Even so； we were able to maintain a persistent excitement in the face of the
weariness and melancholy that descended upon us： A couple of times we
forgot about the horse and lost ourselves to the beauty of a picture； to colors
that forced a momentary surrender。 Master Osman always looked at the
pictures—most of which he himself had created； supervised or ornamented—
more out of nostalgic enthusiasm than wonder。 “These are by Kas？m from the
Kas？m Pasha district！” he said once； pointing out the little purple flowers at
the base of the red war tent of Our Sultan’s grandfather Sultan Süleyman。 “He
295
was by no means a master； but for forty years he filled the dead space of
pictures with these five…leaf； single…blossom flowers； before he unexpectedly
died two years ago。 I always assigned him to draw this small flower because he
could do it better than anyone。” He fell silent for a moment； then exclaimed；
“It’s a pity； a pity！” With all my soul； I sensed that these words signified the
end of an era。
Darkness had nearly overtaken us； when a light flooded the room。 There
was a motion。 My heart； which had begun to beat like a drum；
prehended immediately： The Ruler of the World； His Excellency Our
Sultan had abruptly entered。 I threw myself at His feet。 I kissed the hem of His
robe。 My head spun。 I couldn’t look Him in the eye。
He’d long since begun speaking with Head Illuminator Master Osman
anyway。 It filled me with fiery pride to witness Him speak to the man with
whom I’d only moments ago been sitting kne