my name is red-我的名字叫红-第81节
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notebooks of standard forms and newly finished volumes were stored； as well
as to the private rooms of the Sultan； and the harem so that they could bring
back any books that hadn’t been securely locked up and hidden in the palace
treasury； all of this； naturally； with the permission of Our Sultan。
In a double…leaf illustration from a Book of Victories found in the quarters of
a young prince； which showed the funeral ceremonies of Sultan Süleyman the
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Magnificent who’d died during the siege of Szegetvar； we first examined the
chestnut horse with a white blaze； the gazelle…eyed gray pulling the funeral
carriage and the other melancholy horses fitted with spectacular saddle
blankets and gold embroidered saddles。 Butterfly； Olive and Stork had
illustrated all these horses。 Whether the horses were pulling the large…wheeled
funeral carriage or standing at attention with watery eyes trained on their
master’s body covered with a red cloth； all stood with the same elegant stance
borrowed from the old masters of Herat； that is； with one foreleg proudly
extended and the other firmly planted on the ground beside it。 All their necks
were long and curved； their tails bound up and their manes trimmed and
bed； but none of the noses had the peculiarity we sought。 Neither was this
peculiarity evident in any of the hundreds of horses that bore manders；
scholars and hojas； who’d participated in the funeral ceremony and now
stood at attention on the surrounding hilltops in honor of the late Sultan
Süleyman。
Something of the sadness of this melancholy funeral passed to us as well。 It
upset us to see that this illustrated manuscript； upon which Master Osman
and his miniaturists labored so much； had been ill…treated； and that women of
the harem； playing games with princes； had scribbled and marked various
places on the pages。 Beside a tree under which Our Sultan’s grandfather
hunted； written in a bad hand were the words； “My Exalted Effendi； I love you
and am waiting for you with the patience of this tree。” So； it was with our
hearts full of defeat and sorrow that we pored over the legendary books；
whose creation I’d heard about； but none of which I’d ever seen。
In the second volume of the Book of Skills； which had seen the brush strokes
of all three master miniaturists； we saw； behind the roaring cannon and the
foot soldiers； hundreds of horses of every hue including chestnuts； grays and
blues； clattering along in mail and full panoply； bearing their glorious
scimitar…wielding spahi cavalrymen； as they crossed over pink hilltops in an
orderly advance； but none of their noses was flawed。 “And what is a flaw after
all！” Master Osman said later； while examining a page in the same book；
which depicted the Royal Outer Gate and the parade ground where we
happened to be at that very moment。 We also failed to discover the mark we
were searching for on the noses of the horses of various hues mounted by
guards； heralds and Secretaries of the Divan Council of State in this
illustration； which depicted the hospital off to the right； the Sultan’s Royal
Audience Hall； and the trees in the courtyard on a scale small enough to fit
into the frame yet grand enough to match their importance in our minds。 We
watched Our Sultan’s great…grandfather Sultan Selim the Grim； during the
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time he declared war on the ruler of the Dhulkadirids； erect the imperial tent
along the banks of the Küskün river and hunt scurrying red…tailed black
greyhounds； gazelle fawns with rumps in the air and frightened rabbits； before
leaving a leopard lying in a pool of red blood； its spots blooming like flowers。
Neither the Sultan’s chestnut horse with the white blaze nor the horses upon
which the falconers waited； their birds at the ready on their forearms； had the
mark we were looking for。
Till dusk； we pored over hundreds of horses that had issued from the
brushes of Olive； Butterfly and Stork over the last four or five years： the
Crimean Khan Mehmet Giray’s elegant…eared chestnut palomino； black and
golden horses； pinkish and gray…colored horses whose heads and necks alone
could be seen behind a hilltop during battle； the horses of Haydar Pasha who
recaptured the Halkul…Vad fortress from the Spanish infidels in Tunisia and the
Spaniards’ reddish…chestnut and pistachio…green horses； one of which had
tumbled headlong； as they fled from him； a black horse that caused Master
Osman to remark； “I overlooked this one。 I wonder who did such careless
work？”； a red horse who politely turned his ears to the lute that a royal
pageboy was strumming under a tree； Shirin’s horse； Shebdiz； as bashful and
elegant as she； waiting for her while she bathed in a lake by moonlight； the
lively horses used in javelin jousts； the tempestlike horse and its beautiful
groom that for some reason caused Master Osman to remark； “I loved him
dearly in my youth； I’m very tired”； the sun…colored； golden； winged horse
which Allah sent to the prophet Elijah to protect him from an attack by the
pagans—whose wings had been mistakenly drawn on Elijah； Sultan Süleyman
the Magnificent’s gray thoroughbred with the small head and large body；
which stared sorrowfully at the young and lovable prince； enraged horses；
horses at full gallop； weary horses； beautiful horses； horses that nobody
noticed； horses that would never leave these pages； and horses that leapt over
gilded borders escaping their confinement。
Not one of them bore the signature we were looking for。
Even so； we were able to maintain a persistent excitement in the face of the
weariness and melancholy that descended upon us： A couple of times we
forgot about the horse and lost ourselves to the beauty of a picture； to colors
that forced a momentary surrender。 Master Osman always looked at the
pictures—most of which he himself had created； supervised or ornamented—
more out of nostalgic enthusiasm than wonder。 “These are by Kas？m from the
Kas？m Pasha district！” he said once； pointing out the little purple flowers at
the base of the red war tent of Our Sultan’s grandfather Sultan Süleyman。 “He
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was by no means a master； but for forty years he filled the dead space of
pictures with these five…leaf； single…blossom flowers； before he unexpectedly
died two years ago。 I always assigned him to draw this small flower because he
could do it better than anyone。” He fell silent for a moment； then exclaimed；
“It’s a pity； a pity！” With all my soul； I sensed that these words signified the
end of an era。
Darkness had nearly overtaken us； when a light flooded the room。 There
was a motion。 My heart； which had begun to beat like a drum；
prehended immediately： The Ruler of the World； His Excellency Our
Sultan had abruptly entered。 I threw myself at His feet。 I kissed the hem of His
robe。 My head spun。 I couldn’t look Him in the eye。
He’d long since begun speaking with Head Illuminator Master Osman
anyway。 It filled me with fiery pride to witness Him speak to the man with
whom I’d only moments ago been sitting knee to knee looking at pictures。
Unbelievable； His Excellency Our Sultan was now sitting where I’d been earlier
and He was listening attentively to what my master was explaining； as I had
done。 The Head Treasurer； who was at his side and the Agha of the Falconers
and a few others whose identities I couldn’t make out were keeping close
guard over Him and gazing at the open pages of books with rapt attention。 I
gathered all my courage and looked at length at the face and eyes of the
Sovereign Ruler of the World； albeit with a sidelong glance。 How handsome He
was！ How upright and proper！ My heart no longer beat excitedly。 At that
moment； our eyes met。
“How much I loved your Enishte； may he rest in peace；” He said。 Yes； He
was speaking to me。 In my excitement； I missed some of what He was saying。
“…I was quite aggrieved。 Hofort to see that each of
these pictures he made is a masterpiece。 When the Veian giaour sees these；
he will be stunned and fear my wisdom。 You shall determine who the accursed
miniaturist is by this horse’s nose。 Otherwise； however merciless； it’ll be
necessary to torture all the master miniaturists。”
“Sovereign Refuge of the World Your Excellency My Sultan；” said Master
Osman。 “Perhaps we can better catch the man responsible for this slip of the
brush； if my master miniaturists are forced to draw a horse on a blank sheet of
paper； quickly； without any story in mind。”
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