s reputation he tried, as he's
no fool, to educate himself. And he turned to what seemed to him
the very source of culture--the magazines. In old times, you
see, a man who wanted to educate himself--a Frenchman, for
instance--would have set to work to study all the classics and
theologians and tragedians and historiaris and philosophers, and,
you know, all the intellectual work that came in his way. But in
our day he goes straight for the literature of negation, very
quickly assimilates all the extracts of the science of negation,
and he's ready. And that's not all--twenty years ago he would
have found in that literature traces of conflict with
authorities, with the creeds of the ages; he would have perceived
from this conflict that there was something else; but now he
comes at once upon a literature in which the old creeds do not
even furnish matter for discussion, but it is stated baldly that
there is nothing else--evolution, natural selection, struggle for
existence--and that's all. In my article I've..."

"I tell you what," said Anna, who had for a long while been
exchanging wary glances with Vronsky, and knew that he was not in
the least interested in the education of this artist, but was
simply absorbed by the idea of assisting him, and ordering a
portrait of him; "I tell you what," she said, resolutely
interrupting Golenishtchev, who was still talking away, "let's go
and see him!"

Golenishtchev recovered his self-possession and readily agreed.
But as the artist lived in a remote suburb, it was decided to
take the carriage.

An hour later Anna, with Golenishtchev by her side and Vronsky on
the front seat of the carriage, facing them, drove up to a new
ugly house in the remote suburb. On learning from the porter's
wife, who came out to them, that Mihailov saw visitors at his
studio, but that at that moment he was in his lodging only a
couple of steps off, they sent her to him with their cards,
asking permission to see his picture.

Chapter 10

The artist Mihailov was, as always, at work when the cards of
Count Vronsky and Golenishtchev were brought to him. In the
morning he had been working in his studio at his big picture. On
getting home he flew into a rage with his wife for not having
managed to put off the landlady, who had been asking for money.

"I've said it to you twenty times, don't enter into details.
You're fool enough at all times, and when you start explaining
things in Ital