s；　but　I’m　the　one　who

trained　him；　not　those　long…dead　masters　of　Kazvin。　Maybe　it’s　for　this　reason

that I love him like a son； nay； more than a son—but I never felt any awe

toward　him。　As　with　all　of　my　apprentices；　in　his　boyhood　and　adolescence；　I

beat　him　freely　with　brush　handles；　rulers　and　even　pieces　of　wood；　but　this

doesn’t　mean　I　don’t　respect　him。　Though　I　beat　Stork　frequently　with　rulers；　I

respect him too。 In contrast to what the casual onlooker might assume； a

master’s　beating　doesn’t　rid　the　young　apprentice　of　jinns　of　talent　and　the

Devil； but only suppresses them temporarily。 If it happens to be a good

beating； and deserved； later on the jinns and the Devil will rise up and

stimulate the developing miniaturist’s resolve to work。 As for the beatings I

administered　to　Butterfly；　they　shaped　him　into　a　content　and　obedient　artist。

I　at　once　felt　the　need　to　praise　him　to　Black：　“Butterfly’s　artistry；”　I　said；

“is　solid　proof　that　the　picture　of　bliss；　which　the　celebrated　poet　ponders　in

his　masnawi；　is　only　possible　through　a　God…given　gift　for　understanding　and

applying　color。　When　I　realized　this；　I also　realized　what　Butterfly　lacked：　He

hadn’t　known　that　momentary　loss　of　faith　that　Jami　refers　to　in　his　poetry　as

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”the　dark　night　of　the　soul。“　Like　an　illustrator　painting　in　the　great　happiness

of　Heaven；　he　sets　to　his　work　with　conviction　and　contentment；　believing　that

he　can　make　a　blissful　painting；　which　he　does　succeed　in　doing。　Our　armies

besieging Doppio castle； the Hungarian ambassador kissing the feet of Our