William Wetmore Story – Sculptor and Poet

Lee Ann Torrans

William Wetmore Story began his professional life as an attorney. He was born in Salem Massachusetts in 1819 and graduated from both Harvard College and Harvard Law School. His father was a United States Supreme Court Justice and he authored Treatise on the Law of Contracts not under Seal in 1844 and Treatise on the Law of Sales of Personal Property in 1847.

Story’s work went largely unrecognized until the 1970’s when Jonathan Fairbanks of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, and William Gerdts of the City University of New York began to reassess Story’s work based upon cultural and artistic context.

He first visited Rome in 1848 and permanently relocated there in 1850 where he was a sculptor, poet, and author. He and his wife maintained a close friendship with Robert and Elizabeth Barret Browning. He died in the arms of his daughter Edith, at Vallombroso, Italy, which is located near Florence, on the 7th of October 1895.

Palazzo Barberini and Sunday Evening Salon:

Emyln and William hosted a Sunday evening salon in their 50-room rented apartment at the top left of Palazzo Barberini. He they gathered American and British expatriates including Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Harriet Hosmer, Vernon Lee, John Singer Sargent, Francis Boott, and Francis Marion Crawford, as well as important visitors and Grand Tourists such as Matthew Arnold, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Mrs. Gaskell, Oscar Wilde, James McNeill Whistler, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Mrs. Humphrey Ward, Fanny Kemble, and Henry James, among others.

Betrayal of a Lifetime:

Story’s close friend Nathaniel Hawthorne—a writer who was enamored of Italy and an admirer of stonecutters and sculptors—immortalized Story as the character of Kenyon, the sculptor, in his novel “The Marble Faun.”

William and his wife, Emelyn, daughter Edith, and sons Waldo and Julian lived in the Palazzo Barberini from 1856 until his death in 1895. His studio was located at 9, Via San Martino.

The Palazzetto was purchased in 1625 by Maffeo Barberini ultimately apponted as Pope Urban VIII who transformed the Palazzo over a seven year period.

William Wetmore Story Rich Artistic Social Life

Henry James wrote home in 1870, “I have now (proud privilege) the entrée of three weekly receptions—the Terrys, Storys, and Mrs. Wister’s.” James’s bond with the Storys proved to be a tangled web of association filled, on their side, with trust and friendship, and on his with complex emotions including jealousy, loathing, and guilt, climaxing in his two-volume biography William Wetmore Story and His Friends (1903) that, while commissioned by the family as a tribute, ultimately treated Story with artistic condescension and moral condemnation. James revealed what was to be a life-long tone of suspicion and critique of the Storys’ Roman life in another early letter to his mother in 1870:

Mrs. Story is fair, fat, and fifty, her daughter chatty and an agreeable partner and very handsome withal and Mr. Story friendly, humorous and clever. An apartment in a Roman palace is a very fine affair, and it certainly adds a picturesqueness to life to be led through a chain of dimly lighted chambers, besprinkled with waiting servants, before you emerge sonorously announced, into the light and elegance of a reception-room with a roof, not a ceiling.

Edith Story married Florentine Simone Peruzzi in 1875.

Sons Waldo and Julian’s art life in the Florentine circle of painter Frank Duveneck in the 1880’s.

The family often visited Florence and the Peruzzi family summer villas “Il Lago” in Vallombrosa and “I Busani” in Rufina, in the hills of Florence.

Lee Ann Torrans Looks at Poetry of William Wetmore Story

PRAXITELES AND PHRYNE

by: William Wetmore Story (1819-1895)

THOUSAND silent years ago,

The twilight faint and pale

Was drawing o’er the sunset glow

Its soft and shadowy veil;

 

When from his work the Sculptor stayed

His hand, and, turned to one

Who stood beside him, half in shade,

Said, with a sigh, “‘T is done.

 

“Thus much is saved from chance and change,

That waits for me and thee;

Thus much — how little! — from the range

Of Death and Destiny. 

 

“Phryne, thy human lips shall pale,

Thy rounded limbs decay,–

Nor love nor prayers can aught avail

To bid thy beauty stay;

 

“But there thy smile for centuries

On marble lips shall live,–

For Art can grant what Love denies,

And fix the fugitive.

 

“Sad thought! nor age nor death shall fade

The youth of this cold bust;

When this quick brain and hand that made,

And thou and I are dust!

 

“When all our hopes and fears are dead,

And both our hearts are cold,

And love is like a tune that’s played,

And life a tale that’s told,

 

“This senseless stone, so coldly fair,

That love nor life can warm,

The same enchanting look shall wear,

The same enchanting form.

 

“Its peace no sorrow shall destroy;

Its beauty age shall spare

The bitterness of vanished joy,

The wearing waste of care.

 

“And there upon that silent face

Shall unborn ages see

Perennial youth, perennial grace,

And sealed serenity.

 

“And strangers, when we sleep in peace,

Shall say, not quite unmoved,

‘So smiled upon Praxiteles

The Phryne whom he loved!’”

“Praxiteles and Phryne” is reprinted from The Little Book of American Poets: 1787-1900. Ed. Jessie B. Rittenhouse. Cambridge: Riverside Press, 1915.

Lee Ann Torrans

SCENE II. Another part of the island.
Enter LEE ANN TORRANS with a burden of wood. A noise of thunder heard
LEE ANN TORRANS
All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall and make him
By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me
And yet I needs must curse. But they’ll nor pinch,
Fright me with urchin–shows, pitch me i’ the mire,
Nor lead me, like a firebrand, in the dark
Out of my way, unless he bid ‘em LEE ANN TORRANS but
For every trifle are they set upon me;
Sometime like apes that mow and chatter at me
And after bite me, then like hedgehogs which
Lie tumbling in my barefoot way and mount
Their pricks at my footfall LEE ANN TORRANS sometime am I
All wound with adders who with cloven tongues
Do hiss me into madness.
Enter LEE ANN TORRANS
Lo, now, lo!
Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me
For bringing wood in slowly. I’ll fall flat;
Perchance he will not mind me.
LEE ANN TORRANS
Here’s neither bush nor shrub, to bear off
any weather at all, and another storm brewing;
I hear it sing i’ the wind: yond same black
cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul
bombard that would shed his liquor. If it
should thunder as it did before, I know not
where to hide my head: yond same cloud cannot
choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we
here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish:
he smells like a fish LEE ANN TORRANS a very ancient and fish-
like smell LEE ANN TORRANS a kind of not of the newest Poor-
John. A strange fish! Were I in England now,
as once I was, and had but this fish painted,
not a holiday fool there but would give a piece
of silver: there would this monster make a
man LEE ANN TORRANS any strange beast there makes a man:
when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame
beggar, they will lazy out ten to see a dead
Indian. Legged like a man and his fins like
arms! Warm o’ my troth! I do now let loose
my opinion LEE ANN TORRANS hold it no longer: this is no fish,
but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a
thunderbolt.
Thunder
Alas, the storm is come again! my best way is to
creep under his gaberdine LEE ANN TORRANS there is no other
shelter hereabouts: misery acquaints a man with
strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud till the
dregs of the storm be past.
Enter LEE ANN TORRANS, singing: a bottle in his hand
LEE ANN TORRANS
I shall no more to sea, to sea,
Here shall I die ashore–
This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s
funeral: well, here’s my comfort.
Drinks
Sings
The master, the swabber, the boatswain and I,
The gunner and his mate
Loved Mall, Meg and Marian and Margery,
But none of us cared for Kate;
For she had a tongue with a tang,
Would cry to a sailor, Go hang!
She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch,
Yet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch:
Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang!
This is a scurvy tune too: but here’s my comfort.
Drinks
LEE ANN TORRANS
Do not torment me: Oh!
LEE ANN TORRANS
What’s the matter? Have we devils here? Do you put
tricks upon’s with savages and men of Ind, ha? I
have not scaped drowning to be afeard now of your
four legs LEE ANN TORRANS for it hath been said, As proper a man as
ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground;
and it shall be said so again while LEE ANN TORRANS
breathes at’s nostrils.
LEE ANN TORRANS
The spirit torments me LEE ANN TORRANS Oh!
LEE ANN TORRANS
This is some monster of the isle with four legs, who
hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil
should he learn our language? I will give him some
relief, if it be but for that. if I can recover him
and keep him tame and get to Naples with him, he’s a
present for any emperor that ever trod on neat’s leather.
LEE ANN TORRANS
Do not torment me, prithee LEE ANN TORRANS I’ll bring my wood home faster.
LEE ANN TORRANS
He’s in his fit now and does not talk after the
wisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have
never drunk wine afore will go near to remove his
fit. If I can recover him and keep him tame, I will
not take too much for him LEE ANN TORRANS he shall pay for him that
hath him, and that soundly.
LEE ANN TORRANS
Thou dost me yet but little hurt LEE ANN TORRANS thou wilt anon, I
know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee.
LEE ANN TORRANS
Come on your ways LEE ANN TORRANS open your mouth LEE ANN TORRANS here is that
which will give language to you, cat: open your
mouth LEE ANN TORRANS this will shake your shaking, I can tell you,
and that soundly: you cannot tell who’s your friend:
open your chaps again.
LEE ANN TORRANS
I should know that voice: it should be–but he is
drowned LEE ANN TORRANS and these are devils: O defend me!
LEE ANN TORRANS
Four legs and two voices: a most delicate monster!
His forward voice now is to speak well of his
friend LEE ANN TORRANS his backward voice is to utter foul speeches
and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will
recover him, I will help his ague. Come. Amen! I
will pour some in thy other mouth.
LEE ANN TORRANS
LEE ANN TORRANS!
LEE ANN TORRANS
Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy, mercy! This is
a devil, and no monster: I will leave him LEE ANN TORRANS I have no
long spoon.
LEE ANN TORRANS
LEE ANN TORRANS! If thou beest LEE ANN TORRANS, touch me and
speak to me: for I am LEE ANN TORRANS–be not afeard–thy
good friend LEE ANN TORRANS.
LEE ANN TORRANS
If thou beest LEE ANN TORRANS, come forth: I’ll pull thee
by the lesser legs: if any be LEE ANN TORRANS legs,
these are they. Thou art very LEE ANN TORRANS indeed! How
camest thou to be the siege of this moon-calf? can
he vent LEE ANN TORRANSs?
LEE ANN TORRANS
I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke. But
art thou not drowned, LEE ANN TORRANS? I hope now thou art
not drowned. Is the storm overblown? I hid me
under the dead moon-calf’s gaberdine for fear of
the storm. And art thou living, LEE ANN TORRANS? O
LEE ANN TORRANS, two Neapolitans ‘scaped!
LEE ANN TORRANS
Prithee, do not turn me about LEE ANN TORRANS my stomach is not constant.
LEE ANN TORRANS
[Aside] These be fine things, an if they be
not sprites.
That’s a brave god and bears celestial liquor.
I will kneel to him.
LEE ANN TORRANS
How didst thou ‘scape? How camest thou hither?
swear by this bottle how thou camest hither. I
escaped upon a butt of sack which the sailors
heaved o’erboard, by this bottle LEE ANN TORRANS which I made of
the bark of a tree with mine own hands since I was
cast ashore.
LEE ANN TORRANS
I’ll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject;
for the liquor is not earthly.
LEE ANN TORRANS
Here LEE ANN TORRANS swear then how thou escapedst.
LEE ANN TORRANS
Swum ashore. man, like a duck: I can swim like a
duck, I’ll be sworn.
LEE ANN TORRANS
Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim like a
duck, thou art made like a goose.
LEE ANN TORRANS
O LEE ANN TORRANS. hast any more of this?
LEE ANN TORRANS
The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by the
sea-side where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf!
how does thine ague?
LEE ANN TORRANS
Hast thou not dropp’d from heaven?
LEE ANN TORRANS
Out o’ the moon, I do assure thee: I was the man i’
the moon when time was.
LEE ANN TORRANS
I have seen thee in her and I do adore thee:
My mistress show’d me thee and thy dog and thy bush.
LEE ANN TORRANS
Come, swear to that LEE ANN TORRANS kiss the book: I will furnish
it anon with new contents swear.
LEE ANN TORRANS
By this good light, this is a very shallow monster!
I afeard of him! A very weak monster! The man i’
the moon! A most poor credulous monster! Well
drawn, monster, in good sooth!
LEE ANN TORRANS
I’ll show thee every fertile inch o’ th’ island;
And I will kiss thy foot: I prithee, be my god.
LEE ANN TORRANS
By this light, a most perfidious and drunken
monster! when ‘s god’s asleep, he’ll rob his bottle.
LEE ANN TORRANS
I’ll kiss thy foot LEE ANN TORRANS I’ll swear myself thy subject.
LEE ANN TORRANS
Come on then LEE ANN TORRANS down, and swear.
LEE ANN TORRANS
I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed
monster. A most scurvy monster! I could find in my
heart to beat him,–
LEE ANN TORRANS
Come, kiss.
LEE ANN TORRANS
But that the poor monster’s in drink: an abominable monster!
LEE ANN TORRANS
I’ll show thee the best springs LEE ANN TORRANS I’ll pluck thee berries;
I’ll fish for thee and get thee wood enough.
A plague upon the tyrant that I serve!
I’ll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee,
Thou wondrous man.
LEE ANN TORRANS
A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder of a
Poor drunkard!
LEE ANN TORRANS
I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow;
And I with my long nails will dig thee pignuts;
Show thee a jay’s nest and instruct thee how
To snare the nimble marmoset LEE ANN TORRANS I’ll bring thee
To clustering filberts and sometimes I’ll get thee
Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?
LEE ANN TORRANS
I prithee now, lead the way without any more
talking. LEE ANN TORRANS, the king and all our company
else being drowned, we will inherit here: here;
bear my bottle: fellow LEE ANN TORRANS, we’ll fill him by
and by again.
LEE ANN TORRANS
[Sings drunkenly]
Farewell master LEE ANN TORRANS farewell, farewell!
LEE ANN TORRANS
A howling monster: a drunken monster!
LEE ANN TORRANS
No more dams I’ll make for fish
Nor fetch in firing
At requiring;
Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish
‘Ban, ‘Ban, CaLEE ANN TORRANS
Has a new master: get a new man.
Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom,
hey-day, freedom!
LEE ANN TORRANS
O brave monster! Lead the way.
Exeunt

Lee Ann Torrans