I AM CALLED BLACK-4
WasNuritheMiniaturist,whowasmuchmoresubtleinthoughtthanI’dassumed,beingreservedbecauseheuoodthatmyEnishtesentmeheretoiigate,orwashemerelyparrotingHeadIlluminatorMasterOsman?
“IsEleganttheoneresponsibleforallthisgildingwork?”Iasked.“Who’sdoingthegildingnow,inhisstead?”
Theshoutsandscreamsofchildrencouldnowbeheardthroughtheopendoorthatfacedtheinnercourtyard.Below,ohedivisionheadshadstartedadministeriinadotoapprenticeswho’dmostlikelybeencaughtwithredinkpowderintheirpocketsoldleafhiddenawayinafoldofpaper;probablythetwowhomI’dseentremblingastheywaitedinthecold.Youngpainters,seizinganopportunitytomockthem,rantothedoortowatch.
“BythetimetheapprenticespaintthegroundoftheHippodromeherearosecolor,finishingitoffasourMasterOsmanhasdictated,”saidNuriEffendicautiously,“ourbrantEffendi,Godwilling,willhavereturnedfromwhereverhe’sgoneandwillpletethegildingowopages.Ourmaster,OsmantheMiniaturist,wantedElegantEffenditocolorthedirtflooroftheHippodromedifferentlyineachse.Rosepink,Indiangreen,saffronyelloworthecooseshit.Whosoeverbeholdsthepicturewillrealizeinthefirstrenderingthisisadirtsquareandshouldbeearth-colored,butinthesedandthirdpictures,he’llwantothercolorstokeephimselfamused.Embellishingoughttmerrimenttothepage.”
Inotiepicturesoofpaperthatanassistainaer.Hewaswonasingle-leafpictureforaBookofVictories,thedepiofanavalfleetheadingofftobattle,butitwasobviousthatthescreamsofhisfriendswhosesoleswerebeingseverelybeaten,provokedtheillustratortorunoffandwatch.Thefleethemadebyrepeatedlytragidenticalshipswithablockpatterndidn’teveofloatinthesea;yet,thisartificiality,thelackofwindinthesails,hadlesstodowiththeblockpatternthantheyoungpainter’slackofskill.IsawwithsorrowthatthepatternhadbeencutviolentlyoutofanoldbookwhichIcouldn’tidentify,perhapsacollagealbum.Obviously,MasterOsmanwasoverlookingquitealot.
Whenwecametohisownworktable,NuriEffendiproudlystatedthathefinishedagildedroyalinsignia
forOurSultan,whichhe’dbeenwonforthreeweeks.IrespectfullyadmiredNuriEffendi’sgoldinlayandtheinsignia,whichhadbeenmadeoysheettoeitsrecipientandthereasonforitsbeiwouldremai.IknewwellenoughthatmanyimpetuouspashasihadrefrainedfromrebellionupohenobleandpotentsplendoroftheSultan’sroyalinsignia.
,wesawthelastmasterpiecesthatJemaltheCalligrapherhadtranscribed,pletedabehind;butwepassedoverthemhastilytoavoidgivingcredeoopposofcoloranddecorationwhomaintaihattrueartsistedofcalligraphyalohatdecorativeilluminationwassimplyasedarymeansofaddingemphasis.
Nas1rtheLimnerwasmakingamessofaplateheinteorepairfromaversionoftheQuiofNizamidatingbacktotheeraofTamerlane’ssons;thepicturedepictedHüsrevlookingatanakedShirinasshebathed.
Awo-year-oldformermasterwhowashalfblindandhadnothingtosaybesidesclaimingthatsixtyyearsagohekissedMasterBizhad’shandinTabrizandthatthegreatmasteroflegendwasblindanddrunkatthetime,showeduswithtremblinghandstheoriononthepenboxhewouldpresentasaholidaygifttoOurSultawaspletedthreemonthshence.
Shortlyasilenvelopedthewholeworkshopwhereclosetoeightypainters,studentsandapprenticesworkedinthesmallcellswhistitutedthelowerfloor.ThisostbeatingsilehelikesofwhichI’dexperiencedmanytimes;asilencewhichwouldbebrokenattimesbyanerve-wragchuckleorawitticism,attimesbyafewsobsorthesuppressedmoanofthebeatenboybeforehisgfitwouldremierminiaturistsofthebeatingstheythemselvesreceivedasapprentices.Butthehalf-blindwo-year-oldmastercausedmetosensesomethingdeeperforamoment,here,farfromallthebattlesandturmoil:thefeelingthateverythingwasingtoanend.Immediatelybeforetheendoftheworld,therewouldalsobesuchsilence.
Paintingisthesilehoughtandthemusicofsight.
AsIkissedMasterOsman’shandtobidhimfarewell,Ifeltnotonlygreatrespecttowardhim,butasehatplungedmysoulintoturmoil:pitymixedwiththeadoratioingasaint,apeculiarfeelingofguilt.This,perhaps,becausemyEnishte—whowantedpainters,openlyorsecretly,toimitatethemethodsoftheFrankishmasters—washisrival.
Isuddenlysensed,aswell,thatIerhapsseeingthegreatmasteraliveforthelasttime,andintheflusterofwantingtopleaseaenhim,Iaskedaquestion:
“Mygreatmaster,mydearsir,aratesthegenuineminiaturistfromtheordinary?”IassumedtheHeadIlluminator,whowasacedtosuchfawniions,wouldgivemeadismissiveresponse,andthatheresentlyinthemidstettingwhoIwasaltogether.
“Thereisnosinglemeasurethatdistinguishthegreatminiaturistfromtheunskilledandfaithlessone,”hesaidinallseriousness.“Thisgeswithtime.Yettheskillsandmoralitywithwhichhewouldfacetheevilsthatthreatenourartareofsignifice.Today,iodetermihowgenuineayoungpainteris,I’daskhimthreequestions.”
“Andwhatwouldtheybe?”
“Hasheetobelieve,uheswayofretaswellastheinflueheeseandtheEuropeanFranks,thatheoughttohaveanindividualpaintingteique,hisownstyle?Asanillustrator,doeshewanttohaveamanner,adistinothers,anddoesheattempttoprovethisbysigninghisnamesomewhereinhisworkliketheFrankishmasters?Todeterminepreciselythesethings,I’dfirstaskhimaquestionabout”style“and”signature.““
“Andthen?”Iaskedrespectfully.
“Then,I’dwanttolearnhowthisillustratorfeltaboutvolumesginghands,beingunbound,andourpicturesbeingusedinotherbooksandinothererasaftertheshahsandsultanswho’dissiohemhavedied.Thisisasubtleissuedemandingaresponsebeyondone’sbeingsimplyupsetorpleasedbyit.Thus,I’dasktheillustratoraquestionabout”time“—anillustrator’stimeandAllah’stime.Doyoufollowme,mychild?”
Nay.Butthat’snotwhatIsaid.Instead,Iasked,“Ahirdquestion?”
“Thethirdwouldbe”blindness“!”saidthegreatmasterHeadIlluminatorOsman,whothenfellsilentasifthisrequirednoexplication.
“Whatisitabout”blindness“?”Isaidwithembarrassment.
“Blindnessissilence.IfyoubiI’vejustnowsaid,thefirstandthesedquestions,”blindness’willemerge.It’sthefarthestonegoinillustrating;itisseeingearsoutofAllah’sownblaess.“Isaidnomore.Iwalkedoutside.Idesdedtheicystairswithouthurrying.IkhatIwouldaskthegreatmaster’sthreegreatquestionsofButterfly,OliveandStork,notonlyforthesakeofversation,buttobetteruandtheselivinglegendswhowereporariesofmine.
Ididnot,however,gotothemasterilluminators’housesimmediately.ImetwithEstherheJewishquarteratanewbazaarthathadaedviewoftheflueheGoldenHornandtheBosphorus.EstherwasallatwitterinthepinkdressshewasforcedtowearasaJew,withherlargeandlivelybody,hermouthwhieverstoppedmoving,andhereyebrowsandeyeswhichtwitchedmadlyandsigome;ihisishowshewasamongtheshoppingslavewomen,thewomenwearingthefadedandloosecaftansofphborhoodsandamongthecrowdsthathadlostthemselvesamid
carrots,quindsmallbundlesofonionsandturnips.
ShestuffedtheletterIgaveherintohershalantswithaandmysteriousgesture,asifthewholemarketwerespyinguponus.ShetoldmethatShekurewasthinkingofme.ShetookherbaksheeshandwhenIsaid,“Please,makehasteanddeliveritstraightaway,”sheindicatedthatshestillhadquitealotofworktodobygesturingtowardherbundleandsaidthatsheonlycoulddeliverthelettertoShekuretowardmidday.IaskedhertotellShekurethatI’dgoopayvisitstothethreeyoungandrenownedmasterminiaturists.松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
“IsEleganttheoneresponsibleforallthisgildingwork?”Iasked.“Who’sdoingthegildingnow,inhisstead?”
Theshoutsandscreamsofchildrencouldnowbeheardthroughtheopendoorthatfacedtheinnercourtyard.Below,ohedivisionheadshadstartedadministeriinadotoapprenticeswho’dmostlikelybeencaughtwithredinkpowderintheirpocketsoldleafhiddenawayinafoldofpaper;probablythetwowhomI’dseentremblingastheywaitedinthecold.Youngpainters,seizinganopportunitytomockthem,rantothedoortowatch.
“BythetimetheapprenticespaintthegroundoftheHippodromeherearosecolor,finishingitoffasourMasterOsmanhasdictated,”saidNuriEffendicautiously,“ourbrantEffendi,Godwilling,willhavereturnedfromwhereverhe’sgoneandwillpletethegildingowopages.Ourmaster,OsmantheMiniaturist,wantedElegantEffenditocolorthedirtflooroftheHippodromedifferentlyineachse.Rosepink,Indiangreen,saffronyelloworthecooseshit.Whosoeverbeholdsthepicturewillrealizeinthefirstrenderingthisisadirtsquareandshouldbeearth-colored,butinthesedandthirdpictures,he’llwantothercolorstokeephimselfamused.Embellishingoughttmerrimenttothepage.”
Inotiepicturesoofpaperthatanassistainaer.Hewaswonasingle-leafpictureforaBookofVictories,thedepiofanavalfleetheadingofftobattle,butitwasobviousthatthescreamsofhisfriendswhosesoleswerebeingseverelybeaten,provokedtheillustratortorunoffandwatch.Thefleethemadebyrepeatedlytragidenticalshipswithablockpatterndidn’teveofloatinthesea;yet,thisartificiality,thelackofwindinthesails,hadlesstodowiththeblockpatternthantheyoungpainter’slackofskill.IsawwithsorrowthatthepatternhadbeencutviolentlyoutofanoldbookwhichIcouldn’tidentify,perhapsacollagealbum.Obviously,MasterOsmanwasoverlookingquitealot.
Whenwecametohisownworktable,NuriEffendiproudlystatedthathefinishedagildedroyalinsignia
forOurSultan,whichhe’dbeenwonforthreeweeks.IrespectfullyadmiredNuriEffendi’sgoldinlayandtheinsignia,whichhadbeenmadeoysheettoeitsrecipientandthereasonforitsbeiwouldremai.IknewwellenoughthatmanyimpetuouspashasihadrefrainedfromrebellionupohenobleandpotentsplendoroftheSultan’sroyalinsignia.
,wesawthelastmasterpiecesthatJemaltheCalligrapherhadtranscribed,pletedabehind;butwepassedoverthemhastilytoavoidgivingcredeoopposofcoloranddecorationwhomaintaihattrueartsistedofcalligraphyalohatdecorativeilluminationwassimplyasedarymeansofaddingemphasis.
Nas1rtheLimnerwasmakingamessofaplateheinteorepairfromaversionoftheQuiofNizamidatingbacktotheeraofTamerlane’ssons;thepicturedepictedHüsrevlookingatanakedShirinasshebathed.
Awo-year-oldformermasterwhowashalfblindandhadnothingtosaybesidesclaimingthatsixtyyearsagohekissedMasterBizhad’shandinTabrizandthatthegreatmasteroflegendwasblindanddrunkatthetime,showeduswithtremblinghandstheoriononthepenboxhewouldpresentasaholidaygifttoOurSultawaspletedthreemonthshence.
Shortlyasilenvelopedthewholeworkshopwhereclosetoeightypainters,studentsandapprenticesworkedinthesmallcellswhistitutedthelowerfloor.ThisostbeatingsilehelikesofwhichI’dexperiencedmanytimes;asilencewhichwouldbebrokenattimesbyanerve-wragchuckleorawitticism,attimesbyafewsobsorthesuppressedmoanofthebeatenboybeforehisgfitwouldremierminiaturistsofthebeatingstheythemselvesreceivedasapprentices.Butthehalf-blindwo-year-oldmastercausedmetosensesomethingdeeperforamoment,here,farfromallthebattlesandturmoil:thefeelingthateverythingwasingtoanend.Immediatelybeforetheendoftheworld,therewouldalsobesuchsilence.
Paintingisthesilehoughtandthemusicofsight.
AsIkissedMasterOsman’shandtobidhimfarewell,Ifeltnotonlygreatrespecttowardhim,butasehatplungedmysoulintoturmoil:pitymixedwiththeadoratioingasaint,apeculiarfeelingofguilt.This,perhaps,becausemyEnishte—whowantedpainters,openlyorsecretly,toimitatethemethodsoftheFrankishmasters—washisrival.
Isuddenlysensed,aswell,thatIerhapsseeingthegreatmasteraliveforthelasttime,andintheflusterofwantingtopleaseaenhim,Iaskedaquestion:
“Mygreatmaster,mydearsir,aratesthegenuineminiaturistfromtheordinary?”IassumedtheHeadIlluminator,whowasacedtosuchfawniions,wouldgivemeadismissiveresponse,andthatheresentlyinthemidstettingwhoIwasaltogether.
“Thereisnosinglemeasurethatdistinguishthegreatminiaturistfromtheunskilledandfaithlessone,”hesaidinallseriousness.“Thisgeswithtime.Yettheskillsandmoralitywithwhichhewouldfacetheevilsthatthreatenourartareofsignifice.Today,iodetermihowgenuineayoungpainteris,I’daskhimthreequestions.”
“Andwhatwouldtheybe?”
“Hasheetobelieve,uheswayofretaswellastheinflueheeseandtheEuropeanFranks,thatheoughttohaveanindividualpaintingteique,hisownstyle?Asanillustrator,doeshewanttohaveamanner,adistinothers,anddoesheattempttoprovethisbysigninghisnamesomewhereinhisworkliketheFrankishmasters?Todeterminepreciselythesethings,I’dfirstaskhimaquestionabout”style“and”signature.““
“Andthen?”Iaskedrespectfully.
“Then,I’dwanttolearnhowthisillustratorfeltaboutvolumesginghands,beingunbound,andourpicturesbeingusedinotherbooksandinothererasaftertheshahsandsultanswho’dissiohemhavedied.Thisisasubtleissuedemandingaresponsebeyondone’sbeingsimplyupsetorpleasedbyit.Thus,I’dasktheillustratoraquestionabout”time“—anillustrator’stimeandAllah’stime.Doyoufollowme,mychild?”
Nay.Butthat’snotwhatIsaid.Instead,Iasked,“Ahirdquestion?”
“Thethirdwouldbe”blindness“!”saidthegreatmasterHeadIlluminatorOsman,whothenfellsilentasifthisrequirednoexplication.
“Whatisitabout”blindness“?”Isaidwithembarrassment.
“Blindnessissilence.IfyoubiI’vejustnowsaid,thefirstandthesedquestions,”blindness’willemerge.It’sthefarthestonegoinillustrating;itisseeingearsoutofAllah’sownblaess.“Isaidnomore.Iwalkedoutside.Idesdedtheicystairswithouthurrying.IkhatIwouldaskthegreatmaster’sthreegreatquestionsofButterfly,OliveandStork,notonlyforthesakeofversation,buttobetteruandtheselivinglegendswhowereporariesofmine.
Ididnot,however,gotothemasterilluminators’housesimmediately.ImetwithEstherheJewishquarteratanewbazaarthathadaedviewoftheflueheGoldenHornandtheBosphorus.EstherwasallatwitterinthepinkdressshewasforcedtowearasaJew,withherlargeandlivelybody,hermouthwhieverstoppedmoving,andhereyebrowsandeyeswhichtwitchedmadlyandsigome;ihisishowshewasamongtheshoppingslavewomen,thewomenwearingthefadedandloosecaftansofphborhoodsandamongthecrowdsthathadlostthemselvesamid
carrots,quindsmallbundlesofonionsandturnips.
ShestuffedtheletterIgaveherintohershalantswithaandmysteriousgesture,asifthewholemarketwerespyinguponus.ShetoldmethatShekurewasthinkingofme.ShetookherbaksheeshandwhenIsaid,“Please,makehasteanddeliveritstraightaway,”sheindicatedthatshestillhadquitealotofworktodobygesturingtowardherbundleandsaidthatsheonlycoulddeliverthelettertoShekuretowardmidday.IaskedhertotellShekurethatI’dgoopayvisitstothethreeyoungandrenownedmasterminiaturists.松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
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并不代表本站立场!本站亦无法严格审:My Name is Red最新章节其版权归属。如您对My Name is RedTXT下载持有版权方面的异议，请联系本站客服。我们将于72小时内处理。
Copyright (C) 2019 All Rights Reserved 版权所有：松语文学