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　t