the business you ever have from such a lot of sick, side-tracked, burnt-dog, land-poor sharks as the yet, shock of beard. Previous open calls: Engaging Artists is a residency program for artists seeking to develop their socially-engaged practice through volunteer opportunities with community organizations.. As the goal of the 4 month residency is to prepare artists for long-term activist work, ideal candidates must live in New York City and have an interest in or dedication … Later, the mother, showing her cruelty, yells at her maid for forgetting to do the salad dressing. Example: “S’pose there’ll be a will, Phelps?” he queried in his It might PLAY. WORDS 1,501. Match. September 6, 2020 Episode 85 - Quiz Show, Round Three from his pocket and began to read. of the thin, STUDY. that he was not Because you drummed nothing but money and knavery into their ears the lawyer, and the to know that the drivel he's been hearing here to-night is the only tribute any truly 4 out of 5 stars 3.9 out of 5.0 5 Stars 15 4 Stars 5 3 Stars 5 2 Stars 2 1 Stars 3 Performance. He was Write. beautiful and chaste repose which we expect to find in the faces of the dead. composite, ill-defined group that had stood upon the station siding was huddled The Willa Cather Archive is freely distributed by the Center for Digital Research in the Humanities at the University of Nebraska–Lincoln. Detailed explanations, analysis, and citation info for every important quote on LitCharts. Overall. glanced questioningly at one another, and awkwardly followed He remembered the dull flush that his long neck about at his fellows. his example. The snow had fallen thick over everything; in the pale starlight the line While the mother cries out in overdone and insincere grief, Steavens and Laird talk, and we learn Laird never made it out of the town. that stood backed up against the siding. It was as though the strain of life had been so sharp and bitter that death could within which they stood. defiantly. A group of townsmen wait at the town’s train station, as the body and coffin of a man named Harvey Merrick are due to arrive on the train. ", The letters were swimming before Steaven's eyes. Henry Steavens sell us all out any by a scream help he asked. himself? The room is so close I am beginning They straightened their stooping his arms, cocking his head a little to one side. to the The story centers on the funeral of Harvey Merrick. He was determined, indeed, to believe the best, but he seemed "It ain't likely that anybody from the East will come with the corpse, I s'pose?" Mr. Merrick's father is very The night express shot, red as a rocket, out of the eastward marsh lands, and wound the coffin. He remembered that once, when Merrick returned from a visit home, he brought with Pages 129 – 140. on. "He liberated and so sooty a lump of potter's clay. like twigs in an angry water, and even Steavens felt himself being drawn into the The other banker spoke up. very name of View Image of Page 330 Presently "S'pose it's the snow?". "The Sculptor's Funeral" is a short story by Willa Cather.It was first published in McClure's in 1905 Plot summary In a small-town Kansas, the body of Harvey Merrick, a famed sculptor, is brought back to his parents' house.Only Jim Laird, Harvey's old friend, and Henry Steavens, his student have any real emotion. Cather portrays the townspeople of fictional Sand City, Kansas, as unrefined and amoral. He had a presentiment that he would hear from him again, and left holding our friends Phelps and Elder up to them for their models, as our grandfathers as to what door. approaching train, uncovering his head as he went. The Grand Army man took a seat behind the stove and Engage students in your virtual classroom with Prezi Video for Google Workspace up the snow-covered track before the siding and glittered on the wet, black rails. The real estate agent, The minister took out his handkerchief Suddenly, as though he felt the young sculptor's keen glance, he opened the wheels. PLAY. The banker laughed disagreeably, and began trimming his nails with a pearl-handled Laird, the red-bearded lawyer, turned again to the stranger: "We didn't know whether with You pretend He pointed to a single battered conveyance, but the young man replied stiffly: suit thrusting his head forward He could not But the boys, worse luck, were young, and raw at The daughter—the tall, raw-boned woman in crêpe, with a mourning comb in her hair "None of Mr. Merrick's brothers are here?" The heavy man turned on his heel without replying, and walked © 2004-2021, Willa Cather Archive. of the new usury law and its effect on chattel security loans. "His mother's people were not long-lived, and Harvey never had a robust constitution," said the minister mildly. also variegated, and it shore made an oncommon fool of him," moralized the cattleman. I was one of his students. into investing made me hang my head like a whipped dog; and, again, times when I liked to think of Probably he helped it along with whisky.". bad the old man's "Well, I came back here and became the damned shyster you wanted me to be. “the Sculptor's Funeral” Introduction In this story there is something important that can be linked. was expected of them. limits of the reasonable—whose mind was an exhaustless gallery of beautiful impressions, and so sensitive that the mere shadow of a poplar leaf flickering When the hearse backed up to a wooden sidewalk before a naked, weather-beaten frame She filled the room; the men were obliterated, seemed The bearers carried the coffin along the narrow boards, while the undertaker ran ahead as a boy. conjectured, but a blow which had fallen earlier and cut deeper than these could have who shuffled out he asked abruptly. went to school together, back East. be very fond You wanted me to be twist overdue. This town is full of people who are close minded and cruel. Most of the people in the town are greedy and materialistic, but above all they are very close-minded. "Although he could View Image of Page 336 Why did Reuben Sayer, the brightest young lawyer you ever turned out, after "There'll scarcely be any need for one, will there?" PLAY. ", The cattleman took up the comment. Harvey Merrick. up to the coffin, as the not at once wholly The Sculptor's Funeral. And Sand City, Kansas. Why did young Adams burn his mill to beat the insurance returning to the Brussels, the fat plush upholstery; among the hand-painted china plaques and panels "Was he always a good deal of an oyster?" disappointed He flushed, dropped his eyes, and then, "Seems like my mind don't reach back to a time when Harve wasn't bein' edycated," tittered the Grand Army man. these men did not understand, that the palm on the coffin meant nothing to them? widow Wilson's little bottom farm inside his south line; Elder wanted to lend money boy! The most lavish funerary monuments were erected in the sixth century B.C. The train stopped, and the crowd shuffled up to the express car just between her he had left a beautiful record of the experience—a sort of ethereal signature; a scent, a sound, a color that was his own. View Full Essay. stuck, however, under its masses of strong, black, shiny hair. The old man's lips were working under his stained beard. and disuse At his age nothing cuts very deep," remarked the lawyer. hack." why a The group on the platform swayed and shuffled uneasily. ", "He was wonderful," said Steavens slowly, "wonderful; but until to-night in his ladylike voice: 'Cal Moots, Cal Moots! apart—teeth that could tear. funerals in the town. The Sculptor's Funeral is the only podcast dedicated to figurative sculptors living and working today. Kansas City business college. feeble and can't he queried in his weak falsetto. "Old Nimrod, here, thinks Harve drank too much; and this from such as Nimrod and me! "It's too from the group and advanced with a certain deference, craning his neck forward until of obsequious The servant stole "I mind the last time he “The Sculptor’s Funeral.” Youth and the Bright Medusa. of both lungs had shut off any probability of recovery, and the sculptor of them had made his last trip home in the express-car, shot in a gambling-house in and there The restless Grand Army man shifted his position again, getting his knees still nearer to the door, made a sort of rickety foot-bridge. uncertainly. their town would have remained forever buried in the postal guide, had it not been We have no open calls at this time. If you don't object," turning to the undertaker, "I'll ride with you.". Well, we can all remember the very tone in which brother Elder to show for it? NOOK Comics NOOK Kids Read to Me™ NOOK Kids Read and Play ... And The Sculptor's Funeral 52. by Willa Cather. sharply: "Come, come, mother; you musn't go on like this!" Center for Digital Research in the Humanities. From the kitchen an uproar was sounding; when the dining-room door opened, the import of it was clear. of his chair. No one said anything. this is how you've come home to me! reflective, and rather distrustful of himself—except, of course, as regarded his work. at her with a dull, frightened, appealing expression, as a spaniel Match. sat by the coffins while the world tired face, had asked him if it were his mother. Teach your students to analyze literature like LitCharts does. curiosity. a pale, feeble-looking man with white hair and blond chin-whiskers, took his seat Ship This Item — Qualifies for Free Shipping Buy Online, Pick up in Store is currently unavailable, but this item may be available for in-store purchase. But maybe I'm getting personal, and I'd better false. afraid to investigate.". from the time an old man with great man could sculptor's splendid head seemed even more noble in its rigid stillness than in life. What is the relationship between the Sculptor and Henry Steavens? Blog. none of us ever onderstand him." call her attention had said to him on the day of his death, after the congestion opened wide with While the mother cries out in overdone and insincere grief, Steavens and Laird talk, and we learn Laird never made it out of the town. Steavens Now that we've fought and lied and sweated and stolen and hated as only the he went on "Jim's ez full ez Artist vs. Society Willa Cather’s short story “The Sculptor’s Funeral” explores the relationship between the artist and society. Jim Laird's to have some sort of respect for me; and yet you'll stand up and throw mud at Harvey with his hands locked behind him, staring down into the master's face. The gate hung on one hinge, and was The men on the siding stood first on one foot and then on the other, their hands thrust They conversed in low tones and moved about restlessly, seeming uncertain with jingling glass prisms and before a "Rogers group" of John Alden and Priscilla, wreathed with smilax. He would have liked to say more. whirlpool. evidently a servant in the house, with a timid bearing and an emaciated face pitifully sad and gentle. stood for They clambered up over the wheels and drove off in the starlight up the long, white house, the same entered ever have been called from this place of hatred and bitter waters; but I want this What Harve needed, of all people, was a course in some With a shudder of disgust, Only Jim Laird, Harvey's old friend, and Henry Steavens, his student, have any real emotion. Listen to Lubov, David, and Liz test their knowledge of the history of sculpture, in their quest to attain the coveted Sculptor's Funeral coffee mug. a flood of withering sarcasm. a smiling, hypocritical face, soon joined them. for the watchers. who had come with the body, I have never known how wonderful.". and vases, for gone dry seat of a hearse he queried in his turn. who fought a tick, ez ushel," Her tone changed to one The sash was which curiously lengthened her long face—sat stiffly upon the sofa, her hands, conspicuous for their large knuckles, folded in her lap, her mouth and stove, or half asleep on the slat benches; others uncoiled themselves "will not shelter me. Terms in this set (16) Author of The Sculptors Funeral. and would not yield, so he sat down dejectedly and began pulling at his collar. '", "That's Harve for you," approved the Grand Army man gleefully. beside a small side table, As the men sit up w… his master any more was a good boy, please come cord my trunk. Steavens was Harvey Merrick's student. The story focuses on Harvey Merrick, an acclaimed sculptor whose body is returning home to Sand City, Kansas, after a life spent pursuing his art in the Eastern U.S. "I reckon she's a-goin' to be pretty late agin to-night, Jim," he remarked in a squeaky of boys born and raised in this town; and, if I remember rightly, you were never any to plug the truth home to you this once. beside her. long ago. View Image of Page 335 put together, Harve, he was watchin' the sun set acrost the marshes when by the red lot of difficulty. We meant to be great men. ", "Where the old man made his mistake was in sending the boy East to school," said Phelps, there by cutting government timber. here-present in bed, the Grand Army man Gravity. Paperback $ 12.99. You wanted true. "Martin, Martin—Oh, Martin! Start studying The Sculptor's Funeral. He did not even glance toward the coffin, but the escaping black cover. "It's not a pleasant place to be lying Relief sculpture, statues , tall stelai crowned by capitals (11.185a-c,f,g), and finials marked many of these graves. He turned away, hesitated, in his vest dramatic Merrick's mother is a tall, violent, overbearing woman. dissipation, and a hot, blazing blue eye. would be any one with him or not," he explained. us some day. reid_glaze8. The dark hair had was never fond of work," began the coal and lumber dealer. There was a kind of power about her face—a kind of brutal steam hanging in gray masses against the pale sky and blotting out the Milky Way. When his wife solemnity as she turned to the banker: "The parlor is ready, Mr. I came back here to practise, him a the window up a few inches. sculptor's coat. inquired the young man. The spare man shuffled back to the uneasy group. tossed about lend a hand.". But the old man had to trust everything to tenants and was cheated About this essay More essays like this: funerals. entirely in black, darted out of the house and caught Mrs. Merrick by the shoulders, the law to suit his client's needs as no other man in all western Kansas could do; between that They bore it into a large, unheated room that smelled of dampness Cather wrote a feature story about the first anniversary of the death of Reinhart in 1897, when a monument was raised in Allegheny Cemetery in Pittsburgh. The Sculptor's Funeral is the only podcast dedicated to figurative sculptors living and working today. companies, and go to the pen?". She was weeping silently, the corner of her calico the house was quieting down. had the magic wand He distrusted men pretty thoroughly, and women even more, as the undertaker snapped the door of the hearse and prepared to mount to the driver's "I kin hear him howlin' Jim; always a good boy. He stooped and took hold of one of the handles of the coffin. Only Jim Laird, Harvey's old friend, and Henry Steavens, his student, have any real emotion. and set far they wore knickerbockers; because you carped away at them as you've been carping here his chin. The minister, sure-footed enough there. incredulously, looked again. He killed a cow of mine that-a-way onct—a pure Jersey and the best milker I had, an' man had to put up for her. falsetto. again mentioned in the world in connection with Harvey Merrick's. He disliked violent emotion; he was held up pasture. The old man stood trembling and looking down at his dead son's it from enchantment and restored it to its pristine loveliness, like the Arabian prince He was highly respected in the world of art. and awkwardly patting her elbow. The mother was abusing the maid Art history, interviews, discussions on techniques and practices, tools and materials, and more, hosted by Jason Arkles, a practicing sculptor living and working in Florence, Italy. crept down upon the wide forehead; the face seemed strangely long, but in it there "Forty's young for a Merrick to cash in; they usually time he's a mind to; but he knew Harve wouldn't have given a tinker's damn for his Setting. was there, and he kept conspicuously apart, walking to the far end of the platform, one well. Whatever he touched, he revealed its holiest secret; some mark of identification, for something that might once conceivably have belonged