em the world’s most
beautiful horse。 Naturally； by “the world’s most beautiful horse；” I knew that
Our Sultan meant the most splendid of the horses that had been depicted
thousands of times in Persia； in keeping with all of the formulas； models and
poses of yore。 But why？
Of course； there were those who didn’t want me to win the purse of gold。 If
they’d told me to draw your average horse； it’s mon knowledge that
nobody’s picture could pete with mine。 Who was it that had duped Our
Sultan？ Our Sovereign； despite the endless gossip of all of those jealous artists；
knows full well that I am the most talented of His miniaturists。 He admires my
illustrations。
My hand abruptly and angrily sprang to action as if wanting to rise above
all of these vexing considerations； and in one concentrated effort； I drew a true
horse beginning from the tip of its hoof。 You might see one like this on the
street or in battle。 Weary； but controlled…Next； in the same fit of anger； I
dashed off a spahi cavalryman’s horse； and this one was even better。 None of
the miniaturists of the book arts workshop could draw such beautiful animals。
I was about to draw another from memory when the boy from the palace said；
“One is enough。”
He was about to grab the sheet and leave； but I restrained him because I
knew full well； as I know my own name； that these scoundrels would be giving
up a purse of gold coins for these horses。
If I illustrate the way I want to； they won’t give me the gold！ If I can’t win
the gold； my name will be tarnished forever。 I stopped to think。 “Just wait；” I