morning to receive a ceremonious visit
from the leading tailor of the town, who took his measure
for a pair of trousers and politely but firmly declined all suggestion of payment. Although not a little puzzled, Mucha subsequently appeared in the trousers, and was enthusiastically complimented upon their cut, colour, etc. It was not until some twenty years later, when he had become a famous artist, that the sequel came in the form of a letter from Berger, a prominent townsman, asking whether Mucha recalled the incident, and adding that the trousers in question had been a spontaneous gift from the young ladies of Mikulov.
During Mucha’s sojourn in Munich, which lasted some two years, he was a joyous, picturesque member of the Czech colony of the day which included such well-known figures as Vácha, Brožík, and Marolda. This auspicious interlude was, however, followed by a sharper contact with reality and the bitter sting of poverty, for shortly after his arrival in Paris in 1887, Count Khuen ceased his patronage, and the young man was thrown upon his own resources, with the added handicap of an imperfect knowledge of the French language. He lived for a time in the impasse du Maine, and later in the rue de la Grande Chaumière, dreaming resplendent dreams of success and renown, and meantime supporting himself upon the meagre income he derived from book and magazine illustration.
Though working for La Vie Populaire and kindred publications sometimes as much as sixteen hours a day, he nevertheless managed to pursue his professional training, and at different intervals studied at the Académie Julien, with Boulanger and Lefebvre, at the Académie Colarossi, and lastly under Jean-Paul Laurens. Vácha was
