第一百三十二章 第八章
第八章
在获得解放并迅速恢复健康的最初那段日子里，安娜感到自己幸福得不可原谅，充满了生的欢乐。想到丈夫的不幸，并没有毒化她的幸福。一方面，那段回忆太可怕，简直不敢去想；另一方面，丈夫的不幸反倒给了她太多幸福，不值得为之惋惜。想到病后发生的一切——与丈夫的和解、决裂、伏伦斯基受伤的消息、他的来访、离婚的准备、从丈夫家出走、与儿子诀别——这一切对她来说仿佛只是一场梦，醒来后她与伏伦斯基独自在国外。想到给丈夫造成的伤害，她心里便涌起一种近似厌恶的感觉，就像一个溺水的人甩掉攀住他的人后所感到的那样。那个人淹死了。当然，这是件坏事，但那是唯一的逃生办法，最好还是别去想这些可怕的事实。
在最终决裂的最初时刻，她曾有过一种聊以自慰的想法，如今当她回忆往事时，她想起了那个想法。“我不可避免地使那个人不幸了，”她想，“但我不愿利用他的不幸。我也在受苦，还要继续受苦；我失去了我最珍视的东西——我失去了我的好名声和我的儿子。我做了错事，所以我不求幸福，不想离婚，我将忍受耻辱和与孩子分离的痛苦。”然而，尽管安娜真心实意地打算受苦，她却并不感到痛苦。耻辱也不存在。他们俩都极有分寸，成功地避开了国外的俄国太太们，因此从没有把自己置于尴尬的境地，而且无论走到哪里，他们遇到的人都假装完全理解他们的处境，实际上比他们自己理解得还要透彻。与心爱的儿子分离——甚至这件事在初期也没有让她感到痛苦。那个小女孩——他的孩子——是那么可爱，而且自从安娜身边只剩下她之后，她赢得了安娜的心，以至于安娜很少想到她的儿子。
随着健康的恢复，生的欲望越来越强烈，生活条件又是如此新奇和愉快，安娜感到自己幸福得不可原谅。她越是了解伏伦斯基，就越是爱他。她爱他本人，也爱他对她的爱。完全占有他，这对她来说是一种持续的快乐。他的陪伴对她总是那么甜蜜。他的性格中那些她越来越深入了解的特点，对她来说都是难以言喻的亲切。他因穿便服而改变的外貌，对她来说就像是个坠入爱河的年轻姑娘所看到的，同样迷人。在他所说、所想、所做的一切中，她都看到某种特别高尚和卓越的东西。她对他的崇拜甚至让她自己感到害怕；她寻找着，却在他身上找不到任何不美好的东西。她不敢让他看出，在他面前她觉得自己多么渺小。她觉得，一旦他知道了这一点，他可能就会不再爱她了；而现在，她最害怕的莫过于失去他的爱，尽管她没有任何理由害怕。但她还是忍不住感激他对她的态度，并表现出她对此的珍视。在她看来，他显然具有政治家的天赋，本应在其中扮演重要角色——他却为她牺牲了抱负，而且从未表现出丝毫的后悔。他对她比以往更加温柔体贴，时刻留意着不让她感到自己处境的尴尬，这种关怀从未有过片刻松懈。他这样一个阳刚的男人，从不违逆她，实际上，在她面前他没有自己的意志，似乎一心只想着她的愿望。她不能不感激这一点，尽管他对她的极度关怀、他围绕她营造的那种关切的氛围，有时也让她感到有些沉重。
与此同时，尽管伏伦斯基长久以来的愿望得到了完全实现，他却并不十分幸福。他很快就感到，愿望的实现所给予他的，不过是预期幸福大山中的一粒沙子。这让他明白了人们在想象幸福就是实现愿望时所犯的错误。与她的生活结合在一起并穿上便服后的最初一段时间里，他感受到了以前从未体验过的普遍的自由以及爱情中的自由的快乐——他感到满足，但好景不长。他很快就意识到，他心里滋生了一种渴望欲望的欲望——倦怠。他无意识地开始抓住每一个转瞬即逝的念头，把它当成一个欲望和一个目标。一天十六个小时必须以某种方式打发，因为他们生活在国外，完全自由，不受彼得堡那种填充时间的社会生活条件限制。至于独身生活的娱乐，以前伏伦斯基在国外旅行时曾以此消遣，现在却想都不能想了，因为唯一的一次此类尝试——与单身朋友共进晚餐——就导致了安娜一阵突如其来的沮丧，这与起因完全不成比例。与当地社会——无论是外国社会还是俄国社会——的交往，也由于他们处境的不合规矩而同样不可能。参观名胜，除了所有地方都已经看过了之外，对于一个俄国人和一个有理智的人来说，并不具有英国人能够赋予这种活动的那种巨大意义。
就像饥饿的胃贪婪地抓住它能得到的任何东西，希望从中找到营养一样，伏伦斯基无意识地先抓住政治，然后是新书，再然后是绘画。
由于他从小就爱好绘画，又因为不知道把钱花在什么地方而开始收集版画，他最终在绘画上停了下来，开始对它产生兴趣，并把那些无所事事、渴望得到满足的欲望集中在上面。
他对艺术有现成的鉴赏力，而且很可能，由于有模仿艺术的倾向，他自认为具备了艺术家应有的真正品质，在犹豫了一段时间该选择哪种绘画风格——宗教、历史、现实主义还是风俗画——之后，他开始着手作画。他欣赏所有风格，并且可能受到其中任何一种的启发；但他完全不知道，有可能根本不了解任何绘画流派，而直接由灵魂深处的东西获得灵感，而不在乎所画的东西是否属于任何公认的流派。由于他不知道这一点，并且不是直接从生活中获得灵感，而是间接地从艺术所体现的生活中获得灵感，所以他的灵感来得非常快、非常容易，而他成功画出非常接近他试图模仿的那种绘画的作品，也同样来得快、来得容易。
在所有风格中，他最喜欢法国风格——优雅而有效——他用这种风格开始画安娜穿着意大利服装的肖像，这幅肖像画在他看来，以及所有看到它的人看来，都非常成功。
Anna, in that first period of her emancipation and rapid return to
health, felt herself unpardonably happy and full of the joy of life.
The thought of her husband’s unhappiness did not poison her happiness.
On one side that memory was too awful to be thought of. On the other
side her husband’s unhappiness had given her too much happiness to be
regretted. The memory of all that had happened after her illness: her
reconciliation with her husband, its breakdown, the news of Vronsky’s
wound, his visit, the preparations for divorce, the departure from her
husband’s house, the parting from her son—all that seemed to her like a
delirious dream, from which she had waked up alone with Vronsky abroad.
The thought of the harm caused to her husband aroused in her a feeling
like repulsion, and akin to what a drowning man might feel who has
shaken off another man clinging to him. That man did drown. It was an
evil action, of course, but it was the sole means of escape, and better
not to brood over these fearful facts.
One consolatory reflection upon her conduct had occurred to her at the
first moment of the final rupture, and when now she recalled all the
past, she remembered that one reflection. “I have inevitably made that
man wretched,” she thought; “but I don’t want to profit by his misery.
I too am suffering, and shall suffer; I am losing what I prized above
everything—I am losing my good name and my son. I have done wrong, and
so I don’t want happiness, I don’t want a divorce, and shall suffer
from my shame and the separation from my child.” But, however sincerely
Anna had meant to suffer, she was not suffering. Shame there was not.
With the tact of which both had such a large share, they had succeeded
in avoiding Russian ladies abroad, and so had never placed themselves
in a false position, and everywhere they had met people who pretended
that they perfectly understood their position, far better indeed than
they did themselves. Separation from the son she loved—even that did
not cause her anguish in these early days. The baby girl—_his_
child—was so sweet, and had so won Anna’s heart, since she was all that
was left her, that Anna rarely thought of her son.
The desire for life, waxing stronger with recovered health, was so
intense, and the conditions of life were so new and pleasant, that Anna
felt unpardonably happy. The more she got to know Vronsky, the more she
loved him. She loved him for himself, and for his love for her. Her
complete ownership of him was a continual joy to her. His presence was
always sweet to her. All the traits of his character, which she learned
to know better and better, were unutterably dear to her. His
appearance, changed by his civilian dress, was as fascinating to her as
though she were some young girl in love. In everything he said,
thought, and did, she saw something particularly noble and elevated.
Her adoration of him alarmed her indeed; she sought and could not find
in him anything not fine. She dared not show him her sense of her own
insignificance beside him. It seemed to her that, knowing this, he
might sooner cease to love her; and she dreaded nothing now so much as
losing his love, though she had no grounds for fearing it. But she
could not help being grateful to him for his attitude to her, and
showing that she appreciated it. He, who had in her opinion such a
marked 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 awkwardness 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 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 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.
