Was Nuri the Miniaturist, who was much more subtle in thought than I』d assumed, being reserved because he uood that my Enishte sent me here to iigate, or was he merely parroting Head Illuminator Master Osman?
「Is Elegant the one responsible for all this gilding work?」 I asked. 「Who』s doing the gilding now, in his stead?」
The shouts and screams of children could now be heard through the open door that faced the inner courtyard. Below, one of the division heads had started administering the bastinado to apprentices who』d most likely been caught with red ink powder in their pockets old leaf hidden away in a fold of paper; probably the two whom I』d seen trembling as they waited in the cold. Young painters, seizing an opportunity to mock them, ran to the door to watch.
「By the time the apprentices paint the ground of the Hippodrome here a rose color, finishing it off as our Master Osman has dictated,」 said Nuri Effendi cautiously, 「our brother Elegant Effendi, God willing, will have returned from wherever he』s gone and will plete the gilding owo pages. Our master, Osman the Miniaturist, wanted Elegant Effendi to color the dirt floor of the Hippodrome differently in each se. Rose pink, Indian green, saffron yellow or the color of goose shit. Whosoever beholds the picture will realize in the first rendering this is a dirt square and should be earth-colored, but in the sed and third pictures, he』ll want other colors to keep himself amused. Embellishing ought t merriment to the page.」
I noticed some pictures on a sheet of paper that an assista in a er. He was w on a single-leaf picture for a Book of Victories, the depi of a naval fleet heading off to battle, but it was obvious that the screams of his friends whose soles were being severely beaten, provoked the illustrator to run off and watch. The fleet he made by repeatedly trag identical ships with a block pattern didn』t eveo float in the sea; yet, this artificiality, the lack of wind in the sails, had less to do with the block pattern than the young painter』s lack of skill. I saw with sorrow that the pattern had been cut violently out of an old book which I couldn』t identify, perhaps a collage album. Obviously, Master Osman was overlooking quite a lot.
When we came to his own worktable, Nuri Effendi proudly stated that he finished a gilded royal insignia
for Our Sultan, which he』d been w on for three weeks. I respectfully admired Nuri Effendi』s gold inlay and the insignia, which had been made on ay sheet to ehat its recipient and the reason for its bei would remai. I knew well enough that many impetuous pashas in the East had refrained from rebellion upon seeing the noble and potent splendor of the Sultan』s royal insignia.
, we saw the last masterpieces that Jemal the Calligrapher had transcribed, pleted a behind; but we passed over them hastily to avoid giving credeo oppos of color and decoration who maintaihat true art sisted of calligraphy alone and that decorative illumination was simply a sedary means of adding emphasis.
Nas 1r the Limner was making a mess of a plate he inteo repair from a version of the Qui of Nizami dating back to the era of Tamerlane』s sons; the picture depicted Hüsrev looking at a naked Shirin as she bathed.
A wo-year-old former master who was half blind and had nothing to say besides claiming that sixty years ago he kissed Master Bizhad』s hand in Tabriz and that the great master of legend was blind and drunk