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“How had the shah discovered the identity of the miniaturist who
portrayed his daughter？”
“From the ears！”
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“Whose ears？ The ears of the daughter or her picture？”
“Actually； neither。 Following his intuition； he first laid out all the books；
pages and illustrations that his own miniaturists had made and inspected all
the ears therein。 He saw what he’d known for years in a new light： Regardless
of the level of talent； each of the miniaturists made ears in his own style。 It
didn’t matter if the face they depicted was the face of a sultan； a child； a
warrior； or even； God forbid； the partially veiled face of Our Exalted Prophet；
or even； God forbid again； the face of the Devil。 Each miniaturist； in each case；
always drew the ears the same way； as if this were a secret signature。”
“Why？”
“When the masters illustrated a face； they focused on approaching its
exalted beauty； on the dictates of the old models of form； on the expression； or
on whether it should resemble somebody real。 But when it came time to make
the ears； they neither stole from others； imitated a model nor studied a real
ear。 For the ears； they didn’t think； didn’t aspire to anything； didn’t even stop
to consider what they were doing。 They simply guided their brushes from
memory。”
“But didn’t the great masters also create their masterpieces from memory
without ever even looking at real horses； trees or people？” said Black。
“True；” I said； “but those are memories acquired after years of thought；
contemplation and reflection。 Having seen plenty of horses； illustrated and
actual； over their lifetimes； they know that the last flesh…and…blood horse they
see before them will only mar the perfect horse they hold in their thoughts。
The horse that a master miniaturist has drawn tens of thousands of times
eventually es close to God’s vision of a horse； and the artist knows this
through experience and deep in his soul。 The horse that his hand draws quickly
from memory is rendered with talent； great effort； and insight； and it is a
horse that approaches Allah’s horse。 However； the ear that is drawn before the
hand has accumulated any knowledge； before the artist has weighed and
considered what it is doing； or before paying attention to the ears of the
shah’s daughter； will always be a flaw。 Precisely because it is a flaw； or
imperfection； it will vary from miniaturist to miniaturist。 That is； it amounts
to a signature。”
There was a motion。 The mander’s men were bringing into the old
workshop the pages they’d collected from the homes of the miniaturists and
the calligraphers。
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“Besides； ears are actually a human flaw；” I said； hoping Black would smile。
“They’re at once distinct and mon to everyone： a perfect manifestation of
ugliness。”
“What happened to the miniaturist who’d been caught by the authorities
through his style of painting ears？”
I refrained from saying； “He was blinded；” to keep Black from being
even more downcast。 Instead； I responded； “He married the shah’s daughter；
and this method； which has been used to identify miniaturists ever since； is
known by many khans； shahs and sultans who fund book…arts workshops as
the ”courtesan method。“ Furthermore； it is kept secret so that if one of their
miniaturists makes a forbidden figure or a small design that conceals some
mischief and later denies having done so； they can quickly determine who was
responsible—genuine artists have an instinctive desire to draw what’s
forbidden！ Sometimes their hands make mischief on their own。 Uncovering
these transgressions involves finding trivial； quickly drawn and repetitive
details removed from the heart of the painting； such as ears； hands； grass；
leaves； or even horses’ manes； legs or hooves。 But beware； the method doesn’t
work if the illustrator himself is mindful that this detail has bee his own
secret signature。 Mustaches won’t work； for instance； because many artists are
aware how freely they’re drawn as a sort of signature anyway。 But eyebrows are
a possibility： No one pays much attention to them。 e now； let’s see which
young masters have brought their brushes and reed pens to bear upon late
Enishte’s illustrations。”
Thus we brought together the pages of two illustrated manuscripts； one
that was being pleted secretly and the other openly； two books with
different stories and subjects； illustrated in two distinct styles； that is； deceased
Enishte’s book and the Book of Festivities recounting our prince’s circumcision
ceremony； whose creation was under my control。 Black and I looked intently
wherever I moved my magnifying lens：
1。 In the pages of the Book of Festivities； we first studied the open mouth of
the fox whose pelt a master of the furrier’s guild； in a red caftan and purple
sash； held on his lap as the guild passed before Our Sultan； watching the
parade from a loge made specifically for the event。 Unmistakably； Olive had
made both the fox’s teeth； which were individually distinguishable； and the
teeth in Enishte’s illustration of Satan； an ominous creature； half…demon and
half…giant； that appeared to have e from Samarkand。
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2。 On a particularly joyous day of the festivities； below Our Sultan’s loge
overlooking the Hippodrome； a division of impoverished frontier ghazis
appeared in tattered clothes。 One of their lot made a plea： “My Exalted Sultan；
we； your heroic soldiers； fell captive as we fought the infidel in the name of our
religion and were only able to gain our freedom by leaving a number of our
brethren behind as hostages； that is； we were set free in order to amass
ransom。 However； when we arrived back in Istanbul； we found everything so
expensive that we’ve been unable to collect the money to save our brethren
who languish as prisoners of the kaffirs。 We’re at the mercy of your aid。 Please
grant us gold or slaves that we might take back to exchange for their freedom。”
Stork clearly made the nails of the lazy dog off to the side—glaring with one
open eye at Our Sultan； at our poor； destitute ghazis and at the Persian and
Tatar ambassadors in the Hippodrome—as well as the nails of the dog
occupying a corner of the scene depicting the adventures of the Gold Coin in
Enishte’s book。
3。 Among the jugglers spinning eggs on pieces of wood and turning
somersaults before Our Sultan was a bald man with bare calves wearing a
purple vest； who played a tambourine as he sat off to one side on a red carpet；
this man held the instrument exactly the same way the woman held a large
brass serving tray in the illustration of Red in Enishte’s book： doubtless the
work of Olive。
4。 As the cooks’ guild pushed past Our Sultan； they were cooking stuffed
cabbage with meat and onions in a cauldron resting on a stove in their cart。
The master cooks acpanying the cart stood on pink earth resting their
stew pots on blue stones； these stones were rendered by the same artist who
made the red ones on dark…blue earth above which floated the half…ghostly
creature in the illustration that Enishte called Death： the unmistakable work of
Butterfly。
5。 Mounted Tatar messengers brought word that the Persian Shah’s armies
had begun to mobilize for another campaign against the Ottomans； who
thereupon razed to the ground the exquisite observation kiosk of the Persian
ambassador who’d repeatedly affirmed to Our Sultan； Refuge of the World； in
a cascade of pleasantries； that the Shah was His friend and harbored nothing
but brotherly affection for Him。 During this episode of wrath and destruction；
water bearers ran out to settle the dust raised in the Hippodrome； and a group
of men appeared shouldering leather sacks full of linseed oil to pour over a
mob ready to attack the ambassador； in hopes of pacifying it。 The raised feet of
the water bearers and of the men carrying sacks of linseed oil were made by
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the same artist who painted the raised feet of charging soldiers in the
depiction of Red： also the work of Butterfly。
I wasn’t the one who made this last discovery as I directed our search for
clues； moving the magnifying lens right and left； to that picture then this one；
rather it was Black； who opened his eyes wide and scarcely blinked gripped by
the fear of torture and the hope of returning to his wife who awaited him at
home。 Using the “courtesan method；” it took an entire afternoon to sort out
which of our miniaturists worked on each of the nine pictures left by the late
Enishte； and later； to interpret that information。
Black’s late Enishte didn’t limit any single page to the artistic talent of just
one miniaturist； all three of my master miniaturists worked on most of the
illustrations。 This meant that the pictures were moved from house to house
with great frequency。 In addition to the work I recognized； I noticed the
amateurish strokes of a fifth artist； but as I grew angry at the dearth of talent
shown by this disgraceful murderer； Black determined from the cautious brush
strokes that it was indeed the work of his Enishte—thereby saving us from
following a false lead。 If we discounted poor Elegant Effendi； who’d done
almost the same gilding for Enishte’s book and our Book of Festivities （yes； this
of course broke my heart） and who； I gathered； had occasionally lowered his
brush to execute a few walls； leaves and clouds； it was evident that only my
three most brilliant master miniaturists had contributed to these illustrations。
They were the darlings I’d lovingly trained since their apprenticeships； my
three beloved talents： Olive； Butterfly and Stork。
Discussing their talents； mastery and temperaments to the end of finding
the clue we were looking for inevitably led to a discussion of my own life as
well：
The Attributes of Olive
His given name was Velijan。 If he had a nickname besides the one I’d given
him； I don’t know it； because I never saw him sign any of his work。 When he
was an apprentice； he’d e get me from my home on Tuesday mornings。 He
was very proud； and so if he ever lowered himself to sign his work； he’d want
this signature to be plain and recognizable； he wouldn’t try to conceal it
anywhere。 Allah had quite generously endowed him with excess ability。 He
could readily and easily do anything from gilding to ruling and his work was
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superb。 He was the workshop’s most brilliant creator of trees； animals and the
human face。 Velijan’s father； who brought him to Istanbul when he was； I
believe； ten years old； was trained by Siyavush； the famous illustrator
specializing in faces in the Persian Shah’s Tabriz workshop。 He hails from a
long line of masters whose genealogy goes back to the Mongols； and just like
the elderly masters who bore a Mongol…Chinese influence and settled in
Samarkand； Bukhara and Herat 150 years ago； he rendered moon…faced young
lovers as if they were Chinese。 Neither during his apprenticeship nor during
his time as a master was I able to lead this stubborn artist to other styles。 How
I would’ve liked him to transcend the styles and models of the Mongol；
Chinese and Herat masters billeted deep in his soul； or even for him to forget
about them entirely。 When I told him this； he replied that like many
miniaturists who’d moved from workshop to workshop and country to
country； he’d forgotten these old styles； if he’d ever actually learned them。
Though the valu