a　child’s；　and　he　smiled。　“Hüsrev；　burning　with　love；　as

he waits astride his horse for Shirin before her palace in the middle of the

night；”　he　said。　“Rendered　in　the　style　of　the　old　masters　of　Herat。”

He　was　now　gazing　at　the　picture　as　if　he　could　see　it；　but　he　hadn’t　even

taken　the　magnifying　glass　into　his　hand。

“Can you see the splendor in the leaves of the trees in the nighttime

darkness； appearing one by one as if illuminated from within like stars or

spring flowers； the humble patience implied by the wall ornamentation； the

refinement in the use of gold leaf and the delicate balance in the entire

painting’s　position？　Handsome　Hüsrev’s　horse　is　as　graceful　and　elegant　as

a　woman。　His　beloved　Shirin　waits　at　the　window　above　him；　her　neck　bowed；

but　her　face　proud。　It’s　as　if　the　lovers　are　to　remain　here　eternally　within　the

light　emanating　from　the　painting’s　texture；　skin　and　subtle　colors　which　were

applied　lovingly　by　the　miniaturist。　You　can　see　how　their　faces　are　turned　ever

so　slightly　toward　one　another　while　their　bodies　are　half…turned　toward　us—

for they know they’re in a painting and thus visible to us。 This is why they

don’t　try　to　resemble　exactly　those　figures　which　we　see　around　us。　Quite　to

the　contrary；　they　signify　that　they’ve　emerged　from　Allah’s　memory。　This　is

why　time　has　stopped　for　them　within　that　picture。　No　matter　how　fast　the

pace　of　the　story　they　tell　in　the　picture；　they　themselves　will　remain　for　all

eternity　there；　like　well…bred；　polite；　shy　young　maidens；　without　making　any

sudden　gestures　with　their　h