THE CARVING

New Zealand Tablet, 14 October 1915, Page 7

THE CARVING

Wish you weren't such an old pagan,' sighed Paul Lane, as he strayed around the combination library and studio of his friend, Philip Pierson. >T : 'I am not actually a pagan, you know. I really lack the essentials,' laughingly declared the yountr artist. X ; : ■■ °

■_ 'No use .protesting,' interrupted Paul. ' This profusion of your incriminating handiwork indicts you.' Paul 'waved his hand accusingly around the room. Assuredly, the objects included in his sweeping gesture seemed to support his statement. They were carvings, sculptures in wood, clay, and marble. ' Though the artist was but beginning his career, there was variety; but the subjects were chiefly little fauns, mischievous rather than wicked young satyrs, queer little woodsy figures, presumably dryads, eerie, light-footed, fanciful wild things. Not definitely, perhaps, might they be classed as pagan. They had a wholesome, lovable, half-human quality. They were not unlike some of the fancies which the early Gothic builders wrought in stone —reminders of creatures met in quaint medieval legends; strange, half-guileless, half-knowing wood folk, figuring in primitive stories and pictures of the saints, descendants perhaps of those gentle creatures who heard and loved a St. Francis, a St. Anthony, and could never again be entirely like their fellow beasts and birds.

However, Paul was not well-versed in such lore, nor would his serious young mind have been hospitable to such fanciful ideas. To his casual observation, these exuberant fashionings of his friend's deft hands and* fancy recalled the fabulous folk of pre-Christian times —and toward such he was now in no mood to be amiable.

' I don't mind your having an active fancy, but you're so behind the times ! Isn't there anything in this big life of to-day to inspire your eyes and hand V Yes, but I don't like realism the Man with the Hoe and such things depress me. But why quarrel My graven images are technical exercises, plays of fancy, not idols. I do know more about the art game than you, old man, though I can't hit the right terms to discuss systems of ethics with you. Come, let's have a pipe and hear if any plans have ripened over night.' And they seated themselves before the old-fashioned fireplace. * Both young men were obviously idealists, men of dreams. Strength and significance of purpose were clearly stamped upon the features of each, different as these were in contour. Paul's face was finely chiselled and somewhat austere, Philip's features were more rotund. Philosopher, poet, priest?—these might have , been the speculations as to Paul's future vocation. About his comrade there had likely been less choice of alternatives. Artist, even a superficial observer might have prophesied correctly. It was not necessary to discover Philip red-handed in his studio. Though knit by many bonds they were as different in temperament as in appearance. Their respective attitude toward things spiritual was somewhat indicated by Paul's jocular-serious regret that his friend was 'such an old pagan'a formula for Philip's exuberant youth. Paul was far graver. They had gone through college together in a happy boyhood friendship, and their loyalty had strengthened with time and association. This evening their college work . was over, so there was to begin a parting of the ways. Philip was to go to Italy to work at his art. And j. now Paul, whose plans had not developed to his own 4 satisfaction until to-day, was about to disclose his prospects. 'l've decided to study theology, and if possible to enter the priesthood.' The tone of the statement indicated that the speaker expected to create surprise. But Philip was not startled. ' Old pagan ' though he might be, Philip had always discerned a fine spiritual quality in Paul. Though this quality was one which Philip himself possessed in a lesser degree, he gloried in it in his

■:>A. great St. Paul,' as \he sometimes called his ; companion. ~': . -xV\V"»"'- r . ■■' . -.,;».-.; I ■';.••-~*l' ;: J? ; -16 • r.'\ Yet, if not surprised, he was y somewhat grieved by Paul's announcement. .It meant separationper,:haps for , life. Therefore, he-felt called upon to enter an objection: - ■■' --A ,"•

' 1 say, old-fellow, are you sure"? Is it settled ? ' I thought you were going to pull off some; big philosophical stunt.some thesis to knock • Bereson into a cocked hat ■ - >-'- •- -■/ "--A-

A Maybe I shall,' laughingly answered Paul. The seminary offers a good chance even for that.' But you won't have time ! ' You'll have to dig so in theology and all that, won't you?' - Yes, but it will not blur my philosophical vision —it really-ought to clear it.' ■■■' Hang it, I wish you wouldn't,' groaned Philip, but I know there is no. use arguing—it's in you ! I've known it all along.' 'You have always been most decent,' murmured Paul, shyly giving a boyish tribute which Philip received with equal coyness. ' It just goes- against the grain to lose you, that's all.'

Paul smiled with the serenity of one whose measurement of human loss and gain was already different from the standards of other youths. ' But you can't lose me,' he protested. ' However sanctified you're going to be, you're not ready for miraculous appearances and all that mystical stuff yet. You'll be just as good as lost yonder, in that town of "my French ancestors. And .Ithought you were coming to prowl in the Vatican this winter while I'm working in Rome.' ' Maybe I'll visit you before you leave Italy.' ' Yes, a pretty pair we would be! You, a recollected seminarian and a gay Bohemian Lord knows what I'll become without your influence! No use talking, we're parted forever.' 'Nonsense! I'll soon be hunting you down with a commission for some church of mine.'

But for all the loyal avowals, the next years did lead the young men far apart. They wrote to each other periodically, but each was so intense a worker that the letters became less and less frequent. Meantime, each was striding ahead. Philip was ■taking the prizes in his classes and bidding fair to be one of the best artists of his epoch. And far away in the famous old university, Paul was winning laurels of another typefor his rare spiritual nature and intellectual achievements. But he was too absorbed in study and discipline to note what others thought of him, and his ardent heart and mind burned for the accomplishment of his allotted probation, that he might go forth as an accepted laborer in his Master's vineyard. At last, strong, eager, and well-equipped, he was ready to go forth—one more Melchisedech for the service perpetual.His plans were made. "With the approval of his spiritual adviser, he intended to go back to America, the particular vineyard which especially called to him. Though its railroads were now flung from ocean to ocean, from the Gulf to the Canadian North, there were regions still untilled by spiritual ploughs. In the strength of his young manhood he longed to help in the folding of that great country, still young compared with Christian Europe. The role he expected to play in such an .undertaking was modest enough, however. He preferred to. go to some newly opened missionary field, rather than, to the booming cities whose fabulous material growth was so astonishing to the European mind. Such cities must necessarily have prosperous churches—hence his choice of a less thriving community. With the prospect of eventual departure for America, Father Paul spent some weeks after his ordination with friends whom he was not likely to see again for many years. And in these hours of parting his thoughts and affections turned to his old comrade, Philip. Philip had tried repeatedly to. persuade his

seminarian friend to visit him in Italy or 'Paris always in vain. ; But now that he Was about to cross the ocean, old memories and affections conquered Paul and he pined- to see Philip before-sailing. How- good it would be to note what kind of man he had become, to observe how, his art had developed, to learn whether or not his nature had deepened. Would he find, Paul wondered, that in the late years passed in such different grooves they had really drifted apart? or would these years have brought them nearer? Had he lost Philip ? Or had his old boyish avowal that Philip should never be lost been realised ?

That fortunate exj)erience— pleasure of renewing an old friendship on its original terms after years of separationwas the gratification in store for both Paul and Philip. For all practical purposes of good fellowship, Philip noted here was the same old Paul. It was a tribute to the permanent qualities—sincerity, charm, genuine worthof the two men in their, boyhood that after so long a separation neither was disappointed in their renewed association. It was proof, too, of their youthful discrimination that neither had to undergo the shock of disillusion. Paul's austere lineaments still had their old charm for Philip, and the artist's lines had fulfilled their best promise. " Paul was especially anxious to see Philip's work. That would tell even better than Philip's appearance whether or not he had really grown. Would his fancy still be dreaming of fauns and the like

' Right away I must see what you have been doing,' he boyishly insisted when the first greetings were over. 'Well, well, but you have come on,' he declared as he entered a roomy atelier round which stood several vigorous figures in various stages of artistic creation, He strayed enthusiastically from one work to another, admiring now and then the modelling, but always the choice of subjects. 'But whatever has become of the "pagan fancies"? Have these epic heroes of the industrial age entirely superseded the fauns and dryads?' asked Father Paul, as the two sat down together. ' I don't believe there's one in the place,' declared the artist laughing. ' ' The pontifical atmosphere of Rome has perhaps exorcised them?' asked the young priest. ' Maybe the work of others who did them better fatally discouraged me,' retorted Philip. ' But, seriously, I'd like your judgment on these things.' ' I like them immensely,' said Father Paul with conviction. Gratified, Philip began going to and fro, discussing his intentions here, his efforts there, with his old boyish exuberance. ' You see, of course, what I have been trying to do-—by the way, I remember you had some idea for me yourself. ■ I have tried, as you used to advise, to catch up with the epoch. Some of these studies are meant to express the better elements of the life of today. Looks something like Meunier's work, doesn't it? But I want it to be different. Something like what Millet did in paintonly different again—and in my own poor way. Toil Triumphant, some of the critics say I'm after. Well, not exactly ! But I would like to catcli the cheerful, healthy aspect of honest daily work. It need not and does not always make a man a ".brother of the brute" and all that sort of bosh. On the contrary, some of the noblest specimens of manhood—yes, and of womanhood, too — been simple, sturdy day laborers, with perfect muscles, beautiful firm lines— looking specimens than some of the nervous, broken-down plutocrats who are supposed to be their slave-drivers or the narrow-chested, spectacled pedants who write tracts about them.' ' Good for you,' exclaimed Paul, as Philip formulated his sociological and artistic creed, ' Good for you ! I really believe we could get better laws made . for some of your brave fine fellows than for some of the poor needy wretches in whose behalf social justice and charity are so eloquently sought.' Whenever Father Paul recalled that visit, the stalwart figures of the studio stood prominently forth, testifying to his friend's development and to his deep,

human sympathy. ■;=• These idealisations of the "healthy; happy types of an industrial age did him credit in conception v and execution. They were far beyond his fanciful wild creatures and perhaps some day he might go still further, reaching the higher note which lie had not yet struck. Meantime, Father Paul himself was to go speaking in terms of both space and achievement. Pausing in some of the American coastwise cities only long enough to« become intelligently acquainted with them, he soon pressed inward across the States to the region of his future labors. At length he settled in a small but exacting community where, even as he had dreamed in far away Europe, he was distinctly able to participate in moulding to ideals of Christian morality a group of those who were forming a portion of the vast American population. His ' little leaven ' bade fair to infuse its saving virtue into a mighty nation. Slowly but surely he worked with his church, his school, and later, his charitable institutions. Providence prospered his hand till eventually the town and his congregation outgrew the church given to him on his arrival. And so beloved had he now become that several generous friends came forward to urge and help him to build another and larger edifice. His memory was so richly furnished with the forms and architectural glories of the Old World churches that Father Paul was able to give his architects many good suggestions. It was part of his ideal for this dear America of his that its churches were not to be flimsy, shabby structures, but stable and beautiful even when necessarily simple. They must be, he insisted, fitting tabernacles for the worship to which they were dedicated.

As the building plans»L-proceeded, Father Paul became more and more absorbed in them. Though he had no luxurious purse at his disposal, his little new church must be a worthy mansion for his Master and an example in dignified, harmonious ecclesiastical architecture. He refreshed his knowledge of this great subject. He reviewed the few treasures he had brought from the old world and drew forth portfolios of sketches, some of which he and Philip had made in college, and others which Philip had given him in Rome. They were an inspiration to the architects—suggesting that details of structure and finishing might be made beautiful if simple. Naturally he thought of Philip a great deal in connection with the work, and often wished that he were near enougTi to take a hand in this important church building. It would have been ideal to have had some of his own actual work in the structure.

As this'wish for his artist friend took possession of the young priest's heart, an inspiration came to him—why could he not, after all, have something of Philip's in the church ? Of course he could ! He wondered that he had not thought of it before ! He would write to Philip immediately. And what should he request ? Like a child with a tantalising choice of several gifts, Father Paul spent.some time in making his decision. A statuette? A carving? What?

Finally he decided. He wrote his request, first describing the church with the aim to arouse Philip's interest. Eloquently he emphasised the suggestions taken from Philip's own boyish drawings. Then, at last, he came to the point; he asked Philip to carve a crucifix for him. It is a good deal to ask of one already flattered by so many handsome commissions. But if you can spare any odd moments, let me have something ! I particularly want something of yours for my church. In a, few years hence you will be so renowned that I shall not dare to hope for any of your work. And now of course I am not going to pay you—except in prayers, many of them, at my new altar. But if you are already too overwhelmed by work, say the word. Meantime, for my purposes there is no hurry. Years hence will be time enough—merely have the desire—sentimental if you will—of having something of yours in my church.' Philip was amused, pleased, touched, when his clerical friend's letter reached his studio in Rome.

He-valued this request more than commissions from artpcquiririg ■• Croesuses— was one more assurance ■of their ijuntarnishing bond of affection. Surely he would be } glad to accede to Paul's request! How stupid and. jself-absorbed he was not to have offered Paul something ere this! He set about looking for his materials and deciding on his treatment of his subject, devoting Ito the work that intensity and sincerity which are the artist's means of giving an individual interpretation to a, familiar subject. He wanted to work in the spirit of the painters and sculptors of sacred subjects whose treatment of august inspirations had immortalised their names.

v Several times he started his devoir, and after working with enthusiasm for a few days he found his accomplishment trite and inexpressive. He could not send such a work to Paul he must try —with fresher inspiration. He wandered about in successive moods of artistic meditation, inspiration, discouragement. J js Finally, after the occasional custom of his fellow-workers in lighting their torches at the flame of another art, he turned to literature. He read the New Testament and one or two notable lives of Christ.

The books were magical. What pigment and stone had failed to do for him, print accomplished. He began to ' feel ' the Crucifixion with an intellectual and spiritual realisation never before experienced. His emotional and spiritual intensity was such that he could scarcely apply himself to the actual materialisation of his thought. Then came the artistic passion, and he began work in a fever. In this glow of artistic creation, hand and brain did ideal teamwork. Swiftly, surely, beautifully the wood took shape. Day by day it approached the comparative perfection of which he had dreamed. And day by day Philip's own mind and heart were growing in spiritual perception, deepening in appreciation of the Divine Personality Whose august human embodiment he was reverently trying to portray. Now he felt assured, with all due modesty, that Paul would be pleased. Ah, but what would he say if he knew that the expressive carving represented the graving of deeper thought upon the brow of the idealist Philip, the chasing upon his heart of a rich spiritual experience, the re-fashioning of his life to conform with this new realisation. This work had lifted the artist to a superior plane of vision, and that vision would imbue his work with greater dignity and deeper feeling. Paul Lane's dear ' old pagan ' was to become one of the great artists of his time. But whatever laudation Philip's later work was to receive from professional sources, his gift to Paul entered upon a career more wonderful than either its fond recipient or its author had anticipated. Almost as soon as it was placed in the niche which Paul had designed for it, it became an object of admiration and devotion. The beautiful lines of Philip's lovinglywrought crucifix made their appeal alike to trained eyes and to humble devotees. Often when straying eyes wandered from Paul's reverent figure at the altar it was to Philip's eloquent sermon in wood—on the august episode of Calvary. Priest at the altar, artist present in the work of his hands— with his ten talents was glorifying the Dispenser of all good gifts. Often appreciative visitors to the church would seek its pastor to inquire the origin of his rare piece of workmanship, and with pride never waning Father Paul would tell of his friend. And meantime in far away Rome Philip Pierson's eyes brightened whenever he opened a letter from Father Paul. On one page or another the priest always insisted that Philip, whilom ' old pagan ' of ever dear memory, was now through the work of his gifted hands an active force in sustaining devotion in a simple but beautiful little church in a prosperous American town. Repeating the statement in one letter, Paul added : ' You remember that when we parted you insisted that we were losing each other for ever. But you see how little I have actually lost you —you are really assistant pastor!'

And Philip, as he read, being still too boyish to surrender to a vehement attack of sentiment, muttered-':•; ' Old Paul always did have a strong mystical streak in him!'— The Magnificat. ■