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aptitude for a political career, in which he would have been certain to
play a leading part—he had sacrificed his ambition for her sake, and
never betrayed the slightest regret. He was more lovingly respectful to
her than ever, and the constant care that she should not feel the awk-
wardness 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 mis-
take 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 inten-
tion 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 condi-
tions of social life which filled up time in Petersburg. As for the amuse-
ments of bachelor existence, which had provided Vronsky with enter-
tainment 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 em-
bodied 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 ef-
fective—and in that style he began to paint Anna’s portrait in Italian
costume, and the portrait seemed to him, and to everyone who saw it,
extremely successful.