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 superfluity; but he still devoted himself to his painting of medieval life. He himself, and Golenishchef, and Anna especially, felt that it was very good, because it resembled the works of the old masters far more than Mikhaïlof's painting did.

Mikhaïlof, meantime, in spite of the pleasure which he took in doing Anna's portrait, was even more glad than the others were when the sittings came to an end, and he no longer had to hear Golenishchef's discourses about art, and was allowed to forget Vronsky's paintings. He knew that it was impossible to prevent Vronsky from amusing himself with painting; he knew that he, and all other dilettanti, had the right to paint as much as they pleased; but it was disagreeable to him. No one can prevent a man from making for himself a big wax doll, and kissing it; but if this man takes his doll and sits in the presence of a lover, and begins to caress his doll as the lover caresses the woman he loves, then it becomes unpleasant to the lover. Vronsky's painting produced on him a similar feeling; it was ridiculous and vexatious, pitiable and disgusting.

Vronsky's enthusiasm for painting and the Middle Ages was, however, of short duration; his art instinct was strong enough to prevent him from finishing his painting. His work came to a standstill. He had a dim consciousness that his faults, at first apparently trifling, would grow more and more grievous if he went on. The same thing happened to him that happened to Golenishchef, who was conscious that he had nothing to say, and kept deceiving himself with the notion that his thought was not yet ripe, that he was training it, and collecting materials. But this made Golenishchef bitter and irritable, while Vronsky could not deceive himself, or torture himself, and, least of all, grow irritable. With his habitual decision of character, without seeking to justify himself or to offer explanations, he simply gave up his painting.

But, without this occupation, his life in this little Italian city quickly became intolerable; the palazzo suddenly appeared old and filthy; the spots on the curtains