sked him whether he gave himself over to this

ambition；　which　has　blinded　many　illustrators　at　an　early　age；　because　he　was

ashamed　of　the　excessive　talent　Allah　had　granted　him。　Only　inept　miniaturists

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paint　each　leaf　of　a　tree　they’ve　drawn　on　a　grain　of　rice　to　make　an　easy　name

for　themselves　and　to　gain　importance　in　the　eyes　of　dense　patrons。

Butterfly’s inclination to design and illustrate for other people’s pleasure

rather　than　for　his　own；　his　uncontrollable　need　to　please　others；　made　him；

more than any of the others； a slave to praise。 And so it follows that an

uncertain Butterfly wants to ensure his standing by being Head

Illuminator。　It　was　Black　who　had　raised　this　subject。

“Yes；”　I　said；　“I　know　he’s　been　scheming　to　succeed　me　after　I　die。”

“Do　you　think　this　would　drive　him　to　murder　his　miniaturist　brethren？”

“It　might。　He’s　a　great　master；　but　he’s　not　aware　of　this；　and　he　can’t　leave

the　world　behind　when　he　paints。”

I said this； whereupon I grasped that in truth I； too； wanted Butterfly to

assume　leadership　of　the　workshop　after　me。　I　couldn’t　trust　Olive；　and　in　the

end Stork would unwittingly bee slave to the Veian style。 Butterfly’s

need to be admired—I was upset at the thought that he could take a life—

would　be　vital　in　handling