Christ's foreshortened leg was not right, though. He took his

palette and began to work. As he corrected the leg he looked

continually at the figure of John in the background, which his

visitors had not even noticed, but which he knew was beyond

perfection. When he had finished the leg he wanted to touch that

figure, but he felt too much excited for it. He was equally

unable to work when he was cold and when he was too much affected

and saw everything too much. There was only one stage in the

transition from coldness to inspiration, at which work was

possible. Today he was too much agitated. He would have covered

the picture, but he stopped, holding the cloth in his hand, and,

smiling blissfully, gazed a long while at the figure of John. At

last, as it were regretfully tearing himself away, he dropped the

cloth, and, exhausted but happy, went home.

Vronsky, Anna, and Golenishtchev, on their way home, were

particularly lively and cheerful. They talked of Mihailov and

his pictures. The word _talent_, by which they meant an inborn,

almost physical, aptitude apart from brain and heart, and in

which they tried to find an expression for all the artist had

gained from life, recurred particularly often in their talk, as

though it were necessary for them to sum up what they had no

conception of, though they wanted to talk of it. They said that

there was no denying his talent, but that his talent could not

develop for want of education--the common defect of our Russian

artists. But the picture of the boys had imprinted itself on

their memories, and they were continually coming back to it.

"What an exquisite thing! How he has succeeded in it, and how

simply! He doesn't even comprehend how good it is. Yes, I

mustn't let it slip; I must buy it," said Vronsky.




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