第80部分(第3/7 頁)

een rooms

ever more restless； I thought nervously that we wouldn’t have time to cull

enough information from the books in the Treasury。 I sensed that Master

Osman　couldn’t　focus　adequately　on　his　task；　and　I　confessed　my　misgivings

to　him。

Like a genuine master grown accustomed to caressing his apprentices； he

held　my　hand　in　a　pleasing　way。　“Men　like　us　have　no　choice　but　to　try　to　see

the　world　the　way　God　does　and　to　resign　ourselves　to　His　justice；”　he　said。

“And　here；　among　these　pictures　and　possessions；　I　have　the　strong　sensation

that　these　two　things　are　beginning　to　converge：　As　we　approach　God’s　vision

of the world； His justice approaches us。 See here； the needle Master Bihzad

blinded　himself　with…”

Master　Osman　callously　told　the　story　of　the　needle；　and　I　scrutinized　the

extremely　sharp　point　of　this　disagreeable　object　beneath　the　magnifying　glass

which　he　lowered　so　I　might　better　see；　a　pinkish　film　covered　its　tip。

“The　old　masters；”　Master　Osman　said；　“would　suffer　pangs　of　conscience

about changing their talent； colors and methods。 They’d consider it

dishonorable to see the world one day as an Eastern shah manded； the

next；　as　a　Western　ruler　did—which　is　what　the　artists　of　our　day　do。”

352

His　eyes　were　neither　trained　on　mine　nor　upon　the　pages　in　front　of　him。

It　seemed　as　though　he　were　gazing　at　a　distant　unattainable　whiteness。　In　a

page　of　the　Book　of　Kings　lying　open　before　him；　Persian　and　Turanian　armies

clashed with all their force。 As horses fought shoulder to shoulder； enraged

heroic　war