“What does the ass say? What is all this but bosh?—nothing. Let him have a fact.”
The pacha gave the sign—the ferashes appeared—the man was thrown, and received fifty blows of the bastinado. The pacha then commanded them to desist. “Now, by our beard, is it not a fact that you have received the bastinado? If you still doubt the fact, we will proceed.”
“The fact is beyond a doubt,” replied the man, prostrating himself. “But excuse me, your sublime highness, if I do continue to assert that I cannot always acknowledge a fact, without such undeniable proofs as your wisdom has been pleased to bring forward. If your highness were to hear the history of my life, you would then allow that I have cause to doubt.”
“History of his life! Mustapha, we shall have a story.”
“Another fifty blows on his feet would remove all his doubts, your highness,” replied Mustapha.
“Yes; but then he will be beaten out of his story. No, no; let him he taken away till the evening, and then we shall see how he will make out his case.”
Mustapha gave directions, in obedience to the wish of the pacha. In the evening, as soon as they had lighted their pipes, the man was ordered in; and, in consideration of his swelled feet, was permitted to sit down, that he might be more at ease when he narrated his story, which was as follows:—
The Story of Hudusi.
Most sublime pacha, allow me first to observe, that, although I have latterly adhered to my own opinions, I am not so intolerant as not to permit the same licence to others: I do not mean to say that there are not such things as facts in this world, nor to find fault with those who believe in them. I am told that there are also such things as flying dragons, griffins, and other wondrous animals, but surely it is quite sufficient for me, or any one else, to believe that these animals exist, when it may have been our fortune to see them; in the same manner, I am willing to believe in a fact, when it is cleared from the mists of doubt; but up to the present, I can safely say, that I seldom have fallen in with a fact, unaccompanied by doubts, and every year adds to my belief, that there are few genuine facts in existence. So interwoven in my frame is doubt, that I sometimes am unwilling to admit, as a fact, that I exist. I believe it to be the case, but I feel that I have no right to assert it, until I know what death is, and may from thence draw an inference, which may lead me to a just conclusion.
My name is Hudusi. Of my parents I can say little. My father asserted that he was the bravest janissary in the sultan’s employ, and had greatly distinguished himself. He was always talking of Rustam, as being a fool compared to him; of the number of battles he had fought, and of the wounds which he had received in leading his corps on all desperate occasions; but as my father often bathed before me, and the only wound I could ever perceive was one in his rear, when he spoke of his bravery, I very much doubted the fact.