Various manuscript pages lay before me and t Master Osman—some exts and ready to be bound, some not yet colored or otever reason—as an entire afternoon evaluating ter miniaturists and te’s book, keeping cs of our assessments. e t of tful but crude men, ed from turists and calligrapsoever to do tly accepting side tra coins), o ted master and removed a piece of paper from his sash.
I paid no mind at first, t itions from a faticesains as possible. I could tell t t t filtered inside. to rest my eyes, I ers of Surists do to stave off premature blindness, t is, I rying to look emptily into tance focusing. t’s opping folds of ter ared at cly tters t S me via Est to say, “ a coincidence” like an idiot, , like S letter, it ing on coarse paper!
Master Osman kept ting to ter t I just then embarrassingly realized was from Shekure.
My Dear Esto sound out late Elegant Effendi’s ed page, er, I to Kalbiye’s o persuade it erest to give me ture. t Effendi’s body ter must o tigation. tfully. Your wife, Shekure.
I carefully read t tiful note taring at t Master Osman inizing, magnifying lens in raigiced t tcion as ters o accustom the hand.
Master Osman, comment, voiced a question: “urist e’s horse.”
Could ain? Moreover, at all sure .
It you couldn’t take your eyes off of. as I being truty of time to look at te, and later, rations, but I given it muc t iful, but ordinary
even able to determine a true cnut, but more bay-colored; t of red in its coat as en in otrations t I kne’d been drae turist’s stopping to give it any consideration at all.
e stared at til concealed a secret. No s rising before my eyes and a force t roused a zest for life, learning and embracing turist ouc depicted t?” as if ten suddenly t a base murderer. tood before me as if it ration; being caugs was encing and aroused in me a sense of wion.
For a time, ice e’s book, determining finally t tances of trong and elegant studs bespoke stillness ration. I e’s book.
“tacular gives one to pull out a piece of paper and copy it, and to dra thing.”
“test compliment you can pay a painter is to say t imulated your oo illustrate,” said Master Osman. “But no’s forget about alent and try to uncover tity. e Effendi, may in peace, ever mentioned tory ture to accompany?”
“No. According to lived in t our poan rules. It is a toman line. It is a symbol t rate to tian Doge Our Sultan’s rol. But on tian masters depict, to be more lifelike t lived in a particular stable icular groom in Istanbul so t tian Doge migo as ttoman miniaturists o see ttomans to resemble us,“ in turn, accepting Our Sultan’s poo see tly. Despite its peculiarities, ters.”
ted over tiful and precious it became in my eyes. ly open, ongue visible from bet. rong and elegant. Did a painting become legendary for it? Master Osman he animal.
“ is it t trying to convey?” I said ? about te me?”
“tures as ans, ser Osman. “trons find tiful, ensive gold leaf and lavisures of labor and eyesigration’s beauty is significant because it is proof t a miniaturist’s talent is rare and expensive just like ture’s creation. Oture of a iful because it resembles a of verisimilitude is attributed to talent. As for us, beauty in illustration begins lety and profusion of meaning. Of course, to discover t t merely itself, but t devil, t ture. t t it’s not t tself t’s beautiful; t is, seeing tration of t as an illustration, but as a true horse.”
“If you looked at tration as if you a here?”
“Looking at t t a pony but, judging from ts neck, a good race tness of its back suitable for long trips. From its delicate legs its body is too long and large to be one. ts legs suggests to ’d easily jump it being startled and spooked. I knoten about t ranslated so beautifully by our royal veterinarian Fuyuzi, and I can tell you t every o tnut ty face and ts ears sraigance beteet eyebro sall, long- , small nose, small s back; it sed, y inner t s and ers, it s ing ther side.”
“t’s our cnut ly,” I said, looking at tonis.
“e’ve discovered our er Osman unfortunately t do us any good o tity of turist, because I kno no miniaturist in mind a urists, naturally, me remind you t most of tline of tip of one of its hooves.”
“Isn’t ted standing firmly on tically.
“As Jemalettin of Kazvin e in ration of e a picture of a s ire o render a
and recollection, or even more ridiculous, by repeatedly looking at a real o move from o neck and to body. I ain Venetian illustrators ailors and butcures of your average street packrial and error. Sucration soever to do y of God’s creation. But I’m convinced t even mediocre artists must knoration isn’t drao any particular moment, but according to omed to. ter is al on memory. No for us to do but use tesan meto uncover ture borne by our of take a careful look here.”
acular rying to discover tion of a treasure on an old map meticulously rendered on calfskin.
“Yes,” I said, like a disciple overcome by to make a quick and brilliant discovery t to tures.”
“My master miniaturists even deign to loices dras and blankets in tures. Pere Elegant Effendi mig them.”
“ about ter. “the horses…”
“No. t cime of tamerlane; t like the leaves of reeds, which we well know.”
I to say, “ about tion of every strand of its I fell silent, not at all amused by ter-apprentice game. If I’m tice, I ougo know my place.
“take a look er Osman ressed yet attentive air of a doctor pointing out a plague pustule to a colleague. “Do you see it?”
aure. I loter see he lens.
ts nostrils.
“Do you see it?” said Master Osman.
to be certain of I ser myself riger Osman did like co c be e a distance from ture. It momentarily alarmed me to feel ter’s dry beard and the coolness of his cheek on my face.
A silence. It ure a nessing it and awe.
“’s o wer.
“er Osman taking he page.
“Did ake?”
e ill examining the nose.
“Is tian-inspired ”style“ everyone, t masters of Calking about?” asked Master Osman mockingly.
I succumbed to resentment, t e Enise, may in peace, used to say t any fault arising not from lack of ability or talent, but from turist’s soul, oug be deemed fault but style.”
came about, ’s oo tity of te. For, let alone making out trils, ifying t Effendi.
e spent mucime searcures t Master Osman’s beloved miniaturists years, looking for ty in trils. Because tivities, still being completed, depicted ties and guilds marc before Our Sultan, ts 250 illustrations. Men co ts ebooks of standard forms and neo te rooms of tan, and t t been securely locked up and reasury, all of turally, an.
In a double-leaf illustration from a Book of Victories found in ters of a young prince, examined tnut e blaze, tted acular saddle blankets and gold embroidered saddles. Butterfly, Olive and Stork rated all the horses were
pulling tanding at attention ery eyes trained on ter’s body covered ood stance borroers of , t is, ended and ted on t. All tails bound up and trimmed and combed, but none of ty in any of t bore commanders, scicipated in tood at attention on tops in e Sultan Süleyman.
Someto us as upset us to see t trated manuscript, upon s labored so mucreated, and t ree under ed, ten in a bad ed Effendi, I love you and am ing for you ience of tree.” So, it s full of defeat and sorro ion I’d , but none of which I’d ever seen.
In trokes of all ter miniaturists, s, grays and blues, clattering along in mail and full panoply, bearing tar- none of t is a flaer all!” Master Osman said later, er Gate and to be at t very moment. e also failed to discover ted by guards, aries of tate in tration, al off to t, tan’s Royal Audience rees in tyard on a scale small enougo fit into t grand enougo matcance in our minds. e can’s great-grandfatan Selim time tent along t scurrying red-tailed black greyened rabbits, before leaving a leopard lying in a pool of red blood, its spots blooming like floan’s cnut e blaze nor ted, t the mark we were looking for.
till dusk, erfly and Stork over t four or five years: t Giray’s elegant-eared cnut palomino; black and golden op during battle; tured tress from tunisia and tnut and pistacumbled caused Master Osman to remark, “I overlooked tely turned o te t a royal pageboy rumming under a tree; S as sing for ; ts; tempestlike s beautiful groom t for some reason
caused Master Osman to remark, “I loved ired”; t to t Elijao protect tack by takenly dra’s gray tared sorro t full gallop; iced; leapt over gilded borders escaping t.
Not one of ture we were looking for.
Even so, o maintain a persistent excitement in t descended upon us: A couple of times about t ourselves to ty of a picture, to colors t forced a momentary surrender. Master Osman al tures—most of ed—more out of nostalgic entrict!” ing out ttle purple flo tent of Our Sultan’s grandfatan Süleyman. “er, but for forty years ures edly died t better t for a moment, t’s a pity, a pity!” it the end of an era.
Darkness aken us, ion. My , like a drum, compreely: tan ly entered. I t . I kissed t look he eye.
or Master Osman any filled me o ness o ts ago been sitting knee to knee looking at pictures. Unbelievable; an ting tentively to er ies I couldn’t make out attention. I gat lengt t and proper! My no longer beat excitedly. At t moment, our eyes met.
“e, may in peace,” o me. In my excitement, I missed some of w he was saying.
“…I e aggrieved. ’s quite a comfort to see t eacures erpiece. ian giaour sees tunned and fear my is by t’ll be
necessary to torture all ter miniaturists.”
“Sovereign Refuge of tan,” said Master Osman. “Perter catcer miniaturists are forced to dra any story in mind.”
“Only, of course, if t an actual nose,” said Our Sultan shrewdly.
“My Sultan,” said Master Osman, “to tition by express command of Your onigo visit Your miniaturists, requesting to draest…”
Our Sultan looked at t said, “Did you ?” t Nizami’s stories of rivalry I like best of all?”
Some of us said, “e know.” Some said, “.
“I’m not fond of test of poets or tory about test beters and tan. “I like best test of doctors o th.”
After ly took leave of us for his evening prayers.
Later, as ter exiting tes of toest of doctors:One of tors competing in tan—ten depicted in pink—made a poison green pill strong enougo fell an elep, or, tan. t doctor first seridote t made. As could be understood from le laug all o o give ely, savoring taking urn, to erious poem into its petals. Next, ures t bespoke extreme confidence, ended to take in its bouquet. tated tor in pink t upon bringing to its regular scent, of fear and died.