him；　on　the　contrary；　I　tried　to　frighten　him。

For　I　believed　that　fear　was　appropriate　to　the　。

“As　in　those　pictures；”　I　said；　“one　ought　to　be　able　to　situate　oneself　at　the

center　of　the　world。　One　of　my　illustrators　brilliantly　depicted　Death　for　me。

Behold。”

Thus　I　began　to　show　him　the　paintings　I’d　secretly　missioned　from　the

master miniaturists over the last year。 At first； he was a tad shy； even

frightened。　When　he　understood　that　the　depiction　of　Death　was　inspired　by

familiar　scenes　that　could　be　found　in　many　Book　of　Kings　volumes—from　the

scene　of　Afrasiyab’s　decapitation　of　Siyavush；　for　example；　or　Rüstem’s　murder

of　Suhrab　without　realizing　this　e　interested　in

the subject。 Among the pictures that depicted the funeral of the late Sultan

Süleyman was one I’d made with bold but sad colors； bining a

positional sensibility inspired by the Franks with my own attempt at

shading—which I’d added later。 I pointed out the diabolic depth evoked by

the interplay of cloud and horizon。 I reminded him that Death was unique；

just　like　the　portraits　of　infidels　I　had　seen　hanging　in　Veian　palazzos；　all　of

them desperately yearned to be rendered distinctly。 “They want to be so

distinct and different； and they want this with such passion that；” I said；