第77部分(第3/7 頁)

earms　of　the　lovers；　their　beautiful　naked　feet；　the　elegance　of　their　stances

and　the　lazy　delight　of　the　birds　fluttering　about　them　with　such　sincerity；　also

made　the　crude　shape　of　the　cypress　in　the　background！”　I　said；　“This　is　the

work　of　Lütfi　of　Bukhara　whose　ill…temper　and　belligerence　caused　him　to　leave

each of his illustrations half finished； he fought with every shah and khan

claiming　that　they　understood　nothing　of　painting；　and　he　never　remained　in

one　city　for　long。　This　great　master　went　from　one　shah’s　palace　to　another；

from　city　to　city；　quarreling　all　the　way；　never　able　to　find　a　ruler　whose　book

was deserving of his talents； until he ended up in the workshop of an

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inconsequential chieftain who ruled over nothing but bare mountaintops。

Claiming　that　”the　khan’s　dominions　might　be　small　but　he　knows　painting；“

he spent the remaining twenty…five years of his life there。 Whether he ever

knew　that　this　inconsequential　lord　was　blind　remains；　even　today；　a　subject　of

conjecture　and　a　source　of　humor。”

“Do　you　see　this　page？”　I　said　well　into　the　night；　and　this　time　they　both

rushed to my side； candlesticks aloft。 “From the time of Tamerlane’s

grandchildren　to　the　present；　this　volume　has　seen　ten　owners　on　its　way　here

from　Herat　over　a　span　of　one　hundred　fifty　years。”　Using　my　magnifying　lens；

the three of us read the signatures； dedications； historical information and

names of sultans—who’d strangled one another—filling every corner of the

colophon page； pinched together； between and on top of each other： “This