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pit into which he’d been cast by his jealous brothers。 I quite enjoy painting

this　scene　from　the　romance　of　Joseph　and　Zuleyha；　for　it　reminds　us　that　envy

is　the　prime　emotion　in　life。

There　was　a　sudden　lull。　I　sensed　their　eyes　upon　me。　Should　I　cry？　I　caught

Black’s　eye。　That　vile　scoundrel；　he’s　peering　at　us；　like　someone　who’s　been

sent　here　by　Enishte　Effendi　to　uncover　the　truth。

“Who could’ve perpetrated such a horrendous crime？” cried the oldest

brother。　“What　kind　of　heartless　beast　could’ve　slaughtered　our　brother；　our

brother　who　wouldn’t　dare　harm　an　ant？”

He answered this question with his own tears； and I joined him； feigning

grief　while　I　sought　my　own　answer：　Who　were　Elegant’s　enemies？　If　it　hadn’t

been　me；　who　else　could’ve　murdered　him？　I　recalled　that　some　time　ago—I

believe it was when the Book of Skills was being prepared—he would get

involved　in　arguments　with　certain　artists　inclined　to　dismiss　the　techniques

of　the　old　masters　and　ruin　the　pages　we　illustrators　had　labored　extensively

over； thus they would spoil the borders with the horrid colors used to

embellish　more　cheaply　and　quickly。　Who　were　they？　Later；　however；　rumors

began to spread that the enmity had arisen not for this reason； but out of

petition　for　the　affections　of　a　handsome　binder’s　apprentice　who　worked

on　the　ground　floor；　but　this　was　an　old　story。　And　there　were　those　who　were

annoyed by Elegant’s dignity； his refinement and his erudite feminine

demeanor； but this had to do with another matter entirely： Elegant was

slavishly