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Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, Part 5. Chapter 12.

Part 5. 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 wanted to buy it.

"Oh, that's only an old study," he said. "How fine!" said Golenishtchev, he too, with unmistakable sincerity, falling under the spell of the picture.

Two boys were angling in the shade of a willow-tree. The elder had just dropped in the hook, and was carefully pulling the float from behind a bush, entirely absorbed in what he was doing. The other, a little younger, was lying in the grass leaning on his elbows, with his tangled, flaxen head in his hands, staring at the water with his dreamy blue eyes. What was he thinking of?

The enthusiasm over this picture stirred some of the old feeling for it in Mihailov, but he feared and disliked this waste of feeling for things past, and so, even though this praise was grateful to him, he tried to draw his visitors away to a third picture.

But Vronsky asked whether the picture was for sale. To Mihailov at that moment, excited by visitors, it was extremely distasteful to speak of money matters.

"It is put up there to be sold," he answered, scowling gloomily. When the visitors had gone, Mihailov sat down opposite the picture of Pilate and Christ, and in his mind went over what had been said, and what, though not said, had been implied by those visitors. And, strange to say, what had had such weight with him, while they were there and while he mentally put himself at their point of view, suddenly lost all importance for him. He began to look at his picture with all his own full artist vision, and was soon in that mood of conviction of the perfectibility, and so of the significance, of his picture—a conviction essential to the most intense fervor, excluding all other interests—in which alone he could work.

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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Part 5. Chapter 12.

Anna and Vronsky had long been exchanging glances, regretting their friend's flow of cleverness. Anna et Vronsky échangeaient depuis longtemps des regards, regrettant le flot d'intelligence de leur ami. 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!" Hoe voortreffelijk! " 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. Hij was alle kwellingen en extases vergeten die hij met die foto had meegemaakt, terwijl het maandenlang de gedachte was geweest die hem dag en nacht achtervolgde. 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 wanted to buy it.

"Oh, that's only an old study," he said. "How fine!" said Golenishtchev, he too, with unmistakable sincerity, falling under the spell of the picture.

Two boys were angling in the shade of a willow-tree. The elder had just dropped in the hook, and was carefully pulling the float from behind a bush, entirely absorbed in what he was doing. L'aîné venait de tomber dans le crochet et tirait avec précaution le flotteur de derrière un buisson, entièrement absorbé par ce qu'il faisait. The other, a little younger, was lying in the grass leaning on his elbows, with his tangled, flaxen head in his hands, staring at the water with his dreamy blue eyes. L'autre, un peu plus jeune, était allongé dans l'herbe, appuyé sur ses coudes, sa tête de lin emmêlée dans ses mains, fixant l'eau de ses yeux bleus rêveurs. What was he thinking of?

The enthusiasm over this picture stirred some of the old feeling for it in Mihailov, but he feared and disliked this waste of feeling for things past, and so, even though this praise was grateful to him, he tried to draw his visitors away to a third picture. L'enthousiasme suscité par cette image a remué une partie du vieux sentiment que l'on ressentait à Mihailov, mais il craignait et n'aimait pas ce gaspillage de sentiment pour les choses du passé, et donc, même si cet éloge lui était reconnaissant, il a essayé d'attirer ses visiteurs vers un troisième image.

But Vronsky asked whether the picture was for sale. Bet Vronskis paklausė, ar nuotrauka parduodama. To Mihailov at that moment, excited by visitors, it was extremely distasteful to speak of money matters.

"It is put up there to be sold," he answered, scowling gloomily. When the visitors had gone, Mihailov sat down opposite the picture of Pilate and Christ, and in his mind went over what had been said, and what, though not said, had been implied by those visitors. And, strange to say, what had had such weight with him, while they were there and while he mentally put himself at their point of view, suddenly lost all importance for him. Et, étrange à dire, ce qui avait eu un tel poids sur lui, alors qu'ils étaient là et qu'il se mettait mentalement à leur point de vue, perdit soudain toute importance pour lui. He began to look at his picture with all his own full artist vision, and was soon in that mood of conviction of the perfectibility, and so of the significance, of his picture—a conviction essential to the most intense fervor, excluding all other interests—in which alone he could work. Il a commencé à regarder son tableau avec toute sa propre vision d'artiste, et fut bientôt dans cet état d'esprit de conviction de la perfectibilité, et donc de la signification, de son tableau - une conviction essentielle à la ferveur la plus intense, excluant tout autre intérêt. - dans lequel seul il pouvait travailler.

Christ's foreshortened leg was not right, though. La jambe raccourcie du Christ n'était pas juste, cependant. Užkrėsta Kristaus koja vis dėlto nebuvo teisinga. 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. Il était également incapable de travailler quand il avait froid et quand il était trop affecté et voyait trop tout. 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. Enfin, comme s'il se déchirait à regret, il laissa tomber le tissu et, épuisé mais heureux, rentra chez lui.

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. Le mot talent, par lequel ils entendaient une aptitude innée, presque physique, en dehors du cerveau et du cœur, et dans lequel ils essayaient de trouver une expression à tout ce que l'artiste avait gagné de la vie, revenait particulièrement souvent dans leur discours, comme s'il s'agissait de nécessaire pour eux de résumer ce dont ils n'avaient aucune idée, bien qu'ils voulaient en parler. 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. Bet berniukų paveikslas įsispaudė į jų prisiminimus ir jie nuolat prie jo grįžo. "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. Oui, je ne dois pas le laisser filer; Je dois l'acheter », dit Vronsky. Taip, aš neturiu leisti jai slysti; Privalau nusipirkti “, - sakė Vronsky.