pings--faults he could not correct now
without spoiling the whole. And in almost all the figures and
faces he saw, too, remnants of the wrappings not perfectly
removed that spoiled the picture.

"One thing might be said, if you will allow me to make the
remark..." observed Golenishtchev.

"Oh, I shall be delighted, I beg you," said Mihailov with a
forced smile.

"That is, that you make Him the man-god, and not the God-man.
But I know that was what you meant to do."

"I cannot paint a Christ that is not in my heart," said Mihailov
gloomily.

"Yes; but in that case, if you will allow me to say what I
think.... Your picture is so fine that my observation cannot
detract from it, and, besides, it is only my personal opinion.
With you it is different. Your very motive is different. But
let us take Ivanov. I imagine that if Christ is brought down to
the level of an historical character, it would have been better
for Ivanov to select some other historical subject, fresh,
untouched."

"But if this is the greatest subject presented to art?"

"If one looked one would find others. But the point is that art
cannot suffer doubt and discussion. And before the picture of
Ivanov the question arises for the believer and the unbeliever
alike, 'Is it God, or is it not God?' and the unity of the
impression is destroyed."

"Why so? I think that for educated people," said Mihailov, "the
question cannot exist."

Golenishtchev did not agree with this, and confounded Mihailov by
his support of his first idea of the unity of the impression
being essential to art.

Mihailov was greatly perturbed, but he could say nothing in
defense of his own idea.

Chapter 12

Anna and Vronsky had long been exchanging glances, regretting
their friend's flow of cleverness. At last Vronsky, without
waiting for the artist, walked away to another small picture.

"Oh, how exquisite! What a lovely thing! A gem! How
exquisite!" they cried with one voice.

"What is it they're so pleased with?" thought Mihailov. He had
positively forgotten that picture he had painted three years ago.
He had forgotten all the agonies and the ecstasies he had lived
through with that picture when for several months it had been the
one thought haunting him day and night. He had forgotten, as he
always forgot, the pictures he had finished. He did not even
like to look at it, and had only brought it out because he was
expecting an Englishman who wante