for Elysée Réclus’ “L’Homme et la Terre” are far above the usual level of book-illustration in their philosophic spirit and never-failing wealth of imagination, and the etchings for Leconte de Lisle’s “Erinnyes” and the engravings in colour for the “Lysistrata” of Aristophanes rank among the finest productions of their class. Now that he has come back to us, we hail him with gratitude as one of the first Czechs who, at the call to arms, sped to the French standard.
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With Kupka we reach the generation whose output goes to form the Czech art of to-day. This generation has finally thrown over academic prejudices and devoted itself whole-heartedly to realism. Sternly critical both of itself and of Czech art in general, it has determined no longer to lag behind the rest of Europe, but to follow, systematically and with increased energy, every forward step that was taken abroad. Plein air painting was the order of the day. But these artists, escaping too hastily from the school into untrammelled Nature, soon lapsed into anarchy. Relying solely on their instincts and their emotions, they renounced all method and all discipline. A generation of Impressionists thus sprang up, but one that had no common, central aim, and did not recognise that true impressionism is not mere anarchy, but a method like any other. As time went on, the frenzy cooled down, and once more it was the lofty teachings of French art that recalled the younger men to order and moderation. Towards 1890, they joined in an association that drew its title from the illustrious name of Mánes. This society founded an art review—Volné Směry (The Free Tendencies)—and began to show great activity in all directions. Entering into close intercourse with foreign countries, it made the Praguers acquainted, through its review and its exhibitions, with all that is of any value in current European art, in French art first and foremost.
