THE PEASANT BOY WHO MADE HIS DREAMS COME TRUE
Less than forty years ago a little Serbian boy--Ivan Mestrovic--was
watching the sheep on the hillsides near his home in the village of
Otavice in Serbia, about thirty-five miles from the Dalmatian coast.
Ivan’s parents were peasants and, like all the humble folk of the
countryside, lived very simply. There were few luxuries in that little
thatched cottage, and while still a mere lad of eight or nine years of
age, Ivan, like the other boys he knew, spent long hours at the foot of
the soaring Dinaric Alps, tending the flocks and at night returning,
often footsore and weary, to listen to the stirring tales of Serbia’s
national heroes, as they were told to the assembled children around the
fireside.
The history of the Serbian people in many ways has been a sad one.
Centuries ago they lost much of their independence when the Turks
crushed them with a cruel onslaught which left them in an enfeebled
condition. But no people in the world are prouder of their history
than the Serbs, and Ivan listened eagerly as his father told of the
mighty deeds of Kraljevic Marko, the national hero of Serbia, and other
renowned men of the nation.
Perhaps after Ivan went to bed each night he dreamed of the thrilling
tales he had heard. One thing he certainly did: he dreamed of these
things by day when out on the lonely mountain sides with no companions
but the sheep. He had lots of time to think, for often he would be off
almost at daybreak and only when night was falling did the lad turn his
steps homeward. He knew little or nothing of the great world outside.
Most of the old people of the district had lived all their lives
without moving away more than a few miles. Many of them had never been
as far as the Dalmatian coast although it was little more than thirty
miles away. Ivan thought that perhaps he too, like the old men of the
village, would live and die near his father’s thatched cottage.
From his earliest years Ivan loved to carve wood, using the curved
peasant knife which he took with him to the hills each day. Sometimes
he made spoons, or knives, or forks, which he proudly brought home to
his parents, who commended him for his cleverness. The days were never
dull for him; for during the long sunny days on the upland pastures he
meditated over the strange stirring tales he had heard at his father’s
fireside, and occupied himself with carving all manner of household
utensils with his curious old knife.
Then, one day, as Ivan gazed at the silent mountains, towering higher
and higher until they seemed to reach the sky, he wondered if he could
not make other things with his knife such as models of men and women,
cattle, and then perhaps of the brave heroes of whom he was so proud.
One day he was taken to the town of Sibenik and for the first time saw
a cathedral, with its carved saints, gleaming altar and scenes depicted
from sacred history.
When next he tended the flocks Ivan’s mind was busier than ever. He
resolved that he--poor peasant boy though he was--would be a sculptor,
with stone as well as with wood, and he would make models of great and
good people such as he had seen in Sibenik Cathedral. After that Ivan
was busy every hour of his solitary watches, carving some figure either
in wood or in stone. He showed the result of his efforts to the village
priest who greatly encouraged him, and at his request Ivan made a
crucifix for the village church.
The boy’s workmanship began to attract attention. A visitor to
the district was so impressed that he tried to raise money in the
neighbourhood to send Ivan away to pursue his studies under some
competent teacher but, although the peasants were all proud of Ivan,
they were very poor and the little money they could raise would not
be sufficient, so the plan had to be abandoned. By this time Ivan’s
father was eager to have him get experience so he apprenticed him to a
marble cutter at Split named Bilinic. This was a great adventure for
Ivan. He left his humble home among the hills, clad in native dress and
wearing his red Croatian cap, and soon he was at work helping to carve
crucifixes, angels and various altar ornaments for the local churches.
In the evenings he had to do much drudgery and he suffered privation of
every kind, but there was no foolish pride in the boy’s heart. He knew
that his parents were too poor to pay for his tuition, so he was glad
to do even the meanest duties, to pay for his education as a sculptor.
About this time a man named Konig became greatly interested in him and
through him Ivan was able to pursue his studies in Vienna. He must
have seemed a strange figure when, clad in his Serbian peasant’s dress,
he reached that great city; soon he discarded these for the corduroys
and soft hat so typical of the art students of the Austrian capital.
Things were certainly opening up for Ivan Mestrovic but his troubles
were by no means over. He received a small grant from his native
village but this was not nearly enough to provide him even with the
necessities of life, so that during his four years of study at the
Academy in Vienna he constantly felt the pinch of poverty. Then the
attitude of the proud Austrian people towards the Serbians, together
with the fact that his early education had been sadly neglected,
often embarrassed him. But Ivan was not easily discouraged and his
determination to become a great sculptor became stronger every day.
From Vienna he went to Rome and then on to Paris where he studied for
two years, coming into contact with the great sculptor Auguste Rodin,
who was quick to recognise the true genius of the Serbian youth. Soon
the excellent quality of Ivan’s work began to attract attention and he
was recognised as a student of much more than ordinary ability.
In 1911 there was a great exhibition of art in Rome and in the Serbian
pavilion the work of Ivan Mastrovic was displayed on a much greater
scale than on any previous occasion. He had a magnificent model of
Serbia’s national hero, Kraljevic Marko, which almost seemed to
breathe, it was so lifelike. There were scenes depicted from Serbian
history with marvellous grace, and besides these there were models of
his father, his mother and some of the shepherds whom as a boy he had
seen around his native hills. This exhibition of Ivan’s work created a
very favourable impression; it might almost be said a sensation, for
everyone who saw it realised that it was the work of a true genius.
During the days of the Great War Ivan Mestrovic lived in Rome. They
were sad days for him, for with the retreat of the Serbian army it
seemed as though the brave little nation would be crushed again, as in
the days of the Turkish oppression. His mind turned much to the sorrows
of Christ and out of walnut wood he depicted many incidents from sacred
history such as Christ on the Cross and other scenes which set forth
the sorrows of the Saviour.
In 1915 Ivan Mestrovic astounded even his admirers by conducting a
one-man exhibition in the Victoria and Albert Museum, Kensington,
London, England. The exhibition was a great revelation to the British
public. It was even a greater triumph than that he had achieved at
Rome and his wonderful statues in wood and plaster and stone were the
subject of favourable comment from all quarters. Of course much of his
work could not be seen at exhibitions such as at Rome and London, for
it was done in churches. It is said that one of the finest pieces of
artistry in stone to be seen anywhere is his work in the Chapel of the
Madonna of the Angels at Cavtat. Critics say that no finer work has
been done in modern times than that which Mestrovic has done in this
chapel.
A few years ago Ivan Mestrovic crossed the Atlantic with his wonderful
people of wood and stone, and in America thousands have gazed on his
work and admired and wondered how one man, scarcely yet in middle life,
could have done so much work and all of such high quality. In 1924 a
Mestrovic exhibition was held at the Brooklyn Museum. The triumphs
the sculptor scored at Rome were repeated at Brooklyn. It is safe to
say that no sculptor of modern times has won greater laurels than
Mestrovic and no one can foretell what wonderful things this Serbian
genius may yet accomplish.
Away in the far-off hills of Serbia, the peasants still tend their
flocks of sheep on the rugged hillsides, and at night, when the day’s
work is over, they still gather around the fireside and tell thrilling
tales of Serbian heroes, but of one thing we may be sure: they have
added a new hero to their list. They tell of a peasant boy who, not so
many years ago, watched his father’s sheep and dreamed of what he would
like to do and of how he has made his dreams come true.