Once upon a time a man carved a butterfly from wood for his sister. His sister loved the butterfly so much she suggested that he make another one for their mother.
The man did so, and his mother loved it. She held it close to her heart and said he should make more butterflies for anyone who wanted one. “Everybody I know would love one of these!” she said. So the butterfly maker began creating butterflies for anyone who wanted one until he ran out of wood.
One day an aristocrat saw one of the butterfly maker’s works on his neighbor’s shelf and was quite taken with it. After talking with his neighbor about who made the butterfly, the aristocrat went to the butterfly maker and offered to pay him for the wood so he could make another butterfly. The butterfly maker did so and had money left over to make a few more butterflies.
After making them he realized that if he were to charge for all the butterflies he made, he could use that money to continue making butterflies. He put his plan into action and began creating butterflies, selling them, and using the money to make more butterflies.
One day a ruddy-faced man walked into the butterfly maker’s shop and asked how much one of his butterflies cost. “Fifty cents,” the butterfly maker replied. “Fifty cents!” the ruddy-faced man exclaimed. “I would have paid double that for one of these! Please, sell me three of them, and I shall give one to my wife and my daughter too.” So the butterfly maker sold the man three butterflies for $1.50.
One day as the butterfly maker was carving a butterfly, a devil appeared on his windowsill. “Hello there!” the devil said. Startled, the buttefly maker stopped his carving and looked up at the devil. “Hello, sir,” the butterfly maker said. “How may I help you?”
“How may you help me?” the devil said. “The question is, how can you help yourself?”
“What?” the butterfly maker asked.
“How can you help yourself? That is the question. Why don’t you sell your butterflies for a higher price? That way you can buy a bed for your mother. She should not have to sleep on the hard floor, right?”
The butterfly maker considered this questions for a long time. Then he said, “Well, it would be nice for my mother to have a bed. I shall sell my butteflies for a dollar each, and I shall use the extra money to buy a bed for my mother.” And the devil disappeared.
The man set out to do as the devil suggested. He changed the price of his butteflies to $1 each until he had enough money to buy his mother a bed. “Thank you!” the mother said when the butterfly maker delivered the new bed.
One day as the butterfly maker was carving a butterfly, a devil appeared on his windowsill. “Hello there!” the devil said. The man stopped his carving and looked up at the devil. “Hello,” he said. “Thank you for the tip you gave me. I raised my price to a dollar per butterfly and bought a bed for my mother. She was very thankful.”
“Marvelous!” the devil exclaimed. “But you know, you could raise your price even more and hire carvers to make butterflies with you. That way you could make more money and buy other nice things for your family.”
The man thought about this for a long time. “Well,” he said, “it would be good for my family to have some other nice things.” And the devil disappeared.
So the man set out to do as the devil had suggested. He raised his price to $1.50 per butterfly and hired three people to carve butterflies with him.
Business picked up considerably. In fact, the man was so busy selling butterflies, he did not have time to make butterflies himself. He noticed that the butterflies on his shelves did not have quite the same detail his original butteflies had, but customers kept buying them so he thought nothing of it.
One day after the shop closed and the man was counting his money, a devil appeared on the windowsill. “Hello there!” the devil said.
“Yes?” the man said, still counting his money.
“Congratulations!” the devil exclaimed. “You must be very proud of all the money you are making.”
“Yes, I am. Thank you. I have bought a lot of nice things for my family and even some things for myself.”
“Good show!” the devil replied. “But I think you can make even more money if you raised your price and hired more carvers.”
The man did not think long before seeing the devil’s logic. “You’re right,” the man said, and set out to do exactly that. He hired seven more carvers and raised his price to $2 per butterfly.
And so the man’s ten hired carvers went to work, and the man began selling more and more butterflies and making more and more money. At times he daydreamed about when he sat by himself in his workshop making highly detailed butterflies, but he couldn’t daydream for long, for customers kept coming in.
One day, while counting his money at the end of a day, a devil appeared. “Yes?” the man said, greeting the devil. “Wow!” the devil said. “You must be proud of all that money!”
“I am!” the man replied. “I just moved into a nice house, and you should see all the nice things I have.”
“Congratulations,” the devil replied. “But I think you can make more money by raising your price and hiring more carvers.” The devil disappeared when the man shook his head in agreement, and the man set out do as the devil suggested.
He raised his price to $3 per butterfly and hired ten more carvers. And the man’s twenty hired carvers began carving butterflies upon butterflies upon butterflies.
Then one day the ruddy-faced man returned to the shop. Christmas was just around the corner, and he was excited to buy a butterfly for his mother. But upon looking at the many butterflies, he frowned. Not only were the butterflies much more expensive than the ones he bought before, they did not look as good. Dismayed, he went to the owner, “Excuse me, sir. Are you the buttefly maker?”
“Ha! No, silly lad. That was long ago. I am now the money maker.” Shaking his head, the ruddy-faced man left the shop empty-handed.
Customer after customer, excited about the Christmas season, entered the store, but each left without buying anything, for the butterflies were too expensive, and they did not look good. One little boy could not tell they were butterflies; he asked his mother if they were crows.
At the end of the day the man looked in his money box and saw only three dollars. He had sold exactly one buttefly that day. He began to cry, and then a devil appeared on the windowsill.
“Yes?” the man said through his tears.
“What’s the problem!” the devil demanded.
“The problem,” the man said, “is that no one wants these butterflies anymore. They don’t look like butterflies for one thing, and they are too expensive.”
“Buck up!” the devil said. “You are the butterfly maker!”
“No I’m not,” the man said. “I used to be the butterfly maker until greed turned me into a money maker. But now I am not even that. I am the saddest among men.”
