Mikhailov sold Vronsky his picture, and agreed to paint a portrait of Anna. On the day fixed he came and began the work.
From the fifth sitting the portrait impressed everyone, especially Vronsky, not only by its resemblance, but by its characteristic beauty. It was strange how Mikhailov could have discovered precisely the beauty characteristic of her. "One needs to know and love her as I have loved her to discover the very sweetest expression of her soul," Vronsky thought, though it was only from this portrait that he had himself learned this sweetest expression of her soul. But the expression was so true that he, and others too, fancied they had long known it.
"I have been struggling on for ever so long without doing anything," he said of his own portrait of her, "and he just looked and painted it. That's where technique comes in."
"That will come," was the consoling reassurance given him by Golenishchev, in whose view Vronsky had both talent, and, what was most important, education, giving him an exalted outlook on art. Golenishchev's faith in Vronsky's talent was propped up by his own need of Vronsky's sympathy and approval for his own essays and ideas, and he felt that the praise and support must be mutual.
In another man's house, and especially in Vronsky's palazzo, Mikhailov was quite a different man from what he was in his studio. He behaved with hostile deference, as though he were afraid of coming closer to people he did not respect. He called Vronsky "Your Excellency," and, notwithstanding Anna's and Vronsky's invitations, he would never stay to dinner, nor come except for the sittings. Anna was even more friendly to him than to other people, and was very grateful for her portrait. Vronsky was more than courteous with him, and was obviously interested to know the artist's opinion of his picture. Golenishchev never let slip an opportunity of instilling sound ideas about art into Mikhailov. But Mikhailov remained equally chilly to all of these people. Anna was aware from his eyes that he liked to look at her, but he avoided conversation with her. Vronsky's talk about his painting he met with stubborn silence, and he was as stubbornly silent when he was shown Vronsky's picture. He was unmistakably bored by Golenishchev's conversation, and he did not attempt to oppose him.
Altogether Mikhailov, with his reserved and disagreeable, and, apparently, hostile attitude, was quite disliked by them as they got to know him better; and they were glad when the sittings were over, and they were left with a magnificent portrait in their possession, and he gave up coming.
Golenishchev was the first to give expression to an idea that had occurred to all of them- which was that Mikhailov was simply envious of Vronsky.
"Not envious, let us say, since he has talent; but it annoys him that a wealthy man of the highest society, and a Count, too (you know these fellows detest all that), can, without any particular trouble, do as well, if not better, than he who has devoted all his life to it. And, more than all, it's a question of education, which he lacks."
Vronsky defended Mikhailov, but at the bottom of his heart he believed this, because in his view a man of a different, lower world would be sure to be envious.
Anna's portrait- the same subject painted from nature both by him and by Mikhailov- ought to have shown Vronsky the difference between him and Mikhailov; but he did not see it. Only after Mikhailov's portrait was painted did he leave off painting his own portrait of Anna, deciding that it was no longer needed. His picture of medieval life he went on with. And he himself, and Golenishchev, and, still more, Anna, thought it very good, because it was far more like the celebrated pictures they knew than Mikhailov's picture.
Mikhailov meanwhile, although Anna's portrait greatly fascinated him, was even more glad than they were when the sittings were over, and he had no longer to listen to Golenishchev's disquisitions upon art, and could forget about Vronsky's painting. He knew that Vronsky could not be prevented from amusing himself with painting; he knew that he and all dilettanti had a perfect right to paint what they liked, but it was distasteful to him. A man could not be prevented from making himself a big wax doll, and kissing it. But if the man were to come with the doll and sit before a man in love, and begin caressing his doll as the lover caressed the woman he loved, it would be distasteful to the lover. Just such a distasteful sensation was what Mikhailov felt at the sight of Vronsky's painting: he felt it both ludicrous and irritating, both pitiable and offensive.
Vronsky's interest in painting and the Middle Ages did not last long. He had enough taste for painting to be unable to finish his picture. The picture came to a standstill. He was vaguely aware that its defects, inconspicuous at first, would be glaring if he were to go on with it. The same experience befell him as Golenishchev, who felt that he had nothing to say, and continually deceived himself with the theory that his idea was not yet mature, that he was working it out and collecting material. This exasperated and tortured Golenishchev, but Vronsky was incapable of deceiving and torturing himself, and even more incapable of exasperation. With his characteristic decision, without explanation or apology, he simply ceased work at painting.
But, without this occupation, the life of Vronsky and of Anna, who wondered at his loss of interest in it, struck them as intolerably tedious in an Italian town; the palazzo suddenly seemed so obtrusively old and dirty, the spots on the curtains, the cracks in the floors, the broken plaster on the cornices, became so disagreeably obvious, and the everlasting sameness of Golenishchev, and the Italian professor, and the German traveler, became so wearisome, that they had to make some change. They resolved to go to Russia, to the country. In Peterburg Vronsky intended to arrange a partition of the land with his brother, while Anna meant to see her son. The summer they intended to spend on Vronsky's great family estate.