迪文小说

第4部分（第4页）

own？

Let’s　consider　a　piece　by　Bihzad；　the　master　of　masters；　patron　saint　of　all

miniaturists。　I　happened　across　this　masterpiece；　which　also　nicely　pertains　to

my　situation　because　it’s　a　depiction　of　murder；　among　the　pages　of　a　flawless

niy…year…old　　book　　of　　the　　Herat　　school。　　It　　emerged　　from　　the　　library　　of　　a

Persian　prince　killed　in　a　merciless　battle　of　succession　and　recounts　the　story

of　Hüsrev　and　Shirin。　You；　of　course；　know　the　fate　of　Hüsrev　and　Shirin；　I　refer

to　Nizami’s　version；　not　Firdusi’s：

The　two　lovers　finally　marry　after　a　host　of　trials　and　tribulations；　however；

the　young　and　diabolical　Shiruye；　Hüsrev’s　son　by　his　previous　wife；　won’t　give

them　any　peace。　The　prince　has　his　eye　on　not　only　his　father’s　throne　but　also

his　father’s　young　wife；　Shirin。　Shiruye；　of　whom　Nizami　writes；　“His　breath

had　the　stench　of　a　lion’s　mouth；”　by　hook　or　crook　imprisons　his　father　and

succeeds　to　the　throne。　One　night；　entering　the　bedchamber　of　his　father　and

Shirin；　he　feels　his　way　in　the　dark；　and　on　finding　the　pair　in　bed；　stabs　his

father　in　the　chest　with　his　dagger。　Thus；　the　father’s　blood　flows　till　dawn　and

he　slowly　dies　in　the　bed　that　he　shares　with　the　beautiful　Shirin；　who　remains

sleeping　peacefully　beside　him。

This　picture　by　the　great　master　Bihzad；　as　much　as　the　tale　itself；　addresses

a　grave　fear　I’ve　carried　within　me　for　years：　The　horror　of　waking　in　the　black

of　night　to　realize　there’s　a　stranger　making　faint　sounds　as　he　creeps　about

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the　blackness　of　the　room！　Imagine　that　the　intruder　wields　a　dagger　in　one

hand　as　he　strangles　you　with　the　other。　Every　detail；　the　finely　wrought　wall；

window　and　frame　ornamentation；　the　curves　and　circular　designs　in　the　red

rug；　the　color　of　the　silent　scream　emanating　from　your　clamped　throat　and

the　yellow　and　purple　flowers　embroidered　with　incredible　finesse　and　vigor

on　the　magnificent　quilt　upon　which　the　bare　and　vile　foot　of　your　murderer

mercilessly　　steps　　as　　he　　ends　　your　　life；　　all　　of　　these　　details　　serve　　the　　same

purpose：　While　augmenting　the　beauty　of　the　painting；　they　remind　you　just

ho　in　which　you　will　soon　die　and　the　world　you　will

soon　leave。　The　indifference　of　the　painting’s　beauty　and　of　the　world　to　your

death；　the　fact　of　your　being　totally　alone　in　death　despite　the　presence　of　your

wife；　this　is　the　inescapable　meaning　that　strikes　you。

“This　is　by　Bihzad；”　the　aging　master　said　twenty　years　ago　as　we　examined

the　　book　　I　　held　　in　　my　　trembling　　hands。　　His