I AM CALLED “STORK”
AftertheeveningprayersIinteogotothecoffeehouse,buttheytoldmetherewasavisitoratthedoodtidings,Ihoped.Iwenttodiscoveramessengerfromthepalace.HedescribedtheSultan’stest.Fiheworld’smostbeautifulhorse.Youtellmehowmuchyou’llofferforeadI’llquicklydrawyoufiveorsixofthem.
Ratherthansayanysuchthing,Imaintainedmyreserve,andsimplyiheboywaitingatthedoorihoughtforamoment:Theworld’smostbeautifulhorsedoesn’tevethatImightdrawit.Idrawwarsteeds,largeMongolianhorses,nobleArabians,heroic,writhingchargerscoveredinblood,orevenlucklesspackhorsespullingacartfullofstooabuildingsite,butnoonewouldcallanyofthemtheworld’smostbeautifulhorse.Naturally,by“theworld’smostbeautifulhorse,”IkhatOurSultahemostsplendidofthehorsesthathadbeeedthousandsoftimesinPersia,inkeepingwithalloftheformulas,modelsandposesofyore.Butwhy?
Ofcourse,therewerethosewhodidn’twaowinthepurseofgold.Ifthey’dtoldmetodrawyouraveragehorse,it’sonkhatnobody’spicturecouldpetewithmine.WhowasitthathaddupedOurSultan?OurSetheendlessgossipofallofthosejealousartists,knows
fullwellthatIamthemosttalentedofHisminiaturists.Headmiresmyillustrations.
Myhandabruptlyandangrilysprangtoaasifwantingtoriseaboveallofthesevexingsiderations,andinonetratedeffort,Idrewatruehorsebeginningfromthetipofitshoof.Youmightseeonelikethisoreetorinbattle.Weary,buttrolled…,inthesamefitofanger,Idashedoffaspahicavalryman’shorse,andthisonewaseveer.heminiaturistsofthebookartsworkshopcoulddrawsuchbeautifulanimals.Iwasabouttodrawanotherfrommemorywhentheboyfromthepalacesaid,“Oneisenough.”
Hewasabouttograbthesheetandleave,butIrestrainedhimbecauseIknewfullwell,asIknowmyowhatthesesdrelswouldbegivingupapurseofgoldsforthesehorses.
IfIillustratethewayIwantto,theywon’tgivemethegold!IfI’twinthegold,mynamewillbetarnishedforever.Istoppedtothink.“Justwait,”Isaidtotheboy.IwentinsideaurhtwoincrediblyshinyterfeitVeiangoldpieces,whichIproceededtogivetotheboy:Hewasafraid,hiseyeswidened.“You’reasbraveasalion,”Isaid.
IremovedohenotebooksofformsthatIkepthiddenfromtheeyesoftheworld.ThisiswhereIsecretlymadecopiesofthemostbeautifulillustrationsthatI’dseeheyears.Nottomentionthecopiesthatthechiefofthedwarfs,Jafer,ireasurywouldmakeofthebesttrees,dragons,birds,huntersandwarriorsfromthepagesofvolumeslockedaway;thatis,ifyougavehimtengoldpieces,therogue.Mynotebookisexcellent,notforthosewhowanttoseetheactualworldinwhichtheylivethroughpicturesanddecoration,butforthosewhowanttorecallthefablesofold.
Flippingthroughthepageswhileshowingtheimagestothepageboy,Iselectedthebestofthehorses.Ibrisklypokedholesoverthelihatpicturewithaneedle.,Iplacedasheetofpaperuhestencil.Igraduallysprinkledaliberalamountofcoaldustontop,thenshookitsothedustwouldpassthroughtheholes.Iliftedthestencil.Thecoaldust,dotbydot,hadtransferredthebeautifulhorse’sentireshapetothesheetbelow.Itleasuretobehold.
Igrabbedmypen.Withaninspirationthatsuddenlywelledupwithinme,Ielegantlyectedthedotswithquiddecisivestrokes,suchthatasIwasdrawingthehorse’sbelly,gracefulneoseandrump,Ilovinglyfeltthehorsewithihereitis,”Isaid.“Theworld’smostbeautifulhorse.Notohosefoolscoulddrawthis.”
Sotheboyfromthepalacewouldbelievethisaswell,andsohewouldn’texplaintoOurSultanhowI’dbeeninspiredtodrawthispicture,Igavehimthreemoreterfeits.IimpliedthatIwouldgivehimevenmoreifIendedupwinningthegold.Furthermore,healsoimagined,Ibelieve,thathemightsoonbeabletocatchsightofmywifeonceagain,whomhe’dleeredatopen-mouthed.Therearemanywhobelieveyoutellagoodminiaturistbythehorsehedraws;however,tobethebestminiaturist,it’snotenoughtomakethebesthorse,youmustalsovinceOurSultanandHiscircleofsycophantsthatyouareihebestminiaturist.
WhenIdrawamagnifithorse,IamwhoIam,nothingmore.
IWILLBECALLEDAMURDERERWereyouabletodeterminewhoIamfromthewayIsketchedahorse?
AssoonasIheardIwasiomakeahorse,Ikhiswasnopetition:Theywaocatchmethroughmyillustration.I’mperfectlyawarethatthehorsesketchesI’ddrawnhpaperwerefoundonpantEffendi’sbody.ButIhavenofaultorstylebywhichtheymightdisethroughthehorsesI’vemade.ThoughIwasascertainofthisasIcouldbe,Iwasinapanicwhilerenderingthehorse.HadIdonesomethingincriminatingwhenImadethehorseforEnishte?Ihadtodepiewhorsethistime.Ithoughtofpletelydifferentthings.I“restrained”myselfandbecameanother.
ButwhoamI?AmIanartistwhowouldsuppressthemasterpiecesIableofiofitthestyleoftheworkshoporanartistwhowouldoriumphantlydepictthehorsedeepwithinhimself?
Suddenlyandwithterror,IfelttheexistehattriumphantminiaturistwithiwasasifIwerebeingwatchedbyanothersoul,and,inshort,Iwasashamed.
IquicklykhatIwouldn’tbeabletoremainathome,andboltingoutside,Iwalkedbrisklydownthedarkereets.AsSheikhOsmanBabawroteinhisLivesoftheSaints,inorderfenuinewanderingdervishtoescapethedevilwithiroamhisentirelifewithoutremainingaoolong.Afterroamingfromcitytocityforsixty-sevenyears,hetiredofrunningandsurreheDevil.Thisistheagewhenmasterminiaturistsattainblindness,orthedarknessofAllah,theagewhentheyinvoluntarilyachieveastyle,whilefreeingthemselvesofallintimationsofstyle.
IwahroughtheChi-SellersMarketinBayazid,throughtheemptysquareoftheslavemarket,amidthepleasantaromasofsoupandpuddingshops,asifsearg.Ipassedthecloseddoorsofbarbershops,clothespressers,anoldbreadbakerwhowastinghismoneyandlookingatmeinsurprise;Ipassedagrocer’sshopsmellingofpicklesandsaltedfish,andsincemyeyesweretakenonlybycolors,Iwalkedintoaherbsandnotionsshopwheresomethingwasbeingweighed,andinthelightofalamp,staredpassiohewayonelooksatone’sbeloved,atthesacksofcoffee,ginger,saffronandamon,thecolorfulmastic,theaniseedwhosestwaftedfromtheter,andatmoundsofbrownandblack.SometimesIwanttoputeverythingintomymouth;sometimesIwanttofillapageictureofallcreation.
IwalkedintotheplacewhereI’dfilledmystomachtwicebeforeiweek,whichI’dpersonallyhe“soupkitofthedowntrodden”—actually,ofthe“miserable”would’vebeenmoreappropriate.Itenuntilmidnighttothosewhoknewaboutit.Insidewereafewunfortunatesdressedlikehorsethievesorlikemenwho’descapedthegalloleofpatheticcharacterswhose
sorrowandhopelessnesscausedtheirsightstoslipfromthisworldtodistantparadises,ashappenswithopiumaddicts;twobeggarswhoainstofollowevenbasicguildetiquette;andayoulemanwho’dseatedhimselfinaeratadistanthiscrowd.IgavetheAleppancookagracefulgreeting.Heapi-filledcabbagedolmaintomybowl,Icovereditwithyogurtandtoppeditoffwithhandfulsofhotredpepperflakesbeforetakibesidetheyouleman.
Everynightasorrowoverwhelmsme,amiserydesdsuponme.Oh,mybrothers,mydearbrothers,we’rebeingpoisoned,we’rerotting,dying,we’reexhaustingourselvesaswelive,we’vesunkuptoournemisery…Somenights,Idreamthatheemergesfromthewellandesafterme,butIknowwe’veburiedhimdeeplybehplentyofearth.Hecouldn’tpossiblyrisefromthegrave.
Thegentleman,whoIthoughthadburiedhisnoseinhissoupandfottenthewholeworld,opehedoortoaversation.WasthisasignfromAllah?“Yes,”Ianswered,“they’vegrouthtsistency,mystuffedcabbageisquitetomyliking.”Iaskedabouthim:He’dretlygraduatedfromamiserabletwenty-collegeaakenintoArifiPasha’spatronageasaclerk.Ididn’taskhimwhy,atthishourofthenight,hewasn’tatthePasha’sestate,atthemosqueorathomeinthearmsofhisbelovedwife,butchoseiobeatthisstreetkitteemingwithunmarriedthugs.HeaskedmewhereI’defromandwhoIwas.Ithoughtforamoment.
“MynameisBihzad.I’veefromHeratandTabriz.I’vepaihemostmagnifitpictures,themostincrediblemasterpieces.InPersiaandArabia,ineveryMuslimbookartsworkshopwhereillustrationsaremade,they’vesaidthisaboutmeforhundredsofyears:Itlooksreal,justliketheworkofBihzad.”
Ofcourse,thisisn’ttheissue.Mypaintingsrevealwhatthemind,nottheeye,sees.Butpainting,asyouknowquitewell,isafeastfortheeyes.Ifyoubiwothoughts,myworldwillemerge.Thatis:ALIF:Paintingbringstolifewhatthemindsees,asafeastfortheeyes.
LAM:Whattheeyeseesintheworldehepaintingtothedegreethatitservesthemind.
MIM:sequently,beautyistheeyediscinourworldwhatthemindalreadyknows.
Didthegraduateofthemiserablecollegeuandthislogic,whichI’dextractedwithlightninginspirationfromthedepthsofmysoul?Notatall.Why?Because,thoughyou’vespentthreeyearsseatedatthefootofahojawhogiveslessonsinanout-of-the-wayneighborhiousschoolfortwentysilversaday—todayyoubuytwentyloavesofbreadwiththatamount—youstillwouldn’tknowwhothehellBihzadwas.Itwasobviousthatthetwenty-HojaEffendididn’tknowwhoBihzadwaseither.Allrightthemeexplain.Isaid:
“I’vepaintedeverything,absolutelyeverything:OurProphetatthemosquebeforethegreenprayeredtogetherwithhisfourcaliphs;inanotherbook,theApostleandProphetofGodasdingthesevenheavensonthenightoftheAssion;Alexanderonhiswaytoabangingonthedrumofaseasidetempletosoirringuptheowithstorms;amasturbatingsultanspyingonthebeautiesofhisharemswimmingnakedinhispoolwhilelisteningtoalute;ayoulersureofvictoryafterlearningallhismentor’smoves,onlytobedefeatedinthepreseheSultanatthehandsofhismentorwhohadyetotrickuphissleeve;LeylaandMejnunaschildrenkneelinginaschoolroomwithexquisitelydecoratedwalls,fallinginlovewhileregtheGloriousKoran;theinabilityoflovers,fromthemostembarrassedtothemostcrass,tolookateachother;thestoonestruofpalaces;thepunishmentbytortureoftheguilty;theflightofeagles;playfulrabbits;treacheroustigers;cypressandplahatheldmagpies;Death;petis;feaststooratevictory;andmenlikeyouwhoseenothingbutthesoupbeforethem.”
Thereservedclerkwasnolongerafraid,heevenfouertainingandwassmiling.
“YourHojaEffendimust’vehadyoureadthis,you’llknowit,”Itihere’sastoryIlovefromSadi’sGarden.Youknowtheone,KingDariusbeesseparatedfromthecrowdduringahuntandgoesofftoroamthehills.Uedly,adangerous-lookingstrahagoateeappearsbeforehim.Thekingfallsintoapanidreachesforthebowonhishorse,whereuponthemanbegs,”Myking,holdofffromshootingyourarrow.Howisitthatyouhaven’treizedme?AmInottheloyalgroomtowhomyou’veentrustedahundredhorsesandfoals?Howmanytimeshaveweseeneachother?Iknoweachofyourhundredhorsesbytemperamentanddisposition,nay,bycoloreven.Sothen,howisityoupaynoattentiontous,theservantsunderyourahoselikemyselfwhomyouenterwithsuchfrequency?““
Whethisse,Ireheblack,chestnutandwhitehorses—sotenderlycaredforbythegroominaheavenlygreenpasturecoveredwithflowersofeveryimaginablecolor—withsuchhappinessandcalmthateventhedullestofreaderswoulduandthemoralofSadi’sstory:Thebeautyandmysteryofthisworldonlyemergesthroughaffe,attention,iandpassion;ifyouwanttoliveinthatparadisewherehappymaresandstallionslive,openyoureyeswideandactuallyseethisworldbyattendingtoitscolors,detailsandirony.
Thisprogenyofthetwenty-hojawasatoertainedandfrightenedbyme.Hewaodrophisspoonandflee,butIdidn’tgivehimthece.
“ThisishowthemasterofmastersBihzaddepictedtheking,hisgroomandthehorsesinthatpicture,”Isaid.“Forahundredyearsminiaturistshaven’tstoppedimitatingthosehorses.EachhorsereofBihzad’simaginationahasbeodelofform.Hundredsofminiaturists,includingmyself,drawthosehorsesfrommemory.Haveyoueverseenapictureofahorse?”
“Ioncesawawingedhorseinanentingbookthatagreatteacher,ascholarofscholars,hadpreseomylatehoja.”
Ididn’tknowwhetherIshouldpushtheheadofthisintohissoup,who,alongwithhisteacher,hadtakenStrangeCreaturesseriously,anddrownhimorleavehimtodescribeinglowiheonlyhorsepicturehe’deverseeninhislife—inwhoknowshowpooramanuscriptcopy.Icameupwithathirdalternative,andthatwastodropmyspoonandquittheshop.AfterwalkingforalongwhileIeheabandoneddervishlodge,whereIwasoverewithasenseofpeace.Itidiedupandwithoutdoinganythingelse,Ilistehesilence.
Later,IremovedthemirrorfromwhereIkeptithiddenauponthelowworktable.,Iplacedthetwo-pageillustrationandthedrawingboardonmylap.WhenIcouldseemyfathemirrorfromwhereIsat,Iattemptedtodrawmyportraitincharcoal.Idrewforalongtime,patiently.Muchlater,whenIsawthatonceagainthefathepagedidn’tresemblemyfathemirror,Iwasfilledwithsuchmiserythattearswelledinmyeyes.HowdidtheVeianpaihatEnishtedescribedwithsuchflourishdoit?Ithenimaginedmyselftobeohem,thinkingthatifIillustratedinthatstateofmind,Icouldperhapsmakeavingself-portrait.
Laterstill,IcursedtheEuropeanpaintersandEnishteboth,erasedwhatI’ddoneandbeganlookingintothemirroraobeginanotherdrawing.
Ultimately,Ifoundmyselfwanderireetsagain,andthen,here,atthisdespicablecoffeehouse.Iwasn’tevensurehoeoehere.AsIentered,Ifeltsuchembarrassmentaboutminglingwiththesemiserableminiaturistsandcalligraphersthatsweataccumulatedonmyforehead.
Isehattheywerewatgme,alertingeachotherofmypresehtheirelbows,andlaughing—allright,Icouldplaihemdoingit.Iseatedmyselfintheer,tryingtobehavenaturally.Atthesametimemyeyessoughttheothermasters,mydearbrethrenwithwhom,atoime,I’dservedasMasterOsman’sapprentice.Iwascertaineachofthemwasalsoaskedtodrawahorsethiseveningandthatthey’deachexpendedgreatdesperateefforts,takiestarraheseidiotsquiteseriously.
Thestorytellereffendihadbegunhisperformahepicturehadn’tevenbeenhungupyet.Iwasforcedtosocializewiththecoffeehousecrowd.
Sobeitthemebefrankwithyou:LikeeveryoneelseI,too,madejokes,toldiories,kissedmypanionsonthecheekswithexaggeratedgestures,spokeindoubleentendres,innuendosandpuns,askedhowtheyoungassistantmastersweredoing,andlikeeverybodyelse,mercilesslyneedledouronenemies;andafterIreallywarmedup,Iwentsofarasthhouseandkissmenontheneck.Yet,knowingthatapartofmysoulremainedmercilesslysilentwhenIinvolvedmyselfinsuchbehaviorcausedmeunbearabletorment.
heless,beforelong,Inotonlysucceededinusingfigurativelanguagetoparemyowncodthoseofothersthatweremuch-talkedabout,tobrushes,reeds,coffeehousepillars,flutes,newel
posts,doorknockers,leeks,mis,ladyfingersinheavysyrup,pirees,andtwice,totheworlditself,Iwasequallysuccessfulinparingtheassesofmuch-discussedprettyboystes,figs,smallhaycocklikepastries,pillowsandalsototinyanthills.Meanwhile,themostceitedofthecalligraphersmyagewasonlyabletoparehisowntool—quiteamateurishlyandwithoutanyself-fidenceImightadd—toaship’smastandaporter’spole.Furthermore,Imadeallusionstooldminiaturists’dicksthatwouldnolongerrise;thecherry-coloredlipsofnerentices;mastercalligrapherswhohoardedtheirmoney(asdidI)iainplace(“themostdisgustingnook”);howperhapsopiumhadbeenputintothewineIwasdrinkinginsteadofrosepetals;thelastgreatmastersofTabrizandShiraz;themixingofcoffeeandwineinAleppo;andthecalligraphersaifulboystobefoundthere.
Attimesitseemedthatohetwospiritswithinmehad,intheend,emergedvictorious,leaviherbehind,andthatI’dfinallyfottenthatsilentandlovelessaspeyself.AtthesetimesIrememberedtheholidaycelebrationsofmychildhowhichIwasabletobemyselfalongwithmykithandkieallthesejokes,kissesandembraces,therewasstillasilehileftmesufferingandisolatedintheheartofthecrowd.
Whohadendowedmewiththissilentandmercilessspirit—itwasnotaspiritbutajinn—whichalwayschidedmeandcutmeofffromothers?Satan?Butthesilehinmewaseased,notbythecrassmischiefinstigatedbySatan,orary,bythemostpureandsimplestoriesthatdroveintoone’ssoul.Uheinfluenceofwioldtwostories,hopingthatthiswouldgrantmepeace.Atall,pale,yetpinkish-plectedcalligrapher’sapprenticefocusedhisgreeomineandwaslisteningtomewithraptattention.
TwoStoriesonBlindnessandStyletheMiniaturistToldtoEasetheLonelinessinHisSoulALIFtrarytowhatisassumed,makingdrawingsofhorsesbylookingatactualhorseswasn’tadiscoveryofEuropeanmasters.TheinalideabelohegreatmasterJemalettinofKazvin.AfterTallHasan,theKhanoftheWhitesheep,queredKazvin,theoldmasterJemalettinwasnottenttosimplyjointhebook-artsworkshopofthevictoriouskhan;insteadheheadedoutoncampaignwithhim,claimingthathewaoembellishthekhan’sHistorywithsesofwarhe’dwitnessedhimself.Sothisgreatmaster,whoforsixty-twoyearshadmadepicturesofhorses,cavalrychargesandbattleswithouteverhavingseenabattle,wenttowarforthefirsttime.Butbeforehecouldevehunderousandviolentclashofsweatinghorses,helosthishandsandhiseyesighttoenemyon-fire.Theoldmaster,likeallgeuosos,hadinanycasebeenawaitingblindnessasthoughitwereAllah’sblessing,aherdidhetreatthelossofhishandsasagreatdeficy.Hemaintaihatthememoryofaminiaturistwaslocatednotinthehand,assomeinsisted,butielledtheheart,andfurthermore,nowthathewasblind,hedeclaredthathecouldseethetruepictures,seryandessentialandflawlesshorsesthatAllahandedbeseen.Tosharethesewonderswithloversofart,hehiredatall,pale-skinned,pink-plected,green-eyedcalligrapher’sappreowhomhe
dictatedexactlyhowtodrawthemarveloushorsesthatappearedtohiminGod’sdivinedarkness—ashewould’vedrawnthemhadhebeeoholdabrushinhishands.Afterthemaster’sdeath,hisatofhowtodraw303horsesbeginningfromtheleftfwascollectedbythehandsomecalligrapher’sappreothreevolumesrespectivelyentitledTheDepiofHorses,TheFlowofHorsesandTheLoveofHorses,whichwerequitewidelylikedandsoughtafterforatimeintheregioheWhitesheepruled.Thoughtheyappearedinavarietyofionsandcopies,werememorizedbyillustrators,apprentidtheirstudentsandwereusedaspracticebooks,afterTallHasan’sWhitesheepnationwasobliteratedandtheHeratstyleofillustratioookallofPersia,Jemalettinandhismanuscriptswerefotten.Doubtless,thelogicbehindKemalettinR1zaofHerat’sviolentcriticismofthesethreevolumesinhisbookTheBlindman’sHorses,andhisclusionthattheyoughttobeburned,hadfiguredinthisturs.KemalettinR1zaclaimedthathehorsesdescribedbyJemalettinofKazvininhisthreevolumescouldbeahorseofGod’svision—becausehemwere“immaculate,”siheoldmasterhaddescribedthemafterhe’dwitnessedanactualbattlese,nomatterhowbriefly.SireasuresofTallHasanoftheWhitesheephadbeenplunderedbySultathequerorandbroughttoIstanbul,itshouldeasnosurprisethatoccasionallycertainofthese303storiesappearinothermanuscriptsinIstanbulahatsomehorsesaredrawnasinstructedtherein.
LAMIandShiraz,whenamasterminiaturistnearingtheendofhisdayswentblindfromalifetimeofexcessivelabor,itwouldnotoakenasasignofthatmaster’sdetermination,butwouldbeendedasGod’saowledgmentofthegreatmaster’sworkandtalent.Therewasevenatimeiwhenmasterswhohadn’tgonebliehavinggrownoldwereregardedwithsuspi,asituationthatpelledquiteafewofthemtoactuallyinduceblindnessintheiroldage.Therewasalongperiwhireverentlyrecalledartistswhoblihemselves,followingihofthoselegendarymasterswho’ddonesoratherthanworkforanothermonarchorgetheirstyles.AnditwasduringthisagethatAbuSaid,Tamerlane’sgrandsonfromtheMiranShahlineofdest,introducedafurthertwistinhisworkshopafterhe’dqueredTashkentandSamarkand:Thepracticeofpayierhomagetotheimitationofblihantobliself.BlackVeli,theoldartisanwhoinspiredAbuSaid,hadfirmedthatablindminiaturistcouldseethehorsesofGod’svisionfromwithinthedarkness;however,truetalentresidedinasightedminiaturistwhocardtheworldlikeablindman.Attheageofsixty-sevenheprovedhispointbydashingoffahorsethatcametothetipofhisbrushwithoutsomuchasaglahepaper,evenashiseyesremainedallthewhileopenandfixedonthepage.AttheendofthisartisticceremonyforwhichMiranShahhaddeafmusisplaylutesandmutestorytellersrecitestoriestosupportthelegendarymaster’sefforts,thesplendidhorsethatBlackVelihaddrawnwasparedatlengthwithotherhorseshe’dmade:Therewasnodifferesoeveramongthem,muiranShah’sirritation;thereafter,thelegendarymasterdeclaredthataminiaturistpossessedoftalent,regardlessofwhetherhiseyesareopenorclosed,willalwaysandonlyseehorsesinoneway,thatis,thewaythatAllahperceivesthem.Andamomasterminiaturists,thereisnodiffereweentheblindandthesighted:ThehandwouldalwaysdrawthesamehorsebecausetherewasasyetnosuchthingastheFrankishinnovationcalled“style.”ThehorsesmadebythegreatmasterBlackVelihavebeenimitatedbyallMuslimminiaturistsfor110years.AsforBlackVeli
himself,afterthedefeatofAbuSaidandthedispersalofhisworkshop,hemovedfromSamarkandtoKazviwoyearslaterhewasnedforhisspitefulattemptstorefutetheverseintheGloriousKoranthatdeclares,“Theblindandtheseeiequal.”Forthis,hewasfirstblihenkilledbyyoungNizamShah’ssoldiers.
Iwasonthevergeoftellingathirdstory,describingtothepretty-eyedcalligrapher’sapprehegreatmasterBihzadhadblindedhimself,howheneverwaoleaveHerat,whyheneverpaintedagainafterbeingtakenforciblytoTabriz,howaminiaturist’sstylewasreallythestyleoftheworkshopinwhichheworkedandothertalesI’dheardfromMasterOsman,butIbecamepreoccupiedwiththestoryteller.HowhadIknownthathewasgoingtotellSatan’sstorytonight?
Ihadtheurgetosay,“ItwasSatanwhofirstsaid”I“!ItwasSatantedastyle.ItwasSatanwhoseparatedEastfromWest.”
Iyeyesaanooryteller’sroughsheetofpaperasmyheartdesired.AsIdrew,thestorytellerandhisassistant,otherartistsandcuriousonlgledandgoadedmeon.
Pray,doyouthinkIhavemyownstyle,ordoIoweittothewine?
I,SATAN
Iamfondofthesmellofredpeppersfryinginoliveoil,rainfallingintoacalmseaatdawn,theuedappearanceofawomanatanopenwindow,silehoughtandpatience.Ibelieveinmyself,and,mostofthetime,paynomindtowhat’sbeensaidaboutme.Tonight,however,I’veetothiscoffeehousetosetmyminiaturistandcalligrapherbrethrenstraightaboutcertaingossip,liesandrumors.
Ofcourse,becauseI’mtheonespeaking,you’realreadypreparedtobelievetheexactoppositeofwhatIsay.Butyou’resmartenoughtosetheoppositeofwhatIsayisnotalwaystrue,andthoughyoumightdoubtme,you’reastuteenoughtotakeainmywords:You’rewellawarethatmyname,whichappearsintheGloriousKoranfifty-twotimes,isohemostfrequentlycited.
AllrightthemebeginwithGod’sbook,theGloriousKorahingaboutmeinthereisthetruth.LetitbeknownthatwhenIsaythis,Idosowiththeutmosthumility.Forthere’salsotheissueofstyle.IthasalwayscausedmegreatpainthatI’mbelittledintheGloriousKoran.Butthispainismywayoflife.Thisissimplythewayitis.
It’strue,Godcreatedmanbeforetheeyesofusaheedustoprostrateourselvesbeforethiscreatiohappehewayit’swrittenin“TheHeights”chapter:Whilealltheelsbowedbeforeman,Irefused.IremindedallthatAdamwasmadefrommud,whereasIwascreatedfromfire,asuperiorelementasallofyouarefamiliar.SoIdidn’tbowbeforeman.AndGodfoundmybehavior,well,“proud.”
“Loweryourselffromtheseheavens,”Hesaid.“It’sbeyondthelikesofyoutoschemefreatnesshere.”
“PermitmetoliveuntilJudgmentDay,”Isaid,“untilthedeadarise.”
HegrantedHispermission.IpromisedthatduringthiseimeIwouldtemptthedesdentsofAdam,who’dbeenthecauseofmypunishment,andHesaidHe’dsendtoHellthoseI’dsuccessfullycorrupted.Idon’thavetotellyouthatwe’veeachremairuetohisword.Ihavenothingmoretosayaboutthematter.
Assomewillclaim,atthattimeAlmightyGodandImadeapact.Acctothem,IwashelpingtotesttheAlmighty’ssubjectsbyattemptingtodestroytheirfaith:Thegood,possessedofsoundjudgment,wouldnotbeledastray,whiletheevil,givingintotheiraldesires,wouldsin,tolaterfillthedepthsofHell.Therefore,whatIdidwasquiteimportant:IfallmeoHeaven,noonewouldeverbefrightened,andtheworldanditsgoverscouldneverfunonvirt松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
Ratherthansayanysuchthing,Imaintainedmyreserve,andsimplyiheboywaitingatthedoorihoughtforamoment:Theworld’smostbeautifulhorsedoesn’tevethatImightdrawit.Idrawwarsteeds,largeMongolianhorses,nobleArabians,heroic,writhingchargerscoveredinblood,orevenlucklesspackhorsespullingacartfullofstooabuildingsite,butnoonewouldcallanyofthemtheworld’smostbeautifulhorse.Naturally,by“theworld’smostbeautifulhorse,”IkhatOurSultahemostsplendidofthehorsesthathadbeeedthousandsoftimesinPersia,inkeepingwithalloftheformulas,modelsandposesofyore.Butwhy?
Ofcourse,therewerethosewhodidn’twaowinthepurseofgold.Ifthey’dtoldmetodrawyouraveragehorse,it’sonkhatnobody’spicturecouldpetewithmine.WhowasitthathaddupedOurSultan?OurSetheendlessgossipofallofthosejealousartists,knows
fullwellthatIamthemosttalentedofHisminiaturists.Headmiresmyillustrations.
Myhandabruptlyandangrilysprangtoaasifwantingtoriseaboveallofthesevexingsiderations,andinonetratedeffort,Idrewatruehorsebeginningfromthetipofitshoof.Youmightseeonelikethisoreetorinbattle.Weary,buttrolled…,inthesamefitofanger,Idashedoffaspahicavalryman’shorse,andthisonewaseveer.heminiaturistsofthebookartsworkshopcoulddrawsuchbeautifulanimals.Iwasabouttodrawanotherfrommemorywhentheboyfromthepalacesaid,“Oneisenough.”
Hewasabouttograbthesheetandleave,butIrestrainedhimbecauseIknewfullwell,asIknowmyowhatthesesdrelswouldbegivingupapurseofgoldsforthesehorses.
IfIillustratethewayIwantto,theywon’tgivemethegold!IfI’twinthegold,mynamewillbetarnishedforever.Istoppedtothink.“Justwait,”Isaidtotheboy.IwentinsideaurhtwoincrediblyshinyterfeitVeiangoldpieces,whichIproceededtogivetotheboy:Hewasafraid,hiseyeswidened.“You’reasbraveasalion,”Isaid.
IremovedohenotebooksofformsthatIkepthiddenfromtheeyesoftheworld.ThisiswhereIsecretlymadecopiesofthemostbeautifulillustrationsthatI’dseeheyears.Nottomentionthecopiesthatthechiefofthedwarfs,Jafer,ireasurywouldmakeofthebesttrees,dragons,birds,huntersandwarriorsfromthepagesofvolumeslockedaway;thatis,ifyougavehimtengoldpieces,therogue.Mynotebookisexcellent,notforthosewhowanttoseetheactualworldinwhichtheylivethroughpicturesanddecoration,butforthosewhowanttorecallthefablesofold.
Flippingthroughthepageswhileshowingtheimagestothepageboy,Iselectedthebestofthehorses.Ibrisklypokedholesoverthelihatpicturewithaneedle.,Iplacedasheetofpaperuhestencil.Igraduallysprinkledaliberalamountofcoaldustontop,thenshookitsothedustwouldpassthroughtheholes.Iliftedthestencil.Thecoaldust,dotbydot,hadtransferredthebeautifulhorse’sentireshapetothesheetbelow.Itleasuretobehold.
Igrabbedmypen.Withaninspirationthatsuddenlywelledupwithinme,Ielegantlyectedthedotswithquiddecisivestrokes,suchthatasIwasdrawingthehorse’sbelly,gracefulneoseandrump,Ilovinglyfeltthehorsewithihereitis,”Isaid.“Theworld’smostbeautifulhorse.Notohosefoolscoulddrawthis.”
Sotheboyfromthepalacewouldbelievethisaswell,andsohewouldn’texplaintoOurSultanhowI’dbeeninspiredtodrawthispicture,Igavehimthreemoreterfeits.IimpliedthatIwouldgivehimevenmoreifIendedupwinningthegold.Furthermore,healsoimagined,Ibelieve,thathemightsoonbeabletocatchsightofmywifeonceagain,whomhe’dleeredatopen-mouthed.Therearemanywhobelieveyoutellagoodminiaturistbythehorsehedraws;however,tobethebestminiaturist,it’snotenoughtomakethebesthorse,youmustalsovinceOurSultanandHiscircleofsycophantsthatyouareihebestminiaturist.
WhenIdrawamagnifithorse,IamwhoIam,nothingmore.
IWILLBECALLEDAMURDERERWereyouabletodeterminewhoIamfromthewayIsketchedahorse?
AssoonasIheardIwasiomakeahorse,Ikhiswasnopetition:Theywaocatchmethroughmyillustration.I’mperfectlyawarethatthehorsesketchesI’ddrawnhpaperwerefoundonpantEffendi’sbody.ButIhavenofaultorstylebywhichtheymightdisethroughthehorsesI’vemade.ThoughIwasascertainofthisasIcouldbe,Iwasinapanicwhilerenderingthehorse.HadIdonesomethingincriminatingwhenImadethehorseforEnishte?Ihadtodepiewhorsethistime.Ithoughtofpletelydifferentthings.I“restrained”myselfandbecameanother.
ButwhoamI?AmIanartistwhowouldsuppressthemasterpiecesIableofiofitthestyleoftheworkshoporanartistwhowouldoriumphantlydepictthehorsedeepwithinhimself?
Suddenlyandwithterror,IfelttheexistehattriumphantminiaturistwithiwasasifIwerebeingwatchedbyanothersoul,and,inshort,Iwasashamed.
IquicklykhatIwouldn’tbeabletoremainathome,andboltingoutside,Iwalkedbrisklydownthedarkereets.AsSheikhOsmanBabawroteinhisLivesoftheSaints,inorderfenuinewanderingdervishtoescapethedevilwithiroamhisentirelifewithoutremainingaoolong.Afterroamingfromcitytocityforsixty-sevenyears,hetiredofrunningandsurreheDevil.Thisistheagewhenmasterminiaturistsattainblindness,orthedarknessofAllah,theagewhentheyinvoluntarilyachieveastyle,whilefreeingthemselvesofallintimationsofstyle.
IwahroughtheChi-SellersMarketinBayazid,throughtheemptysquareoftheslavemarket,amidthepleasantaromasofsoupandpuddingshops,asifsearg.Ipassedthecloseddoorsofbarbershops,clothespressers,anoldbreadbakerwhowastinghismoneyandlookingatmeinsurprise;Ipassedagrocer’sshopsmellingofpicklesandsaltedfish,andsincemyeyesweretakenonlybycolors,Iwalkedintoaherbsandnotionsshopwheresomethingwasbeingweighed,andinthelightofalamp,staredpassiohewayonelooksatone’sbeloved,atthesacksofcoffee,ginger,saffronandamon,thecolorfulmastic,theaniseedwhosestwaftedfromtheter,andatmoundsofbrownandblack.SometimesIwanttoputeverythingintomymouth;sometimesIwanttofillapageictureofallcreation.
IwalkedintotheplacewhereI’dfilledmystomachtwicebeforeiweek,whichI’dpersonallyhe“soupkitofthedowntrodden”—actually,ofthe“miserable”would’vebeenmoreappropriate.Itenuntilmidnighttothosewhoknewaboutit.Insidewereafewunfortunatesdressedlikehorsethievesorlikemenwho’descapedthegalloleofpatheticcharacterswhose
sorrowandhopelessnesscausedtheirsightstoslipfromthisworldtodistantparadises,ashappenswithopiumaddicts;twobeggarswhoainstofollowevenbasicguildetiquette;andayoulemanwho’dseatedhimselfinaeratadistanthiscrowd.IgavetheAleppancookagracefulgreeting.Heapi-filledcabbagedolmaintomybowl,Icovereditwithyogurtandtoppeditoffwithhandfulsofhotredpepperflakesbeforetakibesidetheyouleman.
Everynightasorrowoverwhelmsme,amiserydesdsuponme.Oh,mybrothers,mydearbrothers,we’rebeingpoisoned,we’rerotting,dying,we’reexhaustingourselvesaswelive,we’vesunkuptoournemisery…Somenights,Idreamthatheemergesfromthewellandesafterme,butIknowwe’veburiedhimdeeplybehplentyofearth.Hecouldn’tpossiblyrisefromthegrave.
Thegentleman,whoIthoughthadburiedhisnoseinhissoupandfottenthewholeworld,opehedoortoaversation.WasthisasignfromAllah?“Yes,”Ianswered,“they’vegrouthtsistency,mystuffedcabbageisquitetomyliking.”Iaskedabouthim:He’dretlygraduatedfromamiserabletwenty-collegeaakenintoArifiPasha’spatronageasaclerk.Ididn’taskhimwhy,atthishourofthenight,hewasn’tatthePasha’sestate,atthemosqueorathomeinthearmsofhisbelovedwife,butchoseiobeatthisstreetkitteemingwithunmarriedthugs.HeaskedmewhereI’defromandwhoIwas.Ithoughtforamoment.
“MynameisBihzad.I’veefromHeratandTabriz.I’vepaihemostmagnifitpictures,themostincrediblemasterpieces.InPersiaandArabia,ineveryMuslimbookartsworkshopwhereillustrationsaremade,they’vesaidthisaboutmeforhundredsofyears:Itlooksreal,justliketheworkofBihzad.”
Ofcourse,thisisn’ttheissue.Mypaintingsrevealwhatthemind,nottheeye,sees.Butpainting,asyouknowquitewell,isafeastfortheeyes.Ifyoubiwothoughts,myworldwillemerge.Thatis:ALIF:Paintingbringstolifewhatthemindsees,asafeastfortheeyes.
LAM:Whattheeyeseesintheworldehepaintingtothedegreethatitservesthemind.
MIM:sequently,beautyistheeyediscinourworldwhatthemindalreadyknows.
Didthegraduateofthemiserablecollegeuandthislogic,whichI’dextractedwithlightninginspirationfromthedepthsofmysoul?Notatall.Why?Because,thoughyou’vespentthreeyearsseatedatthefootofahojawhogiveslessonsinanout-of-the-wayneighborhiousschoolfortwentysilversaday—todayyoubuytwentyloavesofbreadwiththatamount—youstillwouldn’tknowwhothehellBihzadwas.Itwasobviousthatthetwenty-HojaEffendididn’tknowwhoBihzadwaseither.Allrightthemeexplain.Isaid:
“I’vepaintedeverything,absolutelyeverything:OurProphetatthemosquebeforethegreenprayeredtogetherwithhisfourcaliphs;inanotherbook,theApostleandProphetofGodasdingthesevenheavensonthenightoftheAssion;Alexanderonhiswaytoabangingonthedrumofaseasidetempletosoirringuptheowithstorms;amasturbatingsultanspyingonthebeautiesofhisharemswimmingnakedinhispoolwhilelisteningtoalute;ayoulersureofvictoryafterlearningallhismentor’smoves,onlytobedefeatedinthepreseheSultanatthehandsofhismentorwhohadyetotrickuphissleeve;LeylaandMejnunaschildrenkneelinginaschoolroomwithexquisitelydecoratedwalls,fallinginlovewhileregtheGloriousKoran;theinabilityoflovers,fromthemostembarrassedtothemostcrass,tolookateachother;thestoonestruofpalaces;thepunishmentbytortureoftheguilty;theflightofeagles;playfulrabbits;treacheroustigers;cypressandplahatheldmagpies;Death;petis;feaststooratevictory;andmenlikeyouwhoseenothingbutthesoupbeforethem.”
Thereservedclerkwasnolongerafraid,heevenfouertainingandwassmiling.
“YourHojaEffendimust’vehadyoureadthis,you’llknowit,”Itihere’sastoryIlovefromSadi’sGarden.Youknowtheone,KingDariusbeesseparatedfromthecrowdduringahuntandgoesofftoroamthehills.Uedly,adangerous-lookingstrahagoateeappearsbeforehim.Thekingfallsintoapanidreachesforthebowonhishorse,whereuponthemanbegs,”Myking,holdofffromshootingyourarrow.Howisitthatyouhaven’treizedme?AmInottheloyalgroomtowhomyou’veentrustedahundredhorsesandfoals?Howmanytimeshaveweseeneachother?Iknoweachofyourhundredhorsesbytemperamentanddisposition,nay,bycoloreven.Sothen,howisityoupaynoattentiontous,theservantsunderyourahoselikemyselfwhomyouenterwithsuchfrequency?““
Whethisse,Ireheblack,chestnutandwhitehorses—sotenderlycaredforbythegroominaheavenlygreenpasturecoveredwithflowersofeveryimaginablecolor—withsuchhappinessandcalmthateventhedullestofreaderswoulduandthemoralofSadi’sstory:Thebeautyandmysteryofthisworldonlyemergesthroughaffe,attention,iandpassion;ifyouwanttoliveinthatparadisewherehappymaresandstallionslive,openyoureyeswideandactuallyseethisworldbyattendingtoitscolors,detailsandirony.
Thisprogenyofthetwenty-hojawasatoertainedandfrightenedbyme.Hewaodrophisspoonandflee,butIdidn’tgivehimthece.
“ThisishowthemasterofmastersBihzaddepictedtheking,hisgroomandthehorsesinthatpicture,”Isaid.“Forahundredyearsminiaturistshaven’tstoppedimitatingthosehorses.EachhorsereofBihzad’simaginationahasbeodelofform.Hundredsofminiaturists,includingmyself,drawthosehorsesfrommemory.Haveyoueverseenapictureofahorse?”
“Ioncesawawingedhorseinanentingbookthatagreatteacher,ascholarofscholars,hadpreseomylatehoja.”
Ididn’tknowwhetherIshouldpushtheheadofthisintohissoup,who,alongwithhisteacher,hadtakenStrangeCreaturesseriously,anddrownhimorleavehimtodescribeinglowiheonlyhorsepicturehe’deverseeninhislife—inwhoknowshowpooramanuscriptcopy.Icameupwithathirdalternative,andthatwastodropmyspoonandquittheshop.AfterwalkingforalongwhileIeheabandoneddervishlodge,whereIwasoverewithasenseofpeace.Itidiedupandwithoutdoinganythingelse,Ilistehesilence.
Later,IremovedthemirrorfromwhereIkeptithiddenauponthelowworktable.,Iplacedthetwo-pageillustrationandthedrawingboardonmylap.WhenIcouldseemyfathemirrorfromwhereIsat,Iattemptedtodrawmyportraitincharcoal.Idrewforalongtime,patiently.Muchlater,whenIsawthatonceagainthefathepagedidn’tresemblemyfathemirror,Iwasfilledwithsuchmiserythattearswelledinmyeyes.HowdidtheVeianpaihatEnishtedescribedwithsuchflourishdoit?Ithenimaginedmyselftobeohem,thinkingthatifIillustratedinthatstateofmind,Icouldperhapsmakeavingself-portrait.
Laterstill,IcursedtheEuropeanpaintersandEnishteboth,erasedwhatI’ddoneandbeganlookingintothemirroraobeginanotherdrawing.
Ultimately,Ifoundmyselfwanderireetsagain,andthen,here,atthisdespicablecoffeehouse.Iwasn’tevensurehoeoehere.AsIentered,Ifeltsuchembarrassmentaboutminglingwiththesemiserableminiaturistsandcalligraphersthatsweataccumulatedonmyforehead.
Isehattheywerewatgme,alertingeachotherofmypresehtheirelbows,andlaughing—allright,Icouldplaihemdoingit.Iseatedmyselfintheer,tryingtobehavenaturally.Atthesametimemyeyessoughttheothermasters,mydearbrethrenwithwhom,atoime,I’dservedasMasterOsman’sapprentice.Iwascertaineachofthemwasalsoaskedtodrawahorsethiseveningandthatthey’deachexpendedgreatdesperateefforts,takiestarraheseidiotsquiteseriously.
Thestorytellereffendihadbegunhisperformahepicturehadn’tevenbeenhungupyet.Iwasforcedtosocializewiththecoffeehousecrowd.
Sobeitthemebefrankwithyou:LikeeveryoneelseI,too,madejokes,toldiories,kissedmypanionsonthecheekswithexaggeratedgestures,spokeindoubleentendres,innuendosandpuns,askedhowtheyoungassistantmastersweredoing,andlikeeverybodyelse,mercilesslyneedledouronenemies;andafterIreallywarmedup,Iwentsofarasthhouseandkissmenontheneck.Yet,knowingthatapartofmysoulremainedmercilesslysilentwhenIinvolvedmyselfinsuchbehaviorcausedmeunbearabletorment.
heless,beforelong,Inotonlysucceededinusingfigurativelanguagetoparemyowncodthoseofothersthatweremuch-talkedabout,tobrushes,reeds,coffeehousepillars,flutes,newel
posts,doorknockers,leeks,mis,ladyfingersinheavysyrup,pirees,andtwice,totheworlditself,Iwasequallysuccessfulinparingtheassesofmuch-discussedprettyboystes,figs,smallhaycocklikepastries,pillowsandalsototinyanthills.Meanwhile,themostceitedofthecalligraphersmyagewasonlyabletoparehisowntool—quiteamateurishlyandwithoutanyself-fidenceImightadd—toaship’smastandaporter’spole.Furthermore,Imadeallusionstooldminiaturists’dicksthatwouldnolongerrise;thecherry-coloredlipsofnerentices;mastercalligrapherswhohoardedtheirmoney(asdidI)iainplace(“themostdisgustingnook”);howperhapsopiumhadbeenputintothewineIwasdrinkinginsteadofrosepetals;thelastgreatmastersofTabrizandShiraz;themixingofcoffeeandwineinAleppo;andthecalligraphersaifulboystobefoundthere.
Attimesitseemedthatohetwospiritswithinmehad,intheend,emergedvictorious,leaviherbehind,andthatI’dfinallyfottenthatsilentandlovelessaspeyself.AtthesetimesIrememberedtheholidaycelebrationsofmychildhowhichIwasabletobemyselfalongwithmykithandkieallthesejokes,kissesandembraces,therewasstillasilehileftmesufferingandisolatedintheheartofthecrowd.
Whohadendowedmewiththissilentandmercilessspirit—itwasnotaspiritbutajinn—whichalwayschidedmeandcutmeofffromothers?Satan?Butthesilehinmewaseased,notbythecrassmischiefinstigatedbySatan,orary,bythemostpureandsimplestoriesthatdroveintoone’ssoul.Uheinfluenceofwioldtwostories,hopingthatthiswouldgrantmepeace.Atall,pale,yetpinkish-plectedcalligrapher’sapprenticefocusedhisgreeomineandwaslisteningtomewithraptattention.
TwoStoriesonBlindnessandStyletheMiniaturistToldtoEasetheLonelinessinHisSoulALIFtrarytowhatisassumed,makingdrawingsofhorsesbylookingatactualhorseswasn’tadiscoveryofEuropeanmasters.TheinalideabelohegreatmasterJemalettinofKazvin.AfterTallHasan,theKhanoftheWhitesheep,queredKazvin,theoldmasterJemalettinwasnottenttosimplyjointhebook-artsworkshopofthevictoriouskhan;insteadheheadedoutoncampaignwithhim,claimingthathewaoembellishthekhan’sHistorywithsesofwarhe’dwitnessedhimself.Sothisgreatmaster,whoforsixty-twoyearshadmadepicturesofhorses,cavalrychargesandbattleswithouteverhavingseenabattle,wenttowarforthefirsttime.Butbeforehecouldevehunderousandviolentclashofsweatinghorses,helosthishandsandhiseyesighttoenemyon-fire.Theoldmaster,likeallgeuosos,hadinanycasebeenawaitingblindnessasthoughitwereAllah’sblessing,aherdidhetreatthelossofhishandsasagreatdeficy.Hemaintaihatthememoryofaminiaturistwaslocatednotinthehand,assomeinsisted,butielledtheheart,andfurthermore,nowthathewasblind,hedeclaredthathecouldseethetruepictures,seryandessentialandflawlesshorsesthatAllahandedbeseen.Tosharethesewonderswithloversofart,hehiredatall,pale-skinned,pink-plected,green-eyedcalligrapher’sappreowhomhe
dictatedexactlyhowtodrawthemarveloushorsesthatappearedtohiminGod’sdivinedarkness—ashewould’vedrawnthemhadhebeeoholdabrushinhishands.Afterthemaster’sdeath,hisatofhowtodraw303horsesbeginningfromtheleftfwascollectedbythehandsomecalligrapher’sappreothreevolumesrespectivelyentitledTheDepiofHorses,TheFlowofHorsesandTheLoveofHorses,whichwerequitewidelylikedandsoughtafterforatimeintheregioheWhitesheepruled.Thoughtheyappearedinavarietyofionsandcopies,werememorizedbyillustrators,apprentidtheirstudentsandwereusedaspracticebooks,afterTallHasan’sWhitesheepnationwasobliteratedandtheHeratstyleofillustratioookallofPersia,Jemalettinandhismanuscriptswerefotten.Doubtless,thelogicbehindKemalettinR1zaofHerat’sviolentcriticismofthesethreevolumesinhisbookTheBlindman’sHorses,andhisclusionthattheyoughttobeburned,hadfiguredinthisturs.KemalettinR1zaclaimedthathehorsesdescribedbyJemalettinofKazvininhisthreevolumescouldbeahorseofGod’svision—becausehemwere“immaculate,”siheoldmasterhaddescribedthemafterhe’dwitnessedanactualbattlese,nomatterhowbriefly.SireasuresofTallHasanoftheWhitesheephadbeenplunderedbySultathequerorandbroughttoIstanbul,itshouldeasnosurprisethatoccasionallycertainofthese303storiesappearinothermanuscriptsinIstanbulahatsomehorsesaredrawnasinstructedtherein.
LAMIandShiraz,whenamasterminiaturistnearingtheendofhisdayswentblindfromalifetimeofexcessivelabor,itwouldnotoakenasasignofthatmaster’sdetermination,butwouldbeendedasGod’saowledgmentofthegreatmaster’sworkandtalent.Therewasevenatimeiwhenmasterswhohadn’tgonebliehavinggrownoldwereregardedwithsuspi,asituationthatpelledquiteafewofthemtoactuallyinduceblindnessintheiroldage.Therewasalongperiwhireverentlyrecalledartistswhoblihemselves,followingihofthoselegendarymasterswho’ddonesoratherthanworkforanothermonarchorgetheirstyles.AnditwasduringthisagethatAbuSaid,Tamerlane’sgrandsonfromtheMiranShahlineofdest,introducedafurthertwistinhisworkshopafterhe’dqueredTashkentandSamarkand:Thepracticeofpayierhomagetotheimitationofblihantobliself.BlackVeli,theoldartisanwhoinspiredAbuSaid,hadfirmedthatablindminiaturistcouldseethehorsesofGod’svisionfromwithinthedarkness;however,truetalentresidedinasightedminiaturistwhocardtheworldlikeablindman.Attheageofsixty-sevenheprovedhispointbydashingoffahorsethatcametothetipofhisbrushwithoutsomuchasaglahepaper,evenashiseyesremainedallthewhileopenandfixedonthepage.AttheendofthisartisticceremonyforwhichMiranShahhaddeafmusisplaylutesandmutestorytellersrecitestoriestosupportthelegendarymaster’sefforts,thesplendidhorsethatBlackVelihaddrawnwasparedatlengthwithotherhorseshe’dmade:Therewasnodifferesoeveramongthem,muiranShah’sirritation;thereafter,thelegendarymasterdeclaredthataminiaturistpossessedoftalent,regardlessofwhetherhiseyesareopenorclosed,willalwaysandonlyseehorsesinoneway,thatis,thewaythatAllahperceivesthem.Andamomasterminiaturists,thereisnodiffereweentheblindandthesighted:ThehandwouldalwaysdrawthesamehorsebecausetherewasasyetnosuchthingastheFrankishinnovationcalled“style.”ThehorsesmadebythegreatmasterBlackVelihavebeenimitatedbyallMuslimminiaturistsfor110years.AsforBlackVeli
himself,afterthedefeatofAbuSaidandthedispersalofhisworkshop,hemovedfromSamarkandtoKazviwoyearslaterhewasnedforhisspitefulattemptstorefutetheverseintheGloriousKoranthatdeclares,“Theblindandtheseeiequal.”Forthis,hewasfirstblihenkilledbyyoungNizamShah’ssoldiers.
Iwasonthevergeoftellingathirdstory,describingtothepretty-eyedcalligrapher’sapprehegreatmasterBihzadhadblindedhimself,howheneverwaoleaveHerat,whyheneverpaintedagainafterbeingtakenforciblytoTabriz,howaminiaturist’sstylewasreallythestyleoftheworkshopinwhichheworkedandothertalesI’dheardfromMasterOsman,butIbecamepreoccupiedwiththestoryteller.HowhadIknownthathewasgoingtotellSatan’sstorytonight?
Ihadtheurgetosay,“ItwasSatanwhofirstsaid”I“!ItwasSatantedastyle.ItwasSatanwhoseparatedEastfromWest.”
Iyeyesaanooryteller’sroughsheetofpaperasmyheartdesired.AsIdrew,thestorytellerandhisassistant,otherartistsandcuriousonlgledandgoadedmeon.
Pray,doyouthinkIhavemyownstyle,ordoIoweittothewine?
I,SATAN
Iamfondofthesmellofredpeppersfryinginoliveoil,rainfallingintoacalmseaatdawn,theuedappearanceofawomanatanopenwindow,silehoughtandpatience.Ibelieveinmyself,and,mostofthetime,paynomindtowhat’sbeensaidaboutme.Tonight,however,I’veetothiscoffeehousetosetmyminiaturistandcalligrapherbrethrenstraightaboutcertaingossip,liesandrumors.
Ofcourse,becauseI’mtheonespeaking,you’realreadypreparedtobelievetheexactoppositeofwhatIsay.Butyou’resmartenoughtosetheoppositeofwhatIsayisnotalwaystrue,andthoughyoumightdoubtme,you’reastuteenoughtotakeainmywords:You’rewellawarethatmyname,whichappearsintheGloriousKoranfifty-twotimes,isohemostfrequentlycited.
AllrightthemebeginwithGod’sbook,theGloriousKorahingaboutmeinthereisthetruth.LetitbeknownthatwhenIsaythis,Idosowiththeutmosthumility.Forthere’salsotheissueofstyle.IthasalwayscausedmegreatpainthatI’mbelittledintheGloriousKoran.Butthispainismywayoflife.Thisissimplythewayitis.
It’strue,Godcreatedmanbeforetheeyesofusaheedustoprostrateourselvesbeforethiscreatiohappehewayit’swrittenin“TheHeights”chapter:Whilealltheelsbowedbeforeman,Irefused.IremindedallthatAdamwasmadefrommud,whereasIwascreatedfromfire,asuperiorelementasallofyouarefamiliar.SoIdidn’tbowbeforeman.AndGodfoundmybehavior,well,“proud.”
“Loweryourselffromtheseheavens,”Hesaid.“It’sbeyondthelikesofyoutoschemefreatnesshere.”
“PermitmetoliveuntilJudgmentDay,”Isaid,“untilthedeadarise.”
HegrantedHispermission.IpromisedthatduringthiseimeIwouldtemptthedesdentsofAdam,who’dbeenthecauseofmypunishment,andHesaidHe’dsendtoHellthoseI’dsuccessfullycorrupted.Idon’thavetotellyouthatwe’veeachremairuetohisword.Ihavenothingmoretosayaboutthematter.
Assomewillclaim,atthattimeAlmightyGodandImadeapact.Acctothem,IwashelpingtotesttheAlmighty’ssubjectsbyattemptingtodestroytheirfaith:Thegood,possessedofsoundjudgment,wouldnotbeledastray,whiletheevil,givingintotheiraldesires,wouldsin,tolaterfillthedepthsofHell.Therefore,whatIdidwasquiteimportant:IfallmeoHeaven,noonewouldeverbefrightened,andtheworldanditsgoverscouldneverfunonvirt松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
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