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she liked that expression most of all, and she felt that it was the center
of the picture, and so praise of it would be pleasant to the artist. “One
can see that He is pitying Pilate.”
This again was one of the million true reflections that could be
found in his picture and in the figure of Christ. She said that He was
pitying Pilate. In Christ’s expression there ought to be indeed an
expression of pity, since there is an expression of love, of heavenly
peace, of readiness for death, and a sense of the vanity of words. Of
course there is the expression of an official in Pilate and of pity in
Christ, seeing that one is the incarnation of the fleshly and the other of
the spiritual life. All this and much more flashed into Mihailov’s
thoughts.
“Yes, and how that figure is done—what atmosphere! One can
walk round it,” said Golenishtchev, unmistakably betraying by this
remark that he did not approve of the meaning and idea of the figure.
“Yes, there’s a wonderful mastery!” said Vronsky. “How those fig-
ures in the background stand out! There you have technique,” he said,
addressing Golenishtchev, alluding to a conversation between them
about Vronsky’s despair of attaining this technique.
“Yes, yes, marvelous!” Golenishtchev and Anna assented. In spite
of the excited condition in which he was, the sentence about technique
had sent a pang to Mihailov’s heart, and looking angrily at Vronsky he
suddenly scowled. He had often heard this word technique, and was
utterly unable to understand what was understood by it. He knew
that by this term was understood a mechanical facility for painting or
drawing, entirely apart from its subject. He had noticed often that
even in actual praise technique was opposed to essential quality, as
though one could paint well something that was bad. He knew that a
great deal of attention and care was necessary in taking off the cover-
ings, to avoid injuring the creation itself, and to take off all the cover-
ings; but there was no art of painting—no technique of any sort—
about it. If to a little child or to his cook were revealed what he saw, it
or she would have been able to peel the wrappings off what was seen.
And the most experienced and adroit painter could not by mere me-
chanical facility paint anything if the lines of the subject were not
revealed to him first. Besides, he saw that if it came to talking about
technique, it was impossible to praise him for it. In all he had painted
and repainted he saw faults that hurt his eyes, coming from want of
care in taking off the wrappings—faults he could not correct now with-
out 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 re-
mark...” 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?”