She knew the idea only by the
Bible and other literary works; to the best of her belief she had
had no personal acquaintance with wickedness. She had desired a
large acquaintance with human life, and in spite of her having
flattered herself that she cultivated it with some success this
elementary privilege had been denied her. Perhaps it was not wicked-in
the historic sense-to be even deeply false; for that was what Madame
Merle had been deeply, deeply, deeply. Isabel's Aunt Lydia had made
this discovery long before, and had mentioned it to her niece; but
Isabel had flattered herself at this time that she had a much richer
view of things, especially of the spontaneity of her own career and
the nobleness of her own interpretations, than poor
stiffly-reasoning Mrs. Touchett. Madame Merle had done what she
wanted; she had brought about the union of her two friends; a
reflection which could not fail to make it a matter of wonder that she
should so much have desired such an event. There were people who had
the match-making passion, like the votaries of art for art; but Madame
Merle, great artist as she was, was scarcely one of these. She thought
too ill of marriage, too ill even of life; she had desired that
particular marriage but had not desired others.
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