at this
too is ”a standard form。“”
“My dear master；” I said； overwhelmed with awe； “as we hoped； your
”courtesan method‘ truly did produce an answer。 It seems that each artist also
bears his own hidden signature。“
“Not each artist； but each workshop；” he said with pride。 “And not even
each workshop。 In certain miserable workshops； as in certain miserable
families； everyone speaks in a different voice for years without acknowledging
359
that happiness is born of harmony； and that as a matter of course； harmony
bees happiness。 Some painters try to illustrate like the Chinese； some like
the Turkmen and some like they do in Shiraz； fighting for years on end； never
attaining a happy union—like a discontented husband and wife。”
I saw that pride quite definitely ruled his face； the cross expression of a man
who wanted to be all powerful had now replaced the look of the morose；
pitiable old man that I’d seen him wear for so long。
“My dear master；” I said； “over a period of twenty years here in Istanbul；
you’ve united various artists from the four corners of the world； men of all
natures and temperaments； in such harmony that you’ve ended up creating
and defining the Ottoman style。”
Why did the awe that I’d felt wholeheartedly only a short time ago give way
to hypocrisy as I voiced my feelings？ For our praise of a man； whose talent and
mastery genuinely astounds us； to be sincere； must he lose most of his
authority and influence and bee slightly pathetic？
“Now then； where’s that dwarf hiding？” he said。
He said this the way power