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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第24部分

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slaughter  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  people;  the  killing  of  the  last  of  the 
Caliphs  of  Islam  who’d  ruled  Baghdad  for  half  a  millennium;  the  rape  of 
women; the burning of libraries and the destruction of tens of thousands of 
volumes as they were thrown into the Tigris。 Two days later; amid the stench 
of  corpses  and  cries  of  death;  he  watched  the  flowing  waters  of  the  Tigris; 
turned red from the ink bleeding out of the books; and he thought about how 
all those volumes he’d transcribed in beautiful script; those books that were 
now  gone;  hadn’t  in  the  least  served  to  stop  this  horrifying  massacre  and 
devastation; and in turn; he swore never to write again。 Furthermore; he was 
struck  with  the  desire  to  express  his  pain  and  the  disaster  he’d  witnessed 
through painting; which until that day; he’d belittled and deemed an affront 
to  Allah;  and  so;  making  use  of  the  paper  he  always  carried  with  him;  he 
depicted what he saw from the top of the minaret。 We owe the happy miracle 
of  the  three…hundred…year  renaissance  in  Islamic  illustration  following  the 
Mongol  invasion  to  that  element  which  distinguished  it  from  the  artistry  of 
pagans  and  Christians;  that  is;  to  the  truly  agonizing  depiction  of  the  world 
from  an  elevated  Godlike  position  attained  by  drawing  none  other  than  a 
horizon  line。  We  owe  this  renaissance  to  the  horizon  line;  and  also  to  Ibn 
Shakir’s  going  north  after  the  massacre  he  witnessed—in  the  direction  the 
Mongol  armies  had  e  from—carrying  with  him  his  paintings  and  the 
ambition for illustration in his heart; in brief; we owe much to his learning the 
painting  techniques  of  the  Chinese  masters。  Thereby;  it  is  evident  that  the 
notion  of  endless  time  that  had  rested  in  the  hearts  of  Arab  calligrapher…
scribes for five hundred years would finally manifest itself not in writing; but 
in  painting。  The  proof  of  this  resides  in  the  fact  that  the  illustrations  in 
manuscripts and volumes that had been torn apart and vanished have passed 
into  other  books  and  other  volumes  to  survive  forever  in  their  revelation  of 
Allah’s worldly realm。 
 
   
79 
 
BA 
Once  upon  a  time;  not  so  very  long  ago  yet  not  so  recently;  everything 
imitated everything else; and thus; if not for aging and death; man would’ve 
never been the wiser about the passage of time。 Yes; when the worldly realm 
was repeatedly presented through the same stories and pictures; as if time did 
not flow; Fahir Shah’s small army routed Selahattin Khan’s soldiers—as Salim 
of Samarkand’s concise History attests。 After the victorous Fahir Shah captured 
Selahattin  Khan  and  tortured  him  to  death;  his  first  task  in  asserting  his 
sovereignty; according to custom; was to visit the library and the harem of the 
vanquished khan。 In the library; the late Selahattin Khan’s experienced binder 
pulled  apart  the  dead  shah’s  books;  and  rearranging  the  pages;  began  to 
assemble  new  volumes。  His  calligraphers  replaced  the  epithet  of  “Always 
Victorious  Selahattin  Khan”  with  that  of  “Victorious  Fahir  Shah”  and  his 
miniaturists   set   about   replacing   the   late   Selahattin   Khan—masterfully 
portrayed  on  the  most  beautiful  of  manuscript  pages—who  was;  as  of  that 
moment;  starting  to  fade  from  people’s  memories;  with  the  portrait  of  the 
younger Fahir Shah。 Upon entering the harem; Fahir Shah had no difficulty in 
locating the most beautiful woman there; yet instead of forcing himself upon 
her; because he was a refined man versed in books and artistry; and resolving 
to  win  her  heart;  he  engaged  her  in  conversation。  Consequently;  Neriman 
Sultan; the late Selahattin Khan’s belle of beauties; his teary…eyed wife; made 
but one request of Fahir Shah: that the illustration of her husband in a version 
of  the  romance  Leyla  and  Mejnun;  wherein  Leyla  was  depicted  as  Neriman 
Sultan and Mejnun as Selahattin Khan; not be altered。 In at least this one page; 
she maintained; the immortality that her husband had tried to attain over the 
years through books should not be denied。 The victorious Fahir Shah bravely 
granted this simple request and his masters of the book left that one picture 
alone。 Thereby; Neriman and Fahir immediately made love and within a short 
period; forgetting the horrors of the past; came to truly love each other。 Still; 
Fahir  Shah  could  not  forget  that  picture  in  Leyla  and  Mejnun。  Nay;  it  wasn’t 
jealousy  that  made  him  uneasy  or  that  his  wife  was  portrayed  with  her  old 
husband。  What  gnawed  at  him  was  this:  Since  he  wasn’t  painted  in  the  old 
legend  in  that  splendid  book;  he  wouldn’t  be  able  to  join  the  ranks  of  the 
immortals with his wife。 This worm of doubt ate at Fahir Shah for five years; 
and  at  the  end  of  a  blissful  night  of  copious  lovemaking  with  Neriman; 
candlestick  in  hand;  he  entered  the  library  like  a  mon  thief;  opened  the 
volume  of  Leyla  and  Mejnun;  and  in  place  of  the  face  of  Neriman’s  late 
husband; drew his own。 Like many khans who had a love for illustrating and 
painting; however; he was an amateur artist and couldn’t portray himself very 
80 
 
well。  In  the  morning;  when  his  librarian  opened  the  book  on  a  suspicion  of 
tampering and beheld another figure in place of the late Selahattin Khan; next 
to Neriman…faced Leyla; rather than identifying it as Fahir Shah; he announced 
that it was Fahir Shah’s archenemy; the young and handsome Abdullah Shah。 
This gossip provoked Fahir Shah’s soldiers and emboldened Abdullah Shah; the 
young   and   aggressive   new   ruler   of   the   neighboring   country;   who; 
subsequently; in his first campaign; defeated; captured and killed Fahir Shah; 
established  his  own  sovereignty  over  his  enemy’s  library  and  harem  and 
became the new husband of the eternally beautiful Neriman Sultan。 
 
DJIM 
The  miniaturists  of  Istanbul  recount  the  legend  of  Tall  Mehmet—known  as 
Muhammad  Khorasani  in  Persia—mostly  as  an  example  of  long  life  and 
blindness。  However;  the  legend  of  Tall  Mehmet  is  essentially  a  parable  of 
painting and time。 The primary distinction of this master; who; having begun 
his  apprenticeship  at  the  age  of  nine;  illustrated  for  more  or  less  110  years 
without going blind; was his lack of distinction。 I’m not being witty here; but 
expressing my sincere  admiration。 Tall Mehmet drew everything; as everyone 
else did; in the style of the great masters of old; but even more so; and for this 
reason;  he  was  the  greatest  of  all  masters。  His  humbleness  and  plete 
devotion to illustration and painting; which he deemed a service to Allah; set 
him above both the disputes within the book…arts workshops where he worked 
and the ambition to bee head miniaturist; though he was of appropriate 
age  and  talent。  As  a  miniaturist;  for  110  years;  he  patiently  rendered  every 
trivial detail: grass drawn to fill up the edges of the page; thousands of leaves; 
curly  wisping  clouds;  horse  manes  of  short  repetitive  strokes;  brick  walls; 
never…ending wall ornamentation and the slant…eyed; delicate…chinned tens of 
thousands of faces that were each an imitation of one another。 Tall Mehmet 
was quite content and reserved and he never presumed to distinguish himself 
or  insisted  about  style  or  individuality。  He  considered  whichever  khan’s  or 
prince’s  workshop  he  happened  to  be  working  in  at  the  time  his  house  and 
regarded himself as but a fixture in that home。 As khans and shahs strangled 
one another and miniaturists moved from city to city like the women of the 
harem  to  assemble  under  the  auspices  of  new  masters;  the  style  of  the  new 
book…arts workshop would first be defined in the leaves Tall Mehmet drew; in 
his  grass;  in  the  curves  of  his  ro
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