第75部分(第3/7 頁)

y　of　Baghdad；　we　watched　the　flight　of　the　merchant　who

clung　to　the　feet　of　a　mythical　bird　as　he　spanned　the　seas。　In　the　next　volume；

which　opened　by　itself　to　the　first　page；　we　saw　the　scene　that　Shekure　and　I

loved　the　most；　in　which　Shirin　beheld　Hüsrev’s　picture　hanging　from　a　branch

and　fell　in　love　with　him。　Then；　looking　at　an　illustration　that　brought　to　life

the　inner　workings　of　a　plicated　clock　made　from　bobbins　and　metal　balls；

birds　and　Arabic　statuettes　seated　on　the　back　of　an　elephant；　we　remembered

time。

I don’t know how much more time we spent examining book after book

and　illustration　after　illustration　in　this　manner。　It　was　as　if　the　unchanging；

frozen golden time revealed in the pictures and stories we viewed had

thoroughly mingled with the damp and moldy time we experienced in the

Treasury。　It　seemed　that　these　illuminated　pages；　created　over　the　centuries　by

the　lavish　expenditure　of　eyesight　in　the　workshops　of　countless　shahs；　khans

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and　sultans；　would　e　to　life；　as　would　the　objects　that　seemed　to　besiege

us： The helmets； scimitars； daggers with diamond…studded handles； armor；

porcelain　cups　from　China；　dusty　and　delicate　lutes；　and　the　pearl…embellished

cushions　and　kilims—the　likes　of　which　we’d　seen　in　countless　illustrations。

“I now understand that by furtively and gradually re…creating the same

pictures for hundreds and hundreds of years； thousands of artists had

cunningly　depicted　the　gradual　transformation　of　their　world　into　another。”

I’ll be first to admit that I didn’t pletely understand what the great