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this was the way it is done; not because I believed what I said。 True ability and 
talent couldn’t be corrupted even by the love of gold or fame。 Furthermore; if 
truth be told; money and fame are the inalienable rights of the talented; as in 
my case; and only inspire us to greater feats。 But if I were to say this openly; 
the mediocre illustrators in the miniaturists’ division; rabid with envy; would 
pounce upon me; so; to prove that I love this work more than they themselves 
do; I’ll paint the picture of a tree on a grain of rice。 I’m well aware that this 
lust for ”style;“ ”signature’ and “character‘ has e to us all the way from 
the East by way of certain unfortunate Chinese masters who’ve been led astray 
under the influence of the Europeans; by pictures brought there from the West 
by Jesuit priests。 Nevertheless; let me tell you three parables that prise a 
recital on this topic。” 
 
   
70 
 
Three Parables on Style and Signature 
 
ALIF 
Once upon a time; to the North of Herat; in a mountain castle; there lived a 
young  Khan  who  was  fascinated  with  illuminating  and  painting。  This  Khan 
loved  only  one  of  the  women  in  his  harem;  and  this  striking  Tatar  woman; 
whom  he  loved  madly;  loved  him  in  return。  They  engaged  in  such  bouts  of 
lovemaking; sweating until morning; and lived in such ecstasy that their only 
wish was to live eternally。 They soon discovered the best way to realize their 
wish was by opening books and gazing; for hours and hours and days on end; 
upon the astounding and flawless pictures of the old masters。 As they stared at 
these  perfect  renderings;  unfalteringly  reproduced;  they  felt  as  though  time 
would stop and their own felicity would mingle with the bliss of the golden 
age  revealed  in  the  stories。  In  the  royal  bookmaker’s  workshop;  there  was  a 
miniaturist; a master of masters; who made the same flawless pieces over and 
over  for  the  same  pages  of  the  same  books。  As  was  his  custom;  the  master 
depicted  the  anguish  of  Ferhad’s  love  for  Shirin;  or  the  loving  and  desirous 
glances between Leyla and Mejnun; or the duplicitous; suggestive looks Hüsrev 
and  Shirin  exchanged  in  that  fabled  heavenly  garden—with  one  slight 
alteration however: In place of these legendary lovers; the artist would paint 
the  Khan  and  his  Tatar  beauty。  Beholding  these  pages;  the  Khan  and  his 
beloved  were  thoroughly  convinced  that  their  rapture  would  never  end;  and 
they  showered  the  master  miniaturist  with  praises  and  gold。  Eventually; 
however;  this  adulation  caused  the  miniaturist  to  stray  from  good  sense; 
incited  by  the  Devil;  he  dismissed  the  fact  that  he  was  beholden  to  the  old 
masters for the perfection of his pictures; and haughtily assumed that a touch 
of his own genius would make his work even more appealing。 The Khan and 
his  beloved;  considering  these  innovations—the  personal  stylistic  touches  of 
the master miniaturist—nothing but imperfections; were deeply disturbed by 
them。  In  the  paintings;  which  the  Khan  observed  at  length;  he  felt  that  his 
former bliss had been disrupted in numerous ways; and he grew increasingly 
jealous of his Tatar beauty who was depicted with the individual touch of the 
painter。 So; with the intention of making his pretty Tatar jealous; he made love 
with  another  concubine。  His  beloved  was  so  bereft  upon  learning  of  this 
betrayal from the harem gossips that she silently hanged herself from a cedar 
tree in the harem courtyard。 The Khan; understanding the mistake he’d made 
and realizing that the miniaturist’s own fascination with style lay behind this 
terrible incident; immediately blinded this master artist whom the Devil had 
tempted。 
71 
 
BA 
Once upon a time in a country in the East there was an elderly Sultan; a lover 
of  illustrations;  illuminations  and  miniatures;  who  lived  happily  with  his 
Chinese wife of unsurpassed beauty。 Alas; it soon happened that the Sultan’s 
handsome  son  from  a  previous  marriage  and  the  Sultan’s  young  wife  had 
bee enamored of each other。 The son; who lived in terror of his treachery 
against his father; and ashamed of his forbidden love; sequestered himself in 
the bookmaker’s workshop and gave himself over to painting。 Since he painted 
out  of  the  sorrow  and  strength  of  his  love;  each  of  his  paintings  was  so 
magnificent that admirers couldn’t distinguish them from the work of the old 
masters。  The  Sultan  took  great  pride  in  his  son;  and  his  young  Chinese  wife 
would say; “Yes; magnificent!” as she looked upon the paintings。 “Yet; time will 
surely pass; and if he doesn’t sign his work; no one will know that he was the 
one responsible for this majesty。” The Sultan responded; “If my son signs his 
paintings; won’t he be unjustly taking credit for the techniques and styles of 
the old masters; which he has imitated? Moreover; if he signs his work; won’t 
he be saying ”My paintings bear my imperfections‘?“ The Chinese wife; seeing 
that  she  wouldn’t  be  able  to  convince  her  elderly  husband  on  this  issue  of 
signature;  was;  however;  eventually  successful  in  persuading  his  young  son; 
confined;  as  always;  in  the  bookmaker’s  workshop。  Humiliated  at  having  to 
conceal his love; persuaded by his pretty young stepmother’s ideas and with 
the  Devil’s  coercion;  the  son  signed  his  name  in  a  corner  of  a  painting; 
between wall and grass; in a spot he assumed was beyond notice。 This; the first 
picture he signed; was a scene from Hüsrev and Shirin。 You know the one: After 
Hüsrev and Shirin are wed; Shiruye; Hüsrev’s son from his first marriage; falls 
in  love  with  Shirin。  One  night;  entering  their  bedchamber  through  the 
window;  Shiruye  swiftly  sinks  his  dagger  into  his  father’s  chest。  When  the 
Sultan saw his son’s depiction of this scene; he was overe with the sense 
that  the  painting  embodied  some  flaw;  he’d  seen  the  signature;  but  wasn’t 
consciously aware of it; and he simply reacted to the picture with the thought; 
”This painting bears a flaw。“ And since one would never expect any such thing 
from the old masters; the Sultan was seized by a kind of panic; suspecting that 
this volume he was reading recounted not a story or a legend; but what was 
most  unbefitting  a  book:  reality  itself。  When  the  elderly  man  sensed  this;  he 
was  overe  with  terror。  His  illustrator  son  had  entered  through  the 
window;  as  in  the  painting;  and  without  even  looking  twice  at  his  father’s 
bulging  eyes;  swiftly  drove  his  dagger—as  large  as  the  one  in  the  painting—
into his father’s chest。 
 
72 
 
DJIM 
In  his  History;  Rashiduddin  of  Kazvin  merrily  writes  that  250  years  ago  in 
Kazvin;  manuscript  illumination;  calligraphy  and  illustration  were  the  most 
esteemed and beloved arts。 The reigning Shah in Kazvin at that time ruled over 
forty countries from Byzantium to China—perhaps the love of book arts was 
the secret of this great power—but alas; he had no male heir。 To prevent the 
lands he’d conquered from being divided up after his death; the Shah decided 
to  find  a  bright  miniaturist  husband  for  his  beautiful  daughter;  and  toward 
this end; arranged a petition among the three great young masters of his 
atelier;  all  of  whom  were  bachelors。  According  to  Rashiduddin’s  History;  the 
object   of   the   petition   was   very   simple:   Whoever   made   the   most 
remarkable painting would be the victor! Like Rashiduddin himself; the young 
miniaturists knew that this meant painting in the manner of the old masters; 
and thus; each of the three made a rendition of the most widely liked scene: In 
a  garden  reminiscent  of  Heaven  itself;  a  young  and  beautiful  maiden  stood 
amid  cypress  and  cedar  trees;  among  timid  rabbits  and  anxious  swallows; 
immersed  in  lovelorn  grief;  staring  at  the  ground。  Unknowingly;  the  three 
miniaturists  had  rendered  the  same  scene  exactly  as  the  old  masters  would 
have;  yet;  the  one  who  wanted  to  distinguish  himself  and  thereby  take 
responsibility  for  the  painting’s  beauty  had  hidden  his  signature  among  the 
narcissus flowers in the most secluded spot in the garden。 And on account of 
this  brazen  act;  by  which  the  artist  broke  with  the  humility  of  the  old 
virtuosos;  he  was  immediately  exiled  from  Kazvin  to  China。  Thus;  the 
petition  was  begun  anew  between  the  two  remaining  miniaturists。  This 
time;  both  painted  a  picture  lovely  as  a  poem;  depicting  a  beautiful  maiden 
mounted on her horse in a magnificent garden。 But one of the miniaturists—
whether  by  a  slip  of  his  brush  or  by  intent;  no  one  knew—had  depicted 
strangely the nostrils of the white horse belonging to the maiden with Chinese 
eyes and high cheekbones; and this was straightaway perceived as a flaw by the 
S

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