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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第86章

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petitioners  would  line  up  on  days  when  the  Divan  convened;  nor  anyone  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  granaries;  it  was  as  if  I  could  hear  a  continuous  din 
emanating  from  the  windows  of  the  sick  house;  from  the  carpenters’ 
workshop;  the  bakery;  the  stables;  the  grooms  with  their  horses  before  the 
Second  Gate  (whose  spires  I  looked  upon  with  awe)  and  from  among  the 
cypresses。  I  attributed  my  sense  of  alarm  to  the  fear  of  passing  through  the 
Gate of Salutation; or Second Gate; which I would soon be doing for the first 
time in my life。 
At  the  gate;  I  could  neither  focus  my  attention  on  the  spot  where  the 
executioners were said to be ever at the ready; nor could I hide my agitation 
from the keepers of the gate who glanced inquiringly at the bolt of upholstery 
cloth I carried as a prop so onlookers would assume I was assisting my tailor…
cum…guide。 
As soon as we entered the Divan Square; a deep silence enveloped us。 I felt 
my heart pounding even in the veins of my forehead and neck。 This area; so 
often  described  by  my  Enishte  and  others  who  visited  the  palace;  lay  before 
me like a heavenly garden of unequaled beauty。 Yet; I didn’t feel the elation of 
a  man  who’d  entered  Heaven;  just  trepidation  and  pious  reverence;  I  felt 
myself  to  be  a  simple  servant  of  Our  Sultan;  who;  as  I  now  thoroughly 
understood; was indeed the foundation of this worldly realm。 I stared at the 
peacocks  roaming  through  the  greenery;  the  gold  cups  chained  to  splashing 
fountains and the Grand Vizier’s heralds robed in silk (who seemed to move 
about  without  touching  the  ground);  and  I  felt  the  thrill  of  serving  my 
Sovereign。  There  was  no  doubt  that  I  would  plete  Our  Sultan’s  secret 
book;  whose  unfinished  illustrations  I  carried  under  my  arm。  Without 
knowing exactly what I was doing; I trailed behind the tailor; my eyes fixed on 
the Divan Tower; spellbound by fear more than awe now at its proximity。 
Acpanied  by  a  royal  page  who’d  attached  himself  to  us;  we  fearfully 
and silently; as in a dream; passed the Divan building and the Treasury; I felt 
that I’d seen this place before and knew it well。 
We entered through a wide door into a room that was referred to as the 
Old  Divan  Chamber。  Beneath  its  huge  dome;  I  saw  master  artisans  holding 
cloth;  pieces  of  leather;  silver  scabbards  and  mother…of…pearl  inlaid  chests。  I 
inferred  that  these  men  were  from  Our  Sultan’s  craftsmen’s  guilds:  mace 
makers; boot makers; silversmiths; master velvet makers; ivory engravers; and 
luthiers。 They were all waiting outside the Head Treasurer’s door with various 
245 
 
petitions  concerning  payments;  the  acquisition  of  materials  and  requests  to 
enter  the  Sultan’s  forbidden  private  quarters  to  take  measurements。  I  was 
pleased to discover no illuminators among them。 
We withdrew to one side and began to wait as well。 Occasionally; we heard 
the  raised  voice  of  the  treasurer’s  clerk;  suspecting  an  error  in  accounts; 
request clarification; this would be met by a polite response; from a locksmith; 
for  example。  Voices  rarely  rose  above  a  whisper;  the  flutter  of  the  courtyard 
pigeons echoing in the dome above us were louder than the petty requests of 
the humble artisans。 
When my turn came; I entered the Head Treasurer’s small domed chamber 
to  find  it  occupied  by  a  single  clerk。  I  quickly  explained  that  there  was  an 
important matter to be submitted to the Head Treasurer’s attention: A book 
project   that   Our   Sultan   had   missioned   and   that   was   of   utmost 
importance to Him。 Intrigued by what I was holding; the clerk raised his eyes。 I 
showed  him  the  illustrations  from  my  Enishte’s  book。  I  noticed  that  the 
peculiarity  of  the  pictures;  their  striking  eccentricity;  boggled  his  mind。  I 
hastened to inform him of my Enishte’s name; his sobriquet and his vocation; 
adding that he’d died on account of these pictures。 I spoke quickly; well aware 
that if I returned from the palace without reaching Our Sultan; I’d be accused 
of having put Enishte into that dreadful state myself。 
When the clerk left to apprise the Head Treasurer; I broke into a cold sweat。 
Would the Head Treasurer; who; as my Enishte once informed me; never left 
Our Sultan’s side; who on occasion even spread out His prayer rug for Him; 
and  who  was  frequently  His  confidant—would  he  ever  leave  the  restricted 
Enderun quarters of the palace to see me? The fact that a messenger had been 
dispatched to the heart of the palace on my behalf was unbelievable enough。 I 
wondered where Our Excellency the Sultan Himself might be: Had He retired 
to  one  of  the  kiosks  near  the  shore?  Was  He  in  the  harem?  Was  the  Head 
Treasurer in His pany? 
Much  later;  I  was  summoned。  Let  me  put  it  this  way:  I  was  taken  so 
unawares  I  had  no  time  to  be  afraid。  Even  so;  I  panicked  when  I  saw  the 
respect  and  astonishment  in  the  expression  of  the  master  velvet  maker 
standing at the door。 I stepped inside and was at once terrified; I thought I’d 
be unable to speak。 He wore the gold embroidered headdress that only he and 
the  Grand  Viziers  wore;  yes;  I  was  in  the  presence  of  the  Head  Treasurer。  He 
was gazing upon the illustrations that rested on a reading table where the clerk 
had placed them after taking them from me。 I felt as if I were the one who’d 
made the paintings。 I kissed the hem of his robe。 
246 
 
“My dear child;” he said。 “I haven’t misunderstood; have I; your Enishte has 
passed away?” 
I couldn’t answer out of excitement; or perhaps guilt; and simply nodded。 
At  the  same  time  the  pletely  unexpected  happened:  There  before  the 
sympathetic and surprised gaze of the Head Treasurer; a teardrop slid ever so 
slowly  down  my  cheek。  I  was  at  a  loss;  I  was  oddly  affected  by  being  in  the 
palace; by the Head Treasurer having taken leave of Our Sultan to speak to me 
and by being so near to Him。 Tears began to stream from my eyes; but I didn’t 
feel the slightest tinge of embarrassment。 
“Cry to your heart’s content; my dear son;” said the Head Treasurer。 
I  sobbed  and  whimpered。  Though  I’d  assumed  the  past  twelve  years  had 
matured me; being this close to the Sultan; to the heart of the Empire; one fast 
realizes  he  is  but  a  child。  I  cared  not  whether  the  silversmiths  and  velvet 
makers outside heard my sobbing。 I knew I’d confess to the Head Treasurer。 
Yes;  I  told  him  all;  just  as  it  came  to  me。  As  I  once  again  saw  my  dead 
Enishte; my marriage to Shekure; Hasan’s threats; the difficulties relating my 
Enishte’s  book  and  the  secrets  borne  by  the  illustrations;  I  regained  my 
posure。 I felt certain that the only way to extricate myself from the trap I’d 
fallen into was to put myself at the mercy of the infinite justice and affection 
of  Our  Sulta
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