Part Five: Chapter 8

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Anna, in that first period of her emancipation and rapid returnto health, felt herself unpardonably happy and full of the joyof life. The thought of her husband's unhappiness did not poisonher happiness. On one side that memory was too awful to bethought of. On the other side her husband's unhappiness hadgiven her too much happiness to be regretted. The memory of allthat had happened after her illness: her reconciliation with herhusband, its breakdown, the news of Vronsky's wound, his visit,the preparations for divorce, the departure from her husband'shouse, the parting from her son--all that seemed to her like adelirious dream, from which she had waked up alone with Vronskyabroad. The thought of the harm caused to her husband aroused inher a feeling like repulsion, and akin to what a drowning manmight feel who has shaken off another man clinging to him. Thatman did drown. It was an evil action, of course, but it was thesole means of escape, and better not to brood over these fearfulfacts.

　　One consolatory reflection upon her conduct had occurred to herat the first moment of the final rupture, and when now sherecalled all the past, she remembered that one reflection. "Ihave inevitably made that man wretched," she thought; "but Idon't want to profit by his misery. I too am suffering, andshall suffer; I am losing what I prized above everything--I amlosing my good name and my son. I have done wrong, and so Idon't want happiness, I don't want a divorce, and shall sufferfrom my shame and the separation from my child." But, howeversincerely Anna had meant to suffer, she was not suffering. Shamethere was not. With the tact of which both had such a largeshare, they had succeeded in avoiding Russian ladies abroad, andso had never placed themselves in a false position, andeverywhere they had met people who pretended that they perfectlyunderstood their position, far better indeed than they didthemselves. Separation from the son she loved--even that did notcause her anguish in these early days. The baby girl--hischild--was so sweet, and had so won Anna's heart, since she wasall that was left her, that Anna rarely thought of her son.

　　The desire for life, waxing stronger with recovered health, wasso intense, and the conditions of life were so new and pleasant,that Anna felt unpardonably happy. The more she got to knowVronsky, the more she loved him. She loved him for himself, andfor his love for her. Her complete ownership of him was acontinual joy to her. His presence was always sweet to her. Allthe traits of his character, which she learned to know better andbetter, were unutterably dear to her. His appearance, changed byhis civilian dress, was as fascinating to her as though she weresome young girl in love. In everything he said, thought, anddid, she saw something particularly noble and elevated. Heradoration of him alarmed her indeed; she sought and could notfind in him anything not fine. She dared not show him her senseof her own insignificance beside him. It seemed to her that,knowing this, he might sooner cease to love her; and she dreadednothing now so much as losing his love, though she had no groundsfor fearing it. But she could not help being grateful to him forhis attitude to her, and showing that she appreciated it. He,who had in her opinion such a marked aptitude for a politicalcareer, in which he would have been certain to play a leadingpart--he had sacrificed his ambition for her sake, and neverbetrayed the slightest regret. He was more lovingly respectfulto her than ever, and the constant care that she should not feelthe awkwardness of her position never deserted him for a singleinstant. He, so manly a man, never opposed her, had indeed, withher, no will of his own, and was anxious, it seemed, for nothingbut to anticipate her wishes. And she could not but appreciatethis, even though the very intensity of his solicitude for her,the atmosphere of care with which he surrounded her, sometimesweighed upon her.

　　Vronsky, meanwhile, in spite of the complete realization of whathe had so long desired, was not perfectly happy. He soon feltthat the realization of his desires gave him no more than a grainof sand out of the mountain of happiness he had expected. Itshowed him the mistake men make in picturing to themselveshappiness as the realization of their desires. For a time afterjoining his life to hers, and putting on civilian dress, he hadfelt all the delight of freedom in general of which he had knownnothing before, and of freedom in his love,--and he was content,but not for long. He was soon aware that there was springing upin his heart a desire for desires--ennui. Without consciousintention he began to clutch at every passing caprice, taking itfor a desire and an object. Sixteen hours of the day must beoccupied in some way, since they were living abroad in completefreedom, outside the conditions of social life which filled uptime in Petersburg. As for the amusements of bachelor existence,which had provided Vronsky with entertainment on previous toursabroad, they could not be thought of, since the sole attempt ofthe sort had led to a sudden attack of depression in Anna, quiteout of proportion with the cause--a late supper with bachelorfriends. Relations with the society of the place--foreign andRussian--were equally out of the question owing to theirregularity of their position. The inspection of objects ofinterest, apart from the fact that everything had been seenalready, had not for Vronsky, a Russian and a sensible man, theimmense significance Englishmen are able to attach to thatpursuit.

　　And just as the hungry stomach eagerly accepts every object itcan get, hoping to find nourishment in it, Vronsky quiteunconsciously clutched first at politics, then at new books, andthen at pictures.

　　As he had from a child a taste for painting, and as, not knowingwhat to spend his money on, he had begun collecting engravings,he came to a stop at painting, began to take interest in it, andconcentrated upon it the unoccupied mass of desires whichdemanded satisfaction.

　　He had a ready appreciation of art, and probably, with a tastefor imitating art, he supposed himself to have the real thingessential for an artist, and after hesitating for some time whichstyle of painting to select--religious, historical, realistic, orgenre painting--he set to work to paint. He appreciated allkinds, and could have felt inspired by any one of them; but hehad no conception of the possibility of knowing nothing at all ofany school of painting, and of being inspired directly by what iswithin the soul, without caring whether what is painted willbelong to any recognized school. Since he knew nothing of this,and drew his inspiration, not directly from life, but indirectlyfrom life embodied in art, his inspiration came very quickly andeasily, and as quickly and easily came his success in paintingsomething very similar to the sort of painting he was trying toimitate.

　　More than any other style he liked the French--graceful andeffective--and in that style he began to paint Anna's portrait inItalian costume, and the portrait seemed to him, and to everyonewho saw it, extremely successful.