I AM CALLED BLACK-3
Thesofallatalatehourandtiilldawn.IspentthenightreadingShekure’sletteragainandagain.Ipatheemptyroomoftheemptyhouse,occasionallyleaningtowardthedlestitheflickeringlightofthedimdle,Iwatchedthetensequiveringofmybeloved’sangryletters,thesomersaultstheyturryingtodeceivemeandtheirhip-swingingright-to-leftprogression.Abruptly,thoseshutterswouldopenbeforemyeyes,andmybeloved’sfadhersorrowfulsmilewouldappear.AndwhenIsawherrealface,Ifotallofthoseotherfaceswhosesour-cherrymouthshadincreasinglymaturedandripenedinmyimagination.
InthemiddleofthenightIlostmyselfindreamse:Ihadnodoubtsaboutmyloveorthatitwasreciprocated—weweremarriedinastateofgreatte—but,myimaginaryhappiness,setinahousewithastaircase,wasdashedwhenIcouldn’tfindappropriateworkandbeganarguingwithmywife,uomakeherheedmywords.
IkneropriatedtheseominousimagesfromtheseontheillseinGazzali’sTheRevivaliousSce,whichI’dreadduringmynightsasabachelorinArabia;atthesametime,Irecalledthattherewasactuallyadvithebeseinthatsamese,thoughnowIcouldrememberonlytwoofthesebes:first,havingmyhouseholdkeptiherewasnosuchorderinmyimaginedhouse);sed,beingsparedtheguiltofself-abuseandingmyself—anevendeepersenseofguilt—behindpimpsleadihroughdarkalleywaystothelairsofprostitutes.
Thethoughtofsalvationatthislatehhtmasturbationtomind.
le-mindeddesire,andtoridmymindofthisirrepressibleurge,Iretiredtoaeroftheroom,aswasmywont,butafterawhileIrealizedIcouldn’tjackoff—proofwellenoughthatI’dfalleninloveagaiwelveyears!
ThisstrucksuchexcitementandfearintomyheartthatIwalkedaroundtheroomnearlyatrembleliketheflameofthedle.IfShekuremeanttopresentherselfatthewindow,thenwhythisletter,whichputtheoppositebeliefintoplay?Whydidherfathercallforme?AsIpaced,Isehatthedoor,wallandsqueakyfloor,stutteringasImyselfdid,weretryingtocreaktheirrespoomyeveryquestion.
IlookedatthepictureI’dmadeyearsago,whichdepictedShirinstriwithloveupongazingatHüsrev’simagehangingfromabranch.Itdidn’t
embarrassmeasitwouldeachtimeitcametomindinsubsequentyears,nordiditbringbackmyhappychildhoodmemories.Towardm,mymindhadmasteredthesituation:Byreturniure,Shekurehadmadeamoveinanamatorychessgameshewasmasterfullylurio.Isatinthedlelightandwroteheraletterofresponse.
Inthem,aftersleepingforaspell,Iwentoutandwalkedalongwaythroughthestreets,carryieruponmybreastandmylightpen-and-inkholder,aswasmy,inmysash.Thesnowwideanbul’snarrowstreetsahecityofitscrowds.Allwasquieterandslower,asit’dbeeninmychildhood.CrowsseemedtohavebesetIstanbul’sroofs,domesandgardensjustastheyhadonthesnowywinterdaysofmyyouth.Iwalkedswiftly,listeningtomystepsinthesnowandwatgthefogofmybreath.Igrewexcited,expegthepalaceworkshopthatmyEnishtewaovisittobeassilentasthestreets.BeforeIeheJewishquarter,IsentwordbywayofalittlestreeturtoEsther,who’dbeabletodelivermylettertoShekure,tellingherwheretomeetmebeforethenoontimeprayers.
Iarrivedearlyattheroyalartisans’workshoplocatedbehindtheHagiaSophia.Exceptfortheicicleshangingfromtheeaves,therewasnogeinthebuildingwhereI’doftenvisitedmyEnishteandforatimeworkedasachildapprentice.
Followingahandsomeyoungapprentice,Iwalkedpastelderlymasterbindersdazedfromthesmellofglueandbookbinder’spaste,masterminiaturistswhosebackshadhuanearlyageandyouthswhomixedpaintswithoutevenlookingintothebowlsperchedontheirknees,sosorrowfullyweretheyabsorbedbytheflamesofthestove.Inaer,Isawanoldmaiculouslypaintinganostricheggonhislap,anotherelderenthusiasticallyembellishingadrawerandayoungapprenticegraciouslywatgthemboth.Throughanopendoor,Iwitnessedyoungstudentsbeingreprimaheyleanedforward,theirnosesalmosttougthepagesspreadbeforetheirreddenedfaces,astheytriedtouaakesthey’dmade.Inanotherroom,amournfulandmelancholyapprentice,havingfottearilyaboutcolors,papersandpainting,staredintothestreetI’djustnoweagerlywalkeddown.
Weclimbedtheicystaircase.Wewalkedthroughtheportico,whichedaroundtheinnersedfloorofthebuilding.Below,intheinnercourtyardcoveredwithsnow,twoyoungstudents,obviouslytremblingfromthecolddespitetheirthickcapesofcoarsewool,werewaiting—perhapsforanimmibeating.Irecalledmyearlyyouthaingsgiventostudents
whowerelazyorwhowastedexpensivepaints,andtheblowsofthebastinado,whidedonthesolesoftheirfeetuntiltheybled.
Weenteredawarmroom.Isawtwonoviceswho’dretlyfiheirapprenticeships.Sihegreatmasters,whomMasterOsmanhadgivenworkshopnames,nowworkedathome,thisroom,whicearousedexcessivereverenddelightinme,nolongerseemedliketheworkshopofagreatahysultanbutmerelyalargishroominsomesecludedcaravansaryintheremotemountainsoftheEast.
Immediatelyofftotheside,beforealongter,IsawtheHeadIlluminator,MasterOsman,forthefirsttimeinfifteenyears;heseemedlikeanapparition.WheneverIplatedillustratingandpaintingduringmytravels,thegreatmasterwouldappearinmymind’seyeasifhewereBihzadhimself;now,inhiswhiteoutfitandinthesnow-whitelightfallingthroughthewindowfagtheHagiaSophia,helookedasthoughhe’dlongbeeohespiritsoftheOtherworld.Ikissedhishand,whioticedwasmottled,andIintroducedmyself.IexplainedhowmyEnishtehadenrolledmehereasayouth,butthatI’dpreferredabureaucraticposta.Iretedmyyearsontheroad,mytimespeerncitiesintheserviceofpashasasaclerkortreasurer’ssecretary.Itoldhimhow,wwithSerhatPashaandothers,I’dmetcalligraphersandilluminatorsinTabrizandproducedbooks;howI’dspenttimeinBaghdadandAleppo,inVanandTiflis,andhowI’dseenmanybattles.
“Ah,Tiflis!”thegreatmastersaid,ashegazedatthelightfromthesnow-cardenfilteringthroughtheoilskincthewindow.“Isitsnowingtherenow?”
HisdemeaedthoseoldPersianmasterswhogrewblindperfegtheirartistry;who,afteracertainage,livedhalf-saintly,half-senilelives,andaboutwhomendlesslegeold.IstraightawaysawinhisjinnlikeeyesthathedespisedmyEnishtevehementlyandthathewasfurthermoresuspiciousofme.Evenso,IexplainedhowintheArabiassnowdidn’tsimplyfalltotheEarth,asitwasnowfallingontotheHagiaSophia,butontomemoriesaswell.IspunayarshefortressofTiflis,thewasherwomensangsongsthecolorofflowersandchildrenhidicecreamuheirpillowsforsummer.
“Dotellmewhatthoseilluminatorsandpaintersillustrateinthetriesyou’vevisited,”hesaid.“Whatdotheydepict?”
Adreamy-eyedyoungpainterwhowasrulingoutpagesintheer,lostinrevery,raisedhisheadfromhisfoldingworkdeskalongwiththeothersintheroomandgavemealookthatsaid,“Letthisbeyourmosthoanswer.”
Manyofthesecraftsmendidn’tknowtheergrotheirownneighborhood,orhowmuoke’sworthofbreadcost,buttheywereverycuriousaboutthelatestgossipEastofPersia,wherearmiesclashed,prirangledoherandpluiesbeforeburniheground,whereeaceweretestedeachday,wherethebestverseswerewrittenaillustrationsandpaintingsweremadeforturies.
“ShahTahmaspreignedforfifty-twoyears.Iyearsofhislife,asyouknow,heabandonedhisloveofbooks,illustratingandpainting,turnedhisbapoets,illustratorsandcalligraphers,andresigninghimselftoworship,passedaway,whereuponhisson,Ismail,asdedtothethrone,”Isaid.“ShahTahmasphadbeenwellawareofhisson’sdisagreeableandantagonistiature,sohekepthim,theshah-to-be,behindlockeddoorsfortwentyyears.
AssoonasIsmailassumedthethrone,inamadfrenzy,hehadhisyoungerbrothersstrangled—someofwhomhe’dblindedbeforehand.Intheend,however,Ismail’senemiessucceededinplyinghimwithopiumandpoisoninghim,andafterbeingliberatedfromhisworldlypreseheyplacedhishalf-wittedolderbrotherMuhammadKhodabahethrone.Duringhisreign,alltheprinces,brothers,provincialgovernorsandUzbeks,inshorteveryoartedtorevolt.TheywentaftereachotherandourSerhatPashawithsuchmartialferocitythatallofPersiaturosmokeanddustandwasleftindisarray.Ihepresentshah,bereftofmoneyandintelligendhalf-blind,isnotfittosponsorthewritingandillustrationofilluminatedmanuscripts.Thus,theselegendaryillustratorsofKazvina,alltheseelderlymasters,alongwiththeirappreheseartisanswhomademasterpieShahTahmasp’sworkshops,paintersandcoloristswhosebrushesmadehallopatfullspeedandwhosebutterfliesflutteredoffthepage,allofthesemasterbindersandcalligraphers,everylastonewasleftwithoutwork,pennilessaute,homelessa.SomemigratedtotheNorthamongtheUzbeks,someWesttoIndia.Otherstookupdifferenttypesofwork,wastingthemselvesandtheirhonor,andstillotherseheserviceofinsignifitprindprovincialgovernors,allswornenemiesofeachother,tobeginwonpalm-sizebookstainingatmostafewleavesofillustration.Rapidlytranscribed,hastilypainted,cheapbooksappearedeverywhere,matgthetastesofonsoldiers,boorishpashasandspoiledprinces.”
“Howmuchwouldtheygofor?”askedMasterOsman.
“IhearthatthegreatSadikiBeyillustratedacopyeCreatures,issionedbyanUzbekspahicavalryman,foronlyfoldpieces.IofavulgarpashawhowasreturningfromhisEasterncampaigntoErzurum,IbeheldanalbumsistingoflewdpicturesincludingpaintingsbythevirtuosoSiyavush.Afewgreatmasterswhohadn’tabandonedillustratingweremakingandsellingindividualpieces,whichweren’tpartofanystoryatall.Byexaminingsugleleaves,youcouldn’ttellwhichseorwhichstoryitrepresented;rather,youwouldadmireitforitsownsake,forthepleasureofbeholdingalone.Forexample,youmightent,”Thisistheexactlikenessofahorse,howbeautiful,“andyou’dpaytheartistonthisbasis.
Sesofbatorfugarequiteon.Thepriceforabustlingbattlehasfallentothreehundredsilvers,andtherearehardlyanyiedts.Tosellpiethecheapandtobetterlureabuyer,somesimplydrawinblakonnonsized,unfinishedpaperwithnaryabrushstrokeofcolor.”
“Therewasagilderofminewhowastentastentcouldbeandtalealentwouldallow,”saidMasterOsmaohisworkwithsuchelegawereferredtohimas”ElegantEffendi.“Buthehasabandonedus.It’sbeensixdays,andhe’snottobefoundanywhere.He’splaindisappeared.”
“Howcouldasuchaworkshopasthis,suchajoyoushearth?”Isaid.
“Butterfly,Olive,Storka,thefouryoungmasterswhomI’vetrainedsiheyrentiowworkathomeatOurSulta,”saidMasterOsman.
ThisapparentlycameaboutsotheycouldworkmorefortablyontheBookofFestivitieswithwhichtheentireworkshopwasinvolved.Thistime,theSultanhadn’tarrangedforaspecialworkspaceforHismasterminiaturistsinthepalacecourtyard;rather,Hedecreedthattheyworkonthisspecialbookathome.WhenitoccurredtomethatthisorderrobablyissuedforthesakeofmyEnishte’sbook,Ifellsilent.TowhatdegreewasMasterOsmanmakinginsinuations?
“NuriEffendi,”hecalledtoapaleandhunchedpainter,“presentOurMasterBlackwitha”survey‘oftheworkshop!“The“survey”wasaregularritualofOurSultan’sbimonthlyvisitstotheminiaturists’atelierduringthatexgtimewhenHisExcellencyhadilyfollowedwhattranspiredattheworkshop.UheauspicesofHaz?m,the
HeadTreasurer;Lokman,theHeadPoeticiclerandMasterOsman,theHeadIlluminator,OurSultanwouldbeapprisedofwhichpagesinwhichbooksthemasterswerewonatanygive:whodidwhichgilding,whocoloredwhichpicture,andonebyone,howthecolorists,thepagerulers,thegildersaerminiaturists,whosetalentallowedthemtoaplishmiracles,wereesaddetheywereholdingafakeceremonyinplaceoftheowasnolongerperformedbecauseageandillhealthboundtheHeadPoeticiclerLokmanEffendi,whowrotemostofthebookswhichwereillustrated,tohishome;becauseMasterOsmanoftendisappearedinacloudofindignationandwrath;becausethefourmastersknownasButterfly,Olive,Storkaworkedathome;andbecauseOurSultannolongerwaxedenthusiasticlikeachildintheworkshop.Ashappeomanyminiaturists,NuriEffendihadgrownoldinvain,withouthavingfullyexperiencedlifeorbeasterofhisart.Notinvain,however,didhespendthoseyearsoverhisworktablebeinghunchbacked:Healaidcloseattentiontopeheworkshop,towhomadewhichexquisitepage.
AndsoIeagerlybeheldforthefirsttimethelegendarypagesoftheBookofFestivities,whichretedthecircumcisionceremoniesofOurSultan’sprince.WhenIwasstillinPersia,Iheardstoriesaboutthisfifty-two-daycircumcisionceremonywhereinpeoplefromalloccupationsandallguilds,allofIstanbul,hadparticipated,iatimewhenthebookthatmemorializedthegreateventwasyetbeingprepared.
Inthefirstpictureplacedbeforeme,fixedintheroyalenclosureoflateIbrahimPasha’spalace,OurSultan,theRefugeoftheWazedupoivitiesintheHippodromebelowwithalookthatbespokeHissatisfa.
Hisface,eventhoughnotsodetailedastopermitoodistinguishHimfromothersbyfeaturesalone,wasdratlyandwithreverence.Asfortherightsideofthedouble-leafpictureshowingOurSultano,therewereviziers,pashas,Persian,Tatar,Frankishaianambassadorsstandinginthearchednadesandwindows.Becausetheywerenotsultans,theireyesweredrawnhastilyandcarelesslyandfocusedonnothinginparticularbesidesthegeneralotioninthesquare.Later,Inotiotherpicturesthatthesamearraandpagepositioed—eventhoughthewallorioreesandterra-cottashinglesweredepictedindifferentstylesandcolors.Oextwaswrittenoutbyscribes,theillustrationspletedandthebookbound;thereader,turningpages,wouldeachtimeseepletelydifferentactivitiesinpletelydifferentcolorsintheHippodromewhichremaineduhesamewatchfulgazesoftheSultanand
Hiscrowdofguests—whoalwaysstoodidentically,forevergazingatthesameareabelow.
TherebeforemeIsawpeoplescramblingforhundredsofbowlsofpilafthatwereplatheHippodrome;Isawtheliverabbitsandbirdsemergeoutoftheroastoxandstartlethecrowdthathaddesdeduponit.Isawthemastercoppersmiths’guildridinginawheeledcartbeforeOurSultan,itsmembershammeringaperbutrikingtheoneamongthemlyingiwiththeanvilbalanhisbarechest.IsawglaziersembellishingglasswithationsandcypressesastheyparadedbeforeOurSultaninawagon;feersregsweetpoemsastheydrovecamelsladenwithsacksofsugaranddisplayedcagesholdingsugar-parrots;andagedlocksmithswhoshowedoffavarietyofhanginglocks,padlocks,deadboltsandgearlocksastheyplaiheevilsofimesandnewdoors.
Butterfly,StorkandOlivehadworkedourethatdepictedthemagis:Ohemwascausiomarchdoolewithoutdroppingthem—asifonabroadslabofmarble—tothebeatofatambourineplayedbyanother.InonewagonIsawpreciselyhotainK?l??AliPashahadforcedtheinfidelshe’dcapturedatseatomakean“infidels’mountain”outofclay;he’dthenloadedalltheslavesintothecart,andwhenhewasrightbeforetheSultan,heexplodedthepowderwithinthe“mountain”todemonstratehowhe’dmadeinfidellandswailandmoanwithonfire.Isaw-shavenbutcherswieldingcleavers,wearingrose-andpurple-coloreduniformsandsmilingatthepinkcarcassesofskinnedsheephangingfromhooks.ThespectatorsapplaudedliontamerswhhtaedlionbeforeOurSultan,provokingandenragingituntilitseyesshonebloodredwithrage;andopage,Isawthelion,representingIslam,chaseawayagray-and-pinkpig,symbolizingtheingChristianinfidel.Iindulgedmyeyesatlengthonapictureofabarbersuspendedupsidedownfromtheceilingofashopbuiltontoacart,asheshavedaerwhilehisassistant,dressedinred,heldamirrorandasilverbowltainingfragrantsoap,waitingforbaksheesh;Iinquiredaftertheidentityofthemagnifitminiaturistresponsibleforthepiece.
“Itisindeedimportantthatapainting,throughitsbeauty,summonustowardlife’sabundaowardpassion,towardrespectforthecolorsoftherealmwhichGodcreated,andtowardrefleandfaith.Theidentityoftheminiaturistisnotimportant.”松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
InthemiddleofthenightIlostmyselfindreamse:Ihadnodoubtsaboutmyloveorthatitwasreciprocated—weweremarriedinastateofgreatte—but,myimaginaryhappiness,setinahousewithastaircase,wasdashedwhenIcouldn’tfindappropriateworkandbeganarguingwithmywife,uomakeherheedmywords.
IkneropriatedtheseominousimagesfromtheseontheillseinGazzali’sTheRevivaliousSce,whichI’dreadduringmynightsasabachelorinArabia;atthesametime,Irecalledthattherewasactuallyadvithebeseinthatsamese,thoughnowIcouldrememberonlytwoofthesebes:first,havingmyhouseholdkeptiherewasnosuchorderinmyimaginedhouse);sed,beingsparedtheguiltofself-abuseandingmyself—anevendeepersenseofguilt—behindpimpsleadihroughdarkalleywaystothelairsofprostitutes.
Thethoughtofsalvationatthislatehhtmasturbationtomind.
le-mindeddesire,andtoridmymindofthisirrepressibleurge,Iretiredtoaeroftheroom,aswasmywont,butafterawhileIrealizedIcouldn’tjackoff—proofwellenoughthatI’dfalleninloveagaiwelveyears!
ThisstrucksuchexcitementandfearintomyheartthatIwalkedaroundtheroomnearlyatrembleliketheflameofthedle.IfShekuremeanttopresentherselfatthewindow,thenwhythisletter,whichputtheoppositebeliefintoplay?Whydidherfathercallforme?AsIpaced,Isehatthedoor,wallandsqueakyfloor,stutteringasImyselfdid,weretryingtocreaktheirrespoomyeveryquestion.
IlookedatthepictureI’dmadeyearsago,whichdepictedShirinstriwithloveupongazingatHüsrev’simagehangingfromabranch.Itdidn’t
embarrassmeasitwouldeachtimeitcametomindinsubsequentyears,nordiditbringbackmyhappychildhoodmemories.Towardm,mymindhadmasteredthesituation:Byreturniure,Shekurehadmadeamoveinanamatorychessgameshewasmasterfullylurio.Isatinthedlelightandwroteheraletterofresponse.
Inthem,aftersleepingforaspell,Iwentoutandwalkedalongwaythroughthestreets,carryieruponmybreastandmylightpen-and-inkholder,aswasmy,inmysash.Thesnowwideanbul’snarrowstreetsahecityofitscrowds.Allwasquieterandslower,asit’dbeeninmychildhood.CrowsseemedtohavebesetIstanbul’sroofs,domesandgardensjustastheyhadonthesnowywinterdaysofmyyouth.Iwalkedswiftly,listeningtomystepsinthesnowandwatgthefogofmybreath.Igrewexcited,expegthepalaceworkshopthatmyEnishtewaovisittobeassilentasthestreets.BeforeIeheJewishquarter,IsentwordbywayofalittlestreeturtoEsther,who’dbeabletodelivermylettertoShekure,tellingherwheretomeetmebeforethenoontimeprayers.
Iarrivedearlyattheroyalartisans’workshoplocatedbehindtheHagiaSophia.Exceptfortheicicleshangingfromtheeaves,therewasnogeinthebuildingwhereI’doftenvisitedmyEnishteandforatimeworkedasachildapprentice.
Followingahandsomeyoungapprentice,Iwalkedpastelderlymasterbindersdazedfromthesmellofglueandbookbinder’spaste,masterminiaturistswhosebackshadhuanearlyageandyouthswhomixedpaintswithoutevenlookingintothebowlsperchedontheirknees,sosorrowfullyweretheyabsorbedbytheflamesofthestove.Inaer,Isawanoldmaiculouslypaintinganostricheggonhislap,anotherelderenthusiasticallyembellishingadrawerandayoungapprenticegraciouslywatgthemboth.Throughanopendoor,Iwitnessedyoungstudentsbeingreprimaheyleanedforward,theirnosesalmosttougthepagesspreadbeforetheirreddenedfaces,astheytriedtouaakesthey’dmade.Inanotherroom,amournfulandmelancholyapprentice,havingfottearilyaboutcolors,papersandpainting,staredintothestreetI’djustnoweagerlywalkeddown.
Weclimbedtheicystaircase.Wewalkedthroughtheportico,whichedaroundtheinnersedfloorofthebuilding.Below,intheinnercourtyardcoveredwithsnow,twoyoungstudents,obviouslytremblingfromthecolddespitetheirthickcapesofcoarsewool,werewaiting—perhapsforanimmibeating.Irecalledmyearlyyouthaingsgiventostudents
whowerelazyorwhowastedexpensivepaints,andtheblowsofthebastinado,whidedonthesolesoftheirfeetuntiltheybled.
Weenteredawarmroom.Isawtwonoviceswho’dretlyfiheirapprenticeships.Sihegreatmasters,whomMasterOsmanhadgivenworkshopnames,nowworkedathome,thisroom,whicearousedexcessivereverenddelightinme,nolongerseemedliketheworkshopofagreatahysultanbutmerelyalargishroominsomesecludedcaravansaryintheremotemountainsoftheEast.
Immediatelyofftotheside,beforealongter,IsawtheHeadIlluminator,MasterOsman,forthefirsttimeinfifteenyears;heseemedlikeanapparition.WheneverIplatedillustratingandpaintingduringmytravels,thegreatmasterwouldappearinmymind’seyeasifhewereBihzadhimself;now,inhiswhiteoutfitandinthesnow-whitelightfallingthroughthewindowfagtheHagiaSophia,helookedasthoughhe’dlongbeeohespiritsoftheOtherworld.Ikissedhishand,whioticedwasmottled,andIintroducedmyself.IexplainedhowmyEnishtehadenrolledmehereasayouth,butthatI’dpreferredabureaucraticposta.Iretedmyyearsontheroad,mytimespeerncitiesintheserviceofpashasasaclerkortreasurer’ssecretary.Itoldhimhow,wwithSerhatPashaandothers,I’dmetcalligraphersandilluminatorsinTabrizandproducedbooks;howI’dspenttimeinBaghdadandAleppo,inVanandTiflis,andhowI’dseenmanybattles.
“Ah,Tiflis!”thegreatmastersaid,ashegazedatthelightfromthesnow-cardenfilteringthroughtheoilskincthewindow.“Isitsnowingtherenow?”
HisdemeaedthoseoldPersianmasterswhogrewblindperfegtheirartistry;who,afteracertainage,livedhalf-saintly,half-senilelives,andaboutwhomendlesslegeold.IstraightawaysawinhisjinnlikeeyesthathedespisedmyEnishtevehementlyandthathewasfurthermoresuspiciousofme.Evenso,IexplainedhowintheArabiassnowdidn’tsimplyfalltotheEarth,asitwasnowfallingontotheHagiaSophia,butontomemoriesaswell.IspunayarshefortressofTiflis,thewasherwomensangsongsthecolorofflowersandchildrenhidicecreamuheirpillowsforsummer.
“Dotellmewhatthoseilluminatorsandpaintersillustrateinthetriesyou’vevisited,”hesaid.“Whatdotheydepict?”
Adreamy-eyedyoungpainterwhowasrulingoutpagesintheer,lostinrevery,raisedhisheadfromhisfoldingworkdeskalongwiththeothersintheroomandgavemealookthatsaid,“Letthisbeyourmosthoanswer.”
Manyofthesecraftsmendidn’tknowtheergrotheirownneighborhood,orhowmuoke’sworthofbreadcost,buttheywereverycuriousaboutthelatestgossipEastofPersia,wherearmiesclashed,prirangledoherandpluiesbeforeburniheground,whereeaceweretestedeachday,wherethebestverseswerewrittenaillustrationsandpaintingsweremadeforturies.
“ShahTahmaspreignedforfifty-twoyears.Iyearsofhislife,asyouknow,heabandonedhisloveofbooks,illustratingandpainting,turnedhisbapoets,illustratorsandcalligraphers,andresigninghimselftoworship,passedaway,whereuponhisson,Ismail,asdedtothethrone,”Isaid.“ShahTahmasphadbeenwellawareofhisson’sdisagreeableandantagonistiature,sohekepthim,theshah-to-be,behindlockeddoorsfortwentyyears.
AssoonasIsmailassumedthethrone,inamadfrenzy,hehadhisyoungerbrothersstrangled—someofwhomhe’dblindedbeforehand.Intheend,however,Ismail’senemiessucceededinplyinghimwithopiumandpoisoninghim,andafterbeingliberatedfromhisworldlypreseheyplacedhishalf-wittedolderbrotherMuhammadKhodabahethrone.Duringhisreign,alltheprinces,brothers,provincialgovernorsandUzbeks,inshorteveryoartedtorevolt.TheywentaftereachotherandourSerhatPashawithsuchmartialferocitythatallofPersiaturosmokeanddustandwasleftindisarray.Ihepresentshah,bereftofmoneyandintelligendhalf-blind,isnotfittosponsorthewritingandillustrationofilluminatedmanuscripts.Thus,theselegendaryillustratorsofKazvina,alltheseelderlymasters,alongwiththeirappreheseartisanswhomademasterpieShahTahmasp’sworkshops,paintersandcoloristswhosebrushesmadehallopatfullspeedandwhosebutterfliesflutteredoffthepage,allofthesemasterbindersandcalligraphers,everylastonewasleftwithoutwork,pennilessaute,homelessa.SomemigratedtotheNorthamongtheUzbeks,someWesttoIndia.Otherstookupdifferenttypesofwork,wastingthemselvesandtheirhonor,andstillotherseheserviceofinsignifitprindprovincialgovernors,allswornenemiesofeachother,tobeginwonpalm-sizebookstainingatmostafewleavesofillustration.Rapidlytranscribed,hastilypainted,cheapbooksappearedeverywhere,matgthetastesofonsoldiers,boorishpashasandspoiledprinces.”
“Howmuchwouldtheygofor?”askedMasterOsman.
“IhearthatthegreatSadikiBeyillustratedacopyeCreatures,issionedbyanUzbekspahicavalryman,foronlyfoldpieces.IofavulgarpashawhowasreturningfromhisEasterncampaigntoErzurum,IbeheldanalbumsistingoflewdpicturesincludingpaintingsbythevirtuosoSiyavush.Afewgreatmasterswhohadn’tabandonedillustratingweremakingandsellingindividualpieces,whichweren’tpartofanystoryatall.Byexaminingsugleleaves,youcouldn’ttellwhichseorwhichstoryitrepresented;rather,youwouldadmireitforitsownsake,forthepleasureofbeholdingalone.Forexample,youmightent,”Thisistheexactlikenessofahorse,howbeautiful,“andyou’dpaytheartistonthisbasis.
Sesofbatorfugarequiteon.Thepriceforabustlingbattlehasfallentothreehundredsilvers,andtherearehardlyanyiedts.Tosellpiethecheapandtobetterlureabuyer,somesimplydrawinblakonnonsized,unfinishedpaperwithnaryabrushstrokeofcolor.”
“Therewasagilderofminewhowastentastentcouldbeandtalealentwouldallow,”saidMasterOsmaohisworkwithsuchelegawereferredtohimas”ElegantEffendi.“Buthehasabandonedus.It’sbeensixdays,andhe’snottobefoundanywhere.He’splaindisappeared.”
“Howcouldasuchaworkshopasthis,suchajoyoushearth?”Isaid.
“Butterfly,Olive,Storka,thefouryoungmasterswhomI’vetrainedsiheyrentiowworkathomeatOurSulta,”saidMasterOsman.
ThisapparentlycameaboutsotheycouldworkmorefortablyontheBookofFestivitieswithwhichtheentireworkshopwasinvolved.Thistime,theSultanhadn’tarrangedforaspecialworkspaceforHismasterminiaturistsinthepalacecourtyard;rather,Hedecreedthattheyworkonthisspecialbookathome.WhenitoccurredtomethatthisorderrobablyissuedforthesakeofmyEnishte’sbook,Ifellsilent.TowhatdegreewasMasterOsmanmakinginsinuations?
“NuriEffendi,”hecalledtoapaleandhunchedpainter,“presentOurMasterBlackwitha”survey‘oftheworkshop!“The“survey”wasaregularritualofOurSultan’sbimonthlyvisitstotheminiaturists’atelierduringthatexgtimewhenHisExcellencyhadilyfollowedwhattranspiredattheworkshop.UheauspicesofHaz?m,the
HeadTreasurer;Lokman,theHeadPoeticiclerandMasterOsman,theHeadIlluminator,OurSultanwouldbeapprisedofwhichpagesinwhichbooksthemasterswerewonatanygive:whodidwhichgilding,whocoloredwhichpicture,andonebyone,howthecolorists,thepagerulers,thegildersaerminiaturists,whosetalentallowedthemtoaplishmiracles,wereesaddetheywereholdingafakeceremonyinplaceoftheowasnolongerperformedbecauseageandillhealthboundtheHeadPoeticiclerLokmanEffendi,whowrotemostofthebookswhichwereillustrated,tohishome;becauseMasterOsmanoftendisappearedinacloudofindignationandwrath;becausethefourmastersknownasButterfly,Olive,Storkaworkedathome;andbecauseOurSultannolongerwaxedenthusiasticlikeachildintheworkshop.Ashappeomanyminiaturists,NuriEffendihadgrownoldinvain,withouthavingfullyexperiencedlifeorbeasterofhisart.Notinvain,however,didhespendthoseyearsoverhisworktablebeinghunchbacked:Healaidcloseattentiontopeheworkshop,towhomadewhichexquisitepage.
AndsoIeagerlybeheldforthefirsttimethelegendarypagesoftheBookofFestivities,whichretedthecircumcisionceremoniesofOurSultan’sprince.WhenIwasstillinPersia,Iheardstoriesaboutthisfifty-two-daycircumcisionceremonywhereinpeoplefromalloccupationsandallguilds,allofIstanbul,hadparticipated,iatimewhenthebookthatmemorializedthegreateventwasyetbeingprepared.
Inthefirstpictureplacedbeforeme,fixedintheroyalenclosureoflateIbrahimPasha’spalace,OurSultan,theRefugeoftheWazedupoivitiesintheHippodromebelowwithalookthatbespokeHissatisfa.
Hisface,eventhoughnotsodetailedastopermitoodistinguishHimfromothersbyfeaturesalone,wasdratlyandwithreverence.Asfortherightsideofthedouble-leafpictureshowingOurSultano,therewereviziers,pashas,Persian,Tatar,Frankishaianambassadorsstandinginthearchednadesandwindows.Becausetheywerenotsultans,theireyesweredrawnhastilyandcarelesslyandfocusedonnothinginparticularbesidesthegeneralotioninthesquare.Later,Inotiotherpicturesthatthesamearraandpagepositioed—eventhoughthewallorioreesandterra-cottashinglesweredepictedindifferentstylesandcolors.Oextwaswrittenoutbyscribes,theillustrationspletedandthebookbound;thereader,turningpages,wouldeachtimeseepletelydifferentactivitiesinpletelydifferentcolorsintheHippodromewhichremaineduhesamewatchfulgazesoftheSultanand
Hiscrowdofguests—whoalwaysstoodidentically,forevergazingatthesameareabelow.
TherebeforemeIsawpeoplescramblingforhundredsofbowlsofpilafthatwereplatheHippodrome;Isawtheliverabbitsandbirdsemergeoutoftheroastoxandstartlethecrowdthathaddesdeduponit.Isawthemastercoppersmiths’guildridinginawheeledcartbeforeOurSultan,itsmembershammeringaperbutrikingtheoneamongthemlyingiwiththeanvilbalanhisbarechest.IsawglaziersembellishingglasswithationsandcypressesastheyparadedbeforeOurSultaninawagon;feersregsweetpoemsastheydrovecamelsladenwithsacksofsugaranddisplayedcagesholdingsugar-parrots;andagedlocksmithswhoshowedoffavarietyofhanginglocks,padlocks,deadboltsandgearlocksastheyplaiheevilsofimesandnewdoors.
Butterfly,StorkandOlivehadworkedourethatdepictedthemagis:Ohemwascausiomarchdoolewithoutdroppingthem—asifonabroadslabofmarble—tothebeatofatambourineplayedbyanother.InonewagonIsawpreciselyhotainK?l??AliPashahadforcedtheinfidelshe’dcapturedatseatomakean“infidels’mountain”outofclay;he’dthenloadedalltheslavesintothecart,andwhenhewasrightbeforetheSultan,heexplodedthepowderwithinthe“mountain”todemonstratehowhe’dmadeinfidellandswailandmoanwithonfire.Isaw-shavenbutcherswieldingcleavers,wearingrose-andpurple-coloreduniformsandsmilingatthepinkcarcassesofskinnedsheephangingfromhooks.ThespectatorsapplaudedliontamerswhhtaedlionbeforeOurSultan,provokingandenragingituntilitseyesshonebloodredwithrage;andopage,Isawthelion,representingIslam,chaseawayagray-and-pinkpig,symbolizingtheingChristianinfidel.Iindulgedmyeyesatlengthonapictureofabarbersuspendedupsidedownfromtheceilingofashopbuiltontoacart,asheshavedaerwhilehisassistant,dressedinred,heldamirrorandasilverbowltainingfragrantsoap,waitingforbaksheesh;Iinquiredaftertheidentityofthemagnifitminiaturistresponsibleforthepiece.
“Itisindeedimportantthatapainting,throughitsbeauty,summonustowardlife’sabundaowardpassion,towardrespectforthecolorsoftherealmwhichGodcreated,andtowardrefleandfaith.Theidentityoftheminiaturistisnotimportant.”松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
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