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The Moghul

The Moghul

Titel: The Moghul Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Thomas Hoover
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standing at attention around the perimeter of the Diwan-i-Am all blanched but their eyes remained fixed straight ahead. Then Arangbar suddenly remembered Hawksworth.
    "Does England have men as brave as ours, Ambassador?"
    Hawksworth felt a cold sweat in his palms.
    "No man in England would dare challenge one of Your Majesty's lions."
    Arangbar laughed loudly. Before he could respond, the wazir was whispering in his ear. He glanced at the marble screen directly behind his throne and nodded. Then he turned to Hawksworth.
    "We are called away, Ambassador. I'm told I must take my afternoon rest. This is the time of day I retire to the zenana for one pahar ." He winked and gestured toward the marble screen. "Her Majesty rules our time. But I want to speak more with you today about this island of England. And about your king's schedule for trade. You will attend me in the Diwan-i-Khas this evening."
    "As Your Majesty pleases."
    As Arangbar rose his eye caught the painting. He picked it up and scrutinized it, then turned to Hawksworth.
    "Is this a fair example of Inglish painting?"
    "It came from the school of a celebrated artist, Your Majesty. His Majesty, King James, sat to have it painted especially for you." Hawksworth sensed that Arangbar had taken more interest in the painting than in any of the other gifts, except perhaps the hat. "The painters of England are the finest in the world."
    The Moghul stirred slightly and then summoned a small, wiry man with heavy brows from the first row of courtiers. He briskly moved to the front and salaamed to Arangbar. The Moghul passed the painting to him and together they studied it, conversing quietly in Persian. Then Arangbar turned to Hawksworth.
    "We have a school of artists here in the palace, Ambassador Khawksworth. This man, who directs the school, says this portrait's background is too dark, the eyes lifeless. And it is neither three-quarter nor full face, as is our proven convention. Consequently it gives no sense of your king's depth of character." Arangbar smiled. "He also says the portraits he and his men execute are far more difficult. They catch the soul of the man, not merely his physical likeness."
    "May it please Your Majesty, I cannot accept what he says."
    Arangbar translated to the artist, who replied quickly in Persian, casting a quick, contemptuous glance at Hawksworth.
    "He declares he could easily duplicate this simple portrait of your king, in a likeness so exact you could not tell his copy from the original."
    "Such a thing is not possible, Your Majesty. No man in the world could execute this exact painting, save the man who first put in on paper."
    Arangbar again translated for his painter, who replied animatedly.
    "My Chief Painter says he and his workshop could easily produce four copies of this, any one of which would pass for the original."
    "May it please Your Majesty, I say it is impossible. European painting is a centuries' old tradition, requiring years of apprenticeship and study."
    The men around Hawksworth had begun to shift uncomfortably. The Moghul was never contradicted. Yet he seemed to relish the dispute.
    "Then we'll set a wager. What will you wager me, Ambassador, that I can make this one painting of your king into five?"
    "I know not what to lay with so great a prince, nor does it befit me to name a sum to Your Majesty." Hawksworth shifted uneasily, unsure of the protocol of betting with kings.
    "Then if you'll not wager with me, wager with my painter."
    "Begging Your Majesty's pardon, your painter is no more suited to wager with an ambassador than I am to wager with Your Majesty."
    "Then wager with my prime minister." He turned to Nadir Sharif. "What will you lay?"
    "Five thousand gold mohurs, Majesty."
    Hawksworth swallowed hard, realizing the amount was almost ten thousand pounds English sterling, more money than he had ever seen.
    "Money is not an honorable bet among those who speak for great princes, Your Majesty." Hawksworth glanced about wildly, then an idea came. "But perhaps I could wager your prime minister a horse, a fine Arabian stallion."
    "Done." Arangbar beamed. "I'll have the paintings tonight."
    The painter stared at Arangbar in dismay.
    "It's not possible, Majesty. There's not time."
    "You'll find a way. Or you'll owe Nadir Sharif a horse."
    Arangbar passed the painting back to the painter and whirled with a flourish to leave. Around Hawksworth the nobles all bowed to the ground.
    Hawksworth turned quickly to scan the

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