Vittoria by George Meredith (1867)

Meredith is here unexpectedly taking another holiday from comedy. Where last time we had a domestic tragedy, here is a revolutionary novel, set in the tumultuous Italy of 1848, placing it alongside A Tale of Two Cities and many another exploit in the turbulence which seemed to cross Europe over that long period. Like Rhoda Fleming, there is comedy in the sidelines of this one, mainly housed with operatic entrepreneur Antonio-Pericles and his very mildly talented amanuensis, Irma. The novel forms a complementary part, perhaps not a sequel overly, to his former novel Sandra Belloni, from 1864. The heroine of that comedy is transported back to her beloved homeland, and the beginnings of a career as a chanteuse. She has also undergone another transformation, becoming a fervent supporter of the troublings toward revolution and a unified Italy. To this end she takes a stage name, Vittoria, for obvious reasons. Her debut is planned for a particular day in Milan, where her talent is expected to be so arousing that she will single-handedly fire the starting gun for an insurrection in that city, simply by singing a particular song, which contains veiled patriotic references. From that point, we have a traditional Meredithian expansion into a multitude of threads, each supporting a character or group of characters, each of which have a complex viewpoint, either for or against a united Italy, or for or against continuing Austrian control, as well as innumerable personal biases, secret reasons, fallings in and out of love, changing receptions to others' actions, intrigues in the cause of personal and political goals, including misapprehension and rumour as well as fact. The action takes place on the quiet roads of northern Italy, in its mountain passes and in various staterooms and courtly houses at gatherings of the great and good. Austrian officers abound, as do Italian minor aristocracy. Vittoria's main idea is that Carlo Alberto will become king; her great love, Count Carlo Ammiani, is a plotter for a republican future. The tension caused by this difference of perspective is a major point of rub as the novel progresses, and the suspicions it creates among those around them cause a lot of confusion and misdirection. One of the most interesting things about this book is the primacy it gives to the opinions and agency of women in a period of both literature and history where it might not be expected. Vittoria's great friend Laura Piaveni is a strong urger of revolution and an indomitable arguer in favour of action. The countesses Lenkenstein are wilier equivalents on the Austrian side. Countess Viola d'Isorella is a mysterious intriguer who will stop at nothing to get her way, though no-one quite knows which side she's on. This interest in big female roles inhabiting usually male territory is an indication, I'm thinking, of why Virago were prepared to allow, as an exception, his later Diana of the Crossways into their modern classics years ago. To combine this tendency, along with extraordinarily intricate plotting, revelation of which occurs tangentially through veiled conversation and mysterious action in a circuitous gossamer of carefully teased psychology, is to reach splendid heights of reading pleasure yet again.