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in the wily and ambitious Stork and made the mistake of letting himself be
awed by the intellect and morality of a man whose talent impressed him。 I’ve
seen plenty of times how Stork manipulated Elegant Effendi by taking
advantage of the poor gilder’s admiration。 Whatever argument took place
between them； it resulted in Elegant Effendi’s murder at Stork’s hands。 And
since the deceased long ago confided his worries to the Erzurumis； they； in a
fit of vengeance and to demonstrate their power； went on to kill your
Frankophile Enishte； whom they held responsible for the death of their
panion。 I can’t say that I’m all that sorry about the whole matter。 Years
ago； your Enishte duped Our Sultan into having a Veian painter—his name
was Sebastiano—make a portrait of His Excellency in the Frankish style as if He
were an infidel king。 Not satisfied with that； in a disgraceful affront to my
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dignity； he had this shameful work given to me as a model to be copied； and
out of dire fear of Our Sultan； I dishonorably copied that picture which was
made using infidel methods。 Had I not been forced to do that； perhaps I could
grieve for your Enishte； and today help find the scoundrel who killed him。 But
my concern is not for your Enishte； it’s for my workshop。 Your Enishte is
responsible for the way my master miniaturists—whom I love more than if
they were my own children； whom I trained with doting attention for twenty…
five years—betrayed me and our entire artistic tradition； he’s to blame for
their enthusiastic imitation of European masters with the justification that ”it
is the will of Our Sultan。“ Each of those disgraceful masters deserves nothing
but torture！ If we； the society of miniaturists； learn to serve foremost our own
talent and art instead of Our Sultan who provides us with work； we shall have
earned entry through the Gates of Heaven。 Now then； I’d like to study this
book alone。”
Master Osman uttered this last statement like the last wish of a
disconsolate weary pasha who was responsible for military defeat and
condemned to beheading。 He opened the book Jezmi Agha placed before him
and in a scolding voice ordered the dwarf to turn to the pages he wanted。
With this accusatory tone； he instantly became the Head Illuminator with
whom the entire workshop was familiar。
I withdrew into a corner among cushions embroidered with pearls； rusty…
barreled rifles with jewel…studded butts and cabis； and began eyeing Master
Osman。 The doubt gnawing away at me spread throughout my entire being： If
he wished to stop the creation of Our Sultan’s book； it made perfect sense
that Master Osman might’ve orchestrated the murders of poor Elegant Effendi
and； afterward； of my Enishte—I reprimanded myself for just now feeling such
awe toward him。 On the other hand； I couldn’t restrain myself from feeling
profound respect for this great master who now gave himself over to the
picture before him and； blind or half blind； was peering at it closely as if
looking with the countless wrinkles of his old face。 It dawned on me that to
preserve the old style and the regimen of the miniaturists’ workshop； to rid
himself of Enishte’s book and to bee again the Sultan’s only favorite； he
would gladly surrender any one of his master miniaturists； and me as well； to
the torturers of the mander of the Imperial Guard。 I furiously began to
think of freeing myself from the love that bound me to him over the last two
days。
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Much later； I was still pletely confused。 I stared randomly at the
illuminated pages of the volumes I extracted from chests solely to appease the
demons that had risen within me and to distract my jinns of indecision。
How many men and women had fingers in their mouths！ This was used as
a gesture of surprise in all the workshops from Samarkand to Baghdad over
the last two hundred years。 As the hero Keyhüsrev； cornered by his enemies；
safely crossed the rushing Oxus River aided by his black charger and Allah； the
wretched raftsman and his oarsman； who refused to offer him safe passage on
their raft each had a finger in his mouth。 An astonished Hüsrev’s finger
remained in his mouth as he saw for the first time the beauty of Shirin； whose
skin was like moonlight as she bathed in the once glimmering lake whose
silver leaf had tarnished。 I spent even more time carefully examining the
gorgeous women of the harem who； with fingers in their mouths； stood
behind half…opened palace doors； at the inaccessible windows of castle towers
and peered from behind curtains。 As Tejav； defeated by the armies of Persia to
lose his crown； was fleeing the battlefield； Espinuy； a beauty of beauties and
his harem favorite； watched with sorrow and shock from a palace window；
finger in mouth； begging him with her eyes not to abandon her to the enemy。
As Joseph； arrested under Züleyha’s false accusation that he raped her； was
being taken to his cell； she stared from her window； a finger in her beautiful
mouth in a show of devilishness and lust rather than bewilderment。 As happy
yet somber lovers who emerged as if from a love poem were carried away by
the force of passion and wine in a garden reminiscent of Paradise； a malicious
lady servant spied on them with an envious finger in her red mouth。
Despite its being a standard image recorded in the notebooks and
memories of all miniaturists； the long finger sliding into a beautiful woman’s
mouth had a different elegance each time。
How much did these illustrations fort me？ As dusk fell； I went to
Master Osman and said the following：
“My dear master； when the portal is opened once again； with your
permission； I shall quit the Treasury。”
“How do you mean！” he said。 “We still have one night and one morning。
How quickly your eyes have had their fill of the greatest illustrations the world
has ever known！”
As he said this； he hadn’t turned his face away from the page before him；
yet the paleness in his pupils confirmed he was indeed gradually going blind。
“We’ve learned the secret of the horse’s nostrils；” I said confidently。
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“Ha！” he said。 “Yes！ The rest is up to Our Sultan and the Head Treasurer。
Perhaps they will pardon us all。”
Would he name Stork as the murderer？ I couldn’t even ask out of fear； for I
worried he wouldn’t allow me to leave。 Even worse； I had the recurring
thought that he might accuse me。
“The plume needle Bihzad used to blind himself is missing；” he said。
“In all probability the dwarf put it back in its place；” I said。 “The page before
you is so magnificent！”
His face lit up like a child’s； and he smiled。 “Hüsrev； burning with love； as
he waits astride his horse for Shirin before her palace in the middle of the
night；” he said。 “Rendered in the style of the old masters of Herat。”
He was now gazing at the picture as if he could see it； but he hadn’t even
taken the magnifying glass into his hand。
“Can you see the splendor in the leaves of the trees in the nighttime
darkness； appearing one by one as if illuminated from within like stars or
spring flowers； the humble patience implied by the wall ornamentation； the
refinement in the use of gold leaf and the delicate balance in the entire
painting’s position？ Handsome Hüsrev’s horse is as graceful and elegant as
a woman。 His beloved Shirin waits at the window above him； her neck bowed；
but her face proud。 It’s as if the lovers are to remain here eternally within the
light emanating from the painting’s texture； skin and subtle colors which were
applied lovingly by the miniaturist。 You can see how their faces are turned ever
so slightly toward one another while their bodies are half…turned toward us—
for they know they’re in a painting and thus visible to us。 This is why they
don’t try to resemble exactly those figures which we see around us。 Quite to
the contrary； they signify that they’ve emerged from Allah’s memory。 This is
why time has stopped for them within that picture。 No matter how fast the
pace of the story they tell in the picture； they themselves will remain for all
eternity there； like well…bred； polite； shy young maidens； without making any
sudden gestures with their hands； arms； slight bodies or even eyes。 For them；
everything within the navy…blue night is frozen： The bird flies through the
darkness； among the stars； with a fluttering like the racing hearts of the lovers
themselves； and at the same time； remains fixed for all eternity as if nailed to
the sky in this matchless moment。 The old masters of Herat； who knew that
God’s velvet blackness was lowering ov