Tábor district he talks with the future Žižka’s peasants, in the gold-bearing Otava he waters his horse, etc. The cycle ends with Žalov, the ancient Czech cemetery, where Morana points out to the young man the end of his road.
But the triumph was of short duration. Instead of further recognition a long series of years came full of knocks and hard struggles, pain and bitter search for a living. The things that Aleš had to draw just to support himself! But he never despaired. In 1883 he wrote to Jirásek: “After all I desire to do something for my country by my art, and so I must keep up the fight, in the commonplace current hold fast to the ideal, overlook offenses, ignore the worst blows.” Aleš knew that it was the fate of the majority of men truly great to receive their reward only when they were dead. And when somewhat better time came, though not so good that he would not have to worry about his bread, frequently he sighed and gently complained among friends, and it was plain that what pained him most was the time he had lost. So in a letter which he wrote me in March, 1907, he says: “I am fairly well again and have much work; if only people did not ask me for various trifles that take up foolishly my time and are hard on the eyes during the winter fogs. You know, to be called ‘the purest Czech master’ implies a lot of disadvantages. If I could live in the country, I would avoid the obtrusive people and it would be healthier for body and soul. For my artist’s roots lie in the woods and fields and meadows.”
The young Bohemian artists fortunately were convinced that Aleš was a great master, and they finally compelled recognition for him. When in 1886 Wiesner undertook the serial publication of the famous “manuscripts” with Aleš’ drawings, a violent attack against Aleš was started. Some declared his drawings childish, others imperfect, others faulty and incorrect. But the young fellows, who usually stone the idols and have no respect for the “old gentlemen”, took up the cudgels for Aleš. The society of Bohemian artists in Munich, whose president was then Alfons M. V. Mucha, and secretary Artuš Scheiner, sent to Aleš on July 10, 1886, a diploma in which they said: “Full of bitterness over the inconsiderate attacks of your enemies, and full of admiration for your art, sympathizing most warmly with your artistic aims we hasten to carry out our previously entertained plan to nominate you for the honorary member of our society.” After ten years, in February, 1896, the “Mánes” society of young progressive artists wrote as foreword of the first of three volumes of the works of Aleš: “We do not publish this collection because Aleš has been the president of the society from its foundation, but because in view of the lack of understanding with which his work meets on many sides, we want to compel by this collection admiration to the spirit, art and labor deposited in his works. This admiration we do not intend to win by long introductions or fulsome praise; his soul and feeling will be appreciated by those who have soul and feeling.”
This was the year after the Ethnographical Exposition which opened the eyes of the public. The riches of folklore collected at the exposition demonstrated clearly what was the real spirit, the pure Czechism of the people’s art—and men saw that it was identical with the art of Aleš. And so his fiftieth birthday in November, 1902, was a veritable national fête day, and no one dared anymore to call himself an opponent of Aleš. Still greater honors were extended to him on his sixtieth birthday in 1912. On that occasion the Bohemian Artists’ Club of Chicago upon my initiative sent the master a gift of one thousand crowns which, as he wrote, came in very handy. Only now the official circles seemed to realize that they ought to make Aleš’ old age free of cares. The city of Prague appointed him inspector of drawing and the state granted him a subvention, but unfortunately Aleš was not destined to enjoy the ease very long. He died July 10, 1913.
His ill fortune compelled Aleš to produce an immense number of things. It is not to be expetced that all of it would be great. But the hand of the master is evident in every little sketch. His daughter Maryna commenced the publication of a collective edition of the works of Aleš; we in America have not yet seen it, as the war has interrupted mail communications. How gigantic were his labors can be best seen from this fact that in February, 1896, seventeen years before his death, the “Mánes” society estimated the number of his drawings at 2,700. Among them are innumerable sgrafita and chiaroscura for buildings, public and private—my former residence in Letná is one of these buildings—lunettes in various banks, cartons for mosaic lunettes in the Royal Bohemian Bank, deco-
