mon to look at t er joy in to be apprentice to a great master, and t sucy er to a young, pretty and intelligent apprentice—and I grieved for truth.

    I turned t  attention upon trees and clouds, y to ex edly removed volume after volume from cs and placed te corners of an iron c stuffed omes, common books and disorderly albums, traordinary volumes—one bound in tyle  and finisained pages so resembling eac at first I t trying to determine o tion,  t Master Sabriz esall er o prevent  volume, t master artist took refuge esed a superior copy from memory. to see t tures in t volume ing, reminded me t ty of life but also deadens its vigor.

    Since I myself am a genuine great master, so ackno is t I ed noe and terrifying darkness of ttered treasury, like a condemned man  time before o see all trations and hem.”

    As I turned table ly came across legends and matters of blindness. In tryside outing falling in love er seeing ure on tree, Sinctly all tree one by one so tire sky. In anso a fool  true subject of tration  tree, S true subject  tiful young maiden eit ist, and to proudly prove  tempted to paint tree s leaves on a grain of rice. If ture iful feet of Stendants  misled me, I  tree made by ter on paper—not tree made on a grain of rice, ed task. On anotem blinding Alexander ed in tists  blindness, t desire of turist, appeared to the

    prologue to a joyous celebration.

    My eyes ures and volumes, no less ement of one o be for years treasury room suffused  I’