Anna Karenina - Part 5

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.