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horse was rendered in the manner of the old masters。” 
The more we deliberated over the horse; the more beautiful and precious it 
became  in  my  eyes。  His  mouth  was  slightly  open;  his  tongue  visible  from 
between his teeth。 His eyes shone bright。 His legs were strong and elegant。 Did 
a  painting  bee  legendary  for  what  it  was  or  for  what  was  said  about  it? 
Master Osman was ever so slowly moving the magnifying lens over the animal。 
“What  is  it  that  this  horse  is  trying  to  convey?”  I  said  with  naive 
enthusiasm。  “Why  does  this  horse  exist?  Why  this  horse!  What  about  this 
horse? Why does this horse excite me?” 
“The  pictures  as  well  as  the  books  missioned  by  sultans;  shahs  and 
pashas  proclaim  their  power;”  said  Master  Osman。  “The  patrons  find  these 
works beautiful; with their extensive gold leaf and lavish expenditures of labor 
and  eyesight  because  they  are  proof  of  the  ruler’s  wealth。  An  illustration’s 
beauty is significant because it is proof that a miniaturist’s talent is rare and 
expensive  just  like  the  gold  used  in  the  picture’s  creation。  Others  find  the 
picture of a horse beautiful because it resembles a horse; is a horse of God’s 
vision or is a purely imaginary horse; the effect of verisimilitude is attributed 
to talent。 As for us; beauty in illustration begins with subtlety and profusion of 
meaning。  Of  course;  to  discover  that  this  horse  reveals  not  merely  itself;  but 
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the  hand  of  the  murderer;  the  mark  of  that  devil;  this  would  augment  the 
meaning of the picture。 Then there’s finding out that it’s not the image of the 
horse; but the horse itself that’s beautiful; that is; seeing the illustration of the 
horse not as an illustration; but as a true horse。” 
“If  you  looked  at  this  illustration  as  if  you  were  looking  at  a  horse;  what 
would you see there?” 
“Looking at the size of this horse; I could say that this wasn’t a pony but; 
judging from the length and curve of its neck; a good racehorse and that the 
flatness of its back would make it suitable for long trips。 From its delicate legs 
we might infer that it was agile and clever like an Arabian; but its body is too 
long and large to be one。 The elegance of its legs suggests what the Bukharan 
scholar  Fadlan  said  of  worthy  horses  in  his  Book  of  Equines;  that  were  it  to 
happen upon a river it’d easily jump it without being startled and spooked。 I 
know by heart the wonderful things written about the choicest horses in the 
Book of Equines translated so beautifully by our royal veterinarian Fuyuzi; and I 
can tell you that every word applies to the chestnut horse before us: A good 
horse  should  have  a  pretty  face  and  the  eyes  of  a  gazelle;  its  ears  should  be 
straight as reeds with a good distance between them; a good horse should have 
small  teeth;  a  rounded  forehead  and  slight  eyebrows;  it  should  be  tall;  long…
haired; have a short waist; small nose; small shoulders and a broad flat back; it 
should  be  full…thighed;  long…necked;  broadchested;  with  a  broad  rump  and 
meaty  inner  thighs。  The  beast  should  be  proud  and  elegant  and  when  it 
saunters; it should move as though it were greeting those on either side。” 
“That’s our chestnut horse exactly;” I said; looking at the image of the horse 
in astonishment。 
“We’ve  discovered  our  horse;”  said  Master  Osman  with  the  same  ironic 
smile; “but unfortunately this doesn’t do us any good when it es to the 
identity  of  the  miniaturist;  because  I  know  that  no  miniaturist  in  his  right 
mind  would  depict  a  horse  using  a  real  horse  as  a  model。  My  miniaturists; 
naturally; would draw a horse from memory in one motion。 As proof; let me 
remind  you  that  most  of  them  begin  drawing  the  outline  of  the  horse  from 
the tip of one of its hooves。” 
“Isn’t  this  done  so  the  horse  can  be  depicted  standing  firmly  on  the 
ground?” I said apologetically。 
“As  Jemalettin  of  Kazvin  wrote  in  his  The  Illustration  of  Horses;  one  can 
properly  plete  a  picture  of  a  horse  beginning  from  its  hoof  only  if  he 
carries the entire horse in his memory。 Obviously; to render a horse through 
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excessive  thought  and  recollection;  or  even  more  ridiculous;  by  repeatedly 
looking at a real horse; one would have to move from head to neck and then 
neck to body。 I hear there are certain Veian illustrators who are happy to 
sell tailors and butchers such pictures of your average street packhorse drawn 
indecisively by trial and error。 Such an illustration has nothing whatsoever to 
do with the meaning of the world or with the beauty of God’s creation。 But 
I’m  convinced  that  even  mediocre  artists  must  know  a  genuine  illustration 
isn’t  drawn  according  to  what  the  eye  sees  at  any  particular  moment;  but 
according to what the hand remembers and is accustomed to。 The painter is 
always alone before the page。 Solely for this reason he’s always dependent on 
memory。  Now;  there’s  nothing  left  for  us  to  do  but  use  the  ”courtesan 
method‘ to uncover the hidden signature borne by our horse; which has been 
drawn  from  memory  through  the  quick  and  skillful  movement  of  the  hand。 
Take a careful look here。“ 
He  was  ever  so  slowly  moving  the  magnifying  lens  over  the  spectacular 
horse as if he were trying to discover the location of a treasure on an old map 
meticulously rendered on calfskin。 
“Yes;” I said; like a disciple overe by the pressure to make a quick and 
brilliant  discovery  that  would  impress  his  master。  “We  could  pare  the 
colors and embroidery of the saddle blanket to those in the other pictures。” 
“My  master  miniaturists  wouldn’t  even  deign  to  lower  a  brush  to  these 
designs。  Apprentices  draw  the  clothes;  carpets  and  blankets  in  the  pictures。 
Perhaps the late Elegant Effendi might’ve done them。 Forget them。” 
“What about the ears?” I said in a fluster。 “The ears of the horses…” 
“No。 These ears haven’t changed form since the time of Tamerlane; they’re 
just like the leaves of reeds; which we well know。” 
I  was  about  to  say;  “What  about  the  braiding  of  the  mane  and  the 
depiction of every strand of its hair;” but I fell silent; not at all amused by this 
master…apprentice game。 If I’m the apprentice; I ought to know my place。 
“Take a look here;” said Master Osman with the distressed yet attentive air 
of a doctor pointing out a plague pustule to a colleague。 “Do you see it?” 
He’d  moved  the  magnifying  lens  over  the  horse’s  head  and  was  slowly 
pulling it away from the surface of the picture。 I lowered my head to better see 
what was being enlarged through the lens。 
The horse’s nose was peculiar: its nostrils。 
“Do you see it?” said Master Osman。 
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To be certain of what I saw; I thought I should center myself right behind 
the lens。 When Master Osman did likewise; we met cheek to cheek just behind 
the  lens  that  was  now  quite  a  distance  from  the  picture。  It  momentarily 
alarmed me to feel the harshness of the master’s dry beard and the coolness of 
his cheek on my face。 
A  silence。  It  was  as  if  something  wondrous  were  happening  within  the 
picture a handspan away from my weary eyes; and we were witnessing it with 
respect and awe。 
“What’s wrong with the nose?” I was able to whisper much later。 
“He’s drawn the nose oddly;” said Master Osman without taking his eyes 
off the page。 
“Did his hand slip; perhaps? Is this a mistake?” 
We were still examining the peculiar; unique rendering of the nose。 
“Is  this  the  Veian…inspired  ”style‘  everyone;  the  great  masters  of  China 
included; has begun talking about?“ asked Master Osman mockingly。 
I succumbed to resentment; thinking that he was mocking my late Enishte: 
“My Enishte; may he rest in peace; used to say that any fault arising not from 
lack of ability or talent; but from the depths of the miniaturist’s soul; ought 
not be deemed fault but style。” 
However  it  came  about;  whether  by  the  miniaturist’s  own  hand  or  the 
horse  itself;  there  was  no  clue  other  than  this  nose  as  to  the  identity  of  the 
blackguard who murdered my Enishte。 For; let alone making out the nostrils; 
we were having difficulty identifying the noses of the smudged horses on the 
page found with poor Elegant Effendi。 
We  spent  much  time  searching  for  horse  pictures  that  Master  Osman’s 
beloved miniaturists had made for various books in recent years; looking for 
the same irregularity in the horse’s nostrils。 Because the Book of Festivities; still 
being  pleted;  depicted  the  societies  and  guilds  marching  on  foot  before 
Our  Sultan;  there  were  few  horses  among  its  250  illustrations。  Men  were 
dispatched  to  the  book…arts  workshop;  where  certain  figure  books;  some 
notebooks of standard forms and newly finished volumes were stored; a

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