Pococke had made reference to its existence and use in his account, and it was this citation that probably caught the attention of the scholar in Regensburg. See Pococke, Travels in the east, 589. Indeed, Cyprus was famous for its deposits of chrysolite, or white asbestos, which had been mined and used in classical times. 295 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 11 September 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 87; Niebuhr to Gähler, 25 July 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 64; Niebuhr to Gähler, 18 September 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 92a-b; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 28. 296 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 21–22, Plate III. Historically, Niebuhr’s plan, along with Pococke’s, and that of a later visitor, Giovanni Mariti, in the 18th Century, helped to more precisely define the extent of the ruins. See Marguerite Yon, Kition de Chypre (Paris, 2006), 50 and 66. 297 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 26. Also see his letter to Gähler, “The unrest in Cyprus has not been quelled. People are hung day and night and which the inhabitants can only escape by leaving. In short, if the Turks continue in this manner, in a short time this beautiful island will be completely deserted.” Niebuhr to Gähler, 25 July 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 65.

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along, but he knew it was a side trip that was not authorized. He decided to squeeze it in and to ask for permission later, which he subsequently did in a letter to Gähler, offering to pay for the trip himself.298 The Franciscans proved to be an obnoxious group. Two of them, from Malta and Naples, were experienced travelers who had been to Jerusalem many times. The others, however, were from Calabria and had never been outside of their country. They had never heard of Denmark and asked Niebuhr where it was. Because Niebuhr was dressed like an Arab, they concluded he was a subject of the Sultan and that Denmark was located by Turkey. Even the Maltese monk was embarrassed by their apparent ignorance, telling one of his compatriots, “You idiot, if you knew the world better, you would not ask such a question; Denmark lies far to the north and the King has great warships, but he is a heretic.”299 As travel companions Niebuhr found them unbearable. Their constant moralizing, arrogance and sanctimoniousness made them hated by the crew, who eventually refused to serve them.300 Also when he arrived in Hefa (Haifa), he resented the fact that as a Protestant, he had to obtain the permission of the Franciscan Order, located in Jerusalem, before he would be allowed to travel there. He questioned why as a European he could not visit that city as he had countless others in the Turkish empire. He contemplated going to the local Qādi to protest, but was advised against it out of fear that the Franciscans might retaliate. Permission was obtained for him to go through the good offices of a friend of Maseyk, and Niebuhr was able to proceed on July 31. He arrived in the city on the 2nd of August.301 In Jerusalem Niebuhr had two primary goals. First, after having visited so many other religious sites throughout the Middle East, he wanted to see the city that was so central to the history of Judaism and Christianity. Second, he wanted to establish its location and to complete a town plan, which he believed had not been done previously. A full description of the city he considered unnecessary, as that had been accomplished by many earlier visitors.302 During his visit he stayed at the Franciscan Monastery whose residents were much more hospitable than his previous travel companions. The first day he was invited to attend Mass which he decided to do. He did not want to offend his hosts and it was an opportunity, he thought, to give thanks. At the service he discovered, much to his surprise, a magnificent organ and he heard fine instrumental and choral music. His initial reaction to the music is interesting. As he later wrote, “As pleasant as this was for me to hear good church music again after such a long time, I wished that Europeans in these lands would not use the organ and other instruments at their worship services.” He 298 Niebuhr to Gähler, 18 September 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 92a-b. 299 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 35. 300 Ibid. 301 Ibid., 36–37. 302 Niebuhr to Gähler, 18 September 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 92a-b, and Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 18 September 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 88–88a.

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questioned its appropriateness in a Sunni Islamic culture where the use of music in religious services was strictly forbidden. Muslims would therefore naturally find European worship services offensive when they heard them accompanied by music and would respect the services less.303 In a related observation, he was struck that in Jerusalem, which he noted was called Kuds-es scherif in Arabic (today al-Quds Sharif ), and was administered by the Pasha of Damascus, Christians enjoyed full religious freedom. They had to pay a poll tax imposed by the government, but the amount was reasonable. He later speculated that if Jerusalem was still in the hands of Christians, he doubted that the diverse religious groups that were represented there, especially the Jews, would be allowed to publicly hold their worship services.304 Niebuhr quickly got to work on his map of Jerusalem and its surrounding area. He established its latitude correctly as 31º 47' N, and he measured the city’s town walls. The map included information on 54 different structures and sites in the city and its environs – churches, mosques, monasteries, temples, gates, palaces, almshouses, tombs and the many sites commemorating the story of Jesus – all listed with brief descriptions. He also completed a view of the city from Mt. Olive annotated with the names of over twenty structures. The map and drawing are not considered very accurate.305 He also took more notes on the many Christian denominations present in the city – Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Armenian Orthodox, Coptic and Jacobite. He visited historic religious sites such as the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, and he undertook a very brief overnight trip to see Bethlehem. For the most part the Franciscans where he stayed were courteous, but his lodging there had some drawbacks. Not unexpectedly, one monk tried, with great persistence, to convert him to Catholicism, and declared that anyone who did not recognize the Pope as the Vicar of Christ would be condemned to eternal damnation. Niebuhr had also wanted to learn more about the sites that were holy to the Jews, but the Franciscans did not like him to interact with other religious groups in the city. Thus, it was not until he got back to Halab that he was able to obtain a list of Jewish religious sites for all of Palestine, which he later included in his discussion of Jerusalem.306 In general, Niebuhr disliked the constant internecine conflict between the Christian groups in the city. His work in Jerusalem did not take long, only ten days. He left for Damascus on August 13, 1766, again in the company of Franciscan friars, and arrived the next day in Hefa. From there he sailed on a small ship to Akka (Acre), the ruins of Tyre (where he asked to go ashore), and Saydā (Sidon). It was a short, but historically significant voyage. He arrived in Saydā the morning of August 18th. In the course of 303 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 46. 304 Ibid., 48. 305 Ibid., 52, Plate IV and 54, Plate V; and see the judgment of Hübner, “Johann David Michaelis,” 396. 306 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 67–70.

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his trip he established the latitude and completed town plans for both Akka and Saydā.307 The trip to Damascus took him through the mountains of Lebanon, territory inhabited by the Druze.308 Niebuhr had planned to travel safely in the company of a caravan, but he was told this was unnecessary. Travel alone in the land of the Druze was perfectly safe, and he was advised to travel with one of the many local farmers who regularly took their olive oil to Damascus. This he did, riding with a Muslim farmer for three days. As they rode along he became increasingly impressed with the sound administration and accompanying prosperity of the towns and villages through which they passed. This caused him to investigate later the beliefs and customs of the Druze community in some detail, and his findings formed the basis for his lengthy, almost twenty pages long, discussion in the Reisebeschreibung.309 He arrived in Damascus on August 23, 1766.310 As he wanted to return quickly to Halab to try to join the large fall caravan that traditionally went to Istanbul, he did not stay long in Damascus – only two and one-half days. Nevertheless, despite nearing the end of his journey, Niebuhr scurried around to accomplish his usual work. As he later wrote, “When I come to a city, my first task, before I socialized, was to investigate the size and layout of the city, and this also was my first assignment in Damascus.”311 Niebuhr was immediately struck by the setting of the city. Fed by an abundance of water from nearby mountains, it lay in a lush, fertile plain filled with fields of wheat, and fruit and olive orchards. Going back in time, Niebuhr later wrote, “As Muhammad overlooked the city and its surrounding area from a nearby mountain, he was so enchanted that he compared it to paradise.” Then looking himself over the vast oasis, the Ghuta, of 307 Ibid., 72, Plate VII, p. 72; and Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 18 September 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3– 004, Nr. 88–88a. 308 The Druze are a religious and cultural community found in Syria, Lebanon and Palestine. Founded in the 11th Century as a schismatic offshoot of Shi‘ite Islam, it is strongly monotheistic and related historically to Ismailism. Over the centuries the Druze were periodically persecuted, including under Ottoman rule. This probably accounts for the secrecy the community has maintained traditionally about the eclectic character of their beliefs which draw upon the mystical or esoteric character of Islam, Gnosticism, Greek Philosophy and other sources, The Druze believe in reincarnation. It appears that by Niebuhr’s time, despite fragmentation in its leadership, the Druze had achieved a degree of relative autonomy under a succession of tribal chieftains accepted by Ottoman authorities so long as the required tribute was paid to Istanbul. Today, the community remains an important minority in Syria, Israel and particularly Lebanon. See Dana Nissim, The Druze in the Middle East: Their Faith, Leadership, Identity and Status (Brighton, 2003). Also see Robert Brenton Betts, The Druze (New Haven, 1988), 3–32 and 69–77. 309 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 428–439, and 445–454. Niebuhr acquired a volume on Druze doctrine encompassing 104 questions and answers forming the “catechism” of the Druze. It is now part of the collections of Det Kongelige Bibliotek in Copenhagen. See Irmeli Perho, Catalogue of Arabic Manuscripts. Codices Arabici and Codices Arabica Additamenta. 3 vols. (Copenhagen, 2007), I: 255. 310 Ibid., III: 82–84; and Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 2 November 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 93. 311 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 85.

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which Damascus was a part, it was a comparison with which Niebuhr said he agreed.312 In the 18th Century, Damascus was a city of about 80,000 inhabitants. It was a great market town, but not a commercial caravan hub as was, as we shall see, Halab.313 It was, though, Niebuhr reported, a gateway to the Holy Cities of Makkah and al Madīnah, and thus one of the most important assembly points in the Middle East for the pilgrimage caravans. After getting information for a simple town plan (walls, gates and the like), Niebuhr briefly visited the city’s covered bazaars, which he thought were spacious, and its Great Ummayad Mosque, one of the most beautiful that he had seen in the Ottoman Empire.314 As in other Arab cities, he found the streets to be very narrow, which made sense, he thought, because residents valued the shade in a hot climate and wagons were not used. The city’s coffee houses especially caught his eye. “Nowhere have I seen such pleasant coffee houses, or encountered them in so many places.”315 Indeed, the 18th Century saw a great increase in the number of coffee houses in Damascus as coffee’s popularity, and that of tobacco, grew, changing the patterns of socializing among the city’s residents.316 Niebuhr was also impressed with the size and sturdiness of the caravansary where he stayed; it was probably the architecturally important Khan of As‘ad Pasha, recently built in 1753 and the largest in the city.317 He noticed that trade and manufacturing seemed to be robust, but there were few European merchants. Finally Christians and Jews were just as despised in Damascus, he thought, as they were in Cairo, and as a result he did not ride his mule for fear of being harassed.318 In summary, Niebuhr visited Damascus at a time of economic prosperity. As with many other cities in the Empire, it benefited from the stability of the relatively long Ottoman peace and from the rise in affluence of the city’s elites or notables.319 While in Damascus, Niebuhr received a letter from Maseyk that he would be in the coastal port of al Lādhiqīyah (Latakia) at the end of August. So instead of traveling overland from Damascus to Halab as he had originally planned, he de312 Ibid., 84. 313 For a broad discussion of life in Damascus, see the excellent study by James Grehan, Everyday Life and Consumer Culture in 18th-Century Damascus (Seattle, 2007); also see the comprehensive study by Ross Burns, Damascus. A History (London, 2005), 224–248. 314 Niebuhr’s plan of Damascus is the oldest known to exist and despite its simplicity it would be more than a century before a plan of higher quality would be produced. See Jean-Luc Arnaud, “Corpus cartographique pour l’histoire de Demas, àla fin de la période ottomane (1760–1924),” Imago Mundi 53 (2001): 49; the town plan is reproduced in Vol. II, p. 408, Plate LI. 315 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 87. 316 For the popularity of coffee and tobacco, and of coffee houses, see Grehan, Everyday life and Consumer Culture in 18th-Century Damascus, 135–155, and 223–224. 317 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 50–51; and Burns, Damascus, p. 244. Also see the discussion of Raymond, which includes a floor plan of the Khan, see Raymond, The Great Arab Cities in the 16th-18th Centuries, 51–52. 318 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 83–89. 319 Grehan, Everyday Life and Consumer Culture in 18th-Century Damascus, 228.

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cided to return to the coast in order to meet Maysek.320 He left on August 25th, joining a small group of farmers who were making their return trip to Saydā. From Saydā Niebuhr traveled north along the coast of the Eastern Mediterranean to Tarābulus (Tripoli) and then to al Lādhiqīyah, where he disembarked and met the waiting Maseyk on August 29th. Together they traveled back to Halab (Maseyk, Niebuhr noted, was accompanied by quite an elaborate entourage) where they arrived on September 5th. Along the way, Niebuhr continued to take notes on the character of the countryside and notable features of the towns he was seeing. He also kept careful track of his travel distances and he used these later for crafting another map of his route.321 Upon arrival in Halab, Niebuhr realized that his side trips had taken far too long. The caravan to Istanbul had already left several weeks earlier. Now he had to wait until November before another group was formed to make the trip to Konya, and eventually, then for Niebuhr, to Istanbul. Despite the delay it appears he was set on traveling by caravan to Istanbul as opposed to the obvious alternative of going by sea. He had several reasons for this preference. He thought the land route would be more instructive, he was hoping to learn Turkish, and it appears he had an interest in retracing (in reverse) part of the outbound route of Cyrus, and his army of Greek mercenaries, in his campaign to unseat his brother, Artaxerxes II, as King of Persia. The campaign is described in the famous Anabasis by Xenophon. It is not clear where this last idea came from.322 While he was waiting for the next caravan, he enjoyed the hospitality of the Maseyks, worked on refining the fairly large collection of drawings he had sketched during the journey since al Başrah, and tackled a new town plan for Halab, which was accompanied by a brief description of the city.323 Niebuhr considered Halab to be one of the most beautiful cities in the Ottoman Empire, graced with handsome buildings and many fine gardens. This stood in contrast to the surrounding territory. To the east of the city’s outskirts lay the vast Syrian Desert, stretching nearly to al Başrah. There were few trees and many abandoned fields and villages.324 Halab was famous as an important hub for caravan commerce in the Levant, and, after Istanbul and Cairo, had the third largest popu320 Niebuhr to Gähler, 18 September 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 92a-b. Niebuhr would have liked to have spent more time in both Jerusalem and Damascus, but he felt compelled to move on. Niebuhr to Temler, 30 October, 1766, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 321 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 18 September 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 88–88a; Maseyk to Gähler, 16 September 1766, RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–18, File 6, courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier. 322 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 2 November 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 93; Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 14 January 1767, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, File 1, Nr. 12; Niebuhr to Horn, 16 January 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 70; and Niebuhr to Temler, 30 October 1766, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. For Xenophon’s account of the campaign, Cyrus’ death and the difficult retreat, see The Expedition of Cyrus, translated by Robin Waterfield (Oxford, 2005). 323 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III, Plate I. 324 Niebuhr’s observations on rural decline are confirmed by modern scholars. See for example

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lation in the Ottoman Empire – around 120,000. Routes linking the Mediterranean and Turkey with al Mawşil, Baghdād and al Başrah, and India and Persia beyond, met in Halab.325 Historically it had been the end point for the Silk Road. There also was a significant, but by no means robust, European presence. France, the Netherlands, Great Britain and Venice maintained consuls there, but the French economic role, although somewhat diminished since mid-century, was the most important. French fabrics were in great demand and were shipped there easily from Marseilles. The English presence in the middle of the 18th Century actually declined. The number of English merchant houses in Halab went from eight in 1753 to five in 1772, while in the same period, French merchant houses went from nine to six or seven. The European activity was reflected in the many visitors to the Maseyk home. These included the Englishman, Patrick Russell, the half brother of Alexander Russell, who had published a well-known book on Aleppo, and others, some of whom Niebuhr would stay in contact with for years to come.326 He also took time to inquire about and add information to his growing collection of notes on the peoples in the districts of Lebanon and Syria through which he had passed – the

the excellent and comprehensive work by Abraham Marcus, The Middle East on the Eve of Modernity. Aleppo in the Eighteenth Century (New York, 1989), 138–141. 325 For Halab, in addition to Marcus cited above, see Bruce Masters, “Aleppo: the Ottoman Empire’s caravan city,” in Eldem, Goffman and Masters, The Ottoman City between East and West, 17–62; and the thorough work by Herbert L. Bodman, Political Factions in Aleppo, 1760–1826 (Chapel Hill, 1963). 326 For Russell’s study, see Alexander Russell, The Natural History of Aleppo (London, 1756); an enlarged second edition was published by his half-brother, Patrick, in 1794. Niebuhr’s later correspondence with his friends from Halab is in UB Kiel, Cod., M. S. KB 314.5, Nr.4. For his discussion of Halab, see Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 2–10. Patrick Russell wrote in Niebuhr’s Stambog on October 25, 1766, “I shall always look back with Pleasure both on the Philosophical and the Jovial Hours we have past together at Aleppo, and with respect for his Abilities and Love for his Disposition shall ever remain Patr. Russell, M. D.” Stambog, 10(a). Niebuhr appears to have had a lot of contact with English residents, in particular, in Aleppo. See also 39(b) and 130(b), and other entries on 10(a). Niebuhr’s Stambog, Kongelige Bibliothek, Copenhagen.

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Druze, Ismailis, Ansarians and Maronites.327 He later used this information in his lengthy discussion of Syria and Lebanon in the Reisebeschreibung.328 Finally, in November a group of Greek merchants in Halab put together a caravan to Anatolia; they were carrying goods they would sell in the fairs of the various towns along the route.329 The group also included some Muslim merchants, one of whom was selected to be the karavanbaschi, the leader of the caravan who met with local officials, presented the expected gifts to facilitate the needed arrangements in the different towns and districts, and divided the common costs among the caravan’s members. Saying goodbye to the Maseyk family, Niebuhr left with the caravan on November 20, 1766. At that time he drew a portion of another 500 Piasters from Maseyk to cover his expenses during the trip, and he shipped home by way of Holland two chests filled with instruments, papers and clothes.330 The journey to their first destination, the city of Konya was about 600 kilometers. The route took him to the coast at Iskenderun, then briefly north skirting the Mediterranean, before heading west and slightly inland to Adana. From Adana they headed northwest through the Taurus Mountains to Konya by way of Ulukisla and Karapinar. The trip took sixteen days, during which Niebuhr tried to correlate the locations on the route described by Xenophon in his account of Cyrus’ advance with towns and topographical features as named in the 18th Century.331 When the weather was good, Niebuhr had grown to enjoy caravan travel, especially because of 327 On the Druze and Ismailis, see notes 224 and 246. Ansarians, like the Druze and the Ismailites, have their beginning as a schismatic branch of Shi‘ite Islam. They may have originated in the Ninth Century, although the sect’s early history is highly obscure. Over the centuries, the group has remained localized in the mountains of northern Syria and Lebanon, and has been called by various names – Alawis, Anzeyrys, Nossarians, Nusarians and Nassarians (by Niebuhr). Their teachings are based on a combination of pre-Christian sun worship, Shi‘ite Islam embracing all 12 Imams, slight influences from early Christianity and Ismaili beliefs. Today they represent 12 % of the population in Syria and are a highly influential political community in Syria because the al-Assad family have been members of the sect. See the extensive study by Yaron Friedman, The Nusayrī-‘Alawis (Leiden, 2010). Maronites are an Arab Christian denomination affiliated with the Roman Catholic Church, located predominantly in Lebanon where they form today one of the three dominant religious/political power-sharing communities in the country. Syriac, or Christian Aramaic, is the liturgical language of the Church. Haven, it may be recalled, went to Rome to study at the Maronite College there. On the Maronites see Matti Moosa, The Maronites in History (Piscatawny, 2005); R. J. Mouawad, Les Maronites, Chrétiens du Líban (Turnhaut, 2009); and Kamal Salibi, A House of Many Mansions – The History of Lebanon Reconsidered (Berkeley, 1990). 328 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 423–479. 329 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 2 November 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 93 330 Niebuhr to Horn, 17 November 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 68; Niebuhr to Horn, 20 November 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 69; Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 25 November 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 99a; Niebuhr to Temler, 1 March 1767, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28; and Niebuhr to Temler, 1 June 1767, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 331 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 14 January 1767, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, File 1, Nr. 12.

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the many opportunities it afforded to talk with people along the way. In that respect, he thought it was more rewarding than travel in Europe.332 On this trip he peppered one of the drivers with questions about the geography of Turkey, and thereby compiled quite an extensive list of towns and distances throughout Anatolia which he thought would be useful to future travelers given the paucity of such information.333 This small caravan was fortunate to have with it a coffee vendor. He normally worked the great caravans to Makkah, but in between he accompanied ones such as Niebuhr’s. He would ride ahead to a bridge or watering hole, prepare his coffee in advance, and be ready to offer drinks to the riders as they arrived. When they camped, he would set up a proper coffee stand.334 Niebuhr continued to record geographical data as he traveled and he drew town plans for Adana and Konya.335 Throughout the journey to Bursa he captured wonderfully rich information on the character and customs of the communities through which he passed. These descriptions comprise a valuable portrayal, sprinkled with insightful details, of the interior of Anatolia, a region rarely traversed and described by Europeans. In the mountains, the weather started to turn cold, something Niebuhr was unaccustomed to after his desert travel. Fortunately, he had bought winter clothing for the journey in Halab. He was bundled in a warm pelt, a heavy coat, hat, gloves and leggings – he admitted he now looked somewhat “plump”.336 The clothing came in handy because on December 6th and 7th, they were hit with a heavy snowstorm which blocked their progress for a day. They arrived in Konya on December 11th, working their way through deep snow for the last part of the trip.337 In the city he saw the first horse-drawn cart he had seen in years, and observed, details still caught his eye, that the entire axle turned with the wheels.338 There the caravan rested for 11 days, reconfigured itself, adding some merchants bound for Ismir or Bursa, and departed on December 22nd. The trip to Bursa, covering about 430 kilometers, took Niebuhr in a northwesterly direction straight across Anatolia by way of Ilgin, Akeschir, Afyon (Karahissar) and Kütahya, to the shores of the Sea of Marmara. In Afyon, which they reached on December 29th still following much of the campaign route described by Xenophon, the caravan halted.339 There the merchants reorganized themselves seeking or forming new parties for trips to various destinations in Anatolia such as Izmir. Afyon has a most unusual appearance, built around a tall steep crag with a castle on top. Niebuhr took time to establish its latitude, draw a view of the town, sketch a town plan and scramble up the narrow trail to the top of 332 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 2 November 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 93; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 103. 333 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 119–126. 334 Ibid., 103. 335 Ibid., 104, Plate VIII. 336 Ibid., 109. 337 Ibid., 113. 338 Ibid., 118. 339 Niebuhr to Horn, 16 June, 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 70.

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the crag to inspect the castle.340 The caravan to Bursa, of which Niebuhr was a part, left on January 5, 1767. It left the historic route of Cyrus, which proceeded west towards Uşak, and riding slowly through rain and snow, the group arrived at their destination on January 12th.341 The entire journey of 1,000 kilometers, the last part of it through consistently bad weather, had worn Niebuhr out. Because of the weather his notes and drawings were in disarray. He decided, therefore, to rest in Bursa, to put his papers in order and, as he was out of money, to wait for the authorization of an additional 80 Piasters. He also took time to write up his notes on his geographical tracing of the route of Cyrus through Anatolia. Over the intervening 2,000 years most of the names of towns and features had changed or disappeared. But by matching the distances reported by Xenophon he was able to determine the different segments of the march and to correlate virtually every significant location in the account with towns and sites as identified in the 18th Century. His analysis corresponds exactly with conclusions of scholars today.342 From Bursa he sent Bernstorff the small piece he had written on Xenophon’s account, together with a copy of his map of the trip.343 During that time, which coincided with the start of Ramadan, he found it a particularly auspicious period to craft a detailed map of the city of about 20,000 inhabitants. There were few people in the streets during the day, so it was easy for him to pace distances and to record directions with his compass. 344 He was also very pleased that in Bursa, in contrast to nearly every other city he had visited, he was as a Christian permitted to visit the main mosque. Accompanied by an Armenian, he had many questions for the doorman, who patiently and politely answered them.345 Less enjoyable was the strong earthquake that hit the city at dinner time on January 30th. Niebuhr was about to eat in the hostel where he was staying when the temblor struck. Roof tiles came down upon him and the guests all fled the building while more aftershocks took place. But aside from superficial damage, the building survived and the guests returned to their rooms. 340 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 132–133, Plate XI. 341 Ibid., 132. 342 See Robin Waterfield, Xenophon’s Retreat. Greece, Persia and the End of the Golden Age (Cambridge, 2006), 91–99. Niebuhr concluded that after coming from Dinar and Uşak, Cyrus marched by way of Alyon, Cay and Ilgin to Konya (Iconium). From there he continued southeast to Evregli, the Cilician Gates (the pass through the Taurus Mountains), Tarsus, Issus and finally, Iskenderun (Alexandretta). See Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: Appendix V, 148–152, “Bestimmungen der Oerter, welch Xenophon im Feldzuge des Cyrus zwischen dem Forum Ceramorum und den Thoren von Cilicien und Syrien erwähnt; ingleichen verschiedener Städte, deren Curtius in dieser Gegend gedenkt.” 343 Niebuhr to Horn, 16 January 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 70; Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 14 January 1767, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, Nr. 12; and Niebuhr to Temler, 14–16 January 1767, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 344 For his plan of Bursa, see Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 142, Plate XII. 345 Ibid., 146.

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After investigating the city in some detail and taking substantial notes, Niebuhr left Bursa on February 13, 1767, for the port city of Mudanyà. Two days later he was able to catch a small ship to Istanbul, where he arrived in the evening of February 16th. Sigismund von Gähler was no longer in the Ottoman capital as the Danish Ambassador, so Niebuhr stayed with the Legation Secretary, Horn. Niebuhr had begun the seventh year of his journey.346 Niebuhr had left the Iraqi village of Lemlum on the Euphrates River on December 19, 1765. From that time on, with the exception of his stays in various cities and towns, he had traveled almost continuously on horse back with a helper and simple equipment, usually as part of a caravan. In that time he traversed some of the most historic parts of the Middle East – Mesopotamia, Syria, Palestine, Lebanon and Central Anatolia. In completing this part of the expedition, he demonstrated remarkable endurance and knowledge as a traveler. Riding by himself, it was he who had to take care of the logistics – the hiring of horses, mules and drivers, the purchase of food (with which his helper also assisted), arrangements for lodging, dealing with the local authorities, and contending with innumerable other issues that came up in a journey of that nature and scope. Although only 34 years of age, Niebuhr had become a skilled, knowledgeable, veteran explorer. Moreover, when one reads the surviving sections of his field journal, one is immediately struck by the sustained consistency of his field work. Day after day he compiled information on the places he visited in such a disciplined manner that there can easily develop a tendency on the part of the reader to take his work for granted, to overlook the seriousness with which he usually approached his assignment. After years of travel, after having seen so many sites and having interacted with so many peoples, he still manifested a robust curiosity. Whether it was learning about a religious sect in the hills of Lebanon, copying Kufic inscriptions on a block of stone in Urfa, recognizing a singular minaret in the highlands of Anatolia built entirely of wood, noting the fasting practices of the typical muslim during Ramadan, reflecting upon the culture of public baths or admiring the superior skill of Middle Eastern barbers, Niebuhr was still seeking to learn something new and to collect information that he believed would be useful to European scholarship. To be sure this last part of the expedition did not yield seminal or dramatic discoveries. There was no Red Sea to explore scientifically, nor remote regions of Yemen to capture in a new map. But there was a region which, outside of its major cities, was known imperfectly in Europe – a region full of geographic and cultural diversity. Capturing the character of these lands and peoples at the local level with greater detail and with a more seasoned cultural awareness than was available heretofore is Niebuhr’s achievement on the journey from al Başrah to Istanbul. It is his dogged daily work, adding up to hundreds of pages of notes and scores of drawings, combined with the frame of 346 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 1 March 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 99b; and Horn to Bernstorff, 2 March 1767, RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–10, File 2, Relation Nr. 8.

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mind that he brought to the task, that created the foundation for his later important and unique published works. From Caravans to Kings: The End of the Expedition

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e may recall that when Niebuhr first visited Istanbul in 1761, he was so sick with dysentery that he saw little of the city and did not undertake any of his usual work. Thus when he returned in 1767, he had unfinished business to complete.347 He thought there already existed many published descriptions of the city by European visitors, so he saw no reason to duplicate those accounts.348 Rather he focused on producing an accurate scaled map of the city, the Golden Horn and its surrounding suburbs. As he told Horn, he had done so many plans of towns in the Ottoman Empire, that “he absolutely had to do one of the capital as well.”349 With compass in hand, and concerned about arousing suspicion, he discreetly paced off the major streets, located the major buildings and other points of interest, established the city’s latitude and calculated the overall extent of the city. According to his measurement, he determined its perimeter to be 13,000 double steps, or about 22 kilometers.350 His final plan or map is annotated with 79 specific structures and sites. It exceeded in detail the existent maps of his day and despite Niebuhr’s admittedly “arbitrary” indication of the main streets, more recently has been evaluated to compare “quite favorably with a modern Turkish map.” 351 He visited the Hagia Sophia and admired the view of the Golden Horn, which he thought was unusually beautiful. He also returned to see the obelisk in the great square by the Sultan Ahmed Mosque, upon which were inscribed hieroglyphs that had never been copied. As he decided to tackle the task of copying the inscriptions, he noted with some pride his growth as a person as a result of the expedition: “With my first visit to Constantinople I had such a fearful concept of Muslims that I hardly dared to look at this piece of antiquity in any detail. However, upon my return I copied all of the hieroglyphs that were visible on the Obelisk without any fear of the more than 150 Turks, who as onlookers, observed my work.”352 Equally noteworthy is that despite being near the end of his journey, he retained the same interest in copying hieroglyphs as he had demonstrated when he started in Egypt. After all, copying accu-

347 For Niebuhr’s stay in Istanbul, see Gottfried Hagen, “Unter den ‘Tyrannen seiner Araber’ – Carsten Niebuhr über Konstantinople, Türken und Osmanisches Reich,” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, esp. 301–315. 348 For his relatively brief discussion of Istanbul, see Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 22–34. 349 Niebuhr to Horn, 16 June 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 70. 350 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 2 June 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 100. 351 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I, Plate III, and Hopkins, “The Maps of Carsten Niebuhr: 200 years after,” 118. 352 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 31.

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rately the characters on all four sides of the Obelisk in the middle of a busy plaza was still an assignment that required time, care and application.353 Niebuhr stayed in Istanbul about three and one-half months. He used the time to finish his work on the city and to get his papers in order. For safe-keeping, before he left he asked Horn to ship a set of his drawings and plans, and he also mailed to Bernstorff a record of all of his astronomical observations since al Başrah and an inventory of the forty items he had left with Horn.354 He also appears to have enjoyed the social world with which Horn, as the Danish Chargé, was connected. In particular, Niebuhr may have lingered a while longer in Istanbul so that he could continue to enjoy the company of “my dear pretty girl, Mis. A.” with whom he seemed quite smitten.355 As he wrote later in English to Horn from Warsaw, “Such a fine, beautiful, agreeable Hamburger Lady is not forgot so soon like your Constantinopolitans.”356 During his stay, he also wrote Bernstorff proposing that he would be interested in delaying his departure from Istanbul by four or five months in order to investigate a variety of antiquities in western Asia Minor. He was still curious and rarely saw a side trip that was not appealing.357 In the end, Copenhagen actually approved this additional trip with its added cost of 400–500 rtlrs, but Bernstorff ’s letter arrived after Niebuhr had left the city, heading as planned for Poland.358 Niebuhr departed Istanbul on June 8, 1767, his finances replenished with 800 piasters from Horn, and decided on a route that would take him by way of Edirne (Adrianople), Ruse and Bucharest. He traveled with a small caravan of 50–60 horses and the party slept in the open as they traveled.359 Greeting him almost immediately as he left Istanbul by the Edirne Gate were the bodies of brigands impaled on tall stakes on either side of the road. They, together with five others, had been executed that morning for the robbery and murder of travelers in the Balkans. Niebuhr later noted with his dry sense of humor, “It was preferable to me to meet the robbers here, rather than armed in the woods of the Balkans.”360

353 Ibid., 32, Plate IV. 354 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 2 June 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 100–100a. The observations and list are in 100a. 355 Niebuhr to Horn, 14 June 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 72. 356 Niebuhr to Horn, 26 August 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 77. 357 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 14 January 1767, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, File 1, Nr. 12; Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 1 March 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 99b; and for the fullest description of where he intended to go, see Niebuhr to Temler, 14–16 January 1767, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 358 Bernstorff to Niebuhr, 12 May 1767, RaK, Tyrkiet, Case 79–13, draft RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 99; and Bernstorff to Horn, 12 May 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 98. 359 Niebuhr to Horn, 14 June 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 72; and Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 19 August 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 105a. 360 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 159.

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He arrived in Edirne on June 12th. He no longer kept detailed notes of the route he took, but he did accumulate brief descriptions of the places he passed through and he continued to make observations to establish the latitude of various locations. This information he used eventually to craft his on-going travel map and to provide his later descriptions of the European territories of the Ottoman Empire – especially of Wallachia and Moldavia. The trip to Edirne was his last caravan journey. The rest of the way to Poland he would travel by horse and wagon. He regretted the change.361 Despite occasional difficulties during his many journeys, he had enjoyed the company of his fellow travelers from whom he had learned so much; it had been convenient for him to stop periodically to make his astronomical observations and there was less concern for robbers. He viewed travel in Eastern Europe as more dangerous than in Asia. In the desert the Arabs normally just robbed their victims, but in Europe, travelers were killed first and relieved of their belongings second.362 With these concerns about safety, Niebuhr took the opportunity to leave Edirne after three days in the company of a Janissary officer who was traveling with his aide and sixteen servants across Bulgaria to Ruse, on the border of Wallachia, present-day Rumania. Traveling eastward, Niebuhr noticed that the language spoken changed from Turkish to Bulgarian, and the villages became overwhelmingly Christian. The Bulgarian peasants, he noted, were just as impoverished as Arab farmers in the Tihamah of Yemen, depending on coarse Durra bread for their diet.363 On June 22nd, he passed through the town of Razgrad. There he noticed the first clock tower since leaving Europe in 1761. He had seen none in his travels through the Middle East.364 They arrived in Ruse on the banks of the Danube River on June 24th. Niebuhr could not resist judging its width which he estimated to be 800–1000 double steps.365 From Ruse he took a short voyage on a boat carrying rock salt before continuing overland to Bucharest, which he reached on June 30th. He did not stay long. Bucharest had been hit by the plague so he left the next day with his helper and wagoner.366 His destination was Iasy, the capital of Moldavia, on the 361 For a wonderful discussion of the culture of the camel, see Richard W. Bulliet, The Camel and the Wheel (Cambridge, 1975), esp. 216–236. 362 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 165. 363 Ibid., 167. 364 Ibid., 173. The first public clock, in the sense of a clock-tower, was not built in an Islamic country until the middle of the 19th Century when one (the saat Kulesi) was constructed in Istanbul, although private watches and clocks were common well before that time. See Otto Kurz, European Clocks and Watches in the Near East (Studies of the Warburg Institute, Vol. 34) (London, 1975), 99. The Ottoman Empire used the system of unequal hours for both civil and religious timekeeping. Daytime and nighttime were divided each into 12 hours, varying obviously according to the season and location. Thus European clocks were not very useful. See Emilie Savage-Smith, “Islam,” in Eighteenth-Century Science (The Cambridge History of Science), ed. Roy Porter (Cambridge, 2003), 655–656. 365 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 173. 366 Niebuhr to Horn, 30 June 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 74; Niebuhr to Horn, 13 July 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 75; and Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 198.

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border with present-day Ukraine. During his eleven day trek across Rumania he noticed the little signs of Europe – more clock towers, women without veils and handsome village churches. One afternoon they paused in a meadow where some traveling Wallachians were encamped. They were joined by a bagpiper on his way to market. They all started to dance Wallachian and Bulgarian dances and Niebuhr joined in with much pleasure until the festivities came to an end when the wagoners reminded the group that they needed to get on the road.367 Later on his journey he was fortunate to miss marauding robbers on the road who had killed two turks and an Hungarian merchant just a couple of days before he passed by.368 From Iasy he headed northwest in continuously rainy and dreary weather to Khotin near the Dnestr River and the final border between Ottoman lands and Poland (present-day Ukraine). He found most of the countryside to be deserted. On one days journey of eight hours he saw only one house. Although not feeling well, Niebuhr did not stop in the border city, but pushed on a short distance to the river, said good-bye to the wagoner who had been with him since Edirne, and took a little ferry across the Dnestr to a tiny, destitute village on the other side in Poland. He had left the Ottoman Empire for good. It was July 17, 1767. That evening the weather cleared, and Niebuhr decided to determine the latitude of the village. The grounds behind the establishment where he was staying were so filthy that he made his observations with his quadrant in the lane in front. He soon attracted over 100 onlookers, who, as he was still dressed in Middle Eastern clothes (those of an Armenian merchant), wondered why a subject of the Sultan had come to Poland to shoot the stars. They took him to be an astrologer or soothsayer. The elderly commander of the Polish border units stationed there arrived and asked Niebuhr what he was doing. Niebuhr was subsequently able to explain in a conversation that, he reported, had to be conducted in Latin. (Niebuhr wrote that it was the first time he used Latin in the entire trip. He did not speak Polish.) He noted this reaction to his quadrant and attire with interest.369 On the 18th of July, he continued traveling northwards to Warsaw by way of Kaments-Podolskiy (where he rested for 10 days – he was suffering from fever and vomiting, probably a recurrence of malaria or dysentery), Lvov (Lviv), Zamość, and Lublin. He finally arrived in the Polish capital on August 18, 1767. On the trip from Istanbul he continued to record basic geographic information and he completed town plans for Edirne, Kaments-Podolskiy, Lvov and Zamość.370 In contrast to caravan travel with its steady pace and controlled environment, he found travel in Eastern Europe much more difficult to measure and record. This was especially true for the stretch through Poland after Niebuhr had lost his original wagoner, a very consistent driver who had used the same set of horses the entire way. After that the 367 368 369 370

Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 201. Ibid, 206. Ibid., 214–215. Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 19 August 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 105a.

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pace of wagon travel varied a good deal. Nonetheless, Niebuhr believed that his map of the entire journey, eventually as far as Breslau, including the portion covering Poland, contributed to an improvement in geographic knowledge of the area.371 His purpose in traveling to Warsaw was to meet with Stanisław August Poniatowski (1732–1798), the elected King of Poland and one time lover of Catherine the Great. His controversial reign coincided with the three partitions of Poland and the disappearance of the Polish Kingdom. In 1767, he was dealing with a fundamental break with Russia and a rebellion at home. It is interesting, given his circumstances, that he took time to meet with Niebuhr. He was, however, a great benefactor of the arts and he held a sincere interest in science and education, hence his curiosity about the Arabian Expedition.372 Aside from Niebuhr’s arrival and departure audiences at the Court, Niebuhr was asked to dine with the King on two occasions.373 The King, Niebuhr reported to Bernstorff, not only took considerable time to look at his drawings and maps, but also asked him many questions about conditions in Arabia, Persia and Turkey. Niebuhr also prepared a copy of his drawing of the procession figures in the facade of the Apadana steps in Persepolis and a version of his travel map from the Dnestr River to Warsaw in response to the King’s request.374 Stanisław II August, he wrote, was very appreciative and he presented Niebuhr with a new Gold Medal honoring service in Science and the Arts. Niebuhr was its first recipient.375 Niebuhr’s report to Horn, written in his still less than perfect English, was more casual, but captured his feeling that his confidence had increased a good deal since his first arrival in Istanbul, although he did not give himself very high marks for his meeting with the King. He wrote, “You remember I was fearful at Constantinople in Conversation with Ambassadors & Envoys. Here I don’t trouble my head much in conversation with Princes, however, I assure You in speaking with His Majesty I hardly could keep countenance, particularly as I had the honor to dine at Court. His Majesty asked me many Questions in the presence of several Princes, Bishops and other great Men and a whole troop of servants all dressed like Gentlemen, & here I acknowledge I answer’d sometimes very badly. Patience! Rome was n’t built in one day & so I will n’t be form’d for great Company at once neither.”376

371 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 221. 372 On Stanisław II August see Adam Zamoyski, The last king of Poland (London, 1992), esp. 131–137 and 239–264 for his interest in science and education. 373 For a very full discussion of Niebuhr’s visit in Warsaw, see Dieter Lohmeier, ed., “Carsten Niebuhr: Briefe von der Arabischen Reise (Folge 12). Zu Gast beim König von Polen,” Dithmarschen 1 (2009): 14–23. 374 Poland was poorly mapped, hence his interest. Zamoyski, The last king of Poland, 239. 375 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 19 August 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 105a. It may have been the medal established by the King in 1765, in honor of the educational reformer Stanisław Konarski. Zamoyski, The last king of Poland, 10 and 134. 376 Niebuhr to Horn, 26 August 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–005, File 1, Nr. 77. Niebuhr was also

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In Warsaw, Niebuhr stayed in separate quarters arranged by the Danish Envoy, Armand François Louis de Mestral de St. Saphorin (1738–1805), whom Niebuhr had known slightly as a student in Göttingen.377 He enjoyed being once again in a thoroughly European environment, but life in Warsaw, in order for him to be presentable, required that he buy new clothes and travel by coach. His costs increased dramatically, which he disliked. “The donkeys in Egypt and Arabia,” he told Temler, “are not so expensive.”378 He stayed less than three weeks in the Polish capital leaving on September 6, 1767. Bernstorff had given him great freedom to determine his route across Germany to Copenhagen, including permission to make a visit to his home district of Hadeln to take care of family matters.379 Niebuhr chose therefore to travel from Warsaw, by way of Breslau, Leipzig and Dresden, to Göttingen, where he wanted to meet with Michaelis and other professors at the University.380 In each city Niebuhr visited he reported there was a good deal of coverage in the local newspapers of his return from Arabia. Thus nearly everywhere he stayed he was the center of considerable attention. He received many congratulations for his achievements and was asked even more questions about his journey and the death of his colleagues. He complained that he had to answer the same questions “more than a hundred times” – How did the “so-called barbarians” live? What did they eat and drink? How did they travel? Although he grumbled to Temler “that the most unusual animal from the Orient, which often people in Europe have paid to see, could not have stimulated more attention than I,” it is likely that he still enjoyed all the interest after having worked alone, with little recognition, for so long.381 When he arrived in Göttingen, he immediately contacted Michaelis. They met on October 7th for two hours, with Niebuhr showing him the town plans and drawings that he had with him from the last segment of his travel. Michaelis shared these with Professors Kästner, Achenwall and Büttner, the latter having helped Michaelis with the crafting of the Fragen. As Niebuhr wrote at the time of their meeting, Michaelis “was really astonished to see so much, or as he expressed it, to see that so much of the group’s work had been retained. And yet,” Niebuhr added with a tinge of disappointment, “ he had seen almost nothing that had not been completed by myself after the death of my comrades. I was surprised that he had placed such little trust in me.”382 Niebuhr was probably right that Michaelis did not invited on other occasions to dine with other members of the Court. Niebuhr to Temler, 22 August 1767, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 377 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 19 August 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr, 105a; and Niebuhr to Gähler, 24 June 1766, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 83a. 378 Niebuhr to Temler, 22 August 1767, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 379 Bernstorff to Niebuhr, 12 September 1767, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, File 1, Nr. 14, draft, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 104. 380 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 19 August 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 105a. 381 Niebuhr to Temler, 12 October 1767, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 382 Ibid.

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see him in the same scholarly company as Haven and Forsskål, but there can be no doubt that Michaelis did recognize Niebuhr’s achievement. Niebuhr’s disappointment should have been assuaged when Bernstorff later told him of Michaelis’ laudatory evaluation of Niebuhr’s work. Indeed, soon after meeting with Niebuhr Michaelis wrote to Bernstorff that what he had learned from Niebuhr so exceeded his expectations that he could not contain his joy over the accomplishments of the Expedition. He admitted “that the death of so many participants, and the previous lack of dedication by some, had greatly diminished my hope, and to a certain degree, I just fell silent.” However, after spending a couple of hours with Niebuhr reviewing his drawings and other findings he was completely comforted and very impressed. “His travel maps of the lands on both sides of the Euphrates and Tigris, the likes of which have been missing in Geography up to this time, the regular calculation of latitude, and often longitude, the plans of towns about which so little is known and yet are historically so important, are already of great value and give me even greater hope for the diary.” Finally, Michaelis applauded and thanked Bernstorff for his consistent support of the pursuit of learning.383 Bernstorff, in turn, immediately relayed to Niebuhr Michaelis’ “uncommonly positive judgment” of his hard work and success which, he emphasized, brought him “true honor.” Looking to the future, Bernstorff added that “with God’s help and as soon as possible, we will have to think about the full elaboration of the Arabian Expedition and its preparation for publication.”384 In fact, regarding the issue of publication, Niebuhr had to be careful not to divulge any significant findings to Michaelis or any other scholar in Göttingen, as Bernstorff made it clear to Niebuhr that he did not want any premature publications on the trip emanating from outside of Denmark. While in Göttingen Niebuhr also visited the widow of Tobias Mayer. She told him of the latest developments in the efforts to gain recognition of her husband’s work, a topic we will return to in Chapter 4.385 From Göttingen Niebuhr traveled in a small covered wagon by way of Hanover to Altenbruch. He spent two days in Hanover meeting with Münchhausen and another official to brief them on the Expedition. Münchhausen was 79 years old, still Curator of the University and now the Prime Minister of Hanover for King George.386 In Altenbruch, where he stayed for 12 days on a farm he had inherited while gone, Niebuhr visited with friends and the few surviving members of his extended family. He also made arrangements for the future disposition of his prop383 Michaelis to Bernstorff, 12 October 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 111a-b. 384 Bernstorff to Niebuhr, 20 October 1767, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, File 1, Nr. 15, draft, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 107. 385 Niebuhr to Michaelis, 5 March 1768, NSuUG, Cod. M.S., Mich. 326, Bl. 274; Bernstorff to Niebuhr, 12 September 1767, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, File 1, Nr. 14, draft, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 104; and Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 8 October 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 108. 386 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 6 November 1767, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 110a. This letter is reprinted in Lohmeier, “Carsten Niebuhr: Briefe von der Arabischen Reise (Schluss)” Dithmarschen 4 (2009): 25–33.

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erty. On October 30, 1767, he once again broke out his quadrant, as he had in so many distant places, and now on his own farm he established its latitude. He shot Cygni (Deneb), Pegasi (Markab) and Polaris, and determined the latitude to be 53º 49' 33" N. In fact, his practice of establishing latitude in locations along his travel route was one he had continued since Warsaw and, even after Altenbruch, he would complete three more before arriving in Copenhagen.387 From his home district of Hadeln he traveled to Altona, reentering the Kingdom of Denmark for the first time since 1761. There he had three pleasant reunions. First, his host was Sigismund von Gähler, who was now the Oberpräsident for Altona. The two men shared, Niebuhr reported, fond memories of all the inconveniences they had overcome in the Middle East. Second, he was invited to the home in Hamburg of Johann Georg Büsch, his former mathematics teacher. As curiosity about Niebuhr in Hamburg was very high, Büsch seized the moment to also arrange for a group of local scholars to meet with Niebuhr at a local coffee house to learn of his adventures in the Middle East first hand. Finally, Büsch surprised Niebuhr with a special visitor. Niebuhr’s nephew, the “little Schmeelke” for whom he had counseled indulgence, was now 17 years old and studying at Büsch’s Gymnasium. As Schmeelke later described it, “I was led into a large room where a number of people were gathered. Büsch led me to the middle of the room and said, ‘Now, find your Uncle among these gentlemen.’ I had heard nothing of his arrival and was completely surprised, looked from one to the other, and did not recognize him. He, however, could not resist any longer and came forward to embrace me.”388 From Altona, Niebuhr completed the final leg of his journey to Copenhagen traveling by way of Sleswig and Nyborg to reach the Danish capital on November 20, 1767. We have virtually no contemporary records of his arrival because the immediate correspondence of the expedition among its principals naturally ceased. However, Bernstorff ’s nephew, Andreas Peter von Bernstorff, later the important reform-minded minister of the late 18th Century in Denmark, and one of Denmark’s greatest statesmen, wrote succinctly to his father (and J. H. E. Bernstorff ’s brother): “Mons. Niebuhr returned here yesterday after a journey of seven years. Of the scholars who made the journey to Arabia and Mount Sinai, he is the only one who survived. He is a man of great merit whose voyage, certainly quite singular, will be published with time.” 389 The expedition was over, but, as both Bernstorff and his nephew made clear with their emphasis on expected publication, Niebuhr’s work was not. As when he had once written from Bombay, “My journey is only half completed,” so in 1767, Niebuhr was really just at the midpoint of his overall assignment. Ahead lay ten 387 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: Anhang, 120–123. 388 See Dieter Lohmeier, “Heinrich Wilhelm Schmeelkes Biographie”, 197. 389 A. P. Bernstorff to A. G. Bernstorff, 21 November 1767, in Aage Friis, ed., Bernstorffske Papirer. Udvalgte Breve og Optegnelser vedrørende Familien Bernstorff i Tiden fra 1732 til 1835, Vol. 1 (Copenhagen, 1904), 382–383.

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years of effort to see the results of the expedition organized and published. This task would be a challenge. Niebuhr was neither a trained scholar nor a writer. It would be work that would require different skills than the expedition, but certainly more learning and the same perseverance. In the meantime, in the fall of 1767, Niebuhr could simply savor what he had accomplished and take satisfaction in the warm reception he received. He met with Bernstorff and the other ministers and then, as reported in the newspapers, “Lieutenant Niebuhr, just returned from his Oriental Journey was most graciously admitted to an audience with His Majesty, the King. His Majesty received, most graciously and with special satisfaction, him and his report on what he had accomplished on the journey. This officer also received the high honor of dining at the Royal Table.”390 Despite these accolades, neither Bernstorff nor Michaelis, and certainly not Christian VII, had any idea of the totality of primarily Niebuhr’s and Forsskål’s achievements, and the overall importance of the Expedition’s findings. This would only be revealed after their works were published.

390 Altonischer Mercurius, Nr. 197, 10 December 1767, cited in Lohmeier, Carsten Niebuhr, 32.

Chapter Four

Presenting The Expedition To The World and The Expedition’s Significance For The Eighteenth Century

A

“ You carry a name which I have learned to honor since my youth.” Goethe to B. G. Niebuhr, 1811

n expedition unreported, diaries unpublished, notes and samples lost – this easily could have been the fate, as Bernstorff realized, of the Arabian Expedition.1 If Niebuhr had died, or if he had been less conscientious in preserving its records, then the achievements of the expedition would have been known only partially, reported years later by someone else not associated with the expedition, or not known at all. It was only with Niebuhr’s volumes that the process of the expedition – its conception, its accumulation of experience and information, and the reporting of its findings – is completed. As Niebuhr encountered formidable unforeseen obstacles in carrying out this final phase of the process, we will discuss it in some detail because it is through the voice of Niebuhr that the expedition became a reality to react to for Europeans. Expedition reports and travel accounts such as Niebuhr’s were an important category of literature in the 18th Century, a genre that had a role and impact completely different from our own era with its instant communications, mass me1 As, for example, in the case of the research in the natural sciences during the expedition of Bougainville to the Pacific, or the records of Lewis and Clark. Even the botanical and zoological work of Joseph Banks and Daniel Solander from Cook’s first voyage was not published. Niebuhr himself was also very aware that, as he once wrote, “so many works of other similar travelers have never appeared.” See his drafts of the Vorwort to Forsskål’s notes, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.4, Nr. 11.

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dia and expansive, accessible data bases.2 Expedition reports and travel accounts were the primary source of contemporary information and historical perspectives on the world. Although the viewpoints, effectiveness, and accuracy of these accounts varied greatly (they frequently revealed more about European mentalities than they did about the area they were describing), these accounts were nonetheless an influential window through which the writers of the Northern European Enlightenment saw non-European peoples – their civilizations, their cultures and the natural environments in which they lived.3 The conclusions they drew from such literature contributed in myriad ways to the thinking of the period.4 It is Niebuhr’s interpretation of the expedition that becomes part of this phenomenon. This chapter will cover several topics. First we will discuss the extraordinary effort Niebuhr devoted to publishing the results of the expedition. Second, we will analyze the 2 On the importance of these accounts, especially in the second half of the 18th Century, see Hans Erich Bödeker, “Reisebeschreibungen im historischen Diskurs der Aufklärung,” in Aufklärung und Geschichte, Studien zur deutschen Geschichtswissenschaft im 18. Jahrhundert, ed. Hans Erich Bödeker, Georg G. Iggers, Jonathan B. Knudsen and Peter H. Reill (Göttingen, 1986), 276–298. Also see the same author’s “Reisen: Bedeutung und Funktion für die deutsche Aufklärungsgesellschaft,” in Reisen im 18. Jahrhundert. Neue Untersuchungen, ed. Wolfgang Griep and Hans-Wolf Jäger (Heidelberg, 1986). Useful as well are the essays in Peter J. Brenner, ed., Der Reisebericht. Die Entwicklung einer Gattung in der deutschen Literatur (Frankfurt am Main, 1989). 3 The role of expedition reports and travel writing in the 18th Century is a large topic beyond the scope of this study. The literature is very extensive, but certainly useful are the following: Ralph-Rainer Wuthenow, Die erfahrene Welt. Europäische Reiseliteratur im Zeitalter der Aufklärung (Frankfurt am Main, 1980); P. J. Marshall and Glyndwr Williams, The Great Map of Mankind. Perceptions of New Worlds in the Age of Enlightenment (Cambridge, 1982); Hans-Wolf Jäger, “Reisefacetten der Aufklärungszeit,” in Der Reisebericht. Die Entwicklung einer Gattung in der deutschen Literatur, ed. Peter J. Brenner (Frankfurt am Main, 1989); Antoni Mączak and Hans Jürgen Teuteberg, eds., Reiseberichte als Quellen europäischer Kulturgeschichte, Wolfenbüttler Forschungen, Vol. 21 (Wolfenbüttel, 1982), and in that collection especially the introductory essay by Michael Harbsmeier, “Reisebeschreibungen als mentalitäts geschichtliche Quellen: Überlegungen zu einer historisch-anthropologischen Untersuchung frühzeitlicher deutscher Reisebeschreibungen,” 1–31. Covering broader periods and background to the 18th Century are Justin Stagl, A History of Curiosity. The Theory of Travel 1550–1800 (Chur, 1995); and Michael Harbsmeier, Wilde Völkerkunde. Andere Welten in deutschen Reiseberichten der Frühen Neuzeit, Historische Studien, Vol. 12 (Frankfurt, 1994). 4 As Peter Gay has written of the Enlightenment as a whole, “The prehistory of the social sciences had its beginning in the emergence of cultural relativism, the bittersweet fruit of travel. Whether realistic, embroidered, or imaginary, whether in ships or in libraries, travel was the school of comparison, and travelers reports were the ancestors of treatises on cultural anthropology and political sociology. It led to the attempt on the part of Western man to discover the position of his own civilization and the nature of humanity by pitting his own against other cultures.” Peter Gay, The Enlightenment: An Interpretation, Vol. II. The Science of Freedom (New York, 1969), 319. Also see the very succinct statement of Jürgen Osterhammel in his “Distanzerfahrung. Darstellungswesen des Fremden im 18. Jahrhundert,” in Der europäischer Beobachter außer europäischer Kulturen, ed. Hans-Joachim König, Wolfgang Reinhard and Reinhard Wendt (Berlin, 1989), 13–14.

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significance of the findings of the expedition from the perspectives of different disciplines, such as cultural geography, cartography, and the natural sciences. This will include analysis of the interesting contextual approach Niebuhr adopted in his own authored accounts of the expedition for the presentation of his findings in cultural geography. It will also discuss the importance of the expedition’s scientific achievements within the context of 18th-century European science. Third, we will review the reaction to Niebuhr’s works in his own times and later. We will conclude with a very brief epilogue on Niebuhr’s life after the expedition. The Struggle to Publish the Findings of the Expedition

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ewly promoted to Captain in the Engineers Corps, then released from formal duties a week later to prepare the findings of the expedition for publication, Niebuhr did not take long to get started.5 By December 12, 1767, he had submitted his summary financial report for the journey to the government. The final adjusted cost of the expedition came to 21,418 rtlrs. The government auditor later complimented Niebuhr for his “accurate, honest” keeping of the accounts.6 Then at the beginning of March, 1768, he received the papers of the journey belonging to the members who had died. These included two folio volumes of Haven’s records, which contained his journal and other materials, seven packets of Forsskål’s notes, mostly loose sheets with scientific descriptions and entries for his diary, and two packets of Kramer’s papers, about which we know nothing else.7 Niebuhr subsequently transferred Forsskål’s botanical papers and manuscripts to the botanist G. C. Oeder, Forsskål’s zoological notes to Peder Ascanius, and Haven’s to the philologist, J. C. Kall.8 All three, it may be recalled, had contributed to the preparations of the Royal Instructions. As Niebuhr reminded people that he was neither 5 Niebuhr was promoted to Captain in the Engineers Corps on January 28, 1768, and was dispensed from duty in the Corps on February 2, 1768. See Hirsch, Danske og Norske Officerer 1648–1814, Vol. VII, 4 (Müns – Nob), Niebuhr, Carsten. 6 The original budget for the expedition, we may recall, was 12,000 rtlrs. For Niebuhr’s summary, see “Rechnung über Einnahme und Ausgabe auf der zufolge Ihro Königl. Mayt. Befehls gethanen Arabischen Reise vom 3ten Dec: 1760, bis den 20ten November: 1767, geführet und abgelegt von C. Niebuhr.” RaK, Arkiv 571. Reviderede Regnskaber. Videnskabelige Institutioner mm.: Kaptajn C. Niebuhrs rejse 1760–67; and for the evaluation of his reports for the Finanskolleg, see “Betreffend die von dem Ingenieur Capitaine Niebuhr geführte und abgegte Rechnung über die Kosten der gelehrten Geselschft auf der Arabischen Reise vom 3ten December 1760 bis den 20ten Novembers 1767.” RaK: FK 8 – Finanzkollgiet, Sekretariat. Forestillingsekstrakter med kgl. Resolutioner, Bd. 1: 1771, 562f (courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier). 7 See Quittung über die Ausleihe der Handschriften der Verstorbenen, 1 March 1768, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 113. 8 Niebuhr to Temler, 30 July 1768, BBAW, C. Niebuhr Nachlass, Nr. 28, and the third draft of Niebuhr’s Introduction to the publication of Forsskål’s notes, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.3, Nr. 4, p. 4.

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a natural scientist nor a philologist, it was expected that they would take the lead in the evaluation of the collections and their editing and publication. Of necessity Niebuhr began by answering the questions posed in the long submission of the French Académie royale des inscriptions et belles-lettres from 1761. He had to focus first on this task so that a finished response to the Académie could be completed in time to coincide with a planned visit of the new king, Christian VII, to Paris later in 1768.9 It was a rushed effort compiled by an inexperienced writer. Although it was completed and received by the Académie prior to the King’s visit, Niebuhr was not pleased with his response and he wished he had had more time to complete it.10 His assessment was correct. The 20-page submission, less than half the length of the questions originally posed by the Académie, was too brief and insubstantial for a document of that kind. As a result it did not make much of an impression on the members of the Académie. We have no evidence that Niebuhr or anyone else received an acknowledgment of its receipt nor, other than a brief announcement of its reading, is there any record in the proceedings of the Académie of a substantive summary of its contents, which was a frequent practice.11 In short it was probably unfortunate that Niebuhr’s first foray into writing about the expedition’s findings went to such a prestigious body and had to be prepared under the pressure of a short deadline. Next Niebuhr turned his attention to compiling the findings of the expedition. By October he had completed a review of his own notes and field journal that covered the expedition up to the point of his arrival in India.12 By May of 1769, he appears to have settled on a plan for publishing the works. He intended to immediately proceed with the preparation of two volumes. One would cover the account of the expedition up to their arrival in India, and the other would be essentially a geographical description of Arabia, that is of Yemen, the Hijaz, Hadramawt, and 9 Niebuhr to Michaelis, 30 May 1769, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 280–281. 10 For a copy of Niebuhr’s submission, see Viris Illustribus et Eruditismus Regiae humania rum litteraum Academia S. P. D. C. Niebuhr, 2 September 1768, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S., KB 314.5, Nr. 3. Kratzenstein reviewed the document for accuracy and a specialist translated it into Latin. For the details of its approval and transmission, see Niebuhr to Temler, 2 September, and 18 October 1768, BBAW, C. Niebuhr Nachlass, Nr. 28; and Niebuhr to Michaelis, 30 May 1769, NSuUG, Cod. M.S. Mich. 326, Bl. 280–281. The submission is discussed in some detail, and the text translated into French in Michel-Pierre Detalle and Renaud Detalle, “Carsten Niebuhr et l’expédition danoise en Arabia Felix. Un mémorandum adressé en 1768 à l’Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres,” Journal des Savants 2 (2011): 277–332. Also see Michel-Pierre Detalle, “Die dänische Expeditionen nach Arabien, Carsten Niebuhr und Frankreich,” Historische Mitteilungen im Auftrage der Ranke-Gesellschaft 16 (2003): 4. Kratzenstein, it should be noted, had become a good friend, and he had asked Niebuhr to be one of his daughter’s godfathers. Snorrason, C. G. Kratzenstein, 169. 11 Detalle, “Die Dänische Expeditionen nach Arabien”, 5. 12 Niebuhr to Temler, 8 July 1768, Middle of July 1768, 2 September 1768, and 7 October 1768, all BBAW, C. Niebuhr Nachlass, Nr. 28.

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other areas on the peninsula.13 Niebuhr also initially identified 110 illustrations just for the first volume of what would become the Reisebeschreibung.14 This number soon grew to 155, many of which were too expansive for the large quarto format that had been adopted for reasons of cost, so Niebuhr had to reduce them in size.15 A team of at least nine artists was engaged eventually to produce the copper plates for the volumes. It included some of the finest engravers in Denmark, among them Johann Frederik Clemens, Claude-Emmanuel Martin and A. J. Defehrt, the latter one of the engravers for Diderot’s Encyclopédie.16 By the time the entire publishing project, including Forsskål’s works, was finished in 1778, the cost of the preparation of the illustrations, paid for entirely by the crown, was over 4,000 rtlrs.17 The production of the copper plates took a good deal of Niebuhr’s time to oversee and went slowly. Almost a year after the project had begun only 26 engravings had been completed, and these did not include the most complicated drawings.18 However Niebuhr made better progress on writing the first volume. By September 1770, he had completed a draft of the volume on Arabia and had received permission from Bernstorff and Moltke to confidentially send copies to Kästner and Michaelis in Göttingen for a critical review. He asked Kästner and Michaelis to send him specific comments and corrections and to write Bernstorff, “their great patron,” to indicate if they were satisfied with the drafts.19 Little did Niebuhr realize that within two weeks, he would be writing to Michaelis that “great change” had occurred in 13 Niebuhr to Michaelis, 30 May 1769, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 280–281. 14 Ibid. 15 Niebuhr to Michaelis, 23 April 1770, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 282–283; and Niebuhr to Büsching, 25/26 August 1771, Eutiner Landesbibliothek, Autogr. XIII, 8, courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier. 16 See Leo Swane, J. F. Clemens. Biografi samt Fortegnelse over hans Kobberstik (Copenhagen, 1929); and Madeleine Pinault and Bent Sørensen, “Recherches sur un graveur de l’Encyclopédie: Defehrt,” Recherches sur Diderot et l’Encyclopédie 15 (1995): 97–112. 17 For the authorizing resolution see Particulærkammeret, Resolutionsprotokol 1769, dated 22 October 1769, RaK, Arkiv 208, Nr. 9–20, Expense Nr. 179, p. 386. For the total costs, from which the printing costs paid for by the crown have been deducted in order to determine the cost of the illustrations, see Bestemte og ubestemte Udgivter som efter sluttede Contracter Tid efter anden forfalder, endnu af Particuliere Cassen betales, men samme af Rent Kammeret gotgiöres, a) Bestemte Udgivter, 1. For Capitaine Niebuhrs arabiske Reise-Beskrivelse, RaK, Arkiv 208, Nr. 38–42. Particulærkammerregnskaben 1778, Fol. 75f., Courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier. For the eventual costs of Forsskål’s illustrations, see RaK, Arkiv 208, Nr. 38–41. Partikulækammerregnskaber 1776, Folio 69–70. 18 Niebuhr to Michaelis, 23 April 1770, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 282–283. 19 Niebuhr’s request to Michaelis was quite clear. He wrote, “My most humble request is: that you go through the manuscript in the most rigorous manner and candidly indicate on separate sheets not only that which I have not expressed clearly enough, but also all errors in orthography, writing style, etc., in short everything that you think could be improved, and send this to me, together with the original, as soon as possible.”Niebuhr to Michaelis, 6 September 1770, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 284–285.

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Denmark. Their “great patron” was gone. Indeed, in September Bernstorff was dismissed from office in a palace coup and shortly he would leave Denmark for Germany. Despite Niebuhr’s hope that Bernstorff would soon return to Copenhagen, he did not. Bernstorff ’s departure was permanent, his career in Denmark was over, and he would be dead in two years. Niebuhr had lost his most important supporter and the official in the government most committed to the expedition.20 A detailed account of the political circumstances in Denmark surrounding Bernstorff ’s fall, and the unfolding of the so-called “Struensee Affair” with which it is connected, is a topic that is too extensive and byzantine for the purposes of this study.21 Simply put, it was a development that fundamentally altered the circumstances of Niebuhr’s work and made much more difficult the publication of the expedition’s findings. The death of Frederik V and the ascendancy of Christian VII in 1766 dramatically changed the political environment in Copenhagen. Moltke was soon dismissed as the Oberhofmarschall and primary advisor to the monarch, although he would stay in the government for another four years, and Christian VII brought in his own team of advisors. Opposition to the dominant role of German and other foreign-born aristocrats – the “foreign ministers” – under Frederik V mounted, amid a surge in Danish nationalism and educated middle class resentment over the lack of access to government positions. Most decisive, however, was Christian VII’s early and rapid decline into acute dementia. His condition was exploited by the King’s German physician, Friedrich Struensee, who was also the lover of the young Queen, Caroline Mathilde. Struensee’s influence at court increased, and he joined with others in Christian VII’s circle to engineer Bernstorff ’s dismissal by the King on September 15, 1770. To briefly complete the story of this unstable period in Danish history, because it is relevant to Niebuhr’s future, Struensee embarked on a dramatic, but arrogant, outburst of reform intended to thoroughly liberalize Danish institutions. However, this was quickly brought to an abrupt end by another palace coup led this time by the conservative royal tutor, Ove Høegh Guldbergh, and Frederik V’s second wife, the Queen Dowager, Juliana Maria. Struensee was thrown in prison in January of 1772 and a rigged tribunal convicted him of high treason. He was sentenced to death and was brutally executed 20 Niebuhr to Michaelis, 21 September 1770, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 286–287. Many years later Niebuhr reflected upon the dismissal of Bernstorff in the context of the dismissal of Freiherr Karl vom und zum Stein in 1806 in Prussia. In a letter to his son, Barthold Georg, then in the service of Prussia, he wrote: “I had thought such an upright and effective man as the Baron Stein would have been indispensable. But this is just what I thought as the Bernstorffs were sent away from Copenhagen. To the foremost authorities in the state, no one is indispensable.” Niebuhr to B. G. and Amalie Niebuhr, 22 February 1807, BBAW, Nr. 230. 21 For a full analysis see Egill Snorrason, Johann Friedrich Struensee. Læge og Geheimestatsminister, København, 1968; Svend Cedergreen Bech, Struensee og hans tid (Copenhagen, 1972); and Kersten Krüger, “Johann Friedrich Struensee und der Aufgeklärte Absolutismus,” in Aufklärung und Pietismus im dänischen Gesamtstaat, 1770–1820, ed. Hartmut Lehmann and Dieter Lohmeier (Neumünster, 1983), 11–36.

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(quartered and beheaded) in April of the same year. For the next twelve years domestic policy in Denmark would be decidedly “Danish” and conservative. The language of government became exclusively Danish, and in 1776, a new law, the Indfødsret, stipulated that only those born within the Danish monarchy would henceforth be permitted to serve in the country’s government and military.22 Thus in 1770, and for several years thereafter, the atmosphere in Copenhagen was tense and suspicion abounded. Even for a minor observer such as Niebuhr, he knew that he had to be cautious. There is no doubt that he was identified with Bernstorff; he was one of a handful of loyal friends who rode with the deposed minister as he left Copenhagen for Roskilde, before leaving the country to live on one of his estates near Hamburg.23 Niebuhr soon knew that times had changed. Beyond the funds that had already been committed to cover the preparation of the copper plates, there would be in the future very limited financial support from the government for the project.24 This only highlights the central importance of Bernstorff ’s role. For a peripheral enterprise such as the expedition to Arabia to be successful in the political or bureaucratic arena, it needed a champion. Bernstorff was that champion. He made sure the expedition was a serious scientific endeavor. He ensured that the members had the training and the resources required for a productive trip. He mobilized through Gähler the infrastructure of diplomats, consuls, financial agents and merchants that provided, at times, logistical support to the expedition. And up until his dismissal, he worked to provide the funds Niebuhr needed to publish the findings. Because he endorsed an egalitarian structure, Bernstorff gave the members the freedom to explore their disciplines and the authority to manage their project. Moreover, he was sincerely interested in the results. He wanted them to be a legitimate contribution to scholarship. Even after his dismissal, he discreetly maintained contact with Niebuhr and encouraged him in his work.25 Bernstorff was also important to Niebuhr personally. In contrast to some of Niebuhr’s colleagues, or even at times, to Michaelis, Bernstorff always showed respect for Niebuhr as a person, regardless of his class, and confidence in his abilities.26 Repeatedly he indicated his appreciation for Niebuhr’s hard work, determination and sense of responsibility. It is apparent that he and his wife had great affection for the young man from Hadeln.27 In 22 See Ole Feldbæk, “Fæderland og Indfødsret. 1700-talletsdanske identitet,” in Dansk Identitetshistorie, ed. Feldbæk, 1: 111–230. 23 B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 42. 24 See Bernstorff ’s comment in Bernstorff to Niebuhr, 15 August 1771, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 9. 25 For example. Bernstorff to Niebuhr, 15 August 1771, and Bernstorff to Niebuhr, December n. d., 1771, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 9. Bernstorff was very concerned that Niebuhr’s continued association with himself might compromise Niebuhr’s position in Copenhagen. 26 For this quality of Bernstorff and his wife, in general, see Hurlebusch, “Dänemark – Klopstocks ‚zweites Vaterland‘?”, 82. 27 For example see, Bernstorff to Niebuhr, 5 April 1771, and 20 June 1771, BBAW, Nachlass C.

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short, for the expedition and for Niebuhr personally, Bernstorff was an ideal official for the project. He was consistent in his support, shepherding the effort for fourteen years; he expected meaningful results, but he did not interfere in the members’ research. It became quite clear to Niebuhr that he was now on his own, and this sense of working alone was accentuated by his inability to get any meaningful response from Göttingen on his draft of the Beschreibung. He repeatedly asked Michaelis and Kästner for their comments, and despite revealing to Michaelis that “he could not deny that he was very fearful of bringing forth to the public what was his first ever publication,” five months later he still had not heard a word from the originator of the expedition.28 Despite these requests for help, Michaelis returned the manuscript without any questions, corrections or suggestions for improvement. We will discuss Michaelis’ attitude later. It was only from Kästner that he obtained any comments.29 Thus for Niebuhr, none of the major players in the expedition were still involved. Frederik V was dead, Bernstorff and Moltke were gone, Mayer had died, and apparently Michaelis had little interest. Desperate for critical assistance, Niebuhr contacted Johann Jacob Reiske, mentioned earlier as Germany’s most accomplished scholar in Arabic, whom he had met briefly in Leipzig on his return home. He asked Reiske to correct his presentation of Kufic inscriptions and other references in Arabic in the manuscript. In the spring of 1772, Reiske responded with a very detailed sixteen page review of Niebuhr’s text offering many explanations and corrections that improved the accuracy of the manuscript.30 Meanwhile Niebuhr was occupied with the time-consuming process of preparing the volumes for publication. He refined his selection of illustrations, redrew the ones that were too large, finished some of Baurenfeind’s drawings that were incomplete, and oversaw the production of the copper plates.31 He supervised the accurate design and pouring of the lead type needed to produce printed letters in Arabic and later other languages, as well.32 He had to identify a printing house, select the Niebuhr, Nr. 9; and Charitas Emilie von Bernstorff to Niebuhr, 20 October 1772, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 11. 28 Niebuhr to Michaelis, 22 October 1770, 22 November 1770, and 8 February 1771, all NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 288–294. 29 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 9 April 1771, RaK, Arkiv 5129, Bernstorff-Familie, Wotersen, Case 48, Breve til J. H. E. Bernstorff fra forskellige, N – Re. Courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier. 30 Reiske to Niebuhr, 16 May 1772, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, Nr. 11. Also see Gotthard Strohmeier, “Johann Jacob Reiske, ein Orientalist ohne Orientalismus,” in Hans-Georg Ebert and Thoralf Hanstein, eds., Johann Jacob Reiske – Leben und Wirkung (Leipzig, 2005), 160. 31 For Niebuhr’s work on completing Baurenfeind’s drawings of landscapes and views, see Niebuhr to Murr, 2 April 1776, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Hist. 37a VI. He notes that he did not add his name to the drawings. Also see Niebuhr to Wargentin, 8 May 1776, Küngl. Vetenskapsakademien. Centrum för Vetenskapshistoria, Stockholm (courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier), in which he makes clear that he did not touch Baurenfiend’s zoological and botanical drawings. 32 On the difficulties Arabic script presented to typesetters in the 18th Century, see Savage-Smith, “Islam,” 658.

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paper stock and make some arrangement for the sale and distribution of the volumes when published.33 We do not have information on the printing costs of all of his publications, but we do know that he had to pay 2,736 rtlrs. for the printing of 2,000 copies of the Beschreibung.34 The crown approved an expenditure of 500 rtlrs. towards the printing of the Beschreibung and a like amount for each of the two planned volumes of the Reisebeschreibung.35 Thus government funds covered only a fraction of the printing costs for Niebuhr’s first book, and we can assume a similar or smaller proportion of the costs for the other two volumes. This level of support was far less than would have been the case had Bernstorff still been in office. To ensure that the volumes were published, Niebuhr had to pay over 80 % of the costs himself. This was not a trivial amount, remembering that his annual stipend for the expedition had been only 500 rtlrs. Thus Niebuhr was forced to go into debt to pay the bills just for the publication of the Beschreibung. It can be assumed that he incurred similar, if not greater, costs for the first two volumes of the Reisebeschreibung as they were longer and had more illustrations, and still more debt.36 Niebuhr’s first volume, his Beschreibung von Arabien. Aus eigenen Beobachtungen und im Lande selbst gesammleten Nachrichten, appeared in late 1772. It was quickly followed in 1773 with the publication of the same volume in French, entitled Description de l’Arabie, faite sur des observations propres et des avis recueilles dans lieux mêmes. In turn, the first volume of the account of the expedition, the Reisebeschrei33 For a good discussion on the challenges of bookmaking in the 18th Century, but on a much grander scale, see Robert Darnton, The Business of Enlightenment. A Publishing History of the Encyclopédie 1775–1800 (Cambridge, 1979), especially Chapter V, “Bookmaking”. Niebuhr settled on the printing house of Nicolaus Möller in Copenhagen because he thought it was advisable to have the works published in Denmark, not Germany, and in order to supervise the details of printing in Arabic. 34 Niebuhr to Breitkopf, 22 August 1772, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Sammlung Härtel, Niebuhr, Carsten. Courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier. 35 See the Royal Resolution dated 25 March 1772, in RaK, Arkiv 208 (Partikulærkammeret), Nr. 9–22, Resolutionsprotokol 1772, Expense Nr. 54, pp. 77–79. Niebuhr was paid the money for the Beschreibung on 18 April 1772, see RaK, Arkiv 208, Nr. 38–40. Partikulærkammeret. Partikulærkammerregnskaber 1772, Fol. 154–156. Payment for the volumes of the Reisebeschreibung were made on 22 June 1773 and 3 September 1777. See RaK, Arkiv 208, Nr. 38–40. Partikulærkammeret. Partikulærkammerregnskaber 1773, Fol. 98–100, and RaK, Arkiv 208, Nr. 38–42, Partikulærkammeret. Partikulærkammerregnskaber 1777, Fol. 75–78. 36 To undertake the distribution and sale of the volumes in most of Germany he entered into a commission agreement with the Leipzig bookseller, B. C. Breitkopf und Sohn. Distribution in Denmark and to German cities such as Hamburg and Lübeck, Niebuhr handled himself. Also adding to his workload was the preparation of a French translation. See Niebuhr to Michaelis, 30 September 1773, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 301–302. For the details concerning the book and its distribution, and the problem of debt, see the correspondence with Breitkopf from 15 March 1772 to 12 December 1772, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin Preußischer Kulturbesitz. For a discussion of the book trade in Germany, see Pamela E. Selwyn, Everyday Life in the German Book Trade. Friedrich Nicolai as Bookseller and Publisher in the Age of Enlightenment 1750–1810 (University Park, Pennsylvania, 2000), esp. 99–179.

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bung nach Arabien und andern umliegenden Ländern, which covered the journey up to Bombay, was published in 1774. The second volume did not appear until four years later in 1778. The reason for the delay was that Niebuhr chose to turn his attention first to the publication of Forsskål’s research. This endeavor was proving to be a greater challenge than Niebuhr had anticipated. Niebuhr had sent the papers of Haven and Forsskål in 1768 to Professors Kall and Oeder respectively for evaluation and editing. Kall concluded that Haven’s notes and journal were of little value, and although Niebuhr retained a hope that perhaps Haven’s journal for the trip from Copenhagen to Cairo could be edited and published, nothing was done at that time with his papers.37 Forsskål’s papers languished in Oeder’s hands and were set aside as Oeder was occupied with other projects.38 As Niebuhr later wrote: “I left these manuscripts in the hands of a man very knowledgeable in natural history and did not give them more thought for a long time. But as the years passed by, I felt sad that Forsskål was forgotten and was afraid that his papers should vanish altogether … I asked the advice of learned friends on how best to publish these writings. The friends unanimously recommended that the words of the author would be more valuable than any revision, and that the public would want to hear precisely what Forsskål had discovered.” But the task of organizing the “words of the author” was a challenge. Forsskål had transferred his notes to “very small slips of paper” which he could then rearrange as his collection of species grew. But, as Niebuhr noted, “A heavy burden has accumulated for the scholar who has to edit this … as the manuscripts include more than 1800 scraps of paper, and some have almost certainly disappeared for the original owner. That more have disappeared after his death is no less certain.”39 Thus as Niebuhr consistently tried to explain that he was not a natural scientist, he knew that he needed help with Forsskål’s research. For the preparation of the zoological studies and their presentation in Latin, it appears Niebuhr was assisted by a young Danish 37 Niebuhr to Michaelis, 22 October 1770, Bl. 288–290, and 12 June 1773, Bl. 297–298, both NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326. It appears that Oeder had someone, probably an assistant named H. C. Arnberg, begin the process of copying Forsskål’s notes as a payment of 52 rtlrs. was made to Oeder and Arnberg in 1769 for some of the work. See RaK, Arkiv 208, Nr. 37–38, Partikulærkammeret. Partikulærkammerregnskaber 1769, Fol. 220. For the resolution to cover the costs, see RaK, Arkiv 208, Nr. 9–20. Partikulærkammeret, Resolutionsprotokol 1769, Expense Nr. 71, p. 186. 38 Niebuhr to Michaelis, 12 June 1773, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 297–298. 39 Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 29. Niebuhr also noted that Forsskål’s notes for a single plant were sometimes scattered over three or four different slips of paper, making the task of organizing the data even more challenging. See Niebuhr’s second draft of an Introduction to Forsskål’s works, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.3, Nr. 11–3. For a very useful discussion of Niebuhr’s efforts to publish Forsskål’s work, with important draft documents, see Dieter Lohmeier, “Carsten Niebuhrs Entwurf von Widmung und Vorrede zu den Aufzeichnungen Petrus Forsskål’s über Fauna und Flora des Vorderen Orients,” Dithmarschen 1 (2013): 20–28. Evidently Ascanius also did nothing with Forsskål’s papers.

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student of Linnaeus, Johann Zoëga (1742–1788).40 Their collaboration resulted in two works – the Descriptiones Animalium: Avium, Amphibiorum, Piscium, Insectorum, Vermium (1775), which contained the descriptions of the various animal species Forsskål had identified, and the Icones rerum naturalium, which appeared in 1776 and presented the zoological and botanical illustrations that had been drawn in color by Baurenfeind. Niebuhr was listed as the editor for both works. The name of the naturalist who assisted Niebuhr in the preparation of Forsskål’s botanical studies remains unknown.41 In any case, Forsskål’s botanical notes were much more extensive than his zoological ones, and thus the task of publication was much more difficult. The resulting work, the Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica sive Descriptiones Plantarum, quas per Aegyptum Inferiorem et Arabiam Felicem, with Niebuhr as the editor, appeared in 1775. It included an extensive Introduction written by Niebuhr and his collaborator, who undoubtedly was also primarily responsible for the translation of the Introduction into Latin, and for most of the work’s scientific content. Thus with the publication of the Descriptiones Animalium, the Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica and the Icones rerum naturalium, Niebuhr had succeeded in presenting virtually all of Forskål’s surviving research to scholars. Once again, as with his own volumes, he had to bear the vast majority of the costs of printing Forsskål’s works, for the crown, honoring it appears a previous commitment of Bernstorff to assist with Forsskål’s works, authorized only 300 rtlrs. to publish the botanical findings, a work comparable in length to the Beschreibung, and 500 rtlrs. for the volume of illustrations.42 There is no record of any assistance for the printing of the zoological research. Thus despite a number of obstacles, Niebuhr fulfilled the pledge he made to himself in Yemen upon the death of his colleague that he would endeavor to make sure that Forsskål’s research was presented to the scientific world. As he wrote to Michaelis in 1775, “I have spared no cost and effort in the publication of these 40 Gösch, Udsigt over Danmarks zoologiske Literatur, 448–449, Spärck, “Peter Forrskåls arabiske rejse og zoologiske samlinger,” 125; Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 31; and Wolff, Danske Expeditioner på Verdenshavene, 30–32. 41 Over the years various candidates have been suggested, including another of Linnaeus’ Apostles, Daniel Rolander, and Zoëga. Niebuhr indicates that one person helped him with “everything that was to some degree interesting in Forsskål’s papers,” and if that were the case then Zoëga would be the most likely person. For various opinions see the thorough discussion in Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 29–32. Niebuhr’s statement is from his draft of an introduction for the Animalium, see UB Kiel, Cod. M. S. KB 314.3, Nr. 11–4. 42 The resolution for the publication of the Botanical work is dated 8 December 1774. See RaK, Arkiv 208, Nr. 9–22. Partikulærkammeret. Resolutionsprotokol 1774, Nr. 47, p. 108. For the illustrations, the resolution is dated 2 January 1775, RaK, Arkiv 208, Nr. 9–22. Partikulærkammeret. Resolutionsprotokol 1775, Nr. 1, p. 1. The government paid a total of 1,478 rtlrs. to support the publication of Forsskål’s works. Almost 700 rtlrs. was spent on the preparation of the illustrations for the Icones. See RaK, Arkiv 208, Nr. 38–41. Partikulærkammeret. Partikulærkammerregnskaber 1776, Folio 69–70, courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier.

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editions and thereby I believe I have completed my obligation to the public and to my dead friend.”43 Having finished this part of the publications project, Niebuhr returned to writing the second volume of his Reisebeschreibung. It was published in 1778. However, the second volume did not complete the account of the expedition. Niebuhr had too much material. Almost 500 pages in length, about the same as Volume One, it only described the journey up to Niebuhr’s arrival in Halab. Thus Niebuhr planned to publish a third volume which would finish the story, and would include all of his astronomical observations. Niebuhr completed a draft of the text, but he did not want to present his astronomical data until it had been verified for accuracy by a professional astronomer. This Niebuhr was unable to arrange in the near term, and as his life moved in an entirely new direction, which we will discuss later, the manuscript for Volume Three was not finished in his lifetime.44 Niebuhr’s reticence in publishing his scientific data was unjustified. As we shall see, his calculations were subsequently judged to be very accurate. In all, Niebuhr devoted ten years of his life, the years 1768–1778, to the publication of six volumes of findings from the expedition. He paid for the vast majority of the costs for printing the volumes himself. He oversaw the preparation of Forsskål’s three volumes, he wrote the Beschreibung and Volumes One and Two of the Reisebeschreibung (and a draft of Volume Three), he attended to the design and production in the end of 161 illustrations (not including those in the Icones), and he arranged for the printing and distribution of the books. We have gone into some detail on the challenges he faced because it demonstrates extraordinary effort and commitment on his part to science and to the memory of the expedition. Niebuhr was neither a writer nor a trained academic. He had no experience in publishing. He received modest on-going support for the project other than his release from active military duty, a small apartment in the former palace of the Crown Prince, and the substantial funds Bernstorff had arranged to cover the costs of the copper plates. He had virtually no help from the academics who had conceived and shaped the expedition in Göttingen and Copenhagen. It is his voice alone that shapes the received narrative of the expedition, and it was only Niebuhr’s determination to publish the findings of the expedition that ensured that Bernstorff ’s stated goal would be achieved, namely that the Danish Expedition to Arabia would produce results that would benefit the world of scholarship. From Geography to Botany: The Results of the Expedition

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e should recall the purpose of the expedition was scholarship, and the experience of the expedition we have just described is a story of people doing science and scholarly investigation – observing, compiling, describing, re43 Niebuhr to Michaelis, 14 July 1775, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 314–315. 44 It was finally edited by his protégé Johann Nicolai Gloyer and the orientalist, Justus Olshausen, and was published by Friedrich Perthes in 1837, in Hamburg.

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cording and preserving – in the field, not at an academy, university, observatory or library. Primarily this work took place within the context of the three fields of Enlightenment inquiry mentioned at the outset – namely geography, broadly defined, the natural sciences and, to a lesser extent, philology. As we have seen, the scholarly emphasis of the expedition changed in the course of the journey. The role of philology declined in importance, while interest in cultural geography, antiquities and paleography blossomed. Compelling though the human story of the expedition is, the ultimate significance of the expedition in the 18th Century rests on the character and quality of its scholarly or scientific results, which we will examine next. Niebuhr’s works present over 2,000 pages of material for scholars and other interested parties to examine. Over a period of 200 years it is quite striking how, with few exceptions, the evaluations of that material have been consistently positive. Or looked at another way, why did Napoleon’s battalion of scientists in Egypt consider Niebuhr to be one of the standards against which they should measure their work? Why near the end of Niebuhr’s life had he come to be considered one of the greatest navigational astronomers of his age? Why is his name associated with the deciphering of at least two major ancient languages? More broadly, why did he become so respected for the accuracy, honesty and open-mindedness of his descriptions of the lands and peoples of the Middle East? In other words, what lay behind the accolades that came to him from a wide range of scholars and discriminating readers? As one historian of Arabia has written, “Slowly the work he had done became widely recognized for its meticulous and pioneering scholarship. That power-house of the Enlightenment, the Académie Française made him a corresponding member; geographers and historians tested his charts and found them accurate; his name began to be spoken of in distant capitals.”45 We shall now turn our attention to Niebuhr’s authored works. According to the Royal Instructions, Niebuhr’s primary responsibility was for geography and cartography, and secondarily for astronomy. By choice and circumstance, he added to these antiquities and, of necessity, the natural sciences, for the purposes of publication only. Forsskål was responsible for the natural sciences, Haven for philology and Kramer for medicine, and secondarily, the natural sciences. For the purposes of clarity and simplicity, we will divide the results of the expedition as reported in Niebuhr’s works and the studies of Forsskål into those that are more subjective, and those that are more empirical. We will concentrate first on describing the general context Niebuhr sets for all of his works. Second, we will discuss his general description of lands and peoples. Third, we will analyze some of the features of his approach to the discussion of culture. All of this will be covered under the rubric of geography. This will be followed by an examination of the more scientific work in cartography, astronomy, antiquities and the natural sciences, including Forsskål’s diary. Finally, as an addendum, we will conclude with a brief 45 Peter Brent, Far Arabia: Explorers of the Myth (London, 1977), 62.

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analysis of Haven’s collection of historic manuscripts and his journal. There is no evidence that Kramer contributed to any results, so he is not mentioned. Geography

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iebuhr’s two main works, the Beschreibung and the Reisebeschreibung, are complementary studies that present in many ways similar information in two different formats. They should be read together. Still, Niebuhr made it clear in the prefaces to both that their purposes are different. One is a report on Arabia; the other is a report on the expedition. One is more oriented towards addressing the assignments in the Instructions and answering questions posed by Michaelis. The other is essentially liberated from this requirement and, as a consequence, is shaped by the natural dynamics of the journey. It is Niebuhr’s chronological story of the expedition. Nonetheless, for the purposes of framing, they share the same underlying values. Let us first look at the Beschreibung, in which Niebuhr wanted to accomplish two goals. The first was to respond to the many questions and directives contained in Michaelis’ Fragen, the submission of the French Academy, and the Royal Instructions. The second was to present a full description of Arabia and its people to European scholars and libraries.46 The book is organized into three parts – a lengthy preface, followed by a general, topical description of the region focusing on its people and customs, and concluding with a section that lays out in considerable detail the geographic and political/administrative organization of Arabia. It is an interesting work in many ways, and upon reflection, quite remarkable for someone who had never published a single study, never mind a substantial treatment of a far-away land with a rich culture imperfectly understood in Europe. At the very beginning, Niebuhr’s brief dedication to the King of Denmark is instructive. It aims from its very first lines to establish standing or respect for Arabia, a land, he writes, “that is inhabited by a nation that has never been subdued by a foreign people, [and] which, on the contrary, has widely spread its dominion, language, science and religion.”47 Thus its independence is buttressed by its history of geopolitical, cultural and scientific strength. Next, in the volume’s 47-page Preface, he addresses what he thought might be negative perceptions of the region, assessments that we have heard from him before. These include issues of safety, disease, and everyday behavior, that is that the Arabs were perceived as uncivilized, greedy and thievish. He confirms that robbery, particularly in the desert, was a problem. But he observes that if travelers did not travel alone, and did not ride with caravans through areas experiencing armed conflict between the tribal groups and 46 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, xvi – xvii, and Niebuhr to Breitkopf, 12 December 1772, Staatsbibliothek Berlin, Sammlung Härtel, Niebuhr, Carsten (courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier) As his letter to Breitkopf makes clear, Niebuhr did not intend the work for the average reader. 47 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, 5–6.

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Ottoman authorities, then personal security was not a major concern. In most of Arabia, and especially in Yemen, he writes, one could travel as safely as is Europe. Issues of health, he contends could be dealt with quite simply. Live and eat like the local population. He still believed that had their expedition done so early on, their health problems could have been avoided. Similarly, establishing good relations with the Arab community is a function of learning the language and customs of the country down to each locality. Scholars, he insists, need to master some of the individual dialects, and every traveler must learn at least enough Arabic to conduct daily affairs and thoughtful conversations. With this task, he adds, “the Arabs themselves are very helpful. They have the admirable habit, which one certainly does not find in all European nations, that they seek to help a foreigner who wants to speak their language, and never ridicule him when he makes mistakes.”48 Thus, if a foreigner learns the language, is knowledgeable about customs (eating, religion, treatment of women, etc.) and is good tempered (not haughty) then “one can expect just as much courtesy as reasonable Europeans show to the Jews,” an interesting juxtaposition, which, as we have seen, Niebuhr uses a number of times.49 He admits, of course, that travel in Arabia could be difficult. It was not a pleasure trip (Lustreise). But if one was “eager to learn about foreign nations,” then it is rewarding. After all, he reminds the reader, “If an Arab traveled through Europe, he too would encounter many difficulties with innkeepers, postmasters, coachmen and customs officials; indeed, he would probably have cause to complain about the greediness of Europeans, as a European might about Arabs. However, he would be incorrect if, because of a bad experience with those he met, he then would report to his countrymen that all Europeans are uncivilized and greedy.”50 We will discuss his use of analogy shortly. He then moves on to the still sensitive issue of answering Michaelis’ Fragen. He explains to the reader, as we have seen him do in private correspondence, that the members of the expedition only received two of the 100 questions before leaving Copenhagen, and did not have a full collection until they were in Yemen. Michaelis’ published version only reached him in Bombay, the answers to which he worked on during his travels from al Başrah to Halab. Still by that time, he explains, the specialists in philology, the natural sciences and medicine were dead. Thus, he hopes the reader would understand that some of his answers are incomplete because he was not trained in those disciplines. He makes a point of writing that in view of these deficiencies in his education, he sent a draft of his work to Michaelis for review, but, showing publicly Niebuhr’s continued irritation, independence and stubbornness, he writes that regretfully he received no comments back from Michae-

48 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, xv. 49 Ibid., xi. 50 Ibid. xii.

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lis.51 Instead, he mentions the help of Reiske in improving his usage for words in Arabic.52 Finally, he mentions that the information in the book is based on two sources – his own observations and the contributions of local inhabitants. He makes clear his indebtedness to local merchants, Muslim teachers and clerics and the camel drivers and wranglers (whose knowledge of the land he compares to a mariner’s knowledge of the sea), for their help in providing answers to his many questions. Indeed, in the final section of the Preface, he includes eleven pages of specific answers to scores of Michaelis’ questions that involve words in either Hebrew or Arabic. He is explicit in explaining that in many cases, he had obtained the meaning for each word from either a Middle Eastern Jew, Christian or Muslim, and in some cases, it can be seen that he even lists the name of the person who assisted him.53 It should be added that for both of his works, Niebuhr also consulted scores of scholarly treatises and travel accounts on the Middle East after his return, all of which he cites. He used these to add to the context of his discussions, or in many cases, to note an error in their account.54 Niebuhr’s Reisebeschreibung on the other hand is his personal account, his history of the expedition. Its focus, he makes clear in the introductions to the volumes, is on Erdbeschreibung, or geography, including the topic of religion. It is, by far, his most compelling work, and in comparison to the Beschreibung, it is more comprehensive, more richly supplemented with illustrations (137 as opposed to 24), astronomical observations (123 pages) and weather data (35 pages). As in his earlier study, he starts by setting an explicit context. In the Introduction, Niebuhr alerts the reader to the character of his work. He knows, he writes, that those who read these kinds of accounts for pleasure enjoy an entertaining description of the encounters and misfortunes of the travelers in a strange land, not a dry description of the towns visited and the routes traveled. He also admits, “I could have easily pointed out more pleasing curiosities,” but, he explains, he would not have fulfilled the aim of the expedition. “I was content, that I found the Arabs to be just as humane as other cultured people, and I experienced pleasant and unpleasant days in the countries I visited, just as every traveler must expect.”55 What a calming and non-sensational statement that is. Indeed, Niebuhr’s account is neither in the tradition of so-called “survival” exploration literature, in which the participants overcome formidable obstacles and misadventures, nor does it present a panoply of “curiosities” to entice the reader about encounters with strange countries and peoples. No, Niebuhr’s account 51 Ibid., xix. 52 Ibid., xxxv. 53 Ibid., xxxvii – xlvii. See for example that Muri is the name of a Jew who helped him in al Mukhā with botanical names. 54 See the very complete listing of the outside sources Niebuhr used in the Beschreibung and Volume One of the Reisebeschreibung in Hartwig, “Carsten Niebuhrs Darstellung von Yemen, – Anhang,” 196–202. 55 Reisebeschreibung, I: xii.

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is surely an example of “sober curiosity”, consistently straightforward, thoroughly unembellished and intended not to titillate, but to educate the reader. The Reisebeschreibung is also noteworthy as an historical document. Although written some years after the expedition, it appears to be historically accurate. A comparison of the descriptions in the Reisebeschreibung with those in the existing field journals of Niebuhr in the archive at the Library of the Christian Albrechts University in Kiel, shows that he followed his journals closely in writing his volumes. It appears in many cases he edited directly from his notes. There are few differences in the accounts except that those in the Reisebeschreibung are more concise, contain minor differences in dates and distances, and round astronomical observations in the narrative to the nearest minute. Moreover, comparing Niebuhr’s account to other records in the Rigsarkiv in Copenhagen reveals only two significant differences. Niebuhr omits the details of the internal dissension within the group (although he alludes to it in a general way), and all financial data and reports. Otherwise, there is no evidence of embellishments or major exclusions that change the character of the events described. The narration is enlarged only by his reflections on some of the meaning of their experiences, and by comments on other published sources that are relevant to the account. Thus, with the qualifications mentioned above, the Reisebeschreibung is a valuable and reliable record of the Danish Expedition. Next, if we step back and look at Niebuhr’s own works as a whole, what predominates is his discussion of the geography, especially the cultural geography, of the region he explored. The sheer amount of descriptive information presented in the four volumes is enormous. Some of it is included in the Beschreibung von Arabien, where the first main section of the book, about 180 pages in length, is a thematic description of Arabia, especially Yemen, using 47 different categories. Ten deal with geography and natural history – wind, weather, trees, animals and insects, agriculture and the like. But the majority of the topics focus on the people and customs of the peninsula. They are sensible ones reflecting the kinds of information Niebuhr had collected on his journey and what was becoming common in such descriptions in the 18th Century. They include tribal structures and titles, religious groups and practices, the education of children, the language and its dialects, and the old calligraphy. Some topics flow especially from Michaelis’ questions, such as those discussing polygamy, castration and circumcision. Others are quite basic – greetings, eating and dietary habits, hospitality, dwellings, the manner of sitting, clothing and even different styles of beards. Niebuhr also touched on the state of Arab astronomy, medicine, the calculation of time, and the Islamic and Coptic calendars. This list is not complete, but it gives a sense of the wide range of topics Niebuhr attempted to cover. Interestingly, answering Michaelis’ questions does not seem to dominate. For example, in the first 130 pages of the actual text, not the Preface, there are only seven explicit references to the Fragen. To be sure various information presented could be used subsequently to address some of Michaelis’ questions, but essentially the strength of Niebuhr’s geographic material and the

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structures Niebuhr brings to it, in many cases simply push aside Michaelis’ assignments and perspectives as organizing principles. The second section of the Beschreibung is an extensive, sometimes boring, but extremely valuable description of the political arrangements and geographical character of the Arabian Peninsula organized by sub-region or province. As would be expected, Yemen is covered in considerable detail. Information is provided on its history and ruling Imams, government and military, and money, weights and measures. He provides a description of the thirty districts under the authority of the Imam, six of them in the Tihāmah, and 24 in the highlands of the country. These include listings of many of the towns and villages in each district and their latitude and distance from other locations, when Niebuhr had the data. He presents information on the 14 autonomous areas in Southwestern Arabia such as Aden or the Abū Arish. This is followed by descriptions of other areas in the Peninsula – the Hadramawt, Oman, the independent fiefdoms of the Persian Gulf, al Ahsa, the Nejd and a good deal of the Hijaz, including a discussion of the main pilgrimage routes to Makkah. He concludes his study with a description of the Bedouins and other nomadic peoples and an abbreviated account of the trip to the Sinai. Although much of this second section is dry, it presents a remarkably accurate and detailed description of the Arabian Peninsula, capturing its diversity of political and administrative arrangements, that simply had not been available in the 18th Century, and would not be duplicated for many years to come. Looking at the work in its entirety, it is interesting to note that although answering Michaelis’ questions figured prominently in the Preface, the actual text concentrates more on describing 18th Century Arabia in its own right, not predominantly as a source of information for interpreting the Bible. Niebuhr’s discussion is primarily shaped by and responsive to the questions of the Académie royale des inscriptions et des belles lettres, and by the assignments in the Royal Instructions.56 Niebuhr’s description is also consistent with the emerging field of Statistik as developed at the University in Göttingen, although there is no evidence that he was directly influenced by it. In addition, his treatment bears some similarity to the kind of reporting called for in Linnaeus’ instructions for scientific travelers, his Instructiones peregrinatoris, referenced in the Royal Instructions, and which Forsskål almost surely discussed with Niebuhr in the course of the journey. However, Niebuhr’s portrayal of Arabia also differs from these last two models in significant ways. First, he has a much greater emphasis on the history, culture and religion of the area, especially for Yemen, and second, there is scant mention of trade and commerce (just a brief discussion for al Mukhā), nor of natural resources. The section on agriculture is a description of how local people farm, not on the potential value of agricultural products or their possible utility elsewhere. Thus, these kinds of economic topics are for the most part ignored by Niebuhr. With this exception, his Beschreibung von 56 See the detailed analysis of this point in Tables 1 and 2 of Hartwig’s “Carsten Niebuhrs Darstellung von Jemen,” 190–193.

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Arabien is, in many ways, an 18th Century version of the very common 20th Century phenomenon, the Country Handbook. Indeed, into modern times the utility, accuracy and multidisciplinary breadth of Niebuhr’s description of Arabia, and especially Yemen, has been recognized consistently by specialists. For example, Hugh Scott wrote in 1947, “So far as Yemen is concerned, this work remains indispensable to the present, showing in word and illustration how little the daily life of the country has changed in 175 years.”57 Or as another writer observed around the same time, “How little the Yemen is known is shown by the scarcity of books about it. The best and most comprehenssive description is still that written by Carsten Niebuhr of the Danish expedition sent in the 1760’s.”58 By way of contrast, Niebuhr presents in the Reisebeschreibung a chronological account, a serious retelling really, of the entire journey that is rich in geographic details and instructive anecdotes. Interspersed with the narrative are periodic detours, or Anmerkungen, which describe cities, towns, rural countryside, cultural sites and bodies of water along the way. Added to these are scores of discussions of local customs, topics similar to those mentioned in the first part of the Beschreibung, but more expansive, and usually emerging organically from the human experiences he is describing. Also included are elaborations on myriad sects and cultural groups – names that we have already encountered: not just Sunnis and Shi‘ites, but Zaydites, Ibadhi, Metuāli, Yezidis, Mandeans, Ismaeliis, Druze, Ansarians, Nestorians, Chaldeans, Jacobites, Maronites and Jews.59 Finally, the narrative of the expedition is made more meaningful by the many illustrations that present scenes of the places visited, and which in some cases enrich the topical discussions (drawings of headgear, musical instruments, farm implements, physical exercises and the like). Overwhelmingly the illustrations are straightforward and useful. However, there is some variation in their character. A few were not drawn by either Baurenfeind or Niebuhr in the field, but were crafted by stage designers or artists in Copenhagen.60 These drawings appear staged and artificial, the most famous of which is the picture of Niebuhr himself, dressed in the attire given to him as a gift by the Imam of Yemen. The background is concocted, but the clothing is authentic.61 57 Hugh Scott, In the High Yemen (London, 1947), 14. 58 Freya Stark, “In Southwestern Arabia in Wartime,” The Geographical Review 34 (1944), 349. A similar evaluation my be found in Stone, ed., Studies on the Tihāmah, 34 and elsewhere. 59 Niebuhr’s descriptions of Islamic religious groups, beliefs and pilgrimage sites are excerpted in the summary article by Michel-Pierre and Renaud Detalle,”L’Islam vu par Carsten Niebuhr voyageur en Orient (1761–1767), Revue de l’histoire des religions 225 (2008): 487–543. 60 See Andreas Isler, “‘… barely upon the authority of my own observation’. The Illustrations in Carsten Niebuhr’s Orient Opus,” unpublished manuscript, 19 March 2009, 13. Also see the thoughtful discussion of the illustrations in Anne Haslund Hansen, “Niebuhr and the Visual Documentation of the Arabian Voyage, 1761–1767,” in Early Scientific Expeditions and Local Encounters. New Perspectives on Carsten Niebuhr and the Arabian Journey., edited by Friis, Harbsmeier and Simonsen, 119–144. 61 See for example, Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: Plate XLII and probably XXIX. The illustra-

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Some others were drawings usually by Baurenfeind that appear to have been altered by stylistic embellishments to make them more attractive or symbolic according to the standards of the times, or ones in which Bauernfeind may have incorporated a motif from some previously published work with which he was familiar.62 The vast majority of the illustrations done by Baurenfeind and Niebuhr appear to be presented unaltered in any significant stylistic way. Baurenfeind’s are competent, generally straightforward and informative. The landscapes are presented in a representative but not dramatic manner.63 His scenes focusing on people are usually dignified and understated. For example, the strength of his drawing of a woman selling bread near Jiddah lies in its simplicity, honesty, respect and graphic arrangement. The one of the fisherman with his catch, done at the same time, depicts a man going about his business with vigor and seriousness. Niebuhr’s illustrations covering equipment, musical instruments, landscapes and antiquities are uniformly straightforward. They vary greatly in quality from the naïve to ones with great attention to detail and accuracy, depending on the subject matter.64 Overall, the character of the illustrations is consistent with the intended purpose of Niebuhr’s works. They are educational, respectful and non-sensational. Included with them, importantly was a large number of supporting maps and charts to help orient the reader. These will be discussed next. Niebuhr’s narrative is 1200 pages in length and both the quantity and variety of information presented is quite remarkable. While never dramatic in style or tone, the Reisebeschreibung successfully communicates to the reader the challenges faced by the members of the expedition and lays out sensibly the array of information and experience acquired during the journey. And because of Niebuhr’s style it has an authenticity, honesty and quiet pedagogic intent, that enhances its effectiveness. It is to this aspect of his work that we will now turn, because aside from the descriptive, or informational value of Niebuhr’s geographical work, there are additional characteristics of Niebuhr’s approach that make it significant. t

tion of Niebuhr is in Reisebeschreibung, I: 430, Plate LXXI. Niebuhr’s participation in the sitting, and the authenticity of the attire is mentioned in Reisebeschreibung, I: 429, and in Lohmeier, “Heinrich Wilhelm Schmeelkes Biographie,” 213. It is not clear who made the drawing, but probably either a C. G. Brun, or a Thomas Bruun. 62 Isler, “The Illustrations in Carsten Niebuhr’s Orient Opus,” 23; and, for example, Niebuhr, Beschreibung, Plate III. 63 See for example those of the Yemeni highlands, in Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: Plates LXIII and LXV. 64 For a sampling see Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: Plates XV and XXVI; Reisebeschreibung, II: Plates IX, XI and XXI; and Reisebeschreibung, III: Plate XI.

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Much of Niebuhr’s methodological approach to geographical information gathering has been characterized as an early form of ethnography. However, the term “ethnography” is frequently used quite loosely. How, for example, is it to be distinguished from more generalized descriptive travel writing, or military and missionary reports?65 There is no doubt that some of the categories of information that Niebuhr collected would later come to be classified as ethnographic, but what were the sources of that information and how was it gathered? Were there theoretical frameworks that shaped the process of data acquisition? To make the use of the term, ethnography, more meaningful, and to be more precise in assessing whether Niebuhr’s work was indeed ethnographic, let us compare current accepted notions of what frequently comprises a definition of ethnographic research methodology with what Niebuhr did.66 For reasons of simplicity, we have divided the definition into six elements. First, the definition sets forth that the people or culture are examined in “everyday contexts”, not under artificially created conditions. Thus “research takes place ‘in the field’”. There is little doubt that Niebuhr’s work took place in the field. In fact, we must remember that he was not based on a ship, nor part of a military detachment, both with their self-contained, institutional cultures of home, to which the explorer could periodically, or indeed every night, return. The vast majority of Niebuhr’s data-gathering took place when he was part of a regular caravan, on a local vessel, or staying in a hostel along the way. His contacts were part of the day’s normal events. They were neither artificial nor extraordinary. His sources were not historical or mostly other Europeans. Second, the role of the ethnographer is primarily that of a “participant observer.” Certainly that term describes Niebuhr’s relationship to the people he was describing. Once Niebuhr had arrived in Yemen, he adopted the way of life of the inhabitants, and this he continued to do, with few exceptions, for the second half of the expedition. He ate his durra bread, melted butter and boiled eggs, wore local dress, spoke Arabic, carried his rug and kit, and slept in the open with his fellow 65 For a discussion of some of these issues, see Peter Pels and Oscar Salemink, “Introduction. Locating the Colonial Subjects of Anthropology,” in Colonial Subjects. Essays on the Practical History of Anthropology, ed. Peter Pels and Oscar Salemink (Ann Arbor, 1999), 1–52; and Michael Harbsmeier, “Towards a prehistory of ethnography: early modern German travel writing as traditions of knowledge,” in Fieldwork and footnotes. Studies in the history of European Anthropology, ed. Han F. Vermeulen and Arturo Roldán (London, 1995), 19–38. 66 This discussion is based on the definition in Martyn Hammersley and Paul Atkinson, Ethnography, Principles in Practice (London, 2007), 3, and the quoted phrases in the ensuing section on defining ethnography are from this source. Hammersley’s definition seems to match well with the definitions of others in the field such as Karen O’Reilly, Key Concepts in Ethnography (London, 2009). Of course, ethnography has been the subject of great debate and self analysis within the field of anthropology. This discussion is well beyond the scope of this study. See for example James Clifford and George E. Marcus, eds., Writing Culture. The Policies and Politics of Ethnography (Berkeley, 1986), and the many responses that this collection of essays stimulated.

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travelers or frequently in small inns, coffee houses and caravansaries. He sometimes did this for months on end without interruption as during the long trip from al Başrah to Halab. In some cases, his observation and gathering of information involved specific activities. For example, we know of Niebuhr’s interest in music and the effort he went to to describe Middle Eastern instruments. But while in Cairo, he also gathered information about the actual music. On different occasions, he asked that Middle Eastern songs be sung for him, whereupon he tried to repeat the notes by playing the melody on his violin. When he believed he had matched the tones, he wrote the notes on paper. These papers appear to have been lost67 However, Niebuhr did include four hard to read fragments of the music he gathered in his illustrations of Middle Eastern musical instruments. Interestingly as an aside, Carl Maria von Weber used the longest of these fragments, a four measure dance melody, as the basis for his striking march of the harem guards that concludes Act 1 of his opera Oberon.68 Third, information is gathered from a variety of sources, but participant observation and “relatively informal conversations” are usually the main ones. Niebuhr, as we have noted, was a discriminating and energetic observer. Little things caught his eye and he recorded them, such as a Hebrew inscription on the amulet of a Muslim woman at Persepolis. But he was, it appears, also an indefatigable and natural conversationalist. In fact, it is remarkable how often Niebuhr writes about obtaining information on the local people from a Mullah, a Jewish, Arab or Armenian merchant, or the camel drivers and wranglers with whom he spent so much time. And on other occasions he refers to the many conversations he had with a sheik, or the ship’s pilot on the Red Sea who helped him to understand the area he was visiting. He did not use an interpreter, except in India and Iran, which he always regretted having to do. These were the primary sources of his descriptive data about the peoples of the Middle East and that information was forthcoming because he was an inveterate asker of questions, and an engaging person. Fourth, the collection of data is “relatively ‘unstructured’” – not part of a detailed research design. To be sure Niebuhr had his assignment in the Instructions, and in some cases he gathered information because of a specific, stipulated question, such as Michaelis’ question on circumcision or his curiosity about Manna. But overwhelmingly Niebuhr gathered his data non-systematically. Circumstances presented opportunities to ask questions. For example, he asked about the Yezidis and 67 Niebuhr to Friedrich Nicolai, 30 September 1774, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Nachlaß Nicolai 53: Niebuhr, Carsten (courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier). For Niebuhr’s continuing interest in Middle Eastern music see his letters to Nicolai, dated 12 March 1775, 16 February 1776 and 20 March 1780, all from the file noted above. 68 For the fragment, see Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung I, Plate XXVI, Figure E (in very small print); John Warrack, Carl Maria von Weber (London, 1968), 319–320; and Ralph P. Locke, “Cutthoats and Casbah Dancers, Muezzins and Timeless Sands: Musical Images of the Middle East,” 19th-Century Music 22 (1998): 26–27. Locke also observes: “Weber’s music reveals a breathtaking, perhaps ultimately Herdian openess to multicultural difference.”

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devil worship because his caravan got stuck by the Zāb River. He experienced the festival ending Ramadan, and that of the Spring equinox by Persepolis because he was there copying inscriptions. His description of towns, of course, was more systematic, but regarding people he pursued what struck him as interesting or intriguing and requiring further inquiry. What is consistent is his curiosity and his desire to learn, to ask questions and to gather data. It was only over time, years really, that information gathered in an unstructured way added up to a coherent picture of the people he was observing. Fifth, the analysis of information involves interpretation of “the meanings, functions and consequences of human activities and institutional practices.” What is produced are mainly “verbal descriptions, explanations and theories.” Niebuhr was a preeminent describer and a disciplined note taker – committed to detail, accuracy and relatively open-minded, a point we shall return to shortly. He sought to provide understanding for behaviors and practices. Arabs wore loose, shade-creating clothing because of the heat. They ate certain foods and in certain ways because of availability, practicality and culture. However, Niebuhr was not much for larger theories. Only in a few instances does he propose broader theories as the basis for certain observed behaviors, and these are usually historically based. Finally, ethnographic research should involve only “a few cases” studied in depth. In this regard, Niebuhr’s work does not always fit the definition very well. Fundamentally, he was not focused on a small group of people, but on widely dispersed populations living in a variety of settings and according to differing customs and beliefs. He did not always have an opportunity to explore many of these peoples and settings “in depth.” He was, for the most part, “passing through” their lives and observing, during that moment, what was noteworthy. Of course, there are exceptions. He spent an extended time in Cairo where he devoted considerable time to gathering data on Middle Eastern societies. He was a long-time participant in the culture of a caravan, and his stays in Bayt al Faqīh and al Başrah were not short. Nonetheless, he was on a journey. He was not stationary in one place, studying it in detail. In sum, Niebuhr’s approach to his geographic work was at least partially ethnographic. His methods for describing people in the region he was visiting largely fit the definition of ethnographic research. His attention to the accurate description of detailed aspects of life in the communities he visited – from children’s games, to musical instruments and physical exercises, and from water pumps and mill machinery to religious practices – goes well beyond traditional travel accounts. His work includes, for example, a detailed and valuable comparative description of the compass and its points in the different lands he visited.69 Of course, Niebuhr’s descriptive work is still a product of the prehistory of ethnography, and as part of a travel or expedition account represents, however rich, the kind of sources of information that the discipline moved beyond as it matured. Niebuhr had no formal 69 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II:206–209.

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methodological framework for his work, nor any explicit awareness of the complex philosophical issues inevitably tied to the evaluation of the context and concomitant validity of ethnographic descriptions. Nonetheless, we can see in Niebuhr’s intuitive, non-academic approach based on a humane curiosity, an open-mindedness and a skeptical self-awareness, attributes that subsequently have been viewed as helpful for useful ethnographic work. Certainly in his own mind his goal was quite clear. It was to further understanding, not misunderstanding, of other cultures and peoples.70 Interestingly, his work took place at a time when the term “ethnography” first emerged as an academic concept, and it was at the Georgia Augusta in Göttingen, based at least in part on the pioneering work of Müller in Russia, mentioned previously in connection with Michaelis’ crafting of the Fragen.71 This development, and the related field of Statistik, which has already been mentioned, will be discussed shortly in the context of the expedition and emergent fields of European scholarship. We should note, however, that ethnography is a term we apply after the fact to a description of Niebuhr’s field work. It is not a term that he would have ever used. Nor was he a pioneer in this kind of work. As we shall discuss later both in Spanish America and Siberia serious ethnographic work had already been conducted decades earlier. No, Niebuhr considered his task to be “Erdbeschreibung,” or geography, which he supplemented with history, and his approach, although heavily cultural, was holistic. This is most apparent in his field journals where basic cartographic data is co-mingled with descriptions of towns, buildings, events, peoples and religions. Thus his research is naturally, but only incrementally comprehensive over time, and integrated as opposed to disaggregated or professionally specialized. This holistic approach enabled Niebuhr to see behaviors and experiences as part of a 70 For a thoughtful introduction to many of these issues, see the essays by Martyn Hammersley in his What’s Wrong with Ethnography. Methodological explorations (London, 1992). Particularly useful is his development of the notion of “subtle realism,” of which, in a way, we can see a presentiment in Niebuhr’s approach. See the essay entitled “Ethnography and Realism,” 43–56, esp. 53–54. 71 Han Vermeulen, “Footnotes to the History of Anthropology: The Emergence of “Ethnography” ca 1770 in Göttingen,” History of Anthropology Newsletter, 19 (1992), 6–22, and his fuller discussion in “Origins and institutionalization of ethnography and ethnology in Europe and the USA, 1771–1845,” in Fieldwork and footnotes, ed. Vermeulen and Roldán, 39–59; “Ethnological Discourse in Europe and Asia, 1740–1798,” in The German Invention of Race, ed. Sara Eigen and Mark Larrimore, (Albany, 2006), 123–146; and “Göttingen und die Völkerkunde. Ethnologie und Ethnographie in der deutschen Aufklärung, 1710–1815,” in Die Wissenschaft vom Menschen in Göttingen um 1800. Wissenschaftlichen Pratiken, institutionelle Geographie, europäische Netzwerke, ed. Hans Erich Bödeker, Phillippe Büttgen and Michel Espagne (Göttingen, 2008), 199–230. Vermeulen dates the first use of the term Ethnographie to the work of the Göttingen historian and Statistiker, August Ludwig Schlözer with the publication in 1771 of his Allgemeine Nordische Geschichte. Also see Bucher,“Von Beschreibung der Sitten und Gebräche der Völker,” 207–212, for a slightly different treatment of this topic.

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larger picture of a people, not as occurrences compartmentalized within their environment. t A second feature of Niebuhr’s geographical work is that he employs a wide variety of devices that encourage understanding, in other words that tackle the fundamental problem of understanding the foreign without compromising its “foreignness.”72 These include the techniques of analogizing and contextual development, empathy, limiting or challenging stereotypes, and the importance of open-minded learning.73 For example, he attempts to deal with the concept of “different” as juxtaposed to “strange” by analogizing to something familiar. Thus in dealing with the European perception, clear in Michaelis’ questions in the Fragen, that the practice of eating locusts in the Middle East was strange, Niebuhr writes: “To be sure to Europeans, it is just as inconceivable that Arabs eat locusts with pleasure, as it is unbelievable to Arabs, who have never had contacts with Christians, that Christians consider eating oysters, crabs, shrimp and the like to be an enjoyable meal. In this way the one is as valid as the other.”74 Thus the practice is indeed different but it is not strange. Or in another case, Niebuhr tries to create better understanding of an issue of technology. After describing how some Egyptians reacted with apprehension in looking through his telescope and seeing the image inverted, he comments: “One should not be very amazed that the Muslims were distrustful over these observations, since not very long ago there were lots of Europeans, who considered everything they did not immediately comprehend to be magic or sorcery.”75 And in a third example, Niebuhr turns his attention to the still pronounced tension, even hostility, in some cases that existed between Europeans and Turks. Niebuhr, as we have seen, was highly critical of the Ottoman Empire, a topic we will discuss later, but still he sought to provide context through the use of history for understanding this circumstance. The dislike of Europeans by the Turks he attributed to the many bloody wars between the two peoples. Then using an interesting phrase, he writes: “The name of the Turk cannot be as frightful to our children, as the name of the European is to young Turks.”76 Thus he uses the perspective of Turkish children, 72 On this fundamental challenge see the brief, but relevant and stimulating essay by Akira Okazaki, “‘Making Sense of the Foreign’: Translating Gamk Notions of Dream, Self and Body,” in Translation and Ethnography. The Anthropological Challenge of Intercultural Understanding, ed. Tullio Maranhão and Bernard Streck (Tucson, 2003), 152–171. 73 For some of these points also see the interesting discussion of Klaus Bohnen, “Die interkulturelle Reise ins ‘Niemandsland’. Carsten Niebuhr und die “Entdeckung” der arabischen Welt,” in History and literature: essays in honor of Karl S. Guthke, ed. Karl Siegfried Guthke, William Collins, and Scott D. Denham (Tübingen, 2000), 19–28. 74 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, 171. 75 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 50. 76 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, 41.

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certainly a sympathetic one, to articulate a more reciprocal understanding of the animosity that existed between two cultures because of their history. Niebuhr is also effective in using the device of empathy to create a bridge between something that is different and a sense of the shared humanity of two large cultures. As he described once while traveling in the small caravan to Shīrāz, “On the evening of the 19th, a wrangler in our caravan suddenly died. His brother expressed his grief over this with terrible crying and howling until late at night. He beat himself sometimes about the head, sometimes on the chest, and sometimes on his legs and in general was so inconsolable, that I was sorry for him that his brother had not died in a town where some of his relatives, or hired female mourners, could have helped him in the ceremony. No one in the caravan appeared to take part in his grief.”77 In this case, Niebuhr does not end the story with the man howling and striking himself, which he easily could have done, remarking on its strangeness. Instead he leads the reader to an appreciation of what would have been more supportive within the man’s own culture, and to empathy for the shared common experience of loneliness and grief. And this is what he leaves with the reader. A third approach he adopts with some regularity is to set limits to stereotypes and to correct exaggeration. There are many examples in his works; we will discuss only a handful. For example, once when traveling in the Sinai, he and Haven were harassed by a young Arab on his dromedary who was drunk. As Niebuhr describes the scene, “As he heard that we were Europeans and Christians, he tested our patience not a little, by making fun of us just as a young, arrogant and drunk European would do with a Jew…” He then adds “I do not recall on my entire trip, that I ever encountered on the street a drunk and impertinent Arab, other than this one.”78 In a different context regarding science, it was conventional wisdom in Europe to speak of the decline of Arab science. Niebuhr tries to put this in perspective. For astronomy, he notes that the Arabs had useful astronomical tables and star charts, but lacked only up-to-date instruments.79 Their knowledge of European discoveries in the field was limited because they were not proficient in European languages. Still, he reports, the knowledge of the heavens on the part of the average Middle Easterner exceeded that of the average European.80 He also refutes commonly held notions. Examples of this include such specifics as: Arabia was not the natural center for castration as asserted by Michaelis, Middle Eastern shoes did not have such exaggerated pointed toes and intricate designs as portrayed by European illustrators, polygamy was not the predominant model for marriage, and upon being called, the fish in Oman did not jump into the fisherman’s baskets.

77 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 104. 78 Ibid., 249 79 For confirmation of a general conservatism towards astronomical instruments in the Islamic world, see Savage-Smith, “Islam,” 659–660. 80 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, 112–120.

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Finally, Niebuhr also tries to convey the importance of learning the customs of a land before making judgments, a point we have seen him make many times. He often uses himself as an example. In one case, he tells the story of encountering a solitary Arab woman on a narrow trail in a valley of the Sinai. She was completely veiled and stood patiently to the side of the trail, with her head turned away, to let him and his fellow rider, who was an Arab, pass. As they did so, Niebuhr spoke and wished her peace. He then notes that because of this greeting “my Arab companion knew that I was a stranger to their customs [and] he instructed me that this woman turned her back to us out of fright towards strange men, and that I according to their customs should not have greeted her.”81 Thus Niebuhr demonstrates that because of his ignorance of local customs, his behavior, while perhaps appropriate elsewhere, was improper in an Arab culture and caused the woman embarrassment or anxiety. He is the learner, but he hopes his readers learn as well. In another example, we may recall that when the expedition first anchored off Izmir, they met and dined with some Turkish officials on board ship. Niebuhr confessed that at that time he found their behavior so strange that he was not optimistic about their trip. Years later, he returned to this incident in the Beschreibung and analyzed it in some detail. As he writes, “At a European table and according to our customs the Muslims showed themselves to be very uncivilized. A customs official at the Dardenelles, the first respectable Muslim which I had observed eating, … tore his piece of meat with his hands. He used his napkin in order to blow his nose … All of this gave me a bad impression of the Turks. But I believe that this official can be excused.” He then goes on to explain that the use of a knife and fork was unusually cumbersome for a Middle Easterner because they normally ate with their hands. “All of their meat dishes are served cut into small pieces. They eat only with the right hand because the left is used to wash the unclean parts of the body. They are therefore certainly very annoyed when the Europeans lay before them a large piece of meat, but still expect that they should eat it properly.” Furthermore, it appears that perhaps the official confused the napkin with a handkerchief which he had seen one of the Europeans using earlier, and that is why he blew his nose on it.82 Thus through learning, Niebuhr shows how he had come full circle in evaluating the incident and was now able to look at it from the perspective of the local customs. All of these techniques we have described share the same purpose of creating a learning environment in his works in which the reader is helped to approach the material with a degree of open-mindedness and thereby to be in a position to engage in the process of understanding the Middle East as a different land with a different culture, but certainly not a region that was “strange”. This was the goal of his geographic work. t 81 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 239–240. 82 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, 53.

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Before moving on to a discussion of the results in the empirical disciplines, we should note that not all of Niebuhr’s descriptions of people, places and events were dispassionate. He may have been usually slow to judge, but he does make explicit judgments in some cases. Some of these are simple likes and dislikes. Others are more complicated and consequential. For example, he points out that the standards of personal hygiene were higher in the Islamic Middle East than in Europe. Finger nails were clipped, ear and nose hairs were trimmed and Arabs had fewer toothaches because they brushed their teeth regularly after each meal.83 In highlighting their cleanliness, which he does often, he was probably implying that people who were cleaner could hardly be considered as less civilized. He also applauds a culture’s diet, when it is simple and healthy, as he thought it was in India. Niebuhr had a bias in favor of moderation when it came to eating. On the other hand he was troubled by the culture of retaliation and retribution that existed in the region, a tradition that all too often led to excesses of unceasing enmity and violence between families. Interestingly he criticized the excesses not on the basis of European standards, but by quoting from the Qur’ān in the Beschreibung, citing the passage “ and whosoever shall be slain unjustly, we have given his heir power to demand satisfaction; but let not him exceed the bounds of moderation in putting to death the murtherer (sic) in to (sic) cruel a manner, or by revenging his friends blood on any other person other than the person who killed him.”84 He had a strong preference for more common people – the tribesmen of the desert, sheiks, farmers and peasants, camel drivers, ship’s masters and pilots, itinerant merchants, teachers, and religious representatives. He was not at ease really, with scholars of high rank and people of very high status, ostentation or artifice. For example, he liked Oman because the Ibadhi sect stood for modesty and restraint in manifestations of wealth. Everyone dressed simply. Part of this was due to his modesty. He did not believe that senior scholars and officials of high rank would want to waste their time with a European whose ability to speak Arabic was not perfect and whose questions were probably simplistic, but this assumption had the disadvantage of limiting in some cases his information gathering.85 He disliked intolerance and sectarian conflict. Religion, he believed, should not divide people, nor should people be discriminated against because of their religious beliefs. Sometimes he tried to deal with this issue through the use of humor. For example, he tells a little story about his caravan trip to Shīrāz, traveling with the poor Armenians. One night he was doing the cooking and he wanted to butcher a chicken. As he did so he was turned towards the West. The Armenians told him that as a Christian he must turn his head to the East. However, others immediately told him that he needed to turn towards Makkah, so that a Muslim could also eat it. He decided, “Since I noticed that people wanted to judge my religion based on 83 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, 39 and 132. 84 Ibid., 33 85 Ibid., xi.

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how I chopped off the chicken’s head, I decided to avoid the whole matter in the future.”86 Personally he disliked being called a heretic by Catholics, and he resented that as a Christian he could not ride a horse in Cairo. He objected to the discrimination against the various Islamic sects and Jews by the Ottoman government and the dominant religious groups within Islam. And he was very critical of the conflict within the Christian religion between Catholics and other denominations as he was of the strife between the various Islamic sects. He was prejudiced against the Catholic Church because of what he perceived as its constant proselytizing.87 Where he saw religious freedom, or at least considerable toleration, as in India, Oman, or even Jerusalem under the Turks, he applauded it. As he mentioned once on their voyage to Alexandria, everyone considers their own religion to be the best so long as they have no reason to doubt their beliefs. Niebuhr was a good Lutheran, but he also disliked intolerance and dogmatism. In that connection, we have seen how Niebuhr used repeatedly the device of comparing Muslim attitudes towards European Christians to European Christians’ treatment of Jews in Europe. Because of the different contexts in which he applied this analogy, it would appear he wanted to make two points. First, he was putting the European Christian in the position of a European Jew, of socially, and in some cases legally, a second class citizen, and was inviting them to ponder what that meant. Second, it was another way of highlighting, by the use of a familiar example, that the European Christian, the heretofore dominant culture, was actually the “other” in a foreign land, just as Jews were frequently treated as an “other” in European society. Niebuhr is never a proselytizer or a preacher except perhaps of the notion that people needed to learn the culture and speak the language of a place they are visiting. Most of his points are implied and left unsaid, but the anecdotes and analogies have a purpose nonetheless. Niebuhr’s strongest bias was against foreign rule, imperialism and unjust government. He opposed the domination of one nation by another, regardless of nationality. The Ottoman Turks, that is Turkish officials not the people, thus come under constant criticism for their “tyrannical” government.88 Tyranny meant the 86 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 99–100. 87 For Niebuhr’s strong views against proselytising also see his later discussions in Niebuhr to Nicolai, 16 April 1787, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Nachlaß Nicolai 53: Niebuhr Carsten, Bl. 36–37, and his essay “Proselytenmacherei verschiedenen Religionsparteien, besonders der römischen Kirche im türkischen Reiche, Deutsches Museum 2 (1787): 505–536. His outlook is well summarized in another letter to Nicolai, in which he writes “In matters of conscience, I like being controlled just as little as I do my desiring control over others.” Niebuhr to Nicolai, 2 April 1788, the same file as above, Bl. 39–40. Also see his discussion in the Reisebeschreibung, III: 12. 88 Barthold Georg Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 58. For an excellent discusion of Niebuhr’s approach to the Ottoman Turks, see Hagen, “Unter den ‘Tyrannen seiner Araber’ – Carsten Niebuhr über Konstantinopel, Türken und Osmanisches Reich,” esp. 315–322. Niebuhr’s negative attitude towards Turkish officials, in particular, may have been influenced by the negative atti-

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local people were overtaxed and arbitrarily ruled. It meant because of the actions of their rulers a people became impoverished, towns and dwellings deteriorated and fields devastated and abandoned.89 Whether in Iraq, Cyprus, outside Halab and Damascus, Anatolia or in other parts of the Ottoman Empire, or indeed in Iran, this criticism is a pervasive theme in his writings.90 He also applies it to judgments about other civilizations in Asia and the Middle East. As we have seen, he is critical of increased British domination in India; they were just another in a long series of foreign conquerers and intruders who exploited the nation. When they left, Indian society would again thrive. Or in another instance, he attributes the decline in the population of Egyptian cities since classical times to foreign exploitation, not to some defect in the more recent culture of the society. One should not be surprised by this decline, he writes, after all “the Persians, the Greeks, the Romans and most recently the Turks, nothing but unalloyed foreign nations, have one after the other ruled over Egypt and have endeavored through their administration to destroy this abundant land; they have annually extracted so much wealth from the Egyptians, and have cut off the people from their normal ways of raising food, that the country of necessity was progressively stripped of towns and peoples.”91 The opposite of tyranny for Niebuhr was good government and local control. Whether it was the sensible and effective rule by the Druze in the hills of Lebanon, or a long-serving Pasha in al Mawşil, who was a member of a local family, not beholding to Istanbul, Niebuhr admired good administration. Given his background, he believed in relative autonomy for local people. This attitude shaped his opinions of the Bedouin. While he points out that smaller tribes were sometimes oppressed by the larger, and that conditions for the common Arab in the desert were difficult, he greatly admired the independence of the desert tribes and kinship groups. He repeatedly emphasizes that the Bedouins in Arabia had never been conquered or subjected to centralized control. But he also tudes of Arabs, from whom he got most of his information, towards the Turks. On this topic see, Ulrich W. Haarmann, “Ideology and History. Identity and Alterity: The Arab Image of the Turk from the Abbasids to Modern Egypt,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 20 (1988): 175–198. For one example among many, of Niebuhr’s criticism, see Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 371. 89 Niebuhr was correct in his observations. In many parts of the Ottoman Empire the tax burden on the peasantry was extremely onerous. For example, in Egypt, two-thirds of the peasant product went to Tax Farmers, and abandonment of fields and villages in many regions was widespread. See Inalcik and Quataert, eds., An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 680–694. 90 Indeed, Niebuhr even saw such oppression as a cause of crime. As he wrote regarding the threat of robbery while traveling through the villages of Anatolia, “So one can probably not be surprised if poor people who have been so oppressed by their government, as in the case of the subjects of the Sultan, sometimes kill a traveler from whom they expect to get money.” Interestingly, he then still adds, “If however a solitary traveler is courteous and willing to pay, then he can lodge in the villages at night and has nothing to fear.” Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 139. 91 Niebuhr, Beschreibung, 95.

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juxtaposes the life in the desert against urban, commercial culture. As he writes: “the inhabitants of Arabian towns, and especially those on the coast and near the frontiers have been so intermixed with foreigners because of trade and industry that they really lost many of their old customs and practices. The true Arabs, however, who treasure their freedom at all times more highly than riches and comfort, they live in distinct tribes, under tents, and observe still regularly the age old form of government, culture and habits of their forefathers.”92 Also he observed that if a Sheik, the head of a larger clan or group of tribes was not effective or was unjust, then a tribe or family could leave and affiliate with another leader and group. This was a natural check on unsatisfactory or arbitrary rule.93 However, while admiring their independence, he also deplored the constant marauding practices of the nomadic tribes who preyed upon peasant farmers in adjacent fertile areas and stole their grain and livestock, or as he wrote “ readily harvested what they have not sown.”94 Thus on the issue of systems of political authority and foreign conquest Niebuhr had strong opinions that reflected his social and intellectual origins, and these opinions, as well as the few others we have mentioned, color from time to time his descriptions of the Middle East. But Niebuhr also makes an effort to support his judgments with findings he had observed in the field; in other words he tries to provide a rational basis for the opinions he expressed. Cartography

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iebuhr was the expedition’s Cartographer. Therefore, it is appropriate that as we turn our attention to the more empirical results of the expedition we discuss his maps and charts first. After all, as one modern day cartographer has written, Niebuhr’s “work constitutes a remarkable attempt to accomplish some precise mapping in what was then a virtually unmapped part of the world.”95 We have 92 Ibid., 379. 93 Uwe Lindemann asserts that Niebuhr’s depiction of the Bedouin shows the clear influence of the enlightenment notion of the “Noble Savage.” See his Die Wüste. Terra incognita. Erlebnis. Symbol (Heidelberg, 2000), 39. This is unlikely. There is no evidence that Niebuhr had ever read these works, and as he made clear he did not consider the Bedouins, or any other Arabs, to be “savages” in that sense, noble or otherwise. Rather it is likely that his reference point, if any, was the rural communities of free peasants and their families in the Land Hadeln and along the North Sea coast where he had grown up. He took pride in, and had respect for, their relative independence, traditions of local self-rule, and self-reliance. This will be discussed in greater detail shortly. 94 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 2. 95 Hopkins, “The Maps of Carsten Niebuhr: 200 Years After,” 115. For a full discussion of Niebuhr’s cartographic achievement also see the entry for “Niebuhr”, in Dietmar Henze, Enzyklopädie der Entdecker und Erforscher der Erde, Vol. 15 (Graz, 1992), 602–612, and Kejlbo, “Carsten Niebuhrs kartografiske opgaver.” 269–302. Some of the material in this section and the section that follows was previously published in Lawrence J. Baack, “‘A practical skill that was without

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already looked at many of his maps in detail, so there is no need to repeat these discussions, but rather to briefly summarize the totality of his work. If we look at the four volumes of the Reisebeschreibung and the Beschreibung together, then Niebuhr’s production is indeed impressive. It includes, as we have described earlier when they were being compiled, his small-scale maps and charts of Yemen, the Red Sea, the Persian Gulf and Oman, and other larger scale maps covering the Nile Delta, the Gulf of Suez and the regions surrounding various port cities he visited, such as al Mukhā and Surat. Based on data from his field notebook, Niebuhr also produced nine travel maps which showed in detail the routes the expedition followed in the Sinai, to Persepolis and on the long journey across the Fertile Crescent. Finally, Niebuhr completed 28 town plans of varying thoroughness and accuracy, but all of them of significant historical value because of their uniqueness for that period. However, it is not just the quantity of Niebuhr’s work that is noteworthy, but also the quality of his cartography. We should recall that he was trained by a master in 18th Century map making, Tobias Mayer. Mayer taught Niebuhr how to use a wide range of sources and tools to gather and evaluate data for crafting a map. Niebuhr, in turn, was able to employ Mayer’s methodology with discipline and a commitment to precision. Of course Niebuhr narrowed the range of Mayer’s methods. He did not use historical sources. He did not extrapolate from previous maps and charts. He based his conclusions, as he repeatedly stated, either on his own observations and records, or on information he had personally gathered and evaluated from local inhabitants. Because of the judgment he exercised in evaluating hearsay evidence, and because of the care he took with his astronomical observations and his method of counting steps, time and direction traveled, his work is very accurate for the times. Although not completely scientific, it is an example of the advances that were made in cartography and hydrography during the 18th Century. Even Niebuhr’s very first effort, his chart of the Nile Delta, set high standards for accuracy. For example, as Anne Godlewska points out, when as part of Napoleon’s scientific expedition to Egypt at the end of the century, Pierre Jacotin, the Chief Cartographer for the expedition, and his team of surveyors compiled the data for their map of the Nile Delta, they compared their results with Niebuhr’s work. As she writes with a small degree of incredulity, “Jacotin also used historical sources to verify his maps with another historical source. He compared his latitude determinations for locations in the Delta with those established by Niebuhr and was satisfied to find that they ‘agreed entirely.’ At a first glance at Niebuhr’s map of Lower Egypt, Nili Brachia Ambo Majora, one might be surprised that Jacotin would consider concordance with such a map an achievement. In fact, the latitude of the Egyptian towns on the banks of both branches of the Nile were determined very carefully by Niebuhr using observations of the Polar Star, and Niebuhr’s differ from the latitudes in the French survey by only secequal’: Carsten Niebuhr and the navigational astronomy of the Arabian Journey, 1761–67,” The Mariner’s Mirror 99.1 (2013): 138–152.

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onds.”96 The high quality of Niebuhr’s chart of the Red Sea and of his maps of Yemen have already been discussed, but even his travel maps are generally very accurate. For example, his two itinerary maps covering his route through Mesopotamia have been called “the most detailed of his time and even stand up to modern study thanks to his at times quite precise measurements of latitude.”97 In summary, Niebuhr’s maps, charts and plans constitute the greatest single addition to the cartography of the region that was produced through field research and published in the 18th Century. As one scholar has concluded, “Niebuhr was the first to complete systematically precise astronomically determined positions in land travel through essentially unmapped areas and thereby set a new standard for all future undertakings of this kind.”.98 Navigational Astronomy

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ayer did not just train Niebuhr in cartography. He also taught him navigational astronomy. In this field as well Niebuhr ultimately made contributions that were important to Mayer personally and to the history of navigation in the 18th Century more generally. We have already mentioned in Chapter Two that when Niebuhr arrived in Marseilles on the Grønland, he immediately dispatched his astronomical observations to Bernstorff with the request that he send them to Mayer.99 These observations were made using an improved version of Mayer’s Moon Tables that were still in manuscript form, but which Mayer had allowed Niebuhr to carefully copy in Göttingen before his departure. Thus Niebuhr wrote Bernstorff, that as Mayer was “the discoverer of my method for determining longitude at sea, I consider him to be the one most capable of evaluating and improving this method.”100 Unfortunately, Niebuhr’s observations and calculations arrived in Göttingen just as Mayer was dying at the age of 39. Still Mayer evidently 96 Anne Godlewska, “The Napoleonic Survey of Egypt. A Masterpiece of Cartographic Compilation and Early Nineteenth-Century Fieldwork,” Cartographica 25 (1988): Monograph 38–39, 116. 97 Bart Ooghe, “The Rediscovery of Babylonia: European Travelers and the Development of Knowledge on Lower Mesopotamia, Sixteenth to Early Nineteeenth Century,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, Third Series 17 (2007): 248. 98 Johannes Dörflinger, “Die Erforschung der Erde und ihr kartographischer Niederschlag im Zeitalter der Aufklärung – Grundzüge und Marksteine,” in Europäisierung der Erde? Studien zur Einwirkung Europas auf die außereuropäische Welt, ed. Grete Klingenstein, Heinrich Lutz and Gerald Stourzh (Munich, 1980), 51. 99 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 22 May 1761, with its attachment “Beobachtungen über die Längen observirt auf dem Königl. Dänischen Kriegs-Schiffe Grønland und daselbst nach den Monds Tabellen d. Hrn. Prof. Mayers berechnet von Carsten Niebuhr”, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nrs. 103a and 103b. He also suggested that they be shared with James Bradley in London and Kratzenstein. Kratzenstein, we know, did review them. See Kratzenstein to Michaelis, 10 August 1762, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 325, Bl. 224–225.. 100 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 22 May 1761, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 103a and 103b/c.

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was able to grasp their significance, as Niebuhr found out years later when he visited Mayer’s widow on his return trip home. She told him that Mayer had examined his calculations “from his death bed, and was so satisfied with them, that he directed her to send them to England after his death.” 101 For Mayer, Niebuhr’s observations confirmed both the accuracy and the practicality of his method for use by mariners at sea. This encouraged him to believe that continued pursuit of the Longitude Prize, about which he had heard nothing, was worthwhile.102 Mayer’s widow carried out her husband’s wishes. In 1763, she submitted Niebuhr’s calculations to the British Admiralty together with an abridged version of Mayer’s improved Moon Tables and a copy of his theoretical work on the methodology.103 Two years later she submitted a more complete version of Mayer’s improved tables and a second copy of Niebuhr’s calculations. Her submissions arrived in London at an auspicious time, for meanwhile the British scientist and future Astronomer Royal, Nevil Maskelyne, had completed a test of Mayer’s method and his original tables during a voyage to St. Helena and he was convinced of their efficacy. He became a strong advocate for the Lunar Distance Method.104 Subsequently he was able to simplify Mayer’s complicated calculations so that instead of taking four hours they could be completed in about thirty minutes. Simultaneously the Board of Longitude was also dealing with the issue of how best to evaluate John Harrison’s famous chronometer relative to the Longitude Prize.105 In 1763, Maskelyne and another British astronomer were directed to test Harrison’s chronometer at sea and to compare the results with Mayer’s Lunar Distance Method using the new improved ta101 See Niebuhr, “Über Längen-Beobachtungen im Orient u. s. w..” 247. 102 Forbes, Tobias Mayer, 196–197; and Lohmeier, whose two studies provide the fullest account of these events, see “Carsten Niebuhr, Tobias Mayer und die Längengrade,” Fund og Forskning 42 (2008): 104, and “Monddistanzen und Längengrade. Der Briefwechsel zwischen Carsten Niebuhr und Tobias Mayer 1761,” Fund og Forskning 49 (2010): 135–165, which reprints Niebuhr’s correspondence with Mayer and letters to Bernstorff and Temler on the subject. The importance of Mayer’s theories and tables, as well as the significance of Niebuhr’s observations were also immediately recognized by Kratzenstein. See Kratzenstein to Michaelis, 10 August 1762, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Michaelis 325, Bl. 224–225. 103 Mayer’s widow asked Michaelis, who continued to have a great interest in Mayer’s work, to prepare a cover letter for her, which he did, translating it into English. She then copied and signed it herself. Forbes, Tobias Mayer, 200. The enclosures included Niebuhr’s calculations and Mayer’s work entitled, Tabulae motuum solis et lunae novae et correctae, and Theoria lunae juxta systema Newtonianum, in Tobias Mayer, Schriften zur Astronomie, Kartographie, Mathematik und Farbenlehre, edited by Karin Reich and Edward Anthes, Vol. III (Hildesheim, 2006), VII and 70. 104 For a thorough discussion of Maskelyne’s prominent role, see Derek Howse, Nevil Maskelyne, The Seaman’s Astronomer (Cambridge, 1989), 74–96. 105 The testing of Harrison’s chronometer, as well as the many complications stemming from its consideration for the prize, are covered in Jim Bennett, “The travels and trials of Mr. Harrison’s timekeeper,” in Instruments, Travel and Science. Itineraries of precision from the seventeenth to the twentieth century, ed. Marie-Noëlle Bourquet, Christian Licoppe and H. Otto Sibum (London, 2002), 75–95.

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bles submitted by Mayer’s widow. To make a long story short, the Board determined, based on the results of these tests, that Harrison’s chronometer, although it was not generally available, was able to produce longitudinal results that were within ½º of accuracy, while Mayer’s method was determined to be accurate within 1º. Therefore they decided to award the sum of £10,000 to Harrison and an amount not to exceed £5,000 to Mayer’s widow (the actual amount awarded was less, just £3,000 to Mayer’s widow, and £300 to Leonard Euler recognizing his contribution to the theoretical basis for Mayer’s work.) Probably of more lasting consequence than the role of Niebuhr’s observations in helping Mayer achieve recognition for his work, was the fact that Mayer’s new improved tables, refined for easier use by Maskelyne, were published by order of the Board of Longitude as a companion to the famous British Nautical Almanac written by Maskelyne. A copy of Niebuhr’s observations were included as an appendix.106 Although Harrison’s chronometer was easier to use and was more accurate, an affordable version was not available to mariners until the 19th Century. As a result, for at least 40 years the Lunar Distance Method, as presented by Maskelyne with the Nautical Almanac, remained the main methodology for determining longitude at sea.107 Thus in the 18th Century, as Eric Forbes has pointed out, “Mayer’s new tables had played a vital and fundamental role in making the accurate determination of longitude at sea a practical possibility. Together with Harrison’s chronometer, they were initially responsible for transforming navigation from an art into an exact science.”108 Niebuhr’s initiative to help Mayer see the expedition as an opportunity to test his theory at sea, his competent work in nautical astronomy on the Grønland, and his determination to have Mayer review his results contributed in a

106 See “Observations of the Longitude made on board his Danish Majesty’s Ship of War the Greenland, after the Method of Professor Mayer’s Lunar Tables; calculated by Carsten Niebuhr,” appendix to the New and Correct Tables of the Motions of the Sun and Moon, by Tobias Mayer: To which is added the Method of Finding the Longitude Improved, by the same author, Published by Order of the Commissioners of Longitude, London, 1767,” reproduced in Mayer, Schriften zur Astronomie, Kartographie, Mathematik und Farbenlehre. 107 On the importance of the Nautical Almanac see Derek Howse’s conclusion, “The first Nautical Almanac was published on 6 January 1767 – without doubt this was the most important date in the history of the art of navigation, certainly since the invention of the reflecting quadrant thirty-six years earlier, perhaps since the beginnings of latitude navigation back in the fifteenth century. Before that, probably not more than a score of navigators of any nationality had succeeded in measuring their longitude when out of sight of land. Now, with the publication of Britain’s Nautical Almanac, any competent mariner could do so quickly and comparatively easily, … of course, when he had one or more reliable chronometers (at least forty guineas each), he would find it easier still – but that was to be at least forty years ahead for all but the favored few.” in Nevil Maskelyne, 93–94. 108 Forbes, Tobias Mayer, 205.

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small, but very timely, way to this achievement. Maskelyne’s inclusion of Niebuhr’s observations in his publication is symbolic of this contribution.109 Of course, the observations and calculations that Niebuhr transmitted to Mayer in 1761 represent only a small fraction of his astronomical work on the expedition. The rest of his work is also important. When eventually published posthumously in its entirety in the third volume of the Reisebeschreibung, this work comprised scores of pages of data. However, although all of this data was not initially published in the Reisebeschreibung because of Niebuhr’s desire to have the calculations verified for accuracy, much of it was subsequently published in his lifetime in a series of articles in the scientific journal of the well known Gotha astronomer, Franz Xaver Freiherr von Zach, his Monatliche Correspondenz zur Beförderung der Erd- und Himmels-Kunde.110 These articles evaluated the quality of his work and are worth highlighting. In 1801, Niebuhr noticed a complimentary reference in Zach’s journal on the accuracy of the latitudinal observations cited in the text of the Reisebeschreibung, Vols. I and II. But Zach also wrote that it was regrettable that Niebuhr had not completed longitudinal observations as well. Niebuhr took this opportunity to correct Zach’s mistaken impression and asked him in a letter to evaluate his longitudinal work in Alexandria and Cairo. This led to a correspondence between Zach and Niebuhr and to a series of submissions of astronomical data by Niebuhr that were published by Zach.111 Zach himself evaluated some of Niebuhr’s observations, but he also enlisted the aid of two other astronomers to help in the assessment. They 109 Niebuhr’s dedication to the task, and his awareness of the longitude prize is clear. See, for example, his letter to Temler from Marseilles, dated 20 May 1761, “Nearly my only occupation on board ship has been the observations and calculations for longitude, and I hope thereby to have brought it so far that people in the future will no longer consider it unsolvable. Prof. Mayer entrusted me with the moon tables which he had prepared with the greatest assiduity and gave me methodical instruction specifically with regard to longitudinal observations at sea. While I had many difficulties to overcome, still through experience I learned almost daily. However, I am already convinced that in a few years people will find Mayer’s method for finding longitude to be as accurate as the English require.” He asked Temler to try to ensure that his observations were sent to Mayer as soon as possible. Niebuhr to Temler, 20 May 1761, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 28. 110 Zach was one of Europe’s best known astronomers. After completing his studies at Oxford, he was asked by Duke Ernst Ludwig II in 1786 to come to Gotha to design and build an observatory. Under Zach’s directorship the Gotha observatory became, along with those in Paris and Greenwich, one of the most prominent in Europe. See Peter Brosche, Der Astonom der Herzogin. Leben und Werk von Franz Xaver von Zach 1754–1832, Second Edition (Frankfurt am Main, 2009), and Deutsche Biographische Encyclopädie, 2nd Ed., Vol. 10, edited by Rudolf Vierhaus (Munich, 2008), 785. 111 For Zach’s own work on astronomical tables, and his contribution to the discovery of Ceres, see Bruno Morando, “Three centuries of lunar and planetary ephermerides and tables,” in Planetary astronomy, ed. Taton and Wilson, 225, and Michael Hoskin, “The discovery of Uranus, the Titius-Bode Law and the asteroids,” also in Planetary astronomy, ed. Taton and Wilson, 175–180.

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were Fredinand Adolf von Ende, from Celle, and Johann Tobias Bürg of Vienna. Together they looked at the data carefully, comparing Niebuhr’s latitudes with the then current data and they found them to be extraordinarily accurate. For example, his latitude for Alexandria varied by five seconds (.083 nm) from their best available data, and when von Ende compared Niebuhr’s observations of latitude for Cairo with 13 other observations, he found the difference to be only two seconds (.033 nm). Such a concurrence, they noted, “does not occur in many European observatories.”112 Niebuhr achieved similar results in the determination of longitude, a task far more difficult. For example, Bürg, who was a specialist in lunar tables, evaluated Niebuhr’s calculation of the longitude for Alexandria. Using his own improved tables for which he had received a prize from the French Institut des Sciences et des Arts, Bürg’s result differed from Niebuhr’s own calculations by only 4.7 seconds (.066 nm).113 Moreover, his analysis of the longitude of Cairo differed from Niebuhr’s by only 1.5 seconds (.022 nm).114 Their evaluation was quite clear. “Without a doubt, it is to Carsten Niebuhr that the honor belongs, an honor which has gone unrecognized for forty years, to have been the first among all Astronomers, Geographers and Mariners who employed the admirable Lunar-Distance Method on firm land not only to make longitudinal observations but also actually to have used it to calculate precise longitudes.”115 Here Zach and his colleagues were referring to the difference between making lunar distance observations of the moon, stars and sun with an octant or sextant, and actually completing the mathematical calculations needed to produce a longitudinal position. For example, When Captain John Campbell conducted his sea trials of Mayer’s Lunar Distance Method in 1758 and 1759, he could only make the observations, which he then transmitted to the Astronomer Royal, Bradley, at Greenwich. It was Bradley who made the actual calculations necessary to determine longitude.116 Indeed, in the early 1760’s the establishment at sea of an accurate longitude using navigational astronomy was rare. It was simply too difficult to compute by any method, most especially when employing the 112 Niebuhr, “Über Längenbeobachtungen im Orient u. s. w..” 250n. 113 Bürg continued to work on lunar tables, using the methodology developed by Mayer, and in 1806 he received another prize for the best lunar tables, awarded by the French Bureau des Longitudes, and was paid 6,000 francs. See Forbes and Wilson, “The solar tables of Lacaille and the lunar tables of Mayer,” 66, and Morando, “Three centuries of lunar and planetary ephemerides and tables,” 255–256, both in Planetary astronomy, ed. Taton and Wilson. 114 J.T. Bürg and F. X. v. Zach, “Bestimmungen der Länge in Aegypten aus Carsten Niebuhr’s Beobachtungen,” Monatliche Correspondenz zur Beförderung der Erd- und Hummels-Kunde 5 (1802): 46–54, and 150–6. By way of comparison, the determination of longitude by James Cook and his astronomer Charles Green based on observations and calculations at their observation station on Tahiti for the 1769 transit of Venus, and using Maskelyne’s almanac and tables, were later determined to be in error by 24 seconds. Richard Woolley, “Captain Cook and the Transit of Venus of 1769,” Notes and Records of the Royal Society of London 24 (1969): 19–32, and esp. 23. 115 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III: 6fn. 116 See The New and Correct Tables of the Motions of the Sun and Moon by Tobias Mayer: To which is added the Method of Finding Longitude Improved; by the same author, Appendices IV and V.

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complex prodedures of Mayer. For instance, as R. A. Skelton has noted in the case of James Cook during his early career: “… there is no evidence that apart from his observations of a solar eclipse in 1766, Cook made any determinations of longitude before 1768.” By then, of course, he was able to use Maskelyne’s Nautical Almanac with its simplified procedures, and he had access to the expertise of Charles Green, Maskelyne’s assistant, the astronomer assigned to Cook’s First Voyage.117 Similarly, forty years after Niebuhr, and with the simpler methodology regularly available, Meriwether Lewis carried out only the celestial observations for longitude, collected the readings, and brought them back for others to complete the calculations. Even then his observations proved to be unusable.118 Thus Niebuhr’s achievement in completing the entire procedure in the early 1760’s is indeed noteworthy.119 At the time, Zach, Bürg and Ende confessed they were astonished by the precision of Niebuhr’s work, and in order to make known his achievement to the scientific world they jointly signed an evaluation to that effect. Because of its contemporary context, their assessment best captures the significance of Niebuhr’s astronomical work, and therefore is worth quoting at some length. They wrote: “The judgment, which three astronomers, who have been occupied with the examination and very strict calculation of these observations, hereby publicly certify in the interest of the truth, that at the time that Niebuhr undertook his journey, there was, other than Tobias Mayer, scarcely an astronomer in all of Germany who could carry out such astronomical observations with more precision, skill and knowledge than Niebuhr. We will publish his complete original observations in our journal; each 117 R. A. Skelton, “Captain James Cook as a Hydrographer,” The Mariner’s Mirror 40 (1954): 111; J. C. Beaglehole, The Life of Captain James Cook (Stanford, 1974), 115–116. Also see Frederick White, “Cook the Navigator,” in Captain Cook. Navigator and Scientist, ed. G. M. Badger (Canberra, 1970): 50–69. 118 See Silvio A. Bedini, “The Scientific Instruments of the Lewis and Clark Expedition,” in Mapping the North American Plains. Essays in the History of Cartography, ed. Frederick C. Luebke, Frances W. Kaye and Gary E. Moulton (Norman, 1987), 106. Bedini further notes: “A careful study of the astronomical data in the expedition’s journals suggests that any deficiencies in the observations made by Lewis and Clark probably resulted as much from their lack of skill and experience with instruments as from the difficult conditions. It is doubtful whether even an expert astronomer or surveyor such as Major Ellicott would have been able to make a set of lunar observations without the help of several assistants. Singlehandedly, an observer would have to take several attitudes of the moon and of the planet or star in rapid succession, then proceed to observe several lunar distances and, finally, take several altitudes of the moon and planet or star once more.” 104–105. Niebuhr, of course, only had Berggren as his assistant. 119 It is in this context that Niebuhr has been called by some “the greatest traveler by land in the 18th Century.” See Corinna Roeder, “Columbus, Cook & Co. Nautische Instrumente, Seekarten und Reisebeschreibungen aus fünf Jahrhunderten (Emden, 2002), 154. It appears that Niebuhr’s observations for the second half of the expedition, that is from Bombay to Denmark, were lost for a number of years, only to be discovered around 1809, too late for inclusion in Zach’s evaluation. See Carsten and Christiane Niebuhr to B. G. Niebuhr, 10 September 1809, BBAW, Nachlass B. G. Niebuhr, Nr. 230.

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expert can examine them himself, and he will be filled with the same sense of high regard and amazement that we have experienced. To date, it is often a subject of our conversations how Niebuhr could know so exactly all the finest details of astronomical calculations, including all of the correct elements and data that entails, in that astronomy was just a secondary field for him. But it is clear from all of his observations and calculations, that he had completely mastered all elements of astronomy, that he was completely familiar with the latest progress in this science, and possessed a practical skill that was without equal … [signed] v. Zach v. Ende Bürg”120 Thus, finally at age 68, Niebuhr received the confirmation of the accuracy of his work that he had hoped for years earlier, and the acknowledgment of his great accomplishments in navigational astronomy. In retrospect, it is unlikely that in the years 1761–1763, there was anyone who successfully observed and computed as many accurate longitudes in as many locations as did Niebuhr in his application of Mayer’s method. Antiquities and Archeology

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iebuhr’s archaeological work, his investigation of Iranian, Egyptian and Indian antiquities, forms another part of of his scientific achievements. The origin of his interest in antiquities is not entirely clear. Antiquities were not part of his assigned portfolio and his interest was not a consequence of the death of Haven. After all, he began copying hieroglyphs while Haven was still alive when the copying of Arabic and other inscriptions was clearly Haven’s responsibility. No, all of his work in antiquities was by choice, and occurred because of his own desire to go to these sites. As was mentioned previously, it appears simply that the Egyptian antiquities were historically impressive to him, and the hieroglyphs intriguing, and, he realized, important, if one wanted to understand Egypt’s past. His experience in Egypt made him curious about these ancient ruins and their writings, some of which he had read about, and this then caused him to be alert to any opportunity to explore them in other settings – whether India, Iran, Iraq, the Levant or Anatolia. Thus his work in this field was purely a product of his own curiosity and never part of any planned activity. Nonetheless, this interest added a new category of inquiry to the work of the expedition, contributed greatly to the results of the expedition and brought an added degree of recognition to the journey. We have discussed the importance of Niebuhr’s general descriptions, site plans, copies of bas-reliefs, and detailed measurements already. In some cases (Elephanta and Persepolis), his efforts yielded a fuller, more accurate picture of the ruins than had been available in the 18th Century and signaled the beginning of truly scholarly interest in them. As one scholar has written, “Niebuhr … is the most likely personification of the increasing knowledge and archeological inclinations of the eight120 Niebuhr, “Über Längen-Beobachtungen im Orient u. s. w.,” 249–250.

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eenth century.”121Looked at over a longer period of time, however, Niebuhr’s work at Persepolis, for example, and at Naqš-i Rustam and Naqš-i Rağāb, was also a continuation of a process of ever more detailed, accurate description and elaboration of the ruins by European visitors that began in earnest towards the end of the 17th Century.122 Although there had been a number of Europeans who had come to the sites prior to that time, their descriptions were inaccurate and frequently fantastical in their speculation about the site. However, three prior travelers, with whom Niebuhr was familiar, made important contributions to the growing appreciation of Persepolis by Europeans, and certainly had drawn Niebuhr’s attention to the ruins. As previously mentioned, they were Jean Chardin (1643–1713), Engelbert Kaempfer (1651–1716), and Cornelis de Bruijn (1652–1726/27). It is useful first to consider Niebuhr’s work briefly in the context of their collective achievement. Chardin initially went to Persia in 1664 as part of a mission of the newly created Compagnie royale des Indes orientales, a project of Louis XIV and Colbert.123 He returned for an extended stay in 1671. A student of Iranian history, culture and language, and an astute observer of Iranian society, Chardin gathered a great deal of important information on Safavid Persia. His subsequent publication, Voyages de monsieur le chevalier Chardin en Perse et autres lieux de l’Orient (1711) was highly respected and had a significant influence on readers and writers in the 18th Century. Because of its breadth, sophistication and accuracy, it ranks as one of the great travel accounts of the long 18th Century.124 In that sense it bears resemblance to Niebuhr’s accounts of the Middle East. While in Iran, Chardin made three visits to Persepolis – 1666, 1667, and 1674, two of them with an artist.125 The last visit was the most successful even though it lasted only five days. His general description of Persepolis was informed by his knowledge of Persian history and culture, and represented a vast improvement on earlier accounts. During that visit Chardin had a variety of drawings made by the artist G. J. Grelot, but these drawings when later published as illustrations varied greatly in quality, and contained many inaccuracies. 126 None-

121 See Ooghe, “The Rediscovery of Babylonia,” 248. In this context Ooghe was basing his judgement on the relatively limited work Niebuhr had done on Ancient Babylon, and concluding Niebuhr’s “role in the study of Babylonia cannot be overly stressed in providing the most detailed and nuanced image of the land, both discursive and cartographic.” 122 For a summary of these visits see Sancisi-Weerdenburg and Drijvers, eds. Achaemenid History VII. Through Travellers’ Eyes, 1–35. 123 On Chardin, see Dirk Van der Cruysse, Chardin le Persan (Paris, 1998), and John Emerson, “Sir John Chardin,” in Encyclopædia Iranica, edited by Ehsan Yarshater, vol. 5 (Costa Mesa, 1992), 368–377. 124 See for example, the assessment of Jürgen Osterhammel, in Die Entzauberung Asiens, esp. 198, and 275–284. 125 Cruysse, Chardin le Persan, 104 and 207. 126 The issues of the illustrations are discussed in Sancisi-Weerdenburg and Drijvers, eds. Achaemenid History VII. Through Travellers’ Eyes, 16.

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theless, Chardin was the first visitor to create a plan of the site so that Europeans could get a sense of the scale and arrangement of the ruins. Not long after Chardin’s visit, the Westphalian Engelbert Kaempfer also investigated the ruins at Persepolis.127 Educated in the natural sciences and medicine at Cracow and Königsberg, he was initially employed by the Swedish crown as secretary to a diplomatic mission to Persia. Subsequently, he joined the service of the Dutch East India Company in the Persian Gulf, and traveling as a surgeon he continued his journey visiting Dutch trading stations in India, the East Indies and eventually Japan, where he stayed at Nagasaki for two years. The account of his travels, his Amoenitates exoticae, published in 1712, became an early classic in the travel literature of the 18th Century. As with Niebuhr, but notably many years earlier, he stands out for his tolerant, open-minded and insightful descriptions of the societies he visited and his eclectic interests. His History of Japan, published posthumously, although limited by his restricted access to Japanese society (just the Dutch enclave at Nagasaki and briefly Edo) was still the best, and virtually only modern description of Japan available until the 19th Century. Trained in botany, his work in that field was particularly valuable and useful.128 Niebuhr had Kaempfer’s Amoenitates exoticae with him at Persepolis, and thus could consult directly Kaempfer’s descriptions. But Kaempfer’s visit to the ruins on his way to the Persian Gulf in December of 1685 was very brief. He spent one day at Naqš-i Rustam and just two at the site of Persepolis. Nonetheless, he must have worked furiously all three days because he made an amazing number of sketches of Sasanian and Achaemenid bas-reliefs, inscriptions, and structures, and he noted many interesting details at both sites that added significantly to the knowledge of the ruins. His drawings, it appears, suffered greatly in the eventual process of being converted to woodblocks and engravings and thus the eventual published illustra127 For Kaempfer, see Detlef Haberland, ed., Engelbert Kaempfer (1651–1716). Ein Gelehrtenleben zwischen Tradition und Innovation (Wiesbaden, 2004), and edited by the same author, Engelbert Kaempfer. Werk und Wirkung. Vorträge der Symposien in Lemgo (19.–22.9.1990) und in Tokyo (15.– 18.12.1990) (Wiesbaden, 1993). Also see Beatrice M. Bodart Bailey, “Kaempfer Restor’d,” Monumenta Nipponica 43 (1988): 1–33; and the essay by Peter Kapitza, Engelbert Kaempfer und die Europäische Aufklärung (Munich, 2001). 128 On these aspects of Kaempfer see Harm Klueting, “Zwischen Konfessionalisierung, Hexenverfolgungen und Frühaufklärung,” in Engelbert Kaempfer. Werk und Wirkung, ed. Haberland, 13–29; Monika Gronke, “Am Hof von Isfahan – Engelbert Kaempfer und das safawidische Persien,” and Detlev Haberland, “Zwischen Humanismus und Humboldt: Landkundliches und topographisches Denken bei Engelbert Kaempfer,” both in Engelbert Kaempfer (1651–1716). Ein Gelehrtenleben zwischen Tradition und Innovation, ed. Haberland, 189–198, and 105–123, respectively. His botanical work is discussed in Brigitte Hoppe, “Kaempfers Forschungen über japanische Pflanzen im Vergleich zu denen seiner Vorgänger – Vom Sammeln zur wissenschaftliche Bearbeitung, “ in Engelbert Kaempfer (1651–1716). Ein Gelehrtenleben zwischen Tradition und Innovation, ed. Haberland, 125–153, and Wolfgang Muntschick, “Engelbert Kaempfer als Erforscher der japanischen Pflanzenwelt,” in Engelbert Kaempfer. Werk und Wirkung, ed. Haberland, 222–247. Also see Bodart Bailey, “Kaempfer Restor’d.”

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tions have been characterized as clumsy and sometimes inaccurate.129 Similarly, his copies of cuneiform inscriptions, while presenting a clearer picture of them than was available heretofore, were sometimes confusing and imprecise. Had Kaempfer had more time at Persepolis, his work probably would have been more complete and accurate. But it appears his interests lay more in cultural geography and the natural sciences than in antiquities. Regardless, Kaempfer’s description of Persepolis and Naqš-i Rustam is an important chapter in the story of the archeological investigation of these ancient Iranian monuments. The third of these earlier visitors to Persepolis was Cornelis de Bruijn (1652– 1726/27).130 In some ways he was both more talented and much more limited than either Chardin, Kaempfer or Niebuhr. Trained as a professional artist in The Hague, he early on displayed a strong wanderlust and considerable curiosity about the East. He completed two long journeys, one to the Ottoman Empire, and another to Russia, Persia and the East Indies. He executed numerous paintings and drawings of landscapes, local attire, towns and plant and animal life, most of which survive only as engravings in his published works. De Bruijn was also a collector of various natural samples and artifacts. He visited Persepolis in November of 1704 and stayed in the area for nearly three months – much longer than the other visitors.131 During that time he completed a very extensive description of the site, including careful copies of the cuneiform inscriptions. When published in 1711, his claim that his depiction was more accurate than those of Chardin and Kaempfer created some controversy. But de Bruijn was correct. His descriptions of the ruins were the most comprehensive and accurate up to that time and artistically the most skilled.132 Indeed, although Niebuhr’s subsequent drawings of the inscriptions and bas-reliefs 129 For a detailed evaluation of Kaempfer’s work on Iranian antiquities, see above all Josef Wiesehöfer, “‘A me igitur … Figurarum verum auctorem … nemo desideret’. Engelbert Kaempfer und der Alte Iran,” in Engelbert Kaempfer. Werk und Wirkung, ed. Haberland, 105–132; also the same author’s “Engelbert Kaempfer und die Achaimenidischen Stätten von Naqš-i Rustam und Persepolis,” in Achaemenid History VII. Through Travellers’ Eyes, ed. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, 71–87. For comments on some of Kaempfer’s drawings, see Sancisi-Weerdenburg, “Nowruz in Persepolis, “ 183–184. 130 For de Bruijn see, Jan de Hond, “Cornelis de Bruijn (1652–1726/27): A Dutch Painter in the East,” in Eastward Bound. Dutch Ventures and Adventures in the Middle East, ed. Geert Jan van Gelder and Ed de Moor (Amsterdam, 1994), 51–80; and by the same author, “‘Den vermaarden Cornelis de Bruijn’ Een korte biografie,” in “Ik hadde de Nieusgierigheid.” De reizen door het Nabije Oosten van Cornelis de Bruijn (ca. 1652–1727), ed. Jan Willem Drijvers, Jan de Hond and Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg (Leiden, 1997), 9–20. Also Jan Willem Drijvers, “Cornelis de Bruijn and Gijsbert Cuper. A skilled artist and a learned discussion,” in Achemenid History VII. Through Travellers’ Eyes, ed. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, 89–107. 131 His visit is analyzed in Heleen Sancisi-Weerdenburg, “‘Yver Aendacht en Naerstigheit’. Verblijf in Persepolis,” in “Ik hadde de Nieusgierigheid.” De reizen door het Nabije Oosten van Cornelis de Bruijn (ca. 1652–1727), ed. Drijvers, de Hond and Sancisi-Weerdenburg, 129–139. 132 See Jan Willem Drijvers, “Persepolis as Perceived by Engelbert Kaempfer and Cornelis de Bruijn,” in Engelbert Kaempfer. Werk und Wirkung, ed. Haberland, 85–104.

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are more accurate and precise than de Bruijn’s, and thus more highly valued by scholars, the Dutch artist’s illustrations are considered to be more artistically compelling.133 Certainly his depiction of Persepolis was the one that caught the reading public’s attention during the Enlightenment because of their artistic quality, while after publication Niebuhr’s lay in relative obscurity. However, in contrast to Chardin, Kaempfer and Niebuhr, de Bruijn’s view of the non-European world was narrow and ethnocentric. His description of the lands and peoples he was visiting was not informed by tolerance or impartiality. He did not know Persian, Arabic or Turkish. He had limited contact with the local population. His views were based primarily on what he heard from other Europeans and his reading of older European accounts filled with stereotypical portrayals of the Middle East. His characterization of Arabs and Persians was particularly negative and ill-informed.134 Thus in evaluating Niebuhr’s efforts at Persepolis, we can see that they were part of a continuing process stretching back almost a century of developing an understanding of these Iranian antiquities. However, Niebuhr’s work also represented something new. He was working in the second half of the 18th Century, and was a representative of an age devoted to quantification and precision, to the importance of accuracy. His descriptions reflect that approach and his own unyielding attention to detail. Niebuhr carefully determined the dimensions of many parts of the site, as well as measurements for some of its features. He was meticulous in portraying with precision the bas-reliefs and inscriptions. He brought scholarly standards to the task.135 In this way his work exceeded the exactitude of his predecessors. Moreover, Niebuhr had investigated antiquities in Egypt and India, and this gave him a broad background with which to evaluate the details of the ruins and to assess their place and value in history. Finally, in addition to Niebuhr’s overall descriptive work at Persepolis, three aspects of his work deserve greater attention. All concern his copies of inscriptions – the cuneiform from Persepolis, the trilingual inscriptions from Naqš-i Rustam and Naqš-i Rağāb, and the hieroglyphs from Lower Egypt. It may be recalled that Niebuhr was the first to identify the cuneiform inscriptions as an “alphabet”, not as pictorial signs, and that each set of inscriptions was written in three different scripts. 133 See Wouter Henkelman, “‘Gebrekkige tekeningen’? Niebuhr over de Bruijn, “ in “Ik hadde de Nieusgierigheid.” De reizen door het Nabije Oosten van Cornelis de Bruijn (ca. 1652–1727), ed. Drijvers, de Hond and Sancisi-Weerdenburg, 143–160, especially his conclusion on pp. 159–160. For Niebuhr’s very moderate discussion of inaccuracies in the work of Chardin, Kaempfer and de Bruijn, see Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 149–150; in general he acknowledges the important accomplishments of his predecessors and is not highly critical. 134 de Hond, “Cornelis de Bruijn (1652–1726/27). A Dutch Painter in the East,” 68–80. 135 The difference in measurement standards is also very apparent in a comparison of Kaempfer’s cartography, which was based on historical maps and an absence of precise observational data, with Niebuhr’s cartographic methodology and final products. On Kaempfer’s cartography, see Margrete Lazar, “Engelbert Kaempfer als Kartograph und Geograph,” in Engelbert Kaempfer. Werk und Wirkung, ed. Haberland, 370–382.

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He also confirmed earlier assumptions from the beginning of the 17th Century that the inscriptions should be read from left to right. In the presentation of his findings in the Reisebeschreibung he selected for analysis the script that he considered to be the simplest of the three scripts, the one that appeared at the beginning or the top left of an inscription.136 As we mentioned, he then identified 42 separate signs or characters (34 of which we now know were correct).137 His detection of what turned out to be Old Persian cuneiform was decisive for the eventual deciphering of the inscriptions because the other two scripts, Babylonian-Assyrian and Elamite, were much more complicated and therefore difficult to decipher. The Babylonian-Assyrian cuneiform involves approximately 1,000 syllables and signs, and the Elamite is comprised of approximately 132 characters.138 Niebuhr’s depiction of the inscriptions also made the individual signs clear by his placing a dot by each character. This added detail he considered important, as indeed it was, to the explanation of the script.139 It was his focus on the Old Persian cuneiform that caused later scholars to naturally direct their interest in decipherment first to this script and not to struggle with the others. Over the next forty years several scholars worked on the task of deciphering Niebuhr’s script or contributed in other ways to an understanding of the writings.140 These included the German orientalist Oluf Gerhard Tychsen, the Danish Theologian and later Bishop, Frederik Christian Münter, and the famous French orientalists Abraham Hyacinthe Anquetil-Duperron and Antoine Isaac Sylvestre de Sacy.141 But it was not until 1802 that a young scholar at the University in Göttingen 136 See Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 158; this is also clearly stated in Niebuhr to Christoph Gottlieb Murr, 2 April 1776, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Hist. 37a: VII, Bl. 62–65. Murr was the publisher of the Journal zur Kunst geschichte und zur allgemeine Literatur. 137 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 132, Table XXII. 138 Walther Hinz, “Grotefends genialer Entzifferungsversuch, “ in Die Welt des Alten Orients. Keilschrift – Grabungen – Gelehrte, ed. Rykle Borger, et al (Göttingen, 1975), 15. For a description of the three scripts also see Rykle Borger, “Die drei Schriftenarten,” in Die Welt des Alten Orients, ed. Borger, et al., 182–184. 139 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 149–150. 140 For a more detailed discussion of the decipherment of the Persepolis inscriptions, see the following excellent accounts, Michael Harbsmeier, “Before Decipherment: Persepolitan Hypotheses in the Late Eighteenth Century,” in Culture and History, 11 (Copenhagen, 1992), 23–59; Wiesehöfer, Ancient Persia, 230–242; and the same author’s “‘… sie waren das Juwel von allem, was er gesehen,’” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 279–281; Finkel, “The Decipherment of Achaemenid Cuneiform,” in Forgotten Empire, ed. Curtis and Tallis, 25–29; and Ernst Doblhofer, Die Entzifferung alter Schriften und Sprachen (Stuttgart, 1993), 101–143. 141 Over the years Niebuhr followed some of these developments. For example, his correspondence with Tychsen is discussed in Martin Krieger, “Zwischen Meldorf und Bützow. Carsten Niebuhrs Korrespondenz mit Oluf Gerhard Tychsen,” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 341–356. He was also aware of the relevance of Anquetil’s translation of the Zend-Avesta for understanding the inscriptions at Persepolis. See Niebuhr to Murr, 3 April 1778, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Hist. 37a: VI, Bl. 66–69. For the work of Münter, see Rüdiger Schmitt, “Dä-

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deciphered parts of the Old Persian script for the first time. His name was Georg Friedrich Grotefend (1775–1853).142 Grotefend was not an orientalist, but he was interested in scripts and enjoyed solving puzzles and mathematical problems. He had also studied the works of Kaempfer, de Bruijn, and, especially, Niebuhr. He concentrated on two specific sets of Niebuhr’s inscriptions, sets B and G in Plate XXIV, of the Reisebeschreibung, Vol. II. Using ingenuity and logic, Grotefend was able to deduce words and translate the individual characters that were made up of combinations of wedges and angles. For example, Inscription G, he translated as “Xerxes the strong king, king of kings, [son] of King Darius, descendant of the ruler of the world.”143 His translations were not entirely accurate as the interpretation of the signs is linguistically complicated in ways that Grotefend did not know. But he did correctly decipher one-third of the characters and translated key words such as “King of Kings,” “Darius” and “Xerxes” accurately. Grotefend’s discoveries were presented to the Königliche Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen on September 4, 1802, and additional articles on his work were published thereafter in the Academy’s journal. However, the full Latin text of Grotefend’s findings was not published until 1893.144 Nonetheless, his work was the first decisive breakthrough in the deciphering of the cuneiform script, and it was the understanding of that script that was essential for the subsequent deciphering of the Babylonian-Assyrian and Elamite scripts145 The foundation for this achievement was Niebuhr’s accurate copies of the Persepolis inscriptions and his insightful diagnosis of the Old Persian cuneiform’s existence and simpler structure. The days of effort that Niebuhr gave to copying with care the inscriptions before the walls of Persepolis had paid off. nische Forscher bei der Erschliessung der Achaimeniden-Inschriften,” Acta Orientalia 47 (1986):13–26. 142 At Göttingen, Grotefend studied philology and theology with the famous classicist, Christian Gottlob Heyne, the theologian Thomas Christian Tychsen, and the historian, Arnold Ludwig Heeren. Although not an orientalist, Grotefend early on displayed an interest in writing systems. He went on to a distinguished career as the head of the Gymnasium in Frankfurt am Main, and later the Lyceum in Hanover. He was a member of the Gesellschaft für Deutschlands ältere Geschichtskunde, founded on the suggestion of Freiherr vom Stein, and which was responsible for the eventual publication of the famous Monumenta Germaniae Historica. See Wiesehöfer, Ancient Persia, 232. 143 Wiesehöfer, Ancient Persia, 238, and Doblhofer, Die Entzifferung alter Schriften und Sprachen, 123. For his general dependence on Niebuhr’s work see his file of notes and other documents in NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Hist. 37a: VI, Bl. 1–133a/b. 144 For a facsimile of the full paper, and an accompanying translation into German, see Borger, “Grotefends erste ‘Praevia’,” in Borger, et al, eds., Die Welt des Alten Orients, 161–178. The original manuscript may be found in Göttingen, at the NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Hist. 37a: VIIIa cim. For a discussion of the initial publication of his work, see Gerd Steiner, “”Eine zeitgenössische Würdigung der Entzifferungsarbeit von Georg Friedrich Grotefend,” in Achaemenid History VII. Through Travellers’ Eyes, ed. Sancisi-Weerdenburg and Drijvers, 109–121. 145 Finkel, “The Decipherment of Achaemenid Cuneiform,” 29.

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Also proving to be valuable to scholars in Niebuhr’s lifetime were his accurate copies of Greek, and of what turned out to be Parthian and Middle Persian inscriptions at Naqš-i Rustam and Naqš-i Rağāb. All of Niebuhr’s work in ancient Iranian antiquities came to the attention of the aforementioned orientalist in France, Antoine Isaac Silvestre de Sacy. De Sacy had a very high regard for Niebuhr’s work. As he commented: “Several travelers, Koempfer, Chardon, Corneille Le Brun and others have spoken of the monuments as well as the bas-reliefs which adorn them; but no one has presented a more detailed description than M. Niebuhr who drew some there and had them engraved, and to whom in like manner we owe the exact copies of diverse inscriptions which accompany the bas-reliefs…”146 De Sacy entered into a correspondence with Niebuhr which has been lost, so some no doubt useful details are missing, but it was on the basis of Niebuhr’s copies that de Sacy was able to decipher the Sasanian inscriptions.147 By comparing the Greek texts with the accompanying Middle Persian and Parthian texts, he was able to translate these two western Middle Iranian languages.148 This work gave scholars access to the important inscriptions at Naqš-i Rustam, Naqš-i Rağāb and other sites and these proved to be essential primary sources for understanding the history of Sasanian Iran.149 Moreover, all of Niebuhr’s work at Persepolis and environs was important to Niebuhr’s understanding of Ancient History as well. This work served as the basis for his conclusion that the character of these ancient Iranian monuments was neither derivative of nor inferior to Egyptian or Greek civilization and represented a singular achievement in its own right. He asserted an independent and significant standing for ancient Persian civilization, a point we will return to in the Conclusion. In a much less consequential way than with the Old Persian Cuneiform or the Sasanian inscriptions, Niebuhr’s copies of Egyptian hieroglyphs also ended up being important to scholars. Although Niebuhr wrote that he copied the hieroglyphs in Cairo “for my own enjoyment,” we know that he still approached the task with seriousness and a commitment to precision. The many plates depicting his copies figure prominently in Volume One of the Reisebeschreibung and certainly caught the attention of book reviewers, although not always in the way that Niebuhr intended. For example, a writer for Friedrich Nicolai’s Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek wrote, in an otherwise positive review, “We doubt, however, that the Hieroglyphs that Herr Niebuhr calls “pharaonische” writing, will ever be deciphered, and we regret the great effort devoted to the copies especially as there are so many of them in this volume; for in our opinion they bear little resemblance to the notion set forth of a

146 147 148 149

Detalle, “Die dänische Expedition nach Arabien, Carsten Niebuhr und Frankreich,” 7. Wiesehöfer, “‘… sie waren für ihn das Juwel von allem, was er gesehen’,” 280. Wiesehöfer, Ancient Persia, 234. Ibid., 154.

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written alphabet, but rather are a puzzling toy without meaning by Egyptian artists, just as the Pyramids and Obelisks are unused and tasteless structures.”150 This reviewer was wrong and fortunately there were at least a few scholars who did not share this not uncommon view. In fact, Niebuhr’s 12 plates of hieroglyphs, with his accompanying speculation, marked an important advance in European knowledge of ancient Egyptian writing. Niebuhr, as was mentioned briefly in Chapter Two, did not just copy the hieroglyphs with care, but he also provided brief thoughts on the character of the signs which he strongly believed to be writing. He correctly distinguished the smaller sign-forms from the larger symbols or pictures, and he identified 250 sign-forms, grouping them according to similarity.151 He also believed the inscription could be read from left to right or from right to left. Finally, he made suggestions for future research.152 As the Egyptologist Erik Iversen has noted, “His final conclusions were that instead of attempting to explain the mythological significance of the pictures, the Egyptological scholars should stick to the inscriptions, make complete lists of them, compare the sign-forms of the various monuments, and then see if the script could not be deciphered by means of Coptic. These sensible ideas were unfortunately never elaborated upon. They remained more or less casual remarks, but of outstanding perspicacity; and in the history of Egyptology they preserve the memory of an original and penetrating mind, and of results obtained merely by assiduity, logical reasoning and intelligent deduction.”153 We know that years later Niebuhr’s careful work did catch the attention of at least one very young student. His name was Jean-François Champollion, the French scholar who in the period, 1822–1824, first deciphered the hieroglyphs of the Rosetta Stone. Champollion was a child prodigy in the study of ancient languages. His teacher was apparently familiar with Niebuhr’s works and it appears that it was through him that Champollion came into contact with them, although it is also possible he obtained them from his older brother.154 In any case, Niebuhr’s Voyage en Arabie, a French translation of the Reisebeschreibung, became one of “the nightstand books of the young Champollion, because the hieroglyphs in it were reproduced for the first time with true precision.”155 Apparently by 1806, Champollion had absorbed some of Niebuhr’s speculations on approaching the problem of decipherment.156 He became especially proficient in Coptic, and over time began to 150 Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek, 25 (1775): 124–125. 151 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 208, Plate XLI. Niebuhr’s hieroglyphic work is also discussed by his son, Barthold Georg Niebuhr in his Vorträge über alte Geschichte an der Universität zu Bonn gehalten, Vol. I (Berlin, 1847), 58–63. 152 Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, I: 203–204. 153 Erik Iversen, The Myth of Egypt and Its Hieroglyphs in European Tradition (Princeton, 1993), 111. 154 See H. Hartleben, Champollion. Sein Leben und sein Werk, Vol. 1 (Berlin, 1906), 60, and Alain Faure, Champollion. Le Savant déchiffré ([Paris], 2004), 97 and 153. 155 Faure, Champollion, 69, and Hartleben, Champollion, 362. 156 Jean Lacouture, Champollion. Un vie des lumières (Paris, 1988), 257.

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work on ancient Egyptian writing. The details of his efforts are beyond the scope of this study. But, briefly, he built upon the work of other scholars who were tackling the same problem, and finally in 1822, after receiving a copy of the Rosetta Stone, he was able to decipher it. This he communicated to the Académie royale des inscriptions et belles-lettres in September of 1822. He, along with others, continued to work on fuller descriptions of ancient Egyptian writing, but his efforts were cut short by his early death in 1832, at the age of 42.157 Niebuhr’s role in this discovery was a minor one. But had he still been alive, he would have been pleased that his many trips to copy the hieroglyphs on the sarcophagus in the streets of Cairo, and at other sites, had made a difference. After all, his main purpose in copying the signs was that they be of use to scholars as they took on the task of decipherment.158 He did not believe that he was properly trained for such a task himself, but he would have been satisfied that his copies helped to train the talented, genius-like scholar, who eventually did solve the mystery of the Egyptian hieroglyphs, and that his insights into the script were in the end correct. Thus the copies of inscriptions in the Reisebeschreibung played a role in the deciphering of four of the ancient languages of the Middle East, Old Persian cuneiform, Parthian, Middle Persian, and Egyptian hieroglyphs, and contributed indirectly to the deciphering of Babylonian-Assyrian and Elamite. The Natural Sciences

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he specific contributions of Forsskål’s botanical and zoological studies have already been discussed in Chapter Two and will not be repeated here. We will focus on a few more general points concerning the actual publications. Keeping in mind the many difficulties that Niebuhr encountered in working on Forsskål’s notes, it is a credit to his tenacity that the three volumes on Forsskål’s research were presented to the scientific world at all. Together they represent a very significant contribution to the natural sciences in the 18th Century. Forsskål’s Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica is important because of the large number of specimens he identified (some 1750 for the Middle East), and the expansiveness of his descriptions (which has already been mentioned). The list of plants just for Egypt and Arabia included 54 new genera and 630 species never classified before, of which 24 genera and approximately 300 species remain valid today.159 To put Forsskål’s work in historical perspective, we may compare it with the botanical results achieved during the voyages of Cook to the Pacific in the years after the Dan157 In addition to the references on Champollion, also see Richard Parkinson, Cracking Codes. The Rosetta Stone and Decipherment (Berkeley, 1999), esp. 12–45. 158 Niebuhr to Bernstorff, 24 August 1762, RaK, AR, Case 3–003, Nr. 139. 159 Christensen, Naturforskeren Pehr Forsskål, 73; Ib Friis, “De botaniske resultater af Den Arabiske Rejse”, in Den Arabiske Rejse 1761–1767, ed. Rasmussen, 124–125. This section includes material previously published in Baack, “A naturalist of the Northern Enlightenment.”

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ish expedition. For example, during Cook’s First Voyage (1768–1771), the team of Joseph Banks, Daniel Solander (one of Linnaeus’ “apostles”), two field assistants, and a writer secretary to record findings, identified approximately 1300 species and 110 genera new to European science. This work was not published. Of course, the period of actual exploration was somewhat longer than Forsskål’s time in Egypt and Yemen, and the habitat was much more varied (Madeira, Brazil, Tierra del Fuego, Tahiti, Australia, New Zealand, Java and other locations).160 For Cook’s Second Voyage, the published work of Johann Reinhold Forster and his son Georg, the Characteres Genera Plantarum, lists 75 genera and 94 species, of which approximately half are valid today.161 In contrast, Forsskål worked alone, assisted on a few occasions by Niebuhr, and regularly by local inhabitants. For a single researcher both the quantity and the quality of Forsskål’s field work represent a remarkable scientific achievement, and as a result, as one scholar concluded, Forsskål’s results “will always have a prominent place among the most important studies in descriptive Botany.”162 The importance of Forsskål’s work was recognized immediately by scientific readers. One reviewer termed it a “comprehensive work” filled with informative descriptions of species that included important data on location and habitat.163 The substantive Introduction crafted by Niebuhr, and an anonymous helper, also added to the subsequent value placed on the work. It explained Forsskål’s approach to nomenclature, with its use of Arabic, and heavy emphasis on indigenous terminology, and it introduced his thoughts on plant geography. Niebuhr also took pains to acknowledge the local inhabitants as the source of many of Forsskål’s specimens and names. For example, he highlighted the support his colleague had received during his field studies out of al Luhayyah from the administrator there, the former African slave who was the Amīr. He wrote: “I shall remember this Amīr with honor and respect, and relate how he received our botanist with pleasure and eased his work to the best of his ability; in short, he was the originator of discoveries in Yemen.”164 But the Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica also has significant shortcomings. The quality of the editing is poor, there are inconsistencies in terminology and descriptions, and the organization is confusing. There is no concordance with the surviving herbarium, and no index which makes the compendium difficult to use. Thus, it is both because of these weaknesses and because of its continued importance as a source of 160 See William T. Stearn, “A Royal Society Appointment with Venus in 1769: The Voyage of Cook and Banks in the Endeavor in 1768–1771 and its Botanical Results,” Notes and Records of the Royal Society of London 24 (1969): 85; and Harold B. Carter, Sir Joseph Banks 1743–1820 (London, 1988), 94. 161 Dan H. Nicolson and F. Raymond Fosberg, The Forsters and the Botany of the Second Cook Expedition (1772–1775) (Ruggell, Liechtenstein, 2004), 15. 162 Christensen, Naturforskeren Pehr Forsskål, 75 163 Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek 32 (1977): 327–335. 164 Forsskål, Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, Praefatio, 30 (transl. From Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 13.

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primary botanical descriptions, that periodically researchers have attempted to improve the presentation of the data.165 For example, as early as 1790, the Danish botanist Martin Vahl, who had taken over the responsibility for the monumental Flora Danica (a project that took 122 years to complete), undertook a revision of Forsskål’s botanical study. He made many corrections to the lists of plant species and published his work.166 More than a century later, the Danish botanist Carl Christensen filled one of the troublesome omissions in Niebuhr’s edition and published an Index to the Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica.167 Most recently, Ib Friis and F. Nigel Hepper published a series of studies on Forsskål’s botany that culminated in the publication by the Royal Botanical Gardens, Kew, and the National Botanical Museum in Copenhagen of a comprehensive guide to Forsskål’s botanical research.168 It includes an exhaustive annotated listing of all of Forsskål’s descriptions, and a very thoughtful and thorough introduction that adds much to our knowledge of Forsskål’s research, and indeed to the history of the expedition. The subject of Forsskål’s plant names in Arabic has also drawn special attention over the years, and most recently was the subject of a comprehensive updating.169 His linguistic work was incorporated into a number of European lexicographical and botanical studies, and has been used by scholars in the Arab world for the compilation of Arabic dictionaries. Forsskål’s work also has been of great importance to scholars studying Classical Arabic Language and Culture.170 All of these efforts over the years point to the continuing value of Forsskål’s work for present day scientists doing research in the botany of the Middle East and parts of Africa171 Forsskål’s zoological work has received less attention than his botanical studies, but still constitutes an equally important contribution to science. As Torben Wolff wrote: “Even though the Descriptiones is based on descriptions and notes of a purely provisional nature which were made on the exhausting journey, and practically without any literary aids, intended to be a first draught only, this work with the appurtenant Icones justly ranks as one of the eighteenth century’s most significant zoological publications.”172 The work starts with quite a complete index or Conspec165 They are listed in Ib Friis, “Introduction”, to Provençal, The Arabic Plant Names of Peter Forsskål’s Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, 7. As an aside, curiously Forsskål paid scant attention to Palm Trees in his research activities. I am grateful to Ib Friis for this observation. 166 See Martin Vahl, Symbolae Botanicae or Exact Descriptions of Plants collected by Petrus Forsskål in his Arabian Journey and other recently discovered Plants together with observations of some previously known plants, Part One (Copenhagen 1790), reprinted with an excellent introduction by Anne Fox Maule (Copenhagen, 1984). 167 See Carl Christensen, Index to Peter Forsskål: Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, with a revision of Herbarium Forsskålii, Dansk Botanisk Arkiv 4 (1922): 1–54. 168 Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’. 169 See Provençal, The Arabic Plant Names of Peter Forsskål’s flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica. 170 Ibid., 10–11. 171 Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, xi. 172 Torben Wolff, Danske Ekspeditioner på Verdenshavene (Copenhagen 1967), 32.

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tus, which includes a scant listing of quadrupeds. This is followed by detailed descriptions of various animals by category – birds, including their migratory patterns, amphibians, and a lengthy discussion of fish (150 species). He also describes insects, mollusks, crabs, crustaceans, corals and worms. The importance of his descriptions of many of these species has already been pointed out. This volume was supported by the Icones, the published collection of Baurenfeind’s biological drawings.173 Forsskål was astute in having Baurenfeind draw specimens that were difficult to preserve effectively, such as the very perishable pelagic jellyfish and siphonophones. Thus, we are fortunate to have from Baurenfeind a very handsome and accurate set of drawings of these animals in particular.174 Forsskål’s zoological studies initially received little attention.175 Marine biology, in particular, was still in its infancy. However, slowly among a small emerging group of specialists his contribution to the marine studies was appreciated. A species, as we have seen, was named in his honor by the middle of the 19th Century, and more than a hundred years after their publication, the importance of his descriptions was fully appreciated by zoologists.176 They have been valued by scholars in the field ever since.177 Forsskål’s research has also been recognized for contributions beyond those in the works edited by Niebuhr. We know that Forsskål did not just take notes during his botanical and zoological explorations. He also gathered specimens – lots of them. These in turn he dried or preserved in alcohol. They filled the many chests that were shipped from Bombay, and earlier from Suez, to Copenhagen. Remarkably, many of the materials survived the long voyage and subsequent storage and changes in curators in Copenhagen. Today the dried plant specimens comprise the “Herbarium Forsskålii” at the Botanical Museum in Copenhagen – a collection of approximately 1846 sheets that has been called the museum’s “most priceless treasure.”178 (This might be compared, for example, with the 239 sheets collected by Meriwether Lewis that comprise the Herbarium of the Lewis and Clark Expedition.)179 The collection of zoological specimens, as one might anticipate, was more 173 It has been reproduced in its entirety in Rasmussen, ed., Den Arabiske Rejse, 129–230. 174 Wolff, Danske Ekspeditioner på Verdenshavene, 34. 175 See for example the reviews in the Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek 31 (1777): 407–415, and 32 (1777): 335–336. 176 See for example, Gosch, Udsigt over Danmarks Zoologiske Literatur, 2, 1: 447. 177 Spärck, “Peter Forsskåls Arabiske Rejse og Zoologiske Samlinger,” 135. By way of comparison, the significant work in zoology accomplished during Cook’s first voyage was never published and the specimens were widely scattered. Thus their immediate utility was greatly reduced. See P. J. P. Whitehead, “Zoological Specimens from Captain Cook’s Voyages,” Journal of the Society for the Bibliography of Natural History 5 (1969): 161–195. 178 Wolff, Danske Ekspeditioner på Verdenshavene, 38. For a full listing of the collection, see Hepper and Friis, “Numbered sequence of specimens in the “Herb. Forsskålii” with reference to the IDC microfiche edition of the herbarium and identifications,” 299–335. 179 See Gary Moulton, ed., Herbarium of the Lewis & Clark Expedition. The Journals of the Lewis

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vulnerable to loss. Still today, sixty-five fish species are preserved in Forsskål’s “Fish Herbarium” at the Zoological Museum in Copenhagen, so-called because Forsskål followed the same process for preserving fish that he used for plants. That is, the fish were split and dried, pressed between two sheets of paper. Also retained in the museum’s collections are 14 coral species, 75 insects and thousands of shells. Only a few of the alcohol preserved specimens survived into the 20th Century, for example, a bat from Egypt and the interesting little pelagic amphipod, Phronima sedentaria, already discussed in the section on the Red Sea investigations.180 To complete our elaboration of Forsskål’s works and collections, we should make brief mention of his journal. Niebuhr, we know, had plans to publish Forsskål’s journal for the first part of the expedition. He had it compiled from loose pages of notes and translated from Swedish into German and Danish.181 However, as Niebuhr’s career moved in a new direction, he was unable to complete the project, and may not have been able to afford it, in any case. It was not until 1950, that Forsskål’s diary was published in Sweden, and in 2010, as part of the comprehensive project publishing the works of Linnaeus’ Apostles, Forsskål’s journal was made available in English translation.182 It is a polished work whose exact derivation is unclear, as the editor of the Swedish text is unknown. Nonetheless it is based on his notes and is his story of the expedition, devoid of any serious scientific data. It is written in a concise and thoughtful style so his work is today a valuable resource for the overall history of the expedition, extending beyond the field of natural history. Unfortunately, the account ceases on the 21st of June, 1763, as he died only three weeks later. In conclusion, in both botany and zoology, through published works, biological illustrations and preserved specimens, most of Forsskål’s research survived and was made available to science. This includes his travel journal which provides context for his efforts. Most of the credit for this belongs to Niebuhr who published his research and tried to ensure that his specimens would arrive home safely. Still there can be little doubt that Forsskål’s death was a great loss to 18th Century science. Niebuhr and his helper could never provide the expertise and insight into the subject that Forsskål possessed. As is the case with any researcher, Forsskål knew his own notes best, knew how to improve them, and undoubtedly had interpretive ideas beyond the ones of which we get just a glimpse from Niebuhr’s edition. With & Clark Expedition, Vol. 12 (Lincoln, 1999) 3. 180 Wolff, Danske Ekspeditioner på Verdenshavene, 38–39. For the Fish Herbarium see “Peter Forsskål’s (1732–1763) Famous Fish Herbarium,” Zoological Museum, Natural History Museum of Denmark (2006, Electronic Resource). 181 See Niebuhr’s note “Forskåls Reisebemerkungen aus losen Blättern in schwedischer Sprache, nachher ins Dänische und Deutsche übersetzt.” UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.3, Nr. 8. Also see Nrs. 9 and 10 for the translations. 182 Uggla, Resa till lycklige Arabien, and Hansen, ed., The Linnaeus Apostles, 283–380. For the status of Forsskål’s original manuscript for the 1950 edition, see Dieter Lohmeier, “Petrus Forsskål’s Reisejournal ist wieder da. Ein Nachtrag zum Bestandsverzeichnis der Teilnachlässe Carsten Niebuhrs,” Auskunft 33 (2013): 57–71.

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his excellent training, extensive field experience, and fertile mind, he would have explored his data for still richer discoveries and would have refined his descriptions, and terminology in Arabic, so that they would have been more valuable. A fine writer, he would have put together, in all likelihood, works that would have been classics in the biological literature of the times. Nonetheless, his existing body of work represents a substantial and valuable contribution to the natural sciences in the 18th Century. Philology

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iebuhr and Forsskål were not the only members who contributed to the results of the expedition for Haven made limited, but lasting contributions as well. These consisted of his journal of the expedition and the various manuscripts he purchased during the trip. Haven’s journal, now part of the collections of the Royal Library in Copenhagen, is a handsome two volume folio manuscript to which, it is clear, Haven devoted considerable effort.183 The first volume contains, in addition to a catalog of his purchased manuscripts, some of his scholarly notes from the expedition, about 450 pages of material.184 These include seven pages of corrections to the Arabic names used in Norden’s map of the Nile, a listing of the books contained in the Archbishop’s library in Alexandria, and a large variety of lexicographical notes in Hebrew and Arabic, and especially Italian and Arabic. However, except for thirteen pages that deal with Yemen, virtually all of the notes appear to come from the period when Haven was in Egypt, that is Alexandria and Cairo. The second volume is divided into two parts. One represents notes he took on the geography, history and philology of the Middle East before leaving Copenhagen, and copies of the Royal Instructions (including comments on his disappointment over the personnel assignments made in them), and of all the questions submitted to Michaelis by outside parties. As Niebuhr subsequently noted, the questions written by Michaelis himself and submitted prior to departure take up only two lines.185 The most valuable part of the two-volume collection is Haven’s actual travel diary, published recently in a fine critical edition.186 It is clear that based on fragmentary notes that Haven took regularly, he then periodically rewrote his entries so that they were more articulate and complete. For the period of the journey from December of 1760 to March of 1762, and for the three week trip to the 183 See Frederik Christian von Havens Rejsejournal 1760–1763, Det Kongelige Bibliotek, København, NKS 133, 2º. 184 For an accessible and detailed elaboration of the journal’s contents, see Stig T. Rasmussen, “Frederik Christian von Haven og de filologiske resultater,” in Den Arabiske Rejse, ed. Rasmussen, 303–325. 185 See Frederik Christian von Havens Rejsejournal 1760–1763, Det Kongelige Bibliotek, København, NKS 133, 2º, Vol. 2, 306. 186 Hansen and Rasmussen, eds., Min Sundheds Forliis. Frederik Christian von Havens Rejsejournal fra Den Arabiske Rejse 1760–1763.

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Sinai, Haven’s journal is a valuable source. His account of the events in December 1760, just prior to the departure of the Grønland, is an essential document for understanding the change in the outbound route for the expedition. In general, his account is the fullest record of the social life of the expedition and the contacts its members had with European and Christian religious representatives in the area. It also periodically contains entries that indicate Haven’s dissatisfaction with, and disdain for, his colleagues. Therefore, it is essential for getting a sense of the dissension that plagued the group. Likewise, his description of the short, abortive journey to the Sinai is an important document for that part of the expedition. However, the year from April 1762 – May 1763, that is up to Haven’s death in al Mukhā, is covered only very briefly by 38 pages of draft notes. For many days the entries are just a single line, just a handful of words. Thus the journal documents his dramatically declining interest in the expedition once he left Egypt and the Sinai. Just as with his research notes in Vol. I, so too in Vol. II, there is virtually nothing of substance in his account of traversing the Red Sea, the stop in Jiddah and their first months in Yemen. For reasons of temperament, which we have discussed previously, once Haven left urban centers his ability to do productive work essentially disappeared. Once the expedition began the main part of its journey, he was no longer an active participant. Overall, the journal’s contribution in an academic sense to disciplines such as philology is quite slight, and beyond some modest information about conditions in Egypt and lexicographical lists, it displays virtually no sense of curiosity about the area they were visiting. Thus the journal is of value to historians and others interested in the history of the expedition, but it adds little to a better understanding of the Middle East. Fortunately, prior to leaving the urban environments in which Haven seemed to thrive, he was able to make a contribution to scholarship that was more important than his journal. We have mentioned that in the course of the trip he purchased a total of 116 manuscripts, all but eight of which can be identified today. Haven was well-trained. He had a good eye for manuscripts of value, and he appears to have enjoyed the hunt for them, particularly in Istanbul and Cairo, where nearly all of the purchases were made.187 Today, the selections he made are a valuable part of the manuscripts collection in the Department of Orientalia and Judaica at the Royal Library in Copenhagen.188 Over 100 of the texts are in Arabic, the remainder in Hebrew. The purchases were heavily focused on poetry and history, thirty-six of the former and twenty-three of the latter. But his choices covered a

187 For a full listing of the purchases see Kirketerp-Møller, “Fra København til Konstantinopel 1761,” 79–94, esp. 92–93; and by the same author, “Arsenik og Gamle Håndskrifter,” Fund og Forskning 24 (1979–80): 119–140, esp. 137–138. 188 For a catalog of the holdings, see Perho, Catalogue of Arabic Manuscripts. It also lists a number of works acquired by either Niebuhr or Forsskål on geography, natural history, astronomy and mathematics. See pages 290–291, 303–309, 316, 323, 327, and 354–355.

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wide range of topics, such as rhetoric, seven, philology, four, geography, also four, erotica, two, and one each for areas such as astronomy, Sufism and ethics.189 The collection also included seven costly Hebrew texts of the Old Testament. These became an especially important part of the collection in the Royal Library, but they also commanded immediate and special interest when they first arrived in Copenhagen. It may be recalled that when Michaelis solicited questions from European scholars, one response came from a John Collet in England, who was working with Benjamin Kennicott, the Oxford Theologian and Librarian, on a massive project to produce a more accurate version of the Old Testament. Kennicott’s process involved obtaining manuscript and printed versions of the Hebrew Bible, the older the better, and comparing them letter by letter with existing printed texts, in this case one produced by Everardus van der Hooght in 1705, and one by Brian Walton, the London Polyglot, from the 1650’s.190 Every variation between the manuscripts and the printed reference volumes was recorded meticulously. Collet asked that the expedition attempt to obtain old (more that 900 years) manuscripts of the Hebrew Bible for the purposes of their project.191 When Haven’s manuscripts arrived in Copenhagen in 1764, having been shipped from Egypt before the party left for Yemen, Bernstorff took the initiative to inform Kennicott that the texts were available for examination.192 Without going into the details, over the next five years Bernstorff helped Kennicott in a variety of ways to incorporate Haven’s acquisitions into his research.193 Finally, in 1770, Kennicott was able to report to Bernstorff that he had completed the entire project of collating hundreds of versions of the He189 See the summary by Stig Rasmussen in his “Frederik Christian von Haven og de filologiske resultater,” 335. 190 Everardus van der Hooght, Biblia Hebraica punctata, secundum ultimatum editionem, 4 vols. in 8 (Amsterdam, 1705); and Brian Walton, ed., Biblia Sacra polyglotta, 6 vols. (London, 1653–57). 191 See Collet to Michaelis, 1 August 1760, RaK, AR, Case 3–001, Nr. 86h. For a full description of Kennicott’s project see William Kane, “Benjamin Kennicott: An Eighteenth Century Researcher,” The Journal of Theological Studies 28, Part 2 (1977): 445–463; and Egon Keck, “De hebraiske manuskripter og Kennicott-biblen,” in Den Arabiske Rejse, ed. Rasmussen, 339–345. 192 Bernstorff to Kennicott, 31 March 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 33. It should be noted that Haven believed their age to be more than a thousand years, but analysis of the documents shows some of them date from around 1460. Keck, “De hebraiske manuskripter og Kennicott-biblen,” 342. 193 Bernstorff arranged for Professor Kall and a team of Divinity Professors to collate the texts in Copenhagen according to Kennicott’s strict written instructions. That work was completed by the end of 1767. Subsequently, Kennicott thought two of the manuscripts were so interesting that he wanted to examine them himself. Bernstorff had them sent by secure mail to the Danish Ambassador in London. For all of this see, Kennicott to Bernstorff, 14 August 1764, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 33a; Bernstorff to Thott, 12 February 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 49; Thott to Bernstorff, 28 February 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 49a; Thott to Kall, 28 February 1765, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 49b; Bernstorff to Kennicott, 19 March 1765, RaK, Case 3–004, Nr. 55; Kennicott to Bernstorff, 27 December 1767, Nr. 114a; Kennicott to Bernstorff, 21 September 1768, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 116; and Bernstorff to Kennicott, 10 June 1769, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 117.

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brew Bible which he believed would then serve as the basis for the compilation of a new, more accurate text.194 In this way, Haven’s handful of Hebrew Codices were a small part of a large Enlightenment enterprise, managed with great effectiveness by Kennicott, involving many countries and researchers across Europe.195 However, in the context of the dramatic changes in the second half of the 18th Century in the discipline of biblical philology, Kennicott’s project was a hold over from an earlier era at the same time that it employed a partially new methodology. As William Kane has noted, “To those in the eighteenth century, who were attached to the Authorized Version as a final expression of Revelation, the scientific principles of his collation, and the new Hebrew text of the Old Testament, which was his avowed objective, must have constituted a dire threat.”196 However, to someone like Michaelis, Kennicott’s approach was hopelessly out-of-date and based on assumptions that were fundamentally wrong-headed. Because it postulated the existence of a single, revealed “original text” that could be recovered, Kennicott’s method was completely counter to the notion of the Bible as an historically-derived religious document, that is a textus receptus of the first or second century A. D.197 Thus in a curious, but representative way, the purchases of the manuscripts by Haven were inspired by the new trends in Biblical scholarship at the same time that they served a methodologically-modernized version of the traditional view of the Bible, which was in the process of being replaced. This little vignette also demonstrates through Bernstorff ’s personal involvement that one of the original interests behind his support for Michaelis’ proposal in 1756, namely the use of science to better understand the Holy Scripture, was still important to him at the very end of his long career. To conclude, the only substantive contributions that Haven made to an increased knowledge of the Middle East or to a better understanding of the Bible, was his purchase of numerous and important manuscripts, and modest additions to the lexicographical knowledge of Arabic. As mentioned previously, his weaknesses as a field researcher and the limits of the discipline he was pursuing meant that the role of philology as a fruitful field of inquiry in the work of the expedition was much reduced.

194 Kennicott to Bernstorff, June 13, 1770, RaK, AR, Case 3–004, Nr. 122a. For his finished work see, Benjamin Kennicott, Vetus Testamentum hebraicum cum variis lectionibus, 2 Vols. (Oxford, 1776–1780). 195 The project was based on a subscription model of funding headed by the Archbishop of Canterbury. As a result Kennicott was able to raise the very substantial sum of £ 9,117 to cover the costs of the enterprise. To keep the subscribers informed, he issued annual reports, which Bernstorff also received. Thus its scale was impressive. Kane, “Benjamin Kennicott: An Eighteenth-Century Researcher,” 446–447. For the annual reports see, Benjamin Kennicott, The ten annual accounts of the collation of Hebrew MSS of the Old Testament (Oxford, 1770). 196 Kane, “Benjamin Kennicott: An Eighteenth-Century Researcher,” 463. 197 Ibid., 458–460.

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Looked at in their entirety, the scholarly results of the Danish Expedition are both interesting and very substantial. They contributed to a wide range of disciplines, and encompass findings that were of high quality. They demonstrate the seriousness of the scientific focus of the expedition and the importance of Niebuhr’s efforts to ensure that they were published. Whether in the natural sciences, or in cultural geography, cartography, antiquities, and the acquisition of manuscripts, the work of the Danish Expedition added immensely to European knowledge of parts of the Middle East. The substance and focus of the scientific work is important also because it represents, in part, a transition from seeing the Middle East as a region that served to explain for Europeans a part of their heritage, that is the origins of the Bible and the Egyptian-Greco-Roman tradition, to seeing it as a part of the so-called Great Map of Mankind that was deserving of understanding on its own, a topic we will return to shortly. The Evaluation of Niebuhr’s Works in the 18th Century and Since

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he merits of Niebuhr’s works were immediately appreciated in his own day, and have continued to be recognized by scholars down to the present. The reviews of his publications in the 18th Century were overwhelmingly, but not exclusively, positive. For example reviews of the Beschreibung applauded the wealth of new geographic information it contained and called it “an unforgettable monument” to the commitment to science by the King of Denmark. Considering the deaths of the members, it exceeded all expectations. Another reviewer in Denmark wrote “Because of his [Niebuhr’s] diligence the geography of Asia has been greatly illuminated.” Most reviewers appreciated that Niebuhr “had no disposition, whatsoever, to the wondrous,” but rather to the truth, although one wrote that he realized this might not be appealing to readers “curious about adventure.”198 Of course, a few did not like Niebuhr’s dry style and at least one writer believed that insufficient attention was devoted to answering Michaelis’ Fragen, and regretted that the volume had no index.199 It should be remembered that Michaelis’ volume of questions had been published in 1762 and had been translated into several languages. It was well known in Europe, and really was the only published context through which readers had prior knowledge of the expedition. Thus, their expectations for Niebuhr were understandable. The reviews for the Reisebeschreibung were even more positive. One reviewer confessed that he “was amazed at the industry of the man, in that he was able to gather so much geographical information, accurately supported by astronomical 198 See Göttingische Anzeigen von gelehrten Sachen (1773): 457–471 (esp. 457–459); the Kiøbenhavns Kongelig privilegerede Adresse-Contoirs Kritiske Journal (1772): 257–264; and Anton Friedrich Büschings Wöchentliche Nachrichten von neuen Landcharten, Geographischen, Statistischen und Historischen Bücher und Sachen, Vol. II, Nr. 15, 11 April 1774, 116. 199 Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek 23 (1774): 58–104, esp. 59–60.

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observations, and also to draw so many maps and plans of the towns.” The writing, or presentation, he added, could be more engaging, but he appreciated that “Niebuhr gives us nothing but fruits unlike many other travel writers who present only flowers.”200 Another contemporary writer held up Niebuhr’s work as an ideal example of what was a travel writer’s duty, that is to present an account that was accurate, comprehensive, clear and honest – devoid of any “makeup or bluster” (Schminke und Windmacherei). He saw Niebuhr to be a man who was “industrious and tireless, without prejudice and superstition.”201 Many reviews not only evaluated the merits of the work, but also presented extensive summaries of its contents, which sometimes ran to over 30 pages. This was typical for the period. In this way, the many journals of the 18th Century played a decisive role in the rapid and inexpensive dissemination of new scholarly works. On the whole, however, Niebuhr’s works were never popular with the general interest reading public in Europe. Although translated at the time into French, English and Dutch, they were never reprinted in Germany or Denmark until the 20th Century. Still they appealed to geographers, historians and other intellectual figures in the 18th Century. Herder, for example, consulted his work on a number of occasions, used it on a limited basis in some of his main works, and wrote a small essay on Persepolis stimulated by Niebuhr’s description of the site.202 We will return to this essay in the conclusion. Based on the loan records in the Library in Weimar, Goethe also read Niebuhr’s works and prized them. In fact, in 1811, he wrote to Niebuhr’s son, Barthold Georg Niebuhr, that “You carry a name which I have learned to honor since my youth,” and he asked for a sheet written in Niebuhr’s own hand as a memento. Niebuhr’s son sent him an unpublished manuscript of his father’s entitled, “Bemerkungen über Habbessinien (Observations on Abyssinia),” which today is in the autograph collection of the Goethe-Haus in Weimar.203 Because of his writings and especially his approach to travel Niebuhr was a much admired role model for Alexander von Humboldt and he inspired students at Göttingen, in particular, to be interrested in exploration.204 Later German geographers, such as Carl Ritter, held his work in high esteem.205 Niebuhr was appreciated outside of Denmark and 200 Allgemeine deutsche Bibliothek 25 (1775): 119–157, esp. 119. 201 Anton Friedrich Büschings Wöchentliche Nachrichten von neuen Landcharten, Geographischen, Statistischen und Historischen Bücher und Sachen, Vol. III, Nr. 15, 10 April 1775, 115–116. 202 See Heide Hollmer and Albert Meier, “‘Im Glauben an diese alte Asiatische Cultur Einig’, Carsten Nieburs Spuren bei Johann Gottfried Herder,” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 325–340. 203 Katharina Mommsen, Goethe und die arabische Welt (Frankfurt, 1988), 25–27. Also see Hans-Joachim Schreckenbach, Goethe’s Autographensammlung Katalog (Weimar, 1961), #1181, 64; and Goethe to B. G. Niebuhr, 27 November 1811, in Goethes Briefe, Vol. III (Hamburg, 1965), Nr. 951, 171. 204 Beck, Alexander von Humboldt, I: 21 and 36, II: 156 and 204, and Kurt Schleucher, Alexander von Humboldt. Der Mensch. Der Forscher. Der Schriftsteller (Darmstadt, 1984), 48, 59, and 146–147. 205 For example, Carl Ritter, Die Erdkunde von Asien, Vol. VIII, Part 1. Die Halbinsel Arabien

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Germany as well. His work was valued by French scholars as has already been mentioned, and in Great Britain, Edward Gibbon used his work as he prepared the sections on Arabia for The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Gibbon praised Niebuhr’s works as providing “the most recent and authentic intelligence of the Turkish Empire in Arabia.”206 Among specialists in the Middle East, it is remarkable to see how over 200 years this positive regard for Niebuhr’s work has endured. For example, in 1804, one German geographer was rhapsodic over Niebuhr’s achievement. He wrote: “… with what a wealth of mathematical, astronomical-practical, geographical, philological, [and] physical knowledge – with what exertion, intelligence, circumspection, freedom from bias, perseverance [and] orderliness did he not gather throughout the entire Ottoman regions of Asia the ever lasting treasure that we possess in his works. With what a gift for clarity and sense of modesty did he bring this to the attention of the world.”207 In the middle of the 19th Century, one historian of Yemen wrote: “In spite of the fact that more than a century has elapsed since the expedition took place, we have never since been given a clearer or more interesting and valuable account of Yemen… No one can overestimate the value of Niebuhr’s work.”208 Then at the beginning of the 20th Century, the Oxford geographer of the Middle East, David George Hogarth wrote: “The primacy … always accorded to Niebuhr among Arabian travelers is not due to his priority in time, but to the priority of his merit.” He went on “Niebuhr may claim to be not only the first truly scientific man who has described the peninsula, but one who has seen the land and its life with a vision as clear, comprehensive, and as sane as any successor’s.”209 Even as perspectives changed in the 20th Century, Niebuhr’s account continued to be valued highly by scholars. In a practical sense, the work of Niebuhr and Forsskål, and the methodological approach of the expedition as presented by Niebuhr, continued to serve as a model for modern day researchers. Concerning an expedition to Yemen in the 1980’s, the expedition leader has written, “A seven member team, we approached the Tihāmah as a geographical and cultural entity which, though in no sense isolated, was quite distinct from the highland and interior Arabia. Niebuhr’s expedition was a model in its quality of observation and documentation, and the same multidisciplinary format offered us the opportunity of collaboration between seemingly disparate disciplines.”210Also in a broader context, Niebuhr’s volumes have retained significance. For example, Albert Hourani’s classic (Berlin, 1846) passim. 206 Edward Gibbon, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (London, 1835), 903 fn. b. Gibbon consulted the French translations of the Beschreibung (1773) and of Vol. I of the Reisebeschreibung (1776). See the notes on pages 900–934. 207 Henze, Enzyklopädie der Entdecker und Erforscher der Erde, 611. 208 Cited in David George Hogarth, The Penetration of Arabia. A Record of the Development of Western Knowledge concerning the Arabian Peninsula (New York, 1904), 53 209 Hogarth, The Penetration of Arabia, 52 and 57. 210 Stones, ed. Studies on the Tihāhmah, ix.

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work, A History of the Arab Peoples (1991), lists only one reference for 18th Century Arabia in its long bibliography, Niebuhr’s Reisebeschreibung, and other recent historians of Arabia could now take a longer view of Niebuhr’s efforts. As they commented, “Niebuhr’s tenacity in returning home and publishing the story of their adventures gives him an honoured place in the history of travel and exploration. But his account of Arabia, though welcomed by scholars, did not achieve wide popular success. Its unliterary style and the sheer density of the factual information in it made it dull for the average reader. Later generations, however, reversing the judgement of his times, have learned to value the Travels in Arabia for these very qualities. Because his writing is simple and unrhetorical, it serves to impart new knowledge with admirable clarity. And his unassuming modesty which never sought to impress anybody ensures that he never indulges in fanciful exaggeration or embellishment.” They concluded their assessment with, “The reader is left with the final impression that it was Niebuhr’s humility which enabled him to win the confidence of those he questioned, and to set down straight the information he received. His story is never ‘dashed with a little of the marvelous’ as he admits Arab stories are prone to be. Nor was he ever condescending towards the Arabs …. Such was the honesty and objectivity with which Niebuhr, writing in his homely, unpolished German, prepared the notes of his travels for publication. Later generations have cause to be grateful for the work of this shrewd and humane observer of the Arabian scene.”211 The consistency of the terminology used to describe Niebuhr’s work over a period of two centuries is striking. His hard work, dedication to accuracy, open-mindedness, cultural generosity, unpretentiousness and humanity proved to be timeless qualities appreciated in each age. Epilogue Niebuhr’s Return to a Rural Tradition: The Meldorf Years, 1778–1815

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n April 6, 1778, Niebuhr was appointed Justizrat (Councilor) and Landschreiber, or Royal Tax Official, for the rural district of Süderdithmarschen.212 The administrative seat of the district was the old market town of Meldorf, a community of just 2,000 people, located by the low-lying marshes, dykes and polders, or Koogs, on the coast just north of the Elbe Estuary. Meldorf would be Niebuhr’s home for the rest of his life – 37 years. For the most part, his life during this period lies outside the focus of our study, and will be discussed therefore very 211 Freeth, Zahra, and Winstone, H. V. F., Explorers of Arabia from the Renaissance to the end of the Victorian era (London, 1978), 85–86, and 89. 212 Hirsch, Danske og Norske Officerer 1648–1814, Vol. VII, 4 (Müns-Nob), Niebuhr, Carsten. He resigned his commission in the Engineers Corps on May 25, 1778. The responsibilities of the Landschreiber are outlined in Reimer Witt, “Die Verwaltung Süderdithmarschens – Entwicklung und Besonderheiten 1559–1900,” in Süderdithmarschen 1581–1970, ed. Nis R. Nissen (Heide, 1970), 12.

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briefly. However, it does provide an opportunity to further highlight several attributes of Niebuhr that are essential to understanding his outlook and work on the expedition, specifically his preference for a rural environment with a less hierarchical social structure, and his interest in education. These years are a reaffirmation of who Niebuhr really was.213 The transfer to Dithmarschen was a move Niebuhr chose voluntarily. At first glance it may seem curious that Denmark’s most famous and experienced world traveler should end up in one of the monarchy’s most isolated regions. But Niebuhr had his reasons. First, by 1778, he was a family man, with a wife and two small children. Five years earlier, he had married Christiane Sophia Blumenberg, the daughter of a physician to the crown in Copenhagen. In his typical down-to-earth manner, Niebuhr wrote of his bride that, “he had not been seeking wealth and a noticeable beauty, and his wife was no longer really young [she was thirty-one], but he had found a good woman.”214 Over the years, Niebuhr’s nephew, Schmeelke, and others agreed that Niebuhr had chosen well. Christiane Sophia was admired for her intelligence, conviviality and kindness to people regardless of their station in life. Unfortunately, she was frequently in poor health and this, it appears, sometimes made her anxious about the health of their children as well. The damp climate of the North Sea coast probably did not help. In 1774, she gave birth to a daughter, Christiane Dorothea, and two years later to a son, Barthold Georg. The daughter never married, but lived with her parents, helping them both with apparently great competence when they were old.215 Barthold Georg Niebuhr went on to a distinguished career as a government official in Denmark and later Prussia, during the Era of Reform. He later served as Prussia’s minister to the Vatican. Subsequently, as a famous historian of Ancient Rome, and as a Professor of History at the newly established University in Bonn, he was one of the founders of the modern study of history as a critical discipline in the Nineteenth Century.216 Thus, despite thinking at one time about making an expedition 213 The best discussion of Niebuhr’s Meldorf years is in Lohmeier, “Ein Leben im Zeichen der Arabischen Reise: Carsten Niebuhr,” 223–230. An introductory biographical summary for Niebuhr, including a useful bibliography, may be found in Reimer Hansen, “Zur Biographie Carsten Niebuhrs (1733–1815),” in Landesgeschichte und Landesbibliothek. Studien zur Geschichte und Kultur Schleswig-Holsteins. Hans F. Rothert zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Dieter Lohmeier and Renate Paczkawski (Heide, 2001), 231–242. 214 Lohmeier, “Heinrich Wilhelm Schmeelkes Biographie,” 204. Also see Niebuhr to Kästner, 17 July 1773, Biblioteka Jagiellonska, Cracow. Autographensammlung, Niebuhr (courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier). 215 For a discussion of Christiane Niebuhr see Reimer Hansen, “Christiane Niebuhr – ‘Beratherin und Helferin aller Bedürftigen’. Die Tochter Casten Niebuhrs im geschlechtergeschichtlichen Kontext der Familie,” Dithmarschen 3 (2012): 2–16. Also see her letters written with her father in BBAW, Nachlass B. G. Niebuhr, Nr. 230. 216 The literature of B. G. Niebuhr is substantial. Useful recent works are Peter Hanns Reill, “Barthold Georg Niebuhr and the Enlightenment Tradition,” German Studies Review 1 (1980): 9–26; Gerrit Walther, Niebuhrs Forschung (Stuttgart, 1993); Gerhard Wirth, ed., Barthold Georg

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to Central Africa, or being obligated as an officer to do cartographic work in Norway, Niebuhr decided to settle down and focus on his family. As he wrote Michaelis at the time: “For my part I now wish to have peace and to educate the children that I have and which God may grant me. Specifically, I am going as Landschreiber to Süderdithmarschen and will soon live in Meldorf.”217 Of course, Niebuhr did not want to bring up his children just anywhere, but in a setting he loved, namely a rural one, preferably close to home and to the sea. This he made clear in a draft of a light-hearted letter to a friend about the impending move to Meldorf, “You must know, my dear friend, that this [Meldorf ] is separated only by the Elbe from my fatherland, the world famous Land Hadeln. I was born in the air of the Elbe, and I enjoyed it so much that I would like to provide the same for my family …. Meldorf lies in the sandy uplands (Geest)but close by the marsh; this is exactly the kind of area that is especially appealing to me. One lives there without so much turmoil as in the capital; and on a moderate income, one can live there much better than in Copenhagen. Here to be sure, I live in a Royal Palace; but what is that in comparison to a house in a town in Holstein that you reside in alone, where you can have a garden behind the house, where the children can run around from morning to night, and where you can have your own cow, and certainly also a horse ….”218 It was not just the rural setting and sea air that reminded him of his birthplace. It was also its culture and social structure. Dithmarschen, like Hadeln, was historically a region with a free peasantry. Based on a heritage of a robust clan culture and social and institutional arrangements that had evolved because of the region’s constant battle with the sea, Dithmarschen never developed a traditional noble class. As Marc Bloch explained: “Where men of all ranks were able to rely for support on other forms of strength and solidarity than personal protection – kindred groups, especially among the Frisians, the people of Dithmarschen and the Celts, kindred groups again among the Scandinavians, but also institutions of public law of the type common to the Germanic peoples – neither the relationship of dependence peculiar to territorial lordship nor vassalage and the fief invaded the whole of social life.”219 Such arrangements, as Bloch points out, were not unique in Europe. Strong free peasant societies existed in some cantons of Switzerland, elsewhere in the Alps (Kempton in Bavaria, for example), and along most of the North Sea coast from Holland north into Denmark. But with the exception of Switzerland, none of these Niebuhr. Historiker und Staatsmann. Historische Forschungen, Vol. 52 (Bonn, 1984); and Barthold C. Witte, Der preussische Tacitus: Aufsteig, Ruhm u. Ende d. Historikers Barthold Georg Niebuhr 1776– 1831 (Düsseldorf, 1979), the author is a member of the Niebuhr family. 217 Niebuhr to Michaelis, 2 May 1778, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 318–319. 218 Niebuhr to Carl Friedrich Spies, draft, n. d. (April, 1778), BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 27. Also see, Dieter Lohmeier, “‘Mann, Spies wird denken, es rappelt bei dir’. Warum es vernünftig ist, von Kopenhagen nach Meldorf zu ziehen: Carsten Niebuhr erklärt einem Freund,” Dithmarscher Landeszeitung, 16 January 2010, p. W22. 219 Marc Bloch, Feudal Society, 2 vols (Chicago, 1964),1: 248.

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developed the set of institutions that characterized Dithmarschen. From 1227–1559 it was a Bauernrepublik, a Peasant Republic. In the 15th and 16th Centuries, the Republic had an executive council, a representative assembly, its own legal institutions and an army – all based on a robust culture of self-government at the parish level. The Republic had the capacity to raise revenues, wage war and negotiate peace.220 Although eventually conquered by Frederik II of Denmark as a result of the defeat of the Dithmarschen army in 1559, the province retained a large number of special constitutional privileges into modern times and self government at the parish level survived.221 The culture continued to be profoundly anti-aristocratic and one that extolled the virtues of a free peasantry. Thus, when Niebuhr learned of an opening for the post of Landschreiber in Meldorf, he seized the opportunity. It was as close to the culture of Hadeln as he could get while still staying in the employ of the Danish monarchy. His decision, therefore, was a product of Niebuhr’s basic values. He still preferred a rural community, even after living in Copenhagen and exploring the Middle East, and a society of commoners as opposed to one that was more stratified. As his son later wrote of his father, “He was and remained throughout his entire life, a true peasant, with all the virtues, and also the small failings of his class.”222 Niebuhr was proud of his peasant heritage. When once his nephew inquired of him, upon seeing his name listed in the newspaper as “Lieutenant von Niebuhr,” whether he had been admitted into the nobility, Niebuhr replied, “No…, I would not disgrace my family in such a way.”223 True to his word, when later he was offered elevation in the nobility by the government, he declined.224 This sense of pride in the common man was so pronounced in Niebuhr, that even years later in 1823, after his death, his son still would not consider an elevation into the nobility because he thought “it would be insulting to the memory of his father.”225 Other factors probably also influenced Niebuhr’s decision to move to Meldorf. Certainly the political environment in Copenhagen in the 1770’s, as we have noted, 220 The literature on the history of Dithmarschen is quite extensive. Useful as an introduction are Heinz Stoob, Geschichte Dithmarschen im Regentenzeitalter (Heide, 1959); William L. Urban, Dithmarschen. A Medieval Peasant Republic, Medieval Studies Vol. 7 (Lewiston, 1991), which contains comparative information with other parts of Europe, and the more expansive work, Geschichte Dithmarschens, edited by Martin Gietzelt (Heide, 2000), esp. 71–240. 221 Indeed in Niebuhr’s time, the official title of the Monarch retained Dithmarschen as a separate entity, as seen for example in the opening of the Royal Instructions to the expedition, namely “Wir Friederich der Fünfte, von Gottes Gnaden König zu Dännemark, Norwegen, der Wenden und Gothen, Herzog zu Schleswig und Holstein, Stormarn und Dithmarschen, Graf zu Oldenburg und Delmenhorst u. s. w. …” 222 B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 79. 223 Lohmeier, “Heinrich Wihelm Schmeelkes Biographie,” 197. 224 B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 81. 225 Gerrit Walther, “Wie der Sohn des Entdeckers den Vater des Forschers sah,” Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 99, n. 34. This tradition ended with the son of B. G. Niebuhr, Markus von Niebuhr, who rose to become the Private Secretary to Frederick William IV of Prussia, and accepted admittance into the Prussian nobility.

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was characterized by a strong pro-Danish and anti-German mood. This may have reinforced his desire to move to the German-speaking part of the Danish monarchy, although he does not mention this specifically. However, we do know that at the time he looked forward to being in Holstein, where, he wrote, “everybody speaks Plattdeutsch.”226 Meldorf may have been a small town, but it was not without resources. As Niebuhr pointed out it had two parish magistrates, three pastors, a physician, surgeon and midwife, and, he emphasized, there was in Dithmarschen as a whole, “God forbid, Amen!” an abundance of lawyers.227 He immediately set to work to make it a comfortable home for his family. He designed and supervised the renovation and expansion of a handsome house in the center of town, facing the Meldorf Dom. On the third floor he built an observatory. The house is still standing today, in a fine state of repair, with a plaque recognizing its original owner and his son. In the beginning, the sister of Niebuhr’s wife, who moved with them from Copenhagen, also lived with the family until she married the Landschreiber of a neighboring district. Born in Copenhagen the two sisters spoke Danish to each other in the home. In 1781, Niebuhr’s intellectual and social life was suddenly enlivened by the appointment of Heinrich Christian Boie as Landvogt, or District Governor. Boie was a leading facilitator and organizer of literary life in Germany in the last decades of the 18th Century.228 He was a member of the Göttingen Hain, but is most significant as the founder of the Göttingen Musenalmanach, Germany’s first journal of poetry. He published some of Goethe’s early poems. Then in 1776, he and Christian Wilhelm Dohm (1751–1820), the latter best known for the championing of Jewish emancipation in Germany, founded the Deutsches Museum, one of the first literary journals intended to reach a reading public throughout all of Germany.229 Through these activities Boie had contact with many of the leading figures of the Late Enlightenment in the North. Boie was born in Meldorf in 1742, the son of a local pastor. This was important because according to the laws of the province, only a native Dithmarscher could be appointed by the King to the position of Landvogt.

226 Niebuhr to Christian Friedrich Spies, n. d., draft (probably April 1778), BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 27. 227 Ibid. 228 On Boie see Dieter Lohmeier, Urs Schmidt-Tollgreve and Frank Trende, eds., Heinrich Christian Boie. Literarische Mittler in der Goethezeit (Heide, 2008); Urs Schmidt-Tollgreve, Heinrich Christian Boie. Leben und Werk (Husum, 2004); and Wolf D. Konenkamp, ed., “Heinrich Christian Boie. Literat und Landvogt 1744–1806,” Dithmarschen, N. F. (1995): 1–36 (Sonderausgabe). 229 See especially Dieter Lohmeier, “Der Intendant auf dem deutschen Parnaß. Heinrich Christian Boie im literarischen Leben Deutschlands,” in Heinrich Christian Boie, ed. Lohmeier, et al., 53–82. Also Walther Hofstaetter, Innere Geschichte von H. C. Boies “Deutschem Museum” 1776–1791 (Leipzig, 1907). Dohm also produced the first German edition of Kaempfer’s work on Japan.

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Boie had been seeking more secure employment; thus, when the position opened, it seemed to him to be a good opportunity. Boie and his wife became Niebuhr’s closest friends. They appear to have gotten together almost daily as Boie’s correspondence is filled with references to the Niebuhrs.230 Boie also founded a reading society in Meldorf which brought together about 40 residents in the district – officials, merchants, attorneys, two housewives, teachers, physicians, a pharmacist and a craftsman. Niebuhr was a member.231 Also, Boie’s sister was married to Johann Heinrich Voss, the famous translator of Homer, who lived nearby in Eutin. Coincidentally, he had previously been the head of the Latin School in Otterndorf in Hadeln, which Niebuhr had attended as a boy. Both Boie and Voss assisted in the education of Niebuhr’s children. Thus until Boie’s death, Niebuhr was part of a little cultural community in the town. Meldorf may have been rural, but it provided, for a time, a modest window to the world for Niebuhr, and it kept him in touch with cultural developments in Germany and Denmark.232 Moreover, it appears that it was Boie who encouraged Niebuhr to get back to writing and to submit some articles for Boie’s journal. As a result, between 1781 and 1791, Niebuhr wrote 21 articles for the Deutsches Museum and its successor the Neues deutsches Museum. They were mainly on topics connected to the Arabian journey, such as two long articles on the institutions of the Ottoman Empire, a short item on Persepolis and descriptions of various religious groups. He also did several pieces on Africa and North Africa.233 All together, Niebuhr published between the years 1781 and 1804 over 40 articles and letters in Boie’s journals and in the publications of others, such as Zach’s Monatliche Correspondenz.234 A full discussion, or even a summary, of Niebuhr’s later work is outside the focus of this study. However, it is clear from the above, that within three years of his arrival in Meldorf, Niebuhr was busy once again writing. A lot of the credit for this must go to his friend Boie.

230 See Ilse Schreiber, “Ich war wohl klug, daß ich dich fand.” Heinrich Christian Boie’s Briefwechsel mit Luise Mejer, 1777–85 (Munich, 1963), passim; and Urs Schmidt-Tollgreve, “Über die Freundschaft Heinrich Christian Boies mit Carsten Niebuhr,” in. Heinrich Christian Boie, ed. Lohmeier, et al., 251–262. 231 See Alexander Ritter, “Gelehrter Mentor für bürgerliche Lektürekultur in der ländlichen Kleinstadt: Heinrich Christian Boie und die Lesergesellschaft in Meldorf,” in Lohmeier, et al, eds., Heinrich Christain Boie, 83–102. 232 And from time to time Niebuhr began to have visitors seeking his advice, as for example Count Leopold Berchtold, author of The Patriotic Traveler. Niebuhr helped him with some publishing issues. See Stagl, A History of Curiosity, 223, n. 61. 233 Niebuhr maintained a lively and sympathetic interest in Africa and its languages almost until his death. See for example, Carsten and Christiane Niebuhr to B. G. Niebuhr, 13 and 28 May and 26/27 August 1810, BBAW, Nachlass B. G. Niebuhr, Nr. 230. 234 For a full listing of Niebuhr’s publications, see, H. Ehrencron-Müller, Forfatterlexicon omfattende Danmark, Norge og Island indtil 1814, Vol. VI, MY-RE (Copenhagen, 1929), 77–81.

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Niebuhr also continued to write to a wide variety of people, including letters to Michaelis, usually in response to questions that Michaelis had, an interesting exchange with Friedrich Nicolai that lasted until 1809, 44 letters to Oluf Gerhard Tychsen, mainly about Persepolis, and a correspondence with the French orientalist, Antoine Isaac Sylvestre de Sacy, most of which has been lost.235 It should also be noted that Niebuhr continued to maintain contact with the Bernstorff family. Much to his satisfaction, Andreas Peter von Bernstorff was called back into the government in 1784. He was one of the leaders of the movement for land reform and emancipation of the peasantry in Denmark that by the beginning of the 19th Century would transform the structure and psychology of life in most of Denmark’s rural areas. It was probably because of Niebuhr’s connection with A. P. Bernstorff that Barthold Georg secured a position as private secretary to the influential Ernst Carl Schimmelmann, the Danish Minister of Finance and patron of Schiller.236 In early 1792, Niebuhr returned to work on the third volume of the Reisebeschreibung, and he hoped to finish it the following year.237 However, the completion of the book was delayed and in 1795 all of the copper plates for the illustrations in the Niebuhr and Forsskål volumes were destroyed in the great fire in Copenhagen that year.238 Thereafter he appears to have lost interest in the project.239 From time to time, Niebuhr still took care of the affairs connected with his books on the expedition. They did not sell well. For example, 15 years after the publication of the 235 For Niebuhr’s continued correspondence with Michaelis, see NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 320–328. For the letters to Nicolai, see the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Nachlass Nicolai 53: Niebuhr, Carsten. The correspondence with Tychsen, is discussed in Martin Krieger, “Zwischen Meldorf und Bützow. Carsten Niebuhr’s Korrespondenz mit Oluf Gerhard Tychsen, “ in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, pp. 341–356. For de Sacy, see BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 20; Niebuhr to B. G. Niebuhr, 24/25 July 1799, BBAW, Nachlass B. G. Niebuhr, Nr. 230; B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 62; Lohmeier, “Ein Leben im Zeichen der Arabischen Reise: Carsten Niebuhr,” 228; and Detalle, “Die dänische Expeditionen nach Arabien, Carsten Niebuhr und Frankreich,” 7–8. 236 For some of the letters to and from A. P. Bernstorff see BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 9. See especially A. P. Bernstorff to Niebuhr of 8 May 1784, 5 December 1795, 5 November 1795, and 27 February 1796. Also see Niebuhr to A. P. Bernstorff, 29 November 1795. 237 Niebuhr to Henr. Wilhelm Lawätz, 5 February 1792, and Niebuhr to Friedrich August Wendeborn, February 1792 both UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, File 14, Nrs. 2. and 3, respectively. It seems likely that Niebuhr worked on the manuscript of Volume Three intermittently from 1781. See Niebuhr to Büsching, 28 April 1781, Biblioteka Jagiellonska, Craco, Varnhagen-Sammlung, Carton 133 (courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier). 238 Niebuhr to A. P. Bernstorff, 29 November 1795, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 9. 239 Although as late as 1809 he was approached by a French publisher concerning the printing of a new translation of his works, which would include his material for volume three of the Reisebeschreibung. Niebuhr had concerns about the arrangement and did not pursue it. See Carsten and Christiane Niebuhr to B. G. Niebuhr, 8 October 1809, BBAW, Nachlass B. G. Niebuhr, Nr. 230.

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Beschreibung, Breitkopf, the distributor in Leipzig, still had 402 unsold copies, and he had been sent originally only part of the entire run of 2,000.240Some booksellers never paid Niebuhr despite repeated reminders.241 Part of the reason for Niebuhr’s move to Meldorf was his desire to focus on his children’s education. It is an interest he appears to have pursued with a great deal of energy and dedication. Our only really detailed source for what Niebuhr actually did to create a good learning environment for his children comes from his son. It may well be embellished or tinged sometimes with an ambivalence that Barthold Georg had towards his father.242 However, a handful of other letters help to verify the main points, and our discussion will be quite general. Inside or outside, the Niebuhr children appear to have had a fun and stimulating setting in which to grow up. Niebuhr set up a skittles court and cleared areas in the garden for skating in the winter. He helped the children build fortifications, and with the children’s playmates designed defenses and carried out assaults. Together they created an entire fictitious country, Plattengland, evidently modeled on England, which Niebuhr admired, complete with maps, system of government, laws and foreign policy. Tutors helped with reading, writing and numbers, but Niebuhr was evidently dissatisfied frequently with their instruction. He taught the children geography, English, French, some Latin, Greek, history, mathematics and even Arabic, the latter without much success.243 Sadly, the children evidently used the margins of pages cut from unsold copies of Forsskål’s works as scrap paper for their exercises.244 Barthold Georg, who appears to have been a somewhat willful child, seems to have regretted in adulthood that his father did not have a more philosophical and literary bent.245 As the son later wrote, “Abstraction and speculation were foreign to his nature. He had to grasp things concretely.”246 Of course, this is Bart240 Niebuhr to Breitkopf, 21 April 1787, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich, courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier. 241 For example, seven years after being reminded, the Berlin bookseller, Carl Spener, still had not paid Niebuhr. Niebuhr to Carl Spener, 14 April 1793, Schleswig-Holsteinsche Landesbibliothek, Kiel, courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier. 242 On this point see the very thoughtful acticle by Gerrit Walther, “Wie der Sohn des Entdeckers den Vater des Forschers sah. Zum Verhältniss zwischen Carsten und Barthold Georg Niebuhr,” in, Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 85–103. 243 Dore Hensler, Lebensnachrichten über Barthold Georg Niebuhr, Vol. I, Hamburg, 1838, 5–20; B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 54–56; Niebuhr to F. L. and F. A. Eccard, 13 July 1785 and 26 September 1790, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 22. 244 Hensler, Lebensnachrichten über Barthold Georg Niebuhr, 9. Even many years later, Niebuhr was still burdened with an abundance of unsold copies of Forsskål’s work. See Carsten and Christiane Niebuhr to B. G. Niebuhr, 8 October 1809, Nachlass B. G. Niebuhr, Nr. 230. 245 On Barthold Georg’s disposition, see Niebuhr to F. L. Eccard, 20 January 1783, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 25. For his attitude towards his father, see Walther, “Wie der Sohn des Entdeckers den Vater des Forschers sah.” 246 B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 80. Nonetheless some of the father’s methodological approaches to the study of peoples and lands – verification, analogizing, interest in common

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hold Georg looking back as an adult, not as a child. But, Niebuhr’s collection of personal books reflected the son’s characterization. A catalog for the sale of his library after his death, lists 1,622 items. Only a small handful were in fiction or philosophy, the rest were works of geography, history, astronomy and agriculture. He appears to have acquired nearly every major book published in German, French and English on exploration, or on reports from expeditions.247 Clearly his curiosity about the world remained high, but at the same time the pre-romantic themes of the age were not appealing to him at all. Earlier, upon reading Goethe’s Die Leiden des jungen Werthers and then Nicolai’s counter, Die Freuden des jungen Werthers, Niebuhr naturally agreed with the latter. As he wrote to Nicolai, “Werther could have been happy if he had just been reasonable.”248 Not surprisingly, Niebuhr also introduced music, dance and drawing; he loved to play his violin so that the children and their friends could dance around the house. He even hired a dance teacher. Niebuhr’s efforts must have paid off. After a celebration one evening, when the children were still just ten and eight years of age, Boie could write, “the best dancer was Niebuhr’s daughter. To see her waltzing with her brother is really most delightful.”249 Frequently instead of fairy tales, the children heard bedtime stories based on Niebuhr’s travels and his knowledge of the world. As his son wrote, “The stories of Muhammad, the first Caliphs, specifically Omar and Ali, for whom he had the greatest veneration (Verehrung), the conquests and expansion of Islam, the virtues of the reigning heroes of the new faith [and] stories of the Turks were impressed upon me early on with great drama.”250 Niebuhr’s approach may not have been very theoretical, but it was certainly lively. It was the result of dedication to learning on his part. As he wrote in a letter in 1785, “The all mighty gives us joy to experience our children, so let us not falter to apply all care to their education.”251 Although later reporting dissatisfaction with the isolated, rural setting of Meldorf, the son describes a happy childhood, and he certainly was successful later in school where he was somewhat of a prodigy. He atpeople, etc., may have had an impact on B. G. Niebuhr’s approach to History. For some of these aspects of B. G. Niebuhr’s historical work, see Reill, “Barthold Georg Niebuhr and the Enlightenment Tradition.” However, he did not share Carsten Niebuhr’s respect for the standing of Asian civilizations, such as Ancient Persia, believing in the superiority of the classical heritage of Greece and Rome. On this topic see Josef Wiesehöfer, “‘Sie haben sich durch ihre Schlechtigkeit selbstüberlebt’. Barthold Georg Niebuhr und die Perser der Antike,” in Geschichtsbilder. Festschrift für Michael Salewski zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Thomas Stamm-Kuhlmann, et al. (Wiesbaden, 2003) 201–211. 247 Verzeichniß der Bücherversammlung des seel. Etatsrath Niebuhr, Friedrichstadt, 16 Okt. 1815. 248 Niebuhr to Nicolai, 12 March 1775, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Nachlass Nicolai 53: Niebuhr, Carsten, courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier. 249 Boie to Luis Mejer, 28 August 1784, in Schreiber, “Ich war wohl klug, daß ich dich fand”, 322. Also Niebuhr to Eccard, 26 September 1790, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 22. 250 B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 56 251 Niebuhr to F. L. and F. A. Eccard, 31 July 1785, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 22.

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tended Büsch’s school in Hamburg and then the University in Kiel. By age thirty he knew twenty languages.252 In his later careers he demonstrated great competence and intelligence. His father’s approach to learning surely helped. In 1806, Heinrich Christian Boie died, followed by Niebuhr’s wife in 1807.253 In Niebuhr’s last years he could no longer read because of failing eyesight, and could only write letters with the help of his daughter, Christiane.254 She also took on the responsibility of helping him with his administrative duties which he continued to try to perform.255 She was later assisted by a young official, Johann Nicolai Gloyer. He subsequently succeeded Niebuhr as Landschreiber, and with the encouragement of Christiane, was one of the editors of the last volume of the Reisebeschreibung. In old age, Niebuhr received increased recognition for his achievements. For example, in 1801, he was nominated to become a Foreign Associate of the French Institut des Sciences et des Arts. The Institut was established in 1795 after the five royal academies, such as the Académie des inscriptions et belles lettres, had been abolished by the revolutionary government.256 The eighteen nominees included, in addition to Niebuhr, Johann Gottfried Herder, Thomas Jefferson, Immanuel Kant, Joseph Priestley and Arthur Young. In 1802, Niebuhr, together with Joseph Priestley and Klopstock were finally elected as members and admitted to the Classes des sciences morales et politique.257 Niebuhr was also honored at home by the King. He was promoted to Etatsrat in 1806, and made a Knight of the Order of the Dannebrog in 1809, one of monarchy’s most valued honors for service. Based on his letters to his son and the reports of his daughter he was alert and cheerful until shortly before his death, following a wide range of topics from the affairs of Denmark and Prussia during the closing years of the Napoleonic Wars to developments in Arabia and Ethiopia, 252 All twenty languages are listed in Niebuhr to Heinrich Wilhelm Schmeelke, Spring 1807, BBAW, Nachlass C. Niebuhr, Nr. 27. The proud father concluded: “In the knowledge of languages, he probably has few equals in all of Europe.” 253 Carsten and Christiane Niebuhr to B. G. Niebuhr, 10 November 1807, BBAW, Nachlass B. G. Niebuhr, Nr. 230. 254 Niebuhr was not completely blind during his last years, as is sometimes reported. He could see shapes, shadows and people, and evidently could walk without assistance. As his daughter wrote after his death, “Unser seeliger Vater war nicht eigenlich blind.” Christane Niebuhr to B. G. Niebuhr, 8 May 1815, BBAW, Nachlass B. G. Niebuhr, Nr. 230. But by 1809–1810 his handwriting was becoming increasingly illegible, so he required the help of his daughter. See for example his writing in, Niebuhr to B. G. Niebuhr, 5 August 1810. 255 Carsten and Christiane Niebuhr to B. G. and Amalie Niebuhr, 17 December 1809, BBAW, Nachlass B. G. Niebuhr, Nr. 230. 256 On the Institut, see Roger Hahn, The Anatomy of a Scientific Institution. The Paris Academy of Sciences, 1666–1803 (Berkeley, 1971), 286–312. 257 Detalle, “Die dänische Expedition nach Arabien, Carsten Niebuhr und Frankreich, 9–11. It is probable that de Sacy strongly supported Niebuhr’s candidacy. Niebuhr was a member of the Swedish and Norwegian Academies of Science as well, and had been since his return from the Middle East a member of the Royal Academy of Sciences in Göttingen, B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 79.

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in which he took a special interest.258 He died on April 26, 1815, at the age of 82, a remarkable age given the strains and illnesses of the Arabian Journey, and a sign of his strong constitution. By all reports he had been a much respected official and a beloved figure throughout Dithmarschen, and he was so honored by the people of the district upon his death.259 As we can see from this very brief sketch of Niebuhr’s years in Meldorf, his life there was, in many ways uneventful. Yet it encompassed a synthesis of values that reflected Niebuhr’s makeup: a preference for rural cultures and a society of commoners, devotion to the importance of education and a continued curiosity about the world. In 1778, Niebuhr was presented with a choice about where he would live. The choice he made tells us, in many ways, who he really was. And understanding who he really was is, naturally, one of the keys to analyzing his approach to the study of the Middle East.

258 See the correspondence of Carsten and Christiane Niebuhr with B. G. Niebuhr for the period 1810–1815, BBAW, Nachlass B. G. Niebuhr, Nr. 230. 259 For a full description of the memorial in Meldorf, see Christiane Niebuhr to B. G. Niebuhr, 4 May 1815, BBAW, Nachlass B. G. Niebuhr, Nr. 230.

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he intellectual origins of the Danish Expedition, the field experience of its members and the significance of the expedition’s results comprise a case study of exploration and inter-cultural encounters in the 18th Century. The whole, in its different manifestations, raises a number of interpretive issues. How does the Danish Expedition, as a total endeavor, compare to other European efforts in scientific exploration in the 18th Century? Is it typical of the era, or is it different? Second, within the phenomenon of scientific exploration is the expedition, as represented by the work of Niebuhr and Forsskål, indeed an example of Mary Pratt’s “anti-conquest conquest,” as has been argued recently? Where does it fit in to the discussion on the relationship between scientific investigation in the 18th Century and European imperialism? Third, to what extent can we see in the Arabian Journey evidence of broad shifts or new developments in the nature of European inquiry about the non-European world? Indeed, it presents an opportunity to address the following questions. How does the approach of Niebuhr and Forsskål demonstrate a change in the nature of curiosity? In what ways do their writings manifest a new perspective in the 18th Century towards the cultures of Asia? To what degree does the pursuit of various disciplines by the expedition’s members mirror the evolution in Northern Europe of these same disciplines in a more academic setting? How are Niebuhr’s writings an example of the tension between the notions of universalism and pluralism in the characterization of cultures in the Late Enlightenment, especially as seen in the thinking of Herder? In other words, how does the expedition’s work and

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perspectives inform our understanding of the processes of learning about non-European societies in the context of the later decades of the Enlightenment? t The Danish Expedition to Arabia was a project of the Northern European Enlightenment, and it was the only major scientific expedition in the 18th Century to emanate from Scandinavia or Germany. As a journey of exploration and extra-European inquiry, it was part of a broader enterprise of the European Enlightenment as a whole. Although it shared some of the features of this larger effort, the Danish Expedition was also different. What were these differences and are they sufficiently great to make the expedition more than a case study – something unique? For good reason the 18th Century has been called a second Age of Exploration for Europe. This period saw an abundance of exploratory activity with expeditions dispatched from European countries to virtually the entire globe. Intellectual curiosity, new disciplines of inquiry and geopolitical energy made for a powerful mix. Scientific exploration was another institutional representation of the Enlightenment such as the establishment of scientific academies and the spread of learned journals. At the same time it was intended to project European power to other parts of the world. European exploration in this period was almost always to areas discovered before, known well, and settled for centuries by non-Europeans. These lands were new and “undeveloped” only from a European perspective. The historiography of 18th Century scientific exploration is now immense. The following analysis will be restricted to two questions. First, what precisely is the place of the Danish Expedition in this century-long endeavor of exploration, especially from the perspective of institutional structures and context? Second, how does the Danish experience in the Middle East relate to the extensive debate on the concept of “Colonial Botany,” and the notion of the “anti-conquest conquest”? This question focuses specifically on the role of the natural sciences, through the vehicle of exploration, in promoting the expansion of European political, economic and cultural power worldwide. A brief comparison will examine a variety of European exploration activities, but will focus mainly on the voyages of Captain James Cook. Certainly scientific expeditions had taken place before the Arabian Journey, but some of these were exercises in theoretical measurement, not (at least in their main objectives) ones of broader investigation. Examples are the two expeditions undertaken by the French Académie Royale des Sciences in the 1730’s. One led by the soonto-be famous Pierre-Louis Moreau de Maupertuis, and including the Swedish scientist Anders Celsius, traveled to Lapland; the other, headed by the French mathematician Louis Godin, who was joined by two other mathematicians, Pierre Bouguer and Charles Marie de La Condamine, and seven assistants, sailed to the Viceroyalty of Peru.1 The stated purpose of these trips by the French was to measure 1 The expedition of Maupertuis is analyzed in the excellent study by Mary Terrall, The Man

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the variation in the length of a degree of latitude observed at points separated, under ideal conditions, by a quadrant of the earth’s sphere between the equator and the North Pole.2 The data obtained from the measurements, if accurate, would determine whether the earth was a prolate, or elongated, spheroid, based on Cartesian analysis, or an oblated, or flattened, spheroid, as predicted by Newtonian principles. It is interesting to compare these two expeditions. Theoretically, they both were to maintain a tight focus on mathematics, geometry and astronomy to solve what was essentially a problem of mathematics. Officially the expeditions were indifferent to the environments they were visiting so long as the location met the separation criteria for a good experiment. Maupertuis’ visit to Lapland reflected this approach. It was of limited duration and narrow in its focus. However, the expedition to Quito took on, through modification and happenstance, a broader character. First, the Spanish Bourbon monarchy, dynastically related to France, may have been willing for the first time to open its territories to scientific research by others, but it still wanted to keep an eye on the French scientists. Thus, two young and talented Spanish naval officers, Jorge Juan and Antonio de Ulloa were assigned to monitor the activities of the French expedition. In their secret instructions they were also directed to survey the region, that is to examine its flora, fauna, and mineral resources, and to map its towns and ports. They were also to undertake a study of “the motivation, industry and abilities of native inhabitants, and the bravery or friendliness of the unsettled Indians.”3 Thus a political/ economic dimension was added to the venture. Years later, the investigations of Juan and Ulloa appeared in a five-volume report on the geography, economy, ethnography and natural history of the area. A forerunner of the “Statistik” school of descriptive reporting, it provided the Spanish government with a valuable assessment of the character and potential of this part of its empire.4 Who Flattened the Earth. Maupertuis and the Sciences in the Enlightenment (Chicago, 2002), 35–172. For the expedition to South America see the very interesting and wide ranging discussion of Neil Safier, Measuring the New World. Enlightenment Science and South America (Chicago, 2008). 2 The most complete discussion of the purpose of these expeditions is Michael Rand Hoare, The Quest for the True Figure of the Earth. Ideas and Expeditions in Four Centuries of Geodesy (Aldershot, 2005). For an excellent analysis of the problem of determining the earth’s shape in the first half of the 18th Century, see John L. Greenberg, The Problem of the Earth’s Shape from Newton to Clairaut. The rise of mathematical science in eighteenth-century Paris and the fall of “normal” science (Cambridge, 1995). 3 Safier, Measuring the New World, p. 173. Also see the extensive discussion by Antonio Lafuente, “Una ciencia para el Estado: la expeditión geodésica hispano-francesa al virreinato del Perú, 1734–1743,” Revista de Indias 43 (1983): 549–629. See especially 551–554 for the commercial and manufacturing interests of the Spanish government. 4 See Jorge Juan and Antonio de Ulloa, Relacion histórica del viage a la América meridional hecho de órden de S. Mag. Para medir algunas grados de meridiano terrestie, y venir porellos en conocimento de la veradera figura y magnitude de la tierra, con otras varias observationes astronomicas, y physicas (Madrid, 1748).

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Second, members of the French expedition, most notoriously La Condamine, headed out on their own to investigate the culture, natural history and geography of the region. Most of them were not specifically trained in these other disciplines, nor did they possess much knowledge of indigenous languages, but their impromptu activities added a more expansive perspective to the later stages of the expedition which lasted into the 1740’s. For example, La Condamine returned to France by tracing the route of the Amazon. His published account of his journey commanded great attention in Europe. It is a stellar example of the “survivalist” genre in travel and exploration literature, while also providing a degree of descriptive information on the region. Neil Safier has examined La Condamine’s work in detail and cites it as a demonstration of the practice of the expropriation of information from local inhabitants and sources without attribution or any other kind of acknowledgment, with La Condamine presenting the data as based on his own personal observations. Moreover, La Condamine’s highly negative portrayal of the indigenous people of South America as “lazy, unintelligent, gluttonous, and incapable of rational thought,” had a decisive impact on European perspectives of Amerindians and fed the racist typologies and theories of stages of human development emerging in the 18th Century.5 These two geodesic expeditions are instructive because in the setting of their work on the exact same problem, they demonstrate divergent paths in exploration in the 18th Century. The South American voyage presents many of the fundamental issues that have come to dominate the discussion of scientific exploration. To a degree, the Danish Expedition is an example of the kind of investigation pursued in Peru, not Lapland, but there are obvious differences. The Arabian Journey had no colonial or administrative connection to the region it was visiting, and thus this essential aspect does not figure in its work. However, like the Franco-Spanish project, it combined an interest in measurement – cartography, astronomical observations, tides, climatic data and the like, with a strong multidisciplinary orientation. But, its wider interests were not casual. They had been planned beforehand. Its members were trained and well-prepared in their specific disciplines, and they had knowledge of the local language. According to Michaelis and Bernstorff, their reports were to be scrupulously factual and scholarly. In fact, the stylized and non-scientific travel and exploration accounts, such as La Condamine’s, were exactly the kind of reporting that Michaelis originally objected to. Certainly, an examination of Niebuhr’s approach to gathering, verifying and attributing information shows that it contrasts sharply with that of La Condamine, as did his description of local people. Thus the Danish Expedition, and others like it, represented a maturation of the broad kind of scientific travel inquiry practiced in part by the Franco-Spanish expedition to South America. The later bustle of activity by European scientists and countries to carry out observations of the transits of Venus in 1761 and 1769 were a continuing part of the 5 Safier, Measuring the New World, 70. For La Condamine, also see Pratt, Imperial Eyes, 16–24.

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measurement format.6 We have seen how the 1761 observation was an add-on to the Danish Expedition, and as we shall see, the transit of Venus in 1769 was an impetus for the first voyage of Cook to the Pacific. But as stand-alone activities they disappeared until the 19th Century, when they reemerged to tackle magnetism and other scientific phenomena. Superficially similar to the Danish trip, but fundamentally different in purpose were the clusters of expeditions that used science explicitly to explore, describe, assess and, yes, still measure various parts of the world that were not well known to Europeans, but were coming under their control. These had far greater implications for the relationship of Europe to other regions and cultures than the measurement expeditions. Of course, most of these efforts occurred in newly conquered areas that were subject to the emerging hegemonic, commercial and colonial influence of European and American states. An early and robust example of this category of scientific exploration is The Great Northern Expedition (1733–1744) in the reign of Empress Anna of Russia. In many ways it was the most ambitious and challenging of the European expeditions in the 18th Century. This project involved the undertaking of not one, but many expeditions simultaneously to explore the vast lands of Russia to the east and north, all the way to the Pacific and then beyond to North America.7 Its main expeditionary force involved about 500 people, supported by a like number of soldiers and 2,000 workers.8 Assigned to these ventures by the Imperial Russian Academy of Sciences were teams of scientists and scholars whose assign6 These are described in detail in the standard work by Woolf, The Transits of Venus. 7 One led by the Dane, Captain Vitus Bering, and the one that is best known, sailed across the North Pacific from Kamchatka to North America to explore and assess the Northwestern coast of the North American continent. Another party investigated and charted the northeast Pacific off the coast of Siberia as far south as Japan, and was charged with establishing commercial contacts with the Japanese. Turning inland, six other expeditions were tasked with the work of describing the coast of Siberia from the White Sea to Kamchatka, an undertaking of incredible difficulty. An excellent study of the expedition, accompanied by numerous illustrations, is Wieland Hintzsche and Thomas Nickol, eds. Die Grosse Nordische Expedition. Georg Wilhelm Steller (1709–1746) – ein Lutheraner erforscht Sibirien und Alaska. Eine Ausstellung der Franckeschen Stiftungen zu Halle (Gotha, 1996). The most accessible discussions are by Orcutt Frost, Bering. The Russian Discovery of America (New Haven, 2003); Raymond Fisher, Bering’s Voyages. Whither and Why (Seattle, 1977), 108–179; and Bruce Lincoln in his chapter entitled “The Great Northern Expedition,” in The Conquest of a Continent. Siberia and the Russians (New York, 1994), 143–152. Also useful is Gert Robel, “Die Sibirienexpeditionen und das Deutsche Russlandbild im 18. Jahrhundert, Bemerkungen zur Rezeption von Forschungsergebnisse,” in Wissenschaftspolitik in Mittel-und Osteuropa. Wissenschaftliche Gesellschaften, Akademien und Hochschulen im 18. und beginnenden 19. Jahrhundert, ed. Erik Amburger, Michal Ciesla and Lázló Sziklay (Berlin, 1976), 271– 294; the same author’s “Berichte über Rußlandreisen,” in Russen und Rußland aus deutscher Sicht 18. Jahrhundert: Aufklärung (Munich, 1987), esp. 227–239; F. A. Golder, Russian Expansion in the Pacific, 1641–1850 (Gloucester, 1960), 165–250; and Leonard Stejneger, Georg Wilhelm Steller: the Pioneer of Alaskan Natural History (Cambridge, 1936), 90–503. 8 Frost, Bering, 74.

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ments were to investigate and describe the geography, cultures, languages and natural history of the lands they traversed, most especially in Siberia. In the years 1768–1774, this kind of enterprise was continued under Catherine the Great, with the Academy organizing a similar set of expeditions to the more southeastern parts of the empire.9 The Great Northern Expedition is especially notable for its early and formal utilization of botany, zoology, ethnography, linguistics, topography, geography and astronomy, and for significant scientific findings in these disciplines.10 But the overriding purpose of these expeditions was not scholarship or science. It was the enhancement of the ability of the Russian state to assess the potential value of the lands it was taking over and to control and exploit the people it had conquered. Halfway around the globe, similar enterprises later took place in Spain’s American Empire. In fact between 1760 and 1788, Carlos III sent thirty-three expeditions to its colonies.11 For example, the Royal Scientific Expedition to New Spain (1785– 1800) assembled a group of natural scientists and illustrators who, according to the Royal Orders, were “to examine, draw and describe methodically the natural products of the most fertile dominions of New Spain.”12 The underlying motivation for 9 See Robel, “Die Sibirienexpeditionen und das Deutsche Russlandbild im 18. Jahrhundert,” 273–275. The timing of these efforts was influenced by the 1769 transit of Venus, the observation of which provided an opportunity, it was believed, to demonstrate the prowess of Russian science. As with The Great Northern Expedition, these projects combined the pursuit of science with the investigation of the economic and settlement potential of the territories. They employed no less than six astronomers and a number of natural scientists and geographers, including Peter Simon Pallas who produced a valuable description of the region. 10 The scholarly accomplishments of the Russian expeditions are among the most impressive of the 18th Century even though for various reasons they have received less attention than other journeys of exploration during the same period. The work and thinking of Gerhard Friedrich Müller, discussed previously, was, in particular, central to the achievements of the Second Kamchatka Expedition, and to other efforts. For Müller’s importance see especially, Bucher, “Von Beschreibung der Sitten und Gebräuche der Völker.” Also see, for example, the work of the naturalist Johann Georg Gmelin, Flora Sibirica sive historia plantarum Sibiriae, 4 vols. (St. Petersburg, 1747– 1749), that of S. P. Krasheninnikov, Explorations of Kamchatka: A Report of a Journey Made to Explore Eastern Siberia in 1735–1741, by Order of the Russian Imperial Government, translated and edited by E. A. P. Crownhaut-Vaughn (Portland, 1972), and the discussion in Giulia Cecere, “Russia and Its ‘Orient’. Ethnographic Exploration of the Russian Empire in the Age of Enlightenment,” in The Anthropology of the Enlightenment, ed. Larry Wolff and Marco Cipolloni (Stanford, 2007), 185–208. Also useful is Yuri Slezkine, “Naturalists Versus Nations: Eighteenth-Century Russian Scholars Confront Diversity,” Representations 49 (1994): 170–195. An interesting discussion of both the Second Kamchatka Expedition and the Danish Expedition by Han Vermeulen is forthcoming. 11 See Antonio Lafuente and Nuvia Valverde,”Linnaean Botany and Spanish Imperial Biopolitics,” in Colonial Botany. Science, Commerce and Politics in the Early Modern World, ed. Londa Schiebinger and Claudia Swan (Philadelphia, 2005), 136. 12 Iris H. W. Engstrand, Spanish Scientists in the New World. The Eighteenth-Century Expeditions (Seattle, 1981), 19. The same can be said of the wide-ranging expedition of Alejandro Malaspina

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these trips was clearly economic and colonial, but the scientific participants took their scientific work seriously, and their results in botany and zoology were especially noteworthy. Finally, the Lewis and Clark expedition (1803–1806) of the new United States, towards the end of the elongated 18th Century, was another example of this category of scientific exploration, although it was done on a far smaller scale than the Russian expeditions, as one would expect given the slender resources of the American state. We will not discuss the expedition in any detail except to point out that Thomas Jefferson made sure that science was an essential part of the expedition’s broader agenda of exploration in the newly-acquired Louisiana Purchase and beyond to the Pacific Northwest.13 He personally took a hand in the scientific education of Meriwether Lewis and he mobilized his scientific friends to assist in the training of the young officer. He also set forth his expectations for the journey. They included maps of the areas they traversed, studies and compilations of the flora and fauna, and a better understanding of the languages and cultures of Native Americans. Still his overriding purpose was clear. It was to obtain knowledge of the river systems of the west, the potential transportation routes of those days, so that commerce could be developed across the continent to the Pacific. Thus its objective was fundamentally economic and political. It was part of nation-building. Also while Lewis and Clark were diligent in their scientific work and they collectively gathered much useful information, in comparison to the European expeditions of the century, their training did not match European standards, and the scientific results, in most cases, were not comparable to the European efforts. There were no teams of astronomers and multiple natural scientists, and certainly no resulting published in the years 1789–1794. This ambitious effort explored many parts of the Spanish Empire and other areas in the Pacific. It took the voyage of James Cook as its inspiration, and it used the sciences to make advances in the navigational knowledge of the Pacific, to enhance Spain’s ability to achieve economic and political gain in its possessions, and to try to assert its power in the Pacific. On these expeditions see the informative study of Engstrand cited above, and the excellent article by the same author, “Of Fish and Men: Spanish Marine Science During the Late Eighteenth Century,” Pacific Historical Review 69 (2000: 3–30); Donald C. Cutter, “Malaspina and the Shrinking Spanish Lake,” in Science and Exploration in the Pacific. European voyages to the southern oceans in the eighteenth century, ed. Margarette Lincoln (Woodbridge, 1988), 73–80; Barbara G. Beddall, “Scientific Books and Instruments for an Eighteenth-Century Voyage around the World: Antonio Pineda and the Malaspina Expedition,” Journal of the Society for the Bibliography of Natural History 9 (1979): 95–107; and Mercedes Maroto Camino, Exploring the explorers. Spaniards in Oceania 1519–1794 (Manchester, 2008), esp. 103–209. 13 Bedini, “The Scientific Instruments of the Lewis and Clark Expedition.” Also see, Gary E Moulton, “Introduction to the Journals,” especially pp. 1–6, in The Journals of the Lewis and Clark Expedition, Vol. II, ed. Gary E. Moulton (Lincoln, 1986); Johan Logan Allen, Passage through the Garden. Lewis and Clark and the Image of the American Northwest (Urbana, 1975), 48–72; Donald Jackson, Thomas Jefferson and the Stony Mountains. Exploring the West from Monticello (Urbana, 1981), 86–162; and Stephen E. Ambrose, Undaunted Courage. Meriwether Lewis, Thomas Jefferson, and the Opening of the American West, (New York, 1996), 68–92.

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multi-volume studies of the flora or the topography of the region, as for example in the case of the Russian expeditions or the work of Juan and Ulloa. In fact the secondary status of science was demonstrated by the lack of interest displayed even by Jefferson in the samples and records of the expedition after it returned. They lay unused and scattered for decades until finally being collected and organized nearly a hundred years later.14 These examples of expeditions by Russia, Spain and the United States share with the Danish project the use of a range of scientific disciplines in the task of exploration that was unprecedented in earlier periods. But beyond this similarity lie basic differences because the context for exploration – incremental domination – was very different. As a result of the European structures of which these trips were a part, peoples were conquered, indigenous cultures suffered, in some cases were obliterated, natural resources were exploited and ecologies damaged. The academic interest the expeditions demonstrated in local cultures was superficial in many ways. It frequently did not accord people a standing of fundamental respect, but one of subordination. As Jefferson wrote soon after the Lewis and Clark expedition regarding his approach to Native Americans in the West, “But in the whole course of this, it is essential to cultivate their love. As to their fear, we presume that our strength and their weakness is now so visible that they must see we have only to shut our hand to crush them.”15 Such a context is missing from the Danish Expedition in general, and from Niebuhr’s writings in particular. Nor would readers of Niebuhr’s works draw conclusions that support this view of European power and superiority. Moreover, the Danish Expedition was an undertaking of just six men. Once they left the Grønland they were not part of a large military contingent or government enterprise, a point we will return to shortly. Their presence was small and light upon the landscape they were visiting, and almost inconsequential by the time Niebuhr was traveling alone. Their work was scholarly and served a scholarly purpose. Neither the identification of opportunities for economic expansion nor for political control were measures of their success. Thus analytic conclusions drawn from an examination of these other expeditions should not be applied to the Danish Expedition without a detailed assessment of their appropriateness. Not all of the European exploration in the 18th Century was to regions already controlled by Europeans. Some went to parts of the world where there was still no significant European presence. The most intriguing region by far was the Pacific Ocean – distant, vast and increasingly seen as exotic. There were others, as well, such as Arabia, but without a doubt the Pacific took center stage in the second half of the 14 Moulton, “Introduction to the Journals,” pp. 37–42; also see his “Introduction to Volume 12,” Herbarium of the Lewis & Clark Expedition. The Journals of the Lewis & Clark Expedition, Vol. 12 (Lincoln, 1999), 1–10; and Bedini, “The Scientific Instruments of the Lewis and Clark Expedition,” 106–108. 15 Jackson, Thomas Jefferson & the Stony Mountains, 216–217.

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18th Century. These expeditions provide especially useful opportunities for analysis because they are part of the category of exploration into which the Danish Expedition most naturally fits. Our discussion will focus mainly on the voyages of James Cook because of their significance in the history of exploration and the rich materials they provide for analysis. However, they were not the only scientific voyages to the Pacific. The French were especially active in the region and their accounts shaped European perceptions of the Pacific region as well. For example, Louis-Antoine de Bougainville was the first to bring a team of scientists to the South Pacific with his voyage of 1766–1768, and the ill-fated expedition of Jean-François de la Pérouse in the years 1788–1790 also carried a full contingent of scientists and was given 200 pages of instructions and hefty submissions of scientific questions from the Academy of Science and the Society of Medicine in Paris.16 Nonetheless, the primary goal for both expeditions was to establish a French commercial and political presence in the Pacific to compensate for the loss of French colonies in the Seven Years War. For different reasons neither expedition produced significant scientific results, but Bougainville’s exotic and erotic characterization of Tahiti had an enduring impact on the developing image of the Pacific and its peoples in the eyes of Europeans. However, of all the British, Spanish and French voyages to the Pacific in the 18th Century, none were as significant as the expeditions of Captain James Cook and none provide a better opportunity to clarify by comparison the distinguishing characteristics of the Danish project.17 Identifying these characteristics is useful for defining the place of the Danish Expedition within the phenomenon of scien16 For the voyage of Bougainville see John Dunmore, French Explorers in the Pacific, Vol. I. The Eighteenth Century (Oxford, 1965), 57–113; and edited by the same author, The Pacific Journal of Louis-Antoine de Bougainville 1767–1768 (London, 2002), especially its Introduction, pp. xix–lxxvii; also Seymour Chapin, “The men across La Manche: French Voyages, 1660–1790,” in Background to Discovery: Pacific Exploration from Dampier to Cook, ed. Derek Howse (Berkeley, 1990), 81–127; Mary Kimbrough, Louis-Antoine de Bougainville 1729–1811. A Study in French Naval History and Politics (Lewiston, 1990), esp. 49–132; and more generally for the work of French explorers in the Pacific see Numma Broc, La Géographie des Philosophes. Géographie et Voyageurs Français au XVIII Sieclè (Paris, 1974), 275–391. For La Pérouse, see John Dunmore, Pacific Explorer. The Life of Jean-Francois de La Pérouse 1741–1788 (Annapolis, 1985). Also see Voyages and Adventures of La Pérouse, from the fourteenth edition of the F. Valentin abridgment, trans. 1875 (Honolulu, 1969), and Catherine Gaziello, L’expédition de Lapérouse 1785–1788. Réplique française aux voyages de Cook (Paris, 1984). 17 There are numerous studies of Cook. I have found useful J. C. Beaglehole, The Life of Captain James Cook (Stanford, 1974), the standard work on Cook. Also the important works of Bernard Smith, Imagining the Pacific. In the Wake of the Cook Voyages (New Haven, 1992), and European Vision and the South Pacific, 2nd Edition (New Haven, 1985). In addition, see Robin Fisher and Hugh Johnson, eds., Captain James Cook and His Times (Vancouver, 1979); Howse, ed., Backgound to Discovery; G. M. Badger, ed., Captain Cook. Navigator and Scientist (Canberra 1970); and Walter Veit, ed., Captain James Cook: Image and Impact. South Seas Discoveries and the World of Letters (Melbourne, 1972).

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tific exploration and for assessing the appropriateness of concepts such as the “anti-conquest conquest” for describing it. First, science played a major role in both endeavors. Cook’s First Voyage was initially a scientific project. Its primary objective was to sail to Tahiti to observe the 1769 transit of Venus and to conduct general exploration. It was only at the last minute, upon receipt of reports of the discovery of Tahiti and the possible sighting of a southern land mass by the British naval officer, Samuel Wallis, that the admiralty directed him to search the southern oceans for the great southern continent – Terra Australis Incognita – and if found, to assess it thoroughly and to claim it peacefully. If no such continent was located then he was to conduct general exploration of New Zealand and the South Pacific islands. This directive, it appears, was an impromptu affair, and was not at that time part of some specific plan by the Admiralty.18 The Second and Third Voyages were to continue the search for the southern land mass, to assess the existence of a Northwest Passage, to conduct general exploration, and in the case of the second voyage, to test new chronometers for their accuracy and durability at sea. All three voyages, like the Danish Expedition, were heavily focused on cartography or hydrography, the natural sciences, ethnography and descriptive geography. Both Cook’s expeditions, and the Danish project, produced a quantity of scientific findings – charts, botanical and zoological descriptions and specimens, and ethnographic materials. Each expedition had a scientific staff that was similar, for the most part, in size and composition. For example, Cook’s first voyage, as was previously noted, included Joseph Banks as naturalist, assisted by the Swedish student of Linnaeus, Daniel Solander, the astronomer, Charles Green, the artists Sydney Parkinson and Alexander Buchan (who died early on), and a secretary, Herman Diedrich Spöring. Banks also brought four men from his estate who served as assistants and servants. Of course, Cook himself had great ability as a navigator and hydrographer and should be included as an additional scientist. The later voyages were likewise staffed with five to six scientists and specialists, which included in the second voyage, instead of Banks, Johann Reinhold Forster, and his soon-to-be-famous son, Georg, and the talented painter William Hodges.19 In contrast to the Danish Expedition there was no philologist or specialist in languages, but otherwise the two ventures were quite similar in the scientific teams they deployed. The robust level of scientific activity and commitment on Cook’s expeditions are undoubted, but their science was subsumed within a larger objective that was part of the geopolitical competition between Great Britain and France, and was an exercise, as Daniel Baugh has pointed out, in the projection and maintenance of 18 Glyndwr Williams, “The Endeavor Voyage: A Coincidence of Motives,” in Science and Exploration in the Pacific, ed. Lincoln, 3–18. For the instructions see Beaglehole, The Life of Captain James Cook, 147–152. 19 For the composition of the scientific staff of the three voyages see Beaglehole, The Life of Captain James Cook, 142–146, 301–303, and 501.

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maritime power.20 Furthermore, the character of some of the scientific work was connected to commercial opportunities. Joseph Banks embodied this connection for he saw natural history as discovering opportunities for economic activity and colonial settlement21. Similarly, Forster the elder took Linnaeus’ cameralist thought seriously regarding the identification of plants and cultivation opportunities that could lead to domestic economic strength.22 And Cook’s exploration had consequences, some of them realized by him at the time, that were decisive for the eventual increase of European power in the Pacific.23 As Bernard Smith concluded, “Cook became the first and most enduring hero of European expansion in the Pacific; or to put it bluntly, the prototypical hero of European imperialism.”24 With the Danish Expedition, its scientific work had a broader context as well, but it was a different one. Its origins, as we know, lay in a desire to further research in biblical philology and the test of its success was to produce findings of high scholarly value in a number of supporting disciplines. Achievements in science would bring fame and prestige to the Danish monarchy. Although personalities and events shifted the disciplinary emphasis as the expedition progressed, there was no departure from its singular scientific or scholarly focus, and there is no evidence 20 Daniel A. Baugh, “Seapower and Science: The Motives for Pacific Exploration,” in Background to Discovery, ed. Howse, 1–55. Also see Alan Frost, “Science for Political Purposes: European Explorations of the Pacific Ocean, 1764–1806,” in Nature in Its Greatest Extent. Western Science in the Pacific, ed. Roy MacLeod and Philip F. Rehbock, (Honolulu, 1988), 27–44. 21 See David Philip Miller, “Introduction,” and “Joseph Banks, empire and ‘centers of calculation’ in Late Hanoverian London,” Alan Frost, “The antipodian exchange: European horticulture and imperial designs,” and John Gascoigne, “The ordering of nature and the ordering of empire: a commentary,” all in Visions of Empire: voyages, botany, and representations of nature, ed. David Phillip Miller and Peter Hanns Reill (Cambridge, 1996), 1–18, 58–79, and 107–113, respectively. Also see John Gascoigne, “Joseph Banks and the Expansion of Empire,” in Science and Exploration in the Pacific, ed. Lincoln, 39–51; and David MacKay, “A Presiding Genius of Exploration: Banks, Cook, and Empire, 1767–1805,” in Captain James Cook and His Times, ed. Fisher and Johnston, 21–39. 22 See Michael Dettelbach, “‘A Kind of Linnaean Being’. Forster and Eighteenth-Century Natural History,” in Johann Reinhold Forster, Observations Made during a Voyage round the World, ed. Nicholas Thomas, Harriet Guest, and Michael Dettelbach (Honolulu, 1996), LV–LXXIV. 23 See Cook’s comment in his journal from the Second Voyage, “… such are the consequences of a commerce with Europeans and what is still more to our Shame civilized Christians, we debauch their Morals already too prone to vice and we interduce among them wants and perhaps diseases which they never before knew and which serves only to disturb that happy tranquility they and their fore Fathers had injoy’d. If any one denies the truth of this assertion let him tell me what the Natives of the whole extent of America have gained by the commerce they have had with Europeans.” J. C. Beaglehole, ed., The Journals of Captain James Cook on his Voyages of Discovery. Volume 2, The Voyage of the Resolution and Adventure 1772–1775 (Sydney, 1969), entry for 2 June 1773, 175. 24 Bernard Smith, “Cook’s Posthumous Reputation,” in Captain Cook and His Times, ed. Fisher and Johnston, 160.

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that its science was conducted explicitly or implicitly for imperialistic purposes, a point we will return to shortly. There are other comparisons that are of interest. For example, temporally both were substantial, sustained endeavors. The Danish Expedition lasted nearly seven years. Cook’s three voyages, combined, total a little over ten years. But if the long multiple transits to and from the Pacific for all three voyages are subtracted, then the time on station in the Pacific for Cook’s ships is very similar to Niebuhr’s in the Middle East. They were not short, limited journeys. Spatially, however, these expeditions were very different. The Danish experience was primarily land-based. It included maritime elements, as in the case of the Red Sea, but a predominance of its activities took place on land, with an emphasis frequently on areas in the interior of a region away from the coastal fringe. Cook’s was an exploration of the most expansive ocean environment on earth – the Pacific Ocean. The scale of his exploration was extremely large matching the vastness of the waters he was investigating. Distances were great and total accumulations of miles traveled during the voyages truly immense. The Arabian Journey while formidable in the territory it covered, was still exploration on a much smaller scale. The travels of Niebuhr and Forsskål averaged around 30–50 kilometers a day on a donkey or horse, or sometimes walking. They went from village to village, and coffee house to coffee house. It was the investigation of a region or a route in very small increments, extended over long periods of time. It has been argued that the maritime environment in the 18th Century was more conducive to exploration and scientific inquiry, but this is not necessarily true. Both environments were challenging to the European investigator. Disease, knowledge of local languages, safety, these were shared problems. In fact, Niebuhr, who had experienced both sea and extended land travel, likened caravan trips to sea voyages and camel drivers, as we know, to mariners. Both modes required preparation, judgment, determination and good fortune. But there was certainly one important difference. Cook’s expeditions were ship-based; the Danish Expedition was not. For example, one scholar has noted concerning the Second Voyage: “A vessel like Cook’s Resolution, despite her deficiencies, combined the values of a fortress and a traveling laboratory.”25 It is worth reflecting on the two words “fortress,” and “laboratory.” On Cook’s Second Voyage, the Resolution had a ship’s company of 92, and in addition a detachment of 20 marines. It carried twelve carriage guns, and a like number of swivel guns mounted on the rails.26 Although small, the vessel provided protection, comfort 25 Smith, European Vision and the South Pacific, 2 26 The Adventure, the second ship on the voyage, had a smaller complement, with a ship’s company of 69, plus 12 Marines, and carried 10 carriage guns and 10 swivel guns. Beaglehole, ed., The Journals of Captain James Cook on his Voyages of Discovery. Volume 2, The Voyage of the Resolution and Adventure 1772–1775, 5 and 16. On Cook’s First Voyage the Endeavor carried 10 carriage guns, and 12 swivel guns, and had a crew of 85 men, which included 12 marines. See Beaglehole, ed., The Journals of Captain James Cook on his Voyages of Discovery. Volume 1, The Voyage of the Endeavor 1768–1771 (Sidney, 1968), 1–4.

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and consistency of environment for the people of Cook’s expedition.27 However, it also represented a fundamental spatial barrier to inter-cultural exchange. In this arrangement power is retained by the European visitor and in some environments a fundamental asymmetry of power is established in favor of the Europeans. Moreover, the environment of the visitor remains essentially that of home, that is to say the environment of Europe and the highly-structured routine of the British Navy. Immersion in the culture of a new land is virtually precluded, unless one leaves the ship for a long period of time. Liberation from the larger power relationship is nearly impossible, and thus the realization of dependence on (beyond just provisioning) and the concomitant development of trust in the lands and peoples being visited is severely constrained. For providing serious opportunities to learn about peoples and cultures, a ship-based environment is more limited than a land-based one. On the other hand, the notion of the ship as a “laboratory” for science has many obvious and practical advantages for the investigator. Specimens can be brought back to the ship to be examined in greater detail, classified, more easily preserved or dried and stored conveniently. Notes can be written each night in the wardroom of the ship or in the scientist’s own compartment. Instruments can be safely stowed on board ship and used on each occasion as needed. Chests of specimens as they accumulate can be stowed below without complication. There are no customs officials or issues of transshipment to deal with unless one off-loads. In short, the ship provides a convenient and secure platform for scientific work.28 By way of contrast, once they left the Grønland, Niebuhr and his colleagues were mostly on their own, although sporadically they received some assistance from the dispersed collection of European consuls and merchants in the region. Whether on a local vessel or part of a caravan they made their own logistical arrangements, repeatedly loading and unloading equipment, supplies, instruments and crates of specimens. Later, when Niebuhr traveled alone, all of his supplies, instruments and notes were bundled up and packed on one donkey or mule at each stop, and the tasks of scientific work were completed wherever and whenever time allowed in rented quarters, hostels, coffee houses, caravansaries and campsites. The basic work of science was simply more difficult in Niebuhr’s and Forsskål’s land-based setting. The spatial contrast also presents itself in the contrasting organizational structures of the two efforts. Cook was the Captain of a ship in the British Royal Navy, and he ran a tight ship. There was no question that he was in charge of the expedition. Evidently he did not consult a great deal with his officers nor with the scien-

27 For a fine description of Cook’s ships, see A. P. McGowan, “Captain Cook’s Ships,” The Mariner’s Mirror 65 (1979): 109–118 28 For the role of the ship in shaping the character of scientific results in the 18th Century, see Sorrensen, “The Ship as a Scientific Instrument in the Eighteenth Century”. Also see Jäger, “Reisefacetten der Aufklärungszeit,” 267–268, who characterizes the ships in scientific exploration as like a European “Aufklärungsakademie in miniature.”

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tific staff.29 His expedition adhered to 18th Century naval organizational principles; the scientific contingent was folded into this structure. The Danish Expedition could not be more different. It was egalitarian in structure and organized based on collaborative, academic principles. It had no leader. Niebuhr was its survivor but never its leader. It was not an appendage to a military or naval unit, or to a diplomatic mission. It stood alone, and managed its own operations while trying to adhere to the requirements of the Royal Instructions. Its only reason for being was scholarship. While the organizational cultures of the two endeavors were very different, their leading personalities were in some ways quite similar. Cook, for example, came from humble beginnings. His Scottish father was a day farm laborer in the north of England, he learned to sail in the coal trade, and he joined the Royal Navy as an Able Seaman. Later students of his achievements have used these words to describe him: professional, competent, prudent, thorough, stubborn, patient, a constrained pride in achievement, humane, tolerant, precise, modest and civilized.30 These have a familiar ring; they apply to Niebuhr as well. Finally, to conclude this comparison, the interest in the written accounts of Cook’s voyages and the Danish Expedition was very different. For example, Cook’s account, A Voyage to the South Pole, was released in May of 1777, and sold out in one day. His Voyage to the Pacific Ocean (1784), published after his death, sold out in just three days. Between 1770 and 1800 there were more than 100 editions of accounts of Cook’s voyages by others.31 Niebuhr’s accounts, as we have mentioned, were not reissued in Germany or Denmark in his lifetime. Cook’s voyages appealed to a broader reading public, Niebuhr’s really only to scholars and selected writers. The reasons for this are not hard to find. Cook’s voyages were exploration on a grand scale involving three circumnavigations of the globe and covering latitudes from the Antarctic Circle to the far Northwest. Filled with a sense of adventure, and illustrated with dramatic depictions of battles with local inhabitants and scenes from the frigid south to the tropics, they were a stirring reminder of the proud maritime tradition of Great Britain. Cook’s voyages were simply the most inspiring chapter in British maritime history between the defeat of the Spanish Armada and the victories of Lord Nelson. There are also other explanations for the immense and sustained interest in his exploration. Cook’s voyages had an intrinsic exoticism and eroticism fully exploited by the many accounts of the trips and oozing with potential for further embellishment in the coming romantic age. This is a major topic beyond the scope of this study, but to get a sense of its importance one need only look at the lush illustrations and paintings by William Hodges of island peoples 29 Beaglehole, The Life of Captain James Cook, 712. 30 To cite only a few, Beaglehole, The Life of Captain James Cook, 451, and 689–714; and Smith, Imagining the Pacific, 231. 31 Alan Frost, “New Geographical Perspectives and the Emergence of the Romantic Imagination,” in Captain James Cook and His Times, ed. Fisher and Johnson, 6–7.

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and beautiful tropical harbors and landscapes. Or in another instance, Georg Forster, in his account of Cook’s Second Voyage, cannot get through the description of the expedition’s first day in Tahiti without describing a sexual liaison between one of the ship’s officers and a woman from the island. Accounts such as John Hawkesworth’s of Cook’s First Voyage, are laced with anecdotes and discussions of the sexuality of some of the island peoples. These descriptions not only made for enticing reading in the late 18th Century, but shaped an entire image and set of associations for the region in the minds of Europeans that had enduring consequences.32 The dramatic character of Cook’s voyages was further heightened by the tragic killing of Cook in the confused skirmish at Kealakekua Bay on the large island of Hawaii. His death became a symbol both of dedication to science and navigation, and of British naval courage. It was portrayed in numerous illustrations and paintings, many of them very different in their details, but most of them dramatic and stirring. None had greater impact than Johan Zoffany’s The Death of Cook, which was heavily indebted to Benjamin West’s Death of Wolfe.33 All of these immortalized the great navigator, and ensured an ongoing interest in his voyages, and the accounts of them. In comparison, an account of a voyage on a crowded and overloaded pilgrimage vessel in the Red Sea, dusty travel by caravan across frequently barren landscapes, veiled women who turned their backs when men passed, and death by malaria could not compete with a stay in Tahiti, adventures in sub-Antarctic waters and other similar narratives. In contrast to Cook, Niebuhr’s journey would not be borrowed from for romantic poems like Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. 34 This was especially true given Niebuhr’s non-sensational style of writing and the straightforward character of the illustrations. Of course, one could also simply ar32 See for an introduction, Smith, Imagining the Pacific, especially Chapters 2, 4, 7 and 8. Also Smith, European Vision and the South Pacific, esp. Chapter 5. For connections to Botany, see Alan Bewell, “‘On the Banks of the South Sea’: botany and sexual controversy in the late eighteenth century,” in Visions of Empire, ed. Miller and Reill, 173–193. For Georg Forster’s description, see his A Voyage Round the World, ed. Nicholas Thomas and Oliver Berghof, 2 vols. (Honolulu, 2000), Vol. 1, Entry for 16 August 1773, 146–147. Also see John Hawkesworth, An Account of the Voyages undertaken by the order of His Present Majesty for making Discoveries in the Southern Hemisphere, 3 vols. (London, 1773). 33 Smith, European Vision and the South Pacific, 118–120. For a fuller discussion of the meaning of Cook’s death, see Bernard Smith, “Cook’s Posthumous Reputation,” in Captain James Cook and His Times, ed. Fisher and Johnston, 159–185; the wide-ranging interpretation by Marshall Sahlins, “The Apotheosis of Captain Cook,” in Between Belief and Transgression. Structuralist Essays on Religion, History and Myth, ed. Michael Izard and Pierre Smith (Chicago, 1982), 73–102; and the book-length study by Glyn Williams, The Death of Captain Cook. A Hero Made and Unmade (Cambridge, Mass. 2008). 34 See Smith’s chapter entitled “Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner and Cook’s Second Voyage,” in his Imagining the Pacific, 135–169; also see Frost, “New Geographical Perspectives and the Emergence of the Romantic Imagination,” in Captain James Cook and his Times, ed. Fisher and Johnston, 12–14.

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gue that Cook’s voyages were intrinsically more important, but in retrospect there is no theoretical reason why investigations of the Pacific Ocean and its chains of islands are inherently more significant than an understanding of the Islamic Middle East. In conclusion, what stands out from our analysis of the Danish Expedition within the context of European scientific exploration in the 18th Century? It is clear the Danish effort was both typical and atypical for the era. It was typical because it employed scientific disciplines with seriousness and technical competence to accomplish the task of investigating a region not well known to Europeans, in this case the Middle East, just as was done by other expeditions in Russia, the Pacific and the Americas. And as in the case of most of these endeavors, although not all of them, the results of the Arabian Journey were delivered to the scientific community and the public at large. The Danish project was part of a phenomenon of learning in the 18th Century that broadly, although sometimes imperfectly, increased the knowledge of literate Europeans of the lands and peoples outside of Europe. However, the expedition was also atypical in important ways. It was the only major European expedition of the 18th Century that was scientific and multidisciplinary, and at the same time harbored no geopolitical or commercial aims. Maupertuis’ expedition to Lapland had no political or commercial objectives, but its focus was on a single narrow scientific task, and it had no real interest in the land and the people it was visiting. The Great Northern Expedition of Imperial Russia and Cook’s voyages supported serious research in a number of disciplines, but the motives for these undertakings included important overriding political and economic goals, which the science was intended to serve. By way of contrast, the Danish trip had one purpose only – Scholarship. Science did not share the stage with other interests, nor did scholarship serve non-scholarly causes, other than bringing recognition to the monarchy. The Danish trip was the only major expedition in this period that proceeded on its own without any significant logistical or military support from a ship or government-run land expeditionary force. It proceeded autonomously and alone as a small team of scholars whose support came overwhelmingly from the local population and their infrastructure, not from one imported from Europe. Thus in many ways The Royal Danish Expedition to Arabia was a unique and pioneering journey without real parallel in the 18th century Age of Exploration. t Keeping these comparisons in mind, let us turn our attention to the issue of colonial botany and Mary Louise Pratt’s attendant thesis of the “anti-conquest conquest”. Pratt has developed a thesis of an implicit connection between the deployment of the European natural sciences in scientific travel and exploration, and the expansion and increased pervasiveness of European political, economic and cultural power in non-European areas in the 18th Century and after. As she writes in Imperial Eyes, “natural history asserted an urban, lettered, male authority over the whole

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planet; it elaborated a rationalizing, extractive, dissociative understanding which overlaid functional, experiential relations among people, plants and animals. In these respects, it figures a certain kind of global hegemony, notably one based on possession of land and resources rather than control over routes.” Or put another way, under the guise of an ostensibly innocent scientific inquiry lay a deeper desire or objective of “territorial surveillance, appropriation of resources, and administrative control.”35 Equally, or perhaps more consequential, was the displacement of indigenous frameworks of knowledge by European-imposed ones. Thus the pursuit of the natural sciences, while sometimes purporting an ideology of anti-imperialism, was, in the context of scientific exploration anything but. It was by definition imperialistic and expropriational, hence the term the “anti-conquest conquest.” Pratt is not alone in developing this analysis of European natural science and western imperial expansion. Other historians of science and social scientists have explored this topic from various perspectives.36 Pratt’s work is the reference point for our discussion only because it is the one that has been used by others to categorize the Danish Expedition. Pratt’s analysis has several key elements. First, the European classification and description systems that were applied in scientific travel, including but not limited to that of Linnaeus, displaced, actually obliterated, the organic vernacular systems of local societies and cultures.37 These descriptive frameworks by virtue of their European origins and claimed universality created for Europeans a globalized view of the world in which their theoretical frameworks dominated. In other words, they created for themselves an illusion of mastery over non-European environmental and cultural domains. That phenomenon is then exacerbated by a second feature, the fact that European naturalists did not attribute their information to the local people from whom 35 Pratt, Imperial Eyes, 37–38. 36 To cite just a few in this very large field of scholarship, see Londa Schiebinger, Plants and Empire. Colonial Bioprospecting in the Atlantic World (Cambridge, 2004), and the important work edited by her and Claudia Swan, Colonial Botany. Science, Commerce and Politics in the Early Modern World (Philadelphia, 2005). Also see MacLeod and Rehbock, eds., Nature in Its Greatest Extent; Roy MacLeod, ed., Nature and Empire. Science and the Colonial Enterprise, Osiris, Second Series, 15 (Ithaca, 2000); Larry Stewart, “Global Pillage. Science, Commerce and Empire,” in The Cambridge History of Science, Vol. 4. Eighteenth-Century Science, ed. Roy Porter (Cambridge, 2003); and the wide ranging and thoughtful collection in Visions of Empire, ed. Miller and Reill. Finally see Patrick Petitjean, Catherine Jami and Anne Marie Moulin, eds., Science and Empires. Historical Studies about Scientific Development and European Expansion (Dordrecht, 1992). On a related subject, see Anne Godlewska and Neil Smith, eds., Geography and Empire (Oxford, 1994). For a different perspective on the topic of colonial botany, focusing on the experience in China and Linnaeus’s use of terminology, see the thoughtful and detailed article by Alexandra Cook, “Linnaeus and Chinese plants: A test of the linguistic imperialism thesis,” Notes and Records of the Royal Society 64 (2010): 121–138. 37 In addition to Pratt, also see the important chapter entitled “Linguistic Imperialism,” in Schiebinger, Plants and Empire, 194–225.

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they obtained it. As Pratt points out: “Indigenous voices are almost never quoted, reproduced or even invented in these late eighteenth century accounts.”38 In fact, this process of expropriation of knowledge was carried out in a way that explicitly eliminated the role of local peoples. Neil Safier, in his very thoughtful study, Measuring the New World, which examines the work and approach of La Condamine in South America, elaborates on this point. He writes: “The many sources of the knowledge European travelers acquired in situ were often disguised and displaced, disenfranchising those who were responsible for its collection …. Sometimes this was conscious. But more often than not … this hidden knowledge was a result of editorial practices that scraped away the record of how such knowledge was derived.”39 Third, and related to the last point, the European natural science was a product of the European metropol. It was conceived and carried out by educated, urban representatives of the lower nobility and the bourgeoisie. It was characterized by a de-legitimization and denigration of peasant societies and rural cultures, and by a failure to acknowledge that the environments they were investigating and describing were already characterized by a complex web of relationships and deep understandings on the part of local people. Flowing from this observation, Pratt makes a fourth point. Not only are rural peoples not respected, they are in essence eliminated from the descriptive narrative, that is, “the landscape is written as uninhabited, unpossessed, unhistoricized, unoccupied even by the travelers themselves.”40 She goes on to say, “The European improving eye produces subsistence habitats as “empty” landscapes, meaningful only in terms of a capitalist future and of their potential for producing a marketable surplus. From the point of view of their inhabitants, of course, these same spaces are lived as intensely humanized, saturated with local history and meaning, where plants, creatures, and geographical formations have names, uses, symbolic functions, histories, places in indigenous knowledge formations.”41 Finally, the “anti-conquest conquest” is a function usually of an inter-cultural encounter or relationship within a “contact zone,” a space where cultures meet. In the context of European scientific exploration, this contact takes place between the investigator and local inhabitants, or between colonizer and colonized, and it is often characterized by “a radical asymmetry of power,” one of “domination and subordination – such as colonialism and slavery.”42 38 Pratt, Imperial Eyes, 51. 39 Safier, Measuring the New World. 9. On this same issue also see Antonio Lafuente and Nuna Valverde, “Linnaean Botany and Spanish Imperial Biopolitics,” in Colonial Botany, ed. Schiebinger and Swan, 134–147, and in the same collection, Jorge Cañizaies-Esquerra, “How Derivative Was Humboldt? Microcosmic Nature Narratives in Early Modern Spanish America and the (Other) Origins of Humboldt’s Ecological Sensibilities,” 148–165. 40 Pratt, Imperial Eyes, 31. 41 Ibid., 60. 42 Ibid., 7–8.

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To be clear, Pratt has never applied her analysis to the Danish Expedition, but as noted before, two later scholars have, arguing that “Niebuhr’s travelogue exemplifies Pratt’s ideology of the ‘anti-conquest’”, or in Pratt’s sense, that the expedition was “an ideological exercise in domination.”43 To what extent does the Danish Expedition as a phenomenon in the field and as reported by its principal investigators, Niebuhr and Forsskål, actually present the features and elements of Pratt’s analysis? In important respects it does not, and overall, the Arabian journey does not really fit Pratt’s thesis. To take the first element, the one dealing with the issue of Eurocentric descriptive frameworks. The Danish Expedition is certainly an example of this part of her argument. It used emerging disciplines, such as botany, zoology, cartography and geography, that employed methodologies that were essentially Eurocentric, and thereby organized and communicated information according to the kinds of frameworks for knowledge she describes, with some of the concomitant effects she ascribes to them. However, there is an instructive variation in the Danish experience. In a curious way, the original objective for the expedition, that is broad research to enhance the philological understanding of the Old Testament as a historical document, worked to preserve the knowledge of the vernacular in findings received by Europeans. For example, in the natural sciences Michaelis wanted to retain the names in Arabic so that they could be used to better interpret Hebrew references in the Bible. Similarly, he judged Norden’s maps of the Nile to be deficient because the Arab names were inaccurate, and therefore in need of correction. Then in practice, as we have seen, Forsskål made every effort to obtain accurate names in Arabic of the specimens he described. In fact his adoption of nomenclature went even farther in this direction for he tried explicitly to incorporate local Arab names. We may recall this statement in the Introduction to the Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, which was referred to earlier: “If the names of natural objects in Arabic agree with our pronunciation and flow freely in the form outlined by the system, then they should be 43 Hess, “Johann David Michaelis and the Colonial Imaginary,” p. 80 (this article also appears as the second chapter in his study, Germans, Jews and the Claims of Modernity (New Haven, 2002, see 78); and Sheehan, The Enlightenment Bible, who appears to have adopted Hess’ interpretation, as he quotes “In other words, despite the fact that Germany – in the eighteenth century – was not yet an imperial power, we might read (along with Hess) this expedition as an ideological exercise in domination …”, 197. The works of Hess and Sheehan misinterpret the expedition in other ways as well, primarily because of insufficient research in the primary sources and literature of Danish and German scholars on the topic. In Hess’ case this is most noticeable because of his reliance on the notoriously corrupted, abridged and in some cases simply fabricated English translation of Niebuhr’s works by Robert Heron in 1792, instead of the original German text. Most of the passages he quotes to support his arguments do not exist in Niebuhr’s accounts. For Sheehan, his discussion does not utilize Niebuhr’s travel account of the expedition, and his most famous work, the three-volume Reisebeschreibung, and he seems unaware of Forsskål’s published travel diary, Resa till lycklige Arabien (1950) in his discussion of Forsskål. Thus his research is incomplete in the most basic sense.

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adopted [as scientific names] and not lack protection from my part, as this language when priority of age is concerned far exceeds Greek and Latin, from which we often adopt names for species which neither a Greek nor a Roman can possibly have known. Nor are the Arab names meaningless. In Yemen, as in Europe, each province often uses “nomina trivilia” which is formed on the basis of common names recognized in the entire region. These common names are in no way of recent date, but have come about through a long development, and can be found both in the works of learned people and in the oral tradition.”44 As we can see Forsskål has chosen to use the Arab names because they also represent intrinsic meaning and have an important scholarly and oral provenance. And indeed looking at his published botanical work, the normal protocol is to include the Arab name for each species. As the Arabic scholar Philippe Provençal has written, “In general Forsskål only noted the local plant names, i. e. the names in the local Arabic dialect, and it does him credit that he did not try to render his notation more classical but seems to have written down the names as closely as possible to the way he heard them.”45 Moreover, we may remember, Niebuhr’s decision to include from Forsskål’s notes a full description of the local habitat of the specimen, because this “could be called the dialect with which it speaks to the botanist.”46 It is interesting that he uses “dialect” as the metaphor for the pattern of knowledge he is transmitting. Similarly, in mapping, Niebuhr went to great lengths to obtain accurate names in Arabic for all of the geographic features listed on his maps. Of course, he used advanced navigational astronomy, as developed in Europe, to more precisely determine locations, and employed the system of latitude and longitude as the grid for his cartography, a Eurocentric framework. However, no features were ever named for illustrious Europeans or favorite places at home as sometimes was done in the Pacific and elsewhere (after all, most every feature in the Pacific already had indigenous names as well). Such a practice would have struck him as absurd.47 No, 44 Ch. 2, note 371. 45 Provençal, The Arabic Plant Names of Peter Forsskål’s Fora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, 11. 46 Ch. 2, p. 106, note 346. 47 On this subject, see for example Bernard Smith’s comment in Imagining the Pacific regarding Cook: “We might have to admit … that he discovered little in the way of new lands: that wherever he came there were usually people who had been settled for centuries.” 240. However, this circumstance did not prevent him from naming the “rivers and seas, headlands and islands after his friends and benefactors.” 231. For the potentially strong connection between cartography and imperialism, also see J. B. Harley, The New Nature of Maps. Essays in the History of Cartography, ed. Paul Laxton (Baltimore, 2001), where he writes, “As much as guns and warships, maps have been the weapons of imperialism. Insofar as maps were used in colonial promotion, and lands claimed on paper before they were effectively occupied, maps anticipated empire. Surveyors marched alongside soldiers, initially mapping for reconnaissance, then for general information, and eventually as a tool of pacification, civilization, and exploitation in the defined colonies. But there is more to this than the drawing of boundaries for the practical political or military containment of subject populations. Maps were used to legitimize the reality of conquest and empire.” 57. Obviously such a connection is absent in any specific sense from the Danish Expedition. In fact,

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Niebuhr was diligent throughout his journey in employing local names verified by local inhabitants. In this way he was really forcing European readers to learn local names in a transliterated form if they wanted to understand the geography of the Middle East. Thus in this and in other ways, Forsskål and Niebuhr tried to achieve a descriptive synthesis utilizing European frameworks but frequently elaborating those frameworks with more detailed terminology in the vernacular. This is what they meant when they wrote, for example, “The nomenclature [of the Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica] has a double origin.”48 Their terminology did not displace local terms. In Forsskål’s case it preserved them for the use and study by scholars in Arabic wherever they might be in the world.49 Thus Forsskål integrated local knowledge of Arabian plant life into an emerging wider and comparative scientific context without creating a dichotomy between indigenous biological knowledge and European scientific frameworks. For Europeans, Forsskål’s use of Linnaean taxonomy may have indeed given them an implicit and artificial sense of mastery over a foreign landscape, but his terminology did not obliterate local usage. Moving on to the second part of Pratt’s thesis, the Danish Expedition is quite simply not a very good example of a failure to acknowledge or value local inhabitants as a source of knowledge. We have seen how time after time, and in many different settings, Niebuhr emphasized their indebtedness to local peoples for the information they obtained. He does this not just in his own works, but also in those of Forsskål, for which he provided the Introductions. This characteristic of the expedition itself, and of the descriptions of it, is made so explicit, that no European reader could interpret the information received as not deriving from organic sources in the region and its peoples. Niebuhr expressly refused to cite data from English mariners on mountains and islands in the Persian Gulf because they frequently gave the features European names, not the indigenous ones. See Niebuhr to B. G. Niebuhr, 2–6 September 1810, BBAW, Nachlass B. G. Niebuhr, Nr. 230. 48 Introduction to the Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, 22, trans. Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica,’27 49 For this important point see Provençal where he writes, “The Classical Arabic language has a wealth of names or terms used to denote both animals and plants, but for the vast majority of these names or terms the precise meaning, and very often even the general meaning, are unknown. This means that the study of the history of zoology and botany in the Classical Islamic civilisation is rendered very difficult and in many cases impossible by the uncertainties regarding the identity of most animal and plant species, which are not either domestic or referring to very well known wild species. In this context Forsskål’s botanical notes are of crucial importance, as they provide us with the Arabic names for plants, where the species identity is ascertained by both botanical descriptions, and, in the vast majority of cases, also by herbarium materials. As knowledge about plants was very important in Classical Arabic pharmacology, Forsskål’s notes are also of very great importance to the study of Arabic medicine and pharmacology, even though botany became an independent science and was not merely an ancillary discipline to pharmacology and medicine in the Classical Arabic culture.” The Arabic Plant Names of Peter Forsskål’s flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, 10–11. I am also indebted to Ib Friis for insights into some of these interpretive issues.

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The same might be said of the next element in Pratt’s argument, namely that the “anti-conquest conquest”, as an activity of the European urban educated elite, was characterized by a profound lack of respect for peasant cultures and rural societies. While we have seen that this was undoubtedly true for Haven, and perhaps at the very beginning of the trip, for Forsskål as well, it certainly was not the case for Niebuhr. As Niebuhr is the presenter of the journey, that perspective is not represented in accounts of the expedition and thus is not communicated to European readers. Interestingly, Niebuhr’s most eloquent articulation of his view on all three of the issues or elements under discussion – displacement of the vernacular, acknowledgment of local sources and respect for rural communities – comes not in his geographic work but in his introduction to the expedition’s most extensive, purely scientific publication, Forsskål’s Flora. Referring to Yemen, Niebuhr writes: “It is certainly wonderful to penetrate a country worth seeing for its different plant growth; but it is more praiseworthy to change from a prejudiced idea of a barbaric nation to a friendly relationship with a simple, but well-mannered people, who may disagree between themselves, but nevertheless are amicable to strangers, who are uneducated in sciences, but not restricted in intellect, who are poor, but yet hospitable … To this can both Forsskål and I bear testimony, saluted as we have been among an unknown people; we have always achieved complete protection. He came to places hardly touched by a European foot, and certainly not by that of a botanist. Here came a man, unknown and apparently eccentric, one for whom not trade but the names and uses of plants was the singular purpose. Encouraged by these principles of the nation, he lived a shepherd’s life among his Arabs. Admirably were both the older Arab, the younger one, and the girl equally eager to provide information about the flora of their country. When young people each day gather fodder plants, they involuntarily carefully investigate the botany of their field, and what they have in youth counted as play, they still remember when old. This is the reason why Flora in her idiom has named very few plants that the Arab has not given a name to in his own language.”50 It is not difficult in Niebuhr’s case to identify the source of this outlook. He was a rural person. He grew up in the fields of Hadeln. He had gathered the fodder plants as a boy. He was trained to be a farmer. He took great pride in his heritage of being part of a free peasant society. And when he had the option of staying in an urban environment or returning to the rural one, he chose the latter and spent the rest of his life there. He was a product of the rural tradition, and clearly had great respect for it. In that sense Niebuhr never identified with the so-called European metropol. We will return to this point later.

50 Forskål, “Introduction to the Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica”, 28–29 (trans. Hepper and Friis, The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’, 26). Detailed knowledge of plants and plant names by present day Bedouins still stands out to observers. See for example, Donald Powell Cole, Bedouins of the Empty Quarter (New Brunswick, 2010), 56–57.

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The fourth element in Pratt’s interpretation is that the landscape is described in a disembodied way, devoid of vibrant human representation. While Forsskål’s scientific publications in botany and zoology are dry technical works, Niebuhr’s introductions certainly place them explicitly in a human context, as we have seen. And Forsskål’s own diary does the same. Similarly, although filled with much descriptive material about the Arab peoples, the Beschreibung, as has been mentioned, is also frequently a dry work in the emerging practice of German Statistik. However, if we include the three volumes of the Reisebeschreibung, the only actual full account of the expedition to be published in the 18th and 19th Centuries, they are bulging with meaningful descriptions of the peoples of the Middle East, and instructive human interest anecdotes. No reader could come away with the impression that the region was devoid of compelling human significance. Thus the works of Niebuhr and Forsskål as a whole do not support this part of Pratt’s thesis either. Finally, Pratt sets forth the notion of a “radical asymmetry of power” that frequently characterized these kinds of cultural encounters. Once again, the Danish Expedition does not present this feature, at least not in the way Pratt intends. Certainly there is an asymmetry of power in the experience of the Arabian Journey, but the power was asymmetrical to the local communities, cultures and institutions. This is evident in the many ways we have already discussed such as the expedition not being based on a ship, as in the case of Cook and others. Evidence of this is given repeatedly in the details of the interactions described in Niebuhr’s account. It was symbolic, for example, that when Niebuhr was frustrated with the procedures of the Franciscans for gaining access to Jerusalem, he threatened to go the local Qādi to seek redress. Thus in having a problem with fellow Christians, he thought to go to an Islamic judge. Niebuhr knew where the power lay, and it did not lay with their little party, nor, he would constantly assert, with the European visitor to the Middle East. Moreover, even Bernstorff made it abundantly clear in the Royal Instructions that if the party misbehaved and antagonized the local community, they “would be left to their fate.” No power would be exerted by the state to rescue them. They were on their own. On balance, the Danish Expedition is not a meaningful example of Pratt’s thesis. In most respects it simply does not present the key elements of her analysis, and in this case is a misapplication of her argument by others. Her study was based primarily on an examination of European scientific travel and exploration in the Americas, the Pacific and South Africa, and it derives therefore from the characteristics of many of those projects. By contrast, the Danish Expedition is an example of the heterogeneity of the scientific exploration experience as an historical phenomenon in the 18th Century. Therefore categorization of the endeavor, in this case, in relationship to the application of the natural sciences, needs to be based on a detailed and accurate analysis of the actual specifics of the expedition as an historical event.51 Of the labels that might be attached to the Danish Expedition, Pratt’s 51 On this point see Neil Hegerty, “Unruly Subjects. Sexuality, Science and Discipline in

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“anti-conquest conquest,” or characterizations of it as “an ideological exercise in domination,” seem hardly appropriate. t The Danish expedition not only adds more diversity to our understanding of the relationship between scientific exploration and imperialism in the 18th Century, it also provides a setting in which we can observe shifts and new developments in the nature of European inquiry about the world. This can be seen clearly in an examination of the expedition as a example of the changing character of curiosity. As previously noted in the Introduction, Lorraine Daston and Katherine Park articulated in their study, Wonders and the Order of Nature 1150–1750, that one of the characteristic developments in the Eighteenth Century was the divergence of the notions of wonder and curiosity, terms that had been linked in the previous century, particularly as regards natural philosophy.52 Curiosity became serious work, wonder was relegated to the gauche and the ignorant. This phenomenon is strikingly evident in the Danish Expedition in its conception, execution and reporting. Michaelis and Bernstorff wanted inquiry to be “factual” and scientific. And indeed, Niebuhr’s and Forsskål’s assignments and research were the epitome of “diligent curiosity.” Their efforts were sustained over time, thorough in their application, and disciplined in their reporting. Niebuhr is even explicit in noting that his description is not about “curiosities,” but about understanding. In the same sense, the expedition is not about wonders, the marvelous, the novel, the rare or the strange. Quite the contrary, Niebuhr’s strategy in presenting the findings is, as we have pointed out, to differentiate between different and strange, and to consciously attempt to neutralize “strange” because strangeness is an obstacle to understanding. Interestingly, Daston and Park also note that in the beginning of the 18th Century, the concept of wonder migrated from natural philosophy and took refuge in natural theology.53 But here too, we can see that its position was eroded as the century proceeded. With a neologist such as Michaelis, the wondrous and the miraculous were banished from Biblical theology as well. The Bible was a concrete historical document, a product of a civilization and a people, an artifact to be dissected, described and reconstructed. Thus, until romanticism emerges late in the century, wonder as an inherently enticing notion because of its irrationality, is largely absent from the predominant intellectual characteristics of the middle decades of the century. The overall validity of Daston’s and Park’s description, at least Eighteenth-Century Pacific Exploration,” in Science and Exploration in the Pacific, ed. Lincoln, 183–197, and esp. 194. 52 The 17th Century notions of wonder and curiosity are also discussed in Katie Whitaker, “The culture of curiosity,” in Cultures of natural history, ed. Nicholas Jardine, James A. Secord and Emma C. Spary (Cambridge, 1996), 75–90. 53 Daston and Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature, 324.

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in the Danish case, is undeniable, but as is often the situation in particular historical events there are also nuances and deviations from the main concept. For example, they postulate that “Neither meditative wonder nor earnest curiosity dwelt on particulars, the stuff of mid-seventeenth century inquiry, but rather ascended swiftly to universals and generalizations.”54 This is largely characteristic of Forsskål’s research, but it should be recalled that alongside his application of an intended universal taxonomy to plant and animal species, he stands out for including in his classifications detailed information on location, habitat, other descriptive characteristics and vernacular nomenclature. All of this particularizes or localizes the general. More noticeably in Niebuhr’s descriptions, he is in fact intrigued by the particular. He does not try to force generalizations or larger categorizations, but lets the details of description speak for themselves to define degrees of uniqueness. His notion of universality applies to the context of learning, not to the methodology of describing. Finally, the notion of wonder in the case of the Danish Expedition is sometimes more variegated than normally is possible to capture in the presentation of a general interpretation such as Park’s and Daston’s. For example, the expression of enthusiastic wonder in the Danish case cannot be relegated entirely to the vulgar or naïve. Forsskål considered the abundance of plant species at Râs-etin near Alexandria to be wondrous. As we noted, he recorded in his diary: “When after a long and barren sea voyage a botanist familiar with little but the Nordic lands is set down in a land so far away and so utterly different as Egypt without crossing the intervening latitudes overland, he cannot avoid experiencing a sensation so overwhelming as to be beyond description. The people, the soil and the natural surroundings were new to me, as were all the plants. All I could do was collect and stare.”55 Surely this is an expression of pure wonder, but it is born of the new and the unknown, not of the “miraculous.” In a different context, Niebuhr considered the Pyramids to be “astounding” because of what they represented historically, just as he was clearly filled with a sense of wonder as he gazed upon the ruins of Persepolis for the first time. His sense of wonder did not result from a sense of the miraculous, but was nonetheless a feeling of amazement over human achievement. Thus reconstituted, a sense of wonder had not entirely disappeared nor was it entirely divorced from curiosity. Amazement fed the curiosity that drove the urge to describe and understand the achievement. In conclusion, while the expedition and Niebuhr’s approach to describing it are a very characteristic example of sober curiosity at work, there are moments when a vibrant, although certainly thoughtful, sense of wonder and an excited curiosity, now transformed, are powerful forces as well. t 54 Ibid., 328. 55 See Chapter Two, note 101. ie. Uggla, ed., Resa till lycklige Arabien, 64 (trans. Hansen, ed. The Linnaeus Apostles, 4, 315.

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One of the primary regions for the application of diligent curiosity in the 18th Century was Asia, the region in which, for the most part, the Danish Expedition took place. What was the effect of that application? In what ways did the process of inquiring and describing, especially as seen in the writings of Niebuhr, exhibit a changed approach to the study of the peoples of Asia? An illuminating examination of European interactions with and perspectives on the civilizations of Asia, is Jürgen Osterhammel’s Die Entzauberung Asiens. In this important work Osterhammel argues that in the 18th Century the perspective of explorers and travelers, and scholars in their studies, towards Asia changed. Asia lost its “fairy-tale-like quality” in the eyes of involved Europeans; the attraction of Europeans to the exotic, the strange, the unknown, perhaps the unknowable and even magical in Asia was marginalized. It was replaced, most notably during the last four decades of the century, by a commitment to “rational description and analysis of contemporary Asian societies,” by a serious interest in what made foreign cultures unique, in variations and degrees of difference.56 Thus Asia was “‘entmystifiziert’ and made intelligible within a unified cognitive continuum.”57 Both in practice and in products, principally Niebuhr’s published works, the Danish Expedition presents conceptual elements that undergird Osterhammel’s theoretical description. In practice the kind of phenomenon analyzed by Osterhammel required investigators who were well-prepared, knowledgeable in the local language and committed to learning from local inhabitants. They needed to bring to the task of investigation an open-mindedness – an impartiality towards the people and civilizations they were encountering. They had to manifest a self-awareness of their Eurocentrism and actively try to mediate it, or liberate themselves from it. In their on-going work of observation, they needed, in the words of one contemporary, “to see distinctly and accurately, to describe plainly, dispassionately and truly.”58 All of these elements are present in the approach of the Danish Expedition, in its Instructions, its actual implementation or experience, and its presentation of findings. It is striking how Niebuhr’s published works through their factual content, their tone, and the devices we have described, actively tackles the problem of accuracy and impartiality. And it is noteworthy that these qualities were clearly recognized and appreciated by his readers. The terminology used by reviewers to describe his works coincides closely with the descriptors used by Osterhammel. An important part of Osterhammel’s interpretation is that Niebuhr was not alone. There was a whole group of like-minded persons who contributed in similar ways through field work to shaping the structure of inquiry about Asian cultures, individuals such as Abraham-Hyacinthe Anquetil-Duperron (1731–1805), the afore-

56 Osterhammel, Die Entzauberung Asiens, 11. 57 Ibid., 413. 58 Ibid., 152.

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mentioned pioneering translator of the Zend-Avesta, and a thoughtful traveler in Asia.59 Finally, Osterhammel poses the rhetorical question: “How serious, how genuine was the cosmopolitanism and extra-European interest of the 18th Century.”60 Did not Europe still see things primarily in a mirror of self-reflection? Did they not look for and see what they wanted to? These issues he recognizes as a problem of the socialization and personal integrity of the investigator, but he demonstrates that on the whole the interest of these Europeans was sincere and the observers were able to produce findings that indicated they were not mere prisoners of Eurocentrism.61 This is a significant challenge, for while sincerity may be real, it may not be sufficient, for unless the European observers defined the problem of Eurocentrism explicitly, their ability to detach themselves from their own preconceptions would be limited. The Danish Expedition provides a variant to this discussion. As we know, Michaelis’ original proposal was based on a genuine interest in Arabia, but the underlying motive was Eurocentric. Although Michaelis wanted the members to be open-minded and factual, the ultimate intent was not to understand Arabia better, but to understand the Bible better. This perspective inevitably shaped the initial thoughts on what the expedition should look for, and accounts in part for why Bernstorff initially supported Michaelis’ proposal. However, as we have seen, and will explore further shortly, the events of the expedition, the personalities of its members, the inherent strengths of the disciplines of inquiry they employed, and the pervasive and enveloping environment of the Middle East itself transformed the focus of the expedition into a sustained exercise in understanding contemporary societies and environments in the Middle East as a region. This became the de facto objective of the expedition. In this way, we can see within the life cycle of the Arabian Journey the evolution of the phenomenon Osterhammel describes. In sum, Osterhammel readily admits that Carsten Niebuhr is one of the heroes in his analysis. Given that Niebuhr and the expedition represent a robust manifestation of Osterhammel’s interpretation, this characterization is fitting. An obvious corollary to our comments on Osterhammel’s study is a brief discussion of Edward Said’s well-known thesis of Orientalism. Based on everything we have learned about Niebuhr as a person and the expedition as a historical event, it is difficult to see how Said’s assessment would be descriptive of the Danish project. Of course, Said never pretended to apply it to a Northern European setting and chronologically his treatise begins well after the Arabian journey. This is not the place for a recapitulation of Said’s arguments which have become almost common 59 On Anquetil-Duperron, who deserves a good study in English, see Raymond Schwab, Vie d’Anquetil-Duperron (Paris, 1935); Jean-Luc Kieffer, Anquetil-Duperron. L’Inde en France au XVIIle siècle (Paris, 1983); and Jacques Anquetil, Anquetil Duperron. Premier orientaliste français biographie (Paris, 2005). 60 Osterhammel, Die Entzauberung Asiens, 21. 61 Ibid, pp. 21–27.

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knowledge. Nor is it necessary in the case of the Danish Expedition. Neither the expedition itself, nor Niebuhr’s portrayal of it were a prelude to Danish colonial or commercial designs on the region, or to any kind of ideological suzerainty over it. As we have seen commercial interests were excluded from the expedition’s mission. In fact, while the expedition was being conducted the status of Denmark’s embassy in Istanbul was downgraded, a symbol of declining interest in the region. Nor in the 19th Century did Denmark have any special designs on the area. Tangentially, even Germany, which in the 18th Century, was still a disunified region of more than 300 states and principalities, had no capacity to pursue such interests. Moreover, Niebuhr’s portrayal of the Arab Middle East did not create or perpetuate pre-colonialist ideological frameworks or mental models of European superiority or Middle Eastern inferiority. Quite the contrary, Niebuhr’s goal, as we know, was to try to create an accurate understanding of, and respect for the intrinsic characteristics of the region and its peoples. Thus as conducted and reported by Niebuhr, the expedition, in any meaningful way, is not a precursor to Said’s concept of Orientalism, and Niebuhr is not, in Said’s sense, an Orientalist.62 This brings us, however, to a somewhat broader question, that of Niebuhr’s general association, in the context of Orientalism, with the Enlightenment’s positivist views. Stephan Conermann has argued that although Niebuhr was not an Orientalist, he still cannot escape from what Conermann calls the “orientalischen Diskurspotential” of the Enlightenment.63 That is Niebuhr still bears the burden of a vision of Asia that was Eurocentric and rational, measuring progress by the attainment and spread of 18th Century European values. Although Niebuhr’s information was objective for the times, it nonetheless contributed to the growing knowledge of Asia by Europeans and to their sense of mastery over it. From this perspective, Conermann argues Niebuhr is inevitably part of the Enlightenment project and therefore “the collecting of facts is in any case not without suspicion.”64 There is, as we have mentioned previously, no doubt that Niebuhr was ethnocentric. But this is not a trait restricted to North Germans. All peoples are ethnocentric to a degree. The existence of ethnocentrism by itself is insufficient to sustain a broader notion such as Orientalism in the absence of other value-based phenomena. The question, however, is what is the specific impact of ethnocentrism on the knowledge and context that is being communicated. In Niebuhr’s case, we have seen that he is very aware of this problem, in general and regarding specifics, as he makes clear in his introductions and repeatedly throughout his works. For example, 62 Indeed, looking ahead to the 19th Century, see Suzanne L. Marchand’s German Orientalism in the Age of Empire. Religion, Race and Scholarship (Cambridge, 2009), for a full discussion on the difficulty of applying Said’s notion of Orientalism to German Oriental Studies in that period. Also useful is Katherine Arens, “Said’s Colonial Fantasies: How Orientalism marginalizes 18th Century Germans,” Herder Jahrbuch 7 (2004): 11–29. 63 Conermann, “Carsten Niebuhr und das orientalistische Potential des Aufklärungsdiskurses,” 430–432. 64 Ibid., 432.

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he does not see Arabs as superior or inferior to Europeans; he just tries to describe their characteristics and explain their differences in a way that will encourage the European reader to engage the material with an open mind. As Ludolf Kuchenbuch has pointed out, Niebuhr is less a social scientist or historian and more a scientist with a high degree of technical competence.65 He is a surveyor observing and describing the human and physical landscape before him. He is a surveyor with a strong sense of humanity, but a surveyor nonetheless, and it is this perspective that is an important source of his impartiality, accuracy and open-mindeness. However, Niebuhr is somewhat peculiar in that his empiricism is not accompanied by a pronounced rationalism. He accepts the reality of the non-rational aspects of the world he is visiting; he does not try to impose or presuppose some kind of rational ordering of what he observes. He appreciates variety in the human experience, acknowledges the important role of superstition and tradition, is sympathetic to the foibles of peoples and respects the essentiality of different religious views. As a rural person he knows that knowledge and wisdom come from many sources and backgrounds. His cultural generosity is striking. Thus if his viewpoint is understood, Niebuhr’s descriptions do not necessarily sustain all of the stereotypical norms ascribed to Enlightenment core beliefs, but rather elaborate and differentiate some of these beliefs.66 Niebuhr is an example not of the monolithic character of the Enlightenment project, but of the great diversity of that historical process. Therefore association of him with the Enlightenment as a larger phenomenon should be based on a discriminating assessment of the particular features of his work and outlook. In this broader sense as well, with such an examination in mind, Niebuhr does not appear to be part of what has been called the “Orientalist” outlook nor did he contribute to its growth in any meaningful way. t Of course, the notion of the demystification of Asia, if it were to have any substance, required a new kind of dedication by European explorers and travelers. Being more open-minded, the ability to craft more accurate, detailed descriptions, and the art of making judgments that were well-informed as opposed to superficial and stereotypical, meant that investigators had to be better prepared (know the language, for example), and capable of using various disciplines of inquiry with new seriousness. This kind of approach is evident in the Danish Expedition, and it is to the topic of the disciplines of inquiry that we will turn.

65 Lothar(sic) (Ludolf ) Kuchenbuch, “Vorwelt – Mitwelt – Nachwelt. Epilogische Anmerkungen zum Eutiner Niebuhr-Kolloquium,” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 439. 66 See, for example, the list of beliefs in Conermann, “Carsten Niebuhr und das orientalistische Potential des Aufklärungsdiskurses,” 430.

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The Danish Expedition was primarily a project of the universities of Northern Europe – certainly Göttingen, but also Copenhagen and Uppsala. Michaelis, Mayer, Linnaeus, Kratzenstein, – a philologist, astronomer, botanist and physicist – these are the men who created its intellectual framework. All of them were important scholars of their time. They in turn interacted with a community of polymaths – academicians who were active in the shaping and defining of a great variety of disciplines. But in many cases the domains of inquiry were still emerging, as were the methodologies of investigation. Boundaries were frequently ill-defined, although the disciplines in the natural sciences were more defined than others. The professionalization of many fields of study, so characteristic of the 19th Century, with its accompanying compartmentalization of research and knowledge, had yet to occur. The academic environment was experimental and dynamic, fluid and, in many ways, unstructured. This was especially true at an institution like Göttingen where the influence of the theological faculty had been reduced and freedom in research was encouraged. In such a setting, a multidisciplinary approach, such as that proposed by Michaelis, while innovative, did not take extraordinary effort. It seemed to emerge organically from the eclectic interests of the faculty and from their social and intellectual interactions in an institution that by today’s standards was very small, like all of those in the region at that time. In many ways the expedition was just another product of the Enlightenment as conversation and of the interaction between localities of intellectual activity in 18th-century Europe.67 It included real discussions, such as those Michaelis had with his group of professors to craft the Fragen, but also correspondence with other scholars and institutions, articles and meetings. In aggregate it added up to a sort of free-wheeling discussion of what such an endeavor should look like. But there can be no doubt that Michaelis, as we have said earlier, with help from Bernstorff, was the orchestrator of the conversation. It was a conversation, as has been noted, that he originally hoped would continue even after the members of the expedition were in the field. And to him must go the primary credit for combining a variety of disciplines – history, geography, astronomy and the natural sciences – to support the investigation of a problem in Biblical scholarship. His inclusion of the sciences in such an intellectual undertaking was a true advance. Thus the expedition is a field study not only of the Middle East, but, on a small scale, of the use of many disciplines of inquiry to tackle a research problem in the second half of the 18th Century. We will look at this topic briefly from two perspectives – the changing disciplinary focus of the expedition, and the evolving academic disciplinary environment in Northern Europe. First, it is clear that the intellectual focus of the expedition changed over seven years. As originally conceived by Michaelis, various disciplines – philology, botany, 67 For an interesting and broad discussion of this point, see Lawrence E. Klein, “Enlightenment as Conversation,” in What’s Left of Enlightenment? A Postmodern Question, ed. Keith Michael Baker and Peter Hanns Reill (Stanford, 2001), 148–166; and Hans Erich Bödeker, “Aufklärung als Kommunikationsprozeß,” in Aufklärung. Aufklärung als Prozeß, 2 (1987): 89–111.

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navigational astronomy, linguistics, geography and history – were to be mobilized to support the scholarly investigation of the Bible as an historical document. But by the time the expedition left Copenhagen in 1761, armed with its instructions and a multitude of questions from Paris and elsewhere, the importance of scientific investigation in its own right had already increased. This trend continued over the course of the expedition and after, when its results were published.68 Because of personalities, events, environment, and the character of the disciplines themselves, scientific research was pursued independently of a philological orientation, and the role of philology declined in importance. For example, although philology was the organizing discipline for the project, its leading role was never asserted. First, most of Haven’s assigned tasks, aside from the acquisition of manuscripts were never accomplished.69 He did not gather data on Arab customs that might shed light on understanding Holy Scripture and Mosaic Law. Although he did some lexicographical work, he obtained little specific information on colloquial Arabic that would elucidate terminology in the Bible, and he did not undertake a study of Arab dialects. With only a couple of exceptions, he did not copy Old Arabic and Middle Eastern inscriptions, nor investigate the religion of the Sabaeans and other pre-Islamic communities. Moreover, he never helped other members make connections between Biblical Philology and the areas of investigation for which they were responsible because his own output was so small. Of course, some of these connections were made by Forsskål and Niebuhr on their own, but Niebuhr, in contrast to Forsskål, was not trained in Theology or Philology, and did not know Hebrew. As we know the diminished presence of philology was not primarily a consequence of Haven’s early death, but of his Eurocentrism, laziness and disagreeable personality.70 This was exacerbated by the very late arrival of the full set of Michaelis’ philologically-oriented Fragen. However, philology’s reduced role also reflects that it was a field that was predominantly a library-based discipline, or one for Stubengelehrten. There were few precedents for true field work. That, of course, was what Michaelis wanted to correct. Thus Haven was able to acquire books and manuscripts, but when it came to studying colloquial Arab dialects in the countryside of Arabia, he was ill-prepared and without methodological guidance. These kinds of rural field studies were still in their infancy. 68 This development is discusssed in some detail in Lawrence J. Baack, “From Biblical Philology to Scientific Achievement and Cultural Understanding: Carsten Niebuhr, Peter Forsskål and Frederik von Haven and the Transformation of the Danish Expedition to Arabia 1761–1767,” in Friis, Harbsmeier and Simonsen, eds. Early Scientific Expeditions and Local Encounters – New Perspectives on Carsten Niebuhr and ‘The Arabian Journey’, 61–77. 69 See the Royal Instruction, paragraphs 35–42. 70 Niebuhr was correct when he wrote after the expedition, “von Haven was to be sure a learned man, but he could not condescend to live according to Middle Eastern customs and to interact with Middle Easterners with familiarity, and such a man cannot collect much.” Niebuhr to Friedrich Nicolai, 20 April 1778, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Nachlaß Nicolai 53: Niebuhr, Carsten, courtesy of Dieter Lohmeier.

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By way of contrast, the natural sciences, navigational astronomy, cartography and geography were vigorously represented by Forsskål and Niebuhr. Moreover, their disciplines were better defined for field work. Their methodological strength naturally asserted itself so that the standards of these disciplines, not biblical philology, determined the character and focus of their research. Of course, after Yemen, Niebuhr formally took on additional responsibilities for examining Middle Eastern cultures, history and religion, but his activities and interests were primarily driven by the cultural landscape he was visiting, not by some biblical overlay. Thus what emerged from his work was a rich, broad, organically-derived tapestry of cultural geography which then became the dominant theme for the entire expedition. In the end, the expedition did produce much information in the natural sciences and geography that Michaelis and others used for biblical research, such as Michaelis’ study on Mosaic Law. But philology was certainly no longer the organizing principle, and that is probably why Michaelis lost interest in the project. Although his reviews of Niebuhr’s works were graciously positive and generous, despite Niebuhr’s complaint about Michaelis in the Preface to the Beschreibung, we know from Michaelis’ memoirs that he recognized and was disappointed by the transformation of the expedition’s focus.71 The remarkable achievements of Niebuhr notwithstanding, he believed that the tardy arrival of the Fragen and the death of the other members, notably Haven and Forsskål, irreparably damaged the philological focus of the expedition. As he said, “Thus the use of my questions to a degree fell by the wayside.” This point was also noted explicitly in the detailed obituary of Niebuhr written by his son, Barthold Georg.72Also it appears that Michaelis was uncomfortable with the sources of some of Niebuhr’s information. Displaying his prejudice against contemporary Jews, Michaelis in his memoirs pointedly criticized Niebuhr because he asked questions and obtained answers from Jews and rabbis instead of only from “native and genuine Arabs.”73 In any case, Michaelis’ comments confirm that his original idea for the Danish Expedition had been transformed into a more exclusively scientific endeavor. Its results were determined by the strong personalities of two principal investigators and by the intrinsic methodological robustness of the disciplines in which they worked, namely botany, zoology, astronomy and cartography. Geography was less well-defined, and falls into another category which will be discussed shortly. The expedition is also useful for providing a multidisciplinary example of the actual practice of a variety of academic disciplines in the field, thereby providing us 71 For Michaelis’ reviews of the Beschreibung and volumes one and two of the Reisebeschreibung, see Johann David Michaelis, Orientalische und exegetische Bibliothek 4 (1773): 64–127; 7 (1774): 1–54; and 13 (1778): 18–59. 72 As B. G. Niebuhr wrote with some exaggeration, the original objective of the expedition, at least as manifested in Michaelis’ Fragen became “an infinitesimally trivial matter of secondary importance.” B. G. Niebuhr, Carsten Niebuhrs Leben, 12. 73 For the comments in his memoirs see Michaelis, Lebensbeschreibung, 74–76.

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with a momentary indication of their actual disciplinary character in the later decades of the 18th Century. This discussion will move from those disciplines with the greatest definition to those whose boundaries or approach were still essentially evolving. Forsskål’s work in botany and zoology was well defined. It essentially followed Linnaean principles and further demonstrated the increasing dominance of his system as the prevailing taxonomy for Europe. The emphasis of Linnaeus on precise and informed observation was decisive. However, Forsskål, as we know, also took the natural sciences in new directions. His application of Linnaean principles and the guidance of Kratzenstein to marine biology in the Red Sea was pioneering work. His tentative speculations about plant geography anticipated a direction that research would take in the 19th Century. And his generally expansive descriptions and incorporation of Arabic, of the vernacular, went beyond Linnaean protocols. Still the discipline of botany, in particular, was well defined with an increasingly standardized set of methodologies. Its domain was well determined in relationship to other disciplines. The prominent role it played in the expedition and its published results, despite the death of Forsskål, mirrors its preeminent role as a science in Europe during the second half of the 18th Century. To a lesser degree, the same can be said for navigational astronomy and cartography. The research of Tobias Mayer established a new methodology for determining longitude and innovations in navigational instruments made the work of observation more accurate. Niebuhr was given precise instructions by Mayer on how to make observations and to complete the mathematical calculations that would yield an actual longitudinal position. And we have seen in practice the contribution that he made to Mayer’s research. But Niebuhr’s efforts were just part of an evolving landscape in the field. Maskelyne was refining Mayer’s tables and methodology, French astronomers were producing important reference works, such as those of de LaCaille, Harrison was developing his chronometers and mariners like Cook were testing them. Thus Niebuhr’s work in navigational astronomy was part of a technologically-dynamic field whose next stage of development would not fully appear until the beginning of the 19th Century when chronometers would become generally available. At that point the troublesome problem of determining longitude at sea had not only been solved but its solution made simple for any mariner who had the proper equipment. Henceforth, navigation of the world’s oceans would be conducted with much greater ease and certitude, and the discipline’s era of innovation, for the time being, was over. Similarly, Mayer had instructed Niebuhr in the latest principles of cartography – principles that combined the use of navigational astronomy with other mapping methodologies. These methodologies were applied with skill by Niebuhr and, for the times, produced maps of high quality. However, despite the many elements of precision in Niebuhr’s cartography, the field in which he was working was still evolving. Although Niebuhr did not use historic data as a source for his maps, it was still a common practice in cartography. Moreover, his extensive use of hearsay evi-

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dence and his imprecise method of measuring distance over land are signs of the scientific immaturity that was still prevalent in the 18th Century, a methodological weakness of which Niebuhr was aware.74 Nonetheless, as symbolized by developments in Göttingen and elsewhere, cartography was in the process of moving from being a predominantly entrepreneurial publishing activity to an academically based-scientific discipline or a function of the state. For example, as was alluded to in our discussion of the career of Tobias Mayer, Münchhausen wanted to make Göttingen into a center for cartography and geography.75 He induced the Cosmographische Gesellschaft to move from Nürnberg to Göttingen in 1754 and at the same time recruited two of its leaders, Johann Michael Franz and Georg Moritz Lowitz to leave the Homann mapmaking firm, where Mayer had also worked, to join the philosophical faculty with specific responsibilities for cartography and geography. In fact, Franz was given the title “Professor of Geography,” the first such appointment at a German university. Together with Mayer they gave Göttingen an unparalleled strength among German universities in what was called “Mathematical Geography.” The program at Göttingen was based on practical instruction on subjects such as “Hydrographie oder Schiffkunst” (Mayer), “Vorlesung und Unterweisung über das Zeichnen von Landcharten” (Lowitz), and “Allgemeine mathematische und historische Geographie” (Franz). Even Niebuhr’s professor in mathematics, Kästner, had, as we noted before, a strong interest in geography, and was the driving force behind the publication in the years 1747–1774 of the 21 folio volume Allgemeine Historie der Reisen zu Wasser und zu Lande, the most extensive collection on travel in the 18th Century.76 Niebuhr was a product of these disciplinary developments in Göttingen, developments that were also occurring elsewhere, particularly in France. So the expedition’s cartographic work is very representative of the shift, in particular, from 74 Niebuhr to Reinhard, 30 November 1803, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, Nr.10. Although pacing tested on an even surface is 99 % accurate, in practice variations in terrain and inaccurate counting introduce a higher degree of error. See J. H. Andrews, Maps in Those Days. Cartographic Methods before 1850 (Dublin, 2009), 87. 75 For the fullest discussion of these developments in Göttingen, see the detailed account by Arthur Kühn, Die Neugestaltung der deutschen Geographie im 18. Jahrhundert. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Geographie an der Georgia Augusta zu Göttingen (Leipzig, 1939), esp. 14–60. Also see Dietrich Denecke, “Anwendungsorientierte Ansätze in der Frühzeit der Geographie in Göttingen,” in Geographie in der Grundlagensforschung und als Angewandte Wissenschaft. Göttinger Akzente, ed. Jörg Güßefeldt and Jürgen Spönemann (Göttingen, 1997), 111–126. Developments in France, where cartography was the most advanced in Europe, are discussed in the very thoughtful work by Anne Marie Claire Godlewska, Geography Unbound. French Geographic Science from Cassini to Humboldt (Chicago, 1999), esp. 21–55. Also see the excellent discussion of the transformation of cartography into a more empirical discipline in Christian Licoppe, “The project for a map of Languedoc in eighteenth-century France at the intersection between astronomy and geography,” in Instruments, Travel and Science. ed. Bourguet, Licoppe and Sibum, 51–74. 76 See Peter Boerner, “Die großen Reisesammlungen des 18. Jahrhunderts,” in Reiseberichte als Quellen europäischer Kulturgeschichte, ed. Mączak and Teuteberg, 68; and Jäger, “Reisefacetten der Aufklärungszeit,” 268.

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historical compilation to scientific observation, and of the general professionalization of the discipline in the second half of the 18th Century. Cartography naturally leads us to the affiliated discipline of geography, the broad arena of “Land und Leute,” and then into the so-called “Sciences of Man.” Here geography shared a crowded disciplinary stage with a set of emerging and evolving fields such as Statistik, ethnography, anthropology and history.77 And to a considerable extent Niebuhr’s work in this area also reflects the loose and confusing state of disciplinary definition in these fields in Northern Europe at this time. For example, Franz, under the subject of Staatsgeographie, set forth a methodology for the description of countries that included 21 categories of information. These included topography and soil, political arrangements, commerce, customs, language, monetary system, religion and education. Meanwhile, another soon to be famous colleague in geography, the theologian Anton Friedrich Büsching, who Münchhausen had also added to the faculty in the 1750’s, incorporated a more historical perspective into this descriptive methodology, in addition to his own pronounced religious orientation.78 At the same time, still in Göttingen, Gottfried Achenwall, a professor of law, was developing the field of Statistik.79 Its focus was on producing a factual and up-to-date description of a country from the perspective of the state, which was consistent with one of the purposes of the University. Achenwall articulated many of the same categories mentioned by Franz and Büsching. But his emphasis was less on geography and certainly culture, and more on a static, contemporary snapshot or inventory of the material characteristics and capabilities of a country and its people. The country as a whole was his unit of analysis, and Achenwall’s interests, in contrast to Franz and Büsching, were exclusively in the European states. What interested him most was understanding and promoting the welfare (Wohlfahrt) of the entire society. As he wrote, “The more something concerns the 77 For the much earlier background to these developments, particularly in Statistik, see Justin Stagl, “Vom Dialog zum Fragebogen. Miszellen zur Geschichte der Umfrage,” Kölner Zeitschrift für Soziologie und Sozialpyschologie 31 (1979): 611–631. 78 On Büsching, see Peter Hoffmann, Anton Friedrich Büsching (1724–1793). Ein Leben im Zeitalter der Aufklärung (Berlin, 2000). His period in Göttingen is reviewed on pp. 49–66. 79 These developments are discussed in Kühn, Die Neugestaltung der deutschen Geographie im 18. Jahrhundert, passim.; Gerhard Lutz, “Geographie und Statistik im 18. Jahrhundert. Zu Neugliederung und Inhalten von ‘Fächern’ im Bereich der historischen Wissenschaften,” and Hanno Beck, “Geographie und Statistik. Die Lösung einer Polarität,” both in, Statistik und Staatsbeschreibung in der Neuzeit, vornehmlich im 16.–18. Jahrhundert, ed. Mohammed Rassem and Justin Stagl (Paderborn, 1980), 249–267, and 269–281, respectively. Also useful are Gabriella Valera, “Statistik, Staatengeschichte, Geschichte in 18. Jahrhundert,” and Pasquale Pasquino, “Politisches und historisches Interesse.‘Statistik’ und historische Staatslehre bei Gottfried Achenwall (1719– 1772),” both in Aufklärung und Geschichte. Studien zur deutschen Geschichtswissenschaft im 18. Jahrhundert, ed. Hans Erich Bödecker, Georg G. Iggers, Jonathan B. Knudsen and Peter H. Reill (Göttingen, 1986), 119–143, and 144–168, respectively. Finally see the very interesting article by Johan van der Zande, “Statistik and History in the German Enlightenment,” Journal of the History of Ideas, 71 (2010): 411–431.

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well-being of a whole realm, the more it needs to be explained by Statistik.” An important feature of Achenwall’s approach was its emphasis on the condition of the people, not of rulers.80 However, it was also a methodology that was essentially “presentist” and fundamentally ahistorical. Subsequently, both geography and Statistik moved in new directions at Göttingen. August Ludwig Schlözer, who followed Achenwall in the 1770’s, saw the field of Statistik as part of a continuum of disciplines that included ethnography and history. In fact, he appears to be the first academic to define the subject of “ethnography,” based on the work of the German historian and early ethnographer, Gerhard Friedrich Müller, who participated in The Great Northern Expeditions referred to earlier. Finally, the historian, Johann Christoff Gatterer, who emerged at Göttingen as its leading geographer after the death or departure of Mayer, Lowitz, Franz and Büsching, saw the field as a support discipline to history. He too recognized the importance of ethnography, but saw it as a subfield of geography.81 Suffice it to say that during the 1750’s and 1760’s, Göttingen was bubbling with different ideas, approaches, and syntheses for the study of “Land und Leute.” With this overlapping and ill-defined disciplinary landscape in mind, we can return to Niebuhr’s work. For example, Niebuhr’s relatively static description of Arabia in the Beschreibung follows in some ways the discipline of Statistik as defined by Achenwall, but with its greater attention to customs and religion it is also characteristic of Franz’s approach to descriptive geography, and anticipates directions that Schlözer’s writings would later take. Interestingly, he also appears frequently to follow this same methodology for some of the cities he visited, whose descriptions were set forth in his Anmerkungen in the Reisebeschreibung. By way of contrast, his discussion of the countryside, the villages and towns, mountains and deserts, takes on much more the character of cultural geography and ethnography, with glimpses of anthropology, emphasizing language, religion, local practices of one kind or another, and stories of local history.82 It does not present a description of a country or region 80 Van der Zande, “Statistik and History in the German Enlightenment,” 421 and 432. 81 Kühn, Die Neugestaltung der deutschen Geographie im 18. Jahrhundert, 112; and Ulrich Muhlack, “Historie und Philologie,” in Aufklärung und Geschichte, ed. Bödecker, 70. Also Stagl, A History of Curiosity, 233–268, and especially Bucher, “Von Beschreibung der Sitten und Gebräuche der Völker”, 207–212, for a full discussion of Schlözer and ethnography. Also see Vermeulen’s articles, “The German Invention of Völkerkunde,” his “The Emergence of “Ethnography” ca. 1770 in Göttingen” his “Origins and institutionalization of ethnography and ethnology in Europe and the USA, 1771–1845,” his “Göttingen und die Völkerkunde,” and his “Von der Völker-Beschreibung zur Völkerkunde. Ethnologische Ansichten Gerhard Friedrich Müllers und August Ludwig Schlözers,” in Europa in der Frühen Neuzeit. Festschrift für Günter Mühlpfordt, ed. Erich Donnert (Cologne, 2008), 781–801. On Gatterer’s interesting and wide ranging views on history, see Peter Hanns Reill, “History and Hermeneutics in the Aufklärung: The Thought of Johann Christoph Gatterer, “ Journal of Modern History 45 (1973): 24–51. Some of these developments are also summarized in Margarita Bowen, Empiricism and Geographical Thought. From Francis Bacon to Alexander von Humboldt (Cambridge, 1981), 154–161. 82 “Cultural Geography” is probably the best overall descriptor for Niebuhr’s geographical

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“as a whole,” but rather one that is highly differentiated and localized, a point we will return to shortly in the context of Herder. This perspective was probably a function of the vividness of the human landscape through which he was passing and of his own curiosity. But his work could also be characterized as that of a subjective “Statistiker,” a gatherer not just of quantitative or empirical data, but of qualitative information “that had to be established by reliable witnesses and impartial judgment.”83 Then intermingled with his descriptions of “Land und Leute” is a mish-mash of historical discussions. These include chronologies of rulers and administrators, in part called for in the questions of the French Academy, accounts of recent or even contemporary developments, typical more of the discipline of “Statistik,” and then discussions of local history and antiquities. This latter category really emphasized archeology and ancient languages with a thin overlay of ancient history. Also sprinkled in are historical asides that frame an issue under discussion, to lend perspective or context. Niebuhr valued history and also recognized the importance of obtaining indigenous accounts and having them accurately translated. For example, we may recall that while in Shīrāz, he obtained a manuscript copy of “The Life of Nadir Shah” written by the court official Mīrzā Mahdī. He sent it to Copenhagen, and at the behest of the King, it was translated by the British orientalist, William Jones, into French.84 Niebuhr later commented that he believed the translation retained a Middle Eastern character and was stylistically pleasing, but he also pointed out “that the original must also in translation remain as much as possible an original. One sees from this example that the Muslims still today have writers of history. I wish therefore that one would not look upon all Middle Easterners as ignorant Barbarians, but instead that travelers would make an effort to obtain their historical works and that they may meet many Bernstorffs who would recommend the Middle Eastern works to their sovereign.”85 He also had a pronounced, but not restrictive, historical perspective on the places he visited, whether reflecting on the course work. In that sense his efforts may be seen as an early part of an emerging thread in the discipline that leads from the Göttingen geographers and Herder, to German historical/cultural geographers of the 19th Century, such as Carl Ritter, and then to Carl Sauer and the Berkeley School of Geography in the 20th Century. Although here the term Cultural Geography is being used in a broad generic sense, not in the more theoretically rigorous form developed by Sauer at Berkeley. On Sauer and the Berkeley School, see Kent Mathewson and Martin S. Kenzer, eds., Culture, Land and Legacy. Perspectives on Carl O. Sauer and the Berkeley School Geography (Baton Rouge, La., 2003); and William M. Denevan and Kent Mathewson, eds., Carl Sauer on Culture and Landscape (Baton Rouge, La., 2009). 83 Van der Zande, “Statistik and History in the German Enlightenment,” 419–420 84 William Jones, Histoire de Nader Shah, traduite du Persan par ordre de Sa Majesté le Roi de Dannemark (London, 1770). For a discussion of the significance of the work, see Osterhammel, Die Entzauberung Asiens, 221–222. 85 Niebuhr to Heyne, 5 February 1772, NSuUG, Cod. Ms. Mich. 326, Bl. 281. Also see Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, II: 94–95 fn.

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of geologic and human history represented in the Pyramids at Giza, or noting the ways in which various sites had a connection to history as presented in the Bible or in the Islamic tradition. Niebuhr studied some history at Göttingen in preparation for the trip and he read some after he returned. But history was not a field in which he was formally trained. His haphazard approach to the subject matter reflects this lack of training. But coincidently it also parallels the amorphous character of history as a discipline in transition at this time, and the emergence of a more historicist approach to analysis in the sciences of man. This is a substantial topic well beyond the scope of this study.86 t Finally, especially germane to the fields of history and anthropology are Niebuhr’s views on the important topics of culture and society, and the concepts of tolerance, egalitarianism, universalism and particularism – issues that transcend the so-called sciences of man or culture in the late 18th Century. For reasons of alignment with Niebuhr’s makeup which was not theoretically inclined, we will not analyze this issue in the abstract, but will discuss it briefly within the comparative context of one of the century’s most expansive cultural figures, Johann Gottfried Herder, with whom Niebuhr also had brief contact relevant to our topic. Niebuhr was, and remained, a rural person. But, as a result of the expedition his experience in the world was extraordinary. The combination of the local and the universal shaped his outlook towards other cultures. Philosophizing, as his son pointed out, was foreign to his nature, but nevertheless implicit in his behavior and writings is a synthesis of cultural and social values that can be identified and is instructive in some ways of the age in which he lived. For example, Niebuhr had a basic tolerance for people of all religions, cultural backgrounds and nationality. He also had a respect for people regardless of their class or standing. If anything, as has been emphasized, he was partial to people of rural backgrounds and humble origins. It is clear from his many anecdotes that he felt a common sense of shared humanity with the people of the lands he visited. Whether talking with admiration to a young Bedouin boy in the Sinai desert, leaving his tent behind because he did not want to appear superior to poor Armenians on a trip to Shīrāz, or feeling sad over the loneliness and sorrow of a wrangler who has lost his brother, Niebuhr consistently displayed an emotional concern for his fellow man regardless of station in life. It is also clear from his descriptions of impoverished peoples and pointed 86 On this see above all Reill’s, The German Enlightenment and the Rise of Historicism, and his many articles on this topic. Also see Hans Erich Bödeker, Georg G. Iggers. Jonathan B. Knudsen and Peter H. Reill, eds., Aufklärung und Geschichte. Studien zur deutschen Geschichtswissenschaft im. 18. Jahrhundert (Göttingen, 1986), which contains an excellent group of essays on the topic from various perspectives.

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criticism of despotic or imperialistic rule, that this basic sense of a shared humanity was joined by a simple notion: all people deserved to live in peace, free from oppression and allowed to pursue openly their own customs and religious practices, so long as they did not harm others. Toleration, respect for differences among peoples, and freedom from oppression and persecution – these were universal values for Niebuhr which belonged to every human being. But a corollary to this definition of universal values was that, at least in the context of the many peoples of the Middle East he encountered, he did not believe in the dominance of the Egyptian-Greco-Roman western tradition as a universal heritage or standard. Nor for these peoples did he believe in the validity of any other universal set of social arrangements, philosophies of law, developmental stages of civilization or other sets of ideal norms. We should recall that because of gaps in his education and his technical bent, Niebuhr did not receive a traditional classical education, typical of those heading into the clergy or the law, in which the tyranny, so to speak, of Greece and Rome ruled. He did not read Greek, his Latin was imperfect and his knowledge of classical literature before leaving on the expedition was weak. As it turned out it was probably a great advantage to him not to see other cultures through the lens of a robust classical heritage.87 Inevitably Niebuhr was Eurocentric. He was a North German protestant. But what is noticeable in his case was his awareness of his own Eurocentrism and his efforts to compensate for it. Thus in the end he was able as a young man to appreciate and respect the integrity of diverse communities and cultures, to enjoy and be intrigued by the diversity of human arrangements, and to accept the legitimacy of each culture. As he said once regarding eating oysters and locusts, the one is as valid as the other. This also reflected his respect for rural localism – local culture, local dialects and local control. Thus, he was a pronounced particularist, but because of experience, curiosity and conviviality, it was a particularism substantially devoid of parochialism, narrow-mindedness or xenophobia. His synthesis of values and outlook made him an effective gatherer of ethnographic and other cultural information, and helped him to describe diverse peoples and cultures in a way, anthropologically, that supported understanding. Niebuhr’s synthesis of universalism and particularity was a position he arrived at independently, but it was not unique. Others in the last decades of the 18th Century, critical of some of the Enlightenment’s assumptions, were exploring the same problem – notably, as Osterhammel has characterized it, how “to place the intrinsic harmony and conflict of cultures in a rational relationship to each other.”88 No one in the period tackled this issue with more vigor and intelligence than Herder, whose thought is part of the intellectual and cultural context in which the expedition was conceived and carried out, as well as a standard against which its results may be compared. Given the extraordinary breadth of Herder’s work, our discussion must 87 On the topic of Eurocentrism and the classical tradition, see Vassilis Lambropoulos, The Rise of Eurocentrism. Anatomy of Interpretation (Princeton, 1993), 3–96. 88 Osterhammel, Die Entzauberung Asiens, 13.

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be restricted to a narrow portion of his thinking, his concept of Humanität, or more specifically what has been described as his notion of pluralist cosmopolitanism, which is very similar to Niebuhr’s position on particularism.89 We are also interested in his early contributions to the field of anthropology. As Michael Forster has recently written in his very thoughtful work, After Herder. Philosophy of Language in the German Tradition, “Herder had no patience with the sort of homogenizing cosmopolitanism – or granting of equal ethical consideration to all human beings on the basis of an illusion that they all share a great deal in common mentally, and particularly in values – that was championed by many Enlightenment thinkers before him, including his own teacher Kant …. However, Herder embraced a distinctive ethical stance which might in contrast be called pluralist cosmopolitanism: a commitment to the equal value of all peoples, despite, and indeed in part because of, the diversity of their mental outlooks and in particular their values.” Forster then quotes from Herder’s Letters for the Advancement of Humanity, “Above all, let one be unbiased …; let one have no pet tribe, no favorite people on the earth… The nature-investigator presupposes no order of rank among the creatures he observes; all are equally dear and valuable to him. Likewise the nature-investigator of humanity ….”90 This position was further supported by his beliefs in individual freedom, egalitarianism and nationalism. Herder was a republican and a democrat; he advocated 89 Herder’s notion of Humanität is complex. See the discussion in Hans Adler, “Johann Gottfried Herder’s Concept of Humanity,” Studies in Eighteenth Century Culture 23 (1994): 55–73, also in A Companion to the Works of Johann Gottfried Herder, ed. Hans Adler and Wulf Koepke (Rochester, 2009), 93–116. 90 Michael N. Forster, After Herder. Philosophy of Language in the German Tradition (Oxford, 2010), 212–213. Using slightly different terminology, Vicki Spencer has described Herder as a “weak pluralist,” to wit: “… weak pluralism, unlike relativism, denies neither the trans-cultural objectivity of values nor the existence of certain universal principles. Where it differs, however, with absolutism is in its recognition of many valuable and different forms of life which cannot be hierarchically ranked.” From “Beyond Either/Or. The Pluralist Alternative in Herder’s Thought,” Herder Jahrbuch 1 (1998): 57. Also see John Zammito, “Herder and Historical Metanarrative: What’s philosophical about History?”, and Karl Menges, “Particular Universals: Herder on National Literature, Popular Literature, and World Literature,” both in A Companion to the Works of Johann Gottfried Herder, ed. Adler and Koepke, 65–91 and 189–213, respectively; Isaiah Berlin, Vico and Herder. Two Studies in the History of Ideas (New York, 1976), 206–216; and Sankar Muthu, Enlightenment Against Empire (Princeton, 2003), Chapter Six, “Pluralism, Humanity, and Empire in Herder’s Political Thought,” 210–258. The analogy to the “nature-investigator” is instructive. The use of analogies was a common practice for Herder, one that he shared, at a different level, with Niebuhr. For Herder see, Peter Hanns Reill, “The Enlightenment from the German periphery: Johann Herder’s reinterpretation of the Enlightenment,” in Peripheries of the Enlightenment. Studies in Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century, ed. Richard Butterwick, Simon Davies and Gabriel Sánchez Espinosa, 1 (2008): 281–288, and by the same author, “Herder’s Historical Practice and the Discourse of Late Enlightenment Science,” in Johann Gottfried Herder. Academic Disciplines and the Pursuit of Knowledge, ed. Wulf Koepke (Columbia, 1996), 13–21, esp. 19.

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freedom of thought and religion. He was opposed to political oppression whether of the domestic or colonial variety. He further believed that although differences of various kinds, property, for example, exist in society, “all people in society have capacities for self-realization, and must receive the opportunity to fulfill them.”91 Finally, Herder, as is well known, had great respect for the legitimacy of every nation or community of peoples. The concept of “nation” for him was cultural and linguistic, not racial or political, and certainly not exclusive. For him the world community was appropriately diverse and his goal was for this grouping of different nations and communities to respect each other, and, because of this mutual respect for their differences, to be able to live together peacefully. In addition, his concept of nationality accounts for his anti-authority notion of populist traditionalism. Herder argued that it is a people’s sense of their culture at the local level – language, customs, music, dance and a shared history – an association that involves all people in the community regardless of class, that gives them the strength and energy to fight oppression.92 Thus we can see that Herder’s position of pluralist cosmopolitanism with the supporting cluster of values we have briefly summarized is similar to Niebuhr’s synthesis of universalism and particularism. As was true for Niebuhr, these values determined Herder’s approach to the study of man, and his role in the early history of anthropology. For example, Forster has formulated a list of twelve ideas that Herder contributed to the development of modern anthropology, a number of them also identified by John Zammito in his work entitled, Kant, Herder and the Birth of Anthropology.93 Some of these are philosophical in nature and nuanced in their meaning, and thus are not really representative of the way in which Niebuhr thought. But many are ideas that, in a straightforward way, Niebuhr practiced in the field and in his writing. These include the idea that based on culture, people think differently, there is mental diversity, and this should be respected; related to the previous point, the investigator is interested in understanding culture, not explaining it; moreover, a historical perspective is important as an aid to appreciating the views of other peoples; the importance of language as a window to understanding culture is, in every respect, an element that cannot be overemphasized; and the approach of a participant observer is an essential way to gain an appreciation for and accurate information about a culture. Based 91 Forster, After Herder, 42. Also see Samson B. Knoll, “Europe in the History of Humanity. Herder, Kurt Breysig, and the Discourse on Eurocentrism in the Study of World History,” Herder Jahrbuch 2 (1998): 123–142. This is discussed in a slightly broader and thoughtful context in Daniel Carey and Sven Trakulhun, “Universalism, Diversity and the Postcolonial Enlightenment,” in The Postcolonial Enlightenment. Eighteenth-Century Colonialism and Postcolonial Theory, ed. Daniel Carey and Lynn Festa (Oxford, 2009), 240–280. 92 Frederick C. Beiser, Enlightenment, Revolution, and Romanticism. The Genesis of Modern German Political Thought 1790–1800, (Cambridge, 1992), 209–215. 93 Forster, After Herder, 205–214; and John H. Zammito, Kant, Herder, and the Birth of Anthropology (Chicago, 2002), esp. 309–351; and Eberhard Berg, “Johann Gottfried Herder,” in Klassiker der Kulturanthropologie, ed. Wolfgang Marschall (Munich, 1990), 51–68.

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on these kinds of contributions, Forster concludes, “that it was Herder who was the father of modern Anthropology.” To be sure no such claim can be made for Niebuhr. But he did follow on his own many of the ideas that Herder later formulated, and in that sense Niebuhr may be seen as an early, sort of, yeoman anthropologist. Both, we might say, were committed to filling in the “Great Map of Mankind” as first asserted by Edmund Burke in 1777. At that time, Burke, in writing to William Robertson about Robertson’s new History of America, described their age of inquiry as follows, “But now the Great Map of Mankind is unrolld at once; and there is no state or Gradation of barbarism, and no mode of refinement which we have not at the same instant under our view. The very different Civility of Europe and of China; The barbarism of Persia and Abyssinia. The erratick manners of Tartary and of Arabia. The Savage State of North America, and of New Zealand.”94 Of course, both Herder and Niebuhr were intent on avoiding the kinds of stereotypical prejudices of a Burke and the possessory implications of unrolling a map. They challenged the characterizations of peoples based on historical notions that had been passed down uncritically, or were based on observations that were ill-informed and fundamentally Eurocentric.95 In this regard, we can see in the Danish Expedition, the juxtaposition of two constructs. One derived from Michaelis. It was the originating force for the journey, and it was based on a sophisticated and innovative methodology for research. It wanted to be factual and impartial, but it was intrinsically Eurocentric. In the end, descriptive information was to have value primarily in relationship to its ability to assist in the elucidation of the Old Testament, a document of the European tradition. The other structure was that of Tobias Mayer, of the cartographer/astronomer. His goal was to gather information from a variety of sources that would attempt to create empirically an accurate description of the world as it existed. Naturally a map through its orientation and its grid has Eurocentric implications as well, but in a cultural sense of describing people they are not dominant. Niebuhr’s inspiration was Mayer, not Michaelis. And, just as in his own cartography where Niebuhr tried to base his charts and maps on his own accurate observations or on direct information he had obtained from knowledgeable inhabitants, he pursued this same methodology to craft his description of peoples, societies and cultures in the Middle East. In this sense, the line of inquiry of geography represented by Mayer superceded the theoretical context of biblical philology originally asserted by Michaelis.

94 Burke to Dr. William Robertson, 9 June 1777, in George H. Guttridge, ed., The Correspondence of Edmund Burke, Vol. III (Chicago, 1961), 350–352. For a discussion of the topic, primarily in a British context, see P. J. Marshall and Glyndwr Williams, The Great Map of Mankind. Perceptions of New Worlds in the Age of Enlightenment (Cambridge, 1982). 95 See Sonia Sikka, “Herder and the Concept of Race,” Herder Jahrbuch 8 (2006): 133–157; and Ernest A. Menze, “Herder and Prejudice,” Herder Jahrbuch 6 (2002): 83–96.

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Herder, through a different process of studying the travel and exploration literature of people like Niebuhr, and other sources, was pursuing the same objective.96 He was, as he outlined once, a little presumptuously to Niebuhr, an “Erklärer,” an explainer or interpreter, while Niebuhr and others like him was a “Beschreiber,” a describer.97 But regardless of role, they independently ended up with similar anthropological notions of both the process for attempting to articulate the “Great Map of Mankind”, and for understanding the kinds of information and perspectives it should encompass. Herder was Niebuhr’s junior by eleven years. He had no influence on Niebuhr’s outlook during the expedition or while Niebuhr was writing his accounts and reports. Herder, on the other hand, was familiar with Niebuhr’s writings and used some of them in his studies. He had high regard for Niebuhr, and cited him, along with Cook, as among six explorers who first provided accurate descriptions of people in all regions of the world.98 Still, Niebuhr’s influence on Herder, a voracious reader of exploration and travel literature, was just one of many. However, they did share one particular interest, Persepolis, and it resulted in a brief exchange between the two men that is germane to our discussion. In 1787, Herder published a brief essay entitled “Persepolis. Eine Muthmassung.”99 It drew heavily on Niebuhr’s description of the ruins and in the article 96 See Larry Wolff, “Discovering Cultural Perspective. The Intellectual History of Anthropological Thought in the Age of Enlightenment,” in The anthropology of the Enlightenment, ed. Larry Wolff and Marco Cipolloni, 23–26. 97 Johann Gottfried Herder, “Persepolis – Eine Muthmassung.” in Herders Sämmtliche Werke, ed. Bernhard Suphan, 33 Volumes (Berlin, 1877–1913) 15: 571–606, specifically 571–572. Niebuhr may have been sensitive to the implications of Herder’s labeling, seeing them as the product of a Stubengelehrter, as opposed to someone who had actually worked in the field. As he wrote in the opening of his article on Persepolis, “From a traveler who has the opportunity to see magnificent ruins from antiquity at the actual sites, one can hardly demand under those circumstances anything more than their true portrayal and description; their closer interpretation appears to belong to the scholars.” Niebuhr may have privately thought that there was no reason why a Beschreiber was not also, later, capable of being an Erklärer, which to some degree Niebuhr became in his writings in Meldorf. Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III, Appendix II, “Persepolis,” 125. 98 See Wolfgang Proß, ed., Johann Gottfried Herder Werke. Vol III/1, Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit (Munich, 2002), 225fn. Hans-Wolf Jäger, “Herder als Leser von Reiseliteratur,” in Reisen im 18. Jahrhundert. Neue Untersuchungen, ed. Wolfgang Griep and Hans-Wolf Jäger (Heidelberg, 1986), 181–199. Also see the excellent discussion on the connection between Niebuhr and Herder in Heide Hollmer and Albert Meier, “‘Im Glauben an diese alten Asiatische Cultur Einig.’ Carsten Niebuhr’s Spuren bei Johann Gottfried Herder,” in Carsten Niebuhr, ed. Wiesehöfer and Conermann, 325–340. Also for his interest in travel literature and how he used it, see Gerald Broce, “Herder and Ethnography,” Journal of the History of the Behavioral Sciences” 22 (1986): 150–170; and Helmut Peitsch, “Deutsche Peripherie und europäisches Zentrum. Herders Aneigung der außereuropäischen Forschungs-und Entdeckungsreisen in den Ideen,” in Vom Selbstdenken. Aufklärung und Aufklärungskritik in Herders “Ideen zur Philosophie der Geschichte der Menschheit,” ed. Regine Otto and John H. Zammito (Heidelberg, 2001), 73–85. 99 Herders Sämmtliche Werke, ed. Suphan, 15: 571–606.

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Herder praised Niebuhr as a “traveler whose love of accuracy and truth had few equals.”100 In addition to speculating on the purpose of the site, Herder’s main point was his conclusion that Persepolis did not derive from Ancient Egypt, and certainly not from Greece, but culturally was of entirely Asian origins. Furthermore, he contended that Persepolis was no less significant as a cultural site than the famous antiquities of Egypt and Greece, which received so much attention.101 This view, of course was the same as Niebuhr’s. Herder sent a copy of his article to Niebuhr, and Niebuhr, in turn, penned a short article on Persepolis which he published in Boie’s journal, Deutsches Museum, and then sent to Herder who included it in the second edition of his own work. In it Niebuhr noted, “One will find the Egyptian columns low and plump compared to those one encounters here [Persepolis] and as those of Persepolis have such beautiful relationships one may be compelled to come to the conclusion that the Greeks learned the beautiful proportions of their columns from the Persians. One discovers in the ruins of these palaces as a whole so much evidence of the good taste of the ancient Persians in architecture, that one does not have to reflect for very long to declare Dsjemshid [Persepolis] to be the work of masterbuilders vastly superior to ones the Egyptians became.”102A brief correspondence followed. Both men were pleased, it appears, that, as Herder put it, they “were of one mind” that Persepolis was an independent manifestation of Asiatic culture owing nothing to Egyptian or Greek origins.103 The example is instructive because it documents their shared belief in the legitimacy of a diversity of cultures or civilizations, independently derived from their own historical circumstances. It was also in Herder’s “Persepolis” that he used the categories of “Erklärer” and “Beschreiber.” Herder’s interpretation came from reading, scholarly analysis, and an open-mind; Niebuhr’s came from his actual visit to Persepolis and his astute, careful, unbiased observation of the site, and to a degree, more interpretation than Herder originally acknowledged. For different reasons and based on different backgrounds, both men ended up with the same conclusion.

100 Ibid., 571. 101 It is reprinted in Niebuhr, Reisebeschreibung, III, Appendix II, 125–133. Herder also reprinted it in the second edition of his Zerstreuten Blätter, (Gotha, 1798), together with his own piece on Persepolis. It is in Vol. 15 of Herders Sämmtliche Werke, ed. Suphan, 607–621. Herder also composed a fictitious letter to Niebuhr on Persepolis in 1798 as part of his Persepolitanische Briefe. See Herders Sämmtliche Werke, ed. Suphan, 24: 467–471. 102 Niebuhr, “Persepolis”, in Reisebeschreibung, III, Appendix II, 132. Another assertion of this notion is in Niebuhr’s letter to Oluf Tychsen of 9 August 1798, quoted in Krieger, “Zwischen Meldorf und Bützow,” 350–351. 103 Herder to Carsten Niebuhr, 23 March 1788, UB Kiel, Cod. M.S. KB 314.5, Nr. 5, Bl. 5–6. Also published in Johann Gottfried Herder Briefe. Vol. 6, ed., Wilhelm Dobbek and Günther Arnold (Weimar, 1981), 23–24. Herder added in the same letter, “What a joy it is to work and think in common with a wise and unbiased man.”

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This conclusion helped create a new understanding of Asia and its civilization. Conceptually it is tied to the synthesis of universalism and particularism that we see in both Niebuhr and Herder, and is another example of how the expedition mirrored some of the intellectual developments of its era. This synthesis is an important element in Osterhammel’s discussion of the process of Entzauberung and is pronounced during a particular period of time – the later decades of the 18th Century. It is not inevitably a dominant view, but its significance is unquestioned. It is part of a delicate equilibrium of concepts and structures that existed in the second half of the century between European and Asian civilizations. In the 19th Century this equilibrium was to be destroyed as the powerful forces of technology, industrialism, nationalism, racism and imperialism take over, and notions of grappling with the challenge of sustaining a synthesis of universality and particularism, or of pluralist cosmopolitanism, are pushed aside. Thus looked at from the different perspectives we have just analyzed, the Danish expedition enriches our understanding of the varied processes of learning present in the later stages of the Enlightenment in Northern Europe. t In conclusion, what stands out from our investigation of the Danish Expedition? First, amid the discussion of all the various aspects of the Danish journey to Arabia, what is still most compelling is the human story, namely the steadfast commitment of Forsskål and Niebuhr, in particular, to the task of the investigation and recording of scientific knowledge. As Forsskål wrote at the outset, “one had to be prepared to give one’s life in the service of science,” which he and others did. Certainly, Forsskål was indefatigable in his collecting and describing, and he was consistently diligent in utilizing indigenous terminology. Forsskål’s fieldwork in botany and zoology was a model of eighteenth-century science, conducted with energy, intelligence, accuracy, attention to habitat and knowledge of Arabic and its dialects. He was essentially a one-person research team without entourage or other significant on-site institutional support. Collection, description, preservation and storage – he did these himself, sometimes in intense heat or under other kinds of trying circumstances. Niebuhr was right. Forsskål by temperament, intellect, expertise and vigor was born to be a scientific explorer. Niebuhr’s story is even more striking. He was the least formally educated of the members, but in the end his contribution to scholarship was the most extensive. Who could have imagined that an undergraduate with only one year of studies, when picked by Kästner, would grow so remarkably during the experience of the expedition. The breadth of his work, for just one person, was truly unusual even in an age of polymaths. He not only carried out with skill technically demanding work in navigational astronomy and cartography, he also completed meticulous descriptions of antiquities, the precision of which gave them a unique value for the times. To determine longitude with only the assistance of Berggren as time keeper was a

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rare astronomical achievement. To doggedly and accurately copy hieroglyph and cuneiform inscriptions day after day despite harassment and sometimes failing eyesight demonstrates remarkable perseverance and care in carrying out a tedious research task. To this we add his extensive work in cultural geography – his attentiveness in gathering information on myriad topics from attire to religion and from a diverse group of people he met along the way. How many questions must he have asked? How many conversations did he hold with local people – inquiring, listening, recording?104 He did all this with an unpretentiousness, openness and eye for detail that commands our respect. He demonstrated similar perseverance in his efforts to ensure that the findings were published. We might ask what kind of person does it take to continue with exploration and time-consuming scholarly investigation when you know the chances are exceedingly great that you will die, especially when that person has an opportunity to immediately return home safely. It takes a person with special courage and an almost unbelievable commitment to inquiry and learning. Niebuhr was such a person. His curiosity, determination, humanity and, yes, courage, proved to be the greatest asset of the Danish Expedition to Arabia. Second, the expedition as an event itself, is, as we have seen, noteworthy in several other ways. It was the first truly scientific and multidisciplinary expedition to the Middle East in history. It was also the only major scientific expedition emanating from Northern Europe in the 18th century age of exploration. There were no other comparable efforts by the Scandinavian countries or the German states during this period. It was the only expedition of the century that was university-driven, and collegial or egalitarian in its organizational culture. In that respect, it was the first of its kind historically. Its members, for the times, were well prepared specifically for the journey, and special attention was paid to obtaining knowledge of the local language. Finally, as has been pointed out, it was not part of a military unit or some other government-led field operation. It was small in size, discreet in its impact, and almost entirely dependent on the local population for support. The Danish Expedition as a historical entity in the 18th Century was unique. Third, despite uneven performance by its members, many difficulties and much tragedy, the expedition was a success and the accomplishments of its members were of great value to European scholarship. Fundamental to this success was the consistent and intelligent support of the Danish Monarchy – of Bernstorff, Moltke and Frederik V. Bernstorff ’s dedication to maintaining the scholarly principles of the expedition and his steadfast shepherding of the effort were decisive. Of course the results were primarily dependent on the work of the members in the field. Haven identified and purchased a diverse and valuable collection of manuscripts in Arabic 104 This point is emphasized by Jacqueline Pirenne in her study À la decouverte de l’Arabie. Cinq siècles de science et d’aventure (Paris, 1958), 126, where she poses the rhetorical question – Was Niebuhr not the incarnation of “l’ideal du parfait ‘reporter’? … il a prouvé par son exemple que cette vocation exige des vertus, une ascèse et enfin une passion du savoir, mais du savoir exact.”

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and Hebrew codices of the Old Testament. Forsskäl’s contributions to botany, zoology and marine biology were exceptional for the times and are still highly valued today. Niebuhr’s published maps and charts represent the greatest addition to accurate, technically proficient cartography of the Middle East in the 18th Century. His copies of ancient Egyptian and, in particular, Persian inscriptions were important to the eventual understanding of several ancient languages. His careful, detailed descriptions of archeological sites such as Elephanta and Persepolis achieved a new level of scholarly accuracy. Adding Niebuhr’s work in cultural geography, the expedition’s members accumulated and interpreted a vast amount of knowledge of the Islamic Middle East that was new to Europeans. Finally, the Danish expedition was a quintessential project of the Enlightenment in Northern Europe. It presents a singular opportunity to examine some of the intellectual features and dynamics of that era, and to see the expedition not as a static event, but as an evolutionary process that changes form and content over time. In The Philosophy of the Enlightenment, Ernst Cassirer wrote: “The fundamental intellectual forces with which we are here concerned can be grasped only in action and in the constantly evolving process of thought; only in process can the pulsation of the inner intellectual life of the Enlightenment be felt. The philosophy of the Enlightenment belongs to those masterpieces of intellectual fabric in which, “One treadle sets a thousand threads in motion, The shuttles shoot to and fro Unperceived the threads flow.” “Wo Ein Tritt tausend Fäden regt, Die Schifflein herüber hinüber schiessen, Die Fäden ungesehen fliessen ….” Goethe, Faust, Part 1, lines 1924–26. Historical consideration and reconstruction of the period of the Enlightenment must look upon the elucidation of these “unperceived” threads as its supreme task.”105 If we focus on Cassirer’s notions of thought, process and pulsation then some of the threads he refers to and the significance of the expedition become apparent. The expedition as an event originated in the mind of Michaelis. It was a neologist idea that was itself syncretic and the product of intellectual developments earlier in the century. The idea was then elaborated and broadened by others in the academic communities of Denmark, Northern Germany, and Sweden. Its scientific focus was sharpened. Through the support of Bernstorff, Moltke and the King of Denmark it was institutionalized and came to life as action – a real project, organized in a cer105 Ernst Cassirer, The Philosophy of the Enlightenment, translated by Fritz C. A. Koelln and James P. Pettegrove (Princeton, 1951), ix–x.

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tain way, carried out by individuals with their own personalities and intellectual interests. The members too were shaped by the dynamic academic environment of the second half of the 18th Century, by the work of Mayer, Linnaeus and others in Copenhagen and Göttingen. The members of the expedition thereby introduced new forces into the organic character of the expedition. Their journey was then further shaped by the realities they encountered in the Middle East. First, the expedition was enriched by its exposure to the peoples, languages, religions, history, visual images and natural environment of the Middle East. It is this encounter with the cultures of the Islamic world that gives the Danish Expedition enduring value. Second, issues of personality, language, and disease also change the form and character of the expedition. For example, what would have been different if Niebuhr had simply decided to return home from Bombay? There would have been no investigation of Persepolis and no examination of the peoples and lands of the Persian Gulf and the Fertile Crescent, with their abundance of religious and cultural diversity. Or, hypothetically, what if Haven or Forsskål had been the sole survivor? In either case, the voice of the expedition would have been different. So the events of the expedition were decisive in determining the meaning that was created and, in turn, transmitted back to Europe and to us. It is in this part of the process that the idea of the expedition and the life perspective and experience of the farm boy from Hadeln merge. This synthesis, which manifests itself in the presentation of the expedition to the world, introduced a new force into the process and added to the uniqueness of the expedition as a historical development. For Niebuhr, by virtue of his character, his background and his training represents two dimensions of the period that are noteworthy. First, his perspective on the Middle East is based on an intellectual synthesis of technical training, and universalism and particularism, that enabled him to experience the Middle East with a relatively open mind and an appreciative, precise eye. As a result, he also independently parallels, as part of a continuing process, new directions that would be pursued in the Late Enlightenment. Second, his open-mindedness and sense of curiosity created for the expedition a sustained energy. The expansiveness, determination and discipline of Niebuhr’s curiosity are remarkable. This is the “pulsation” of the inner life of the expedition that in the end gave it a special character that is still striking today, and that mirrors a commitment to intellectual inquiry during the Enlightenment in the 18th Century. An undying sense of curiosity characterized both Carsten Niebuhr and the era in which he lived and the Danish Expedition to Arabia as we know it, is a product of both.

List of Illustrations, Maps and Charts Fig. 1.

Verschiedene Wassermachinen in Egypten. Tab. XV, Reisebeschreibung, I: 148, following....................................................... 121 Fig. 2. Verschiedene Kopftrachten der Morgenländer. Tab. XXIII, Reisebeschreibung, I: 164, following....................................................... 123 Fig. 3. Verschiedene musicalische Instrumente der Morgenländer. Tab. XXVI, Reisebeschreibung, I: 180, following. .................................. 124 Fig. 4. Grundrisz der Städte Káhira, Alt-Masr, Bulák und Dsije. Tab. XII, Reisebeschreibung, I: 110, following........................................ 128 Fig. 5. Die zwey Hauptarme des Nils von Káhira bis an das mittelländische Meer. Tab. X, Reisebeschreibung, I: 88, following............................................................................................. 130 Fig. 6. Hieroglyphen auf einem Kasten von schwarzen Granit bey Kallá el Käbich in Káhira. Tab. XXX, Reisebeschreibung, I: 200, following...................................................... 134 Fig. 7. Abbildung eines Fischers zu Dsjidda. Tab. LVI, Reisebeschreibung, I: 282, following....................................................... 160 Fig. 8. Abbildung einer Frauenperson zu Dsjida die Brod verkauft. Tab. LVII, Reisebeschreibung, I: 284, following....................... 161 Fig. 9. Mare Rubrum seu Sinus Arabicus. Tab. XX, Beschreibung, 358, following. ................................................................ 167 Fig. 10. Medusa Cephea. Tab. XXIX, Icones Rerum Naturalium......................... 170 Fig. 11. Chaetodon Teira. Tab. XXII, Icones Rerum Naturalium. ........................ 171

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Fig. 12. Inschrift auf einem Leichen Stein zu Beit-el-Fakíh. Tab. VI, Beschreibung, 96, following. ................................................................. 179 Fig. 13. Kleidung der vornehmen Araber in Jemen. Tab. LXXI, Reisebeschreibung, I: 430, following. ..................................................... 195 Fig. 14. Reisecharte von Jemen. Reisebeschreibung, I: End of Volume. ............................................................................... 201 Fig. 15. Abbildung der Figur beÿ 9 auf dem Grundris Tab. III. Tab. X, Reisebeschreibung, II: 44, following. ..................................................... 210 Fig. 16. Prospect der Ruinen von Persepolis. Tab. XIX, Reisebeschreibung, II: 122, following...................................................... 223 Fig. 17. Abbildung der Figuren an der Wand d. Tab. XVIII. Tab. XXII, Reisebeschreibung, II: 130, following. .................................. 225 Fig. 18. Abbildung der Figuren zu Nakschi Rustam. Tab. XXXIII. Reisebeschreibung, II: 158, following...................................................... 226 Fig. 19. Persepolitanische Inschriften von drey verschiedenen Alphabeten. Tab. XXXI, Reisebeschreibung, II: 152, following............................................................................................. 228 Fig. 20. Inschriften zu Nachschi Rustam. Tab. XXXIV. Reisebeschreibung, II: 160, following..................................................... 233 Fig. 21. Sinus Persicus. Tab. XIX, Beschreibung, 310, following......................... 242

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Index Some terms, such as Niebuhr, the Danish Expedition, Forsskål, Bernstorff and Michaelis, appear throughout much of the text, and therefore are listed selectively depending on the topic. Académie royale des inscriptions et belles-lettres, 64–5, 86, 287, 301, 331. Académie royale des sciences: and geodesic expeditions to Lapland and Quito, 355. Achenwall, Gottfried: and Statistik, 34, 280, 388. Adana, 271; town plan for, 272. Adir, 174. After Herder. Philosophy of Language in the German Tradition (Forster), 393–4. Afyon (Karahissar), 272–3; town plan for, 272. Akeschir, 272. Akka (Acre), 235, 266–7. Alexandria: expedition visit to, 16, 114–7; antiquities, 115–6; Forsskål’s research in, 114, 116–7, 127, 136–7; Haven and, 114; Niebuhr’s work in 114, 115–6; voyage to, 110–14. Altenbruch, 48, 281–2. Amoenitates exoticae (Kaempfer), 324–5; and Niebuhr, 325.

analogies: Niebuhr’s use of, 158, 159, 298, 308; with Christians, Jews and Muslims, 158, 312. Anatolia: Niebuhr’s traverse of, 16, 271–3. Anguetil–Duperron, Abraham Hyacinthe, 327, 379. Anna Ivanovna, Empress of Russia, 358. anthropology: and Göttingen, 388–90; and Herder and Niebuhr, 394–5. antiquities, 17, 115–6, 131–5, 147, 152–3, 208–12, 221–30, 246–7, 262–4; expedition results in, 322–31. Ansarians (Alawis), 271 n.327, 302. Arabia, 15–17, 25–6, 65, 67, 75, 297. Arabian Sea, 16, 38, 198, 215, 241. Arabic: and Forsskål’s knowledge of, 55, 58, 188; Forsskål’s use of, 60, 175, 189, 332–3, 372–4; Haven’s knowledge of, 45–6, 139, 149 and Haven’s lexicography, 140, 336–7, 384; importance of for Niebuhr, 298, 304–5, 311; manuscripts in, 28, 140, 337–8, 399; Michaelis and, 15, 25, 26, 27, 31, 88, 91, 372;

index and Niebuhr’s knowledge of, 51, 82, 97, 117, 119, 127, 159, 192–6, 298, 311; Niebuhr’s use of in cartography and ethnography, 117, 127–9, 164, 304–5, 372–3; in publications, 291, 299, 332; relationship to Hebrew, 27, 31, 67; requirement for expedition, 25–6, 28, 71; and Royal Instructions, 65, 86, 88, 91. The Arabic Plant Names of Peter Forsskål’s flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica (Provençal), 19, 373. archeology, 390; Niebuhr and, 322–3. Armenians, 205, 217, 219–20, 240, 257, 311–2. Arsenic: and Haven, 112–4, 119, 141. asbestos, 264. Ascanius, Peder, 69, 286. Asia: approach to, 22, 379–82, 398. astronomy: Mayer and Niebuhr, 52–5, 77–80, 385; also see navigational astronomy. Aurivillius, Carl, 58, 72. Baalbek, 237, 260. Babylon: Niebuhr’s visit to, 245, 246–7, 323 n.121. Babylonian-Assyrian, 227, 327–8, 331. Baghdād, 16, 235; background, 247; European presence, 248; Niebuhr’s description of, 247–9; Ottoman administration of, 248, trip to, 244–7. Balsam of Mecca (Commiphora gileadensis), 182. Banks, Joseph, 332, 363; economic interests, 364. Banū Ka’b, 240. al Başrah, 16, 179, 233, 235–6; Niebuhr’s description of, 238–40; Niebuhr’s stay in, 238–44; town plan of, 239. Bauernfeind, Georg Wilhelm: appointment and background, 70; assessment of by Niebuhr, 198; death, 197–8; and Forsskål, 97, 137; and Haven, 100, 112–4, 145; illustrations, 97, 102, 114, 120–2, 129, 137, 153–4, 157, 158, 162, 168, 180, 212, 291, 294, 302–3, 334; and music, 93, 122, 175, 198; and Royal Instructions, 89; and Sinai trip, 145, 153. Baugh, Daniel, 363–4. Bayt al Faqīh, 176, 182, 197; as coffee market, 176–7; expedition visits to, 176–183; fire in, 182–3; map of, 177. Bedouins, 27, 115, 119, 131; in Beschreibung, 301;

433

and Forsskål, 136–7; Niebuhr and, 131, 313–4 n.93; in Sinai, 143, 145. Beer, E. F. F., 152. Beilan, 261. Berggren, Lars, 81–2, 192; assessment of by Niebuhr, 198; assisting with navigation, 97, 158, 198, 398–9; death, 197–8. Bernstorff, Andreas Gottlieb von, 39. Bernstorff, Andreas Peter, Graf von, 39, 282, 349. Bernstorff, Johann Hartwig Ernst Freiherr von, 37, 213–4, 376; appointments to expedition, 44, 46–7, 50, 55–8, 69–70; background and responsibilities, 40; Benjamin Kennicott and, 338–9; and the Bible, 42–3, 380; changing the route, 84; commitment to scholarship, 26, 43, 62, 90–1, 106, 290–1; concern over “spirit of indolence,” 154, 213; cultural and scientific interests, 41–2; disappointment over deaths of members, 236–8; dismissal from office, 288–90; and Forsskål, 55–8, 71–4, 155; and Hanover, 38–9; and Haven, 44, 70–1, 95, 141, 155; importance of, 29, 42, 74, 209–1, 383; and Michaelis, 25–9, 55, 63, 91, 237, 281; and Niebuhr, 46–7, 50, 80–1, 155, 217, 237, 259–62, 276, 280–1, 283, 290–1; and Niebuhr, as treasurer, 82; planning the expedition, 63, 68–74, 81–5; policy towards Ottoman Empire, 83; proposal from Michaelis, 25–9; and publication of results, 281, 282, 295; and religion, 42–3; and Republic of Letters, 42, 44, 74, 90, 141; and Royal Instructions, 63, 68–70, 84, 87, 90–1; and Sinai trip, 144, 150, 154–6. Beschreibung von Arabien (Niebuhr): Bedouins, 301; cultural geography in, 200, 300–2; as a country handbook, 302; illustrations, 299; Michaelis’s Fragen, and 298–301; publication of, 287–8, 291, 292–3, 349; purpose of, 297–8; relationship to Statistik, 301, 389; and respect for Arabs, 298; reviews of, 340; sources for, 299. Best, William Philip, 78. Bible: and Académie royale des inscriptions et des belles lettres, 65; Bernstorff and, 42–3, 380; declining focus of expedition, 185–6, 339–40, 383–5; the Enlightenment and, 30;

434

index

in the Fragen, 66–8, 66 n.145; Kratzenstein, and 81; Michaelis and, 15, 31–2, 372, 377; Niebuhr, and, 146; in proposal, 26–8; and Yemen, 27–8, 31 , 172. Bird, John, 78, 79–80. Birecik, 258. Bir el Assab, 192. Bloch, Marc, 345. Boie, Heinrich Christian, 347–8, 351–2. Bombay (Mumbai): arrival in, 198; Niebuhr’s stay, 204–15; voyage to 16, 197–8. Botany: colonial botany, 369; as a discipline, 386; and expedition, 17, 21, 27; Forsskål’s work in, 101, 104, 109–10, 117, 136–9, 157–8, 174–6, 181–2, 187, 188–91, 331–3; and Kratzenstein, 81; and Linnaeus, 60–2; in Royal Instructions, 88. Bouguer, Pierre, 355. Bougainville, Louis-Antoine de, 362. Bradley, James, 78, 102, 320. Bruijn, Cornelis de, 217, 227, 325–6. Buchan, Alexander, 363. Bucharest, 16, 277. Bulgaria, 277. Bulgose, 181. Bürg, Johann Tobias: and evaluation of Niebuhr’s astronomical work, 319–22. Burke, Edmund: “The Great Map of Mankind”, 395. Bursa, 235, 272–4; Niebuhr visit to Mosque, 273; town plan of, 273. Büsch, Johann Georg: Niebuhr’s teacher, 49, 282. Büsching, Anton Friedrich, 388–9. Būshehr, 217, 241. Büttner, Christian Wilhelm: and Fragen, 65 n.142, 280. Caille, Abbe Nicolas-Louis de la, 77, 386. Cairo: expedition visit to, 16, 118–43; Forsskål in, 136–9; Haven and, 119, 139–40; Niebuhr’s investigation and descriptions of, 119–35; in the Ottoman Empire, 118–9. Campbell, John, Captain, 78–9, 320. cameralism, 62, 90 n.217, 364. caravans: goods carried, 136, 143–4, 254 n.246; and Niebuhr, 232–3, 235, 247, 249–50,

254–5,269, 271–3, 276–7 (enjoyment of ), 272, 276–7. Carlos III, King of Spain, 359. Caroline Mathilda, Queen of Denmark, 289. Carsten Niebuhr (1733–1815) und seine Zeit (Wiesehöfer and Conermann), 18. cartography: Arabic, use of in, 373–4; as a discipline, 386–8; Niebuhr’s achievements in, 17, 165, 200–2 314–6; and Tobias Mayer, 53, 315. Cassirer, Ernst, 400–1. Castro, Joao de, 163. Catherine II (the Great), Empress of Russia, 359. Celsius, Anders, 355. Celsius, Olof, 27. Chaldeans, 250 n.229, 252–3, 302. Champollion, Jean-François, 330–1. Chardin, Jean, 217, 326–7. Characteres Genera Plantarum (Forster), 332. Christensen, Carl, 333. Christian-Albrechts University (Kiel): Center for Asiatic and African Studies, 18. Christian VI, King of Denmark-Norway, 38. Christian VII, King of Denmark-Norway, 259, 283, 287; and Struensee Affair, 289–90. Clairaut, Alexis-Claude, 77. Clayton, Robert, Bishop of Clogher: and Sinai inscriptions, 144, 149. Clemens, Johann Frederik, 288. coffee: on caravan, 272; cultivation in Yemen, 180–1; houses, 176, 187 254, 268; trade, 173. Collet, John, 64, 338. Condamine, Charles Marie de la, 371; account as travel literature, 357; geodesic expedition to Quito, 355–7. Conermann, Stephan, 18, 381–2. Cook, James, Captain, 19, 386, 396; and determination of longitude, 321; voyages to the Pacific, 362–9: voyages compared to Danish expedition, 363–69. Copenhagen, 16, 81, 86–7, 93, 349; as cultural center, 22, 34, 41–2; Niebuhr’s experience in and return, 82–3, 282–3; University of, 16, 41–2, 69, 383. Coptic: calendars, 300; and hieroglyphs, 330. Coptic Church, 127–8. Cosmographische Gesellschaft, 387.

index Cross, Mary, 198. cultural geography, 17; Niebuhr’s work in, 119–24, 258, 300 304–7, 385 389–90, 395; and Berkeley School of, 360 n.82. curiosity: and the Enlightenment, 21–2, 401; and Niebuhr, 16, 21, 51, 120, 127, 133, 135, 143, 215, 218, 238, 252, 274, 306, 351, 353, 399, 401; and Royal Instructions, 85; and wonder, 21, 377–8. Cyprus, 16, 237, 260–4. Cyrus: route of, 269, 271, 273. d’Anville, Jean Baptiste Bouguigon, 163. Damascus, 16, 235; conditions in 268; Niebuhr’s visit to, 266–8; and coffee houses, 268. Danish Asiatic Company, 63, 204. Danish Expedition (geographical stays omitted): absence of commercial purpose, 43, 62; accomplishments, 17, 295–340, 399–400; and “anti-conquest conquest” thesis, 20–1, 372–7; and Bernstorff, 37, 43, 63, 68–74, 81–5, 290–1; budget for, 84, 107; challenge of, 92–3; compared to other expeditions, 20, 355–69; cost of, 29, 285; and curiosity, 401; and disciplines of inquiry, 382–91; dissension within, 45, 74, 86, 95, 102, 108, 112–4, 140–3, 185, 213; and the Enlightenment as conversation, 383; as Enlightenment project, 21, 400–1; as example of Die Entzauberung Asiens, 379–80; idea of, 15–6, 36–9, 43, 400–1; and Linnaeus, 60–2; and Niebuhr, 400–1; and orientalism, 380–2; preparations for, 45–6, 51–2, 54–5, 71–2, 79–80; purpose of, 62, 91; as Republic of Letters, 90; Royal Instructions for, 84–91; as scholarly endeavor, 26, 43, 62, 89–91, 106, 290–1, 361, 364–5, 367, 369, 399–400; transformation of, 89, 185–6, 246, 296, 383–5; uniqueness of, 369, 399; and universities, 89, 383. Daston, Lorraine: and curiosity, 21, 377–8. Danube River, 277. Defehrt, A. J., 288. Denmark-Norway, Kingdom of: government organization, 40 n.49; cultural policies, 41–2; change in government, 288–90. Descriptiones Animalium: Avium, Amphibio-

435

rum, Piscium, Insectorum, Vermium (Forsskål), 104, 293–4, 333–4. Deutsches Museum (Boie), 347; Niebuhr’s articles in, 348. Dharmār, 191. Dithmarschen, 343–6; as Bauernrepublik, 345–6; and free peasantry, 345; and Niebuhr, 346, 353. Dithmarscher Landesmuseum (Meldorf ), 18. Dnestr River, 278, 279. Dohm, Christian Wilhelm, 347. Druze, 267 n.308, 271, 313. Dumyat, 127–9.; town plan of, 129. Dutch East India Company, 233. Dyarbakir, 257. East India Company (British), 184, 197, 207, 215, 217, 248. Edirne, 276; town plan for, 278. Egypt: administrative instability, 114; role of Cairo, 118–9; urban and Bedouin tensions, 115; victim of imperialism, 313. Elamite, 227, 327–8, 331. Elephanta: assessment of importance, 209–12; Niebuhr and, 208–10. Ende, Ferdinand Adolf von: and evaluation of Niebuhr’s astronomy, 319–22. Enlightenment, the: as conversation, 28, 63, 65, 67–8, 383: and curiosity, 21, 377–8, 400–1; and the Danish Expedition, 21, 29, 355; and expedition and travel accounts, 284–5; the German, 29–30; Linnaeus and, 63; and orientalism, 381. Die Entzauberung Asiens (Osterhammel), 22, 379–80, 392, 398. l’Estaque, 99, 102. ethnography, expedition results in, 304–308, 388–90 Euler, Leonhard, 77. Euphrates River, 244, 247, 274. Eurocentrism, 380–2. Fakih Achmed, 192, 196. Falck, Johann Peter, 73–4. fasting, 219. Fischer, Hendrick Lorents: accuracy of navigation, 98; Captain of the Grønland, 84,

436

index

93; convoy duty, 98, 102–3, 104 n.55; and Forsskål, 98, 102, 105. fish herbarium (Forsskål), 204, 335. Flamsteed, John, 78. Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica (Forsskål), 101, 104, 110, 117, 137–8, 190, 294, 331–3; use of Arabic in, 372–4. Flora Danica, 42, 333. floristic biogeography, 138, 189–90, 386. Forbes, Eric, 318 foreignness, 159, 211, 298, 308–10, 379–80. Forlaget Vandkunsten, 18–9. Forsskål, Peter: achievements of, 168–71, 188–91, 331–6, 398; acknowledgment of local inhabitants, 137, 332, 374–5; appearance, 181; appointment of, 55–8; Arabic, use of, 175, 189, 333, 372–4; assessment of by Niebuhr, 188; background and education, 58–60; and Bauernfeind, 137; and Bernstorff, 55–8, 71–74, 155; on the challenge of the expedition, 92–3; and curiosity and wonder, 377–8; death of, 188; Descriptiones Animalium, 104, 293–4, 333–4; and disciplines of botany and zoology, 385–6; disposition of research papers, 199, 286, 293; and the Enlightenment, 58, 63; fish herbarium, 204; Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica, 101, 104, 110,117, 137–8, 190, 294, 331–3, 372–4; floristic biogeography, 138, 189–90, 386; and Haven, 102, 108, 112–4, 141–3, 145, 185; Icones rerum naturalium, 293–4, 333–4; and Linnaeus, 20, 55–61, 63, 71–4, 101, 104, 117, 137, 189; marine biology, 96–7, 98–9, 110, 165–71, 334–5; and metamorphosis of plants, 138; method of travel, 365; and Niebuhr, 63, 82, 82 n.204, 104, 129, 181, 183, 188; personality, 58; research in Alexandria, 114, 116–7, 127, 136–7; research from Bayt al Faqīh and al Luhayyah, 174–6, 177, 181–2, 181; research in Cairo, 136–9; research on Red Sea, 165–71; and Royal Instructions, 87–8; and sense of history, 116; Sinai trip, 145; Tankar om Borgerliga Friheten, 59; and wonder, 116–7, 378. Forster, Georg, 35, 363, 368. Forster, Johann Reinhold, 44, 191, 332, 363; and cameralism, 364. Forster, Michael, 393.

Fragen an eine Gesellschaft gelehrter Männer, 65–8, 66 n.145, 86, 213–4, 215, 340, 384–5, 385 n.72. Franciscans, 265–6. Franklin, Benjamin, 36. Franz, Johann Michael, 387–8. French geodesic expedition to Lapland and Quito, 355–7, 369. Frederik V, King of Denmark-Norway, 16; approves change in route, 84; death of, 259, 291; importance to expedition, 259; as king, 39–40; and Michaelis’s proposal, 25, 29; significance of expedition for his reign, 259; signs Royal Instructions, 84. Friis, Ib, 19, 333. Gähler, Sigismund Wilhelm von, 83, 91, 104, 106–9, 112–4, 119, 141–3, 154–5, 213, 235–8, 259, 265, 274, 282. Gatterer, Johann Christoff, 389. Gebel el-Mocatab (also Mocateb), 85, 89, 109, 144–9. die gelehrte Gesellschaft, 16, 90. geography, 21, 26, 28, 383–4, 388–90; expedition results in, 297–314. Ghalef ’ka, 178. Gibbon, Edward, 341. Gloyer, Johann Nicolai, 352. Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 36, 138, 341, 347, 400. Godin, Louis, 355–7. Godlewska, Anne, 315. Göttingen: as “center of calculation”, 22, 34; ethnography at university, 307, 389; Georgia Augusta University in, 33–4, 280–1, 301, 341, 383; Königliche Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, in, 15, 25, 34; university as center for cartography and geography, 387–91; university and expedition, 16, 29, 65, 81, 383, 399, 401; university library at, 34; and Mayer, 54; university in and Niebuhr, 47–8, 280. Göttingische Anzeigen von gelehrten Sachen, 34, 63. Green, Charles, 321, 363. Great Northern Expedition, 19, 66, 358–9 n.7, 369.

index Grønland, the, 83, 91–105, 361, 366; as platform for science, 105. Grotefend, Georg Friedrich, 327–8. Guldbergh, Ove Høegh, 289. Gulf of Oman, 215, 217. Hadeln, 48, 82, 280, 346, 375. Hadîe, 180. al Hadiyah Mountains, 181. Hadley, John, 76–7, 78–9. Halab, 16, 235, 237, 249, 254, 257; Niebuhr’s stay in, 258–9, 268–71; description of, 269–70; town plan of, 269. Halem, Anton Wilhelm von, 64, 71. Halle, 30, 34, 38, 58. Haller, Albrecht von, 27; in Göttingen, 33–4; and Mylius, 36–7. Hanafi (school of law), 248, 253. Hanover, 33, 38–9, 48. Hansen, Thorkild, 18. al Hillah, 245–6 Harran, 257. Harrison, John, 317–8, 386. Hathor, Temple of, 147, 152–3. Hauber, Eberhard David, 262. Haven, Frederik Christian von, 25–6, 82, 99–100, 178, 286, 293, 322; achievements, 185–6, 336–9, 384; appointment of, 44–5; and arsenic, 112–4, 119, 141; background, 44–5; and Bernstorff, 70–1, 155; and change in route, 71, 83–4; death of, 182, 184–5; dissension and Forsskål, 95, 102, 108, 112–4, 141–3, 185; and Journal, 336–7; leaves the Grønland, 95; and Niebuhr, 82, 95, 108, 112–4, 141, 153, 185; personality, 45, 86, 95, 99–100; and philology, 45, 185, 331, 383–4; preparation in Rome, 45–6, 71; purchases of manuscripts, 109, 114, 139–40, 185, 337–8; and Royal Instructions, 89; and Sinai trip, 139, 144–56; stay in Cairo, 139–40. Hawkesworth, John, 368. Hebrew, 45, 89,140, 299; relationship to Arabic, 27, 31, 67; classification of, 27 n.6. Heilmann, Johann David, 65 n.142. Henze, Dietmar, 165. Hepper, F. Nigel, 19, 333. Herbarium Forsskålii, 334. Hefa (Haifa), 265, 266.

437

Herder, Johann Gottfried, 352, 391; discussion of, 392–8; and Niebuhr, 341, 396–7; and Persepolis, 396–7. Hess, Jonathan, 372 n.43. Hierobotanicom, sive de plantis sacre scripturae (Celsius), 27. hieroglyphs, 116, 132–5, 148, 275–6, 322, 329–30, 331, 399. Hierozoicon sive bipartum opus animalibus sacrae scripturae (Bochart), 27. history: as a discipline, 390–1; Forsskål’s sense of, 116; Niebuhr’s sense of, 132–3. A History of the Arab Peoples (Hourani), 342–3. History of Japan (Kaempfer), 324. Hodges, William, 363, 367–8. Hogarth, David George, 342. Homann-Erben, 53, 387. Hooght, Everardus van der, 338. Hormuz, Strait of, 217. Hourani, Albert, 342–3. Horn, Johann Adolf, 274, 275. al Hudaydah, 177–8. Humboldt, Alexander von: and Forsskål, 36, 190–1; and Niebuhr, 341. Hume, David, 21. Iasy, 277. Ibadhis, 216, 252, 311. Icones rerum naturalium (Forsskål), 294, 334. Ilgin, 272. illustrations, 89, 97, 102, 114, 119–22, 137, 153, 157, 158, 162, 168, 187, 208, 224, 232, 274, 291, 294–5, 299, 302–3, 334. Imperial Eyes. Travel Writing and Transculturation (Pratt), 369–70. India: visit to, 16, 203–15; British rule, 206–7; conduct of Europeans, 207; Elephanta, 208–10; religious toleration, 205; respect for by Niebuhr, 207, 209; sati, 206. Indian Ocean, 81, 328. Institut des Sciences et des Arts, 352. Iran, 218. Irbīl, 251. Islam, 112, 126, 159, 173 n.301, 179, 216, 231, 240, 245–6, 248, 252, 261, 265–6, 267 n.308, 268, 271 n.327, 273, 275, 302, 311–2, 351. Ismaelis, 261 n.279, 271. Israelites, 27–8, 32, 67, 88, 147, 150.

438

index

Istanbul, 64, 83–4, 91, 100; background, 105–6; visits to, 16, 105–10, 235, 274, 275–6; town plan of, 275. Iverson, Erik, 330. Jacobites, 250 n.229, 252–3, 302. Jacotin, Pierre, 315. Jefferson, Thomas, 352, 360–1. Jerusalem, 16, 235, 264–6; religious freedom in, 266; town plan for 266. Jews, 126, 194, 216, 219, 240, 245–6, 248, 249–50, 253 n.240, 255–6, 266, 298, 302; Niebuhr and, 249, 255–6, 298, 312, 385. Jiddah: marine biology around, 165–9; voyage to, 156–9; visit to, 16, 159–62. Jones, William, 390. Juan, Jorge, 356. Juliana Maria, Queen Dowager of Denmark-Norway, 289. Kaempfer, Engelbert, 217, 324–5. Kall, Johann Christian, 69, 286, 293. Kant, Herder and the Birth of Anthropology (Zammito), 394. Kant, Immanuel, 191, 352. Kaments-Podolskiy, 278. Kane, William, 339. Karapinar, 271. Karbalā, 245. Karim Khân, 218, 240. Kästner, Abraham Gotthelf, 47–8, 50, 280, 288, 291, 388, 398. Kennicott, Benjamin, 64, 140, 338–9. Kekil, 245–6. Khārg, 233–4. Kirkûk, 249–50. Khotin, 278. Kition-Kathari (Citium), 262–4. Klopstock, Friedrich Gottlieb, 42, 352. Kongelige Bibliotek (Royal Library, Copenhagen), 18, 69, 87, 140, 336, 337. Königliche Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften (Göttingen), 15, 25, 34, 47, 91. Konya, 235, 271; town plan for, 272. Kramer, Christian C., 70, 74, 88, 112–4, 145, 154–5, 162, 178, 186, 191, 197, 198, 200–1, 236, 286. Kratzenstein, Christian Gottlieb, 70, 73. 82,

171, 383, 386; and marine biology, 82; and Royal Instructions, 86. Kuchenbuch, Ludolf, 382. Kudmiyah, 174. Kufa, 245. Kufic inscriptions, 177, 178, 227, 245, 257, 291. Kurdistan and Kurds, 250, 254, 255, 258. Kütahya, 272. Kuwait, 243. al Lādhiqīyah, 268–9. Land und Leute: study of at Göttingen, 388–90. Larnaca, 261–4. Legaspi, Michael, 32. Die Leiden des jungen Werthers: Niebuhr’s reaction to, 351. Leipzig, 280. Lemlum, 244–5, 274. Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, 36–7. Letters for the Advancement of Humanity (Herder), 393. Lewis and Clark Expedition, 19, 334–5, 360–1. Lewis, Meriwether, 321 n.118, 334–5, 360. “The Life of Nadir Shah” (Mīrzā Māhdī), 390. Linnaeus, Carl, 20, 27, 46, 137, 191, 293–4, 383, 386; achievements and impact on expedition, 60–2, 74, 383, 386; and apostles, 61–2; cameralism and, 62; commiphora gileadensis, 182; as empiricist, 60–1; and Forsskål, 55, 58–60, 63, 71–4, 189; Instructiones peregrinatoris, 71–2, 117, 301; scientific travel, 61; Systema Naturae, Forsskål’s use of, 101; taxonomy, 60–1. l’Isle, Guillaume de, 163. Lohmeier, Dieter, 18. longitude; determination of, 17, 54, 74–80, 97–8 n.22, 316–9, 403–4, 386. Longitude Prize, 78–9, 317–8. Lowitz, Georg Moritz, 387–8. al Luhayyah, 163, 173–6, 332. Lunar Distance Method, 54, 74–9, 105, 316–9. Lvov, 278. al Madīnah (Medina), 156, 158. al-Mahdī ̔Abbās, Imam of Yemen, 173, 192–3, 196.

index Makaja, 181. Makkah (Mecca), 136, 156, 159. Mallet, Paul-Henri, 42. Malta, 102, 103–4. mamluk slaves, 111–2. Mandeans, 302. manna, 67, 256. Mārdin, 256–7. marine biology, 17, 81, 96–7, 98–9, 110, 165–71, 335, 386. Maronites, 45, 271 n.327, 302. Marseilles, 99–102. Martin, Claude-Emmanuel, 288. Maseyk, Nicolaas van, 236–7, 258–9, 260, 262, 265, 268–9, 271; Niebuhr’s stay with, 258–8, 260–1. Maskelyne, Nevil, 78, 317, 386; and Nautical Almanac, 318–9 n.107. Masqaţ, 203; description of, 215–7; jewish community in, 216; town plan for, 216. Maupertuis, Pierre-Louis Moreau de: geodesic expedition to Lapland, 355–7. al Mawşil, 16, 235, 249, 313; description of, 253–4, 253 n.239. Mayer, Tobias, 281, 291, 315, 321, 383, 386, 395; background, 52–4; and discipline of cartography, 386–7; instruction of Niebuhr, 47, 52–5, 75, 79–80; Lunar Distance Method, 74–80; Niebuhr’s observations, 97–8, 102. Mawr, 174. McClelland, Charles, 33. Meldorf, 343–53; Niebuhr’s affinity for, 345. Merdast, 221, 231. Metuāli, 302, Michaelis, Christian B., 30 n.14, 65 n.142. Michaelis, Johann Heinrich, 30 n.14. Michaelis, Johann David, 182, 185, 214, 283, 290–1, 309, 339, 357, 383–6; archive, 35; background, 30–1; as biblical scholar, 31–2, 380; declining interest in expedition, 385; and Forsskål, 55–8; and Fragen an eine Gesellschaft gelehrter Männer, 63–8; in Göttingen, 35–6; and Göttingische Anzeigen von gelehrten Sachen, 35; and Haven, 43, 70, 80; idea of expedition, 15–6, 26–9, 43, 400–1; intellectual role in expedition, 91, 383–6, 395, 400; and Jews, 32, 385; and Königliche Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, 15, 25, 35, 91;

439

as lecturer, 36 n. 39; and Mayer, 78, 80; as a neologist, 31–2, 68, 377; and Niebuhr, 47–8, 54, 82, 280–1, 288, 291, 395; philological focus superseded, 185–6, 383–4; proposal for expedition, 26–9; and Royal Instructions, 68–70, 84–91, and Sinai, 144, 150. Mīr Muhannā, 232–3, 241. Middle Persian, 227, 329, 331. Mofhat, 196. Moltke, Adam Gottlieb Graf von, 69–70, 73–4, 84, 95, 141, 150, 212, 291; advisor to the King, 39; interest in science and culture, 41. Monastery of St. Catherine, 139, 148, 150–1. Monatliche Correspondenz zur Beförderung der Erd- und Himmels-Kunde (Zach), 319–22, 348. Moncony, Balthazar de, 99, 149. Montpellier, 101–2. Mudge, Thomas, 79–80. al Mukhā, 173, 176; visit to, 183–7, 197; town plan of, 197. Müller, Gerhard Friedrich, 66, 307, 389. Münchhausen, Gerlach Adolf Freiherr von, 36, 281, 387; and cameralism, 62; and Georgia Augusta University in Göttingen, 33; and Mayer, 54. Münter, Friedrich Christian, 327. Musenalmanach (Boie), 347. Mylius, Christlob, 36–7. Nabataean inscriptions, 147, 152. Nâdir Shah, 218, 245. Naeman Valleys, 174. an Najaf, 245. Naqš-i Rağāb, 224, 227, 230, 326, 329. Naqš-i Rustam, 224, 227, 230, 326, 329. Nautical Almanac (Maskelyne), 318; and Cook, 321; importance of, 318 n.107; and Niebuhr, 318–9. navigational astronomy, 17, 54, 244, 384, 386; expedition results in, 316–22. Nestorians, 250 n.229, 252–3. Neues deutsches Museum (Boie), 348. Nicolai, Friedrich, 36, 305 n.67, 312 n.87, 349, 351. Niebuhr, Barthold Georg, 341, 344, 350–1, 385 n.72. Niebuhr, Christiane Dorothea, 344, 351–2.

440

index

Niebuhr (née Blumenberg), Christane Sophia, 344, 352. Niebuhr, Carsten, (for visits to specific locations, see listing for that site) 15; achievements, 295, 303, 316, 321–2, 326, 328–31, 342–3, 398–9; analogies, use of, 158, 159, 298, 308, 312; and antiquities, 115–6, 131–5, 147–8, 152–3, 208–9, 212, 221–30, 246–7, 262–4, 322–31, 397, 400; appearance, 181; appointment of, 47–8; Arabic, knowledge of, 51, 82, 119, 127, 159, 164, 192–6, 298, 311; Arabs, respect for, 131, 137, 162, 174, 177–8, 233, 297, 298, 309, 311, 313–4 n.93, 351, 375; background and education, 48–50; and Bernstorff, 46–7, 50, 80–2, 155, 213–4, 259–62, 276, 280–1, 285, 290–1; and Bedouins, 131, 313–4 n.93; and Büsch, 49, 282; Cairo, town plan of, 126–7; and caravans, 232–3, 235, 247, 249–50, 254–5 n.246, 257, 271–2, 276–7, 309, 365; cartography of, 117, 127, 146, 154, 200–1, 216, 244, 273, 279, 386–7; Catholics, 112, 252, 264–5, 312; and Champollion, 330–1; children and, 51, 147, 259, 350–2; compared to Cook, 367; compared to de Bruijn, Chardin and Kaempfer, 323–6; conviviality, 51, 97, 111–2, 146, 147, 162, 202, 231, 238, 243–5, 248, 249–50, 251–2, 255–6, 258, 258–9, 261, 278, 305; cultural geography and ethnography, 119–24, 258, 300, 304–7, 385, 389–90, 395; cuneiform inscriptions, copying of, 227, 326–9; and curiosity, 47, 51, 120, 127, 135, 143, 214–5, 218, 232, 238, 251, 252, 274, 351, 353, 377–8, 399, 401; death, 353; discouraged, 199; distance over land, method for, 146, 178, 386–7; dress and gear on trail, 177–8; and empathy, 51, 233, 309; and Enlightenment values, 381–2; and Eurocentrism, 381–2, 392; fieldwork, quality of, 187, 274; and foreignness, 159, 211, 298, 308–9, 379–80; and Forsskål, 63, 82 n. 204, 104, 129, 181, 183, 188, 213, 293–5; and Grotefend, 327–8; and Temple of Hathor, 147–8, 152–3; and Haven, 82, 95, 108, 112–4, 141–3, 153, 185, 213; hieroglyphs, copying of, 132–5, 152, 275–6, 322, 329–31, 399; and history, 132–3, 390–1; humility of, 51, 194, 219–20, 249–50, 311; hydrography, 154, 163–5, 208, 234, 241–2; on Ibadhis, 216, 252, 302, 311; illustrations,

120–2, 152, 153, 187, 209, 224, 232, 274, 288, 291, 295, 302–3; and imperialism, 207, 312–3; instruments, 74–5, 79–81, 92; and Islam, 112, 126, 159, 173, 179, 216, 231, 240, 245–6, 248, 252, 261, 265–6, 267, 268, 271 n.327, 273, 275, 302, 311–2, 351; and Jews, 158, 216, 245–6, 249–50, 252, 255–6, 266, 298, 309, 312, 385; and Kästner, 47–8, 50, 280, 288, 291, 398; Kufic inscriptions, 177–8, 227, 245, 257; languages, interest in, 206, 238, 259; library, 351; local and rural cultures, indebtedness to and respect for, 299, 353, 374–5, 391–2; local terminology, use of, 373–4 n.47; maps, 134, 157, 158, 175, 177, 202, 208, 255, 315; and Mayer, 47, 52–5, 74–5, 79–80, 97–8, 102, 315, 316–7, 395; in Meldorf, 343–53; and Michaelis, 47–8, 54, 82, 214, 280–1, 288, 291, 395; and music, 48–9, 93, 122, 175, 198, 305; and navigational astronomy, 97–8, 102–3, 164, 281, 319–22, 386; Nile Delta, chart of, 117, 127–9, 315; observations and measurements, accuracy of, 97–8, 99, 102, 126, 129, 131–2, 165, 187, 202, 209, 230, 256, 316, 319–22, 321 n.119; Oman, Map of, 216; open-mindedness, 127, 207, 211, 246, 252, 307, 382, 399; as orientalist, 381–2; on Ottoman administration, 254, 264, 312–3; and Ottoman headgear, 120; and particularism, 391, 392; and Persepolis, description and evaluation of, 224–30, 322–6, 396–7; Persian Gulf, chart of, 214, 241–2; personality, 51; proselytising, opposed to, 112, 312; and publication of expedition results, 291–5; publications, evaluation of, 340–3; on pyramids, 131–2; Red Sea, chart of, 163–5; on religious freedom, 205, 208, 266, 311–2; in the Royal Instructions, 88–9; as rural person, 48–9, 51, 120, 137, 345, 353, 375, 391; Shatt al Arab, chart of, 234–5; and stereotypes, 309; and tolerance, 112, 216, 231, 252, 267, 311–2; town plans, 126–7, 129, 165, 187, 194, 197, 199, 216, 239, 245, 247, 257, 261, 268, 269, 272, 273, 275, 315, 391–2; as treasurer, 82, 86, 117–8, 141, 212; and universalism, 286, 391, 401; and wonder, 132, 221, 379–8; as a writer, 303; Yemen, Maps of, 200–2, 315; and Yezidis, 251–2. Nile Delta, chart of, 117, 127–9, 315. Nile River, 117–8.

index Nineveh, 253. Norden, Frederik Ludwig, 37–8, 115, 117, 139, 336. Oeder, Georg Christian, 42, 69, 286, 293. Old Persian, 227, 327–8, 331. Oman, 215–7, 311; map of, 216. orientalism, 22, 380–2. Örs, 181. Osterhammel, Jürgen, 22, 379–80, 392, 398. Ottoman Empire, 17, 83, 105–6, 118–9, 173, 248, 254, 264, 278, 312–3. Palestine, 15, 249. 264–6. Palmyra, 237, 249, 260. Park, Katherine, 21, 377–8. Parkinson, Sydney, 363. Parsis, 205, 206, 248. Parthian, 227, 329, 331. Pérouse, Jean-Françoise de la, 362. Persepolis, 16, 217, 260; background, 221–3; cuneiform inscriptions, 326–9; de Bruijn, Chardin and Kaempfer at, 323–6; and Herder and Niebuhr, 396–7; Niebuhr’s work at, 224–30, 326–9. Persepolis. Eine Muthmassung (Herder), 396–7. Persian Gulf, 16, 81, 214, 217; chart of, 235, 241–2; importance of Indian and Arab traders, 241; lack of European presence, 240–1; nomenclature for, 241 n.186. Philological results of expedition, 185–6, 336–9; Haven’s journal, 336–7; purchased manuscripts, 337–8, 384. philology, biblical, 15, 21, 26, 33, 45, 68; declining importance of, 89, 185–6, 246, 296, 337, 383–4; and the Fragen, 68. The Philosophy of the Enlightenment (Cassirer), 400–1. Phoenician inscriptions, 262–3. The Plants of Pehr Forsskål’s ‘Flora Aegyptiaco-Arabica’ (Hepper and Friis), 19. plasmodium falciparum (malaria), 182, 200. Plattdeutsch, 48 n.77, 82, 259, 347. pluralist cosmopolitanism: and Herder, 393–4, 393 n.90; and Niebuhr, 394–5. Pococke, Richard, 260–4. Pratt, Mary Louis, 20–1, 369–77. Priestley, Joseph, 352.

441

Provençal, Philippe, 19, 373. publication of expedition results, 291–5. al Qunfudhah, 163. Qur’ān, 65, 311. Ramadan, 231, 273. Râs-ettin (peninsula), 117, 136. Rashîd, 117–8, 127–9, 138. Rasmussen, Stig, 18. Raymond, André, 118. Red Sea, 16, 28, 65, 153, 157–9, 162–3; chart of, 163–5; European presence in, 240–1; marine biology of, 81, 165–71. Reill, Peter Hanns, 31–2. Reisebeschreibung nach Arabien und andern umliegenden Ländern (Niebuhr), 288, 292–3, 295, 349, 389; analysis of, 299–300; illustrations for, 299; purpose, 299–300; reviews of, 340–1. Resa till lycklige Arabien (Uggla)), 335. Resolution, the, 365. Reiske, Johann Jacob, 44 n.58, 291. religious freedom: and Niebuhr, 205, 208, 266, 311–2. Republic of Letters, 42, 44, 74, 90, 141. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (Coleridge), 368. Ritter, Carl, 341. Röderer, Johann Georg, 65 n.142. Royal Instructions, 63, 68–70, 84–91; and Académie des inscriptions et des belles lettres, 86; and egalitarianism, 86, 90; and the Fragen, 86; and Kratzenstein, 86; and respect for Arab culture, 87, 90. Royal Library, see Kongelige Bibliotek. Royal Scientific Expedition to New Spain, 19, 359–60. Ruse, 277. Russell, Alexander, 270. Russell, Patrick, 270. Russian Academy of Sciences, 358. Sacy, Antoine Isaac Sylvestre de, 327, 329, 349. Safier, Neil, 357, 371. Said, Edward, 22, 380–1. Şan‘ā’, 173, 171, 186; stay in, 192–6; description of, 193–4.

442

index

Sasanian Iran, 329. Sauvages, François Boissier de, 100–101. Saydā, 235, 267. Schimmelmann, Ernst Carl, 349. Schleswig-Holsteinische Landesbibliothek, 18. Schlözer, August Ludwig, 389. Schmeelke, Heinrich Wilhelm, 51, 282, 344. Schultens, Albert, 31. scientific exploration and the Enlightenment, 355; and imperialism, 369–71. Scott, Francis, 184, 186, 197, 198. Scott, Hugh, 302. Serabit el-Khâdim, 147–8, 152–3. Seven Years War, 37, 40, 56, 74, 79, 98, 104 n.55, 241. Shafi̔i (school of law), 126, 179, 248. Shatt al Arab: chart of, 234–5, 240, 244. Sheehan, Jonathan, 372 n.43. Shi‘ites, 173, 205, 218–9, 232, 240, 244, 245, 261, 302. Ship-based travel: role and limtations of, 365–367. shipment of expediton collections, 204, 212, 215. Shīrāz, 16, 217–8, 220–1, 232–3, 241. Siberia, 358–9. Sinai: trip to, 16, 71 84, 139, 143–56; and the Instructions, 144. Skelton, R. A,. 321. Smith, Bernard, 364. Solander, Daniel, 332, 363. Spärck, Ragnar, 170–1. Spöring, Herman Diedrich, 363. Stanisław II August, King of Poland, 260, 279. Statistik, 301, 356, 388–90. Ström, Jens Henrik, 26, 29, 43. Struensee, Friedrich, 289–90. St. Saphorin, Armand François Louis de Mestral, 280. Suez, 144, 154. Sunnis, 126, 205, 218–9, 240, 243, 245, 253, 266, 302. Surat, 204, 207–9; chart of harbor of, 208. Syriac, 45, 89. Tahiti, 368. Ta‘izz, 181–2, 187.

Takīyahrs, 248. Tarābulis, 235, 269. Temler, Christian Friedrich, 82, 214. Tenedos (Bozcaada), 104–5. Tharangambadi (Tranquebar), 25–6, 28, 38, 63, 71, 82, 84, 144, 212; shipments to, 204. Taurus Mountains, 271. Tigris River, 248, 253. Tihāmah, 172–3, 174–6, 180–2, 342. Tirion, Isak, 163 Tischendorf, Lobegott Friedrich Constantin, 151. transits of Venus, 88, 102–3, 357–8, 363. Tuhaytah, 178. El Tûr, 158, 165; map of, 157. Turkmens, 219, 258. Tychsen, Oluf Gerhard, 327, 349. Tyre, 266. Udayn: and coffee, 181. Ukraine, 278. Uluskisla, 271. universities: role of, 16, 89, 383. universalism and particularism, 22; with Herder and Niebuhr, 392–4, 398. Ulloa, Antonio de, 356. Uppsala University, 16, 22, 34, 58–9, 61, 73, 383. Urfa (Edessa), 257. Vahl, Martin, 333. Vergennes, Charles Gravier, Comte de, 106, 236. Voyage to the Pacific Ocean (Cook), 367. Voyage to the South Pole (Cook), 367. Voyages de monssier le Chardin en Perse et autres lieux de l’Orient (Chardin), 326–7. Wādi Mukattab, 147, 150. Wādi Surdud, 174–5. Wādi Zabīd, 181. Wahhābism, 243. Walch, Christian Wilhelm Franz, 65 n. 142. Wallachia and Moldavia, 277–8. Walton, Brian, 338. Warsaw, 16, 279–80. Weber, Carl Maria von: and Niebuhr’s music, 305. West, Bemjamin, 368.

index Wiesehöfer, Josef, 18. Wolff, Torben, 333. Wonders and the Order of Nature (Daston and Park), 377–8. Xenophon, 269, 271, 272. Yanbu ‘al Bahr, 158. Yārim: death of Forsskål at, 188. Yemen: in the Beschreibung, 200, 300–1; and coffee, 172–3, 175, 176–7; description of, 172–3; isolation of, 173; maps of, 200–2, 315; in proposal, 25, 27–8, 31, 38; safety in, 174, 176; visit to 16, 172–188, 191–7; why important, 31, 64–5, 92–3.

443

Yezidi, 251–2 n.234, 255, 302, 305–6. Young, Arthur, 352. Zāb River, 251–2. Zabīd, 178–9, 182. Zach, Franz Xaver Freiherr von, 319–22. Zammito, Johan, 394. Zamość, 278. Zaydites, 173, 302. Zoëga, 293–4 n.41. Zoffany, Johan, 368. zoology, 17, 21; Forsskål’s work in, 333–6, 386. Zūrhānes, 232.

oriens et occidens Studien zu antiken Kulturkontakten und ihrem Nachleben

Herausgegeben von Josef Wiesehöfer in Zusammenarbeit mit Pierre Briant, Amélie Kuhrt, Fergus Millar und Robert Rollinger.

Franz Steiner Verlag

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held at the British Museum, 17–19 April 2001 2007. 392 S., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-08816-9 Henning Börm Prokop und die Perser Untersuchungen zu den römischsasanidischen Kontakten in der ausgehenden Spätantike 2007. 382 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09052-0 Charlotte Lerouge L’image des Parthes dans le monde gréco-romain Du début du Ier siècle av. J.-C. jusqu’à la fin du Haut-Empire romain 2007. 327 S. mit 9 Abb., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-08530-4 Michael Blömer / Margherita Facella / Engelbert Winter (Hg.) Lokale Identität im Römischen Nahen Osten Kontexte und Perspektiven. Erträge der Tagung „Lokale Identität im Römischen Nahen Osten“ in Münster vom 19.–21. April 2007 2009. 340 S. mit 171 Abb., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-09377-4 Ted Kaizer / Margherita Facella (Hg.) Kingdoms and Principalities in the Roman Near East 2010. 453 S. mit 22 Abb., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-09715-4 Josef Wiesehöfer / Thomas Krüger (Hg.) Periodisierung und Epochenbewusstsein im Alten Testament und in seinem Umfeld 2012. 155 S., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-10114-1 Lucinda Dirven (Hg.) Hatra Politics, Culture and Religion between Parthia and Rome 2013. 363 S. mit 38 Abb., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-10412-8

In 1801, the nominations to the French Institut des sciences et des arts, the former French Academy, included Immanuel Kant, Johann Gottfried Herder, Thomas Jefferson, Friedrich Klopstock, Arthur Young, Joseph Priestly and Carsten Niebuhr. The first six are seminal figures of the 18th Century, but who was Carsten Niebuhr and why was he considered worthy of membership in Europe’s most prestigious society? The answer is that it was Niebuhr who gave to European readers perhaps the most accurate, multifaceted and open-minded portrait of the Middle East published in the 18th Century, an account that is still highly respected for its scholarship today. This book is the first

comprehensive, multidisciplinary study of his achievement and that of his colleagues as members of the Danish Expedition to Arabia. It is an examination of an encounter between the Northern European Enlightenment and the cultural, physical and ecological domains of the Middle East, and of the knowledge in many scholarly fields that this encounter produced. Drawing on extensive archival research, including field journals and correspondence, it paints in the context of the 18th Century, a vivid picture of the ideas behind, the field experience of, and the scientific results produced by what the London Times has called “One of the most extraordinary journeys of all time.”

www.steiner-verlag.de Franz Steiner Verlag

ISBN 978-3-515-10768-6