As he had, ever since he was 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 fund of desires which demanded satisfaction.
As he had a capacity for understanding art, and for true and tasteful imitation in the art of painting, 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 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.
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TOLSTOY: Anna Karenina Part 5, Chapter 09[Previous Chapter] [Table of Contents] Chapter 9 The old neglected palazzo, with its lofty plastic plafonds 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 officer of the life guards, 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 Golenishchev, made the acquaintance of 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 medieval Italian life. Medieval Italian life so fascinated Vronsky that even his hat, and a plaid flung over his shoulder, were worn in the medieval style, which, indeed, was extremely becoming to him.
`Here we live, and know nothing of what's going on,' Vronsky said to Golenishchev, when the latter came to see him one morning. `Have you seen Mikhailov'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 Golenishchev. `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, Golenishchev 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 Mikhailov is in such poverty?' asked Vronsky, thinking that, as a Russian Maecenas, it was his duty to assist the artist regardless of whether the picture were good or bad.
`Hardly. He's a remarkable portrait painter. Have you ever seen his portrait of Madame Vassilkova? But I believe he doesn't care about painting any more portraits, and so, likely as not, he may be 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, unperceived, 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 medievalism, 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 Golenishchev, he said:
`Do you know this Mikhailov?'
`I have met him. But he's a queer fish, and quite without breeding.
