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William Dean Howells - William Dean Howells : Novels 1875-1886: A Foregone Conclusion, A Modern Instance, Indian Summer, The Rise of Silas Lapham (Library of America)

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    William Dean Howells : Novels 1875-1886: A Foregone Conclusion, A Modern Instance, Indian Summer, The Rise of Silas Lapham (Library of America)
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William Dean Howells : Novels 1875-1886: A Foregone Conclusion, A Modern Instance, Indian Summer, The Rise of Silas Lapham (Library of America): summary, description and annotation

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Four novels by Americas most influential man of letters at the turn of the century, which explore the conflicts of private life and social institutions with unflinching realismn. Contains A Foregone Conclusion and Indian Summer, dramas of complex romantic entanglements set in Italy, A Modern Instance, the first full-scale study of infidelity and divorce in American fiction, and The Rise of Silas Lapham, a brilliantly skeptical portrait of American business and new money.

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Page iii
William Dean Howells
Novels 18751886
A Foregone Conclusion
A Modern Instance
Indian Summer
The Rise Of Silas Lapham
Page iv Volume compilation notes and chronology copyright 1982 by - photo 2
Page iv
Volume compilation, notes, and chronology copyright 1982 by Literary Classics of the United States, Inc., New York, N.Y.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced commercially by offset-lithographic or equivalent copying devices without the permission of the publisher.
The texts of Indian Summer, A Modern Instance,
The Rise of Silas Lapham are
Copyright 1971, 1977, by the Indiana University Press and the Howells Edition Editorial Board.
The text of A Foregone Conclusion is reprinted by their permission.
Distributed to the trade in the United States by Penguin Putnam Inc. and in Canada by Penguin Books Canada Ltd.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 82112
For Cataloging in Publication Data, see end of Notes section.
ISBN: 0-940450-04-6
Sixth Printing
The Library of America8
Manufactured in the United States of America
Page v
EDWIN H. CADY
WROTE THE NOTES FOR THIS VOLUME
Page vii
The texts in this volume are reprinted from A Selected Edition
of W.D. Howells, published by the Indiana University Press
and the Howells Edition Editorial Board, and bear the emblem of the
Modern Language Association. The texts of A Foregone Conclusion
and A Modern Instance were edited by David J. Nordloh
and David Kleinman, the text of Indian Summer was
edited by Scott Bennett and David J. Nordloh,
and the text of The Rise of Silas Lapham was edited by
Walter J. Meserve and David J. Nordloh.
These texts are reprinted here without change.
Page ix
CONTENTS
A Foregone Conclusion
1
A Modern Instance
173
Indian Summer
591
The Rise of Silas Lapham
859
Chronology
1203
Note on the Texts
1209
Notes
1213

Page 1
A FOREGONE CONCLUSION
Page 3
I
As Don Ippolito passed down the long narrow calle or footway leading from the Campo San Stefano to the Grand Canal in Venice, he peered anxiously about him: now turning for a backward look up the calle where there was no living thing in sight but a cat on a garden gate, now running a quick eye along the palace walls that rose vast on either hand, and notched the slender strip of blue sky visible overhead with the lines of their jutting balconies, chimneys and cornices, and now glancing towards the canal where he could see the noiseless black boats meeting and passing. There was no sound in the calle save his own footfalls, and the harsh scream of a parrot that hung in the sunshine at one of the loftiest windows; but the note of a peasant crying pots of pinks and roses in the campo came softened to Don Ippolito's sense, and he heard the gondoliers as they hoarsely jested together, and gossipped with the canal between them at the next gondola station.
The first tenderness of spring was in the air, though down in that calle there was yet enough of the wintry rawness to chill the tip of Don Ippolito's sensitive nose, which he rubbed for comfort with a handkerchief of dark blue calico and polished for ornament with a handkerchief of white linen. He restored each to a different pocket in the sides of the ecclesiastical talare, or gown, reaching almost to his ancles, and then clutched the pocket in which he had replaced the linen handkerchief as if to make sure that something he prized was safe within. He paused abruptly, and looking at the doors he had passed, went back a few paces and stood before one over which hung, slightly tilted forward, an oval sign painted with the effigy of an eagle, a bundle of arrows and certain thunderbolts, and bearing the legend, CONSULATE OF THE UNITED STATES in neat characters. Don Ippolito gave a quick sigh, hesitated a moment, and then seized the bell-pull and jerked it so sharply that it seemed to thrust out, like a part of the mechanism, the head of an old serving-woman at the window above him.
Page 4
"Who is there?" demanded this head.
"Friends," answered Don Ippolito in a rich, sad voice.
"And what do you command?" further asked the old woman.
Don Ippolito paused apparently searching for his voice, before he inquired "Is it here that the Consul of America lives?"
"Precisely."
"Is he perhaps at home?"
"I don't know. I will go ask him."
"Do me that pleasure, dear," said Don Ippolito, and remained knotting his fingers before the closed door. Presently the old woman returned, and looking out long enough to say "The consul is at home," drew some inner bolt by a wire running to the lock, that let the door start open; then, waiting to hear Don Ippolito close it again she called out from her height, "Favor me above." He climbed the dim stairway to the point where she stood, and followed her to the door which she flung open into an apartment so brightly lit by a window looking on the sunny canal, that he blinked as he entered. ''Signor Console," said the old woman, "behold the gentleman who desired to see you," and at the same time Don Ippolito, having removed his broad, stiff three cornered hat, came forward, and made a beautiful bow. He had lost for the moment the trepidation which had marked his approach to the consulate, and bore himself with graceful dignity.
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