The lesson was ending.“Nadine, How would you define beauty?"
“Whatever satisfies our aesthetic sense, there, that, in my opinion, is beauty. However I know that, according to Plato, “beauty is the splendour of truth”.To answer Nadine had got up and blushed a little. She was a tall, slender girl, still rather immature,and yet striking. Her eyes were dark and slightly melancholic, long, as the ones of a gazelle, and she could not keep her hands still, especially when she felt nervous as at present, with Zaroud glancing at her severely.“And you, Samiar, do you agree?”The Master, as Zaroud liked to be called, addressed to a boy hardly younger than Nadine. In his smiling eyes was dancing a flash of the impassioned disposition he had inherited from his mother.“Most probably Nadine is right, Master. However I would like to add that beauty, when it is real, cheers us up. When we discover it, we rejoyce. Maybe that’s why to decide what is beautiful depends on each individual, and people don’t always agree.”“ In this regard, Samiar, you stated a well-known and yet deep truth: beauty, in fact, lies in the eye of the one who looks.On this subject I will tell you a story.The Caliph Harun al Rashid in Baghdad, having heard of the passionate love of Majnun for the famous beauty Leila, ordered Leila to come to his palace for him to look at her. After watching her carefully, he said to Majnun that, certainly, Leila was quite beautiful, but not extraordinary. Majnun replied: “Leila’s beauty is perfect. It is your eye that is at fault”.“Even so – said Zaroud – there are faces, for instance, which almost everyone considers beautiful. And do you know why? Because of their regular features, sure, but, above all, because of the symmetry of the two sides. The symmetry, without any doubt.Symmetry, in fact, usually produces harmony, and beauty is, essentially, sublime harmony.In a flower as in a building, in matching two colours as well as in a poet verse, we look for that emotional vibration which we can get only through harmony, that is through beauty.And let us not forget that men cannot invent harmony laws, they can just discover them.”“The class is over. You may go” he added, watching them one by one and wondering, unawares, whether they would ever remember his teachings.The group of young people bowed their heads and left the room in silence. Zaroud, in fact, used to give lessons on subjects which were every time different, to the offsprings of the city well-known families.2All his lessons, however, aimed at educating them to understand and appreciate aestethics. He believed, in fact, that his disciples could learn technics later on by somebody else. But they could not get - from anybody - teachings equal to his own.Zaroud was regarded - notwithstanding his age - the outstanding architect, the most brilliant one, the only one who had been capable to erect - for the Crystal Pavilion of the Prince of Mudam - a dome of such a size without any pillar in sight. And his tiles, which completly covered the facade of the Marble Palace, were not, each one of them, a real work of art?And not just an architect: Zaroud was also a refined calligrapher, and a deep connoiseur of the Seven Arts.
When his projects and his studies left him any spare time, Zaroud devoted himself to his – let us say - favourite occupation, since it was much more than a hobby. And he put into it the same commitment, the same passion as if he had to design a splendid residence, pursuing harmony and symmetry: an issue, the one about symmetry, which was his fixed idea.He devoted himself - a job certainly unusual for a person like him - in the first place to design, and then to make babouches of every kind.At the beginning, all those who knew him had judged a fancy this occupation but, in time, they had to admit that, in this job too, Zaroud had showed himself a master. The point is that they did not understand that there was no difference between an architectural project and the design of a pair of babouches: they were both, for him, a way to face himself, to reach a goal, to come near to perfection, a target always extremely difficult to hit. A spiritual target, after all, for him.Knowing his passion, the best suppliers of fabrics, when they thought they had a novelty, would hurry to knock at his door, since they knew that, if he would take into account what they were proposing, then the price would not be the main point.Refined velvets, corduroys which ribs were as thin as blades of grass, shot silk, woollen cloth as smooth and soft as sour black cherries, cotton cloth light and yet extremely strong, bright taffeta, charming ribbons, delicate damask: all kinds of fabrics were examined by Zaroud with an expert eye, and his hands never got tired of handling and caressing them. In the meanwhile he was thinking of how he could best use them. He considered the weft thinness on the reverse side of the cloth, the ribs relief, how even the quilt was and, obviously, the dyeing quality.And for every model of babouches, he used to consider what kind of embroidery to put on, or which semi-precious stone to use as an ornament.3When he devoted himself to this job, he would put on his smock and sit down on the stool in front of a table crammed with rolls of cloth, yarns coming in a variety of colours, silk threads wound into a ball, assortments of embroydery patterns.On a copper small pan on the fire he used to keep the glue, which he made himself using a rubber solution and gutta-percha.Whoever would have watched him at work would have found it hard to recognize the famous architect.And yet this was the job that gave him the greatest satisfaction, after so many years spent in creating harmony in fountains, palaces, towers, pavilions and mausoleums. May be because to be able to use his hands to give free play to his creativity, gave him a pleasure he had never experienced in the past.All his clients belonged to his circle, who knew quite well that they had to make a reservation well in advance, since every pair of babouches was unique, made to order.Which meant that, before starting to work, Zaroud used to consider the standing of the person who would put on those shoes, his or her personality, their dressing style, on which occasion the shoes would be used.This explained the long waiting list but also the great distinction which his babouches conferred to the person who would own them.
Once, many years ago, the Prince of Mudam, a city which was seven days on horseback from Kirbiz, had invited Zaroud to visit him to design for him a Pavilion for falconry, a kind of hunting the Prince was fond of.During his stay in Mudam Zaroud had met Massoud, the cobbler.His tiny shop was so crammed that there was hardly any room for himself: sandals, shoes of all kinds, for men and for women, rolls of hides, strips of leather, bowls of glue, and a lot of different tools almost prevented him from sitting down at his small, low table.Massoud was very old and in order to see, in addition to a pair of glasses with a thin metal frame, which he wore down on his nose, he used to keep, next to him, an oil lamp always lighted.His failing eyes, however, had not prevented him from noticing, as soon as Zaroud had come in, his babouches, which he immediately recognized as worthy of the highest praise.That was how the architect and the cobbler started to see each other.Massoud thought - because Zaroud had let him believe it , minding not to disclose the reason of his journey to Mudam - that Zaroud devoted himself to make only that kind of shoes, babouches .And he was convinced that, just because he had restricted himself to them, he had reached such a perfection. Which, as we have seen, was true in part only.4One day Massoud suggested Zaroud an exchange: if Zaroud would make him a present of his babouches, then he would disclose him a secret which he had never revealed to anybody, and that he had kept for many years, since he had wanted to disclose it only to the person who would deserve it as a first-rate cobbler.By now he was old - he had added - and before long he would not be able to make use of his arcane knowledge. Zaroud, whose interest had been roused, immediately agreed. He took his babouches off, put them on the table and in exchange he received a pair of sandals.Massoud had been quite happy.It was spring, the air was clear, and that night the moon would be full.“Come back to-morrow - Massoud had told him - and you will be able to see, in addition to know, the secret I was speaking of “.The following evening Zaroud went to visit the cobbler in his shop.Without uttering a word Massoud pulled up from under the table a pair of women’ shoes which Zaroud had seen before, since they were the only ones in morocco leather.But now the colour was different. The red of the leather was hardly visible: it looked as if the shoes had been plunged into a faint light, a silver brightness, as Zaroud had never seen.The cobbler was staring in Zaroud’s face, enjoying his amazement.Then he had added: “If you leave on your windowsill a pair of babouches in a clear night, when the moon is full, the moonlight will change them, turning their colour into such a silvery pallor and giving them that brilliance. For it to succeed, however, it is necessary that you believe in it.”That was how Zaroud, since then, had been able - whenever it suited him - to make “luminescent” babouches, as he used to call them , which reminded him of the crest of waves by moonlight. Nobody, obviously, since they knew him, had ever dared ask him how he could get such an amazing result.A process which he used, in particular, when his babouches would be worn on important occasions and which he reserved for those people who, in his opinion, had the right personality.He decided to make a pair for himself too, which he used to put on, however, rarely, and only when he was alone.
As usual, one of Zaroud’s sources of inspiration, perhaps the main one, in whatever he had done and in what he was still doing, had been the observation of nature, from which he obtained hints and ideas. This was why he was very glad whenever he could go for a walk in the wood which spread, for miles and miles, close to the city.5That day too Zaroud started to go towards the woods and, while walking inside, he recognized over there the big walnut tree, farther on the group of old oaks close to the fox hole, where the path bent to the right the rock on which several times he had stopped to rest.It was late in the afternoon: very soon the first evening shadows would be falling, and the sky was full of screeching of birds which were going back to their nests.Somewhere over there Balook, the bear, had its den.Balook, we could say, more than accustomed, had become fond of the people who used to walk in the wood. They in fact used to leave behind big bowls oh honey of which Balook, as all bears, was gluttonous. However very few people could, in all honesty, say that they had seen the bear, also because Balook was a great sleepyhead, and he therefore used to spend a big part of his time dozing, someplace.But if it was difficult to meet Balook, meeting the winged elves was even harder, although - it was sure - they lived in Kirbiz wood.There were people who said and maintained that they had seen a few of them., but most of Kirbiz inhabitants were not so sure. Perhaps those who said they had seen them had actually got confused: they had seen a bird, or one of those squirrels as quick as a ferret, which became visible and disappeared in a flash.Zaroud kept on walking until he reached a spot in the thick of the wood, where the path almost disappeared. The branches of the trees interlaced up there forming a green dome, and one could barely catch a glimpse of the top of the trees, lit up by the last rays of the sun.In that twilight Zaroud got the impression that he had seen something, he could not have said what, but for sure it had not been a bird.He looked carefully: maybe it had been a reflection of light, or a breath of wind playing with the leaves.He was ready to go away, when that something he had believed a reflection looked to him as if it was descending from the tree, and suddenly Zaroud saw it in front of himself, dancing. It was a light, translucent and wavering, as he had never happened to see. The light stopped, with a light tremor, opposite his face. Just then he heard a feeble voice, trilling. “I’m Darlit, the elf. In a little while the night will fall, and when it is growing dark we elves can carry out the mission which has been entrusted to us”.His voice was going up and down, as if he were singing.Zaroud was so astonished that he could not utter a word. Moreover, he was afraid that, should he pronounce a word, the light could disappear.At long last he mastered up his courage. “ I’m Zaroud - he said - and I hope I did not disturb you by coming here”. 6After a while, since the light had not got away, he added “May I ask, which is the mission entrusted to you, the one you just mentioned?”It looked as if the elf was thinking the question over, because he did not answer for quite a while. However, after some time, Zaroud heard his trilling “The elves have been entrusted the task to take illusions to men”.“Men, when they grow up, forget that reality is just a dream, something they used to understand quite well when they were children. That’s the reason why happiness and harmony are often missing in men’ life.We sometimes visit men at night, when they indulge to sleep, and we take them the illusions they need, to go on living”. “One last question, if I may - Zaroud added - Why did you decide to appear to me ? ““Because - answered Darlit - I saw the babouches you wear . I realize that you believe in illusions. I myself am an illusion.And in a moment the light disappeared in the thick of the wood.
Zaroud was making some notes for the afternoon’s lesson.He had reflected a lot upon Darlit’s words.After so much studying, after so many years spent pursuing, in his work, beauty as the ultimate harmony, and tormenting himself in search of perfection, he felt the time had come for him to devote himself to something much more important. He had to instill in young men the firm belief, rather than just the simple idea, that they should never stop believing in their dreams and in their illusions.That was, for sure, the first step to achieve, one day, the inner peace, when no thought, anymore, disturbs our heart, and nothing keeps us apart from our dreams and our illusions, not even a hair thickness.
Paolo Altamura
September 23, 2004