Vittoria. Complete

Vittoria. Complete
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George Meredith. Vittoria. Complete

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX. IN VERONA

CHAPTER X. THE POPE’S MOUTH

CHAPTER XI. LAURA PIAVENI

CHAPTER XII. THE BRONZE BUTTERFLY

CHAPTER XIII. THE PLOT OF THE SIGNOR ANTONIO

CHAPTER XIV. AT THE MAESTRO’S DOOR

CHAPTER XV. AMMIANI THROUGH THE MIDNIGHT

CHAPTER XVI. COUNTESS AMMIANI

CHAPTER XVII. IN THE PIAZZA D’ARMI

CHAPTER XVIII. THE NIGHT OF THE FIFTEENTH

CHAPTER XIX. THE PRIMA DONNA

CHAPTER XX. THE OPERA OF CAMILLA

CHAPTER XXI. THE THIRD ACT

CHAPTER XXII. WILFRID COMES FORWARD

CHAPTER XXIII. FIRST HOURS OF THE FLIGHT

CHAPTER XXIV. ADVENTURES OF VITTORIA AND ANGELO

CHAPTER XXV. ACROSS THE MOUNTAINS

CHAPTER XXVI. THE DUEL IN THE PASS

CHAPTER XXVII. A NEW ORDEAL

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE ESCAPE OF ANGELO

CHAPTER XXIX

CHAPTER XXX. EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR THE FIVE DAYS OF MILAN

CHAPTER XXXI. EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR VITTORIA DISOBEYS HER LOVER

CHAPTER XXXI. EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR

CHAPTER XXXIII. EPISODES OF THE REVOLT AND THE WAR

CHAPTER XXXIV

CHAPTER XXXV. CLOSE OF THE LOMBARD CAMPAIGN—VITTORIA’S PERPLEXITY

CHAPTER XXXVI. A FRESH ENTANGLEMENT

CHAPTER XXXVII. ON LAGO MAGGIORE

CHAPTER XXXVIII. VIOLETTA D’ISORELLA

CHAPTER XXXIX. ANNA OF LENKENSTEIN

CHAPTER XL. THROUGH THE WINTER

CHAPTER XLI. THE INTERVIEW

CHAPTER XLII. THE SHADOW ON CONSPIRACY

CHAPTER XLIII. THE LAST MEETING IN MILAN

CHAPTER XLIV. THE WIFE AND THE HUSBAND

CHAPTER XLV. SHOWS MANY PATHS CONVERGING TO THE END

CHAPTER XLVI. THE LAST

EPILOGUE

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He was a man of middle stature, thin, and even frail, as he stood defined against the sky; with the complexion of the student, and the student’s aspect. The attentive droop of his shoulders and head, the straining of the buttoned coat across his chest, the air as of one who waited and listened, which distinguished his figure, detracted from the promise of other than contemplative energy, until his eyes were fairly seen and felt. That is, until the observer became aware that those soft and large dark meditative eyes had taken hold of him. In them lay no abstracted student’s languor, no reflex burning of a solitary lamp; but a quiet grappling force engaged the penetrating look. Gazing upon them, you were drawn in suddenly among the thousand whirring wheels of a capacious and a vigorous mind, that was both reasoning and prompt, keen of intellect, acting throughout all its machinery, and having all under full command: an orbed mind, supplying its own philosophy, and arriving at the sword-stroke by logical steps,—a mind much less supple than a soldier’s; anything but the mind of a Hamlet. The eyes were dark as the forest’s border is dark; not as night is dark. Under favourable lights their colour was seen to be a deep rich brown, like the chestnut, or more like the hazel-edged sunset brown which lies upon our western rivers in the winter floods, when night begins to shadow them.

The side-view of his face was an expression of classic beauty rarely now to be beheld, either in classic lands or elsewhere. It was severe; the tender serenity of the full bow of the eyes relieved it. In profile they showed little of their intellectual quality, but what some might have thought a playful luminousness, and some a quick pulse of feeling. The chin was firm; on it, and on the upper lip, there was a clipped growth of black hair. The whole visage widened upward from the chin, though not very markedly before it reached the broad-lying brows. The temples were strongly indented by the swelling of the forehead above them: and on both sides of the head there ran a pregnant ridge, such as will sometimes lift men a deplorable half inch above the earth we tread. If this man was a problem to others, he was none to himself; and when others called him an idealist, he accepted the title, reading himself, notwithstanding, as one who was less flighty than many philosophers and professedly practical teachers of his generation. He saw far, and he grasped ends beyond obstacles: he was nourished by sovereign principles; he despised material present interests; and, as I have said, he was less supple than a soldier. If the title of idealist belonged to him, we will not immediately decide that it was opprobrious. The idealized conception of stern truths played about his head certainly for those who knew and who loved it. Such a man, perceiving a devout end to be reached, might prove less scrupulous in his course, possibly, and less remorseful, than revolutionary Generals. His smile was quite unclouded, and came softly as a curve in water. It seemed to flow with, and to pass in and out of, his thoughts, to be a part of his emotion and his meaning when it shone transiently full. For as he had an orbed mind, so had he an orbed nature. The passions were absolutely in harmony with the intelligence. He had the English manner; a remarkable simplicity contrasting with the demonstrative outcries and gesticulations of his friends when they joined him on the height. Calling them each by name, he received their caresses and took their hands; after which he touched the old man’s shoulder.

.....

Agostino waved his hand in the form of a salute to her on the last short ascent. She acknowledged it gracefully; and talking at intervals to Carlo Ammiani, who footed briskly by her side, she drew by degrees among the eyes fixed on her, some of which were not gentle; but hers were for the Chief, at whose feet, when dismounted by Ammiani’s solicitous aid, she would have knelt, had he not seized her by her elbows, and put his lips to her cheek.

“The signorina Vittoria, gentlemen,” said Agostino.

.....

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