第17部分(第2/7 页)

　tell

him　about　the　hidden　logic　of　red　within　the　picture；　I　was　going　to　elucidate

the　things　my　wife　and　I　had　laughingly　discussed　while　admiring　the　piece；

such　as　how　I’d　lovingly　colored—something　the　old　masters　never　did—the

dog　resting　off　to　the　side　in　precisely　the　same　hue　as　the　Sultan’s　caftan　of

atlas　silk；　but　he　asked　me　a　very　rude；　discourteous　question：

Would　I；　perchance；　have　any　idea　where　unfortunate　Elegant　Effendi　might

be？

What　did　he　mean　“unfortunate”！　I　didn’t　say　that　Elegant　Effendi　was　a

worthless plagiarist； a fool who did his gilding for money alone with nary a

hint　of　inspiration。　“Nay；”　I　said；　“I　do　not　know。”

Had I ever considered that the aggressive and fanatical followers of the

preacher　from　Erzurum　might’ve　done　Elegant　Effendi　harm？

I maintained my posure and refrained from responding that Elegant

Effendi　himself　was　no　doubt　one　of　their　lot。　“Nay；”　I　said。　“Why？”

The　poverty；　plague；　immorality　and　scandal　we　are　slave　to　in　this　city　of

Istanbul can only be attributed to our having distanced ourselves from the

Islam of the time of Our Prophet； Apostle of God； to adopting new and vile

customs and to allowing Frankish； European sensibilities to flourish in our

midst。　This　is　all　that　the　Preacher　Erzurumi　is　saying；　but　his　enemies　attempt

to　persuade　the　Sultan　otherwise　by　claiming　that　the　Erzurumis　are　attacking

dervish　lodges　where　music　is　played；　and　that　they’re　defacing　the　tombs　of

saints。 They know I don’t share their animosity toward His Excellency

Erzurumi； so they’re makin