something more than a man and woman deprived of sight: they symbolize, in an unforgettable way, all our gropings through the mysteries of life. His enormous “Vertigo,” in wood, sets before us, in a most original attitude, man dazzled by the splendour of the infinite. The potent national feeling that links Bílek with the two sculptors previously mentioned is identified, in him, with religious feeling, and constitutes a sort of dizzy Messianism of which he is the eloquent and fiery prophet. No material is distasteful to Bílek: in clay, stone or wood he creates works always personal and highly impressive.
A fourth member of the same generation, the Slovak Franta Úprka, a brother of the painter, Joža Úprka, looked elsewhere for his themes: he turned to the delightful reality of his native soil. The statuettes of his compatriots, men and women in picturesque costumes, kneaded by him in clay, show an observant eye and the hand of a virtuoso who excels in catching expressions.
The artists we have just described, together with a whole host of sculptors of lesser importance, are much alike in mentality and identical in tendencies. They developed at home, and French influence touched them but indirectly. Some younger men, however, wishing to drink at the fountain-head of modern sculpture, successively took the road to Paris. One of these, Josef Mařatka, even succeeded in entering Rodin’s studio, where he remained over three years. At first a pupil, then a collaborator of the master, he was able to develop in the atmosphere, so rich in inspiration, which surrounded that mighty genius, and the latter watched over his young disciple with an ever more paternal eye. Many of Rodin’s works, such as the Prodigal Son and the Victor Hugo monument, were executed in collaboration with Mařatka. For a time, Mařatka even directed studies in Rodin’s studio; he had become an intimate friend of the master and had even
