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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第118节

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now and I shall later recount it all。 My eyes are fading。” 
“They won’t fade right away;” said Black with determination。 “Believe me; 
Master Osman could still identify the horses with cut…open nostrils after his 
eyes had been pierced。” 
“Hapless Elegant Effendi said he wanted to talk to me and that I was the 
only person he could trust。” 
Yet it wasn’t him I pitied; but myself now。 
“If you tell us before the blood clots in your eyes; in the morning you can 
look upon the world to your heart’s content one last time;” said Black。 “See; 
the rain has eased。” 
“”Let’s  go  back  to  the  coffeehouse;“  I  said  to  Elegant;  but  sensed  at  once 
that  he  didn’t  like  it  there;  and  even  that  it  frightened  him。  This  was  how  I 
first  knew  Elegant  Effendi  had  broken  from  us  pletely  and  had  gone  his 
separate way after painting with us for twenty…five years。 In the last eight or 
ten  years;  after  he  married;  I’d  see  him  at  the  workshop;  but  I  didn’t  even 
know what he was occupied with…He told me he saw the last picture; how it 
contained  a  sin  so  grave  we’d  never  live  it  down。  As  a  consequence;  he 
maintained;  we’d  all  burn  in  Hell。  He  was  agitated  and  possessed  by  fear; 
overe  with  the  sense  of  devastation  felt  by  a  man  who’d  unwittingly 
mitted heresy。” 
“What heresy?” 
“When I asked him this very question; he opened his eyes wide in surprise 
as if to say; You mean you don’t know? It was then I thought how our friend 
had aged; as have we all。 He said unfortunate Enishte had brazenly used the 
perspectival  method  in  the  last  picture。  In  this  picture;  objects  weren’t 
depicted according to their importance in Allah’s mind; but as they appeared 
to the naked eye—the way the Franks painted。 This was the first transgression。 
The second was depicting Our Sultan; the Caliph of Islam; the same size as a 
dog。 The third transgression also involved rendering Satan the same size; and 
in  an  endearing  light。  But  what  surpassed  them  all—a  natural  result  of 
introducing this Frankish understanding into our painting—was drawing Our 
Sultan’s  picture  as  large  as  life  and  his  face  in  all  its  detail!  Just  like  the 
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idolators  do…Or  just  like  the  ”portraits’  that  Christians;  who  couldn’t  save 
themselves  from  their  inherent  idolatrous  tendencies;  painted  upon  their 
church  walls  and  worshiped。  Elegant  Effendi;  who  learned  of  portraits  from 
your Enishte; knew this quite well; and believed correctly that portraiture was 
the  greatest  of  sins;  and  would  be  the  downfall  of  Muslim  painting。  As  we 
hadn’t  gone  to  the  coffeehouse;  where;  he  claimed;  our  exalted  Preacher 
Effendi and our religion were being maligned; he explained all this to me while 
we  walked  down  the  street。  Occasionally;  he’d  stop;  as  though  seeking  help; 
ask  me  whether  all  of  this  was  indeed  correct;  whether  there  wasn’t  any 
recourse  and  whether  we’d  truly  burn  in  Hell。  He  suffered  fits  of  regret  and 
beat his breast in remorse; but I was unpersuaded。 He was an imposter who 
feigned regret。“ 
“How did you know this?” 
“We’ve  known  Elegant  Effendi  since  childhood。  He’s  very  orderly;  quiet; 
ordinary and colorless; like his gilding。 It was as if the man standing before me 
then  was  dumber;  more  naive;  more  devout;  yet  more  superficial  than  the 
Elegant we knew。” 
“I hear he’d also bee quite close to the Erzurumis;” said Black。 
“No  Muslim  would  ever  feel  such  torment  and  regret  for  inadvertently 
mitting a sin;” I said。 “A good Muslim knows God is just and reasonable 
enough to consider the intent of His servants。 Only pea…brained ignoramuses 
believe they’ll go to Hell for eating pork unawares。 Anyway; a genuine Muslim 
knows  the  fear  of  damnation  serves  to  frighten  others;  not  himself。  This  is 
what Elegant Effendi was doing; you see; he wanted to scare me。 It was your 
Enishte who taught him that he might do such a thing; and it was then I knew 
that  this  was  indeed  the  case。  Now;  tell  me  in  plete  honesty;  my  dear 
illuminator brethren; has the blood begun to clot in my eyes; have my eyes lost 
their color?” 
They brought the lamp toward my face and gazed at it; displaying the care 
and passion of surgeons。 
“Nothing seems to have changed。” 
Were these three; staring into my eyes; the last sight I’d see in this world? I 
knew  I’d  never  forget  these  moments  until  the  end  of  my  life;  and  I  related 
what follows; because despite my regret; I also felt hope: 
“Your  Enishte  taught  Elegant  Effendi  that  he  was  involved  in  some 
forbidden project by covering up the final picture; by revealing only a specific 
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spot to each of us and having us draw something there—by giving the picture 
an air of mystery and secrecy; it was Enishte himself who instilled the fear of 
heresy。 He; not the Erzurumis who’ve never seen an illuminated manuscript in 
their lives; was the first to spread the frenzy and panic about sin that infected 
us。 Meanwhile; what would an artist with a clear conscience have to fear?” 
“There’s much that an artist with a clear conscience has to fear in our day;” 
said Black smugly。 “Indeed; no one has anything to say against decoration; but 
pictures  are  forbidden  by  our  faith。  Because  the  illustrations  of  the  Persian 
masters  and  even  the  masterpieces  of  the  greatest  masters  of  Herat  are 
ultimately seen as an extension of border ornamentation; no one would take 
issue with them; reasoning that they enhanced the beauty of writing and the 
magnificence of calligraphy。 And who sees our painting anyway? However; as 
we  make  use  of  the  methods  of  the  Franks;  our  painting  is  being  less 
focused on ornamentation and intricate design and more on straightforward 
representation。  This  is  what  the  Glorious  Koran  forbids  and  what  displeased 
Our Prophet。 Both Our Sultan and my Enishte knew this quite well。 This was 
the reason for my Enishte’s murder。” 
“Your Enishte was murdered because he was afraid;” I said。 “Just like you; 
he’d  begun  to  claim  that  illustration;  which  he  was  doing  himself;  wasn’t 
contrary  to  the  religion  or  the  sacred  book…This  was  exactly  the  pretext 
sought by the Erzurumis; who were desperate to find an aspect contrary to the 
religion。  Elegant  Effendi  and  your  Enishte  were  a  perfect  match  for  each 
other。” 
“And you’re the one who killed them both; isn’t that so?” said Black。 
I thought for a moment that he would hit me; and in that instant; I also 
knew beautiful Shekure’s new husband really had nothing to plain about 
in  the  murder  of  his  Enishte。  He  wouldn’t  strike  me;  and  even  if  he  did;  it 
made no difference to me any longer。 
“In actuality; as much as Our Sultan wanted to have a book prepared under 
the  influence  of  the  Frankish  artists;”  I  continued  stubbornly;  “your  Enishte 
wanted to prepare a provocative book whose taint of illicitness would feed his 
own pride。 He felt a slavish awe toward the pictures of the Frankish masters 
he’d seen during his travels; and he’d fallen pletely for the artistry that he 
regaled  us  about  for  days  on  end—you  too  must  have  heard  that  nonsense 
about perspective and portraiture。 If you ask me; there was nothing damaging 
or  sacrilegious  in  the  book  we  were  preparing…Since  he  was  well  aware  of 
this; he pretended that he was preparing a forbidden book and this gave him 
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great  satisfaction…Being  involved  in  such  a  dangerous  venture  with  the 
Sultan’s personal permission was as important to him as the pictures of the 
Frankish masters。 True; if we’d made a painting with the intent of exhibiting 
it;  that  would’ve  been  sacrilege。  Yet  in  none  of  those  pieces  could  I  sense 
anything  contrary  to  religion;  any  faithlessness;  impiety  or  even  the  vaguest 
illicitness。 Did you sense anything of the sort?” 
My eyes had almost imperceptibly lost strength; but thank God; I could see 
enough to kno pause。 
“You  cannot  be  certain;  can  you?”  I  said;  gloating。  “Even  if  you  secretly 
believe that the blemish of blasphemy or the shadow of sacrilege exists in the 
pictures we’ve made; you could never accept this belief and express it; because 
this would be equivalent to giving credence to the zealots and Erzurumis who 
oppose  and  accuse  you。  On  the  other  hand;  you  cannot  claim  with  any 
conviction that you’re as innocent as freshly fallen snow; because this would 
mean  giving  up  both  the  dizzying  pride  and  refined  self…congratulation  of 
engaging  in  a  secretive;  mysterious  and  forbidden  act。  Do  you  know  how  I 
became aware that I was behaving pretentiously in this way? By bringing poor 
Elegant Effendi to this dervish lodge in the middle of the night! I brought him 
here  with  the  excuse  that  we’d  nearly  frozen  walkin

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