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°
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68 ¤ CHAPTER 2 LIMITS AND DERIVATIVES
4. (a) = cos , (b) The slope appears to be − .
(0 5 0) 1
(c) −0 = − ( − 0 5) or =− + .
(i) 0 (0 1) −2 2
5. (a) = ( ) = 40 − 16 2
. At = 2, = 40(2) − 16(2)2 = 16. The average velocity between times 2 and 2 + is
(iii) [2 2 05]: = 0 05, ave = −24 8 ft s (iv) [2 2 01]: = 0 01, ave = −24 16 ft s
6. (a) = ( ) = 10 − 1 86 2
. At = 1, = 10(1) − 1 86(1)2 = 8 14. The average velocity between times 1 and 1 + is
(1 + ) − 10(1 + ) − 1 86(1 + )2 − 6 28 − 1 86 2
(1)
8 14
ave = = = = 6 28− 1 86 , if = 0.
(1 + ) − 1
(4) − (3) 79 2 − 46 5
(ii) On the interval [3 4] , ave = = 32 7 ft s.
= 4−3 1
°
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SECTION 2.1 THE TANGENT AND VELOCITY PROBLEMS ¤ 69
2 (2 0) 0 0 5 (0 5 0) 0
1 5 (1 5 1 7321 0 6 (0 6 −2 1651
0 8660) 0 7 0(0 8660) −2 6061
1 4 (1 4 −1 0847 7
1 3 −0
0 7818)
(1 34339) −2 7433 0 8 (0 8 1) −5
−0 8230)
1 2 (1 2 4 3301 0 9 (0 9 3 4202
0 8660) −0 3420)
1 1 (1 1 −2 8173
−0 2817)
As approaches 1, the slopes do not appear to be approaching any particular value.
(b) We see that problems with estimation are caused by the frequent
its slope.
(c) If we choose = 1 001, then the point is (1 001 −0 0314) and ≈ −31 3794. If = 0 999, then is
(0 999 0 0314) and = −31 4422. The average of these slopes is −31 4108. So we estimate that the slope
of the tangent line at is about −31 4.
°
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70 ¤ CHAPTER 2 LIMITS AND DERIVATIVES
1. As approaches 2, ( ) approaches 5. [Or, the values of ( ) can be made as close to 5 as we like by taking
sufficiently close to 2 (but = 2).] Yes, the graph could have a hole at (2 5) and be defined such that (2) = 3.
2. As approaches 1 from the left, ( ) approaches 3; and as approaches 1 from the right, ( ) approaches 7. No, the limit
does not exist because the left- and right-hand limits are different.
3. (a) lim ( ) = ∞ means that the values of ( ) can be made arbitrarily large (as large as we please) by taking
→−3
(c) lim ( ) does not exist since the left-hand limit does not equal the right-hand limit.
→2
(d) lim ( ) does not exist since the left-hand limit does not equal the right-hand limit.
→3
(c) lim ( ) = 4 because the limits in part (a) and part (b) are equal.
→−3
(g) lim ( ) does not exist because the limits in part (e) and part (f ) are not equal.
→0
°
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SECTION 2.2 THE LIMIT OF A FUNCTION ¤ 71
(k) ( ) approaches 3 as approaches 5 from the right, so lim+ ( ) = 3.
→5
(l) ( ) does not approach any one number as approaches 5 from the left, so lim− ( ) does not exist.
→5
(c) lim ( ) does not exist because the limits in part (a) and part (b) are not equal.
→0
(f ) lim ( ) does not exist because the limits in part (d) and part (e) are not equal.
→2
the patient’s bloodstream at = 12 h. The left-hand limit represents the amount of the drug just before the fourth injection.
The right-hand limit represents the amount of the drug just after the fourth injection.
11. From the graph of
1+ if −1
( )= 2
if −1 ≤ 1,
2− if ≥ 1
we see that lim ( ) exists for all except − 1. Notice that the
=
→
1 + sin if 0
( ) = cos if 0 ≤ ≤ ,
sin if
we see that lim ( ) exists for all except = . Notice that the
→
°
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72 ¤ CHAPTER 2 LIMITS AND DERIVATIVES
13. (a) lim− ( )=1
→0
2
−3
19. For ( )= :
(− 9
)
2
3 1 0 508 197
3 05 0 504 132 ( )
2 9 0 491 525
3 01 0 500 832 2
− 1
2 95 It appears that lim = .
3 001 0 500 083 0 495 798 →3 3 2
2 99 0 499 165
2 −9
3 0001 0 500 008
2 999 0 499 917
2 9999 0 499 992
°
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SECTION 2.2 THE LIMIT OF A FUNCTION ¤ 73
2
−3
20. For ( )= :
2 −9
( ) ( )
−2 5 −5 −3 5 7
−2 9 −29 −3 1 31
−2 95 −59 −3 05 61 It appears that lim ( ) = −∞ and that
→−3+
−2 99 −299 −3 01 301
2
−2 999 −2999 −3 001 3001
−3
−2 9999 −29,999 −3 0001 30,001 lim ( ) = ∞, so does not exist.
lim
→−3− →−3
5
2 −9
5
−1 (2 + − 32
21. For ( )= : 22. For ( )= :
)
( )
( ( ) (
−0 5 48 812 500
) )
0 5 22 364 988 −0 5 1 835 830 0 5 131 312 500
−0 1 72 390 100
0 1 6 487 213 −0 1 3 934 693 0 1 88 410 100
−0 01 79 203 990
0 01 5 127 110 −0 01 4 877 058 0 01 80 804 010
−0 001 79 920 040
0 001 5 012 521 −0 001 4 987 521 0 001 80 080 040
−0 0001 79 992 000
0 0001 5 001 250 −0 0001 4 998 750 0 0001 80 008 000
5
−1 (2 + )5 − 32
It appears that lim = 5. It appears that lim = 80.
→0 →0
ln − ln 4
23. For ( )= :
−4
( ) ( )
3 9 0 253 178 4 1 0 246 926
3 99 0 250 313 4 01 0 249 688
3 999 0 250 031 4 001 0 249 969
3 9999 0 250 003 4 0001 0 249 997
9
1+
24. For ( )= 15 :
1+
( ) ( )
−1 1 0 427 397 −0 9 0 771 405
−1 01 0 582 008 −0 99 0 617 992
−1 001 0 598 200 −0 999 0 601 800
−1 0001 0 599 820 −0 9999 0 600 180
sin 3
25. For ( )= :
tan 2
( )
sin
±0 1 1 457 847 It appears that lim = 1 5.
3
±0 01 1 499 575
→0 tan
±0 001 1 499 996 2
±0 0001 1 500 000 The graph confirms that result.
26. For ( )= −1
5 :
( )
( ) −0 1 1 486 601
−0 01 1 596 556
0 1 1 746 189
0 01 1 622 459 −0 001 1 608 143
0 001 1 610 734 −0 0001 1 609 308
27. For ( )= :
2
28. For ( )= ln :
cos 2 − cos
29. (a) From the graphs, it seems that lim = −1 5. (b)
→0 2
(
)
±0 1 −1 493 759
±0 01 −1 499 938
±0 001 −1 499 999
±0 0001 −1 500 000
°
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SECTION 2.2 THE LIMIT OF A FUNCTION ¤ 75
sin
30. (a) From the graphs, it seems that lim = 0 32. (b)
→0 sin ( )
±0 1 0 323 068
±0 01 0 318 357
±0 001 0 318 310
±0 0001 0 318 310
+1
31. lim = ∞ since the numerator is positive and the denominator approaches 0 from the positive side as → 5+ .
→5+ −5
+1
32. lim = −∞ since the numerator is positive and the denominator approaches 0 from the negative side as → 5− .
→5− −5
2−
33. lim = ∞ since the numerator is positive and the denominator approaches 0 through positive values as → 1.
→1 ( − 1)2
√
34. lim → 3− .
→3− ( − 3)5 = −∞ since the numerator is positive and the denominator approaches 0 from the negative side as
35. Let = 2
− 9. Then as → 3+ , → 0+ , and lim ln( 2
− 9) = lim ln = −∞ by (5).
→3+ →0+
1 1
37. lim sec = −∞ since is positive and sec → −∞ as → ( 2)+ .
→( 2)+
cos
38. lim cot = lim = −∞ since the numerator is negative and the denominator approaches 0 through positive values
→ − → − sin
−
as → .
39. lim csc = = −∞ since the numerator is positive and the denominator approaches 0 through negative
lim
→2 − →2 − sin
−
values as → 2 .
2
− ( − 2)
40. lim = lim = = −∞ since the numerator is positive and the denominator
2
lim
→2− 2 −4 →2− ( − 2)2 →2− −2
+4
−2 −2
43. lim (ln 2
− ) = −∞ since ln 2
→ −∞ and → ∞ as → 0.
→0
°
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76 ¤ CHAPTER 2 LIMITS AND DERIVATIVES
2 2
+1 +1
44. (a) The denominator of = = is equal to zero when (b)
3 −2 2 (3 − 2 )
1 ( )
45. (a) ( )= .
3 −1 ( ) 1 5 0 42
0 5 −1 14 1 1 3 02
From these calculations, it seems that 0 9 −3 69 1 01 33 0
0 99 −33 7 1 001 333 0
lim− ( ) = −∞ and ( ) = ∞.
→1
lim 0 999 −333 7 1 0001 3333 0
→1+ 0 9999 −3333 7 1 00001 33,333 3
0 99999 −33,333 7
lim− ( ) = −∞ and ( ) = ∞.
→1
lim
→1+
tan 4
46. (a) From the graphs, it seems that lim = 4. (b)
→0
( )
±0 1 4 227 932
±0 01 4 002 135
±0 001 4 000 021
±0 0001 4 000 000
48. (a)
No, because the calculator-produced graph of ( )= + ln | − 4| looks like an exponential function, but the graph of
has an infinite discontinuity at = 4. A second graph, obtained by increasing the numpoints option in Maple, begins
to reveal the discontinuity at = 4.
(b) There isn’t a single graph that shows all the features of . Several graphs are needed since looks like ln | − 4| for
large negative values of and like for 5, but yet has the infinite discontiuity at = 4.
49. For ( )= 2−
(b)
(2 1000): (a)
(
( )
0 04 )
0 000
1 0 998 000 572
0 638 259 0 02
0 8 −0 000
0 01
0 6 0 358 484 614
0 005
0 4 0 158 680 −0 000
0 003 907
0 2 0 038 851
0 001 −0 000
0 1 0 008 928
978
0 05 0 001 465 It appears that lim ( )=
−0 000
0 001. −
It appears that lim ( )= →0
993
0.
→0 −0 001
tan − 000
50. For ( )= 3
:
(a) (b) It seems that lim ( )= 1.
( ) →0 3
1 0 0 557 407 73
0 5 0 370 419 92
0 1 0 334 672 09
0 05 0 333 667 00
0 01 0 333 346 67
0 005 0 333 336 67
°
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78 ¤ CHAPTER 2 LIMITS AND DERIVATIVES
(d) As in part (c), when we take a small enough viewing rectangle we get incorrect output.
51. No matter how many times we zoom in toward the origin, the graphs of ( ) = sin( ) appear to consist of almost-
1 1
52. (a) For any positive integer , if = , then ( ) = tan = tan( ) = 0. (Remember that the tangent function has
period .)
°
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SECTION 2.3 CALCULATING LIMITS USING THE LIMIT LAWS ¤ 79
4
(b) For any nonnegative number , if = , then
(4 + 1)
1 (4 + 1) 4
( ) = tan = tan = tan + = tan + = tan =1
4 4 4 4 4
1
(c) From part (a), ( ) = 0 infinitely often as →0. From part (b), ( ) = 1 infinitely often as → 0. Thus, lim tan
→0
does not exist since ( ) does not get close to a fixed number as → 0.
to ≈ ±0 90). Just as 150◦ is the reference angle for 30◦ , − sin−14 is the
−1 −1
reference angle for sin . So =± − sin are also equations of
4 4
0 −
54. lim = lim . As → , 1− 2 2 → 0+ , and → ∞.
→ − → − 1− 2 2
3
−1
55. (a) Let = .
√ 0 99 5 925 31
−1
0 999 5 992 50
From the table and the graph, we guess 0 9999 5 999 25
that the limit of as approaches 1 is 6. 1 01 6 075 31
1 001 6 007 50
1 0001 6 000 75
3
−
(b) We need to have 5 5 6 5. From the graph we obtain the approximate points of intersection (0 9314 5 5)
1
√
− 1
and (1 0649 6 5). Now 1 − 0 9314 = 0 0686 and 1 0649 − 1 = 0 0649, so by requiring that be within
→2 →2 →2 →2 →2
= 4 + 5(−2) = −6
°
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different content
SORBONNE SERIES, No. 1
criterion of public taste in Art was at this time, certain pictures in the
Luxembourg and the Louvre attest! The jurors and the judges are forgotten.
Puvis de Chavannes, however, is remembered, with the distinguished
company of the Refused—Courbet, Dupré, Baryé, Troyon, Rousseau, Diaz,
Millet, Corot. It was not until he had produced a great number of his
masterpieces that his success was determined—his genius recognised. He
then ceased to be the individual, the sport of vulgar pen and brush, and
became the symbol of his work as the flag is of patriotism. He became a
gift, a force, a glory, which France before his death revered, and which she
justly honours. He was made President of the Academy of Fine Arts at the
new Salon, Champs de Mars, and wore the cross of the Legion of Honour.
It would take volumes to speak in detail of the works of Puvis de
Chavannes. A list of them is as follows. Thus far I think it can be said that
there are no volumes that deal with him or his works technically. The
technique of painting can only be interesting to painters when discussed by
the profession; and such books are almost unknown.
“The Pietà” (1850); “La Paix et la Guerre” (1861); “Travail et Repos”
(1865), in the Musée of Amiens; “Ave Picardia Nutrix” (1865); “Ludus,”
“Pro Patria,” “Doux Pays,” all in the gallery of Picardie (1879); “Marseille,
Porte d’Orient,” and “Marseille, Colonie Grecque”—Marseilles Museum
(1867); “St. Radegonde and Charles Martel”—Hôtel de Ville at Poitiers
(1872); “Ste. Geneviève of the Panthéon, Paris” (1877); “Bois Sacré,” “La
Rhône et La Saône,” “L’Inspiration Chrétienne,”—Musée at Lyons (1883);
“L’Art Céramique,” “Inter Artes et Naturam,” and “Groupe”—Musée at
Rouen (1890-92); “L’Hiver,” “L’Eté,” “Victor Hugo offrant son Lyre à la
Ville de Paris”—Hôtel de Ville, Paris (1893); “Lettres, Arts et Muses”—
Sorbonne Paris (1894). Lastly, another continent called his genius to create
something for its generations to hand down to fame, and for the Boston
Library Puvis de Chavannes painted “Le Génie Messager de Lumière.”
“The Childhood of Ste. Geneviève,” four panels to the glory of the
patron saint of Paris, covers a portion of the right wall of the Panthéon. This
was the first decoration given at the close of the war of the Commune. The
subjects are the pious Childhood, the
“LE REPOS”
(Amiens)
“LA RIVIÈRE”
Consecration, and the Miracles of the Saint; and there are no more
beautiful expressions of religious art in the contemporaneous French
school.
The figures are strong, simple, natural. The background is a summer
landscape, of exquisite loveliness. In the foreground are the rugged, rustic
peasants, the pastoral life, and the pure figure of the child Geneviève. The
atmosphere is tender, the composition dignified and impressive, and the
scenes are pervaded with peace. These pastoral paintings were a new era in
the school of plein air. One does not ask if the setting is an anachronism.
Puvis de Chavannes, to aid him in the production of this masterpiece, read
no histories, studied no text-books regarding the costumes and manners of
the times of the saint. He went to the plain of Nanterre, absorbed himself in
the atmosphere of the country around Paris. The Seine and Mont Valérien
became his background and setting. Then he shut himself in his studio at
Neuilly, where Ste. Geneviève and her people appeared to him as he painted
them on the Panthéon walls. If these pictures suggest the Florentine
renaissance, it is because the monastic religious, the naive simplicity, are
sympathetic with the spirit of the Italian painters. The frescoes are full of a
fine effulgence, animated by a flame as mysterious as that in a virgin’s lamp
before a dim mediæval shrine. He received the order in 1883 to decorate the
staircase in the Palais des Arts at Lyons. He painted the Bois Sacré and the
symbolic figures of the Rhône and the Saône. For this work he received the
sum of 40,000 francs. His expenses were 10,000, and the fresco took him
three years to paint, making about 6000 francs that he was paid for these
splendid works of art—the price that a modern portrait-painter of
distinction would refuse for a picture of one of the beau-monde. This order
completed, the painter looked and waited in vain for new walls and
decorations. “For me,” he said, “the horizon seems to close down upon the
future: there remains nothing for me to do but to battle against indolence;
but if I can inspire youth with the example of a life of labour, not altogether
fruitless, I shall have lived to some purpose.” And again: “They come
slowly,” he said, “these vast spaces whereon I may express myself with
broad, free sweep.” When he first received the order to decorate the
hemicycle of the Amphitheatre of the Sorbonne at a price of 35,000 francs,
he refused, and the committee received a letter of acceptance from him the
next day.
“L’HIVER”
(Salon d’Arrivée, Hôtel de Ville, Paris)
In the meantime he had found his subject; as for the question of the
ridiculous price offered him, he did not even refer to it.
His production was enormous, his energy untiring. After months of
labour he would go to the seaside, and give himself up to rest and
indolence. “In these times I am in despair,” he said, “and feel as though I
should never work again. Delightful as is this repose, it is to the days of
labour that I look back with the greatest pleasure. It seems as though my
power were gone for ever.” This he wrote from Dieppe, where he was
digging shrimps in the sand like a boy. He began his studies for the career
of an artist late. What other men accomplished and put by he saw fulfilled
in his own day. And because of his unusual vigour and fecund power of
production he realised in mature years what to others are the dreams of
youth. It is this juvenance carried into ripe age that gives a virginal
freshness to his painting. His fresco in the Boston Library, as well as the
work upon which he was engaged at the time of his death—“The Old Age
of Ste. Geneviève,” a new series for the Panthéon—far from suggesting
declining power, possess the fresh bloom by which only the young spirit
can make beautiful its creations. The painter had reached an apotheosis of
power. He had been the product of a country whose times are strange and
complex. His land, his race, its blood and tradition generated his genius,
and he leaves to it in turn his glory, and the stirring example of his life, at
the time of his country’s need, it may be well said; and the relics of his
beautiful art will remain, when political crusade, when exaggerated types
and schools are past and forgotten.
JEAN CHARLES CAZIN
I n the month of March 1901, the French painter Jean Charles Cazin died
at Lavandou, a little nook in Southern France on the borders of the
Mediterranean. He was in the plenitude of his talent, in the rich and
mellow prime of his life. He had gone to Lavandou on one of his frequent
voyages in search of change and refreshment; he died there alone.
It is an ancient prayer—“Lord, may I die in my bed,” but rather an
original idea to seek to pass out of life in the very bed where one was born!
This, however, was Cazin’s dream. He had carefully preserved every
beloved detail in the home of his childhood and youth in Samer (Pas-de-
Calais); thither he planned to return and pass his last days. He longed to
inhabit again his boyhood’s room; to go forth for ever surrounded by all that
had welcomed him into a world he was to leave richer for his existence.
Fate disposed otherwise.
He was born in 1846, near Samer, a little town in the neighbourhood of
Boulogne. His parents were well-to-do, his father a doctor of some renown.
Cazin attended the college at Boulogne, and received later his baccalaureate
at Lille.
In order to facilitate his artistic studies his parents sent him to Paris,
where he joined the art class of the beloved Boiscaudron. This teacher’s
influence on his pupils has been enormous. It must be remembered that he
also instructed Rodin and Lhermitte. The tuition was free in the little class
near the École de Médecine, and this studio made hot war against the more
conservative Beaux-Arts.
Cazin never seems to have considered his student days at an end. He was
perpetually learning; for ever pursuing his art as an inexhaustible classic;
seeking to discover and develop new technique; to test to the uttermost his
capacity. Later in life, when long past the student age, he studied in
Antwerp, and his fine figure, with noble head on which the hair was already
turning grey, was constantly seen in the museums, where he wandered—
enjoying the masterpieces he admired and understood.
He married, early, a woman who shared his artistic
THE WINDMILL
tastes, and who herself has added to modern art. He exhibited his first
pictures in the salon of ’65-66, and was also among those men who were in
later years proscribed by the jury, and with his colleagues reaped the
singular benefit of popularity because of adverse criticism, and became a
founder of the new salon, known as the Champ de Mars. He had apparently
no feverish desire to rush before the public, to present creations of his youth
for criticism. Possessed of that rare patience which can wait for fame, he
did not choose to force a future, and put off rather than sought a definite
introduction to the world.
Meanwhile he matured his work, labouring at his canvases during that
fruitful period when hope is most sanguine and talent freshest; he himself
was only timidly appreciative of the work done in the interval between his
appearance in the salon of 1876 and that of 1887.
In 1887, a space of more than ten years from his début, he exhibited “Le
Chantier,” and from this time, with slight interruptions, down to the date of
his death, his abundant work never ceased to delight the public, which
accorded to Cazin the unusual mark of instantaneous favour. His work has
been seen constantly in England; it is very popular in Holland, on the
Continent everywhere, and he has enjoyed a marked success in America.
Later followed “La Fuite en Egypte” (1877), “Le Voyage de Tobie”
(1878), “Le Départ” (1879), “Ismaël” (first medal, 1880), “Tobie” (1880),
“Souvenir de Fate” (1881), “Judith,” “Agar and Ismaël” (1883).
Then followed an interval when the public looked in vain for Cazin’s
name amongst exhibitors. Modern life failed to inoculate this meditative
artist with the fatal haste, the febrile, nervous desire to do everything in a
moment. Nothing disturbed his habits of study and the slow working out of
his ideas. He retired again from public notice to mature his conceptions
before showing them. Art and art alone took Cazin hither and thither on his
frequent capricious voyages.
It was as though, suddenly, in a dream, some landscape beckoned him—
an Italian evening or a moonlit dyke it might be summoned him; for with
little warning he was in Paris to-day, in Tuscany to-morrow. Fortunately he
had a family who not only understood his brusque departures, but who
enjoyed the journeys
A PICARDY VILLAGE
as well as did the master himself. He was in every land a student; in the
Pays Bas he was an ardent painter, in Italy a constant visitor at the galleries
and museums, in England a potter. The art of ceramics always strongly
interested him, and he has proved himself a clever exponent of it.
For a Frenchman he travelled widely, making many trips to Holland and
Flanders, Italy and England. He was keenly appreciative of the art with
which these countries teemed, and studied with benefit to his own methods
the Flemish and Dutch masters as seen in the Pays Bas—his imagination
impressed by the sober stretches of Netherland landscapes, by the velvet
seductiveness of Italian hillsides and golden towns, and the misty loveliness
of English country. Of Holland he has left us numerous admirable studies,
etchings, pictures—the mills and the flat meadows, melancholy dyke lines,
scenes on the Zuyder Zee and in Amsterdam. All these are familiar and
delightful to his admirers. Possibly he has produced no more perfect piece
of work than the picture called “Moonlight on the Zuyder Zee.”
Holland, so long a school and educator and inspirer of landscape
painters, has found no modern more quick to represent her country or more
appreciative of its native art than Cazin. There is in his work a suggestion of
the spirit of the masters of Holland and Flanders far away and removed as
he is by his mysticism and the ephemeral handling of colour from the frank
colourists of the Dutch School. There is the minute attention to detail, the
clever value given to scheme, the massing of much in small compass, the
master art of concentrating on the important point. When the painting is
analysed the critic discovers that every detail is scrupulously studied.
Italy inflamed him with a love for symbolic subjects. The spirituality of
the old masters was an evident inspiration to him. But, in considering
Cazin, while interested to trace the different elements he found sympathetic
and appealing, one fails to discover anything to detract from Cazin’s own
absolute originality.
England, eminently connoisseur of landscape painting, has seen fit to
approve Cazin. His exhibition in London was received with the most
flattering appreciation. England knew Cazin for one of those foreigners who
had adopted London as a dwelling-place, and who was in sympathetic touch
with the English people.
THE DEATH CHAMBER OF GAMBETTA
MOONLIGHT
welcome and liking with which his work was met, his own family relations
(of the most happy and genial kind), all is evident in his art. His pictures are
full of the influence of the repose—“la douceur infinie qui répand les âmes
qui sont en paix.”
Cazin possessed a strongly developed decorative sense. His
contemporaries appreciated it when they gave him the supervision of the
hanging of pictures at the different exhibitions and made him conservateur
of the Musée du Luxembourg itself. This special sense is evident in his
work, as, for example, the grouping in “L’Ours et l’Amateur des Jardins,”
“La Parole de Socrate,” in the drawings and studies for his various pictures,
designs which in many instances strongly suggest fresco and are Italian in
their genre.
Until 1888 his subjects had been chiefly symbolic, chosen from Biblical
scenes; figures predominated in these canvases. After this period the
character of his work changed, and he devoted himself to landscape
painting, and as a landscapist he will pass down to fame. For Cazin chose to
surround his conception of figure-painting with the very acme of his art;
with the fruit of years of patience, the mystery of labour and all that his
poetic soul knew of the seasons and of changing nights and days. For even
in the most important canvases, where figures fill the foreground, the value
of the paintings is in their backgrounds and surroundings.
Take, for example, “Agar and Ismaël in the Desert.” In the picture the
eye leaves the group of desolate mother and child for the country’s
desolation, the arid sand world, dangerous, sinister—the parching sky, the
pitiful scrub growth. The thought of the narrative is lost in Cazin’s
delineation of the landscape, in the atmosphere and painting of the picture,
and in its subtle composition.
As a rule, for the human drama the scene is the setting, whereas with
Cazin humanity illustrates the text of his creation. His landscapes, his
fields, meadows, dunes, deserts, are the picture, and the figures become
subordinate, suggestive, taking their character from the character of the soil
and country.
The streets of the rustic villages have spoken to Cazin, and told him their
secrets at evening time. His studies of the little town near his native village
are especially lovely. These French parishes have whispered their mysteries,
as twilight, slipping from gold to grey, steals down the twisting lanes. Cazin
has caught
the sadness of the country, its monotonous desolation, as well as its repose.
The pictures in themselves are almost narrative; the wide slopes of bare
meadow after harvesting, the sombre note of little pine-clusters on a sandy
hill, and the melancholy of the dyke lands, his own country has spoken to
him as a mother to a son who understood and who will interpret her well.
See the “Ruisseau en Picardie,” “Lac en Picardie,” “Route près d’Equihen,”
“Moonlight at Equihen.” It is into these sympathetic surroundings that he
introduced the studies he cared to make of human life, Biblical subjects and
a few classic themes. These are not anachronisms, strictly speaking, but
show a modern spirit, which places his conception of Christ amongst men
and women of to-day, as Rembrandt placed his religious pictures in the land
of his birth, which makes the divine legend suddenly appear in the centre of
the Norman wheat-field, or sends Mary and Joseph with the Holy Child by
moonlight from a little provincial farm in Picardy. Tobias by a French
riverside walks with a celestial visitor. Judith is a woman of the people, and
nothing but the essence of tradition may be read in Cazin’s popularising of
Bible story, in his introduction of Hebraic legend to the scenes and actors of
humble, everyday peasant life. His painting of “Judith” was originally
intended for the Gobelin manufactories.
Despite the fact that his mind was full of his historic and epic legend,
and that dramatic subjects constantly presented themselves to his attention
as schemes for pictures, his trend towards landscape was too strong, and it
is extremely interesting to observe this impassioned hero-worshipper
carried toward his dreamy, peaceful current which became his inevitable
course. As the painter of lovely landscapes, Cazin is known chiefly as the
portrayer of moon-setting and falling rain on a far, unknown country side.
Some one has said, “Turn a hundred painters loose in France before their
respective bents have been decided—and ninety-nine will be landscape
painters.”
So paintable is the French country, so seductive to the senses and
imagination, that the land germinates and brings forth the very finest fruit of
open-air painting: witness Troyon, Daubigny, Corot, Lorrain, Poussin, Puvis
de Chavannes, Cazin.
Cazin had a magnificent head. His eyes were blue, his features finely
chiselled and strong. His manners were most charming, and he was widely
beloved.
RODIN
there are countless figurines, little groups, ébauches, studies, schemes for
old and new work, heads, torsos in plaster, marble, bronze, iron, and stone;
whilst about the walls are hung the photographs of works not exhibited and
the drawings of the sculptor.
The acknowledgment and recognition by Paris of her great son has not
come too late. In spite of the fact that he has been for forty years an object
of intense, displayed hatred (“so keen a hate,” he says, “that if Paris had
been Italy in the time of the Borgia, I should have been poisoned”), in spite
of the enmity of artists and populace, this tardy reception finds him
unembittered, his temper warm and human, and with hand quick and
outstretched to the tardy greeting. The man himself is so simple, so great,
that he is even touched by the long-denied meed of praise.
Standing before the head of “L’Homme au Nez Cassé” (curiously
enough the milestone of his first defeat, refused by the Salon in 1864), his
masterpieces all around him, in the mellow light of the autumn sun falling