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
Shah and his daughter。 True； this miniaturist hadn’t signed his name； but in
his splendid painting； he’d apparently included a masterful variation in the
horse’s nostrils to distinguish the work。 The Shah； declaring that
“Imperfection is the mother of style；” exiled this illustrator to Byzantium。 Yet
there was one last significant event according to the weighty History by
Rashiduddin of Kazvin； which occurred when preparations were being made
for the wedding between the Shah’s daughter and the talented miniaturist；
who painted exactly like the old masters without any signature or variation：
For the entire day before the wedding； the Shah’s daughter gazed grief…stricken
at the painting made by the young and handsome great master who was to
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bee her husband on the morrow。 As darkness fell that evening； she
presented herself to her father： “It is true； yes； that the old masters； in their
exquisite paintings； would depict beautiful maidens as Chinese； and this is an
unalterable rule e to us from the East；” she said。 “But when they loved
someone； the painters would include an aspect of their beloved in the
rendering of the beautiful maiden’s brow； eye； lip； hair； smile； or even eyelash。
This secret variation in their illustrations would be a sign that could be read by
the lovers and the lovers alone。 I’ve stared at the beautiful maiden mounted
on her horse for the whole day； my dear father； and there’s no trace of me in
her！ This miniaturist is perhaps a great master； he’s young and handsome； but
he does not love me。” Thereupon； the Shah canceled the wedding at once； and
father and daughter lived out the remainder of their lives together。
“Thus； according to this third parable； imperfection gives rise to what we
call ”style；“” said Black quite politely and respectfully。 “And does the fact that
the miniaturist is in love bee apparent from the hidden ”sign‘ in the
image of the beauty’s face； eye or smile？“
“Nay；” I said in a manner that bespoke my confidence and pride。 “What
passes from the maiden； the focus of the master miniaturist’s love； to his
picture is not ultimately imperfection or flaw but a new artistic rule。 Because；
after a time and through imitation； everyone will begin to depict the faces of
maidens just like that particular beautiful maiden’s face。”
We fell silent。 I saw that Black； who’d listened intently to the three parables
I recounted； had now focused his attentions upon the sounds my attractive
wife made as she roamed the hallway and the next room。 I glared at him
menacingly。
“The first story established that ”style‘ is imperfection；“ I said。 ”The second
story established that a perfect picture needs no signature； and the third
marries the ideas of the first and the second； and thus demonstrates that
“signature’ and ”style‘ are but means of being brazenly and stupidly self…
congratulatory about flawed work。“
How much did this man； to whom I’d just given an invaluable lesson；
understand of painting？ I said： “Have you understood who I am from my
stories？”
“Certainly；” he said； without conviction。
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So you don’t try to discern who I am through his eyes and perceptions；
allow me to tell you directly。 I can do anything。 Like the old masters of Kazvin；
I can draw and color with pleasure and glee。 I say this with a smile： I’m better
than everybody。 I have nothing whatsoever to do with the reason for Black’s
visit； which—if perchance my intuition serves me correctly—is the disappear…
ance of Elegant Effendi the Gilder。
Black asked me about the mixing of marriage and art。
I work a lot and I enjoy my work。 I recently married the most beautiful
maiden in the neighborhood。 When I’m not illuminating； we make love like
mad。 Then I set to working again。 That’s not how I answered。 “It’s a serious
issue；” I said。 “If masterpieces issue from the brush of a miniaturist； when it
es to issuing it to his wife； he’ll be at a loss to bestir the same joy；” I said。
“The opposite holds true as well： If a man’s reed satisfies the wife； his reed of
artistry will pale in parison；” I added。 Like everyone who envies the talent
of the miniaturist； Black； too； believed these lies and was heartened。
He said he wanted to see the last pages I’d illustrated。 I seated him at my
worktable； among the paints； inkwells； burnishing stones； brushes； pens and
reed…cutting boards。 Black was examining the double…leaf painting I was in the
process of pleting for the Book of Festivities； which portrayed Our Prince’s
circumcision ceremony； and I sat beside him on the red cushion whose
warmth reminded me that my