The Wheat Princess — Background and Themes
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is no more implicated in the deal than I am,’ he declared. ‘He and his brother have had nothing to do with each other for the last ten years. His philanthropy is honest, and his money is as clean as any fortune can be.’
The statement was not challenged. Sybert was known to be Howard Copley’s friend, and he further carried the reputation of being a warm partizan on the one or two subjects which engaged his enthusiasm—on those which did not engage it he was nonchalant to a degree for a rising diplomat.
The two—Sybert and the consul-general—with a nod to the group presently drifted onward toward the door. The secretary was bent upon departure at the earliest possible opportunity. Teas were a part of the official routine of his life, but by the simple device of coming late and leaving early he escaped as much of their irksomeness as possible. Aside from being secretary of the Embassy, Sybert was a nephew of the ambassador, and it was the latter calling which he found the more onerous burden of the two. His Excellency had formed a troublesome habit of shifting social burdens to the unwilling shoulders of the younger man.
They paused at Mrs. Copley’s elbow with outstretched hands, and were received with a flattering show of cordiality from the aunt, though with but a fleeting nod from the niece; she was, patently, too interested in her officers to have much attention left.
‘Where is your husband?’ Sybert asked.
The lady raised her eyebrows in a picturesque gesture.
‘Beggars,’ she sighed. ‘Something has happened to the beggars again.’ Mr. Copley’s latest philanthropic venture had been the ‘Anti-Begging Society.’ Bread-tickets had been introduced, the beggars were being hunted down and given work, and as a result Copley’s name was cursed from end to end of Rome.
The men smilingly murmured their commiserations.
‘And what are you two diplomats doing here?’ Mrs. Copley asked. ‘I thought that Mr. Dessart invited only artists to his teas.’
Sybert’s gloomy air, as he eyed the door, reflected the question. It was Melville who answered:
‘Oh, we are admirers of art, even if we are not practitioners. Besides, Mr. Dessart and I are old friends. We used to know each other in Pittsburg when he was a boy and I was a good deal younger than I am now.’
His gaze rested for a moment upon their host, who formed one of the hilarious group about Miss Copley. He was an eminently picturesque young fellow, fitted with the usual artist attributes—a velveteen jacket, a flowing necktie, and rather long light-brown hair which constantly got into his eyes, causing him to shake his head impatiently as he talked. He had an open, frank face, humorous blue eyes and the inestimable, eager air of being in love with life.
The conversation showing signs of becoming general, the officers, with visible reluctance, made their bows and gave place to the new-comers. The girl now found time to extend a cordial hand to Melville, while to the secretary she tossed a markedly careless, ‘Good afternoon, Mr. Sybert.’ If Miss Marcia’s offhand manner conveyed something a trifle stronger than indifference, so Sybert’s half-amused smile as he talked to her suggested that her unkindness failed to hurt; that she was too young to count.
‘And what is this I hear about your moving out to a villa for the spring?’ he inquired, turning to Mrs. Copley.
‘Yes, we are thinking of it, but it is not decided yet.’
‘We still have Uncle Howard to deal with,’ added the girl. ‘He was the first one who suggested a villa, but now that exactly the right one presents itself, we very much suspect him of trying to back out.’
‘That will never do, Miss Marcia,’ said Melville. ‘You must hold him to his word.’
‘We are going out to-morrow to inspect it, and if Aunt Katherine and I are pleased——’ She broke off with a graceful gesture which intimated much.
Sybert laughed. ‘Poor Uncle Howard!’ he murmured.
The arrival of fresh guests called their host away, and Mrs. Copley and Melville, turning aside to greet some friends, left Miss Copley for the moment to a _tête à tête_ with Sybert. He maintained his side of the conversation in a half-perfunctory fashion, while the girl allowed a slight touch of hostility to creep beneath her animation.
‘And where is the villa to be, Miss Marcia—at Frascati, I suppose?’
‘Farther away than Frascati; at Castel Vivalanti.’
‘Up in the Sabine hills between Palestrina and Tivoli.’
The prologue of The Wheat Princess begins not with characters but with a precise geographical description of Castel Vivalanti, a stone hamlet perched on a crag east of Rome. Webster maps the approach through the Porta della Luna, noting the phoenix crest and the machicolated top once used for dropping stones and oil. The town is “very, very poor,” its narrow streets “in reality flights of stairs.” This setting, rooted in the Sabine hills, establishes a world where medieval fortifications coexist with modern Rome visible on the horizon.
Later, the narrative shifts to a charged conversation. Marcia, frustrated by being kept ignorant, presses Sybert for “the truth about Italy.” He responds with a grim recitation of statistics: the poor bear three-fourths of taxes, farm labourers earn twenty-five to thirty cents a day, and fifteen thousand people went mad from hunger in three provinces. The dialogue reveals a central tension between Marcia’s desire to understand and the protective silence of those around her.
A Landscape of Isolation and History
The prologue’s detailed topography does more than set a scene. Webster lingers on the steepness of Castel Vivalanti, where “the doorway of one house looks down on the roof of the house below.” The only approach is a winding road leading to the Porta della Luna, a gate that once allowed defenders to drop “stones and burning oil” on unwelcome guests. This description, drawn from the opening paragraphs, frames the village as a place shaped by defense and hardship. The contrast between the ancient fortress and the distant “walls and towers of modern Rome” hints at a community left behind by progress. Readers should note how this physical isolation mirrors the later thematic isolation of characters like Marcia, who is kept from the realities of the wheat famine. The setting is not merely picturesque; it is a functional space that reflects the novel’s concerns with poverty, power, and the gap between appearance and truth.
The Weight of Unspoken Knowledge
In the excerpted dialogue, Marcia confronts Sybert about the wheat famine and bread riots. Her uncle “will never tell me a thing; he just jokes about it.” Sybert’s response is layered: he first deflects, then delivers a cold recitation of facts. His tone shifts from a “disagreeable suggestion of a smile” to an “emotionless tone of one who is quoting a list from a catalogue.” This contrast between his earlier evasiveness and his later bluntness suggests a character who is both angry and protective. When Marcia insists she is “not a baby,” Sybert replies that it is “a relief … to see a few people who accept their happiness as a free gift from heaven.” This line encapsulates a central dynamic: the tension between willful ignorance and the burden of knowledge. The exchange also introduces a pattern of withheld information that may recur throughout the novel, as characters decide what Marcia should and should not know.
Statistics as a Weapon of Truth
Sybert’s monologue on Italian economic injustice is notable for its specificity. He lists taxes on “bread and salt and meat and utensils” while carriages and jewels go “comparatively free.” He describes the state lottery as encouraging gambling, the army as training young men “in idleness,” and the parliament as “run in the interests of a few.” The most striking detail: “fifteen thousand people went mad from hunger” in three provinces, with children of the pellagrosi becoming “idiots and cripples.” These statistics are delivered as a deliberate counter to Marcia’s sheltered perspective. Webster uses this passage to ground the novel’s romantic setting in harsh economic reality. The reader is given a clear picture of systemic corruption and suffering, which likely serves as a backdrop for the personal conflicts to come. The excerpt ends with Sybert’s description of ten thousand people in Naples living in “damp caves and cellars,” stricken with consumption—a stark image that underscores the stakes of the narrative.
Marcia’s Position Between Protection and Knowledge
Throughout the excerpt, Marcia is portrayed as both assertive and constrained. She demands the truth, but her language reveals frustration: “I don’t think that a wheat famine is any subject to joke about.” When Sybert finally speaks, she listens with “troubled expectancy.” Yet the narrative does not show her response to his statistics; the excerpt cuts off before we see how she processes the information. This gap leaves the reader to infer that Marcia’s education has only begun. The novel’s title, The Wheat Princess, suggests a connection between Marcia and the wheat trade—perhaps her father is involved—but the excerpts do not confirm this. What is clear is that Marcia occupies a liminal space: she is old enough to sense that something is wrong, but others still treat her as a child. Her insistence on being told the truth may drive the plot forward, as she seeks to reconcile her comfortable life with the suffering Sybert describes.
Readers approaching The Wheat Princess for the first time should pay attention to how Webster balances the romantic Italian setting with pointed social critique. The prologue’s careful geography and the dialogue’s raw statistics are not incidental; they establish a world where beauty and poverty coexist uneasily. Marcia’s journey from protected ignorance to understanding may form the novel’s emotional core, but the excerpts leave open how that transformation will unfold. The tension between what is shown and what is hidden invites careful reading.
Reading about Marcia pressing Sybert for the truth about that wheat famine, I felt that same ache of wanting to understand a place through its shadows. It lingered with me, much like the quiet pull of The Smuggler's Cave — Story, Setting & Ideas, where the landscape holds its own secrets. Sometimes a story just stays, softly.
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