e　khan’s　dominions　might　be　small　but　he　knows　painting；“

he spent the remaining twenty…five years of his life there。 Whether he ever

knew　that　this　inconsequential　lord　was　blind　remains；　even　today；　a　subject　of

conjecture　and　a　source　of　humor。”

“Do　you　see　this　page？”　I　said　well　into　the　night；　and　this　time　they　both

rushed to my side； candlesticks aloft。 “From the time of Tamerlane’s

grandchildren　to　the　present；　this　volume　has　seen　ten　owners　on　its　way　here

from　Herat　over　a　span　of　one　hundred　fifty　years。”　Using　my　magnifying　lens；

the three of us read the signatures； dedications； historical information and

names of sultans—who’d strangled one another—filling every corner of the

colophon page； pinched together； between and on top of each other： “This

volume was pleted in Herat； with the help of God； by the hand of

Calligrapher Sultan Veli； son of Muzaffer of Herat； in the year of the Hegira

849　for　Ismet…üd　Dünya；　the　wife　of　Muhammad　Juki　the　victorious　brother　of

the Ruler of the World； Baysungur。” Later still； we read that the book had

passed　into　the　possession　of　the　Whitesheep　Sultan　Halil；　thence　to　his　son

Yakup Bey； and thence to the Uzbek sultans in the North； each of whom

happily　amused　himself　with　the　book　for　a　time；　removing　or　ad