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Fibonacci and
Lucas Numbers
with Applications
Volume Two

THOMAS KOSHY
Framingham State University
This edition first published 2019
© 2019 John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Koshy, Thomas.
Title: Fibonacci and Lucas numbers with applications / Thomas Koshy,
Framingham State University.
Description: Second edition. | Hoboken, New Jersey : John Wiley & Sons, Inc.,
[2019]- | Series: Pure and applied mathematics: a Wiley series of texts,
monographs, and tracts | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016018243 | ISBN 9781118742082 (cloth : v. 2)
Subjects: LCSH: Fibonacci numbers. | Lucas numbers.
Classification: LCC QA246.5 .K67 2019 | DDC 512.7/2–dc23 LC record available at
https://lccn.loc.gov/2016018243

Set in 10/12pt, TimesNewRomanMTStd by SPi Global, Chennai, India

Printed in the United States of America
 Contents

List of Symbols xiii

Preface xv
31. Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I 1
31.1. Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials 3
31.2. Pascal’s Triangle 18
31.3. Additional Explicit Formulas 22
31.4. Ends of the Numbers ln 25
31.5. Generating Functions 26
31.6. Pell and Pell–Lucas Polynomials 27
31.7. Composition of Lucas Polynomials 33
31.8. De Moivre-like Formulas 35
31.9. Fibonacci–Lucas Bridges 36
31.10. Applications of Identity (31.51) 37
31.11. Infinite Products 48
31.12. Putnam Delight Revisited 51
31.13. Infinite Simple Continued Fraction 54
32. Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials II 65
32.1. Q-Matrix 65
32.2. Summation Formulas 67
32.3. Addition Formulas 71
32.4. A Recurrence for 𝑓n2 76
32.5. Divisibility Properties 82
33. Combinatorial Models II 87
33.1. A Model for Fibonacci Polynomials 87
33.2. Breakability 99
33.3. A Ladder Model 101
33.4. A Model for Pell–Lucas Polynomials: Linear Boards 102
33.5. Colored Tilings 103
33.6. A New Tiling Scheme 104
33.7. A Model for Pell–Lucas Polynomials: Circular Boards 107
33.8. A Domino Model for Fibonacci Polynomials 114
33.9. Another Model for Fibonacci Polynomials 118
34. Graph-Theoretic Models II 125
34.1. Q-Matrix and Connected Graph 125
34.2. Weighted Paths 126
34.3. Q-Matrix Revisited 127
34.4. Byproducts of the Model 128
34.5. A Bijection Algorithm 136
34.6. Fibonacci and Lucas Sums 137
34.7. Fibonacci Walks 140
35. Gibonacci Polynomials 145
35.1. Gibonacci Polynomials 145
35.2. Differences of Gibonacci Products 159
35.3. Generalized Lucas and Ginsburg Identities 174
35.4. Gibonacci and Geometry 181
35.5. Additional Recurrences 184
35.6. Pythagorean Triples 188
36. Gibonacci Sums 195
36.1. Gibonacci Sums 195
36.2. Weighted Sums 206
36.3. Exponential Generating Functions 209
36.4. Infinite Gibonacci Sums 215
37. Additional Gibonacci Delights 233
37.1. Some Fundamental Identities Revisited 233
37.2. Lucas and Ginsburg Identities Revisited 238
37.3. Fibonomial Coefficients 247
37.4. Gibonomial Coefficients 250
37.5. Additional Identities 260
37.6. Strazdins’ Identity 264
38. Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials III 269
38.1. Seiffert’s Formulas 270
38.2. Additional Formulas 294
38.3. Legendre Polynomials 314
39. Gibonacci Determinants 321
39.1. A Circulant Determinant 321
39.2. A Hybrid Determinant 323
39.3. Basin’s Determinant 333
39.4. Lower Hessenberg Matrices 339
39.5. Determinant with a Prescribed First Row 343

40. Fibonometry II 347

40.1. Fibonometric Results 347
40.2. Hyperbolic Functions 356
40.3. Inverse Hyperbolic Summation Formulas 361

41. Chebyshev Polynomials 371

41.1. Chebyshev Polynomials T n (x) 372
41.2. T n (x) and Trigonometry 384
41.3. Hidden Treasures in Table 41.1 386
41.4. Chebyshev Polynomials U n (x) 396
41.5. Pell’s Equation 398
41.6. U n (x) and Trigonometry 399
41.7. Addition and Cassini-like Formulas 401
41.8. Hidden Treasures in Table 41.8 402
41.9. A Chebyshev Bridge 404
41.10. T n and U n as Products 405
41.11. Generating Functions 410

42. Chebyshev Tilings 415

42.1. Combinatorial Models for U n 415
42.2. Combinatorial Models for T n 420
42.3. Circular Tilings 425

43. Bivariate Gibonacci Family I 429

43.1. Bivariate Gibonacci Polynomials 429
43.2. Bivariate Fibonacci and Lucas Identities 430
43.3. Candido’s Identity Revisited 439

44. Jacobsthal Family 443

44.1. Jacobsthal Family 444
44.2. Jacobsthal Occurrences 450
44.3. Jacobsthal Compositions 452
44.4. Triangular Numbers in the Family 459
44.5. Formal Languages 468
44.6. A USA Olympiad Delight 480
44.7. A Story of 1, 2, 7, 42, 429, … 483
44.8. Convolutions 490
45. Jacobsthal Tilings and Graphs 499
45.1. 1 × n Tilings 499
45.2. 2 × n Tilings 505
45.3. 2 × n Tubular Tilings 510
45.4. 3 × n Tilings 514
45.5. Graph-Theoretic Models 518
45.6. Digraph Models 522
46. Bivariate Tiling Models 537
46.1. A Model for 𝑓n (x, y) 537
46.2. Breakability 539
46.3. Colored Tilings 542
46.4. A Model for ln (x, y) 543
46.5. Colored Tilings Revisited 545
46.6. Circular Tilings Again 547
47. Vieta Polynomials 553
47.1. Vieta Polynomials 554
47.2. Aurifeuille’s Identity 567
47.3. Vieta–Chebyshev Bridges 572
47.4. Jacobsthal–Chebyshev Links 573
47.5. Two Charming Vieta Identities 574
47.6. Tiling Models for Vn 576
47.7. Tiling Models for 𝑣n (x) 582
48. Bivariate Gibonacci Family II 591
48.1. Bivariate Identities 591
48.2. Additional Bivariate Identities 594
48.3. A Bivariate Lucas Counterpart 599
48.4. A Summation Formula for 𝑓2n (x, y) 600
48.5. A Summation Formula for l2n (x, y) 602
48.6. Bivariate Fibonacci Links 603
48.7. Bivariate Lucas Links 606
49. Tribonacci Polynomials 611
49.1. Tribonacci Numbers 611
49.2. Compositions with Summands 1, 2, and 3 613
49.3. Tribonacci Polynomials 616
49.4. A Combinatorial Model 618
49.5. Tribonacci Polynomials and the Q-Matrix 624
49.6. Tribonacci Walks 625
49.7. A Bijection Between the Two Models 627
Appendix 631
A.1. The First 100 Fibonacci and Lucas Numbers 631
A.2. The First 100 Pell and Pell–Lucas Numbers 634
A.3. The First 100 Jacobsthal and Jacobsthal–Lucas Numbers 638
A.4. The First 100 Tribonacci Numbers 642

Abbreviations 644
Bibliography 645
Solutions to Odd-Numbered Exercises 661
Index 725
 Symbols

Symbol Meaning
⇐ or ⇒ marginal symbol for alerting the change in notation
? unsolved problem
end of a proof or solution; end of a lemma, theorem,
or corollary when it does not end in a proof
ℂ set of complex numbers
(a1 , a2 , … , an ) greatest common divisor (gcd) of the positive
integers a1 , a2 , … , an
[a1 , a2 , … , an ] least common multiple (lcm) of the positive
integers a1 , a2 , … , an
√
Δ x2 + 4
x+Δ
𝛼(x)
2
x−Δ
𝛽(x)
2
√
D x2 + 1
𝛾(x) x+D
𝛿(x) x−D
a(x) mod b(x) remainder when a(x) is divided by b(x)
a(x) ≡ b(x) (mod c(x)) a(x) is congruent to b(x) modulo c(x)
 Symbol Meaning
[a0 ; a1 , … , an ] infinite simple continued fraction
𝑤(tile) weight of tile
𝜇(x) characteristic of the gibonacci family
Fn∗ Fn Fn−1 · · · F1 , where F0∗ = 1
[ ]
n Fn∗
fibonomial coefficient
r Fr∗ Fn−r
∗

𝑓n∗ 𝑓n 𝑓n−1 · · · 𝑓1 , where 𝑓0∗ = 1

[[ ]]
n 𝑓n∗
gibonomial coefficient
r 𝑓r 𝑓n−r
∗ ∗

{ }
n 1 − qm 1 − qm−1 1 − qm−r+1
q-binomial coefficient ⋅ · · ·
r 1−q 1 − q2 1 − qr
q
√
Δ(x, y) x2 + 4y
! switching variables
 Preface

Man has the faculty of becoming completely absorbed in one subject,

no matter how trivial, and no subject is so trivial that it will not assume
infinite proportions if one’s entire attention is devoted to it.

–Tolstoy, War and Peace

THE TWIN SHINING STARS REVISITED

The main focus of Volume One was to showcase the beauty, applications, and
ubiquity of Fibonacci and Lucas numbers in many areas of human endeavor.
Although these numbers have been investigated for centuries, they continue to
charm both creative amateurs and mathematicians alike, and provide exciting
new tools for expanding the frontiers of mathematical study. In addition to being
great fun, they also stimulate our curiosity and sharpen mathematical skills such
as pattern recognition, conjecturing, proof techniques, and problem-solving. The
area is still so fertile that growth opportunities appear to be endless.

EXTENDED GIBONACCI FAMILY

The gibonacci numbers in Chapter 7 provide a unified approach to Fibonacci

and Lucas numbers. In a similar way, we can extend these twin numeric families
to twin polynomial families. For the first time, the present volume extends
the gibonacci polynomial family even further. Besides Fibonacci and Lucas
polynomials and their numeric counterparts, the extended gibonacci family
includes Pell, Pell–Lucas, Jacobsthal, Jacobsthal–Lucas, Chebyshev, and
Vieta polynomials, and their numeric counterparts as subfamilies. This unified
approach gives a comprehensive view of a very large family of polynomial
functions, and the fascinating relationships among the subfamilies. The present
volume provides the largest and most extensive study of this spectacular area of
discrete mathematics to date.
Over the years, I have had the privilege of hearing from many Fibonacci
enthusiasts around the world. Their interest gave me the strength and courage
to embark on this massive task.

AUDIENCE

The present volume, which is a continuation of Volume One, is intended for a

wide audience, including professional mathematicians, physicists, engineers, and
creative amateurs. It provides numerous delightful opportunities for proposing
and solving problems, as well as material for talks, seminars, group discussions,
essays, applications, and extending known facts.
This volume is the result of extensive research using over 520 references,
which are listed in the bibliography. It should serve as an invaluable resource for
Fibonacci enthusiasts in many fields. It is my sincere hope that this volume will
aid them in exploring this exciting field, and in advancing the boundaries of our
current knowledge with great enthusiasm and satisfaction.

PREREQUISITES

A familiarity with the fundamental properties of Fibonacci and Lucas numbers,

as in Volume One, is an indispensable prerequisite. So is a basic knowledge of
combinatorics, generating functions, graph theory, linear algebra, number the-
ory, recursion, techniques of solving recurrences, and trigonometry.

ORGANIZATION

The book is divided into 19 chapters of manageable size. Chapters 31 and 32

present an extensive study of Fibonacci and Lucas polynomials, including a
continuing discussion of Pell and Pell–Lucas polynomials. They are followed
by combinatorial and graph-theoretic models for them in Chapters 33 and
34. Chapters 35–39 offer additional properties of gibonacci polynomials,
followed in Chapter 40 by a blend of trigonometry and gibonacci polynomials.
Chapters 41 and 42 deal with a short introduction to Chebyshev polynomials
and combinatorial models for them. Chapters 44 and 45 are two delightful
studies of Jacobsthal and Jacobsthal–Lucas polynomials, and their numeric
counterparts. Chapters 43, 46, and 48 contain a short discussion of bivariate
gibonacci polynomials and their combinatorial models. Chapter 47 gives a brief
discourse on Vieta polynomials, combinatorial models, and the relationships
among the gibonacci subfamilies. Chapter 49 presents tribonacci numbers and
polynomials; it also highlights their combinatorial and graph-theoretic models.

SALIENT FEATURES

This volume, like Volume One, emphasizes a user-friendly and historical

approach; it includes a wealth of applications, examples, and exercises; numer-
ous identities of varying degrees of sophistication; current applications and
examples; combinatorial and graph-theoretic models; geometric interpretations;
and links among and applications of gibonacci subfamilies.

HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE

As in Volume One, I have made every attempt to present the material in a his-
torical context, including the name and affiliation of every contributor, and the
year of the contribution; indirectly, this puts a human face behind each discov-
ery. I have also included photographs of some mathematicians who have made
significant contributions to this ever-growing field.
Again, my apologies to those contributors whose names or affiliations are
missing; I would be grateful to hear about any omissions.

EXERCISES AND SOLUTIONS

The book features over 1,230 exercises of varying degrees of difficulty. I encour-
age students and Fibonacci enthusiasts to have fun with them; they may open
new avenues for further exploration. Abbreviated solutions to all odd-numbered
exercises are given at the end of the book.

ABBREVIATIONS AND SYMBOLS INDEXES

An updated list of symbols, standard and nonstandard, appears in the front of

the book. In addition, I have used a number of abbreviations in the interest of
brevity; they are listed at the end of the book.

APPENDIX

The Appendix contains four tables: the first 100 Fibonacci and Lucas num-
bers; the first 100 Pell and Pell–Lucas numbers; the first 100 Jacobsthal and
Jacobsthal–Lucas numbers; and a table of 100 tribonacci numbers. These
should be useful for hand computations.
 31

FIBONACCI AND LUCAS

POLYNOMIALS I

A man may die,

nations may rise and fall,
but an idea lives on.
–John F. Kennedy (1917–1963)

The celebrated Fibonacci polynomials 𝑓n (x) were originally studied beginning in

1883 by the Belgian mathematician Eugene C. Catalan, and later by the German
mathematician Ernst Jacobsthal (1882–1965). They were further investigated by
M.N.S. Swamy at the University of Saskatchewan, Canada. The equally famous
Lucas polynomials ln (x) were studied beginning in 1970 by Marjorie Bicknell of
Santa Clara, California [37].
2 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I

Eugène Charles Catalan (1814–1894) was

born in Bruges, Belgium, and received his
Doctor of Science from the École Polytech-
nique in Paris. After working briefly at the
Department of Bridges and Highways, he
became professor of mathematics at Collège
de Chalons-sur-Marne, and then at Collège
Charlemagne. Catalan went on to teach
at Lycée Saint Louis. In 1865, he became
professor of analysis at the University of
Liège. He published Éléments de Géométrie
(1843) and Notions d’astronomie (1860), as
well as many articles on multiple integrals,
the theory of surfaces, mathematical analysis,
calculus of probability, and geometry. Catalan
is well known for extensive research on spher-
ical harmonics, analysis of differential equations, transformation of variables
in multiple integrals, continued fractions, series, and infinite products.

M.N.S. Swamy was born in Karnataka,

India. He received his B.Sc. (Hons) in Math-
ematics from Mysore University in 1954;
Diploma in Electrical Engineering from the
Indian Institute of Science, Bangalore, in
1957; and M.Sc. (1960) and Ph.D. (1963) in
Electrical Engineering from the University of
Saskatchewan, Canada.
A former Chair of the Department of Elec-
trical Engineering and Dean of Engineering
and Computer Science at Concordia Univer-
sity, Canada, Swamy is currently a Research
Professor and the Director of the Center
for Signal Processing and Communications.
He has also taught at the Technical University of Nova Scotia, and the
Universities of Calgary and Saskatchewan.
Swamy is a prolific problem-proposer and problem-solver well known to
the Fibonacci audience. He has published extensively in number theory, cir-
cuits, systems, and signal processing and has written three books. He is the
editor-in-chief of Circuits, Systems, and Signal Processing, and an associate
editor of The Fibonacci Quarterly, and a sustaining member of the Fibonacci
Association.
Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials 3

Swamy received the Commemorative Medal for the 125th Anniversary of

the Confederation of Canada in 1993 in recognition of his significant contri-
butions to Canada. In 2001, he was awarded D.Sc. in Engineering by Ansted
University, British Virgin Islands, “in recognition of his exemplary contribu-
tions to the research in Electrical and Computer Engineering and to Engineer-
ing Education, as well as his dedication to the promotion of Signal Processing
and Communications Applications.”

Marjorie Bicknell-Johnson was born in

Santa Rosa, California. She received her B.S.
(1962) and M.A. (1964) in Mathematics from
San Jose State University, California, where
she wrote her Master’s thesis, The Lambda
Number of a Matrix, under the guidance of
V.E. Hoggatt, Jr.
The concept of the lambda number of
a matrix first appears in the unpublished
notes of Fenton S. Stancliff (1895–1962)
of Meadville, Pennsylvania. (He died in
Springfield, Ohio in 1962.) His extensive
notes are pages of numerical examples without proofs or coherent defi-
nitions, that provided material for further study. Bicknell developed the
mathematics of the lambda function in her thesis [40].
A charter member of the Fibonacci Association, Bicknell-Johnson has
been a member of its Board of Directors since 1967, as well as Secretary
(1965–2010) and Treasurer (1981–1999). In 2012, she wrote a history of the
first 50 years of the Association [39].
Bicknell-Johnson has been a passionate and enthusiastic contributor to
the world of Fibonacci and Lucas numbers, as author or co-author of F11
research papers, 32 of them written with Hoggatt. Her 1980 obituary of
Hoggatt remains a fine testimonial to their productive association [38].

31.1 FIBONACCI AND LUCAS POLYNOMIALS

As we might expect, they satisfy the same polynomial recurrence gn (x) =

xgn−1 (x) + gn−2 (x), where n ≥ 2. When g0 (x) = 0 and g1 (x) = 1, gn (x) = 𝑓n (x);
and when g0 (x) = 2 and g1 (x) = x, gn (x) = ln (x). Table 31.1 gives the first ten
Fibonacci and Lucas polynomials in x. Clearly, 𝑓n (1) = Fn and ln (1) = Ln .
In the interest of brevity and clarity, we drop the argument in the functional
notation, when such deletions do not cause any confusion. Thus gn will mean
gn (x), although gn is technically a functional name and not an output value. ⇐
4 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I

TABLE 31.1. First 10 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials

n 𝑓n (x) ln (x)
1 1 x
2 x x2 + 2
3 x2 + 1 x3 + 3x
4 x3 + 2x x4 + 4x2 + 2
5 x4 + 3x2 + 1 x5 + 5x3 + 5x
6 x5 + 4x3 + 3x x6 + 6x4 + 9x2 + 2
7 x6 + 5x4 + 6x2 + 1 x7 + 7x5 + 14x3 + 7x
8 x7 + 6x5 + 10x3 + 4x x8 + 8x6 + 20x4 + 16x2 + 2
9 x8 + 7x6 + 15x4 + 10x2 + 1 x9 + 9x7 + 27x5 + 30x3 + 9x
10 x9 + 8x7 + 21x5 + 20x3 + 5x x10 + 10x8 + 35x6 + 50x4 + 25x2 + 2

For the curious-minded, we add that 𝑓n is an even function when n is odd, and
an odd function when n is even; and ln is an odd function when n is odd, and even
when n is even.

TABLE 31.2. Triangular Array A

k 0 1 2 Row Sums
n
1 1 1
2 1 1
3 1 1 2
4 1 2 3
5 1 3 1 5
6 1 4 3 8
7 1 5 6 1 13
8 1 6 10 4 21
↑ ↑
tn Fn

Table 31.1 contains some hidden treasures. To see them, we arrange the
nonzero coefficients of the Fibonacci polynomials in a left-justified array A;
see Table 31.2. Column 2 of the array consists of the triangular numbers
tn = n(n + 1)∕2, and the nth row sum is Fn .
Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials 5

Let an,k denote the element in row n and column ( k of the)array. Clearly,
n−k−1
an,k is the coefficient of xn−2k−1 in 𝑓n ; so an,k = . Recall that
( ) k
∑ n−k−1
= Fn [287].
k≥0
k
Consequently, it can be defined recursively:

a1,0 = 1 = a2,0
an,k = an−1,k + an−2,k−1 ,

where n ≥ 3 and k ≥ 1; see the arrows in Table 31.2. This can be confirmed; see
Exercise 31.1.
Let dn denote the nth rising diagonal sum. The sequence {dn } shows an inter-
esting pattern: 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 
6 , 9, 13, …; see Figure 31.1. We can also define
dn recursively:

d1 = d2 = d3 = 1
dn = dn−1 + dn−3 ,

where n ≥ 4.
1
1
1 1
2
1 3
1 1 4

6
1 2
1 3 1
1 4 3
1 5 6 1
1 6 10 4

Figure 31.1.

( )
n−k−1
Since an,k = , it follows that
k

⌊(n−1)∕3⌋
∑
dn = an−k,k
k=0
⌊(n−1)∕3⌋ ( )
∑ n − 2k − 1
= .
k=0
k
6 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I

( ) ( ) ( ) ( )
∑
2
7 − 2k 7 5 3
For example, d8 = = + + = 9.
k=0 k 0 1 2
The falling diagonal sums also exhibit an interesting pattern: 1, 2, 4, 8, 16, …;
see Figure 31.2. This is so, since the nth such sum is given by

n−1 ( )
∑
n−1
∑ n−1
an+k,k =
k=0 k=0
k

= 2n−1 ,

where n ≥ 1.

1
1
1 1
1 2
1 3 1
1
1 4 3
2
1 5 6 1
4
1 6 10 4
8

Figure 31.2.

The nonzero elements of Lucas polynomials also manifest interesting proper-

ties; see array B in Table 31.3.

TABLE 31.3. Triangular Array B

k 0 1 2 3 4 Row Sums
n
1 1 1
2 1 2 3
3 1 3 4
4 1 4 2 7
5 1 5 5 11
6 1 6 9 2 18
7 1 7 14 7 29
8 1 8 20 16 2 47
↑
Ln
Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials 7

Let bn,k denote the element in row n and column k, where n ≥ 1 and k ≥ 0.
Then
⌊n∕2⌋
∑
1) bn,k = Ln .
k=0
2) bn,k = bn−1,k + bn−2,k−1 , where b1,0 = 1 = b2,0 , b2,1 = 2, n ≥ 3, and k ≥ 0.
3) Let xn denote the nth rising diagonal sum. Then x1 = 1 = x2 , x3 = 3, and
xn = xn−1 + xn−3 , where n ≥ 4.
⌊(n−1)∕3⌋ ( )
∑ n − k n − 2k
4) xn = .
k=0
n − 2k k

( ) ( ) ( ) ( )
∑ 2
7 − k 7 − 2k 7 7 6 5 5 3
For example, x7 = = + + = 12.
k=0
7 − 2k k 7 0 5 1 3 2
In the interest of brevity, we omit their proofs; see Exercises 31.2–31.5.
Next we construct a graph-theoretic model for Fibonacci polynomials.

Weighted Fibonacci Trees

Recall from Chapter 4 that the nth Fibonacci tree Tn is a (rooted) binary tree [287]
such that

1) both T1 and T2 consist of exactly one vertex; and

2) Tn is a binary tree whose left subtree is Tn−1 and right subtree is Tn−2 , where
n ≥ 3. It has 2Fn − 1 vertices, Fn leaves, Fn − 1 internal vertices, and 2Fn − 2
edges.
Figure 31.3 shows the first five Fibonacci trees.

T1 T2 T3 T4 T5

Figure 31.3.

We now assign a weight to Tn recursively. The weight of T1 is 1 and that of T2

is x. Then the weight 𝑤(Tn ) of Tn is defined by 𝑤(Tn ) = x ⋅ 𝑤(Tn−1 ) + 𝑤(Tn−2 ),
where n ≥ 3.
For example, 𝑤(T3 ) = x ⋅ 𝑤(T2 ) + 𝑤(T1 ) = x2 + 1; and 𝑤(T4 ) = x ⋅ 𝑤(T3 ) +
𝑤(T2 ) = x3 + 2x.
Since 𝑤(T1 ) = 𝑓1 , and 𝑤(T2 ) = 𝑓2 , it follows by the recursive definition that
𝑤(Tn ) = 𝑓n , where n ≥ 1. Clearly, 𝑤(Tn ) gives the number of leaves of Tn when
x = 1.
8 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I

Binet-like Formulas
Using the recurrence gn = xgn−1 + gn−2 and the initial conditions, we can derive
explicit formulas for both 𝑓n and ln ; see Exercises 31.6 and 31.7:
𝛼n − 𝛽 n
𝑓n = and ln = 𝛼 n + 𝛽 n ,
𝛼−𝛽
x+Δ x−Δ
where 𝛼 = 𝛼(x) = and 𝛽 = 𝛽(x) = are the solutions of the equation
2 √ 2
t − xt − 1 = 0 and Δ = Δ(x) = x + 4. Notice that 𝛼 + 𝛽 = x, 𝛼 − 𝛽 = Δ, and
2 2

𝛼𝛽 = −1.
Since 𝛼 = 𝛼𝑓1 + 𝑓0 and 𝛼 2 = 𝛼x + 1, it follows by the principle of mathe-
matical induction (PMI) that 𝛼 n = 𝛼𝑓n + 𝑓n−1 , where n ≥ 1; see Exercise 31.8.
Similarly 𝛽 n = 𝛽𝑓n + 𝑓n−1 .
Using the Binet-like formulas, we can extend the definitions of Fibonacci and
Lucas polynomials to negative subscripts: 𝑓−n = (−1)n−1 𝑓n and l−n = (−1)n ln .
Using the Binet-like formulas, we can also extract a plethora of properties of
Fibonacci and Lucas polynomials; see Exercises 31.14–31.97. For example, it is
fairly easy to establish that
𝑓n ln = 𝑓2n ;
𝑓n+1 + 𝑓n−1 = ln ; (31.1)
x𝑓n−1 + ln−1 = 2𝑓n ; (31.2)
n
l2n + 2(−1) = ln2 ;
𝑓n+1 𝑓n−1 − 𝑓n2 = (−1)n ;
ln+1 ln−1 − ln2 = (−1)n−1 (x2 + 4).

The last two identities are Cassini-like formulas. It follows from the Cassini-like
formula for 𝑓n that every two consecutive Fibonacci polynomials are relatively
prime; that is, (𝑓n , 𝑓n−1 ) = 1, where (a, b) denotes the greatest common divisor
(gcd) of the polynomials a = a(x) and b = b(x).

Cassini-like Formulas Revisited

√
Since ln (2i) = 2in , it follows that (x ± 2i) ∤ ln , where i = −1. Consequently, by
the Cassini-like formula for ln , every two consecutive Lucas polynomials are
relatively prime, that is, (ln , ln+1 ) = 1.
The Cassini-like formulas have added dividends. For instance, (𝑓n+4k + 𝑓n ,
𝑓n+4k−1 + 𝑓n−1 ) = l2k . To see this, we have
( )
Δ(𝑓n+4k + 𝑓n ) = 𝛼 n+4k − 𝛽 n+4k + (𝛼 n − 𝛽 n )
( )
= 𝛼 n+2k − 𝛽 n+2k (𝛼 2k + 𝛽 2k )
𝑓n+4k + 𝑓n = 𝑓n+2k l2k .
Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials 9

Replacing n with n − 1, this implies 𝑓n+4k−1 + 𝑓n−1 = 𝑓n+2k−1 l2k . Thus

(𝑓n+4k + 𝑓n , 𝑓n+4k−1 + 𝑓n−1 ) = l2k ⋅ (𝑓n+2k , 𝑓n+2k−1 )

= l2k ⋅ 1
= l2k . (31.3)

Similarly,
(ln+4k + ln , ln+4k−1 + ln−1 ) = l2k ; (31.4)

see Exercise 31.102.

It follows from properties (31.3) and (31.4) that

(Fn+4k + Fn , Fn+4k−1 + Fn−1 ) = L2k ;

(Ln+4k + Ln , Ln+4k−1 + Ln−1 ) = L2k .

For example, (L23 + L7 , L22 + L6 ) = (64079 + 29, 39603 + 18) = 47 = L8 .

Pythagorean Triples
The identities ln+1 + ln−1 = Δ2 𝑓n and l2n = Δ2 𝑓n2 + 2(−1)n (see Exercises 31.32
and 31.49) can be employed to construct Pythagorean triples (a, b, c). To see
this, let c = Δ2 𝑓2n+3 and a = xl2n+3 − 4(−1)n . We now find b such that (a, b, c)
is a Pythagorean triple.
Since c = l2n+4 + l2n+2 , we have

c + a = l2n+4 + (xl2n+3 + l2n+2 ) − 4(−1)n

= 2[l2n+4 − 2(−1)n+2 ]

= 2Δ2 𝑓n+2
2
;

c − a = (l2n+4 − xl2n+3 ) + l2n+2 + 4(−1)n

= 2[l2n+2 − 2(−1)n+1 ]

= 2Δ2 𝑓n+1
2
.

Therefore, b2 = c2 − a2 = (2Δ2 𝑓n+2 2 )(2Δ2 𝑓 2 ) = 4Δ4 𝑓 2 𝑓 2 ; so we obtain

n+1 n+2 n+1
b = 2Δ2 𝑓n+2 𝑓n+1 .
Thus (a, b, c) = (xl2n+3 − 4(−1)n , 2Δ2 𝑓n+2 𝑓n+1 , Δ2 𝑓2n+3 ) is a Pythagorean
triple.
Clearly, Δ2 |b and Δ2 |c; so Δ4 |(c2 − b2 ). Consequently, Δ4 |a2 and hence Δ2 |a.
Thus (a, b, c) is not a primitive Pythagorean triple.
10 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I

H.T. Freitag (1908–2005) of Roanoke, Virginia, studied the Pythagorean triple

for the special case x = 1 in 1991 [168].
Fn+1
Recall from Chapter 16 that lim = 𝛼. So what can we say about
n→∞ Fn
𝑓n+1
lim ? Next we investigate this.
n→∞ 𝑓n
𝛽 x−Δ 1 − x∕Δ
Suppose x > 0. Then 0 < x∕Δ < 1. Since = =− , |𝛽∕𝛼| < 1.
𝛼 x+Δ 1 + x∕Δ
Consequently,

𝑓n+1 𝛼 n+1 − 𝛽 n+1

=
𝑓n 𝛼n − 𝛽 n
𝛼 n+1 1 − (𝛽∕𝛼)n+1
= ⋅
𝛼n 1 − (𝛽∕𝛼)n
𝑓n+1 1−0
lim =𝛼⋅
n→∞ 𝑓n 1−0
= 𝛼.

ln+1
Similarly, lim = 𝛼. Thus
n→∞ ln

𝑓n+1 ln+1
lim = 𝛼 = lim , (31.5)
n→∞ 𝑓n n→∞ ln

where x > 0.
For the curious-minded, we add that

{
𝑓n+1 (0) 0 if n is odd
=
𝑓n (0) undef ined otherwise;
{
ln+1 (0) undef ined if n is odd
=
ln (0) 0 otherwise.

It follows by the recursive definition that deg(𝑓n ) = n − 1 and deg(ln ) = n,

where deg(hn ) denotes the degree of the polynomial hn (x) and n ≥ 1. Suppose
a, b ≥ 2. Then (a − 1)(b − 1) ≥ 1; consequently, ab > a + b − 1. Suppose also that
x ≥ 1. Since deg(𝑓a 𝑓b ) = deg(𝑓a ) + deg(𝑓b ) = a + b − 2, it follows that 𝑓ab > 𝑓a 𝑓b .
Likewise, lab > la lb . √
The facts that 2𝛼 = x + Δ, 2𝛽 = x − Δ, and Δ = x2 + 4 can be used to
develop two interesting identities, one involving Fibonacci polynomials and the
other involving Lucas polynomials.
Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials 11

To begin, we have

(x2 + 4)n = (2𝛼 − x)2n

2n ( )
∑ 2n
= (2𝛼)k (−x)2n−k . (31.6)
k=0
k

Similarly,
2n ( )
∑ 2n
(x2 + 4)n = (2𝛽)k (−x)2n−k . (31.7)
k=0
k

It follows by equations (31.6) and (31.7) that

2n ( )
∑ 2n
2(x2 + 4)n = (−2)k lk x2n−k (31.8)
k=0
k
2n ( )
∑ 2n
0= (−2)k 𝑓k x2n−k ; (31.9)
k=0
k

see Exercise 31.71.

For example,

4 ( )
∑ 4
(−2)k lk x4−k = l0 x4 − 8l1 x3 + 24l2 x2 − 32l3 x + 16l4
k=0
k

= 2(x4 + 8x2 + 16)

= 2(x2 + 4)2 .

Identity (31.8), in particular, yields

2n ( )
∑ 2n
(−2)k Lk = 2 ⋅ 5n .
k=0
k

J.L. Brown of Pennsylvania State University found this result in 1965 [59].
The next example is an interesting application of identity (31.1).

Example 31.1. Prove that

⎧ln − ln−2 + ln−4 − · · · − l2 + 1 if n ≡ 0 (mod 4)

⎪
⎪ln − ln−2 + ln−4 − · · · − l3 + x if n ≡ 1 (mod 4)
𝑓n+1 =⎨
⎪ln − ln−2 + ln−4 − · · · − l2 − 1 if n ≡ 2 (mod 4)
⎪
⎩ln − ln−2 + ln−4 − · · · − l3 − x otherwise.
12 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I

Proof. Suppose n is even. Let Sn = ln − ln−2 + ln−4 − · · · + (−1)(n−2)∕2 . Using

identity (31.1), we can rewrite Sn as a telescoping sum:

Sn = (𝑓n+1 + 𝑓n−1 ) − (𝑓n−1 + 𝑓n−3 ) + · · · + (−1)(n−2)∕2 (𝑓3 + 𝑓1 )

= 𝑓n+1 + (−1)(n−2)∕2 𝑓1
{
𝑓n+1 − 1 if n ≡ 0 (mod 4)
=
𝑓n+1 + 1 if n ≡ 2 (mod 4).

This yields the desired formulas when n is even.

The formulas when n is odd follow similarly; see Exercise 31.72.
In 1996, R. Euler of Northwest Missouri State University studied this example
for the case x = 1 [152].
In particular, let n = 7. Then

l7 − l5 + l3 − x = (x7 + 7x5 + 14x3 + 7x) − (x5 + 5x3 + 5x) + (x3 + 3x) − x

= x7 + 6x5 + 10x3 + 4x

= 𝑓8 .

Generalized Cassini-like Formulas

The Cassini-like formulas can be generalized as follows:

𝑓m 𝑓m+n+k − 𝑓m+k 𝑓m+n = (−1)m+1 𝑓n 𝑓k ; (31.10)

lm lm+n+k − lm+k lm+n = (−1)m (x2 + 4)𝑓n 𝑓k ; (31.11)

see Exercises 31.73 and 31.74.

It follows that both 𝑓m 𝑓m+n+k − 𝑓m+k 𝑓m+n and lm lm+n+k − lm+k lm+n are
divisible by 𝑓n 𝑓k . In particular, both 𝑓m 𝑓m+2n − 𝑓m+n
2 2
and lm lm+2n − lm+n are
divisible by 𝑓n2 . It also follows that Fm Fm+n+k − Fm+k Fm+n = (−1)m+1 Fn Fk and
Lm Lm+n+k − Lm+k Lm+n = (−1)m 5Ln Lk .
It follows from identities (31.10) and (31.11) that

𝑓m 𝑓n+1 − 𝑓m+1 𝑓n = (−1)n 𝑓m−n ; (31.12)

lm ln+1 − lm+1 ln = (−1)n (x2 + 4)𝑓m−n . (31.13)

Identity (31.12) is a generalization of the d’Ocagne identity Fm Fn+1 − Fm+1 Fn =

(−1)n Fm−n , named after the French mathematician Philbert Maurice d’Ocagne
(1862–1938).
Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials 13

It also follows from identities (31.10) and (31.11) that

𝑓n+k 𝑓n−k − 𝑓n2 = (−1)n+k+1 𝑓k2 ; (31.14)

ln+k ln−k − ln2 = (−1)n+k (x2 + 4)𝑓k2 ; (31.15)

see Exercises 31.76 and 31.77.

These two identities imply that

𝑓2n+1 = 𝑓n+1
2
+ 𝑓n2 ; (31.16)
2
xl2n+1 = ln+1 − (x2 + 4)𝑓n2 (31.17)

= (x2 + 4)𝑓n+1
2
− ln2 ; (31.18)

2
see Exercises 31.78–31.80. Consequently, ln+1 + ln2 = (x2 + 4)𝑓2n+1 .
The next example features a neat application of identity (31.10). It was origi-
nally studied in 1969 by Swamy [489].

Example 31.2. Prove that

( )( )
∑
n
1 ∑
n
x2
1+ 1− = 1.
k=1
𝑓2k−1 𝑓2k+1 k=1
𝑓2k 𝑓2k+2

Proof. It follows from identity (31.10) that

𝑓a+1 𝑓a−2 − 𝑓a 𝑓a−1 = (−1)a+1 x. (31.19)

Consequently, we have

x 𝑓2k+2 𝑓
= − 2k
𝑓2k−1 𝑓2k+1 𝑓2k+1 𝑓2k−1
∑
n
x 𝑓2n+2 𝑓2
= −
k=1
𝑓2k−1 𝑓2k+1 𝑓2n+1 𝑓1
𝑓2n+2
= −x
𝑓2n+1
∑
n
1 𝑓2n+2
1+ = . (31.20)
k=1
𝑓2k−1 𝑓2k+1 x𝑓2n+1
14 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I

It also follows by identity (31.10) that

x 𝑓2k+3 𝑓2k+1
− = −
𝑓2k 𝑓2k+2 𝑓2k+2 𝑓2k
∑
n
x 𝑓2n+3 𝑓3
− = −
k=1
𝑓2k 𝑓2k+2 𝑓2n+2 𝑓2
x𝑓2n+2 + 𝑓2n+1 x2 + 1
= −
𝑓2n+2 x
𝑓2n+1 1
= −
𝑓2n+2 x
∑
n
x2 𝑓2n+1
1− =x . (31.21)
k=1
𝑓2k 𝑓2k+2 𝑓2n+2

The given result now follows by equations (31.20) and (31.21).

The formula in Example 31.2 has a Lucas counterpart:

[ ][ ]
∑
n
x2 (x2 + 4) 1 ∑ x2 + 4
n
2
x +2− 2
+ = 1;
k=1
l2k−1 l2k+1 x + 2 k=1 l2k l2k+2

see Exercise 31.148.

A quick look at Table 31.1 reveals that the constant term in 𝑓n is 1 if n is odd,
and 0 if n is even; and the constant term in ln is 0 if n is odd, and 2 if n is even.
We now confirm these observations.

Ends of the Polynomials 𝒇n and ln

Since Δ(0) = 2, 𝛼(0) = 1 = −𝛽(0). Therefore, by the Binet-like formula for 𝑓n ,
𝛼 n (0) − 𝛽 n (0) 1 − (−1)n
𝑓n (0) = = . So 𝑓n ends in 1 if n is odd, and 0 if n is even.
𝛼(0) − 𝛽(0) 2
On the other hand, let

{
0 if n is odd
𝜅n =
2 otherwise.

Then ln (0) = 1 + (−1)n = 𝜅n . So ln ends in 0 if n is odd, and 2 otherwise.

Next we develop two bridges linking 𝑓n and ln , by employing a bit of differen-
tial and integral calculus.
Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials 15

Links Between 𝒇n and ln

Since Δ′ = x∕Δ, it follows that 𝛼 ′ = 𝛼∕Δ and 𝛽 ′ = −𝛽∕Δ, where the prime
denotes differentiation with respect to x. By the Binet-like formula for ln , we
then have
𝛼 𝛽
ln′ = n𝛼 n−1 ⋅ − n𝛽 n−1 ⋅
Δ Δ
= n𝑓n . (31.22)

It follows from identity (31.22) that ln′ (1) = nFn .

For example, l6 = x6 + 6x4 + 9x2 + 2; so l6′ = 6(x5 + 4x3 + 3x) = 6𝑓6 ; and
l6 (1) = 6 ⋅ 8 = 6F6 .
′

To see a related link, property (31.22) implies that we can recover ln from 𝑓n
by integrating both sides from 0 to x:
x x
ln′ (y)dy = n 𝑓n (y)dy
∫0 ∫0
x
ln − ln (0) = n 𝑓n (y)dy
∫0
x
ln = 𝜅n + n 𝑓n (y)dy. (31.23)
∫0

It follows from (31.23) that

1
1
𝑓n dx = (L − 𝜅n ). (31.24)
∫0 n n
x x
For example, l5 = 0 + 5 𝑓5 (y)dy = 5 (y4 + 3y2 + 1)dy = x5 + 5x3 + 5x;
∫0 ∫0
x 1
and l6 = 2 + 6 (y5 + 4y3 + 3y)dy = x6 + 6x4 + 9x2 + 2. Clearly, 𝑓6 dx =
∫0 ∫0
1
8 1
(x5 + 4x3 + 3x)dx =
= (L − 2).
∫0 3 6 6
We can use the Binet-like formula for 𝑓n , coupled with property (31.22), to
develop a second-order differential equation for ln .

A Differential Equation for ln

By the Binet-like formula, we have
( )
𝛼n 𝛽 n x
nΔ + − (𝛼 n − 𝛽 n )
Δ Δ Δ
𝑓n′ =
Δ2
1 ′′ nln − x𝑓n
l = (31.25)
nn x2 + 4
16 Fibonacci and Lucas Polynomials I

( )
x
(x2 + 4)ln′′ = n nln − ln′
n
(x2 + 4)ln′′ + xln′ − n2 ln = 0. (31.26)

It follows from equation (31.26) that ln′′ (1) = n(nLn − Fn )∕5.

For example, l6 = x6 + 6x4 + 9x2 + 2; l6′ = 6x5 + 24x3 + 18x; l6′′ = 30x4 +
72x2 + 18. Then (x2 + 4)l6′′ + xl6′ − 36l6 = 0; and l6′′ (1) = 6(6 ⋅ 18 − 8)∕5 = 120.

Alternate Explicit Formulas

Fibonacci and Lucas polynomials can be defined explicitly in alternate ways:
⌊n∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n − k n−2k
𝑓n+1 = x ; (31.27)
k=0
k
⌊n∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n n − k n−2k
ln = x . (31.28)
k=0
n−k k

Both can be confirmed using PMI; see Exercises 31.96 and 31.97.
We now establish both, using different techniques.

Alternate Methods
To establish the Lucas-like formula (31.27), we employ a bit of operator theory
[284, 498]. To this end, let
⌊n∕2⌋ ( )
∑ n − k n−2k
Sn = Sn (x) = x .
k=0
k

Let D(Sn ) = Sn+1 − xSn . Then

[( ) ( )]
∑ n+1−k n−k
D(Sn ) = − xn−2k+1
k≥0
k k
( )
∑ n−k
= xn−2k+1
k≥0
k − 1
( )
∑ n−j−1
= xn−2j−1 ;
j≥0
j

D2 (Sn ) = D(D(Sn ))
= D(Sn+1 − xSn )
= D(Sn+1 ) − xD(Sn )
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and dive for pearls of fancy without reckoning their market value. But
civilisation sets too just a value upon the benefits of tradition and
discipline to tolerate this nomad contempt of their advantages; and in
no country are these advantages more highly prized than in France,
the land of revolution and unrest. Even the follies of the Latin
Quarter, as long as they lasted, were rigidly based upon the
traditions of that wild spot. La Vie de Bohème, for all its apparent
recklessness of rowdy students and Mimi Pinsons and Lisettes, had
its traditions in vice and virtue, deviation from which was regarded an
infraction as intolerable as ever could be deviation from those of the
five Academies or the Comédie Française. The student in the
process of going to the dogs was bound to go thither in the way of
the Quarter. He inherited from a long line of genius his hat and his
garments, the cut of his hair and beard, his sins and attitudes. The
road of pleasure and pain, of wickedness and repentance, of
distraction and despair, was cut out for him upon tradition as
unswervable as that of the most respectable institution, and to act
the proper part assigned him in the triumph of disreputableness he
should take Villon for his model, or wring out the sombre folds of the
poet’s mantle in the gaiety and genial ruffianism of the modern ideal
of the Latin Quarter. But here, happily, we alight upon an institution in
process of doom. The Quarter is in the pangs of transformation, and
soon the cheap and unsympathetic heroes of Mürger will be but a
memory, and not a decent one at that. Along the “Boul. Mich.” youths
are beginning to pay their way, for all the world like the common
“beastly burgess” across the river.
 THE FOYER OF THE OPERA-HOUSE

The Conservatoire is another national institution. Like the

Academy and the Comédie Française, it is a home of traditions. The
airy foreigner who wishes to assist at one of its concerts cannot hope
to open its doors with a golden key. Its seats are subscribed for and
constitute personal property. Should the foreigner be fortunate
enough to possess a friend with one of these seats who is willing to
sacrifice a concert for his benefit, he will hear a marvellous
orchestra. For a short time the scene of this unique harmony of
sound was shifted from the neighbourhood of the Upper Boulevards
to the boards of the Opera-house, and the result was sheer disaster.
The orchestra of the Conservatoire is just suited to its own select
little hall, but it is too delicate, too perfect, for transposition to a big
theatre like the Opera-house of Paris. There you need
instrumentation of a coarser quality, music less subtly rendered.
Where the polka may be fitly danced, the pavane would be out of
place. M. Taffanel, the able conductor of the Conservatoire
orchestra, cannot compare with the great German conductors; he
has not the genius of Mottl, nor the magical temperament of
Weingartner, nor the individuality of the French conductor, the late
Lamoureux. But in his quiet, measured way he is an incomparable
artist, to judge him by the results of his lead. When Weingartner and
Mottl conduct, the attention is continually drawn to them. Indeed, in
the case of Weingartner, who is unreasonably affected, and, like
every other artist with a “temperament,” is apt to exaggerate its
privileges, the audience is ever more conscious of him than of his
instruments. He is a superb master, but one wishes him less
histrionic. Now, M. Taffanel has not a suspicion of affectation or
histrionism. He is simplicity itself, the very model of impersonality. He
so effaces himself that you are conscious of his presence only by the
perfection of his orchestra. He is so easy and subdued that he hardly
seems necessary in this admirable triumph of art. Of course, as his
house is the home of tradition, Wagner is excluded. Wagner
dominates outside, but in here it is the masters consecrated by
unmixed approval who rule the ear. Mounet-Sully will read to you, in
his inimitable, sombre Byronic way, the ravings of Manfred, while
Schumann will roll your soul over the crests of musical passion.
Beethoven will speak to your heart and brain like a god, and Mozart
will captivate you with his joyous melody and sweetness, but not a
note of Wagner, the modern Colossus. It is well that this exclusive
home of music should be kept up upon its aristocratic traditions—the
best orchestra of the world and the least accessible; but the evil
effect of exclusiveness is at once visible in a glance around at the
audience. Daudet has written that the French do not in their hearts
really like classical music. I think it is true. They delight too much in
conversation to delight in music as the duller, the denser, and more
sentimental Germans do. But to have a seat at the Conservatoire
denotes wealth, the prestige of fashion; and so they go to each
concert more to see and be seen than to hear. In doing so they are
conscious of being part of the chic world. In the loges around you,
men and women talk of every mortal thing except the music heard;
and the chief anxiety of both sexes, if I may judge by the testimony
of my ears on repeated occasions, is to know what baron, count,
marquis, marchioness, or duchess is present, with smart remarks
upon their dress. The Conservatoire is a traditional school of music
and of the drama; prizes are awarded upon the test of examination,
and reputations started here which may end in celebrity.
 CHAPTER VII
HOME-LIFE IN FRANCE

There is no race on the face of the earth whose home-life is so

enviable as that of the French. Both men and women bring the best
of their qualities to the making and maintaining of this admirable
domestic institution. It is, perhaps, too perfect, too wadded, for any
people which may hold the theory that domestic happiness is an
inferior ideal. It explains to us why the French are bad colonists, why
initiative and enterprise are less developed here than in the regions
of rougher interiors. The atmosphere of a French home is the most
delightful I know. I cannot see why men and women should be
expected willingly to tear themselves away from it in search of
dubious prosperity and happiness among barbarians. After all, it
seems to me that human happiness is as high an ideal as any of us
can justly lay claim to; and if we want our own happiness we are
pretty certain to want that of others, for the few who find their
happiness in the misery of those around them are lower than the
brutes. In England and in Ireland I have seen men and women of this
sort, persons of diseased selfishness, who, in their homes,
surrounded by others, live only for themselves, and whose sole
mission in life apparently is to render those same victims of their
proximity as wretched as possible.
Frenchwomen are not perfect, we know, since they are human.
They have their meannesses, their spites, their pettinesses, and
jealousies, like others; they are largely tainted with the vice of
avarice, and it cannot be said that they are, in general, capable of
climbing the heights of disinterestedness. They love money, and they
save it. But, whatever their faults, I dare to say that no race of
women can show a smaller percentage of shrews and reckless
mischief-makers. Their discretion is extraordinary, and no less
extraordinary is the equable, dignified nature of their domestic rule.
They have their tantrums like other women, but they are surprisingly
free from the vice of scolding. The word “termagant” was never
invented for the pleasing and tactful Frenchwoman. She will blight
your life by other means should she have that fancy. Economy is her
great and unlovable virtue. If she clips the wings of romance so
ruthlessly, it is always in the interests of economy. I do not give her
ideal as the highest or the noblest; it is even lower, perhaps, than
that of many other classes of women, since it is exclusively occupied
with the state of her own and her progeny’s purse. But the process
by which she attains this ideal is charming in itself. She cheerfully
makes every personal sacrifice needful, and counts herself blest
when she places the hand of a son or daughter in that of a suitable
match, with fortune proportionate and prospects of equal promise.
She lives for her husband and children; and if, as the fashionable
novelists assure us, she often deviates from the path of virtue,—
makes, as the boulevardiers say, a rent in the marriage contract,—
not even those romancers dare affirm that she neglects, for such
caprices, the interests of either.
She is in all things literally the better half of her people. Observe
her in all classes, and you will have no further need of explanation of
the striking prosperity, strength, and self-sufficiency of France itself.
Cheerful, competent, thrifty creature, how could the land that owns
her go to the dogs, whatever the decadents and politicians may do?
She is the force of the country, its stable influence and salvation. The
home rests upon her, and she makes of it a delicious nest for her
children, who may exaggerate the outward form of their love for her,
but who can never exaggerate the inward devotion they owe her.
She has taught them, it is true, to think too much about money, to be
too ready to dispute the wills of recalcitrant relatives who wish to
leave their fortunes to others than themselves; she has left them too
little liberty, and trained them in ignorance of such a virtue as
disinterestedness; she is too apt to encourage her son in the theory
of the wild oats-sowing, without even the saving grace of limiting that
period to pre-nuptial days, being trained herself in the fixed
conviction of her land, that man is a tameless beast who cannot exist
without fugitive loves throughout his chequered career. Indeed, I
have heard a very pious old French lady assert that a married man
may have a hundred mistresses and be a perfectly honest man
whom nobody should criticise. When I made respectful mention of
the wife’s injuries, she shrugged, called me an unsophisticated fool,
and said that every sensible girl, on her wedding-morn, understood
what she was facing, and, if she were well-bred, she was wise
enough to keep her eyes shut. No wife, she maintained, could
expect to learn anything to her advantage by prying into her
husband’s habits and distractions outside the portals of home, and
so her wisdom lay in studied ignorance. The thing to prevent in a
husband or son was extravagance. So long as the purse-strings
remained unloosened, and the health was uninjured, a judicious
woman should ask for nothing more from the men around her. For
this reason, the novelists show us the French mother as charmed to
discover that her son has started romantic relations with the wife of a
wealthy friend. She is convinced that he must have a mistress, and
her only hope is that he shall choose one who will not ruin him in
purse or in health. Of his heart and happiness in these matters she
seems to care not a pin, possibly because of the talent for cynicism
possessed by the French, which declines to recognise heart outside
the family. If every poison has its antidote, so has every quality its
drawback. This beautiful maternal devotion we so admire is
practised to the detriment of all outsiders. The French mother would
make a holocaust of all humanity on the altar of her offspring’s
advancement and interest. She will gladly toil for him or for her, save
francs and pence for either, deprive herself of what she most loves,
accomplish for her child every virtue in the world but that of justice or
generosity toward outsiders. For the French ménagère, the outsider
is the enemy. Indeed, for all the French family the outsider is a reptile
to be crushed. Let a wealthy Frenchwoman take a strong fancy to an
outsider, and the hostility awakened in the breast of every member
against this inoffensive outsider will be found to be a sentiment to
which only Balzac could do justice. Sons and daughters, cousins,
nephews, and nieces, will combine to slight or insult the reprobate.
In the case of a widower, or an unmarried uncle, marriage is the
terror; in the case of the wealthy woman I suspect the last will and
testament arouses the scare. Anyway, whatever the unexpressed
sentiment may be, the French family of all classes joins in this
unreasonable hatred, suspicion, and jealousy of the outsider. I
remember when I first came to Paris many years ago, having a letter
of introduction to Madame Blaze de Bury, a very singular and clever
old lady, who said to me: “You will find the French as hard as a
granite wall when you come to knock against them. To the superficial
glance they are so easy, so accessible, so pleasant. Well, I have
lived long enough among them to discover that they are just like the
Chinese. They hate foreigners, even when they are delightful to
them. And this hatred of the foreigner is shown in family life, where
the foreigner is everyone who is not a direct relation.” Subsequent
experience did not prove Madame Blaze de Bury altogether right as
regards the foreigner, for I, a foreigner, have found in France
kindness, sympathy, generosity, and affection, and all from the
French of the very French. In criticising Frenchwomen, I am
criticising the part of humanity I like best, appreciate and admire
most on earth. Give Frenchwomen the freedom, the liberal education
of England, a dash of Protestantism—that is, mental and moral
independence—and you will have womanhood in its perfection. They
have little of the snob, they are naturally simple and unpretentious,
and they are competent, intelligent, and discreet.
The two features that most strike the foreigner in French home-life
are the careful economy practised everywhere, in city and country,
among the poor and the rich, and the pretty courtesies and
tendernesses which help to keep the wheels of domestic machinery
so admirably oiled. The notion that relationship is merely the
privilege of making one’s self as disagreeable as possible, and
indulging in cruelties of speech and action, does not exist in France,
or exists in a very diminished degree.
A study of the economies practised in aristocratic and prosperous
bourgeois circles in France leads us to strange facts. Taine quotes
an incident in his Carnets de Voyage that happened in the
neighbourhood of Poitiers. A Parisian was hunting by invitation on a
friend’s lands, and, without knowing it, crossed the border-land of
those of a certain viscountess. He was not shooting, but carried his
gun under his arm; he had lost his way. Up came a keeper and
stopped him. The Parisian explained the circumstances, and insisted
that he was not shooting. His host and he decided to visit the
viscountess personally, and put the case before her in order to avoid
unjust proceedings. They were received in a superb chamber hung
with tapestries. The viscountess listened to them, and put her hand
out: “Twenty francs each to pay,” was all she said. I think I can tell a
better tale still, that of the interested hospitality of a well-known
Flemish countess, whose shooting lands are among the best in
France. The guests of this lady who liked a liberal supply of sugar in
their morning coffee were obliged to provide themselves with it
before coming, for every lump consumed in the castle was counted
by the thrifty châtelaine; and the servants were bound, on penalty of
dismissal, to give up to her all the tips they received. These were
dropped into a cash-box, and at the proper time were returned to
them under the form of wages. The good lady also makes a fine
thing of her invitations to shoot upon her land, and may be said to
merit a high place in the ranks of economists.
And yet there is much to be said in favour of French thrift, not only
for the good it brings to the country, which is immense, but still more
for the inappreciable advantages it affords the family, above all, the
girls. Go to Ireland and observe with lamentation and indignation the
havoc made of home-life, of family dignity, of the lives of unfortunate
girls, by the miserable wastefulness of parents. On all sides you will
hear sad tales of girls, obliged to work hard for shocking rates of
payment, who were brought up in foolish luxury, whose parents
“entertained” in that thriftless, splash, Irish fashion, drank
champagne, drove horses, when the French of the same class would
be leading the existence of humdrum small burgesses, depriving
themselves of all that was not absolutely necessary for their position,
and teaching their children the art of counting, of saving, and of
laudable privation. The Irish way is the jollier, I admit, but it is a
cowardly, selfish way, for it is the children who always have to pay
the piper, and, more often than not, the unhappy trades-folk who
supply these gay and festive spendthrifts.
We laugh at the counted lumps of sugar in France, forgetting that
sugar here is sixpence a pound, and becomes an item to be
considered. I remember once feeling some sympathy with the
French carefulness of sugar. An Irish girl, whom I did not know,
somewhere in the twenties, and consequently supposed to conduct
herself like a reasonable being, thrust accidentally upon me for
hospitality for a single night,—which, owing to unforeseen
circumstances, was prolonged to ten or twelve days,—did me the
honour to consume a pound of sugar a day at my expense. In every
cup of tea she melted nearly a dozen large French lumps of sugar,
and she drank many cups in the day; also she ate sugar continually
as other women munch sweets, and as she disliked cold red wine,
she insisted on heating it with quantities of sugar until it was turned
into a syrup. When my grocer sent in his monthly account, with sugar
at sixpence a pound in enormous excess, I felt it would be a singular
advantage for Ireland if a little judicious thrift were practised in Irish
homes. The young lady’s father went bankrupt shortly afterwards,
and I cannot say I was at all surprised. He was an ordinary burgess,
who worked hard to maintain a large and extravagant family, and my
guest once told me that her sister frequently ran up a bill at the
florist’s for boutonnières to the sum of thirty shillings a month, which
her father had to pay. French thrift, if it does so often touch hands
with meanness, at least implies the exercise of a quality we all
should admire, even when we cannot practise it, thanks to taste,
training, or temperament—hardness to ourselves, the capacity for
voluntary self-suffering.
The first thing that strikes you as you enter a French beeswaxed
flat in winter is the chill of it. Few but the very rich know the delights
of generous fires, of well-carpeted houses, of warm, comfortable,
and luxurious interiors. Silver appointments and splendid napery,
which you will find nowadays in the commonest Irish homes, are
here unknown, and people of the class who in England dress for
dinner here wear the clothes they have lunched in, and are none the
worse off for it. They have, along with their thrift, much less
pretension, and are simpler and more intelligent in their home-life
than we of the British Isles. In one way they live better, because their
food is better cooked and is more varied, and for dinner you are sure
to have brighter conversation. In certain rich and snobbish circles,
above all in the shooting season, you risk being bored to death, for
here nothing is talked of but titles, game, and fortunes. The wonder
to me is how women, who themselves do not shoot, can sit placidly
through a long afternoon and evening and listen to men who talk
incessantly of their own bags or their neighbours’ bags—of how the
prince shot this snipe, the count shot that partridge, and how many
pheasants the marquis bagged. I suppose it is to keep the men in
good-humour that these amiable Frenchwomen—against whom I
can bring no other charge than vacuity and snobbishness, two
parasites of wealth—feign the intensest interest. They are paid in the
coin they desire, and if they are bored nobody is a penny the wiser,
and they probably do not mind it.
I have said the lack of material comfort and plenty in middle-class
French homes is striking. I, of course, refer to people who are not
rich, where the husband is a state functionary on a modest salary in
Paris, to small professors, to the wives of military officials, the
widows of colonels and broken-down aristocrats. I have had a
glimpse of all these classes of homes, and in winter found them
unseasonably chill and frugal. Thirty years ago, I am assured, it was
far worse, for then carpets were unknown, and fires less used than
to-day. Such economies are practised here as in England would
accompany only harsh poverty, but they must not be taken as the
symbol of such. Your grocer and his wife, who eat behind the shop in
a sanded and comfortless space walled off, and on Sunday
afternoon go out, neatly arrayed in well-fitting but dowdy and
serviceable garments, have tidy fortunes stowed away, while their
flashy, splash-loving brethren of the British Isles, with their dog-carts,
bicycles, and up-to-date attire turned out by fashionable tailors,
dressmakers, and milliners, are pulling the devil by the tail and
stupidly patronising their betters, who are contented with less
display.
I retired lately to Ireland to write this little book, and was struck,
after long residence in France, by the violent contrast between
French and Irish character in these respects. I was used to the
simple, courteous, willing, active trades-people of Paris, who give
themselves no airs, dress dowdily, live modestly. I found the same
class in Ireland, even in a small village, dressed daily as Solomon in
all his glory never was, with tailor-made gowns worth ten and twelve
guineas, and with haughty manners that would bewilder a princess
of the blood; the one cutting the other, Heaven only knows on what
assumption of superiority, and all hastening from their counters in
smart turnouts, duly to subscribe their loyal names to the list of the
Queen’s visitors. I felt like Rip Van Winkle—as if I had waked in my
native land and found everyone gone mad with pride and pretension.
When I ventured into a shop to make an insignificant purchase, a
gorgeous dandy with a lisp condescended to attend to me, or a lady
looking like a duchess, and most desirous that you should take her
for such, dropped from the height of her grandeur to my humble
person, and was good enough in her superior way to look after me.
Everybody was seemingly so above trade or business or bread-
winning of any kind that I was glad enough to pack up my papers
and things and come back to a race more simple and less
pretentious, where the people work with good-will, and sell you a
yard of tape or a hat without insufferable condescension, and where
tradesmen and their wives do not think it necessary to confer on
crowned heads the honour of their call. In pursuit of my
investigations on this subject I was taken to the house of a very
small trades-person, who lived over her shop. The owner wore a
twelve-guinea silk-lined gown trimmed with Irish point. I could well
imagine what sort of residence hers would be in France. For Ireland
it was a sort of Aladdin surprise. Majesty indeed might have sat in
that sitting-room. It was furnished with faultless taste: beautiful old
Sèvres, proof engravings exquisitely framed, buhl cabinets;
everything—curtains, chairs, sixteenth-century benches and
couches, quaint ornaments, the spoils of frequent auctions of
gentlemen’s houses—was chosen with the best of judgment by an
ignorant peasant woman, whose bringing up, surroundings, and life
had been of the most sordid kind. I was shown the bedroom, and
found it a no less pleasing and surprising vision, a nest of modern
luxury and beauty, such a bedroom as in Paris you would see only
along the handsome and expensive avenues.
Another time I obtained a glimpse of the home of a bankrupt
widow of a “little burgess” who had had to vacate a house with
grounds to take up her residence in a more modest dwelling. Such a
woman in France would be content to live and die a very plain and
simple person, and, having had to compound with her creditors,
would have considered herself bound to lay out her new existence
upon lines of the most rigid economy, above all, as there was a large
family of sons and daughters not yet of an age, nor having the
requisite education, to provide for themselves. The house I visited
was one of a row, a poor, mean quarter, where no sane person
would look for any appearance of affluence. Over the fan-light the
house rejoiced in an imposing Celtic name in three words in raised
white letters, not the cheapest form of house nomenclature. A
gardener was engaged trimming the infinitesimal garden front; the
youngest girl, of twelve, was mounting her bicycle to career off with a
companion; in the hall were three other bicycles belonging to
different members of the family. The furniture of the drawing-room
was new and expensive, and a young lady was playing up-to-date
waltzes on the piano, without a trace of concern or anxiety; no sign
anywhere of economy, of sacrifice, of worry. Yet I knew I was
entering a house where there was practically nothing to live upon,
and where the proceeds of a sale that should have gone to the
woman’s creditors had been squandered on unnecessary things.
One may criticise the meannesses to which thrift drives the frugal
French, but I never felt more near to falling in love with what is to me
an uncongenial vice than I did on leaving my native land after this
visit, to have commercial dealings once more with people not above
their business, instead of trading with the spurious descendants of
kings, whose sole anxiety is to make you feel their social superiority
and extraordinary condescension, to find these excellent French
“little people” all that Lever told us the Irish were but have ceased to
be—cordial, delightful, intelligent, and simple. For that is the great,
the abiding charm of the French middle class—the absence of vulgar
pretension. Every man to his trade, and an artist at that—such is the
wise French motto. I begin to suspect the late Felix Faure, the tanner
of France, must have had some Irish blood in his veins, for he was
well worthy to play the sovereign to that mock prince of the blood,
the Irish tradesman.
The home of the French middle classes, I have already said, is
not, in the Anglo-Saxon conception of the word, an abode of comfort.
Small economies are too rigidly practised therein. The salon, or
sitting-room, is apt to be shut up all the week in the interest of the
furniture, and only opened on the single afternoon the lady of the
house is supposed to be at home to her friends. Then in winter, just
before the hour of reception, the meagre wood-fire is set ablaze, and
sometimes tea is prepared, along with biscuits far from fresh. You
may be thankful—if tea is to be offered you, a rare occurrence—
should the tea be no staler than the biscuits, I have known a
Frenchwoman, the sister of a professor at Stanislas College, who
admitted to me naïvely that she changed the leaves of her tea every
four or five days. She informed me that this economical hint was
given her by a Scotchwoman, who assured her that in Scotland
nobody was extravagant enough to make fresh tea every day. I hope
this Scotchwoman was an invention of the Frenchwoman. It would
be terrible to believe that all the families of Scotland drink their daily
dose of slow poison. In winter also are the two meals of noon and
evening consumed in a frigid atmosphere, for such a thing as a
dining-room fire is unheard of in the class I refer to. The napery will
be of the coarsest quality, and oftener coloured than white.
The house is generally run with a single maid-of-all-work, who
receives a monthly wage of from thirty to forty francs, and her life is
not an easy one. The lady already referred to had her bonne from
the country, where existence is still harsher than in Paris, and paid
her thirty francs a month. The unfortunate bonne for this sum had to
wash, clean, scour, cook, market, make beds, and sew. The lady
was pious, and a philanthropist, but pious and philanthropic persons
are sometimes harsh taskmasters, and not infrequently dishonest.
The bonne was obliged, out of her scant wages, to pay a hundred
francs a year for her bedroom, which was merely a box under the
roof, without ventilation or fireplace, so that in winter she froze, and
in summer she was baked. She also had to buy her own wine and
coffee, if she needed either, and never, from week’s end to week’s
end, tasted of dessert or sweets, or knew what it was to dine off fowl,
when by rare chance fowl was served at table. I was this lady’s
“paying guest” for four or five months; and if my lot was a hard one, I
could console myself with the reflection that the servant’s was
infinitely harder. True, the servant did not, as I did, pay an exorbitant
price for those discomforts, but we could both say that we had to
deal with a singularly pleasant, affable, well-spoken, and agreeable
woman, surprisingly intelligent, who kept her house in admirable
order. She was secretary for several Catholic philanthropic works,
and taught catechism, for a consideration, to poor children in some
disreputable quarter of Paris. I thought of her, as I have thought of
many another Christian philanthropist, Catholic and Protestant, how
much more in keeping with the doctrine of Christ it would be to stay
unpretentiously at home and practise the modest virtue of honesty,
doing unto others as one would be done unto. On her way to her
catechism class she would drop in to the woodman’s to order wood
for me, as a favour for which it was my duty to thank her, pay the
woodman three francs, and virtuously charge me five in the bill. I
was ill, and in the same spirit of benevolence she ordered everything
needful for me—for a consideration. For all that, she was the nicest,
the cheerfulest, and most pleasing robber and humbug I have ever
known. I defy any Anglo-Saxon to give the fleeced as much value in
the way of agreeable speech and cordiality and beaming smiles as
this religious Norman lady gave me. She broke the heart of a trusting
friend, and, having gracefully beggared her, drove her to America
ruined and embittered, yet went on her own confident way along the
path of virtue, assured of nothing more than her indisputable right to
a seat in Paradise.
 A SEASIDE SERVICE

Edelfelt

But she was not the first to initiate me into the economical
mysteries of the French home. Before this I had been the “paying
guest” of a native of Burgundy with an Alsatian title as long as an
Alexandrian verse. She professed to have known Lamartine in her
youth, and when I spoke of the poet by his name, she corrected me
with a grand and reproving air: “Mademoiselle, we of Macon say
Monsieur de Lamartine.” Here the same mysteries of locked salon all
the week round, open only for a few hours on the famous reception
day of Madame la Baronne; the same absence of plenty at the board
—lunch for three persons invariably three boiled eggs, three tiny
cutlets and three boiled potatoes, three little rolls and three small
apples. Never a fourth of anything, should one of the three happen to
be a little hungrier than the other two. Only, as I had to do with a
broken-down aristocrat, there reigned, instead of the beaming
cordiality of the bourgeoise, an awful, desperate, glacial reserve. The
baroness’ attitude to life may be described fitly as resembling her
attitude to the late lamented poet, whom she apostrophised stiffly as
Monsieur de Lamartine. She was frightfully dignified, even in starving
her unfortunate paying guest on twelve pounds a month. It is true,
paying guests are not infrequently regarded by ladies as creatures
predestined to starvation and prompt payment in their hands, and in
business matters I can safely say, from singularly sharp experience,
that there are no more heartless and rapacious landladies on the
face of the earth than needy and educated women. The greed of the
common woman runs to pence, while that of the lady runs to
shillings; and whereas the former, when she is dishonest, has a
lingering consciousness of it, and flies into a wholesome rage on
detection, the latter is armoured in the brass of breeding, and looks
cool and surprised that you should object to being fleeced by her.
Upon any approach to complaint, instead of excuses, she shows you
cynically that she took you in in order to fleece you. A French
“woman of letters,” in the lowest acceptance of that unpleasing term,
the old, semi-extinguished type of bluestocking, once told me that
she always calculated on making a clear profit of two hundred francs
a month on the board of her “paying guest,” otherwise she did not
regard herself as having made a good thing out of it. As she charged
a hundred francs a month for a bedroom, twelve pounds a month
was the sum she counted upon as legitimate profit. Her terms were
sixteen pounds a month—light, fire, afternoon tea, and wine extras—
so that the unfortunate fleeced one had exactly the value of four
pounds for the sixteen disbursed. Needless to say, this literary
hostess only found stray fools from perfidious Albion, recommended
by amiable folk over-seas, who guilelessly believed the young ladies
despatched to her would enjoy the benefit of exalted social relations,
since titles were never out of her mouth, and upon her own
description of herself she entertained daily the highest of the land.
She traded upon the British weakness for titles, but took care to
conceal from these gulled ones the fact that French doors, whether
of nobles or of commoners, are not easily opened to foreigners, and
never to “paying guests,” whom the careful French fear as possible
adventurers.
 I have heard English people criticise the parsimony of the first
French breakfast, because you generally find a couple of lumps of
sugar on the side of your saucer instead of a sugar-bowl, and a pat
of butter and a single small roll instead of the domestic loaf and a
butter-basin. I own I give my preference altogether to the dear, neat
little French tray. When I go on visits to friends in France, I find
nothing so charming as to be wakened every morning by a beaming
Frenchwoman of the people, whose manners are always so perfect,
who is a human being, and not, like the well-trained English servant,
a machine; who opens the shutters and lets in light with her fresh,
soft “Good-morning,” and approaches the bed with a small, dainty
tray, exquisitely laid; such coffee or chocolate as you will get
nowhere else, and everything so trim and minute—the two lumps of
sugar, the tiny pat of butter, the hot roll—what ogre could demand
more on returning from the land of dreams? Naturally, the English
fashion calls for a more liberal supply, because there you are
cleansed, combed, and buckled in the shackles of civilisation
downstairs, perhaps after a morning run—and the scent of bacon
and eggs is refreshing to the keen nostril. But more than this neat
little French tray contains would be too much in a bedroom, and
nobody but that Irish girl I referred to, with morbid taste, could
clamour for a sugar-bowl to sweeten a single cup of coffee.
Then mid-day, when the sun is high in the heavens, gathers the
family round the second breakfast-table. Amongst the well-to-do this
is a meal to shame the frugal British luncheon. It consists of an
entrée, a roast dish, vegetables, a cold dish, a sweet, dessert, and
cheese. No need to mention the cooking. That is sure everywhere to
be excellent, though even among French cooks there are grades.
Here you will of a surety not be struck by the pervasion of economy,
but that of plenty. You will understand why the comfortably-off
French, when they lunch at British tables, lament that they are
starved. Indeed, when you have the good luck to partake of French
hospitality, you will find it the best in the world. At no tables will you
eat so well and so plentifully as at the tables of your French friends,
and in no land on earth will you enjoy such delightful conversation as
theirs, where they know how to speak and have something to say. In
England people are always on their guard, are often afraid to talk
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