第77部分(第1/7 頁)

his picture on the branch of a plane tree； Sheikh Ali R？za from Shiraz had

drawn　distinctly　all　the　leaves　of　the　tree　one　by　one　so　they　filled　the　entire

sky。 In answer to a fool who saw the work and mented that the true

subject　of　the　illustration　wasn’t　the　plane　tree；　Sheikh　Ali　replied　that　the　true

subject wasn’t the passion of the beautiful young maiden either； it was the

passion　of　the　artist；　and　to　proudly　prove　his　point　he　attempted　to　paint　the

same plane tree with all its leaves on a grain of rice。 If the signature hidden

beneath the beautiful feet of Shirin’s darling lady attendants hadn’t misled

me；　I　was　of　course　seeing　the　magnificent　tree　made　by　the　blind　master　on

paper—not　the　tree　made　on　a　grain　of　rice；　which　he　left　half　finished；　having

gone　blind　seven　years　and　three　months　after　he　started　the　task。　On　another

page； Rüstem blinding Alexander with his forked arrow was depicted in the

manner　of　artists　who　knew　the　Indian　style；　so　vivaciously　and　colorfully；　that

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blindness； the ageless sorrow and secret desire of the genuine miniaturist；

appeared　to　the　observer　as　the　prologue　to　a　joyous　celebration。

My eyes wandered over these pictures and volumes； no less with the

excitement　of　one　who　wanted　to　behold　for　himself　these　legends　he’d　heard

about　for　years　than　with　the　worry　of　an　old　man　who　sensed　he　would　soon

enough never see anything more。 There； in the cold Treasury room suffused

with　a　dark　red　that　I’d　never　seen　before—caused　by　the　color　of　the　cloth

and　dust　within　th