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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第27部分

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mouth;  however;  came  a  different  account;  and  so  the  correct  order  of  the 
plates  was  confused  all  the  more。  Thereupon;  the  oldest  surviving  head 
miniaturist was sought out。 He was a man who’d extinguished the light of his 
eyes  in  painstaking  labor  on  the  books  of  all  the  shahs  and  princes  who’d 
ruled over Herat for the last fifty… four years。 A great motion ensued when 
the men realized that the old master now peering at the pictures was indeed 
blind。 Some laughed。 The elderly master requested that an intelligent boy; who 
had  not  yet  reached  the  age  of  seven  and  who  couldn’t  read  or  write;  be 
brought  forward。  Such  a  child  was  found  and  taken  to  him。  The  old 
miniaturist  placed  a  number  of  illustrations  before  him。  “Describe  what  you 
see;”  he  instructed。  As  the  boy  described  the  pictures;  the  old  miniaturist; 
raising his blind eyes to the sky; listened carefully and responded: “Alexander 
cradling  the  dying  Darius  from  Firdusi’s  Book  of  Kings…  the  account  of  the 
teacher  who  falls  in  love  with  his  handsome  student  from  Sadi’s  Rosegarden 
…the  contest  of  doctors  from  Nizami’s  Treasury  of  Secrets…”  The  other 
miniaturists;  vexed  by  their  elderly  and  blind  colleague;  said;  “We  could’ve 
told you that as well。 These are the best…known scenes from the most famous 
stories。”  In  turn;  the  aged  and  blind  miniaturist  placed  the  most  difficult 
illustrations  before  the  child  and  again  listened  intently。  “Hürmüz  poisoning 
the calligraphers one by one from Firdusi’s Book of Kings;” he said; again facing 
the sky。 “A cheap rendition of the terrible account of the cuckold who catches 
his wife and her lover in a pear tree; from Rumi’s Masnawi;” he said。 In this 
fashion;  relying  on  the  boy’s  descriptions;  he  identified  all  of  the  pictures; 
none  of  which  he  could  see;  and  thereby  succeeded  in  having  the  books 
properly bound together again。 When Ulu? Bey entered Herat with his army; 
he  asked  the  old  miniaturist  by  what  secret  he;  a  blind  man;  could  identify 
those stories that other master illustrators couldn’t determine even by looking 
at them。 “It isn’t; as one might assume; that my memory pensates for my 
blindness;” replied the old illustrator。 “I have never forgotten that stories are 
recollected  not  only  through  images;  but  through  words  as  well。”  Ulu?  Bey 
responded  that  his  own  miniaturists  knew  those  words  and  stories;  but  still 
couldn’t  order  the  pictures。  “Because;”  said  the  old  miniaturist;  “they  think 
quite well when it es to painting; which is their skill or their art; but they 
don’t  prehend  that  the  old  masters  made  these  pictures  out  of  the 
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memories  of  Allah  Himself。”  Ulu?  Bey  asked  how  a  child  could  know  such 
things。  “The  child  doesn’t  know;”  said  the  old  miniaturist。  “But  I;  an  elderly 
and blind miniaturist; know that Allah created this worldly realm the way an 
intelligent seven…year…old boy would want to see it; what’s more; Allah created 
this earthly realm so that; above all; it might be seen。 Afterward; He provided 
us  with  words  so  we  might  share  and  discuss  with  one  another  what  we’ve 
seen。 We mistakenly assumed that these stories arose out of words and that 
illustrations  were  painted  in  service  of  these  stories。  Quite  to  the  contrary; 
painting is the act of seeking out Allah’s memories and seeing the world as He 
sees the world。” 
 
DJIM 
Two hundred fifty years ago; Arab miniaturists were in the custom of staring 
at the western horizon at daybreak to alleviate the understandable and eternal 
anxieties about going blind shared by all miniaturists; likewise; a century later 
in Shiraz; many illustrators would eat walnuts mashed with rose petals on an 
empty stomach in the mornings。 Again; in the same era; the elder miniaturists 
of  Isfahan  who  believed  sunlight  was  responsible  for  the  blindness  to  which 
they  succumbed  one  by  one;  as  if  to  the  plague;  would  work  in  a  half…dark 
corner of the room; and most often by candlelight; to prevent direct sunlight 
from  striking  their  worktables。  At  day’s  end;  in  the  workshops  of  the  Uzbek 
artists  of  Bukhara;  master  miniaturists  would  wash  their  eyes  with  water 
blessed  by  sheikhs。  But  of  all  of  these  precautions;  the  purest  approach  to 
blindness was discovered in Herat by the miniaturist Seyyit Mirek; mentor to 
the  great  master  Bihzad。  According  to  master  miniaturist  Mirek;  blindness 
wasn’t a scourge; but rather the crowning reward bestowed by Allah upon the 
illuminator who had devoted an entire life to His glories; for illustrating was 
the miniaturist’s search for Allah’s vision of the earthly realm; and this unique 
perspective  could  only  be  attained  through  recollection  after  blindness 
descended; only after a lifetime of hard work and only after the miniaturist’s 
eyes tired and he had expended himself。 Thus; Allah’s vision of His world only 
bees  manifest  through  the  memory  of  blind  miniaturists。  When  this 
image es to the aging miniaturist; that is; when he sees the world as Allah 
sees it through the darkness of memory and blindness; the illustrator will have 
spent his lifetime training his hand so it might transfer this splendid revelation 
to the page。 According to the historian Mirza Muhammet Haydar Duglat; who 
wrote  extensively  about  the  legends  of  Herat  miniaturists;  the  master  Seyyit 
Mirek;  in  his  explication  of  the  aforementioned  notion  of  painting;  used  the 
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example of the illustrator who wanted to draw a horse。 He reasoned that even 
the most untalented painter—one whose head is empty like those of today’s 
Veian painters—who draws the picture of a horse while looking at a horse 
will still make the image from memory; because; you see; it is impossible; at 
one and the same time; to look at the horse and at the page upon which the 
horse’s image appears。 First; the illustrator looks at the horse; then he quickly 
transfers whatever rests in his mind to the page。 In the interim; even if only a 
wink in time; what the artist represents on the page is not the horse he sees; 
but the memory of the horse he has just seen。 Proof that for even the most 
miserable  illustrator;  a  picture  is  possible  only  through  memory。  The  logical 
extension of this concept; which regards the active worklife of a miniaturist as 
but preparation for both the resulting bliss of blindness and blind memory; is 
that the masters of Herat regarded the illustrations they made for bibliophile 
shahs and princes as training for the hand—as an exercise。 They accepted the 
work; the endless drawing and staring at pages by candlelight for days without 
break;  as  the  pleasurable  labor  that  delivered  the  miniaturist  to  blindness。 
Throughout his whole life; the master miniaturist Mirek constantly sought out 
the   most   appropriate   moment   for   this   most   glorious   of   approaching 
eventualities; either by purposely hurrying blindness through the painstaking 
depiction of trees and all their leaves on fingernails; grains of rice and even on 
strands  of  hair;  or  by  cautiously  delaying  the  imminent  darkness  by  the 
effortless  drawing  of  pleasant;  sun…filled  gardens。  When  he  was  seventy;  in 
order  to  reward  this  great  master;  Sultan  Hüseyin  Baykara  allowed  him  to 
enter the treasury containing thousands of manuscript plates that the Sultan 
had collected and secured under lock and key。 There; in the treasury that also 
contained  weapons;  gold  and  bolt  upon  bolt  of  silk  and  velvet  cloth;  by  the 
candlelight  of  golden  candelabra;  Master  Mirek  stared  at  the  magnificent 
leaves of those books; each a legend in its own right; made by the old masters 
of  Herat。  And  after  three  days  and  nights  of  continuous  scrutiny;  the  great 
master went blind。 He 
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