第57部分(第6/7 頁)

my

pocket；　and　left　with　the　boy。

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Oh；　how　nice　it　is　to　walk　through　the　streets　after　having　worked　without

a　break　for　so　long！　At　such　times；　the　whole　world　strikes　one　as　original　and

stunning；　as　if　Allah　had　created　it　all　the　day　before。

I　noticed　a　dog；　more　meaningful　than　all　the　pictures　of　dogs　I’d　ever　seen。

I　saw　a　horse；　a　lesser　creation　than　what　my　master　miniaturists　might　make。

I spied a plane tree in the Hippodrome； the same tree whose leaves I’d just

now　accented　with　tones　of　purple。

Strolling through the Hippodrome； whose parades I’d illustrated over the

last　two　years；　was　like　stepping　into　my　own　painting。　Let’s　say　we　were　to

turn　down　a　street：　In　a　Frankish　painting；　this　would　result　in　our　stepping

outside both the frame and the painting； in a painting made following the

example　of　the　great　masters　of　Herat；　it’d　bring　us　to　the　place　from　which

Allah　looks　upon　us；　in　a　Chinese　painting；　we’d　be　trapped；　because　Chinese

illustrations　are　infinite。

The　pageboy；　I　discovered；　wasn’t　taking　me　to　the　Divan　Chamber　where　I

often met with the Head Treasurer to discuss one of the following： the

manuscripts　and　ornamented　ostrich　eggs　or　other　gifts　my　miniaturists　were

preparing　for　Our　Sultan；　the　health　of　the　illustrators　or　the　Head　Treasurer’s

own constitution and peace of mind； the acquisition of paint； gold leaf or

other materials； the usual plaints and requests； the desires； delights；

demands　and　disposition　of　the　Refuge　of　the　World；　Our　Sultan；　my　eyesight；

my　looking　glasses　or　my　lumbago；　or