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迪文小说>我的名字叫红怎么样 > 第16部分(第3页)

第16部分(第3页)

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

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