I therefore submit that in speaking of the sciences of language and ethnography, we have, or ought to have, passed, long ago, the standpoint of treating them separately; they must be treated together, and, as I said at the beginning, taking, e.g., Arabic, with its thirty-six broken plurals (quite enough to break anybody’s memory), you will never be able to learn it unless you thoroughly realise the life of the Arab, as he gets out of his tent in the morning, milks his female camel, &c., and unless you follow him through his daily ride or occupations. Then you will understand how it is, especially if you have travelled in Arabia, that camels that appear at a distance on the horizon, affect the eye differently from camels when they come near, and are seen as they follow one another in a row, and those again different from the camels as they gather round the tent or encampment; and therefore it is that in the different perceptions to the eye, under the influence of natural phenomena, these multifarious plurals are of the greatest importance in examining the customs of the people. Then will the discovery of the right plural be a matter of enjoyment, leading one on to another discovery, and to work all the better; whereas, with the grammatical routine that we still pursue, I wonder, when we reach to middle or old age, after following the literary profession, that we are not more dull or confused than we are at present. When one abstract idea follows the other, as in our phraseology, it is not like one scene following another in a new country which is full of stimulus, but the course which we adopt of abstract generalisations, without analysing them and bringing them back to their concrete constituents, is almost a process of stultification.

Coming now to one of the most primitive, and certainly one of the remnants of pre-historic languages, that of Hunza, which I had the opportunity of examining twenty-three years ago, while Gilgit was in a state of warfare, and where I had to learn the language, so to speak, with a pencil in one hand and a weapon in the other, and surrounded by people who were waiting for an opportunity to kill me, I found, that on reverting to it three years ago, the language had already undergone a process of assimilation to the surrounding dialects, owing to the advance of so-called civilisation, which in that case, and which in the case of most of these tribes, means the introduction of drunkenness and disease, in this instance of cholera, for we know what has been the condition of those countries which lie in the triangle between Cashmere, Kabul, and Badakhshan, and to which I first gave the name of Dardistan in 1866.

Now, what does this language show us? There the ordinary methods proved entirely at fault. If one pointed to an object, quite apart from the ordinary difficulties of misapprehension, the man appealed to, for instance, might say “your finger,” if a finger were the thing of which he thought you wanted the name. If not satisfied with the name given in response, and you turned to somebody else, another name was obtained; and if you turned to a third person, you got a third name.

What was the reason for these differences? It was this, that the language had not emerged from the state in which it is impossible to have such a word as “head,” as distinguished from “my head,” or “thy head,” or “his head”; for instance, ak is “my name,” and ik is “his name.” Take away the pronominal sign, and you are left with k, which means nothing. Aus is “my wife,” and gus “thy wife.” The s alone has no meaning, and, in some cases, it seemed impossible to arrive at putting anything down correctly; but so it is in the initial stage of a language. In the Hunza language under discussion, that stage is important to us as members of the Aryan group, as the dissociation of the pronoun, verb, adverb and conjunction from the act or substance only occurs when the language emerges beyond the stage when the groping, as it were, of the human child between the meum and tuum, the first and second persons, approaches the clear perception of the outer world, the “suum,” the third person. Now, during the twenty years referred to “his” (house), “his” (name), and “his” (head) are beginning to take the place of “house,” “name,” “head,” generally, in not quite a decided manner, but still they are taking their place. When I subsequently talked to the Hunzas, and tried to find a reason for that “idiom,” if one may use the term, it seemed very clear and convincing when they said, “How is it possible for ‘a wife’ to exist unless she is somebody’s wife?” “You cannot say, for instance, if you dissociate the one from the other, ‘her wife,’ or ‘his husband.’ ‘Head,’ by itself, does not exist; it must be somebody’s head.” When, again, you dissociate the sound which stands for the action or substance from the pronoun, you come, in a certain group of words, to another range of thought connected with the primary family relation, and showing the existence of that particularly ancient form of endogamy, in which all the elder females are the mothers and all the elder men are the fathers of the tribe. For instance, take a word like “mother;” “m” would mean the female principle, “o” would be the self, and the ther would mean “the tribe;” in other words, “mother” would mean: “the female that bore me and that belongs to my tribe.” Now, fanciful as this may appear to us, it is the simple fact as regards the Hunza language, which, when put the test of analysis, will throw an incredible light on the history of Aryan words. For instance, taking Sanskrit as a typical language, you will, I believe, find how the early relations grew, and you will get beyond the root into the parts of which the root is made up; each of which has a meaning, not in one or two instances, but in most. I am not going to read you the volume which I am preparing for the Indian Government, and which is only the first part of the analysis with regard to this language, and only a very small portion indeed of the material that I collected in 1866, 1872, and 1884 regarding that important part of the world, Dardistan, which is now being drawn within the range of practical Indian politics—a region situated between the Hindukush and Kaghan (lat. 37° N. and long. 73° E. to lat. 35° N. and long. 74·3° E.) and comprising monarchies and republics, including a small republic of eleven houses—a region which contains the solution of numerous linguistic and ethnographical problems, the cradle of the Aryan race, inhabited by the most varied tribes, from which region I brought the first Hunza and the first Káfir that ever visited England, and of which region one of its bigger Chiefs, owing to my sympathy with the people, invested me with a kind of titular governorship. In that comparatively small area the questions that are to be solved are great, and it is even now in some parts, perhaps, as hazardous a journey as, say, through the dark continent. Whether you get to the ancient Robber’s Seat of Hunza, where the right of plundering is hereditary, or into the recesses of Kafiristan or the fastnesses of Pakhtu settlers; whether you proceed to the republics of Darel, Tangir or Chilás, or proceed to the community where women are sometimes at the head of affairs, and which is neither worse nor better than others, an amount of information, especially ethnographic, is within one’s reach which makes Dardistan a region that would reward a number of explorers. I may say, in my own instance, if my life is spared for ten years longer, all I could do would be to bring out the mere material in my possession in a rough form, leaving the theories thereon to be elaborated by others. My difficulties were great, but my reward has been in a mass of material, for the elaboration of which International, Oriental, and other Congresses and learned societies have petitioned Government since 1866. My official duties have hitherto prevented my addressing myself to the congenial task of elaborating the material in conjunction with others. In 1886, I was, however, put for a few months on special duty in connexion with the Hunza language, at the very time that Colonel Lockhart was traversing a portion of Dardistan. But I think you will be more interested if, beyond personal observations, I tell you something about that little country of Hunza itself, which in many respects differs from those surrounding it, not only in regard to its peculiar language, which I have mentioned, but in other respects also. Unfortunately, it is also unlike the surrounding districts, in being characterised by customs the absence of some of which would be desirable. The Hunzas are nominal Muhammedans, and they use their mosques for drinking and dancing assemblies. Women are as free as air. There is little restriction in the relation of the sexes, and the management of the State, in theory, is attributed to fairies. No war is undertaken unless the fairy (whom, by the way, one is not allowed to see) gives the command by beating the sacred drum. The witches, who get into an ecstatic state, are the journalists, historians, and prophetesses of the tribe. They tell you what goes on in the surrounding valleys. They represent, as it were, the local Times; they tell you the past glories, such as they are, of raids and murders by their tribe; and when the Tham or ruler, who is supposed to be heaven-born (there being some mystery about the origin of his dynasty), does wrong, the only one who will dare to tell him the truth is the Dayal, or the witch who prophesies the future, and takes the opportunity of telling the Rajah that, unless he behaves in a manner worthy of his origin, he will come to grief! This is not a common form of popular representation to be met with, say, in India. Grimm’s fairy-tales sometimes seem to be translated into practise in Hunza-land, which offers material for discussion alike to those who search for the Huns and to those who search for the very different Honas.

Then with regard to religion, as I said before, though nominally Muhammedan, they are really deniers of all the important precepts of true Muhammedanism, which is opposed to drunkenness, introduces a real brotherhood, and enjoins great cleanliness as absolutely necessary before the spiritual purification by prayer can take place. The people are mostly Muláis, but inferior in piety (?) to those of Zébak, Shignán, Wakhan, and other places. Now, what is that sect? It is represented by His Highness Prince Aga Khan, of Bombay, a person who is not half aware of his importance in those regions, where, till very recently, men were murdered as soon as looked at. One who acknowledges him or has brought some of the water with which he has washed his feet, would always be able to pass through those regions perfectly unharmed! I found my disguise as a Bokhara Mullah in 1866 to be quite useless, as a protection at Gilgit, whence men were kidnapped to be exchanged for a good hunting dog, but in Hunza they used to fill prisoners with gunpowder, and blow them up for general amusement. His Highness, who is much given to horse-racing, confines his spiritual administration to the collection of taxes throughout Central Asia from his followers or believers, and the believers themselves represent what is still left of the doctrine of the Sheik-ul-Jabl or the Ancient of the Mountain, the head of the so-called Assassins, a connexion of the Mahdi, if he was the Mahdi, or the supposed Mahdi in the Soudan. I consider he was not the Mahdi as foretold in Muhammedan tradition; but, be that as it may, the 7th Imám of the Shiahs has given rise to the sects both of the Druses in the Lebanon and to the Hunzas on the Pamir. They are the existing Ismailians, who, centuries ago, under the influence of Hashish, the Indian hemp, committed crimes throughout Christendom, and were the terror of Knight-Templars, as “Hashîshîn,” corrupted into “Assassins.”

Now, I have been fortunate enough, owing to my friendship with the head of their tribe, to obtain some portions of the Kelám-i-pîr volume, which takes the place, really, of the Korán, and of which I have got a portion here. I thought it might not be unworthy of your society to bring this to your knowledge, as a very interesting remnant which throws, inter alia, considerable light not only on their doctrine, but also on the Crusades. By a similar favour, I have had the opportunity of hearing the Mitháq, or covenant of the Druses, and that covenant of the Druses is a kind of prayer they offer up to God, not only in connexion with the Old Man of the Mountain, the head of the assassins who began about 1022, but also with those mysterious rites which also take place in what I may call the fairy-land of Hunza. With regard to the covenants, or one of them, which the “U’qelá” or the “initiated” or “wise,” as distinguished from the “Juhelá” or “ignorant” “laity,” among the Druses, offer up every night, this was used by a so-called educated Druse, one who had been converted to Protestantism,—a very good thing: but, as often happens, with that denationalisation which renders his conversion useless as a means for the promotion of any religion, as there are no indigenous elements for its growth. Such a convert is often unable to obtain a knowledge of the practices of his still unconverted countrymen, as nobody can be looked upon with greater distrust than that native of a country who has unlearnt to think in his own language, and who cannot acquire a foreign language with its associations, which are part of the history of that language; he does not become an Englishman with English associations, but ceases to be a good native with his own indigenous associations. Therefore, in my humble opinion, of all the unfortunate specimens of mankind, the most degraded are those who, under the guise of being Europeanised and, therefore, reformers, have themselves the greatest necessity for reform. Their mind has become completely unhinged, thereby showing us that if we Europeans wish to do good among Orientals we can do so best by living good lives in the midst of professors of other religions, this being also in accordance with the 13th edict of Asoka.

This Druse covenant makes the mad Fatimite ruler of Egypt, Hákim, the “Lord of the Universe.” As I said before, the present “Lord of the Universe”. for the Hunzas is the lineal descendant of the 7th Imám, a resident of Bombay, one to whom the Muláis make pilgrimages, instead of going to Mecca or to Kerbelá. You may imagine that, even as regards the Druses, there must be something higher than their “Lord of the Universe;” but, such as he is, it is with him that this covenant is made. Reverting to his living colleague, the Indian “Lord,” it may be stated that there are men scattered throughout India of whose influence we have only the faintest conception. I pointed out in 1866 that if anyone wanted to follow successfully my footsteps is Dardistan, he would have to get recommendations from His Highness Aga Khan of Bombay, and I am glad to say that Col. Lockhart has taken advantage of that recommendation. The Druse “Lord of the Universe” is regarded as one with whom nothing can be compared. The Druses are to render him the most implicit obedience, and to carry out his behests at the loss of everything, good name, wealth, and life, with the view of obtaining the favour of one who may be taken to be God; but the sentence is so constructed as to make him, if not God, only second to God; in other words, only just a discrimination between God as the distant ruler of the Universe and, perhaps, some lineal descendant of Hákim, or rather, Hákim himself as an ever-living being, as the ruler of this world. This and some other prayers, with some songs, one amongst which breathes the greatest hatred to Muhammedanism, and speaks of the destruction of Mecca as something to look forward to, seems to be deserving of study. There are also references in them to rites connected with Abraham. A full translation of these documents, compared with invocations in portions of the Korán, would, indeed, reward the attention of the student.

I will now again revert from the Druses of the Lebanon to the Muláis in the Himalayas. I obtained the poem in my hand from the head of that sect, and the wording is such that it denies whilst affirming the immortality and transmigration of souls. It says, “It is no use telling the ignorant multitude what your faith is.” That is very much like what Lord Beaconsfield said—that all thinking men were of one religion, but they would not tell of what religion!—a wrong sentiment, but one that is embodied in the above poem. “Tell them,” continues the poem in effect, “if they want to know, in an answer of wisdom to a question of folly: ‘if your life has been bad you will descend into the stone the vegetable, or the animal; if your life has been good you will return as a better man. The chain of life is undivided. The animal that is sacrificed proceeds to a higher life.’ You cannot discriminate and yet deny individual life, and apportion that air, stone, or plant, to the animal and to man, but you ought to be punished for saying this to others!” And on this principle, at any rate, the Druses also act or acted, that that is no crime which is not found out; and a good many people, I am sorry to say, elsewhere, think much the same; whereas in Hunza they have gone beyond that stage, and care extremely little about their crimes being found out. The Mitháq and other religious utterances of the Druses and the Kelám-i-Pîr of the Hunzas, if published together, with certain new information which we have regarding the Crusade of Richard Cœur-de-Lion, would, I think, were time given and the matter elaborated, indeed deserve the attention of the readers of the “Transactions.” It also seems strange that where such customs exist there should be a prize for virtue, but there is one in Hunza for wives who have remained faithful to their husbands, something like the French prize for rosières.

Formerly Suttee was practised, but Suttee had rather the meaning of Sáthi or companion, as both husband and wife went to the funeral pyre. Prizes are similarly given to wives who have not quarrelled for, say, a certain number of years with their husbands. The most curious custom which seems to permeate these countries is to foster relationship in nursing, where a nurse and all her relations come not only within the prohibited degrees, which is against the spirit of Muhammedanism, but also create the only real bond of true attachment that I have seen in Dardistan, where other relatives seemed always engaged in murdering one another.

Nearly all the chiefs in Dardistan give their children to persons of low degree to nurse, and these and the children of the nurse become attached to them throughout life and are their only friends. But this foster-relationship is also taken in order to get rid of the consequences, say, of crime; for instance, in the case of adultery, or supposed adultery, the suspected person who declares that he enters into the relationship of a son to the woman with whom he is suspected, after a certain penalty, is really accepted in that position, and the trust is in no case betrayed. It is the only kind of forgiveness which is given in Dardistan generally to that sort of transgression; but, further than that, drinking milk with some one, or appointing some one as foster-father, which is done by crossing two vases of milk, creates the same relationship, except amongst the noble caste of Shins, who were expelled by the Brahmins from India or Kashmir, and who hold the cow in abhorence as one of their religious dogmas, whereas, in other ways, they are really Brahmins, among whom we find Hinduism peeping out through the thin crust of Muhammedanism.