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Edith WhartonA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The narrator of “Roman Fever” notes Rome’s “great accumulated wreckage of passion and splendour” wrought by the passage of time (755). The story depicts two women working through a comparable “wreckage” in their personal lives. At the same time, the story frames these private events against both the histories of generations of people like them and the layered, indeed overabundant, history of Rome.
The story explicitly locates Grace and Alida, as well as their daughters, in a long history of women. They belong to “generations of travellers,” and for each successive group Rome “stands for” something else (754). As each age inherits what came before it, these accumulated connotations clash and combine in ways both great and small. Rome serves this function, but so too does the story of great-aunt Harriet. The interpretation that she sent her sister to the Colosseum out of jealousy is the family story Grace learns as a child, and it too shapes how she understands her world, perhaps especially the ways women relate to one another.
In “Roman Fever,” a confrontation with the past necessarily involves an assessment of the individual’s limitations and complicity in events and their reverberations. The narrator’s emphasis on both women’s limited perspectives, conveyed most powerfully in the observation that they saw one another “through the wrong end of her little telescope” (753), suggests that there can be no full understanding of what one has done or inherited without also realizing one’s limitations. The story metes out this lesson mercilessly, first stripping from Grace her memory of the letter she had thought Delphin sent her and then exposing to Alida the limitation of her imagination when Grace tells her she had answered the forged letter. “Oh, God” Alida cries, “you answered! I never thought of your answering” (761). Both women are so struck by what they failed to think of that they hide their faces in their hands.
The confrontation with their limitations produces no new knowledge. Each woman responds as she has for years. At the end of the story, Grace reiterates the judgment she expresses at its outset: she pities Alida. Alida, too, remains true to form. If her choice in the past had been to lash out, trying to protect herself by hurting Grace, so too is her choice in the present. That the engagement with the past in the story has yielded further power struggles, rather than forms of self-knowledge, suggests that the “wreckage” will continue to mount.
The two main characters have known one another since before their names were Mrs. Slade and Mrs. Ansley and the narrator notes that they are “intimate friends.” Yet the description of their friendship is immediately qualified when the narrator continues to observe that “like many intimate friends, the two ladies had never before had occasion to be silent together” (754). This silence “slightly” embarrasses Mrs. Ansley for it “seemed, after so many years, a new stage in their intimacy, and one with which she did not yet know how to deal” (754). Not only does this passage offer a rare insight into Grace’s inner world, but it also suggests that even for people who are “intimate,” there are distinctions and stages to be navigated and managed.
A core theme of “Roman Fever” is the varied nature of intimacy, powerfully established in the closing revelation that Grace and Delphin had been physically intimate. What, though, does it mean to say that the main characters are “intimate friends,” given that they are together by accident after years with little contact? One answer is evident in the detail that the women “lived opposite each other—actually as well as figuratively—for years” (751). Here, the reader is reminded that proximity provides a kind of familiarity, a key meaning of intimacy. Yet the story simultaneously presents and complicates the fact that they are neighbors. The narrator notes, “When the drawing-room curtains in No. 20 East 73rd Street were renewed, No. 23 across the way, was always aware of it” (751). The kind of friendly surveillance that can develop between longtime neighbors lends humor to a sentence that becomes more sinister after later revelations.
Before these changes, though, it is still possible to determine which woman lives where—Alida portrays herself as active and Grace as passive, so she resides in the house that is “aware”—but Wharton’s decision to use addresses rather than names undercuts the sense that relations between these households are friendly, as does Alida’s circulation of a cruel rumor about Grace. The passage repeats the opening paragraph’s distinction between literal and figurative language, suggesting that despite the intimacy generated by spatial proximity the women are radically different.
Social convention after the death of their husbands enables “a brief renewal of their intimacy” (752). Norms for the expression of condolences, here by the “appropriate exchange of wreaths” (752), puts them in contact, while their shared experience “in the half-shadow of mourning” creates a new kind of connection (752). Where before physical proximity had made them familiar with one another’s lives, now shared experience of loss gives them insight into one another’s challenges. As they emerge from mourning’s “half-shadow,” however, their intimacy again dissipates.
The women have passed through multiple stages of intimacy when silence heralds to Grace “a new stage of intimacy” (754). In their subsequent conversation, as Alida recollects the events that took place in Rome more than 25 years earlier, the reader learns about the girlish intimacy the women shared as well as the forms of betrayal they enacted. If mourning cast its shadow across their lives and allowed them to be intimate in one way, here the “shadowy” terrace provides a setting for illumination and revelation, providing them greater knowledge but surely ending their intimacy forever. They learn, minutely, how wrong they have been about themselves and each other, most importantly what they were willing to do to secure happiness.
“Roman Fever” ends with a final proposition about intimacy. Alida responds to the news of her fiancé’s infidelity with the waspish assertion, “After all, I had everything; I had him for twenty-five years. And you had nothing but that one letter that he didn’t write” (762). The implication is clear: 25 years of marriage are more consequential than one night of passion. Grace’s reply, “I had Barbara,” offers a sharp rebuttal, after which she “move[s] ahead of Mrs. Slade toward the stairway” (762). The juxtaposition of lengthy shared experience to brief sexual passion presents two different ways of thinking about intimacy, sharing something crucial with someone. The previous discussion of their households suggested that proximity is a poor substitute for genuine intimacy and here, too, the story ends with the idea that having “everything” might leave one with nothing that matters.
Wharton wrote “Roman Fever” after a 1934 visit to Italy. At that time, the city, known for its ruins of the Roman Empire and its artistic treasures, was also one of the centers of European Fascism. Wharton has been criticized for tolerating racism among her friend group but, as a letter from 1933 makes clear, she viewed the changes in Europe with dismay, seeing in them evidence of a world “whizzing down so crazily to the everlasting abyss” (cited in Bauer, Dale. “Edith Wharton’s ‘Roman Fever’: A Rune of History,” College English. 1988).
Scholars have long noted that Wharton’s political inclinations leaned to the right. Yet, as biographer Hermione Lee explains, by 1934 Wharton no longer saw much to admire in Mussolini’s Italy. Her rejection of far-right politics in the 1930s is ideologically consistent with her cultural conservatism and deliberate embrace of Roman antiquity as evidence of Italian greatness. She saw Mussolini as a repudiation rather than a culmination of the ideas and values of Italian civilization. While Wharton accepted class differences more readily than progressive writers of her time (“Roman Fever” pays no attention to the various waiters and hotel employees in the background), her outlook was humanistic. Her conservative values—such as balance, harmony, order, and restraint—aimed to dignify human life across class and gender. As the relative sexual liberation of “Roman Fever” shows, she was willing to transgress traditional boundaries when she believed they diminished rather than enhanced human life.
While Wharton’s writings are not overtly political, “Roman Fever” still engages with the changes that fascism was introducing into European civilization. In the story, friends turn into monsters. The ugly depths of behavior that the women are willing to engage in hints that the Italy on which they gaze is as treacherous as the past they recall. On one level, the story relegates Roman fever to the past but, on another, it is a live danger, always liable to break out when stories of origins and structures of power collide. Alida and Grace may engage these issues regarding the past, but their daughters are “whizzing” into the future in the airplanes of “Italian aviators.” Fascism as another, more fatal, form of Roman fever lurks at the story’s edges.
By Edith Wharton