第28部分(第2/7 頁)

Thus　I　began　to　show　him　the　paintings　I’d　secretly　missioned　from　the

master miniaturists over the last year。 At first； he was a tad shy； even

frightened。　When　he　understood　that　the　depiction　of　Death　was　inspired　by

familiar　scenes　that　could　be　found　in　many　Book　of　Kings　volumes—from　the

scene　of　Afrasiyab’s　decapitation　of　Siyavush；　for　example；　or　Rüstem’s　murder

of　Suhrab　without　realizing　this　e　interested　in

the subject。 Among the pictures that depicted the funeral of the late Sultan

Süleyman was one I’d made with bold but sad colors； bining a

positional sensibility inspired by the Franks with my own attempt at

shading—which I’d added later。 I pointed out the diabolic depth evoked by

the interplay of cloud and horizon。 I reminded him that Death was unique；

just　like　the　portraits　of　infidels　I　had　seen　hanging　in　Veian　palazzos；　all　of

them desperately yearned to be rendered distinctly。 “They want to be so

distinct and different； and they want this with such passion that；” I said；

“look；　look　into　the　eyes　of　Death。　See　how　men　do　not　fear　Death；　but　rather

the　violence　implicit　in　the　desire　to　be　one…of…a…kind；　unique　and　exceptional。

124

Look　at　this　illustration　and　write　an　account　of　it。　Give　voice　to　Death。　Here’s

paper　and　pen。　I　shall　give　what　you　write　to　the　calligrapher　straightaway。”

He　stared　at　the　picture　in　silence。　“Who　painted　this？”　he　asked　later。

“Butterfly。 He’s the most talented of the lot。 Master Osman had been in

love　with　and　awed　by　him　for　years。”

“I’ve seen roughe