On Alexander’s Tracks: Exploring Geographies, Memories, and Cultural Identities along the North-West Frontier of British India in the Nineteenth Century 3515124004, 9783515124003

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Christopher Schliephake

On Alexander’s Tracks Exploring Geographies, Memories, and Cultural Identities along the North-West Frontier of British India in the Nineteenth Century

Alte Geschichte Franz Steiner Verlag

Oriens et Occidens 30

Oriens Et Occidens Studien zu antiken Kulturkontakten und ihrem Nachleben Herausgegeben von Josef Wiesehöfer in Zusammenarbeit mit Pierre Briant, Geoffrey Greatrex, Amélie Kuhrt und Robert Rollinger Band 30

On Alexander’s Tracks Exploring Geographies, Memories, and Cultural Identities along the North-West Frontier of British India in the Nineteenth Century Christopher Schliephake

Franz Steiner Verlag

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 2019 Layout und Herstellung: Franz Steiner Verlag Satz: DTP + TEXT Eva Burri, Stuttgart Druck: Memminger MedienCentrum, Memmingen Gedruckt auf säurefreiem, alterungsbeständigem Papier. Printed in Germany. ISBN 978-3-515-12400-3 (Print) ISBN 978-3-515-12405-8 (E-Book)

For Doris, Ernst, and Hanfried To Franziska and Sophia

Acknowledgments Memory is never a one-sided affair. It is a dynamic encounter with the past. And this past is never finished; we never leave it and it never leaves us behind. Remembering is a way of entering into a dialogue with the past, and its many voices that reach out to us and that touch us in various ways. The same holds true for the writing of a book – what to the naked eye is an individual, self-contained affair is, in fact, a way of reaching out to other authors, texts, times, and contexts. Just like books, individuals emerge through the lively encounter with others. In my case, those important others were my beloved grandparents Doris and Ernst who had accompanied and supported me all of my life and who died during the writing of the book; my grandfather Hanfried, who was an author himself, also died in 2016. This book is dedicated to them. Since remembering is never just an imaginative act of re-enlivening the past, but also reaches out into the future, it is, at the same time, addressed to my wife Franziska and my daughter Sophia. I cannot thank them enough for their constant inspiration and guidance. This book emerged through and as part of our life together. I wish to express my gratitude for the love and support of my parents. I want to thank my academic teacher, Prof. Gregor Weber, for his patience and support as this book came into being. I also want to thank Prof. Jürgen Malitz, whose idea sparked this project in the first place, and Prof. Natascha Sojc, who provided helpful feedback. Philip Krivitsch helped in handling an enormous load of literature and source material. At various stages, results of my work were presented in Augsburg, Berlin, Bern, and the Political Academy in Tutzing. I want to thank my colleagues for lively discussions and invaluable input. I also want to thank Prof. Josef Wiesehöfer and the editorial board of the “Oriens et Occidens”-series, and especially Prof. Pierre Briant for close editorial readings and helpful suggestions. All of the remaining mistakes are my own.

Table of Contents Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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1. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.1 Alexander the Great and the British Empire: Classical Reception in Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.2 Travel Writing as a Mode of Classical Reception . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.3 The Reception of Alexander between Cultural Memory and Cultural Encounter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1.4 Summary of the Chapters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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2. Setting the Stage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.1 Major James Rennell, Geography, and the Mapping of Alexander’s Indian Conquest . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2 The Memory of Alexander Between Enlightenment Philosophy and Geopolitics in Napoleonic Times . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3 Diplomatic Missions and the First Explorations Beyond the ‘Frontier’ . . . . . . . 2.4 The Next Generation of Trans-Frontier Exploration and the Russian Threat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

16 28 32 41 46 51 62 75 91

3. Romancing Alexander . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99 3.1 Afghanistan, Imagination, and the Imitation of Alexander the Great . . . . . . . . . 103 3.2 Up the Indus and Through Afghanistan: Sir Alexander Burnes in the Footsteps of Alexander the Great – The Identities of Places and People . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111 3.3 ‘General’ Josiah Harlan’s Reception of Alexander the Great: The Macedonian as Political and Personal Model. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129 3.4 “The Man Who Would Be King” and the Cultural Imagination of Imperial Aspirations Fashioned on the Reception of Alexander the Great . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144

10 4. 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 4.5

Table of Contents

The Material Fabrics of Memory and the Possession of the Past . . . . . . . . . . 153 Early Explorers and the Beginnings of Indo-Afghan Archaeology . . . . . . . . . . . . 158 The Case of Charles Masson . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 Alexander Cunningham and the Archaeological Survey of India . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181 Sir Aurel Stein on Alexander’s Tracks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193 The Legacy of Colonial Archaeology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208

5. Contested Memories and Collective Identities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216 5.1 The Military Aspects of Alexander’s Memory along the North-West Frontier . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221 5.2 Alexander’s Descendants: Colonial Ethnography and the Strange Case of the Kafirs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237 5.3 Thomas Hungerford Holdich, Alexander’s Memory, and the Political Geography of Empire . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251 5.4 Coming Full Circle: Holdich and the Memory of Frontier Exploration from Alexander to the British Empire . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267 6. Epilogue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 272 List of Figures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 282 Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283 Ancient Texts (Editions, Commentaries, Translations) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283 Primary Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 284 Modern Studies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 292 Map of Alexander’s Campaign . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303 Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 305

Chapter I Introduction According to the ancient sources, Alexander the Great (356–323 BCE) followed in the tracks of the heroes of his youth. Though he would have had enough great men to look up to, first of all his father Philip II. (ca. 382–336 BCE), who had led Macedonia out of the shadow of the Greek city states, Alexander opted for different heroes altogether: he clung to the highly imaginative and evocative world of mythical storytelling and its protagonists, whose exploits he heard about in the tales of bards and whose deeds he witnessed on vase paintings. Philip II. had expedited an encompassing renewal of his country, including an urbanization based on Greek models, but Macedonia was archaic enough in that the mythical stories of agonal conflict, daring adventure, and otherworldly combat, could strike a chord with a society very much based on egalitarian, albeit patriarchal and certainly martial principles. To Alexander, the connection to the world of myth had a dimension that exceeded mere analogy between the real and the imagined, for the Argead dynasty into which he was born traced its roots back to Heracles, while the family of his mother Olympias claimed descent from Achilles.1 One could argue that this purported lineage was a mere promotional act of a dynasty which had for too long stood watching at the sidelines while others defined the politics of the day, but for Alexander the memory of his mythical ancestors loomed large in his upbringing2 and figured as a daily reminder of virtues integral to any great leader, including courage, compassion, a questing spirit and faith in the gods. One could also argue that acts of monarchical self-representation do not necessarily coincide with factual and pragmatic politics, but even in antiquity matters were not that simple – especially when it came to accounting for the immense success of Alexander: at 1 2

Cf. Plut. Alex. 2.1; Lysimachus, one of Alexander’s elementary teachers, was said to have given Alexander the nickname “Achilleus.” On the general connection between Alexander and the Homeric hero cf. Arr. an. 1.12; Plut. Alex. 5.8, 8.2, 26.1–2; Onesikr. F38. Much has been made of the relationship between Alexander and one of his teachers, Aristotle. While many details of the curriculum for the young Macedonian are unknown, it must be assumed that reading exercises entailed Greek drama and epic, including Homer’s Iliad. According to one tradition, Alexander took one version of the Iliad along on his campaign that was edited by Aristotle. Cf. Plut. Alex. 8.1–12, also Onesikr. F17 A.

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only 18, he succeeded his father and thus inherited not only the Macedonian throne, but also the task of invading Asia. It is still a matter of contention, whether the campaign was solely meant to liberate the Greek city states of Asia Minor from Persian hegemony and to take revenge for the Persian invasion of Greece at the dawn of the fifth century BCE, or whether the agenda also included a foray into Persian heartlands.3 What is clear is that no one could have foreseen the scale – and the eventual success – of this undertaking, which led Alexander’s army from the Hellespont all the way to India in only eight years, and which made Alexander the successor of the Persian Great Kings. In 326 BCE, Alexander’s campaign had already reached the banks of the river Hyphasis (the modern Beas); Alexander was still tempted to move on, but his troops, tired of fighting and the hardships of a never-ending campaign, mutinied and he turned back, moving up the Indus to the Indian Ocean. After a long march through the Gedrosian desert, Alexander returned to the Persian royal capital Susa in 324, and eventually to the fabled Babylon, which had become his main residence, where he died an early death in 323 BCE. Already in antiquity, contemporaries and later commentators had trouble explaining the enormous success of Alexander, let alone the character of the enigmatic king, whose military achievements had surpassed everything in recent memory and who had ventured farther than any Greek or Macedonian before him. The only register, or so it seemed, with which to comprehensively grasp and compare Alexander’s campaign was the language of myth. According to one particular strand of the ancient tradition, usually following the court historian Callisthenes,4 Alexander marked significant stages of his route with allusions to Greek myths, for instance the start of the invasion at the Hellespont, where he visited the graves of the heroes who had fought at Troy, his detour to the famous oracle in the oasis Siwa in 331 BCE, which would later be connected to Alexander’s alleged divine kinship, and finally his Indian campaign, where he repeatedly drew on Heracles’ and Dionysos’ exploits.5 It is difficult to ascertain in how 3

4

5

The revenge for the Persian invasions in 490 and 481 BCE was part of the agenda of the League of Corinth (or Hellenic League), a federation of Greek states created by Philip II. during the winter of 338/7 BCE after the Battle of Chaeronea. The idea of a Greek invasion of Asia had been formulated for a while, but the scale of such an undertaking was not necessarily clear. On this cf. also Pierre Briant, Alexander the Great and his Empire: A Short Introduction (Princeton, N. J.: Princeton University Press, 2012), 24–41. Already in antiquity, many of the mythical allusions to Alexander were described as mere court flattery, cf. Arr. an. 5.3.1; Strab. 15.1.9. Callisthenes accompanied Alexander’s campaign from the beginning and had the task of writing an official account of the events. He stylized Alexander into a hero of near-mythical proportions, using a lot of references to divine signs and analogies between the Macedonian king and Trojan heroes (Arr. an. 4.10.1; Plut. Alex. 7.3; Iust. 12.6.17). He eventually fell from favor and lost his life after an alleged involvement in a court conspiracy. On Callisthenes cf. Waldemar Heckel, Who’s who in the Age of Alexander the Great: Prosopography of Alexander’s Empire (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2006), 77–78. The sacrifices at Troy were a central element in all ancient sources, cf. Arr. an. 1.12.1–3; Diod. 17.3; Plut. Alex. 15.8; Iust. 11.5.12. On the oracle Arr. an. 3.4.5; also Curt. 4.7.26; Diod. 51.2; Iust. 11.11.9; Plut. Alex. 27.4.

I Introduction

13

far these highly symbolic acts were rooted in historical reality and in how far they were self-representational fabrications meant to blank out the irrational and often violent effects of the campaign. Historiography about Alexander has to contend with a very complex transmission history, since almost all primary sources have vanished and can only be distilled in small fragments from later authors, who often present us with a Roman imperial interpretation of the campaign.6 Cultural memory loomed large in how Alexander’s march was interpreted: allusions to Alexander’s forebears abound in the ancient sources.7 Mythical patterning was, as Blanshard puts it, one of the “way[s] in which the journey could be made explicable.”8 In fact, mythical allusions increased the further east Alexander travelled, so that his route could be brought in alignment with a “mythical topography”9 stored in legends that entailed a rich array of associations. The fact that mythical stories could be used for this interpretative framework as much as verifiable historical events shows that Alexander’s feats resonate strongly with forms of cultural imagination, that is they had – and have – to be, on the one hand, integrated into rationalistic frameworks of reference that help in understanding what happened, and they stirred the imagination in that they often transcended this rational impulse. What, to a modern, seems like a paradox engrained in ancient worldviews and questionable explanatory models of classical historiography can, in fact, still be found in modern interpretations of Alexander.10 And it would certainly be wrong to claim that modern

6

7

8 9 10

The main problem of any Alexander history is the scarcity of primary sources. The foundation of the literary evidence is secondary in nature, that is to say it is based on writings from the Roman period which draw upon the lost contemporary historians of Alexander. The earliest author is Diodorus, a Sicilian historian from the first century BCE, whose work (along with that of the later Curtius Rufus and Justin) is often said to be based on a popular Hellenistic writer, Cleitarchus of Alexandria. We also have Arrian, a writer and politician from the Roman provincial aristocracy in the late first / early second century CE, whose Anabasis was primarily based on eye-witness accounts of Alexander’s campaign, namely those of Ptolemy, Aristobulos, and Nearchus. The biography of Plutarch (first/second century CE) and the geography of Strabo (first century BCE / first century CE) complete the picture. On the complex transmission history and the problem of the sources cf. also Albert Brian Bosworth, “Introduction,” in Alexander the Great Between Fact and Fiction, ed. A. B. Bosworth and Elizabeth Baynham (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 1–22. See, for instance, how the foray into India is described by alluding to mythical heroes, who were said to have ventured in these regions before. Heracles was the main reference point in this context, cf. Curt. 9.4.1; Diod. 17.83.1, but also Dionysos became an important mnemonic model, cf. Arr. Ind. 7.2–9. Alastair J. L. Blanshard, “Alexander’s Mythic Journey into India,” in Memory as History: The Legacy of Alexander in Asia, ed. by Himanshu Prabha Ray and Daniel T. Potts (New Delhi: Aryan Books International, 2007), 30. Ibid., 33. In one of the most influential modern biographies of the Macedonian conqueror, this mythical strand of the ancient tradition is turned into a key device for deciphering his personality and inner psychology. Robin Lane Fox, Alexander the Great (London: Penguin Books, 2006 [1973]). Yet, it also has to be pointed out that this emphatic strand of reception was, at the same time, accompanied by harsh judgments, notably by Ernst Badian. Cf. Ernst Badian, rev. of Alexander the Great,

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politics and history has rid itself entirely from mythical allusions to Alexander. Quite the contrary: already in his lifetime, Alexander became a quasi-mythical figure himself, a Protean-like character of sorts, who could be made to fit different sociohistorical contexts, cultural stories, and political ideologies in a long period of ever-new reception. This book traces one particular and powerful strand of such a reception process, namely the cultural reception of the Macedonian conqueror along the north-west frontier of British India during the long nineteenth century. As will be shown in the course of this study, British military strategists, geographers, adventurers, explorers, and archaeologists used Alexander the same way that the Macedonian was said to use his mythical forebears like Heracles or Dionysos. The Britons used Alexander as a way of integrating their forays into unknown territories within an associative cultural framework that connected past and present as well as a way of imbuing their own exploits with a highly evocative register that presented them as standing in a line of continuity with one of the greatest imperial campaigns ever witnessed. Although the main part of the book traces travelers along the so-called north-west frontier and their respective writings over a vast time period that stretches from the late eighteenth to the early decades of the twentieth century, it is remarkable how persistent and static references to Alexander remained. The temporal framework encompasses the heyday of the British Empire in Central Asia, tracing the gradual expansion of the East India Company’s territory into the north of India and beyond what actually counted as “Hindoostan,” up to the point when the Company’s rule was transferred to Crown rule in the second half of the nineteenth century and finally to the last geographical and archaeological surveys that put an end to frontier exploration in the 1920s and 1930s. Although this era was one of the high points of British imperialism, it was also characterized by manifold local crises and tumultuous events, having to do with the inner-workings and the inherent contradictions of the colonial state as well as with the issue of how British possessions in India could actually be protected against aggression from the north. Even though Napoleon Bonaparte (1769–1821) had actually never visited this part of the world, he nonetheless clearly marked a watershed in the history of what would come to be called the British north-west frontier. One of his strategic schemes included a coordinated attack on British overseas possessions in India; it was to be conducted with the help of Russia and was aimed at weakening the great European adversary of his French imperial army by cutting off the lucrative trade with Asia. Although Napoleon’s plans never materialized, they would continue to haunt British colonial officers, strategists, and mapmakers, who would eagerly explore northern routes to India and neighboring territories up until the twentieth century – an area of the world that hitherto had largely been unmapped. Robin Lane Fox (London 1973), in Journal of Hellenic Studies 96 (1976), 229–30. The debate is neatly summed up in Pierre Briant, Alexandre. Exégèse des lieux communs (Folio histoire 259), Paris: Gallimard, 2016, 400–1 and 470–73.

I Introduction

15

Even though the texts and the individual biographies of the traveler-explorers who would subsequently explore these unknown regions were highly heterogeneous, the notion of travelling in Alexander’s “footsteps” or “tracks” was the most prevalent of literary tropes connected to the memory of the ancient conqueror. Great as the difference was between these travelers, not to mention the difference between themselves and the natives of the regions they visited, the texts analyzed in the course of this book show that the memory of Alexander the Great was both a key device for interpreting the British Empire’s historical mission in Central Asia and a symbolic projection that enabled communication between past and present, Briton and native. For although the British explorers, with very few exceptions, felt powerfully superior to virtually all of the local ethnicities they encountered, the memory of Alexander was also a meeting point where European textual knowledge and indigenous traditions merged. One of the main arguments of this book is that the British travelers’ cultural reception of Alexander was based on an immense confidence in the centrality of the ancient sources and of the Eurocentric representations engrained in them; however, the contact with natives and their own traditions of Alexander (or rather “Sikander”) as well as the experience of local landscapes and places sometimes channeled back into the reading of these sources, so that the Europeans’ memory of Alexander was affected – it became a highly relational device for the discursive framing of cultural identity, for either reinforcing imperial British ideology or challenging it. And, as will be shown, the principal faculty in negotiating the dialectic between the reading of sources and the perception of local spaces and people was imagination – in this way, the British travelers’ journey into the regions of the north-west frontier was littered with historical associations, local legends, and a highly imaginative reservoir of cultural images, just the way it had been when Alexander entered these lands himself. When it comes to accounting for the influence of classical models on the British Empire, the Roman Empire has usually been called upon as the great historical predecessor. While this may be true with regard to administrative and ideological aspects inherent in the colonial project, there were practically no territorial overlaps between the British territory and the ancient Roman Empire. Geographically speaking, Alexander was an even more relevant point of reference. As will be shown in the course of this book, this had to do with the experiential framework of the discovery, exploration, and conquest of northwestern India and its neighboring regions, i. e. the Punjab, modern Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Turkestan – regions that were as central to geopolitics then as they are now. It was here where the British Empire and Alexander’s march overlapped and where the abstract notion of following in his “footsteps” or “tracks” could actually be based on cartographic parallels, military analogies, antiquarian research, cultural inspiration, and finally political power. Alexander was an over-imposing historical figure upon which conceptions of colonial identity could be based – for the Britons it was clear that they were following in the Macedonian’s footsteps because he had been a Westerner (and a European) like

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themselves. However, the further the British explorers advanced along the northwestern regions of India they realized that Alexander had already been waiting for them. Only this was a different Alexander than the one they had been familiar with from their ancient source books – he came in the guise of Sikander or Iskander and some local indigenous tribes even claimed direct descent from him. The way the writings of the travelers and explorers reacted to the cultural confrontation between a ‘Western’ and an ‘Eastern’ Alexander will be one of the main themes of this book. And while it is clear that the sources generally reflect a Eurocentric viewpoint and Western bias, it will nonetheless be one of the main contentions of this study that the cultural reception of Alexander the Great has to be conceptualized as a transcultural one, and Alexander as a transcultural and trans-historical figure himself. 1.1 Alexander the Great and the British Empire: Classical Reception in Context In an article on Alexander the Great for the first volume of The Cambridge History of India, published in 1921, the philosopher and historian of the Hellenistic world, Edwyn Bevan (1870–1943), wrote: The Europeans who had followed Alexander so far into Asia now entered the region in which the armies of the English operate to-day. At that season of the year the hill-country must have been bitterly cold, and probably to some extent under snow. It was the same hill-country whose contours and tracks and points of vantage are studied now by the British commanders; the tough highlander of the Balkans or of Crete climbed and skirmished with bow and javelin in 327 B. C. where the Scottish highlander was to climb and skirmish with rifle and bayonet two thousand two hundred years later.11

The region to which Bevan refers in his article is the stretch of land between the Kabul and the Indus rivers, imprecisely marked as the so-called Durand line by the administration of British India in 1893. Situated between the Khyber Pass and Peshawar, it was not only meant to demarcate the British possessions in the Punjab and India from Afghanistan, but also figured as a strategic geopolitical buffer zone between British and Russian interests.12 While this area would remain a space of unrest until the end of the British presence in the region, it was, above all, a highly symbolical and prestigious strip of land steeped in a long history of cultural contact and military conflict. Due to

11 12

Edwyn R. Bevan, “Alexander the Great,” in The Cambridge History of India, vol. I: Ancient India, ed. by Edward James Rapson (London: Cambridge UP, 1921), 315. On Bevan cf. also Briant, Exégèse, 177–80. Cf. in general on the history of the region and the geostrategic conflict between Britain and Russia Jonathan L. Lee, The “Ancient Supremacy”: Bukhara, Afghanistan, and the Battle for Balkh, 1731–1901 (Leiden: Brill, 1996).

1.1 Alexander the Great and the British Empire: Classical Reception in Context

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its geographical location and its function as a connecting corridor between India and Central Asia, it had served as the setting of various geopolitical maneuvers and map exercises. Alexander’s campaign had been only one of several great military undertakings that would bring the area center stage in the course of history, but for the British it was his name and his invasion of India that served as the great cultural reference point. In the British interpretation, it was the Macedonian who had brought Europe into contact with these zones of the world, and it were the Britons who took it upon themselves to carry this undertaking forward, far beyond the points where Alexander had originally ventured. In Bevan’s view, it does not make a difference that Alexander had actually approached these strips of land from the northwest, whereas the Britons had come from their Indian dominions in the southeast – what matters is that both Alexander’s army and the British troops were seen as “European,” as representing and forwarding whatever values and standards were associated with that marker of cultural identity in a foreign and often hostile environment. Although Bevan’s actual aim is to illustrate the history of Alexander, the analogy he develops between Alexander’s time and the British empire is no idiosyncratic rhetorical maneuver to illustrate ancient history for his readership with the help of contemporary references, but rather reflects a typical representational practice prevalent throughout the long nineteenth century, from the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars up to the First World War, namely to present the memory of Alexander the Great as implicated in Britain’s own imperial history. Nowhere was this move clearer, or more nuanced, than along the northwestern regions of British India. As in the case of Bevan, historiography was one means of imaginatively drawing this connection in a line of translatio imperii, from Alexander’s “Balkan” auxiliaries to the Scottish highlanders, but by the time of the 1920s it had already become a literary trope, developed in travel writing from the late eighteenth century onwards. It is not easy to highlight a specific point in time when the British fascination with Alexander began, but interest in and references to Alexander certainly grew stronger when the Honourable East India Company, initially a comparatively small joint-stock company founded for trade with the East Indies, gradually switched its focus from trade to territorial expansion and possession in the course of the eighteenth century, and when it eventually came to rule large areas of India with its own private armies, exercising military power and assuming administrative functions.13 Bernard Cohn sees the capture of Seringapatam in 1799 and the defeat of Tipu Sultan (1750–1799), ruler of the Kingdom of Mysore, as a critical watershed, for it consolidated the Company’s rule over great parts of southern and central India.14 Although the Company’s dominion 13 14

Cf. John Keay, The Honourable Company: A History of the English East India Company (London: Harper Collins, 1991), 219–330. Bernard S. Cohn, Colonialism and its Forms of Knowledge: The British in India (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996), 80.

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was still a good distance away from where Alexander had initially operated, the Britons could indeed be said to have accomplished what the Macedonian had tried in vain, namely to take control over vast portions of the Indian subcontinent. This territorial aspect of British power in India, along with the alleged threat of a Napoleonic invasion, reset the Company’s focus, bringing the Macedonian’s Indian campaign into view in a practical sense: “When at the turn of the nineteenth century, the East India Company’s attention was drawn to the Central Asian region, it was,” as Lawrence James has observed, to the sources of Alexander “that officials turned for information about the human and military geography of the regions beyond the Khyber and the Amu Darya.”15 Geopolitical interest and classical reception went hand in hand and reciprocally intensified one another as the Britons set their eyes on northern India and particularly the Punjab, first in an economic, later in a military sense as well. It was an analogous process entailing two timeframes and two synergetic effects: the thinking through of present and future strategic blueprints, as well as the harking back on the past as an inspirational source of knowledge for operating in an area where not much intelligence was available.16 In the time of European colonial expansion, the classical models provided a framework for reflecting on lines of tradition legitimizing imperial endeavors as well as on practical methods of how the process of colonization needed to be shaped in order to be successful. Regarding the example of Alexander the Great for the British self-proclaimed imperial mission, “there was,” as Warwick Ball has noticed, an added attraction to the model when, by the middle of the nineteenth century, the British Empire for the first time overlapped that of Alexander’s. Britain extended its empire into the area where the great conqueror had trod before when it expanded into north-western India, particularly after the Sikh Wars of 1845–49 which culminated in the annexation of the Punjab and the extension of British India to the North-West Frontier. For the first time, British regiments fought on the same territory that Alexander’s phalanxes had fought millennia before.17 15 16 17

Lawrence James, Raj: The Making and Unmaking of British India (London: Little, Brown and Company, 1997), 77–78. Cf. Cohn, Colonialism, 79. Warwick Ball, “Some Talk of Alexander: Myth and Politics in the North-West Frontier of British India,” in The Alexander Romance in Persia and the East, ed. Richard Stoneman, Kyle Erickson and Ian Netton (Groningen: Barkhuis Publ., 2012),130. The parallel between Alexander’s troops, partly made up, by the time of the Indian campaign, of Persian and indigenous groups, and the British troops in India had already been drawn in the nineteenth century. The Scottish historian and travel writer Charles MacFarlane made this connection and compared Alexander’s “Macedonian phalanges” to the British troops: George Lillie Craik and Charles MacFarlane, The Pictorial History of England During the Reign of George the Third, Being a History of the People, As Well As of the Kingdom, Vol. IV (London: Charles Knight, 1844), 203. As Pierre Briant has shown, this motif had an even longer history in the British debate, however. Cf. Pierre Briant, Alexandre des Lumières: Fragments d’histoire europénne (Paris: Gallimard, 2012), 414–15.

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It is remarkable how much Ball’s quote echoes that of Bevan, drawing the same parallel between the British imperial troops and Alexander’s armies. It attests to the success and cultural prevalence of an image developed from the end of the eighteenth century onwards, namely to travel in Alexander’s “footsteps” or “tracks.” What began as a tentative exploration of possible transfer routes between India and Central Asia, including economic transit, soon turned into a proper geostrategic and military quest for hegemony in that area of the world. And while it is true that British dominions only formally overlapped with Alexander’s by the middle of the nineteenth century, the fascination with and interest in his route began much earlier. This book traces the story of how the cultural metaphor of traveling in Alexander’s footsteps came about and what kind of interest it served. By looking at travel writings from the Napoleonic era up to the early decades of the twentieth century, it will systematically analyze the timespan when the British north-west frontier came into being, first as an imaginative realm, later as a geopolitical reality. A study of the cultural reception of Alexander the Great in the British Empire could have entailed other aspects as well, namely representations of Alexander in imaginative literature, exhibitions, or historiography in metropole culture, or the presence of his memory in other parts of Britain’s colonial world; but nowhere was the memory of Alexander more immediate than in the first-hand accounts of travelers, explorers, soldiers, and antiquarians who worked and ventured along the north-west frontier. It was here that they truly encountered the past and actively entered into a negotiation with it. The clear focus on travel writing and literature of exploration as well as the geographic focus on the small strip of British India, where the British and Alexander’s empires coincided, adds to an existing field of classical reception studies that have intensively looked at the presence of the Macedonian conqueror in the time of European imperialism. In a number of essays18 and one path breaking monograph,19 Pierre Briant has illustrated the reception of Alexander the Great in the Age of Enlightenment, trac-

18

19

Briant published the first article touching on this subject in 1979, but it would remain with him, and from the dawn of the new millennium onwards, he has devoted himself more and more to uncovering the complex reception history of Alexander in the Early Modern and Modern Age. Cf. Pierre Briant, “Impérialisme antique et idéologie colonial dans la France contemporaine: Alexandre modèle colonial,” Dialogues d’histoire ancienne 5 (1979), 283–92; Pierre Briant, “La tradition gréco-romaine sur Alexandre le Grand dans Europe moderne et contemporaine,” in The Impact of Classical Greece on European and National Identities, ed. Margriet Haagsma Pim den Boer and Eric M. Moormann (Amsterdam: Gieben, 2003), 161–80; Pierre Briant, “Alexandre et ‘l’hellénisation de l’Asie’: l’histoire au passé et au présent,” Studi Ellenistici 16 (2005), 9–69; Pierre Briant, “Alexander and the Persian Empire, between ‘Decline’ and ‘Renovation,’” in Alexander the Great: A New History, ed. Waldemar Heckel and Lawrence A. Tritle (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009): 171–88. Pierre Briant, Alexandre des Lumières: Fragments d’histoire europénne (Paris: Gallimard, 2012). Briant’s book has been partially translated into English: Pierre Briant, The First European: A History of Alexander in the Age of Empire (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2017).

20

I Introduction

ing the roots of the modern Alexander historiography long before 1833.20 Drawing on an impressive amount of sources, Briant has shown how Alexander became integral to Enlightenment thinking in that the history of the Macedonian conqueror allowed for a reflection of “European” ideals in relation to a global context. Not only did Alexander provide a model that could either be appropriated or contested in the time of European colonialization, he also became a foil on which to draw different conceptions of economic exchange, geopolitical strategy, or cultural identity. Briant also looks at British debates, including geographers and travelers that explicitly referred to Alexander and my own inquiry, especially the first part, was naturally shaped by Briant’s rich observations on the subject. However, my study has a different outlook in that it begins where Briant’s study ends, with a stronger emphasis on the nineteenth century.21 Moreover, it primarily analyzes texts that were written by authors who came into direct contact with the sites of Alexander’s campaign along the north-west frontier; accordingly, historiography written by scholars that often drew on travel writing, but never visited British India, will predominantly be left out of the analysis. Phiroze Vasunia is another important influence in that his work cannot only be said to touch on important points for conceptualizing classical reception within an imperial framework,22 but also because his monograph The Classics and Colonial India has outlined with great clarity how Alexander figured as a central cornerstone for colonial discourse on British India.23 His study is especially fruitful in that it discusses historiography as well as travel writing, and also looks at how Indians adapted classical models themselves, transforming and undermining many of the Eurocentric perspectives ingrained in many of the analyzed texts. While Vasunia also looks at other examples of classical reception, including Augustus and Plato, and places his discussion in an Indian political context that traces classical discourse up to the point of the movement of independence, the focus of my own study is on Alexander alone, with a stronger emphasis on modes of knowledge production and the respective role of travelers in reproducing, but also re-imagining notions of Alexander in a colonial context.

20 21 22

23

1833 marks a watershed in the modern historiography of Alexander, since it was the publication year of Droysen’s famous biography of the ancient Macedonian. Johann Gustav Droysen, Geschichte Alexanders des Großen (Hamburg: Perthes, 1833). An erudite discussion of Alexander’s modern reception history can be found in Briant, Exégèse (see note 10 above). For another comprehensive volume cf. Kenneth Royce Moore (ed.), Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Alexander the Great (Leiden: Brill, 2018). Cf., for instance, Phiroze Vasunia, “Introduction,” in India, Greece, and Rome, 1757 to 2007, ed. Edith Hall and Phiroze Vasunia (London: Institute of Classical Studies, 2010), 1–11, and Phiroze Vasunia, “Barbarism and Civilization: Political Writing, History, and Empire,” in The Oxford History of Classical Reception in English Literature, Volume 4: 1790–1880, ed. Norman Vance and Jennifer Wallace (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 131–58. Phiroze Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013).

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With this focus on travel writing, this book is close to Christopher Hagerman’s essay “In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’.”24 Hagerman has analyzed how classical Greco-Roman sources were made to serve British conceptions of India as a stagnant country to be civilized, and, more importantly, how Alexander was called upon to legitimize this colonial mission, while at the same time serving as a source of personal inspiration for countless administrators, explorers, and soldiers.25 This latter aspect will also figure prominently in my own study, but it will be integrated into a broader framework that tries, on the one hand, to theoretically account for the representational role of Alexander within a cultural discourse, and, on the other, to look at the textual and social relations which generated, replicated, and transformed the memory of the ‘Macedonian conqueror’ in the first place.26 By illustrating the long shadow cast by the almost over imposing presence of Alexander’s history in the literature of travel and exploration along the regions of northwestern British India, this book makes an exemplary case for analyzing how classics and the memory of antiquity became implicated in the project of colonialization and imperialist ideology. It thereby draws on and expands on classical reception studies in general as well as works that have looked at the interplay between classics and empire in particular. In his introduction to the path-breaking collection of essays Classics and Imperialism in the British Empire, Mark Bradley has already outlined “the multiple dialogues that developed between classics and colonialism” in Britain’s imperial age, and 24 25

26

Christopher A. Hagerman, “In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’: Alexander the Great and British India,” International Journal of the Classical Tradition 16, no. 3 and 4 (2009), 344–92. Cf. ibid., 379–92. Hagerman also extensively deals with the British imperial reception of Alexander in his monograph study Britain’s Imperial Muse, which undertakes a broad-sweeping approach to classicism in British India in general. Cf. Christopher A. Hagerman, Britain’s Imperial Muse: The Classics, Imperialism, and the Indian Empire, 1784–1914 (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 129–86. There are also studies that make use of a transcultural framework in analyzing the reception of Alexander, but their focus usually lays elsewhere: Cf. François de Polignac, “From the Mediterranean to Universality? The Myth of Alexander, Yesterday and Today,” Mediterranean Historical Review 14, no. 1 (1999), 1–17; Su Fang Ng, “Global Renaissance: Alexander the Great and Early Modern Classicism from the British Isles to the Malay Archipelago,” Comparative Literature 58, no. 4 (2006), 293–312; Michael W. Herren, “Constructing the Memory of Alexander in the Early Eighth Century,” in Strategies of Remembrance: From Pindar to Hölderlin, ed. Lucie Doležalova (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2009), 163–74. On the notion of “collective memory” and the interaction between British interpretations of Alexander and local traditions see also the essays in the volume Himanshu Prabha Ray and Daniel T. Potts, ed., Memory as History: The Legacy of Alexander in Asia (New Delhi: Aryan Books International, 2007). For articles that frame the indigenous collective memories of Alexander/Sikander along the north-west frontier cf. Ball, “Some Talk of Alexander”; Anna Akasoy, “Alexander in the Himalayas: Competing Imperial Legacies in Medieval Islamic History and Literature,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 62 (2009), 1–20 as well as Omar Coloru, “Alexander the Great and Iskander Dhu’l-Qarnayn: Memory, Myth and Representation of a Conqueror from Iran to South East Asia Through the Eyes of Travel Literature,” in Shifting Social Imaginaries in the Hellenistic Period: Narrations, Practices, and Images, ed. Eftychia Stavrianopoulou (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 389–412.

22

I Introduction

how “the two exerted a formative influence on each other at various levels.”27 Thereby, classicism underwent various transformations “alongside the evolution of the British Empire,” while “classical ideas and modern imperialism”28 commented on each other. This synchronicity between the formulation of imperial agendas and ideas as well as the development of classicism can be said to be the expression of a dialectical process that revolved around questions of hegemony and ownership. In an abstract sense, this could entail a long history of ideas, which framed European nationalisms in such a way that they could be said to be rooted in the distant past of Greece and Rome,29 including the interpretative authority to use classics in a manner that benefited national interests like overseas expansion and the exploitation of distant countries, which were excluded from the Greco-Roman cultural heritage. Vlassopoulos has neatly defined the exemplary role of classical discourse as a “cognitive model”, developed “in the intellectual world of eighteenth-century Europeans”, that was used to “make sense of contemporary events and personalities and even predict the course of future developments.”30 This “imaginative dependence of the new upon the old”31 was remarkably widespread, exceeding the elitist circles of politicians and academics, and was initially based upon a strong emphasis on the Roman Empire, both in terms of a cultural heritage to be appropriated and an imperial model to be emulated. More than a mere cultural foil upon which own schemes of imperial identity could be drawn, this had an immediate relevance when the British overseas dominions further expanded and Britain could be said to have an empire of its own. Especially with regard to British India, Roman models offered themselves for a reflection on the dynamics and pitfalls of imperial rule.32 However, as will be argued in the course of this book, the memory of Alexander the Great loomed at least as large as Roman forebears in the discursive negotiation of the British Empire in India and its bordering regions, entailing multiple dimensions that included abstract models as well as more practical appropriations for the construction of colonial knowledge and the negotiation of imperial identity. In this more practical sense, the memory of Alexander served as a central ingredient of a legitimizing discourse that framed the imperial undertaking, in other words, “it 27 28 29 30 31 32

Mark Bradley, “Introduction: Approaches to Classics and Imperialism,” in Classics and Imperialism in the British Empire, ed. Mark Bradley (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 1. Ibid., 9. Cf. Susan A. Stephens and Phiroze Vasunia, “Introduction,” in Classics and National Cultures, ed. Susan A. Stephens and Phiroze Vasunia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 7. Kostas Vlassopoulos, “Imperial Encounters: Discourses on Empire and the Uses of Ancient History during the Eighteenth Century,” in Classics and Imperialism in the British Empire, ed. Mark Bradley (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 31–32. Anthony Pagden, Lords of all the World: Ideologies of Empire in Spain, Britain and France, c. 1500– 1800 (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1995), 12. Cf. Richard Alston, “Dialogues in imperialism: Rome, Britain, and India,” in India, Greece, and Rome, 1757–2007, ed. Edith Hall and Phiroze Vasunia (London: Institute of Classical Studies, 2010), 51–52.

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[provided] a seedbed for understandings of (…) the European colonization.”33 In fact, Alexander’s conquest became a case study for uncovering the inherent connections between military conquest, economic relations, geographical knowledge, antiquarian research, and the coinciding feeling of cultural superiority during British expansion in India and the ensuing geostrategic conflicts along the north-west frontier. In consequence, the classical reception of Alexander was “profoundly implicated in ideologies of empire”34 in that certain elements connected to his history like the geographic and scientific exploration of the conquered regions, the foundation of cities and the construction of transport systems, the circulation and dissemination of Hellenic culture, could be made to comment on Britain’s own endeavors in this region. To be sure, this is not to say that the model of Alexander was integrated into the British imperial mind frame in an all-approving or homogeneous way – quite the contrary:35 as the texts analyzed in this book show, there is not one coherent Alexander reception in the British Empire and there are vast differences between the individual authors and their respective subject matter, depending also on the individual predispositions and social contexts. However, they also illustrate that Alexander remained a central vantage point from which the European undertakings in the region along the north-west frontier could be read; the Macedonian could also be turned into the object of comment or critique based on contemporary imperial experience. What many recent theories and models of classical reception have shown, namely that the act of reception is a two-way process and entails its own cultural dynamic,36 finds its confirmation in a close reading of the travel writings analyzed in this book. Thereby, it will be shown, to echo Hagerman, that “the classics made a varied, complex, and surprisingly intense contribution to British attitudes and experiences” in British India.37

33

34

35

36

37

Stephen Garton, “‘Wild Follies and Ostentatious Displays’: Reflections on Alexander the Great in India and the Question of Collective Memory,” in Memory as History: The Legacy of Alexander in Asia, ed. Himanshu Prabha Ray and Daniel T. Potts (New Delhi: Aryan Books International, 2007), 2. Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 33. Briant has shown in how far there could be said to have been a double image of Alexander in Enlightenment historiography, not the least between the European continent and England, because the Macedonian could be used as both “example” and “counter example” in various intellectual debates. Cf. Briant, Alexandre des Lumières, 33–63. Alexander’s personality, especially his temperament, the outbursts of violence, and the apparent ‘orientalization’ towards the latter stages of his reign sat uneasily with British audiences. According to Brauer, it was not up until the end of the eighteenth century that favorable characterization gained increasing circulation amongst British audiences – not the least due to own colonial worldviews. George C. Brauer, “Alexander in England: The Conqueror’s Reputation in the Late Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries,” Classical Journal 76, no. 1 (1980), 34–47. Cf. Lorna Hardwick and Christopher Stray, “Introduction: Making Connections,” in A Companion to Classical Receptions, ed. Lorna Hardwick and Christopher Stray (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2008), 4–5. Also Charles Martindale, “Introduction: Thinking Through Reception,” in Classics and the Uses of Reception, ed. Charles Martindale and Richard F. Thomas (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006), 3–6. Hagerman, Britain’s Imperial Muse, 156.

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More than a mere intellectual practice of an elitist group within British circles, the reception of Alexander reached deeper, however. Vasunia has cautioned us against putting too much emphasis on how Greco-Roman traditions have determined colonial attitudes and how European imperialism has channeled back into reception processes. While he does not contest the overall validity of this model, he nonetheless warns against an inherent oversimplification that “belies the dense interplay of human and institutional actors that were involved in empire, and simplifies the many dynamic interventions, responses, and accomplishments of the colonizers and the colonized.”38 Keeping this cautionary note in mind, my analysis will show in how far the memory of Alexander the Great in the British Empire was negotiated within an interactional framework that included the British travelers, the indigenous groups, and the material traces and landscapes they encountered. As will be argued, the latter can be said to have an agency that both influenced the travelers’ reading and interpretation of the ancient sources, and that could, in turn, lead to new ways of thinking about Alexander as well as the British politics in the regions along the north-west frontier, including a subversion and critique of colonial models on part of some, albeit not the majority, of the authors. Although this study will thereby focus on the writings of different travelers and explorers, who brought their own personal interests and agendas to bear on their respective memory of Alexander, there are general points that can be made when trying to account for the impact of the reception of Alexander in the British Empire: they concern, firstly, the education and classicism of British colonial culture; secondly, the colonial geography and the construction of knowledge based on the assumption of traveling in Alexander’s “footsteps”; thirdly, military aspects, especially in a strategic sense as well as the desire to emulate the great Macedonian conqueror; fourthly, the fashioning of imperial identity and the discursive ‘othering’ of indigenous groups; and finally the re-negotiation and re-interpretation of Alexander’s model based on the experience of land and people. All of these aspects will play a role in the following chapters and while the respective emphasis may shift depending on individual predispositions or the timeframe, there can be no question that Alexander’s memory was a multifaceted cultural foil upon which different versions of the imperial reality could be made and remade. It would be an overstatement to assume that imperial agendas were on the mind of all of the travelers and explorers discussed in this study and not every mention of Alexander automatically implies an imperial ideology. Nonetheless, it is important to keep in mind that the context of the writings that circulated in the cultural framework of British India were clearly implicated in the colonial project of a progressive British Empire. It

38

Cf. Phiroze Vasunia, “Envoi,” in Classics and Imperialism in the British Empire, ed. Mark Bradley (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 285.

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is from this context that the travel writings emanated and eventually came to comment on a particular experience of the imperial reality, namely of getting in touch with the past that was both familiar and strange: it was familiar in that it could be said to belong to ‘European’ history, and it was strange in that it entailed worlds (both ancient and contemporary) far removed from the metropolitan center in England. The connecting link that could be said to bridge the experiential divide between British homeland and foreign colony was, for many, the reading of the ancient sources connected to Alexander’s campaign. Here was a historical model that could be said to have mastered the journey from Europe to a distant part of the world, albeit under completely different circumstances. As Hagerman notes, “the journey from Britain to India appears to have intensified the sense of Alexander’s relevance to the imperial presence.”39 In his view, this went so far “that educated Britons seem almost to have been unable to travel, live, work, or fight in this region without looking for signs of Alexander and the landmarks of his campaigns.”40 The memory of Alexander became especially attached to the geographical regions, historical sites, and indigenous traditions that were believed to have come into immediate contact with him and his troops. So it was here, along the north-west frontier, that it did occupy the imagination of colonial culture and imperial forms of representation. In this sense, Hagerman is right to point to the centrality of classical education to British elitist circles.41 At the East India Company College, later Haileybury College, the training ground for the Indian Civil Service, the curriculum had a strong emphasis on classical education and ancient history with exams regularly including questions on Alexander’s campaign.42 Due to Alexander’s centrality to metropolitan education, the specific form of classicism that evolved around the northwestern frontier in particular could be said to be an upholding of the memory of the Macedonian and its use as a template to imagine their particular place in the history of this region: rather than merely instilling in the Britons a sense that they were the witnesses of a great history, classical education and the classicism along the frontier seem to have reinforced a sentiment that they themselves were the agents of history in the making. This sentiment was strengthened by the specific geographical connections that could be drawn between the British expansion towards northwestern India and Alexander’s historic presence in this region. The metaphor of travelling in Alexander’s “footsteps” or “tracks” became a convenient shortcut for expressing the feeling connected to the imperial enterprise. It was not necessarily steeped in an overbearing self-confidence in 39 40 41 42

Hagerman, “‘In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,” 379. Ibid., 347. Cf. ibid., 347–51. Also Hagerman, Britain’s Imperial Muse, 151–59 and Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 22–26. Cf. Phiroze Vasunia, “Greek, Latin, and the Indian Civil Service,” in British Classics Outside England: The Academy and Beyond, ed. Judith P. Hallett and Christopher Stray (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2009), 61–93.

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the imperial mission, but it was certainly a way of triggering certain associations and of drawing connections between the present and the past as well as between different authors and texts that drew on this literary trope. More than the realization of geographic coincidence as the essential point of comparison between antiquity and the present, the memory of Alexander was put into service of the colonial construction of knowledge: the ancient sources contained descriptions of the landscapes that could theoretically be used in order to get an overview of a region on which intelligence was rudimentary at best. They would also allow for an accounting of the geostrategic possibility of invading the British dominions in India from the north, particular from the direction of Alexander’s route. While this aspect entailed a defensive character, the military emulation of the Macedonian conqueror did not stop here, but became a motivating factor for proving one’s masculinity and martial valor in the face of the enemy. Cultural representations of Alexander were therefore integrated into forms of self-representation, and especially military self-representation in British India. These purported forms of identification with Alexander also became integral to the discourse of cultural identity, especially for framing the apparent difference between colonizers and colonized. In particular, the image of Alexander as an agent and promoter of civilization loomed large and turned into a central point of comparison between his historical conquest and what was ideologically perceived as the British imperial mission in India. Again, the reading and the interpretations of the ancient sources connected to Alexander’s campaign were a common point of reference and made up the footing on which a comparison concerning the progressive character of the British and the retrograde or stagnant character of the Indians could be made. This binary view was a central trope, put to use in various texts. It was not only predicated upon an image of the cultural superiority of the Britons and their ancient heritage, but also a highly emphatic reading practice that translated the ancient texts into present experiences – in this way, travelers and explorers could retain their own cultural identity in the face of the ‘other’, and they could present themselves as the preservers of civilization amidst an alien, and often unsettling environment. As the reading of the travel writings will show, however, this self-conscious strategy could not always be sustained, since the indigenous people, the historic sites, and the foreign landscapes, exerted a strong fascination on the British travelers that had to be discursively negotiated and kept at bay. Alexander the Great was a welcome reference point in this context, because the ancient sources spoke of a man who had himself been lured by the fascinations of the ‘East.’ While his ‘orientalization’ was certainly not approved of by most, it was nonetheless an aspect that brought him even closer to the colonial experience as such. Identity was at stake in literature of exploration and travel, and Alexander was an obvious model upon which certain values and standards could be negotiated. Finally, this latter aspect ties in with interpretations of Alexander that could be revisited in the course of the imperial enterprise. In the majority of the writings of the

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period, Alexander remained a presence, whose name alone could evoke various associations that were unambiguously accepted as historical fact and that largely overshadowed the local particularities of a history before and after the Macedonian – if the regions around the northwestern frontier were treated as having a story, it was predominantly the narrative of the young king from Europe, who brought his troops to the far end of the world, leaving a lasting imprint on the development of civilization in these quarters. It was this uncritical reflection of the memory of Alexander that was appropriated for imperial ideology, because it left enough room for a binary presentation of European and Asian/Indian culture, and because it could be made to fit the present experiences that were seen as a reiteration of the past. However, the interpretation of Alexander could be far more ambiguous,43 especially when compared with what the explorers found in the places where the Macedonian was said to have ventured. Not only did they struggle to account for his historical presence, but they were constantly concerned to bring their findings in alignment with the reading of the ancient sources. The existence of indigenous traditions connected to Alexander, especially those that purported to be descendants of the Macedonian army, as well as historical traces that stemmed from eras before any European presence in the region, had to be integrated into the reading. Accordingly, a room for dialogue opened up that was not solely dominated by European views of Alexander – that is, one-sided, Eurocentric versions of the story remained possible, but the experience of people and places called for their explanation or justification. The authority of the ancient sources had to be defended against oral traditions;44 material traces of objects or buildings had to be correlated with textual evidence. This is what makes travel writing such an interesting object of inquiry in general and of classical reception studies in particular: literature of travel and exploration reflected many metropolitan views of history and was implicated in the creation of an imperial ideology, but it was, if only implicitly, infused with elements that undermined these views at the same time. Uncovering these representational contradictions and the discursive negotiations will be one main task of this book.

43

44

This ambiguity could entail an assessment of Alexander’s character; it could also include a reflection on the nature of Alexander’s empire – after all, it was only a transient episode in the history of the region and did not last, cf. Hagerman, “In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,”, 366–67, and Hagerman, Britain’s Imperial Muse, 76. Cf. Ball, “Some Talk of Alexander,” 151–58, for an overview of Alexander-related titles, including translations of the ancient sources, in British Library during the long nineteenth century. On this also Hagerman, “In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,” 350, n. 16 and 17, who lists editions and translations of the Alexander historians during the nineteenth century.

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1.2 Travel Writing as a Mode of Classical Reception This brings us to the issue of travel writing and what kind of texts it can be said to encompass in the course of this study. Although literature of travel has a long tradition, stretching all the way back to antiquity, its generic features are difficult to define, not the least because it overlaps with other sorts of writings, namely the (auto)biography, the memoir, scientific or ethnographic texts, or even the modern novel. A basic understanding of travel writing could include, as Korte summarizes, the following aspects: “Accounts of travel depict a journey in its course of events and thus constitute narrative texts (usually composed in prose). They claim – and their readers believe – that the journey actually took place, and that it is presented by the traveler him- or herself.”45 The element of autopsy is central to any form of travel writing, as it aspires to present its recipients with an account of the real world, depicting events, places, and people the author had really experienced during the journey. However, since the accounts are usually written in hindsight, they are not only refracted through an understanding of the completed travel, but also by certain narrative conventions that are brought to bear on the sequencing and formal presentation of the tour. As Bassnett cautions, “the line between the fictitious and the factual is difficult to define”46 and because accounts of travel “are addressed to the home culture,”47 they “are never objective”, but “inevitably reveal the culture-specific and individual patterns of perception and knowledge which every traveler brings to the travelled world.”48 That is what has made travel writings such a fascinating object of scholarly inquiry in the wake of cultural theories that have thematized cultural contact, the perception of self and other, and imperial ideology. As Mohanty argues this can work both ways, however, for although travel writing is often “invariably equate[d] with empire (…) [,] there is actually a sense of diversity in the European perception”, because it “may reproduce local knowledge and prejudices as much”49 and can turn into “a site for the collision and contestation of power.”50 In the course of this study, there will be enough opportunity to debate in how far the writings of the authors who purported to travel in the ‘footsteps’ or ‘tracks’ of Alexan-

45 46

47 48 49 50

Barbara Korte, English Travel Writing: From Pilgrimages to Postcolonial Explorations (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2000), 1. Susan Bassnett, “The Empire, Travel Writing, and British Studies,” in Travel Writing and the Empire, ed. Sachidananda Mohanty (New Delhi: Katha, 2003), 7. Cf. also Steve Clark, “Introduction,” in Travel Writing and Empire: Postcolonial Theory in Transit, ed. Steve Clark (London: Zed Books, 1999), 1–2. Bassnett, “The Empire, Travel Writing, and British Studies,” 1. Korte, English Travel Writing, 6. Sachidananda Mohanty, “Introduction: Beyond the Imperial Eye,” in Travel Writing and the Empire, ed. Sachidananda Mohanty (New Delhi: Katha, 2003), xii. Ibid., xiv.

1.2 Travel Writing as a Mode of Classical Reception

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der can be said to reflect or contest imperial ideologies. Yet, aside from this issue, one main premise of the analysis will be that, speaking with Coloru, “travel literature represents an important and invaluable aid in discerning the issues involved in the impact of Alexander on Eastern population at social and cross-cultural levels.”51 The writings analyzed in the individual chapters provide many insights into the specific modes of classicism of the metropolitan culture, but what further enhances their value as a source for uncovering the memory of Alexander the Great along the north-west frontier is the fact that they contain, if only in condensed form, local traditions that are made to comment on or to contrast with the European viewpoints, often based on the classical authors. And while they certainly give prevalence to the ‘Western’ perspective, there is nevertheless an “instability”52 detectable in the accounts that is due to the overpowering impulse of establishing a connection between the material traces, landscapes, and people encountered on the journey with the past – there is literally a compulsion to bring the classical writings in accord with one’s own perceptions and experiences, and more often than not the authors struggle (and fail) to do so in a convincing way. On the other hand, it is also due to the fact that the indigenous accounts of Alexander had to be somehow integrated into the picture. Since travel writings and memoirs were understood as objectively rendering the customs and narratives of local people and thus had a strong ethnographic impulse, the authors did not simply drop the veil on indigenous traditions connected to the Macedonian, but rather took them as signs of the high cultural authority of the ‘Western’ hero. When locals adopted Alexander as their ancestor, and thereby implicitly claimed that they were in many ways closer to him than the British colonizers, this claim was contested, usually by invoking classical writings that were esteemed higher than the oral traditions. However, this nonetheless led to a rapprochement between the travelers and the natives who suddenly had a common ground on which they could meet; accordingly, “‘Self ’ and ‘Other’ [became] highly contested sites of meaning and/or authority.”53 This brings us to the question of what kind of texts will actually count as literature of travel and exploration in the course of this study. The analyzed texts all share the common trait that they give accounts of travels undertaken by British administrators, geographers, soldiers, or adventurers through the regions of the north-west frontier of British India, the Punjab, and Afghanistan. They are also the same in that they, in one way or another, draw on the memory of Alexander and make the Macedonian a central reference in the depiction of foreign lands and people. And while they may put this memory to different use in their narrative sequence, or have different goals in draw-

51 52 53

Coloru, “Alexander the Great and Iskander Dhu’l-Qarnayn,” 391. Cf. Nigel Leask, Curiosity and the Aesthetics of Travel Writing, 1770–1840 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 16. Melanie R. Hunter, “British Travel Writing and Imperial Authority,” in Issues in Travel Writing: Empire, Spectacle, and Displacement, ed. Kristi Siegel (New York: Peter Lang, 2002), 29.

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I Introduction

ing analogies between antiquity and the contemporary world, they can nevertheless be defined as texts that invoke the metaphor of travelling in ‘Alexander’s footsteps’ or ‘tracks’ as a cultural foil to illustrate their author’s respective journey or to describe the colonial setting in terms of the metropolitan intellectual culture. Connected to this is an explorative spirit that not only seeks to trace Alexander’s route, but also to unearth material relics, localities, and other remnants linked to it. There is the risk of imposing a Procrustean uniformity on material which is actually highly heterogeneous, both in terms of style and of chronological context. The structure of the individual chapters is therefore meant to combine a chronological approach with a thematic emphasis, which seeks to point out various subjects that figured prominently in the writings. There are texts that are generically marked as travel accounts right away, usually having ‘journey’ or ‘travel’ in their titles, while others are only described as ‘memoirs’, and still others that are scholarly accounts of excavations and geographical surveys, or political pamphlets. As Tickell puts it with regard to cartographic texts, many of them “cannot be termed ‘travel-narratives’” per se, but “their coverage and cross-cultural representation of the Indian landscape” nevertheless “reproduces many of the ideological aims of colonial travelogue, and these are echoed again in associated written texts produced as part of the mapping process.”54 The same can be said about texts published in academic journals or reports of archaeological tours. What unites these heterogeneous sources on the memory of Alexander in northwestern British India is an inherent “desire to see the sites”55 connected to the Macedonian’s campaign, to get in touch with the remnants of his exploits – and in order to do this, the authors had to travel, sometimes long distances, and these travels, in turn, influenced their respective texts and their experiential base of writing about the colonial world. The immediate contact with the historic places and the indigenous groups is central to the study – consequently, texts that lack in this kind of autopsy are (except for only few exceptions) not included in the analysis. As will be shown in the course of this book, the writings including personal travel accounts may have extensively drawn on classical sources and historiography, but they, in turn, “came to shape the way history was written.”56 They made up, in other words, a 54 55 56

Alex Tickell, “Negotiating the Landscape: Travel, Transaction, and the Mapping of Colonial India,” The Yearbook of English Studies 34 (2004), 19. Hagerman, “In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,” 347. James Moore and Ian Macgregor Morris, “History in Revolution? Approaches to the Ancient World in the Long Eighteenth Century,” in Reinventing History: The Enlightenment Origins of Ancient History, ed. James Moore, Ian Macgregor Morris and Andrew J. Bayliss (London: Center for Metropolitan History, 2008), 4, also 25. Cf. also Paraskevas Matalas, “Historiens et voyageurs: itinéraires modernes aux sites de l’histoire ancienne,” in Historiographie de l’antiquité et transferts culturels: Les histoires anciennes dans l’Europe des XVIIIe et XIXe siècles, ed. Chryssanthi Avlami, Jaime Alvar and Mirella Romero Recio (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 105, and especially Hans-Ulrich Wiemer, “Quellenkritik, historische Geographie und philosophische Teleologie in Johann Gustav Droysens ‘Geschichte Alexanders des Großen’,” in Johann Gustav Droysen. Philosophie und Politik –

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textual network that also had an impact on the metropolitan culture as a whole. From a culture-historical viewpoint, they therefore constitute an interesting case study of how the so-called “Grand Tour” increasingly gave way to other forms of cultural travel and exploration in lands other than Italy or Greece,57 which nonetheless had an ancient history of their own. Afghanistan and India “had a particular resonance”, mainly because of the connection to Alexander the Great, but also because the travelers brought their Eurocentric perspective with them, shaped by the classical Greco-Latin sources. Thus, “they constantly ‘temporalized’” lands like Afghanistan or India “(and especially the modern inhabitants) by comparing them with the more familiar classical (…) world, at the same time as they incorporated them into a ‘universal’ grid of geographical orientation based in Europe.”58 Thereby, the traveler-explorers not only became “entangled in the imperialist discourse of their time” and could present themselves in the guise of cultural “heroes” from antiquity onwards,59 but they were the prime exponents of a distinct mode of classical reception that instrumentalized the ancient sources in a colonial setting, removed from the Mediterranean, in places that already to the ancient authors had seemed ‘other.’ In moving through regions, where almost no other knowledge or orientation guide was available, they gave their reading of the classical sources a practical relevance and actualized them in the face of lands and peoples, which seemingly had not changed since Alexander had ventured through these places more than two millennia earlier. Moreover, these texts had a high cultural visibility, were published in multiple editions, and were often discussed at events of cultural institutions and learned societies like the Royal Geographical Society, the British Museum, or other venues. The recipient groups were predominantly other travelers, colonial officers, or government officials in India, the more so as many of the journey or survey reports were published in specialized government prints or scholarly journals. Alexander the Great resurfaced again and again in these texts and was certainly a cultural code that established a connecting link to the readers of travel accounts, who may never have been to Central Asia, but who may well have heard of the Macedonian. The travel accounts were also integral for the discoursive formation of the British ‘frontier hero’, and the reception of Alexander became a site for the negotiation of the ideals of masculinity in an imperial context. Perhaps, it is therefore no wonder that all

57

58 59

Historie und Philologie (Campus Historische Studien 61), ed. Stefan Rebenich and Hans-Ulrich Wiemer (Frankfurt/Main: Campus Verlag, 2012), 95–157. On the “Grand Tour” cf. Jeremy Black, The British and the Grand Tour (London: Routledge, 2011). Also Dennis Porter, Haunted Journeys: Desire and Transgression in European Travel Writing (Princeton, N. J.: Princeton University Press, 2014), 19. For a discussion of classical reception in travel writings to Greece in the (pre-)Romantic period cf. David Constantine, In the Footsteps of the Gods: Travellers to Greece and the Quest for the Hellenic Ideal (New York: Tauris Parke, 2011). Leask, Curiosity and the Aesthetics of Travel Writing, 2. Korte, English Travel Writing, 87–88.

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I Introduction

of the major authors discussed in the course of this study are males. A gender history of the reception of Alexander still needs to be written and it would be a worthwhile task to see how the images of the Macedonian discussed in the following chapters relate to (British) female travel writings in the nineteenth century. 1.3 The Reception of Alexander between Cultural Memory and Cultural Encounter From the outset, it should be made clear that the primary sources analyzed in the course of this book do not make up a coherent canon, and neither can the cultural reception of Alexander nor the imperial British agendas in which it was called upon be seen as monolithic and easily definable cultural realities. Rather, the cultural memory connected to Alexander can be understood as a dynamic cultural framework for symbolic representation and as a shape-shifting entity that could be made to fit different sociopolitical realities, personal experiences, and colonial ideologies. What will in the following be referred to as cultural memory can be defined as a set of images, textual sources, and cultural representations that are called upon to evoke associative links to the past – in this context, it does not matter whether they attest to historical reality; what is of interest is the power of these highly symbolical entities to stir up associations on a level that transcends subjective experiences. Cultural memories relate what collectives remember, or rather want to remember, in connection to a past that is constantly reproduced in light of present concerns. The cultural memory of Alexander the Great in the British Empire can be seen as a symbolic storehouse, whose contents were constantly maintained, multiplied, and eventually regenerated in the course of the historical events along the north-west frontier in the long nineteenth century. The recourse on and the actualization of references to Alexander were not undertaken in a homogeneous social framework or a blank geographical space, however, but rather in relation to a highly complex cultural context, where indigenous traditions, material traces of the past, and the rich history of India or Afghanistan were likewise present. While this study only looks at travel literature written by Europeans, and while we can be certain that the representational memories of Alexander reflect a Eurocentric viewpoint, it will nevertheless be claimed that they could, at times, be commented on, enhanced, and hybridized in contact with the lands and locals, where the Macedonian had ventured more than two millennia before. Over the last decades, issues of how collectives have made sense of their past and how they have, in turn, imagined their own place and identity in the world have come to the fore in contemporary cultural theory. Studies on this topic have made clear that the memory of the past is never an objective fact, but a highly constructed and selective act, involving different groups, political agendas, and cultural media. They have also shown the inherent relationality of this process: on the one hand, the present and

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the past correlate; on the other hand, reference to former events and experiences always takes place in connection and in contact with a collective “other”, which is, in turn, excluded from the inheritance of a shared past and/or cultural identity.60 While this study extensively draws on some of the key theoretical premises of contemporary memory studies, literary theory of travel as well as cultural transfer and contact, it nonetheless aims at embedding these theoretical notions within analytic close readings of the sources. Rather than imposing current theoretical notions too tightly on textual traces emanating from a different time and context, the analysis seeks to offer a middle ground between scholarly abstraction and literary evocation, that is it tries to account for the way in which literature of travel and exploration function as modes of classical reception, and it seeks to illustrate the way in which the imagination enters the framework – both in modern conceptualizations of (the memory of) Alexander and in texts that purported to map out real world events, for instance in offering a first-hand travel account through foreign places. What will be shown is that the mnemonic device of drawing on Alexander was a narrative strategy of, on the one hand, connecting the present imperial moment to imaginatively enriched versions of the past, and, on the other hand, of negotiating the foreign landscapes, people, and sociocultural contexts with a sense of interpretative authority that thematized cultural contact, while discursively keeping it at bay at the same time. Whereas the former textual strategy was a conscious one – the authors of travel literature along the frontier knew that the present and the past were coextensive, or rather they wanted to convey this impression to their readership in order to frame the British Empire as a historical descendant of Alexander’s grand schemes – the latter was more implicit: by drawing on the European textual sources on Alexander and by describing how they related to localities and indigenous traditions, the traveler-explorers provided fundamental insights into the dynamic mechanism of how cultural memory is put to use in the face of historical settings and alternating accounts. Accordingly, the textual sources analyzed in this book show how the memory of Alexander was constantly renegotiated and how non-textual aspects of it were discursively shaped. And while it is clear that they primarily reflect a British (or ‘Western’) viewpoint, they nonetheless contain (if only in condensed form) the memories and material traces of the localities through which the Western-educated authors travelled. 60

Grounded in poststructuralist thought and the postmodern ambivalence towards grand narratives, the emergence of memory as a key term in historical discourse aimed at, in general, introducing a meta-category that would allow for a new type of history, namely a history, where the focus shifted from the question of what happened in the past to how this past is actively remembered, symbolized, and collectively shared. Cf. Kerwin Lee Klein, “On the Emergence of Memory in Historical Discourse,” Representations 69 (2000), 127–50. For an overview cf. also the essays in Astrid Erll and Ansgar Nünning, ed., Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008).

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I Introduction

As I argue, Alexander was not merely an immobile entity or abstract historical figure, locked in texts emanating from a distant day and age. Quite the contrary, his memory was still integral to social life and communication. It was not a passive repository, but it was still in active use. Alexander’s memory was an example of what Dominick LaCapra has referred to in another context as a “dialogic” exchange in the true sense of the word – not only in that present experiences and circumstances were used to comment on the past and vice versa –,61 but also in that it was employed to negotiate multiple meanings attached to the name of Alexander and to create “a meeting point,” where the European and Indian history came together.62 And while this did not necessarily entail “a common ground for identical representations of Alexander,”63 Alexander’s place in the cultural memory as it developed along the north-west frontier was still highly relational in that it could be used to establish a dialogue between the British and the indigenous groups. Both groups recognized that they were mutually implicated in the story of Alexander, if only as a historical analogy established on the grounds of ‘European’ and ‘Asian’ cultural identity. Many scholars have pointed to the highly fictional acts of representation involved in the processes of attaching one’s own identity to past events and of grounding identity formations in history.64 And the way in which Alexander’s memory was used seems a pertinent example to confirm this claim – if only in a slightly different way from how it has usually been presented with regard to the respective British and Indian takes on the Macedonian. For instance, in his essay on the traces of local forms of the tradition of Alexander as reflected on by travel literature in South East Asia, Omar Coloru draws a general distinction often made in scholarly research on memory, namely between textual as well as medial forms of memory and oral as well as performative aspects of it – a dif-

61 62 63 64

Dominick LaCapra, Rethinking Intellectual History: Texts, Contexts, Language (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983), 23. Cf. also Garton, “‘Wild Follies and Ostentatious Displays’,” 4–5. Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 5. Cf. also Coloru, “Alexander the Great and Iskander Dhu’l-Qarnayn,” 405–7. Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 5 It may be surprising how prominently words usually associated with human culture like “imagination” and “creation” feature in studies concerning memory, which is not an objective storehouse of the past, but rather a manufacture of past images that are embedded in culturally encoded frames of meaning – and it is exactly this latter aspect of how we make meaning of our pasts that has become a main concern and even the starting point of modern cultural memory studies. One only needs to think of Benedict Anderson’s concept of “imagined communities” that underlines how cultural acts of imagination and self-presentation are used to create social collectives and nation states (Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1991 [1983])) or Eric Hobsbawm’s and Terence Ranger’s notion of “invented traditions”, which accounts for the way in which recently founded social symbols or collective rituals are often surrounded by an aura of being old in order to enhance their cultural authority and how they are, in turn, used for promoting national/group unity or legitimizing their claims and policies (Eric J. Hobsbawm and Terence O. Ranger, ed., The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983)).

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ferentiation Coloru equates with ‘Western’ and ‘Eastern’ representations of Alexander: “Generally speaking, the Western Alexander has been codified by the authority of the Classical authors, and, from this point of view, has had less freedom to develop and mutate, while the Oriental Iskander who was not tied to these sources, could change his image with more freedom, according to the needs of each individual or group.”65 Many of the passages analyzed in the course of this book confirm this claim. To the Western authors, the authority on Alexander rested with the classical sources were made the object of source criticism. Nonetheless, the British authors recognized that the Indians had their own version of Alexander’s invasion which was synchronized with the contemporary political events. This dialectic between oral accounts of Alexander and the textual sources stored in the cultural archive attests to the multifarious nature of memory.66 The travel accounts both draw on oral accounts that they try to recreate in a textual medium and the written sources of the classical authors that are repeatedly cited in the perception of land and people. We are therefore dealing with a hybrid form of memory and it would be wrong to set a strict differentiation between oral and variable forms on the one hand and written and fixed forms on the other, let alone between a “Western” and an “Oriental” form. To be sure, there were differences in how Alexander was interpreted and how the memory was used in specific contexts, but, in the end, these different media and modes contributed to a multi-layered and highly heterogeneous image of the Macedonian, which could be put to use for a variety of ends. Moreover, it would be wrong to suggest that the memory of Alexander had no place in life for the ‘Westerners’ along the north-west frontier. The history of Alexander was integrated into daily communication and could be made to fit different discursive registers. It did not merely emanate from local traditions nor did it solely arise from the reading of the classical authors, but rather from an in-between space of cultural contact, including the contact with the places that were the stages of Alexander’s campaign. The memory of Alexander thus had an immediate, personal dimension, connected to the experiences and interests of the respective travelers and explorers, and it had a collective, supra-individual dimension that was implicit in material traces, cultural narratives, and explicitly tied to the Westerners’ relationships with local people. So, while the travelers certainly brought their own versions of Alexander with them to the foreign lands through which they ventured, they found other versions that only needed to be activated and a dialogue was established that entailed commentary on 65 66

Coloru, “Alexander the Great and Iskander Dhu’l-Qarnayn,” 406. Jan Assmann has neatly captured in the concept of a highly variable, individual-related, and orally transmitted form of “communicative memory” and the more authoritative, group-specific, and media-based form of “cultural memory.” Both modes of memory can be seen as different sides of the same coin, which mutually constitute what collectives choose to remember. Cf. Jan Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erinnerung und Identität in frühen Hochkulturen (München: Beck, 2005 [1992]), 48–58.

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I Introduction

the present through the eyes of the past – and vice versa. As Briant once put it, there is probably no other person from antiquity, whose memory has been so preoccupied with contemporary politics than Alexander.67 He “meshes with contemporary concerns and ideas”68 and his image has constantly shifted in European history, a tendency that certainly grew stronger when projects of colonization followed in the shadow of his overriding historical presence. A study in the cultural memory of Alexander is therefore also concerned, as Garton argues, with the “question of discontinuities in these traditions, pointing firstly to breaks in the collective record and secondly to how different contexts, notably the late-eighteenth-century British India, led to fundamental reinterpretations of texts to craft new meanings for the Alexander legend.”69 The memory of Alexander along the north-west frontier can be said to have changed and mutated, because it constantly had to be adapted to current situations and contexts – the Western travelers had to retain the interpretative authority in the face of local traditions that could either adapt Alexander for themselves or fend it off altogether. Not all of the sources analyzed in the course of this study attest to a local resistance concerning the Macedonian, but some do underline the high heterogeneity of the traditions attached to Alexander – the more so, as the “Indian Alexander” and other indigenous versions had a multi-faceted transmission history, and Coloru is certainly right in highlighting the higher degree of flexibility of ‘Oriental’ depictions. As Vasunia outlines, “For Indians (…) the historical memory of Alexander and the Indo-Greeks existed not in Sanskrit or Prakrit texts but in the material record and in oral tradition.” When, “the Afghans, Turks, Arabs, and Persians added their own lore to the memory of Alexander in India (…) the stories of Alexander had begun to mingle with indigenous narratives, and the historical presence was refracted through a variety of cultural lenses.”70 With the arrival of the Britons, another cultural lens was added to this prism and it found one of its most colorful expressions in the travel writings analyzed in this book. Another aspect of the memory of Alexander along the north-west frontier was its attachment to landscapes, material traces, and sites. Ever since antiquity, the close relationship between memory and place has been a recurrent cultural phenomenon.71 The French historian Pierre Nora has neatly conceptualized this co-dependence in his theory of lieux de mémoire, i. e. sites of memory, which he defines as places, objects, or simply symbols stored in the collective consciousness that function as containers of the traces of the past and of traditions that may often have lost their prior meanings 67 68 69 70 71

Briant, “Alexandre et ‘l’hellénisation de l’Asie’,” 58. Richard Stoneman, Alexander the Great: A Life in Legend (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 4. Garton, “‘Wild Follies and Ostentatious Displays’,” 2. Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 35. Cf. also Stoneman, Alexander the Great, 87. One only needs to think of their metaphorical combination in ancient rhetoric as loci memoriae. Cf. Frances Yates, The Art of Memory (London: Routledge, 1966).

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and contexts but that are nevertheless important for the formation of group identities and national self-images.72 As Nora claims “memory attaches itself to sites”,73 to concrete manifestations, relics, and landscapes connected to past events. However, the distinctive feature of these lieux is not solely their physical or geographic reality, but their imaginative quality as well: “A purely material site, like an archive, becomes a lieu de mémoire only if the imagination invests it with a symbolic aura.”74 To Nora, sites of memory are made up of a triad of “material, functional and symbolic”75 aspects that correlate to imbue meaning on a past event, place, or person. The travel writings analyzed in this book can all be said to draw on these different dimensions of the memory of Alexander and helped in fashioning him as a lieu de mémoire in Nora’s sense – on the one hand, Alexander’s memory was attached to local traditions as an integral factor of the identity of many local groups, who saw themselves as descendants of Alexander’s troops (a recurring motif in most texts); on the other hand, it was central to the identity formation of British India on the whole. The British travelers could present themselves as preserving the memory of the Macedonian and of finally fulfilling the imperial project that he had started in antiquity. Both strands contributed to the many-voiced projections of Alexander, echoed in the travel writings. Alexander “creates real lieux de mémoire, with which local people can build their own identity or affirm it in the face of other groups. In the case of Alexander, however, those places of memory do not belong to the single community who has created them, but”, Coloru observes, “rather become part of the collective memory of the Western world. Even though a traveler is aware that a certain place or item has nothing to do with the historical reality concerning Alexander, he takes it more or less consciously as proof of 72

73 74 75

Nora based his theory on a long tradition of memory studies in the twentieth century. Cultural memory studies began to evolve shortly after the founding fathers of psychology and psychoanalysis like Sigmund Freud or Henri Bergson proclaimed that memory was predominantly a stable individual phenomenon closely interlinked with our own sense of subjectivity. Maurice Halbwachs (1877–1945), a French sociologist who was influenced by Emile Durkheim and Marc Bloch and who was to die at the hand of the Nazi regime in the concentration camp of Buchenwald, challenged this belief and came up with the notion of les cadres sociaux de la mémoire. According to Halbwachs, memories were not so much a distinctive feature of our individual brains, but were rather dependent on the “social frames” in which we remembered the past and the way we made sense of our experiences through social interaction. Memory was thus no longer solely perceived as a mental operation, but rather as a context-dependent social undertaking in which culturally decoded frames of meaning (e. g. narrative patterns, metaphors, symbols) play a fundamental role. Accordingly, memory was re-located within an external, collective context and became an inherent cultural trait which did not only take place in our brains, but rather in the social settings of daily interaction. In consequence, memory moved from the internally imagined landscapes of ars memoriae to the real, concrete spaces of the physical world. Cf. Maurice Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, transl. Lewis A. Coser (Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1992). Nora, “Between History and Memory,” 22. Ibid., 19. Ibid.

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I Introduction

the influence, as it is in his eyes, of Western civilization on Eastern traditions.”76 Thus there is a component of cultural contact, translation, and (mis)interpretation involved in the memory of Alexander the Great in British India, and the traveler-explorers were instrumental in creating it. Instrumental to the creation of a ‘British’ Alexander was not only a reading of the ancient sources or a visit to the sites of his campaign, but rather colonial encounters. The space where the European traveler-explorers and indigenous groups met has been aptly defined as a “contact zone” by Mary Louise Pratt. To her, a “contact zone” is “the space of colonial encounters, the space in which peoples geographically and historically separated come into contact with each other and establish ongoing relations, usually involving conditions of coercion, radical inequality, and intractable conflict.”77 This definition contains both physical and imaginative dimensions in that contact zones do not only entail face-to-face communication but also the discursive rendering of the respective ‘other’ in a textual medium like travel narratives. The definition also encompasses aspects of colonial life that transcend the binary models usually connected to military conquest and cultural hegemony in that it stresses the elements of relationality and improvisation in the encounter between colonizer and colonized.78 And while Pratt does not deny that these zones are potentially conflict-ridden and asymmetrical, she has nevertheless shown that they include forms of cultural circulation, exchange, and interaction that cannot be reduced to colonial hierarchies of power. Drawing on ethnography, she has coined the term “transculturation” to point to the way “how subordinated or marginal groups select and invent from materials transmitted to them by a dominant or metropolitan culture. While subjugated peoples cannot readily control what emanates from the dominant culture, they do determine to varying extents what they absorb into their own, and what they use it for.”79 In this context, two things are important: Firstly, while the perspective of “transculturation” offers an important avenue into thinking about how British and indigenous traditions of Alexander influenced one another, we are still only dealing with a version of the conversation written from a European viewpoint. As much as an individual writer may choose to include local accounts into his (or her) narrative, the source material we are confronted with is nevertheless a one-sided affair, and what will in the follow-

76 77 78

79

Coloru, “Alexander the Great and Iskander Dhu’l-Qarnayn,” 406. Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (London: Routledge, 1992), 6. According to Pratt, the term “contact” emphasizes “how subject are constituted in and by their relations to each other. It treats the relations among colonizers and colonized, or travelers and ‘travelees’, not in terms of separateness or apartheid, but in terms of copresence, interaction and interlocking understandings and practices, often within radically asymmetrical relations of power” (Imperial Eyes, 7). On Pratt’s concept cf. Ulrike Brisson, “‘Naked’ Politics in Travel Writing,” in Not So Innocent Abroad: The Politics of Travel and Travel Writing, ed. Ulrike Brisson and Bernard Schweizer (Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars, 2009), 5. Pratt, Imperial Eyes, 6.

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ing be analyzed are solely British texts. Secondly, it is nonetheless worthwhile to look for the rare instances when indigenous traditions enter the writings, because they not only give an impression of how the memory of Alexander (or rather Sikander) was preserved in Indian or Afghan contexts, but enable an analysis of how they, in turn, influenced and transformed British viewpoints. A third point could be added to these observations, concerning the issue why it is worthwhile to look for these cross-cultural intersections in the memory of Alexander: Only recently, there has been an increasing trend in classical scholarship and classical reception studies to rethink some of the central premises of the ancient tradition and the attempt to break up its Eurocentric bias –80 not the least this has had to do with the prominence of Edward Said’s notion of “Orientalism,”81 which has become a key term of cultural criticism that uncovers the way the ‘Orient’ has been constructed in the course of history as a depraved counter image of the ‘Occident’. As Said shows, this discursive strategy can be observed in a wide variety of texts (including travel writings) and entails the vision of a ‘Western’ cultural authority partly based on classical sources. A lot of the discussion has revolved around the figure of Alexander the Great,82 not only because his own history attests to the way in which an opposition between “West” and “East” has been discursively constructed,83 but also because he can be said to be situated between both worlds. As the following chapters will show, the memory of Alexander the Great is actually a case example of analyzing the formation of cultural binaries, and of their inherent sub80

81 82 83

Cf. Susan A. Stephens and Phiroze Vasunia, “Introduction,” in Classics and National Cultures, ed. Susan A. Stephens and Phiroze Vasunia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 8–9. This also entails thinking about how classics have circulated and received amongst groups that had traditionally been excluded from the ‘Western tradition’, notably in former colonized countries. Especially post-colonial theory has been used to reflect on how African, African American, or Asian people have used the Greco-Roman classical canon to undermine and subvert ‘Western’ hegemony. For an overview of the approaches cf. Christopher Schliephake, “Die Blendung des Kyklopen: Antikenrezeption und (post)kolonialer Diskurs,” Mitteilungen des Instituts für Europäische Kulturgeschichte 22 (2014), 13–34. Cf. also the edited volumes Lorna Hardwick and Carol Gillespie, ed., Classics in Post-Colonial Worlds (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007) and Barbara Goff, ed., Classics and Colonialism (London: Duckworth, 2005). Cf. Edward Said, Orientalism (London: Penguin, 2003 [1978]). Briant has discussed recent historiographical interpretations of Alexander that aim at demystifying the Macedonian king. Cf. Briant, “Alexander et ‘l’hellénisation de l’Asie’,” 49 and 58–59, and Pierre Briant, Darius: In the Shadow of Alexander (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015), 104. In a recent review article, Bowden asks the rhetorical question, whether it is “possible to write” about Alexander “without presenting the story (…) as one of a westerner who went to war against the East?” Hugh Bowden, “Review Article: Recent Travels in Alexanderland,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 134 (2014), 145–46. Cf. also Warwick Ball, Towards One World: Ancient Persia and the West (Northampton, MA: Olive Branch Press, 2011), 1, and the edited volume Emma Bridges, Edith Hall and Peter John Rhodes, ed., Cultural Responses to the Persian Wars: Antiquity to the Third Millennium (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); as well as Pierre Briant, From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2002), and Jane Grogan, The Persian Empire in English Renaissance Writing, 1549–1622 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014).

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I Introduction

version. As Ng puts it, “The stories of Alexander form one link between East and West, through which we can trace the circulation of shared cultural forms as well as their divergences. This is neither a narrative of European domination nor even a story about straightforward antagonism between East and West.”84 As she points out, the memory of Alexander “is not single but multi-layered and multi-directional. Furthermore, Alexander’s legacy does not devolve onto a single state, but several, because his descendants are several.”85 De Polignac, too, sees the memory of Alexander as a “transcultural bridge,”86 because the Macedonian’s legacy is hard to define in only one homogeneous cultural framework. This has less to do with a “universalism” often perpetuated in studies that discuss the long-term effects of Alexander’s campaign, most notably in his connections with Achaemenid culture and his role as the harbinger of Hellenism,87 but rather with the fact that Alexander does not only figure as a ‘Western’ cultural hero, but as an ‘Eastern’ one as well. In fact, Alexander can be seen as an example that not only people travel, but concepts, ideas, and memories travel as well: long after his death, he became “Iskander” or rather “Sikander” in Persian, Arabian, and, finally, Indian culture. Persian epic, like Ferdowsi’s Shāhnāmeh, written in the eleventh century CE, transformed him into a great Iranian warrior.88 In this, and other literary works of the Islamic period, Alexander is usually equated with Sikandar Dhu’l-Qarnayn, the “two-horned”, a hero, who, among many other great deeds, was said to have built a wall against the savage and (certainly) mythical people of Gog and Magog.89 This image of Sikander is, on the one hand, based on the Alexander Romance, written in the third century CE and probably deriving from an older manuscript by an uneducated scribe often referred to as pseudo-Callisthenes,90 84 85 86 87

88

89 90

Ng, “Global Renaissance,” 308. Ibid., 302. De Polignac, “From the Mediterranean to Universality?,” 1. Cf. Anthony Pagden, Worlds at War: the 2500-Year Struggle between East and West (New York: Random House, 2008), 49. On the purported ‘universalism’ also François de Polignac, “Cosmocrator: l’Islam et la légende antique du souverain universel,” in The Problematics of Power: Eastern and Western Representations of Alexander the Great, ed. Margaret Bridges and Johann C. Bürgel (Bern: Peter Lang, 1996), 149. Cf. Haila Manteghi, “Alexander the Great in the Shāhnāmeh of Ferdowsī,” in The Alexander Romance in Persia and the East, ed. Richard Stoneman, Kyle Erickson and Ian Richard Netton (Groningen: Barkhuis, 2012), 161–74. Also Touraj Daryaee, “Imitatio Alexandri and its Impact on Late Arsacid, Early Sasanian and Middle Persian Literature,” Electrum 12 (2007), 89–97. Cf. Richard Stoneman, “Alexander the Great in the Arabic Tradition,” in The Ancient Novel and Beyond, ed. Stelios Panayotakis, Maaike Zimmerman, and Wytse Hette Keulen (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 3–22. The earliest text of the Greek Alexander Romance dates from the third century CE; yet, the storylines and narrative patterns are comparably older, usually being dated to the third century BCE, presumably with origins in Egypt, cf. Bowden, “Recent Travels in Alexanderland,” 144–45. On the Alexander Romance in general cf. the essays in the edited volumes Richard Stoneman, Kyle Erickson and Ian Richard Netton, ed., The Alexander Romance in Persia and the East (Groningen: Barkhuis, 2012) and Margaret Bridges and Johann C. Bürgel, ed., The Problematics of Power: Eastern

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41

a translation of which might have entered Iran in the Sasanian period;91 and, on the other hand, it is derived from the Qu’ran, which contains references (mainly Sura 18) to the great warrior and hero Dhu’l-Qarnayn, who came to be identified with the Alexander of the Romance. Since the Indian Sanskrit texts had no own tradition of Alexander, it was a mixture of the Arab-Persian “Sikander” that entered India, where it, in turn, merged with the European memory of the ancient Macedonian to construct a transcultural version of the great conqueror.92 It is this very mixture of different sources and the hybridization of various strands of the tradition that also becomes apparent in the travel writings analyzed in the course of this study. Yet, it would be wrong to claim that what we have before us is an Alexander that truly functions as a cultural meeting point to which the British travelers and indigenous groups had equal access – the traveler-explorers did their best to retain any interpretative authority and to fashion Alexander as “European.” However, the discursive attempt to do this took a lot of effort, and through the textual contact zones traces of the local memories of the conqueror entered the European accounts in the description of indigenous stories or material traces. It is in this sense that the travel writings gave way, if only in short anecdotes or asides, to a transcultural memory of Alexander. 1.4 Summary of the Chapters The main part of this study is made up of four interconnected chapters and is structured chronologically. Although many of the central aspects discussed in the respective parts of this work are valid for the entire period treated in this book, ca. 1780–1930, every individual chapter can be said to revolve around a thematic center of gravity characteristic of a certain moment in the history of the British Indian north-west frontier. The memory of Alexander the Great was a giant echo chamber along the north-western frontier in British India, often repetitive, with a shifting sound level – at times, the Macedonian’s name resonated stronger, or its Grecian tone became infused

91 92

and Western Representations of Alexander the Great (Bern: Peter Lang, 1996). Cf. also Krzysztof Nawotka, The Alexander Romance by Ps.-Callisthenes (Leiden: Brill, 2017). On genre questions and their cross-cultural dimension Tim Whitmarsh and Stuart Thomson, ed., The Romance between Greece and the East (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). Cf. on this, in general, Briant, Darius, 359–93, who notes the transformation that Alexander underwent in the Persian tradition. A detailed analysis is also offered in Haila Manteghi, Alexander the Great in the Persian Tradition: History, Myth, and Legend (London: I. B. Tauris, 2018). This transcultural element inherent in the memory of Alexander is usually primarily ascribed to the overarching (and, indeed, global) influence of the Alexander Romance. Cf. Ng, “Global Renaissance,” 296. On the “transnational” outlook and the stages of how the Romance spread across the Mediterranean and beyond cf. also Ulrich Marzolph, “The Creative Reception of the Alexander Romance in Iran,” in Foundational Texts of World Literature, ed. Dominique Jullien (New York: Peter Lang, 2012), 69–73 and 79.

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I Introduction

with an Eastern melody –, but, in general, it remained a recognizable and quite popular cultural leitmotif in an overarching imperial theme. Chapter 2, “Setting the Stage: Exploration, Mapping, and the Memory of Alexander in the ‘Napoleonic Epoch’ of Frontier Policy,” focuses on a crucial period in the history of the north-west frontier. It traces the early attempts to map the Indian subcontinent and thereby centers on the works of James Rennell, the foremost British geographer of the epoch. His maps gained new relevance towards the end of the eighteenth century when the specter of a possible French invasion of British India haunted military strategists, political decision-makers and publicists. At this point in time, the north of India, and especially the bordering regions, had largely been unmapped and there was only a sparse intelligence available from European travelers, who had actually been to the region and had managed to come back to relate their experiences. What Rennell and his contemporaries did, then, was to hark back to the ancient sources describing the historical geography of the region. In this context, the Alexander historians came to the fore as useful sources of geographical knowledge and their writings were literally turned into maps that were believed to represent an accurate image of the territories in question. The memory of Alexander had another cultural and highly political relevance as well: Napoleon Bonaparte’s military success was often likened to that of the Macedonian and to some commentators it did not seem implausible that the French general would repeat Alexander’s feat of leading his armies to India. Accordingly, Alexander’s memory was reactivated to get an impression of the possible land routes to India, and to reflect on how British India could possibly be defended against an outside aggressor from the north. While this remained a rather abstract thought experiment in which historians and philologists were as much involved as colonial officers, the memory of Alexander also took on a more practical dimension when the British Indian government opted for a more forward thinking policy and send off numerous diplomatic missions into the neighboring countries, missions whose aims were not solely to negotiate defensive alliances with local potentates, but also to explore the territories through which they traversed. These diplomats and explorers repeatedly drew on Alexander’s campaign in their narrative accounts, and, what is more, they often travelled with the ancient sourcebooks in hand, using them as orientation guides and comparing the descriptions of the authors with what they found on their respective missions. Thereby, a fascinating dialogue between present and past was established that would resonate all throughout the nineteenth century and that reactivated the memory of Alexander by providing it with a very practical dimension. The British were, after all, moving through the lands the Macedonian had conquered. Chapter 3, “Romancing Alexander: Afghan Adventures, Imperial Imitations, and the Great Game,” focuses on one of the most troublesome periods in the history of northwestern British India. It deals with the decade leading up to the outbreak of the First Anglo-Afghan War in 1839. It does so by tracing the lives of two of the most

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43

fascinating figures of the era, Sir Alexander Burnes (referred to as “Sikander” by the indigenous population) and the American freebooter Josiah Harlan, whose colorful accounts of his time in the east were only recovered at the dawn of the twenty-first century. Although they had two vastly different career paths – Burnes was an explorer and diplomat and a celebrated public persona for his successful voyage to Bokhara in the early 1830s, whereas Harlan was a soldier of fortune, who had become tangled up in local politics, but sensationally managed to carve out his own small ‘kingdom’ in a remote part in Afghanistan –, their respective biographies not only illustrate what kind of lives were possible along the frontier, but also how the memory of Alexander the Great could be used as a very personal source of inspiration. Both perceived the Macedonian as a historical role model, and the chapter argues that they drew on his memory to create their own identities on his example. In general, the British policy had gotten more aggressive during this period and a clash with Russia, whose eyes were likewise set on Central Asia, at least seemed likely in the not too distant future. In consequence, the British Indian administration developed schemes in which Afghanistan – a country of which the British knew, except for marvelous stories, practically nothing – took on the role as a buffer state. A complex swirl of diplomatic activities, exploration work, and espionage ensued in which Burnes and Harlan took on, each in his own way, key roles. Again, the memory of Alexander was never far away and became infused with fantastic, and highly romantic images of the dangerous, mysterious, and wild Afghanistan. With its promise of adventure and the always lingering sense of doom, it was every frontiersman’s dream and both Burnes as well as Harlan used Alexander as a historical lens through which their own exploits in the region could be framed and interpreted. This was a highly imaginative venture whose effects could still be seen decades later, when Rudyard Kipling wrote his short story “The Man Who Would Be King,” which deals with the dream of carving out a kingdom in a remote corner of Afghanistan, based on the conquest of Alexander the Great. The chapter takes this short story as a cultural psychogram, which gives an impression of the double-edged effect that Alexander’s memory could have on British imperial schemes, and shows in which way it was not only a political, but also a highly romantic affair. Chapter 4, “The Material Fabrics of Memory and the Possession of the Past: Colonial Archaeology from Charles Masson to Sir Aurel Stein,” approaches the antiquarian studies and the archaeological surveys that ensued in northern India from the 1830s onwards. It traces the development from renegade explorers like Charles Masson, who, depending only on his intricate knowledge of Afghanistan, roamed the back country for years in search of ancient relics and especially coins, to the professional and institutionalized Archaeological Survey of India, led by Sir Alexander Cunningham, and finally to the great explorer of Central Asia and the Silk Road, Sir Aurel Stein. Drawing on their travel accounts, survey reports, and personal memoirs, the chapter will sketch out the intricate connection between the memory of Alexander and the material culture of the north-west frontier.

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I Introduction

From the beginning of the nineteenth century onwards, it had dawned on the early explorers that a whole historical world was lying hidden along the northwestern regions of India. It was a part of the world that told of great trade routes between East and West, of the Chinese pilgrims, who had taken great pains to visit the country of Buddha, that had seen numerous invasions by great emperors, and that had, not the least, witnessed the great campaign of Alexander the Great. It was one of the characteristic reactions of the antiquarian researchers to automatically connect every trace of an ancient civilization to the Greco-Bactrian presence in the region and to see it as a direct, or indirect, result of Alexander’s march. Only slowly did it dawn on the archaeologists that they were, at times, dealing with a far older and much larger historical world, in which Alexander’s campaign only marked a very small segment. Nonetheless, the Macedonian remained a main point of reference and it was one of the methodological approaches to simply track his route as described in the ancient sources to find and identify historical sites connected to his famous voyage. And even though the intrinsic desire to unearth some material traces of his presence in the region often led to problematic and premature conclusions, it was a period that saw the resurrection of parts of Central Asian history that had, thus far, largely lain out of the scope of Western scholars. The Archaeological Survey thereby also took on a political role of cultural politics in so far as the British could stylize themselves as giving the Asians back their past, and thus also provided the argumentative foundation for shipping off many finds to museums and archives in the west. Chapter 5, “Contested Memories and Collective Identities: Military Associations, Ethnographic Encounters and Political Geographies in the Age of Empire,” engages three interconnected aspects of the memory of Alexander along the northwest frontier and illustrates the intricate role they played for the formation of colonial identities. With the annexation first of Sindh and then of the Punjab, the British had practically taken control of the entire Indian subcontinent. Especially during the First and Second Anglo-Sikh Wars, the memory of Alexander resonated strongly as the historical example of an ancient ‘Westerner’, who had also fought (and won) battles in this part of the world. The military self-image and the victories of the British Indian troops were thus repeatedly compared to those of the Macedonian, who became central to how colonial officers interpreted their own campaigns and to how they represented the military character of the colonial army. Accordingly, the British conquest of India was seen as the historical continuation of Alexander’s famous campaign and could even be said to have surpassed whatever the ancient Macedonian could be said to have achieved. As the subsequent decades saw more and more tensions around the north-west frontier, and as Afghanistan entered the scene again as a thorn in the side of Britain’s imperial ambitions in Central Asia, the British self-image was put at stake – the more so, as the few trans-border explorers of that time wrote about the Kafirs, a remote tribe in Afghanistan, which claimed descent from Alexander the Great. Elphinstone and Burnes, amongst others, had already reported on them, but now there were actually

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colonial officers who made the dangerous journey to desolate mountain settlements to write ethnographic accounts of the Kafirs’ alleged heritage. And while most British authors doubted the Kafirs’ claim, it became clear that the local traditions surrounding Alexander (or Sikander) could not be ignored, but had to be challenged – not the least because they questioned the British identification with the Macedonian. The chapter traces these struggles for collective identity and finally concludes with a discussion of the geographical survey work of Sir Thomas Holdich. Like others before him, Holdich made the memory of Alexander an integral part of his historical geography of India and of his practical surveying, but what is more, he also combined it with a memory of the frontier itself. In his account, the stories connected to the Macedonian and those connected to British frontier exploration were brought together in a broad sweeping historical narrative that presented the British Empire in the east as the logical outcome of Alexander’s path-breaking foray. Thereby, the work that geographers like Rennell had begun more than a century before came full circle. The brief Epilogue “The Road More Travelled” sums up some of the major results of this study by bringing them together with a short discussion of Michael Wood’s popular BBC television documentary, “In the Footsteps of Alexander the Great,” showing that the topos of traveling in Alexander’s traces has lost nothing of its appeal and that the memory of the British north-west frontier and its travelers still shapes our historical imagination in a post-colonial age.

Chapter II Setting the Stage Exploration, Mapping, and the Memory of Alexander in the ‘Napoleonic Epoch’ of Frontier Policy If “knowledge is power,”1 then knowing Alexander’s exact routes through the regions beyond the Persian heartland was of utmost importance for coming to grips with the geography and cultural history of Central Asia. This was not merely a matter of understanding a crucial episode in the history of the Macedonian conqueror, but rather a vital geostrategic exercise in colonial control. By the turn of the nineteenth century, Napoleon Bonaparte (1769–1821) had carried the revolution far beyond France and, after he had subdued most of the European heartland, he had set his eyes on Egypt and the Asian continent. His great military success not only garnered him comparison to the ancient Macedonian, but the analogy turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy in so far as it seemed probable that Napoleon might (possibly with Persian and Russian help) march on British India, following the same routes that had led Alexander to this part of the world millennia before. By the first decade of the nineteenth century, this vague notion had turned into a specter haunting British imperial policy and a warning call was issued from various military strategists, political commentators, and self-proclaimed experts in colonial administration. A hectic activity ensued, with diplomatic and explorative missions to Persia, the Punjab, Afghanistan and other parts of Asia where no Englishman had set foot on in centuries. Hovering above, and at the same time spurring these activities, there was the cultural memory of Alexander’s march through these regions and the open question whether it could be repeated by a modern army. Since British intelligence could not answer this question with any equivocal clarity, other aspects had to come to the fore; aspects that could be – at least in theory – be known like the geography of Central Asia, the possible land routes into India, the bordering tribes and

1

Johannes Fabian, Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes Its Object (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), 3.

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their customs, and whether they could, in any way, serve as allies. Geographers and historiographers had been addressing some of these questions for at least two decades. Incessantly studying the ancient sources, mainly those of Alexander’s march, they tried to account for the ancients’ knowledge of India, underlining where this knowledge differed from, or could, in turn, add to, modern understandings of the country and its geography. Subsequently, a close analysis of the writings of Arrian, Diodor, Curtius, and others, inspired and influenced travelers and explorers, who, with textbook in hand, traced some of the passages paved by the ancient forebears (or so they believed). Their own observations, lived experiences, and researches, would eventually channel back into historiographical, geographic, and political literature, so that explorers could claim that it was through their undertakings that the great gaps in knowledge and blanks on maps were beginning to be filled. As I want to show in the course of this chapter, the cultural reception of Alexander the Great became an integral part of the discursive framing of what colonial knowledge meant and it took on new relevance and meaning in the face of the political challenges of this era. Geographic mapping, travel writing and geostrategic schemes went hand in hand at the turn of the nineteenth century2 and Alexander was never far off to lead the way. As Fabian has pointed out, this era also gave way to a new mode of exploration and, consequently, to a renewed way of writing about it: “Contrasting past and present became an intellectual concern as well as a literary device pervading”3 most of the travel literature around 1800. This seemed especially pertinent in British India and the bordering regions: “From a European perspective,” writes Vasunia, “India needed accommodation to a framework that included classical Greece and Rome, and, especially with the consolidation of British rule (…), the question of India’s relationship to European histories was felt to be real and pressing.”4 Not only did this lead to a transfer of European concepts of the “classical” to India,5 but also, more broadly, to an integration of the Asian countries within a historical framework. The British colonial power had to account for the world historical mission of its Eastern empire, and Alexander the Great seemed a fitting precursor, not the least because he was generally perceived to have been ‘the first European’ to have ventured this deep into Asia. In this context, it did not matter that he had practically never conquered India, but rather that he had laid the foundation for further imperial undertakings. Alexander became integrated into what Briant has referred to as a “geo-historiographic” mode of 2 3 4 5

Cf. on this interaction Matthew H. Edney, “Reconsidering Enlightenment Geography and Map Making: Reconnaissance, Mapping, Archive,” in Geography and Enlightenment, ed. David N. Livingstone and Charles W. J. Withers (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1999), 165–98. Fabian, Time and the Other, 9. Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 10. Cf. on this point Ainslie T. Embree, Imagining India: Essays on Indian History, ed. Mark Juergensmeyer (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1989), 28–39.

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interpreting and making sense of his conquest.6 He was increasingly seen not only as a great conqueror, but also as a great frontier hero. This also explains why many explorers were drawing on Alexander’s memory in the description of their own ventures. Moreover, this makes the travel writings of the epoch such a fascinating source for analyzing processes of classical reception. Many of the travelers and explorers were on the payroll of the East Indian Company and while some of them only made vague allusions to Alexander in their ethnographic or geographic writings, others took him as an imaginary guide on their tours and turned him into a leitmotif of their respective texts. The many recurrences to Alexander in literature of travel and exploration were not unprecedented, but had their forebears in a longer tradition of European voyages that, by 1800, stretched back more than two centuries.7 From the moment when the first Englishman, the Jesuit priest Thomas Stevens (1549–1619), set foot on Indian soil in 1579, the subcontinent never quite left British politics or its cultural imaginations; the more so, as the newly founded East India Company soon established trading posts and coastal settlements that would garner it more and more influence and eventually practical control over vast areas of the Indian heartland around 1760.8 These precursors were known to many of the travelers, geographers, and historians that were writing about the march of Alexander around the end of the eighteenth century, but while they recognized the merits of the earlier travelers, they also saw that many questions had been left unanswered. Much was still to be explored, not least the routes that the Macedonian had taken. Knowledge of these routes was of great importance, both with regard to gaining a general understanding of history and with acquiring a sense of the place and of the role of the British dominions in the region. In many ways, with their quest for knowledge and a deeper sense of comprehension of the Indian character, the British explorers and men of letters were emulating Alexander’s own foray into this region of the Earth, accompanied as he was by geographers, botanists, zoologists, and philosophers. Alexander’s conquest was not solely a matter of military display, but one of the first instances in history of the collection of ‘big data,’ of the accumulation and dissemination of

6 7

8

Cf. Briant, The First European, 7. Also Briant, “Alexander and the Persian Empire,” 184 and Briant,” Alexandre ‘grand économiste’,” 598–99. Cf. for instance the collection of writings in William Foster, ed., Early Travels in India, 1583–1619 (New Delhi: Oriental Books Reprint Corporation, 1985). Other European travelers, including Dutch, Portuguese, French and Italian, were likewise active on the Indian subcontinent and bordering regions, leaving vast amounts of writings that were repeatedly translated into English. Cf., for example, John Henry Grose, A Voyage to the East Indies Began in 1750 With Observations Continued till 1764 (London: S. Hooper, 1766), and Lord Stanley of Alderley, ed., Travels to Tana and Persia by Josafa Barbaro and Ambrogio Contarini (New York: Burt Franklin, 1873). Cf. Ketaki Kushari Dyson, A Various Universe: A Study of the Journals and Memoirs of British Men and Women in the Indian Subcontinent, 1756–1856 (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1978), 9–10.

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knowledge,9 so much so that “the main lines of European knowledge of India and the east were fixed for nearly 2,000 years by what he discovered and his historians recorded.”10 To the British historians, explorers, and geographers of the early modern and modern age these writings of antiquity (at least those that had survived) constituted a kind of archive on which they could draw in their own expansion of knowledge. In this context, it was not so much historians, but rather geographers who took a great interest in Alexander’s route, especially since they drew on ancient accounts of their representation of those areas of Central Asia and the Indian subcontinent, where no Western explorers had trod in centuries or where the travelers had failed to leave behind trustworthy accounts. It is no coincidence that the ancient accounts were often termed “surveys” by the modern commentators.11 “Survey” was a term that took on new meaning towards the end of the eighteenth century, when the British administration set in motion large scale geographical undertakings that were meant to map and measure the Indian colony and the surrounding areas. Knowledge of geography was of high relevance to the imperial project of administering and controlling the subcontinent. As Edney puts it, “the East Indian Company undertook a massive intellectual campaign to transform a land of incomprehensible spectacle into an empire of knowledge,” while the geographers were “at the forefront of this campaign” and “defined the spatial image of the Company’s empire.”12 Mapping is thus about “the creation of a legitimating conception of empire, of political and territorial hegemony, mapped out in a scientistic and rational construction of space.”13 What was thought to constitute an objective and accurate representation of the colonial space and its subjects, was however a highly subjective, constructed, and imaginative cultural undertaking. More than an intellectual undertaking, removed from the lived reality of the colony, these geographic mapping processes were, to a large degree, determined and influenced by the travel writings of explorers, who were often equipped with measuring instruments and who, slowly but surely, turned blank spaces on maps into cultural rep-

9 10 11 12

13

Cf. on this aspect Liliane Bodson, “Alexander the Great and the Scientific Exploration of the Oriental Part of His Empire: An Overview of the Background, Trends and Results,” Ancient Society 22 (1991), 127–38. Stoneman, Alexander the Great, 69. Cf. William Robertson, An Historical Disquisition Concerning the Knowledge which the Ancients Had of India; and the Progress of Trade with that Countries prior to the Discovery of the Passage to it by the Cape of Good Hope (Basil: J. J. Tourneisen, 1788), 23. Matthew H. Edney, Mapping an Empire: The Geographical Construction of British India, 1765–1843 (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1997), 2. On the process of the gathering of information and of knowledge as a means of colonial control cf. also Thomas Richards, The Imperial Archive: Knowledge and the Fantasy of Empire (London: Verso, 1993), 3–4. Edney, Mapping an Empire, 36.

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resentations of the colonial spirit.14 In this context, Alexander and his own exploration became a highly inspirational enterprise to be emulated, evoked, and enhanced by further forays into regions where even the ancient hero had never been. In the following, the complex entanglements between scholarly discourse as found in Enlightenment historiography and colonial geography will be discussed in the light of the reception of Alexander the Great in literature of travel and exploration along the northern border regions of British India. Thereby, I will show how this discourse went hand in hand with geostrategic and military map exercises that tried to account for the position of British India. Because Alexander the Great was seen as a historic precedent that had managed to overcome the Hindu Kush in the proximity of the Khyber Pass and the vast stretch of land that later came to be called the north-west frontier, the ancient Macedonian became implicated in what Morison has referred to as the “Napoleonic or grandiose epoch in frontier policy.”15 Even after the Napoleonic threat had vanished, the British worries remained and shifted their focus from France to Russia during the 1820s, with exploration and surveying increasingly intensifying in scope and vision.16 In order to trace the reception of Alexander in geographical, historiographical and travel narratives, and in order to analyze how these different modes of textuality came to comment on one another, I will at first discuss the role of Alexander for colonial mapping and how it, in turn, influenced considerations of the Macedonian’s route in historical treatises that were also meant to re-conceptualize the Indian past and present. In a second step, the literature of travel and exploration will be analyzed that drew on these texts in the portrayal of the countries of Central Asia, while considerably broadening the knowledge about the different cultures and territories of this part of the world. As will be shown, this was not merely an intellectual exercise, but a highly political undertaking, meant to ensure military and administrative control over the region – especially in the face of possible outside aggression. In this context, Alexander was a historical model, whose example could be followed by anyone who felt strong enough to take on the rough conditions of the Hindu Kush; a historical archive that prompted the writings that provided much of the information about the area’s geography; and a historical challenge, whose exploits called out to be tested and possibly overcome by adventurous and daring moderns.

14 15 16

Cf. Kapil Raj, “Colonial Encounters and the Forging of New Knowledge and National Identities: Great Britain and India, 1760–1850,” in Social History of Science in Colonial India, ed. S. Irfan Habib and Dhruv Raina (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 92. John Lyle Morison, “From Alexander Burnes to Frederick Roberts: A Survey of Imperial Frontier Policy,” Proceedings of the British Academy 27 (1936), 182. Cf. Peter Hopkirk, The Great Game: On Secret Service in High Asia (London: John Murray, 1990), 3–5 and Karl E. Meyer and Shareen Blair Brysac, Tournament of Shadows: The Great Game and the Race for Empire in Central Asia (New York: Basic Books, 2006), 61.

2.1 Major James Rennell, Geography, and the Mapping of Alexander’s Indian Conquest

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2.1 Major James Rennell, Geography, and the Mapping of Alexander’s Indian Conquest Alexander had been a lingering presence in both the imaginative literature and the philosophical treatises all throughout the Middle Ages and the Early Modern Age. By the late eighteenth century, the quality of the reception had taken a new turn. This certainly had to do with the Macedonian’s prominence in Enlightenment philosophy, but it also had to do with geopolitical shifts and a zeitgeist that had a renewed fascination with sociopolitical revolution in general and with the possibility of building (and maintaining) empires in particular. In the decades between the 1780s and the 1820s Alexander remained a favorite object of study in the learned world and the high echelons of philosophical circles, but he also left the ivory tower of abstract theory or aesthetic pleasure to join the travelers, explorers, and adventurers roaming through unknown territories of the world. One could say he returned to where he had initially belonged: on the road, always on the hunt for new frontiers to overcome. If he could not do this in person, he did so in spirit, accompanying the military officers, surveyors, diplomats, or traders in textbooks and translations. For the first time since antiquity, or so it seemed, was it possible to reiterate the Macedonian conqueror’s steps far into the east, to witness with one’s own eyes where he had set foot, and to get in touch with the people and the land that Alexander himself had met along the way. This was neither an abrupt nor a complete shift in the reception process, however; rather, this was a gradual process that always led back to the secluded space of a writing room, where the travelers transformed the manifold impressions from the road into the ordered sequence of a text. In theory, this textual practice did not differ from the philosophical writings that had come before, guided as it was by generic conventions, by literary references, or by the self-conscious task of informing the learned public of new findings. What had changed was the experiential framework: the author claimed to actually have travelled in the footsteps of Alexander and of having visited the sites of his famous exploits. This paved the way for a revitalization of the Macedonian’s history, for fleshing out his concrete deeds in the east, and for reenacting the examples he had set on his route. The reception of Alexander thus took a pragmatic turn in so far as the sources relating to his conquest could now be used as a guide through countries that had been closed off to Europeans for centuries. And the travel writings of modern explorers could be used to comment on the ancient historiography that had in many ways been obscure. If Enlightenment texts became the abstract space where the concrete experiences of the travelers could be renegotiated in light of various disciplines (with geography and history being only two of them), then the road was the space where specific theories (especially those concerning the advancement of culture) could be tested and where true progress in knowledge could be made. Both practices, that of writing and of traveling, went hand in hand at that time and they would determine the future recep-

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tion of Alexander the Great; not the least, because the reception changed its status of an intellectual enterprise into a pragmatic venture that promised to be of good use to political decision makers and strategists. There is probably no better point to start discussing these discursive interconnections than the work of Major James Rennell (1742–1830). Widely regarded as one of the foremost geographers of his time,17 Rennell would decisively help in the advancement of mapmaking, surveying, and especially oceanography, combining innovation and a keen instinct for new takes on scholarly issues with an impressive knowledge of his geographic forebears and a practical sense of the applicability of theoretical insights. His life mirrors the dialectic between the head-on confrontation of foreign worlds with the intellectual project of making meaning of the experience of alterity and of adding to the already existing knowledge with new observations. As Rodd puts it: “The career of Rennell may be divided into two periods, that of his earlier years of adventure as a sailor, an explorer or surveyor, and that which covered more than fifty years at home of laborious and far-reaching study extending over every field of geographical activity.”18 Although Rennell was off to a difficult start with his father dying on the battlefield when James was only five, he made the best of it, proving an ambitious learner, and eventually embarked as midshipman on a British military vessel when he was barely fourteen years of age. He served off the coast of Britanny during the Seven Years War (1756–1763), where he became acquainted with the practice of coastal and harbor surveying. This time proved crucial as it helped him develop an avid instinct for patterns of sea currents, before he quit the navy and joined the East India Company. It would not take long until Rennell was offered command of his own ship, but, as chance would have it, he was set for an altogether different career when, at the age of 21, he was given supervision of the first geographical survey in India. Rennell not only spearheaded surveys of the Ganges River and of the outskirts of the Himalaya, but was also involved in frontier expeditions, one which nearly ended his life after a fight with a local tribe. When Rennell finally retired from his Company Service, he held the rank of Surveyor-General and settled down for good in London in 1781. It was here that he began his work that would garner him public attention and make him the most influential geographer of his time, namely his Map and Memoir of Hindoostan. The publication of a memoir along with a map was not unusual at this time, supporting “the cartographer’s pretension that the map ought to be considered as a cartographic landmark” and “laying out in minute detail the many sources and 17

18

On Rennell cf. Briant, Alexandre des Lumières, 186–90. Moreover, the biographies of Clements R. Markham, Major James Rennell and the Rise of Modern English Geography (London: Cassell and Company, 1895) and Curt Arthur Frenzel, Major James Rennell: Der Schöpfer der neueren englischen Geographie. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Erdkunde (Pulsnitz: E. K. Försters Erben, 1904) as well as the short biographic sketch by Rennell Rodd, “James Rennell. Born 3 December 1742. Died 20 March 1830,” The Geographical Journal 75, no. 4 (1930), 289–99. Rodd, “James Rennell,” 289.

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the manner of their reconciliation.”19 Rennell’s Memoir would occupy him for the next decade, with three editions, constantly updated and revised, appearing in 1783, 1788, and 1793.20 In many ways, his Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan21 was the culmination of his fieldwork as a surveyor and his work as a geographer, combining personal autopsy with a reflection of written sources. In due time, it would not only become a standard reference in Indian geography, but would also influence countless historians, setting a new example of the reception of Alexander the Great within an imperial framework. This imperial framework is hard to miss, illustrated as it is by a frontispiece which opens Rennell’s book and which presents a personification of Britannia, strikingly reminiscent of Athena, as she receives sacred books from the hands of learned Brahmins, who come, their heads bowed, with their traditional linen clothing and shaved heads, as if from another place and time. The self-representational quality of this “allegorical cartouche,”22 as Rennell referred to the illustration, is primarily meant to symbolize the grandeur and beneficence of the Pax Britannica, while reminding the viewer of the military victoriousness of the great nation, memorialized by the engravings on the pedestal.23 That Rennell should choose to imbue this depiction with classical references is no coincidence. In general, his geography was littered with quotations of the ancient authors to which he attributes the same authority as to his own observations, or to contemporary travel writings.24 As Edney remarks, this specific mode of opening the geographical memoir with classical models that evoked the Roman and Hellenistic empires “established India as the site of glorious conquest and territorial aggrandizement.”25 “In part,” as Vasunia adds, “these invocations of past conquerors fostered an identification between Britain and imperial power and staked out a claim for Britain’s greatness in relation to the Roman and the Mughal empires.”26 It also helped allegorize India as a homogenous entity, a fact that implicitly pointed to Rennell’s map, which, in the figurative sense, did the same thing by visualizing and abstracting the subcontinent 19 20 21 22 23 24

25 26

Edney, Mapping an Empire, 98. On Rennell’s survey work, the maps, and their different versions cf. also Susan Gole, Early Maps of India (Edinburgh: Charles Skilton Ltd., 1976), 76–83. James Rennell, Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan; or the Mogul Empire: With an Introduction, Illustrative of the Geography and Present Division of that Country: and a Map of the Countries Situated Between the Heads of the Indian Rivers, and the Caspian Sea (London: M. Brown, 1783). Ibid., xii. Cf. on this also Briant, The First European, 227. In contrast, the validity of local Indian sources is questioned from the outset. Cf. James Rennell, Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan; or the Mogul Empire: With an Introduction, Illustrative of the Geography and Present Division of that Country: and a Map of the Countries Situated Between the Heads of the Indian Rivers, and the Caspian Sea, Second Edition (London: W. Bulmer and Co., 1788), vii. Jean-Baptiste Bourguignon d’Anville, Éclaircissements géographiques sur la carte de l’Inde (Paris: Imprimerie royal, 1763) was an important precursor to Rennell’s map. Edney, Mapping an Empire, 15. Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 59.

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into a space that could be studied, known, and administered. The coalition between empire and geography, so prominently articulated in modern studies of science,27 has its roots in works like Rennell’s Memoir that self-consciously elaborated on this symbiosis, especially by drawing parallels between past and present, and by evoking the great disciplinary forebears of ancient times.

Fig. 1 Frontispiece of James Rennell’s Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan.

For the demarcation of his object, Rennell draws on etymology as well as ancient writings, underlining the great antiquity of Hindoostan, as he calls the tract of land “intra Gangem,” as the region properly belonging to “the people called Hindoos.”28 As Rennell points out, early knowledge of this country, then only referred to by the short Persian word “Hind,” was transmitted to the Greeks by the Persians themselves, while it was not until “Alexander’s expedition about 327 before Christ”29 that they made true contact with this country that “has in all ages excited the attention of the curious.”30 Alexander thus appears, as in so many texts and treatises of the time, as a pioneer explorer. The Indus region in particular is discussed in detail in Rennell’s Memoir by the lengthy invocation of ancient authors, who the modern geographer, despite some mistakes on their part, saw as a prime authority on this matter. In this insistent focus on 27

28 29 30

Cf. also Felix Driver, “Geography’s Empire: Histories of Geographical Knowledge.” Environment and Planning: D, Society and Space 10 (1992), 23–40, as well as by Neil Smith and Anne Godlewska, “Introduction: Critical Histories of Geography,” in Geography and Empire, ed. Anne Godlewska and Neil Smith (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994), 1–8. Rennell, Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan, Second Edition, xxi (emphasis original). Ibid., xii. Ibid., xxi.

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ancient sources, Rennell was not alone, but rather the norm in Enlightenment era geography. Although personal observations and surveys gained ever greater importance, geographers still turned to the great forefathers of geography like Ptolemy or Strabo, as well as travel authors and proto-ethnographers in the vein of Herodotus.31 This was true for using or discounting the measurements that the ancient authors had come up with. The reference to the ancient authors exceeded mere emulation, however, extending to an engaged textual critique of the disciplinary forebears. For instance, Rennell took Arrian as a source that both told about the geography of India and about its people and their customs: “Arrian’s Indian history, which is extremely curious, and merits more than it commonly meets with, shows us how very little change, the Hindoos have undergone in about 21 centuries, allowances being made for the effect of foreign conquests.”32 He continues to list the similarities between the ancient inhabitants of the territories described in Arrian and modern observations, and also draws a parallel between Arrian’s method, choosing “to follow those only, who had been eye-witnesses to what they wrote” (namely those that had accompanied Alexander and the Seleucid ambassador Megasthenes),33 and modern accounts relying heavily on travel accounts.34 This has the effect that Rennell can enter in direct conversation with Arrian, praising his accomplishments and dismissing his mistakes,35 while at the same time carrying forward the work begun in antiquity. This can also be seen in the fact that Rennell, like his contemporaries, drew on “classical geographical 31

32 33

34

35

Cf. Numa Broc, La Géographie des Philosophes: Géographie et Voyageurs Français au XVIIIe Siècle (Paris: Editions Ophrys, 1975), 7–8. On Enlightenment geography in general cf. Charles W. J. Withers and David N. Livingstone, “Introduction: on Geography and Enlightenment,” in Geography and Enlightenment, ed. David N. Livingstone and Charles W. J. Withers (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1999), 1–28. Rennell, Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan, Second Edition, xxviii. Ibid., xxix. As Briant has outlined, Rennell’s comment on Arrian is part of a longer debate: Briant, Alexandre des Lumières, 76–84. Also Pierre Briant, “Quinte-Curce vs. Arrien: polémiques et controverses autour des sources de l’histoire d’Alexandre”, in Postérités européennes de Quinte-Curce: De l’humanisme aux Lumières (XIVe-XVIIIe siècle), ed. Catherine Gaullier-Bougassas (Turnhout: Brepols 2018), 425–44. On the significance of travel literature and discoveries for the history of geography, cf. Broc, La Géographie des Philosophes, 9–10. Cf. also Driver, “Geography’s Empire,” 23–24 and 30–31. On narrative geography in this era also Matthew H. Edney, “Reconsidering Enlightenment Geography and Map Making,” 175–78 as well as Dorinda Outram, “On Being Perseus: New Knowledge, Dislocation, and Enlightenment Exploration,” in Geography and Enlightenment, ed. David N. Livingstone and Charles W. J. Withers (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1999), 281–94. For instance, Rennell notes that Arrian presupposed the existence of specific wooden houses, usually only found along the Indus, in all of India, concluding that he must have been misinformed by his sources (notably by Nearchus). Cf. Rennell, Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan, Second Edition, xxx. This is, of course, not the only inaccuracy on the part of Arrian. It has often been noted that he describes the events in India as taking part somewhere beyond the Caspian Gates (Arr. an. 3.19.2) and he was not the sole author to conflate the names of the Caucasus and that of the Hindu Kush (the Paropamisus in the ancient tradition) (3.28.4–5). Cf. on this Stoneman, Alexander the Great, 77–83.

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names in the region (…) rather than current indigenous ones,”36 relying on the chief authority of a discursive formation established in the age of Alexander. To Rennell himself, Arrian is the primary source on which to base his own account of the lands around the Indus, surpassing all the other texts that have come down from antiquity: Of the different histories of Alexander that have travelled down to us, that by Arrian appears to be the most consistent; and especially in the geography of Alexander’s marches, and voyage in the Panjab; which country, by the nature of its rivers, and by their mode of confluence, is particularly favourable to the task of tracing his progress. Diodorus or Curtius, had, or ought to have had, the same materials before them, as Arrian; that is the journals or relations of Ptolemy and Aristobulos; who as friends and companions of Alexander, had opportunities of being well informed. We may conclude also, that there were among the followers of Alexander, journalists of a very different stamp; and indeed, the experience of our own days, furnishes us with examples enough of that kind, to make it probable; (…)37

Rennell, like most of his predecessors, gave prevalence to Arrian when compared to the other historians of Alexander, on account of his critical use of his own sources (although, interestingly, Rennell leaves out Nearchus in his invocation of the primary sources in the quote above). Again, Rennell draws a curious parallel between the followers of Alexander and their writings and modern-day travelers through the region, whose accounts likewise have to be treated with utmost caution (or so Rennell implicitly claims). Drawing up a geography of this region is an exercise in the interpretation and critical evaluation of information, as much in the modern age as it had been in antiquity, and Rennell seems to have understood his own work as a corrective of the classical tradition. In this context, it should be noted that Rennell was not, although well versed in his knowledge of the ancient texts, a classicist himself. He had to rely on translations that greatly varied in quality and relied on the help of his great circle of learned friends like the famous historian John Gillies, who wrote an influential History of Ancient Greece.38 As one of his biographers noted, he made a virtue out of necessity, often noticing faulty translations that he either corrected with the help of the geographical knowledge acquired on his own journeys, or by comparing great amounts of texts and translations, drawing the outline of a comparative geography that encompassed ancient, Arab, Muslim, and modern European sources alike.39 36 37 38 39

Ball, “Some Talk of Alexander,” 134. Cf. also Edney, Mapping an Empire, 331. Rennell, Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan, Second Edition, xxx-xxxi. John Gillies, The History of Ancient Greece, Its Colonies and Conquests, from the Earliest Accounts till the Division of the Macedonian Empire in the East, including the History of Literature, Philosophy, and the Fine Arts, in Two Volumes (London: A. Strathan, 1786). Cf. Markham, Major James Rennell, 65–67. For another of his great works, (cf. James Rennell, The Geographical System of Herodotus Examined and Explained by a Comparison with Those of Other An-

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In general, it is hard to overstate the importance of Rennell’s work on Indian geography, since it shaped the European imagination of the subcontinent. “It is,” as Edney claims, “in his highly influential maps that we find the establishment of India as a meaningful, if still ambiguous geographical entity.”40 Already in Rennell’s A Bengal Atlas,41 based on his work as the first surveyor of Bengal, he corrected many erroneous assumptions about India’s coastline and the general course of its great rivers – a feature continued by his Memoir.42 Rennell’s maps were as much about the creation of new geographical knowledge as they were about showing the inherent instability, inaccuracies, and epistemological uncertainties involved in the project of charting a country. In fact, this shows how much Rennell, despite his strong recourses to antiquity, was committed to modern standards of mapping. Thereby, routes taken by military personnel and surveyors were the central reference point of Rennell. And this is exactly where Alexander entered the framework, because his army had marched along some of the very same routes that other invaders (including the British), had taken (or, rather, could take) in the wake of the Macedonian’s historical conquest. As Briant comments on Rennell’s lengthy discussion of Alexander’s march (which takes up the majority of the third chapter of his Memoir), it is hard to “agree with all of the author’s toponymic discussions or his digressions about individual stages of Alexander’s armies’ advances,”43 based as they are on an almost anachronistic equation of the ancient Punjab with the modern one. However, these passages throw a light on the inherent imperial framework developed in Rennell’s work that would prove decisive for the subsequent cultural memory of Alexander in British India in general and along its northern parts in particular. In one decisive passage, Rennell invokes a popular image of Alexander that he seeks to subvert at the same time:

40 41 42

43

cient Authors and With Modern Geography, 2 vols. (London: Rivington, 1830 [1800])), Rennell used the version by William Beloe, the only existing English translation of the Greek historian at the time, which seems to have been very flawed. Cf. William Beloe, The History of Herodotus (London: Leigh and Sotheby, 1791). Nonetheless, Rennell managed to come up with an accurate commentary on the geographical knowledge of Herodotus – a feat that was favorably noted by numerous reviewers. Cf. Markham, Major James Rennell, 106–8, also Rodd, “Major James Rennell,” 295. Edney, Mapping an Empire, 9. Cf. James Rennell, A Bengal Atlas: Containing Maps of the Theatre of War and Commerce on That Side of Hindoostan: Compiled from the Original Surveys, and Published by the Order of the Honourable Court of Directors for the Affairs of the East India Company (London: 1791). For instance, Rennell uncovered “the ignorance of Europeans of Indian geography” by undoing the false notion of “a river called the Ganga rising in the Deccan and flowing north of east into the Bay of Bengal on the coast of Orissa.” He proved that “the Ganges mentioned by the European classical writers was (…) a completely different river flowing from the north” and that “the Ganges and the Ganga, the sacred river of the Hindus, were one and the same.” G. F. Heaney, “Rennell and the Surveyors of India,” The Geographical Journal 134, no. 3 (1968), 318. Briant, The First European, 80.

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(…) it may not be amiss to observe, that the state of the country through which he passed, was very different from what we should have conceived, who have been in the habit of considering Hindoostan, as being governed by one monarch; or even as divided into several large kingdoms. (…) Even in the Panjab, where Alexander warred a whole campaign and part of another, there was nothing of that kind of concert appeared, which must have taken place between the governors of provinces, had they been under one head; but in general, each acting separately, for himself. The Malli, Catheri, and Oxydracae, we are told, leagued together for their mutual defence; and this proves that they were separate governments. It is curious, that the same cause that facilitated Alexander’s conquests in India, should also have given them the degree of celebrity that has ever accompanied them; that is to say, their subdivision into a number of small states: and ordinary readers, either not regarding, or not comprehending their extent and consequence, have considered them as kingdoms. The conquest of the Panjab and Sindy, would, with such an army, be no very great matter in our times, although united; and yet this conquest is considered as a brilliant part of Alexander’s history: the truth is, the romantic traveller is blended with the adventurous soldier; and the feelings of the reader, are oftner applied to, than his judgement.44

Rennell is thereby undermining what he sees as a common, albeit mistaken belief stored in the cultural memory of Alexander, namely that of a united India, or rather Punjab, anachronistically transferred from modernity into antiquity. The Macedonian may have fought single powerful potentates along the way, and there were tribes like the Malli that nearly proved a fatal adversary to Alexander himself, but the state of the country, Rennell suggests, was nothing like what other historical epochs had seen, including those remnants of the Mughal Empire that Britain itself fought. Quite the contrary: to Britain it would be easy to conquer the Punjab with Alexander’s manpower, which Rennell gives as 120,000 men, including 200 elephants.45 Rennell thus, surprisingly, diminishes Alexander’s prevailing image as a great conqueror, relativizing his success, while at the same time introducing Britain’s own schemes in the region as a comparative foil. To be sure, Rennell does not doubt Alexander’s historical status, but he seems to be determined to set it straight, bringing the almost overpowering, superhuman character down to human standards. His comment that this image of Alexander is that of the “romantic traveler” or “adventurous soldier” invokes two of the prevailing cultural motifs connected to Alexander and, unknowingly, foreshadows the prevalent modes of the imitatio Alexandri that would soon become connected to the north-western frontier of British India. Although Rennell was trying to realign contemporary notions of the Macedonian hero with the facts of the ancient sources, he was himself complicit

44 45

Rennell, Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan, Second Edition, 100. Ibid. Rennell takes these numbers from Arrian (an. 6.3).

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in promoting the imperial image of conquest and the benefits of exploration. On the one hand, Rennell points out that the “Panjab country, like that of Bengal, is full of navigable rivers; which, communicating with the Indus, form an uninterrupted navigation from Cashmere to Tatta; and, no doubt, abounded with boats and vessels ready constructed to the conqueror’s hands.”46 The navigability of rivers was likewise to become a leitmotif in many travel writings of the early nineteenth century, important as those rivers were for contacts of trade or the transport of military personnel as well as for the imperial control of the whole region. If Britain ever were to set her eye on this part of the country, Rennell implicity claimed, riverboats were an important asset. On the other hand, another way of opening up the land and of getting an idea of the actual and historical circumstances was by travelling: “I am convinced,” Rennell wrote, “that the more our knowledge of the particular geography of the countries, on both sides of the upper parts of the Indus increases; the clearer will be our idea of Alexander’s marches.”47 With this comment, Rennell pointed to the need of further exploration for the expansion of geographical knowledge. As Vasunia puts it, “the two phenomena were inseperable for Rennell and (…) the mapping of India was intimately connected with the mapping of Alexander’s expedition in the area.”48 On site surveying and travelling was to go hand in hand with historical study. And there was no better way of establishing this connection than by the call “to trace his [i. e. Alexander’s] route.”49 If Rennell was not able to do so on the ground, he did it figuratively, with the help of close readings of the Alexander historians as well as later sources by Arab and Muslim writers,50 fragmentary manuscripts of travel reports,51 and the findings of earlier geographers, especially those of d’Anville. Rennell admits that the northern parts of India were difficult to map, since his sources were not “of a quality or quantity proper to correct [their] geography.”52 Moreover, Rennell reminds his readers that “the country by 46 47 48 49 50 51

52

Ibid., 102. Ibid., 122. Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 58. Rennell, Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan, Second Edition, 115. Notably, Rennell used the Ain-i-Akbari, “the Constitution of Akbar,” by the vizier of the Persian emperor Akbar, Abu’l-Fazl Allami, written in the sixteenth century. Cf. Heinrich Blochmann, The Ain-I Akbari by Abu’l-Fazl Allami, Vol. I (Calcutta: The Asiatic Society, 1927). Rennell especially drew on the manuscript of Captain William Kirkpatrick, an officer in the East India Company, who had travelled through great parts of Central Asia during the eighteenth century. Cf. William Kirkpatrick, An Account of the Kingdom of Nepaul, Being the Substance of Observations Made During a Mission to that Country, in the Year 1793 (London: W. Miller, 1813). Rennell also referred to the writings of George Forster, a civil servant of the East India Company, who had made a name for himself as the first one traveling from Calcutta, through Central Asia, and finally to Russia in 1782. Cf. George Forster, A Journey from Bengal to England through the Northern Part of India, Kashmire, Afghanistan, and Persia, and into Russia by the Caspian Sea, Vol. 1 (London: R. Faulding, 1798). Rennell, Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan, Second Edition, 78.

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the name of Panjab, or that watered by the five eastern branches of the Indus, has been very little known to us in modern times, either geographically, or politically.” Yet, he is quick to add that “it deserves notice, if only on the score of ancient history; being the scene of Alexander’s last campaign and the ne plus ultra of his conquests.”53 If his modern geography was not enough to map the country in great detail, for want of sufficient knowledge of it, the ancient sources had to fill in the blanks and the succeeding part of his Memoir becomes an exercise in historical geography. Comparatively discussing the different known routes that invaders had taken to enter Indian territory, Rennell leaves Alexander’s march for last. According to Rennell, Alexander must have crossed the Indus near the modern city of Attock, “because first, it appears to have been in all ages, the pass on the Indus, leading from the countries of Cabul and Candahar into India;”54 after all, this is also the site of a castle, built in later times, to guard the passage. Rennell concludes that the Taxila of the Alexander historians must have been situated nearby and was to become the advance base of further forays in the direction of the Ganges. The geographer thereby alludes to the modern geography of the region, referring to “the ordinary road” to the Hydaspes (which he identifies as Behut or Chelum), as if the same route had already been in existence in ancient times, and the site “where the fortress of Rotas now stands.”55 This has the effect that the historical track of Alexander becomes furnished with modern markers, enabling its imaginary or concrete retracing. That this is only an attempt at approaching the historical geography of the country is made clear in further notices of Rennell, however, as when he writes that the city of Sangala might be situated between the modern Lahore and Moultan, but that “we are left in uncertainty as to its position, by Alexander’s historians.”56 Rennell’s historical geography is a matter of conjecture, based as it is on vague assumptions, guesswork, and unsupported by any personal autopsy of the sites. Still, Rennell is convinced that Whoever takes the trouble to compare Arrian’s account, both of the land marches, and the voyage down the rivers, with the geography of the Panjab; will find the ancient Hydaspes, in the modern Chelum, the first river beyond the Indus; and successively, the Acesines in the Jenaub or Chunaub; the Hydraotes in the Rauvee; and the Hyphasis, in the Beyah: though I will not contend to the exact position of the altars, whether they might be conflux of the Beyah, or below it; only the ancient name Beypasha, appears more likely to have been the origin of the Greek Hyphasis, Hypasis or Huphasis; than Shetooder, which was the ancient name of the Setlege.57

53 54 55 56 57

Ibid., 80–81 (emphasis original). Ibid., 92. Ibid., 93. Ibid. Ibid., 94–95.

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Despite Rennell’s etymological conclusions and modern analogies, he has to struggle to fit the ancient geography of the Alexander historians (who more often than not provide disparate information on the Macedonian’s route) onto the modern one, and it becomes clear that the ancient sources may not be lend themselves as archives of geographical knowledge all too swiftly. It also becomes clear that only personal autopsy will enable an identification of the site of Alexander’s altars, and many of the places found on the remainder of his route down the Hydaspes, into the land of the Malli (Malavas according to Rennell), where Alexander was critically wounded, and eventually to Pattala from where Alexander made his way back to Susa and Babylon. Rennell may not have pinned down all of the locations of Alexander’s famous exploits, but he had advanced the ambitious project of sketching out his tracks. What he showed, if only implicitly, was that one did not only have to rely on ancient sources in order to trace them, but they could also be mapped, surveyed, and explored through personal experience and observation. Rennell had travelled widely in British India and knew the country (and coastline) well, but he had not had the chance of visiting those tracts of land traversed by the Macedonians in the north-west. This was a task left to future explorers and it is clear that Rennell, throughout the various editions of his Map of Hindoostan from 1783 to 1793, was determined to add the newest accounts and reports to his text. What he had achieved was to have literally mapped out a historical geography of ambitious proportions that would serve as the base of any traveler, adventurer, or government official keen on following in Alexander’s footsteps. Rennell’s map and his Memoir would remain the central cornerstone of Indian geography and would lastingly influence the survey work that was gaining new momentum towards the end of the eighteenth century.58 Using the sources related to Alexander for survey work would remain a central touchstone in the future reception of the Macedonian and would gain ever greater significance during the early decades of the nineteenth century.59 Because what Rennell’s map also showed was that British India encompassed a comparatively small fraction of the subcontinent at the end of the

58

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In this context, it was especially the survey work of William Lambton, a brigade major initially stationed in Madras, that spearheaded the new mode of mapping with the help of triangulation (based on the mathematical measuring of triangles in a landscape from elevated positions). Cf. Tickell, “Negotiating the Landscape,” 18–19. On the historical background Bernhard S. Cohn, Colonialism and its Forms of Knowledge, 80–88. It is no coincidence that when Lieutenant Francis Wilford commissioned the local Mirza Mughal Beg to survey the Punjab, he gave as a reason (besides gaining a better knowledge of the country as a whole) the aim of “[illustrating] an account of Alexander the Great’s progress.” This information was later added by James Prinsep to his editorial note for M. A. Court, “Extracts Translated from a Memoir on a Map of Pesháwar and the Country Comprised between the Indus and the Hydaspes, the Peucelaotis and Taxila of Ancient Geography,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 5 (1836), 468. On Wilford cf. Nigel Leask, “Wilford and the Colonial Construction of Hindu Geography,” in Romantic Geographies: Discourses of Travel 1775–1844, ed. Amanda Gilroy (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000), 204–22.

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eighteenth century – there was a lot of territory to be gained, if Britain wanted to safeguard its territories in the south from foreign aggression from the north. And because the vast tracts of land in the north, depicted on cartographer’s maps, had served as the scene of Alexander’s exploits, his presence would be ensured in the political debates, scholarly treaties, and travel reports that would gain ever greater prominence when a young, ambitious general from France entered the scene of world politics. But before we turn to Napoleon Bonaparte, let us look at British accounts of Alexander influenced by Rennell and how they discursively set the stage for the Macedonian’s reception on the part of the explorers and diplomats that would change the geopolitical landscape in Central Asia at the turn of the nineteenth century. 2.2 The Memory of Alexander Between Enlightenment Philosophy and Geopolitics in Napoleonic Times If one wants to assess Rennell’s influence on the writers of his generation, one does not have to look further than William Robertson (1721–1793), the Scottish Enlightenment historian. “The perusal of Major Rennell’s Memoir for illustrating his Map of Indostan, one of the most valuable geographical treatises that has appeared in any age or country, gave rise to the following work,” Robertson writes at the beginning of his Historical Disquisition Concerning the Knowledge which the Ancients Had of India. As Robertson explained, Rennell’s work “suggested to me the idea of examining more fully” the ancient sources on ancient India “and of considering what is certain, what is obscure, and what is fabulous, in the accounts of that country which they have handed down to us.”60 What might appear idiosyncratic, primarily following Robertson’s own interest, is – just like Rennell’s map – of practical usage, as Robertson explains: “I imagined that the result of my researches might prove amusing and instructive to others, by exhibiting such a view of the various modes in which intercourse with India had been carried on from the earliest times, as might show how much that great branch of commerce has contributed, in every age, to increase the wealth and power of the nations which possessed it.”61 Robertson’s statement can be seen as exemplary of the Enlightenment debates surrounding the historical figure of Alexander the Great, as Briant has shown in great detail.62 Since Alexander had been (or was thought to have been) ‘the first European’ to enter India, the ancient Macedonian’s history had been implicated in India’s history, and it was well before Droysen and other scholars wrote their great biographies of Alexander that the ancient conqueror had become a central protagonist of historiograph60 61 62

Robertson, Historical Disquisition, iii. Ibid, iv. Cf. Briant, Alexandre des Lumières, especially 176–90 and 409–28.

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ical debates.63 These concerned the general beneficial (or destructive) effects of Alexander’s conquest that encompassed economic, sociopolitical, as well as philosophical and moral dimensions. Be it the problem of regulating trade with the subcontinent, the issue of whether to merge European and Asian culture, or the way of administering a foreign people in a far off country.64 Looking at the Enlightenment’s reception of Alexander can thereby be thought of as a magnifying glass, whose focus can “clarify ongoing debates about the political uses of history in the relationships that Europe established and/or imposed with foreign lands transformed into lands of conquest opened wide to European commerce.”65 It is a short way from Briant’s sentence to the quote taken from Robertson’s Disquisition above, and it may seem clear why debates relating to the economic aspects of Alexander’s expedition were especially pertinent in British contexts, where the Indian possessions harvested some very real material consequences and where the question of direct rule of the subcontinent seemed pressing enough. In this context, Robertson’s treatise can be seen as a prime example of a text that “included certain aspects of the Macedonian conquest in his reflections on the history of imperial conquests, and especially on the British Empire, at that time under construction and under debate.”66 Robertson’s text is also a good example of how the emphasis on the constructive aspects of Alexander’s march (and his very short reign in parts of India) gained increasing prominence at the dawn of the nineteenth century, and how moralizing arguments that had underlined his despotic and destructive character lost ground (although they did not disappear altogether).67 Against this background, Robertson’s Disquisition has to be seen as a significant influence on the cultural reception of Alexander at a moment when the British Empire was set to expand eastwards. An historian and ecclesiastical leader, William Robertson was one of the foremost exponents of the Scottish Enlightenment. Although Robertson’s fame has somehow dwindled over the last century, his historical studies were bestsellers of the time and influenced many contemporaries like Edward Gibbon (1737–1794) or Edmund Burke (1729–1797).68 As Brown sums up Robertson’s achievements, he had a pivotal role “in shaping the European consciousness in the age of Enlightenment and empire,” with his books being “widely read and enjoyed for the clarity and grace of their style, for the

63 64 65 66 67 68

Cf. Briant, The First European, 2–3. Cf. Ibid., 3. Ibid. Pierre Briant, “Alexander the Great and the Enlightenment: William Robertson (1721–1793), the Empire and the Road to India,” in Cromohs 10 (2005): 1–9, 2. Cf. Briant, “La tradition gréco-romaine sur Alexandre le Grand dans l’Europe moderne et contemporaine,” 175, as well as Brauer, “Alexander in England,” 47. Cf. Stewart J. Brown, “Introduction,” in William Robertson and the Expansion of Empire, ed. Stewart J. Brown (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 1–7.

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imaginative power of their descriptive passages, and for the breadth of their vision.”69 Influenced, and directly involved in many political debates of his times, “the interest Robertson took in the problems of the consolidation of the Anglo-Scottish Union and the commercial and military concerns of the British Empire made an imprint on the specific ways in which he enriched historical narrative with the perspective of the ‘science of man’ and stadial theory.”70 Robertson, without question was “one of Europe’s leading historians,”71 a status that was earned with his first major works, the History of Scotland during the Reigns of Queen Mary and James VI (1759) and especially The History of the Reign of the Emperor Charles V (1769). Written with a flair for the drama of court policies as well as keen historical observations on the rise of European nation states, the perspective of these works was even broadened in the 1777 publication History of America,72 which discussed the rise of European world domination in the age of discoveries. The turn that Robertson undertook in his last work, the Historical Disquisition (1791), written shortly before his death, might seem surprising,73 but in the eyes of its author, it was only a logical step. Robertson was, on the one hand, inspired by Rennell’s historical geography, but, on the other, he was equally fascinated by the age old Indian culture that made a deep impression with the Scotsman, who sensed the great interest that everything relating to the subcontinent aroused in Great Britain during this period.74 However, other than the great majority of authors discussed in this study, Robertson never visited India himself.75 He had to rely on second hand accounts, the journals of travel writers, historical and geographical studies, as well as the letters and personal conversations with his sons, James and David, who were both military officers in India.76 This family connection was not unusual at this time, since many Scots were involved in British India, serving as soldiers, and later trying their luck as traders and investors.77 For Robertson

69 70 71 72

73 74 75 76 77

Ibid., 1. László Kontler, “Mankind and its Histories: William Robertson, Georg Forster, and a Late Eighteenth-Century German Debate,” Intellectual History Review 23, no. 3 (2013), 412. Stewart J. Brown, “William Robertson, Early Orientalism and the Historical Disquisition on India of 1791,” The Scottish Historical Review 88 (2009), 294. For the three volumes cf. William Robertson, The Works of William Robertson, Fellow of the Royal Society and Principal of the University of Edinburgh, Historiographers to His Majesty for Scotland, and Member of the Royal Academy of History at Madrid, to Which Is Prefixed, An Account of His Life and Writings, by Duglad Stewart, in Twelve Volumes (London: Printed for Cadell and Davies, 1817). Cf. Brown, “William Robertson,” 290. Cf. ibid., 293–96. That is why Robertson also asked several people, who had been to the subcontinent, to read his manuscript. Cf. ibid., 300. Cf. ibid., 299. Also Jeffrey Smitten, “Robertson’s letters and the life of writing,” in William Robertson and the Expansion of Empire, ed. Stewart J. Brown (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 50–51. Cf. Brown, “William Robertson,” 298, as well as George Bryant, “Scots in India in the Eighteenth Century,” The Scottish Historical Review 64 (1985), 22–41.

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himself it certainly heightened his own fascination with Indian history and with how that history was mirrored in present day events. The Historical Disquisition is a book that aspires to merge a shorter historical overview, from the earliest beginnings of Indian history, also analyzing the history of commerce and discovery, with a longer contemporary account of customs, social structures, and religious beliefs, including a highly politicized appendix. Robertson believed that the Indian traditions were to be respected and not to be destroyed by European exploitation; he called for coexistence, rather than domination.78 Some critics have called Robertson’s text “curiously unfinished,”79 but it is foremost the merit of Briant that it has been rediscovered as a central example of Enlightenment historiography. As Briant remarks: “Robertson judged that the European expansion should favor the development of communications, of commerce, and thus of the prosperity of nations” and “it is here that the history of Alexander and his own reflections on the contemporary world nourished each other.”80 Already in the History of America, Robertson had outlined the importance of Alexander for developing commercial relationships with the subcontinent, for establishing connections, and for opening routes.81 He thereby reiterated some central positions of the Enlightenment debate surrounding the Macedonian, especially drawing on the writings of Montesquieu.82 These commercial and socioeconomic aspects were only part of a much larger historical picture, however. Like Rennell before him, Robertson discussed early Greek sources for want “of authentic history” and other sources that could possibly be used in outlining an early Indian history.83 This has the effect that India could only be approached from a Eurocentric viewpoint and that all Enlightenment historiography was conspicuously concerned with entering the subcontinent via the travel authors and Alexander historians. To authors like Robertson, Alexander’s march was one way of reiterating the connecting links and corridors between the Mediterranean and India (and/or Central Asia). What more and more adventure-minded explorers and travelers would do in person, namely tracing the Macedonian’s footsteps, Robertson and other Enlightenment writers did imaginatively, taking Arrian, Curtius, and others as their guides. In his discussion of Alexander’s route, Robertson followed, for the

78 79 80 81 82 83

On the background of this debate cf. Briant, The First European, 215–19. Nicholas Philipson, “Providence and progress: an introduction to the historical thought of William Robertson,” in William Robertson and the Expansion of Empire, ed. Stewart J. Brown (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 71. Briant, “Alexander the Great and the Enlightenment,” 2. William Robertson, The History of America, Vol. I, third edition (London: Printed for W. Strahan, 1780), 21–24. Cf. on the influence of Montesquieu on Robertson’s work Briant, The First European, 71–73 and 159–61. Also Philipson, “Providence and progress,” 58. Robertson, Historical Disquisition, 1.

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most part, Rennell,84 also marking out what he saw as the logical invasion route to India: The most practicable avenue to every country, it is obvious, must be formed by circumstances in its natural situation, such as the defiles which lead through mountains, the course of rivers, and the places where they may be passed with the greatest ease and safety. In no place of the earth is this line of approach marked and defined more conspicuously, than on the northern frontier of India; insomuch that the three great invaders of this country, Alexander, Tamerlane, and Nadir Shah, in three distant ages, and with views and talents extremely different, advanced by the same route, with hardly any deviation. Alexander had the merit of having first discovered the way. After passing the mountains, he encamped at Alexandria Paropamisana, on the same site with the modern city Candahar; and having subdued or conciliated the nations seated on the north-west bank of the Indus, he crossed the river at Taxila, now Attock, the only place where its stream is so tranquil that a bridge can be thrown over it. After passing the Indus, Alexander marched forward in the road which leads directly to the Ganges, and the opulent provinces to the southeast, now comprehended under the general name of Indostan.85

The influence of the historical geography in the vein of Rennell becomes obvious in these passages and foreshadows the reason why Alexander’s march would be such a common frame of reference whenever the geostrategic routes and options for a defense of the British possessions in India would be discussed amongst military strategists or the learned public. Implicit in Robertson, as with so many of his contemporaries, was the historical analogy between the different invasions into India and the possibility of their repetition on part of a modern power. But there was another analogy that was likewise on Robertson’s mind. Discussing Alexander’s progress in India, he wrote that “when we attend to the various movements of his troops, the number of cities which they took, and the different states which they subdued, he may be said to not only have viewed, but to have explored, the countries through which he passed.”86 The Enlightenment trope of Alexander as a great explorer comes to the fore in this passage, but this is not simply used to characterize the Macedonian. Rather, Robertson combines it with the general observation that great parts of that tract of the Indus on which Alexander sailed to the ocean, have “been so little frequented by Europeans in later times, that neither the position of places, nor their distances, can be ascertained with the same accuracy as in the interior provinces, or even in the Panjab.”87 Robertson thus reiterates Rennell’s call for further explorative missions in all of India, taking Alexander as a role model of imperial rule. 84 85 86 87

Cf. ibid., 15–18. Ibid., 15. Ibid., 19. Ibid., 19–20.

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This argument might seem a little overstretched, when one considers the relative brevity of Robertson’s comments on Alexander, but it becomes clearer when one takes into account two other aspects of the discussion that, when taken together, inform Robertson’s grand imperial design based on Alexander’s example – a design that is explicitly linked to British imperial ambitions in India: The first aspect is that of Robertson’s discourse of India or, rather, Indians; the second one is the character of Alexander’s rule as defined by the Scottish historian. Regarding the first aspect, Robertson writes, it is wonderful how exactly the descriptions given by Alexander’s officers delineate what we now behold in India, at the distance of two thousand years. The stated change of seasons, now known by the name of Monsoons; the periodical rains; the swelling of the rivers; the inundations which these occasion; the appearance of the country during their continuance; are particularly mentioned and described. No less accurate are the descriptions which they have given of the inhabitants, their delicate and slender form, their dark complexion, their black uncurled hair, their garments of cotton, their living entirely upon vegetable food, their division into separate tribes or casts, the members of which never intermarry, the custom of wives burning themselves with their deceased husbands, and many other particulars, in all which they perfectly resemble the modern Hindoos.88

With his discussion of India and the Indians and the comparison of their former state and the contemporary one, Robertson took up a popular and highly politicized subject of his time.89 The years when he wrote his Disquisition also saw the impeachment trial against Warren Hastings (1732–1818), the former head of the East Indian Company for misconduct as well as abuse of power.90 Moreover, the Orientalist movement was quickly gaining momentum, with many important publications and institutions devoted to the study of India’s past.91 All this made clear that India was not, unlike the American colonies Robertson had written about in History of America, a nation without history,92 but could 88 89 90

91

92

Ibid., 22. Cf. on the discourses on India influencing Robertson’s work Geoffrey Carnall, “Robertson and contemporary images of India,” in William Robertson and the Expansion of Empire, ed. Stewart J. Brown (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 210–30. Warren Hastings was, since 1772, governor of Bengal. In the “Judicial Plan” of the same year, Hastings and the East India Company had decided that Bengal should be administered not with British but with Indian law, including the cultural foundations upon which it rested. This meant that the governors had to be familiar with Indian culture and history. Accordingly, Hastings lastingly promoted orientalist scholarship and the study of Indian literature. Cf. Brown, “William Robertson,” 296. Cf. in general on these aspects Dyson, A Various Universe, 2–7, who also elaborates on the problems of misunderstanding (14–20) as well as the debates between conservatives or Orientalists and innovators. Whereas the former wanted to respect the Indian traditions and institutions, the latter wanted to impose British administrative structures and Western educational forms (24–28). Indeed, Robertson was accused of a biased Eurocentric viewpoint in his portrayal of the Amerindian culture, which he depicted as degenerate and lacking in refinement. Cf. Brown, “William Robertson,” 299–300.

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rather look back on a highly civilized and complex past that intertwined with the European one in many ways.93 With his appraisal of Indian customs and philosophy, Robertson knew that he was treading troublesome waters and was leaving the safe harbor of historical argumentation, so he added an appendix to his Disquisition hoping that it “may contribute to throw some additional light upon the origin and nature of the commerce with India.”94 His invocation of the memory of Alexander the Great was meant to support his discourse with a historical authority, but, although it sprung from Robertson’s genuine admiration of India and its people, it did not evade the orientalist pitfall, so eruditely analyzed by Said, of portraying them as static entities, almost frozen in time.95 The implicit claim was that the Britons journeying to India were entering into contact with a people that were seemingly unchanged since the time of Alexander. The Europeans were witnessing history and its remnants firsthand. In the travel literature following the writings of Rennell, Robertson, and other Enlightenment authors, this was a central tenet that was constantly updated or varied, usually taken up to make sense of the experiences in a foreign country that was literally half a world away. And this is why Briant is right in claiming that “the memory and precedent of Alexander did not simply serve as fodder for discussions of the conquests and geographic knowledge of India and the routes leading there,” but that “they were also included in heated debates in England and Scotland regarding the relations to be established with defeated peoples subject to the British domination exercised by the East India Company and its managers and agents.”96 To Robertson, there was one historical model at hand that pointed into the right direction of how Britain should rule its empire and that model was Alexander the Great. Robertson designates Alexander’s politics as “liberal,”97 not only because he followed a grand vision “by opening the navigation”98 and trade relations, but also because he “labored to unite his European and Asiatic subjects by the most indissoluble ties.”99 Robertson goes on to discuss Alexander’s city foundations as a sensible strategy of bringing about an interaction between his Macedonian and Greek soldiers and the

93 94 95

96 97 98 99

Robertson’s treatment of India’s past can be seen as an example of his stadial approach to historical thinking, cf. Daniele Francesconi, “William Robertson on Historical Causation and Unintended Consequences,” Cromohs 4 (1999), 1. Robertson, Historical Disquisition, 23. For the “Appendix” cf. ibid., 251–342. On Said’s thesis and Alexander historiography also Briant, “La tradition gréco-romaine sur Alexandre le Grand dans l’Europe moderne et contemporaine,” 161–62. Dodson discusses Said’s thesis in the context of British India: Michael Dodson, Orientalism, Empire, and National Culture: India, 1770–1880 (London: Cambridge University Press, 2007). Briant, The First European, 212–13. Robertson, Historical Disquisition, 24. Ibid., 28. Ibid., 26.

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indigenous groups, and of curbing possible local antagonism.100 It is only a short way from Robertson’s views to Droysen’s concept of Hellenism and although Robertson does not actually use this word, he accords to Alexander “the idea of establishing an universal monarchy”101 that would encompass the known world of his time. Robertson thereby reiterates a common notion developed amongst Enlightenment thinkers that portrayed Alexander as a “civilizing conqueror,” a “philosopher’s king,”102 or as a propagator of a “unity of mankind.”103 However, it would be wrong to suggest that Robertson unequivocally embraced Alexander’s imperial vision. Rather, he was cautious to note “the wild follies of passion, the indecent excesses of intemperance, and the ostentatious display of vanity too frequent in the conduct of this extraordinary man.”104 And although Robertson was eager to keep Alexander’s personal misconduct and his plans of policy apart, he also showed with the example of “the Alexandrine empire (…) that even enlightened visions of universal empire”105 could fail due to the great ambition and arrogance that the Greeks showed towards other cultures after Alexander’s death. In Robertson’s view, Britain should be aware of the pitfalls of imposing enlightened policies upon their colonial dominions, “[restricting] its activities in India as far as possible to preserving peace and promoting trade.”106 Robertson thus used the memory of Alexander in two ways: on the one hand, he aimed to show the parallels between the designs of the British Empire and the Macedonian conquest; on the other hand, he warned against overstretching imperial ambitions, arguing for a more moderate form of colonialism, based on tolerance, that would respect the indigenous culture and its long history, and that took seriously the “the cross fertilisation between the civilisations of the Mediterranean and the Indus throughout recorded history.”107 Robertson’s text can be seen as exemplary of the Enlightenment debates surrounding Alexander and the way his conquest was used as a discursive framework for discussing the relationship between European self and oriental ‘other’, forms of administration, as well as military strategies and geopolitical consequences of imperial rule. Together with Rennell’s writings on historical and colonial geography, Robertson’s Historical Disquisition constitutes the backbone of many debates that would ensue in the early decades of the nineteenth century, but before we come to the travel writings and how they related to these discourses, let us briefly look at two other authors and different types of text that were influenced by Rennell’s Memoir. 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107

Cf. ibid., 26–27. Ibid., 13. Briant, “Alexander the Great and the Enlightenment,” 5 and 9. Brown, “Introduction,” 35, and Brown, “William Robertson,” 302. Robertson, Historical Disquisition, 13. Brown, “William Robertson,” 303. Ibid., 303. Ibid., 304.

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Firstly, we have William Vincent (1739–1815) and his book The Voyage of Nearchus,108 a critical commentary that tried to prove the authenticity of the transmitted writings of Alexander’s admiral, Nearchus, which made up, to a large extent, the Indica by Arrian, a Roman historian of imperial times. Vincent, dean of Westminster, was even less travelled than Robertson, but that did not stop him from writing on comparative geography, exploration since ancient times, as well as the history of commerce. The furthest and most exotic place he himself ever traveled to was Cambridge, where he studied at Trinity College. After his return to Westminster, Vincent quickly made a name for himself for the strict educational principles he followed as headmaster, and for the scholarship he contributed to classical studies and ancient philology. The 1797 publication of The Voyage of Nearchus is generally regarded as his most important work, including a translation into French (with the explicit sanction of Bonaparte).109 Following Enlightenment historiography in the vein of Montesquieu and Robertson as well as drawing on Rennell’s geography, The Voyage of Nearchus can be seen as a historical document attesting to the growing interest in ancient geography, navigation, and exploration towards the end of the eighteenth century. In the words of its author, it made an attempt “not to translate Arrian, but to make him intelligible to an English reader, and to investigate a variety of subjects, historical, geographical, and commercial.”110 Regarding the standards of the navigation of his times, Vincent was apologetic of “[having] disfigured my charts with ancient names,” but he made clear that he had “not omitted the modern ones” and that his work aimed at rivaling, if not surpassing the exactness of his geographical predecessors.111 Like Robertson before him, Vincent had, as his preface made clear, received help from employees of the East India Company, whose knowledge of some of the places he was writing about certainly added to the accuracy of his research;112 moreover, Rennell’s historical geography was an important impulse, although Vincent claimed to have started his research even before the publication of Rennell’s Memoir.113 Vincent’s text is dense in detail and erudition, but also contains various digressions that can prove to be tiresome on the attentive reader. But nonetheless, it is an interesting source regarding the issue of how the memory of Alexander figured in Enlightenment debates of history and the question of how the 108 William Vincent, The Voyage of Nearchus from the Indus to the Euphrates, Collected from the Original Journal Preserved by Arrian, and Illustrated by Authorities Ancient and Modern, Containing an Account of the First Navigation Attempted by Europeans in the Indian Ocean (London: T. Cadell jun. and W. Davies, 1797). 109 On Vincent in general cf. Gerald le Grys Norgate, s. v. “William Vincent,” in Dictionary of National Biography, 1885–1900, Vol. 58, ed. Sidney Lee (London: Smith, Elder and Co., 1899), 363–65. Also Briant, The First European, 81–86, with a discussion of the publication history of Vincent’s The Voyage of Nearchus. 110 Vincent, The Voyage of Nearchus, x. 111 Ibid., xi. 112 Cf. ibid., v-vi. 113 Cf. ibid., iv and 24.

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geographical knowledge of antiquity could be brought together with the standards and exactness of modern science. In his discussion of the historical significance of Alexander, Vincent did not add much to what Rennell, Robertson, and others had already written before him. He tried to present his readers with a balanced view of the Macedonian, who was to be regarded “neither as an hero of chivalry on the one hand, nor as a destroying ravager on the other.”114 In his assumption of Alexander’s design for his empire, Vincent did not differ much from Robertson (or, indeed, Montesquieu before), when he wrote that the motivation behind the voyage of Nearchus “was not merely the vanity of executing what had never yet been attempted, but that it was a system founded on a presumption of the advantages to be derived from it, a desire of knowing the coast as well as the interior of his empire, and a reasonable hope of uniting the whole by mutual communication and reciprocal interest.”115 At the center of Vincent’s work, as well as other writings of the time, was the attempt to distill the rational principle behind Alexander’s march eastwards. However, Vincent changes the focus, opting to put his emphasis on one of Alexander’s generals, who fulfilled the grand vision of his king: “The voyage of Nearchus from the Indus to the Euphrates is the first event of general importance to mankind, in the history of navigation; and if we discover the comprehensive genius of Alexander in the conception of the design, the abilities of Nearchus in the execution of it are equally conspicuous.”116 If this change in focus was an innovative move on Vincent’s part, the general assessment of the historical dimension of the exploration and commercial relations set in motion by Alexander were in line with other authors: Alexander’s march and Nearchus’ subsequent voyage had “opened a communication between Europe and the most distant countries of Asia.”117 This memory of Alexander was not only significant, because of its groundbreaking design, but rather for its historical foresight: it was to be “the source and origin of the Portuguese discoveries, the foundation of the greatest commercial system ever introduced into the world; and consequently the primary cause, however remote, of the British establishment in India.”118 What is often only implicitly established as a link between antiquity and modernity, finds its clear and unambiguous expression in Vincent, who further elaborates on this connection between Alexander the Great and the British Empire in the east, when he explains why he did not opt for a mere translation of Arrian’s text and chose a historical commentary instead: listing the already existing translations of Arrian, Vincent claims that another translation “would have given but a barren detail of names, with little satisfaction to the curious spirit of modern investiga-

114 115 116 117 118

Ibid., 4. Ibid., 17–18. Ibid., 1. Ibid., 2. Ibid.

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tion (…). But it is the design of the following work, to consider the views of Alexander in the direction of this undertaking, to elucidate the course of Nearchus, and to identify the points in which ancient and modern geography coincide.”119 The conflation of past and present was, as the preceding paragraphs have shown, already a well-established topos in Enlightenment literature, but it would become an even stronger reference point when explorers and travelers took it upon themselves to investigate and follow the routes of their ancient forebears themselves. Even more than for their interest in ancient geographical knowledge, treatises like that of Vincent are interesting for how they discursively paved the way for those that came after them. Not least, because they legitimized the colonial undertaking and its quest of knowledge as a greater service – just as Alexander’s conquest had been – to humanity in general. Writing about the value of the sources, especially of the Alexander historians and translations of works like the Ain-i-Akbari and other texts, Vincent boasts that “whatever revolutions may hereafter attend our own commerce and empire in the East, these sources of knowledge opened to the world are in acquisition not subject to vicissitude, but will perpetuate the honour of all who have been concerned in the patronage or execution of them, as long as the English language shall be read.”120 It was upon the British to safeguard the cultural memory of the past; and if there was one ancient witness bearing testimony to this pledge, it was Alexander the Great. There was another strand of discourse on which the geo-historical writings of Rennell and Robertson was to have an impact: When, in the aftermath of the French Revolution, an ambitious, young Corsican general took it upon himself to carry the revolution beyond France and quickly made a name for himself as the greatest military strategist of his time, surpassed only by the great leaders of antiquity like Caesar or Alexander, the reception of the Macedonian became entangled with the geopolitical events of the day. His name was Napoleon Bonaparte (1769–1821) and for the next two decades, his military campaigns would forever change the political map, not only in Europe, but in the Near East as well. In 1798, Napoleon conquered Egypt and made forays into Syria. Since the British were one of the proclaimed enemies of the French republican army, there were also public discussions about a possible invasion of British India and Napoleon did not seem to be averse to this plan.121 The East Indian Company had successfully prevented the French from taking firm root in India during the eighteenth century, but there were personal networks and ties between Frenchmen and Indian princes as well as with the Persian court.122 In consequence, the British enforced their expansionist politics in southern India and struck up ties with Ranjit Singh (1780–1839), the ruler of the Punjab. But when 119 120 121 122

Ibid. Ibid., 68. Cf. Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 62. Cf. Dyson, A Various Universe, 11–12.

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intelligence of a possible French-Russian treaty reached London in 1807, the alarm clocks went off and a hectic swirl of diplomatic and explorative missions ensued that were mainly about bolstering the advent of an enemy on the Indian borders as well as about verifying whether a northern land invasion would be really possible. The aim of the alleged plan drawn up between Bonaparte and the Russian Tsar Alexander I (1777–1825) was to invade India in a combined attack from the north, with the Frenchman set on marching his troops all through Persia and Afghanistan.123 Needless to say, this plan, along with Bonaparte’s military success, only strengthened the comparison often drawn between the Corsican and Alexander the Great – so much so that Alexander could be said to have been “the Napoleon of the Ancient World.”124 And while, as Vasunia puts it, “the relationship between Napoleon and the historiography of Alexander is yet to be properly understood, (…) the former’s impact on the study of Philip and Alexander can scarcely be denied.”125 Bonaparte himself does not seem to have shared in these flattering comparisons and did not use Alexander for his self-representation,126 but to the European public the sheer magnitude of his success immediately suggested the historical analogy and for the British, who were keen on safeguarding their Indian possessions, it seemed all too real, reinforcing the cultural memory of the Macedonian along their frontier in myriad ways. This was not merely a matter discussed by military strategists, politicians, or East India Company officials, but also a public discourse, in which scholars, commentators, and self-proclaimed experts had their say as well. One such figure was David Hopkins, who was an agent of the Honourable Company and stationed at Bhagulpore (Bhagalpur). Amidst the anxiety caused by the news of Bonaparte’s and Alexander I’s treaty, Hopkins wrote a book entitled The Dangers of British India, From French Invasion and Missionary Establishments, released in 1808. Commenting on the alleged plans of Bonaparte, “the modern Alexander,”127 Hopkins writes: Thus far we may consider the plan of Buonaparte as resembling that of Alexander, who subdued and secured Egypt before he proceeded into the heart of the Persian empire. But the Macedonian king had some difficulties to encounter which the Corsican usurper will

123 Cf. Hopkirk, The Great Game, 3 and 24, as well as Briant, The First European, 204–6. 124 Denis Jullien du Ruet, Tableau chronologique et moral de l’histoire universelle du commerce des Anciens, ou apercus politiques de l’histoire ancienne rapportée au commerce, pour en démontrer l’origine, l’utilité et l’influence, dès les premiers ages du monde jusqu’à la naissance de la monarchie française (Paris: Garnery, Le Normant et Nicolle, 1809), xxiii. 125 Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 39. 126 Cf. on this Briant, The First European, 222–23, and 250–54. 127 David Hopkins, The Dangers of British India, from French Invasion and Missionary Establishments, to which Are Added Some Account of the Countries Between the Caspian Sea and the Ganges; a Narrative of the Revolutions which They Have Experienced Subsequent to the Expedition of Alexander the Great; and a Few Hints Respecting the Defence of the British Frontier in Hindustan, Second Edition (London: Black, Parry and Kingsbury, 1809), 61.

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not meet with. He had to contend with those formidable Scythians whose descendants will support the present invader. But the present invader will, on the other hand, have a longer route to traverse before he reaches his enemy, and will find in that enemy something more formidable than the effeminate armies of Darius, or the irregular valor of Porus. He will meet troops as well acquainted with victory as his own, as well disciplined, better inured to the climate, strongly animated with the love of glory and of their country, and fresh in every thing but discipline and loyalty.128

The comparison between Bonaparte and Alexander is based upon the analogy of their strategy of winning Egypt before moving eastward, as well as their geographical route in general. Since the modern aggressor had gained Russian support, he would not have to fight the “formidable Scythians,” but he would meet with an even stronger opponent, namely the British themselves, who are depicted as matching all of the qualities of the French army, and whose prowess is, in a historical comparison, situated far above the Persians and Indians that Alexander had to face. The historical analogy is thereby meant to flatter the British more than Bonaparte himself, while the British Empire is depicted as the sole power left to oppose the Corsican.129 In this context, Hopkins repeatedly invokes Alexander as a comparative foil: not only do the Napoleonic schemes mirror those of the Macedonian, including the strategy of taking advantage of inner conflicts of his enemies (especially the disputes between Afghan and Indian petty chiefs); but in order to counter this strategy, the British should rely on some of the measures that Alexander had taken to win the loyalty of his conquered territories, including a moderate policy that would refrain from an offensive Christianization of the natives if that were to lead them to support the Frenchman rather than the British.130 While these thoughts resemble Robertson’s view, Hopkins also exceedingly draws on the work of Rennell in tracing Alexander’s route to India.131 He does so in minute detail and, like Rennell and Robertson before him, Hopkins justifies this long historical digression with the fact that “all (…) invaders entered India by the same route” and because “it is likely that the route of the French and the Russians will be in this direction, for this has been the track of all prior invaders, and is the one least obstructed by a deficiency in the supply of water, forage, and provisions.”132 Historical geography is again put to the use of modern geostrategic measures, while 128 129 130 131 132

Ibid., 62. Cf. ibid., 3 and 63. This does not mean that Hopkins was adverse to Christian missionary activities – quite the contrary; he was a clear advocate, but only under the condition that it would serve the British resilience in the face of foreign aggression. Cf. ibid., 13–15 and 57–60. Cf. especially ibid., 69–96. Hopkins also took “the liberty of differing from the high authority of Major Rennell as to Alexander’s route from the Cophenes to the Indus,” although he agreed in placing the crossing of the Indus near Attock (88). Ibid., 72.

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the memory of Alexander is invocated with great emphasis. Hopkins underlined that his “expedition (…) being the first in time, and the only one recorded with minuteness, deserves our very serious consideration: and not only for these reasons, but, also, because his campaigns in the vicinity of India, and his communication with its chiefs, afforded him every intelligence as to the route which he should pursue.”133 As Vasunia puts it in his discussion of these passages, it was Hopkins’ goal that “Britons should learn from the history of Alexander and should secure the allegiance or, at the least, the neutrality of regional powers, so that British India should not suffer the same fate as the disunited land of antiquity.”134 Here, the reception of Alexander the Great in the British Empire underwent another pragmatic turn. Whereas Rennell used the Alexander historians for sketching out the modern geography of India’s northern provinces, and Robertson relied on them for proposing the principles on which the British imperial design should be modeled, Hopkins instrumentalized the memory of the Macedonian in order to propose geostrategic measures in the face of the French threat. As Briant summarizes these different approaches, “individual authors plundered the ancient sources in very selective ways determined by the political context that justified the examination of past and present.”135 All these elements would re-surface again and again over the next century and would also make up the basis upon which the British travel authors created their distinct reception of Alexander the Great. 2.3 Diplomatic Missions and the First Explorations Beyond the ‘Frontier’ “The love of travel, visiting the remains of former grandeur, and of tracing the history of ancient nations, which is so common in Europe,” writes John Malcolm (1769–1833) in his Sketches of Persia, “causes wonder in the Asiatics, amongst whom there is little or no spirit of curiosity or speculation.”136 For Malcolm, as for so many of his British contemporaries, who were employed by the East India Company, travel was indeed more than an occupational hazard that came with their job of conducting surveys or going on diplomatic, often dangerous missions beyond the British dominions on the Indian subcontinent. Travel was a way of existence that came naturally; it was also a means of self-representation, as Malcolm’s lines above show, a way of distinguishing Europeans and Asians. For Malcolm, travelling meant dealing and getting in contact 133 134 135 136

Ibid., 84–85. Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 63. Briant, The First European, 209. John Malcolm, Sketches of Persia, From the Journals of a Traveller in the East, Vol. 1 (London: John Murray, 1827), 237. In fact, the book was first published anonymously, but due to detailed references to acquaintances and places Malcolm visited during his diplomatic mission to Persia, the book is generally attributed to him.

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with the past, even if that went along with traversing long distances and exposing oneself to numerous hazards. It did not matter whether that past could be said to belong to European history, or to be of any great relevance to it; what counted was the act of getting into immediate contact with the traces and remnants of former civilizations, bearing testimony to the lives that people had led in a former time and place. This was certainly one of the fundamental tenets connected to the ‘Grand Tour’ that saw gentlemen and ladies from all across Europe visiting the famous sites of Roman and Grecian antiquity. However, whereas the ‘Grand Tour’ on the European continent had turned into a touristic attraction by the end of the eighteenth century, Malcolm’s itineraries could not have been further from the beaten track. What distinguished him and the other British travelers, who went beyond the borders of British India at the beginning of the nineteenth century, was that they took the antiquarian spirit of the ‘Grand Tour’ and transferred it to wherever their respective missions took them, be it the Persian Empire, the Punjab, or even Afghanistan. Men like Malcolm were not only visitors to great sites of antiquity, but they were explorers, often counting themselves amongst only a handful of Europeans, who had seen these places since ancient times. As the British Empire further expanded on the subcontinent and tried to establish new trade connections and to secure its borders, new possibilities for travel opened that were, more often than not, sparked by the spirit of discovery and the incessant desire to move beyond where others had been before. The elements of danger and insecurity, so prominently stressed in the writings of the time, still mark the travelers out as adventurers and helped in underlining the daring and groundbreaking dimension of the explorative journeys, which almost mirrored that of Alexander’s heroic deeds. In a way, an element of rivalry was ingrained in these adventurous undertakings, but there was also a deeper quest for furthering geographical and historical knowledge. Since the British travelers were moving in realms that bore almost no resemblance to what they knew from their European home country, or to what their readers could relate, Alexander the Great became a constant point of reference. Alexander had been amongst the first in recorded history to have traversed the countries visited by the British diplomats and explorers. That is why the Macedonian served as the connecting link that discursively bound the Asian sites back to Europe, because he had, or so it was assumed, been there and had established a connection on which later generations could build their respective relations to the indigenous localities and people. And because the local inhabitants did not seem to value these historical markers and sites, it was upon the European travelers to reclaim them, so that they may reenter the cultural memory. In their emphasis on the material remnants of antiquity and the constant inflection of the cultural memory connected to these sites, travel writings like those of Malcolm partook in a discourse on the civilizing benefits of a Western education as well as the imperial project implicit in it. Malcolm further reflects on these interconnections between past and present, and the difference with which locals and European travelers approached the historical

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traces, when he tells about a trip he undertook with other members of his diplomatic mission “to see Persepolis and other remains of ancient splendour.”137 Pointing out that “these motives were unintelligible to the Persians,” Malcolm recounts a dialogue he remembers with one of their local guides, Aga Meer, who asked the Englishman: “What can be the use (…) of travelling so far and running so many risks to look at ruined houses and places, when [you] might stay so comfortably at home?” I replied, with some contempt for my friend’s love of quiet, “If the state of man’s circumstances, or that of his country, does not find him work, he must find it for himself, or go to sleep and be good for nothing. Antiquaries,” I continued, “to whose praiseworthy researches you allude, by directing, through their labours and talents, our attention to the great names and magnificent moments of former days, aid in improving the sentiments and taste of a nation. Besides, though no antiquarian myself, I must ever admire a study which carries man beyond self. I love those elevating thoughts that lead me to dwell with delight on the past, and to look forward with happy anticipation to the future.” (…)138

Malcolm’s sentiment of moving “beyond self ” when journeying in the traces of great ancient heroes and civilizations is echoed in countless travel writings of his time. If there is a common discursive thread of the writings of travel and exploration analyzed in this book, it finds its manifestation in the personal elevation expressed in the face of the magnificence and grandeur of the ancient past. The mere antiquity alone did not define the existential status of those remnants, of course, but rather the connection they could be said to have with Alexander the Great, the patron saint, if you will, of the travelers beyond the borders of British India. To get in personal contact with this fabled past was a way of rendering one’s own experiences and writing with greater meaning and authority. More than a curious hobby or a mere way of spending idle time, these travels in search of the traces of the past bore true significance, as Malcolm emphasized, because they were seen as standing in contact with the cultural fabrics upon which the self-representational image of nation and empire rested. The look to the past entailed a look into the present and the future as well – it was an exercise in bridging the divide between the different time frames and in establishing a continuity between them. As Lee points out with regard to the ‘antiquarian studies’ of Malcolm and his peers, their biased emphasis on the history of Alexander allowed them “to leap over more than two millennia and religious revolutions to sustain the myth that since Alexander drew his border on the Oxus, Britain, too, should regard the same river as the ‘natural’ boundary of ‘Our Indian Possessions.’ ”139 The travelers, then, can be said to be exponents of what Eric Hobsbawm and

137 138 139

Ibid., 237–38. Ibid. Lee, The ‘Ancient Supremacy’, 75.

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Terence Ranger once referred to as the “invention of tradition.”140 Not because they made up the connections between Alexander and the different sites they visited out of thin air, but rather because they claimed to continue the imperial enterprise begun by the Macedonian and because they constantly reiterated the trope of travelling in his footsteps. In fact, this is the second common discursive thread taken up by almost all of the writings discussed in this book – no matter how much the respective missions of the traveler-explorers from the beginning of the nineteenth to the middle of the twentieth century may have differed in circumstance and context, the recurrence to Alexander remained the same. In many ways, John Malcolm lends himself as a good starting point of the discussion. Not only because he repeatedly, although he was not a classicist or ancient historian himself, drew on ancient sources in the description of India and Persia – the two countries where he spent most of his time in service for the East India Company –,141 but also because he stands as one of the earliest travelers through many of the regions that would come center stage in the travelogues and political map exercises of the following decades. Born into a large, but poor family of a Scottish tenant farmer, John Malcolm had other plans than to spend his life in the sleepy Border county of Eskdale, where he grew up.142 At the age of thirteen, he had already outgrown his school years, and joined the East India Company as an ensign, where he served, first as a soldier, and later as an aspiring diplomat. Retaining a youthful enthusiasm and combining it with an ambitious strive to prove himself, Malcolm learned Persian and quickly made a name for himself as joint secretary of the peace commission that re-organized Mysore after the Fourth Anglo-Mysore War (1798–1799) in 1799. These were also the years, when a French attack on the British possessions in India seemed probable. And in order to prevent a French land invasion from the north-west, it was decided that a diplomatic mission should be sent to Persia in order to negotiate the terms of an Anglo-Persian agreement.143 The Governor-General Lord Wellesley (1760–1842), whose initial mission was to minimize French influence in the region, eventually chose Malcolm as the head of the diplomatic mission. In 1800 and 1801, Malcolm’s route led him to Teheran and Kashan, and finally back to Bombay. Malcolm had personally negotiated with the Shah and had 140 Hobsbawm and Ranger, ed., The Invention of Tradition. 141 Cf. John Malcolm, History of Persia, from the Most Early Period to the Present Time (London: John Murray, 1815) and John Malcolm, A Memoir of Central India, Including Malwa, and Adjoining Provinces, with the History, and Copious Illustrations, of the Past and Present Condition of that Country, in Two Volumes (London: Printed for Kingsbury, Parbury and Allen, 1824). Cf. also Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 68. 142 Cf. for a detailed account of Malcolm’s biography Rodney Pasley, ‘Send Malcolm!’ The Life of Major-General Sir John Malcolm, 1769–1833 (London: Bacsa, 1982). On the educational background of the Scots serving in India cf. also Martha McLaren, British India and British Scotland, 1780–1830: Career Building, Empire Building, and a Scottish School of Thought on Indian Government (Akron: The University of Akron Press, 2001). 143 Cf. Pasley, ‘Send Malcolm!’, 26–27.

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reached a twofold agreement that no Frenchman would have the opportunity to gain influence at the Persian court and that Persia would declare war on Afghanistan, if it attacked British India. Having the mission successfully completed,144 Malcolm began to work on his first texts on ancient and present Persian history – a task that would occupy him throughout the next decade. When a French attack was imminent in 1807–1808, Malcolm was again chosen by the East India Company to conduct a diplomatic mission to Persia in 1809. In the meantime, the British government had sent its own official ambassador, Hartford Jones, who negotiated a separate agreement with Persia and Malcolm’s mission remained without result. Nevertheless, in terms of the gathering of information and knowledge on northern India, Persia, and neighboring countries, the mission was a success, as Pasley sums up: Malcolm “took with him a large ‘family’ of assistants, for use if needed in the training of Persian troops and for the reconnaissance and exploration then expected from diplomatic journeys. The lands beyond the Punjab were still largely unknown: a mass of information (…) was now added by men of Malcolm’s party.”145 It is in these travel writings that the memory of Alexander the Great came repeatedly to the fore as a constant presence, be it in the geographical works of John Macdonald Kinneir (1782–1830), or in the writings of Henry Pottinger (1789–1856), whose mission was to explore the unknown region of Beluchistan to the northwest of India and the east of Persia.146 These men had belonged to missions resembling that of Malcolm’s party and now set out to make names for themselves through the gathering of knowledge and information on parts of the region that had so far been blank spaces, only vaguely sketched in the maps of Rennell or Vincent. If one wants to assess the significance of Malcolm’s diplomatic missions to Persia for the British trans-border exploration of this era, one does not have to look further than the dedication to Malcolm in Kinneir’s Geographical Memoir: “The great Provinces of Mekran and Seistan, which intervene between Persia and India, and a knowledge of which it was of so much importance to acquire, were, before you projected and carried into effect the plan for exploring them, only known to Europeans from the indistinct accounts of ignorant natives, or the obscure pages of the historians of Alexander the Great.”147 It drew on many of the tropes discussed above, especially the explorer’s task

144 Malcolm had succeeded, but the success was only short lived, because the Persians feared the increasing Russian influence in the region and finally turned to France in search of support. After all, a French diplomat had arrived in Teheran, who was supposed to survey a possible route to India and whether Persian support could be gained. Cf. Cyril John Radcliffe, Mountstuart Elphinstone (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1962), 6, and George Pottinger, Sir Henry Pottinger: First Governor of Hong Kong (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997), 11. 145 Pasley, ‘Send Malcolm!’, 62. 146 Cf. Henry Pottinger, Travels in Beloochistan and Sinde, Accompanied by a Geographical and Historical Account of these Countries (London: Longman, 1816). 147 Dedication in John Macdonald Kinneir, A Geographical Memoir of the Persian Empire, Accompanied by a Map (London: John Murray, 1813).

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of verifying (or correcting) the existing sources of the regions between Persia and British India, including those of the Alexander historians, and of updating their validity with the help of modern means of collecting, mapping, surveying, and, of course, writing. Because these travel writings analyzed in this book merged different fields of knowledge and (proto-)scientific inquiry with historical observation and an at times romanticized outlook, often connected to Alexander’s memory, they can be said to be a “hybrid discourse,”148 situated between the objectification of fact and a highly subjective sentimentality.149 “While British political and economic interests were an impetus for knowing more of the region’s complex culture and geography,” writes Vasunia, “the area’s connections with history and the kings and conquerors of the past were also an irresistible attraction for the men who travelled through it.”150 Especially the northwestern parts of the subcontinent had a storied past, connected as it was to the history of the great historical empires of Central Asia and, of course, to Alexander’s march. This search for the remnants of the past, the collection of material relics, and the recording of local stories, nearly surpassed the diplomatic missions in the region, but these explorative activities spurred on by ancient sources were nonetheless inextricably tied to British geopolitical interests and their imperial ambitions.151 As Briant underlines, these antiquarian activities had a practical impetus, since “studying Alexander’s marches and itineraries was supposed to allow the British to define a modern strategy in the regions roamed by the Macedonian.”152 Basing their geopolitical strategy too unequivocally on ancient sources also had its disadvantages, however, because it ignored, to a large extent, local traditions, histories, and sociopolitical structures that had, contrary to British beliefs, significantly changed since ancient times. Moreover, the ancient sources had given no objective accounts of these areas and their people anyway, but this did not prevent the diplomat-explorers from trusting in their epistemological merit. This meant that, as Lee points out, “British Central Asian and Afghanistan policy was built on a foundation of sand, being constructed on a heady cocktail of Alexandrian romanticism and unreliable, partial and prejudiced sources.”153 This is not to say that the travelers merely relied on ancient authors – after all, it is not by accident that Kinneir characterized the writings of the Alexander historians as “obscure” in his dedication to Malcolm. When more and more explorers had visited the unmapped regions, their writings slowly but surely took prevalence over the historical material and would remain the central authority on these parts 148 Amanda Gilroy, “Introduction,” in Romantic Geographies: Discourses of Travel, 1775–1844, ed. Amanda Gilroy (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000), 1. 149 Cf. on the interplay between the ‘objective’ and ‘subjective’ in romantic travel writing also Leask, Curiosity and the Aesthetics of Travel Writing, 4–10. 150 Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 52. 151 Cf. ibid., 52–53. 152 Briant, The First European, 204. 153 Lee, The ‘Ancient Supremacy’, 77.

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of the globe well into the second half of the nineteenth century. But the traveler-explorers nonetheless used the classical sources as an important discursive backdrop to their own narratives, not least because they hoped to clarify many open questions with regard to Alexander’s route and to significantly add to the antiquarian studies that gained ever more prominence in the age of nation-building and European imperialism.154 John Macdonald Kinneir (1782–1830) is exemplary of many of the early travelers and how their writings tried to both further the existing knowledge of the countries northwest of India and to influence the public debates of the day. Born John Macdonald in Linlithgow, Scotland, he adopted his mother’s surname and would publish his travelogues under the name Kinneir.155 Driven by a fascination with foreign countries as well as financial necessities, Kinneir joined the East India Company in 1802 and was posted in the Madras infantry. He was also secretary to the commanding officers of his regiment and gathered experience in bureaucracy as well as local politics. This finally led to Kinneir’s appointment as political assistant on Malcolm’s second diplomatic mission to Persia. The dedication to Malcolm that would precede one of Kinneir’s later publications, the Geographical Memoir of the Persian Empire (1813), shows how much Kinneir profited from Malcolm, who allowed his party prolonged excursions into Persia and bordering regions. When Malcolm’s mission ended, Kinneir travelled from Bagdad via Constantinople to Spain and finally back to England. His return journey to the East followed a similar route that additionally led through Asia Minor and Cyprus – a trip Kinneir would write about in his travelogue Journey Through Asia Minor, Armenia, and Koordistan, in the Years 1813 and 1814; with Remarks on the Marches of Alexander, and Retreat of the Ten Thousand (1818).156 The subtitle of this volume alone shows the significance of the memory of Alexander for Kinneir, both as a mnemonic device to allude to the long history of the visited regions that had again come to the fore of world politics with Bonaparte’s advances only years before, and as a marker probably included to strengthen the selling point of the book. Already in his Geograhical Memoir had Kinneir repeatedly invoked the march of the Macedonian as an important backdrop to his own route and as an orientation guide through the Persian geography.157 His account is replete with references to rivers and 154 155 156 157

Leask, too, stresses the importance that the accumulation of knowledge had even for travel writings that relied on a highly romanticized narrative trajectory. Cf. Leask, Curiosity and the Aesthetics of Travel Writing, 22–23. Cf. Henry Manner Chichester, s. v. “John Macdonald Kinneir,” in Dictionary of National Biography, 1885–1900, Vol. 31, edited by Sidney Lee (London: Smith, Elder and Co., 1892), 192–93. Also Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 64–65, and Briant, The First European, 206–8. John Macdonald Kinneir, Journey Through Asia Minor, Armenia, and Koordistan, in the Years 1813 and 1814; with Remarks on the Marches of Alexander, and Retreat of the Ten Thousand (London: John Murray, 1818). Kinneir and Malcolm were not the only travelers to do so. Sir William Ouseley (1767–1842), an orientalist and British officer, repeatedly travelled to Persia in the early 1800s, as part of his brother Gore’s entourage, who was a diplomat in Teheran. Ouseley not only greatly advanced Persian

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mountains mentioned by the Alexander historians158 and Kinneir has no doubt that the ruins to be found near Shiraz can indeed be “admitted to the remains of the palace destroyed by Alexander the Great; and the striking resemblance of the building, as it still exists, with the account given us of Persepolis by Diodorus Siculus, is, in my opinion, sufficient to remove any doubt that may be entertained on the subject.”159 Kinneir, of course, makes clear that he is not the first to make this observation and his account invokes other travel writings and especially the works of Rennell and Vincent, either to confirm or add to their respective geographies.160 This is, in fact, one of the most important contributions the travel writers tried to make to the existing geographical knowledge of their day. These explorers were actually witnessing what others were merely writing about from a great distance, without ever having visited the sites and proved whether the information given in the ancient sources was accurate. This did not only include the physical remains of ancient sites or their environments, but also the people the travelers encountered; these locals were often found not to have changed much in manner and customs from how their alleged forebears were described in ancient texts.161 Kinneir was also one of those travelers, who did not only rely on geographic accounts written by predecessors and peers and extensively commented on them in his own texts, but who also created maps himself. As he pointed out in his introduction to his Journey Through Asia Minor, the map that accompanied the publication was an updated version of the one he had initially drawn up after his expedition with Malcolm: “These routes,” Kinneir writes, “will be found to occupy a considerable space on the surface of the Map and many of them, I had almost said the majority lead through countries never before traversed by any European since the days of Alexander the Great.”162 Kinneir here made use of the aforementioned trope of travelling through regions that were, except for Alexander’s historical venture, terrae incognitae to Europeans. Accordingly, Kinneir made numerous references to Alexander’s itineraries in his route through Cappadocia and Asia Minor.163 “I therefore resolved to follow the march of Alexander into Syria,” Kinneir writes of his ambition to trace the Macedonian’s route, “although I was studies, but also repeatedly refers to Alexander’s conquest of Persia. Cf. William Ouseley, Travels in Various Countries of the East, More Particularly Persia. A Work Wherein the Author Has Described, as Far as His Own Observations Extended, the State of these Countries in 1810, 1811 and 1812, and Has Endeavoured to Illustrate Many Subjects of Antiquarian Research, History, Geography, Philology and Miscellaneous Literature with Extracts from Rare and Valuable Oriental Manuscripts, Vol. I. (London: Rodwell and Martin, 1819), 49–52, 62–63, 229–30, and 329–30. 158 Cf. Kinneir, Geographical Memoir, 57, 68 and 208. 159 Ibid., 77. 160 Cf. ibid., 102–3, 208–18, 255–57, and especially 282–83. 161 Cf. Kinneir’s observation of the boats used by locals to traverse the rivers near ancient Babylon (273). 162 Kinneir, Journey Through Asia Minor, x. 163 Cf. ibid., 119–45, with a lengthy discussion of the battle and geography of Issos.

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informed that even this road was impassable, and attended with so much danger that the Tatars preferred going by sea from Tarsus (…).”164 As with many explorers of his time, the daring sense of adventure ingrained in travelling beyond the known European itineraries was one aspect that Kinneir did not fail to evoke in his texts – the reference to Alexander (as well as the march of the Ten Thousand so fascinatingly narrated by Xenophon) could be used to heighten the sense of excitement and to underline the heroic quality of the undertaking. That this was not merely an idiosyncratic exercise becomes clear from the purpose of Kinneir’s travel, which he elaborates on right at the beginning of his text, namely “to visit all the countries through which a European army might attempt an invasion of India.”165 Pragmatic geopolitical interest and antiquarian studies thus went hand in hand and both were constantly used to comment upon each other. Consequently, Kinneir included a “Dissertation of the Invasion of India” as an appendix to his travelogue, where he weighed the possibilities and different options of a land attack on the British dominions against each other and used historical analogies to do so. Writing on Alexander’s invasion of India, Kinneir reminds his readers that Alexander, after all, did not conquer India; the banks of the Hyphasis were the limits of his progress. The expedition occupied him nearly a year; and he found more difficulty in subduing Porus and his Indians than he had experienced in all his battles with Darius. The Grecian army was not incumbered with a heavy train of artillery; it moved much more lightly than a modern one can do, but we are to consider above all, that the countries which in the days of Alexander, Tamerlane, and even so late as Nadir Shah, were wealthy, populous, and flourishing, are now waste and uninhabited.166

As Kinneir illustrated, the ancient India that the Macedonian troops had encountered was way different, both in geographic as well as sociocultural forms, from what the Britons knew as ‘their’ India. Both spheres did not overlap. Moreover, military tactics and equipment had changed considerably, and according to Kinneir it was doubtful whether the lands that had to be traversed to get to the frontier could sustain a modern army, due to their deprived state in the present. This makes clear that Kinneir came to a wholly different conclusion than Hopkins before him. To Kinneir, the route taken by Alexander was unsuitable to any military advance on India; instead, he pointed out that an attack via Russia and the Caspian and through Bokhara would be more promising. Kinneir’s account was that of a traveler, who could estimate the costs and trouble of traversing vast distances (not to speak of the multiplied difficulties involved in the transportation of a large army), whereas Hopkins had drawn up his account of a possible invasion of India via Alexander’s route at his writing desk in Bhagulpore 164 Ibid., 128. 165 Ibid., viii. 166 Ibid., 537–38.

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(Bhagalpur). The traveler-explorers gave the Alexander reception a new twist in that they brought a more practical outlook on the whole picture, tying the discourse on the Macedonian back to personal experience and observation. This latter aspect certainly also applies to Sir Henry Pottinger (1789–1856), who was part of a diplomatic mission in Sindh shortly before Malcolm and Kinneir were sent to Teheran. The objective was the same: securing local support in a possible military defense of British India. There were rumors of a French agent at Hyderabad, who enquired about the use of Sindh ports by the French navy. Accordingly, the British sent an envoy to the Amirs to negotiate an agreement that would exclude any French influence in the region.167 Henry Pottinger, then a young and aspiring soldier in the Bombay Native Infantry, was chosen as part of the escort. He came from a family that had settled in Northern Ireland in the sixteenth century.168 That Pottinger chose a military career for himself was no surprise, since all of his brothers also served in the army. He arrived at Bombay in 1804 and, promptly, enrolled at the Company’s College to learn local languages.169 His ambition attracted the interest of his superiors and would guarantee his steep rise through the Company’s ranks until he left India in 1840 as General in order to become the first Governor of Hong Kong only shortly after. Pottinger certainly sensed whenever opportunities opened to him and had a penchant for adventure. With the mission to Sindh complete, he did not have to think twice when Malcolm’s mission to Persia, which was also supposed to include “a detailed study of the terrain between India and Teheran, particularly the route that might be taken by an invading army”,170 was postponed and the Honorable Company offered the daring task to volunteers. Pottinger was one of them, Captain Charles Christie another, both from the same regiment. As Pottinger’s biographer remarks, “the practice of sending young officers, either alone or with a minimal escort, to reconnoître vast areas of unmapped, often hostile, territory is a recurring feature in the annals of the East India Company,”171 and as many of their peers, Pottinger and Christie travelled disguised as Hindu contractors. The journey would lead Pottinger from Sindh over Kalat and Kerman to Ishafan, and finally back to Bombay, a narrative of which he recorded in his Travels in Beloochistan and Sinde (1816). As Pottinger relates right at the beginning of his book, the basis of his account had been an official report on his mission prepared for the Governor-General and the Brit167 Cf. G. Pottinger, Sir Henry Pottinger, 11–13. 168 For a detailed biography cf. ibid. Also Sylvanus Urban, “Obituary: Right Hon. Sir H. Pottinger,” The Gentleman’s Magazine 45 (1856), 517–18, as well as Edward Walford, “Right Hon. Sir H. Pottinger, G. C. B.,” in Hardwicke’s Annual Biography for 1857, Containing Original and Selected Memoirs of Celebrated Characters Who Have Died During the Year 1856, ed. Edward Walford (London: Robert Hardwicke, 1857), 19–20. 169 Cf. G. Pottinger, Sir Henry Pottinger, 8. 170 Ibid., 16. 171 G. Pottinger, Sir Henry Pottinger, 16.

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ish Government of India in 1810, but since Pottinger felt that a narrative was needed to accentuate the statistical data on geographical distances and survey work, he decided to publish a travelogue.172 Yet, it was not mere entertainment that Pottinger had in mind, for he gives another reason why his book may be of general interest: (…) a few of the descriptions in the narrative will probably appear trifling; but, at the same time, I conceive they may be deemed very interesting as of countries utterly unknown to Europeans, of whose people, governments and customs no records are extant since the days of Alexander the Great. This last consideration, seconded by the solicitations of several esteemed friends, has alone induced me to appear before the public as an author; but, in adopting that resolution, (…) I disclaim all attempt at learned research or classical precision in the composition of my pages; (…) Conscious as I am of the field for classical disquisition and conjecture, which I have journeyed over, I must here observe, that such topics are in direct opposition to the plan on which I have ventured to publish my travels; and also demand a much more intimate knowledge of the ancient state of the countries in question than I possess, and therefore, I have avoided entering into digressions upon them at any length, or adducing comparisons, unless they struck me to be so obvious as to require little comment.173

Just like in Kinneir’s and other travelogues of his time, the reference to Alexander as well as the lack of knowledge concerning the countries in question opens the volume to underline the mission’s pioneering character and to catch the reader’s interest. That Pottinger does not invoke the Macedonian too lightly or in a nonreflective way, becomes clear from his comment that he, though well aware of the historical background, is no expert in ancient history and that his main interest is presenting his readers with a travel narrative rather than a historiographical treatise. This clearly shows the epistemological difference between the works of the likes of Robertson or Vincent, and the traveler-explorers, who may have repeatedly invoked Alexander’s march, but whose main aim was not to offer groundbreaking insights into his historical route. This is true of almost all of the travel writings by non-specialists in the nineteenth century, although not every author was as outspoken regarding the historiographical merits as Pottinger. However, it is important to stress that there was a reciprocal influence between the expert geographers, historiographers, and philologists (Rennell, Robertson, Vincent) and the traveler-explorers, with the latter using the formers’ writings as a preparation for their respective routes. Travelogues repeatedly found their way into specialist literature on historical geography, especially regarding the route of Alexander. As Briant points out, “Pottinger’s account is full of reminiscences of Alexander’s expedition and Nearchus’s naval journey (of which Pottinger compares his own observations with Vin-

172 173

Cf. Pottinger, Travels in Beloochistan, xxv. Ibid., xxvi-xxvii.

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cent’s analyses). For this very reason,” Briant adds, ”it was used by historians seeking a better understanding of the ancient texts, particularly those dealing with the route followed by Alexander followed from the Indus to Carmania.”174 Pottinger, indeed, recurs to Alexander’s march numerous times in his travelogue,175 and specifically draws on the Macedonian’s history in his discussion of the history of Sindh, whose strategic significance to British politics is underlined outright.176 As Pottinger reminds his readers, Sindh first came to historical prominence “by the refusal of the troops to follow Alexander into India Proper; who was consequently induced to drop down the Indus, until he came to the ocean.”177 Pottinger then traces the Macedonian’s progress in the region, identifying some stations of his journey like the dominion of the Sogdi with “the present fortress, or city of Bhukor”178 and confirming the writings of the ancient historians through his own perception: “Alexander rebuilt the capital of the Sogdi, and having left a garrison in it, proceeded on his voyage to the territories of a chief called Musicanus, which are so clearly and incontestibly identified with the present district of Chandookee, that it would alone demonstrate the authenticity and correctness of the historians of those days.”179 Pottinger also confirms numerous observations stored in the ancient writings regarding the river currents and the locality of other places like the port of Kurschee (which he identifies with Arrian’s Krokala),180 but he also makes clear that one’s own autopsy of the region does not always confirm what can be read about in modern geographies. Of the alleged city Minnagara visited by Alexander as he sailed downstream the Indus and identified by D’Anville with Meeannuggur, he writes: “(…) for my own part I have been unable to discover any place that corresponds with the site he allots to it.”181 This is a good example of how historical geographies and travel writings intersected – theirs was a reciprocal discourse, cooperative, but never fully congruent. The third, and possibly most famous diplomatic mission of that time was led by Mountstuart Elphinstone (1779–1859). A peer of Malcolm, Elphinstone’s biography shows many parallels to that of his fellow Scotsman. They were brought up during “the golden age of the Scottish Enlightenment,” they “took part in all the major events of their time in India,” and they made a career for themselves “through their military and diplomatic contributions to the expansion of the company’s territory and their key roles in setting up the company’s administrative system.”182 They also belonged, “to the 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182

Briant, The First European, 206. Cf. Pottinger, Travels in Beloochistan, 9, as well as 263–67. Ibid., 380. Ibid., 381. Ibid., 382. Ibid. Cf. ibid., 385. Arr. Ind. 21.7. Pottinger, Travels in Beloochistan, 383. McLaren, British India and British Scotland, 1.

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first generation of the real British conquest of India. The setting of this conquest was not Bengal or Madras or the Punjab but,” as Radcliffe puts it, “the series of difficult, protracted, and perilous campaigns, military and diplomatic, which began with the breaking of the Muslim power at Mysore and the neutralization of Hyderabad and ended with the subjugation of the Maratha powers of Central India.”183 As we have already seen above, this was indeed the historical background to many of the missions men like Elphinstone were involved in. The expansion and consolidation of British rule were key objectives of the time and Elphinstone very much made them his own, although his idea of the manner in which they should be brought about differed, at times, from what the East India government in Calcutta thought. Born as the youngest son into a Scottish noble family, he went to India primarily for financial reasons, but also because he knew that India offered good opportunities for ambitious and talented young men.184 Elphinstone was proved right: he first served as a political officer and an Indian civil servant, notably as the Resident at Nagpore, from 1804–1808, before he finally became the Governor of the Bombay Residency from 1819–1827. In his knowledge of local history and habits, Elphinstone was probably unparalleled in his own time, with a good sense of observation; but he also remained “introspective and a romantic.”185 His love of classical literature certainly added to the latter aspect of his character and his reading of ancient literature during his stay in India was a favorite pastime occupation.186 This was certainly the case when, in 1808, Elphinstone was chosen to lead a diplomatic mission to Afghanistan, a country Britain literally knew nothing about – there did not even exist a map the envoy could rely on.187 He managed to come to a defensive alliance with Shah Shujah of Afghanistan, but this was only one aspect of the dangerous journey: another of Elphinstone’s objectives was to gain knowledge of the country that could probably function as a buffer zone against a coordinated Franco-Russian attack. Accordingly, Elphinstone wrote an extensive volume, An Account of the Kingdom of Caubul (1815),188 which remained required reading for all officers in the East India Company, at least for those concerned with trans-frontier affairs. A passionate classicist, with an impressive reading list, Elphinstone especially drew on the Alexander historians as a literary company during his trip. The reading of the

183 184 185 186 187 188

Radcliffe, Mountstuart Elphinstone, 5. Cf. ibid., 9. Ibid., 12. Cf. on this aspect especially the detailed analysis in Hagerman, Britain’s Imperial Muse, 150–56, who calls Elphinstone “one of the most peripatetic readers of the classics in history” (154). Cf. David Lyon, Butcher and Bolt (London: Hutchinson, 2008), 5–6. Lieutenant Macartney, a cartographer and surveyor, had drawn up a map on the hearsay of travelers (16–17). Mountstuart Elphinstone, An Account of the Kingdom of Caubul, and its Dependencies in Persia, Tartary, and India, Comprising a View of the Afghaun Nation and a History of the Dooraunee Monarchy, in Two Volumes, The Second Edition with an Entirely New Map (London: Longman et. al., 1819).

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ancient sources was not only an intellectual activity, used for recovery or relaxation after long days (or nights) on the road, but an integral part of the voyage per se. This is because the texts from antiquity helped his entourage read the landscape: “We crossed the Hydaspes at Jellalpoor in the course of five days, from the 22d of July to the 26th inclusive,” writes Elphinstone and continues, I was greatly struck with the difference between the banks of this river; the left bank had all the characteristics of the plains of India; it was indeed as flat and as rich as Bengal, which it greatly resembled: the right bank, on the contrary, was formed by the end of the range of salt hills, formerly seen at Callabaugh, and had an air of extreme ruggedness and wildness, that must inspire a fearful presentiment of the country he was entering into the mind of a traveller from the east. The hills still retain the red colour for which they were so remarkable, where we crossed them before. They came to the edge of the river, which being also divided by islands, presents exactly the appearance one expects from the accounts of the ancients. So precisely does Quintus Curtius’s description of the scene of Porus’s battle correspond with the part of the Hydaspes where we crossed, that several gentlemen of the mission, who read the passage on the spot, were persuaded that it referred to the very place before their eyes.189

Seldom is the open and active reception of the Alexander historians (in this case that of the imperial Roman historian Curtius Rufus) made as explicit as in this passage of Elphinstone’s account. “To read Curtius on a riverbank in the Punjab was not mere ‘idling’,” as Hagerman comments on the scene, “It was also something like an act of communion with a historical predecessor, whose career of exploration, conquest, and ‘civilisation’, offered varying degrees of knowledge, rationalization, and inspiration to those involved in Britain’s imperial project.”190 The scene of explorers reading ancient texts on the shores of the Hydaspes is evocative of a group of tourists reading Baedeker guides in front of an ancient monument or some other sort of attraction. But the scene also illustrates the fact that the classical texts were both read and used in a pragmatic manner. Moreover, this was not a group of tourists, and this was no random site of some historical import in Greece or Italy. This was a country where no other sources were available; and, in turn, the classics acquired an actuality probably unsurpassed by any comparable episode of modern exploration. They even outshone, at times, modern local information or geographies: “Elphinstone’s inclination to use the ancient Greek names for the great rivers of the Punjab arose directly from the belief that Curtius, Arrian, Plutarch, and Diodorus contained valuable knowledge of India’s natural history useful for understanding contemporary India.”191 As we have already seen, Elphinstone was not alone in adapting the classics this way – he 189 Ibid., 108–9. 190 Hagerman, “‘In the Footsteps of the Macedonian Conqueror’,” 352. 191 Hagerman, Britain’s Imperial Muse, 164 (emphasis original).

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merely continued a discourse and practice begun in the eighteenth century with the geographies of scholars like Rennell. Only now, the circumstances had changed and Europeans were really traversing territories that had previously been vaguely outlined sketches on maps. And although these spaces could now actually be seen with one’s own eyes, the function of the ancient sources basically remained the same: they were still being used as orientation guides in a landscape that, as Elphinstone makes clear, could, at times, scare a traveler. These psychological aspects aside, Elphinstone continued to rely on the Alexander historians for the remainder of his envoy’s journey,192 but, overall, the references to the Macedonian are not as numerous as might be expected from the emphatic reception quoted above. This may have to do with the fact that the sites which allowed for historical associations got less and less along their tour, but it certainly also had to do with the fascination for the newness that the contact with the Afghans stirred in Elphinstone. In contact with the locals, the ancient sources were of no use, although the Scotsman was quick to draw parallels between archaic Greece – as well as his homeland – and what he perceived in the Afghan countryside.193 The mixture of pastoral lifestyle and martial spirit fascinated (and certainly frightened) Elphinstone, whose narrative implicitly evokes images not of an uncultivated, but rather untamed and raw society evocative of what could be read about in Homer’s epics. Analogies to the Macedonia of the fourth century BCE would have invited themselves, but if Elphinstone was reminded of Alexander at this stage of his trip, it was not through subjective association, but through local legend. Thus, he states that local tradition attributes the founding of Candahar to “Secunder Zoolkurnyne, that is, [to] Alexander the Great.”194 Local traditions enter Elphinstone’s account at this point and it becomes clear that the Macedonian is not only a source of inspiration to the British colonial power in India, but he is also regarded as a foundational hero in Afghanistan, a country as far removed from the Western world as possible in the collective imagination of Elphinstone’s mission. But the Scotsman, slowly but surely, warmed to the foreign people, and drew up an account renowned for its learned and respectful approach to local traditions and ways of life. The same can be said of Elphinstone’s outlook on Indian history and society. His History of India (1841),195 published more than two decades after his enormously influential Account, is again peppered with references to Alexander the Great.196 Discussing Alexander’s campaign to India, he draws heavily on the ancient authors and follows the likes of Robertson when he talks about the local population, which he finds well represented in the ancient sources:

192 193 194 195 196

Cf., for instance, Elphinstone, An Account of the Kingdom of Caubul, vol. I., 97–98. Ibid., Vol. II, 139–40. Ibid., 155–56. For similar passage see also 219–20 and 257–58. Mountstuart Elphinstone, The History of India, Vol. I, Second Edition (London: J. Murray, 1843). Cf. especially the appendix to volume one: Ibid., 447–76.

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If, however, we discard the fables derived from the Grecian mythology, and those which are contrary to the course of nature, we shall find more reason to admire the accuracy of the early authors, than to wonder at the mistakes in which they fell, in a country so new and so different from their own, and where they had everything to learn by means of interpreters, generally through the medium of more languages than one. Their accounts, as far as they go, of the manners and habits of the people, do in fact agree with our own accurate knowledge almost as well as those of most modern travellers prior to the institution of the Asiatic Society of Calcutta.197

Elphinstone’s passage almost reads like a self-characterization of the travelers, who, for the first time, were confronted with the regions beyond the frontier. He certainly saw his own experiences reflected in the amazement felt by the ancient authors when they first encountered people so different from themselves. It is open to question whether the striking parallels between ancient and modern descriptions of the indigenous population and their customs are due to the epistemological shock that the confrontation with the ‘other’ stirred in the travel authors; or whether the modern travelers were so lastingly influenced by the ancient sources that they, probably even unconsciously, adapted their sources’ respective perspectives. What is clear, however, is that for Elphinstone, as for so many of his peers, these analogies were not merely imaginative but very real. The difference was in how the modern authors estimated the present Indian civilization – had it remained stagnant, or had it even regressed from ancient times? There was a strong school of thought, notoriously embodied by James Mill’s The History of British India,198 which had a disposition to the latter view. Elphinstone, influenced as he was by the Scottish Enlightenment, shared in Robertson’s standpoint of respecting local traditions. Overall, Elphinstone valued the Indians’ culture highly, including their military bravery and fighting skill, which again prompted a comparison with ancient times.199 Nevertheless, he was a proponent of the tendency of attributing a certain timelessness or static character to Indian civilization, which may be due to the overwhelming influence the ancient sources had on his outlook, and eventually his discourse. In this as well as in his groundbreaking journeys, Elphinstone became a central figure in the cultural and political history of British India. The same is true of the reception of Alexander the Great, which remained a cornerstone of the debates, even though the prominence of the sources was slowly but surely superseded by the modern travel accounts. Nonetheless, there is a literary tradition perceptible when it comes to the Macedonian’s image in the decades bridging the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and stretching all the way from Rennell’s mapping to Elphinstone’s exploration of and writing about Afghanistan. This was a process very much 197 Ibid., 457. 198 James Mill, The History of British India, in Three Volumes (London: Balwin, Cradock, and Jow, 1817). 199 Elphinstone, The History of India, 469.

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akin to a relay race, with Alexander as the imaginative baton passed on from generation to generation. 2.4 The Next Generation of Trans-Frontier Exploration and the Russian Threat The decades from around 1780 to around 1820 had seen an extensive expansion of British India. This had, in part, grown out of the supposed Napoleonic threat to the East India Company’s dominion on the subcontinent. It was also due to the pioneering nature of many men employed by the Company; not all of them were soldiers, who guaranteed the military force of the colonial power, nor were they all bureaucrats, who came up with a structured administrative system. As we have seen, they were also diplomats, whose missions beyond the frontier of British India took them to places where no European had trod in centuries. The missions spurred on immense explorative activities that resulted in an impressive amount of new geographical, topographical, sociocultural, as well as historical knowledge. It is no wonder that the flood of travel writings coincided with many publications devoted to Central Asian history, and especially to Alexander the Great’s conquests in the region. The first English biography of Alexander in the nineteenth century was written by Reverend John Williams in 1829, whose aim was to inspire “youthful readers, who may feel a wish to trace the extraordinary progress of Alexander, with due attention to geography and chronology.”200 The author’s emphasis on the geographical aspects of the march is hard to miss and may certainly have been influenced by the new information on the areas traversed by the Macedonian’s army. Williams saw Alexander’s campaign as part of “the great struggle between the Eastern and Western worlds,” although he was quick to note how the modern age had turned this opposition in geographical terms on its head, notably the Ottoman and British Empires: “By a curious inversion of their relative positions, the Europeans are on the banks of the Ganges and on the shores of the Caspian, and the Asiatics on the banks of the Danube and the shores of the Adriatic.”201 What Williams noted in his otherwise unimpressive biography of Alexander, was only sparingly reflected on in many other geographical treatises or travel writings of the day, namely that the British were tracing Alexander’s footsteps in the reverse direction. Whereas Alexander had invaded India from the north, the travel-

200 John Williams, The Life and Actions of Alexander the Great (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1843), xi. Williams’ interest in historical geography also became apparent in his work on Persian geography during the days of Alexander as well as on the march of the Ten Thousand, cf. John Williams, Two Essays on the Geography of Ancient Asia, Intended Partly to Illustrate the Campaigns of Alexander, and the Anabasis of Xenophon (London: J. Murray, 1829). 201 Williams, The Life and Actions of Alexander the Great, 15–16.

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er-explorers made their way to the scenes of the Macedonian’s exploits from the south. They were no mere imitators, but rather innovators, who, although inspired by the great deeds of the ancient king, paved their own way in an unknown land. Men like Malcolm, Kinneir, Pottinger, or Elphinstone spearheaded these missions and, in their respective ways, made not only the gathering of new knowledge a decisive trait of their undertakings, but also the revisitation of what was already well known, namely the texts of antiquity. During the Enlightenment, men of letters like geographers, historiographers, and political philosophers, had already drawn on the ancient accounts in their discussion of the foundational role of Alexander the Great in opening the East to Europeans, and had connected these reflections with a negotiation of Britain’s own historical role in the region. This becomes all too apparent in Rennell’s Memoir as well as Robertson’s Disquisition or Vincent’s commentary on Nearchus. The writings of the traveler-explorers differed from these late eighteenth-century texts, in that they updated the reception of Alexander the Great in the light of subjective experiences in the places where the Macedonian had allegedly advanced into India. Theirs was not a homogenous or unequivocal reception of Alexander, but there were common aspects like the trope of travelling through spaces where no European had been since the days of the Macedonian conquest. There was also the attempt to connect their own itineraries with Alexander’s route, so that their writings channeled back into historical geographies. This was not merely an abstract discourse, but one filtered through personal autopsy, as well as the pragmatic, geopolitical reflection of how (and whether) British India could be invaded from the north. In this context, it did not matter that the perceived French threat proved to be a chimera; what did matter was that the traveler-explorers as well as politicians and military strategists thought it to be all too real, the more so as they had a historical model in Alexander. That the reception of the Macedonian was nevertheless a highly imaginative enterprise can be seen in the literature of travel and exploration, especially since the references were almost never supported by concrete evidence. There was the endeavor to connect Alexander’s name to specific sites or place names, but the concretization of this connection often remained mere guesswork. Geographical analogy alone justified the reference to the Macedonian’s itineraries. The explorers mapped their routes, because the landscapes or sites they visited resembled descriptions in the ancient sources. It was an approximation, but no clear identification. This calls into question whether we can really speak of “knowledge”, when it comes to the traveler-explorers and their reception of Alexander.202 It may be true that some of them had impressive philological skills, and were trained in specialized fields of surveying or mapping, but the memory of Alexander was determined more by association and connection by way of imagina-

202 On the problematic trope of “knowledge” in literature of exploration, cf. Outram, “On Being Perseus,” 282.

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tion than objective fact or any definitive conclusion.203 What made these receptions work, nonetheless, was that they allowed the traveler-explorers to establish a connection with the Macedonian hero and because they could impose their own narrative on a structure already predetermined by the ancient sources. The invocation of wellknown tropes connected to Alexander’s journey was thus a way to discursively domesticate the experience of alterity and otherness that was at play in the confrontation with a foreign landscape, its people and their culture. The repeated references to places connected to the Macedonian’s route was certainly due to the influence of geographical discourse in the vein of Rennell and others, but it was also a way of authenticating the travelogue and of creating a discursive connection, however strong it may have been, with the metropolitan home culture. If Alexander the Great served as a foundational hero of the British colonialism and exploration in the region, diplomats like Malcolm and Elphinstone were the forerunners of a great number of other travelers and adventurers, who would visit the regions beyond the British Indian frontier. Not all of them made explicit reference to Alexander’s exploits, and neither was the reception of the Macedonian an unambiguous affair – but it remained a literary, and highly evocative trope nonetheless. The travellers of the 1820s further expanded the scope and overall vision of their journeys, building on what their predecessors had achieved, although the general context had somewhat changed. The French threat had evaporated, but the perceived threat of an invasion was not altogether off the table – it had just appeared under a different flag. Russia had already been implicated in Bonaparte’s plans for an attack on British India, but now it came to the fore as a major force to be reckoned with. This was because the spheres of influence of both the British as well as the Russian Empire had expanded and increasingly began to overlap. Probably the first traveler of the time to perceive this general trend was the veterinarian and horse-breeder William Moorcroft (1767–1825),204 who undertook some of the most daring explorative journeys of his time, the last of which cost him his life. Moorcroft had already traveled through the Punjab, and was one of the first to explore the Himalayan provinces and Tibet, before he crossed the Hindu Kush to Turkistan, Balkh and Bokhara (1823–1825). The ultimate goal of his missions was never diplomatic or to gain a better understanding of the regions which he visited – rather, he was looking for suitable cavalry horses for the East India Company. Moorcroft still made the exploration of the regions which he traversed a self-proclaimed task and he sent a lot of information (geographical, statistical, botanical, etc.) to the Company’s intelligence apparatus and the Asiatic Society, including his journal, which was later edited by the 203 On authenticity and the construction of a scientific, objective discourse in Enlightenment travel writing, cf. also Withers and Livingstone, “Introduction,” 17–19. 204 For a biography cf. especially Garry Alder, Beyond Bokhara: The Life of William Moorcroft, Asian Explorer and Pioneer Veterinary Surgeon, 1767–1825 (London: Century Publishing, 1985).

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British orientalist scholars H. H. Wilson (1786–1860).205 Moorcroft died under mysterious circumstances on the return from Balkh in 1825.206 Even though he was probably the most adventurous of the early explorers, nothing in his early biography suggested the daring turn of his later life. He was a successful veterinary surgeon, specialized on horses, in London, and may have been tempted by a lucrative offer from the East India Company to go to India.207 Once he was there, nothing would stop his search for the legendary horse breeds beyond the frontier, although this was probably only an excuse to go where no European of his age had been before. Moorcroft was also a convinced patriot and understood his missions as furthering the imperial designs of his home country, promoting the opportunities of trade that would wait beyond the British Indian frontier –, and he was quick to point to Russia as the greatest threat to British hegemony in the region.208 There is nothing in Moorcroft’s biography that would suggest a classicist or historical leaning either (notwithstanding the curriculum of the ancient grammar schools, which he certainly was taught as a child), but Moorcroft nonetheless refers to Alexander at different points of his narrative. In this context, it is interesting to note that the incentive to look for signs of the Macedonian’s route did not intrinsically develop on the part of Moorcroft, but was rather spurred on by local accounts of the ancient hero. On his journey to Ladakh, the Briton’s “curiosity” is “excited by the name of Alexander”, so that he, in consequence, took particular pains to inquire if any traces or traditions of the Macedonian monarch were to be discovered, but could only learn that the name, with or without the adjunct of badshah or king, was familiar to the people of the country. I was told also that at Leda was to be seen what was called the badshah’s camp, and on my arrival at that place I climbed a height about a mile above our tents, where a cut through a ridge of rock formed a portion of the ditch. On the summit was an open space of about an acre, or rather more, surrounded by a low wall of rough stones, and beneath this was a ditch cut in the rock, extending round three sides, the fourth being the edge of a precipice. Here and there were the ruins of small dwellings. The whole was evidently the remains of a fortified camp, but I found nothing to indicate a Grecian origin. Some foresters, indeed, informed me that although

205 William Moorcroft and George Trebeck, Travels in the Himalayan Provinces of Hindustan and the Panjab, in Ladakh and Kashmir, in Peshawar, Kabul, Kunduz, and Bokhara, from 1819–1825, Prepared for the Press from Original Journals and Correspondence by Horace Hayman Wilson, in Two Volumes (London: J. Murray, 1841). More than a decade would pass before Moorcroft’s writings were finally published in the 1840s, heavily edited and with many omissions, which somehow diminished his achievements in the eyes of his contemporaries – the more so as others, like Alexander Burnes (cf. next chapter), who had visited Bokhara only after Moorcroft, had already published extensive travelogues on the subject, undermining the pioneering efforts of the veterinary. 206 Cf. ibid., 353–60. 207 Cf. ibid., 49–50 and 65–69. 208 Cf. ibid., 264–65, and 350–51.

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there was a tradition of it having been a station of the Badshah’s army, yet that within their recollection it had been a fort belonging to Mundi, and had been taken and dismantled by the Raja of Kotoch.209

Two aspects are of importance in this passage that is characteristic of the literature of travel and exploration following the first generation of travelers. Firstly, there is a strong tendency to do some antiquarian research in the places, where Alexander had supposedly built a fort or a city. Moorcroft is quite prepared to take a detour, climbing a steep mountain, in order to verify local claims of a Macedonian camp in the region. Later, he is shown coins, believed by locals to have been connected to Alexander’s conquest: “Upon repeating my inquiries after Alexander, they brought me some old copper coins, said to have been found in the Ghat and its neighbourhood (…).”210 There was thus the endeavor to attach the memory of Alexander to concrete material sites and evidence. Tracing the Macedonian’s footsteps was still a highly imaginative undertaking, to be sure, but this imaginative venture became attached with the attempt to re-connect it to historical localities or objects. The same motivation is also visible in Moorcroft’s attempt to deduce the identity of the altars of Alexander near a settlement called Aibek.211 The second aspect becomes clear in Moorcroft’s strong reference to local informants. There is the tendency of including indigenous accounts into the picture, which come to complement the traveler’s own perspective on the Macedonian. And while it is clear that these passages are filtered through Moorcroft’s authorial voice, they nonetheless attest to the interactional and relational aspect of the cultural memory of Alexander the Great, which is neither as Eurocentric, nor as unequivocally Western imperialist as the examples discussed before may have suggested. Rather, it was much more hybrid and multidimensional, although the passages that would allow for a clearer picture remain few and oftentimes opaque. What is clear, however, is that the traveler-explorers were confronted with local memories of Alexander, which were contradictory, providing a glimpse of the rich history of the regions themselves. When Moorcroft comes across a range of fortresses belonging to the Raja of Mundi, he relates that “the people report that the place was captured by Alexander, and that it contains a marble throne which belonged to that conqueror, having an inscription in unknown characters. The Alexander or Sekander, who is the hero of this tale, seems, however, to have been Sekander Lodi of Delhi.”212 Apparently, Moorcroft did not see this throne himself, but the interpretational sovereignty is put at stake by this historical attribution

209 210 211 212

Moorcroft, Travels in the Himalayan Provinces of Hindustan and the Panjab, vol. I, 62–63. Ibid., 64. Ibid., vol. II, 406. Ibid., vol. I, 66.

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nonetheless. The more so as, in the local tradition, Alexander the Great was no longer solely Alexander, but appeared in various guises, as Sikander, or by some other epithet. In these instances, the cultural memory of Alexander opens in a space of cultural encounter – a fact that is further illustrated by Moorcroft when he tells about his stay with the ruler of the state of Kangra, Raja Sanar Chand, who has an enormous collection of drawings and portraits: “Amongst these latter were two profiles of Alexander the Great (…). It represents him with prominent features, and auburn hair flowing over his shoulders; he wears a helmet on his head begirt with a string of pearls, but the rest of his costume is Asiatic. The Raja could not tell me whence the portrait came: he had become possessed of it by inheritance.”213 The fact that Alexander’s portrait appears amidst a collection depicting local Rajas and their predecessors214 as well as his “Asiatic” dress shows in how far the Macedonian had become adopted into a line of inheritance and a tradition of rule that extends the British reception of his feats and adds a multicultural dimension to it. This became even stronger near the town of Talkin, just shortly before Moorcroft’s arrival in Bokhara. Here, he made the acquaintance of the prince of Badakhshan, who was, according to local tradition, even related to Alexander: “On questioning him regarding the descent of his family from Alexander, he stated this was impossible, as they had been settled in the country little more than a century. The Shah of Darwaz he believed to be so descended, and to possess a genealogical record of his lineage: he thought that a copy of the document might be readily obtained; but the passes were blocked up with snow whilst I was at Talikan.”215 Moorcroft had thus finally gotten into contact with people, who really believed to have been descended from Alexander the Great. Where the Europeans had used Alexander as an inspirational figure of some import and an orientation guide in an imaginative and real way, there were indigenous traditions in which the imaginative connections were turned into genealogical facts (although it is clear that this line of descent, recorded as it was on a piece of paper, was a constructed one). And suddenly it became apparent that the British explorers were discovering a world beyond the frontier, which was not only rich in resources, but which was also rich in stories connected to Alexander the Great. If the reception of Alexander had taken a turn from a philological or cartographic practice in the last decades of the eighteenth century to a more practical exercise of traveling in his alleged tracks in the early years of the nineteenth century, it took yet another turn when men like Moorcroft took it upon themselves to move beyond the British frontier into ever remoter regions. Alexander was still with them as an important reference point, but he was a historical presence to be encountered in local narratives and historical sites. If this led to a more heterogeneous reception of the Macedoni213 Ibid., 144–45. 214 Cf. ibid., 144. 215 Ibid., vol. II, 482.

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an, the time also saw a greater array of trans-frontier explorers. Official missions were still abundant, but they were also accompanied by informal and private undertakings, seemingly unconnected to imperial politics.216 Nevertheless, the political twist to the Alexander reception was still very much prevalent in the 1820s, with the perceived Russian designs on regions that fell into British spheres of interest. Just as under the ‘Napoleonic’ era of frontier politics, the memory of Alexander was again instrumentalized to argue that the Russians were well capable of an invasion of India. The major proponent of this viewpoint was Colonel George De Lacy Evans (1787– 1870),217 whose essay on the subject became quite influential amongst British politicians and strategists. Evans not only drew extensively on political literature to prove his point; what is more, he also quoted the explorers in the like of Malcolm, Pottinger, or Kinneir,218 and, like Hopkins two decades before him, evoked the example of Alexander the Great.219 In his view, the Russians had to come “by the way of Attock,”220 just as Alexander had done, who, as Evans noted, experienced some of the hardest opposition in some of the regions that the Russians had to traverse, like Bactria.221 It was only the marriage to Roxane that appeased the Bactrians, and allowed the “mighty murder”222 to finally advance on India. We here encounter again a merely discursive reception of Alexander, as part of a political pamphlet with a clear message, but there was also literature of travel and exploration that made use of a similar interpretation. One such example can be found in the colorful narrative of Arthur Conolly (1807– 1842), a Captain in the East India Company, who undertook an epic voyage in 1829, which led him all the way from London via St. Petersburg, Teheran, Herat, Candahar, and finally to India in 1831. In the narrative of his journey, Conolly makes some allusions to Alexander’s march, including an account of Rohree, “the ancient capital of the Sogdi,” which shows nothing of its former glory and “has fallen into decay.”223 The Macedonian also appears in the appendix entitled “Overland Invasion of India.” However, Conolly does not extensively draw on Alexander for a discussion of the possible land routes into India (one leading via the Oxus to Balkh and mountain passes

216

One only needs to think of the spectacular journey of Edward Stirling (1797–1873), a Scotsman, who travelled from Mashhad to Kabul, and who was the first traveler of the time to return alive from Turkistan. Cf. Edward Stirling, The Journals of Edward Stirling in Persia and Afghanistan, 1828– 1829, from Manuscripts in the Archives of the Royal Geographical Society, edited and with an introduction by Jonathan L. Lee (Naples: Instituto Universitario Orientale, 1991). 217 Cf. George De Lacy Evans, On the Practicability of an Invasion of British India, and on the Commercial and Financial Prospects and Resources of the Empire (London: J. M. Richardson, 1829). 218 Cf. Evans, On the Practicability of an Invasion of British India, 11–15. 219 Cf. ibid., 47–53, and 76–83. 220 Ibid., 103. 221 Cf. ibid., 48–52. 222 Ibid., 48. 223 Arthur Conolly, Journey to the North of India, Overland From England, Through Russia, Persia, and Affghaunistan, in Two Volumes (London: Richard Bentley, 1834), vol. II, 260. Also vol. I, 173–75.

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to Kabul and eventually on to the Indus, the other one from Persia through central Afghanistan);224 rather, he cites also an option based on naval support: “Many persons have speculated upon our being invaded from the south of Persia, by troops shipped into the gulf, or by an army marched along the coast, and supplied with provisions from the sea, in improvement upon the march of Alexander the Great; but this is almost supposing us to have no ship on the ocean.”225 Conolly here alludes to Alexander’s retreat from India into the Persian heartland via the Gedrosian desert, with army and navy taking parallel routes along the coast – an expedition that cost many lives and nearly ended in disaster. It is doubtable whether this could really have served as a model for an invasion – and Conolly, overall, does not give it too much thought. He relied mainly on his own observations during his travels, and would not let classical references distract him – the more so, as he did not count on any short term Russian advances. His comment that “many people” had discussed these geostrategic schemes with Alexander in mind shows, however, that the Macedonian remained central for reflecting on the defensive options of British India. As this chapter has illustrated, this was a central trope of the cultural memory of Alexander, stretching all the way from Enlightenment cartography and historiography to the travel writings of the early nineteenth century. The next chapter will elaborate on the political (and very personal) reception of Alexander as Britain finally entered the race for hegemony in the region, and sought to become the leading power in an area, where even Alexander had to face defeat: Afghanistan.

224 Cf. ibid., 305. 225 Ibid.

Chapter III Romancing Alexander Afghan Adventures, Imperial Imitations, and the Great Game – the Examples of ‘Sikander’ Burnes and ‘General’ Josiah Harlan In a memorable phrase from John Huston’s (1906–1987) 1975 film, “The Man Who Would Be King,” one of the protagonists boasts: “If a Greek can do it, we can do it,”1 when he learns that Alexander the Great had been the only Westerner able to conquer and to survive Afghanistan. In the film, the reckless adventurer “Peachey” Carnehan, in a hubristic gesture, denies any knowledge of Alexander and his trail eastward, into regions of the Earth that were, even in the nineteenth century, blank spaces on geographical maps. His interlocutor, the journalist Kipling, is astonished at the almost childlike naiveté of the adventurer, who eventually wanders off into the wild rims of the known world, only to return, badly maimed and half-blind, from a disturbing tour de force. Nearing his own end, the British daredevil, in an Oedipal gesture of self-recognition, eventually has the clairvoyance that he had lacked in the beginning: from the outset, his self-appointed mission was doomed to fail. Had he known what awaited him and his dead companion, Daniel Dravot, he might never have ventured into regions otherwise roamed by mythical heroes and the ghosts of the past. In the end, his “Greek” forebear proved hardier than himself. Anyone who is familiar with Rudyard Kipling’s (1865–1936) short story “The Man Who Would Be King,”2 originally published in the December of 1888, will probably note that the line quoted above is actually missing from Kipling’s text and that Huston’s script, in general, makes stronger allusions to Alexander than the Nobel-prize winning author, who is, in a clever twist of cultural reference, turned into the frame narrator of Huston’s film. In both the short story as well as the cinematographic adaption Alex1 2

The Man Who Would Be King, directed by John Huston (1975; Culver City, CA: Sony Pictures, 2010), DVD. Rudyard Kipling, “The Man Who Would Be King,” in The Man Who Would Be King, Rudyard Kipling, ed. Jan Montefiore (London: Penguin, 2011 [1888]), 98–126.

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ander the Great plays a decisive role, however. In both cases he figures prominently as an ancient role model on which the adventurers (Carnehan as well as his companion Dravot are actually deserters from the British army) draw to reflect on their proto-imperialist exploits. Dressed up as Muslim dervishes, they make their way into a remote region of Afghanistan, namely Kafiristan, where they impersonate as heirs to Alexander’s kingdom. The local inhabitants, who have a long tradition of remembering Alexander, or rather Sikander, follow their new leaders, until they find out that they have been fooled by imposters and decide to kill them. Whereas Dravot plunges to his death, Carnehan can finally escape with his bare life and returns to tell his story. Kipling’s short story (and Huston’s film along with it) has traditionally been read as a cautionary parable about imperial overambition and colonial transgression gone awry and fatally wrong. It is no coincidence that Kipling invoked the model of Alexander. It was a cultural foil against which to read the geopolitical events of the day. The reasons for this were both geographical as well as historical. For as long as one could remember, Afghanistan had been a great unknown, a remote region, with the lure of the strange and uncanny. It was the place of some of Alexander’s hardest campaigns and rose, in the struggle for dominance in Central Asia, to sudden prominence when Great Britain feared for the safety of its Indian dominions in the face of Russian expansionism. It is therefore rather unlikely that Carnehan and Dravot would not have known what they were in for or who Alexander was, as suggested in Huston’s film. Rather, the film version of “The Man Who Would Be King” uses this ignorance as an ironic device to uncover the simple-mindedness of the two protagonists. At the same time, this comic effect is used to implicitly comment on Great Britain’s own imperial ambitions in a region of the world where they only had one possible historical model to draw on. “If a Greek can do it, we can do it”, can, against this background, be read as a slogan that neatly captures the imperial self-conception and zeitgeist of the time. What, to a contemporary recipient of Huston’s film, appeared (or still appears) as a tongue-in-cheek malapropism of Britain’s colonial mission would probably have sat uneasy with Kipling and his audience. He knew that matters were, in fact, dead serious and that the power struggle in the East was anything but a “Great Game.”3 Sir Alexander Burnes (1805–1841) and ‘General’ Josiah Harlan (1799–1871), who had lived through the events that led to the first Anglo-Afghan War fifty years before Kipling wrote his famous short story, would have, in all likelihood, agreed. Both had 3

The term “Great Game,” originally coined in the first half of the nineteenth century by Arthur Conolly (cf. chapter 2), an adventurer who undertook the dangerous mission of travelling to British India from Russia, showing the feasibility of the journey, and Henry Rawlinson (1810–1895), an army officer who became famous for deciphering cuneiform script, designated the power struggle between Great Britain and the Russian Empire for hegemony in Central Asia. It is often erroneously ascribed to Kipling himself, who only popularized the term. For a critical discussion cf. Malcolm Yapp, “The Legend of the Great Game,” Proceedings of the British Academy 111 (2001), 179–98.

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been players in the ‘Great Game’ and both had themselves experienced the social turmoils, political intrigues, and ideological contradictions involved in the race for dominance in Central Asia. The chapter takes their writings as case models for illustrating the central place that Alexander occupied in the historical consciousness of nineteenth century British India. As will be shown, both used Alexander as a touchstone to place the events of their day in a broader perspective. And both used history as an exemplum that had, foolishly, not been taken into account by British decision makers in their strategy concerning Afghanistan. In the case of Harlan, his writings came from the definite knowledge of what Britain’s first expedition into Afghanistan would bring: an entire British army had perished in the Afghan mountains and deserts a year before he wrote his Memoir of India and Avghaunistan and his book became a bitter revenge on a political power he felt had overstretched itself in an attempt to unite a nation of disparate tribes under a common banner. A keen reader of classical sources, Harlan knew that Alexander had been faced with similar problems. Had the British read their history books carefully, he implicitly argued, they would have acted differently. After all, Harlan had managed to carve out his own small kingdom in a remote region of Afghanistan just prior to the British advent. Now he was back in the United States, and keen to avenge himself, at least, discursively, on those that had wronged him. One person he held a grudge against had been brutally slain in Kabul just a year before. When Sir Alexander Burnes first entered Afghanistan in the early 1830s, he did not know what fate would await him and that he, known by locals only as ‘Sikander’, would be murdered when the Afghan uprising flared up in the streets of Kabul in November 1841. Still, his writings show signs of an almost melancholy premonition and an insight into the temporal transience of the historical events that unfolded around him. Other than the embittered American Harlan, Burnes clearly saw the British-Russian struggle for geopolitical sovereignty in Asia as an event of world historical dimensions and he was quick to draw parallels to the grandeur of Alexander’s conquests in the region. Where Burnes adopted the imperial fervor and civilizing mission connected to the memory of Alexander and was quick to present himself in the light of his ancient namesake, Harlan was, at least in hindsight, more cautious, using Alexander as a warning example of how things could turn out if one was not careful to take into account the lessons taught by history. Years before, Harlan, too, had followed Alexander’s track over the Hindu Kush, and with Curtius Rufus and Arrian in hand, had proclaimed himself the first Westerner since antiquity to successfully march an army into regions the old Greeks knew as ‘Bactria.’ In the end, Burnes’s and Harlan’s exploits in these regions – like Carnehan’s and Dravot’s in Kipling’s story – vanished and while their own life stories slowly faded into oblivion, Alexander’s memory continued to loom large as the one name associated with Western imperialism in Central Asia. In the following, the complex sociopolitical entanglements that dominated the ‘Great Game’ in Central Asia and that led to the First Anglo-Afghan War (1839–1842) will be discussed and will be read against the cultural memory of Alexander the Great

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that prevailed and re-surfaced again and again in the public memoirs, political pamphlets, and private correspondence of the day. More than a simple reminiscence of an ancient forebear or role model against which one’s own undertakings could be read and understood, Alexander the Great became, in these documents, a source of inspiration and of emulation that spurred the often Romantic aspiration to follow his tracks into a region of mythic proportions. The mimetic desire fueled by this imaginative act led to transgressions of various sorts: both in terms of geographical exploration – hardy individuals and keen adventurers were the first Westerners to roam spaces no European had set foot in in centuries – and personal representation and comportment. Men like Burnes and Harlan used, quite in line with official decision makers, the biographies of Alexander the Great as sources to understand and navigate the foreign and often menacing regions of Afghanistan. Yet, in their discursive domestication of the strange and unfamiliar, they went one step further and used Alexander as a cultural foil on which to present themselves. They not only did this with regard to a Western audience to create a new type of frontier hero, that is one that had ancient forebears, but also in their contact with local populations and people who held strong memories of ‘Sikander’ themselves and who saw the Macedonian as a direct ancestor. For Burnes and Harlan this had the effect that they, in their personal reception of Alexander, ‘went native’ in so far as they immersed themselves in local cultural systems of communication and exchange, mastering the local dialects and dressing in the style of the inhabitants. And while the two Westerners used these contacts to different ends and were, in the end, strictly opposed to one another, their individual experiences led to an often conflicting standpoint that set them in contrast with the official politics of their day. For some time, the lure of adventure and personal achievement led them to play their own ‘Great Game’ in Central Asia. When the First Anglo-Afghan War broke out in 1839, it ended for both: Harlan had to leave the country, while Burnes watched the major events from the sidelines of his house in Kabul (where he eventually would be killed by a raging mob). And while their respective memories of Alexander found their way into official interpretations of what happened in Afghanistan towards the mid-nineteenth century, their own exploits left traces in the cultural imaginary where they spurred and inspired stories like Kipling’s “The Man Who Would Be King.” In order to illustrate these complex culture-historic developments, the voyages of Alexander Burnes will, in the following, be read and interpreted in their geopolitical as well as self-representational significance in order to show the mimetic character of his exploits. In the same vein, Harlan’s own adventures in the region will be analyzed with regard to his Romantic adaption and emulation of Alexander the Great as well as his proto-Imperialist vision of carving out his own dominion in Afghanistan. Eventually, a reading of Kipling’s short story “The Man Who Would Be King” (including references to Huston’s filmic adaption) will show in how far the cultural imagination was fueled by men like Burnes and Harlan, who, each in his own way, became the stuff of legend and storytelling.

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3.1 Afghanistan, Imagination, and the Imitation of Alexander the Great Looking at contemporary British examples of travel writing in Afghanistan, Graham notes how the genre is still affected by “imperialist nostalgia.”4 In the same vein, Mairs detects, in some recent discussions of the ancient history of Central Asia, “an incongruous sense of nostalgia,” connected to a “Western imagination” at once characterized by a “romanticization of the British Raj” and “a condemnation of its values.”5 Writing about Afghanistan, it seems, has always been informed by a “Janus face of empire,”6 by discursively rendering it as “a land of mystery and exoticism,” whose landscapes provided the sublime background for “the West’s most alluring and most frightening conceptions of the Muslim world”,7 and by thus discursively covering up the violent appropriation of a foreign country and its economic exploitation. This sense of nostalgia has its roots in the early nineteenth century when travelers and explorers like Burnes or Harlan roamed these parts of the world and wrote about them in a fashion that underlined their almost otherworldly and mythical aura. However, it would be too simple to claim that these authors were the first to do so. Rather, they harked back to images stored in ancient accounts of these regions and, as it becomes clear in their texts, they used the ancient sources, the accounts of fellow travelers and locals as well as their own observations to create a dialogical and at times almost inter-subjective narrative of their exploits. This had the effect that they discursively set themselves on par with their ancient forebears and saw themselves as standing in a line of traditions, both following and pursuing the ancient examples. In many ways, Afghanistan lent itself to these geopolitical, and eventually discursive, undertakings. As Frank Holt illustrates in his study of how numismatics helped shed light on Afghan history and how it became, at the same time, implicated in imperial projects, this part of the world had, already in antiquity, served as a space of cultural contact and hybridity. “In a sense,” he writes, “globalism was born in Bactria. (…) Where else in the world could anyone find such a tangle of cultural traditions.”8 He goes on to point to the problematics of a Eurocentric conception of the (ancient) world and invites a re-visualization of the global proportions of cultural transfer processes: “Although Bactria served as the easternmost edge of Greek civilization, a simple shift of the map or swing of the globe shows its centrality to half the world.”9 Of 4 5 6 7 8 9

Mark Graham, “A Short Walk through Afghanistan: Orientalism and its Discontent in Recent Literature,” in Not so Innocent Abroad: The Politics of Travel and Travel Writing, ed. Bernard Schweizer and Ulrike Brisson (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2009), 46. Rachel Mairs, “Hellenistic India,” New Voices in Classical Reception Studies 1 (2006), 23–24. Graham, “A Short Walk through Afghanistan,” 38. Ibid. Frank L. Holt, Lost World of the Golden King: In Search of Ancient Afghanistan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012), 2. Ibid.

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course, it would be wrong to suggest that Bactria ever was a core area of Greek policy or cultural creation. Running along the foothills of the Hindu Kush and the banks of the Amu Darya, a river the ancients knew as Oxus, Bactria became an independent kingdom shortly after Alexander the Great’s conquests in the region, ruled by remnants of Alexander’s army and groups of local inhabitants. It lasted several centuries until it collapsed sometime in the late second century BCE. As material relics like coins, epigraphic inscriptions, or archaeological remains show, this area possessed “a great deal of ethnic and cultural ambiguity,”10 and although the relics are marked by Greek letters and the excavated sites at Ai Khanoum and other places show signs of a vibrant Greek urban culture, they nonetheless appear side by side with local idioms or architectural forms. This has led scholars like Grant Parker to cautiously warn against overtly quick attributions of Hellenism onto cultural forms and expressions that were far removed from the Mediterranean and that were influenced by wholly different cultural forms.11 While it is certain that Greek culture had an impact in this region, the question of how it exactly articulated itself is less clear and raises important issues concerning ethnicity, identity, and cultural traditions. Accordingly, “Hellenism in an Afghan context,” as Parker’s essay is entitled, is about “understanding the dynamics of encounter that took place there.”12 Rather than trying to embed the ancient history of the Hindu Kush region into a “grand narrative” or to impress any one-sided “imperial design” on it, for instance one that unanimously stresses the Greek element, it would be more appropriate to look for “smaller-scale histories”13 that uncover the cultural contacts between different ethnic communities and the cultural as well as social mobility they entailed. This approach is also useful for our topic at hand, since the micro-history of individual lives like Harlan’s or Burnes’ can help place the imperial history of Afghanistan in the nineteenth century in a different perspective that also takes into account the complex intercultural contacts, the adaption to customs and clothing, and the communication that was never one-sided, but rather open, multi-lingual, and transcultural. The cultural reception of Alexander the Great is a case in point, because it was not solely taken up by Westerners travelling through this region of the world, but rather by the Afghan communities themselves, who also perceived the foreigners against the background of tales stored in oral traditions and communicative memory. This is not to say that individual travelers like Burnes or Harlan were more open-minded than the officials or superiors in London and Calcutta or that they saw the Afghans as their equals. But they were nevertheless 10 11

12 13

Mairs, “Hellenistic India,” 20. Cf. for a detailed discussion of the material relics at Ai Khanoum and other places and their implications for our cultural models of the ancient Indo-Greek kingdoms like Bactria Grant Parker, “Hellenism in an Afghan Context,” in Memory as History: The Legacy of Alexander in Asia, ed. Himanshu Prabha Ray and Daniel T. Potts (New Delhi: Aryan Books International, 2007), 170–91. Ibid., 185. Ibid., 174.

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cultural mediators who got into contact with local inhabitants and who soon learned that the Afghans had more political agency and possessed a culture far more complex than the Westerners had initially thought. Studying the autobiographical writings of men like Burnes or Harlan in Afghanistan also shows the complexity of policies in nineteenth century Central Asia. And while their writings are steeped in Orientalist images, they nonetheless set a corrective to the hegemonic worldviews of political think tanks and decision makers in London or St. Petersburg who perceived the lands around the Hindu Kush only in terms of their strategic or economic value. Where officials harbored the dream of control or possession, Burnes and Harlan knew that things were not quite that simple and that Afghanistan had a history of its own, resilient and autonomous in the face of foreign attempts at appropriation. It is interesting to note that metaphors connoting travel and mobility loom large in literature on Afghanistan. Stephen Tanner, in his military history of the country, speaks of Afghanistan alternatingly as “the great primary land conduit connecting the great empires of Central Asia, the Middle East, and the Indian subcontinent”, an “invasion route”, or “an essential passageway between civilizations.”14 And while this aspect of mobility is usually stressed in the context of foreign relations between Afghan communities and their neighbors, usually with a focus from the outside, it is hardly ever applied to Afghans themselves in their relation to their neighbors. Studying the historiography of the country, one gets the impression that while Afghanistan functioned as a kind of mobility platform for people on the transit between the different regions of the world, its own people rarely ventured outside of its domains. From the historiography of the Early Modern Age onwards, there is indeed some geographical determinism connected to common conceptions of the country,15 and for travelers in the nineteenth century, the impression of Afghanistan as a closed-off realm with vast deserts, mountain ranges, and thieving tribes played an important role. It was no question that one could travel into Afghanistan, but the question of whether one could come out again was a different matter altogether. The complex issue of the region and its manifold sociocultural, geopolitical, and historical entanglements is neatly captured in the term used to designate this specific space itself. What we now commonly refer to as “Afghanistan” is, in fact, a historical construct and had never been a self-description of the heterogeneous tribes living in the area. The term means something like “noisy” or “unruly”16 and was taken over first by the British and later the Russians to refer to the territories of the Pashtun ethnic

14

15 16

Stephen Tanner, Afghanistan: A Military History from Alexander the Great to the Fall of the Taliban (New York: Da Capo Press, 2002), 2–3. These historical interpretations gained new ground after the U. S.-led coalition declared war on the Afghan Taliban after the terroristic attacks on the World Trade Center. Briant, Exégèse, 506–25, gives a good overview over the debate. Cf. William Dalrymple, Return of a King: The Battle for Afghanistan (London: Bloomsbury, 2013), 3. Tanner, Afghanistan, 5.

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groups bordering on Pakistan.17 As Dalrymple notes, the people who would subsequently become known as “Afghans” had actually called their lands Khurasan, but had never really possessed a sociopolitical or administrative unity.18 This lack of a homogeneous cultural identity and the absence of any political center except for the loose and ever-shifting alliance of various tribes and their leaders only added to the Westerners’ confusion and amazement concerning Afghan affairs and helped turn the region with its different territories into a “discursive site”19 as much as a piece of the geopolitical puzzle in the strategic plans for Central Asia. This also entailed a plethora of stereotyped images of the inhabitants that were, as David Lyon puts it, “always to be as characterized as predatory, murderous and barbarous.”20 There had not been many Westerners who had travelled through Afghanistan prior to 1800 and those who had done so, had barely left any written material on which could be drawn in order to get some knowledge of the country. Thus, the texts of classical authors like the Alexander biographers re-surfaced as important sources of intelligence. This mixture of a deep perspective that underlined the imperial history of Afghanistan and its neighboring territories, the notoriously dangerous nature of the country, as well as the stereotyped images and half-knowledge Westerners possessed of it, combined to create an Afghanistan of the mind, a place not of geography but of a social imaginary that formed in the early nineteenth century and took possession of adventurers like Burnes or Harlan. For the British public it became a frontier region, beyond whose narrow and shifting borders semi-civilized people, life-threatening wilderness, and fame for those who dared to enter it awaited. Before Great Britain, along with Russia, drew the finite borders of modern Afghanistan towards the end of the nineteenth century, they demarcated their respective areas of influence both territorially as well as imaginatively. For both, Alexander the Great played a decisive role in these “geographies of conquest.”21 As Vasunia notes with regard to the early British travelers of the nineteenth century, their explorations were, on the one hand, tied to a political program of acquiring knowledge of the geographical dimensions of the country and assembling data and insight into the local conditions of population patterns and their tribal customs. On the other hand, “the area’s connections with history and the kings and conquerors of the past were also an irresistible

17

18 19 20 21

The present study seeks to account for the British reception of Alexander, but this is, of course, only one side of the story. There had also been a Russian reception of the Macedonian analyzed in Svetlana Gorshenina, “Alexandre le Grand et les Russes. Un regard sur le conquérant porté depuis l’Asie centrale”, in With Alexander in India and Central Asia: Moving East and back to West, ed. Claudia Antonetti and Paolo Biagi (Oxford: Oxbow, 2017), 152–93. Cf. Dalrymple, Return of a King, 3. Edward Marx, “How We Lost Kafiristan,” Representations 67 (1999), 56. Lyon, Butcher and Bolt, 19. Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 51.

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attraction for the men who travelled through it.”22 The lure of adventure was also tied to the ancient past of regions of the world that were associated with mythical stories of heroes, who had left their own traces there and the pursuit of the imprints they had left became an obsession for travelers like Burnes or Harlan, who may have sought a personal connection with the legendary deeds of the past, to become themselves tied to cultural memory and partake, at least slightly, in historical greatness. The intentions of officials and policy-makers in London, Calcutta, or St. Petersburg were far less romantic, however. On the side of the British and the East India Company they stemmed, at least in part, from an (irrational) fear for the safety of their Indian dominions. The Russian Empire had been on the advance for some time and had substantially expanded its sphere of influence, adding the Caucasus region including Armenia in 1828 and the steppe between the Caspian and Aral Seas to their dominion, an area that was still crisscrossed by warring steppe tribes like Uzbeks, Turkmans and other ethnic groups. This continental outreach was in many ways different from British maritime aspirations, but when Russian bastions came ever closer to the Indian frontier and when Persia switched from a pro-English to a pro-Russian policy, officials began to worry. They thus began to set their eyes on Afghanistan as a possible buffer zone. As Tanner neatly describes this shift in policy: “Afghanistan had been a conduit; now it would be a barrier.”23 In hindsight, it seemed that the ‘Great Game’ that would ensue between Great Britain and Russia had been preset from the beginning and that it had been played by spies, diplomats, and military strategists. Yet, as the early decades of the nineteenth century show, the development was not inevitable and many of the travels into Afghanistan had different aims altogether, often tied to economic interests. Other initiatives were born from a keen adventurous spirit and many of the local agents of the British government or the East India Company were comparatively free to act on their own accounts. One element that played a decisive role for their own aspiration and self-representation was indeed Alexander the Great and his route eastward. As Hagerman notes, many travelers and officials connected to the policies in the East “saw themselves reprising Alexander’s explorations, conquests, and even his world-historical mission to civilise Asia.” He notes how “this belief ” became “a powerful element in British imperial identity” and how “it made Alexander’s life a source of precedents to be mined, refined, and deployed to justify the imperial project,” a life that was, in short, turned into “a source of inspiration.”24 Of course, his argument does not entail that all the imperial undertakings of this age, especially those around the northwestern frontier of India were inspired by Alexander’s deeds – quite the contrary for there were other economic and political factors involved that did not have anything to do with a Romantic adaption 22 23 24

Ibid., 52. Tanner, Afghanistan, 132. Hagerman, “In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,” 344.

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of Alexander’s historical model. Nonetheless, Hagerman’s argument is central to our topic at hand, because it provides an avenue for thinking about how these imperial exploits were fashioned and in how far the classics, and especially the histories of Alexander, were implicated in self-representation. What led to the emphatic reception and eventually the emulation of Alexander on the part of Western travelers, adventurers, officers, and officials was what Hagerman refers to as “the power of the positive image of Alexander” as “the great civiliser.”25 The sociopolitical background of these individuals was almost unanimously the same, namely of a classical education and a metropolitan culture in which Alexander loomed large as a symbol of a cultural agent who had brought light into the abysmal darkness of the East. More than a product of contemporary Orientalist images of the local inhabitants in India or Afghanistan, these cultural imaginations were stored in ancient accounts of these regions. When Alexander the Great started his Bactrian campaign in 329 BCE, he encountered people whose customs widely differed from anything he had encountered on his prior expeditions. His original intent had been to hunt down and punish Bessus, the local satrap of Bactria under Darius III., who had led the Bactrian contingent of Darius’ troops. Alexander had beaten Darius twice in great battles (first at Issos in 333, later at Gaugamela in 331), but the Persian king had always eluded him. Bessus, too, could withdraw with his renowned cavalry. Darius’ original impulse might have been to regroup in the eastern parts of his former Empire, but Bessus had other plans. At a war council he conjured the martial spirit of his troops and publicly stated that the Persian defeat had been Darius’ own fault.26 Had it not been for the incompetence of Darius, the Persians may have defeated the Macedonian invader yet and so Bessus tried to legitimize what would follow next, namely the assassination of Darius III. in 330 BCE. Bessus, in turn, proclaimed himself the royal successor, know under the name Artaxerxes V.27 Alexander was determined to bring the usurper to justice and avenge the brutal murder of Darius, who he had buried according to Persian custom, automatically situating himself in the Achaemenid tradition and making clear that he saw himself as the new legitimate king of ‘Asia.’ Before he set out to his punitive campaign in the eastern parts of the Persian dominion, Alexander is supposed to have given a speech to his troops in which he “denounced” the inhabitants of Bactria “as lawless savages, the enemies of civilization.”28 This speech, found in Curtius Rufus’ account of Alexander’s life that had been widely read by those who ventured beyond the north25 26 27 28

Ibid., 379. Cf. Curt. 7.4.1–19. Cf. on the accusations against Darius and his ensuing assassination Arr. an. 3.21–22. Frank L. Holt, Into the Land of Bones: Alexander the Great in Afghanistan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 15. Cf. Curt. 6.3.3–9. In Curtius’ version of Alexander’s speech, the Macedonian speaks of the Bactrians as ‘savage beasts’: “Cum feris bestiis res est, quas captas et inclusas, quia ipsarum natura non potest, longior dies mitigat” (Curt. 6.3.8). It needs to be pointed out that Holt’s

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western frontier like Burnes or Harlan, is a good example of how Romans in imperial times imagined the discursive rendering of Alexander’s campaigns in the East. He was stylized as the great civilizer who came not only to subdue and conquer, but to bring order and stability into regions otherwise renowned for their savage ways of life. To the British travelers and officials, it did not matter that speeches like these were un-historic elaborations from later times; what mattered was that Britain’s own civilizing rhetoric was mirrored in ancient accounts and thus “extended the tradition of European domination of Asia back into remotest antiquity.”29 According to the ancient sources, Alexander’s soldiers had a very negative impression of Bactrians and their culture. But, as Holt reminds us, these negative and one-sided stereotypes have to be treated carefully, since material relics paint a different picture altogether, namely one of an urban population with a certain amount of wealth, who cultivated their fields and were embedded in vast networks of trade.30 Already in antiquity, the accounts of the people who accompanied Alexander into Bactria and Sogdia like those of Onesicritus, unfortunately lost to us, were commented upon for their overtly negative portrayal and possible one-sidedness.31 Nonetheless, this did not stop them from being embraced as inspirational texts by Westerners who made it their call to embark on an explorative, increasingly civilizing mission themselves. The ancient sources possessed an inspirational quality that could be discursively emulated and exploited by Western imperialists. These texts also presented early travelers and explorers in India and its frontier with a cultural foil that enabled the active imitation of Alexander the Great.32 Rabel argues that the cultural reception of Alexander the Great along the frontier was characterized by “acts of impersonation” and a “mimetic desire”33 to actively step into his footsteps, both in turn of the geopolitical undertakings of the day as well as the idealistic and imaginative ways of how life could be lived. Although travelers drew on historical sources, their imitation of Alexander largely stemmed from an imaginative act that included the idealization of the Macedonian as well as the longing to re-live some his experiences. This, in turn, could lead to a “condition of rivalry” with the role model, leading from its external admiration to an internal identification and thus a transcendence or re-figuration of the own self.34 As will be shown in the subsequent analysis of Burnes’ and Harlan’s travels through Afghanistan, both options were possible and can be found in the narrative accounts of

29 30 31 32 33 34

view of Bactrian history and his interpretation of recent conflicts as a continual of more ancient ones has not gone unchallenged. For a concise critique cf. Briant, Exégèse, 511–26. Hagerman, “In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,” 380. Cf. Holt, Land of Bones, 15. Cf. Strab. 11.11.3. Cf. Hagerman, “In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,” 391–92 and Robert J. Rabel, “The Imitation of Alexander the Great in Afghanistan,” Helios 34.1 (2007), 97–119, especially 97–98. Ibid., 98–99. Ibid., 103.

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their respective voyages. What will be referred to, in the course of the chapter, as ‘imperial imitation’ thus connotes a primarily discursive emulation of Alexander’s life and tracks as stored in the ancient sources. Burnes and Harlan clearly took the Macedonian as a historical role model, who was connected to the regions they roamed in the early decades of the nineteenth century. They frequently used Alexander as a comparative benchmark and as a means of communication: both with regard to a Western audience to underline the heroic (and historic) character of their travels and with regard to the local inhabitants, who had their own traditions of ‘Sikander.’ In many ways, Alexander invites theories of cultural imitation or mimesis, because his own life was, if we can believe his biographers, modeled to a large degree on mythical sources. Homer and the Iliad were especially important reference points and Alexander was said to have visited the site of Troy and to have fulfilled some highly symbolic acts that emulated the mythical heroes, especially Achilles, who was believed to be a direct ancestor of the Macedonian king.35 It could be argued that the early travelers of the nineteenth century used Alexander in the same way that he used the narratives circulating of the Homeric heroes during his own time. The autobiographies of Alexander’s life, notably those of Curtius Rufus and Arrian, became sets of narratives that could be used to read and interpret Westerners’ own undertakings in the regions around the north-west frontier. And the character traits of Alexander, his companions, and the locals Western travelers encountered became types that could be adopted or emulated, depending on the situation in which one found oneself. The ancient sources thus became implicated in the cultural negotiation of identity beyond the borders of the known world. Thrown into a threatening and alien world, the Western travelers through these regions were provided, in the ancient texts, with an interpretative framework of how to read their surroundings and, in turn, themselves. In consequence, their own autobiographical narratives of their exploits were, to a large extent, stylized to reflect virtues of masculinity, an adventurous spirit, and a civilizing mission. Some of these were imported from the ancient sources, some came from the cultural texts of their own times, namely from adventure stories, historical novels, and Romantic literature. Alexander was thereby used as a historical mediator as well as a charismatic model, whose name alone evoked associations of imperial dominance and individual heroism. Therefore, the reception of Alexander was not merely a way of gaining knowledge about foreign regions, but rather a discursive strategy to create a new type of frontier hero. And, for a short time, there was no greater frontier hero in British India than Alexander Burnes.

35

Cf. Arr. an. 1.11–2.

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3.2 Up the Indus and Through Afghanistan: Sir Alexander Burnes in the Footsteps of Alexander the Great – The Identities of Places and People The author of Sir Alexander Burnes’ obituary in The Spectator was devastated. “The news from Afghanistan has cast a gloom around many a heart: there is one loss, however, that will be felt by a wide public,”36 began the article that summed up the character and the many achievements of the adventurous Scotsman, who, the commentator stated, had died way too early, at 36, killed at the hands of fanatic Afghan Muslims in early November 1841. His death marked the beginning of the uprising of the Afghan population, who detested the presence of a foreign army, stationed in an improvised cantonment outside of Kabul, and who were unhappy that their new king, Shah Shujah (1785–1842), had been installed as what many saw a political puppet by the British. In the months leading up to the upstir that would end in one of the most disastrous defeats in the military history of the British Empire, Alexander Burnes had grown into a persona non grata on the part of the Afghan locals, especially of the noblemen, who had been increasingly sidelined by the new regime. They blamed him for leading the feringhee (i. e. the foreign European) army into their country and for having played what they perceived as a double game with their now exiled Emir Dost Mohammed Khan (1793–1863). Burnes had been welcomed numerous times by Dost Mohammed with all honors he could have asked for, but still the ambitious Briton had partaken in the Emir’s disgraceful resignation and in the installment of the new system.37 In the end, however, it was Burnes’ taste for lavish parties and local mistresses that sparked the final flashpoint in Kabul. For quite some time, Afghans had become irritated by the British conduct in their city and Burnes, the gentlemanly gallant and notorious womanizer, became a symbol of Western hubris and misbehavior. On the evening of November 1, 1841, a crazed mob assembled outside of his house in Kabul’s old district and, finally, killed him together with his brother Charles and the Sepoy guard that had been assigned to watch his mansion. The life of the man the Afghans only knew as “Sekunder” (or Sikander) had come to an end. When the obituary was issued in The Spectator, the political turmoil that the disaster in Afghanistan unfurled had far from subsided and public sentiments were tense. People demanded explanations and politicians as well as officials were trying to re-

36 37

Anon., “Sir Alexander Burnes,” The Spectator, 12 February 1842, 14. Cf. Helen Mackenzie, Storms and Sunshine of a Soldier’s Life: Lt. General Colin Mackenzie CB 1825–1881 (Edinburgh: Douglas, 1884), vol. I, 96. Also Mohan Lal, Life of the Amir Dost Mohammed Khan: With his Political Proceedings towards the English, Russian and Persian Governments, including the Victory and Disasters of the British Army in Afghanistan (London: Longmans, 1846), vol. II, 401–7.

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solve what had gone wrong and who was to blame for the failed operation. British officials were quick to blame, amongst the misguided military strategists, Burnes for misjudging the situation at Kabul and for having sent intelligence that was flawed and politically naïve. One of the bright stars of Great Britain’s Central Asian presence was declining. It was only in 1851, when Sir John Kaye’s History of the War in Afghanistan was published that the account of Burnes’ part in the disaster was rectified and it became clear that Burnes had actually warned the officials of the potential dangers of the Afghan mission, but that the latter had chosen to ignore his warnings.38 It is therefore astonishing that The Spectator opted to explicitly honor the memory of Sir Alexander Burnes in 1842 and attests to both his celebrity as well as the fascination that the Scotsman incited in his contemporaries. Born on 16 May 1805 on the east coast of Scotland, in Montrose, Burnes was the fourth son of James and Elizabeth Burnes and the cousin of the celebrated poet Robert Burns. During his education at the Montrose Academy (or the Trades School), young Burnes came into contact with the classics that “kindled his obsession with Alexander the Great which first drew him to Afghanistan and the Indus.”39 His opportunity came in 1821, when he, only at sixteen, was offered a cadetship in the Bombay Infantry through connections to a director of the East India Company. His biographers describe him as “tough, high-spirited and resourceful,”40 as someone who was able to learn languages as easily as he made acquaintances and friends. “A questing romantic, never happier when on the road,”41 Burnes was the most prominent of early nineteenth century adventurers involved in the geopolitical turmoil between Great Britain and Russia in Central Asia. His obituary in The Spectator summed up his most important achievements: in 1830 he had led a survey of the Indus, paving the way for further explorers. He had travelled to Afghanistan twice (1832 and 1836–1838) and into Bokhara all the way to the Caspian Sea and Persia. And although his missions were nominally commercial and explorative, they also had a political meaning not lost on the commentator who noted “his success in transacting business with those princes” of Asia which proved that he was also a pragmatic, who could turn his broad “knowledge” of the regions “to account.”42 This practical knowledge of Asian affairs and his many experiences in regions barely ever roamed by a Westerner also distinguished Burnes, in the eyes of the commentator, from many of his contemporaries who only possessed theoretical knowledge of the East. Here was a true adventurer, courageous and enterprising, whose name and 38 39 40 41 42

Cf. Sir John William Kaye, History of the War in Afghanistan: From the unpublished letters and military officers employed in Afghanistan (London: W. H. Allen, 1851). Dalrymple, Return of a King, 57. Cf. also Meyer and Brysac, Tournament of Shadows, 77–80 and James Lunt, Bokhara Burnes (London: Faber and Faber, 1969), 22–26. Dalrymple, Return of King, 56. Meyer and Brysac, Tournament of Shadows, 77. Anon., “Sir Alexander Burnes,” 15.

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character deserved commemoration. Sir Alexander Burnes would have certainly been pleased with this characterization, since it drew on a lot of aspects that he had been careful to emphasize in his own writings. His fascination with and reception of Alexander the Great played a decisive role in his self-representation and in proving his adventurous spirit and practical knowledge. Especially in his perception of places, people, and the rendering of his own (and foreign) identities, Alexander re-surfaced again and again in his writings. Burnes wrote two books, one of which was published posthumously. After his first long expedition into Afghanistan and Bokhara, he collated his experiences into the three-volume travel narrative Travels into Bokhara.43 Printed by John Murray, the leading publisher of the day, his book was an overnight sensation, relating “for the first time the romance, mystery and excitement of Central Asia.”44 His book became a bestseller and made Burnes a celebrity amongst the high echelons of London society, turning the Scotsman into the primary frontier hero of his time. The Royal Geographical Society awarded him with its gold medal and Burnes was invited to join the Athenaeum, thus entering the circles of the social and literary élite. Nonetheless, Burnes opted to go back to his primary post in India and was later chosen to conduct a second, this time more overtly political, mission to Afghanistan that ended in his failed attempt to negotiate a treaty with the Afghan ruler Dost Mohammed Khan.45 The reason why Burnes opted to go back to India and Afghanistan was his ambition, but also an adventurous spirit that drew him back. As Hopkirk puts it, the north-west frontier resembled a “great political no-man’s land[,] (…) a vast adventure playground for ambitious young officers and explorers of both sides.”46 Burnes was the most prestigious and popular of them at that time and he did not miss a chance to underline the daring nature of his exploits, which he also ascribed to his fascination for the almost mythical aura of places almost no Westerner had set foot in for centuries. The travel writings of Mountstuart Elphinstone as well as history books and adventure stories instilled in Burnes a desire to visit “the scene[s] of romantic achievements which I had read of in early youth with the most intense interest.” He went on to cite the “hazardous nature of the expedition” and described at length the disguises, hardships, and dangers he and his party had to endure on their daring expedition.47 “Desire,”

43 44 45

46 47

Alexander Burnes, Travels into Bokhara, Being the Account of a Journey from India to Cabool, Tartary, and Persia, also a Narrative of a Voyage on the Indus from the Seat o Lahore, 3 vols. (London: John Murray, 1834). Hopkirk, The Great Game, 151. Cf. Alexander Burnes, Cabool: A Personal Narrative of a Journey to, and Residence in that City in the Years 1836, 7 and 8 (London: John Murray, 1842). On Burnes’ second Afghan mission cf. also Dalrymple, Return of a King, 92–99 and 107–30; Hopkirk, The Great Game, 168–74; Lunt, Bokhara Burnes, 176–90. Hopkirk, The Great Game, 4. Burnes, Travels, vol. I., x.

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Fig. 2 Portrait of Sir Alexander Burnes in Asian clothes, early 1830s.

in fact, became a key term for explaining his own motives for venturing beyond the Indus, a river he had, as Burnes liked to stress, “[navigated] as the first European of modern times.” He was finally stepping in the path paved by his ultimate role model: “My success in this undertaking, which was attended with many difficulties, and the sight of so many tribes hitherto little known, gave fresh strength to a desire that I had always felt to see new countries, and visit the conquests of Alexander.”48 In early 1831, Burnes embarked on a cargo vessel that carried, along with the expedition party, six carthorses that were meant as a present for the Sikh leader Ranjit Singh (1780–1839). Singh had carved out his own Sikh kingdom in the Punjab at the dawn of the nineteenth century, quickly becoming the most powerful ruler in the region. The British were keen on being on good terms with the king who they felt could serve as a powerful ally concerning their geopolitical maneuvers beyond the northwestern fron-

48

Ibid., ix. Cf. on this also Alexander Burnes, “Memoir of the Eastern Branch of the River Indus, giving an Account of the Alterations Produced on it by an Earthquake, also a Theory of the Formation of the Runn, and Some Conjectures on the Route of Alexander the Great,” Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society 3 (1835), 550–66. For a similar account also William Pottinger, “On the Present State of the River Indus, and the Route of Alexander the Great,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 1, no. 2 (1834), 199–208.

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tier. The Sikh ruler was immensely pleased with his presents and with Burnes, who, with his charming conversational skills and entertaining nature, proved a man to the taste of Singh.49 In his writings, Burnes repeatedly stressed the commercial character of his enterprise,50 but the real purpose behind his expedition were the gathering of information on the navigability of the Indus, its flows, and the topography of its surroundings,51 a fact that was not lost on the locals who worried that their river would soon swarm with foreign vessels.52 In a remarkable passage, Burnes reflected on the imperial subtext of his mission, when he stressed that “the navigation of the Indus (…) must advance the interests of commerce. In the revival of an ancient channel to exchange the goods of distant nations, we behold with equal pleasure the advantages of British supremacy in India, and an increased outlet for the commodities of our commercial country.”53 His passage merges a diachronic with a global outlook. Drawing on the ancient history of the Indus that had originally served as a connecting link between people and territories, he implicitly argues that, through British supremacy in the region, it could turn into an exchange hub again that would even interconnect countries farer away. The British drew on the past and were paving the way into the future. As Vasunia puts it, “few statements sum up the ideology of the East India Company more succinctly than that remark,”54 and Burnes repeatedly perceived his surroundings through the prism of history while drawing practical conclusions for the present. The effect was that he used, like European travelers before him, the ancient sources of Alexander’s route up the Indus, both as a means of navigation and orientation, but also as an interpretative framework that would help him in describing and negotiating the identities of the places and people around him. As he points out at the beginning of the description of his first journey up the Indus, “the only accounts of a great portion of its course were drawn from Arrian, Curtius, and the other historians of Alexander’s expedition.”55 Burnes therefore introduces the major guides to his own route right at the beginning of his own narrative that is repeatedly interspersed with verbatim quotes from the ancient sources. Shortly after his party’s departure from Cutch and their arrival in the Indus, Burnes relates how he, at 49 50 51

52 53 54 55

Cf. on Singh and his positive relation with Burnes Dalrymple, Return of a King, 58–60 and Lyon, Butcher and Bolt, 23–25. Cf. Burnes, Cabool, 1–2; Burnes, Travels, vol. I, ix. Cf. ibid, vol. III., 1–3. For the political writings cf. also his writings in Alexander Burnes, Robert Leech, P. B. Lord and John Wood, Reports and Papers: Political, Geographical and Commercial, Submitted to Government by Sir Alexander Burnes, Lieutenant Leech, Doctor Lord, and Lieutenant Wood, Employed on Missions in the Years 1835-36-37, in Scinde, Afghanistan, and Adjacent Countries, Printed by Order of Government (Calcutta: G. H. Huttmann, 1839). Cf. Hopkirk, The Great Game, 135–37. Burnes, Travels, vol. II, 395–96. Vasunia, Colonial India, 71. Burnes, Travels, vol. III, 2.

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the coast of Sindh, “read from Arrian and Quintus Curtius the passage of this memorable scene in Alexander’s expedition, the mouth from which the admiral, Nearchus,”56 sailed off to find a sea route back to Babylon. The degree to which the ancient texts are present in these early parts of Burnes’ narrative is astounding, because the lengthy discussion of their contents almost overshadows the Briton’s own impressions. In fact, his perception of the environment can be said to be so overwritten by the ancient sources that he looks for parallels with the topography and geography as described by the ancient authors, even where they are apparently missing. He thus notes that the river is by far not as wide as sources relate, but likes to detect “some resemblance to the Greek author.”57 Regarding a small island in the middle of the river opposite their anchorage position, he “could not but think it was that Cillutas where the hero of Macedon, ‘(…) sacrificed to the gods, as he had received orders from Ammon.’ ”58 His own prose becomes intertwined with the account by Arrian and turns, in these passages, into a double helix of a narrative in which present impressions and past descriptions merge to create an account of a country that is both concerned with the unearthing of a past history and with re-appropriating and, in turn, re-naming an ever-shifting landscape. This latter aspect is apparent in Burnes’ frustration at the dynamic metamorphosis of the Indus’ nature and shorelines, subject to the shifting tides and waves, and his inquiry into the name of this place. Upon finding that it does not have “an identity of name in the Indian language”59 he extracts the name, Cillutas, from his reading of Arrian and by comparing his textual evidence with his phenomenological perception of the landscape. The ‘desire’ to get in touch with the storied places of the past here combines with the discursive appropriation of a surrounding that does not have a linguistic signifier in the local tongue. To name, or rather re-name, a place is therefore one central function of the reception of ancient sources and can be equated with a discursive act of taking possession of a foreign terrain. This strategy would appear again and again in Burnes’ writings and often combines with an experiential framework that connects his own undertakings with the events described by the Alexander historians. For instance, Burnes relates, once again citing Arrian at length, how the quickness of the tides surprised Alexander and his fleet and how “we could soon discover the cause of their astonishment, for two of our boats stranded,” because the water had suddenly ebbed.60 While the nature of the river and its geography thus undergoes sudden change, there is nevertheless a static element embedded into it; what the ancients had to endure in their sailing the river is experienced with the same force by Burnes and

56 57 58 59 60

Ibid., 10. Burnes, Travels, vol. III, 10. Ibid., 11. Ibid. Ibid., 12. Arr. an. 6.19 is subsequently quoted in a lengthy passage that gives an impression of the difficulty of navigating the Indus.

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his companions. Implicitly, the passing of time equated with the rhythm of the ebb and flows of the tide is narratively transcended in Burnes’ account and the absence of the past is translated into the experience of the present. Following these observations, Burnes self-reflectively summarizes the goal of his descriptions: “In the course of my narrative, I shall endeavor to identify the modern Indus with the features of remoter times.”61 Where local traditions were missing or where the features described in ancient texts were absent (as in the examples above), his explorative enterprise becomes a highly imaginative undertaking where textual readings supplement landscape prospections and where a distinctive geography is supplanted with a geography of the imagination, stored in language. More than an objective category, based on scientific evidence, ‘identifying’ is in Burnes’ account a highly subjective, imaginative operation, also tied to a Romantic sentiment in the face of getting into contact with the grandeur of heroic history: It is difficult to describe the enthusiasm one feels on first beholding the scenes which have exercised the genius of Alexander. That hero has reaped the immortality which he so much desired, and transmitted the history of his conquests, allied with his name, to posterity. A town or a river, which lies on his route, has acquired a celebrity that time serves only to increase; and, while we gaze on the Indus, we connect ourselves, at least in association, with the ages of distant glory. Nor can I pass over such feelings without observing, that they are productive of the most solid advantages to history and science. The Scamander has an immortality which the vast Mississippi itself can never eclipse, and the descent of the Indus by Alexander of Macedon is, perhaps, the most authentic and best attested event of profane history.62

As Burnes makes clear, the explorative quest up the Indus is, through the historic connection to Alexander, highly emotional for him. By following his route as the first Westerner in centuries, Burnes literally re-lives the excitement and wonder Alexander’s soldiers might have felt when they ventured into regions unknown to Greeks. More than a repetition of a past adventure, this is also a means of ‘connecting’ oneself to the epic achievements of the ancient hero. His narrative is, for Burnes, a way of inscribing himself into history and to represent himself as a frontier hero in pursuit of goals that far exceed the commercial and political tasks given at the outset of the journey. This idealistic spirit is evoked repeatedly in the course of the book and shows a romantic sentiment on the part of the author, who is turned, through contact with the forces of nature and the traces of the past, into a mediator that negotiates between the present and what once was. As Hagerman puts it in his elegant discussion of Burnes’ self-appropriated link to the ancient Macedon, there were two sides to Burnes’ recep-

61 62

Burnes, Travels, vol. III, 15. Ibid., 15–16.

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tion of Alexander. On the one hand, it “was self-serving, in so far as [Burnes] clearly believed that publishing links between himself and Alexander would enhance his personal prestige. (…) On the other hand,” as Hagerman continues, his attribution of “the importance of the sources describing Alexander’s career to men, such as himself, engaged in constructing imperial knowledge (…)” was often connected to an ideology of cultural superiority and the implication “that Indian civilization had been static or retrograde.”63 For Burnes, this belief did not so much stem from a feeling of disdain for local customs, but rather from the conviction that the historical memory of Westerners like himself surpassed that of the local people. This is another reason why he repeatedly drew on ancient authors: it is a means of providing his remarks with a cultural authority largely unknown in the areas he travelled through, where the people mainly drew on oral traditions. Accordingly, when his fleet quit the Indus at Mittuncote to enter “the Chenab or Ascines of the Greeks,”64 Burnes is quick to point out that there exist “no” local “tradition[s]” of this event and that the stories circulating amongst the inhabitants rather “point to Cabool as the theatre of his exploits, where Sikunder the Persian achieved many memorable deeds.”65 Burnes does not record this tradition out of an ethnographic interest, but rather for providing the ground for a reflection on the merit of recorded history over oral ways of storing the past: “In the East, as in the West, there have not been wanting ages of darkness to draw a mist over truth, and substitute, in poetical language, the fables of an Eastern country for one of the most authentic facts in ancient history – the voyage of Alexander on the Indus.”66 Although Burnes does not reflect on the way in which history is itself mediated by narrative and ‘poetical’ means, it is interesting to note that his reading of the ancient sources provides him with an authority to rectify the local traditions. Possessing the historical knowledge and carrying authoritative cultural texts with him turn Burnes, in consequence, into a culture-bearer and -bringer himself. This mechanism of naming and un-naming local places not only concerns natural landscapes, however, but also the material traces of civilization and urban life. Shortly before Burnes and his party enter Sindh, they visit the ruins of Alore near Bukkur, once ruled by powerful Brahmin rulers. Burnes tells at length about the history of the region and about the downfall of the local regime in the seventh century as reported in Persian sources. Although there were only a few ruins left of the once wealthy settlement, Burnes concludes from a reading of his sources and a local prospection of the area that it was the site of the kingdom of Musicanus as reported by Arrian, who does not give a name of the place. Again, Burnes laments that “the modern inhabitants of 63 64 65 66

Hagerman, “In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,” 384. Burnes, Travels, vol. III, 89. Ibid. Ibid.

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the Indus have no traditions of the conquest of the Macedonians to assist the enquirer in a subject that excites among the civilized nations such intense curiosity.”67 His own explorative quest and interest in a region far removed from his own country was to Burnes a sign of his own ‘civilized’ status and leads him to ascribe to the locals the status of alterity. He not only repeatedly refers to them as “barbarians,”68 but his practical and discursive inquiry into the history of the region leads, in turn, to an overwriting of the present with the traces of the past. For Burnes it does not matter that there are no local sources that support his assignment of identity – quite the contrary: it suffices that “history (…) identifies” and that his own reflections lead him “to look upon the identity of Tatta and Minagur as conclusive.”69 His own equation of the places he visits brings him, in consequence, at least idealistically closer to them than the local population could ever be. That his identification of places was drawn from associations and analogies, but not from true knowledge seems insignificant to Burnes, who, on the contrary, sees his own undertaking as concerned with the accumulation of new knowledge. This also becomes apparent in his visit of Mooltan, “one of the most ancient cities in India” and the supposed capital of the Malli,70 a tribe that had fought bravely against Alexander. Again topographic characteristics and onomastic aspects let him identify the place as the famed site of Alexander’s nearly fatal conquest of the ancient metropolis. Arguing against Rennell, who places the ancient site further up, Burnes draws on his own perception of the urban structures: “I do not see why we should forsake the modern capital when in search of the ancient (…), its appearance alone indicates it. The houses are piled upon ruins, and the town stands on a mound of clay, the materials of former habitations which have gradually crumbled.”71 In the face of missing traditions and other signs that would indicate the exact location of the ancient signs, the materials of the past come to stand in as signifiers that attest to the age of the visited places – a past that had become transformed, but that was nonetheless present. Moreover, as Burnes argues, this can also be seen in the garments of the locals, which still show the signs of gold and purple as described in his ancient accounts.72 The past and present are thus continually merged in Burnes’ account and what begins with an imaginative association of landscape features finally turns into the material contact with the traces of ancient life. More and more, the places Burnes visits turn into time capsules that keep their features as described in the ancient sources and that imaginatively take him back in 67 68 69 70 71 72

Ibid., 80. See, for instance, ibid., 18–20. Burnes, Travels, vol. III, 79. Ibid., 114. Ibid. Ibid., 115. Cf. also Burnes’ description of the “predatory and warlike race” of the Kattia “in whom (…) we recognize the Cathaei of Arrian” (131).

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history. Some of the passages of the presumed sites of Alexander’s route are told in such vividness that one has the impression as if Burnes had been an eye-witness to the Macedonian’s quests in the region. For instance, when the expedition reached the Hydaspes, whose “ancient character is supported by the noise of the confluence,”73 Burnes almost feels propelled back in time and is emotionally moved at the sight: “Our anxiety to behold the ‘fabulous Hydaspes’ was heightened by the belief that this spot, so famous in ancient history, had never been visited by an European since the days of the Greeks.”74 Here, nearing the end of his expedition, Burnes finally turns into a frontier hero, who roams regions only preserved in texts, geographies of the mind that are physically re-appropriated by his own daring acts. He not only gets into immediate contact with these landscapes and cities, but also with other relics that attest to the ancient history of these places. At Shorkote, Burnes traces more oral traditions regarding “the King of the West” and equates the architecture of the settlement with “the fortresses which were captured by Alexander,” also stumbling upon “a variety of coins,”75 one of which was of Bactrian origin: “The Greek word Bazileos may be read; and I had, therefore, to congratulate myself on having, in my journey to the Hydaspes, found the first Grecian relic in the Punjab.”76 And while he does not succeed in finding a coin of Alexander, this material relic is to him a sign that other Westerners, long before him, had ventured into this region and made it the scenery of an imperial expansion that Burnes also saw at play in his own time. He managed to complete his mission successfully and spent some time in Lahore afterwards where he enjoyed his stay at the court of Ranjit Singh. His report of his journey up the Indus was perceived as a model of its kind and brought him the attention of the Governor-General, who eventually sanctioned his proposed plan to venture beyond the Oxus and visit Afghanistan and then to travel through Bokhara to the shores of the Caspian Sea. Chance encounters with Afghans as well as his visit to the exiled Afghan monarch Shah Shujah at Ludihana, on the border of the Company’s territory, instilled in him a desire to see yet another part of the world that had rarely been stepped into by Westerners before him. The narrative of his journey to Afghanistan, which led through the Punjab again,77 begins with the scene of the utmost point of Alexander’s Indian expedition, namely the river Hyphasis, where his troops mutinied and where Alexander commanded the erection of twelve giant altars to symbolically mark the end of his route. Although the party searches for days, no signs of the ancient relics can be found, and while Burnes is

73 74 75 76 77

Ibid., 127. Ibid. Ibid., 132. Ibid. On other antiquities and coins not relating to Greek origin cf. ibid., 182–83, also vol. II, 457–63 and Burnes, Cabool, 203–5. Cf. on the description of the Punjab by Greek authors Burnes, Travels, vol. II, 279–82.

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clearly disappointed at the outcome, he nevertheless presents it as part of an explorative advancement: “It was with faint hopes of success that we prosecuted our enquiries after these remnants of antiquity, since the inhabitants did not remember to have even seen an European. It is an appropriation, nevertheless, to discovery, to ascertain where these altars are not.”78 It is telling that Burnes begins his narrative by evoking the geographical turning point of Alexander’s army. He thus makes clear that he even ventures beyond areas stepped into by the Macedonian conqueror, thereby geographically exceeding his namesake, and, at the same time, narratively signalling the pioneering spirit of his own mission. What Afghanistan now is for the British, a terra incognita, India had in many ways been for the ancient Greeks and Burnes is about to embark on the inverted route that Alexander took: Burnes is going the way Alexander came. This is a journey both back into time and the mythic history of the region as well as a step into the future that will bring forth new discoveries and knowledge regarding a land and a people that had won increasingly new geostrategic prominence. The merging of different time layers and the deep time of places is again invoked at various points on the way to the Afghan border and exceedingly encompasses the local inhabitants that are portrayed as the image of their historic ancestors: Historical association and natural beauties united to please as we trod the routes of Hyphestion and Craterus, and sailed on the stream which had wafted the fleet of Alexander. In our progress from the Chenab, we had been travelling in the domain which the conqueror had added to the kingdom of Porus after the battle of Hydaspes. In Arrian’s description I see the existing population: – ‘The inhabitants are strong built and large limbed and taller in stature than all the rest of the Asiatics.’ Nothing, however, can be more miserable than the country between the Acesines and the Hydaspes, – a sterile waste of underwood, the abode of shepherds, scantily supplied with water, which is sixty-five foot below the surface.79

The primitive conditions of life in those regions together with the description of the bodily appearance of the inhabitants invoke images of archaic forms of life that have not progressed since Alexander’s times and that are implicitly contrasted with the modern life in the West. However, this is also connected to a romantic sentiment on the part of the speaker who nevertheless admires the simplistic beauty of the scenery – feelings that are all the more elevated through the imaginative ‘association’ that Alexander himself may have laid eyes on these surroundings. The dyad between past and present finds its equation in the identification with Alexander by Burnes and the parallels to historical forebears he seems to detect in locals. On the prospection of Julalpoor, Burnes muses that this may have been the site of the epic battle between Alex-

78 79

Ibid., vol. I, 7. Ibid., 49.

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ander and the Indian Porus and tries to localize the remains of Nicaea and Bucephalia, a city founded by the Macedon, in this area.80 Burnes goes on to develop a historical parallel: In our search for the remnants of Alexander’s cities, we are led into reflections on the state of the country in those days; and it is curious to compare them with our own times. We are informed that Porus, with whom Alexander fought on the banks of this river, maintained a force of 30,000 infantry and 4000 cavalry, with 200 elephants and 300 war chariots; and that he had subdued all his neighbours. Now, if we change the war chariots into guns, we have precisely the regular force of Runjeet Sing, the modern Porus, who has likewise overwhelmed all his neighbors. The same country will generally produce the same number of troops, if its population be not reduced by adventitious circumstances.81

It is interesting to note that Burnes compares the most powerful potentate in the region, Singh, to the most powerful one in antiquity and cites the number of their troops as the basis of their respective military strength. The subtext written into this account is one of imperial expansionism, since Alexander’s role has to be imaginatively inferred on the part of the reader. In the absence of any other potentate aspiring to fill in the role of a balancing power to Singh’s, the most likely candidate are the British themselves who alone have the economic means and military strength to do so. This does not imply that they should fight Singh, however, but rather that they, in a country with vast potential and a long history but settled by primitive people, can claim their own place at the table. As Hagerman puts it, “identification with Alexander was yet another avenue leading almost inevitably to a belief in the fundamental difference between British (European) and Indian (Asian) civilisation, which was essential to the civilizing mission embraced by so many British”82 venturing into these regions. This is certainly a correct observation in line with Burnes’ outlook on the local inhabitants. Nevertheless, it would be reductive to only equate this perspective with a belief in the superiority of Western rulers or culture. Burnes’ discussion of Singh is rather very positive and full of respect for the monarch,83 although it is characterized by the usual Orientalist portrayal of the strange manners and pompous display of wealth at Singh’s court. In this aspect Burnes’ remarks are in line with the deferential description of Porus by the Alexander historians and let, at the same time, detect the British interest in winning the strong Sikh ruler as an ally in the region. Many local traditions of Alexander may have vanished at the time of Burnes’ expedition, but Singh must have been flattered by his comparison to Porus, one of Alexander’s strongest adversaries (and later allies). These passages thus also re-enforce the strong (self-)representational character of Burnes’ writings. 80 81 82 83

Cf. ibid., 57–59. Ibid., 59. Hagerman, “In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,” 385. Cf. Burnes, Travels, vol. I, 33.

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The impression of wilderness and of the inhabitants make up a great part of Burnes’ description of his Afghan adventures and of his trip through Balkh and Bokhara on his way to the Caspian shore. Imbued with a romantic spirit, Burnes is “elevated and happy” to traverse a part of the world, where “thyme and violets perfumed the air, and the green sod and clover put us in mind of a distant country.”84 His nature writing often gives the impression as if his party were trodding through an Eden-like paradise. Yet, Burnes’ descriptions are also interspersed with comments on the rugged local customs and the sense of danger in the face of thieving tribes that could wait behind every corner. Burnes’ main comparative foil is not the biblical Eden, however, but rather the Greek Arcadia that had turned into a storied landscape of the mind on the side of philhellenic Romantics. The author is keen on making clear that his version of Arcadia is more than a literary topos, one that can be experienced and that finds its physical embodiment in the city of Kabul and the local inhabitants who he describes with great affection.85 Burnes’ narrative rendering of Kabul is characterized by a fascination for the beauty of the city and it appears as if Burnes saw in it the perfect place to stay;86 nonetheless, his patronizing impulse and imperial ideology break through in his description of the naiveté and the childlikeness of the Afghans – a literary projection that would influence further British policies in this area and that would prove fatal during the First Anglo-Afghan War a few years later. Nevertheless, Burnes sentiments seem to have been sincere and he struck up explicitly good relations with the Afghan chief Dost Mohammed Khan, which would later safeguard his diplomatic missions into the country. Alexander the Great remained a constant source of inspiration and a discursive framework for discussing Burnes’ experiences all throughout his Afghan travel narrative. The significant difference between his journey up the Indus and his route through the lands beyond the northwestern frontier was that he was now met with local traditions of ‘Sekunder’ wherever he went. His reception of Alexander continued to function along the same discursive and ideological lines regarding both places and people. Real-life associations with and analogies to his readings of the Alexander historians led to his identification or naming of specific sites and he is often overwhelmed by the richness and diversity of the historical relics he and his companions encounter on their adventurous route. Especially during their visit to Balkh, the ancient Bactra, a city fabled by the locals to be the “Mother of Cities,” Burnes encounters many historical layers that attest to the multicultural and highly heterogeneous identity of the area that had once been characterized by Persian, Greek, and later Mohammedan elements. Burnes was highly moved by his knowledge that he did not only follow Moorcroft’s expedition into this historic setting (he visited his grave there), but was even moving 84 85 86

Burnes, Travels, vol. I, 86. Cf. ibid., 144. Cf. Burnes’ description of Kabul, including local traditions, Travels, vol. I, 133–70.

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further ahead on the same route Alexander took in his pursuit of the Bactrian and Sogdian rebels on his way to the Oxus.87 In the city of Bokhara, in some way one of the central stations on Burnes’ travels, he again encounters local traditions that ascribed the foundation of the city “to the age of Sikunder Zoolkurnuen, or Alexander the Great”88 and marvels at the many stories and legends attached to this place, renowned for its identity as one of the holiest cities in all of Islam. Nevertheless, Burnes was not impressed by the local culture that he believed to have once been brought in from the outside. Concerning theories that locate the development of culture in Central Asia, he held against this view that the Bactrian kings of Greek descent “preserved, in their newly acquired kingdom, the arts and sciences of their native land.”89 Whatever contemporary historians perceived to be a cultural achievement of Western or Central Asian origin was, to Burnes, a result of cultural transfer processes that originated from the outside and Alexander was one such culture-bringer in a long line of invaders. The antiquity or ancient history of the places that Burnes encounters is thus always framed against the background of a Eurocentric and Orientalist perspective that perceives Western influence in terms of an ideology of progress, while relegating the local culture to the ranks of a stagnant pastoral or “barbaric” nature.90 His culture-philosophical remarks are framed by his prospection of the surroundings of Bokhara, especially by the examination of the ruins of Bykund, “one of the most ancient cities of Toorkistan.”91 Burnes admits that it may have once formed a remarkable city, but is quick to note that “it required every classical association to dispel the weariness of our protracted stay in this small hamlet.”92 Next to the usual quotations from Arrian and Curtius, his reading of the surroundings is supported by a Persian manuscript found at Bokhara that describes the “barbarous splendour”93 of this region and that Burnes finds echoed in the description of the Alexander historians. His Orientialist outlook on Afghanistan and its neighboring countries is therefore not only the product of British imperialist ideology, but rather has its roots in antiquity itself, which becomes, in turn, updated in Burnes’ descriptions. The ancient authors function as guides to Burnes who allow him not only to read the landscape, but also to discern the character of the people and to underline the dangerous nature of his own undertaking. On nearing the river Oxus (Jihoon or Amoo in the local tongue), he remarks that the “outline (…) of the character of these nations in remote ages”, namely as robbers and thieves, still rings true at his time and that it “explain[s] to us the genuine

87 88 89 90 91 92 93

Cf. ibid., 242–46. Ibid., 300. On Bokhara also vol. II, 153 and, in general, Lunt, Bokhara Burnes, 112–40. Burnes, Travels, vol. I, 310. Ibid., 311. Ibid., 348. Ibid., 350. Ibid., 351–52.

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manners of these people.”94 His own experiences could thus be said to have been predetermined and strongly influenced by his reading of ancient texts and even where Burnes encountered locals of different character, these impressions were not used to question the ethnographic authority of his sources that he emulated and upheld in his own works. What re-surfaces again and again in Burnes’ Afghan narratives is a fascination with and interest in local traditions of ‘Sekunder’ that ascribe the identity of the Afghans, local tribes, or powerful chieftains to a supposed descent from Alexander the Great. One prominent example of the time were ‘the Kafirs,’ an ethnic group living in the mountainous regions north of Kabul,95 who were also in Western historiography connected to veterans that Alexander had settled in Bactria during his expeditions.96 Not only were they of a fairer complexion but they were also said to have their own religion, a mix of polytheism and a form of Islam. Yet, Burnes is unconvinced of their purported Western origin and sees them as “the aborigines of Afghanistan, and in no wise connected with reputed descendants of Alexander the Great.”97 He gives no reason for why he does not believe the local tradition, but it is implicitly connected to Burnes’ observation that they “live in a most barbarous state”98 and since he associates Alexander and his remnants with high culture, any primitive or retrograde form of existence is automatically relegated to the ranks of being of local origin. So while Burnes is recording local stories concerning cultural identity out of ethnographic duty,99 his own interpretations constantly undermine the Afghan narratives in favor of Western knowledge and the higher authority of texts when compared to oral traditions. “But how shall we,” Burnes writes with regard to the numerous tribes and chieftains in the Oxus and Indus valleys that claim Grecian origin, “reconcile these accounts with the histories that have travelled down to our times, whence we learn that the son of Philip did not even leave an heir to inherit his gigantic conquests, much less a numerous list of colonies, which have survived a lapse of more than 2000 years in a distant quarter of Asia?”100 Citing historical evidence and his own perception of these people, which showed “nothing in form or feature which favoured their Grecian lineage,”101 Burnes cleverly counters the local tradition without giving the appearance as if he wanted to do away with it altogether, rather placing emphasis on the fact that local chieftains use their reputed lineage from Alexander as a self-representational and, in the end, legiti-

94 95

Ibid., vol. II, 7. Cf. ibid., vol. I, 165–66. A similar example referred to in Burnes are the famed “Amazons,” cf. ibid., 255. Also Alexander Burnes, “On the reputed Descendants of Alexander the Great, in the Valley of Oxus,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 2, no. 18 (1833), 305–8. 96 For a discussion of Kafiristan cf. chapter 5. 97 Burnes, Travels, vol. I, 166. 98 Ibid. Also vol. II, 214–15. 99 Cf. especially ibid., vol. II, 214–19. 100 Ibid., 216–17. On this also vol. I, 222. 101 Ibid., vol. II, 217.

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mizing factor in local politics. “Whether their descent is viewed as true or fabulous, the people themselves acknowledge the hereditary dignity of the princes,” Burnes explains and adds that, “if we cannot bring ourselves to concede to these moderns the illustrious lineage of Alexander of Macedon, we must yet receive their tradition as the most concurring proof of his having overrun these countries.”102 Burnes thus inverts the perspective and turns the local tribes into former adversaries of Alexander that were first subjugated and later colonized by the Greeks, being part of the Bactrian kingdom as the tradition further holds.103 Rather than perceiving the inhabitants as people descended from Alexander and his ‘Greek’ soldiers, Burnes consequently sees them as having been in contact with the Macedon – not as his equals, however, but as his inferiors. Keen to illustrate in how far stories and narratives are used to create identities, the Englishman de-mystifies the local accounts of Alexander, while, at the same time, re-appropriating the interpretational sovereignty over a historical memory whose hegemonic Western version is challenged and subverted in local traditions. Burnes’ writings therefore also attest to the way in which different memories of Alexander the Great circulated and clashed during the slow Western advance in Afghanistan. Other than in India, where he could ascribe historical identities based on his readings, Burnes was suddenly faced with local stories that demanded his discursive negotiation and refutation by textual means. In Burnes’ travel accounts, these local memories are, in consequence, restored and integrated into a narrative framework that re-claimed the transcultural Alexander history as a Western one. In this context, it is important to note that Burnes identified with Alexander the Great himself. On the one hand, this identification took part on the side of the locals who mainly noted the sameness of the names of the two; on the other hand, Burnes repeatedly compared his own journey through the frontier regions to Alexander’s route and used it as a discursive means to represent himself with regard to his readership. Burnes relates how the party of a caravan they had been travelling with for a while gave him “the name of ‘Meerza Sekunder,’ or the secretary Alexander.”104 Hagerman makes clear that this reference was probably meant as mockery to contrast Burnes’ bookishness with the martial ways of his ancient namesake, but as he rightly points out, “far from being disturbed or insulted, Burnes seems to have enjoyed the comparison. If anything, the jibe over his incessant scribbling seems to have struck him as yet another sign of his connection to Alexander.”105 Since Alexander had, after all, led a great number of ethnographers and scientists with him – Burnes’ writing becomes, against this background, a discursive way of domesticating the other and a sign of his “own” cultural “superiority.”106

102 103 104 105 106

Ibid., 217–18. Ibid. Ibid., 34. Hagerman, “In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,” 383. Ibid.

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The comparison with his ancient predecessor was also meant as a sign of respect and admiration by other indigenous groups and Burnes was proud to report that during his journey up the Indus, he was called “a second Alexander, the ‘Sikander Sanee,’ for having achieved so dangerous a voyage as the Indus.”107 Burnes was quick to draw the same parallel: I saw every thing, both ancient and modern, to excite the interest and inflame the imagination (…). [We] had retraced the greater part of the route of the Macedonians; trodden the kingdoms of Porus and Taxiles; sailed on the Hydaspes; crossed the Indian Caucasus, and resided in the celebrated city of Balkh, from which Greek monarchs, far removed from the academies of Corinth and Athens, had once disseminated among mankind a knowledge of the arts and sciences, of their own history and the world. We had beheld the scenes, of Alexander’s wars, of the rude and savage inroads of Jengis and Timour, as well as of the campaigns and reveries of Baber, as given in the delightful and glowing language of his commentaries. In the journey to the coast, we had marched on the very line of route by which Alexander had pursued Darius; while the voyage to India took us on the coast of Mekran and track of his admiral Nearchus.108

Burnes was eager to stress that he had been an eye-witness to these historic sites and had moved along the famed routes himself – in his narrative, reading thus becomes seeing. He had visited the ancient sites with his source texts in hand, which had, in turn, influenced his perception of his surroundings. What he perceived around him was, on the other hand, channeled back into his reading of the canonical texts and another world opened to him. What had thus far mainly been studied in the libraries of the West, he had seen with his own eyes and, as he pointed out himself, textual practice and his own experience combined to form an imaginative space that allowed him to get into close contact with the past in the places where it had happened. Afghanistan and its neighboring areas were designated as the arenas of imperial undertakings that could easily be associated with contemporary events. Repeated references to his classical learning, his own ethnographic studies as well as the daring nature of his dangerous missions were thus put side by side in Burnes’ narrative and combined to make a true frontier hero out of him, with all traits of heroic masculinity and charisma that was not, as he was proud to show, lost on the locals. It is, of course, hard to verify whether the locals really saw him in this light. But as the journal of Mohan Lal, an Indian travel companion of Burnes, shows, the legend of Alexander indeed played an important part on their route.109 As the Russian spy and diplomat Ivan Vitkevich (1808–1839) reported on his own travels in Bokhara, the locals at one point asked him whether he knew Iskander: “I thought they meant Alexander the Great but 107 Burnes, Travels, vol. III, 136–37. 108 Ibid., vol. II, 141–42. 109 Cf. Lal, Life of the Amir Dost Mohammed Khan, 30–32.

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they were, in fact, talking of Alexander Burnes.”110 The Englishman had, after all, left his own footsteps. Vitkevich and Burnes were to meet in 1837 when they spent Christmas Eve together in Kabul and where both tried to win the Afghans as allies for their respective countries.111 Their encounter in Kabul, although it was friendly and respectful, has become renowned for one key event in the early stages of the ‘Great Game.’ Misjudging the situation, British officials demanded of the Emir Dost Mohammed Khan to stop any diplomatic relations with Russia and Persia and to unequivocally yield to their side. When they insisted, Dost Mohammed asked Burnes to leave his capital. Burnes was sympathetic to the Afghan cause and understood the predicament in which the Emir was with two great powers putting pressure on him. Yet, he also knew that Dost Mohammed Khan had actually intended to sign a contract with the British, but the harsh tone and hard conditions made it impossible for him to do so. Burnes openly expressed his discontent with the Afghan policies, but was overruled by his superiors, who had decided to invade Afghanistan and install their own king, the exiled Shah Shujah. Driven by his ambition and because he had been knighted prior to the operation, Burnes agreed to accompany the army and to take on a leading role in the negotiations with leading chieftains. He was to enter Afghanistan for the last time. What began as a triumphal procession, with resistance quickly ebbing away, ended in the disaster described at the outset of this chapter. No Englishman, with the exception of Charles Masson, whose travels in Afghanistan will be the subject in a subsequent chapter, was better acquainted with Afghan affairs than Burnes. During his first travels he was well liked, but the initial attraction turned sour, because the locals blamed Burnes for the British policies in their country and he became a persona non grata with many of the Afghan noblemen. His name was quickly equated with imperial overambition and hubris and circulates as eponymous with a Western despot in Afghan oral and poetic traditions up until this day.112 Here, he figures as “one of the Firangi lords of high stature / By name Burnes, and called Sikandar,”113 as a treacherous figure, charming on the outside, but deceitful and evil on the inside. It is one of the ironic aspects of Burnes’ reception of Alexander that even in this aspect he shared the fate of his historic predecessor: both were interested in local customs and emulated some of them on their travels, but for the locals their names bear an ambiguous connotation, associated with imperial aggression. For Burnes, his emphatic reception of Alexander stood in no contradiction with his imperial aspira-

110 111 112 113

Qtd. in Dalrymple, Return of a King, 86. On Vitkevitch’s own impressions of Bokhara and his characterization of Burnes’ travel narrative as overtly romantic ibid., 85. Cf. on Burnes’ and Vitkevitch’s meeting as well as the beginning of the ‘Great Game’ ibid., 92–130 as well as Hopkirk, The Great Game, 168–74. For a comprehensive discussion cf. Dalrymple, Return of a King, 103–7. Qtd. in Dalrymple, Return of a King, 104.

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tions of exploration and diplomacy. Quite the contrary, in his narrative both aspects combined to discursively form a framework of interpretation for a foreign region as well as a foil on which a frontier character could be created that would boost Burnes’ reputation in his home country. He was, after all, both a romantic, inspired by the mythical stories of a fabled country, and an ambitious officer, who may have hoped to function as head administrator of Afghanistan. On November 2nd, 1841, these hopes yet vanished and his adventurous life abruptly and violently ended. 3.3 ‘General’ Josiah Harlan’s Reception of Alexander the Great: The Macedonian as Political and Personal Model Josiah Harlan, or the ‘General’ as he was known in Afghanistan, was no friend of Sir Alexander Burnes. In 1842, shortly after his return from his two decade long time in Central Asia, he published a fierce attack on British politics in the region.114 The deceased Burnes became one of his primary targets of critique, in part blamed for the failed diplomatic mission to Afghanistan prior to the war and characterized with an utter disregard for or ignorance of local customs and etiquette. Burnes was not named explicitly in Harlan’s pamphlet, but to everyone familiar with the events leading up to the Anglo-Afghan War it was clear who the person only referred to as the “British agent” was.115 The aversion seems to have been mutual, because Burnes did not lose a single word on the adventurous American in Afghan service in his own writings,116 although he was repeatedly referred to in other travel accounts to Kabul or the Punjab, where he had previously served. There can be no question that Harlan was an exotic figure of his time, even to Westerners like the Bavarian missionary Joseph Wolff (1795–1862), who repeatedly ventured through Central Asia in his search for the lost tribes of Israel.117 A short notice in the Philadelphia National Gazette, reprinted in the New York Tribune, briefly summed up the most important stations of Harlan’s time in the East when he returned to the U. S. in 1841: Among the passengers recently from Havre by the packet ship, Silvia de Grace, is General J. Harlan of Philadelphia who returns to his native city after an absence of nearly 20 years principally passed in India and Central Asia. During his time he successfully served as surgeon in the East India Company’s service in the Burmese War, seven years in the civil

114 115 116 117

Cf. Harlan, Memoir. Ibid., 138. Mohan Lal, a close confidant of Burnes, repeatedly refers to Harlan however. Cf. Lal, Life of the Amir Dost Mohammed Khan, vol. I, 162 and 173. Cf. Joseph Wolff, Researches and Missionary Labours among the Jews, Mohammadans and other Sects (London 1835), 258–60.

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and military service of His Highness, the Maharaja Runjeet Singh, Prince of Lahore (…) and lastly Aide-de-camp to Dost Mohammed Khan of Cabool.118

More than a simple adventurer, Harlan was also involved in the politics of the time. He had witnessed first-hand the installation of the new regime at Kabul a few years prior and had been an outspoken critic of the British strategy and their behavior towards the Afghan population and especially of their ruler, Dost Mohammed Khan. Harlan had served as one of Dost Mohammed’s closest confidants and was devastated that his own influential position in Afghan affairs suddenly vanished with the Emir’s abdication. The British administrators and political agents had watched Harlan suspiciously for some time and could not afford his possibly insurgent presence in an environment that was anything but stable in the years leading up to the Afghan revolt.119 Harlan complained that his offer for help in the negotiation with the Afghan leaders was rejected by Burnes, “an unscrupulous personal enemy,” and other British officials and later argued that the catastrophe could have possibly been averted by his negotiation.120 Yet, he was asked to leave the country and after a brief stay in Europe, including St. Petersburg, Harlan was back in the United States, never to enter Afghanistan again, the country he had cared about so much. His Memoir of India and Avghaunistan published in 1842 was written in part on his journey home. The book’s title is misleading, because it is not so much an autobiographical recollection, but rather a political pamphlet, an embittered reaction to the ideologies of the ‘Great Game’ and especially a reckoning with the British officials in the East. Harlan was quick to present himself in the role of an expert on Central Asian affairs in his writings and declared that his book was written in reaction to “an intense desire on information” and in “the wish to gratify public curiosity,”121 since the massacre of an entire British Army on their retreat from Kabul in January 1842 had sent shockwaves throughout the world. Harlan was quick to point out that he had seen it coming, but “that appalling tragedy” was also, in his view, only one in “a long train of terrific disasters [that will] still mark the malignant track of that destructive meteor” unfurled by British policies in India and her neighboring states.122 Harlan was never one for a plain literary style and his writings are characterized for their use of (biblical or classical) metaphors and highly evocative comparisons. Yet, this did not necessarily Anon., “General J. Harlan,” New York Tribune, 27 August 1841, 1. Major Claude Wade (1794–1861), a British agent in Ludhiana, who controlled his own network of ‘newswriters’, or rather spies, across Central Asia was well familiar with Harlan and his exploits, but seems to have underestimated the enterprising nature of the American. Cf. Ben Macintyre, The Man Who Would Be King: The First American in Afghanistan (New York: Farrar, 2004), 39. 120 Josiah Harlan, Central Asia: Personal Narrative of General Josiah Harlan, 1823–1841, ed. Frank E. Ross (London: Luzac, 1939), 144. 121 Harlan, Memoir, 1–2. 122 Ibid., 2. 118 119

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Fig. 3 Harlan’s sketch of Dost Mohammed Khan.

endear him to his readership and reviewers, the more so as his prose was often boasting with bold statements and a certain insensitivity that equated the British disaster in Afghanistan with “the retributive justice of an avenging deity.”123 And although Harlan often gave way to literary sentimentality and drew on a large canon of Christian symbolism, probably stemming from his Quaker background, he nevertheless interspersed his writing with a sophisticated analysis of the local politics in Central Asia as well as with views that drew on the Republican traditions of his home country. “To subdue and crush the masses of nation by military force, when all are unanimous in the determination to be free, is to attempt the imprisonment of a whole people,” wrote Harlan on the strategic failure of British politics in Afghanistan and continued that “all such projects must be temporary and transient, and terminate in a catastrophe that force has ever to dread from the vigorous, ardent, concentrated vengeance of a nation outraged, oppressed, and insulted and desperate with the blind fury of a determined and unanimous will.”124 The British, Harlan argued, had failed to understand the local poli-

123 Ibid., 9. 124 Ibid., 5.

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tics in Afghanistan and his Memoirs featured a long portrait of Dost Mohammed Khan and how he managed to rule a nation characterized by highly heterogeneous tribes in an oligarchical form of government and in loose alliances, where he was the first amongst equals.125 The British public was infuriated and reviewers were outraged at the analysis of the American, whose sympathies were not with his Western kinsmen, but rather the locals in Afghanistan. And although Harlan’s Memoir was read by British officials due to its in-depth analysis of Afghan affairs, the book was discredited as the biased and false account of someone who felt overlooked by British rule in Afghanistan. Later biographers and historians described Harlan as “eccentric and authoritarian in manner, loudly dressed and brandishing his titles, a shameless exaggerator and promoter of himself, consistently ungenerous in his discussion of other”126 and disqualified the validity of his writings as an “extraordinary concoction of bombastic romance, deliberate perversions, false statements, and virulent abuse” with “devastating inaccuracies.”127 Initially, the Memoirs had only been meant as a short-term political commentary that should pave the ground for Harlan’s long autobiographical narrative of his time in the East. By 1841, he had written an almost 1000-page strong manuscript encompassing journal entries as well as memories of his many adventures, but every publisher turned it down after the negative reactions to his first book.128 Apart from a few occasional pieces Harlan wrote for the American government on Afghan vines and camels (the enterprising Harlan harbored plans to import both for some time) and newspaper articles that included sketches of his unpublished material,129 it was only in the early twentieth century when few parts of his manuscript were recovered.130 The rest was believed to have been lost in a house fire in 1929 until the British journalist Ben Macintyre was able to recover a substantial part in the archives in a museum in Chester County, Pennsylvania. Macintyre’s fascinating biography of Harlan, The Man Who Would Be King: The First American in Afghanistan, published in 2004, brought Harlan to new prominence as Afghanistan entered the stage of world politics again and American soldiers were fighting in the “War on Terror” in Central Asia.131 In this context it is interesting to note that the European edition of Macintyre’s biography of Harlan is entitled Josiah the Great: The True Story of the Man Who Would Be

125 126 127 128 129 130 131

Cf. ibid., 5–6 and on Dost Mohammed 117–72. Christopher J. Brunner, “A Man of Enterprise: The Short Writings of Josiah Harlan,” Afghanistan Forum 27 (1987), 1. Charles Grey, European Adventurers of Northern India, 1785 to 1849 (Lahore: Government Printing, 1929), 240 and 249. Cf. on this Macintyre, The Man Who Would Be King, 265–66. For his writings cf. Brunner, “A Man of Enterprise,” 1–3. Harlan’s own writings are printed from 22–44. Frank E. Ross, “Biographical Introduction,” in Central Asia: Personal Narrative of General Josiah Harlan, 1823–1841, Josiah Harlan, ed. Frank E. Ross (London: Luzac, 1939), 7–24. Cf. Macintyre, The Man Who Would Be King, 5–7.

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King.132 Other than the American edition, this title does not lay emphasis on the American presence in Afghanistan, but rather makes an allusion to Harlan’s lifelong fascination for his biggest source of inspiration, namely Alexander the Great. Harlan, who was born into a Quaker family in the year 1799, came into contact with the Alexander historian in his early boyhood years and during his voyages in the East, he carried with him Plutarch’s biography of Alexander as well as Quintus Curtius Rufus’ history, both of who he could read in the original. Although we do not know much about his early years, his education must have been excellent and later in life, Harlan could master local dialects in Persia and Afghanistan, becoming a fluent speaker of foreign languages. His negative reception on part of English historians133 and commentators might also have to do with his incredible life story that led him on his first Asian expedition in 1820 on a cargo ship which sailed all the way to China.134 Next to his Quaker upbringing, Harlan also adopted Freemasonry before he embarked on his almost two decade long wanderings through Central Asia in 1824. In a move that would become typical of him, he joined the East India Company as a surgeon without formal training and served in the First Burmese War until he left the Honorable Company in 1826. Subsequently, Harlan went on to offer his service to the exiled Afghan monarch Shah Shujah and went on his first Afghan mission with the task of trying to stir up a revolt under Shujah’s supporters in Kabul. He failed miserably and could only escape his enemies by dressing as a Muslim dervish, returning from a holy Haji to Mecca. His trickster-ways and bold ambition would lead him to Ranjit Singh in Lahore, where he successfully entered the Maharaja’s service and became his Governor, first of Nurpur, then of Gujarat. However, when the friendship with Singh began to decline after Harlan was accused of forging counterfeit money, he left his post and returned to Kabul, where he joined Dost Mohammed Khan, the common enemy of his former employers Singh and Shujah. In 1838, he went on a punitive expedition against the Uzbek slave trader and warlord Murad Beg. On his campaign, Harlan managed to come to an agreement with local Hazara chieftains that made him Prince of Ghor, of a remote part of Afghanistan.135 Harlan had, following the footsteps of his ancient hero Alexander, 132

133 134

135

Ben Macintyre, Josiah the Great: The True Story of the Man Who Would Be King (London: Harper Collins, 2004). Apart from the literary trope of the frontier hero, the imitation of and fascination for Alexander the Great is Macintyre’s main interpretative framework for is description of Harlan’s exploits. For a concise discussion of Macintyre’s book cf. also David Gilmour, “Eastward Ho!” The New York Review of Books 51, no. 8 (2004), 20–21. During his lifetime, William Kaye seems to have been the only British historian who explicitly dealt with Harlan’s persona and writings. Cf. Kaye, History of the War in Afghanistan, vol I., 135. Cf. on his life story Macintyre as well as the general overviews in Brunner, “A Man of Enterprise”; Ross, “Biographical Introduction”; and John Waller, “Josiah Harlan: American Freebooter in Nineteenth-Century Afghanistan,” International Journal of Intelligence and Counterintelligence 15, no. 3 (2002), 429–39. This part of Harlan’s story, only invoked in his own writings, had often been doubted by later commentators, until Macintyre, “in one of the most remarkable discoveries in the history of biography

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carved out his own kingdom in a part of the world otherwise closed off to Westerners. Yet, his success was only short-lived, for when he returned to Kabul, the First Anglo-Afghan War had broken out and Harlan had to leave the country. Harlan in many ways epitomized the adventurous natures of Westerners in Central Asia in the first half of the nineteenth century, combined with political ambition and a curious fascination for and emulation of Alexander the Great, who became a mimetic model for travelers and explorers like Harlan and his rival Burnes. When it comes to Harlan’s reception of the Macedonian king, it makes sense to begin with his Memoir of India and Avghaunistan, since it was not only published during Harlan’s lifetime, but also embedded Alexander the Great within a decidedly political background which connects back to Burnes’ reception of his ancient predecessor. Harlan explicitly contrasted the British rule in India and Afghanistan with that of Alexander.136 This comparison only made sense if the British were keen to stylize themselves as the historical heirs to Alexander’s kingdom in the East and as culture-bringers that sought to promote the evolution of stagnant civilizations. As discussed in the previous part, Burnes’ own writings reflected this imperial ideologies and Harlan was quick to point to the British deficiencies in their ruling of countries that could look back on a long and rich history, but that had been torn apart by internal feuds and external aggression. This does not mean that Harlan viewed Alexander solely in a romantic light, but rather that he was also aware of the more ambiguous aspects of his character: “The conquests of Alexander were legitimated by the results of his victories. His power was extended by the sword and maintained by the arts of civilization. (…) yet the conquests of Alexander were effected by violence and haste and probably far beyond the extent originally contemplated.”137 Harlan noted the military aspects of Alexander’s route eastwards and even the beneficiary aspects of his rule, like the founding of cities – some of whose remnants Harlan visited first-hand during his stay in Afghanistan – had actually served as military outposts.138 And although it was initially a side effect of military expansionism, the conquest was, in Harlan’s view, accompanied by an import of cultural achievements that contributed to the benefit of the invaders and locals alike, constituting “a blessing to succeeding generations by the refinements of life, the arts and sciences, in the midst of communities exhausted by luxury or still rude in the practices of barbarism.”139 Harlan here makes use of an Orientalist perspective that renders the original local cultures

136 137 138 139

(…) managed to find the royal agreement with Harlan, written in Persian, witnessed by a holy man and signed on the Koran” (Gilmour, “Eastward,” 21). Harlan’s own description can be found in Anon., “In Preparation for the Press, Personal Narrative of General Harlan’s Eighteen Years’ Residence in Asia.” The United States Gazette, January 20, 1842, 22–23. Cf. Harlan, Memoir, 61–69. Ibid., 62–63 (emphasis original). Cf. ibid., 62. Ibid.

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as retrograde and corrupted by luxuries, a common trope transmitted in texts from antiquity onwards. Yet, he argues that Alexander, “the European philanthropist”140 incited a true change by bringing an “extent of civilization”141 with him that has never been surpassed in the region of Central Asia before. Alexander becomes synonymous with culture in his account, a personification of civilized dignity and progress notably missing from the developments of Harlan’s own times. As Rabel puts it, “Alexander remained always the wellspring of [Harlan’s] autonomy, freedom, and humanity” and through his reception of the Macedonian he developed a more mature and humane moral outlook though contact with his mediator.”142 Harlan thus pits Alexander, as an ideal of personified rule, against the collective British rule in India and its dominions. The symbol of the “military despotism” of the British Empire is, to Harlan, the “English collector,”143 who is keen to drain the colonies of their resources while investing nothing in turn into infrastructure, facilities, or education. “If the Indo-British government was dissolved, and the English were withdrawn from India,” Harlan muses, “there would be left no other memorial of their previous existence than the monuments of their inhumanity (…). No city marks the site of philanthropy in British India.”144 The topic of philanthropism introduced with the thriving culture after Alexander’s conquest is here pitted against the exhausted wastelands left behind by British rule. In a subversion of British imperial ideology of cultural superiority and expansionism modeled also on Alexander’s rule, Harlan diminishes the self-proclaimed British imperialists to the role of “a band of commercial adventurers, a body of hucksters, natives of a small, contemptible island in the Western Ocean.”145 Harlan uncovers the economic goals of British engagement in the region and argues that the imperialists are themselves uncultivated. The topos of the ‘barbarian’ is thereby conferred on the colonizing power itself and put into stark contrast with ancient modes of imperialism as seen in the Hellenized societies in the aftermath of Alexander’s conquests. While, according to Harlan, the cultural base differs, there are also parallels that he implicitly invokes by claiming that the British had slowly become corrupted by “the luxuries of Asia” and “the munificent rivers of wealth”146 they encountered in the East. This is, of course, also a leading motif of Alexander historians like Curtius Rufus, who drew on the despotism usually associated with the East and

140 141 142 143 144

Ibid., 64. Ibid., 63. Rabel, “The Imitation of Alexander the Great in Afghanistan,” 113. Harlan, Memoir, 66 and 65. Ibid. 64–65. Harlan’s quote is evocative of a speech of Edmund Burke in the House of Commons in 1783: Edmund Burke, The Speeches of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke in the House of Commons and in Westminster-Hall, 4 vols. (London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1816), vol. 2, 430–32. Cf. Briant, Alexandre des Lumières, 414 and on the “civilizing mission” Briant, Exégèse, 208. 145 Harlan, Memoir, 66. 146 Ibid., 66.

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how the Macedonian king showed tendencies of adopting some of those behaviors into his own rulership.147 However, in the eyes of Harlan, despotism was not the initial situation in the regions that came into contact with British colonizers, but had rather been brought there by the latter. Harlan is thus concerned with de-mystifying the self-representational aspects of British imperialism that saw it as standing in a historical line with the great powers of antiquity and inverts the discursive strategies by equating the British rule with uncultivated primitiveness, economic exploitation, and political despotism. Turning the British reception of Alexander the Great as found in the accounts of Burnes and other travelers or officials on its head, Harlan took the Macedonian not as a model on which the British rule was formed, but rather as a contrasting foil that highlighted all those aspects that were wrong with Anglocentric imperialism. In his account, Alexander remained a model to be idealistically adopted, but not in favor of any contemporary colonizing impulse, but rather as a mode of critique of current trends of a hegemonic British “Empire of opinion.”148 His is a politicized Alexander that still showed all the signs of Orientalist ideologies, but that was discursively instrumentalized to contrast his own time with “the accomplished progenitors of ancient days,” above all with the Macedonian king himself, “the universal philanthropist no less than universal conqueror,” who served the “purposes of benevolence.”149 Harlan thus adopted a historic-philosophical strand of the Alexander reception that could already be seen in the Early Modern Age and that would continue all throughout the subsequent periods, bringing the military aspects of Alexander’s campaigns together with possible moral benefits. Harlan consequently fashioned Alexander as an “ideal type” in the sense of Max Weber, one that embodied ‘universal’ qualities of leadership, which were both cultural and charismatic.150 By contrasting the British Empire with the ideal type of Alexander, he uncovered the former’s deficiency and, ultimately, its doomed failure in a part of the world where the memory of the Macedonian overshadowed what would remain, in Harlan’s eyes, the fleeting and transient character of British rule. Harlan’s overtly moralistic and historico-philosophical passages were, of course, written in hindsight, with the knowledge of how the Afghan campaign would turn out. And in his Memoir he did not reflect openly on the fact that he too had looked at the Macedonian king in his own proto-imperialistic undertakings in Central Asia that were also marked by an opportunistic tendency to enter the service of rulers he knew to be despots or tyrants if he foresaw the chance of gaining personal benefit from his coalitions. As Macintyre puts it, the apparent contradiction between his criticism

147 148 149 150

Cf. Curt. 5.33–35. Harlan, Memoir, 65. Ibid. 64 and 63. Cf. Max Weber, “Die drei reinen Typen der legitimen Herrschaft,” in Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Wissenschaftslehre, Max Weber, ed. Johannes Winckelmann (Tübingen: Mohr, 1968), 475–88.

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of British imperialism and his own acts in Afghanistan did not occur to Harlan, who did not draw on British ideologies, but rather combined republican ideals of his home country with ancient models “of civilized expansionism.”151 In Macintyre’s interpretation, “Harlan saw Alexander’s empire, like the expanding American imperium, as a moral force bringing enlightenment to the savages, and he would come to regard his own foray into the wilderness in the same way: not simply as a bid for power, but the gift of a new world order to a benighted corner of the world.”152 The contrast drawn in Macintyre’s account between light and darkness neatly sums up Harlan’s perspective of his adversaries and his surroundings that would often follow a dualistic worldview between good and bad, with the good usually associated with Harlan’s allies. It also evokes something imaginary used by Harlan himself in his narrative of his adventurous journeys through the wilderness beyond the northwestern frontier. At heart, he was, quite like Burnes, a romantic, who harked back to intertextual associations with adventure stories and literary descriptions by the Alexander historians. In the manuscript originally entitled Oriental Sketches that Macintyre could recover from the archive material in Chester County, there is a clear tendency in Harlan’s narrative to self-fashion himself as a frontier hero who ventures into the vast expanse of an unknown mystery, fabled only with stories, but with barely any accounts that could have prepared the young American for what would await him on his trail eastward. When he is about to embark on his mission for Shah Shujah and to enter Afghanistan for the first time, Harlan thus writes: “Completely alone, companionless and solitary, I plunged myself into the indistinct expanse of futurity, the unknown and mysterious, which like the obscurity of fate is invoked in the deep darkness of time.”153 There is a chronological dialectic inscribed in Harlan’s writings as he merges his outlook into the future with a look back into the past. Where Alexander and his Greeks had left their marks centuries earlier, Harlan was about to embark on his own adventure that would pave the way for new developments in the region, whose dangerous lure is evoked at various points when Harlan and his party roam “the desert border as we advanced, a flat surface of sand extending to the horizon without vegetation,” and finally turn their heads to “the interior of Asia, the land of caravans, the land of the elephant and tamarisk, and the dominion of the horse.”154 Orientalist imagery, historical associations, and the evocation of limitless possibility combine in Harlan’s account and provide the narrative framework for his reception of Alexander the Great. Crossing the Sutlej and traversing the same lands that Burnes

151 152 153 154

Macintyre, The Man Who Would Be King, 21. Ibid., 21. Qtd. in Macintyre, The Man Who Would Be King, 37. The manuscript of Harlan has not yet been transcribed or made public so that I will quote from Macintyre’s biography that has slightly edited the original text, cf. 293–94. Ibid., 40.

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would on his own route into Afghanistan a few years later, Harlan was moved to the same reflections and emotions when pondering the historical grandeur of the scenery before them: “My mind was now full with the contemplation of the past. I was about to enter the country and became familiar with objects which have been made conspicuous to the world as the arena and subject of Alexander’s exploits.”155 The reference to Alexander is at once used to render the daring nature of his own enterprise and to put himself into association with one of the great heroes of the past, imaginatively inscribing himself into a history whose traces have long vanished into a blank slate on geographical maps and cultures that had not cared to preserve the remains of the past. Since two millennia had left their marks on a region of the world now characterized by abject poverty, “all the evidence to confirm the fact of Alexander’s invasion is to be found in numismatology and etymological inferences,”156 Harlan argued and it does not come as a surprise that his conclusion was influenced by a certain Charles Masson, in many ways the most important pioneer in Indian and Bactrian archaeology, who had joined Harlan’s party at Ahmadpur. Masson drew Harlan’s attention to the material relics of the past and the possibility they offered to get into immediate contact with a different era.157 The same was true for the landscapes on which Alexander had trod on his route eastward to the Indus. They may not have preserved any architectural traces of his conquest, but were furnished with an aura attached to abstract space through the stories of the past. The imagined romance of Harlan’s own mission elevated his sentiments and led to an idolization of Alexander: To look for the first time upon the furthest stream that had borne upon its surface the world’s victor two thousand years ago. To gaze upon the landscape he had viewed. To tread upon the earth where Alexander bled. To stand upon that spot where the wounded hero knelt exhausted when pierced by the arrows of the barbarians.158

The series of parallelisms is used to emphasize the intensity of feeling when perceiving the sites of Alexander’s campaign and leads, in its subsequent elevation, to an emphatic identification with Alexander,159 where the Macedonian becomes an example of heroism to be emulated and imitated on the often agonizing and dangerous route into the unknown. This feeling is made ever stronger by Harlan’s repeated description of the downtrodden local population that had fled in the face of an advancing military expedition and his beautiful nature writing that describes in detail the local fauna

155 156 157 158 159

Ibid., 65. Ibid. On these material aspects of memory and the works of Charles Masson cf. chapter 4. Ibid., 66. Harlan here alludes to Alexander’s fight against local tribes, especially those of the Malli. Cf. Arr. an. 5.22.2 and 6.14–20.

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and the wild animals that roam the jungle. This evocation of wilderness re-enforces the adventurous character of Harlan’s own track and implicitly argues that time has almost passed unnoticed since Alexander moved through the area. Harlan presents himself as a pioneer not despite of Alexander, the Westerner who had roamed these regions before, but because of him, since basically no Westerner had dared to follow his footsteps since. Accordingly, there is no difference between what Alexander faced in antiquity and what Harlan faces now, because both ventured into terra incognita: “Beyond the hills was something wild, strange, and new, which we might hope one day to explore.”160 Harlan’s reception of Alexander the Great certainly shows many similarities to Burnes’, yet it also differs, since the American more openly equated his own operations in the Punjab and Afghanistan with the ancient predecessor and provided it with comments that emphasize the political and military aspects of his own doings. As we noted before, Burnes’ writings were also imbued with an imperial ideology and an explorative spirit that would be put to political use by British officials, but he did not embrace the martial aspects of Alexander’s campaigns, which also had to do with the fact that he only travelled with a few companions and usually dressed up in local clothes in order not to raise attention. Harlan, on the other hand, always took on military commands for local potentates, first for Shujah, then for Singh, and later for Dost Mohammed. This gave him the means to act himself and to seek his own chances of finding a position of power in local politics. These aspirations became apparent as early as his first expedition into Afghanistan where he reflected on how Alexander had secured his conquests by the foundation of military outposts and cities that helped him maintain possession and control over a remote part of his dominion and that made him “the unrivalled architect of empires.”161 The fact that Harlan was neither as well equipped as the Macedonian nor as well schooled in military tactics did not stop him from drawing parallels with Alexander’s campaign. When it became clear that the Afghan support for Shujah was not as strong as the exiled Emir had thought it would be, with the opposition by the local tribes growing stronger, Harlan sensed the discontent of his own local mercenaries, he brought himself to move on with only a small number of confidants. Even in the face of failure, Harlan found points of comparison with his ancient role model: “I brought myself to the condition of primitive simplicity,” he narrates, “thus conforming to the order and example of Alexander to his victorious followers after the conquest of Persia, which was to burn their baggage, inferring that new victories and extended acquisitions of empire would accumulate plunder.”162 When one takes into consideration that Harlan failed miserably on his first Afghan expedition and barely made it out of the 160 Qtd. in Macintyre, The Man Who Would Be King, 67. 161 Ibid., 68. 162 Ibid., 81. For another comparison cf. 73.

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country alive and when one looks at how he narratively frames these episodes that make it seem like he was a brilliant contemporary strategist with a powerful army, it becomes clear why British commentators would later make fun of his boasting attitude and literary exaggeration. “Harlan’s talents as a romancer are evident,” wrote Grey, but he also added that he found him “amusing” and not to be trusted.163 Harlan’s metaphors and similes that drew on antiquity and his Macedonian idol were thus more a source of parody than of an objective debate on his career in the East. For although Harlan would repeatedly fail in his undertakings, he also found some remarkable success that did not only make him an entrusted Governor of Ranjit Singh, but also led him into the highest echelons of the Afghan royal court of Dost Mohammed Khan, where he functioned as one of the closest confidants of the Emir. This latter aspect is even more surprising as their prior acquaintance had not always been without tensions. When Harlan served under Singh and Dost Mohammed waged a holy war on the Sikhs, marching on Peshawar, the American was chosen as a negotiator and entered the Emir’s camp, since he was also known to have good relations to Dost’s brothers. The Afghan monarch did not receive him kindly, greeting him with words that Harlan recites in his Memoirs: “Your appearance in the midst of my camp at this moment of general excitement may be attended with personal danger. When Secunder visited this country, he sent a confidential agent to the prince hereabout, and the mountaineers murdered Secunder’s ambassador.”164 Unfortunately, there is no other source to support the Emir’s statement, but it is likely that Harlan’s account is accurate. Not only must he have been flattered by what had actually been meant as a threat, because it again equated his own undertakings with that of Alexander, but also because it draws on local traditions of Alexander that primarily saw him as an aggressor from the outside – a view otherwise missing from Harlan’s account. This passage makes clear that the cultural memory of Alexander in Afghanistan at that time was already a relational, transcultural one, negotiated between hegemonic Western conceptions of imperial conquest and local traditions of resilience and opposition against foreign despotism. It seems that Harlan found his place in-between. A keen classicist and talented linguist, he learned Persian and local Afghan dialects and spoke both fluently. And although he also adopted local clothing and took on positions of power, he was quick to proudly present his American identity to every Westerner he encountered. When the missionary Joseph Wolff passed through Gujarat in 1832 and was waiting for an audience with the Governor, he was surprised to hear someone in the next room singing “Yankee Doodle.” He was even more surprised when he found out that it was the Governor himself who introduced himself as a “free citizen of the United States from

163 Grey, European Adventurers of Northern India, 254 and 242. 164 Harlan, Memoir, 159.

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the city of Philadelphia. I am the son of a Quaker. My name is Josiah Harlan.”165 Harlan, who did not hesitate to impersonate as a British agent during his first mission, might have used this emphasis of his American identity towards other Westerners as a way of distinguishing himself from the British politics in the region he increasingly came to abhor. Without officials to back him from Calcutta or other places, Harlan was able to find his place in local politics for and by himself. The most spectacular step was to come in 1838. After he had left Shujah’s camp and joined Dost Mohammed Khan, who seems to have welcomed him with open arms,166 he was made “aide-de-camp and general of his [i. e. Dost’s] regular troops.”167 Dost Mohammed sent his new ally on a military expedition against his Uzbek neighbor Meer Muraad Beg, Prince of Kundooz, who was a notorious slave trader and dubious character. So Harlan welcomed the chance with great enthusiasm. Not only because he could fight against slavery, an institution he despised wholeheartedly (much later, he would lead his own Union regiment for a while during the American Civil War), but also because it gave him a chance yet to follow the footsteps of his idol, Alexander the Great, deep into the Hindu Kush. The most important contemporary source for this daring mission was an article in the United States Gazette, penned shortly after Harlan’s return from the East. The article included long extracts from “the General’s forthcoming autobiography” and opened with a remarkable passage: Amongst the most extraordinary events of General Harlan’s career, was his passage of the Indian Caucasus in 1838–39, in command of a division of the Cabul army, and accompanied by a train of artillery. We view this expedition as an incident altogether unique since the period of Alexander’s conquests. With this prominent exception, no Christian chief of European descent ever penetrated so far into the interior of Central Asia under circumstances so peculiar as characterize General Harlan’s enterprise, and we relinquish the palm of antecedent honour to the Macedonian hero alone. Retracing the steps of Alexander, General Harlan has performed a feat that ranks with the passage of the Simplon. For the enterprise, the energy and the military genius displayed by our distinguished compatriot, we claim association with the names of other heroes who have attained celebrity by scaling mountains.168

This passage is remarkable for various reasons. On the one hand, we do not know whether Harlan himself had his hands in the formulation, since the extracts from his Wolff, Researches and Missionary Labours, 258. A similar episode is related by Richard Kennedy, a young British officer who served during the first Afghan campaign. Cf. Richard Hartley Kennedy, Narrative of the Campaign of the Army of the Indus, in Sind and Kaubool, in 1838–9 (London: R. Bentley, 1840), 119–20. 166 For an overview over the events cf. also Brunner, “A Man of Enterprise,” 8–12. 167 Harlan, Memoir, 148. 168 Anon. “In Preparation for the Press, Personal Narrative of General Harlan’s Eighteen Years’ Residence in Asia,” 22. 165

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own writings are not always explicitly marked in the article – the reference to Alexander is a typical Harlanesque gesture. On the other hand, the portrayal of masculine heroism is made the centre of this passage and is clearly used for the characterization of the revenant, who had great stories to tell and accomplished feats to show for. Again, Alexander is made the main reference for this self-representation, since other heroes are invoked, but only the Macedonian is named. By underlining the strategic and military aspects of the enterprise, the association is established even stronger so that Harlan appears like a modern-day Alexander. This discursive self-representational aspect is similar to Burnes’ presentation of his travels to a broad British public. Yet, Harlan’s link to ancient predecessors is even more openly political, since the article goes on to state that “this expedition may be viewed as a pioneering effort to prove the existence of a practicable military passage between Cabul and Bulkh, the ancient Bactria.”169 By making further reference to British and Russian interests in these regions, it is implicitly claimed that a Russian attack on the British dominions via the Hindu Kush was achievable and could even be welcomed: “This great enterprise may, and probably will, prove an entering wedge for the destruction of the Indo-British empire, the disintegration of that arrogant and audacious power which wields at this moment a universal sway.”170 In retrospect, Harlan was thus keen to ascribe to himself a role in the ‘Great Game,’ while his pioneering efforts in the footsteps of Alexander were used to underline the historic character of his enterprise. From what little one can infer from his other writings, it becomes clear that the references to Alexander the Great and his memory would have figured prominently in the description of his military mission. Ancient associations loom large, as usual, in Harlan’s rendering of the natural geography and landscape. He refers to the region of the Hindu Kush with the Greek name, the Paropamisus, and adopts Quintus Curtius’ term “the plain of Pamezan” for the identification of the otherwise unknown territory of the Hazaras, Persian-speaking Shia muslims.171 On their route into the wild regions of the Hindu Kush, they passed the fortress at Saighan, a stronghold of Mohammed Ali Beg, another slave trader, which was renowned for its impregnableness. “The appearance of this stronghold reminds one forcibly of the rock of Aornos as described by Q. Curtius,”172 notes Harlan and, in the same breath, relates how it was taken by a display of artillery power. As Rabel puts it in his discussion of Harlan, “Curtius’s history served as a kind of mirror in which Harlan could see reflected the developing contours of his own life. Indeed, he treated Curtius with the kind of regard that Alexander demonstrated towards Homer.”173 Like his ancient predecessor, Harlan was not

169 170 171 172 173

Ibid. Ibid. Harlan, Central Asia, 103. Ibid., 145. Rabel, “The Imitation of Alexander the Great in Afghanistan,” 98 and 112.

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to be stopped by any opposition, be it human or natural. His nature writing is particularly notable for how it describes the wilderness of these mountain regions, adverse to human influence. Like the march of Alexander over the heights of the passes, his own route becomes a struggle against nature itself, the site of an almost mythological faceoff – after all, as Harlan remarks of an enormous cavern that this must be the “Cave of Prometheus, famous in Greek myth.”174 Harlan’s description of the troublesome ascent of his troops, is thereby framed by an episode that not only underlines the pioneering spirit of the undertaking, but also the ideology of expansionism behind it: I surmounted the Indian Caucasus, and there upon the mountain heights, unfurled my country’s banner to the breeze, under the salute of twenty-six guns. On the highest pass of the frosty Caucasus, that of Kharzar, 12,000 feet above the sea, the star-spangled banner gracefully waved amidst the icy peaks and soilless, rugged rocks of a sterile region, seemingly sacred to the solitude of an undisturbed eternity. We ascended passes through regions where glaciers and silent dells, and frowning rocks, blackened by ages of weatherbeaten fame, preserved the quiet domain of remotest time, shrouded in perennial snow. We struggled on amidst the heights of those Alpine ranges (…) surmounting difficulties by obdurate endurance, defying the pitiless pelting of the snow or rain (…), we pressed onward, scaling those stony girdles of the earth, dim shades, as children of the mists far above the nether world, toiling amidst the clouds like restless spirits of another sphere, thus accomplishing the passage over a mountain district, 300 miles in extent from Cabul to Bulkh.175

On the one hand, the passage both draws on and inverts the American westward frontier narrative by setting this scene in the East, in the middle of nowhere and amongst people who would, in all likelihood, not have been able to point to America on a map, even if their life depended on it. On the other hand, the literary quality of the passage is striking. It is an excerpt from the autobiographical journal of Harlan that was never published and shows the romantic spirit behind his own self-representation. His nature writing evokes the sublime and, along with it, the struggle against time and the wilderness of an unmapped geography. This is used to underline the significance of the moment and the historical gravity of Harlan’s own undertaking in the region, rivaled only by the ancient hero of the past, whose army’s bones had long vanished in the ‘weatherbeaten’ climate of the region. Harlan’s own narrative of the liberation of the mountain tribes from slave traders is thereby connected to his own proto-imperialist and expansionist impulse as well as to the political relevance of proving that India could, after all, be invaded by an army

174 175

Harlan, Central Asia, 98. Brunner, “A Man of Enterprise,” 22–23.

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from the north. The beneficial and, in his own eyes, philanthropist character of his mission is illustrated in his relationship with the local tribes. Of the remote tribe of the Hazaras, Harlan notes that “they are by no means to be classed as savages.”176 He sees in them possible descendants of the Scythians, renowned in antiquity for their horsemanship and martial spirit.177 Coming into contact with people, whose ancestors had already faced Alexander, Harlan proudly states how they accepted him as an equal and how they, eventually, even offered him his own kingdom in the region in exchange for his service against the slave traders. He was now officially proclaimed “Prince of Ghoree.” As Harlan recounts this moment, the Hazara chieftain Mohammed Reffee Beg “transferred his principality to me in feudal service, binding himself and his tribe to pay tribute for ever, stipulating that he should be made Vizier.”178 In his imitation of his ancient idol, Harlan had achieved what Alexander the Great had also been: he became king in one of the remotest regions of the world. But unlike his ancient predecessor, Harlan’s name was not associated with any historical deeds by his contemporaries, whose eyes were focused on the geopolitical power struggle between Great Britain and Russia and the disastrous defeat of the British in Afghanistan. Except for a few specialist examinations of Westerners in Central Asia, his name slowly faded into oblivion. As Frank Ross already remarked in 1939, “his name will not be found in any history of the United States or even of his native state of Pennsylvania,” but still, his “manuscript is important as a source for the history of Afghanistan for the period,” with the “best guarantee of ” its “reliability” being the “accuracy of Harlan’s geography.”179 As Macintyre puts it in his biography of the American adventurer, which has put Harlan back on the agenda of historians, “once he had followed in the footsteps of Alexander the Great, and a sort of greatness had been his, although only he had preserved its fading emblems.”180 3.4 “The Man Who Would Be King” and the Cultural Imagination of Imperial Aspirations Fashioned on the Reception of Alexander the Great It is not entirely clear whether Rudyard Kipling (1865–1935) knew of Josiah Harlan (or Alexander Burnes, for that matter). Yet, the parallels to the adventurous American’s life story are so striking when compared to the exploits of the two protagonists in Kipling’s short story “The Man Who Would Be King,” published in 1888, that many commenta-

Harlan, Central Asia, 118. Cf. Harlan, Memoir, 11. Brunner, “A Man of Enterprise,” 22. Cf. on this episode also Macintyre, The Man Who Would Be King, 226–28 who quotes the original document. 179 Ross, “Biographical Introduction,” 8. 180 Macintyre, The Man Who Would Be King, 286. 176 177 178

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tors have cited Harlan as the main inspirational source behind it.181 It is no coincidence that Macintyre references Kipling’s text in the title of his biography of Harlan, a parallel that is established right at the beginning when it is related that Western journalists constantly read the noble laureate’s prose during their stay in Afghanistan (be it for the coverage of the war between the Mujahideen and the Soviet army, or between the Taliban and the U. S.-led alliance against terror): “The works of Rudyard Kipling were required reading, for Britain’s bard of imperialism captured the wildness and wonder of the North-West Frontier like no other writer, before or since.”182 Kipling’s own autobiographical notes and writings do not provide an insight into the original sources of his narrative, although he incorporated his own experiences and what he heard from acquaintances into his story.183 In the years prior, Kipling had also worked on the Afghan border as a journalist, first for the Civil and Military Gazette, later for the Allahabad Pioneer, and stories of Harlan must still have circulated amongst the local population. For those familiar with Harlan’s story, “the parallels between the real Josiah Harlan and the fictional Daniel Dravot, Kipling’s self-made king of Kafiristan, are too close to be coincidental.”184 “The Man Who Would Be King” is about two adventurers (and deserters from the British army), Daniel Dravot and ‘Peachey’ Carnehan, who decide to leave India and travel, dressed up as Muslims, into the forbidden Kafiristan, where they, with the help of a local, Billy Fish, and twenty rifles impress the local inhabitants in a remote village by saving them from a thieving tribe. They quickly become the leaders of the locals and subdue more and more neighboring tribes. Part of their scheme is not only their military drill, but also their highly symbolic and myth-laden aura, spurred by their use of Masonic ritual and occasional reference to Alexander the Great, who is also known to the locals as one of their ancient forebears. Their sudden rise to a position of power leads to a feeling of superiority and a hubristic comportment that will provide the ground for their downfall. Especially Dravot comes to believe in his quasi divine status that the indigenous groups ascribe to him. But when he marries a local girl, who wounds him during their wedding since she is afraid of him, his human nature is laid bare and both Dravot and Carnehan are revealed to be impostors. Dravot is killed by being thrown of a bridge, Carnehan is crucified, but since he is still alive the next morning, the locals decide to let him go. He returns to the border where he tells his exploits to the narrator of the story, a newspaperman. There are numerous parallels to Harlan’s story. Especially the dream of carving out a kingdom of his in a remote part of Afghanistan, untouched by the ‘Great Game,’ the

181

Cf. Hagerman, “In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,” 380; Rabel, “The Imitation of Alexander the Great in Afghanistan,” 98; Akasoy, “Alexander in the Himalayas,” 1–2. 182 Macintyre, The Man Who Would Be King, 4. 183 Cf. on the autobiographical background Zoreh T. Sullivan, Narratives of Empire: The fictions of Rudyard Kipling (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 98–99. 184 Macintyre, The Man Who Would Be King, 6.

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trickster ways of dressing up, and the references to Alexander, occur, as we have seen, repeatedly throughout his own life writings. He was, after all, also – like Alexander Burnes – a Freemason.185 But for our topic at hand, the question of whether Kipling modeled his story on some of the aspects of Harlan’s life is not as central as the question of how the biographies and adventures of people like the American and his British nemesis circulated around in the latter part of the nineteenth century and how they became an integral part of the cultural imagination. Travelers, political agents, and freebooters like Harlan, Burnes, Masson or others all left behind extensive writings themselves, texts that were, as we have seen, themselves implicated in a long tradition of romance, adventure stories, and ancient histories. Kipling had a vast canon to draw on and his own narrative can be said to be situated at a textual crossroads of imperial literature, where travel writings, imaginative texts, and history books intersected. Kipling may have drawn on all of these sources at the same time, but his original genius was to tap into what was circulating all around him in order to create imaginative spaces that allowed for a negotiation of imperial politics, colonial identities, their shiny romantic fabrics, and their dark underbellies. This sets his fictional short story apart from the writings of Burnes and Harlan, who, of course, raised the claim to talk about what they saw and to reference reality in their travel literature. Nonetheless, in the discussion of themselves and the people they met on the road, as well as the largely unmapped places they traversed, they harked back to an age-old tradition of literature steeped in Orientalist images and romantic fantasies. What we are presented with in their writings were fictions in themselves, not in the sense that they were wrong or lies, but rather in the sense that they were discursively made over a long period of time. Kipling was familiar with this narrative groundwork of imperial dreams in Central Asia and dealt with them through multiple perspectives in his own stories. As Sullivan reminds us, “the narrator” of “The Man Who Would Be King,” the reporter in the newsoffice in Lahore, is in many ways “the most important character in the story”, because he “compels us to reread its meaning through the complex negotiation between the embedded adventure and the frame.”186 As he further observes, “the disturbance in this narrative is created by the collision between its central romantic myth and its distancing realistic, ironic frame whose narrator tempers his dispassionate perceptions of the adventurers with an elegiac and religious sentimentality”187 – and, one might add, with a moment of shock. After Carnehan has told his story to the baffled journalist, he presents him with what he has carried along in his bag all the way back from Kafiristan, namely the severed head of Dravot: “You behold now (…) the Emperor in his habit as he lived – the King of Kafiristan with his crown upon his head. Poor old Daniel that

185 186 187

Cf. ibid., 12; also Dalrymple, Return of a King, 210. Sullivan, Narratives of Empire, 100. Ibid.

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was a monarch once!”188 This is a vision of empire gone tragically wrong, brought down by hubristic aspirations of superiority. The fate of Alexander Burnes, who like Dravot had a taste for local mistresses, is echoed in this ending; Harlan made it out alive, but his kingdom was undone by the British advance in Afghanistan and he died, lonesome and forgotten, in San Francisco in 1871. It would be wrong to equate these highly individual cases with the fate of the Empire as an institutional construct, for it would still prevail despite inner tensions, contradictions, or occasional defeats, but they shed a light on the ambiguity of the imaginative fabrics of imperial aspirations. Kipling is often regarded as the great bard of the British Empire, but “despite” his “frequent opinionated asides about imperialist virtues or the greatness of it,”189 he made this ambiguity the central aspect of many of his stories. As Montefiore reminds us, “the final meaning of these tales is, right from the start, remarkably hard to pin down. They offer not a total vision but a multitude of intensely perceived provisional truths and local effects in a way that makes Kipling as much or more modernist than Victorian.”190 Accordingly, “The Man Who Would Be King” has often been interpreted as “Kipling’s most powerful allegory of empire and kingship, a story of control, desire and subversion, of authority and its discontents, and of the ‘worst muckers’ as world makers and destroyers.”191 This inherent polarity is not resolved in the course of the narrative, but has rather to be negotiated by the reader, who is, in consequence, moved to a consideration of the ethical aspects of empire building and its inherent costs. What begins as an exotic tale of two almost comical characters turns into a tragedy in the second part of the story, yet this “anticolonialist allegory in which the adventurers are an absurd parody of the British in the third world” is “subverted by imagery and language that idealize the imperial mission.”192 As Sullivan points out in an erudite analysis, the “conflict between the realistic frame and the romantic story for which it provides a matrix (…) is partially generated by the historical contradiction of imperial culture,” personified on the one hand by the “colonial man who is neither god nor king,” as well as “the colonized country (Kafiristan) that has already a power, a native presence.”193 The “quixotic” protagonists of the story fail, in part, because they transgress “boundaries others respect”194 – both in a geophysical and political sense, since they cross the

188 189

Kipling, “The Man Who Would Be King,” 126. Jan Montefiore, “Introduction,” in The Man Who Would Be King, Rudyard Kipling, ed. Jan Montefiore (London: Penguin, 2011), xxi. 190 Ibid., xxi. 191 Sullivan, Narratives of Empire, 99. Cf. for a similar take on the story Charles Allen, Kipling Sahib: India and the Making of Rudyard Kipling (London: Little, 2007), 279. 192 Sullivan, Narratives of Empire, 101. 193 Ibid. 194 Rabel, “The Imitation of Alexander the Great in Afghanistan,” 98.

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mountains and borders into Kafiristan, and in a moral sense, since they impersonate as successors of Alexander the Great and eventually as gods. What Kafiristan was to Kipling, a fabled country in a remote region beyond the frontier, Afghanistan was at the beginning of the nineteenth century as a whole and travelers and explorers like Harlan or Burnes also transgressed numerous physical and psychological boundaries on their respective journeys. Yet, rather than demystifying some of the notions about the lands beyond the frontier, it seems that their respective writings only added to the strange and fantastic lure of unmapped geographies. At least in the case of Kafiristan that both visited and wrote about this impression is confirmed. Due to its remoteness it was never as much part of the geopolitical strategic maneuvers as Afghanistan’s heartland was, but it nevertheless constituted an “enigma,” and a “dream space” that allowed for the projection “of racial and historical fantasies on the Kafirs.”195 As Marx shows in his detailed historicist analysis of “The Man Who Would Be King,” Kipling made Kafiristan the setting of his story and drew on a vast array of contemporary textual sources that echoed the descriptions offered by Harlan and Burnes.196 What is notable in this context is that the ‘Kafirs’ were said to be the descendants of ‘feringhees,’ especially of Alexander’s army and veterans settled in Bactria. Many ethnographic texts and travel writings embraced this purported ancestry and proclaimed a strange kinship to the inhabitants of this small part of Afghanistan. This identification with one of the great heroes of Western expansionism by the indigenous people offered a discursive link on which sameness with and difference to the locals could be negotiated. Alexander the Great thereby served as a relational mediator on whose memory contacts could be established and who spurred the imagination of those who traveled through and wrote about the area. It is therefore no surprise that Alexander also plays a role in Kipling’s narrative. As Rabel observes, Alexander is not mentioned often, but always invoked at crucial points in the narrative, namely “in the context of the unsuccessful and ultimately fatal act of imposture.”197 The first reference occurs after Dravot and Carnehan have managed to carve out their own small kingdom amongst the local inhabitants of Kafiristan. While Carnehan is worried that they will not be able to logistically handle the new-found responsibility, Dravot is growing ever more accustomed to his role, marching “his Army” from victory to victory in the neighboring territories, with “a great gold crown on his head.”198 When he returns from his campaign he tells his amazed compatriot: “My Gord, Carnehan, this is a tremenjus business, and we’ve got the whole country as far as it’s worth having. I am the son of Alexander by Queen Semiramis, and you’re my

Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 77, 88, and 85. On Kafiristan and the Kafirs cf. also chapter 5. 196 Cf. Marx, “How We Lost Kafiristan,” especially 44–45 and 48–59. 197 Rabel, “The Imitation of Alexander the Great in Afghanistan,” 105. 198 Kipling, “The Man Who Would Be King,” 115. 195

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younger brother and a God too! It’s the biggest thing we’ve ever seen.”199 In Kipling’s narrative, Alexander only enters the story when the two daredevils have arrived at their position of power. He is not explicitly pointed to as the main inspiration behind their plan. Yet, he is regarded as a heroic ancestor in a long line of imperial aspirations that Dravot and Carnehan finally also claim for themselves. In this context, it does not matter that there is no other tradition that would genealogically link Alexander to the mythic Assyrian queen of Babylon, Semiramis. Rather, it seems that Dravot is intent on creating his own mythological line of descent, along with his own system of belief, based on a mixture of pseudo-ritualistic elements and Freemasonry. In a speech before the tribal Chiefs, he relates his utopian conception of Kafiristan, “a country where every man should eat in peace and drink in quiet, and specially obey” him and Carnehan, “Gods and sons of Alexander, and Past Grand-Masters in the Craft.”200 According to Freemasonic belief, Alexander had once been a grand-master too and when the Masonic symbol is found on a rock in what appears to be the relic of pioneers working in this region in the age of the Macedonian conqueror, direct contact is made to the past and this imperial legacy, it is made clear, should provide the ground on which to pave the way into the future. Dravot uses his imagined connection to Alexander not only in a self-representational or legitimizing gesture, but also to show that he and the local Kafir tribes are connected genealogically: “I know that you won’t cheat me, because you’re white people – sons of Alexander – and not like common, black Mohammedans. (…) I’ll make a damned fine nation out of you, or I’ll die in the making!”201 At this point, race enters the story as a foundational category. The Kafirs are described as white people, who live in an archaic state, and their self-proclaimed belief to descent from the great Alexander so much discussed in the ethnographic travel literature of the nineteenth century is here evoked to reflect on the narrative frameworks of cultural identity and the ensuing ideology of superiority so fundamental to empire-building. “I won’t make a Nation. I’ll make an Empire! These men aren’t niggers; they’re English! Look at their eyes – look at their mouths,”202 says Dravot in a hubristic gesture and his imperial aspirations are increasingly characterized as monomaniacal fantasies bordering on delusion by Carnehan, who slowly realizes that his friend has transgressed the mere act of imposition by believing in his own mythical narrative himself. In these passages, the story’s tone changes from a comic display of imperial aspirations to the tragic downfall of a man who got all he wanted but finally overstretched himself by following the lure of his fantasies. Although it is not explicitly dealt with, Dravot’s fatal decision to marry a local girl echoes Alexander the Great’s 199 200 201 202

Ibid. Ibid., 116. Ibid., 117. Ibid.

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marriage to the indigenous Roxane in the same mountainous regions – a move that is repeatedly marked as a shift in the character and politics of the Macedonian king,203 which became apparent in the growing estrangement between himself and his Macedonian troops. For anyone familiar with the Alexander history, this parallel would have been apparent and although Carnehan is not fully estranged from his companion, it is made clear that he recognizes the increasing ambiguity of their acts. Kipling thus uses Alexander both as a symbol of imperial tradition and descent and as a cultural signifier that marks Dravot’s fantasy as hubristic and, in the end, dangerous. It might have been one thing to use Alexander as an inspiration, but it was another to aspire to follow his principle and compete with his imposing legacy. Empire needs narrative, but once the narrative gets in the way of a realistic assessment of the imperial possibilities and limits, the dreams will be shattered and the myth-clad garments of power will be unmasked as cultural fictions. John Huston’s 1975 filmic adaption of Kipling’s short story would make even stronger references to Alexander the Great, who becomes a “dominant presence” right from the outset when Dravot and Carnehan first learn of Kafiristan.204 In the journalist’s office, he is explicitly referred to as the only Westerner to have successfully led an army into this remote region of the world. While the journalist speaks about him in order to warn about the dangers involved in their undertaking, the two adventurers take this as a proof that what they aspire to achieve is actually feasible. Where Kipling’s story negotiates the inherent contradictions of their enterprise discursively, Huston’s film uses the visual possibilities of the film medium to render the fatalistic impulse behind their daring journey in awe-inspiring panoramic scenes that capture the invincibility of the mountains and the barren landscapes in which the two Westerners find themselves. They barely make it across the wild ranges to arrive, snowblind and hungry, in an archaic society of wooden settlements and locals that fight with arrow and spear. The civilizing character of their self-imposed mission is thereby made explicit – the more so as the locals do not resemble white Europeans, but are Central Asians. Where Kipling thematizes race explicitly in his narrative, Huston relegates this aspect of the story to the visual level alone. And whereas Kipling’s protagonist draws the parallel to Alexander himself, this identification is made by the locals in Huston’s film. Thus, they enchant “Sikander, Sikander” as they wait for Dravot to show himself after a successful march on an enemy settlement. As Billy Fish, a local, explains to the astounded Briton: “Sikander a god. Come here long ago from the West. (…) Alexander, Sikander. He builded great city, Sikandergul, high in mountains.” Although the initial impulse is therefore a different one, in both versions of the story the indigenous tradition and memory of Alexander is exploited by the two Englishmen, who see their

203 On Roxane and the marriage cf. Arr. an. 4.19.5–6; Strab. 11.517; Curt. 8.4.21–23; Plut. Alex. 47.2. 204 Rabel, “The Imitation of Alexander the Great in Afghanistan,” 105.

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chance of imposing themselves as his rightful descendants. The celestial direction of ‘the West’ thereby serves as the only binding link to the ancient forebear and attests to the dualistic ideology of a world divided into civilization/culture and archaism/ nature. Yet, the boundaries begin to blur once Dravot believes in the mythical narrative and moves from impersonation to full identification: “The first king here since Alexander, the first to wear his crown in 2,200 and 14 years. Him, and now me. They call me his son and I am, in spirit anyway.” This imagined translatio imperii exemplifies the move from history to mythology that takes place in both the film as well as the textual precursor. The naming of the exact historical period of time passed between the factual and physical presence of Alexander in the region and Dravot’s own advent is opposed to the imagined return of the hero, whose cyclical re-appearance transcends linear conceptions of time. It is telling that both the film and the short story incorporate this idea into their respective fabrics and place it in the context of textual knowledge (as represented in the newspaper office) and oral tradition (as shown in Kafiristan) respectively. Yet, as both make clear, it does not mean that textual history is to be given a preference, since the invoked textual sources and ethnographic writings themselves are littered with mythical stories and legends alluding to the remoteness and identity of Kafiristan. In many ways, the dialectic between history and myth, textual knowledge and oral tradition, is personified in the figure of Alexander the Great himself. His memory is both stored in the Western textbooks as well as the local narratives; and in both traditions factual and fantastic elements are constantly intertwined to transform the man into an image, an idea that allowed for the projection of all kinds of associations and dreams onto him. On a meta-layer, the imperial parable of “The Man Who Would Be King” lays bare this narrative fabric and in how far the (micro- and macro-) politics of the ‘Great Game’ were informed by the cultural imaginary. This latter aspect is tied with the main subject of this chapter, namely the travel writings and memoirs of Alexander Burnes and Josiah Harlan. What is evoked above as the ‘spirit’ of Alexander was a constant presence in their writings. Both harbored romantic dreams of creating their own positions of power amidst the turbulences of their time – sometimes with the help of local regimes, sometimes against them. It would go too far to claim that they were intent on imitating Alexander’s exploits in the regions beyond the northwestern frontier, but both used the Macedonian king as both a source of knowledge and of what could be referred to as spiritual guidance. The regions both traversed on their respective routes into and through Afghanistan were fabled in Western ethnographies and histories and they took the Alexander historians as their waymarker, looking to find the geophysical and material equivalents of the landscapes of the mind spurred by their constant reading of the ancient authors. Even where similarities were absent or missing, they were keen to at least discursively draw associations to the route of the Macedonian. Theirs was largely a cultural memory of Alexander, stored in the ancient sources they took with them and actively negotiated

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in their own extensive writings. Both noted the local traditions of the Macedonian that they incorporated into their description of indigenous people and customs. On the one hand, this was a way of discursively holding the strange and unfamiliar at bay, finding a common denominator on which relations could be established. On the other hand, this was also a way of illustrating the cultural superiority of the Western colonial powers, often equated with the possession of textual knowledge of the Alexander history as opposed to the vague oral traditions they were faced with on their routes. Through and in the figure of Alexander their own cultural identity was at stake, the more so if local groups underlined their own descent from the Macedonian army. In a way, both Burnes and Harlan encountered this by using Alexander for their own public self-fashioning. Their own Western heritage partly played a role in this, but it was mainly the fact that they had personally come into contact with the spaces traversed and material relics forged in Alexander’s time. Both had gone where only a handful of Westerners had traveled since the age of the Macedonian king and this fact alone established their own link to their historical role model. Before the literary public of their day, they used this link to present themselves as heroic frontier heroes and charismatic masculine figures whose feats could only be compared to the mythic embodiment of imperialism, the greatest conqueror who had ever lived. Their writings also had clear political undertones and influenced the geopolitical discourse of their day. They proved, both in their own way, that the terra incognita of Afghanistan could be traversed by armies from the outside and that the country could take on a key role in the control of Central Asia. To be sure, both Harlan and Burnes had not foreseen the ultimately tragic trajectory of their respective Afghan adventures and both had been opposed to the hegemonic British politics that saw the indigenous groups as mere pawns in its geopolitical game plan. Both had tried to face it in their own way, one by playing along, the other by bitterly opposing it – and both failed. Half a century later, their respective fates would echo in Rudyard Kipling’s “The Man Who Would Be King.” It was a tale that, in its broad cultural references, showed in how far the imperial aspirations of men like Burnes and Harlan were influenced by romantic dreams stored in textbooks and in how far imperial ideology could itself be said to be a cultural construct built on mythological stories. Not merely incorporating cultural texts, Burnes’ and Harlan’s own writings channeled back into the cultural imaginary, where they, in turn, inspired stories like “The Man Who Would Be King.” However different these texts were in their respective interests, generic conventions, or stylistic fabrics, they all had one common denominator: the cultural memory of the man who would be known as Alexander the Great.

Chapter IV The Material Fabrics of Memory and the Possession of the Past Colonial Archaeology from Charles Masson to Sir Aurel Stein The search for Alexander in the northwestern regions of India and beyond the frontier was, almost from the beginning, accompanied by the discovery of material relics tied to a long cultural history obscure to Europeans and by the exploration of hitherto unknown historical sites. Initially these sites were believed to have been the scenes of Alexander’s exploits, but soon it became clear that the Macedonian’s journey through the area was only part of a much larger story, a small segment in a multi-layered amalgam of historical signs and traces whose meanings were only unearthed in a long process of exploration and interpretation. The procedural quality of these archaeological undertakings is echoed in the many writings of the era that lay emphasis on traveling or journeying. This chapter sets out to revisit some of the leading protagonists of colonial archaeology along the north-west frontier. Be it the mysterious Charles Masson (1800–1853) who ventured deeper into Afghanistan than any Englishman before or after, and whose daredevil and often solitary ventures laid the groundwork of Afghan archaeology; the restless Alexander Cunningham (1814–1893), who spearheaded the Archaeological Survey of India and who, with tireless determination and endurance, brought to light numerous material relics; or the charismatic archaeologist Sir Aurel Stein (1862–1943), whose lifelong fascination for the long history of Central Asia was only surpassed by his passion for the story of Alexander the Great. The lives and careers of these men span more than a century (Masson was born in 1800, Stein died in 1943), but the ways in which they followed the footsteps of the Macedonian conqueror in (or beyond) the regions of the northwestern frontier show remarkable parallels, including the leitmotif of tracing Alexander’s steps and of uncovering material traces of objects and places that were intrinsically tied (or so they imagined) to his track. Based on an analysis of the travel writings and memoirs of Masson, Cunningham, and Stein, the chapter will discuss the development of colonial archaeology in Afghanistan and India. What will become clear is that each explorer, in his

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own way, used Alexander as a kind of historical lens with which to zoom in on regions whose histories were otherwise largely unknown. If Central Asian history resembled a door drawn shut against a room, Alexander was for the explorers a way to peer through the keyhole of the past. When they looked through, a room opened before them that was overwrought with histories and traditions that far outstretched the comparatively short history of Alexander in the region. In this way, these explorers unlocked the history of an area with far longer and more diverse stories to tell. The encounter with the material relics of times and peoples, who had barely left any written records, also became a way of resurrecting traditions that were alien to the Europeans who laid eyes on them. Interpreting and finally appropriating these material relics, both discursively by writing about them and physically by shipping them off to museums in India or England, became a way of possessing the past. Yet, neither Masson nor Cunningham nor Stein could conceal that they themselves were possessed by this very past, and especially by Alexander the Great. The gaze of these travelers that roamed the northwestern regions was certainly directed eastwards. Aurel Stein once compared Alexander to a guiding “meteor”1 that signaled where they had to go in order to get into contact with those fabled lands and sites described in Arrian or Curtius Rufus. Much of what was known of these territories was, in fact, only stored in ancient Greco-Roman texts. Local traditions were largely missing or were only unearthed slowly. That is why archaeological remains, artefacts, and coins became the key to rediscovering the past.2 They were used to enhance the textual material, compared to and read against what could be distilled from the ancient sources; yet, the material relics also brought new information that could not be read about anywhere, providing the Europeans with new perspectives on Central Asian history. To be sure, not all of the antiquarian endeavors and archaeological finds proved promising or turned out successful. For instance, no evidence of any Greek presence in the Punjab was found for the greater part of the nineteenth century, apart from occasional Indo-Greek coins or classical influences in sculpture.3 The difficulty was not only connected to the availability of the material, but also to the issue of how it was to be interpreted. “On the one hand,” as Stephen Garton puts it, “there is material evidence to suggest continuing contact between Indo-Greek

1 2

3

Marc Aurel Stein, On Alexander’s Track to the Indus: Personal Narrative of Exploration on the NorthWest Frontier of India (London: Ares Publishing, 1974 [1929]), vii. Cf. Elizabeth Errington and Vesta Sarkhosh Curtis, “Preface,” in From Persepolis to the Punjab: Exploring ancient Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan, ed. Elizabeth Errington and Vesta Sarkhosh Curtis (London: The British Museum Press, 2007), xvii. On the difficulty of reconstructing the early history of India and the availability of the sources also John Keay, India: A History (New Delhi: Haper Collins, 2000), xvii-xviii. Cf. Elizabeth Errington, “Exploring Ghandara,” in From Persepolis to the Punjab: Exploring ancient Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan, ed. Elizabeth Errington and Vesta Sarkhosh Curtis (London: The British Museum Press, 2007), 224.

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settlements in the north-west and other parts of India. (…) On the other hand,” as he continues, “there are important questions about whether such artefacts came by land routes from the north-west or sea routes connecting India to Greco-Roman settlements further afield.”4 The problem of how to adequately account for trade connections, intercultural networks and cultural processes of influence and similarity still presents itself to contemporary researches and is far from being fully disclosed: “The question of wider cultural influence and whether the Indo-Greek settlements of the north-west were isolated enclaves or embedded, and economically and culturally influential remains unresolved.”5 Nonetheless, the ventures of men like Masson or Cunningham led to rich findings that continue to spark these debates today. Out of their curiosity and fascination with the lands of Central Asia they opened an avenue into a contact with the material culture of the East. More than an adventurer with an eastward-bound directory and line of vision, the contact with this material culture proved to be multi-directional in that it reset European perspectives on the ‘Orient.’ Charles Masson’s findings in Afghanistan alone proved the existence of a prosperous Indo-Greek culture that far outstretched Alexander’s presence in the region. Masson not only found thousands of coins that attest to this conclusion, but his identification of Begram with the ancient Alexandria ad Caucasum tentatively elaborated in his writings has been confirmed by modern excavations.6 In many ways, Charles Masson exemplified the change from the era of “‘closet or scholastic archaeologists’ to that of ‘field archaeologists’, or ‘travelling antiquarians.’ ”7 Within only a short span of time, many of the Indo-Greek rulers and Indian dynasties of antiquity came to light and a whole aspect of ancient history, so far unknown to European scholars, was reconstructed. Even amongst a group of renegade surveyors and adventurers, Charles Masson stands out for his almost reckless and often solitary trips to the Kabul-Jalalabad region from 1833–1838. Travelling alone with barely any possessions and the occasional help of Afghans he met along the way, Masson surveyed numerous dozen of Buddhist monuments and collected, according to his estimate, more than 60,000 coins, including those he managed to recover around Begram. Although Masson sent most of his findings to the East Indian Company and although the coins and other relics finally wound up in the Honourable Company’s Museum in London (and later the British Museum) the institutional and organizational frameworks were rather improvised and vague in the beginning. Personal determination and an inborn curiosity are characteristic of most of the antiquarians, as they were initially called, that 4 5 6 7

Stephen Garton, “‘Wild Follies and Ostentatious Displays’,” 7–8. Ibid., 8. Cf. Paul Bernard, “Diodore XVII, 83, 1: Alexandrie Du Caucase ou Alexandrie de l’Oxus,” Journal des Savants 3, no. 1 (1982), 217–42. On the Ai Khanoum site, discovered much later, cf. Paul Bernard, “An Ancient Greek City in Central Asia,” Scientific American 246 (1982), 148–59. Om Prakash Kejariwal, The Asiatic Society of Bengal and the Discovery of India’s past 1784–1838 (Delhi: Oxford UP 1988), 164.

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journeyed through Afghanistan and the Punjab in search of the past. Self-reliance and a good deal of self-education were the key to succeeding in the early stages of colonial archaeology. As Ray Desmond notes, “the early development of archaeological studies in India owed much to the curiosity and observation of the Company’s civil administrators and army officers who during the course of their normal duties discovered, explored and recorded many sites and historic buildings.”8 To be sure, there were outlets for publication and platforms of scholarly discussion like the Asiatic Society of Bengal, originally founded in 1784, the Archaeological Society of Delhi, formed in 1847, or government initiatives that supported the preservation and exploration of historical remains. But by the standards of modern scientific archaeology whose methods were developed during simultaneous excavations in Egypt and the Near East, antiquarian research around the northwestern frontier was marked by speedy, if not hasty inspections and informal excavations. Warwick Ball, too, explicitly underlines the “inexhaustible curiosity (…) of these nineteenth century traveler-explorers” and their “ability to amass raw information (…) backed up by informal excavations, usually made in the pursuit of art objects.”9 And while their methods hardly fit into methodological patterns of modern archaeological practice, their findings greatly added to the archaeological information made available – information on which the great stories of twentieth century archaeology in the region, like the discovery of the ‘Indus civilization’ or the excavation of Ai Khanoum, were based. A sea change in colonial archaeology came with the implementation of the Archaeological Survey in India in 1861. Alexander Cunningham, who had held several posts in the military before following his antiquarian researches full time, was appointed as the Survey’s first Director General. For the next two decades he would tirelessly wander through India’s provinces, amazed by the rich cultural heritage and the mass of historical sources that were to be found in the colony. One of the first journeys he undertook in his new role led him to the archaeological sites between Peshawar and Lahore. While he set out to follow Alexander’s route through the region, it quickly became clear that many other relics were waiting to be assessed that could not be integrated into common classical frames of references but demanded new methods of analysis. While Cunningham would also rely on Chinese sources, Alexander remained a point of reference, especially in Cunningham’s identification of Aornos with Ranigat (the famous rock which was the site of one of Alexander’s most famous sieges and which would be on the mind of any antiquarian travelling through the area including Aurel Stein years later) and his description of the ruins of Taxila.10

8 9 10

Ray Desmond, The India Museum 1801–1879 (London: HMSO, 1982), 111. Warwick Ball, The Monuments of Afghanistan (London: I. B. Tauris, 2008), 136. Cf. Dilip K. Chakrabarti, A History of Indian Archaeology: From the Beginning to 1947 (New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers, 1988), 66–67.

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When compared to Masson, who was largely dependent upon his own charm and talent to make friends in Afghanistan, Cunningham could, for the most part, count on the support of the government agencies in India. For one, this certainly has to do with the widely differing careers of both men (Cunningham was a highly respected military officer, whereas Masson had been a deserter, whose real name was not even Masson but rather James Lewis). Yet, this also had to do with a changing political climate and a new agenda that increasingly recognized the merits of archaeological research for the production of knowledge and also colonial control. For Upinder Singh, the “process of legitimization” of British rule, “rested as much on interpretations of India’s past as of its present.”11 From the second half of the nineteenth century onwards, “governments, and their spy services, saw an,” as Meyer and Brysac put it, “ancillary benefit in archaeology. Excavators tarry in remote regions, become fluent in local languages, take pictures and perhaps maps – the ideal ‘cover’ for espionage.”12 However, we have to be wary of overestimating the role of archaeology or antiquarian research for the production of colonial knowledge and the safeguarding of territorial control. While these aspects certainly played a role, the “quest for scientific knowledge”13 was the main impetus for men like Cunningham or Stein. In the words of Himanshu Prabha Ray, “there are no simple answers” to the question whether “knowledge [was] also power to govern (…) or power to establish the superiority of the colonizer.”14 This reservation is advisable when it comes to drawing conclusions on the interconnections between archaeological research and colonial administration, the more so as the “knowledge” and information that was gathered by the explorers was itself a colonial fiction, fraught with the interpretation of reality through a Eurocentric lens. As Edney puts it, “the information acquired by the British did not represent a perfect, empirically known truth, as they thought it did, but instead constituted contested knowledge of a socially constructed reality.”15 The contested nature of this knowledge is still echoed in the debates surrounding the interpretation of the Indo-Greek or Greco-Bactrian dynasties in the wake of Alexander’s march. A. K. Narain (1925–2013) has repeatedly refuted the Eurocentric bias in the depiction of the transcultural relationships between ancient Greece and India, and has done so with the intention of also presenting Alexander’s exploits around the Indus in a proper light. Narain reminds us that “the conquest of India remained an un-

11 12 13

14 15

Singh, The Discovery of Ancient India, 1. Meyer and Brysac, Tournament of Shadows, 375. Himanshu Prabha Ray, Colonial Archaeology in South Asia: The Legacy of Sir Mortimer Wheeler (London: Oxford UP, 2008), 1. Some of the central points of reference for the study of archaeology in India are still laid out in Bernard S. Cohn, An Anthropologist among Historians and other Essays (New Delhi: Oxford UP, 1986). Ray, Colonial Archaeology in South Asia, 1. Edney, Mapping an Empire, 325.

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fulfilled dream of Alexander”16 and that he only invaded a tiny portion of India proper. Whether the British explorers on the northwestern frontier were aware of this fact and whether they reflected on their own cultural formation is not so much the point, as their belief that they truly followed the traces of both the Achaemenid kings and Alexander to the Indus and their expectation that whatever they would find in the region would in some way be connected to the marvelous historical achievements described in the classical sources.17 Although the social backgrounds and historical contexts of each of the men described in this chapter highly differed, this belief in getting into immediate contact with the traces of Alexander’s journey resonates strongly in the respective writings of Masson, Cunningham, or Stein. The relics and historic sites they found made up the material fabrics of the memory of Alexander stored in the ancient sources. And their own interpretations of these sources attest to the intrinsic belief that the recording or even the possession of these material relics helped in the resurrection of a historical reality that could so far only be glimpsed at by textual means. In what follows I will therefore refrain from drawing conclusions about the epistemological merits of the tools with which the early explorer-archaeologists encountered the northwestern regions (although an assessment of their interpretations will play a fundamental role), but rather look at the representational quality of their writings which both drew on materiality as well as imagination. 4.1 Early Explorers and the Beginnings of Indo-Afghan Archaeology In his 1844 collection of geographical and numismatic descriptions, Ariana Antiqua, the English orientalist Horace Hayman Wilson (1786–1860) summed up what he perceived as a sea change in the study of Middle Eastern antiquarian studies: Few inquiries of an archaeological purport have been attended with so abundant a harvest of discovery as those of which India has been recently the field. The results do not ascend to so remote a period as is necessary for the illustration of antiquities purely national, or for the determination of the origin and era of the religious or political institutions of the Hindus; but they fill up in the most satisfactory manner an extensive blank in the history of an important part of India at an interesting period, and dissipate the clouds that have hung over the interval between the invasion of Alexander and that of Mohammed Ghori, in regard to the provinces which were the seat of their respective aggressions. They give us for fifteen centuries a variety of the kingdom of Bactria, and the conterminous regions of

16 17

Abodh K. Narain, The Indo-Greeks: Revisited and Supplemented (Delhi: B. R. Publishing 2003), 355. Cf. Nayanjot Lahiri, Finding Forgotten Cities: How the Indus Civilization was Discovered (Delhi: Permanent Black, 2006), 48.

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Persia and Hindustan, of which we have hitherto had but few and imperfect intimations, or which were heretofore altogether unknown.18

Wilson was an astute scholar, well versed and deeply entrenched in the cultural history of India and became the first Boden Professor of Sanskrit at Oxford in 1832. Prior to his scholarly career he had travelled widely in India and was able to give a first-hand account of many of the monuments and manuscripts he wrote about in his studies. Nonetheless, not even he could have foreseen the deluge of new found material and sources that accompanied the expeditions around the northwestern frontier of which Charles Masson, who was invited to add a chapter to Ariana Antiqua, was only one of the central proponents. And although the discoveries did not allow for an extensive foray into early Indian history, they nonetheless allowed a glimpse at the periods after Alexander’s conquests in the area. It is one of the ironies of Indian antiquarianism at the time that Alexander spurred the imagination of many explorers, but that only little was left of his own stay in the region. What came to light were cultural remnants that attested to a history that was at once unknown and yet gave testimony to rich cultural exchange processes between the West and the Far East. Connectivity and diversity were the central interpretational patterns that allowed for a discursive approach to what could be found in the Punjab and the Afghan plains. Whereas Greek letters on stones or coins constituted connecting links, often with the thought of Alexander in mind, Indian scripts and Eastern-influenced architectural traces and monuments remained an alien universe, riddled with strange symbols and signs that were only dissected slowly in a long process of examination. Nonetheless, the bulk of the material provided an avenue into the history of the region. Just as the explorers moved ever forward into remote areas of the north-west and often drew on the writings of orientalists like Wilson, so antiquarian scholars accumulated new knowledge based on the material evidence found, stored, and sent by the travelers. It was a circular process that gave way to an archaeological hermeneutics quite characteristic of the northwestern frontier in the nineteenth century. The collaboration that ensued between traveler-explorers and administrators or scholars in India and England was neither self-evident nor entirely planned. Rather, much of the antiquarian research of the time has to be perceived as a rather improvised affair, based on trial and error, as well as a highly individualized effort. It is no wonder that many of the archaeological finds of that day are inextricably connected to the names of those renegade adventurers who were as much motivated by possible fame as they were led by sheer serendipity. “That there was no uniform State policy either towards the practice of archaeology or towards preservation and museum collections 18

Horace Hayman Wilson, Ariana Antiqua: A Descriptive Account of the Antiquities and Coins of Afghanistan with a Memoir on the Buildings Called Topes, by C. Masson, esq. (New Delhi: Asian Educational Services, 1998 [1844]), 2.

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in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries,” certainly played its part in the formation of this particular aspect of colonial archaeology “which continued to be based on personal research agendas until the beginning of the twentieth century.”19 Many of the self-appointed antiquarians were employed in the military. And many of those were mercenaries in the service of Maharaja Ranjit Singh. From 1815 onwards, the northwestern provinces attracted many underemployed soldiers in the wake of the Napoleonic Wars. Not all of them were classically trained, but some possessed zeal for discovery and especially for the riches expected to be found in concealed places, only waiting to be unearthed. Some of the most important chance discoveries are connected to General M. le Chevalier Ventura (1794–1858), one of Singh’s French commanders, who was well aware of the stories of the treasures found in Egyptian pyramids and who saw parallels to the many towers of unknown origin which were known as ‘topes’ by local people. To the locals these built structures may have attested to a different time, but they had come to accept them as part of their natural surroundings and did not waste a thought on what could be hidden inside. Ventura took a chance and after he obtained permission from Singh to dig, he indeed found numerous coins and other relics that caused a sensation amongst antiquarians and government officials alike.20 With more and more Bactrian, Indo-Scythic and even Roman coins coming to light, others soon followed Ventura’s example. Especially the military men employed by Ranjit Singh built huge personal collections, some of which were lost – either to robbery or to other practical means. One of the Maharajah’s generals had amassed so many coins, for instance, that he melted down what he thought were less valuable pieces to make cannons for Singh’s army.21 From the beginning of the nineteenth century onwards, reports about extensive mounds and ruins could be found in many travel writings, with a notably high density along the route leading from Peshawar through the Khyber Pass to Afghanistan. Already in Mountstuart Elphinstone’s writings, a structure in the village of Manikyala near Kabul figures prominently: The most remarkable sight we met with in this part, and perhaps in the whole of our journey, was an edifice about fifteen miles from Banda, our second march from Rawalpindi. (…) We (…) discovered a remarkable building, which seemed at first to be a cupola, but when approached, was found to be a solid structure, on a low artificial mound. There was nothing at all Hindu in the appearance of this building; most of the party thought it

19 20

21

Ray, Colonial Archaeology, 7. On the method and the surprising results of Ventura’s work cf. James Prinsep, “Coins and relics discovered by M. Ventura in the Tope of Manikyála,” in Essays on Indian Antiquities, Historic, Numismatic and Palaeographic, vol. I (London: John Murray, 1858), 90–91. Also Rubino Ventura, Notizie storiche e biografiche del Generale Rubino Ventura Finalese (Emilia: Finale, 1882). Cf. Holt, Lost World, 36.

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decidedly Grecian (…) The natives called it the Tope of Maunicyaula, and said it was built by the gods.22

Although stories of these strange structures circulated amongst the travelers to the northwestern frontier, it is remarkable that it would take another twenty years before an exploration from an antiquarian viewpoint began. Already in Elphinstone’s writings, the particular archaeological hermeneutics so characteristic of the travel writing of the nineteenth century in the region come to the fore: for although the structure is clearly marked out as strange and unknown to the Western eye, a connecting link is drawn up by remarking the similarity to Greek architecture. The dialectic between similarity and difference is characteristic and, in a way, symptomatic of most other writings that would deal with these structures known as topes and found in the north-west.

Fig. 4 Drawing of the Tope of Manikyala, 1839.

Charles Masson contributed a whole chapter on the so-called topes to Wilson’s Ariana Antiqua and described them as “massive structure[s] comprising two essential parts. The basement and perpendicular body resting thereon. The latter, after a certain elevation, always terminates after the manner of a cupola, sometimes so depressed as to exhibit merely a slight convexity of surface, but more frequently approaching the shape of a cone.”23 Masson goes on to describe the ornamental mouldings on the exte22 23

Elphinstone, An Account of the Kingdom of Caubul, vol. I, 78–80. Charles Masson, “Memoir on the Topes and Sepulchral Monuments of Afghanistan,” in Ariana Antiqua, H. H. Wilson (New Delhi: Asian Educational Services, 1998 [1844]), 55.

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rior body of the structures as well as their materiality which consists of “substantially constructed layers of large stones, cemented with well-prepared and beaten earth.”24 He differentiated between topes and smaller tumuli, but recent archaeology has clarified that both human-built mounds belong to the category of Buddhist stupas. For our object at hand it is remarkable that the early traveler-explorers did not draw the link to Buddhism, but rather noted what they perceived as a Western influence. They were right in presupposing a foreign influence, but the cultural impact of the Far East was still outside of their respective scope. Bringing what they knew and were familiar with to the north-western frontier, they provided their interpretations with a classical twist that would cloth the strange in the guise of the familiar. And the history of Alexander the Great played a great part in that in the beginning. If it had not been for Alexander’s past presence in the region, Ventura may never have “felt compelled” to dig at Manikyala. In fact, the perceived link between Alexander and India – real or imagined – constituted the prime motivation for most explorers to actively scavenge through the villages and desolate countryside in search of ancient relics. “The search for cities established by Alexander was a powerful motivating factor”25 for these men and it proved so powerful that it led to identifications and ascriptions fraught with Alexander’s history in mind. For instance, his findings in Manikyala led Ventura to conclude that he had found the ancient site of Bucephalia, founded by Alexander in memory of his beloved horse. However, it quickly became clear that his identification was plain wrong, since the distance between Manikyala and the river Jhelum, early equated to the ancient Hydaspes, was too wide – after all Bucephalia was said to have been situated directly beside the river.26 In the same vein Ventura’s French colleague in the service of Singh, General Claude-Auguste Court (1793–1880), remarked upon first entering Peshawar in 1827: While climbing up the mountains, we were absolutely unprepared for the rich plain of Pichavor (…) so we were struck by the magnificence of the countryside which extended as far as the eye could reach till the Indus. (…) While in contemplation, having no fortune but hopes, I wondered how the necessity to make a livelihood had given me, a mere French officer, the possibility to go so far away and behold the most beautiful scene of Alexander’s exploits.27

24 25 26 27

Ibid. Himanshu Prabha Ray, “Alexander’s Campaign (327–326 BC): A Chronological Marker in the Archaeology of India,” in Memory as History: The Legacy of Alexander in Asia, ed. Himanshu Prabha Ray and Daniel T. Potts (New Delhi: Aryan Books, 2007), 109. Arr. an. 5.19.4 and Strab. 15.1.29. Cited in Jean-Marie Lafont, “Private Business and Cultural Activity of the French Officers of Maharaja Ranjit Singh,” Journal of Sikh Studies 10, no. 1 (1983), 86. Court would repeatedly publish on Alexander cf. M. A. Court, “Conjectures on the March of Alexander,” Journal of the Asiatic Society 4 (1836), 387–95; “Conjectures on the March of Alexander,” Journal of the Asiatic Society 5 (1837),

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Other than Ventura, who was actually a Jew from a ghetto near Modena and had enrolled in the French army after the Treaty of Paris was signed, changing his name to Jean-Baptiste, Court really was a retired officer from the remnants of Napoleon’s army. Well educated he followed his inclination to go eastward and enrolled in the service of Eastern rulers. Drawing up detailed maps and geographical writings along the way, Court was finally led to look for the remains of Alexander’s journey, inspired by his thought of getting into touch with the relics of the fabled past. Like Ventura he had an inclination to read Alexander’s history into many of the ancient signs he found, but he did not go as far in his conclusions. As Errington and Curtis put it, “like most Europeans of the period, Court’s antiquarian interest was initially inspired by Alexander the Great’s conquest of India, but his major archaeological discoveries all postdate the Greek presence in the region.”28 The same is true for the numismatic finds of the officers: they all sought for coins minted on behalf of Alexander, but in fact, there is “no surviving evidence for coins of Alexander either in India or Central Asia and a majority of the coins issued in the name of Alexander are posthumous issues.”29 The specific dialectic of the antiquarian research of the time, harboring between fantasy and fact, becomes evident in the writings of Ventura and Court and the discursive framing of the material relics. As Jennifer Wallace puts it in her discussion of the ‘archaeological imagination,’ “excessive fantasy” can “conjure a city out of nothing” just as it can imbue other material traces from the past with meaning.30 The mismatch between what the early explorers believed (or wanted to believe) they had found and what they actually did find is a case example of how hard it is to extract a historical narrative out of materiality and to adequately define it. This is not to say that the writings and excavations of these self-trained antiquarians are without historical merit, quite the contrary. But it shows that the imagination of getting into immediate contact with the remnants of Alexander’s exploits gave way to a proto-scientific exploration of a past far more diverse than they had initially been able to picture. Indeed, the excavation of the “tope” of Manikyala proved of great importance for the study of Buddhist architecture and of the coinage of the Kushan kings. And, in many ways, the explorations of Singh’s officers herald the start of the age of great discoveries that would mark the 1830s in the north-west. For the first time, the history of Indian Bactria was really disclosed, as was the spread of Buddhism throughout India and Afghanistan. The coin finds paved the way for reconstructing the Indo-Greek and

28 29 30

46–51; “Collection of Facts which may be useful for the comprehension of Alexander the Great’s exploits on the Western Bank of the Indus,” Journal of the Asiatic Society 7 (1839), 304–13. Elizabeth Errington and Vesta Sarkhosh Curtis, “The explorers and collectors,” in From Persepolis to the Punjab: Exploring ancient Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan (London: The British Museum Press, 2007), 8. Ray, “Alexander’s Campaign (327–326 BC),” 108. Jennifer Wallace, Digging The Dirt: The Archaeological Imagination (London: Duckworth 2004), 14.

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Indo-Scythian line of kings in the wake of Alexander’s conquest. As Chakrabarti notes, 1830 is also a watershed for the archaeological writings around the north-west frontier. Thereby, “the lines of archaeological enquiry” moved along “the following directions: the opening of ‘topes’ or Buddhist stupas in the northwest and the consequent increase in interest in the antiquities of the region, principally Indo-Greek coins and sculpture;” then, “a gradual increase in the number of notices of ancient sites throughout the country; (…) and finally, a greater realization of the need of a systematic survey.”31 A flurry of antiquarian researches, travel, and communication evolved. Prinsep’s newly started ‘Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal’ became an important scholarly outlet for the discussion of new discoveries and especially numismatic findings. Despite a political agenda that impeded the printing of ancient Indian and other Eastern texts and scripts and led to financial difficulties on part of the Asiatic Society and related associations, Prinsep, who served as secretary of the Society from 1832 onwards, steered it through difficult times. He transformed the society journal Gleanings in Science to The Journal of the Asiatic Society and continued to oppose an educational policy that was set on introducing Western education into Asia. An architect by training, James Prinsep (1799–1840) joined the East Indian Company in 1819 and became the assistant of assay-master Horace Hayman Wilson at the Calcutta mint, eventually specializing in numismatics.32 Prinsep was extremely well educated and had a keen interest in many fields, but it was antiquarian research where he finally found his true vocation. Explorers like Alexander Burnes or Charles Masson regularly sent relics and coins they found on their respective ways to Prinsep, who encouraged them to embark on further journeys. His analysis of the relics that arrived from the regions beyond the frontier laid the groundwork for Indian numismatics and epigraphy. Based on a comparative methodology to the material, he was thus able to decipher the Ashokan Brahmi script and likewise contributed to the decipherment of Karoshthi, two ancient forms of Indian writing that suddenly illuminated the names of Indo-Greek dynasties and their successors.33 Nonetheless, the material on which these discoveries were based stemmed, to a large degree, from the exploits of one man who is still one of the unsung heroes of colonial archaeology and who we want to turn to now, namely James Lewis aka Charles Masson.

31 32 33

Ibid., 37. For a concise discussion of Prinsep’s work and his time see Kejariwal, The Asiatic Society of Bengal, 162–220. On his epigraphic work cf. also James Prinsep, “Important historical discoveries in the Inscriptions of India,” The Asiatic Journal and Monthly Register 27 (1838), 271–83.

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4.2 The Case of Charles Masson In a way, the subtitle of one of the few biographies of Masson says it all: “Explorer, Archaeologist, Numismatist and Intelligence Agent.”34 The enumeration adequately captures most of the positions held and roles played by Lewis, or rather Masson, during his eventful life; and yet, it attests to his enigmatic character and the difficulty of neatly categorizing and placing him amongst the colorful group of Western adventurers, diplomats, mercenaries, merchants, and military agents who travelled throughout northern India, Afghanistan and Persia in the exciting years of the early nineteenth century. Amongst a group of extraordinary characters, Masson still holds a league of his own – even when compared to the likes of Alexander Burnes or Josiah Harlan. Masson knew both, and did not like either of them.35 Already his contemporaries had difficulties in characterizing him. To the French generals of Singh, he was an Italian. To fellow travelers, he was French. And when the Bombay Government of the British East India Company first learned about him and his trips through the Punjab and Afghanistan in 1830, they thought he was an American. Henry Pottinger (1789–1856), the British Resident at Kutch who ran intelligence operations from Gujarat with a focus on the Indus Delta and who had, as a young man, travelled through Sindh disguised as a Muslim merchant, first reported on Masson in 1833, supporting his proposal to do antiquarian research on behalf of the Bombay Government in the Kabul region: “Mr Masson, an American gentleman I believe, has been residing in Afghanistan and the regions to the westwards of the Indies for some years past.” Pottinger described him “as a gentleman who was well versed in the language of the East, and of mild and conciliatory manner” and was clearly in favor of Masson’s intention to explore the ancient remains of Afghanistan, asserting “that I should think his success in the project he has in view would be certain, were he furnished with the pecuniary means of carrying on his operations.”36 Other contemporaries in Kabul described his simple, almost shabby appearance: with “nor stockings or shoes, a green cap on his head, and a fakir or dervish drinking cup slung over his right shoulders,”37 a compass and few books he journeyed through Afghanistan, often with no one to keep him company. He appeared like a wandering dervish, but his appearance also had the effect of keeping armed robbers away, for they would see that he had no possessions of any value. Nonetheless, his ragged looks did not belittle his bold ambitions to follow 34 35 36

37

Gordon Whitteridge, Charles Masson of Afghanistan: Explorer, Archaeologist, Numismatist and Intelligence Agent (Warminster: Aris and Phillips, 1986). Cf. ibid. 101–3, and Dalrymple, Return of a King, 99–107. Quoted in Elisabeth Errington, “Rediscovering the Collection of Charles Masson,” in Coins, Art, and Chronology: Essays on the pre-Islamic History of the Indo-Iranian Borderlands, ed. Michael Alram and Deborah E. Klimburg-Salter (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1999), 207. Grey, European Adventurers, 188.

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“in Alexander’s footsteps” and to soon make a name for himself as “the first westerner to explore Afghanistan’s archaeology.”38 Little is known of his early life, except that there is a common agreement amongst biographers that his real name was James Lewis and that he was born in London.39 His father George was an oilman and member of the Needle Makers Company. Except for the embarkation list of the East India Company, where James’ name can be found for the year 1821, there are no sources that would give an insight into his adolescent or school years. That he should have possessed a good education becomes clear from his apparent talent for languages and his classical readings that would remain an important part of his routine in the East. While it is probable that Lewis studied Eastern languages and acquired some basic knowledge in map making, botany, and other crafts during his time in the Bengal Artillery, there is in fact no proof for claims sometimes found in secondary literature that his enlistment was “solely (…) a means of seeing those parts of India and neighboring territories which had been invaded by Alexander the Great whose name he revered.”40 This characterization is drawn from later sources and we should be careful in supposing that his fascination for Alexander was his sole reason for venturing eastwards. The only fact that is certain is that Lewis deserted from the army shortly before the siege of Bharatpur in 1827 and changed his name to Charles Masson. He also spent the subsequent five years travelling in territories beyond British jurisdiction, accompanied by a fellow deserter, John Campbell (1799–1870) for a short time. Masson briefly joined Josiah Harlan’s first expedition into Afghanistan on behalf of Ranjit Singh. Harlan may have inspired Masson to pass himself off as an American from Kentucky and it is possible that Harlan was the one who unveiled Masson’s disguise towards the British authorities and informed the intelligence officer Major Claude Wade (1794–1861) of his true identity.41 Wade was the British agent in Ludhiana and controlled an extensive network of “intelligencers” across Central Asia. He was certainly aware of Masson’s antiquarian researches and many journeys around the Kabul region, which he conducted with great intensity from 1833 onwards. He also sensed an opportunity to win Masson as an intelligence agent for all Afghan affairs in exchange for dropping the charges against him and pardoning him – after all, desertion gave cause for a capital sentence. Masson did not like his new role, which also impeded his archaeological field work, but he had no other choice. Until Burnes’ failed diplomatic mission to Afghanistan prior to the First Anglo-Afghan War, Masson supplied Wade with information, often 38 39

40 41

Dalrymple, Return of a King, 49. Cf. Whitteridge, Charles Masson of Afghanistan, 1–6. For shorter biographical sketches see Elizabeth Errington, “Masson, Charles,” in Encyclopaedia Iranica, 20 July 2004, accessed 22 September 2016, www.iranicaonline.org/articles/masson-charles and Bijan Omrani, “Charles Masson of Afghanistan: Deserter, Scholar, Spy,” Asian Affairs 39, no. 2 (2008): 199–216. Desmond, The India Museum, 38. Whitteridge, Charles Masson of Afghanistan, 101–3.

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opposing British designs in the region and stating his support for a possible alliance with Kabul’s leader Dost Mohammed Khan. Masson was devastated when the situation escalated and when he had to leave Kabul for good in 1838. He spent the following years writing reports on his archaeological work and a memoir entitled Narrative of Various Journeys,42 relating his travels beyond the north-western provinces. Interestingly enough, his travel writings only set in after his desertion and Masson never mentions his past. Nonetheless, as the preface to the first Volume makes clear, he was interested in clearing his own name and in reassuring the public that he had no role to play in the fateful events that led to the catastrophe of 1842, instead criticizing Alexander Burnes, Claude Wade, and Lord Auckland for their apparent failures and misjudgment of Afghan affairs.43 Masson’s embitterment was aggravated when he was arrested in the wake of the siege of Kalat in 1840. Masson, who had been caught by the Afghan rebels, was sent to negotiate with the British and was accused of espionage. After tedious months, he was finally released in January 1841 and made way for England where he arrived in 1842 and where he wrote a report about the siege and his mistreatment by British officials, which was finally added as fourth volume to his Narrative.44 Many of his contemporaries took offence at Masson’s accusations which they primarily saw as an outraged and embittered reaction of someone who should have been punished for desertion in the first place.45 Masson married and fathered two children after his return, but he lived in poverty and died in 1853, his reputation as an antiquarian belittled and eventually overshadowed by the political turmoil in the wake of the Afghan War. It is ironic that, in some way, he shared the fate of Burnes and Harlan, who had played their roles in Afghanistan for a while and who had likewise criticized British leadership – they all faded into near oblivion during the second half of the nineteenth century and have only recently attracted renewed interest: Burnes for his excessive lifestyle, Harlan for his renegade ways, and Masson for his archaeological achievements. When looking at the many achievements and path-breaking forays of Masson it is surprising that comparably little has been written about him. In the 1840s, Wilson referred to Masson as “one of the most active and successful labourers” of antiquarian research,46 and at the turn of the twentieth century, Sir Thomas Hungerford Holdich (1843–1929), the Surveyor-General of India, remarked of Masson’s Narrative that “the most amazing feature of Masson’s tales of travel is that in all essential features we knew little more about the country of the Afghans after the second war with Afghanistan 42 43 44 45 46

Charles Masson, Narrative of Various Journeys in Balochistan, Afghanistan and the Panjab, Including a Residence in Those Countries from 1826 to 1838, in Three Volumes (London: Richard Bentley, 1842). Ibid., vol. I, v-xv. Charles Masson, Narrative of a Journey to Kalât, Including an Account of the Insurrection at that Place in 1840, and a Memoir on Eastern Balochistan (London: Richard Bentley, 1843). Cf. Whitteridge, Charles Masson of Afghanistan, 155–57. Wilson, Ariana Antiqua, v.

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than he could have told us before the first.”47 It was not until the dawn of the new millennium, however, that Masson’s archaeological work in Afghanistan was revisited from a scholarly viewpoint. In 1993, the so-called “Masson Project” was launched by the British Museum.48 What incited this project in the first place was the realization that the majority of Masson’s finds had been stored in the Museum since the close of the East India Company’s Museum in 1878, and that Masson had left an extensive archive of notes, manuscripts, and papers that “could be used to identify and document his rich collection of coins, rings, seals, Buddhist relic deposits, and other small objects now in the British Museum.”49 Especially Elizabeth Errington has spearheaded the research with important publications that have contributed to the revaluation of Masson’s achievements. As she sums up, Masson excavated more than 50 Buddhist relics and amassed close to 80,000 coins, primarily around the Kabul region.50 While it is certain that these impressive figures amount to one of the largest ancient coin collections in the nineteenth century, the fate of Masson’s numismatic finds is still far from certain. He sent most of his discoveries to the India Museum, where they were only inadequately recorded and his own publications of the day were often heavily edited so that important details are missing.51 A portion of his finds were apparently auctioned off towards the end of the nineteenth century, while others were given to the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge, the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford and to the Royal Asiatic Society in London. Still others were considered insignificant and stored away in the archives of the British Museum. Nonetheless, the approximately 15,000 coins that can be accounted for as Masson’s finds still constitute one of the richest sources of the history of ancient Bactria from Alexander’s conquest onwards. While some derive from the fourth century BCE, none belong to issues of Alexander. However, as we will see in the following, the memory of Alexander the Great figured prominently in the discovery of these coins and remained a key touchstone for Masson’s interpretation of his accumulated material.

47

48 49 50 51

Thomas Hungerford Holdich, The Gates of India, Being a Historical Narrative (London: Macmillan and Co., 1910), 361–62. Masson would also develop an interest in Afghan poetry and published a volume on it in the latter half of the 1840s: Charles Masson, Legends of the Afghan Countries: in Verse, with Various Pieces, Original and translated (London: James Madden, 1848). For a short overview cf. Errington, “Discovering Ancient Afghanistan.” On the collection cf. also Errington and Curtis, “The explorers and collectors,” 12–14, and Errington, “Rediscovering the Collections of Charles Masson.” Errington, “Discovering Ancient Afghanistan,” 54. Cf. ibid., 208; Errington, “Discovering Ancient Afghanistan,” 54 and Elizabeth Errington, “Charles Masson and Begram,” Topoi 11 (2001), 360–61. Cf. Charles Masson, “Memoir on the Ancient Coins found at Beghram, in the Kohistán of Kábul,” Journal of the Asiatic Society 28 (1834), 153–75; Charles Masson, “Second Memoir on the Ancient Coins found at Beghrám, in the Kohistán of Kábul,” Journal of the Asiatic Society 49 (1836), 1–27; Charles Masson, “Third memoir on the ancient Coins discovered at the site called Beghrám in the Kohistán of Kábul,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 5 (1836), 537–47.

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Whatever may have spurred his original intention to venture eastwards – the predicament of being on the run, penniless and ill equipped in unknown territory, or the lure of adventure and possibility – Masson rarely allows for insight into his own feelings. Only in the fourth volume of his Narrative did Masson provide the audience with information on his backstory and the total absence of autobiographical clues in the first three volumes may have bewildered and mystified the British readers – the more so, as Masson’s accounts were otherwise full of geographical, ethnographic and historical details. The names of people and places far beyond the Indian border, the detailed description of landscapes and cities, and the sense of excitement and wonder displayed at the encounter of relics and ruins gave Masson’s travelogue a great appeal and the readership of his own day must have been astonished at the accomplishments of a man who had travelled through this region without help and especially without concealment – a fact which let Masson stand out amongst the other renegade explorers of the frontier. Nonetheless, the plethora of geographical information and the many foreign names do not make for easy reading of Masson’s Narrative, the more so as Masson did not include maps (with the exception of the fourth volume) and rarely gives any dates to place his wanderings into a bigger chronological picture. Moreover, it is not entirely clear when Alexander the Great entered Masson’s own interpretative frame for perceiving the region. Considering the number of references to Alexander’s history in the four volumes in total, Lahiri’s statement that “Masson’s mind was rather too full of Alexander the Great”52 seems unfounded. Yet, it would also be overstated to claim that the memory of Alexander played no role at all. Rather it seems that Masson used it the same way that other Western-educated travelers in the region did: as an orientation guide and as a discursive way of drawing connections between the present and the past, as a way of making contact with a foreign country and its people. It is no coincidence that the first mention of Alexander in Masson’s Narrative occurs rather late, when Masson had already ventured deep into Afghan territory and when he was confronted with local traditions well recorded by other Westerners like Elphinstone or Burnes before him. Masson, like his precedents and contemporaries, was fascinated with the secluded Siáposh Kafirs, or simply Kafirs that were so prominent in other accounts and the cultural imagination of Alexander’s fabled descendants in Afghanistan. Like other travelers before him, Masson also recounts the local tradition of ascribing to the Kafirs a Macedonian heritage and cites both indigenous as well as European sources to support his deliberations. In this context, it is not important whether these statements were founded on historical fact, but rather that Masson’s memory of Alexander the Great had an extrinsic impulse. It came to him from the outside, in tales told by locals and written down by Westerners. And because Masson

52

Lahiri, Finding Forgotten Cities, 10.

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came to these traditions as an outsider, it gave him the opportunity to reflect on the respective perspectives from which these memories could be approached: When no one knows, all may conjecture – but with regard to the Siáposh community, the Asiatic and the European would probably apply very different speculations. The latter might fondly fall back upon the remote period when the son of Philip led his victorious arms into the regions of central Asia, and call to mind the various colonies he planted in them to promote the security and permanent retention of his acquisitions. He might remember the Macedonian colonies of Alexandria ad Caucasem, of Arigaeum and Bazira; – the garrisons of Nysa, Ora, Massaga, Peuceleotis and Aornos. He might also recollect, that a number of sovereigns, of Greek descent, subsequently ruled in these countries until they were overrun by the Getic hordes of Scythia. He would not fail to discover that the region now inhabited by the Siáposh is surrounded by the very countries in which the Greek sovereignity prevailed, and that it is encircled by the colonies, posts, and garrisons, known to have been established in them; (…) He might farther be pleased to find, that the conclusions which such recollections would tend to suggest were sanctioned by the recorded traditions existing in these quarters, and that they are strengthened by the fact, that many petty princes and chiefs, some of whom, now Máhomedans, but originally Siáposh, claim descent from the Macedonian hero; and have preserved vague accounts referrible either to their reputed ancestor’s marriage with the fair Roxana, or to his amour with the captive queen of Massaga.53

It is interesting to note that Masson explicitly fashions the perspective in the third person, inviting his readers to share in the speculations that a Western reader might automatically bring to the regions and people in a remote corner in Afghanistan. This is one of the few passages found in the literature of that time, where the cultural memory of Alexander’s march is lifted onto a meta-layer, and where this memory is both self-reflectively marked as a memory, that is as an imaginative act close to speculation and different from factual history, and as a culturally-coded entity, whose semantic content is to a great degree determined by sociohistoric factors and tradition. This has the effect that Masson’s own voice remains distant from his narration and that he merely records what he is told without giving it the semblance of truth. Other than Burnes and Harlan, who were far more romanticizing in their discussion of local traditions and were quick to jump to conclusions that would allow for quick connections with Alexander’s history, Masson was more cautious and it is one of the defining characteristics of his own memory of Alexander that he tried to connect it to material traces and source material. Accordingly, he found it “scarcely allowable, on our scanty knowledge of them [i. e. the Siáposh], to draw so bold and welcome an inference” when it came to the Kafir’s alleged heritage and rather harked back on the

53

Masson, Narrative, vol. I, 194–95.

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“discovery of a multitude of coins”54 to investigate and finally sketch out a history of the country. Of course, the coins referred to in his remarks were only found years later and Masson’s Narrative bears the traces of autobiographic re-adjustments and inferences that would only develop slowly over time and which could build on different source material than may have been available when he first traveled through these regions. Nonetheless, Masson’s attention to historical relics and antiquarian finds was already developing during his first excursions in Afghanistan and the search for definite traces of Alexander’s track certainly motivated them. What can also be detected in Masson’s Narrative is a perspective which makes use of a proto-theory of cultural encounter and transfer and which highlighted historical development rather than stasis. While he does not support the Kafirs’ claim to be descendants of Alexander, he concedes that their respective manners “may have been more or less changed and modified by their intercourse with the several races of people, who (…) dominated in the countries adjacent to them”55 – and the Macedonians might have been one of them. In this context, Masson also reports about one of the most interesting monuments he found during his travels – if only in textual form. Referring to the memories with which an Asian may come into the territory of the Kafirs, Masson cites the great Mohammedan conqueror Timur (1336–1405) who had ventured into these territories in the fourteenth century and who subdued the local infidels that stood in his way. Drawing on accounts of the Arab historian Sherífadín, Masson notes that a pillar was erected that memorized this victory and proudly mentioned that Timur had proven victorious against “people [that] had never been conquered by any prince in the world, not even by Alexander the Great.”56 The fact that Masson includes this passage into his Narrative is not extraordinary per se, rather it is his analysis of the account which not only questions the reliability of the primary and secondary literary sources, but also tries to infer the presence of a monument bearing Timur’s name and gives insight into the transcultural quality of Alexander’s memory in the region. As Masson puts it, “The malek, or petty chief of Nadjíl [i. e. of the Eastern region of Afghanistan on the banks of the Alishang or Nadjil river], also claims descent from Amír Taimúr, to whom is ascribed an amour, precisely of the same nature as the one attributed to Alexander.”57 As this passage makes clear, Timur had not only been keen on drawing a connection to Alexander the Great as a sign of his own military achievements and victoriousness, but he, in turn, became a reference point himself whose history was fashioned upon the exemplar of Alexander. Thus, the Kafirs were linked to both Alexander and Timur and the memory of Alexander proved transcultural in that 54 55 56 57

Ibid., 196. Ibid. Ibid., 200. Ibid., 201.

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it was adopted by Mohammedan scholars and was preserved in local oral traditions (of which Masson was sure they existed) from where they made their way back into Westerner’s accounts. In this way, Alexander remained a connecting link – material, symbolical, and even genealogical – between past and present, East and West. Although Masson would put emphasis on the material aspects of this memory, he was not altogether free of drawing up associations that he could not support with any literary or archaeological evidence. Thus when he travelled to Harappa on his way to Lahore on his early expeditions in the north-west frontier, he visited the mounds of Harappa on the southern bank of the river Ravi. Masson mistook the site as Sangala, the capital of Porus, who had been a fierce opponent of Alexander in 326 BCE.58 Masson could not help but sense that he “was now in a part of the country which, there can be no doubt, had been the scene of some of Alexander the Great’s exploits.”59 As Masson is quick to add, “I had no authority to consult but memory, and was therefore unable to benefit by my journey to the extent that I could have wished. Yet I was not unobservant, and subsequently, when I had the opportunity to consult Arrian, I found his details remarkably clear, and fancied that I could follow his [i. e. Alexander’s] steps in this particular region, with little chance of error.”60 This is one of the rare instances in Masson’s writings where he explicitly harks back on the literary trope of following in Alexander’s footsteps and where he draws parallels between the geographical and topographical details he perceived and the literary source material he had read and memorized. Thereby, a double act of remembering is engrained in this passage: the writing down of this episode (presumably with a copy of Arrian now in reach) and the past self, who is himself depicted in the act of trying to recollect the contents of the ancient sources. The lack of any material sources that would attest to Alexander’s presence in the region is undone by the proclaimed authenticity of the personal local inspection. Even if it is just guesswork, the reader has to trust Masson’s conclusion that “Kamâlia may have been the site of the fortress at which the great Macedonian hero had nearly become the victim to his temerity”61 or that “Túlúmba represents the capital of the Mallí.”62 The traveler’s mere observation replaces antiquarian fieldwork in these passages and a connection between pastoralists in the region, who, armed with spears, ride off to hunt hogs on horseback and the fierce opponents of Alexander in the region is drawn numerous times.63 However, it is one of the specific characteristics of Masson that in his own reading of the past, the direction between perceived reality and literary text is

58 59 60 61 62 63

Ibid., 454–56. Ibid., 402. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., 456. Ibid., 402 and 456. Cf. also Arr. an. 5.22.1 and 6.15.1.

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usually reverted: “I could not but recollect this circumstance when I read the classical author,”64 he writes when remembering the pastoral people of these regions. Accordingly, he let his field experience enter his reading of the classical sources so that Arrian’s text suddenly became alive with people he had encountered and seen during his travels; and the reading of the ancient sources was channeled back into his autobiographical narrative so that the places he had passed through suddenly turned into the sites of Alexander’s magnificent story. The hermeneutic circle of Alexander’s memory often implicit in the travel writings of the time therefore comes fully to the fore in Masson’s observations which show how the act of remembering shifts between textual representations and personal perceptions: the experience of having seen first-hand the places where Alexander may have set foot influences the reading of the ancient texts, while the interpretation of these texts likewise re-aligns the personal memory of having traversed the regions told about by Arrian and other authors. In consequence, a self-reflective dialogue is opened up between different time layers and texts – between Masson’s Narrative and the ancient sources (especially Arrian), and between Masson as traveler (ca. 1830) and as writer (ca. 1839/40). What connected these different times and texts was Alexander, or as Lahiri puts it: “Masson had, consciously or subconsciously, positioned Alexander’s exploits as a pair of spectacles through which all that he surveyed, including the monumental site of Harappa, was understood and (mis)classified.”65 These early excursions of Masson can be seen as prefiguring his extensive antiquarian forays into the Kohistan of Kabul and the neighborhood of Jalalabad that would occupy much of his later time in Afghanistan. From 1832 onwards, Masson had installed himself firmly in Kabul, where he became acquainted with the local chieftains, gaining the trust of many petty chiefs and relatives of Dost Mohammed Khan. In these years, the period of long-time travels had ended for Masson and he devoted himself entirely to the archaeological riches that awaited him in the valleys around Kabul and the plains of the Afghan heartland. Masson had made chance discoveries of historical sites, especially of “topes,” and their relics before and had examined some of them during his travels, but now his antiquarian undertakings took on a whole new dimension. Spurred on by the sight of the many artificial mounds surrounding the Kabul countryside, Masson “was emboldened to essay whether objections would be made to the examination of some” of these structures.66 At first, he was content to limit his researches to smaller structures, so as not to raise too much attention among the Afghan leadership who were naturally suspicious of Westerners’ schemes in the region. Nonetheless, Masson would not give in to voices which cautioned him to refrain from any further antiquarian forays. Instead, small relics and coins he found in the “topes” around Kabul incited 64 65 66

Masson, Narrative, vol. I, 402–3. Lahiri, Finding Forgotten Cities, 10. Masson, Narrative, vol. III, 92.

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his determination further. Once he realized that he was about to uncover the traces of a past that was largely unknown to Western historiography, nothing could stop him and thanks to his good relations to all echelons of Afghan society, he found enough people who, in turn, supported his undertakings. By 1833, Masson had gained much confidence and embarked on a far grander project: he was determined to find Alexandria ad Caucasum, one of the cities founded by Alexander the Great, which was believed to be situated north of Kabul, and close to the Hindu Kush. He set his sight on the plain of Begram and, accompanied by a group of helpers and guards provided by one of the local chieftains, Masson began examining the topes of the region and drawing up sketches of them. As Masson explained his ongoing fascination with the plain of Begram, it gave him the opportunity “to secure rich memorials of past ages” and to “acquire a knowledge of the adjacent country.” Moreover, his “hope” that it would prove “not unprofitable”67 for him shows that he sensed that his findings would wake the interest of British antiquarians in India and that he could possibly make a name for himself – after all, he was the only Westerner actively engaged in archaeological research beyond the frontier at that time. And as it turned out, his hopes would not be disappointed: as documents and letters from this time illustrate,68 Masson actively sought the support of the Bombay government and began to send portions of his findings to Bombay from where they were subsequently shipped to the East India Company’s museum in London. In his own Narrative, Masson gives the total number of coins procured in the plain of Begram alone as 60,000.69 As he himself puts it, he had “the plain well under control”70 by 1837 and employed a number of locals who searched the region for him – by that time Masson himself had become involved in the political intricacies in Kabul and he had less time to travel. Nonetheless, he was keen on underlining the merits of his work when his stay in Afghanistan was over and when he looked back on his antiquarian researches: “It may be superfluous to dwell upon the importance of the Bégrám collections; independently of the revelation of unknown kings and dynasties, they impart great positive knowledge, and open a wide field for speculation and inquiry on the very material subjects of the languages and religions prevailing in Central Asia during the dark periods of its history.”71 Masson’s repeated emphasis on the pioneering character and greater benefits of his expeditions for the knowledge of the history of Afghanistan, especially in the post-Alexander and Buddhist period, may come across as overtly self-satisfactory or boastful, 67 68 69 70 71

Ibid., 148. Cf. for instance the so-called “Bombay Dispatches” in the appendix of Errington, “Charles Masson and Begram,” 371–401. Masson, Narrative, vol. III, 149. On these numbers also Whitteridge, Charles Masson of Afghanistan, 67–70 and Errington, “Charles Masson and Begram,” 364–67. Masson, Narrative, vol. III, 149. Ibid., 149–50.

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but they strike a true chord: although some of his contemporaries had a tendency of diminishing Masson’s fieldwork, it is now seen in a different perspective and it has become clear that “Masson had a far better grasp of the numismatics of the region that he has been given credit for subsequently.”72 The numismatic coins from Begram alone “provide a possible chronological sequence from the fourth century BC onwards, thereby indicating that the site could have been founded by Alexander and is probably identifiable as Alexandria ad Caucasus, as suggested by Masson and Paul Bernard.”73 Moreover, the “pattern of coin distribution” eventually uncovered by Masson allows for a reconstruction of “the expansion of Buddhism into Afghanistan.”74 How did Masson communicate his antiquarian findings to the British orientalists and scholars who were interested in archaeology and the history of the East? And how were they discussed in the wider scholarly and public realm? The answer to this question necessarily brings other travelers and antiquarian scholars into the picture, since Masson was not only interested in sending his material finds to India and London, but also in publishing and writing about them. Two people who may have given him the idea in the first place were Dr. Johann Martin Honigberger (1795–1869) and Dr. J. G. Gerard. Honigberger was a doctor from Kronstadt in Hungary, who had worked for Ranjit Singh and who decided to take a long detour over Afghanistan, Bokhara, Orenburg and Russia when he embarked on his homeward journey in 1832. He spent considerable time in Kabul, where he opened over a dozen “topes” or stupas and where he made the acquaintance of Charles Masson. As Masson remarked upon meeting Honigberger for the first time, “his labours have had the advantage of having been made known to the European world”75 since Honigberger published accounts of his travels in different journals.76 Considering the fact that the Hungarian was far less successful and less systematic than Masson in his antiquarian researches certainly instilled in Masson the motivation of making his own expeditions known in front of a broader audience. A further influence was Dr. Gerard, who had accompanied Alexander Burnes on his journey to Bokhara, and who had developed an interest in archaeological finds himself.77 “Although the time he spent in Masson’s company was limited,” notes Whitter72 73 74 75 76

77

Errington, “Charles Masson and Begram,” 360. Ibid., 367. Elizabeth Errington, “Numismatic evidence for dating the Buddhist remains of Gandhāra,” Silk Road and Archaeology 6 (2004), 196. Masson, Narrative, vol. III, 172. Honigberger would later publish a comprehensive memoir of his travels in the east, cf. Martin Honigberger, Thirty-five Years in the East: Adventures, Discoveries, Experiments, and Historical Sketches, Relating to the Punjab and Cashmere; in Connection with Medicine, Botany, Pharmacy, etc. (London: H. Baillière, 1852). Cf. also Alexander Burnes, “Expedition of Captain Burnes and Dr. Gerard,” The Asiatic Journal and Monthly Register 10 (1833), 159–60, and Anon., “A Sketch of the Route and Progress of Lieut. A. Burnes and Dr. Gerard.” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 1, no. 4 (1832), 139–45.

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idge, “he was much impressed by his personality, his researches and his knowledge of the region” and “encouraged Masson to publish his antiquarian discoveries.”78 It is therefore no coincidence that Masson’s first report on his numismatic findings was published along Gerard’s own text on Afghan antiquities in the Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal,79 edited by no other than James Prinsep. An editorial note at the beginning of the article reassured the validity of the sources described in it and made clear that Gerard had peer-reviewed Masson’s findings first hand.80 Masson opens his first publication by introducing his favorite topic right away: “It will be unnecessary in this place to enter upon a detail of Alexander’s conquest in central Asia, the rise and fall of the Greek Bactrian monarchy, and other events, which, as they have lately become a topic of popular attention, are daily receiving more familiar illustration.”81 It would certainly be possible to write this observation off as an insignificant aside before Masson’s detailed and methodical discussion of the coins found in the region, followed by a number of hand-drawn sketches, yet it seems to be part of a larger overarching strategy of drawing attention to his work: as Masson makes clear, his findings could indicate the site of one of the central urban centers of the region, once founded by Alexander – Masson would thus be able to significantly add to these “familiar illustrations” something utterly unfamiliar. Moreover, that he should choose to open his text by invoking the memory of Alexander shows that this was considered an effective rhetorical strategy to incite interest on part of his readers. Reflecting on the Bactrian coins he procured on the plains of Begram, Masson remarks that the Greeks, as conquerors, inserted on the obverses, their own characters, and by them we recognize their princes, after a lapse of twenty centuries. Under the auspices of the present viceroy of India, the English language seems likely to become generally known throughout the eastern empire; and should this splendid purpose be effected, at some remote period, when the natural revolutions of political authority may have placed the natives of India under their own government, or that of other conquerors, they may still retain a fond and grateful remembrance of their former rulers, while they cherish their language and literature.82

Masson thereby draws a connection between the colonizing efforts of the Macedonians and Greeks in the wake of Alexander’s conquest and the civilizing mission of Britain’s Empire under the auspices of Bentnick’s administration. Masson took the coins

78 79 80 81 82

Whitteridge, Charles Masson of Afghanistan, 75. Cf. Masson, “Memoir on the Ancient Coins found at Beghram” and J. G. Gerard, “Memoir on the Topes and Antiquities of Afghanistan,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 3 (1834), 321–29. Cf. Masson, “Memoir on the Ancient Coins found at Beghram,” 153. Ibid. Ibid., 157.

4.2 The Case of Charles Masson

Fig. 5 Illustrations of Greco-Bactrian coins found by Charles Masson (1834). Masson usually sent his finds to Calcutta, but would also publish richly illustrated and annotated articles on them. He tried to order his coins in series; in this case, coins he found of the Greco-Bactrian kings Menander, Apollodotus, and Eucratides.

177

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he found as material evidence that the Greeks were successful in leaving a mark in the regions far removed from their homeland and hoped that the Anglicizing efforts of the new Bombay Government would have a similar effect, lifting the British colonial policies on par with the Hellenes of antiquity who were both seen as role models as well as inspiration. Masson thus attached a political statement to his numismatic researches, which was also meant to highlight the significance that antiquarian studies could have in the East. The reference to Alexander at the outset of his report was thus more than “a natural object of identification” or “an attempt to flatter his betters” in the government of the Asiatic Society, who were keen on drawing connections to the Macedonian hero, but rather a rhetorical reflex of the time which saw in Alexander “a historical precedent that inspired confidence in what was then Britain’s increasingly intrusive civilizing mission.”83 As Hagerman puts it, “Masson doubtless hoped that Britain’s influence would be deeper and last longer than that of Alexander and his successors” and the memory of Alexander had “inspirational value” with regard to Masson’s “understanding of Britain’s and therefore his own role in India.”84 One might add that this “inspirational” quality of the memory of Alexander was supplemented by an interpretational one, which took the material traces as signs that were in some way connected to Alexander’s conquest – no matter whether they bore his name or that of his direct successors. This had the effect that the material record could be valorized and attached with a kind of aura that would attest to the presence of the great Western cultural hero in Central Asia. Although Masson realized that none of his coin finds could be ascribed to Alexander, he nonetheless automatically included Alexander into their interpretation – even if the material traces did not warrant such conclusions. Neither ideologically nor methodologically was Masson therefore immune to “misinterpretations” – a fact that was well aware to scholars like James Prinsep or H. H. Wilson, who edited his publications.85 The trial-and-error approach of Masson, along with his lack of classical training, certainly impeded some of his antiquarian researches, but whatever he was lacking in knowledge, he compensated for with a practical way of approaching what was possible in a foreign country, a sense of where to look for new material sources, and a path-breaking spirit that would come to be characteristic of colonial archaeology for the next hundred years. Moreover, his outsider perspective in terms of trained oriental studies was offset by his unsurpassed field experience, his talent for observation, and an impartial view on the sources which let him see things that were obscured to others. For instance, one of the groundbreaking achievements of Masson’s numismatic studies was that

83 84 85

Hagerman, “In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,” 389. Ibid. Errington, “Exploring Gandhara,” 216. Cf. Masson, “Third Memoir on the ancient Coins discovered at the site called Beghrám in the Kohistán of Kábul,” 546. Cf. on the editing of Masson’s writings also Errington, “Charles Masson and Begram,” 359–60.

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they showed that Begram became important to the Greco-Bactrian kings between 200 and Hermaeus (90–70 BCE), the last Greek king to rule the city, and that it once again flourished under the Yuezhi Kushan dynasty from its founder Kujula Kadphises (ca 30–80 CE) to around 250 CE onwards. So although Masson was still reluctant to draw a connection to Buddhism in his excavations of stupas or did not see Harappa as the site of the ancient Indus civilization, but rather mistook it as an Indian city conquered by Alexander the Great, the benefits of his explorations still outshine his apparent errors – the more so, as these errors were continued to be made by generations of succeeding archaeologists. In his failures, too, Masson paved the way for antiquarian scholarship around the north-west until well into the twentieth century. One of the lasting remains of Masson that continues to occupy the minds of archaeologists until today is certainly his identification of Begram as the site of Alexandria ad Caucasum.86 In his writings for The Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, Masson repeatedly elaborated on his identification of the site. As Masson writes in his second memoir: That Alexander established not merely a military post, but founded a large city, we ascertain, when we learn from Curtius, that he peopled it with no less than seven thousand menials of his army, besides a number, of course considerable, but not mentioned, of his military followers, and are distinctly informed, that the city became a large and flourishing one. No doubt, if this part of Asia were to come under European control, the re-edification of Beghrám would be deemed a necessary measure, for a considerable city at this spot would not only provide for the due submission of the half-obedient tribes of the Kohistán, but would secure the allegiance of those absolutely in rebellion or independence, as of Panjshir, Nijrow, Taghow etc. It is impossible to cast a retrospective view over the regions of Afghanistán or Turkistán, to behold the cities still in existence, and the sites of such as have yielded to the vicissitudes of fortune, which owe and owed their foundation to Alexander the Great, without paying the tribute of homage and admiration to his genius and foresight. Above twenty centuries have elapsed, since the hero of Macedon marched in his triumphant career from the shores of the Bosphorus to the banks of the Hyphasis, subjecting the intermediate nations, but rendering his conquests legitimate, by promoting the civilization and prosperity of the vanquished. A premature death permitted not posterity to wonder at the prodigy of an universal monarchy, which he alone of all mankind seemed talented to have erected and maintained. No conqueror had ever views so magnificent and enlightened, and none ever left behind him so many evidences of his fame. Of the numerous cities which he founded, many are at this day the capitals of the countries where they are found; and many of those no longer existing would assuredly be revived, were these parts of Asia under a govern-

86

Cf. on the identification of Begram as Alexandria ad Caucasum esp. Bernard, “Diodore XVII, 83, 1: Alexandrie Du Caucase ou Alexandrie de l’Oxus.“

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ment desiring to effect their amelioration. The selection of Mittun by the British Government of India for their mart on the Indus, while the most eligible spot that could have been chosen, was also a tribute of respect to the memory of the illustrious Alexander; for there can be no doubt that Mittun indicates the site of the Alexandria that he found at the junction of the united streams of the Panjáb with the Indus, and he predicted, from the advantages of the position, would become a large and flourishing city. It may be that Mittun under British auspices may realize the prophecy applied by the hero to his Alexandria.87

This long passage contains the most extensive reference to the memory of Alexander the Great in all of Masson’s writings and explicitly connects it to the colonial presence of the British in India. While Masson’s actual subject is the location of Begram and its identification as a foundation by Alexander, his longer excursion again equates the civilizing – and urbanizing – mission of the Macedonian with that of the British Government. As Vasunia comments on this passage, “While Mittun (Mithankot) may not eventually have fulfilled these aspirations, Masson invested it with a meaning” which made the memory of Alexander the connecting link between present and past.88 Masson’s interpretation of Alexander’s empire echoes much of the historiographical literature of his own time and his allusion to its “enlightened” nature pays heed to the image of Alexander presence in much Enlightenment literature. His almost panegyric appraisal of the Macedonian hero is as much the expression of personal devotion as well as the illustration of a broader cultural trend to place the colonial undertakings of the East into a broader historical framework that would link and legitimize British schemes in the region: “By reviving the fort at Mittun, the British government was paying homage to the memory of Alexander, successfully realizing the imperial vision of the ancient hero, and developing a trading-post at a commercially viable location on the Indus.”89 Thus, antiquarian research was put in the service of colonial ideology. Yet, it would be too simple to reduce Masson’s fieldwork to a political agenda. While his memory of Alexander the Great certainly attested to an inherent belief in the benefits of (Western) culture, he nevertheless distanced himself from one-sided and imperial policies that would lead to an infantilizing of Asian subjects. Accordingly, Masson opposed Burnes’ 1837 mission and criticized British plans on the Indus.90 His outspokenness in political affairs along with his past as an army deserter finally lead to his sidelining and eventually to a life lived on the brinks of poverty when he had returned from the East. Yet, the fact remains that Masson’s keen interest in archaeological fieldwork and his entrepreneurial spirit produced one of the largest collections of coins and relics assembled 87 88 89 90

Masson, “Second Memoir on the Ancient Coins found at Beghrám, in the Kohistán of Kábul,” 7–8. Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 70. Ibid. Masson, Narrative, vol. III, 430–33. Also vol. I, xi-xiii.

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in the nineteenth century. With Masson, the memory of Alexander the Great in the British Empire attached itself no longer solely to geographical sites, classical texts, or personal associations, but rather to the material objects and relics of the past. 4.3 Alexander Cunningham and the Archaeological Survey of India By the time Masson was set for home, Alexander Cunningham’s archaeological career was only just beginning. He had arrived in India at the age of nineteen in 1833 and started his service in the East Indian Company as an army engineer. The son of a Scottish stonemason, Cunningham’s military cadetship was obtained with the help of no other than the famous novelist and poet Sir Walter Scott (1771–1832).91 Alexander Cunningham proved hard-working, energetic, and talented and was soon posted as aide-decamp to the Governor General, Lord Auckland (1784–1849), until 1840. Subsequently, he was sent on various geographical missions, including an exploration of the Punjab rivers and their sources.92 He served as field and executive engineer numerous times until he finally became Chief Engineer to the northwestern provinces in 1858. Only three years later, in 1861, he retired from his army services and committed to his archaeological studies full time. As his biographer notes, Cunningham had “varied his normal duties with systematic antiquarian research”93 all throughout his almost three decades in the military. Cunningham, who had a natural knack for antiquarian research and the study of relics, could consider himself fortunate that he witnessed the exciting decade of the 1830s firsthand, which saw numerous collections of coins and other artifacts being sent to James Prinsep in Calcutta. It was certainly a vibrant intellectual climate, which made a lasting impression on the young army engineer. Cunningham soon became involved in the antiquarian circles and made the acquaintance of Prinsep, who took him on as a mentor and also as a friend. Cunningham learned the antiquarian research standards from working under the auspices of Prinsep and was occupied classifying the many finds that arrived from all over India, the Punjab and Afghanistan. As Singh notes, “antiquarian research, in this period, had important elements of a cooperative endeavor, and Prinsep was always careful both to acknowledge his debt to other scholars, and to help these others in their researches.”94 Under the influence of Prinsep, Cunningham developed an interest in numismatics, epigraphy and ancient scripts, some of which 91 92 93 94

Cf. Abu Imam, Sir Alexander Cunningham and the Beginnings of Indian Archaeology (Dacca: Asiatic Society of Pakistan, 1966), 1–2. Cunningham wrote a report on this journey: Alexander Cunningham, “Abstract Journal of the Route of Lieut. A. Cunningham, Bengal Engineers, to the Sources of the Punjab Rivers,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 10 (1841), 105–15. Imam, “Sir Alexander Cunningham,” 195. Singh, The Discovery of Ancient India, 13.

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were deciphered in front of his eyes. Already during his first year in India, Cunningham wrote his first article on Roman coins originally excavated by Claude-August Court95 and embarked on his first own excavation in his second year. In many ways, this excavation, which led him to the Buddhist site of Sarnath, set the tone for his second career as an archaeologist, because it brought him into close contact with Buddhist remains and Cunningham would subsequently turn into the primary authority on Buddhist archaeology in India. Until the death of Prinsep, Cunningham remained a close companion and collaborator and was initiated into the Asiatic Society of Bengal with the help of his mentor in 1836. Cunningham had already proved his worth as an antiquarian researcher, but that he would one day be referred to as ‘the father of Indian archaeology’ was far from certain at that point, the more so as many military men were involved in archaeological undertakings as an interesting past time, enabled by their access to sites and mobility.96 Yet, that Cunningham was no ordinary military officer and had other schemes on his mind became apparent from a very early point onwards. In 1838 he started his first attempt to get governmental support for an archaeological survey of India with a focus on the major sites associated with Buddhism. His proposal of an extensive and organized archaeological exploration of India was visionary in the emphasis on the Buddhist relics of the country as opposed to other monuments or caves. Cunningham proved to be a pioneering scholar set out to examine a part of history which had thus far, at least for the most part, remained outside of the scope of Western knowledge. Because Cunningham knew that he could not rely on Eurocentric ancient texts, he looked to other sources of information and used ancient Chinese Buddhist texts that had become available in French and later English translations for the first time towards the end of the 1830s. Following the descriptions in the writings of the fifth-century pilgrim Faxian, Cunningham discovered the site of Sankisa in 1843. To his own elaboration on how he discovered the site, Cunningham added remarks that were meant to underline why he saw archaeology as an integral part of British colonialism: as he put it, Indian archaeology “would be an undertaking of vast importance to the Indian Government politically, and to the British public religiously.”97 He argued that it would prove that “India had generally been divided into numerous petty chiefships,” but had succeeded to “[repel] foreign conquest with determined resolution” whenever India “had been under one ruler.” Moreover, Cunningham claimed that “Brahmanism, instead of being an un-

95 96 97

Alexander Cunningham, “Correction of a Mistake Regarding Some of the Roman Coins Found in the Tope Opened by M. Court,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 3 (1834), 635–37. Cf. Ray, Colonial Archaeology in South Asia, 8. For the history of Indian archaeology before Cunningham see especially Chakrabarti, A History of Indian Archaeology, 1–32. Alexander Cunningham, “An Account of the Discovery of the Ruins of the Buddhist city Samkassa,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 7 (1843), 241.

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changed and unchangeable religion which had subsisted for ages, was of comparatively modern origin, and had been constantly receiving additions and alterations; facts which prove that the establishment of the Christian religion in India must ultimately succeed.”98 That Cunningham’s outline of Indian archaeology had an inherent political agenda can be seen in other instances as well. In 1848, after Cunningham had received further credit as an archaeologist due to surveys in Kashmir, Ladakh and along the Tibetan frontier, he put forth another “proposed archaeological investigation”99 and pleaded for government support. Again, his proposal was accompanied by political arguments that were needed to generate funds and to gain the support of decision makers, but there were also more scholarly aims involved. While his goal was still to learn about India’s material past, “the emphasis now was on its usefulness for the illustration of India’s history in contrast with literary scholarship.”100 Since the main literary sources were primarily written from the perspective of Hindus, most of them evaded the issue of Buddhism. In consequence, Cunningham argued that material Buddhist remains like coins, architecture or art would be needed to fill in some blanks in the history of India.101 Cunningham explicitly connected this archaeological field work to the colonial enterprise of safekeeping the cultural remains of antiquity as a key trait of the civilizing ideology driving the Company’s expansionist rhetoric. As he wrote: “It is a duty which the government owe to the country. The remains of architecture and sculpture are daily deteriorating, and inscriptions are broken or defaced; the sooner, therefore, that steps are taken for their preservation, the more numerous and consequently the more valuable these remains will be.”102 The Indian (mis)treatment of their material heritage as well as the supposed neglect of history (in the Western sense of the term) gave Cunningham the grounds to argue for cultural preservation of the material relics by European standards and of highlighting the beneficial effects of colonial archaeology – a service to Western knowledge, the Indian people and their identity alike. Cunningham had thus found a way of attaching a political agenda to Indian archaeology, but it would take another ten years before his pleas were met with open ears on part of the British administration. The reasons for this are not discerned easily. On the one hand, personal reasons may have played a role – H. H. Wilson was an outspoken critic of Cunningham and vice versa;103 there were also the Anglicizing politics under Lord William Bentnick’s (1774–1839) administration that put emphasis on Western culture. Yet, there were also other reasons of a more general manner rooted in the time period when Indology and Oriental studies 98 99

Ibid., 242–43. Alexander Cunningham, “Proposed Archaeological Investigation,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 17 (1848), 535–36. 100 Lahiri, Finding Forgotten Cities, 19. Cf. also Imam, “Sir Alexander Cunningham,” 197. 101 Cf. Chakrabarti, A History of Indian Archaeology, 52. 102 Cunningham, “Proposed Archaeological Investigation,” 535. 103 Cf. Errington and Curtis, “The explorers and collectors,” 15.

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were first implemented and institutionalized, after the East Indian Company had firmly set foot on the subcontinent. From William Jones (1746–1794), who had co-founded the Asiatic Society in 1784, onwards, it was a dear-held notion amongst many European scholars that Indian civilization was “retrograde, having declined from the greatness witnessed by Alexander” and the Greek and Latin writers, who had written about it in their texts on the East. In his notion of “decline,” Jones was even, as Hagerman notes, less extreme than the majority of Orientalists and historians who held that there was rather an element of “timelessness and stagnation” inherent in Indian culture, an argument that “was subsequently supplied by conflations of ancient and modern India.”104 This “narrative of stasis and stagnation” was used as a “justification for Britain’s domination and transformation of India,” while the “knowledge derived from the accounts of Alexander’s conquests was part of identity formation” for a long time. For instance, the article on Alexander the Great in the Cambridge History of India from 1921 could still ask the rhetorical question: “Alexander had come and gone. Was the European irruption a violent episode which left India unchanged? And, if so, was that due to an essential unchangeableness in India under impact from without?”105 The memory of Alexander was thus used as a rhetorical backdrop to read contemporary India and to compare it to those ‘Indias’ written about in the ancient texts. Readers could get the impression that, in fact, nothing much had changed: the Macedonian army had simply been replaced by the unifying force of its British counterpart. From the writings of Cunningham quoted above it became clear that his findings did not support such a view and while other specialists in antiquarian studies would have certainly concurred with him, supporting his claims that the material evidence allowed for a completely different conclusion than the textual sources, it was unclear how such a view could be used politically as well as ideologically. Could Indians be allowed to have a past apart from the characteristics that Westerners had come to define as typically ‘Indian’? As Inden notes, there was a tendency of “imagining an India kept eternally ancient by various Essences attributed to it, most notably that of caste.”106 Mathur adds that the stereotypical view of India as “lacking historical development led 19th century disciplines of archaeology and anthropology to view Indian artifacts as signs of a collective identity,” whereby “craft object[s] came to symbolize an entire social system.”107 It would be wrong to claim that the 1830s brought about a sea change in how 104 Hagerman, “In the footsteps of the ‘Macedonian conqueror’,” 358. Cf. William Jones, “The Third Anniversary Discourse Delivered on the Hindus,” in The Works of Sir William Jones: with the life of the author by Lord Teignmouth. In thirteen volumes, vol. 3 (Piccadilly: Printed for John Stockdale, 1807), 24–46. 105 Bevan, “Alexander the Great,” 343. 106 Ronald Inden, Imagining India (Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1990), 1. 107 Saloni Mathur, India by Design: Colonial History and Cultural Display (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 5.

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the identity question of Indians was debated or that it was particularly on the mind of Cunningham when he first embarked on his own explorations and his ambition to implement an extensive archaeological survey of the subcontinent. But things were changing and the reasons for this change were political, after all. The death of Ranjit Singh led to the annexation of the Sikh territories by the British. This provided them with access to the Punjab in 1848 and parts of the north-west frontier that were thus under their direct influence like ancient Gandhara, north of Peshawar and surrounded by the Indus, Swat and Kabul rivers. It also opened up new possibilities for antiquarian research and since all of the explorers and experts initially occupied with questions of the region’s material past had either died or had left India for Europe, Cunningham was one of only few people who remained and who could be entrusted with research missions in the area. Another political event that changed the conditions of colonial life was the mutiny of 1857. The rebellious outbursts in many parts of the British dominion in India sent shockwaves through the administrative circles of the British government and called for new political, social as well as cultural measures to regain firm control over India. One effect was the transformation of the way in which India was ruled – Queen Victoria (1819–1901) now became the sovereign of India through the Government of India Act of 2 August 1858 –, another was the realization of the cultural dimensions of this enterprise. India could not only be won by military power or administrative structures, but there were aspects like identity formation or symbolical representation that entailed cultural and imaginative elements. As Bernard Cohn has remarked in an influential essay, “the period of 1860 to 1877 saw a rapid expansion of what might be thought of as the definition and expropriation of Indian civilization by the imperial rulers. Colonial rule is based on forms of knowledge as much as it is based on institutions of direct control.” As he puts it, the “accumulation of knowledge” about India and its customs, which had seen a steady increase since the foundation of the Asiatic Society of Bengal in 1784, was now finally to be accompanied by an “archaeological survey (…) with Europeans deciding what were the great monuments of India, which monuments were for preservation or for description as part of the Indian ‘heritage.’ ”108 Archaeology was thus made complicit in the political project of creating “the reified and objectified vision of India” and of symbolically marking “the completion of its political constitution.”109 The same period saw also a reorganization of the British Museum, where “British nationalism, the classical heritage, and the exotic ‘other’ were separate but interactive elements of the Museum’s structure and display.”110 It is not without irony that the British government finally adopted arguments that Cunningham had not grown tired of reiterating for two 108 Bernard S. Cohn, “Representing Authority in Victorian India,” in The Invention of Tradition, ed. Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger (Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1983), 182–83. 109 Ibid., 183. 110 Bradley, “Introduction,” 7.

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decades. He had probably helped in shaping “a new sensibility among India’s British rulers that government-sponsored archaeology was the duty and responsibility of ‘an enlightened ruling power.’ ”111 When the decision was made to implement an archaeological survey of India’s material past in 1861, Cunningham’s day had finally come. In a memorandum to the Governor-General Lord Canning of the same year, Cunningham had reiterated his call for “a careful and systematic investigation of all the existing monuments of ancient India,” an undertaking of which he was sure “would furnish a detailed and accurate account of the archaeological remains of Upper India.”112 The archaeological survey was authorized and from December 1861 onwards, Cunningham held a new post, namely that of the chief Archaeological Surveyor of India. He embarked on this project with great fervor and an innovative approach that would be exemplary for the scientific excavations of his contemporaries and followers. For instance, Cunningham soon realized the potential of the relatively new technology of photography as an addition to the more traditional drawings and it became clear that archaeology trod new ground in more terms than one: methodologically, politically, and conceptually. The all-encompassing survey that Cunningham had in mind demanded new, pioneering approaches, but also speed and a work that would not always put focus on detailed excavations, but rather on providing sketches of the archaeological landscape. “His tours of exploration (…) were but hurried visits from site to site (…),” notes Imam and continues, “the ability to identify ruins with ancient cities was, for him, one of the most important functions of an archaeologist. Very often his expeditions would degenerate into mere object hunting expeditions: he would visit the site, clear the jungle around, and employ a gang of labourers to search for coins, inscriptions and sculptures, often offering rewards ‘for even a single letter.’ ”113 As these lines make clear, Cunningham’s approach in India shows parallels to Masson’s work on the plain of Begram, only that the geographical scope was even larger and that the undertaking was state-sponsored, relying on a great number of helpers and the infrastructures developed by British railway and road-building projects. Archaeology thus came to be implicated in the infrastructural as well as political opening of the country. However, to Cunningham, archaeology also had a transcultural outlook in that it was “not limited to broken sculptures, old buildings and mounds of ruins, but includes everything that belonged to the world’s history”, so that “researches should be extended to all ancient remains whatever that will help to illustrate the manners and

111 112

113

Lahiri, Finding Forgotten Cities, 19. Cunningham’s “Memorandum from Col. A. Cunningham of the Bengal Engineers to the Governor General, Lord Canning, Regarding a Proposed Investigation of the Archaeological Remains of Upper India” was reprinted in Alexander Cunningham, The Archaeological Survey of India (Simla: Government Central Press, 1871), vol. I, iii. Imam, “Sir Alexander Cunningham,” 200. On Cunningham’s work cf. also Errington, “Exploring Gandhara,” 223.

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customs of former times.”114 As opposed to being only interested in the cataloging and excavation of material relics, Cunningham was concerned with how the material traces of the past were connected to the social and anthropological mindsets of the people and civilizations that came into contact with them. In consequence, he was interested in “[showing] the gradual progress of the art of architecture in India,”115 which did not only focus on Western-influenced stylistic details, but recognized how materials could attest to cultural contact. This transcultural outlook of his studies also becomes apparent in how he did his research: he not only drew on ancient Greek and Roman sources, but especially on Chinese texts in his exploration of northern India. In his first of a series of annual reports of the freshly institutionalized Archaeological Survey of India in 1871, Cunningham combined his search for the remains of Alexander’s conquest with that of his quest for the historical Buddha. As he writes: In describing the ancient geography of India, the elder Pliny for the sake of clearness follows the footsteps of Alexander the Great. For a similar reason, in the present proposed investigation, I would follow the footsteps of the Chinese pilgrim Hwen Thsang, who in the 7th century of our era traversed India from west to east and back again for the purpose of visiting all the famous sites of Buddhist history and tradition. In the account of his travels, although the Buddhist remains are described in most detail with all their attendant legends and traditions, yet the numbers and appearance of Brahmanical temples are also noted, and the travels of the Chinese pilgrim thus hold the same place in the history of India, which those of Pausanias hold in the history of Greece.116

Cunningham thus equated the historical importance of ancient Chinese texts with that of the Western classical tradition. The place where both met and could be made the object of archaeologically-based research was India. The subcontinent was therefore placed within a transcultural space of exploration and discovery that attests to many diverse and highly heterogeneous traditions. Cunningham’s aim was to synchronize these different historical lines into a chronological development and to identify all of the sites mentioned in Greco-Roman and Chinese sources. Covering great distances, at times on foot, and drawing on a plethora of ancient texts, Cunningham was able to provide new insights into ancient geography and the progression of both Alexander’s troops as well as the spread of Buddhism in India and Afghanistan. And although he would make the use of Chinese sources one of his distinct characteristics, the memory 114 115 116

Cunningham, The Archaeological Survey of India, iii. Imam, “Sir Alexander Cunningham,” 200. Alexander Cunningham, The Ancient Geography of India: Buddhist Period (London: Trübner and Co., 1871), viii. Cunningham thereby refers to Plin. nat. 6.21.61. Cunningham may have drawn on John Bostock’s 1855 translation, which reads “However, that we may come to a better understanding relative to the description of these regions, we will follow in the track of Alexander the Great.” (“Verum ut terrena demonstratio intellegatur, Alexandri Magni vestigiis insistimus.”)

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of Alexander pervaded many of his studies and continued to spur his archaeological imagination. Cunningham left behind an astonishing amount of literature on his archaeological surveys and extensive journeys through India. Although he got to know much of the country, it would not be an overstatement to claim that his expertise mainly lay in the north. After the opening of the Punjab in 1848 and the changed cultural politics in the wake of the Indian mutiny, his first expeditions as officially appointed Archaeological Surveyor led him into the regions that were traversed by Alexander and his troops. On the one hand, this may have been a practical choice, because the newly won territory had to be duly prospected anyway. On the other hand, the name and memory of Alexander loomed large and it was much easier to convince the decision makers in the government of an antiquarian undertaking if the name of the Macedonian conqueror was involved. It was a further legitimization that attached additional meaning to it. In 1871, Cunningham published two works that summarized some of those northern expeditions along the frontier: The Archaeological Survey of India, which comprised Cunningham’s yearly reports of his travels, and The Ancient Geography of India,117 a monograph on the important historical sites with a comprehensive overview over the different places and aimed at a more general reader. In the methodological prefaces and introductions to his books, Cunningham makes clear that his own writings are an ideal literary guide through the ancient monuments of India, because he had seen all of them firsthand, and because his “local investigations (…) enable him to determine with absolute certainty the sites of many of the most important places in India.”118 He also mused about the importance of Alexander for his exploration: “My chief guides for the period which I have undertaken to illustrate, are the campaigns of Alexander in the fourth century before Christ, and the travels of the Chinese pilgrim, Hwen Thsang, in the seventh century after Christ.”119 It is one of the defining characteristics of Cunningham’s memory of Alexander that it was always accompanied by and reflected on with the help of non-western and especially Chinese texts. This did not only have to do with the unreliability of some of the classical sources as well as with the fact that the Macedonian’s campaigns “were confined to the valley of the Indus and its tributaries,”120 a far too narrow geographical area for Cunningham’s extensive project; it also had to do with a non-hierarchical outlook on the historical sources and periods of India. Where other researchers had put an emphasis on the Greco-influenced timespans, Cunningham had almost from the beginning employed a methodology based on the

Cunningham, The Archaeological Survey of India; Alexander Cunningham, The Ancient Geography of India: The Buddhist Period, Vol. I (London: Tübner and Co., 1871). 118 Cunningham, The Ancient Geography of India, vii. 119 Ibid. 120 Ibid. 117

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premise that all material was to be treated equally in order to come up with a reliable chronological framework for Indian history and the many cultural contacts it entailed. Accordingly, he held that “the pilgrimage of this Chinese priest forms an epoch of as much interest and importance for the Ancient History and Geography of India, as the expeditions of Alexander the Great.”121 In studying sources outside of the Western literary tradition, Cunningham realized that many of India’s places where pervaded with stories: “Some celebrated in the stirring history of Alexander’s exploits, and others famous in the miraculous legends of Buddha, and in the subsequent history of Buddhism under the Indo-Scythian prince Kanishka.”122 Cunningham’s own texts thereby became transcultural spaces of contact between different literary traditions, where time epochs and historical voices come to comment upon each other. The historical voices presented are used as guides but they are not automatically taken at face value, because they are carefully selected and commented on by Cunningham himself. Depending on the sites he visits firsthand, he chooses which textual fragments to use in order to interpret the materials he has before him. Theoretically, a reader of his writings would have to read the ancient accounts parallel with Cunningham’s texts in order to comprehend the itinerary and to see where the descriptions found in the ancient sources overlap with Cunningham’s own observations. Because both the Macedonians and Chinese had entered India from the West and because the material remains of the Punjab and Indus regions prove to be exceptionally rich in density, Cunningham “prefer[s] to begin my description of the antiquities of the Panjâb near the banks of the Indus, and gradually to work my way to the eastward, in company with the Macedonian soldiers of Alexander, and the Buddhist pilgrims of China.” Because there are no other textual sources that could help in the interpretation of the material remains along the way, Cunningham adds that “with their journals in our hands we may venture to visit the ruined cities of the Panjâb with the certainty that our time will not be wasted in fruitless research.”123 By the 1870s to visit the storied places of the past with the ancient sources in hand was already a literary trope, but Cunningham rewrote it by adding non-Western sources to the mix and by providing his own text with a dialogical encounter between the present and two versions of an ancient past, namely that of the Greco-period and of the Chinese Buddhists. This could have advantages, if the sites in question were described in both traditions, and if these descriptions, ideally, concurred, so that the identification of a place was almost unambiguously sanctioned by the ancient authorities. Two important places associated with Alexander’s conquest are cases in point: Aornos and Taxila. Aornos, the site of one of Alexander’s most famous and difficult conquests, was a mountain fortress, whose exact location baffled the antiquarians of the nineteenth 121 122 123

Ibid. Ibid., 48. Cunningham, Archaeological Survey of India, vol. II, 82.

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century and which invited a lot of guesswork.124 It is one example of an ancient site where Cunningham could only draw on Western ancient sources and where he had to participate in guesswork himself, since the classical texts provided clues, but not enough that would have enabled researchers to exactly locate it in a terrain that was itself marked by many mountains and inaccessible ancient structures. In this context, Cunningham’s methods are exemplary for much of his work: he first draws on ancient sources to introduce the site and to provide key historical information; then he goes on to elaborate on reports of explorers, who had visited the site before him, comparing his own views with the opinions of his predecessors; then he describes the material relics found in this place, their condition and possible interpretations.125 What is important to note is that detailed archaeological fieldwork, including excavations, was normally not part of the agenda. “Limited excavations were undertaken largely to ascertain the nature of the ruins or, in the case of stupas, to find relic deposits,” and as Errington notes, “Cunningham employed the same roughshod excavation techniques of his contemporaries, with the notable exception that he was also a numismatist and almost always identified the coins unearthed” in order to “gain some idea of the approximate date” of the sites.126 In the case of Aornos, no coin finds were available that would allow for an identification of the place, so Cunningham harked back on etymology, making clear that Aornos must have referred to a local name, possibly a transcription with an added Greek ending.127 He also integrates personal observation and ethnographic details into his remarks that allow for a comparative approach between past and present: “I am satisfied that we must look for Aornos in the direction of the hills somewhere in the northeast corner of the Yusufzai plain. It is there that the people still seek for refuge on the approach of an invader; it is there only that we can expect to find a hill fort that will tally even approximately with the exaggerated descriptions of Alexander’s historians (…).”128 Cunningham had already looked for Aornos in 1848 and opted for the ruins of Rânigat as the possible site of Alexander’s famous siege. He lists possible alternatives, but reiterates his prior conclusion that Ranigat is to be identified with Aornos. As he describes the place from his own perception: Its base is rather more than two miles in length from north to south by about half a mile in width, but the top of the hill is not more than 1,200 feet in length by 800 feet in breadth (…) The sides of the hill are covered with massive blocks of stone, which make it exceed-

124 Curt. 8.11.2; Arr. an. 4.28–30; Strab. 15.1.8; Iust. 12.7.12–13. 125 Cf. Cunningham, Archaeological Survey of India, vol. II, 95–97. Also Cunningham, The Geography of Ancient India, vol I., 58–78. Cf. on Cunningham’s methods also Errington, “Exploring Gandhara,” 224. 126 Ibid. 127 Cunningham, Archaeological Survey of India, vol. II, 97. 128 Ibid., 100.

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ingly rugged and inaccessible. There is only one road, cut in the rock, leading to the top, although there are two, if not more, rather difficult pathways. This we know was also the case with Aornos, as Ptolemy succeeded in reaching the top by a ‘rugged and dangerous path,’ whilst Alexander himself attacked the place by one regular path which was cut out by the hand. (…) To this description I may add that all the stone blocks are laid most carefully as headers and stretchers, that is alternately lengthwise and breadthwise, which gives a very pleasing and varied appearance to the massive walls. All the buildings are now much ruined, but the external walls are traceable nearly all around, and on the south and west sides are still standing to a considerable height, and in very good order. (…) With this view of the castle and the general plan of the summit of the hill, the reader will be able to comprehend the nature of the position which, I think, may possibly be the Aornos of Alexander. I do not insist upon the identification; but if we admit that the accounts of the historians are very much exaggerated, I think that the ruins of Rânigat tally much better with the vague descriptions of Aornos that have come down to us, than any other position with which I am acquainted. In all essential points, save that of size, the agreement is wonderfully close.129

The analogy between the landscape features as described in the ancient sources and the morphology of the geography Cunningham witnesses first hand enable his tentative identification of Aornos. Identifying and looking for similarity between land and ancient text is thereby a key trait of his archaeological method that is supplemented by maps and drawings to give a general impression of the site. Cunningham was well aware that this was not a clear-cut and definitive conclusion, but the consequence of examining the site for further traces and other material finds that would have enabled an approximate dating of the ruins were not drawn. Archaeological fieldwork in India at that time was still content with naming historical sites and with identifying them as those places written about in the ancient sources. Like that, a textual memory, shaped by the ancient sources, became attached to all of the materials that Cunningham encountered on the road. The opposite direction, namely taking the materials first and of extracting information out of them that was non-textual or not prefigured by other source material, was still largely out of scope. In other instances, when Cunningham could rely on both ancient Western as well as Chinese sources, his conclusions were often better founded, which can, for instance, be seen in his identification of the vast ruins near Shah-dheri as ancient Taxila.130 Situated in the Punjab, Taxila connected important trade routes between Central and South Asia and was a center of learning in antiquity. Cunningham was the first Western explorer to identify the ruins of this ancient city, partly because he corrected erro129 130

Ibid., 107–10. On this cf. Cunningham, The Geography of Ancient India, vol. I, 104–21 and Cunningham, Archaeological Survey of India, vol. II, 111–35.

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neous geographical accounts in Western sources with the help of the Chinese travel accounts. In line with his usual methodological approach, Cunningham gives an extensive overview over the literary sources on Taxila and compares them to his finds on the ground.131 He notes the neat outline of the streets and the exact planning of the great built structures of the city, drawing connections to accounts found in the writings of Alexander’s followers which praise the settlement for its beauty and symmetrical appearance as well as to the significance the city must have had during Buddhist times due to the large number of relics and stupas found in it.132 As Cunningham writes: The number and size of the stupas, monasteries and other religious buildings is even more wonderful than the great extent of the city. Here both coins and antiquities are found in far greater numbers than in any other place between the Indus and Jhelam. This then must be the site of Taxila, which, according to the unanimous testimony of ancient writers, was the largest city between the Indus and Hydaspes. Strabo and Hwen Thsang both speak of the fertility of its lands, and the latter specially notices the number of its springs and water-courses. As this description is applicable only to the rich lands lying to the north of the Tabrâ Nala, which are amply irrigated by numerous channels drawn from the Haro River, the proof of my identification is complete.133

The identification of the site with the help of the congruent ancient accounts is then supplemented by a long and detailed discussion of the ruins, which give a vivid impression of the historical importance of the city and attest to the long history characterized by varying rulers and cultural contacts. Again, Cunningham largely went without excavations and was satisfied to record those relics that could be seen and touched on the ground. Their materiality alone was proof enough for him that he was indeed dealing with a great city from the past and that there was no other identification possible than Taxila. If he dug, he only did it in order to discern whether there were relic deposits waiting underneath the built structures of the surface level. Nonetheless, his conclusion that he had found ancient Taxila proved to be correct and opened up new pathways for subsequent teams of archaeologists and explorers, who could base their research on Cunningham’s pioneering work.134 And whenever they did, Alexander the Great was never far away. After all, it was Alexander who had made these sites famous through his conquests and who had embedded them deeply in the cultural memory of the Western archaeologists. Cunningham realized that he was not only dealing with Alexander’s journey, but rather moving within a transcultural framework that was attached to other stories and traditions – and he used all of them in order to make meaning of the materials he found. 131 132 133 134

Ibid., 111–16. Ibid., 114. Ibid., 122. Cf. Ray, Colonial Archaeology in South Asia, 201–11.

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Cunningham retired in 1885 and went back to London, where he wrote extensively on Indian numismatics. Here, too, the memory of Alexander still played a role as a name that triggered associations and safeguarded the attention of the antiquarian world.135 Cunningham himself had left a major imprint on this world and had lastingly influenced the colonial archaeology in India. As Kejariwal puts it, “his numerous books and articles, and his services to the Archaeological Survey of India (…) made Alexander Cunningham perhaps the most outstanding Indologist in the post-Prinsep period in the nineteenth century. He seemed to possess an instinct for historical sites and went on discovering, opening, excavating one important site after another.”136 Imam is a little bit more reserved in his assessment, since he notes the lack of any methodically refined excavation technique and the thematic incoherence of Cunningham’s tours and of the reports that he published from year to year. And although Cunningham’s work in India may not have “evolved into systems of study,” Imam is ready to admit “that the quality of what he did for Indian archaeology is impressive enough, and as regards its sheer quantity it has no equal.”137 Like many of the travelers and explorers dealt with in this study, Cunningham developed a deep relationship to the country and its people that he wrote about and Codrington could well claim that Cunningham was the only man who “learnt India by walking it.”138 In this strong physical relation to India’s ground he could even claim to have surpassed one of his great inspirational heroes, Alexander the Great. 4.4 Sir Aurel Stein on Alexander’s Tracks From the observations so far, it is possible to second Ray’s statement that “the search for cities established by Alexander was a powerful motivating factor that influenced archaeological investigation in India in the nineteenth and twentieth century.”139 Yet, it would take quite long until methods were developed that paid attention to the special situation in India. To rely solely on text-based archaeology, which was based on a comparison between descriptions in texts and material sites on the ground, and to integrate the finds within a chronological framework had its limits when the texts were silent or ambivalent about a specific site or when there were no inscriptions or coins that could help in the dating of the material sources. Moreover, the “large-scale destruction of monuments due to the construction of railways and depredations of building con135 136 137 138 139

Alexander Cunningham, Coins of Alexander’s Successors in the East, (Bactria, Ariana, and India) (Bologna: Arnaldo Fiore, 1884). Kejariwal, The Asiatic Society of Bengal, 200. Imam, “Sir Alexander Cunningham,” 205. Kenneth de Burgh Codrington, The Place of Archaeology in Indian Studies (London: Institute of Archaeology, 1949), 8. Ray, “Alexander’s Campaign (327–326 BC),” 109.

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tractors” remained a problem.140 The middle decades of the nineteenth century may have seen the beginning of a state-sponsored archaeology in India, but there were still reservations on the part of decision makers and politicians when it came to the rather high costs of the undertaking. Nor was there a commitment to implement large-scale excavations and attempts at conservation or maintenance of the ancient monuments were half-hearted. In 1881, Major Henry Cole (1843–1916) may have been appointed as Curator of Ancient Monuments, whose task was to draw up an inventory of the ancient sites and the presumed costs of their repair, but he was positioned at the Public Works Department, not at the Archaeological Survey.141 Official excavations had also done their part in dismembering some material sites. “The summary excavation method adopted by Cunningham was matched by total denial of protection to standing monuments within their local surroundings, which meant that in most cases the structures were removed from their location to be displayed in museums.”142 After the retirement of Cunningham in 1885 and of his successor, James Burgess (1832–1916), in 1889 the post of Director-General remained vacant until the end of the century and the survey work almost came to a halt – except for some state-sponsored work in the Swat (which together with Buner and Ranizai had been opened by military actions) and illegal amateur excavation in hunt for sculptures and other artwork. In many ways, 1901 marked a second beginning for Indian archaeology. Lord Curzon (1859–1925) had been appointed Viceroy of India in 1898 and he soon stressed the importance of archaeological work for the culture of the Raj. He introduced some initiatives that saw the foundation of museums all over British India and put new emphasis on the conservation of the monuments, although those within the British dominion and those with the potential of attracting a significant number of visitors were to be given preference.143 Lord Curzon also appointed a new Director-General, the only twenty-six-year John Hubert Marshall (1876–1958). Marshall had studied at Cambridge and had gained all of his field experience in Greece. His Grecian background would influence his methods in India. As Lahiri puts it, Marhsall “came with the idea of changing what used to be called idol-digger method of archaeological excavation (…) where sites were treated more as sources of sculpture than as means for understanding civilizational evolution and an area’s history.”144 In describing Marshall’s early work in India, Lahiri stresses the importance of Alexander the Great’s history as a point of reference. Not only did the Hellenic history of the region allow for comparisons with the areas in Greece that Marshall knew first-hand, but it also provided him

140 141 142 143 144

Ray, Colonial Archaeology in South Asia, 14. Cf. Errington, “Exploring Gandhara,” 225. Ray, Colonial Archaeology in South Asia, 13. Ray, Colonial Archaeology in South Asia, 15–17. Lahiri, Finding Forgotten Cities, 47.

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with a chronological frame for assessing the age of the material finds: were they anteor post-Alexander? Text-based archaeology had the negative effect that everything outside of the literary history of India had to remain outside of the scope or was misinterpreted since “the general pattern of historical developments had only been reconstructed on the basis of a variety of religious texts frequently visualized through the prism of racial migrations.”145 Marshall soon embarked on extensive excavations and set his sights on places like Harappa that had hitherto been largely neglected in Indian archaeology. Two decades later, he could proclaim the discovery of a new civilization, the so-called Indus Civilization in the third to second millennium BCE, the oldest civilization found on the subcontinent.146 Marshall’s conclusion caused a sensation and reset the debates amongst scholars how India’s past had to be interpreted. It remained an important landmark discovery, prefigured by the work of discoverers like Masson or Cunningham in the nineteenth century, and continued to inform the work of Marshall’s successors like Sir Mortimer Wheeler (1890–1976), who introduced a stratigraphic approach to excavation methods. Wheeler, too, quite in accord with Marshall, compared some of the Indian sites to Greece: he established a training school for archaeologists near Taxila “at the foot of the Himalaya, in a terrain sufficiently reminiscent of Greece.”147 Of Taxila, Wheeler wrote, “the cultural equipment of Taxila had been, like its architecture, of an undistinguished order. Now arrived an army bearing the plunder of Asia in its knapsack; and on its heels came the refugee-craftsmen of the broken Persian Empire, seeking new patronage in the golden East. It is no accident that in the Taxila of Alexander’s time we find first evidence of wealth and sophisticated craftsmanship.”148 As Ray puts it, “Wheeler alludes to Alexander’s march bringing wealth and sophisticated workmanship to the subcontinent, resulting in the emergence of urban centres (…),” a kind of cultural “catalyst leading to further changes in the East, which had a ripple-effect well into the Middle Ages.”149 In the twentieth century, the memory of Alexander the Great continued to loom large in a narrative of cultural progression and as a benchmark in the archaeology of India, which marked an important moment in the chronology of the subcontinent and which could be used as a connecting link to imperial history from antiquity to the present. As Ray has shown, for Wheeler “there was a thin line that distinguished the role of the twentieth century British Empire from the Roman Empire of the first-second centuries AD and often even this distinction was blurred. It

145 146 147 148

Ibid., 59. Cf. Ray, Colonial Archaeology in South Asia, 18–19. Quoted in ibid., 189. Mortimer Wheeler, Five Thousand Years of Pakistan: an Archaeological Outline (London: Royal India and Pakistan Society, 1950), 38–39. 149 Ray, “Alexander’s Campaign (327–326 BC),” 105.

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was perhaps this merging of identities that led Wheeler to suggest that India be considered one of the provinces of the Roman Empire, linked as it was through trade.”150 Wheeler’s interpretation placed the interpretation of the material evidence he found on Indian ground thus within a colonial framework that drew on the long interrelation between the western and eastern end of the Roman Empire, placing the British supremacy in the region in a long line of tradition – a tradition ultimately started by Alexander the Great. And although he downplayed the cultural interchange between both spheres, an imaginative connective corridor was established that at least allowed for the presupposition of influence and similarity in processes of transcultural contact: “The latter stages of Alexander’s tremendous marches and countermarches from Persepolis to the Punjab left a firm heritage of a Hellenistic kind upon the further East. (…) Alongside, and emerging from the Greek conquest of the Persian empire a whole chain of eastward reactions was set in motion, which was to have a formative influence upon Indian art, architecture and attitudes until well into the Middle Ages.”151 This cultural influence on India from the outside had already been a prevalent notion during the nineteenth century and continued to flourish in the twentieth. Lord Curzon had proclaimed at the turn of the century that the “Indian sculptures or Indian buildings (…) reflect a foreign influence” and that they should be “the more interesting to ourselves (…) who may in their non-Indian characteristics be a reminiscence of forms, which we already know in Europe and of a process of assimilation with which our own archaeological history had rendered us familiar.”152 In the process of interpreting the material remains found in India, the identity of both the colonizers and of the colonized was thus put at stake. As a similarity between Greek and Indian art (whether real or imagined) could be discerned, the British were able to see themselves in cultural forms they knew from their own cultural heritage. That the Indian monuments could have influenced Greek craftsmen or that there had been skilled architects and artists before the advent of Alexander and his troops in India was largely outside of the thinking of the British scholars. Nonetheless, these questions were beginning to be addressed in different circles, including Nationalist Indian groups and a historiography that relegated the Greek influence to the ranks of a marginal episode in a far longer history.153 Like this, the issue of cultural identity was put on the agenda of colonial archaeology. It was in the midst of this intellectual climate that Aurel Stein (1862–1943) entered the picture. Born to Austrian-Hungarian parents on 26 November 1862, Stein’s fascination with ancient culture and the social frameworks and pressures that can determine

150 151 152 153

Ibid., 108. Mortimer Wheeler, Flames Over Persepolis: Turning Point in History (London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1968), 122. Ray, “Alexander’s Campaign (327–326 BC),” 107. Cf. Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 92–115.

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cultural identity had been well familiar to him from a very early age.154 His parents, who were both Jews, had their youngest son baptized – namesake was the Roman Emperor Marc Aurel. They already had two children, who were both twenty years older than young Marc, and they probably realized that the Christening may give their son a higher degree of mobility and less repression than his siblings might have been confronted with. The neoclassicism evident in the name Marc Aurel was not uncommon in Europe at that time, but the values and moral code evident in the Emperor’s writings, Meditations, may have spoken to the beliefs of the family and would resonate strongly during Aurel Stein’s upbringing. As a schoolboy, he was sent to Dresden, where he learnt the classical languages as well as English and French. The Humanistic curriculum confronted him with the classical authors and he first read of Alexander the Great, who would become a childhood hero and who would continue to fascinate him all throughout his life.155 His talent and interest may have influenced his decision to study comparative philology and Sanskrit in Vienna, Leipzig and finally Tübingen, where he finished his dissertation on Old Persian and Indology in 1883. With a stipend from the Hungarian government for postdoctoral research in Oriental languages and archaeology, Stein went to England for two years to study at the Universities of Cambridge and Oxford. This period is significant not only in that it started Stein’s lifelong involvement in the Anglo-scholarly world (which would eventually lead to his naturalization later on), but also in that it enabled him to struck up some valuable contacts, for instance to Sir Henry Yule (1820–1889) and Sir Henry Rawlinson (1810–1895), two renowned Orientalists. They both took a liking to Stein and wrote favorable recommendations for him. Stein was offered the joint post of Principal of the Oriental College, Lahore, and Registrar of Punjab University in India in 1887 and although these jobs brought him in further contact with ancient scripts, he resented the more bureaucratic aspects involved. The influence of Yule and Rawlinson as well as the inspiration of his Vienna teacher and mentor Georg Bühler (1837–1898) might have influenced his decision to move to India. The engagement with the cultural history and geography of Central Asia sparked Stein’s interest in the cultural contacts between the ancient Western civilizations and those in the east; and while he also aimed for a professorship, he was an explorer at heart. He travelled extensively during his holidays and made acquaintances with people in administrative and political circles, some of which led to friendships, like the one Stein had with Lockwood Kipling, the poet laureate’s 154

155

Cf. on Aurel Stein’s early years and his upbringing Jeannette Mirsky, Sir Aurel Stein: Archaeological Explorer (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1998), 3–106. For a shorter overview Susan Whitfield, Aurel Stein on the Silk Road (London: The British Museum Press, 2004), 9–20 as well as Helen Wang, “Sir Aurel Stein: the next generation,” in From Persepolis to the Punjab: Exploring ancient Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan, ed. Elizabeth Errington and Vesta Sarkhosh Curtis (London: The British Museum Press, 2007), 227–33, and Meyer and Brysac, Tournament of Shadows, 346–51. Also Ray, Colonial Archaeology in South Asia, 218–42. Cf. Mirsky, Sir Aurel Stein, 16–17.

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father. 1892 saw the publication of Stein’s first book, the edition of a twelfth-century manuscript, Kalhana’s narrative poem Rajatarangini. A few years prior, in 1889, Stein became increasingly interested in following the travel accounts of the Chinese monk, Xuangzang (or alternatively Hsüan-tsang) – a source that Cunningham before him had likewise admired. With Xuangzang’s account in hand, Stein explored an ancient temple in the Punjab Salt Range and applied for a grant from the Indian government to research it further in an archaeological expedition. Trading in his work desk for a tent on the road, Stein’s career as an archaeologist had begun. To be sure, it would take another ten years before Stein could embark on his first major expedition, but the 1880s were formative in that they saw Stein’s move to the east and sparked his interest in the material history of the Indo-Iranian cultures. And even though most of the scholars who undertook archaeological expeditions around and beyond the northwestern frontier were not trained archaeologists per se, Stein’s career, who had begun with editing ancient scripts and who was invested in administrative work, had not been foreseeable. As an obituary in the magazine Nature put it after Stein’s passing in 1943, “he was most truly himself when, with his surveying staff and train of porters alone, he viewed from some almost inaccessible spot ancient tracks and, as it were, a whole panorama of past history,” with the “absence of fear [carrying] him over the wildest and most forbidding country.”156 Stein’s characterization as an adventurer and pioneering archaeologist is echoed in many modern descriptions of his life. To those in praise of his work, he conducted “the most daring and adventuresome raid upon the ancient world that any archaeologist has attempted,”157 extending “the frontiers of archaeological knowledge into Chinese Turkestan and westward to the Indo-Iranian Borderlands,”158 which led to his status as “the preeminent Western scholar, explorer, and excavator of innermost Asia from the 1890’s until his death.”159 Expeditions into Central Asia had attracted ever more attention during the last decades of the nineteenth century – for instance, the Swede Sven Hedin (1865–1952) became a media star for his expedition into the region during 1893–1897, which had a predominantly geographical agenda –,160 but it was Stein who made Central Asia his archaeological playfield, embarking on his first expedition via Gilgit and Kashgar and into the Taklamakan Desert in 1900 in search of a lost Buddhist civilization buried under the sand. The so-called “Silk Road,” encompassing the trade networks across Central Asia that historically connected Europe and China, became Stein’s primary fascination and he added Marco Polo to his inspirational figures Alexander the Great

Basil Gray, “Sir Aurel Stein, K. C. I. E., F. B. A.,” Nature 19 February 1944, 216–17. Leonard Woolley, History Unearthed: A Survey of Eighteen Archaeological Sites throughout the World (London: Ernst Benn, 1958), 122. 158 Ray, Colonial Archaeology in South Asia, 219. 159 Meyer and Brysac, Tournament of Shadows, 346. 160 On Hedin cf. ibid., 310–45. 156 157

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and Xuangzang.161 The “Silk Road” as “[conduit] for people, cultures, technologies, religions and ideas in general”162 was the ideal place for someone who had been interested in cultural contacts and the particular spaces which both enabled and were, in turn, generated by these contacts. As the article in Nature put it: “His research was historical and directed especially to the solution of one historical problem – the elucidation of the relations between China and the West, the capacity of the trade routes, the nature of the cultural influences passing along them, the periods which saw these routes most used and the causes which led to the abandonment of them (…).” And while Stein “started out with the idea above all of tracing the eastward expansion of the cultural influences of the Hellenistic West, and of India, he came more and more to be impressed by the purpose, organizing power and tenacity of the Chinese who opened these routes and so long maintained them.”163 Stein thus made use of a transcultural framework which underlined the interconnecting links between civilizations and wanted to determine the exact nature of these links. As Mirsky sums up his work, “Stein was of that small scholarly fraternity of pioneers who created the modern paradigm which views the Eurasian landmass as one cultural field whose forces were its four high civilizations: the Mediterranean West, the Indian and Iranian, and the Chinese. Central Asia (…) was a region where these four met and interacted.”164 His subsequent expeditions would repeatedly lead Stein into regions that had never been entered by one of his contemporary explorers and greatly added to the understanding of the trade networks as well as the material past of Buddhism and ancient China.165 To be sure, it would be misleading to equate Stein’s transcultural outlook in his studies with his personal and practical relations in the east: in China he is still regarded as a reckless tomb raider, who had deprived some of the historical Chinese sites of their material riches.166 Nonetheless, he remains one of the true pioneering explorers beyond the frontier and none of his archaeological predecessors or followers made Alexander the Great such a lasting paradigm throughout their career. “The campaigns of Alexander the Great had fascinated him from first to last. So that he found a special satisfaction in following in his tracks”167 and Stein came back to the 161

On Stein’s work on the “Silk Road,” cf. Susan Whitfield, “Aurel Stein und die Archäologie an der östlichen Seidenstraße,” in Das Große Spiel: Archäologie und Politik zur Zeit des Kolonialismus (1860–1940), ed. Charlotte Trümpler (Köln: DuMont, 2010), 167–77. 162 Whitfield, Aurel Stein on the Silk Road, 21. 163 Basil Gray, “Sir Aurel Stein,” 217. 164 Mirsky, Sir Aurel Stein, x. 165 Stein wrote a fascinating book about his tours entitled On Central Asian Tracks (New York: Pantheon Books, 1967 [1932]). 166 Cf. Justin Jacobs, “Confronting Indiana Jones: Chinese Nationalism, Historical Imperialism, and the Criminalization of Aurel Stein and the Raiders of Dunhuang, 1899–1944,” in China on the Margins, ed. Sherman Cochran and Paul G. Pickowicz (Ithaca, NY: Cornell East Asia Series, 1994), 65–87. 167 Basil Gray, “Sir Aurel Stein,” 216.

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subject in several of his writings and expeditions. His lifelong aim had been to follow Alexander’s tracks into Afghanistan, which had been closed to foreign explorers for a while – a fact that was neither the Second (1878–1880) nor the Third Afghan War (1919) could change. It was only shortly before his death in 1943 that he was granted permission to enter the country and conduct an expedition, but Stein died after a short illness in Kabul. It would have been interesting to know what Stein would have found in the country whose history he so admired and where Charles Masson had set colonial archaeology in motion a century before. Stein’s expedition may have resulted in the narrative of an expedition similar to the one he had published on one of his last Frontier tours entitled On Alexander’s Track to the Indus: Personal Narrative of Explorations on the North-West Frontier of India – an account that told of his 1926 attempt to trace Alexander’s route and to identify the sites, especially that of Aornos, that the Macedonian had passed on his way. As Stein writes in the first chapter of his book: What drew my eyes so eagerly towards Swāt was not merely the fame that this region, the ancient Ud¢d¢iyana, had enjoyed in Buddhist tradition, nor the traces that early worship and culture were known to have left there in numerous as yet unsurveyed ruins. Nor was it only the wish to find myself again on the tracks of those old Buddhist pilgrims who travelled from China to the sacred sites of Swāt, and whose footsteps I have had the good fortune to follow in the course of my expeditions through the desert wastes of Innermost Asia and across the high ranges of the Pāmīrs and Hindukush. May the sacred spirit of old Hsüantsang, the most famous of those pilgrims and my adopted ‘Chinese patron saint’, forgive the confession: what attracted me to Swāt more than such pious memories was the wish to trace the scenes of that arduous campaign of Alexander which brought the great conqueror from the foot of the snowy Hindukush to the Indus, on his way to the triumphant invasion of the Panjāb.168

Stein draws on his previous expeditions in the region and beyond the frontier in this passage and alludes to the work most of his contemporary readers may have been familiar with, including those in the tracks of his “Chinese patron saint,” but the fascination spurred by the thought of following Alexander is evident from the beginning – the more so as Stein admits that it outshines even those sites and traces of prehistoric and Buddhist times, which he had also been eager to study. As Stein makes clear, his own expedition may not be likened to Alexander’s “triumphant invasion,” but his “transborder”169 journey feels like a foray into hostile territory due to the long-lasting political turmoil in the region. The range between the Swat and the Peshawar district had been in the hands of independent Pathan tribes and their repeated fight to safeguard their independence from British administration had ended in various armed clashes, including the great frontier

168 Stein, On Alexander’s Track to the Indus, 1–2. 169 Ibid., 1.

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rising of 1897. It was only under tribal ruler Miangul Badshah that a united and more favorable policy towards the British enabled new contacts, including explorative missions. As Stein puts in the preface of his book, the scene of his expedition was the “region beyond the administrative border of the Indian North-West Frontier not previously accessible to Europeans,”170 and, as so often in his career, he pioneered research in realms that had been closed-off to Westerners. Characteristic of his narrative account is a tendency of conflating his antiquarian research and archaeological remarks with questions of local politics and the wider framework of British imperialism. He repeatedly notes the masterpieces of Buddhist art and other indigenous material relics he encounters along the way, providing his readers with an erudite account of the rich cultural diversity found in the Swat valley and its neighboring territories.171 This perspective gives him, a recognized authority in Central Asian cultural history, room to reflect on the history of the area in general and a pattern of colonial archaeology noted before becomes especially visible in Stein’s account: scholars may have looked for the remains of Alexander’s track, but in trailing his steps, it was impossible not to talk about the other, at times far longer and richer, ancient cultural traces that could be found along the way. Talk of Alexander was thus always relational, polyglot, and entailed voices of a past time that were demanded to be heard even if they had nothing to do with the Macedonian conqueror. Like the echo of a distant choric performance, these past voices resonated in these spaces and Stein notes how they invested them with meaning, turning the Swat and Indus valleys into storied places: “the classical records” of Alexander’s exploits, Stein writes, “would alone suffice to invest these parts with a special human interest. But their history has been so exceptionally varied and eventful at other periods also, that a rapid review of it seems here justified, be it only to provide the right background for what the country reveals to us in the life of its present day and in the silent ruins of its past.”172 Stein’s archaeological hermeneutics is thus a way of bringing the past back to life, of getting into a dialogue with it. That this dialogue is neither one-sided nor Eurocentric, but rather to be placed within a transcultural sphere of recognition is made clear by Stein when he writes that we have grown accustomed to divide the ancient world, as some do the modern, between East and West. But in many ways India stands apart, separated from either by its own ancient civilization, just as it is fenced off geographically by the ocean and great mountain ramparts. It is on this part of the North-West Frontier, where the mean routes of trade and migration debouch from the Afghān highlands, that India, before modern times, came chiefly into contact both with the East and the West.173

170 171 172 173

Ibid., vii. Cf. for instance ibid., 17–18, 31–35, 49–50, 72–75. Ibid., viii. Ibid.

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Stein thus frames the historical India as a conduit, as a space of cultural contact, which occupied a special position in the connective history of the realms now referred to as East and West. By emphasizing the (inter-)relational and transgressive nature of the contacts that forged India’s history, Stein anticipates current positions that lay new emphasis on global history and break up bi-polar worldviews, questioning Eurocentric approaches. However, one must be cautious about misinterpreting Stein’s remarks as a proto-cosmopolitan intellectual program, since they have to be seen against his own political comments. It is clear that he did not believe in a mutual and equal space of recognition between Westerners and indigenous people, be it in India or China. He was an avid supporter of the colonial agenda and firmly believed in the civilizing rhetoric of the British Empire. Succumbing to internal strife and the ambitions of local warlords had incited tumultuous processes of decline in the spaces Stein much admired for their ancient history and, in his view, “it was left to the British ‘Rāj’, after the annexation of the Panjāb, to restore peace and steadily reviving prosperity to these border tracts, ravaged by centuries of invasion and internal disorder; and it has been the destiny of British arms to keep watch and ward ever since here.”174 The ideological rhetoric of peace and progression inscribed in this passage is echoed in the many instances, when Stein refers to the positive effects of the “Pax Britannica”175 as the sole means by which to reverse the “slow decay into barbarism”176 that the Swat has been witnessing since late antiquity. And even if “there is little hope,” in Stein’s mind, “that modern Western influence will serve to revive the artistic elements in the crafts of the country,” it could well “lead to improvements in the material conditions of life.”177 How do these imperialistic comments fit the program of transcultural contacts established before? It seems to have been one of the inherent contradictions of British imperialism that the artworks and material relics that so amazed the scholars were really seen as what they were: as traces of the past that did not resemble the present sociopolitical conditions. And because they expressed wonder at the view of the material wealth of the past, they had to counteract it with their distaste of the present. Only by drawing up the past as a contrastive foil could archaeology enter the service of imperial rhetoric. If archaeology had restricted itself to study the material finds as a world of its own, it would have remained a science – by holding up a mirror to the current political situation along the frontier and by comparing them to the greatness of the past, archaeology became politics. Aurel Stein, too, like others before him, used Alexander the Great as one of these comparative foils and as a frame through which to view the geographical space he was 174 175 176 177

Ibid., x. Ibid., 10. Ibid., 56. Ibid., 64.

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about to traverse. At Kana, for instance, he had “difficulty to express clearly in a few words the effect, for one endowed with historical instincts, of close and constant contact with men whose ways of thought and action reflect conditions that the West has left centuries behind.”178 Placed within the narrative frame of an explorative journey in the footsteps of Alexander the Great, these remarks help render the experience of alterity in the face of foreign customs, but they also suggest that Stein was getting into immediate contact with people that already Alexander had encountered along his way. More than an exercise in comparative philology, the experience of otherness became a “bodily translation into an earlier phase of human society and life” for Stein.179 When he writes about his “thought of how Alexander’s Macedonians may have toiled up these rock slopes”180 that Stein himself was traversing and when he reflects on how a “strong ‘benevolent tyrant’” may restore “peace”181 in these regions, the analogy between past and present comes full circle and both spheres blend into each other seamlessly. Accordingly, it becomes possible to equate the British imperialism with Alexander’s conquest and to relegate locals to the rank of subjects that only outside influence can lead into a new era. As Hagerman has noted, Stein did not only draw this connection to Alexander’s march, but “he did so by reversing the terms, linking Alexander to the British by transferring the quintessentially British quality of ‘pluck’ to Alexander’s troops, who had conducted such remarkable campaigns in the area of British India’s Northwest Frontier.”182 Stein indeed framed Alexander’s expedition in terms that could evoke parallels to the present situation: “Those who are familiar with the natural difficulties of the territories beyond the North-Western Frontier and with their military history in recent times,” he writes, “may well be even more impressed by the greatness of the obstacles overcome by Alexander’s genius and the pluck and endurance of his hardy Macedonians in the course of the long campaign that preceded the invasion.”183 The military contexts of the past and present are thus brought into connection and it is implicitly claimed that by learning about the difficult topography of the country valuable insights can be gained for strategic approaches to the area. “Pluck” alone would not do, historical knowledge and archaeological exploration, too, became valuable assets in British India. Stein was in search of what historiography had always identified as one of the greatest obstacles surmounted by Alexander, namely the rock of Aornos. A mountain for178 179 180 181 182 183

Ibid., 111. Ibid. Ibid., 21. Ibid., 29. Hagerman, “In the Footsteps of the ‘Macedonian conqueror’,” 386. “Pluck” was often used to describe the courage and determination of the British in the face of adversaries and obstacles. Stein, On Alexander’s Track to the Indus, 159. For Stein’s account of the invasion of Swat by Alexander cf. ibid., 41–48.

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tress of mythic proportions, Aornos was said not to have even been conquered by Heracles, and Alexander, who never missed a chance of competing with his fabled heroes, took the decision of besieging the almost insurmountable rock, where locals had fled in the course of his invasion.184 Since Alexander never marched on with enemy troops lurking behind his back, his decision to take Aornos may also have been accompanied by strategic considerations. In any case, the comparison with one of his mythological and genealogical forebears made for good propaganda.185 The exact location of Aornos had not been fully disclosed at Stein’s time (despite frequent attempts by explorers including Cunningham’s discussed above) and still gives enough reason for contestation. Half a century before, General Abbott had identified Mahaban as a likely candidate for Aornos,186 but when Stein visited it later it turned out that the fort on top of the mountain bore no resemblance whatsoever to what was recorded in the ancient sources.187 During his trip to the Indus in 1926, Stein identified Pir-Sar as the most plausible choice, the eastern ridge of a mountain range stretching from Ghorband valley due east to the Indus.188 Aornos had exerted a pull on Stein for quite some time and he had published on it before,189 but when the chance came of entering tribal territory that had been closed off, he did not hesitate a second to inspect first hand whether the rock could be found in that area – accordingly, the identification of it makes up the core of his narrative. Moving from Lower Swat to the Upper Swat and making a turn to Pir-Sar and to Mount Ilam, Stein repeatedly draws on the ancient sources, most notably Arrian and Curtius, in his identification of sites associated with Alexander’s route through the region. Of

184 Cf. Curt. 8.11.2; Arr. an. 4.28–30; Strab. 15.1.8; Iust. 12.7.12–13. 185 Cf. also Blanshard, “Alexander’s Mythic Journey into India,” 32–34, as well as Claude Rapin, “Alexandre le Grand en Asie Centrale. Géographie et stratégie de la conquête des Portes Caspiennes à l’Inde”, in With Alexander in India and Central Asia: Moving East and back to West, ed. Claudia Antonetti and Paolo Biagi (Oxford: Oxbow, 2017), 37–121. On the location of Aornos and the debate surrounding it cf. Albert Brian Bosworth, A Historical Commentary on Arrian’s History of Alexander, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), vol. II, 213–17. By now, Mount Ilam, south of Pir-sar is also often identified as Aornos, but since Stein believed the locals could only have fled eastwards, he did not draw that connection. Cf. Giuseppe Tucci, La via dello Swat (Rome: Newton Compton, 1978), 38. 186 James Abbott, “Gradus ad Aornum,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 23 (1854), 309–63. Cf. also chapter 5. 187 Marc Aurel Stein, Report of the Archaeological Survey Work in the North-West Frontier Province and Baluchistan, January 1904-March 1905 (Peshawar: Government Press, 1905), 30. 188 Cf. Stein, On Alexander’s Track to the Indus, 104. 189 Cf. Stein, Report of the Archaeological Survey Work in the North-West Frontier Province and Baluchistan, 30–38; Marc Aurel Stein, “Detailed report of an archaeological tour with the Buner FieldForce,” Indian Antiquary 28 (1899), 14–33; Marc Aurel Stein, “An Archaeological tour in Upper Swat and adjacent hill tracts,” Memoirs of the Archaeological Survey of India 42 (1930), 1–104; Marc Aurel Stein, “Alexander’s Campaign on the Indian North-West Frontier: Notes on Explorations between Upper Swat and the Indus,” The Geographical Journal 70, no. 5 (1927), 417–40; Marc Aurel Stein, “Alexander’s Campaign … (Contd.),” The Geographical Journal 70, no. 6 (1927), 515–40.

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the towns mentioned by Arrian, Stein only fails to identify Massaga, but he thinks he can locate Ora (Udegram) and Birza (Birkot) and because the ancient sources record that the people of the region fled to the rock stronghold, Stein concludes that the only direction in which they could have moved was to the east, with the other directions already occupied by the Macedonians. As Stein remarks, the question of Aornos is not only interesting from a strategic point of view, but “of general interest for the historical student”, because it “throw[s] welcome light on certain psychological factors that undoubtedly played an important part in more than one of Alexander’s wonderful enterprises – just as they did in those of his modern counterpart, Napoleon.”190 Stein here makes the link often established in the nineteenth century between the memory of Alexander and the French emperor and it adds to the suspense connected to the enterprise: finding the location of Aornos would not only yield important topographical and geographical information with regard to Alexander’s march, but would provide an insight into the psychology of power itself. What drove the great cultural heroes of the West to overcome the obstacles that stood in their path and what could be learned from them? Since the topographical survey of India had only come up with vague information regarding the mountain range in question, Stein hoped that close inspection could clarify whether the geographical details as recorded in Arrian, including a steep descend and a deep ravine, would indeed be found on Pir-Sar. Not only relying on topographical similarities, Stein also interviewed locals about their knowledge of the history of their country. He is surprised when their local guide Mahmud tells him that he “was quite unaware that the great Sultān Sikandar had ever come to these parts; nor did,” as Stein continues, “my repeated careful inquiries among local Pathāns, Gujars, and Mullahs reveal the slightest indication that folk-lore or quasi-learned tradition in this region in any way connected Swāt and the adjacent hill tracts with the exploits of Sikandar, the ‘two-horned’, the legendary hero of the ‘Alexander romance’ in its Muhammadan version.”191 So while Stein recognizes that there are local traditions of Alexander or Sikandar, he fails to procure any evidence of his memory as being attached to a specific site or material relics. This only spurred his ardor of discovery, however, and where concrete evidence is missing, imagination enters Stein’s reflections, as when he first ascends Pir-Sar: But now as we passed down the gently sloping grassy alp to its lower edge, I discovered that a deep and precipitous ravine, previously masked by close tree growth, still separated us from that height. (…) Was this not the deep gap on Aornos which at first baffled the Macedonian attack, after Alexander had joined the detachment sent ahead under Ptolemy, the son of Lagos, near the top of the mountain? There was no time for me then in

190 Stein, On Alexander’s Track to the Indus, 120. 191 Ibid., 115.

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the growing darkness to examine the ground with reference to the expedient which, after days of toil, Alexander had managed to bring his slingers and archers sufficiently near the opposite side to reach the defenders with their missiles. When we arrived at last at the bottom of the gully it proved to be a very confined saddle, less than forty yards long and only some ten yards across. Fallen trees encumbered it and also lay thick in the narrow ravines descending on either side. Then my thoughts naturally turned to the ‘mound’ that Alexander is said to have constructed with cut trees and stakes across the gap in order to render the assault possible.192

The rhetorical questions used in this passage are supposed to evade a clear identification of the site, after all no clear evidence can be found in the dusk. Nonetheless, they are also suggestive in that they prompt a conclusion which reads Aornos into the described landscape. Stein’s perception of the environment is thereby made to fit the literary sources and he seems to almost reenact Alexander’s planned assault on the mountain. He imaginatively reconstructs the ways in which the Macedonian had overcome his enemy as well as the unforgiving nature of the place, and although he remarks that his party did not have “to fear the stones and missiles which an enemy holding down the heights would have found it so easy to hurl down,”193 he is tempted to compare his own feelings with the relief the Macedonians must have felt after conquering the rock just the same: “I had no victory to give thanks for. Yet I, too, felt tempted to offer a libation to Pallas Athene for the fulfillment of a scholar’s hope, long cherished and long delayed.”194 Stein was thus attaching personal meaning to the place he thinks is Aornos, but he would not have been the scholar he was without looking for concrete evidence for his claim. Accordingly, he conducts a detailed survey of the mountain ridge, presenting his readers with topographical, material, etymological and indigenous evidence. The “striking agreement of topographical features”195 is laid out in great precision and with the help of a map that graphically underlines the “essential features that necessarily invested [the mountain] with exceptional advantages as a place of safety and natural stronghold for the ancient inhabitants of this region” and makes clear that the “great strategic strength of the general position”196 adds to its military advantageous character, hard to ascend while overlooking a vast area of land. Stein offers a comparative account of the main classical sources of the siege of Aornos and argues that their descriptions agree with his topographical outline in all points, including the deep ravine Stein had already spotted on first ascending the steep ridge, which, so he thinks, separated the

192 193 194 195 196

Ibid., 118. Cf. on this episode Arr. an. 4.28–29. Stein, On Alexander’s Track to the Indus, 118. Ibid., 119. Ibid., 128. Ibid., 133–34.

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Macedonians’ camp on a hill from the rock position of the defenders. He compares the elevated position of the local fighters to events of modern times, most notably of the “valiant bands of Tyrolese peasants” who used their “alpine ground” to “[protect] their country in 1809 from invasion by Napoleon’s French and Bavarian troops.”197 As so often in the explorative literature of the time, experiences of modern warfare are mixed up with ancient ones, so that both times implicitly comment upon each other. After a more extensive analysis of the topographical features and the possible assault tactic of Alexander’s men, Stein goes on to cite the material evidence he found on the ridge. He reminds his readers that Alexander commanded the construction of a fort after the capture of the rock and that Stein indeed “found the ruinous remains of what undoubtedly was a small fort on the summit.”198 Although the material structures did not expose any datable remains, Stein is sure that “what pointed to considerable antiquity was the far-advanced decay of the whole structure, as compared with the fair condition in which most of the ruined dwellings and fortified mansions dating from Buddhist times are found at Swāt sites.”199 Stein admits that the masonry resembles architecture of the Buddhist period and that the advanced state of decay may be due to the exposed location of the structure, but the strategic position of the fort’s material outline is enough evidence for him that he may be dealing with the fabrics of a building of Alexander’s time. He is not dissuaded by locals, who “knew of no special tradition [attached] to these ruined walls,” and who had never “heard of Alexander having visited these parts,” but who rather “remembered having fought (…) against the British at the Ambēla Pass in 1862.”200 The local memory thus again stands in contrast to Stein’s own perception of the site and although he tries to also bring in etymological evidence, equating the name of the peak rising above the ridge, Ūn¢a, to the Greek variant ῎Aoρνος,201 he cannot conceal that personal imagination contributes as much to his identification of the rock as concrete evidence. Stein’s reflection stands in for many archaeological travel writings of the colonial period. In the absence of detailed maps of the regions beyond the frontier and limited periods of time of inspection and excavation, the identification of historical sites often came down to mere guesswork. Therefore, the subjunctive mood would have been the right mode of expression for most of the antiquarian writings beyond the frontier – at least, in terms of the validity of their judgments. This is not to say that they are wrong or have no value for our understanding of the past, quite the contrary – they are fascinating time documents, which provide insights into the scientific standards and often improvised methods of colonial archaeology. And they drew conclusions which are still either valid or contested today.

197 198 199 200 201

Ibid., 141. Ibid., 149. Ibid., 150. Ibid., 150–51. Cf. ibid., 152. He also goes on to bring in the climatic conditions ibid., 153–54.

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Aurel Stein, in any case, stands as one of the pre-eminent scholars of his time, whose daring expeditions and methods have forever changed the face of archaeological research in Central Asia and along the Silk Roads. As it was the case with many of his predecessors, Alexander proved to be a guiding figure for him – so much so that he saw traces of his expeditions, where they could not always have been verified. He relied on his good instincts, and better yet, on his historical imagination that brought careful reading of the sources together with his own perception, experience, and the dream of getting into touch with the materials of the past. As Stein writes in his narrative account, Alexander’s story and, in particular, his siege of Aornos, “might well [seem] (…) to bear an air rather of romance than of history.”202 But to stand in or near the places that were the scenes of his exploits, makes the Alexander’s story ever more vivid – and ever more inconceivable. “Yet now face to face with the tremendous difficulties that nature itself had here opposed to the invaders, I could only wonder that the story of Aornos should have escaped being treated altogether as a mythos. But,” as Stein continues, “then the whole tale of Alexander’s triumphant achievements from the Mediterranean far into Central Asia and India is full of incidents testifying to such combined energy, skill, and boldness as would be sought rather in a divine hero of legend than in a mortal leader of men.”203 What remained, then, in the face of the storied places of the past and of their material fabrics, was amazement and wonder – and a willing suspension of disbelief that the archaeological imagination could really provide an insight into the past and offer the possibility of touching it. 4.5 The Legacy of Colonial Archaeology In the volume on Ancient India of The Cambridge History of India from 1921, Bevan wrote about the troops that followed Alexander on his eastward campaign that those who were meant to act as an occupation force “were intended in Alexander’s design, not only to give the European root in the country, but to quicken India through Greek intelligence and enterprise to new developments of commercial activity and material splendour.”204 The rhetoric of cultural progression and economic prosperity through European influence so prevalent in the nineteenth century had also taken firm roots in the scholarship of the twentieth century. All of the antiquarians and archaeologists discussed in this chapter had, in one way or another, adhered to this belief that was strongly bound up with colonial administrations and especially the politics after 1857. The Macedonian conquest of parts of India was clearly equated to the rule of the British Raj and it has been rightly claimed that the “quest for the Greeks was by no means 202 Ibid., 155. 203 Ibid. 204 Bevan, “Alexander the Great,” 344.

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a ‘scientific’ quest for India’s archaeological heritage, but a search for the beginning of Empire, which the British saw themselves as inheriting from the Greeks.”205 In the light of the antiquarian scholars examined in this chapter this statement is in need of some reformulation: while archaeology was certainly put to the use of a colonial program, it was nonetheless also done for the sake of finding out about the material past of India and the adjoining territories. To be sure, the drive to discover lost traces of the Greeks and Macedonians who had settled around the frontier originally spurred most of the explorations conducted in the area, but when other prehistoric or Buddhist remains were excavated, they were recognized in their own distinct historical value and as what they really were: as parts of India’s or Afghanistan’s past. So, although Bevan’s article cited above makes use of a strong Eurocentric framework and does not question the “far-reaching consequences”206 of Alexander’s march on India and its ripple effects throughout the country’s cultural history, he criticizes the “idea, ineradicable from modern journalism, that ‘the East’ (whatever that vague term may denote) is by its nature impervious to the rationalistic culture of ancient Greece and modern Europe.”207 He rather recognizes the intrinsic value of India’s culture and its relative independence from European influence. This view markedly differs from many writings of the early nineteenth century which perceived Indian architecture and Buddhist artworks through a Eurocentric lens, with the illusion of detecting a Greek influence in the material fabrics of the ancient cultures in the region. While this view could also be found in Wheeler’s writings during the twentieth century, it was, amongst other aspects, the work of explorers like Masson, Cunningham, and Stein that changed the perspective and discovered a historical world lying in wait. “India indeed and the Greek world only touched each other on their fringes, and there was never a chance for elements of the Hellenistic tradition to strike root in India,”208 remarked Bevan and he thereby alludes to the sporadic or altogether missing material traces of Alexander’s track in the north-west frontier region. It may be one of the ironic aspects of colonial archaeology in India that although Alexander remained such a prominent point of reference, concrete evidence of his presence in India was very sparse. And because no concrete material relics could be procured that could attest to this presence and its overarching influence on indigenous culture, other models of explanation had to be sought and those models could either adhere to Orientalism, nationalism, or theories of cultural contact. A lot has been written about Orientalism and the Eurocentric view of Asian (or Oriental) cultures that produced stereotypical images of degradation and stagnation, 205 206 207 208

Ray, “Alexander’s Campaign 327–326 (BC),” 107. Bevan, “Alexander the Great,” 345. Ibid., 344–45. Ibid., 345.

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leading to ideological views that saw European colonization as the be-all and end-all to true cultural progress. While interpretations of colonial writings in the wake of the theories formulated by Said are important interventions into an intellectual field that had indeed been characterized by discursive constructions of the ‘other’ and by a polarizing outlook between the good ‘West’ and degraded ‘East,’209 they can also get in the way of a reading that detects other layers of meaning in Orientalist and colonial archaeological literature. As Trautmann has shown, there were different kinds of Orientalism at work in British India, which were neither always concerned with creating representations of the ‘other’ nor with the production of knowledge that would allow for the exercise of political power and control.210 It seems that colonial archaeology was caught in a middle ground: on the one hand, it could be used to show that India’s past had been far richer and more progressive than its present version – an argument that reappears in many archaeological writings, including those of Cunningham and Stein – and that cultural change could only be brought in from the outside. On the other hand, it could demonstrate that Central Asia had been a center of cultural productivity for centuries and that it brought forth autonomous and highly complex cultural forms that could not be explained by traditional models of historical evolution. In this context, Alexander the Great remained a point of reference from which chronological models of history could be developed and a history of pre- and post-Alexander could be written. As Vasunia puts it, “those who referred to Alexander as ‘European’ were obscuring the wider Asian background to some of his strongest tastes or preferences and situating him within hierarchies that were more familiar and more comforting.”211 The antiquarians and archaeologists of the nineteenth century were anticipating this statement – Masson in his writing on Begram would be an example – but they were reluctant to make the final step in admitting that Alexander’s conquest in the East may not have had anything to do with Europe at all. However, as Vasunia continues, “one of the striking themes that emerges from a look back at many writers of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries is the sensitivity to Asia, not just as a source of colonies but as a cultural contact-zone. These writers often read Alexander against the background of a fluid Asianate area in which travel and transport were far easier than they sometimes appear in the early twenty-first century.”212 This is certainly true of all three scholars discussed in this chapter, who may have harked back to Orientalist images and teachings in their portrayal of local culture, but who constantly framed their remarks in a context that looked at cultural contact and transfer processes. Alexander remained European, but the material traces discovered spoke of a cultural history in

209 Cf. Said, Orientalism. 210 Cf. Thomas Trautmann, Aryans and British India (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), 15–27. 211 Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 99. 212 Ibid.

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need of retelling, of a world where the ancient West and the Far East had interacted for centuries. This was an Orientalism, but one which was highly ambiguous and far more complex than many cultural theories have us believe. One of the lasting effects of the discoveries made by Masson, Cunningham, or Stein was that they uncovered a past that had largely been ignored or forgotten by the elites of the countries where the material traces of ancient civilizations were brought to light. In India, this was clearly the case. It is interesting to note that, in this context, the memory of Alexander the Great figured in a completely different way from how he was used by the Western explorers. Originally, Alexander had functioned as a historical guide in a region that was otherwise more or less unknown and closed off to the Westerners traveling through the region – all of the scholars discussed in this chapter harked back on the trope of following Alexander’s footsteps and were keen on finding the materials of his fabled journeys. But because their finds procured predominantly negative results, i. e. they did not necessarily find relics that could be ascribed to Alexander, but either to a time before or after him, this material lack of evidence was used by an Indian historiography that became ever more nationalist during the late nineteenth and early twentieth century – and that questioned the motifs of the British scholars, criticizing their work and creating their own stereotypes of colonial hegemony. “On the nationalist reading, Alexander and his successors had little or no impact on Indian history and culture, the Macedonian was forced to turn back because of the resistance of such kings as Porus (…).”213 Subsequently, “nationalism was taken back to the fourth century BC with the opposition to Alexander’s campaign and the creation of the Mauryan Empire that extended virtually over the entire subcontinent.”214 So far, this view has largely been ascribed to the lack of references to Alexander in contemporary Indian writings, and his later introduction through Arabic or Persian intermediaries, but it is unquestionable that the antiquarian work also influenced this position. Not only because material evidence of the Macedonian conquest was largely missing, but also because the other finds could in turn be used to underline India’s rich cultural heritage that could look back on a far longer and more diverse past than previously believed – and the same is true of the ancient settlements in Afghanistan. The discovery of ancient pre-settlement before the establishment of Greek Bactria would in turn lead to negative reassessment of Alexander’s role in the region: he could now no longer be seen as a luminous figure, but “as just another of history’s freebooters.”215 Charles Masson, who spearheaded the research that would influence such an outlook, would certainly not have concurred with that particular statement, the more so as he

213 Kejariwal, The Asiatic Society of Bengal, 91. 214 Romila Thapar, Early India: From the Origins to AD 1300 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 16. On the complex reception history and the differences between Indian historiography and British colonial historiography cf. also Briant, Exégèse, 171–83. 215 Ball, The Monuments of Afghanistan, 58. On the pre-settlement in the region cf. ibid., 59–65.

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knew the ambiguous effects of Empire first hand and became a severe critic of British schemes in the region. But this is certainly one of the unintended effects of archaeological research in general: one can never know what will be unearthed in the course of an excavation and when there is no material that allows for an exact dating or fits the written sources, the possibilities of interpretation are legion. And it seems that the interpretation of the material from either an Orientialist or a nationalist viewpoint is often culturally conditioned. This can also be seen in some of the debates surrounding the Greek presence in Bactria and India. Two central exponents were William Woodthorpe Tarn (1869–1957) and A. K. Narain (1925–2013). They are often pitted against one another as “an imperialist Briton and a nationalist Indian.”216 Tarn drew on earlier interpretations of Alexander and his idealized version of a “unity of mankind,”217 envisioned by the Macedonian made use of a civilizing rhetoric and could be seen as a reactionary statement in the time of beginning decolonization. As Vasunia sums up: “[Tarn’s] analysis took the benevolent view of empire, and it is what led Tarn’s critics to argue that he was projecting on his hero Alexander an ideal of British imperialism in which Tarn himself believed. But some of his most important views were largely intelligible within the terms set by scholarship of the preceding century and a half.”218 Part of this scholarship was archaeological and it comes as no surprise that Tarn’s critic A. K. Narain had an archaeological background – no other than Sir Mortimer Wheeler was his academic supervisor. Like Tarn, Narain wrote about the Indo-Greeks, but whereas Tarn sought to place them in a decidedly Hellenistic context, Narain held that “the Hellenistic aspect is over-emphasized.”219 Drawing on both material as well as literary evidence, Narain writes that “it becomes difficult to agree with Tarn’s claim that the history of the Indo-Greeks is an essential part of Hellenistic history.”220 Narain then develops his central argument, reiterated in many of his writings, that the history of the Indo-Greeks “is part of the history of India and not of the Hellenistic states; they came, they saw, but India conquered.”221 It is easy to see where the “perceived polarity in Indo-Greek scholarship between British imperialist Classicists (who wanted the Indo-Greeks to be Greek) and Indian nationalist historians (who wanted them to be Indian)”222 came from. But Mairs cautions us not to draw our conclusion too quickly, because “the picture is not as straightforward.”223 Narain had been influenced by Tarn in many of his studies and central arguments. Moreover, his Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 100. William Woodthorpe Tarn, Alexander the Great and the Unity of Mankind (London: Humphrey Milford, 1933). 218 Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 101. 219 Narain, The Indo-Greeks, 14. 220 Ibid., 17. 221 Ibid., 18. 222 Mairs, “Hellenistic India,” 22. 223 Ibid. 216 217

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research had been, to a large degree, based on the work of colonial archaeology that had anticipated some of the later conclusions themselves. So rather than replicating the dichotomy between colonial and post-colonial scholarship, it would be more productive to see both approaches as context-related and products of the times: “There is no simple colonialist – post-colonialist transition, but rather a constant dialogue between different interpretations, each of which (…) may provide a useful stimulus for debate and open interesting new avenues of approach to the subject.”224 Despite the colonial perspective engrained in the antiquarian travel writings and archaeological reports discussed in this chapter, it seems that they provide a good starting from which to seek for these dialogical and relational accounts of the past. All three of the scholars dealt with in the preceding sections have made use of a framework that highlighted cultural processes of interaction, similarity, and transfer. Although they wrote at different times, it is hard to make out a chronological development in their respective writings: while Cunningham drew on Masson, and Stein on both of his predecessors, they all took the material evidence as their respective starting points of getting in contact with the past. Over the decades, the material finds became ever more numerous and the archaeological methods more refined, but the patterns of personal interpretation remained the same. Alexander the Great was the focal point of much of their explorative journeys, even where no concrete material evidence or relics spoke of his presence in the region. Accordingly, they brought in other textual fragments, architectural structures, and material traces that could be used to compare the classical sources with local traditions and vice versa. A dialogical space opened in their respective texts where Chinese Buddhists suddenly appeared face to face with Alexander’s historians, and where ancient Greece met with an even longer Indian cultural heritage. This does not mean that the writers in question were always aware of this transcultural outlook, but rather that it was implicitly present in their texts. And it is through these texts that they still speak to a time when new evidence continues to re-frame and challenge traditional models. The reach of the economic and political networks of ancient India were far wider and extended well beyond the Indian borders, making up huge regional routes of trade and communication. As Ray puts it, “this new evidence questions the earlier model of the civilizing influence of the Greeks or the Romans and instead underscores local and regional dynamism that resulted in the adoption of diverse styles, language, and material artefacts.”225 The issue is no longer whether the Greco-Bactrian or Greco-Indian kingdoms were more Greek than Indian (or the other way around), but rather how their eclecticism came about, how they integrated Greek, Iranian, and Indian elements as “cultural overlays” and made them their own.226 “Rather than searching for chrono224 Mairs, “Hellenistic India,” 25. 225 Ray, Colonial Archaeology in South Asia, 210. 226 Ball, The Monuments of Afghanistan, 66.

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logical markers in Greek history and archaeology, the focus should shift to highlighting internal dynamics of growth and social complexity”227 instead. In many ways, this approach is diametrically opposed to Cunningham’s or Stein’s aim of coming up with chronological frameworks for colonial archaeology, but this should not obscure the fact that the realization that multiple cultural identities participated in the networks in Central Asia had been prefigured by archaeological research in the nineteenth and early twentieth century. Even if neither Masson nor Cunningham nor Stein formulated models that highlighted internal cultural dynamism and heterogeneity and rather looked for clear identifications, their writings – and especially the material finds connected to them – sometimes allow for the conclusion that they realized that India’s and Afghanistan’s past was “bilateral and shared.”228 And even if their imperial outlook can justifiably be made the object of critique, it is nevertheless clear that they valued and cared for the ancient cultures they studied. Their search for Alexander might have had other motivations, but ultimately it led to a new European “awareness of Indian” and Afghan culture and the “discovery” of their respective pasts.229 Breaking up the dichotomy that has developed between colonial and post-colonial historiography, between East and West, seems difficult in the face of contemporary political developments as well as cultural theories that do not grow tired of replicating essentializing categories. It is even harder when one takes into account the issue of the possession of the past. The journeys of Masson, Cunningham, and Stein did not only bring forth a plethora of texts and narratives, but rather a vast array of material finds that were subsequently sent to Europe. Many of the relics, artworks, inscriptions, and coins they found can still be seen in the British Museum and other institutions where “visual representations”230 of ancient Asia are recreated and put on display. Mathur has traced “the history of competing claims to possession placed upon these relics through a number of official and unofficial discourses across different historical monuments”231 and, as she makes clear, this is an issue that is far from resolved – the more so as current acts of terrorism and warfare in the Near East have seen the destruction of many local monuments, and many museums use this as an argument of preventing the relics from being sent back to the countries they were once taken from on the grounds that they are safer in Europe. This reiterates arguments of “safe custody” already formulated during the nineteenth and early twentieth century.232 Neither Masson, nor Cunningham, nor Stein, had second thoughts when it came to taking their finds away from the original findspots and of thus de-contextualizing them.

227 228 229 230 231 232

Ray, “Alexander’s Campaign (327–326 BC),” 109. Ibid., 118. Kejariwal, The Asiatic Society of Bengal, 232. Mathur, India by Design, 166. Ibid., 134. Ibid., 140.

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Especially after the Indian Mutiny, colonial archaeology was integrated into programs of political and cultural control and became complacent in the symbolical construction of colonial rule. It was suggested that the study of the past and the conservation of the material relics was an act of welfare for the locals on part of the colonizing power. It would go beyond the scope of this present volume to retrace the arguments and contexts of the debates concerning the question of the rightful possession of the archaeological finds during the colonial period. What is clear, however, is that they continue to keep the past alive by inciting debates and challenging us to determine in how far its materiality is bound up with issues of cultural identity. To the explorers of the nineteenth century, the objects and structures of the past had an immense meaning. They were ways of getting into contact with distant cultures and persons, above all with Alexander the Great. Since there were not many objects that could be ascribed to his name, however, excavated cities came to stand in for places he either conquered or founded. And where no evidence could be brought forth to support the respective identification of places like Alexandria ad Caucasum, Taxila, or Aornos, the archaeological imagination filled in the blanks.

Chapter V Contested Memories and Collective Identities Military Associations, Ethnographic Encounters and Political Geographies in the Age of Empire As an old saying has it, seeing is believing. There is, however, a marked difference between seeing in the sense of perceiving what lies before one’s own eyes and seeing in the sense of wanting to perceive something (or someone) which (or who) is, to the naked eye, not there. In many ways, this ontological gap is at the heart of many travel writings in which the memory of Alexander the Great played a role. They all problematized, in one form of another, a central problem connected to this cultural memory, namely that the claim of following in Alexander’s footsteps, or to even be a direct descendant of him, often clashed with the present realities, which neither always allowed for historical associations, nor were as heroic as the mnemonic instrumentalization suggested. More often than not, there was an ambiguity implicit in the discourse which shows that the memory of Alexander could not only serve as an affirmative or reassuring historical model, but also as a means of contesting imperial schemes based on a superficial outlook on the contingency and cautionary example of history itself. This contested aspect of Alexander also became apparent in writings on the self-proclaimed heritage of some local tribes beyond the British Indian frontier to be the descendants of Alexander the Great. This was a common notion in the travel literature of the day, often fused with a strong ethnographical discourse, interested in folklore as well as race. The so-called Kafirs were widely regarded as local tribes, whose roots could possibly be traced back to Europe. Theirs was, however, a “shadowy” claim – unsupported, as it was, by historical fact.1 Moreover, it was literally impossible to visit the Kafirs’ remote mountain paths and villages, hidden deep in the Hindu Kush, so that the ethnographical writings questioned the alleged Macedonian heritage of the Kafir tribes. Nonetheless, the travel authors still drew on it in order to underline the

1

John Biddulph, Tribes of the Hindoo Koosh (Calcutta: Office of the Superintendent of Government Printing, 1880), 146–47.

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far-reaching impact of Alexander even on people, whose culture was widely regarded as archaic and primitive. Again, the memory of the Macedonian became a means of negotiating collective identity and of supporting the British imperial mission and its cultural superiority. That the British belief of following in Alexander’s footsteps was neither uncontested nor crystal clear, but rather a shadowy side of debate itself can also be seen in Sir Thomas Hungerford Holdich’s (1843–1929) observation that the present geography of the countries traversed by the Macedonian did not always allow for an unambiguous identification of the ancient routes and sites.2 One of the most prominent geographers and surveyors of his day, Holdich did not take historical sources lightly, but he knew the regions in question better than most of his contemporaries. Even if he wanted to follow the Macedonian’s footsteps, Holdich illustrates, it would be impossible for the lack of congruence between the ancient written sources and the geographical conditions, exposed as they are to nature and weather. Rather than seeing the footsteps of Alexander, one had to choose to believe that they were there and that they could, indeed, be reiterated. While this insight is true of almost all of the texts analyzed in the course of this book, it certainly became a pressing issue in the second half of the nineteenth century, when the British Empire consolidated its power in Central Asia and India became part of the royal dominion. This chapter parallels the chronology of the previous one, looking at the decades from the mid nineteenth to the beginning of the twentieth century. But where the previous chapter had looked at the material fabrics of memory and colonial archaeology, this one will be concerned with the immaterial and highly imaginative associations with Alexander’s conquest as they could be found in the military, ethnographic, and geographic literature of the day. All three fields of knowledge were instrumental to cementing British supremacy in the region, the more so as it was primarily based on military strength. Accordingly, the conflicts between the European colonizers and indigenous groups lend itself easily to historical analogy, with the British filling in the parts of Alexander and his troops, and the indigenous groups resting in the position they had forever held in the fated course of history. As will be shown, the British officers and soldiers embraced the military analogies to Alexander’s conquest, especially where it concerned the victoriousness of both armies, whereas the indigenous traditions of Alexander’s descendants living in the Hindu Kush were seen as a problematic and dubious local invention that could nevertheless be used to establish contact and

2

Cf. Thomas Hungerford Holdich, The Gates of India, Being a Historical Narrative (London: Macmillan and Co., 1910), 111: “It is unfortunate (but perhaps inevitable) that even in those incidents and operations of Alexander’s expedition where his footsteps can be distinctly traced from point to point, where geographical conformation absolutely debars us from alternative selection of lines of action, the details of the story never do fit the physical conditions which must have obtained in his time.”

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negotiate notions of identity. The ethnographical and geographical literature was quick to adapt these discourses and embed them within the political events of the time, especially the geostrategic positioning of British India in the face of Russian expansionism and world politics. The so-called ‘Great Game’, the power struggle between Great Britain and Russia for hegemony in Central Asia, saw intensification in the second half of the nineteenth century. Particularly in the course of the Indian Mutiny of 1857, after which India was officially put under the control of the Crown and the East India Company was disbanded, the maintenance of “geo-strategic supremacy in Asia”3 became a primary goal of the British administration, the more so as Russia continued to expand its territorial possessions around the Caspian Sea – after all, it had annexed vast parts of the old Silk Route like Khiva, Bokhara and Smarakand in the 1870s. It is no wonder that the period saw an increase in the reception of Alexander on the side of military officers and soldiers, not only because British influence now also encompassed the former Sikh territory in the Punjab (and with it the scene of most of the Macedonian’s exploits), but also because there was a renewed interest in the strategic frameworks for an invasion (or, respectively a defense) of India. Just as it had served as a historical model in the ‘Napoleonic’ epoch of frontier policy, the memory of Alexander again came to the fore as an important touchstone of a debate that centered around the possible invasion routes along the Asian rivers and the mountains that made up part of the north-west frontier, especially in the proximity of the Khyber Pass. More than a model to be emulated, the Macedonian’s history served as an example that could be used for self-representation and the negotiation of the role of the British military in the region – its own strength could thereby be underlined as much as the self-perceived magnitude of the operations around India’s northern regions, in parts of the world that seemed as barbaric and wild as they had been when Alexander first set foot in the eastern part of his great empire. The otherworldly and strange nature of the lands and people that the British officers and travelers were confronted with was repeatedly discussed in the writings, and the memory of Alexander could certainly be used to imbue the explorers’ own impressions with meaning and with the intention of developing the perceived wilderness with the help of a discourse that was both part of a long textual debate on the civilizing mission of the British in Asia and that encompassed a multitude of implications, including the discursive positioning of self and other with the help of historicizing parallels. The reference to Alexander was not made in the detached space of a textual debate, but was part of a far-reaching interaction with a foreign country and its people. More than the intrinsic reflection of the historical frameworks in which Britain’s own undertakings could be integrated, the memory

3

Robert Johnson, Spying for Empire: The Great Game in Central and South Asia, 1757–1947 (London: Greenhill Books, 2006), 21.

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of Alexander was also an extrinsic and highly relational presence that arose from the contact with material traces of his route and people, who pretended to be his direct descendants. This posed a problem for the British in so far as this claim undermined their own emphatic reception of the Macedonian and the desire to be the heirs of his empire. Nevertheless, it also sparked numerous debates that led to the advance of ethnography and political geography in the discourses of the times. Alexander thereby became part of a (pseudo-)historical narrative put forth by British colonizers and natives alike, creating a space for intercultural encounter and the negotiation of collective identities attached to his name. This is especially true of the debates surrounding the frontier itself and the country to its north, namely Afghanistan, which had preoccupied British imaginations since at least the beginnings of the nineteenth century. Above all, this had to do with the geostrategic position of Afghanistan as a possible buffer zone between British India and aggressors from the north, notably the Russians. However, as Morison once illustrated in a memorable lecture, the policy connected to the frontier “introduced a new and highly speculative diplomatic game which took all West Central Asia for its playing fields” and that led the British into “speculative adventures with governments, and in countries, of which they had no accurate understanding.”4 Morison’s claim finds an affirmation in the joint Anglo-Russian effort, begun in 1869, to demarcate the borders of Afghanistan in order to define the limits of any respective annexations and to have a clearer understanding of the spheres of influence in Central Asia. These attempts were indifferent to traditional tribal politics or grown ethnic structures in the region, and even the so-called Durand line that was to constitute the north-west frontier in the 1890s, separating British India from Afghanistan, could not conceal the fact that the frontier region encompassed a far greater strip of land than was formally acknowledged by map makers and politicians.5 The Anglo-Russian maps could distribute the territory on a piece of paper, but in reality things were much more complex, and the geopolitical schemes were not uncontested, so that “British attitudes toward Afghanistan during this period were highly ambivalent.”6 More often than not, the ethnographical writings and the political geography of this era were confronted with the inherent complexity and ambiguity of a region that could not only be deciphered with mapping surveys or the reading of historical textbooks. Geographers like Holdich integrated this insight into “a new concep-

4

5 6

Morison, “From Alexander Burnes to Frederick Roberts,” 180–81. On the lack of knowledge concerning the countries beyond the frontier and the use of natives as spies and trans-border surveyors also Derek Waller, The Pundits: British Exploration of Tibet and Central Asia (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1990). Cf. ibid., 178. On the Durand line and its historical background also Lyon, Butcher and Bolt, 125–42. Marx, “How We Lost Kafiristan,” 51.

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tion of geography”7 that took the interactional character between people and their surroundings, but also between different groups of people within a circumscribed space seriously and that would pave the way for the colonial geography in the early decades of the twentieth century, notably that of Albert Demangeon (1872–1940).8 Alexander the Great lends himself as the main focus of such an interactional perspective, both in a diachronic as well as a transcultural perspective. As so often in the course of this study, this transcultural perspective can only be glimpsed from short passages in texts written from a Eurocentric viewpoint, but the fact that it was recorded at all shows that it existed and called for attention. Alexander was not solely a European hero, but rather a cultural anchor for non-Europeans as well, albeit under a different name and with varying traditions attached to it. Just as “the colonial map can be read as the product of cross-cultural negotiation or translation, rather than an unproblematic descriptive tracing,”9 so the memory of Alexander was an interactional site of contact and contestation as well. There can be no doubt that indigenous claims to be lineal descendants of the Macedonians were predominantly challenged and rebutted by the British authors, but they nonetheless posed a source of fascination that could hardly be eluded and that demanded analysis. After all, it also led to a self-reflection of one’s own cultural identity and Britain’s purported imperial mission in Central Asia. The memory of Alexander – just like the British Empire in general – was not a homogenous entity with a clearly defined center, but can rather be said to have been “co-constituted.”10 The indigenous presence in the mnemonic framework had to be negotiated by drawing on Alexander’s march itself, and thus opened new perspectives on his route and his politics concerning the locals he met along the way. In this context, “the colonial encounter” can be seen “as a locus of the emergence of certain types of knowledge that would not have emerged but for contingent circumstances”11 and that markedly expanded the Eurocentric perspective on Alexander’s history, without necessarily challenging the cultural premises on which it rested. In the following, these cultural premises and historical contexts will be discussed by focusing on three consecutive, interrelated time spans and their respective discourses. We will first look at the military reception of Alexander’s march around the middle decades of the nine-

7 8 9 10 11

Paul Claval, “Playing with Mirrors: The British Empire According to Albert Demangeon,” in Geography and Empire, ed. Anne Godlewska and Neil Smith (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994), 236. Cf. Albert Demangeon, The British Empire: A Study in Colonial Geography (London: George G. Harrap and Company, 1925). Tickell, “Negotiating the Landscape,” 20. Raj, “Coloial Encounters,” 83. Kapil Raj, “Circulation and the Emergence of Modern Mapping: Great Britain and Early Colonial India, 1764–1820,” in Society and Circulation: Mobile People and Itinerant Cultures in South Asia 1750– 1950, ed. Claude Markovits, Jacques Pouchepadass and Sanjay Subrahmanyam (Delhi: Permanent Black, 2003), 53.

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teenth century, when the British frontier in India was finally constituted as the dividing line between the colonial possessions and what lay beyond. Then, we will turn to the ethnographic discourses and the travel narratives attached to the remote tribes of the Kafirs, which posed a curiosity for the British travelers on the one hand, but which were also implicated in the politics of the time, especially regarding Afghanistan on the other. Eventually, we will turn to the political dimensions of the geographical literature and surveys towards the end of the nineteenth century, which were both an integral part of the imperial ideologies concerning British India and of the highly acute strategic discourse of safeguarding the possessions in Central Asia. 5.1 The Military Aspects of Alexander’s Memory along the North-West Frontier “The Two Volumes now humbly presented to Your Majesty contain,” wrote Lieutenant-Colonel Francis Rawdon Chesney (1789–1872) in the dedication to his The Expedition for the Survey of the Rivers Euphrates and Tigris, “(…) some geographical and historical notices of the countries which were the cradle of the human race, and the theatre of the most important events in the Jewish, Pagan, and early Christian histories; countries extending from the River Nile to the eastern extremity of the empire of Alexander the Great, where the many glorious achievements of Your Majesty’s arms have recently terminated with the brilliant victory of Goojerat.”12 The Battle of Gujrat, fought on 21 February 1849, decided the Second Anglo-Sikh War (1848–1849) and won the Punjab for the East India Company. The Honorable Company had gradually expanded its influence in the region so that its territories finally bordered on Sikh territory by the time the Maharajah Ranjit Singh died (1839), who had, with loose ties to British policy makers, controlled and consolidated the kingdom in the first half of the nineteenth century. After Singh’s death, his kingdom partially disintegrated and the Company increased its military presence in the region, annexing Sindh in 1843. This added to the diplomatic tension between the two powers and, eventually, incited the First Anglo-Sikh War (1845–1846).13 The partial subjugation of the Sikh kingdom by the British forces was not uncontested so that rebellious tensions arose that led to another violent clash and to the complete annexation of the Sikh kingdom. For the British this was, without a doubt, a great

12

13

Francis Rawdon Chesney, The Expedition for the Survey of the Rivers Euphrates and Tigris Carried on by Order of the British Government in the Years 1835, 1836 and 1837, Preceded by Geographical and Historical Notes of the Regions Situated between the Rivers Nile and Indus, in Four Volumes, Volume I (London: Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans, 1850), v. Cf. on the background and progress of the First and Second Anglo-Sikh Wars Ian Hernon, Britain’s Forgotten Wars (Stroud: The History Press, 2008), 541–612.

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success, but also one weighed with uncertainties and the responsibility of directly safeguarding the north-west frontier regions of British India. The British dominion now encompassed a huge area that finally contained those historical geographies, where Alexander had waged his most easterly campaigns. As Chesney’s dedication suggested, the British had, after many decades of working their way up from the South of India, gotten in direct touch with those areas of the world that constituted the hallmark of ancient civilization and the cradle of Western culture. The Majesty’s Empire, Chesney implied, had reached a status of world historical proportions. Although his dedication was now addressed to Queen Victoria, who reigned since 1837, Chesney had initially received his mission from King William IV (1830–1837). The mission’s aim was to explore the Euphrates and Tigris and to look for a possible waterway route to India via these rivers. A keen explorer and able navigator,14 Chesney was no trained specialist in classical literature or ancient history; but this did not keep him from including long passages that dealt with the sociocultural and military aspects of the countries which he traversed into his account. As Chesney mused in his introductory remarks, his first three-year long journeys in the east that found him exploring the route to India from Egypt via the Red Sea had certainly opened up a fascinating world to him of which he was able to cast more than a few glances, but upon his return, he delved deep into the information stored in the British Museum to get a fuller picture of the region he had visited. This would prove useful to his river expeditions and gave the impulse to write a history of the east himself: “The extracts there made [i. e. in the British Museum] were found highly useful to the Expedition, when navigating the rivers which flow through lands memorable as the theatre of the great events recorded in sacred and profane history, and traversed by Cyrus, Alexander, Trajan, and Julian, as well as by the most renowned of the Muslim leaders.”15 This supports Richards’ claim that “the administrative core of the Empire was built around knowledge producing institutions like the British Museum, the Royal Geographical Society, the India Survey, and the universities (…)”, which led to “Victorian epistemologies [presupposing] a superintending unity of knowledge.”16 The earlier travelers discussed in the course of the previous chapters were all instrumental in creating the knowledge contained in these institutional frameworks, while the travelers and explorers in the second half of the nineteenth century were increasingly embedded in its structures and helped in their dissemination and further 14

15 16

For biographical information cf. Louise Chesney and Jane O’Donnell, The Life of the Late General F. R. Chesney, ed. Stanley Lane-Poole (London: W. H. Allen, 1885) as well as Stanley Lane-Poole, “Chesney, Francis Rawdon (1789–1872),” Dictionary of National Biography 10 (London: Smith, Elder and Co., 1887), 195–98. For Chesney’s explorations in the context of his time cf. Haim Goren, Dead Sea Level: Science, Exploration and Imperial Interests in the Near East (London: I. B. Tauris, 2011), 59–116. Chesney, The Expedition for the Survey of the Rivers Euphrates and Tigris, vol. I, xvi. Richards, The Imperial Archive, 4.

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development as integral parts of the nation’s self-representational basis. This is not to say that these travelers did not contribute significant findings and information to the ‘imperial archive’, quite the contrary – they could work from a broad foundation of knowledge and within established professional networks, so that they, at times, even provided more effective and far-reaching results. In many ways, Chesney published his own account at the watershed between early exploration and what would follow in the second half of the century. The delayed publication of his report, twelve years after the return from his expedition, was due to his being ordered to command a garrison troop at Hong Kong in the 1840s. But Chesney was determined to publish his memorable feats nonetheless, and when they were finally published, they were certainly as relevant as when he undertook his voyage, for which he had already been awarded the Royal Geographical Society’s gold medal. Chesney’s explorative missions were not only remarkable, because they provided information that would prove instrumental to the construction of the Suez Canal, opened in 1869, but also because of their particular circumstances. As Briant points out, “The deployment of a flotilla on the Euphrates is strikingly reminiscent of the period 324–323 BC: the two steamships built in England were transported to Syria in separate parts, then by caravan to the Euphrates, where they were reassembled, following exactly the same process that Alexander ordered when he had ships built in Phoenicia, transported on the Euphrates in separate parts, then sailed to Babylon.”17 Chesney was well aware of this striking historical parallel and made sure to include various references to Alexander’s march throughout the account of his own explorative mission.18 But it was especially his second volume that contained a drawn-out discussion of Alexander’s march and route, primarily based on historical geographers in the likes of Rennell and Vincent as well as self-proclaimed historians like William Robertson. Chesney’s account is littered with prolonged discussions of the great battles and the strategies of Alexander and his respective adversaries.19 “Great battles and extensive conquests,” Chesney observes, “have belonged to every period of the world, and extraordinary campaigns (…) may have taken place from time to time; but the brilliant victories, the unparalleled sieges and vast conquests, above all the wonderful marches of Alexander the Great, will, in all probability, stand alone for ever;”20 It was not only Alexander’s military and strategic capability that Chesney admired, however, but also – quite in accord with Enlightenment historiography – “the very great geographical knowledge” and “extensive commercial benefits derived.”21 In consequence,

17 18 19 20 21

Briant, The First European, 211. Cf. Chesney, The Expedition for the Survey of the Rivers Euphrates and Tigris, vol. I., 17, 28, 134, 169– 79, 205–10, 228, 273–85, 409. Cf., ibid., vol. II, 258–60, 271–75, 288–93. Ibid., 252. Ibid., 251.

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Chesney saw Alexander’s advance to the Indus as part of an overarching scheme to promote commerce and to strengthen the economic integration of his empire. His conclusion that “the conquest of India formed part of Alexander’s original project”22 very much conforms to the zeitgeist of Chesney’s own time, when the British had all but accomplished this imperial undertaking, and “it would not,” to quote Briant, “be exaggerating to consider that Chesney saw Alexander’s expedition as a precedent for potential plans of the British government.”23 This viewpoint was certainly a central cornerstone of the reception of the Macedonian on the part of British military officers and strategists, who continued to perceive Alexander as a model of ancient heroism and as a martial genius, and who finally had the chance of emulating or even surpassing his feats. Chesney’s expedition was not the only remarkable explorative journey undertaken in the second half of the 1830s that would come to belated prominence. Parallel to Chesney’s Euphrates mission, the Scottish born explorer and naval officer John Wood (1812–1871) undertook two spectacular surveys of the Indus (1835), commanding the first steamboat to go up the river, and of the Oxus’ sources (1838). He wrote a much noticed account of the latter journey that would also garner him, like Chesney, the Geographical Society’s award and that would be republished in 1872, edited by his son and accompanied by an essay on the Oxus valley’s geography by Colonel Henry Yule (1820–1889), himself a famous Scottish orientalist.24 The significance of Wood’s survey lay not only in the daring and spectacular nature of his accomplishment of travelling through the Oxus valley as the first Briton, but also in the careful and detailed notes and maps he made along the route that would remain standard works of reference for geographers and military strategists well into the twentieth century. Accordingly, the publisher gave “the attention that has of late been directed to Central Asia”25 as the main reason for the new edition of Wood’s book and Colonel Yule was quick to remark that “few regions can present claims to interest and just curiosity so strong and various as that heart of Asia which gives birth to the Oxus.”26 Invoking, amongst others, Alexander and the histories connected to him, Yule describes the region as “a centre of primeval tradition as well as of modern theory regarding the primitive history of mankind; its past history is interwoven with that of all the great Asiatic conquerors, whilst its coming history looms on the horizon rife with all the possibilities suggested by its position on the rapidly narrowing border-land 22 23 24 25 26

Ibid., 341. Briant, The First European, 211. Cf. John Wood, A Journey to the Source of the River Oxus, by Captain John Wood, Indian Navy, With an Essay on the Geography of the Valley of the Oxus, by Colonel Henry Yule (London: John Murray, 1872). Ibid., v. Henry Yule, “The Geography and History of the Upper Waters of the Oxus,” in A Journey to the Source of the River Oxus, by Captain John Wood (London: John Murray, 1872), xxi.

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between two great empires, one of them our own.”27 Again, the diachronic outlook on Asian history is embedded within an imperial discourse that presented Britain as being already implicated in events of global (and trans-historical) significance. The implied backwardness of the countries bordering on the Oxus is thereby connected to the civilizing mission of the European empires on the one hand, but also to the memory of Alexander on the other. As Yule observed, the British were here dealing with “petty dynasties [claiming] (…) descent from Alexander of Macedon.”28 Although Yule discards this claim unequivocally, the reference to Alexander seems to be a way of attaching the cultural and imperial aspects of his discourse to a particular name that was both rooted in local history (and folklore), and that stood at the beginning of European conquest in the region.29 Although Wood had written his account of the journey to the sources of the Oxus well before Yule, the Scotsman was certainly no stranger to the geopolitical import control of the region would have in the race for hegemony in Central Asia. Wood repeatedly invoked Alexander at different points in his narrative,30 but it was especially in his discussion of the shifting tides and seasonal changes of the Indus, where the commercial and strategic aspects came to the fore: Proper vessels are now upon the Indus, and its capabilities for steam navigation will be made the most of; but we cannot help reminding such of our Indian friends as are interested in the subject, that not only are the native craft of the river well suited to its peculiarities, but are also equally adapted to the commerce for which the Indus now is, or will shortly become, the highway. In conclusion, we may remark, that there is no known river in either hemisphere, discharging even half the quantity of water that the Indus does, which is not superior for navigable purposes to this far-famed stream. In this practical age the beauty of a river is measured by its utility; and although few people could sail without emotion upon the waters that once bore the bark of Alexander, there are numbers who would willingly give up all its classical associations, could they, by so doing, obtain for it the clear channel of an American stream.31

This passage is striking for the comparison between the great navigable American rivers and the ever-changing Indus, which may have a storied past, but which brings with it its own difficulties in navigation and transport. Nonetheless, Wood sees it as a 27 28 29

30 31

Ibid. Ibid., xxxii. It is therefore no coincidence that the discussion of the various routes and strategic way markers makes up much of the essay. Cf. Yule, “The Geography and History of the Upper Waters of the Oxus,” lix-xc. This would continue to be a common framework for the reception of Alexander all throughout the century. Cf., for example, William Anderson, “Notes on the Geography of Western Afghanistan,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 18 (1849), 553–94. Cf. Wood, A Journey to the Source of the River Oxus, 20–22. Ibid., 43–44.

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“highway” that will serve as a valuable commercial trade centre, opening up new possibilities for the seafaring nation of Great Britain. He thereby uses similar formulations like Chesney and it is clear that both highlighted the economic aspects of Alexander’s march, without neglecting its valence as a model for military strategy. While this strand of reception is closely related to the discourses surrounding the Macedonian in the Enlightenment era and the early explorative missions beyond the frontier, there were also other authors for who the martial aspects of Alexander’s campaigns played an ever greater role during the tumultuous middle decades of the nineteenth century. This was certainly connected to the often violent expansionist campaigns of the East India Company, but it was also due to the lingering clash of interest with purported Russian schemes in the region. As Morison has argued, “the true policy of the frontier” dates from around the years of the First Anglo-Sikh War.32 From that period onwards, “the attempt to safeguard India by creating a West and Central Asiatic balance of power favourable to Great Britain” may still have been part of the strategy, but now “the frontier itself [became] the centre of the argument.”33 This had to do with the fact that the following years saw the annexation of the Punjab and the direct involvement in frontier policy: “British India had for the first time touched its natural limits; the frontier must now be defined and organized.”34 Only a few years prior to this critical watershed, the passionate traveler and part-time cricket player, Godfrey Thomas Vigne (1801–1863) had wondered about Alexander’s schemes in Central Asia and invoked the possible future conflict between England and Russia: “He would first have conquered,” Vigne wrote about Alexander, “and then, after a fashion, would have civilized mankind. But never yet has it been known, that two great and Christianized nations, approaching from the east and from the west, have advanced their banners to its centre, from the demi-antipodal extremes of a mighty continent, to light up – or, if Providence so wills it, extinguish for ever – the signal-beacons of a desperate and universal war of opinion.”35 The invocation of the memory of Alexander in the context of contemporary geostrategic politics could, of course, look upon a long line of predecessors, but in this period it seemed that things had taken a new turn, with both Britain and Russia expanding their respective geographical possessions. What was still a “war of opinion” could indeed flare up into a real war – or so it seemed more than once in the subsequent decades. Whereas Alexander was in the luxurious position, Vigne seemed to imply, to have been the sole contender for the rule over the region (and, alas, humankind), Britain now had to face off with a rivaling 32 33 34 35

Morison, “From Alexander Burnes to Frederick Roberts,” 184. Ibid. Ibid. Godfrey Thomas Vigne, A Personal Narrative of a Visit to Ghuzni, Kabul, and Afghanistan, and of a Residence at the Court of Dost Mohamed, With Notices of Runjit Sing, Khiva, and the Russian Expedition (London: George Routledge, 1843), 471. Vigne repeatedly drew on Alexander’s march in the course of the narrative of his own travels, cf. 10–12, 49, and 197.

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European power. Nonetheless, it was significant that it was two countries of the Western tradition which claimed hegemony in this part of the world. No matter who would gain the upper hand, they could still cite Alexander as their common predecessor. Although military associations had always been connected to the memory of Alexander the Great, they would gain ever new prominence and visibility during and in the immediate aftermath of the British annexation of the Punjab. On a basic level, this certainly had to do with the belief in the self-proclaimed mission of proving the British superiority in both military and cultural ways and thus “extended the tradition of European domination of Asia back into remotest antiquity.”36 On another level, this also had to do with a more personal interest in and fascination for the conquests of Alexander, who could be regarded as a military role model embodying different character traits and skills necessarily expected from and integral to any great, successful commander. Herbert Benjamin Edwardes (1819–1868) is a case in point.37 He had lost his parents at an early age and studied Classics and Mathematics at King’s College in London, before directly applying for a cadetship at the East India Company, where he served in the Bengal Infantry from 1841 onwards. Edwardes would be posted at different frontier stations, also regularly publishing opinion pieces and cultural essays in various journals, before attracting the attention of Sir Hugh Gough (1779–1869), the Commander-in-Chief of the Indian Army. Edwardes was employed as Gough’s personal assistant during the First Anglo-Sikh War and was finally appointed Assistant Resident at Lahore. During the outbreak of the Second Anglo-Sikh War, Edwardes made a name for himself by suppressing an armed rebellion at Multan, on his own initiative and without regular troops to assist him, relying only on irregulars and quickly assembled auxiliary troops. This turned him into a hero before his superiors and the British public, and Edwardes would continue to be deeply involved in frontier politics, also publishing widely on the subject and his own life.38 Not only was Edwardes a passionate antiquarian, who admired the ancient ruins of the Punjab, which he could not help but feel were related to either Alexander or the Greco-Bactrian kingdoms and “a period when art was in perfection.”39 But Edwardes also had a keen ear and eye for local traditions of Alexander and was quick to draw historical parallels between ancient Indian history and his own present, also reflecting on how his countrymen perceived the relationship. 36 37 38 39

Hagerman, “In the Footsteps of the ‘Macedonian conqueror’,” 380. For Edwardes cf. Henry George Keene, “Edwardes, Herbert Benjamin (1819–1868).” In Dictionary of National Biography, 1885–1900, Vol. 17, edited by Sydney Lee, 107–11. London: Smith, Elder and Co., 1889. Cf. Edwardes, A Year on the Punjab Frontier; Political Diaries of Lieutenant H. B. Edwardes, and Herbert Benjamin Edwardes, Memorials of the Life and Letters of Major-General Sir Herbert B. Edwardes, in Two Volumes (London: Kegan, Paul, Trench and Co., 1886). Edwardes, A Year on the Punjab Frontier, vol. I, 339. He uses exactly the same expression in his Political Diaries, 61.

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Writing about the building of British forts in the Punjab and along the frontier to Afghanistan, Edwardes is repeatedly amazed by the signs of antiquity unearthed during the construction work. Closely examining a “large cylindrical clay draining”40 that one of the digs brought to light, he cannot help but notice that it was shaped “to fit into the next tile, exactly as it is practiced at the present day amongst ourselves! Yet this tile was probably two thousand years old!”41 Stretching the parallel even further, Edwardes remarks about the local inhabitants that the Bunnoochee peasant may at this day be seen standing on the ruins of Akra with his feet encased in buskins exactly resembling the foot of the long Greek boot, ‘cothurnus.’ The sole is of the same shape, the thongs over the instep are crossed in the same pattern, and the toes of the wearer are thrust through in the self-some manner as we see in an ancient statue. (…) Knowing that the late Governor-General of India was an enthusiastic admirer of the military genius of Alexander the Great, I forwarded to his Lordship, as a possible vestige of the Macedonian invasion of Asia, a pair of these Bunnoochee buskins; and I believe that Lord Hardinge has them still in his possession.42

This certainly counts as one of the most curious instances of the reception of Alexander the Great in the long history of the British Indian frontier. It was one thing to draw analogies between the way military fortifications or urban infrastructures were constructed, but it was quite another to extend this interpretational framework to the way locals dressed – not to speak of taking a pair of leather shoes and sending them to a direct superior as a proof of Alexander’s past presence in the region. We do not know whether Lord Hardinge (1785–1856) ever wore the pair, probably impersonating Alexander in a stolen moment; but it is illuminating that Edwardes put emphasis on the Governor-General’s admiration of the Macedonian and that both seemed to have been equally fascinated by getting in contact with signs of any Greek presence in this part of the world – even if they only found them in peasants’ shoes. In this context, the local connection is important, not only because Edwardes used it to underlay his description of the events in the Punjab with an archaic element still to be found in the local culture that was reminiscent of many aspects written about in the ancient sources, but also because they seemed to reinforce the impression of the great (and lasting) impact made by the Macedonian conqueror. During a conversation with a Sikh official, Edwardes is thus pleased to learn that the memory of Alexander was not only part of the folkloristic culture, but seemed to encompass the natural geography as well. When they discuss the rivers in the region, Edwardes learns that

40 41 42

Edwardes, A Year on the Punjab Frontier, vol. I, 340. Ibid. Ibid., 341.

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The expression they used on this occasion, was that the Indus was a ‘hud-i-Secundur,’ or Alexandrian boundary; of which, as I had never heard before, I asked the meaning, and was informed, that they did not intend to say that Alexander the Great had decided the Indus to be their boundary, but that the Indus was an Alexander in its own peculiar way, dividing lands as it thought proper, and giving them to whom it chose, by fiats, which could neither be disputed nor resisted.43

This equation of the Macedonian’s power with that of the all-consuming force of nature certainly made an impression on Edwardes, on who the military connotations of the comparison was not lost. After all, he was quick to draw parallels between Alexander’s policies and that of the British, and the implicit logic of the metaphor to take as tertium comparationis the power to distribute (or to take away) land was perfectly apparent to Edwardes. In his own writings, the transcultural aspect of the memory of Alexander is thus present throughout most his texts; however, Edwardes usually transforms it in a way so that it works in the Britons’ favor, underlining the cultural as well as military superiority of the European power. Accordingly, he frames the history of the Punjab (and of all of India) in primarily martial and imperialistic terms, whereby the local people and the country are attributed a merely passive role: “The history of their country is a long march of successive dynasties – conqueror trampling upon conqueror, race overturning race.”44 Edwardes saw this process as beginning first with the Persians and then continuing with Alexander, until it finally came full circle with the British that are the last in a long line of foreign conquerors: But the changes of Indian history have yet to reach their climax, for it goes to tell us as a fact that in the end there came a handful of white men across the Western sea to be lords over those dark Indians, supposed to be two hundred millions in number; that these little British Isles of ours have dominated for a hundred years over that vast continent fourteen times their size; that the seat of Eastern empire was transferred to Europe, from the banks of the Jumna to the banks of the Thames; and that the world has lived to see a knot of English officers in sword and sash sitting round a table in the old Imperial capital to try one Buhadoor Shah, lineal descendant of the Great Moghuls, sometime King of Delhi, and presently a British prisoner, on the charge of disturbing the public peace of India! Can change go farther? Yes. It might, and Englishmen can hardly find a more deeply interesting theme for speculation than whether it will let us tonight consider it a little, and try to take away with us suggestions to be thought out hereafter – impressions that, perhaps gaining strength from reflection, may some day influence for good a vote, a life, a people.45

43 44 45

Ibid., 386. Edwardes, Memorials of the Life and Letters of Major-General Sir Herbert B. Edwardes, vol. II, 217. Ibid., 219.

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To Edwardes, there is no more emblematic scene of British supremacy than the sight of British officers holding court over an Indian nobleman. Again, the military aspect of “sword and sash” frames the passage and highlights the astounding feat of subjugating a country and a people many times the size of Britain. Although Edwardes does not explicitly allude to the similar accomplishment of Alexander of conquering an empire far exceeding the comparatively small Macedonia from which he initially hailed, the analogy immediately suggests itself, considering how explicitly Edwardes draws on the Macedonian’s memory throughout his writings. All in all, the passage is indicative of how the conquest of the Punjab and the integration of British India into the Empire proper spurred a discourse of domination and one-sided reform – modeled, amongst other things, upon the great empires of antiquity. Edwardes was not the only British official recurring to the example of Alexander the Great in discussing the European conquest and presence in the Punjab. Another one was General James Abbott (1807–1896). Abbott was one of the most prominent of military officers in British India,46 not the least known – quite in the fashion of Alexander – for the foundation of the city Abbottabad. The son of a merchant involved in the trade with India, Abbott had joined the Bengal Artillery at the age of sixteen and spent the next years on various small missions and surveys, including an excursion to Khiva in an attempt to thwart Russian invasion plans.47 Abbott served as assistant to the Resident in Indore prior to the First Anglo-Sikh War and was chosen by the Agent of the Governor-General, Sir Henry Lawrence (1806–1857), as one of “the Paladins of the Punjab,” whose mission was to formally advise the Sikh rulers.48 In a feat similar to the military initiative of Edwardes, Abbott defended the Margalla Pass after the outbreak of the Second Anglo-Sikh War with only a small number of soldiers, largely relying on his own resources and tactics. This also led to his appointment as Deputy Commissioner of Hazara in the war’s aftermath and to his promotion to General by his retirement in 1877. That Abbott was not solely occupied with administrative or military commitments can be seen from his various publications appearing throughout his time in the Punjab. Some of them explicitly dealt with the history of Alexander the Great. In an article on the battlefield of Alexander and Porus, written shortly before the outbreak of the Second Anglo-Sikh War, Abbott cannot help but remark the great accuracy of the ancient authors in describing the landscape around the Hydaspes: “The river is at this moment so exactly as described by Alexander’s historians, that the map [accompanying 46 47 48

On Abbott in general cf. Nicholas Storey, Great British Adventurers (Yorkshire: Pen and Sword Books, 2012), 29–32. Also Lyon, Butcher and Bolt, 87–90. Cf. on this James Abbott, Narrative of a Journey from Heraut to Khiva, Moscow, and St. Petersburgh, During the Late Russian Invasion of Khiva: With Some Account of the Court of Khiva and the Kingdom of Khaurism (London: Smith, 1843). Cf. on this episode in Abbott’s life also Charles Allen, Soldier Sahibs: The Men Who Made the NorthWest Frontier (London: John Murray, 2000), 128–82.

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the essay] might seem rather an ancient than a modern production.”49 Comparing the present geography with the accounts of the past, “there can be no question,” according to Abbott, “that this is the channel across which the Macedonian army waded, breastdeep, on that eventful morning.”50 Discussing at length the different strategic positions of Alexander’s and Porus’ armies, Abbott is driven to a sweeping narrative of the battle augmented by metaphorical language and comparisons (“Then, like a whirlwind burst upon the devoted wings of the Indian the iron clad Macedonian chivalry”).51 It is clear that the author is so taken by his own narrative that the colorful description of the historical events overshadows the scholarly analytical discourse – an aspect that Abbott comes close to realizing himself, when he tries to evaluate the truthfulness of the ancient accounts of the battle: I would not give in to the notion that any thing is exaggerated by the Greek historians. Such an idea would, I think, lead us astray. Their history, like their sculpture, emanates from a mental organization most critically balanced. (…) So far as my own observation extends, (and I have wandered over a large portion of Alexander’s track) the difficulties are actually underrated: the descriptions so truthful that on visiting the scene, the dramatis personae seem to confront us, and that wonderful series of conquests seems but the work of yesterday.52

From his narrative, it seems as if Abbott was literally taken back in time when visiting the presumed site of the battle and by his reading of the ancient texts – or, rather, as if he transferred the events of the past into the present, where new battles would be fought near those very same places that had seen Alexander involved in a most difficult campaign. Thereby, the lines dividing the different time frames and historical protagonists are increasingly blurred, reinforcing the sense of identification with the Macedonian’s conquest. This latter aspect is commented on by the description of a local custom, allegedly connected to the time of Alexander: I may perhaps be accused of extravagance in fancying I can trace the course of the Macedonian conqueror in a singular custom prevalent throughout the tract. On the appearance of a Chief or Governor, the women run together and sing poems in praise. The chaunt is every where the same: but it is not often easy to catch the words. When I have succeeded, I have found them to consist in repetitions of ‘the conquering Raja, victorious in battle!’ Grecian habits sit ill upon the Hindu persons. The obligation to be bashful, imposed by eastern decorum, struggling with a determination to maintain privilege not always agree49 50 51 52

James Abbott, “Some Account of the Battle Field of Alexander and Porus,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 17 (1848), 620. Ibid., 622. Ibid., 624. Ibid., 628.

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able to their Lords, drives the women together in clusters, with faces to the centre: whilst the display of untidy linen and the ravages of time upon such faces as are visible, are dangerous to a reader of Macbeth. Nevertheless the custom is decidedly derived from the followers of Bacchus or of Alexander.53

In this passage, Abbott cannot conceal the open resentment, if not outright disgust he feels in the face of the local female population of the Punjab that he likens to Shakespearean witches in their downtrodden appearance. Abbott’s discourse contains a good deal of misogyny and racism on the one hand, and further elaborates on his reception of Alexander on the other. He compares the devoted greetings of the British officials on part of the local population with the way they might have received a Hellenistic monarch. Thereby, the context of European conquest and victory is expressly underlined and finds its visible result in the submissive gesture of the local females, whose chant is evocative of the Maenads during a Dionysian procession. As in Edwardes’ interpretation of the local dress and the influence of the Greeks upon it, it is unclear in how far Abbott’s description is a mere exaggeration or gives way to misinterpretation of indigenous customs. What is clear, however, is that Alexander was used as the focal point around which associations of the victorious invasion of the Punjab revolved, evocative of a vast range of connotations and possible interpretations that truly allowed British officials to feel like a conquering hero of old. Abbott continued to be fascinated with the localities and supposed sites of the ancient Greek presence in India. In another essay on two of Alexander’s city foundations, Nicaea and Bucephala, Abbott was again concerned with connecting his own autopsy of the Indian landscape to his reading of the ancient sources. As he concedes, “the history of Alexander” has a fascination “which so powerfully affects the imagination and interests the affections,”54 that it seems almost impossible to remain unimpressed by it. Abbott goes on to discuss the probable location of the Alexandrian foundations on the Hydaspes river, also remarking that many Indian towns in the region have Greek roots.55 But it is not before Abbott notices that the likely position of the cities founded by Alexander lies in the region near Chillianwala, where one of the bloodiest battles of the Second Anglo-Sikh War had been fought, that his reception of Alexander takes on a new quality. “In comparing together the great battles fought upon the Jelum,” he writes, “we are struck with certain resemblances.”56 After listing the number of combatants taking sides with Porus and Alexander, and Sher Singh and Lord Gough re-

53 54 55 56

Ibid., 629. James Abbott, “On the Sites of Nikaia and Boukephalon,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 21 (1853), 232. “Even Alexander’s capital in Huzara is Sikundurpoor, which is a translation of Alexandria.” Ibid., 237. Abbott, “On the Sites of Nikaia and Boukephalon,” 237.

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spectively, and underlining how similar the relative strength of the numbers of troops involved in the battles was, Abbott further notes: “In both cases also the battle was fought on the eastern bank, the Sikhs insanely throwing away the formidable advantage which the high western banks of the very dangerous river Hydaspes would have afforded them. In both cases the victory was for the stranger, and the child of the soil was subdued.”57 The historical analogy here almost culminates in an identification of the British with Macedonians, and of the present Sikh troops with the Indians of antiquity – quite as if the latter had faced Alexander and had repeated their tactical mistake when a new power stood at their borders. “But here the parallel ceases,”58 Abbott writes at this point, as if to warn himself not to stretch the analogy too far, but he nonetheless adds a remarkable portrait of the Macedonian conqueror that fashions him as the military role model per se: And let him who would emulate in a better cause deeds that live fresh in memory after the lapse of two thousand years, study the masterly manoeuvre of Alexander, the sagacity which conceived, the patient toil which matured, the consummate skill and courage which completed the operation. Above all let him see what distinguished Alexander from other conquerors and secured to his successors for many centuries the dominion of the world. Many have united Alexander’s courage, a skill little inferior to his, and have led troops equally hardy and equally disciplined to the conquest of foreign realms. But how few have united to those soldierly attributes, the princely generosity, the simple manners, the hardy habits, the good faith, the handsome sentiments of others, the truly gentlemany spirit of the hero, which distinguished Alexander beyond almost every character of history, attached to him his soldiers, won the hearts of his enemies, and needed but more perfect light to have made him a model for the human race.59

Abbott’s lines belong within the realm of the most emphatic receptions of Alexander along the British Indian frontier. They contain every aspect of the references to the Macedonian conqueror by British colonial officers, including his martial valor and strategic thinking, his masculine chivalry and virtue, and also his human qualities. It is not only that Abbott demands that every British soldier should look upon Alexander as a true role model in deed and spirit, but he even turns Alexander into an exemplary gentleman – the quintessential expression of British masculinity per se! In many ways, Alexander was imbued with more British qualities than the Britons themselves could pretend to have mustered. Hagerman, who has compiled and discussed many of the examples of classical references in British Indian colonial discourse, has shown how these receptions could be used to reinforce “aspects of corporate imperial identity 57 58 59

Ibid., 238. Ibid. Ibid.

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among elite Britons, such as the civilizing mission and general character.”60 Abbott was certainly a case in point, combining the “symbolic power” of the Alexander reception with the martial identification it entailed.61 There was yet another Briton actively serving in the Punjab, who repeatedly evoked the Macedonian’s feats in his memoirs and writings, namely General Charles James Napier (1782–1853).62 Born into a family with ties to the royal house, Napier spent almost all of his life in the military. Having already served as an able officer in the wars against Napoleon Bonaparte, Napier took command of the Indian Army in 1842. In the wake of the First Anglo-Afghan War, Napier conquered Sindh and became a national hero. However, he never took a liking in local politics, with his views often opposed to those of the leaders of the East India Company. Accordingly, Napier had already settled for a quieter life back home, when he was called to the Punjab at the outbreak of the Second Anglo-Sikh War, which had practically been won by the time he arrived there. Nonetheless, Napier took on the position of Commander-in-Chief and was involved in frontier politics for some time, before his final return to England shortly before his death. Other than some of his contemporaries, Napier did not publish a lot, but he remained an outspoken critic of many tendencies of the British Indian policy, a collection of which was published posthumously, also containing many autobiographical sketches. Like Edwardes and Abbott, Napier repeatedly drew on Alexander’s feats in the north of India, noticing local customs and the signs of former Greek presence.63 Nonetheless, he was not quite as taken by the alleged sites of the great battles as his contemporaries; forcing himself to visit “the site of the great battle between Alexander and Porus”64 despite an ailment, he is sorry to remark “there was no trace of the few points which should yet exist, and it is difficult to believe those great soldiers, whose words and deeds have lived through more than two thousand years, there fought.”65 As he further points out, “deficient histories, and a river playing as many tricks as a kitten, offer no satisfactory marks for tracing the site of a great battle”66 and although the General is disappointed not to see some signs of the ponderous events that had taken place on the Jhelum’s banks, he chooses not to doubt that he is indeed standing on grounds steeped in history.

60 61 62 63 64 65 66

Hagerman, Britain’s Imperial Muse, 179. Hagerman, “In the Footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,” 386. Cf. on Napier: William F. Butler, Sir Charles Napier (London: Macmillan, 1890) and Robert Hamilton Vech, “Napier, Charles James (1782–1853),” in Dictionary of National Biography, 1885–1900, Vol. 40, ed. Sydney Lee (London: Smith, Elder and Co., 1894), 45–54. Charles James Napier, Defects Civil and Military of the Indian Government (London: Charles Westerton, 1853), 65. Ibid., 64. Ibid. Ibid.

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After all, Napier had the example of Alexander in mind when talking about the dangers of tribal territories around the frontier: “The danger of warring in the Eusofzye country was impressed upon my mind by history and by experience. Alexander the Great lost an Army more to the Westward, – the great Akbar lost two Armies in the Eusofzye mountains, and we lost one at Cabul not very far from the same place.”67 Although Napier thus not solely puts the focus on victory in his reception of Alexander, he nonetheless establishes a connection between the imperial history of the Macedonian up to the present experiences of the British armies fighting along the frontier. He even goes as far as comparing his own position in command with that of Alexander, using the latter’s memory as a bargaining strategy of demanding undivided control over the British troops: “An Indian Commander-in-Chief may in a moment find himself, without preparation, responsible for the safety of the Indian empire.”68 Writing about Alexander, Napier continues: “Many are the examples of danger from divided power in war from the pernicious interference of civil authorities; and also of military men invested with civil power – politicals. Alexander the Great sent a force against Spitamenes under the orders of Pharnuches, a Lycian political, who had doubtless passed a ‘splendid examination in the Persian language’ but was, of course, cut to pieces by Spitamenes, the Akbar Khan of those days.”69 Once more, it is interesting to note that Napier invokes strategic blunders made by Alexander, who he nevertheless continues to perceive as a visionary in the true sense of the term.70 Yet, this episode is not meant to diminish the Macedonian’s standing as an outstanding commander, but rather to ridicule the paper bureaucrats, who, with no other experience than great exams, come to the frontier in order to determine the politics of the day. What is needed, Napier suggests, are not “politicals”, but rather trained military leaders, knowing how to deal with tribal leaders like Khan, who had played a pivotal role in the First Anglo-Afghan War. The memory of Alexander is therefore again viewed from a martial stance. Even if the Macedonian had lived more than two thousand years ago and came from a different cultural context, in war, the British colonial officers and their great role model spoke the same language. As Hagerman has argued, the “martial identification seems to have been made easier by the remarkable similarity in the nature of the operations he [i. e. Alexander] conducted and those conducted by the British in the same regions during much of the period.”71 His claim can indeed be supported by numerous parallels drawn between Alexander and the British Indian military campaigns in British historiography and

67 68 69 70 71

Ibid., 113. Ibid., 221. Ibid., 221–22 (emphasis original). Cf. ibid., 353–54. Hagerman, “In the Footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,” 385.

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press articles from the second half of the nineteenth century.72 This parallel was both perceived in terms of a ‘national’ spirit73 as well as in the military achievements and victories won by both the Britons and the Macedonians.74 It also encompassed forms of memorization of fallen soldiers, whose remains were buried in symbolic places, like the fortress of Multan, a “historic height, which gives the command of the whole middle valley of the Indus” and from where “successive conquerors, Greek, Hindu, Muhammadan, Sikh, British, had proudly looked down,” with “memorials of a long heroic past” spreading across the scenery.75 This passage again underlines the aspects of military heroism, successful conquest, and the tradition of imperial rule in India as carried on by the British so prevalent in the writings of military officers serving in the Punjab. Their writings were not merely the outgrowth of an overreaching self-confidence or a military chauvinism, but also an integral part of how the memory of Alexander the Great was integrated into present experiences of warfare and the self-representational mechanisms of the colonial state. It would remain a common framework of reference well into the twentieth century and the era of decolonization. How far-reaching this particular case of the cultural memory of the Macedonian proved, can actually be seen in Robin Lane Fox’s modern Alexander biography, where he discusses Alexander’s battle against the Malli side by side with the British battles fought in the region, including those led by Edwardes.76 This alone shows how much the memories of Alexander’s conquest and of British India have come to be conflated – that they practically cannot be disentangled is above all the result of the writings of the men discussed in this chapter. The next part will deal with the question how local traditions came to undermine the British self-image in the subsequent decades of the nineteenth century.

72 73 74

75 76

For this cf. also ibid., 386–90, as well as Hagerman, Britain’s Imperial Muse, 178–80. Cf., for instance, the anonymous review article on India in the Classics: Anonymous, “Rev. of Megasthenis Indica: Fragmenta collegit; commentationem et indices additit, by E. A. Schwanbeck,” The Calcutta Review 28 (1857), 276 and 291. Cf. the comparisons between the British army and that of Alexander in Charles Macfarlane, History of British India: From the Earliest English Intercourse With Continuation to the Termination of the Late Afghan War (London: George Routledge, 1881), 321. For similar comparisons cf. also Richard Temple, Men and Events of My Time in India (London: John Murray, 1882), 40 and 83–84, as well as William Henry Sleeman, Rambles and Recollections of an Indian Official, in Two Volumes (London: J. Hatchard and Son, 1844), vol I., 470, and William Stephen Raikes Hodson, Twelve Years a Soldier’s Life in India (Boston: Ticknor and Sons, 1860), 189. William Wilson Hunter, Rulers of India: Marquess of Dalhousie (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1890), 84. On this passage also Hagerman, “In the Footsteps of the ‘Macedonian Conqueror’,” 388 and Hagerman, Britain’s Imperial Muse, 178. Cf. Lane Fox, Alexander der Große, 498–99.

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5.2 Alexander’s Descendants: Colonial Ethnography and the Strange Case of the Kafirs From the late eighteenth century onwards, strange rumors circulated amongst British colonial geographers and explorers of a remote Afghan tribe, living somewhere amongst the remotest corners of the Hindu Kush, which claimed descent from Alexander’s Macedonians, with numerous chieftains even saying that they were direct heirs of the great ancient king. Starting with Rennell and Elphinstone, many explorers like Burnes and Masson would write about the tribe in their travelogues without ever having visited their territories; however, the fascination, incited by the mystery of the Kafirs’ alleged heritage, remained strong until the first British explorers entered the regions referred to as “Kafiristan” in the last decades of the nineteenth century. It seemed that the Britons, who had claimed the distinction of following in Alexander’s footsteps themselves, finally faced a group that did not even have to pretend to emulate the Macedonian conqueror, but that purported to be a direct result of his historical presence in the region. It goes without saying that their claim posed a problem for the British explorers in so far, as the truth of their supposed ancestry could not be verified by hearsay alone; the more so, as the imperial self-image and the British belief in cultural superiority would not allow for an ethno-cultural lineage that ascribed to a seemingly backward or even barbaric indigenous group European roots – not to mention a kinship to Alexander and his heroic Macedonians. As already mentioned earlier, this honor was reserved for the Britons alone, connected to a highly topical discourse of military accomplishment, victory, and heroism. This meant that indigenous origin stories tracing local population groups and their settlement back to the ancient Greeks in the east had to be, if not always challenged, then at least questioned. They became part of an ethnographic discourse, entangled with the issue of negotiating colonial identities, and with drawing racial and cultural lines between colonizers and colonized. There was, however, another element implicated in the discourse, one closely connected to the geostrategic problem of how to safeguard the frontier against Russian expansionist tendencies. The plan of establishing Afghanistan as a buffer state had repeatedly been thwarted in the course of the century, but the Kafirs were independent enough in that the design of winning them for a possible coalition looked promising to some, if not all, of the British military strategists.77 And the memory of Alexander, no matter whether based on the fiction or fact of an ostensible lineage, could prove to be a valuable connecting link. This had not always been apparent to British colonial officers. In 1859, Henry George Raverty (1825–1906), who served in the British Indian Army and who would make a

77

Cf. Marx, “How We Lost Kafiristan,” 51.

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name for himself as a renowned orientalist as well as linguist, wrote one of the first proper articles on the Kafirs.78 Like many of the soldiers discussed in the previous part, Raverty was involved in the Second Anglo-Sikh War and served in Peshawar for a prolonged period, during which he learned Pushto, one of the main Afghan languages, and studied the poetry of the country. Over the years, he accumulated a great stock of knowledge on the tribes of the north-west frontier, much of which he published after his retirement from the military,79 but by the late 1850s he had already learned enough to make him an expert in Afghan affairs. Still, Raverty had to admit that the available information on the Kafirs was sparse, with many sources of a rather nebulous manner.80 Raverty quoted most of the authors, who had written on the subject, like Elphinstone and Burnes, but he did not solely rely on contemporary information, making a fairly long excursion in which he drew on ancient authors like Strabo and Arrian (and thus on Alexander historians) as well as Herodotus in sketching out what little was known of the geography of the country and its sociocultural history. Raverty made clear that the denomination “Kafirs” was a misnomer, in so far as the perceived collective actually consisted of various tribes with heterogeneous forms of communal organization. Of their origin, however, Raverty could not say much, except that “The Sí’áh-posh tribes have no history, as far as I can discover, by which we could attempt to trace their origin, neither have they any written character whatever; and the whole of the different tribes speak the same language. They, however, claim brotherhood with the Frangis (…).”81 Raverty goes on to relate a curious episode that happened towards the end of the year 1839, shortly after the outbreak of the First Anglo-Afghan War, when the Sháh [i. e. Shujah] and Sir W. McNaghten had gone down to Jelálábád for winter-quarters [and] a deputation of the Sí’áh-posh Káfirs came in from Núrgil to pay their respects, and, as it appeared, to welcome us as relatives. If I recollect right there were some thirty or forty of them, and they made the entry into our lines with bag-pipes playing. An Afghán Peon [i. e. an Afghan servant], sitting outside of Edward Conolly’s tent, on seeing these savages rushed into his master’s presence exclaiming: “Here they are, Sir! They are all come! Here are all your relations!” Conolly looked up, amazed from his writing, and

78 79

80 81

Cf. Henry George Raverty, “Notes on Káfiristán,” Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 28 (1859), 317–68. Cf. Henry George Raverty, Notes on Afghánistan and Parts of Balúchistán: Geographical, Ethnographical, and Historical, Extracted From the Writings of Little Known Afghán and Tájzík Historians, Geographers, and Genealogists, the Histories of the Ghúrís, the Turk Sovereigns of the Dilí Kingdom, the Mughal Sovereigns of the House of Tímúr, and Other Muhammadan Chronicles, and From Personal Observation (London: George Edward Eyre and William Spottiswoode, 1880). Raverty, “Notes on Káfiristán,” 317. Ibid., 345. “Siah-posh” was another way of referring to the Kafirs, literally meaning “black-clad” from their specific dress, while the latter term, “Feringi”, originally from “Frank”, referred to the Europeans coming to Afghanistan

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asked what on earth he meant; when the Peon, with a very innocent face, pointed out the skin-clad men of the mountains, saying, “There! Don’t you see them? Your relatives, the Kafirs?”82

Raverty had apparently heard this episode from Conolly himself, who had initially thought that his Afghan servant was playing a joke on him. Yet, as it turned out, the Afghan was all too familiar with the tradition that attributed a European heritage to the Kafirs. We cannot know whether this episode ever happened like this, but it throws an interesting light on the perceived difference between European, respectively British attitudes towards local traditions, and indigenous knowledge. This was, of course, no fact- or source-based knowledge, but rather one grounded on communicative interaction and stories transmitted over generations. This is also why Raverty emphasized that the Kafirs did not possess any writing, thus discursively opening up a marked cultural difference between the alleged “relatives.” The perceived cultural gap between the two groups was all the more interesting, however, because it provided the foundations for the kind of ethnographical study that Raverty was attempting himself. Like Conolly, he felt that a chance had been lost when the Kafirs were briskly refused, since this would have given the Britons the chance “to explore their country”83 – a feat that would have to wait for another three decades. Raverty did not explicitly explain wherein the Kafirs’ claim to be related to the Europeans consisted, maybe because it had been aptly recorded by authors before him. The regions of the north-west frontier had been associated with the march of Alexander since antiquity, and there existed a vague tradition giving account of possible descendants still living in the regions for a few centuries.84 Marco Polo (ca. 1254–1324) had first mentioned local origin stories attaching indigenous groups firmly to Alexander’s name,85 but it was not until Major James Rennell and Mountstuart Elphinstone wrote their great works on Indian geography and Afghan culture that the issue entered the consciousness of British explorers. Basing his argument on travel writings as well as Arab sources, Rennell equated Alexander’s Bazira with Bijore and argued that veterans of the Macedonian’s army could well have settled in the region, intermixing with local groups.86 Comparing Rennell’s remarks on the subject to the Persian Ain-i Akbari, Vasunia shows that the discourse “conflated two separate traditions about the 82 83 84 85 86

Ibid., 345–46. On this passage also Marx, “How We Lost Kafiristan,” 49, and Corinne Fowler, Chasing Tales: Travel Writing, Journalism, and the History of British Ideas about Afghanistan (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2007), 45–46. Raverty, “Notes on Káfiristán,” 346. Some of the local traditions related to Alexander were certainly due to Asian versions of the Alexander Romance. Cf. Ball, “Some Talk of Alexander,” 142. Cf. Henry Yule and Henri Cordier (ed.), The Book of Ser Marco Polo, the Venetian, Concerning the Kingdoms and Marvels of the East, in Two Volumes (London: John Murray, 1903), 157. Cf. Rennell, Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan, 161–63.

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north-west, the first having to do with the purported influx of one of the lost tribes of Israel (…) and the second with the descendants of the Greeks.”87 Elphinstone, who had read Rennell, followed up the alleged relationship during his mission to Kabul: “(…) we were not long at Peshawer before we began to inquire after our Macedonian neighbours,”88 the Scotsman wrote and would, eventually, send a local guide, Moolah Najeeb, to gain more information on the fascinating group of people and their country, much of what was included in Elphinstone’s standard work on Afghanistan. He also used the term Kafiristan to designate their country, located in north-eastern Afghanistan – a term derived from the Arab “kafir,” literally meaning “unbeliever.”89 Muslim missionaries had not been able to penetrate some of the regions of the Hindu Kush and the Kafirs, notorious for their violence against neighboring Muslims, had themselves shown a great deal of resilience towards foreign influence. The only outside influence, or so it seemed, that had ever touched upon this desolate region of Central Asia was – at least if one could trust local tradition – Alexander the Great. “The thrill aroused by the existence of a group of people who might be the descendants of Alexander and racially closer to Europeans than their Afghan neighbours led to intense speculation”90 amongst British travelers, explorers, and military officers. Edward Thornton’s (1799–1875) Gazetteer about the countries bordering on the north-west frontier from 1844 had already an own entry for “Kafiristan.”91 In it, Thornton mentioned that the Kafirs “are themselves fond of claiming affinity with the Feringis, or Europeans”92 and elaborated on the alleged Macedonian descent. He did not discard it altogether, but also tried to come up with other possible origins of the Kafirs, ascribing it, amongst other options, to a wandering Afghan tribe initially migrating from the regions around Candahar. After all, the connection of their ancestry to Alexander’s conquest might as well have “arisen from some confused traditions respecting the Greco-Bactrian empire.”93 Nevertheless, Thornton also admitted “that nothing cogent can be urged against the opinion that they [i. e. the Kafirs] are the aboriginal population of the country which they now inhabit.”94 Although the local claim of Greek heritage was thus handled with utmost caution, it continued to attract attention, especially towards the latter decades of the nineteenth century. This was partly due to political reasons. The reasons why “Kafiristan had be-

87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94

Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 79. Elphinstone, An Account of the Kingdom of Caubul, vol. II, 373. Marx, “How We Lost Kafiristan,” 44. Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 77. Cf. also Ball, “Some Talk of Alexander, 135. Cf. Edward Thornton, A Gazetteer of the Countries Adjacent to India on the North-West: Including Sinde, Afghanistan, Beloochistan, the Punjab, and the Neighbouring States, in Two Volumes (London: W. H. Allen, 1844), vol. I, 318–27. Ibid., 326. Ibid. Ibid., 326–27.

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come a region of strategic and military importance to the British government”95 were connected to the colonial politics in the wake of the Indian Mutiny as well as Russian imperialism. The memory of Alexander, so often evoked in the geographical and political publications of the time, had contributed to the notion “that the North-West Frontier had been the route through which all the historic invaders of the subcontinent had come.”96 As Johnson points out, “Russian annexations in central Asia between 1864 and 1873 seemed to indicate that another threat of invasion now loomed on the horizon,” since “each annexation brought the tsar’s armies closer to the Indian borders.”97 One result was the diplomatic attempt to negotiate the border between British India, Afghanistan, and the neighboring territories in Central Asia in 1869 –a task that would lead to numerous surveys and occupy much of the explorative work of the next decades. While the immediate aftermath of the annexation of Sindh (1842) and the Punjab (1849) had seen various trans-border expeditions that included small military offensives against traditionally restless bordering tribes, British India had pursued a closed border-policy that prevented British officers and explorers to leave crown territory.98 Meanwhile, Sher Ali, the son of Dost Mohammend, had become the Afghan Amir (1869–1878), pursuing an increasingly independent and aggressive policy, which alarmed some border tribes as well as the British administration, leading to an official conference of the leading figures on both sides of the frontier in 1869. The British administrative system was, however, primarily based on the mediation of indigenous intermediaries, who often pursued their own interest. This led to an inconsequent policy as well as to an incomplete knowledge of the Afghan tribes, their customs, and their territories. Lord Lytton (1831–1891), the new Viceroy of India, i. e. the new head of the British administration in India, from 1876 onwards (up until 1880), pursued a more open, but also more offensive strategy that was determined to oppose further Russian advance in the region and to turn Afghanistan into a British satellite state. Lytton’s ultimate vision was the creation of a West Afghan state, dependent on British India that should secure the frontier line, ideally situated north of the Hindu Kush. When Sher Ali did not receive a British delegation, Lytton saw plenty of reasons for an invasion, which sparked off the Second Anglo-Afghan War 1878–1880. The plans of firmly installing a British military administration were yet threatened by tribal revolts, so that Lytton finally decided to accept the formerly exiled Abdur Rhaman Khan as new Amir. The situation as it presented itself was highly unsatisfactory for British administrators,

95 96 97 98

Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 82. Johnson, Spying for Empire, 105. Ibid. Cf. Martin Ewans, Securing the Indian Frontier in Central Asia: Confrontation and Negotiation, 1865– 1895 (London: Routledge, 2010).

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the more so as it led to a new non-interference policy that limited their own scopes of action. In this context, “Kafiristan, though still ‘unpenetrated’ in 1880, was clearly a piece in this political game.”99 As Major Gordon wrote in an opinion piece in the Times, one option for British policy makers was to form an alliance, offensive or defensive, with the people of the country, misnamed by the Afghans Kafiristan, bordering on and commanding the whole of the Cabul Valley and the Kyber, at a distance of barely 50 miles – a race of brave warriors, numbering nearly a million, calling themselves Kami or Kamedshi, descendants of the Greek colonies left by Alexander at Candahar (Iskandahar – i. e., the city of Alexander) and at Cabul (Kampul the city of the Kami), who love us and call us their European bretheren, and have repeatedly spent piteous appeals to us for our help and alliance against their hated Afghan foes, who find a religious delight in murdering them as infidels and profit in kidnapping and selling them for slaves, they being white like Europeans.100

The link to Alexander and his Greeks was particularly emphasized by Gordon both to convince his readers of a possible diplomatic tie to the Kafirs based on a purported ethnic relationship, and to raise historic imperial associations on the other. Gordon thus used the memory of Alexander as a discursive strategy, not referring to the doubts that other authors had regarding their self-proclaimed ancestry. In 1880, things were not as easy or evident as suggested by Gordon, neither politically nor ethnographically. The year marked the publication of John Biddulph’s book The Tribes of the Hindoo Koosh, an ethnographic account of the then available knowledge about the different Afghan mountain tribes. Biddulph (1840–1921) had first served as a soldier in the British Indian army and later embarked on an administrative career, spending most of his time in Kashmir. He also undertook an expedition to Chinese Turkestan and could add many personal experiences and observations to his writings. Moreover, Biddulph reported on the existing traditions regarding the Kafirs and local memories of Alexander’s march in general.101 As becomes apparent from his account, and as we can already see from the small section at the beginning of this chapter, Biddulph was not one who openly embraced indigenous claims of a Macedonian heritage. He was wary of the historical value of oral traditions and thought that it was a kind of common reflex of the tribes located around the Hindu Kush to take vague memories of Alexander as a foil upon which to draw up colorful tribal histories, connected to claims of legitimization and power. Nonetheless, Biddulph also saw these indigenous stories

99 Marx, “How We Lost Kafiristan,” 51. 100 R. Gordon, “Kafiristan,” The Times, February 5 (1880), in An Annotated Bibliography of Nuristan (Kafiristan) and the Kalash Kafirs of Chitral. Part One, ed. Schuyler Jones (Copenhagen: Munksgaard, 1966), 40–41. Also Marx, “How We Lost Kafiristan,” 51–52. 101 Cf. on the latter aspect, Biddulph, The Tribes of the Hindoo Koosh, 146–47.

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as part of a living tradition of the Macedonian and his conquests, which, on the one hand, proved Alexander’s enduring impact and, on the other, could be used as the case for an ethnographic inquiry. Reflecting on how historical meaning is made up amongst the tribes of the Hindu Kush, Biddulph noted that Whether it is a ruined tower, whose history is buried in oblivion, or a trace of a higher civilization than now exists, the great name of Alexander is invoked to supply the gap in local tradition. In spite of the twenty-two centuries that have elapsed, and the many storms of conquest that since his time have swept over Asia, the invasion of the Oxus States by the son of Philip is still the great historical landmark in the mind of every man.102

Biddulph thereby elaborated on the dynamic, if often vague – and in a historical sense certainly unsatisfactory – nature of memory and the “floating gap”103 inherent in orally transmitted information, and across many generations. Whereas the first generations, still connected to a historical event, may have, at least in theory, a more or less accurate version of the past, much of it is lost as one generation gives way to another, transforming and shifting shape until a highly modified and contorted historical narrative emerges. This narrative, in turn, has almost nothing to do with the original past occurrence; but this does not mean that it cannot be used to establish and negotiate historical experiences and collective identities, attributing meaning to specific places, people, or, indeed, whole groups. Biddulph seems to have been interested in this process of communal identity construction and the creation of specific traditions. In this context, he attributed to Alexander the role as a place holder, substituting and filling in blanks in indigenous forms of cultural memory. In consequence, it did not matter so much whether the local claims were based on factual truth, but rather that the Kafirs and other tribes made it their truth, adopting Alexander as one of their own and thus inscribing themselves into history. Even if the purported Greco-Macedonian (or, rather, Bactrian) descent was not taken at face value by most British commentators, it, in fact, heightened European interest in the Kafirs and safeguarded, amongst other aspects, the tribal presence in British knowledge institutions. The ninth edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica (1875–1889) already had an own entry on “Kafiristan.”104 From the outset, its author, Sir Henry Yule (who had also written the foreword to the reprint of Wood’s Journey to the Sources of the River Oxus), commented on the relatively new focus on the tribal territory, stating that it was only “within the last hundred years (…) established in geography as the name of a mountain tract on the north of Afghanistan, occupied by tribes which have resisted 102 Ibid., 147. 103 Cf. Jan Vansina, Oral Tradition as History (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1985). 104 Cf. Henry Yule, s. v. “Kafiristian,” Encyclopedia Britannica, 9th ed. (London: A&C Black, 1882), 820–23.

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conversion to the faith which prevails on every side.”105 This was, of course, the British viewpoint and attests to the geostrategic import the region had, in the meantime, acquired. Like other authors before him, who Yule quotes in his brief article, he explains that the Kafirs are, in fact, a whole number of tribes, possibly “belonging to one general race.”106 Yule did not mention the possible Greco-Bactrian descent at this point, noting, however, that “in two (…) Kafir clans, Aspins and Ashkins, one is tempted to trace remnants of the Aspasii and Assaceni of Alexander’s historians, whose seat was about Kuner, Bajaur, and Dir.”107 In this context, it is important that Yule neither drew on local traditions nor on other ethnographic writings, but rather relied on philology and linguistic analogies to ancient sources. This was partly due to the fact that, by the early 1880s, Afghanistan was still a primarily closed off country to Britons, so that ancient texts came to figure prominently in trying to lift the veil on the historical identity of the Kafirs. A notable exception was Colonel Tanner (1835–1898), who had been born in Australia, but returned to England when his family re-migrated and who joined the Bombay Field Artillery in 1854. He later became part of the Government Survey Department, embarking on dangerous survey missions in Afghanistan, particularly in the Chugani and Kunar valleys beyond Jelalabad, where he also looked for possible routes to Kafiristan.108 Tanner published an article on his explorative mission, pointing out that he was “the only Englishman who has ever visited the Dara Nur and the country to the north.” He had heard of the Kafirs’ alleged Alexandrian connection which he referred to as an “absurd tradition.”109 Nonetheless, Tanner made the political point of trying to seek the friendship of the Kafirs, who he describes as “hardy mountaineers, inured to war and hardship, and who (…) would gladly help in paying off old scores against the Mahommedans.”110 This echoed arguments of some of Tanner’s contemporaries, but we do not know how the members of the Geographical Society reacted. One of them was Henry Yule, who referred to Kafiristan as “one of those few knots of mystery which now remained to afford perpetual enjoyment in seeking to disentangle it.”111 Yule also came back to the issue of the Kafirs’ perpetuated lineage, “which had not yet been thoroughly investigated.” He attributed it to a faulty philological tradition as well as “curious coincidences” concerning the Kafirs’ looks and customs like their “blue

105 106 107 108

Ibid., 820. Ibid., 821. Ibid., 822. Cf. Herbert Carr, “A Victorian Surveyor-Artist in the Himalaya and Karakoram,” The Alpine Journal 83 (1978), 12–16. 109 Henry Charles Baskerville Tanner, “Notes on the Chugáni and Neighbouring Tribes of Kafiristan,” Proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society and Monthly Record of Geography 3, no. 5 (1881), 278. 110 Ibid., 293. 111 Ibid., 295 (printing the audience responses to a talk or the discussion following a lecture was a common feature of the Royal Geographical Society’s journal).

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eyes” and “about their sitting on chairs and drinking wine, all of which were European characteristics.”112 Yule’s philological method and Tanner’s explorations at the outskirts of the Kafirs’ territories had only heightened the sense of mystery surrounding the tribe – what was needed was a proper survey and expedition that would shed light on some of the questions raised in the course of the previous decades. The political framework was, however, not yet ripe for official action, let alone a diplomatic mission. Nevertheless, the ground had been prepared for further ethnographic work. One of its leading figures was Henry Walter Bellew (1834–1892), a military surgeon, who had been born in India to a British officer in the Bengal Army and who would embark on a military career himself. Bellew was part of numerous missions beyond the frontier and into the Afghan heartland, quickly turning into one of the foremost experts in Afghan language and culture, with many publications on the subject.113 Bellew, in many ways, combined the philological method together with his personal autopsy and knowledge of the Afghan country. Moreover, he was no stranger to the memory of Alexander the Great and many of his narrative accounts are replete with references to the Macedonian conquest of Bactria and India.114 In Bellew’s writings, we have for the first time a fully developed ethnographical account of Afghanistan and its tribes. However, it was not only based on contemporary observation, but, for the most part, on ancient sources, whose contents were adopted for an interpretation of the present trans-frontier territories and their people.115 Other than some of his contemporaries, he did not dismiss the local claims of Greek descent outright, but rather stressed the importance of the Greco-Bactrian settlements for the region’s social history.116 As Bellew points out, “there must have been many genuine Greek and Makedonian tribes represented in the ranks and camps of Alexander’s army, and in those of the immediate successors in Ariana.”117 This is also why he chooses to “mention the names of

112 113

114 115 116 117

Ibid., 296. Cf. Henry Walter Bellew, Journal of a Political Mission to Afghanistan, in 1857, Under Major (Now Colonel) Lumsden, with an Account of the Country and People (London: Smith, Elder and Co., 1762); From the Indus to the Tigris: A Narrative of a Journey Through the Countries of Balochistan, Afghanistan, Khorassan, and Iran, in 1872, Together With a Synoptical Grammar and Vocabulary of the Brahoe Language, and a Record of the Meteorological Observations and Altitudes on the March from the Indus to the Tigris (London: Trubner and Co., 1872); Afghanistan and the Afghans: Being a Review of the History of the Country, And Account of Its People, With a Special Reference to the Present Crisis and War With the Amir Sher Ali Khan (London: Sampson Low, 1879); The Races of Afghanistan, Being A Brief Account of the Principal Nations Inhabiting that Country (Calcutta: Thacker, Spink, and Co., 1880); An Inquiry Into the Ethnography of Afghanistan, Prepared for and Presented to the Ninth International Congress of Orientalists (London: The Oriental University Institute, 1891). Cf. Bellew, Journal of a Political Mission to Afghanistan, 233; Bellew, From the Indus to the Tigris, 259–60; Bellew, The Races of Afghanistan, 65 and 110–11 (with the latter passage also referring to alleged local descendants of Alexander). Cf. Bellew, An Inquiry Into the Ethnography of Afghanistan, 1–2. Cf. ibid., 3, and Bellew, “Notes on Kafristan and the Kafirs.” Bellew, An Inquiry Into the Ethnography of Afghanistan, 8.

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these Makedonian and Greek tribes, because throughout a large tract of mountainous country bordering upon the Indus, and forming part of the ancient Baktria, we have at this day a great number of tribes and clans of Afghans, so-called, bearing precisely the same names.”118 Bellew’s ethnographic account is, at this point not so much based on a “thick description”119 (in Geertz’s sense of the term) of Afghan tribes and their respective culture, but rather on historical analogy relying on the philological exegesis of the ancient authors, including the historians of Alexander. It is this textual practice that leads Bellew to “[recognize] amongst the existing inhabitants of this region the modern representatives, in name, at least, of most of the nations mentioned by Herodotus” and the Greek authors after him.120 Although Bellew admits that the modern Afghans do, for the most part, not resemble the ancient Greeks in either appearance or culture, this does not deter him from inferring that the Greek presence had prevailed even in the east of Alexander’s empire: “It was this superior civilization of the Greeks that enabled the successors of Alexander to establish the Greek dominion over the countries he had conquered; apparently with the willing co-operation of the natives, with whom the Greeks freely intermarried.”121 Bellew thus presents his readers with a hierarchized outlook on culture, and though he admits that Afghanistan had incorporated Greek elements into its sociohistorical fabric, it is clear that he gives prevalence to European forms of cultural expression. His ethnography is therefore neither objective nor based on a close inspection of the people he writes about, but rather a highly biased textual interpretation, with a good share of ancient substance. As Bellew made clear in his lecture before the International Congress of Orientalists added as an appendix to his Inquiry Into the Ethnography of Afghanistan, he understood ethnography as a field of knowledge inherently important to “the historian and the statesman” alike.122 Bellew thought that the identification of their respective historical roots would give the Afghan tribes their place in history, while also sketching out some traces of continuity from antiquity up to the present era. This did not only provide, in his viewpoint, the grounds for a new understanding of their social structures and traditions, but also for acquiring knowledge about Afghanistan. And knowledge was never just a self-serving cultural entity, but rather an instrument of power in British Indian frontier politics. As Coloru points out in this context, “the interest in Alexander’s conquest of the Upper Satrapies, as well as the quest for the descendants of Alexander in the East, was not only driven by antiquarian interests or the desire of discovering an ancestry in common with the oriental populations, but introduced, also, a supplementary politi-

118 119 120 121 122

Ibid. Cf. Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York: Fontana Books, 2010 [1973]), 3–30. Bellew, An Inquiry Into the Ethnography of Afghanistan, 188. Ibid. Ibid., 16.

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cal motive aiming to justify the territorial expansion of the Western powers into and in Central Asia and India.”123 Recourse to the memory of Alexander served political goals in so far as it helped legitimize claims on territory or local power, underlining the historically inherited right based on the connection to Macedonian conquest. To the Europeans, this was no problem, but rather a curious discursive strategy to be studied, as long as it did not challenge their own imperial ideologies or politics. If it did, however, the local claims of Greek descent were quickly dismissed as mere fabrication or invention. The transcultural dimension of the memory of Alexander meant that it did not solely open up a ground for interaction, but also contestation – it was a question of who could lay claim to interpretational sovereignty of the past in general and of the Macedonian conquest in particular. In the anthropological and ethnographical accounts of Afghanistan and its history, it thus came to an “intermingling of indigenous and colonial narratives” that interacted and implicitly commented upon each other.124 As Warwick Ball has argued, there was another dimension to this intercultural discourse in that “such fabricated descent seems more likely to have been suggested to the tribes themselves by the British because of superficial ‘European’ resemblances and a British desire to walk in the great conqueror’s shadow. They wanted to see Alexander, so they created one in their own image: a British Alexander (…).”125 In other words, some of the indigenous groups gave the British what they wanted to hear: namely that Alexander (or rather Sikander or Iskander) had, of course, come through their territory and had most likely settled a garrison or even founded a city on tribal territory. This means that the ethnographic desire to learn more about the origins of Afghan tribes had been corrupted from the beginning by the over-imposing presence of the memory of Alexander in standard textbooks on Afghan and ancient Bactrian history. By connecting the inquiry into local origin with political arguments for the way trans-frontier diplomacy should be handled, the British ethnographic research of “the status of the Kafirs had implications that went far beyond the history of Alexander and reached into contemporary geopolitics.”126 Because even though the memory of Alexander turned into what Raj has, in another context, called “a space for multiple cultural encounters in the context of empire,”127 the ethnographical writings of the explorers and scholars clearly laid the interpretational supremacy into British hands. It remained a text-based medium, written from a Eurocentric viewpoint, which may have echoed indigenous voices, but these voices were made to fit a European narrative of cultural superiority. And Alexander, although present in local oral histories and traditions, remained an unequivocally European hero, albeit with strong oriental leanings.

123 124 125 126 127

Coloru, “Alexander the Great and Iskander Dhu’l-Qarnayn,” 405. Tickell, “Negotiating the Landscape,” 23. Ball, “Some Talk of Alexander,” 142–143 (emphasis original). Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 84. Raj, “Colonial Encounters and the Forging of New Knowledge and National Identities,” 85.

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To this discoursive and primarily textual engagement with the ethnic background of Afghans and the Kafirs came the element of exploration in the course of the last decades of the nineteenth century. The explorative side is inextricably connected to the otherwise rather obscure figure of William Watts McNair (1849–1889), a member of the Indian survey department since 1867.128 He fought in the Second Anglo-Afghan War and was sent on various mapping and survey expeditions, which led him into many parts of Afghanistan previously unexplored by other officers. In 1883, McNair joined, without the official sanction, let alone knowledge of his superiors, a native explorer on a trip into Kafiristan. McNair, who travelled disguised as a native doctor, thus ignored the official British policy of non-interference or rather non-activity in trans-frontier territories. Together with his company, McNair traversed Hindu Kush valleys and passes, making observations in the Chitral District, before returning to his post, where he was officially reprimanded for his self-imposed initiative. However, the trip did not only earn him admonishment, but also the admiration of many fellow explorers and geographers. McNair published an account of his excursion that was read before the Royal Geographical Society.129 Lord Aberdare, the president of the Society, in introducing McNair on this occasion, again underlined that Kafiristan had been “a country of very peculiar interest,” ever since the first British missions to Afghanistan in 1809, and that McNair had finally “[drawn] the veil (…) aside.”130 Aberdare also gave a prolonged account of the historical geography of the country, including the episode of the Kafirs’ curious visit to Macnaghten’s camp in the winter of 1839.131 McNair, on the other hand, was not so much interested in these past occurrences, but rather gave a spectacular narrative of his expedition, replete with a vivid description of the Hindu Kush’s mountain passes and the danger involved in crossing them.132 McNair had not extensively discussed local references to Alexander, but in the discussion following his presentation, it was aptly remarked that “passing on to the Panjkhora river and to Dir, there was very little doubt that those valleys were the scene of some of Alexander’s exploits on his way to India” and would certainly call for further explorations.133 Moreover, a reflection on the specific ways of exploring these mountainous and remote regions followed, which held that “geographical inquiry cannot be altogether dissociated from philology, nor

128 129 130 131 132 133

Cf. William Arthur Jobson Archbold, “McNair, William Watts (1849–1889),” in Dictionary of National Biography, 1885–1900, Vol. 35, ed. Sidney Lee (London: Smith, Elder and Co., 1893), 243. McNair’s memoir was posthumously edited and published by Howard, ed. Memoir of William Watts McNair. Ibid., 3–4. Cf. ibid., 4–5. Cf. ibid., 5–15. Colonel Yule, who was present during the lecture, was even moved to say that “Mr. McNair’s modest account” was “one of the most adventurous journeys that had ever been described before the Society.” Ibid., 15. Ibid.

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can philology be dissociated (…) from ethnography, history, and anthropology”134 – as previously noted, these fields of knowledge were seen as co-related in giving an accurate account of the Kafirs, drawing again on the long tradition of writing about their regions, which stretched all the way back into ancient times. That the present era was not lost out of sight altogether, however, can be seen from one commentator who “hoped that the visit of Mr. McNair (…) might be another step towards the future union and civilization of a race that, whether in part descended from the colonies planted by Alexander the Great or not, should no longer be treated as ‘poor relatives’ by their European brethren, for whom the interposition of friendly and vigorous tribes of mountaineers (…) between the British and Russian possessions in Asia, cannot fail to be an advantage in the interest of peace.”135 Accordingly, the old political call for the instrumentalization of local claims of Macedonian descent in the service of Britain’s own regional interest and diplomacy was re-iterated and still a prevalent notion well into the 1890s. Geography and ethnography could thus be put to the use of colonial policy.136 In the final decade of the nineteenth century, there was yet another Briton, who undertook a (this time sanctioned) trip to Kafiristan in 1889, also spending a prolonged period of time there and publishing the definitive account of the area’s inhabitants. George Scott Robertson (1852–1916) was a British military surgeon at Gilgit, who had fought in the Second Anglo-Afghan War and who would embark on a successful career as a political agent after the return from his dangerous expedition into the remotest regions of Afghanistan. The book Robertson wrote upon his return from the Kafirs,137 can be seen as the culmination of a century of scholarly debate on the subject as well as its definitive end, demystifying many notions some of his predecessors had come up with. He was, however, no stranger to heightening the sense of suspense and mystery connected to the regions he traversed on his route, supplementing his ethnographic observations with a colorful narrative.138Although Robertson got into immediate contact with the Kafirs, he did not fully give up on the comparative philological method of ethnographic study. As he noted, however, this was not an altogether easy task, be134 135 136

137 138

Ibid., 16. Ibid., 17. The case for the relevance of ethnographical study was also made by Edward Frederick Knight (1852–1925), who initially began his career as a soldier, but was later a successful war correspondent. He undertook a journey to Kashmir and bordering regions in 1890 and would also draw on various local claims of descent from Alexander’s Greeks. Cf. Edward Frederick Knight, Where Three Empires Meet: A Narrative of Recent Travel in Kashmir, Western Tibet, Gilgit, and the Adjoining Countries (London: Longman, Greens, and Co., 1893), 349–51, 493 and 510. Cf. Robertson, The Káfirs of the Hindu-Kush. Cf. also his article on Kafiristan in the eleventh edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica: George Scott Robertson, s. v. “Kafiristan,” Encyclopedia Britannica, Vol. 15, 11th ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1911), 630–34. Cf. Robertson, The Káfirs of the Hindu-Kush, vii-viii. On this also Vasunia, The Classics and Colonial India, 85.

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cause “there are no rock inscriptions, no ancient books, nor any literature of any kind to be found in Kafiristan, and (…) the traditions of the people themselves give such small help in forming any opinions concerning their origin.”139 Again, the cultural gap between textual European culture and indigenous oral forms of cultural expression comes to the fore at this point, so that the Kafirs’ origins remained as ‘shadowy’ as they had been from the outset, leaving Robertson with the only hope that the comparative methodology of ethnographic study, based on linguistic analogies and the study of a people’s customs, would help in “[assigning] their (i. e. the Kafirs’) proper place in the general history of the world.”140 Robertson also took up the notion of local descent from Alexander. He does not discard it as a fiction outright, but remains skeptical, referring to it as “their own fixed idea,” while also noticing “points of resemblance between present Kafir and ancient Greek sacrificial observances, and (…) of their domestic utensils (…) fashioned in Grecian mould.”141 Accordingly, Robertson thought it possible to conclude “that some of the Kafir tribes, at any rate, are still influenced, as the ancient Indian populations of Eastern Afghanistan were also influenced, by the Greek colonists of Alexander.”142 This was as far as Robertson would go, confining his remarks to some comparable features of cultural customs, but refraining himself from the formulation of far-reaching hypotheses about the Kafirs’ ancient roots. While his ethnography, like that of Tanner and McNair before him, thus promised to lift the veil on the Kafirs, Robertson could not hide the fact that the question of the Alexandrian roots could not be answered in a definitive way. One could choose to believe it, but one could also dismiss it as an erroneous notion of a backward race, forgotten by the progress of history. The Kafirs were soon to be caught up in the political history of the present, however, when the British administration, and especially its agent Sir Mortimer Durand (1850–1924), negotiated a boundary line dividing British and Afghan territories with the Afghan Amir in 1893. For the time being, borders were firmly in place, along with a strict promise of non-interference in what the respective powers did on their own turf. The British could therefore only stand by and see how the Amir invaded the predominantly independent Kafiristan in 1895 and annexed it.143 Eventually, this closed the book on the issue of the fabled indigenous descents of Alexander. In hindsight, the discourse surrounding the Kafirs may seem like a curious episode in British Indian imperial politics. For much of the nineteenth century, however, it was integral to a debate concerned with colonial identity and the racial connections between Britons and indigenous people around the Indian frontier region. If the racial

139 140 141 142 143

Robertson, The Káfirs of the Hindu-Kush, 161. Ibid. Ibid., 162. Ibid. Cf. Marx, “How We Lost Kafiristan,” 59.

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connection could never be proved, there was another, highly imaginative one, based on the shared memory of Alexander the Great. 5.3 Thomas Hungerford Holdich, Alexander’s Memory, and the Political Geography of Empire In 1900, after more than a century of British survey expeditions in Central Asia, George Scott Robertson, the preeminent ethnographer of the Kafir tribes and one of the foremost geographical explorers of his time, gave a Presidential Address to the Geographical Section of the British Association in Bradford, where he now resided after his retirement from service in India. As he almost apologetically explained in his presentation, “my justification and my apology for taking political geography and the British empire as my subject,” was “this curious fact (…) that there is nothing foreign to geographical thought in the association of geography and patriotism, and that the home country is worthy of careful study, particularly when, as with us, our home country is not Yorkshire, nor England, nor the United Kingdom, but the whole British Empire.”144 In Robertson’s design, geography as a study of the local and regional had given way to a far more global outlook, connected to the political outreach that Great Britain had achieved during the preceding centuries. It was now a truly globe-spanning entity and could count itself amongst the greatest empires the world had ever seen. It was thus not without a trace of national pride that Robertson attributed to geographical science not only a social relevance, but rather saw it as explicitly implicated in the service of empire: “Before attaining to true cosmopolitanism,” as he put it, “one must first be patriotic.”145 It is not that Robertson doubted the objective status of geography, based as it was on charts, graphs, and numerical data, he even underlined its foundational character: “Geography is the true basis of historical investigation and the elucidation of contemporary movements.”146 The knowledge of landscape, topography, as well as natural resources so valuable to any imperialist undertaking – from the question of infrastructure and administration to military strategy and social control – was therefore connected to the past of a country; and a nation’s past could well determine the course of development it may take in the future. This was the core principle of the political geography as outlined by Robertson, one that found its equation in numerous geographical treatises around the dawn of the twentieth century. As Hudson once observed regarding the political dimension of geography in this era, “the study and teaching of the new geography at an advanced 144 George Scott Robertson, “Political Geography and the Empire,” The Geographical Journal 16, no. 4 (1900), 447. 145 Ibid., 448. 146 Ibid.

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level was vigorously promoted at that time largely, if not mainly, to serve the interests of imperialism in its various aspects including territorial acquisition, economic exploitation, militarism and the practice of class and race domination.”147 Withers and Livingstone see this particular geographical knowledge production and “mapping” as connected to “ideas of bringing to order,”148 of compiling, negotiating, and reframing what could be known of the world and how this knowledge could, in turn, be used in a meaningful (and/or political) way. In Robertson’s viewpoint, just as in many other conceptualizations of geography’s role in an imperial context, there was a great deal of idealization involved that also negated or ignored the role that the colonial encounter played in the creation of knowledge, more particularly how indigenous knowledge was appropriated for and integrated into Western epistemologies.149 However, it also showed in how far political power was dependent on geographical knowledge, not only because maps tried to give an objectified version of the empire’s territorial expansion, but also because they made the “power relations” and “boundaries” involved in the imperial enterprise visible.150 The recourse to the past remained a defining feature of these geographical conceptualizations, because Central Asian history had been entangled with empire and especially with its globe-spanning dimension, connecting East and West. This is also the reason why the memory of Alexander the Great remained such a prominent topos of political geography well into the twentieth century, both for its rich array of historical associations and for its foundational character in showing how inextricably power and the discovery of the world were connected.151 In the context of British Indian geography, there is probably no better example to exemplify this claim than Sir Thomas Hungerford Holdich (1843–1929). As one author put it in an obituary notice upon Holdich’s death in 1929, “the death of Sir Thomas Hungerford Holdich at the age of eighty-six has removed one who, at the beginning of the century, had a greater experience and a more profound knowledge of the geography and inhabitants of the North-West Frontier of India than any other living man.” As the note continued, “That knowledge and experience were founded on personal contact with almost every tribe and race that inhabit Afghanistan, Baluchistan, Turkistan, and Persia, during twenty years of service, crowded with incident military and political, on the borderland of India. When he left India he was the supreme authority

147 Brian Hudson, “The New Geography and the New Imperialism: 1870–1918,” Antipode 9, no. 2 (1977), 15. 148 Withers and Livingstone, “Introduction,” 20–21. 149 Cf. on this Raj, “Colonial Encounters and the Forging of New Knowledge and National Identities,” 96–97. 150 Edney, Mapping an Empire, 333. 151 Cf. Briant, “Impérialismes antiques et idéologie colonial dans la France contemporaine,” 285–86.

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on all matters connected with frontier delimination and demarcation.”152 If there ever was an embodied memory of the British Indian frontier, it could indeed be said to have been Holdich, who had served in India since 1865, first as a Royal Engineer, and, later, for the most part as Surveyor-General of India, overseeing and planning most of the frontier surveys from the 1870s onwards. As Meyer and Brysac put it, “no British officer had a keener sense of strategic topography.”153 Holdich was certainly well versed in the foundational principles, theories, and the history of geography, but he was above all actively involved in drawing the territorial boundaries, frontiers, and spaces that cartographers were putting onto maps, with an acute sense of the civil and military functions of the surveyor’s task.154 Holdich himself saw the definition and defense of territorial boundaries as a highly political enterprise,155 a lesson he had learned from his involvement in the Joint Anglo-Russian Boundary Commission (1884–1886) to determine the northern borders of Afghanistan. Holdich led his expedition through regions that were hitherto “unmapped”, with “the account left by Alexander the Great [being] still the most recent guide available to him.”156 In fact, Holdich made the memory of Alexander an integral part of his work and especially of his writings that often include long historical excursions into the ancient history of Central Asia. In the report on his second extensive Afghanistan survey, the Pamir Boundary Commission of 1895, which defined the border between Afghanistan and Russian territory (now Tajikistan) and which gave the Pamir mountains the name Nicholas Range, Holdich includes a passage of his own on the landscape’s history. As he points out, “if we search the world over, we should probably not find any region which has retained its primitive ethnic and topographical characteristics so unchanged through so many centuries as this region.”157 While Holdich thus stresses the static sociocultural element of this remote part of the frontier, he also draws on the topos of Alexander’s march as “the first record of successful invasion of India,”158 underlining – as so many before him – why a knowledge of the region’s history could prove to be of utmost sig-

152 153 154

155 156 157 158

Kenneth Mason and Herbert Leland Crosthwait, “Colonel Sir Thomas Hungerford Holdich, K. C. M. G., K. C. I. E., C. B.,” The Geographical Journal 75, no. 3 (1930), 209. Meyer and Brysac, Tournament of Shadows, 334. Cf. Richards, The Imperial Archive, 14. Holdich is most famous for his work in India, but he was also actively involved and responsible for the definition of the boundary between Chile and Argentina in the Andes mountains. Cf. also Mason and Crosthwait, “Colonel Sir Thomas Hungerford Holdich,” 215–17. Cf. especially Holdich’s elaboration on the subject in Thomas Hungerford Holdich, Political Frontiers and Boundary Making (London: Macmillan and Co., 1916). Lyon, Butcher and Bolt, 127. Thomas Hungerford Holdich, “Historical Notes,” in Report on the Proceedings of the Pamir Boundary Commission, 1896, ed. M. G. Gerard et. al. (Calcutta: Office of the Superintendent of Government Printing, 1897), 29. Ibid.

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nificance to present-day geopolitics. The more so, as he embeds it in an account of how Great Britain and its rival in the east, the Russian Empire, were coming to terms on the territorial distribution and its respective boundaries. Holdich’s reference to Alexander was therefore not new in terms of its content or political import, but the context had somewhat changed. Whereas earlier authors, from the beginning of the nineteenth century onwards, had not gotten tired of evoking the example of Alexander for discussing how British India was liable to a Russian invasion from the north and how it could be defended, Holdich was actually working together with Russian representatives in determining the respective spheres of interest and dominance of the European powers in the east. Although the “Great Game” had repeatedly given the impression of turning into an open armed conflict over the previous decades, the survey expedition of the 1890s had, in a way, marked the end of its crunch mode.159 This is not to say that Russian designs in the region were no longer on the mind of British political strategists or on the agenda of Central Asian geopolitics,160 but rather that their immediacy had abated as the early decades of the twentieth century saw increasingly different areas of action, especially continental European ones. If the political contexts were thus open to adaption and change, surveying and the collection of knowledge of colonial people, space, and trans-border territory remained as important as ever.161 This strand of geography was political, because it was not solely concerned with maps or landscapes, “but part of a broad intelligence-gathering fabric, interwoven with other departments and objectives, not least the acquisition of information useful to the Indian Army.”162 Survey operations had been carried out from the beginning of the nineteenth century onwards, but it was in 1878 when the Survey of India was put firmly into place as “the technical backbone of British administration in India,” occupied with the production of maps, but also with “the invention and production of social statistics.”163 In this context, it is probably all the more interesting that although much of the intelligence gathered had the status of classified knowledge, the secret missions were not often kept secret at all, but were rather published in widely read publications like The Journal of the Royal Geographical Society.164 The publications in fact helped in turning many of the Cf. Alexei V. Postnikov, s. v. “Great Game,” in Literature of Travel and Exploration, an Encyclopedia, Volume Two, G to P, ed. Jennifer Speake (New York: Fitzroy Dearborn, 2003), 503–5. 160 Cf. Thomas Hungerford Holdich, England’s Strength in Asia: Proceedings of the Central Asian Society (London: Central Asian Society, 1905), 9 and 10. One only needs to compare Holdich’s text with the more alarmist tone of the account of another preeminent British geographer only three decades before: Henry Rawlinson, England and Russia in the East (London: John Murray, 1875). 161 Cf. on this in general James Hevia, The Imperial Security State: British Colonial Knowledge and Empire-Building in Asia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). 162 Johnson, Spying for Empire, 98. 163 Raj, “Circulation and the Emergence of Modern Mapping,” 27. 164 Cf. Johnson, Spying for Empire, 126–27. On the Geographical Society itself cf. Meyer and Brysac, Tournament of Shadows, 312–14. 159

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explorers and surveyors into popular frontier heroes, whose exploits were in hindsight often portrayed in “the most romanticized terms.”165 Political geography thus also took on a self-representational role in the age of empire. Holdich had played an active part in most trans-frontier surveys after the Second Anglo-Afghan War, and also published numerous accounts of either his own explorative missions or the history of discovery in Central Asia. By 1900, Holdich had already become a recognized authority on everything connected to the British Indian frontier, but he further cemented his expert status by a number of books and essays that depicted India’s historical geography in an all-encompassing approach. Thereby, the memory of Alexander the Great figured prominently in his writings as a firm foundation on which his argumentation could be based and further observations could be made. What is striking about Holdich’s take on Alexander is that he was not, like so many of his predecessors discussed in the course of this book, solely interested in the Macedonian invasion of India, but also on how the conquest found its termination and how Alexander finally turned back. As Holdich put it in an article published in 1901, “it is Alexander’s retreat from India that I propose to follow through districts once well known to classical and medieval writers; but which have been buried for some centuries in geographical obscurity.”166 The retreat from India to the Persian heartland certainly stands as one of the most spectacular, but also enigmatic episodes in Alexander’s remarkable career. While his admiral Nearchus took the fleet up the Indian gulf and one of his marshals, Krateros, took part of the army on an alternate route, Alexander chose the difficult and largely unknown way through the Gedrosian desert, which was said to have been only once successfully crossed, namely by the Assyrian queen Semiramis and her army.167 Numerous explanations have been brought forth as to why Alexander chose this route, including the exploration of the sea route to (or from) India, such as competition with his mythological heroes, as well as strategic military ones establishing a defensible eastern boundary for his empire. What is clear, however, is that the march through the Gedrosian desert almost ended in a near disaster, with many of his followers perishing along the way. Obviously, the initial plan of the mutual support of fleet and army had failed because of climatic reasons (the fleet’s departure had been delayed due to the monsoon) and because the army lost its way somewhere along the Makran coast. Holdich was especially interested in that part of Alexander’s route that led through coastal Baluchistan and Makran up to the Strait of Hormuz and into Persia. This was one trans-frontier area that had only inadequately been explored in the preceding century, and one episode in Alexander’s otherwise heroic career that had not found the same 165 Edney, Mapping an Empire, 23. 166 Thomas Hungerford Holdich, “The Greek Retreat From India,” The Journal of the Society of Arts 49 (1901), 417. 167 Cf. on the Gedrosian desert Arr. an. 6.24–25, and Arr. Ind. 21–35 on Nearchos’ voyage.

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interest as his conquest of the eastern satrapies of the Persian Empire – Holdich’s predecessors had always been concerned with the question what route an invading army from the north might take to India, none had really changed the perspective and asked what routes would actually lead out of it. Yet, there are exceptions to this general picture and Holdich knew both of them. When Holdich was Surveyor-General, there were two expeditions into the Indus Delta, Makran, and eastern Persia that, for the first time, shone a light on a territory otherwise almost completely obscure to British geographers. The first was the Persian Boundary Commission conducted in the years from 1870 to 1872, which was subsequently published in two volumes.168 As it was the case with much survey work beyond the frontier, the writings of Rennell and Vincent, though dated, remained an important touchstone. In his account of Baluchistan, the surveyor Oliver B. St. John (1837– 1891) repeatedly drew on Vincent in his identification of various sites in the Gedrosian desert.169 However, St. John also begged to differ from the Dean of Westminster, whenever the surveyor’s experience and autopsy of the places did not support Vincent’s conclusions. For example, St. John shows that Vincent’s identification of the modern district of Jiruft with the “Púra mentioned by the historians of Alexander as the capital of Gadrosia and the spot in which he was joined by Stasanor and Phrataphernes from the upper provinces with a convoy of provisions,”170 was actually incorrect for the miscalculated distances on which Vincent drew and for the simple reason that “there are no ruins in the neighbourhood.”171 St. John was not solely concerned with questions of geographical localities. He also turned to the overarching issue of why the strategic genius of Alexander headed a way that nearly proved fatal to himself and his army. Quite in line with the predominant heroic image of Alexander amongst British colonial officers, St. John did not attribute this failure to the Macedonian. Instead, he was convinced that “in the early part of his march through Balúchistán, Alexander must, I think, have been deceived by his guides, who seem to have kept him exactly at that distance from the coast where there is least water. Had he followed the Kej valley, the natural road from the Indus to western Balúchistán, he would have found abundant water.”172 Evoking the memory of Alexander along this part of the frontier region meant accounting for the irrational and rather obscure sides of the Macedonian conqueror that sat uneasily with many British Beresford Lovett, Oliver B. St. John, and Euan Smith, Eastern Persia: An Account of the Journeys of the Persian Boundary Commission 1870-71-72, Vol. I: The Geography, with an Introduction by Frederic John Goldsmid (London: Macmillan and Co., 1876). And William Thomas Blanford, Eastern Persia: An Account of the Journeys of the Persian Boundary Commission 1870-71-72, Vol. II: The Zoology and Geology (London: Macmillan, 1876). 169 Cf. ibid., vol. I, 69 and 74. 170 Ibid., 74. 171 Ibid. 172 Ibid., 75. 168

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officers and that somehow had to be integrated into the otherwise highly methodic and strategic plans of the ancient hero. St. John did it by simply shifting the blame onto local guides that intentionally led Alexander’s army astray. Yet, it could also consist in a detailed discussion of the adverse environmental conditions and their myriad ways since antiquity. This was the interpretational path taken by General Haig (1830–1900), who had conducted an extensive survey of the area previously traversed by Alexander and the site of the debarkation of his fleet, namely the Indus Delta Country. As Haig makes clear right from the outset, this area may have first entered world history because of Alexander’s expedition, but “any precise identification” of the various sites connected to his journey are “hardly within the limits of possibility.”173 Haig primarily refers to Patala, the historical head of the Delta, and one of the main settlements in the area, which still had to be sufficiently identified. Instead of drawing quick conclusions from and analogies between the past geography as it presented itself to Alexander and the current one, Haig is thus careful not to be too over-ambitious in his reading of the natural geography and hydrography of the country. Haig does not doubt that “Arrian’s narrative of the voyage of Nearchus furnishes the fullest information we have of the geography of the Lower Delta at that time,” but he nevertheless points out that “it leaves very much to be desired.”174 It was only where the natural environment allowed for “no choice of positions” as in the case of the Karachi harbor (also referred to as Alexander’s Haven) that Haig opted for an unambiguous identification of the places mentioned in the ancient sources.175 It was particularly due to the shifting nature of the Indus, the processes of sedimentation and silting-up that the environment changed its general appearance and Haig finds it plausible to argue that the ancient island Krokala “has become part of the mainland” in the course of several centuries.176 Accordingly, Haig is wary of “[connecting] with such a river as the Indus (…) the hydrographical circumstances of the present day, for,” as he continues, “it may be regarded as almost absolutely certain that hardly any channel now carrying water was in existence in the distant times referred to; and instead of seeking for very ancient sites along the present course of the river, we should rather assume that, wherever they may be here, at all events, they are not to be found.”177 As to Alexander’s overall expedition, Haig, like St. John, is certain that “Alexander would select that route for his large army which afforded the best supply of water.”178 Questioning the leadership abilities and 173 174 175 176 177 178

Malcolm Robert Haig, The Indus Delta Country: A Memoir Chiefly on its Ancient Geography, History, and Topography, with Three Maps (London: Trübner and Co., 1887), 1. Ibid., 8. As Haig put it with regard to the harbor: “There is no other protected anchorage for seagoing vessels in all this region.” Ibid., 12. Cf. Arr. Ind. 21. Haig, The Indus Delta Country, 14. Ibid., 19. Ibid., 18.

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strategic judgment of Alexander was largely outside of the scope of men like Haig, who remained confident in the imposing historical role the Macedonian’s expedition had played for the area as a whole and who did not question the accomplishments attached to his memory. If anything, the identification of the sites connected to his march had come under increasing scrutiny and a doubt arose whether Alexander’s footsteps could be truly followed after all – especially in parts of the world exposed to extreme climatic conditions and shifting environments. Holdich drew on both St. John’s and Haig’s geographical analysis in his own portrayal of Alexander’s retreat, or rather return, from India. As Haig before him, Holdich had his doubts as to whether the Greco-Macedonian march back into the Persian heartland could be retraced, not to speak of the voyage of Nearchus where Holdich “[found] very great difficulty in identifying the exact ports, harbours, and coasting stations which he visited, on account of the shifting configuration of the coast line.”179 Holdich had less doubts when it came to the inland route, however, because the outline of the hills “have preserved their general confirmation”180 and he goes on to discuss Alexander’s expedition at length, repeatedly making ethnographical speculations as to modern inhabitants of the countries and possible analogies to the tribes described by the ancient historians.181 Holdich is particularly impressed by Arrian’s detailed account of Alexander’s march and the description of the local population, notably of the “Ichthyopagi, all the latter of which might well be cut out of the pages of Greek history and entered in a survey report as a modern narrative.”182 This comparison of an ancient Alexander historian with a British survey report of Holdich’s own time is remarkable, because it presupposes the utter reliability of a text that, although relying on first-hand accounts, had actually been written with a great temporal distance to the historical events. It is also striking for the analogy it establishes between Alexander’s route and British exploration work – an aspect that had repeatedly been invoked over the course of the nineteenth century, but that had probably never been as openly articulated as in Holdich’s writings. In general, Holdich never doubted that Alexander was following his own fair, if misled, judgment in choosing the route through the Gedrosian desert, the more so as Holdich proceeded on the assumption that Alexander actually knew where he was going, even though he was taking “the worst possible route through Makran” and that alternate routes and along its coastline had even be “known before Alexander’s time.”183 Rather than “mistaking” the retreat of Alexander as a fatal flaw in the conqueror’s bi-

179 180 181 182 183

Holdich, “Greek Retreat From India,” 418. Ibid. Cf. ibid., 419–22. Ibid., 423. Cf. on these passages also Holdich, The Gates of India, 144–68. On this Arr. Ind. 29 and 31.1–8. Holdich, “Greek Retreat From India,” 428.

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ography, and misjudging Makran itself as an inhospitable country, Holdich calls for a reevaluation of the historical evidence which clearly shows that the area has had close ties to India since antiquity and that it had proven rather resourceful in the past. In closing, Holdich hoped for a further exploration of Makran and its significance to India, particularly in economic terms – it was in this aspect, namely in fully surveying that “blank on the map of the world” that (political) geography could make its own contribution to the present imperial project of revitalizing the ocean trade route to India. In discussing Holdich’s article on Alexander’s route back to Persia and in drawing conclusions on the memory of Alexander in a British reflection at that time, the immediate context and reactions to his work are of importance. As with so many writings discussed in this book, they were not published in a closed-off realm, open only to the scholars initiated into ancient history and historical geography – quite the contrary. Holdich gave a public reading before the Society of Arts, and some reactions were added as an appendix to the essay proper. While one commentator drew on his own experiences in building the telegraph line along the Makran coast during the 1860s and elaborated on the many obstacles posed by the local topography, thereby showing in how far geographical and infrastructural measures interacted,184 one particularly insightful comment was made by Sir George Birdwood, a renowned official in British India, who held various university and museum posts amongst others. “The story of the anabasis of ‘striding Alexander’,” he said, “was as familiar to Englishmen as that of the wrath of Achilles, and of the wanderings of Ulysses. They were never tired of books on the subject, and they never would be; and it was naturally of the deepest interest to an English audience to listen to an exposition of land routes and the sea route along which he returned from India to Susa and Babylon (…).”185 Although spoken in front of an audience of men of letters, Birdwood’s comment is instructive for underlining the wide appeal of the memory of Alexander in a distinctly British context. Birdwood himself equated the status of the Macedonian to the heroes of Epic poetry and the fundamental importance it had for Western learning and cultural self-representation. Therefore, Birdwood is also quick in challenging Holdich on the title of his talk, since the term “retreat” held numerous connotations not doing justice to the overall triumph of Alexander, whose remarkable career had been dedicated to “advancing the cause of liberty and civilisation, in a word, the Hellenisation of the world.”186 Birdwood’s comment shows that one prevalent interpretation of Alexander’s conquest, first developed during the Enlightenment, was still a potent explanatory historical framework at the beginning of the twentieth century, echoed also in the comment that “neither return expedition was of a strictly military character (…) and both 184 Cf. ibid., 430. 185 Ibid., 428. 186 Ibid.

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expeditions kept the scientific and commercial objects they had in view clearly before them,” in fact turning into triumphs of exploration.187 In general, it is astounding in how far Alexander’s march through the Gedrosian desert and Nearchos’ sea voyage were interpreted as great exploratory enterprises in the British cultural memory of the Alexandrian history.188 It was seen as a direct precursor to Britain’s own self-proclaimed missions of discovering and mapping the world. Holdich’s talk and Birdwood’s comment have thus to be seen against a broader cultural background in which British imperialism and Alexander’s history were still tightly interwoven. In one of the most important contemporary historiographical series of the era, the “Story of the Nations”-series, a volume dedicated to British India was quick to depict the Britons in India as direct successors of Alexander, pointing to the world historical import of their current position and warning against overstretching their ambitions in a race for empire in the east.189 From a geographical viewpoint alone, the frontier remained an issue not only in terms of the highly practical and often difficult survey process involved, or in the question of how to aptly secure it, but also in its sociopolitical and historical dimension as well. What historical parameters had to be taken into account when defining ter187 188

189

Ibid., 430. Birdwood’s perspective was in line with a lot of historiography that depicted Alexander’s journey as an overall triumph, cf. John Clark Marshman, The History of India, Part One: From the Earliest Period to the Close of the Eighteenth Century (Serampore: Serampore Press, 1863), 14. In this context, the writings of the British classicist John Watson McCrindle (1825–1913), principal of the Government College at Patna and Fellow of the Calcutta University, were of great influence. Cf. John Watson McCrindle, The Commerce and Navigation of the Erythræan Sea; Being a Translation of the Periplus Maris Erythræi, By an Anonymous Writer, and of Arrian’s Account of the Voyage of Nearkhos, From the Mouth of the Indus to the Head of the Persian Gulf, with Introduction, Commentary, Notes and Index (Calcutta: Thacker, Spink and Co., 1879), 153–54. Also John Watson McCrindle, Ancient India as Described by Megasthenês and Arrian; Being a Translation of the Fragments of the Indika of Megasthenês, Collected by Dr. Schwanbeck, and of the First Part of the Indika of Arrian (Calcutta: Thacker, Spink and Co., 1877); Ancient India as Described by Ktêsias the Knidian; Being a Translation of the Abridgement of His ‘Indika’ by Phôtios, and of the Fragments of that Work Preserved in Other Writers (Calcutta: Thacker, Spink and Co., 1882); Ancient India as Described by Ptolemy; Being a Translation of the Chapters Which Describe India and Central and Eastern Asia in the Treatise on Geography Written by Klaudios Ptolemaios, the Celebrated Astronomer, with Introduction, Commentary, Map of India According to Ptolemy and a Very Copious Index (Calcutta: Thacker, Spink and Co., 1885); The Invasion of India by Alexander the Great as Described by Arrian, Q. Curtius, Diodoros, Plutarch and Justin, Being Translations of Such Portions of the Works of These and Other Classical Authors as Describe Alexander’s Campaigns in Afghanistan, the Panjâb, Sindh, Gedrosia and Karmania, with an Introduction Containing a Life of Alexander (Westminster: Archibald Constable and Company, 1893). Cf. Robert Watson Frazer, British India (Story of the Nations 46) (London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1896), 1–8 and 351–52. This similar interpretation could also look back on a long tradition of British historiography on the Indian Empire, cf. Montgomery Martin, The Indian Empire: History, Topography, Geology, Climate, Chief Cities and Provinces, Tributary and Protected States, Military Power and Resources, Religion, Education, Crime, Land Tenures, Staple Products, Government, Finance, and Commerce, with a Full Account of the Mutiny of the Bengal Army, of an Insurrection in Western India, and an Exposition of the Alleged Causes, Vol. I (London: The London Printing Company, 1858), 25–37.

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ritorial boundaries? Were there tribal groups affected by the demarcations? And had there been historical examples that would serve as model cases upon which to draw up the borders dividing British India from the rest of Central Asia? Holdich had been concerned with questions like these for most of his career in India. And though he remained confident in the political mission of the geographical craft, he also knew that there were serious limits of knowledge when it came to trans-border territory (especially in Afghanistan), let alone the knowledge of indigenous tribes and their customs. In his 1901 book The Indian Borderland Holdich was quick to point out that “of all the border space north of the Khaibar (…) we knew much less than (…) the officers in Alexander’s army.”190 In this case, Holdich again invoked the memory of Alexander in order to reflect on the varying degrees of geographical knowledge, or rather lack thereof, in the course of the centuries – and it is quite remarkable how willingly he ascribed an advance in knowledge to antiquity, even though Alexander’s army had neither the technology nor infrastructural conditions that the British surveyors had. To him, as to so many of his contemporaries, Alexander remained not only the hero of conquest or commerce, but also of discovery and the progress of knowledge. Accordingly, it is no wonder that Holdich’s narrative of the various survey missions north of the British Indian frontier from 1880–1900 was furnished with numerous references to Alexander’s alleged route.191 And even though he readily admits that, from the viewpoint of the Britons, many trans-frontier areas like Makran had been shrouded in “geographical obscurity,” he also points out that it was largely thanks to the British survey that they had “been brought again to the light of civilization.”192 This did not only explicitly involve strategic reasons concerning the defense of British India from northern invasion, but also reflections on the resources of the countries in question. Holdich saw history and geographical survey work as interrelated processes that would help in deciphering the lands the British expeditions were mapping. With regard to the route from Kabul to India, he thus makes clear that every known invader of Central Asia has had to contend with the many hill tribes along the way – a fact that had not been this explicitly noted by the previous geographers or historiographers dealing with the historical invasions of India. Alexander is one of Holdich’s examples in this scenario; as he notes, “we have much old historical matter about these regions which may haply be set in order by the light of its new geography.”193 Holdich cleary sees the geographical survey as a progressive enterprise in the overall imperial project of British India, because it brought insights into the geographical position and ethnic history of the different Afghan hill tribes and because it provided a lot of information necessary for the consolidation

190 Thomas Hungerford Holdich, The Indian Borderland, 1880–1900 (London: Methuen and Co., 1901), 4. 191 Cf. ibid., 38–39, 165–66, 244–45, 342–43, and 382–83. 192 Ibid., 202. 193 Ibid., 244.

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Fig. 6 Thomas Hungerford Holdich’s sketch of Alexander’s route in the frontier regions.

and further expansion of “the two great European Powers, whose might and greatness were inseparably connected with their respective conquests and empire on the broad field of the Asiatic Continent.”194 It was only on the basis of sound geographical knowledge that England and Russia could determine “a point of balance,”195 Holdich suggested. And, as he implicitly stated, the explorative work of Alexander’s army had been a case in point – an example to be kept in mind by his modern successors. Holdich further elaborated on his arguments and areas of expertise in his all-encompassing history of Indian frontier exploration, his 1910 book The Gates of India. “It is hardly too much to say that geography has so far shaped history that in unraveling some of the more obscure entanglements of historical record,” he argued, that “we may safely appeal to our modern knowledge of the physical environment of the scene of action to decide on the actual events.”196 Where he had previously underlined the comparatively greater knowledge the ancient Greeks possessed of vast stretches in northern Afghanistan, Holdich was now eager to highlight the manifold advances that modern exploration had brought and how it actually channeled back into general understandings of history in the area. Nevertheless, historical geography and contemporary developments in politics and economy had to work together for the benefit of the imperial undertaking – they were, in fact, co-dependent: “Since the gates of India 194 Ibid., 383. 195 Ibid. 196 Holdich, The Gates of India, v.

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Fig. 7 Thomas Hungerford Holdich’s sketch of the Hindu Kush passes.

have become water gates and the way to India has been the way of the sea, very little has been known of those other landward gates which lie to the north and west of the peninsula, through which have poured immigrants from Asia and conquerors from Europe from time immemorial” remarks Holdich in his introduction and continues: “It has taken England a long time to rediscover them, and she is even now doubtful about their strategic value and the possibility of keeping them closed and barred. It is only by an examination of the historical records which concern them, and the geographical conditions which surround them, that any clear appreciation of their value can be attained.”197 From these introductory remarks onwards, The Gates of India becomes a celebratory account of explorative missions, survey work, and daredevil adventures that rediscovered the land routes to India and reconsidered their significance for the geostrategic position of Great Britain in Central Asia. In this context, the memory of Alexander again figures prominently as an early predecessor, his march of conquest is, in the interpretative framework of Holdich even transformed into a “scientific mission”198 and his army into “military explorers from the West.”199 In many ways, it was, in Holdich’s view, not so much that Alexander entered India, but rather that India had entered history through him. As the eminent geographer puts it: 197 Ibid., 1. 198 Ibid., 10 (also 65–66). 199 Ibid., 46.

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Twenty-two centuries have rolled away since the first military expedition from Europe was organized and led into the wilds of an Asia which was probably as civilized then as it is now. Two thousand two hundred years, and yet along the wild stretch of the Indian frontier, where a mound here and there testifies to the former existence of a forgotten camp, or where in the slant rays of the evening sun faint indication may be traced on the level Punjab flats of the foundation of a city long since dead, the name of the great Macedonian is uttered with reverence and awe as might be the name of a god who can still influence the lives of men, yet qualified by an affix which indicates a curious survival of the mythological conception of gods as human beings.200

By indicating that the Asia encountered by Alexander was practically the same as the one that can be found in Holdich’s own time, he draws on the prevalent image of cultural stagnation in the East and also alludes to the living local memory of the Macedonian, who seems to be remembered with a devotion as if he had only recently passed the countries in question. As Holdich claims, Alexander was also never far away when it came to indigenous traditions and stories connected to past relics and remains, where no other origin story was available. Alexander came to stand in for everything that ever was, a mnemonic place-holder in an otherwise ahistoric cultural context: “There is no history, no tradition even, connected to” traces of the past, Holdich writes, so that oral fabrication comes to stand in for proper, evidence-based history: “Doubtless it was the work of ‘Sekunder’ (Alexander) – that prehistoric, mythological, incomprehensible, and yet beneficent being, who lives in the minds of the frontier people as the apotheosis of the Deputy Commissioner.”201 The parallelization of a deputy commissioner with Alexander is curious, because it might be doubted that the locals truly looked upon a British administrator in the way suggested by Holdich, and because it suggests the replacement of the Macedonian conqueror of the past for a British one in the present. Not only has, in this way, the cultural history of the country remained stagnant, but also the political one, with the Britons simply taking on the role of the colonizers. However, Holdich’s passage is interesting for yet another reason. He primarily gives the impression that the memory of Alexander or Sikander is evoked by local traditions, but overlooks the significance it has for his own discourse. In adopting Alexander as a historical model for Great Britain’s own imperialism, Holdich is, historiographically speaking, as arbitrary as the locals in attaching their own origin stories to the Macedonian’s name – Holdich is, in fact, doing the same: It is as the first explorer in the regions beyond India, the Afghan and Baluchistan hinterlands, that he [i. e. Alexander] at present concerns us; and it may be fairly stated that no later expedition combining scientific research with military conquest ever added more to the

200 Ibid., 58. 201 Ibid., 59.

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sum of the world’s knowledge of those regions than that led by Alexander. For centuries after it no light arises on the geographical horizon of the Indian border. Indeed, not until political exigencies caused by Russia’s steady advance towards India compelled a revision of political boundaries in Persia, Baluchistan, Afghanistan, and India, was any very accurate idea obtained of the geographical conditions of Northern and Western Afghanistan, or of Baluchistan, or of Southern Persia. The mapping of these countries has been recent, and the progress of it, as year by year the network of Indian triangulation and topography spread westward and northward, has reopened many sources of light which, if not altogether new, have lain hidden ever since the Macedonian conqueror passed over them.202

Holdich presents his readers with his own origin myth of European exploration and surveying in the east and also adopts Alexander as the patron saint of the mapping process of Central Asia, whose memory is as much part of a living tradition as it allegedly is in indigenous cultural forms. It is also interesting that Holdich sees the power rivalry between Russia and England as the driving force behind the re-actualization of the imperial project begun by Alexander, thus placing the geographical endeavors within a broader canvas of world historical dimensions. Moreover, by placing the remarks about indigenous forms of communicative memory concerning Alexander and the European cultural memory attached to his name side by side, Holdich opens up a transcultural framework of encounter, where the local presence of Alexander (or “Sekunder”) and the imported cultural archives of Europe come to comment upon one another. This is neither Holdich’s expressed aim nor do the two versions of Alexander’s memory coincide or have the same authority; but this again shows in how far European stories of cultural appropriation and encounter had to contend with versions of the past that were already firmly in place in the regions through which they traveled. The Europeans may have been looking at the Asian landscapes and people through the textbooks of the ancient authors. But the memory of Alexander was already there, looking back at them. Holdich then proceeds to give a long account of Alexander’s route and the difficulties involved in adequately tracing it, whereby he also includes the ethnographic accounts of local tribes and numerous travel writings earlier discussed.203 In general, he has a very positive image of the Macedonian and tries to prove that “there was no madness in Alexander’s methods,”204 not even in his ill-fated return journey that Holdich had written about before. Although Holdich is predominantly skeptical that the great routes of past conquerors can be adequately traced and identified, due to manifold environmental changes over the centuries, he still thinks that “there are, nevertheless, some points of unmistakable identity, and from these we can work round to conclu202 Ibid., 60. On the myth of Alexander the “explorer” cf. also Briant, Exégèse, 255–63. 203 Cf. Holdich, The Gates of India, 61–132. On ethnography cf. 96 as well as 104–7. 204 Ibid., 86.

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sions which justify us in piecing together the old route-map of Northern Afghanistan to a certain extent.” As he continues, “this is not unimportant even to modern geographers,” because these ancient routes “may again be the roads of modern progress.”205 There is thus an unmistakable and highly elaborate political and imperial project engrained in Holdich’s historical geography, which is based on the inherent belief in its usefulness to modern geopolitical schemes. To him, the British Empire is the sole stabilizing power in Central Asia that could, on the one hand, lead the entire region into new prosperity and progress, and that, on the other hand, benefits itself from trade routes and transnational networks that can be traced back to ancient times. “Were England to abandon India to-morrow,” Holdich muses, “there would be nothing to prevent a lapse into the same condition of social anarchy which prevailed a century ago.”206 Holdich’s version of the historical geography of the frontier region is thus a highly ideologized account that is not only determined to underline the benefits of British rule, but also to emphasize the contributions of political geography to the overall project of a European empire in Central Asia. It was only due to the “system of field survey of a practical geographic nature” set in place after the Second Anglo-Afghan War that Britons could now proudly claim that “no country in the world is better provided with military maps of its frontiers than India.”207 But since there were also “serious gaps in map knowledge” concerning some trans-frontier parts of Afghanistan,208 historical knowledge was all the more important, and especially Alexander’s march had to be studied to get an accurate impression of the topographical conditions of the steppes and mountainous regions of British India’s northern neighbor. To Holdich, progress in geographical knowledge could clearly be equated with general civilizational and economic progress.209 And if there was a connecting strand of discourse in the colonial geography of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century it was the inherent belief in the greater purpose of mapping for the future security and prosperity of British India, and a look back to the European forebears who had paved the landward road to Central Asia. If Great Britain wanted to revive the trade routes of old, while safeguarding, at the same time, the gates to India, it would have to uphold the memory of the ancient conqueror who had cast a long shadow on all subsequent empires connecting East and West, and that was Alexander the Great.

205 206 207 208 209

Ibid., 227. Ibid., 337. Ibid., 500–1. Ibid., 501. Cf. especially his reflections on the interaction of infrastructural measures and survey work ibid., 516–29.

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5.4 Coming Full Circle: Holdich and the Memory of Frontier Exploration from Alexander to the British Empire There is probably no better way to conclude this overview of the memory of Alexander the Great along the north-west frontier of the British Empire than with Holdich, who, as has been noted before, can be said to epitomize the memory of the frontier himself. He not only repeatedly reflected on the role of geography in the politics of his time, but also extensively wrote on the frontier’s history and the many explorers who had risked their lives to add to the knowledge of the countries and people around it as well as to lastingly create the myth attached to it. In his book The Gates of India discussed above, Holdich repeatedly “[appealed] to the original narratives of the explorers themselves so far as possible”210 in his all-encompassing portrayal of the historical geography and sociopolitical development of the areas in question. It was one of the explicit goals of his book “to revive the records of past generations of explorers whose stories have a deep significance even in this day, but which are apt to be overlooked and forgotten as belonging to an ancient and superseded era of research.”211 Holdich was well aware of the manifold changes that had occurred between the beginnings of the nineteenth century and the dawn of the twentieth, both in terms of technical equipment and scientific methodology as well as in terms of the way of life of the geographical explorers. He was certainly proud of what his own generation had achieved, amassing knowledge and defining boundaries in areas where no European had ever trod before, but he was also nostalgic when it came to the experience the first explorers had that could never be recreated by his contemporaries: “Our instruments are incomparably better, and our equipment is such that we can deal with the hostility of nature in her more savage moods with comparative facility. But we no longer live with the people about whom we set out to write books – we don’t wear their clothes, eat their food, fraternize with them in their homes and in the field, learn their language and discuss with them their religion and politics. And the result is that we don’t know them half as well (…).”212 As Holdich claims, this experiential framework of the old frontier-ways had been lost and no mathematical grid or accurately sketched map could ever replace what early adventurers like Elphinstone, Pottinger, Moorcroft, Burnes, or Masson had felt in the face of unknown territories.213 Accordingly, Holdich presents his readers with the inherent paradox that the early explorers, although they did not know half as much about the geography of the lands

210 211 212 213

Ibid., vii. Ibid., viii. Ibid., ix. Of the explorers discussed in this book, Holdich extensively dealt with Pottinger (325–43), Masson (who Holdich thought was American, 344–10), Wood (411–41), Moorcroft (442–50), and Burnes (451–61).

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they had travelled through, actually knew more of the frontier than the contemporary surveyors. This was due to the close contact they had with the local inhabitants and their respective customs. Indeed, it is one of the striking characteristics of the early travel narratives that they show a great sense of immersion in as well as affection for the foreign cultures they wrote about (despite the Eurocentric perspective engrained in these accounts). However, they do not only share this common inter- or transcultural outlook, but also a fascination for the journeys of Alexander the Great, whose campaigns had been perceived as a historic predecessor. In one way or another, all of the explorers had shared in the sentiment of following in Alexander’s footsteps, in actively re-living his discovery of a marveled country and its strange people. Holdich may have missed the immediate experience of the new that the first British frontier explorers could be said to have felt, but he certainly shared in the commitment to the memory of Alexander as a connecting line to the great frontiersman of old. In his account, they are even lifted on a same par with the Macedonian and his foray to India – although Holdich was well aware that the respective direction of discovery had been reverted from antiquity to the modern era: “In ancient days the very first (and sometimes the last) thing that was learned about India was the way tither from the North. In our times the process has been reversed, and we seek for information with our backs to the South.”214 It is as if Holdich’s The Gates of India were a book designed to create a space for the memory of Alexander and of the first British explorers of the frontier to meet. They are presented as standing in the same line of historical progress. And whereas the accounts of the early explorers had used Alexander as an orientation guide to be followed, a model to be emulated, or a historical frame of reference for their countrymen back home, Holdich used it to attribute to their respective achievements and wanderings the same historical status that Alexander’s exploration could be said to have held in antiquity. The memory of Alexander and the history of the British frontier thus came full circle. Holdich’s nostalgic memory of the British frontier exploration also shared another narrative feature with the memory of Alexander the Great, namely a degree of “romance,” a fact that the eminent geographer himself was well aware of. As Holdich noted with regard to the modern Survey of India, an enterprise that he traced back all the way to Rennell, there was “along with the solid and steady progress of a great scheme for the accurate mapping of the peninsula of India, and the attainment of a full knowledge of its vast resources and possibilities, (…) on the fringe of this internal work a tide of adventure, ebbing and flowing with the rise and fall of political interest in what lies beyond India (…).” As Holdich continued, this “has led to the gathering of an enormous amount of geographical information” and finally “resulted in a record

214 Ibid., 1–2.

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of geographical enterprise unsurpassed by any such record in the world.”215 In fact, as he claims, this has set Great Britain apart from any other nations and he saw those explorers in the service of the British Empire in general as the preeminent examples of “peaceful world conquerors in the service of science.”216 Again, geography takes on an eminently important political role in Holdich’s account and he is quick to relate the history of frontier exploration up to the twentieth century and his own survey work. In the course of this study, we have aptly discussed in how far the memory of Alexander was attached to all the explorative missions described by Holdich and it is a fitting end to his own reminiscences that he chooses to conclude with an episode of his boundary work between Kafiristan and Chitral in 1894: I will conclude with a reference to one occasion on which my own feet trod very closely in the skirts of Greek romance, and which might almost be a story from dreamland. On the pretty flower-bordered Mall at Peshawar, looking northward from the cantonments over the city, the view is closed in by the dark line of frontier hills on the far side of the open plain. (…) This is described by classical writers (notably by Arrian) as forming part of the country visited by Alexander the Great when he made his momentous march through the north-west of India. There is no great difficulty, now that we have complete geographical knowledge of all that lies between Kabul and the Indus north of the Khaibar route, in identifying generally, and step by step, the scenes of the Greek engagements with the fierce hill tribes of the north, some of whom are represented in these hills to-day. Place names have changed, but the rivers have held to their courses, and it is surprising how many of the old Greek names are to be recognised even now. (…) On the southern slopes of the Koh-i-Moor there existed some fifty years ago, according to the early Indian Survey atlas sheets, a large scattered village called Nuzar, or Nusar. It has apparently disappeared – at least, I could find no really sound confirmation of the story of its existence under the name in 1894, although I made diligent inquiries in localities as near the mountain as I could get. I have no doubt, however, that it did exist, for it must have been here precisely that the historical incident occurred which describes Alexander as sparing the leading citizens of Nysa (or Nissa) because they claimed Greek origin like his own. Some of you no doubt will remember the story. This was after he had been as far east as the Indus, where he fought the memorable fight of Aornos, when he returned westward to hunt the brother of Assakenos, who had taken refuge in the Chitral hills. These worthy citizens of Nysa claimed to be descended from the Greeks who in a dim and distant past had penetrated into the Indian borderland under one Dionysos.217

To be sure, this is a long passage, but it is nonetheless worth to quote it at length, because it epitomizes many aspects of the memory of Alexander the Great along the 215 216 217

Thomas Hungerford Holdich, “The Romance of Indian Surveys,” Journal of the Royal Society of Arts 64 (1916), 174. Ibid. Ibid., 182. On Nysa and this specific episode cf. Arr. an. 5.1.1–2.

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north-west frontier. Although Holdich reports on contemporary survey work, his historical digression on Alexander’s invasion is, in fact, longer than what he chooses to write on his own findings, except for the important detail that he could not verify whether traces of the alleged Nysa of the past could really be found on the mountain beyond the frontier. It could be a mirage of frontier romance, or a really existing city with a long history – it was for the onlooker, or rather surveyor, to decide. This was the case with many references to Alexander discussed in the course of this book – he was always named, by both the British explorers as well as locals, as one of the great foundational heroes of the areas in question, but when one really chose to look closely at what was still there that bore witness of his presence, one could not be so sure if the alleged places and sites had ever been connected to his conquest. Nevertheless, Alexander was a constant presence, very much alive in the stories attached to the country and his heroic deeds. He lived in the fantasy of explorers and indigenous groups alike. There were not many who commented on the thin line between fact and fiction in the memory of Alexander as openly as Holdich and it is no wonder that he recollects the above episode in the context of his contact with Kafir tribes, who, as we already discussed, themselves claimed descent from the Macedonian – just as the nobles of Nysa had claimed descent from Dionysos and his devoted entourage when Alexander first marched through these regions. This was an incident of history repeating itself, with the British explorers following in the footsteps of Alexander, who had likewise followed his mythical hero. As Holdich self-reflectively muses, this was “a truly delightful reminiscence of the romance of classical mythology to the heat-weary Anglo-Indian gazing at the ribs and ravines of the Koh-i-Mor. So far as Alexander is concerned, then, after sacrifice upon the mountain, the incident ends.”218 It was a memory that had entered the mind of many explorers and travelers, all the way from Elphinstone and Moorcroft, over Burnes and Harlan, up to McNair and Robertson. Alexander had become part of the collective memory, and maybe even of the collective unconscious, creeping into the thoughts of explorers even when their mind should have been elsewhere. But, again, there is probably no better source to underline this curious trick of the historical imagination than Holdich himself: “It is but one out of many experiences which befall the Indian surveyor which carry him just for the time out of the routine world of scientific investigation and survey progress into the realms which more closely border on real regions of romance.”219 To be sure, not all of the many incidents of the actualization of the memory of Alexander in the context of exploration around the north-west frontier of British India can count as mere romanticizing. There were manifold functions and very serious undertakings involved in the repeated cultural references to Alexander the Great – and

218 219

Holdich, “The Romance of Indian Surveys,” 183. Ibid.

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Holdich himself continued to refer to him for the sake of survey work, along with other travelers in the early twentieth century.220 Still, Holdich’s general impression holds true, because the Macedonian could be said to have thus deeply premeated the colonial imagination of British India that he became a foundational hero of the colony itself. As we have seen, he played an integral part in the formation of a British collective identity and for the purpose of self-representation, especially in military contexts. The conquests of Sindh and the Punjab were interpreted on the basis of analogies to the Macedonian’s march, and the victoriousness of the British Indian troops could be paralleled with the successful and spectacular battles led by Alexander. For a moment, it truly seemed as if the Britons were emulating the Macedonian’s imperial drive, a fact that was not only reflected on the battlefield, but probably more importantly by the extensive enterprise of the Indian Survey and the discoveries around the frontier area. In the course of the second half of the nineteenth century, the image of Alexander as a great discoverer and explorer had taken on a new cultural significance and men like Holdich were quick to adapt this image for drawing up a history of the British exploration work that depicted it as standing in a line of tradition reaching all the way back into antiquity. Geography was not only political, because it amassed manifold information used for military control and infrastructural and resource-based policies, but also because it adopted an imperial ideology that saw the British Empire as the only true source of progress in Central Asia. Knowledge was integral to political control, and geography procured map knowledge that was partly drawn up on ancient sources, including the histories of Alexander. Thereby, historical geography entered the race for empire in British India as a major player. This also remained true when ethnographic accounts reported of remote Hindu Kush tribes claiming descent from Alexander. This gave the British memory of Alexander a transcultural dimension, although the ethnographic accounts were quick to question the local traditions based on oral memory and very dubious sources. However, it was also a sign of the great impact the Macedonian had had during the course of history and it spurred on the British desire to repeat his magnificent deeds – or, rather, not only to repeat them, but to surpass them. After all, Alexander had not managed to conquer all of India and had not carved out a dominion that would prove the test of time. The British had; but in their collective memory it almost was as if British India had been won by Alexander (or Sikander) for them.

220 Cf., for instance, Thomas Hungerford Holdich, “Between the Tigris and the Indus,” The Geographical Review 4, no. 3 (1917), 161–70. Also Alexander Friedrich von Stahl, “Notes on the March of Alexander the Great from Ecbatana to Hyrcania,” The Geographical Journal 64, no. 4 (1924), 312–29.

Chapter VI Epilogue The Road More Travelled “Bumping and jarring over frozen roads, slewing through great cuttings of hardened snow drift, it took us twelve hours to get over the Lowari Pass and into Chitral. Then, just as the sun disappeared, the last valley in Pakistan’s North-West Frontier came into view,” writes Michael Wood in his fascinating – part travelogue, part history book – In the Footsteps of Alexander the Great.1 It is a dazzling account of the journey Wood undertook together with his small team of cameramen, sound engineers, and television editors, and which led them all the way from just below Vergina, the capital of ancient Macedonia, to the north of India. Their journey was turned into a very popular, primetime BBC documentary, first aired, over four one-hour episodes in 1998.2 Wood’s book as well as the television series constantly intermix historical narrative with modern-day portraits of the places and people encountered on the eastward route in the “footsteps” of Alexander. Thereby, a curious connection is established between the evoked past of the areas traversed during this long voyage and the modern-day appearance of the often desolate historical sites and ruins. However, they are not solely commented on with the authoritative voice of a seemingly omniscient television presenter, but these places come alive themselves. This is due to the fact that they get shown in their immediate life context, as part of communities and settlements that pulsate with human activity; and, what is more, the sites connected to Alexander’s route are brought to life through the breath of a storyteller, or rather many storytellers, in native tongues, through chants, and incantations, and recitations. It is one of the highly laudable feats of Wood’s documentary that it does not content itself with presenting a canonized Western textbook version of Alexander’s campaign, but infuses it with a highly colorful and diverse indigenous perspective, encompassing peasants in Anatolian hamlets, professional singers in the Iranian desert as well as storytellers in sprawl1 2

Michael Wood, In the Footsteps of Alexander the Great: A Journey from Greece to India (London: BBC Books, 2009 [1997]), 7. In the Footsteps of Alexander the Great. Directed by David Wallace, presented and written by Michael Wood. 1998. London: BBC Worldwide Ltd, 2005. DVD.

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ing Indian metropolises. In a twisted reversal of historical time and narrative conventions of history presentation, this is an oral history account of Alexander’s campaign; and the journey in his “footsteps” is just as important as the past events upon which it is based. Therefore, modern journey and Alexander history are mutually dependent. While the story of Alexander presented in the documentary naturally had to take its main impetus from the Greco-Roman historians, as Wood himself reflects in the introduction to his book, which accompanied the television series, “its special interest is,” nonetheless, “that it takes the form of a journey in Alexander’s footsteps, perhaps the first time this has been done in full since Alexander’s day.”3 It is not clear whether Wood was also thinking of the British traveler-explorers from the late eighteenth to the early twentieth century who had made following Alexander’s tracks a literary topos in Anglophone literature of travel and exploration when he penned those lines; but their experiences and their own writings are certainly echoed in numerous passages of Wood’s travelogue that may as well have stemmed from the numerous explorative journals discussed in this book: For instance, Wood writes That same glorious autumn we crossed from war-torn Kabul to North Afghanistan, walking as Alexander did over the Khawak Pass in the Hindu Kush, with packhorses carrying our gear and gunmen by our side to ward off bandits. The following spring we came down off the Khyber and retraced Alexander’s steps up the inaccessible heights of Mount Pir Sar in the North-West Frontier; we sailed Mohanno boats down the Indus just as the furnace heat of the hot season started to clamp on the plains, and finally we took a train of twenty-three camels across the Makran Desert in an effort to experience for ourselves what might have happened to Alexander’s army during their disastrous defeat.4

This passage would not be misplaced in most of the travel accounts analyzed in the course of this study. To be sure, none of the traveler-explorers discussed took the liberty of undertaking a voyage merely to retrace Alexander’s campaign into the east. Rather, the memory of Alexander was integrated into an overarching, often very pragmatic framework of mapping, surveying, or, for that matter, surviving. In contrast, Wood explicitly traces Alexander’s footsteps from the Balkans, over Turkey, Egypt, Iran, and all the way to India for the sake of the “experience” alone. There were European adventurers, who undertook similar voyages, specifically in the first half of the nineteenth century, but the political context has remarkably shifted, not to speak of the infrastructural means of travel and communication (although Wood and his party traveled long distances on foot or on horseback). For one thing, when the traveler-explorers of the long nineteenth century first embarked on a journey tracing Alexander’s footsteps, they did so by reversing the historical route, i. e. by ap-

3 4

Wood, In the Footsteps of Alexander the Great, 12. Ibid.

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proaching from the south, whereas Wood had the opportunity of starting from northern Greece. What is more, the heyday of European imperialism is long past, the British Empire is a distant, albeit powerful relic of modern history. Nevertheless, as Wood reminds us, the Near East and Central Asia are still war-ridden regions, even more so now than at the time when his text was first published. Moreover, Wood’s narrative is part of a public history intended for a large audience, relying more on the power of images, and especially of moving images, than ever before in the history of humankind. Although colonial photography became important towards the end of the nineteenth century, none of the explorers would have dreamed of the possibilities of communicating their journeys to a home audience via satellite tv or other multimedia channels. In contrast, theirs was a textual discourse, based on the shared agreement that they were writing about things they had witnessed first-hand on their respective travels or political missions. The traveler-explorers in the British Empire were predominantly communicating amongst themselves, that is amongst equals, who knew the Central Asian regions or the Indian subcontinent; but there were exceptions, some of their writings were indeed intended for a large audience, and it has been one of the main arguments of this book that the memory of Alexander the Great was actually used as a historical reference point, anchoring the otherwise strange and exotic accounts of foreign countries into a familiar historical foundation. This was a means of embedding the travelers’ own narratives into a geographical as well as world-historical context, while also heightening the sense of mystery as well as the significance of the experience of travelling in Alexander’s footsteps. If there is a connection between Wood’s narrative and the travel writings of the long nineteenth century, it mainly consists in this very specific mode of framing one’s own journey against the background of the textual sources related to Alexander’s route. Thereby, it is not so much about understanding or learning about the Macedonian and his motives (although this might be a welcome side-effect), but rather about, as Wood himself makes clear, “experiencing” what Alexander’s fabled journey to the east must have felt like. In a post-colonial age and a time of global tourism, this may even be a stronger motivation factor than it had been two centuries ago. But, then as now, there is a strong sense of adventure engrained in the narratives tracing Alexander’s route, a motif already visible in the Alexander historiography, namely of traversing, even of transcending boundaries and heading off into the unknown – as if one’s own life depended on it. There is no clear point in time demarcating the moment when the motif of travelling in Alexander’s footsteps became a cultural topos. But in the case of the British Empire and its northwestern regions on the Indian subcontinent it was the tumultuous era towards the end of the eighteenth century, when multiple revolutions had shaken up the old Continental power balance and Napoleon Bonaparte set his eyes on the British overseas possessions. As Chapter 2, “Setting the Stage: Exploration, Mapping, and the Memory of Alexander in the ‘Napoleonic Epoch’ of Frontier Policy,” has shown, pur-

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ported schemes of the French general had alerted British strategists and policy makers in India, who suddenly had to reflect on the various ways by which their colonial possessions might be attacked from the north. They quickly turned to colonial maps and the writings of geographers like James Rennell, who had drawn up maps of northern India not so much based on inaccurate survey reports, but mostly on the ancient Greco-Roman sources connected to Alexander’s campaign. The ancient texts were still seen, two thousand years after the events, as the best available intelligence on northwestern India. In this context, the military context was important: Because Alexander was regarded as one of the greatest conquerors the world had ever seen, his landward route to India became a particularly important reference point, discussed by Rennell as well as contemporaries like William Robertson and William Vincent; moreover, Bonaparte’s military success garnered him comparison to the Macedonian, and so the memory of Alexander was both a specter that haunted the British colonial imagination as well as a role model that inspired imperial undertakings. As can be seen from the writings of the period, strongly influenced by Enlightenment debates, Alexander was, in fact, an orientation guide in two senses of the term: on the one hand, in a pragmatic, geographical sense in that the sources connected to his campaign were seen as relatively accurate textual portrayals of the regions around India’s north-west that could well be used to get a general impression of the region; on the other hand, in a metaphorical sense, Alexander was seen as a foundational hero of Western imperialism in Asia, connecting Europe and the East, first by force, then by commerce and exploration. It is therefore no wonder that British debates of the time often perceived Alexander as a role model to be followed if one wanted to establish a lasting empire in Central Asia and on the Indian subcontinent. Both aspects reverberated in the first explorations beyond the northwestern frontier that were actually undertaken with the aim of establishing diplomatic alliances with local rulers for a possible defense of British India against French aggression. But these missions also had the goal of assembling knowledge about local geographies, cultures, and tribal politics. In many ways, Mountstuart Elphinstone’s 1808–09 mission to Kabul marks a decisive point in the memory of Alexander the Great along the north-west frontier, because the Scotsman, although he only sparingly made references to Alexander, used him both to read the landscape and places he was traversing and also reported on local traditions of his conquest. The Britons had finally arrived at the historical places where Alexander had ventured more than two thousand years ago and his memory came to the fore in the accounts of traveler-explorers, who were keen on identifying the sites connected to his journey. Interestingly enough, the same sentiment is still echoed in Wood’s account: As we journeyed it was astonishing how much more came out of the ancient texts when read on the ground. The words of the Greek historians came alive in a way in which even their authors could not have foreseen – for they had no more seen these sites than most of

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their modern counterparts. Often solutions to Alexander riddles were instantly apparent when one stood on the ground where these events had actually taken place. But even more than that, there was the sense of a continuing history: a realization that Alexander’s tale still reverberated across eastern Asia, especially, strangely enough, in the Muslim world, where he is regarded as a great folk hero, whether as ‘The Two Horned One’, the ‘Great’ or the ‘Devil.’5

The topos of visiting the places connected to Alexander’s journey in the east with the ancient textbooks in hand had been prevalent from the days of John Malcolm and Elphinstone all the way to Aurel Stein in the early twentieth century. Wood’s account reads like an updated version of the strange cultural dialectic between personal autopsy of historical sites and a textual practice of interpretation. It also draws on another experience made by the early British explorers, namely that an ‘Eastern’-inflected memory of Alexander had been waiting for them beyond the north-west frontier. And accounts of these indigenous versions grew ever stronger and more numerous the farther travelers like Moorcroft went beyond the immediate outskirts of British India, tracing Alexander’s footsteps in remote regions of Turkestan, the Hindu Kush, or the Afghan steppe. In consequence, their accounts became infused, if only sparingly, with a transcultural memory of the Macedonian. This latter aspect is also apparent in Wood’s own account that also gives more room to the violent and often irrational aspects of Alexander’s history, which not only consisted in a merging of East and West, but also in their brutal face-off. As Wood himself reflects on early in his book, the breakdown of Western imperialism and the rise of cultural theories in the wake of post-colonialism have re-set the common framework for how Alexander’s own conquest in the east is perceived, highlighting the human cost of his conquest, hierarchies of power, and cultural self-images separating European self from Oriental ‘other.’6 To the traveler-explorers of the Victorian epoch, this self-reflective outlook had largely been opaque, veiled as it was behind an inherent belief in the world-historical and civilizing mission of the British Empire in Asia and India. The memory of Alexander was, against this background, used as a historical example legitimizing British claims of rulership and cultural supremacy. Britons were stylizing themselves and their colonial identities very much based on images taken from the ancient sources. As Chapter 3, “Romancing Alexander: Afghan Adventures, Imperial Imitations, and the Great Game – the Examples of ‘Sikander’ Burnes and ‘General’ Josiah Harlan,” has shown, the memory of Alexander became central to imperial self-fashioning and self-representation concerning a Western recipient group, but also concerning the in-

5 6

Ibid., 13. Cf. ibid., 11–13.

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digenous population. Adventurers like Alexander Burnes or Josiah Harlan repeatedly drew on the Macedonian in their own narratives of their exploits in the East. Both took Alexander as a personal inspiration, but the connection reached deeper than mere emulation. It was a way of negotiating the pitfalls of exploration in Afghanistan, a country that had, since antiquity, been a dangerous place, and of comprehending the power struggles in Central Asia that had seemingly pervaded the region since Greco-Bactrian times. Especially the race for empire and the rivalry between Great Britain and Russia came to the fore in the geostrategic and political debates of the time. Consequently, British need of gaining trans-frontier intelligence intensified, also leading to hectic and sometimes aimless diplomatic efforts to influence local politics in Afghanistan, which increasingly played a role as a possible buffer zone between British and Russian spheres of interest. In this context, Alexander’s own exploits in this part of the world was a recurrent backdrop to the writings of men like Burnes and Harlan, who, despite their imperialistic worldview, took a great interest in local customs and became well acquainted with the local way of life. Accordingly, the memory of Alexander was also ingrained with a certain ambivalence that entailed a reflection on the dark underbelly of colonial conquest and of traversing a country that had remained a closed book to policy makers in London and Calcutta. The disaster of the First Anglo-Afghan War had not been entirely foreseeable, but it became comprehendible when one took into account the difficulties that even Alexander had to face in Bactria and the Sogdiana. Alexander’s empire and that of the British overlapped and finally conflated, so that Wood finds remnants of both: “Alexander meanwhile moved with light armed units along the Kunar valley in East Afghanistan, and crossed into the North-West Frontier of Pakistan by the Nawar Pass,” he writes, “leaving a new fortified town at a site still known as Iskandero, where a big ancient mound is topped by a decayed British military post.”7 This image, of ruin upon ruin, attesting to the different layers of imperial history along the north-west frontier is an apt way of reflecting on both the violent history of the region as well as on the multiple cultural encounters that had taken place there and had become imprinted on the landscape itself. Chapter 4, “The Material Fabrics of Memory and the Possession of the Past: Colonial Archaeology from Charles Masson to Sir Aurel Stein,” has focused on the way the relics and material traces of the past entered the framework of British colonialism in the east. There was a deep interest in local Indian culture as well as antiquities that could be found or procured in Central Asia and the subcontinent, but this fascination for relics attesting to the long history of the region certainly intensified when the British travelers and explorers ventured ever further northwards. Especially strange mounds and earthen structures, finally identified as Buddhist stupas, sparked the in-

7

Ibid., 162.

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terest of the Westerners, who would incessantly dig for ancient coins, jewelry, or any other relics enshrined in the mysterious assemblages. Again, the memory of Alexander the Great was never far away as colonial officers and part-time antiquarians described the monuments they found on their respective tours. In fact, the Western authors saw Greek influence wherever they looked, even in places where no ancient Greek had ever set foot, until it slowly dawned on them that they were dealing with a far older, and more heterogeneous history. The material memory of the places they visited told of manifold cultural encounters and political power shifts, and although the traces that could unequivocally be attributed to former Greek presence in the region were sparse, there remained the incessant desire to connect the antiquarian record to Alexander’s conquests in the region. Alexander became a foil upon which the materials could be read, even if this, at times, led to misinterpretations. More than a leisure activity or a way to pass the time in the east, however, antiquarian researches soon developed into professional, if often improvised affairs. Orientalist studies had already established an institutional framework towards the end of the eighteenth century that was further advanced when the focus shifted from texts to material relics, and especially coins during the 1820s and 1830s. This era also saw the beginnings of colonial archeology when Charles Masson, a deserter from the British army, whose name was actually James Lewis, undertook numerous expeditions into the Afghan heartland, unearthing thousands of ancient coins, and digging for traces of Alexander’s urban foundations in the region. The memory of Alexander would also spark the first proper archaeological surveys, initialized by Alexander Cunningham, in the north of British India from the middle of the nineteenth century onwards. In this context, archaeology was a highly political affair, connected to the self-proclaimed civilizational mission of the British, and their self-imposed cultural duty of resurrecting the rich heritage of the region. Thereby, the topos of following in Alexander’s tracks was made not only a literary motif, but also a methodological principle. It was hoped that following the description of the ancient authors would enable the identification of numerous sites and places connected to Alexander’s route. Yet, in most cases, these identifications were based on analogy rather than material proof. Nonetheless, this did not keep archaeologists like Marc Aurel Stein from undertaking some of the most spectacular expeditions in the history of archaeology, including a survey of the Punjab where he believed to have found the fabled rock fortress Aornos. This episode is also remembered by Wood, when he recounts how his party “followed in Alexander’s and Stein’s footsteps to try to reconstruct the dramatic events of Alexander’s epic siege.”8 A remarkable scene, explorer following upon explorer, in footsteps that have, even in a time span of more than two thousand years, lost nothing of their original contours, or narrative appeal.

8

Ibid., 166.

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At around the same period, when full-time and eventually professionally trained archaeologists roamed the regions around the north-west frontier, Alexander was not only on the mind of those looking for the material traces of the past, but rather a constant presence in debates that focused on colonial identities and how the Macedonian’s remarkable history could be put to use for negotiating the identity of self and ‘other.’ As Chapter 5, “Contested Memories and Collective Identities: Military Associations, Ethnographic Encounters and Political Geographies in the Age of Empire,” has argued, Alexander became integral to the self-representation of British colonial officers and the military victories in the aftermath of the annexation of Sindh and the Punjab. The discursive link between the British Indian army and Alexander’s Macedonians thereby primarily consisted in geographical analogy as well as their respective victoriousness. Local rulers and their troops could be compared to Porus and the Indians fighting Alexander, while the Macedonian conqueror was conceptualized as a role model for military values and masculinity – this led so far that Alexander could even be characterized as an embodiment of the virtues of a true British gentleman! In general, the British Raj came to be seen as the logical historical continuation and outcome of a Western undertaking first begun by Alexander, and while the Macedonian could be said to have prepared the grounds for the British, they had, in fact, surpassed him by conquering all of India. There was another side to this story, however, when stories of local tribes and rulers along the frontier circulated that claimed to be direct descendants of Alexander and his soldiers. While the British link to Alexander mainly consisted in discursively constructed analogies, the indigenous traditions spoke of real genealogical connections that had to be accounted for on the part of the European colonizers. How could it be that a seemingly backward people had sprung from such a great and successful leader and his able followers? Accordingly, ethnographical texts tried to solve this apparent contradiction and challenged the local claims by pitting their oral traditions against Western text-based culture. Thus, the memory of Alexander became a contested matter for debate, revolving around the question who could truly assert claim to his heritage. It also revolved around the question of cultural identity, and while the oral traditions of tribes like the Kafirs have predominantly been rebuked in the course of ethnographical fieldwork, the particular local variant of the memory of Alexander still provides a powerful testament to its transcultural range and mobility, and reverberates in contemporary accounts like Wood’s travelogue, which, in fact, begins with a visit to a remote Kafir settlement. “It is easy to suspend disbelief,” Wood writes as he looks upon the local men sitting around a camp fire and continues, “It was an extraordinary idea that we were staring at the descendants of the last survivors of the Macedonian army which had burst across Asia like a meteor between 334 and 324 BC.”9 This is exactly the sentiment that many trans-frontier traveler-explor-

9

Ibid., 9.

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ers described during the long nineteenth century, and it indeed takes a suspension of disbelief to think that Wood’s text has been written about one hundred years later than Robertson’s ultimate ethnographical account of the Kafirs – when one looks at their narrative fabric, they might as well be contemporaneous accounts. A certain timelessness is characteristic of the memory of Alexander the Great along the north-west frontier. Thomas Hungerford Holdich, Surveyor-General of the frontier regions, was well aware of this fact when he penned the history of frontier exploration at the dawn of the twentieth century. In his account, Alexander is both conqueror and explorer and a precursor to all the British adventurers and travelers that roamed the frontier regions during the long nineteenth century. In Holdich’s history, it is almost as if the chronological and cultural barrier separating antiquity and modernity was suspended and Alexander and the British were working on the shared mission of surveying a region of the world that can be seen as the ultimate meeting-point of East and West. In a curious transfer of historical experience, it is again Wood’s travelogue that sums up best what any of the explorers discussed in this book may have said of their respective journey in the footsteps of Alexander the Great: As for our own adventures in the footsteps of Alexander, we had seen the past alive; we had seen things hardly believable in modern times – the last vestiges of the ancient world Alexander and his army had known, the traditional civilizations on which he made war. We had ridden with the Turkomans and sailed with the Mohannos; we had sacrificed the goat, and drunk wine with the Black Pagans of the Hindu Kush. (…) We had heard the singing of the Avesta and had met the last descendants of the Macedonian army by a clump of violets under the sacred peak of Tirich Mir. In the hands of the scholars, history is one thing; in the hands of the people who were our eye-witnesses all along our journey, it is another. It is a communal event which exists forever in the retelling, an event which has permeated the culture until now.10

There could not be a better way to sum up the trajectory of the memory of Alexander the Great along the north-west frontier as described in this book. Our eye-witnesses, the travelers and explorers around the British Indian frontier regions from the late eighteenth to the early twentieth century all harked back, in one form or another, to the long tradition of referring to Alexander as a hero to be emulated, a cultural and political authority to be valued, and a guide to be followed. From Hellenistic times onwards, this memory has reverberated through the ages, making Alexander a trans-historical figure. As this book has argued, he is also a transcultural one, present in numerous guises and under different names along what once was the British Indian north-west frontier. To be sure, the indigenous traditions and accounts did not enter the British travel writings analyzed in this study unfiltered; they were read through a Western

10

Ibid., 224.

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prism, fractured, and finally integrated into a Eurocentric narrative of conquest and cultural domination. But they also challenged British readings of the Alexander history, infusing them with alternative accounts and different, more diverse stories to tell. In this sense, the memory of Alexander, or Sikander, became a site of cultural contact and the negotiation of cultural identity. And so, the story continues. It is the story of a man who lives in the imagination of the world.

List of Figures Fig. 1 Frontispiece of James Rennell’s Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan, taken from: James Rennell, Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan; or the Mogul Empire: With an Introduction, Illustrative of the Geography and Present Division of that Country: and a Map of the Countries Situated Between the Heads of the Indian Rivers, and the Caspian Sea (London: M. Brown, 1783), xii. Fig. 2 Portrait of Sir Alexander Burnes in Asian clothes, early 1830s, taken from: Alexander Burnes, Cabool: A Personal Narrative of a Journey to, and Residence in that City in the Years 1836, 7 and 8 (London: John Murray, 1842), frontispiece, n. p. Fig. 3 Josiah Harlan’s sketch of Dost Mohammed Khan, taken from: Josiah Harlan, A Memoir of India and Avghanistaun: With Observations on the Present Exciting and Critical State and Future Prospects of those Countries (Philadelphia: J. Dobson, 1842), frontispiece, n. p. Fig. 4 Drawing of the Tope of Manikyala, 1839; published in the revised edition of Mountstuart Elphinstone, An Account of the Kingdom of Caubul, and its Dependencies in Persia, Tartary, and India; Comprising a View of the Afghaun Nation and a History of the Dooraunee Monarchy, New and Revised Edition, in TwoVolumes, Vol. 1 (London: Richard Bentley, 1839), 108. Fig. 5 Illustrations of Greco-Bactrian coins found by Charles Masson; published in: Charles Masson, “Memoir on the Ancient Coins found at Beghram, in the Kohistán of Kábul,” Journal of the Asiatic Society 28 (1834), 175. Fig. 6 Thomas Hungerford Holdich’s sketch of Alexander’s route in the frontier regions, taken from: Thomas Hungerford Holdich, The Gates of India, Being a Historical Narrative (London: Macmillan and Co., 1910), 94. Fig. 7 Thomas Hungerford Holdich’s sketch of the Hindu Kush passes, taken from: Thomas Hungerford Holdich, The Gates of India, Being a Historical Narrative (London: Macmillan and Co., 1910), 501.

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Index Abbott, James, 204, 230–34 Achilles, 11, 110, 259 Afghanistan, 15–16, 29–32, 43–46, 73, 76, 79–80, 87–90, 98–113, 120–21, 124–40, 144–48, 151–53, 155–57, 160, 163–81, 187, 200, 209, 211, 214, 219–21, 237–53, 260–62, 265–66, 273, 277 Ai Khanoum, 104, 155–56 Alexander Romance, 40–41, 205, 239n84 Alexander the Great, 11–12, 23n35, 108 – altars of, 60–61, 95, 120–21 – and imperialism, 23, 26, 27n43, 31–32, 53, 67–74, 97–98, 106, 134–38, 179–80, 210–15, 226–27 – and local traditions, 16, 29, 34–41, 94–97, 124–26, 140, 152, 169–72, 227–229, 237–51, 264 – as inspirational model, 20–21, 24, 26, 50, 77, 100–2, 110, 114, 123, 135–37, 140–44, 148, 151, 154, 159, 178, 187–89, 198, 256, 265, 273 – as “Sikander”/“Iskander”, 15–16, 21n26, 35, 39–45, 95–96, 100–2, 110–11, 124, 127, 150, 229, 247, 264, 271, 281 – campaign of, 12, 17–20, 23–26, 35, 40, 46– 49, 54–66, 80–86, 91–93, 104, 109, 115–22, 134–35, 138–40, 156–58, 176, 184, 188–93, 199–209, 220–26, 230–36, 253–66, 272–80 – cities founded by, 23, 122–24, 134, 139, 162, 174, 179, 186, 193, 215, 232 – “footsteps”/“tracks” of, 15, 19, 24–25, 28–30, 51, 61, 65, 78, 91, 95, 109, 128, 133, 139–42, 153, 166, 172, 187, 200, 203, 211, 215–17, 237, 258, 268, 270–80 Alexandria ad Caucasum, 155, 174, 179, 215 ancient sources, 11, 13n6, 15–16, 24–27, 30–31, 38–39, 42–44, 47, 51–62, 72, 75, 78–82, 88– 93, 101–4, 109–10, 115–19, 151, 154, 158, 168,

172–73, 182–84, 187–92, 204–8, 217, 228–32, 238, 244–45, 257, 260n188, 265, 271, 275–76 Anderson, Benedict, 34n64 Anglo-Afghan Wars, 42, 100–2, 123, 129, 168, 234–35, 238, 241, 248–49, 255, 266, 277 Anglo-Sikh Wars, 44, 221, 226–27, 230–34, 238 Anville, Jean-Baptiste Bourguignon d’, 59, 86 Aornos, 142, 156, 170, 189–91, 200, 203–8, 215, 269, 278 archaeology, 14, 30, 43–44, 104, 138, 153–215, 277–79. See also surveys archive, 35–37, 44, 49–50, 61, 132, 137, 168, 223, 265 Aristobulos, 13, 56 Armenia, 81, 107 Arrian, 13n6, 47, 55–56, 60, 65, 70–71, 86–88, 101, 110, 115–18, 119n72, 121, 124, 154, 172–73, 204–5, 238, 257–58, 269 Asia, 12, 16, 47, 71, 75–76, 107–9, 125, 129, 133, 137, 164, 179, 195, 200, 209, 227–28, 243, 249, 262–64, 275–76, 279 – Central Asia, 14–15, 17–19, 31, 43–46, 49–50, 62, 65, 80, 91, 100–3, 106, 112–13, 124, 130–36, 141, 144–46, 150–55, 163, 166, 170, 174–78, 197–201, 208–10, 214, 217–21, 224–26, 240– 41, 247, 251–55, 261, 265–66, 271, 274, 277 Asiatic Society, The, 90, 93, 114, 156, 164, 168, 176–79, 182–85 Attock, 60, 66, 74n131, 97 autopsy, 28–30, 53, 60–61, 86, 92, 232, 245, 256. See also experience, travel writing Babylon, 12, 61, 82n161, 116, 149, 223, 259 Bactria, ancient, 97, 101–4, 108–9, 120, 124–25, 138, 142, 158–60, 163, 168, 247, 277 – Greco-Bactrians, 44, 125–26, 157, 176–79, 211–13, 227, 240, 243–45, 277

306

Index

Badian, Ernst, 13n10 Balkh, 93–94, 97, 123, 127 Ball, Warwick, 18, 156, 247 Bassnett, Susan, 28 Begram, 155, 174–76, 179–80, 186, 210 Bellew, Henry Walter, 245–46 Beloe, William, 57n39 Bengal, 57–59, 67n90, 87–88, 156, 164, 182, 185, 227, 230, 245 Bentnick, Lord William, 176, 183 Bessus, 108 Bevan, Edwyn, 16–19, 184, 205, 209 Biddulph, John, 242–43 biography, 13n6, 20n20, 28, 91–93, 132–33, 137n153, 141, 144–45, 236 Birdwood, George, 259–60 Blanshard, Alastair J. L., 13 Bokhara, 43, 83, 93–96, 112–13, 120, 123–24, 127, 175, 218 Bombay, 78, 84, 87, 112, 165, 174, 178, 244 Bonaparte, Napoléon, 14, 17–19, 42, 46, 50, 62, 70–74, 81, 91–93, 163, 205–7, 218, 234, 274–75 Bowden, Hugh, 39n83 Bradley, Mark, 21 Brahminism, 53, 118, 164, 182, 187 Brauer, George C., 23n35 Briant, Pierre, 18n17, 19–20, 23n24, 36, 39n82, 47, 55n33, 57, 62–65, 68, 75, 80, 85, 223–24 British Empire, 14–19, 22–24, 33, 45–50, 63–64, 68–76, 91–93, 107, 111, 135–37, 142, 147, 180– 81, 195–96, 202, 212, 217–22, 225, 230, 251–54, 260–61, 266–71, 274–77 British India, 14, 16–26, 29–30, 36–38, 41–47, 50, 57–58, 61, 64–66, 72–79, 83–84, 89–93, 97–98, 101–3, 107, 110, 115, 130, 135, 165–68, 174, 180–86, 194–97, 202–3, 209–14, 216–19, 221–22, 226–30, 233–37, 241–42, 246–47, 250–55, 259–61, 266, 270–71, 275–80 British Museum. See also museum Brown, Stewart J., 63–64 Brysac, Shareen Blair, 157, 253 Bucephalia, 122, 162, 232 Buddha, 44, 187–89 Buddhism, 162–63, 175, 179, 182–83, 187, 199 Burke, Edmund, 63, 135n144

Burnes, Alexander, 43–44, 94n205, 99–130, 134, 137–39, 144–48, 151–52, 164–70, 175, 180, 237–38, 267, 270, 276–77 Calcutta, 59n51, 67, 90, 104, 107, 141, 164, 177, 181, 277 Callisthenes, 12n4 – ps.-Callisthenes, 40 Candahar, 60, 66, 89, 240–42 Caspian, 55n35, 83, 91, 107, 112, 120, 123, 218 Caucasus, 55n35, 107, 127, 141–43, 175 Chakrabarti, Dilip K., 164 Chesney, Francis Rawdon, 221–26 China, 133, 189, 198–202 – Chinese Buddhist texts, 156, 187–92 – Chinese pilgrims, 44, 188, 198–200, 213 Christianity, 74, 131, 141, 183, 221, 226 Christie, Charles, 84 civilization, 26–27, 38, 44, 76–77, 90, 103–5, 108, 118, 134–35, 151, 185–87, 194–201, 211, 222, 246, 249, 261, 266, 280 classical reception, 14, 18–23, 27, 31–33, 39, 47–48, 53, 98, 108, 233 Claudius Ptolemy, 55 Cleitarchus of Alexandria, 13 Cohn, Bernard, 17, 185 coins, ancient, 43, 95, 104, 120, 154–55, 159–60, 163–68, 171–86, 190–93, 214, 278. See also numismatics Cole, Henry, 194 Colley-Wellesley, Richard, Lord, 78 colonialism, 20–21, 69, 93, 147, 182, 213, 277 Coloru, Omar, 29, 34–38, 246–47 Conolly, Arthur, 97–98, 100n3 Conolly, Edward, 238–39 Court, Claude-August, 162–63, 182 cultural contact, 15–17, 28, 32–35, 38, 41, 77, 96, 102–5, 126, 144, 155, 169, 187–89, 192, 196–202, 209–10, 213–20, 268–70, 281 cultural transfer, 33, 47, 76, 103, 124, 210, 213, 229–31, 280 Cunningham, Alexander, 43, 153–58, 181–93, 198, 204, 208–14, 276 Curtis, Vesta Sarkhosh, 163 Curzon, George, 194–96 Dalrymple, William, 106 Darius III., 74, 83, 108, 127 Delhi, 95, 156, 229

Index

Demangeon, Albert, 220 Desmond, Ray, 156 Diodorus, 13, 47, 56, 82, 88 Dionysos, 12, 13n7, 14, 269–70 diplomacy, 42–43, 46, 51, 62, 73–91, 93, 107, 123, 127–29, 166, 219–21, 241–42, 247–49, 275–77 Droysen, Johann Gustav, 20n20, 30n56, 62, 69 Durand Line, 16, 219, 250. See also north-west frontier Durand, Mortimer, 250 East India Company, 14, 17–18, 25, 48–49, 52, 59n51, 67–68, 72–75, 78–81, 84, 87, 91–94, 97, 107, 112, 115, 129, 133, 155–56, 164–68, 174, 181, 184, 218, 221, 226–27, 234 economy, 14, 17–19, 23, 44, 51, 59, 63–65, 68–69, 76, 80, 94, 103–9, 122, 135–36, 155, 191, 196–201, 208, 213, 224–26, 230, 252, 259, 262, 266 Eden, George, Earl of Auckland, 167, 181 Edney, Matthew, 49, 53, 157 education, 24–25, 67n91, 70, 76, 78n142, 108, 112, 133–35, 164–66 Edwardes, Herbert Benjamin, 227–30, 234, 236 Egypt, 46, 72–74, 156, 160, 222, 273 Elphinstone, Mountstuart, 44, 79, 86–93, 113, 160–61, 169, 237–40, 267, 270, 275 Enlightenment, 19–20, 23n34, 50–51, 55, 62–66, 69–72, 86, 90–92, 93n203, 98, 137, 180, 223, 226, 259 epigraphy, 104, 164, 181. See also inscriptions Errington, Elizabeth, 163, 168, 190 ethnography, 28–29, 38, 44–45, 48, 55, 125–27, 148–51, 169, 190, 216–221, 237–51, 258, 265, 271, 279–80 Euphrates, 71, 221–24 Eurocentrism, 15–16, 20, 27, 31–32, 39, 65, 67n92, 95, 103, 124, 157, 182, 202, 209, 220, 247, 268, 281 Europe, 17, 20, 25–27, 31, 40–41, 46, 63–65, 71–72, 75–76, 130, 135, 185, 196–98, 209–10, 214–16, 229, 264–66, 275 – and Europeans, 15–16, 22, 32–34, 42, 47, 51, 62, 68, 75–76, 79, 82, 85, 89–96, 102, 111, 114, 120–21, 141, 150–54, 170, 184, 201, 217, 220, 239–49, 254, 262–65, 273, 276 Evans, George DeLacy, 97

307

experience, 15, 23–37, 42, 47, 51–52, 56, 61, 68, 73, 77, 81–84, 90–93, 97, 101–2, 109, 112–13, 116–17, 123–27, 145, 173–75, 178, 194, 203, 207–8, 235–36, 242–43, 252, 256, 259, 267– 68, 270, 273–76, 280 exploration, 14–15, 19, 21–23, 26–33, 42–50, 55, 59, 66, 70–79, 81–97, 102, 106–9, 112, 117–19, 121, 129, 153–56, 161–63, 179–82, 185–88, 200–4, 207–9, 213, 219, 222–26, 241, 244–48, 254–60, 262–77 Fabian, Johannes, 46–47 Ferdowsi, 40 First World War, 17 Forster, George, 59 France, 50, 62, 72 Freemasonry, 133, 146, 149 frontier hero, 31, 48, 102, 113, 117, 120, 127, 133n132, 137, 152, 255 Ganges, 52, 57n42, 60, 66, 91 Garton, Stephen, 36, 154 Gaugamela, 108 Gedrosia, 12, 98, 255–60 Geertz, Clifford, 246 gender, 32. See also masculinty geography, 15, 18, 24, 42, 46–56, 59–61, 64–66, 69–75, 81, 85, 91n200, 106, 116–17, 142–44, 187–91, 197, 217–20, 224, 228, 231, 238–39, 243, 248–62, 266–71. See also surveys geopolitics, 15–20, 51, 62–73, 80, 83, 92, 100–6, 109, 112–14, 144, 148, 152, 219, 225, 247, 254, 266 geostrategy, 19, 23, 26, 46–47, 50, 66, 74, 98, 121, 218, 226, 237, 244, 263, 277 Gibbon, Edward, 63 Gillies, John, 56 ‘Grand Tour’, 31, 76 ‘Great Game’, 42, 99–102, 107–15, 128–30, 142–45, 218–19, 254 Greece, 31, 88, 194–95, 274 – ancient, 12, 22, 47, 56, 89, 157, 187, 209, 213 Gujarat, 133, 140, 165 Hagerman, Christopher, 21–25, 88, 107–8, 117–18, 122, 126, 178, 184, 203, 233–35 Haig, Malcolm Robert, 257–58 Harappa, 172–73, 179, 195 Harlan, Josiah, 43, 99–110, 129–52, 165–67, 170, 270, 276–77

308

Index

Hastings, Warren, 67 Hellenism, 14, 40, 53, 69, 104, 196, 199, 209, 212–13, 280 Heracles, 11–12, 13n7, 14 Herodotus, 55, 238, 246 Himalaya, 52, 93, 195 Hindu Kush, 50, 55n35, 93, 101, 104–5, 141–42, 174, 200, 216–17, 237, 240–43, 248, 263, 271–73, 276, 280 Hobsbawm, Eric, 34n64, 77–78 Holdich, Thomas Hungerford, 45, 167–68, 217–19, 251–71, 280 Holt, Frank, 103, 109 Homer, 11n2, 89, 110, 142 Hong Kong, 79, 84, 223 Honigberger, Johann Martin, 175 Hopkins, David, 73–75, 83, 97 Hudson, Brian, 251 Huston, John, 99–102, 150 Hwen Thsang, 187–88, 192 hybridity, 32, 41, 103 Hydaspes, 60–61, 88, 120–21, 127, 161, 192, 230–33 Hyphasis, 12, 60, 83, 120, 179 identity, 32, 37, 45, 104, 110, 116, 119, 123–25, 151, 166, 183–85, 218, 243–44, 265 – cultural, 14–15, 17, 20–26, 33–34, 106–7, 140–41, 149, 152, 196–97, 215–17, 220, 233, 250, 271, 279, 281 imagination, 13–22, 25, 33–34, 34n64, 37–38, 43–45, 48–49, 51, 57, 60, 64–65, 89–96, 102–9, 117, 119–22, 127, 137–38, 144–52, 158–59, 162–63, 169–70, 185, 188, 196, 205–8, 215–19, 232, 251, 270–71, 275, 281 Imam, Abu, 186, 193 imperialism, 13–19, 21–29, 32–33, 37–38, 42–50, 53, 57–59, 63, 66–70, 75–78, 81, 88, 94–97, 100–110, 115, 118–24, 127–28, 134–37, 143–52, 180, 185, 199–203, 212–14, 217, 220–25, 229, 233–37, 241–42, 247, 250–254, 260, 264–66, 271, 274–77 Inden, Ronald, 184 India, 14–26, 30–31, 43–50, 53, 57–59, 65–69, 71–75, 78, 83–92, 97–98, 107–9, 113–15, 126– 27, 129, 145, 153–59, 165–66, 174–76, 180–99, 202, 205, 208–10, 217–18, 221–23, 226, 228–30, 234, 236, 241, 247, 251–56, 259–66, 270–72, 275–76

– ancient, 12, 13n7, 32, 36, 41, 55, 58, 62–65, 68, 86, 119–22, 157–59, 162–64, 182–93, 195–97, 202, 210–15, 224, 232–33, 245, 248, 261–64, 268–71, 279 – subcontinent of, 18, 42, 44, 48–49, 53, 57, 61–65, 75–76, 80, 91, 105, 184–87, 195, 213, 241, 274–75, 277 Indian Mutiny, 185, 188, 215, 218, 241 ‘Indo-Greeks’, 36, 104n11, 154–57, 163–64, 212 Indus, 12, 16, 54, 55n35, 56, 59–60, 66, 69–71, 86, 98, 111–20, 123–27, 138, 157–58, 162, 165, 180, 185, 188–89, 192, 200–1, 204, 224–25, 229, 236, 246, 256–57, 269, 273 – civilization, 156, 179, 195 inscriptions, 95, 104, 164, 183, 186, 193, 214, 250 Issos, 82n163, 108 Italy, 31, 88 Jalalabad, 155, 173 James, Lawrence, 18 Johnson, Robert, 241 Jones, Hartford, 79 Jones, William, 184 Justin (historian), 13 Lahiri, Nayanjot, 169, 173, 194 Lal, Mohan, 127, 129n116 Lawrence, Henry, 230 Kabul, 97n216, 98, 101–2, 111–12, 118, 123–30, 133–34, 155, 160, 165–68, 173–75, 240, 261, 269, 273, 275 – river, 16, 185 ‘Kafiristan’, 100, 145–51, 237–44, 249–50, 269 ‘Kafirs‘, 44–45, 145, 148–49, 169–71, 216, 221, 237–51, 279–80 Kaye, John William, 112, 133n133 Kejariwal, Om Prakash, 193 Khan, Dost Mohammed, 111–13, 123, 128–33, 140–41, 167, 173, 241 Khan, Sher Ali, 241 Khyber Pass, 16–18, 50, 160, 218, 273 Kinneir, John Macdonald, 79–85, 92, 97 Kipling, Rudyard, 43, 99–102, 144–52, 197 Kirkpatrick, William, 59n51 knowledge, 15–28, 31, 42, 46–52, 56–60, 71–72, 76, 79–82, 85–92, 106, 110–13, 118–21, 125–27, 151–52, 157–59, 170, 174, 182–85, 198, 203, 210, 217, 219n4, 220–23, 238–46, 249–54, 261–62, 266–71, 275

Index

Korte, Barbara, 28 LaCapra, Dominick, 34 Lahore, 60, 120, 130, 133, 146, 156, 172, 197 Lambton, William, 61n58 landscape, 15, 24–26, 29–30, 33, 36–37, 61n58, 88–89, 92–93, 103, 116–20, 123–24, 138, 142, 150–51, 169, 186, 191, 206, 230–32, 251–54, 275–77. See also autopsy Lane Fox, Robin, 13n10, 236 Lee, Jonathan L., 77, 80 Livingstone, David N., 252 London, 52, 73, 94, 97, 104–7, 113, 155, 166–68, 174–75, 193, 227, 277 Lyon, David, 106 Macedonia, ancient, 11–12, 89, 230, 272 MacFarlane, Charles, 18n17 Macintyre, Ben, 132, 136–37, 144–45 Mairs, Rachel, 103–4, 212 Makran, 255–61, 273 Malcolm, John, 75–86, 92–93, 97, 276 mapping, 14, 30, 42, 47–62, 72, 79–84, 89–92, 99, 103, 138, 143, 146–48, 157, 163, 166, 169, 191, 206–7, 219–20, 224, 230, 248, 252–54, 259–61, 265–75 Marshall, John Hubert, 194–95 Marx, Edward, 148 masculinity, 26, 31, 110, 127, 233, 279 Masson, Charles, 43, 128, 138, 146, 153–61, 164–81, 195, 200, 209–14, 237, 267, 277–78 Mathur, Saloni, 184, 214 McNair, William Watts, 248–50, 270 materiality, 24, 27–41, 76, 80, 95, 104–6, 109, 118–20, 138, 151–55, 158–59, 163–64, 170–72, 178, 183–87, 191–93, 202, 207–19, 277–79 Mediterranean, 31, 65, 69, 104, 199, 208 memoir, 29–30, 43, 52–54, 102, 130–36, 151–53, 175n76, 234 memory, 11–12, 32, 153, 169–73, 251, 267 – communicative. See orality – cultural, 13, 21, 32–41, 46, 57–58, 72–73, 76, 95–98, 107, 118, 140, 151, 170, 180–81, 191–93, 216, 233, 236, 243, 260, 265–71, 276, 280–81 Meyer, Karl E., 157, 253 Mill, James, 90 Mirsky, Jeanette, 199 Mohanty, Sachidananda, 28 Montefiore, Jan, 147

309

Moorcroft, William, 93–96, 123, 167, 270, 276 Morison, John Lyle, 50, 219, 226 Mughal Empire, 53, 58 museum, 44, 132, 154, 159, 168, 174, 194, 259 – British, 31, 155, 168, 185, 214, 222 Muslims, 56–58, 87, 100, 103, 111, 133, 142, 145, 165, 222, 240, 276 Mysore, 17, 78, 87 myth, 11–14, 40, 77, 90, 99, 103, 107, 110, 113, 121, 129, 143–46, 149–52, 204, 208, 255, 259, 264–67, 270 Napier, Charles James, 234–35 Narain, Abodh K., 157, 212 Nearchus, 13, 55n35, 56, 70–72, 85, 92, 116, 127, 257–58 Nicaea, 122, 232 Ng, Su Fang, 40–41 Nora, Pierre, 37–38 north-west frontier, 14–15, 18–20, 21n26, 23–29, 32–36, 41–45, 50–52, 66, 73–75, 83, 90–97, 106–10, 123, 126, 137, 145, 148, 151–53, 156–64, 169, 172–74, 185, 188, 198–203, 207–9, 216, 219–22, 226–28, 233–41, 245–53, 260–80 numismatics, 103, 158–68, 175–81, 190–93. See also coins Onesicritos, 108 orality, 27–29, 34–36, 104, 118–20, 125, 128, 151–52, 172, 207, 239, 242–43, 247, 250, 264–65, 271–73, 279 orient, 35, 39, 69, 155, 246, 276 – ‘Orientalism’, 39, 105, 108, 209–12, 276 – Orientalists, 67–68, 94, 122–24, 134–37, 158–59, 175, 178, 183–84, 197, 210, 224, 238, 246 – orientalization, 23n35, 26, 247 Ouseley, William, 81n157 Oxus, 77, 97, 104, 120, 124–25, 224–25, 243 Pakistan, 15, 106, 272, 277 Parker, Grant, 104 Pasley, Rodney, 78–79 Persepolis, 77, 82 Persia, 40–41, 46, 59n50, 72–73, 76–81, 84, 98, 107, 112, 133, 159, 165, 252, 265 – ancient, 12, 18n17, 54, 74, 82n157, 91n200, 108, 123–24, 139, 195–96, 229, 255–59 Peshawar, 16, 140, 156, 160–62, 185, 200, 238–40, 269

310

Index

Philip II., 11, 12n3, 73, 125, 170, 243 Pir-Sar, 204–5 Plutarch, 13n6, 88, 133 Polignac, François de, 40 Polo, Marco, 198, 239 Porus, 83, 88, 121–22, 127, 172, 211, 230–34, 279 post-colonialism, 39n80, 45, 213–14, 274, 276 Pottinger, Henry, 79, 84–86, 92, 97, 165, 267 Pratt, Mary Louise, 38–39 Prinsep, James, 61, 164, 176, 181–82, 193 Ptolemy I., 13n6, 56, 191 Punjab, 15–18, 29, 44–46, 57–58, 61n59, 72, 76, 79, 87–88, 93, 114, 120, 129, 139, 154–56, 159, 163, 165, 181, 185, 188–91, 196, 218, 221, 226–36, 241, 264, 271, 278–79 Quintus Curtius Rufus, 13, 47, 65, 88, 101, 108, 110, 115–16, 124, 133–35, 142, 154, 179, 204 Rabel, Robert J., 109, 135, 142, 148 Radcliffe, Cyril John, 87 Ranger, Terence, 34n64, 77–78 Ranigat, 156, 190–91 Raverty, Henry George, 237–39 Rawlinson, Henry, 100n3, 197 Ray, Himanshu Prabha, 157, 193–95, 213 Rennell, James, 42, 45, 51–62, 64–71, 74–75, 79, 82, 85, 89–93, 119, 223, 237–40, 256, 268, 275 rivers, 16, 56–60, 66, 77, 81, 82n161, 88, 114–17, 122, 124n162, 181, 185, 218, 222–25, 228–34, 257, 269 Robertson, George Scott, 249–52, 270 Robertson, William, 62–70, 223, 275 Rodd, Rennell, 52 Rome, ancient, 13, 22, 40, 76 – Roman Empire, 15, 22, 53, 109, 160, 182, 195–97 Ross, Frank, 144 Roxane, 97, 150, 170 Royal Geographical Society, 31, 113, 222–23, 244, 248, 254 Russian Empire, 14–16, 43, 46, 50, 73–74, 79n144, 83, 87, 93–94, 97–98, 100–1, 106–7, 112, 128, 142–44, 218–19, 226, 230, 237, 241, 249, 253–54, 262, 265, 277 Said, Edward, 39, 68, 210 Scotts, 16–17, 18n17, 62–64, 78, 81, 86–89, 111–13, 181, 224–25

Scythians, 74, 144, 164, 189 self-representation, 11–13, 26, 53, 73–77, 102, 107–8, 113, 125, 136, 142–43, 149, 218, 223, 236, 255, 259, 271, 276, 279 Semiramis, 148–49, 255 Shah, Nader, 66, 83 Shujah, Shah, 87, 120, 128, 133, 137–41, 238 Sikhs, 18, 44, 114–15, 122, 140, 185, 218, 221, 228–30, 233, 236 Silk Road, 43, 198–99, 208 Sindh, 84–86, 116–18, 165, 221, 234, 241, 271, 279 Singh, Ranjit, 72, 114–15, 120–22, 130, 133, 139–40, 160–66, 175, 185, 221 Singh, Upinder, 157 Siwa, oasis, 12 Sogdia, ancient, 86, 97, 109, 277 St. John, Oliver B., 256–58 St. Petersburg, 97, 105–7, 130 Stein, Marc Aurel, 43, 153–56, 193–208, 276–78 Stevens, Thomas, 48 Stirling, Edward, 97n216 Strabo, 13n6, 55, 192, 238 stupa, 160–64, 173–76 Sullivan, Zoreh T., 147 Surveys, 14, 49, 52, 59 – geographical, 14, 30–31, 45, 61, 75, 79n144, 80, 85, 92, 112, 205–6, 219–21, 224, 230, 241, 244–45, 248, 251–75, 280. See also geography – archaeological, 14, 43–44, 153–56, 164, 173, 181–94, 198, 278. See also archaeology Susa, 12, 61, 259 Swat, 185, 194, 200–7 Syria, 72, 82, 223 Tamerlane, 66, 83 Tanner, Henry Charles Baskerville, 244–45, 250 Tanner, Stephen, 105–7 Tarn, William Woodthorpe, 212 Taxila, 60, 66, 156, 189–92, 195, 215 Teheran, 78, 81, 84, 97 Thornton, Edward, 240 Tibet, 93, 183 Tickell, Alex, 30 Tigris, 221–23 tope. See stupa trade. See economy

Index

transculturalism, 16, 21n26, 38–41, 104, 126, 140, 157, 171, 186–89, 192, 196, 199–202, 213, 220, 229, 247, 265, 268, 271, 276, 279–81 translation, 27n44, 38, 41, 51, 56, 57n39, 70–72, 182, 187n116, 220, 260n188 Trautmann, Thomas, 210 travel writing, 14–32, 36–41, 47–53, 56, 59, 64–65, 68–72, 76–86, 90–93, 98, 103–5, 113–16, 123, 126, 129, 145–48, 151–54, 159–61, 167, 172–75, 188, 200, 207, 210–13, 216–18, 239, 249, 265, 274–80 Troy, 12, 110 Turkestan, 15, 276 – Chinese, 198, 242 universalism, 31, 40, 69, 136, 142, 179, 226, Vasunia, Phiroze, 20, 24, 36, 47, 53, 59, 73, 75, 80, 106, 115, 180, 210, 212, 239 Ventura, M. Chevalier le, 160–63 Victoria, Queen of England, 185, 222 Vigne, Godfrey Thomas, 226 Vincent, William, 70–72, 79, 82, 85, 92, 223, 256, 275

311

Vitkevich, Ivan, 137–38 Vlassopoulos, Kostas, 22 Wade, Claude, 130n119, 166–67 Wallace, Jennifer, 163 Weber, Max, 136 Wheeler, Mortimer, 196–96, 209, 212 Whitteridge, Gordon, 176 Wilford, Francis, 61n59 William IV., King of England, 218 Williams, John, 91–92 Wilson, Horace Hayman, 94, 158–161, 164, 167, 178, 183 Withers, Charles W. J., 252 Wolff, Joseph, 129, 140 Wood, John, 224–25, 243, 267n213 Wood, Michael, 45, 272–81 Xenophon, 83 Xuangzang, 198–99 Yule, Henry, 197, 224–25, 243–45, 248n132

oriens et occidens Studien zu antiken Kulturkontakten und ihrem Nachleben

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

Franz Steiner Verlag

ISSN 1615–4517

16. 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 17. 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 18. 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 19. 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 20. 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 21. 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 22. Lawrence J. Baack Undying Curiosity Carsten Niebuhr and The Royal Danish Expedition to Arabia (1761–1767) 2014. 443 S. mit 22 Abb., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-10768-6

23. Julien Monerie D’Alexandre à Zoilos Dictionnaire prosopographique des porteurs de nom grec dans les sources cunéiformes 2014. 255 S. mit 11 Abb., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-10956-7 24. Joseph Gilbert Manning (Hg.) Writing History in Time of War Michael Rostovtzeff, Elias Bickerman and the “Hellenization of Asia” 2015. 153 S., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-10948-2 25. Rolf Strootman / Miguel John Versluys (Hg.) Persianism in Antiquity 2017. 557 S. mit 79 Abb., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-11382-3 26. Pierre Briant, übersetzt von Amelie Kuhrt Kings, Countries, Peoples Selected Studies on the Achaemenid Empire 2017. 658 S. mit 25 Abb., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-11628-2 27. Melanie Wasmuth Ägypto-persische Herrscher- und Herrschaftspräsentation in der Achämenidenzeit 2017. 392 S. mit 54 Abb., 4 Tab. und 12 Farbtafeln, geb. ISBN 978-3-515-11693-0 28. Helge Bert Grob Die Gartenlandschaft von Pasargadai und ihre Wasseranlagen Topographischer Befund, Rekonstruktion und achaimenidischer Kontext 2017. 384 S. mit 164 z. T. farbigen Abb. auf 112 Tafeln, geb. ISBN 978-3-515-11867-5 29. Frank Schleicher / Timo Stickler / Udo Hartmann (Hg.) Iberien zwischen Rom und Iran Beiträge zur Geschichte und Kultur Transkaukasiens in der Antike 2019. 356 S. mit 21 Abb., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-12276-4

How did British officers, geographers, and adventurers use the motif of ‘travelling’ in Alexander’s ‘footsteps’ during their respective missions in Central Asia? Christopher Schliephake shows how the reception of Alexander the Great became an integral part of imperial self-representation and colonial identity in the nineteenth century. As Schliephake argues, the experiential framework of the exploration and conquest of regions like the Punjab or Afghanistan turned the abstract notion of following in Alexander’s ‚‘tracks’

into a highly relevant category for negotiating the relationship between the present and the past, Europe and Asia. However, the further the British explorers advanced, they realized that Alexander had already been waiting for them – he came in the guise of Sikander or Iskander and some local indigenous tribes even claimed direct descent from him. The way the writings of the travelers reacted to the cultural confrontation between a ‘Western’ and an ‘Eastern’ Alexander will be one of the main themes of this book.

www.steiner-verlag.de Franz Steiner Verlag

ISBN 978-3-515-12400-3

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