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 anyone 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 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.
Chapter 9
The old neglected palazzo, with its lofty carved ceilings and frescoes on
the walls, with its floors of mosaic, with its heavy yellow stuff curtains on
the windows, with its vases on pedestals, and its open fireplaces, its carved
doors and gloomy reception rooms, hung with pictures—this palazzo did
much, by its very appearance after they had moved into it, to confirm in
Vronsky the agreeable illusion that he was not so much a Russian country
gentleman, a retired army officer, as an enlightened amateur and patron of
the arts, himself a modest artist who had renounced the world, his
connections, and his ambition for the sake of the woman he loved.
The pose chosen by Vronsky with their removal into the palazzo was
completely successful, and having, through Golenishtchev, made
acquaintance with a few interesting people, for a time he was satisfied. He
painted studies from nature under the guidance of an Italian professor of
painting, and studied mediæval Italian life. Mediæval Italian life so
fascinated Vronsky that he even wore a hat and flung a cloak over his
shoulder in the mediæval style, which, indeed, was extremely becoming to
him.
“Here we live, and know nothing of what’s going on,” Vronsky said to
Golenishtchev as he came to see him one morning. “Have you seen
Mihailov’s picture?” he said, handing him a Russian gazette he had
received that morning, and pointing to an article on a Russian artist, living
in the very same town, and just finishing a picture which had long been
talked about, and had been bought beforehand. The article reproached the
government and the academy for letting so remarkable an artist be left
without encouragement and support.
“I’ve seen it,” answered Golenishtchev. “Of course, he’s not without
talent, but it’s all in a wrong direction. It’s all the Ivanov-Strauss-Renan
attitude to Christ and to religious painting.”
“What is the subject of the picture?” asked Anna.
“Christ before Pilate. Christ is represented as a Jew with all the realism
of the new school.”
And the question of the subject of the picture having brought him to one
of his favorite theories, Golenishtchev launched forth into a disquisition on
it.
“I can’t understand how they can fall into such a gross mistake. Christ
always has His definite embodiment in the art of the great masters. And
therefore, if they want to depict, not God, but a revolutionist or a sage, let
them take from history a Socrates, a Franklin, a Charlotte Corday, but not
Christ. They take the very figure which cannot be taken for their art, and
then….”
“And is it true that this Mihailov is in such poverty?” asked Vronsky,
thinking that, as a Russian Mæcenas, it was his duty to assist the artist
regardless of whether the picture were good or bad.
“I should say not. He’s a remarkable portrait-painter. Have you ever seen
his portrait of Madame Vassiltchikova? But I believe he doesn’t care about
painting any more portraits, and so very likely he is in want. I maintain
that….”
“Couldn’t we ask him to paint a portrait of Anna Arkadyevna?” said
Vronsky.
“Why mine?” said Anna. “After yours I don’t want another portrait.
Better have one of Annie” (so she called her baby girl). “Here she is,” she
added, looking out of the window at the handsome Italian nurse, who was
carrying the child out into the garden, and immediately glancing unnoticed
at Vronsky. The handsome nurse, from whom Vronsky was painting a head
for his picture, was the one hidden grief in Anna’s life. He painted with her
as his model, admired her beauty and mediævalism, and Anna dared not
confess to herself that she was afraid of becoming jealous of this nurse, and
was for that reason particularly gracious and condescending both to her and
her little son. Vronsky, too, glanced out of the window and into Anna’s
eyes, and, turning at once to Golenishtchev, he said:
“Do you know this Mihailov?”
“I have met him. But he’s a queer fish, and quite without breeding. You
know, one of those uncouth new people one’s so often coming across
nowadays, one of those free-thinkers you know, who are reared d’emblée in
theories of atheism, scepticism, and materialism. In former days,” said
Golenishtchev, not observing, or not willing to observe, that both Anna and
Vronsky wanted to speak, “in former days the free-thinker was a man who
had been brought up in ideas of religion, law, and morality, and only
through conflict and struggle came to free-thought; but now there has
sprung up a new type of born free-thinkers who grow up without even
having heard of principles of morality or of religion, of the existence of
authorities, who grow up directly in ideas of negation in everything, that is
