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The House of Mirth
Edith Wharton
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The House of Mirth
Edith Wharton
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First published in 1905, THE HOUSE OF MIRTH shocked the New York society it so deftly chronicles, portraying the moral, social and economic restraints on a woman who dared to claim the privileges of marriage without assuming the responsibilities. Lily Bart, beautiful, witty and sophisticated, is accepted by 'old money' and courted by the growing tribe of nouveaux riches. But as she nears thirty, her foothold becomes precarious; a poor girl with expensive tastes, she needs a husband to preserve her social standing and to maintain her in the luxury she has come to expect. Whilst many have sought her, something - fastidiousness or integrity- prevents her from making a 'suitable' match.
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LiteraturaSous-sujet
ClĂĄsicosCHAPTER 1
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SELDEN PAUSED IN SURPRISE. IN the afternoon rush of the Grand Central Station his eyes had been refreshed by the sight of Miss Lily Bart.
It was a Monday in early September, and he was returning to his work from a hurried dip into the country; but what was Miss Bart doing in town at that season? If she had appeared to be catching a train, he might have inferred that he had come on her in the act of transition between one and another of the country-houses which disputed her presence after the close of the Newport season; but her desultory air perplexed him. She stood apart from the crowd, letting it drift by her to the platform or the street, and wearing an air of irresolution which might, as he surmised, be the mask of a very definite purpose. It struck him at once that she was waiting for some one, but he hardly knew why the idea arrested him. There was nothing new about Lily Bart, yet he could never see her without a faint movement of interest: it was characteristic of her that she always roused speculation, that her simplest acts seemed the result of far-reaching intentions.
An impulse of curiosity made him turn out of his direct line to the door, and stroll past her. He knew that if she did not wish to be seen she would contrive to elude him; and it amused him to think of putting her skill to the test.
âMr. Seldenâwhat good luck!â
She came forward smiling, eager almost, in her resolve to intercept him. One or two persons, in brushing past them, lingered to look; for Miss Bart was a figure to arrest even the suburban traveller rushing to his last train.
Selden had never seen her more radiant. Her vivid head, relieved against the dull tints of the crowd, made her more conspicuous than in a ball-room, and under her dark hat and veil she regained the girlish smoothness, the purity of tint, that she was beginning to lose after eleven years of late hours and indefatigable dancing. Was it really eleven years, Selden found himself wondering, and had she indeed reached the nine-and-twentieth birthday with which her rivals credited her?
âWhat luck!â she repeated. âHow nice of you to come to my rescue!â
He responded joyfully that to do so was his mission in life, and asked what form the rescue was to take.
âOh, almost anyâeven to sitting on a bench and talking to me. One sits out a cotillionâwhy not sit out a train? It isnât a bit hotter here than in Mrs. Van Osburghâs conservatoryâand some of the women are not a bit uglier.â She broke off, laughing, to explain that she had come up to town from Tuxedo, on her way to the Gus Trenorsâ at Bellomont, and had missed the three-fifteen train to Rhinebeck. âAnd there isnât another till half-past five.â She consulted the little jewelled watch among her laces. âJust two hours to wait. And I donât know what to do with myself. My maid came up this morning to do some shopping for me, and was to go on to Bellomont at one oâclock, and my auntâs house is closed, and I donât know a soul in town.â She glanced plaintively about the station. âIt IS hotter than Mrs. Van Osburghâs, after all. If you can spare the time, do take me somewhere for a breath of air.â
He declared himself entirely at her disposal: the adventure struck him as diverting. As a spectator, he had always enjoyed Lily Bart; and his course lay so far out of her orbit that it amused him to be drawn for a moment into the sudden intimacy which her proposal implied.
âShall we go over to Sherryâs for a cup of tea?â
She smiled assentingly, and then made a slight grimace.
âSo many people come up to town on a Mondayâone is sure to meet a lot of bores. Iâm as old as the hills, of course, and it ought not to make any difference; but if IâM old enough, youâre not,â she objected gaily. âIâm dying for teaâbut isnât there a quieter place?â
He answered her smile, which rested on him vividly. Her discretions interested him almost as much as her imprudences: he was so sure that both were part of the same carefully-elaborated plan. In judging Miss Bart, he had always made use of the âargument from design.â
âThe resources of New York are rather meagre,â he said; âbut Iâll find a hansom first, and then weâll invent something.â He led her through the throng of returning holiday-makers, past sallow-faced girls in preposterous hats, and flat-chested women struggling with paper bundles and palm-leaf fans. Was it possible that she belonged to the same race? The dinginess, the crudity of this average section of womanhood made him feel how highly specialized she was.
A rapid shower had cooled the air, and clouds still hung refreshingly over the moist street.
âHow delicious! Let us walk a little,â she said as they emerged from the station.
They turned into Madison Avenue and began to stroll northward. As she moved beside him, with her long light step, Selden was conscious of taking a luxurious pleasure in her nearness: in the modelling of her little ear, the crisp upward wave of her hairâwas it ever so slightly brightened by art?âand the thick planting of her straight black lashes. Everything about her was at once vigorous and exquisite, at once strong and fine. He had a confused sense that she must have cost a great deal to make, that a great many dull and ugly people must, in some mysterious way, have been sacrificed to produce her. He was aware that the qualities distinguishing her from the herd of her sex were chiefly external: as though a fine glaze of beauty and fastidiousness had been applied to vulgar clay. Yet the analogy left him unsatisfied, for a coarse texture will not take a high finish; and was it not possible that the material was fine, but that circumstance had fashioned it into a futile shape?
As he reached this point in his speculations the sun came out, and her lifted parasol cut off his enjoyment. A moment or two later she paused with a sigh.
âOh, dear, Iâm so hot and thirstyâand what a hideous place New York is!â She looked despairingly up and down the dreary thoroughfare. âOther cities put on their best clothes in summer, but New York seems to sit in its shirtsleeves.â Her eyes wandered down one of the side-streets. âSomeone has had the humanity to plant a few trees over there. Let us go into the shade.â
âI am glad my street meets with your approval,â said Selden as they turned the corner.
âYour street? Do you live here?â
She glanced with interest along the new brick and limestone house-fronts, fantastically varied in obedience to the American craving for novelty, but fresh and inviting with their awnings and flower-boxes.
âAh, yesâto be sure: THE BENEDICK. What a nice-looking building! I donât think Iâve ever seen it before.â She looked across at the flat-house with its marble porch and pseudo-Georgian facade. âWhich are your windows? Those with the awnings down?â
âOn the top floorâyes.â
âAnd that nice little balcony is yours? How cool it looks up there!â
He paused a moment. âCome up and see,â he suggested. âI can give you a cup of tea in no timeâand you wonât meet any bores.â
Her colour deepenedâshe still had the art of blushing at the right timeâbut she took the suggestion as lightly as it was made.
âWhy not? Itâs too temptingâIâll take the risk,â she declared.
âOh, Iâm not dangerous,â he said in the same key. In truth, he had never liked her as well as at that moment. He knew she had accepted without afterthought: he could never be a factor in her calculations, and there was a surprise, a refreshment almost, in the spontaneity of her consent.
On the threshold he paused a moment, feeling for his latchkey.
âThereâs no one here; but I have a servant who is supposed to come in the mornings, and itâs just possible he may have put out the tea-things and provided some cake.â
He ushered her into a slip of a hall hung with old prints. She noticed the letters and notes heaped on the table among his gloves and sticks; then she found herself in a small library, dark but cheerful, with its walls of books, a pleasantly faded Turkey rug, a littered desk and, as he had foretold, a tea-tray on a low table near the window. A breeze had sprung up, swaying inward the muslin curtains, and bringing a fresh scent of mignonette and petunias from the flower-box on the balcony.
Lily sank with a sigh into one of the shabby leather chairs.
âHow delicious to have a place like this all to oneâs self! What a miserable thing it is to be a woman.â She leaned back in a luxury of discontent.
Selden was rummaging in a cupboard for the cake.
âEven women,â he said, âhave been known to enjoy the privileges of a flat.â
âOh, governessesâor widows. But not girlsânot poor, miserable, marriageable girls!â
âI even know a girl who lives in a flat.â
She sat up in surprise. âYou do?â
âI do,â he assured her, emerging from the cupboard with the sought-for cake.
âOh, I knowâyou mean Gerty Farish.â She smiled a little unkindly. âBut I said MARRIAGEABLEâand besides, she has a horrid little place, and no maid, and such queer things to eat. Her cook does the washing and the food tastes of soap. I should hate that, you know.â
âYou shouldnât dine with her on wash-days,â said Selden, cutting the cake.
They both laughed, and he knelt by the table to light the lamp under the kettle, while she measured out the tea into a little tea-pot of green glaze. As he watched her hand, polished as a bit of old ivory, with its slender pink nails, and the sapphire bracelet slipping over her wrist, he was struck with the irony of suggesting to her such a life as his cousin Gertrude Farish had chosen. She was so evidently the victim of the civilization which had produced her, that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate.
She seemed to read his thought. âIt was horrid of me to say that of Gerty,â she said with charming compunction. âI forgot she was your cousin. But weâre so different, you know: she likes being good, and I like being happy. And besides, she is free and I am not. If I were, I daresay I could manage to be happy even in her flat. It must be pure bliss to arrange the furniture just as one likes, and give all the horrors to the ash-man. If I could only do over my auntâs drawing-room I know I should be a better woman.â
âIs it so very bad?â he asked sympathetically.
She smiled at him across the tea-pot which she was holding up to be filled.
âThat shows how seldom you come there. Why donât you come oftener?â
âWhen I do come, itâs not to look at Mrs. Penistonâs furniture.â
âNonsense,â she said. âYou donât come at allâand yet we get on so well when we meet.â
âPerhaps thatâs the reason,â he answered promptly. âIâm afraid I havenât any cream, you knowâshall you mind a slice of lemon instead?â
âI shall like it better.â She waited while he cut the lemon and dropped a thin disk into her cup. âBut that is not the reason,â she insisted.
âThe reason for what?â
âFor your never coming.â She leaned forward with a shade of perplexity in her charming eyes. âI wish I knewâI wish I could make you out. Of course I know there are men who donât like meâone can tell that at a glance. And there are others who are afraid of me: they think I want to marry them.â She smiled up at him frankly. âBut I donât think you dislike meâand you canât possibly think I want to marry you.â
âNoâI absolve you of that,â he agreed.
âWell, thenââ?â
He had carried his cup to the fireplace, and stood leaning agai...