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