De Valera's Irelands (23 page)

In early 1987, I interviewed Seán Ó Faoláin, a sprightly man in his eighty-seventh year, who walked without the aid of a stick, was well groomed, wore thick-lensed glasses, and expressed strongly-held opinions, offered to me freely and with a good sense of humour. Ó Faoláin told me that ‘the artist is a rare bird. There are only about two or three in every gene­ration.' He believed that ‘little amounts of money do not create great art. Even big amounts of money do not create great art. The artist is there or he is not there.'
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This sounds very like the so-called ‘bubble up theory' of Charles J. Haughey outlined in the only lengthy interview ever conduct­ed with him on the subject of arts policy.
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Although Haughey defended the independence of the Irish Arts Council, he stated: ‘I don't think you should be too concerned about structures and infrastructures. Art is very much its own thing. It bubbles up unexpectedly here and there … I don't think you should policy-ise it'.
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The development of arts policy in Ireland, as in many countries, has seen a continuing tension between those who believe in fostering condi­tions for growth in the arts through specific initiatives, like Seán Ó Fao­láin and Charles J. Haughey, and those who wish to plan, foster and pro­mote it through co-ordinated government intervention. Clearly the estab­­lishment of a Ministry of Arts, Culture and the Gaeltacht in 1992 reflects a different, more centralised and pro-active approach to arts policy. Seán Ó Faoláin's policy as Director of the Arts Council from 1956 to 1959 can be described as ‘better sureshot than scattergun'. It was better to target expenditure on particular initiatives than to attempt, with very limited resources, to spread money thinly on a wide range of arts activities.

The Arts Council, or to use its statutory title, An Chomhairle Ealaíon, was established by the Arts Act, 1951, and was, after the Arts Council of Great Britain, only the second such organisation in the world. It is, in ef­fect, a type of quango, a quasi-autonomous non-governmental organi­sa­tion, and operates the arms-length principle which is supposed to keep it free from political interference. According to the Arts Act, 1951, the arts are ‘painting, sculpture, architecture, music, drama, literature, design in industry and the fine arts and applied arts generally'. The first director of An Chomhairle Ealaíon was Patrick J. Little and he worked tirelessly to promote arts activity throughout Ireland. He believed in a type of com­munity arts policy of art for the people and by the people: ‘The appeal should be as wide as possible for the benefit of the community as a whole', and he considered that: ‘Rural Ireland holds the heart of Ireland and it will not do to confine the Council's activities to urban centres'.
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The Arts Council's purpose was, in Little's view, ‘to stir the spirit of in­dependent artistic functions'.
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Some people were cynical about these sentiments coming from a poli­tician. The poet and author Patrick Kavanagh wrote, tongue in cheek, that there had traditionally been ‘Four Pillars of Wisdom' in Ireland – ‘the Christian Brothers, Croke Park, Radio Iran and the Queen's Theatre'. ‘Wearing the cultural smile which withers all life within range of its ven­om', politicians were now attempting to impart further wisdom:

Government ministers, not being content to confine their confused dis­cussions to economics and high finance, have recently been adding to their repertoire to gabble matters concerning Irish art and letters. Phrases like ‘Irish culture' and ‘Irish cultural relations' are beginning to compete with the worn-out and tired references to ‘our glorious martyrs'. Men who in a well ordered society would be weeding a field of potatoes or cutting turf in a bog are now making loud pronouncements on art.
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There was a degree of truth in the contention that some politicians had questionable motives when using the theme of the arts for speech mate­rial. Little was an idealist whose motives were not in doubt. His ten­dency to philosophise gave him a reputation as a political lightweight. He seemed too sincere for hard-nosed politics. The public relations work involved in launching the Arts Council suited his temperament. He was rarely out of the news during his years as director, opening exhibitions, promoting festivals, pleading for the restoration of historic buildings and lauding the work of amateur arts groups.
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He was wildly ambitious and the Department of the Taoiseach felt it necessary to keep a close eye on the Arts Council's activities. Dr Nicholas Nolan, assistant secretary in the department, telephoned the Council's office at least once each week to receive a progress report.
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He was concerned especially that the Coun­cil should be known by its legal title ‘An Chomhairle Ealaíon'. This creat­ed a practical problem because ‘a great many people did not know where to look for the telephone number in the Phone Directory'.
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People looked for it under ‘Arts Council' and found nothing. Dr Nolan gave permis­sion for the additional entry to be made in the telephone book: ‘Arts Council – see Comhairle Ealaíon'. This type of bureaucratic ingenuity was typical of the tight control maintained by the Taoiseach's Depart­ment. The Arts Council had been foisted on the department whose officials, by their actions, indicated a distrust of the new institution.

By the end of 1952, the Arts Council had spent about £10,000 and the emphasis had been on funding for drama and music groups in accor­dance with Little's policy. The Taoiseach and his department were not impressed. In their opinion, the Arts Council's main task was the promo­tion of the visual arts and industrial design. It was decided to call rep­resentatives of the Council to a meeting with the Taoiseach on 15 January 1953. An agreed report was prepared in which Eamon de Valera outlined the policies he thought the Council should pursue.
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From de Valera's point of view, the meeting provided an opportunity to use his influence although he ‘stressed the fact that he had no desire to interfere with the discretion of the Council in the exercise of their functions'. His wishes were expressed politely: ‘It would be a pity,' he remarked, ‘if the Council were to depart from the original intention with regard to their functions.' He thought that music was perhaps a matter for Radio Éireann and the Department of Education. Drama was, in his opinion, much less in need of encouragement than the visual arts and design in industry.

The Taoiseach advised the adoption of two important guidelines. He suggested ‘that the Council should exercise special care in regard to any branch of art for which an existing state organisation was catering' (that is, grants should not be given from two state bodies to one organi­sation). The second guideline in the agreed report read: ‘The Taoiseach said that the restoration of the Irish language was not, in itself, a function of the Council, and money was being spent in other directions by the State for this purpose.' The Arts Council followed the Taoiseach's advice literally and refused all future applications for funding of arts activities by Irish language groups.

It may seem surprising that it was Eamon de Valera who established the key guidelines for the Arts Council in its early years. This was due to P. J. Little's direct influence because he was de Valera's trusted advisor on cultural matters. Little represented Waterford County in Dáil Éireann from 1927 to 1954. He was de Valera's parliamentary secretary from 1933 to 1939 before being appointed Minster for Posts and Telegraphs from 1939 to 1948.

Edward MacLysaght thought that de Valera ‘almost alone of leading public men in Ireland at the time, was not only sympathetic but positive­ly helpful in promoting cultural endeavours'.
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In contrast, Mervyn Wall, while acknowledging that de Valera had ‘many virtues', has said:

The regrettable thing was that he hadn't the slightest understanding of, or interest in, the arts. He didn't think them important. I remember a public statement of his in which he said that he couldn't see any reason for playing the work of foreign composers in Ireland, as we already had our own beauti­ful Irish music. When he was in his fifties, he visited the Abbey Theatre to see a play about Saint Francis of Assisi, remarking rather innocently that he had never been in the Abbey Theatre before, a truly remarkable admission.
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De Valera's admission was not so remarkable – Cosgrave had admitted in 1924 that he had never been to the Abbey. But how can these two op­posing views of de Valera be reconciled?

De Valera certainly viewed the fine arts as a luxury which the coun­try could not afford. In 1928 he said that the country:

had to make the sort of choice that might be open, for instance, to a servant in a big mansion. If the servant was displeased with the kicks of the young mas­ter and wanted to have his freedom, he had to make up his mind whether or not he was going to have that freedom and give up the luxuries of a cer­tain kind which were not available to him by being in that mansion … If he goes into the cottage, he has to make up his mind to put up with the frugal fare of that cottage. As far as I am concerned, if I had that choice to make, I would make it willingly. I would say, ‘We are prepared to get out of the man­sion, to live our lives in our own way, and to live in that frugal manner.'
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It is only fair to state that de Valera did not envisage that Irish families should forever be confined to frugal lives in little cottages. In 1932, he told the Dáil: ‘If there are hair-shirts at all, it will be hair-shirts all round. Ulti­mately I hope the day will come when the hair-shirt will give way to the silk shirt all round.'
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It is obvious that de Valera would have included the fine arts among ‘the luxuries of a certain kind' which had been part of life in the mansion of Anglo-Ireland. The fine arts had been the preserve of the landed gen­try for centuries. Orchestral concerts, dance galas and opera were the fash­ionable recreations of the wealthy ruling class. Fine paintings were seen only on the walls of rooms in the ‘big houses'. Therefore, it was believed that the fine arts were not part of native Irish tradition. De Valera knew that it was politically viable to support what were perceiv­ed to be native art forms, political dynamite to fund ‘non-national' art. The government had to proceed cautiously. It would be some time before the Irish people would regard the fine arts as legitimate recipients of government funds.

De Valera believed in an Irish culture comprising native sports, mu­sic, dancing, storytelling, folklore and literature. He would take time to assist cultural endeavour if it was in spirit with his religious and nation­alist beliefs. In the task of nation-building, de Valera saw it as essential to promote activities which were rooted in the traditions of the majority of the Irish people. This attitude led to praise from those, like MacLysaght, who emphasised the need for an Irish culture. For others, like Wall, such an introverted attitude was equated with philistinism.

De Valera put political before artistic considerations as Dr George Furlong (Director of the National Gallery of Ireland, 1935–50) found out to his dismay:

De Valera never came to visit the National Gallery. The only time he request­ed advice from me was in connection with his Christmas card which was sent to foreign Heads of State. In 1936 I proposed that a new design should be used instead of the stock designs like the Rock of Cashel. I sug­gested a ‘Greetings from Ireland' card with the heraldic shields of the four provinces. Dev's initial reaction was favourable. He thought it looked well but after some discussion he asked me what was the origin of the heraldic designs. I told him they were probably of Norman origin. He immediately cooled on the idea and a stock design was used again that year. I was sur­prised when the next year, he called me to see him. He asked me did I re­member the de­sign I had proposed with the heraldic shields. He thought it would be very appropriate for 1937. The new constitution had laid claim to the four green fields.
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In a speech to open Radio Éireann's Athlone station in 1933, de Valera offered a
précis
of the achievements of Irish culture.
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The speech was no doubt prepared for de Valera but it offered a public declaration of what was considered by officialdom to be significant in Irish cultural history. De Valera praised, first and foremost, the Irish language which was ‘one of the oldest and, from the point of view of the philologist, one of the most interesting in Europe.' Next, he referred to ‘the tradition of Irish learning' which had been preserved by the monastic and bardic schools; the con­tributions of Irish ecclesiastics in Louvain, Rome, Salamanca, Paris and elsewhere, the schools of poetry and the hedge schools in the eighteenth century. Despite the Penal Laws, Irish poetry, language and song had flourished. They had provided the roots of modern Irish culture.

De Valera paid a half-tribute to Anglo-Irish literature which ‘though far less characteristic of the nation than that produced in the Irish lan­guage includes much that is of lasting worth.' He singled out Dean Swift, ‘perhaps the greatest satirist in the English language', Edmund Burke ‘probably the greatest writer on politics', William Carleton ‘a novelist of the first rank', Oliver Goldsmith ‘a poet of rare merit', Henry Grattan ‘one of the most eloquent orators of his time' and Theobald Wolfe Tone who ‘left us one of the most delightful autobiographies in literature'. He noted: ‘Several recent or still living Irish novelists and poets have pro­duced work which is likely to stand the test of time.' It is significant that de Valera did not venture to name any of these writers.