Page 254 - swanns-way

could understand how she must have longed for such an es-
cape when I realised that it was impossible for her to effect it.
At the moment when she wished to be thought the very an-
tithesis of her father, what she at once suggested to me were
the mannerisms, in thought and speech, of the poor old
music-master. Indeed, his photograph was nothing; what
she really desecrated, what she corrupted into minister-
ing to her pleasures, but what remained between them and
her and prevented her from any direct enjoyment of them,
was the likeness between her face and his, his mother’s blue
eyes which he had handed down to her, like some trinket to
be kept in the family, those little friendly movements and
inclinations which set up between the viciousness of Mlle.
Vinteuil and herself a phraseology, a mentality not designed
for vice, which made her regard it as not in any way differ-
ent from the numberless little social duties and courtesies to
which she must devote herself every day. It was not evil that
gave her the idea of pleasure, that seemed to her attractive;
it was pleasure, rather, that seemed evil. And as, every time
that she indulged in it, pleasure came to her attended by evil
thoughts such as, ordinarily, had no place in her virtuous
mind, she came at length to see in pleasure itself something
diabolical, to identify it with Evil. Perhaps Mlle. Vinteuil
felt that at heart her friend was not altogether bad, not really
sincere when she gave vent to those blasphemous utteranc-
es. At any rate, she had the pleasure of receiving those kisses
on her brow, those smiles, those glances; all feigned, per-
haps, but akin in their base and vicious mode of expression
to those which would have been discernible on the face of

254 Swann’s Way