COLONIAL LIFE IN ITS RELATION TO CERTAIN OF THE ARTS.

Press, Volume LIV, Issue 9670, 8 March 1897, Page 5

COLONIAL LIFE IN ITS RELATION TO CERTAIN OF THE ARTS.

[Br Professor Salk, op Dpkkdin]. The difference between colonial life in New Zealand as we see it now, and as itwaS thirty-five or forty years ago, is enormous. It would be difficult for any one who has only known the colony in recent years, especially if his life haa been spent chiefly in towns, to imagine the kind of life which New Zealanders led in those early days; and the change has not been all for the better. There was a simplicity, a freshness, and a raciness about those early times, which, notwithstanding some discomforts, made life far more enjoyablo then than it i$ now, or ever will bo again. Of course it is easy to say that we were all forty years younger then, and that those who at the present time aro forty years younger than ourselves also find tho same delight in their life that we experienced when we were young. But wo were not all young itt Now Zealand forty yeara ago, aud those who were old or middlo-aged seemed, at any rate, to enjoy, and probably did enjoy, life far more than any of us, old or young, enjoy it now. The difference is mainly this, that in those'days our life was simple and unpretentious ; now it is for the moat part absurdly pretentious. In those days we were away in a remote and beautiful country, unknown to aud unnoticed by the great world. Now we, or at anyrate many of us, fancy that the eyes of Europe are upon usAnd not only was Now Zealand in those days unknown to the great world, but each little settlement was unknown to its nearest noighbour. We often congratulate ourselves on the enterprise and energy which haa given us such rapid railway and steamship communication that wo can travel from the Bluff to tho Throo Kings in a few days. There are some, I hope, still left who look upon the railways aud steamships as more of a curse than a blessing. If in those days we had to trust to our own legs or our horses' legs for our progress, at anyrate our progress was pleasant. Poor or rich, we found a hearty and eimple weloojne whorevor we went. If we had no railways and no steamships, we bad no strikes and no paid professional agitators and miechief-makers. If we were poor, as most of us were, we all had enough, If w6 had but few of tho refinements of highly civilised life, at any rate we had none of its heart-burnings and miseries. But the change has come, and wo must make the best, of it. At present v?e are neither one thing nor the other; we are in a state oi transition, and a state of transition ia pro* verbially unpleasant. Our Arcadian simplicity has vanished, and along with it all the poatry is gone out of our lives. Nothing but proae remains; and for good, downright, dull, flat prose, New Zealand town life is probably not to be surpassed in the world. We are trying to follow in the wake of older and more advanced countries, and we have not the means of doing so successfully. Still we must oontinue to make the attempt; our only hop© of salvation lies that way, and future generations of New Zealanders will be the better off for our efforts. In thie, as in everything else, the main thing is to economise our strength, and not to allow'it to be misdirected. It is the duty of every one of ua to help forward, so far as he is able, every art, every trade, every profession in which we may, with jn« duetry, hope to do something worth doing, or to enjoy something worth enjoying. But there are certain arts which, from the nature of the case, are, and must always be, beyond our reach, so far as accomplishing anything ourselves is concerned. And it is of importance that we should recognise thia fact. I confine myeelf to the fine arts, to those which minister to the enjoyment and refinement of life. So far as muuio and painting are concerned, there is no reasou in the nature of things why New Zetvlanders, if they, work with modesty and earnestness, should not accomplish results worthy of the raco to which they belong. But oven in these arts it will always be a serious drawback to our efforts that we are so far removed from the centree of civilization, that we have so few opportunities of comparing our work with that done in older countries. Take, for instance, our attempts at orchestral music We can never hope to hear, in this country, an orchestra suoh as may be heard even in the provincial towns of Europe. Wβ. have, it ia true, occasional visits from great individual playere, but.an orohesfcra consisting entirely of highly-trained artists is what we can never hope to hear. And, therefore, it is impossible for ue to realise what fine orchestral music really is like. Take the best orchestra which any New Zealand town can produce: How many first violins will there be in it who can even play strictly' in tune ? Probably not more than three or, four. And yet we attempt to play, and we invite the publio to hear ua attempt to play, difficult symphonies ; and we flatter ourselves that we are doing great things if the different parts do not altogether lose each other. In this, as in many other things, we are too ambitious, and too self-confident. Our towns are, and will be for many years to come, too poor to support more than a very few first-rate musicians, and two or three artiste will not make an orchestra. Chamber rauaic we might produce, and the Mendelssohn Quintett Club showed us, a few years ago, what could be done by seven or eight highlyaccomplished artiste in thia kind of music. I would not say one word in depreciation of the efforts of our numerous musical societies. Let the music they practise be as difficult as they please, and by all means let them do their beet to form some conception of the meaning of the greatest works of the greatest composers. But what they perform in publio should, it seems to mc, either be so easy that they can make sure of doing it justice; or, if difficult, it should be such as can be undertaken by the few who are able to master its difficulties; that ia to say, it should be chamber music I have no doubt whatever that if the different towns of New Zealand combined to send their best artiste, we might get together a small company of musicians, not perhaps equal, but certainly not very much inferior to the Boston Quintett Club to which I have just alluded. But anything beyond that I do not believe is possible, at least in this generation.

There are two arts which not only are now, but I am afraid always will be beyond our reach, so far as any original work is concerned. These are architecture, in its highest forms, and sculpture. It may seem to come to be a rash statement to say that awWteetuw is bejead owe wacfc. Bβ*

a little reflection will, I think, show that this must be so, so far as the highest fortr a of architecture are concerned. In a utilitarian and prosaic community such as, at tho present day, all Australasian colonies are, there may be grand and even beautiful specimens of domestic architecture; and our publio buildings, our town halls, post Offices, banks, insurance offices, may be handsome, but they can hardly be anything more,; and handsomeness is certainly not the quality we think of when we contemplate the noblest forms of architecture, and especially the ecclesiastical architecture of older countries. What is the effect produced on the mind of one- who, for the first time, finds himself in Westminster Abbey or Winchester Cathedral ? Is it to make him admire the handsomeness of the structure ? I say, on the contrary, that the handsomeness of the structure never strikes him. He is touched, more or lees strongly, according to his emotional nature, by something of the feeling of adoration which inspired the great men who built those glorious temples. But the faith which inspired those great builders is dead. Our Churches partake of our general utilitarianism. They are joint stock concerns; and when we build them we carefully calculate what sitting accommodation we require and how it can be most cheaply provided. Our religious differences have split us up into such numerous sections that a great national building dedicated to the glory of God is an impossibility. Besides, what do the frequenters of our churches look for? They look for a preacher who can please their ears, or satisfy their intellects, and they demand * building in which they can see and hear him to advantage. The thoughtof devoting wealth and skill to the glory of God never enters the head of a modern church-builder, and it never will again, at any rate not in these colonies. The utmost that we can ever hope to see is such a building as the Christchurch Cathedral. And what is this but a rather large and commodious church of a very ordinary type ? What is the meaning of its plain and meagre columns ? The meaning is that the persons who sit in the aisles must all, or most of them, see and hear the preacher. The great clustered columns of our noblest English cathedrals would frustrate the main object which the subscribers to the buildiDg fund of the Christchurch Cathedral had in view. lam not saying this by way of complaint— far from it. I am simply trying to state the fact. And the inevitable inference is that we shall never see in this country anything at all approaching in character the great cathedrals which exist in such numbers in England and France. Even if we had a sufficient number of millionaires actuated by euch a spirit as actuated our forefathers in England, and ready to devote themselves and their wealth to the glory of God, and even if we could conceive a building erected in this country on the model, say of Salisbury Cathedral, there would still be lacking for centuries to come, the one characteristic which, more than any other, impresses the visitor to an English cathedral, and that is age, and the venerable character which age alone can give. The traces of age in ■ the stones of which the cathedral is built produce an effect on the imagination not unlike that which is produced on the senses by the softened light within the building. It is then physically impossible for this generation, ana morally impossible -for any generation, ever to see in this country any building which in size, in beauty, and in venerable character, can compare even remotely with the great English Cathedrals. The art of sculpture is also, and must remain, out of our reach, but for a somewhat different reason. The reason is that sculpture, as a fine art, is practically dead, and has been dead for nearly eighteen centuries, not only in this country, but in all countries. It is true that for certain purposes sculpture is still used, and will continue to be used, but it no longer exists as a fine art. Portraits of eminent men, either in bronze or marble, will continue to be made. Our market places, our museums, our town halls, will, no doubt, continue to be adorned with the effigies of those whom their fellow citizens wish to honour. But these, however excellent, cannot be classed under the heading of fine art. Sculpture as a fine art, employed in the production of works of the imagination, has had no real existence since the reign of the emperor Hadrian in the second century. Many, no doubt, will demur to this statement, but I think a glance at any recent catalogue of the works produced at the Royal Academy will confirm what I say. The two most distinguished English sculp- , tors of the present day are Thornycroft and Ford. In the illustrated catalogues of the Uoyal Academy for 1895 and 1896 we find five portraits and one imaginative work by each of these artists. And what are the imaginative works? Thornycroft's is a marble lifesize statue entitled "Tho Joy of Life." It represents a very beautiful girl executing a ballet dance, her dress being a combination of a kind of ancient tunic with an outer garment unlike anything either ancient or modern, but devised by the sculptor in order to enable him to display the beautifully executed lees and feet of the figure. The skill with which this is done, and even the silk • tights and kid shoes are suggested, is admirable. Ford's is a bronze statue, also life size, of a nude figure entitled "Echo." This is an exquisitely beautiful study Of a young girl, represented with her arms raised, in an attitude of weariness and despair. These two statues will, I think, explain, and I hope justify, ■ my assertion that sculpture as an imaginative art, applied to our own modern life, is dead. The truth is that our modern drees oannot be represented in sculpture without producing a grotesque effect. And on tho other hand a nude figure is, so far as modern life is concerned, an unpardonable anachronism. The very fact that Ford calls, his statue Echo shows that he feels bound to apologise for his figure, and to goto classical timea to find an excuße for it. It -is true that Thornycroft produced in 1889 or 1890 a bronze statue of an > English mower, which is reputed to be hie finest work. But this statue will, I think, still further confirm what 1 have said. It is the figure of a young man, spare, but exceedingly muscular and athletic. He is resting from his work, his left wrist placed on his nip and his right fore-arm supporting his scythe and also hie shirt, which hangs in folds over the scythe. His right hand dutches the waistband of his short breeches. The upper half of the figure is node, and so also is a oonsiderabk part of the legs; and even the muscles of the thighs are plainly shown through the breeches, which Mβ represented as being of a much more chnging material than the ordinary fustian or corduroy. The fact is, the figure is an exceedingly skilful compromise between the nude athlete of classical times and the ungracefully dressed modern labourer; and it approaches much more nearly to the former than the latter type. It is mere Greek than English, both in conception and in execution. The same thing may be said of the works of other great sculptors. Westmacott's Achilles etatue fa Hyde Park and his allegorical figures on the pediment of the British Museum are among the noblest works of modern tames. But they exemplify the truth of what I am saying. They are essentially Greek; and, in the case of the Museum figures, the building which they adorn is Greek, and the figures would be out of place except; on euch a building. The fact is that modern dress is hopelessly onsnited to sculpture. A man's dress w tubular, » woman's dress is bunchy; and both are as unartietio as anything that ooeld be devised. Look at any of the best modern portrait statues, and •cc how the artist is hampered by toe ughnees of our modern drees; see 5° w «« introduces impossible wrinkles into the tabes which encircle the arms and legs of his model, and how eagerly he seizes on a plaid or a travelling rug, in order to have an excuse for partly concealing the hideous tailor's work and for introducing some of the graceful folds which are so characteristic I oftfce ancient Gr«k or Roman dress. Aβ ! *?"• seem avwd.italtojietfeer, and no wonder. Every ■CiA'ifl sl, * ~8 dreaß » from <*» &**> the Bmoot,l Pointed leather Bcuintora art Nudity, on the other and 'J \ M J- tove "■&» •* anachronism and an impertinence. It followe, I think, fe *• een th »* <«üb>ure as a k a^^Tn* 0 no «fetencl It is as \ an ancient art tb*t, it demands our m, SfZSu? b"* ,tudy - . And fortunately it I HL " *""•»»•# by mtsa* ©f oMta, tod, to soan j

' I extent, by means of engravings or photographs, to obtain a fairly adequate conception of the beauty of Greek sculpture. Nor let it be supposed that the study of ancient sculpture is a trivial or useless pursuit. On the contrary, it forms a very important branch of archaeology, and it is recognised in all European countries as a subject worthy of serious study. For instance, in the regulations relating' to classical studies in the Cambridge University, one of the subjects prescribed is " The history of art, and the lives and works of artists in the ancient Greek and Roman world." Again, in the South Kensington Museum there is a collection ofabout 300 casts from Greek antiques, and in the Museum of Classical Archaeology at Cambridge there is a similar and still more carefully selected collection of 600 caste. In the Royal Museum at Berlin, besides the original art treasures which that city possesses, there are more than 2000 casts. All these collections, and many more which might be mentioned, are arranged, so far as possible, in chronological order for the purposes of study. It is very much to be desired that a similar collection, on a smaller scale, could be formed at one at least of the towns of New Zealand. It would not only provide the materials for an important branch of study, but it would also be a source of delight even to those who have no special taste for archaeology. Through the liberality of the late Mr George Gould and other benefactors, the Christchurch Museum already possesses a small but valuable collection of casts of Home of the most famous of the ancient statues. These, however, have been chosen almost entirely with the view of pleasing the eye of the ordinary spectator by their beauty, and also, perhaps, with the view of providing valuable models for the art student. From both these points of view they are of very high value, and entitle the donors to the. gratitude of the community. But suppose, now, that instead of a room containing a dozen or more casts, chosen solely for the beauty of the originals, and arranged without regard to anything but the convenience of the spectator or of the art student, there were a series of rooms containing casts of statues and other forms of sculpture, arranged in chronological order, "and showing the development of the art from its commencement to its decay—showing how it began as a religious and decorative art, how it reached its highest perfection in the hands of Phidias, how it gradually altered its character, and partly, though never completely, divorced itself from religion, until it became simply an instrument of luxury or personal aggrandisement, and finally, in the later Empire, lost all idealism and became tasteless and extravagant. .Surely in such a collection, if it were ever so small, there would be a most valuable object lesson on the tendencies of art generally, and the dangers which accompany its progress. And there is one thing in which sculpture differs from all the arts, and that is in its compactness, the shortness of the time during which it flourished, the rapidity with which it leaped from rudeness to perfection, and the suddenness with which it disappeared, never to revive. It ie most curious, too, that throughout its existence it was confined to the Hellenic race. (I leave out of sight the Egyptian and Assyrian sculptures, which, in this connection, may practically be neglected.) In our day the most skilful sculptors are Italians. But in ancient times no Roman ever touched a chisel. Even in Hadrian's time it was Greek artists, slaves or freedmen, that produced the beautiful works which ministered to the pleasure, or gratified the vanity of their Roman masters. The Romans them-

selves affected to despise the pursuit of art as if it were something effeminate, and what we call Graeco-Roman art means art as it was pursued by Greeks under, and for the pleasure of, their Roman conquerors and masters. The majority of the casts in the Christchurch Museum are from statues which belong to a somewhat late period. The Apollo, the dying Gaul, the Antinous, the so-called Germanicus, the Laocoon, the Diana of Gabii, the Venus de Medici and the Melian Venus, all belong to a period much later than what is held to be the greatest period of Greek art. Not that they ought to be held in lighter esteem on that account; for surely every work of art should be judged on ita own merits, and not by the period to which it is assigned by archaeologists. And, as a matter of fact, the unanimous verdict of Europe has placed the two statues of Venus at the head of all ancient sculptures. Nor, I think, will there be many to dispute that verdict. The gracefulness and fresh youthful beauty in the one figure and the glorious and almost scornful perfection of ripe womanhood in the other are such as never have been and never can be surpassed. Therefore, to whatever period archaeologists may assign them, they will always be placed in the very front rank by those who admire art for art's sake. Besides, it must be borne in mind that at the period when these works are supposed to have been produced it was already the fashion to make collections of famous ancient statues from all parts of the world, and also to employ the best artiste to make reproductions of great masterpieces. And if the arrists employed did this, as they frequently did, with the perfection of skill, the copies which they made are to all, except to mere antiquarians, as valuable as the originals. Therefore those who, without much reason, affect to find inferiority in all Grseco-Roman work run a risk of stultifying themselves by finding fault with something whichmay after all belong to that earlier period in which they can see nothing but perfection. But no matter what the period may be to which these statues are to be assigned, they all have one characteristic which stamps them with greatness. They are genuinely truthful and full of purpose. The Melian Venus ia a type of real and most perfect womanhood. The Apollo is the embodiment of perfect or .more than perfect manhood, and the expression of the face is one of conscious power and disdain. Turn from these to Canova's Perseus and what do we find ? not Perseus, but a well-made gentleman masquerading as Perseus, and daintily holding up a mild-looking Gorgon's head. The whole thing is theatrical, and I do not think any quality can be more damning to a work of art. Ido not know whether this cast was placed in the Museum for the purpose of showing by contrast the greater truthfulness of the ancient masterpieces, but it certainly serves that purpose most admirably. If a work of art fails in truthfulness and seriousness of purpose, it fails utterly, no matter how perfeot the shape or the anatomy of the figure.

But I am straying further than I intended, and I return to what I said before, that a collection of casts may be made not merely a collection of pleasing objects to contemplate, but a subject of serious study. The interest even of such a collection as that in the Christchurch Museum would be greatly enhanced if the visitor could have in his hand a short account of each statue of

which a cast is given, showing when and where it was found, where it k at the present time, who was the ascertained or probable sculptor, and in what relation the statue stands to other works of art. Such

short accounts, preceded by a general sketch giving the periods of sculpture and the great names belonging to each period, would be a source of very great interest, and the visitors, instead of idly glancing at these valuable caste with a short lived feeling of admiration, would probably have their intellectual interests awakened and be tempted to go further in the pursuit of a most fascinating and delightful study.

Valuable as casts are, they cannot, of course, in most cases, convey more than an imperfect idea of the beauty of the original marble. To get an adequate idea of this beauty it is necessary to see the originals themselves, and this for most people te impossible. However, communication with Europe is becoming every year cheaper and easier, and there may be many readers of the Press who will have opportunities of visiting the creat European art galleries. It is said that all roads lead to Borne, and this is

true in more senses than one. It is especially true in relation to the art of sculpture. Other capitals have isolated treasures. London possesses sculptured works of priceless value, though most of them are, unfortunately, a good deal mutilated. But the collections of art treasures in Borne

surpass in extent and variety all other collections. It will be interesting to some who may be contemplating a visit to that wonderful city to be informed of the existence of a book recently published, which will be found invaluable by those who visit the Roman museums. This is " Helbig's Guide to the Collections of Classical Antiquities in Rome." It ia tranilaud into Engtiih t uxl ia

published by Baedeker in two small handy volumes.

lam afraid those who have made a study of ancient statuary will find my remarks tedious. I can only hope that some who have never given their attention to the subject may be tempted to do so. There are few studies less difficult, and none, that I know of, more delightful.