Anna Karenina - LimpidSoft

PART FIVE CHAPTER 8
the slightest regret. He was more lovingly respectful to her than ever, and the constant
care that she should not feel the awkwardness of her position never deserted
him for a single instant. He, so manly a man, never opposed her, had indeed, with
her, no will of his own, and was anxious, it seemed, for nothing but to anticipate her
wishes. And she could not but appreciate this, even though the very intensity of his
solicitude for her, the atmosphere of care with which he surrounded her, sometimes
weighed upon her.
Vronsky, meanwhile, in spite of the complete realization of what he had so long
desired, was not perfectly happy. He soon felt that the realization of his desires gave
him no more than a grain of sand out of the mountain of happiness he had expected.
It showed him the mistake men make in picturing to themselves happiness as the
realization of their desires. For a time after joining his life to hers, and putting on
civilian dress, he had felt all the delight of freedom in general of which he had known
nothing before, and of freedom in his love,–and he was content, but not for long. He
was soon aware that there was springing up in his heart a desire for desires–ennui.
Without conscious intention he began to clutch at every passing caprice, taking it
for a desire and an object. Sixteen hours of the day must be occupied in some way,
since they were living abroad in complete freedom, outside the conditions of social
life which filled up time in Petersburg. As for the amusements of bachelor existence,
which had provided Vronsky with entertainment on previous tours abroad, they
could not be thought of, since the sole attempt of the sort had led to a sudden attack
of depression in Anna, quite out of proportion with the cause–a late supper with
bachelor friends. Relations with the society of the place–foreign and Russian–were
equally out of the question owing to the irregularity of their position. The inspection
of objects of interest, apart from the fact that everything had been seen already, had
not for Vronsky, a Russian and a sensible man, the immense significance Englishmen
are able to attach to that pursuit.
And just as the hungry stomach eagerly accepts every object it can get, hoping to
find nourishment in it, Vronsky quite unconsciously clutched first at politics, then at
new books, and then at pictures.
As he had from a child a taste for painting, and as, not knowing what to spend his
money on, he had begun collecting engravings, he came to a stop at painting, began
to take interest in it, and concentrated upon it the unoccupied mass of desires which
demanded satisfaction.
He had a ready appreciation of art, and probably, with a taste for imitating art,
he supposed himself to have the real thing essential for an artist, and after hesitating
for some time which style of painting to select–religious, historical, realistic, or
genre painting–he set to work to paint. He appreciated all kinds, and could have felt
inspired by any one of them; but he had no conception of the possibility of knowing
nothing at all of any school of painting, and of being inspired directly by what is
within the soul, without caring whether what is painted will belong to any recognized
school. Since he knew nothing of this, and drew his inspiration, not directly
from life, but indirectly from life embodied in art, his inspiration came very quickly
and easily, and as quickly and easily came his success in painting something very
similar to the sort of painting he was trying to imitate.
More than any other style he liked the French–graceful and effective–and in that
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