Charity Royall s'ennuie à mourir dans la petite bourgade de North Dormer, en Nouvelle-Angleterre, où elle a été recueillie enfant par un avocat aujourd'hui veuf. Un jour de début d'été, elle voit apparaître dans la minuscule bibliothèque municipale où elle travaille, un jeune architecte, Lucius Harney, venu dessiner les vieilles demeures de la région. Très rapidement, la jeune fille s'éprend de lui...

Eté

« Faites New York ! », telle est l'injonction qu'adresse, dès 1902, Henry James, son mentor et ami, à Edith Wharton. Avec L'Âge de l'innocence, prix Pulitzer en 1921, la romancière y répond de façon magistrale en dressant le tableau évocateur, subtil et cruel, d'un monde disparu qui est aussi celui de son enfance. Au début des années 1870, au sein du petit univers élitiste et fermé de la bonne société new-yorkaise, Newland Archer s'apprête à épouser May Welland, incarnation « de tout ce à quoi il avait cru et qu'il avait révéré ». L'irruption de la cousine de sa future femme, la mystérieuse comtesse Olenska qui rentre inopinément d'Europe pour fuir un mariage malheureux, va donner une tournure inattendue à ses fiançailles. Alors que la comtesse fascine et scandalise tour à tour New York, Archer voit le mélange de sympathie et de perplexité que lui inspire Ellen Olenska se changer peu à peu en un sentiment plus troublant. Mais il prend également conscience de l'implacable étau dans lequel la société corsetée du « vieux New York » enferme les individus et du sort qu'elle réserve à ceux qui refusent de se conformer à ses règles. Peinture d'un amour impossible, d'une émancipation manquée et d'un monde voué à s'éteindre définitivement au lendemain de la guerre de 1914-1918, L'Âge de l'innocence se teinte d'une flamboyante mélancolie.

L'âge de l'innocence

A girl came out of lawyer Royall's house, at the end of the one street of North Dormer, and stood on the doorstep.

It was the beginning of a June afternoon. The springlike transparent sky shed a rain of silver sunshine on the roofs of the village, and on the pastures and larchwoods surrounding it. A little wind moved among the round white clouds on the shoulders of the hills, driving their shadows across the fields and down the grassy road that takes the name of street when it passes through North Dormer. The place lies high and in the open, and lacks the lavish shade of the more protected New England villages. The clump of weeping-willows about the duck pond, and the Norway spruces in front of the Hatchard gate, cast almost the only roadside shadow between lawyer Royall's house and the point where, at the other end of the village, the road rises above the church and skirts the black hemlock wall enclosing the cemetery.

Summer

"Undine Spragg-how can you?" her mother wailed, raising a prematurely-wrinkled hand heavy with rings to defend the note which a languid "bell-boy" had just brought in.

But her defence was as feeble as her protest, and she continued to smile on her visitor while Miss Spragg, with a turn of her quick young fingers, possessed herself of the missive and withdrew to the window to read it.

"I guess it's meant for me, " she merely threw over her shoulder at her mother.

"Did you EVER, Mrs. Heeny?" Mrs. Spragg murmured with deprecating pride.

Mrs. Heeny, a stout professional-looking person in a waterproof, her rusty veil thrown back, and a shabby alligator bag at her feet, followed the mother's glance with good-humoured approval.

"I never met with a lovelier form, " she agreed, answering the spirit rather than the letter of her hostess's enquiry.

Mrs. Spragg and her visitor were enthroned in two heavy gilt armchairs in one of the private drawing-rooms of the Hotel Stentorian. The Spragg rooms were known as one of the Looey suites, and the drawing-room walls, above their wainscoting of highly-varnished mahogany, were hung with salmon-pink damask and adorned with oval portraits of Marie Antoinette and the Princess de Lamballe.

The Custom of the Country

I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story.

If you know Starkfield, Massachusetts, you know the post-office. If you know the post-office you must have seen Ethan Frome drive up to it, drop the reins on his hollow-backed bay and drag himself across the brick pavement to the white colonnade; and you must have asked who he was.

It was there that, several years ago, I saw him for the first time; and the sight pulled me up sharp. Even then he was the most striking figure in Starkfield, though he was but the ruin of a man. It was not so much his great height that marked him, for the "natives" were easily singled out by their lank longitude from the stockier foreign breed: it was the careless powerful look he had, in spite of a lameness checking each step like the jerk of a chain. There was something bleak and unapproachable in his face, and he was so stiffened and grizzled that I took him for an old man and was surprised to hear that he was not more than fifty-two. I had this from Harmon Gow, who had driven the stage from Bettsbridge to Starkfield in pre-trolley days and knew the chronicle of all the families on his line.

Ethan Frome

Le Retour à la maison

Les metteurs en scène

Trois récits, parmi lesquels Beatrice Palmato, un fragment érotique inédit retrouvé en 2001. A sa lumière, les deux nouvelles qui complètent ce recueil, L'ermite et la sauvageonne et Le prétexte, révèlent une nuance rare, comme si depuis toujours l'écriture de Wharton avait langui d'évoluer dans l'éclat aveuglant des enchantements charnels.

Béatrice Palmato - Fragment érotique et autres textes

Desperate for money so that he may marry, Stephen Glennard sells the loves letters that a famous, recently deceased author penned to him, but when he is haunted by crippling guilt over the source of his fortune, Glennard turns to his wife for guidance and forgiveness. HarperPerennialClassics brings great works of literature to life in digital format, upholding the highest standards in ebook production and celebrating reading in all its forms. Look for more titles in the HarperPerennial Classics collection to build your digital library.

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