Volume Two–Chapter Eight
On the ensuing day, the pacha was sitting at his divan, according to his custom, Mustapha by his side, lending his ear to the whispers of divers people who came to him in an attitude of profound respect. Still they were most graciously received, as the purport of their intrusion was to induce the vizier to interest himself in their behalves when their cause came forward to be heard and decided upon by the pacha, who in all cases was guided by the whispered opinion of Mustapha. Mustapha was a good-hearted man: he was always grateful, and if any one did him a good turn he never forgot it. The consequence was, that an intimation that a purse of so many sequins would be laid at his feet if the cause to be heard was decided in favour of the applicant, invariably interested Mustapha in the favour of that party; and Mustapha’s opinion was always coincided in by the pacha, because he had (or supposed that he had) half of the sequins so obtained. True, the proverb says, “you should be just before you are generous;” but Mustapha’s arguments when he first proposed to the pacha this method of filling the royal treasury, were so excellent, that we shall hand them down to posterity. “In the first place,” said Mustapha, “it is evident that in all these causes the plaintiffs and defendants are both rascals. In the second place, it is impossible to believe a word on either side. In the third place, exercising the best of your judgment, you are just as likely to go wrong as right. In the fourth place, if a man happens to be wronged by our decision, he deserves it as a punishment for his other misdeeds. In the fifth place, as the only respectability existing in either party consists in their worldly wealth, by deciding for him who gives most, you decide for the most respectable man. In the sixth place, it is our duty to be grateful for good done to us, and in so deciding, we exercise a virtue strongly inculcated by the Koran. In the seventh place, we benefit both parties by deciding quickly, as a loss is better than a law-suit. And in the eighth and last place, we want money.”
On this day a cause was being heard; and, although weighty reasons had already decided the verdict, still, pro formâ, the witnesses on both sides were examined; one of these, upon being asked whether he witnessed the proceedings, replied, “That he had no doubt, but there was doubt on the subject; but that he doubted whether the doubts were correct.”
“Doubt—no doubt—what is all this? do you laugh at our beards?” said Mustapha sternly, who always made a show of justice. “Is it the fact or not?”
“Your highness, I seldom met a fact, as it is called, without having half a dozen doubts hanging to it,” replied the man: “I will not, therefore, make any assertion without the reservation of a doubt.”
“Answer me plainly,” replied the vizier, “or the ferashes and bamboo will be busy with you very shortly. Did you see the money paid?”
“I believe as much as I can believe any thing in this world, that I did see money paid; but I doubt the sum, and I doubt the metal, and I have also my other doubts. May it please your highness, I am an unfortunate man, I have been under the influence of doubts from my birth; and it has become a disease which I have no doubt will only end with my existence. I always doubt a fact, unless—”
“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.
My mother fondled and made much of me, declared that I was the image of my father, a sweet pledge of their affections, a blessing sent by Heaven upon their marriage; but, as my father’s nose was aquiline, and mine is a snub, or aquiline reversed; his mouth large, and mine small; his eyes red and ferrety, and mine projecting; and, moreover, as she was a very handsome woman, and used to pay frequent visits to the cave of a sainted man in high repute, of whom I was the image, when she talked of the janissary’s paternity, I very much doubted the fact.
An old mollah taught me to read and write and repeat the verses of the Koran—and I was as much advanced as any boy under his charge—but he disliked me very much for reasons which I never could understand, and was eternally giving me the slipper. He declared that I was a reprobate, an unbeliever, a son of Jehanum, who would be impaled before I was much older; but here I am, without a stake through my body at the age of forty-five; and your highness must acknowledge that when he railed all this in my ears, I was justified in very much doubting the fact.
When I was grown up, my father wanted me to enrol myself in the corps of janissaries, and become a lion-killer like himself; I remonstrated, but in vain; he applied, and I was accepted, and received the mark on my arm, which constituted me a janissary. I put on the dress, swaggered and bullied with many other young men of my acquaintance, who were all ready, as they swore, to eat their enemies alive, and who curled their moustachios to prove the truth of what they said. We were despatched to quell a rebellious pacha—we bore down upon his troops with a shout, enough to frighten the devil, but the devil a bit were they frightened, they stood their ground; and as they would not run, we did, leaving those who were not so wise, to be cut to pieces. After this, when any of my companions talked of their bravery, or my father declared that he should be soon promoted to the rank of a spahi, and that I was a lion’s whelp, I very much doubted the fact.
The pacha held out much longer than was at first anticipated: indeed, so long as to cause no little degree of anxiety in the capital. More troops were despatched to subdue him; and success not attending our efforts, the vizier, according to the custom, was under the disagreeable necessity of parting with his head, which was demanded because we turned tail. Indeed, it was to oblige us, that the sultan consented to deprive himself of the services of a very able man; for we surrounded the palace, and insisted that it was all his fault; but, considering our behaviour in the field of battle, your highness must admit that there was reason to doubt the fact.
We were again despatched against this rebellious pacha, who sate upon the parapets of his strong-hold, paying down thirty sequins for the head of every janissary brought to him by his own troops, and I am afraid a great deal of money was spent in that way. We fell into an ambuscade, and one half of the corps to which my father belonged were cut to pieces, before we could receive any assistance. At last the enemy retired. I looked for my father, and found him expiring; as before, he had received a wound on the wrong side, a spear having transfixed him between the shoulders. “Tell how I died like a brave man,” said he, “and tell your mother that I am gone to Paradise.” From an intimate knowledge of my honoured father’s character, in the qualities of thief, liar, and coward, although I promised to deliver the message, I very much doubted these facts.
That your highness may understand how it was that I happened to be left alone, and alive on the field of battle, I must inform you, that I inherited a considerable portion of my father’s courageous temper, and not much liking the snapping of the pistols in my face, I had thrown myself down on the ground, and had remained there very quietly preferring to be trampled on, rather than interfere with what was going on above.
“By the sword of the Prophet! there is one fact—you were a very great coward,” observed the pacha.
“Among my other doubts, your highness, I certainly have some doubts as to my bravery.”
“By the beard of the pacha, I have no doubts on the subject,” observed Mustapha.
“Without attempting to defend my courage, may I observe to your highness, that it was a matter of perfect indifference to me whether the sultan or the pacha was victorious; and I did not much admire hard blows, without having an opportunity of putting a few sequins in my pocket. I never knew of any man, however brave he might be, who fought for love of fighting, or amusement; we all are trying in this world to get money; and that is, I believe, the secret spring of all our actions?”
“Is that true, Mustapha?” inquired the pacha.
“May it please your sublime highness, if not the truth, it is not very far from it. Proceed Hudusi.”
The ideas which I have ventured to express before your sublime highness, were running in my mind, as I sat down among the dead and dying, and I thought how much better off were the pacha’s soldiers than those of our sublime sultan, who had nothing but hard blows, while the pacha’s soldiers received thirty sequins for the head of every one of our corps of janissaries; and one idea breeding another, I reflected that it would be very prudent, now that the pacha appeared to be gaining the advantage, to be on the right side. Having made up my mind upon this point, it then occurred to me, that I might as well get a few sequins by the exchange, and make my appearance before the pacha, with one or two of the heads of the janissaries, who were lying close to me. I therefore divested myself of whatever might give the idea of my belonging to the corps, took off the heads and rifled the pockets of three janissaries, and was about to depart, when I thought of my honoured father, and turned back to take a last farewell. It was cruel to part with a parent, and I could not make up my mind to part with him altogether, so I added his head, and the contents of his sash, to those of the other three, and smearing my face and person with blood, with my scimitar in my hand, and the four heads tied up in a bundle, made my way for the pacha’s stronghold; but the skirmishing was still going on outside of the walls, and I narrowly escaped a corps of janissaries, who would have recognised me. As it was, two of them followed me as I made for the gate of the fortress; and, encumbered as I was, I was forced to turn at bay. No man fights better than he who finds himself hard pressed; and even a man who otherwise would not fight at all, will fight well, when he can’t help it. I never was so brave in my life. I cut down one, and the other ran away, and this in the presence of the pacha, who was seated on the embrasure at the top of the wall; and thus I gained my entrance into the fort. I hastened to the pacha’s presence, and laid at his feet the four heads. The pacha was so pleased at my extraordinary valour, that he threw me a purse of five hundred pieces of gold, and ordered me to be promoted, asking me to what division of his troops I belonged. I replied, that I was a volunteer. I was made an officer; and thus did I find myself a rich man and a man of consequence by merely changing sides.
“That’s not quite so uncommon a method of getting on in the world as you may imagine,” observed Mustapha, drily.
“Mustapha,” said the pacha, almost gasping, “all these are words, wind—bosh. By the fountains that play round the throne of Mahomet, but my throat feels as hot and as dry with this fellow’s doubts, as if it were paved with live cinders. I doubt whether we shall be able ever to moisten it again.”
“That doubt your sublimity ought to resolve immediately. Hudusi, Murakhas—my friend, you are dismissed.”
Hardly had the doubter gathered up his slippers, and backed out from the presence, when the pacha and his minister were, with an honest rivalry, endeavouring to remove at once their doubts and their thirst; and were so successful in their attempts, that they, in a short time, exchanged their state of dubiety into a very happy one of ebriety.
End of the Second Volume
Volume Three–Chapter One
The next morning the pacha and his minister, after the business of the divan, with their heads aching from the doubts of Hudusi, or the means that they had taken to remove them, in not the best humour in the world listened to the continuation of them, as follows:—
I have heard it observed, continued Hudusi, that the sudden possession of gold will make a brave man cautious, and he who is not brave, still more dastardly than he was before. It certainly was the case with me; my five hundred pieces of gold had such an effect, that every thing in the shape of valour oozed out at my fingers’ ends. I reflected again, and the result was, that I determined to have nothing more to do with the business, and that neither the sultan nor the pacha should be the better for my exertions. That night we made a sally; and as I was considered a prodigy of valour, I was one of those who were ordered to lead on my troop. I curled my moustachios, swore I would not leave a janissary alive, flourished my scimitar, marched out at the head of my troop, and then took to my heels, and in two days arrived safely at my mother’s house. As soon as I entered, I tore my turban, and threw dust upon my head, in honour of my father’s memory, and then sat down. My mother embraced me—we were alone.
“And your father? Is it for him that we are to mourn?”
“Yes,” replied I, “he was a lion, and he is in Paradise.”
My mother commenced a bitter lamentation; but of a sudden recollecting herself, she said, “but, Hudusi, it’s no use tearing one’s hair and good clothes for nothing. Are you sure that your father is dead?”
“Quite sure,” replied I. “I saw him down.”
“But he may only be wounded,” replied my mother.
“Not so, my dearest mother, abandon all hope, for I saw his head off.”
“Are you sure it was his body that you saw with the head off?”
“Quite sure, dear mother, for I was a witness to its being cut off.”
“If that is the case,” replied my mother, “he can never come back again, that’s clear. Allah acbar—God is great. Then must we mourn.” And my mother ran out into the street before the door, shrieking and screaming, tearing her hair and her garments, so as to draw the attention and the sympathy of all her neighbours, who asked her what was the matter. “Ah! wahi, the head of my house is no more,” cried she, “my heart is all bitterness—my soul is dried up—my liver is but as water; ah! wahi, ah! wahi,” and she continued to weep and tear her hair, refusing all consolation. The neighbours came to her assistance; they talked to her, they reasoned with her, restrained her violence, and soothed her into quietness. They all declared that it was a heavy loss, but that a true believer had gone to Paradise; and they all agreed that no woman’s conduct could be more exemplary, that no woman was ever more fond of her husband. I said nothing, but I must acknowledge that, from her previous conversation with me, and the quantity of pilau which she devoured that evening for her supper, I very much doubted the fact.
I did not remain long at home; as, although it was my duty to acquaint my mother with my father’s death, it was also my duty to appear to return to my corps. This I had resolved never more to do. I reflected that a life of quiet and ease was best suited to my disposition; and I resolved to join some religious sect. Before I quitted my mother’s roof I gave her thirty sequins, which she was most thankful for, as she was in straitened circumstances. “Ah!” cried she, as she wrapt up the money carefully in a piece of rag, “if you could only have brought back your poor father’s head, Hudusi!”—I might have told her that she had just received what I had sold it for—but I thought it just as well to say nothing about it; so I embraced her, and departed.
There was a sort of dervishes, who had taken up their quarters about seven miles from the village where my mother resided; and as they never remained long in one place, I hastened to join them. On my arrival, I requested to speak with their chief, and imagining that I was come with the request of prayers to be offered up on behalf of some wished-for object, I was admitted.
“Khoda shefa midehed—God gives relief,” said the old man. “What wishest thou, my son? Khosh amedeed—you are welcome.”
I stated my wish to enter into the sect, from a religious feeling; and requested that I might be permitted.
“Thou knowest not what thou askest, my son. Ours is a hard life, one of penitence, prostration, and prayer—our food is but of herbs and the water of the spring; our rest is broken, and we know not where to lay our heads. Depart, yaha bibi, my friend, depart in peace.”
“But, father,” replied I (for to tell your highness the truth, notwithstanding the old man’s assertions, as to their austerities of life, I very much doubted the fact), “I am prepared for all this, if necessary, and even more. I have brought my little wealth to add to the store, and contribute to the welfare of your holy band; and I must not be denied.” I perceived that the old man’s eyes twinkled at the bare mention of gold, and I drew from my sash five and twenty sequins, which I had separated from my hoard, with the intention of offering it. “See, holy father,” continued I, “the offering which I would make.”
“Barik Allah—praise be to God,” exclaimed the dervish, “that he has sent us a true believer. Thy offering is accepted; but thou must not expect yet to enter into the austerities of our holy order. I have many disciples here, who wear the dress, and yet they are not as regular as good dervishes should be; but there is a time for all things, and when their appetite to do wrong fails them, they will (Inshallah, please God), in all probability, become more holy and devout men. You are accepted.” And the old man held out his hand for the money, which he clutched with eagerness, and hid away under his garment. “Ali,” said he, to one of the dervishes who had stood at some distance during my audience, “this young man—what is your name—Hudusi—is admitted into our fraternity. Take him with thee, give him a dress of the order, and let him be initiated into our mysteries, first demanding from him the oath of secrecy. Murakhas, good Hudusi, you are dismissed.”
I followed the dervish through a narrow passage, until we arrived at a door, at which he knocked; it was opened, and I passed through a court-yard, where I perceived several of the dervishes stretched on the ground in various postures, breathing heavily, and insensible.
“These,” said my conductor, “are holy men who are favoured by Allah. They are in a trance, and during that state, are visited by the Prophet, and are permitted to enter the eighth heaven, and see the glories prepared for true believers.” I made no reply to his assertion, but as it was evident that they were all in a state of beastly intoxication, I very much doubted the fact.
I received my dress, took an oath of secrecy, and was introduced to my companions; whom I soon found to be a set of dissolute fellows, indulging in every vice, and laughing at every virtue; living in idleness, and by the contributions made to them by the people, who firmly believed in their pretended sanctity. The old man, with the white beard, who was their chief, was the only one who did not indulge in debauchery. He had outlived his appetite for the vices of youth, and fallen into the vice of age—a love for money, which was insatiable. I must acknowledge that the company and mode of living were more to my satisfaction than the vigils, hard fare, and constant prayer, with which the old man had threatened me, when I proposed to enter the community, and I soon became an adept in dissimulation and hypocrisy, and a great favourite with my brethren.
I ought to have observed to your sublimity, that the sect of dervishes, of which I had become a member, were then designated by the name of howling dervishes; all our religion consisted in howling like jackals or hyenas, with all our might, until we fell down in real or pretended convulsions. My howl was considered as the most appalling and unearthly that was ever heard; and, of course, my sanctity was increased in proportion. We were on our way to Scutari, where was our real place of residence, and only lodged here and there on our journey to fleece those who were piously disposed. I had not joined more than ten days when they continued their route, and after a week of very profitable travelling, passed through Constantinople, crossed the Bosphorus, and regained their place of domiciliation, and were received with great joy by the inhabitants, to whom the old chief and many others of our troop were well known.
Your sublime highness must be aware that the dervishes are not only consulted by, but often become the bankers of, the inhabitants, who entrust them with the care of their money. My old chief (whose name I should have mentioned before was Ulu-bibi), held large sums in trust for many of the people with whom he was acquainted; but his avarice inducing him to lend the money out on usury, it was very difficult to recover it when it was desired, although it was always religiously paid back. I had not been many months at Scutari, before I found myself in high favour, from my superior howling, and the duration of my convulsions. But during this state, which by habit soon became spasmodic, continuing until the vital functions were almost extinct, the mind was as active as ever, and I lay immersed in a sea of doubt which was most painful. In my state of exhaustion I doubted every thing. I doubted if my convulsions were convulsions, or only feigned; I doubted if I was asleep or awake; I doubted whether I was in a trance, or in another world, or dead, or—
“Friend Hudusi,” interrupted Mustapha, “we want the facts of your story, and not your doubts. Say I not well, your highness? What is all this but bosh—nothing?”
“It is well said,” replied the pacha.
“Sometimes I thought that I had seized possession of a fact, but it slipped through my fingers like the tail of an eel.”
“Let us have the facts, which did not escape thee, friend, and let the mists of doubt be cleared away before the glory of the pacha,” replied Mustapha.
One day I was sitting in the warmth of the sun, by the tomb of a true believer, when an old woman accosted me.
“You are welcome,” said I.
“Is your humour good?” said she.
“It is good,” replied I.
She sat down by me; and, after a quarter of an hour, she continued: “God is great,” said she.
“And Mahomet is his Prophet,” replied I. “In the name of Allah, what do you wish?”
“Where is the holy man? I have money to give into his charge. May I not see him?”
“He is at his devotions but what is that? Am not I the same? Do I not watch when he prayeth—Inshallah—please God we are the same. Give me the bag.”
“Here it is,” said she, pulling out the money; “seven hundred sequins, my daughter’s marriage portion; but there are bad men, who steal, and there are good men, whom we can trust. Say I not well?”
“It is well said,” replied I, “and God is great.”
“You will find the money right,” said she. “Count it.”
I counted it, and returned it into the goat’s-skin bag. “It is all right. Leave me, woman, for I must go in.”
The old woman left me, returning thanks to Allah that her money was safe; but from certain ideas running in my mind, I very much doubted the fact. I sat down full of doubt. I doubted if the old woman had come honestly by the money; and whether I should give it to the head dervish. I doubted whether I ought to retain it for myself, and whether I might not come to mischief. I also had my doubts—
“I have no doubt,” interrupted Mustapha, “but that you kept it for yourself. Say—is it not so?”
Even so did my doubts resolve into that fact. I settled it in my mind, that seven hundred sequins, added to about four hundred still in my possession, would last some time, and that I was tired of the life of a howling dervish. I therefore set up one last long final howl, to let my senior know that I was present, and then immediately became absent. I hastened to the bazaar, and purchasing here and there—at one place a vest, at another a shawl, and at another a turban—I threw off my dress of a dervish, hastened to the bath, and after a few minutes under the barber, came out like a butterfly from its dark shell. No one would have recognised in the spruce young Turk, the filthy dervish. I hastened to Constantinople, where I lived gaily, and spent my money; but I found that to mix in the world, it is necessary not only to have an attaghan, but also to have the courage to use it; and in several broils which took place, from my too frequent use of the water of the Giaour, I invariably proved, that although my voice was that of a lion, my heart was but as water, and the finger of contempt was but too often pointed at the beard of pretence. One evening, as I was escaping from a coffee-house, after having drawn my attaghan, without having the courage to face my adversary, I received a blow from his weapon which cleft my turban, and cut deeply into my head. I flew through the streets upon the wings of fear, and at last ran against an unknown object, which I knocked down, and then fell alongside of, rolling with it in the mud. I recovered myself, and looking at it, found it to be alive, and, in the excess of my alarm, I imagined it to be Shitan himself; but if not the devil himself, it was one of the sons of Shitan, for it was an unbeliever, a Giaour, a dog to spit upon; in short, it was a Frank hakim—so renowned for curing all diseases, that it was said he was assisted by the Devil.
“Lahnet be Shitan! Curses on the devil,” said Mustapha, taking his pipe out of his mouth and spitting.
“Wallah thaib! It is well said,” replied the pacha.
I was so convinced that it was nothing of this world, that, as soon as I could recover my legs, I made a blow at him with my attaghan, fully expecting that he would disappear in a flame of fire at the touch of a true believer; but on the contrary, he had also recovered his legs, and with a large cane with a gold top on it, he parried my cut, and then saluted me with such a blow on my head, that I again fell down in the mud, quite insensible. When I recovered, I found myself on a mat in an outhouse, and attended by my opponent, who was plastering up my head. “It is nothing,” said he, as he bound up my head, but I suffered so much pain, and felt so weak with loss of blood, that in spite of his assertions, I very much doubted the fact. Shall I describe this son of Jehanum? And when I do so, will not your highness doubt the fact? Be chesm, upon my head be it, if I lie. He was less than a man, for he had no beard; he had no turban, but a piece of net-work, covered with the hair of other men in their tombs, which he sprinkled with the flour from the bakers, every morning, to feed his brain. He wore round his neck a piece of linen, tight as a bowstring, to prevent his head being taken off by any devout true believer, as he walked through the street. His dress was of the colour of hell, black, and bound closely to his body, yet must he have been a great man in his own country, for he was evidently a pacha of two tails, which were hanging behind him. He was a dreadful man, to look upon, and feared nothing; he walked into the house of pestilence—he handled those whom Allah had visited with the plague—he went to the bed, and the sick rose and walked. He warred with destiny; and no man could say what was his fate until the hakim had decided. He held in his hand the key of the portal which opened into the regions of death; and—what can I say more? he said live, and the believer lived; he said die, and the houris received him into Paradise.