sorrowful yet beautiful; clad
75
in a crimson mantle。 So that this man Black; with his furrowed brows; might
understand how illustrating equaled love…of…life; I was going to explain why
the chained gang of debtors was extended across two pages; I was going to 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 d