ase murderer。 The horse

stood　before　me　as　if　it　were　a　real　horse；　but　somewhere　in　my　mind　I　also

knew it was an illustration； being caught between these two thoughts was

enchanting　and　aroused　in　me　a　sense　of　wholeness　and　perfection。

For a time； we pared the blurred horses drawn for practice with the

horse　made　for　my　Enishte’s　book；　determining　finally　that　they’d　been　made

by the same hand。 The proud stances of those strong and elegant studs

bespoke stillness rather than motion。 I was in awe of the horse of Enishte’s

book。

289

“This　is　such　a　spectacular　horse；”　I　said；　“it　gives　one　the　urge　to　pull　out　a

piece　of　paper　and　copy　it；　and　then　to　draw　every　last　thing。”

“The　greatest　pliment　you　can　pay　a　painter　is　to　say　that　his　work　has

stimulated　your　own　enthusiasm　to　illustrate；”　said　Master　Osman。　“But　now

let’s forget about his talent and try to uncover this devil’s identity。 Had

Enishte Effendi； may he rest in peace； ever mentioned the kind of story this

picture　was　meant　to　acpany？”

“No。　According　to　him；　this　was　one　of　the　horses　that　lived　in　the　lands

that　our　powerful　Sultan　rules。　It　is　a　handsome　horse：　a　horse　of　the　Ottoman

line。　It　is　a　symbol　that　would　demonstrate　to　the　Veian　Doge　Our　Sultan’s

wealth and the regions under his control。 But on the other hand； as with

everything　the　Veian　masters　depict；　this　horse　was　also　to　be　more　lifelike

than　a　horse　born　of　God’s　vision；　more　like　a　horse　that　lived　in　a　particular

stable　with　a　particular　groom　in　Istanbul　so　that　the　Veian　Doge　might　say