Mikuláš Aleš
Aleš, of all the Czech artists most distinctively Czech, was born in the southwest of Bohemia, in the town of Mirotice in 1852. Just as Smetana in the field of music, so Aleš with his pen and brush brought home to every Czech the fact that he was of the same blood and the same race as the Czech heroes of the past and the peasants of the present. To appreciate Aleš thoroughly one must be Czechoslovak, for art is national; a Czechoslovak art-lover will not fully enjoy the genius of Bach, Beethoven or Dickens, and a stranger will never see as much in the works of Mikuláš Aleš as a Bohemian. The secret of his wonderful work cannot be described, it must be felt, and only sons of Aleš’s own nation see his work, as he saw it. Josef Mánes, first of the great modern Czech painters, makes a broader appeal, even though the two have so much in common. Mánes was a Slav in general, Aleš is just a Czech.
He was principally an illustrator of the history of his nation. Whether he saw the legendary scenes of the pagan period, whether he drew sketches of the great Hussite days, or whether he dwelt upon the days of humiliation and slavery, he always managed to bring out the same unchanging Czech soul. How simple and noble is his Prince Václav, humbly imploring God: Let not our people perish, now or in the days to come. (First of the four reproductions.) Or his Jan Hus—an ordinary priest, but with a firm hand and a determined look, indicating strength that flames could not subdue, strength that shook the supreme authority of the Middle Ages. How plain and real are his peasants who followed the teachings of Hus and singing the Hussite hymn, “Ye who are God’s warriors” defeated six crusading hosts. (The fourth illustration shows a Hussite captain standing by the grave of a comrade, a “God’s warrior”.)
Aleš loved his people, and he sketched them constantly—in work and song, in joy and sorrow, peasant types, plain, healthy, strong, as they were bred in Bohemia and Slovakia. He loved the Slovaks especially and brought out well their melancholic soul which we hear in the Slovak folk songs, of all nations the most beautiful. The pain of the enslaved people, its manifold sufferings no one could bring out as well as he.
He was not a painter of great canvasses. Small, simple drawings, illustrations of books and innumerable periodicals comprised most of his work. Aleš may be said to have drawn the entire history of the Czech nation, yet he was not an historical painter of great style. The form of his art was simple, the spirit was lofty.
What Aleš loved best to draw were Czech children. And the love he had for them is returned by the children. Every Czechoslovak child knows Mikuláš Aleš and his sketches of fairy tales, national heroes and little figures full of vitality, childish dreams, games and songs. (The second reproduction brings out the ghost of a familiar folk song, “A child was orphaned”.)
For his children Aleš drew his magnificent horses. They seem to have human faculties in their love for their masters. (The third reproduction illustrates a verse from a folk song, “And when I fall from the horse, the sabre will ring”.) His geese, returning home from pasture, his knights of the fairy tales, his dragons and witches, his princesses waiting for the true knights to liberate them — how real and delightful they are still to hundreds of thousands of children. Why, Aleš could tell a whole fairy tale in one page of drawings—from the time the orphan boy ran away from his wicked stepmother until he married the beautiful princess at the bottom of the page. And that was before the days of the movies.
Aleš’s pen was the pen of a democratic artist devoted to his nation and to democratic ideas which always were uppermost in the Czechoslovak soul. When Aleš died ten years ago, the nation lost a man who had done much to strengthen it for the great tribulation and the great glory that were in store for it.V. B.
