needed most careful manipulation—he sought to capture the Gothic soul of Prague Cathedral in a picture taking it in as a whole. He resolutely made attempt after attempt, but the gigantic framework of the building remained intractable. Accordingly he put off the enterprise to a later date and, for reasons of health, went to stay in Dalmatia, at Ragusa. There too, faced with the new element, the sea, he set about painting, and brought back pictures of an unalloyed impressionism. Restored to health, he went back to his old habitat in the mountains, and had energetically resumed work when an apoplectic stroke robbed him of the use of his vigorous hand. He was taken to Prague, where he recovered in so far that his enfeebled hand was able to attempt still-life studies. But the doubts that racked him, his anxiety as to his artistic future, proved too much for his impetuous spirit. He decided to make an end of it all, and blew his brains out in February, 1910.
Slavíček has become the great master of Czech impressionism. His talent was eminently original, and owed hardly anything to foreign influences. Of the French impressionists he knew very little, and what he did know was not work of the best quality. He lived long enough to leave behind him mature productions. Another landscape-painter of the same generation, Otokar Lebeda, also highly gifted and fond of making experiments, did not have time to give us his full measure. This pupil of Mařák, who likewise completed his education by a visit to Paris, began working at a furious pace, as if he were determined to force himself upon the public notice at the earliest possible moment: then suddenly, at the age of twenty-four, he committed suicide. The exhibition of his paintings opened only a few days before his death had revealed an artist of high rank, a bold innovator, who would probably have taken an honourable place at Slavíček’s side.
