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Chinese do and painted her with slanted eyes;” said Master Osman。 
“Whoever  she  might  be;  my  heart  aches  for  this  sad  beauty;  traveling  the 
steppe in the middle of the night acpanied by grim…faced foreign guards; 
heading  to  a  strange  land  and  a  husband  she’s  never  seen;”  I  said。  Then  I 
immediately added; “How shall we determine who our miniaturist is from the 
clipped nostrils of the horse she rides?” 
“Turn  the  pages  of  the  album  and  tell  me  what  you  see;”  said  Master 
Osman。 
Just  then;  we  were  joined  by  the  dwarf  whom  I’d  seen  sitting  on  the 
chamber  pot  as  I  was  running  to  bring  the  volume  to  Master  Osman;  the 
three of us looked at the pages together。 
We  saw  strikingly  beautiful  Chinese  maidens  depicted  in  the  style  of  our 
melancholy bride gathered together in a garden playing a peculiar…looking lute。 
We  saw  Chinese  houses;  morose…looking  caravans  heading  out  on  long 
journeys; vistas of the steppes as beautiful as old memories。 We saw gnarled 
trees  rendered  in  the  Chinese  style;  their  spring  blossoms  in  full  bloom;  and 
nightingales tipsy with elation perched on their branches。 We saw princes in 
the Khorasan style seated in their tents holding forth on poetry; wine and love; 
spectacular gardens; and handsome nobles; with magnificent falcons clutching 
their forearms; hunting bolt upright astride their exquisite horses。 Then; it was 
as if the Devil had passed into the pages; we could sense that the evil in the 
illustrations was most often reason itself。 Had the miniaturist added an ironic 
touch to the actions of the heroic prince who slew the dragon with his gigantic 
lance?  Had  he  gloated  at  the  poverty  of  the  unfortunate  peasants  expecting 
fort from the sheikh in their midst? Was it more pleasurable for him to 
draw the sad; empty eyes of dogs locked in coitus or to apply a devilish red to 
the open mouths of the women laughing scornfully at the poor beasts? Then 
we  saw  the  miniaturist’s  devils  themselves:  These  weird  creatures  resembled 
the  jinns  and  giants  the  old  masters  of  Herat  and  the  artists  of  the  Book  of 
Kings  drew  frequently;  yet  the  sardonic  talent  of  the  miniaturist  made  them 
more  sinister;  aggressive  and  human  in  form。  We  laughed  watching  these 
terrifying devils; the size of a man yet with misshapen bodies; branching horns 
and  feline  tails。  As  I  turned  the  pages;  these  naked  devils  with  bushy  brows; 
round  faces;  bulging  eyes;  pointed  teeth;  sharp  nails  and  the  dark  wrinkled 
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skin of old men began to beat each other and wrestle; to steal a great horse 
and sacrifice it to their gods; to leap and play; to cut down trees; to spirit away 
beautiful  princesses  in  their  palanquins  and  to  capture  dragons  and  sack 
treasuries。 I mentioned that in this volume; which had seen the touch of many 
different brushes; the miniaturist known as Black Pen; who’d made the devils; 
also  drew  Kalenderi  dervishes  with  shaved  heads;  ragged  clothes;  iron  chains 
and  staffs;  and  Master  Osman  had  me  one  by  one  repeat  their  similarities; 
listening closely to what I said。 
“Cutting open the nostrils of horses so they might breathe easier and travel 
farther  is  a  centuries…old  Mongol  custom;”  he  said  later。  “Hulagu  Khan’s 
armies conquered all of Arabia; Persia and China with their horses。 When they 
entered Baghdad; put its inhabitants to the sword; plundered it and tossed all 
its  books  into  the  Tigris;  as  we  know;  the  famous  calligrapher;  and  later; 
illuminator  Ibn  Shakir  fled  the  city  and  the  slaughter;  heading  north  on  the 
road by which the Mongol horsemen had e; instead of south along with 
everyone  else。  At  that  time;  no  one  made  illustrations  because  the  Koran 
forbade  them;  and  painters  weren’t  taken  seriously。  We  owe  the  greatest 
secrets of our noble occupation to Ibn Shakir; the patron saint and master of 
all  miniaturists:  the  vision  of  the  world  from  a  minaret;  the  persistence  of  a 
horizon line visible or invisible; and the depiction of all things from clouds to 
insects  the  way  the  Chinese  envisaged  them;  in  curling;  lively  and  optimistic 
colors。 I’ve heard that he studied the nostrils of horses in order to keep himself 
moving  northward  during  that  legendary  journey  into  the  heartland  of  the 
Mongol hordes。 However; as far as I’ve seen and heard; none of the horses he 
drew in Samarkand; which he reached after a year’s travel on foot undaunted 
by  snow  and  severe  weather;  had  clipped  nostrils。  For  him;  perfect  dream 
horses were not the sturdy; powerful; victorious horses of the Mongols that he 
came to know in his adulthood; they were the elegant Arab horses that he’d 
sorrowfully left behind in his happy youth。 This is why for me the strange nose 
of the horse made for Enishte’s book brought to mind neither Mongol horses 
nor this custom the Mongols spread to Khorasan and Samarkand。” 
As he spoke; Master Osman looked now at the book and now at us; as if he 
could see only those things he conjured in his mind’s eye。 
“Besides horses with clipped noses and Chinese painting; the devils in this 
book are another thing brought with the Mongol hordes to Persia and thence 
all  the  way  here  to  Istanbul。  You’ve  probably  heard  how  these  demons  are 
ambassadors of evil dispatched by dark forces from deep beneath the ground 
to snatch away human lives and whatever we deem valuable and how they’re 
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bent  on  carrying  us  off  to  their  underworld  of  blackness  and  death。  In  this 
underground realm everything; whether cloud; tree; object; dog or book; has a 
soul and speaks。” 
“Quite  so;”  said  the  elderly  dwarf。  “As  Allah  is  my  witness;  some  nights 
when I’m locked in here; not only the spirits of the clocks; the Chinese plates 
and the crystal bowls that chime constantly anyway; but the spirits of all the 
rifles; swords; shields and bloody helmets grow restless and begin to converse 
in  such  a  ruckus  that  the  Treasury  bees  the  swarming  field  of  an 
apocalyptic battle。” 
“The  Kalenderi  dervishes;  whose  pictures  we’ve  seen;  brought  this  belief 
from  Khorasan  to  Persia;  and  later  all  the  way  to  Istanbul;”  said  Master 
Osman。 “As Sultan Selim the Grim was plundering the Seven Heavens Palace 
after    defeating    Shah    Ismail;    Bediüzzaman    Mirza—a    descendant    of 
Tamerlane—betrayed  Shah  Ismail  and  together  with  the  Kalenderis  that 
constituted his followers; joined the Ottomans。 In the train of the Denizen of 
Paradise;  Sultan  Selim;  as  he  returned  through  winter  cold  and  snow  to 
Istanbul; were two wives of Shah Ismail; whom he’d routed at Chaldiran。 They 
were lovely women with white skin and slanting almond eyes; and with them 
came all the books preserved in the Seven Heavens Palace library; books left by 
the  former  masters  of  Tabriz;  the  Mongols;  the  Inkhanids;  the  Jelayirids  and 
the Blacksheep; and taken as plunder by the defeated shah from the Uzbeks; 
the Persians and the Timurids。 I shall stare at these books until Our Sultan and 
the Head Treasurer remove me from here。” 
Yet by now his eyes showed the same lack of direction that one sees in the 
blind。 He held his mother…of…pearl…handled magnifying glass more out of habit 
than  to  see。  We  fell  silent。  Master  Osman  requested  that  the  dwarf;  who 
listened to his entire account as though to some bitter tale; once again locate 
and bring him a volume whose binding he described in detail。 Once the dwarf 
had gone away; I naively asked my master: 
“So  then;  who’s  responsible  for  the  horse  illustration  in  my  Enishte’s 
book?” 
“Both the horses in question have clipped nostrils;” he said; “regardless of 
whether it was done in Samarkand or; as I said; in Transoxiana; the one you’ve 
found in this album is rendered in the Chinese style。 As for the beautiful horse 
of Enishte’s book; that was made in the Persian style like the wondrous horses 
drawn by the masters of Herat。 Indeed; it is an elegant illustration whose equal 
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would  be  difficult  to  find  anywhere!  It’s  a  horse  of  artistry;  not  a  Mongol 
horse。” 
“But its nostrils are cut open like a genuine Mongol horse;” I whispered。 
“It’s apparent that two hundred years ago when the Mongols retreated and 
the reign of Tamerlane and his descendants began; one of the old masters in 
Herat  drew  an  exquisite  horse  whose  nostrils  were  indeed  cut  open—
influenced either by a Mongol horse that he’d seen or by another miniaturist 
who’d made a Mongol horse with clipped nostrils。 No one knows for certain 
on which page in which book and for which shah it was made。 But I’m sure 
that  the  book  and  picture  were  greatly  admired  and  praised—who  knows; 
maybe by the sultan’s favorite in the harem—and that they were legendary for 
a  time!  I’m  also  convinced  that  

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