portrayed as a servant filling goblets in the crowd； or a
merciless man stoning an adulteress； or a murderer； his hands drenched in
blood。”
Pretending not to understand； I said； “Exactly the way we see Shah Ismail
ascending the throne in those illustrated books that recount ancient Persian
legends。 Or when we e across a depiction of Tamerlane； who actually ruled
long afterward； in the story of Hüsrev and Shirin。”
Was there a noise somewhere in the house？
“It’s as if the Veian paintings were made to frighten us；” said my Enishte
later。 “And it isn’t enough that we be in awe of the authority and money of
these men who mission the works； they also want us to know that simply
existing in this world is a very special； very mysterious event。 They’re
attempting to terrify us with their unique faces； eyes； bearing and with their
clothing whose every fold is defined by shadow。 They’re attempting to terrify
us by being creatures of mystery。”
He explained how once he’d gotten lost in the exquisite portrait gallery of a
lunatic collector whose opulent estate was perched on the shores of Lake
o； the proprietor had collected the portraits of all the great personages in
Frankish history from kings to cardinals； and from soldiers to poets： “When
my hospitable host left me alone to roam as I wished throughout his palazzo；
which he’d proudly given me a tour of； I saw that these supposedly important
infidels—most of whom appeared to be real and some of whom looked me
straight in the eye—had attained their importance in this world solely on
account of hav