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CEZANNE

by

EDWARD ALDEN JEWELL

$3.00

CEZANNE

by EDWARD ALDEN JEWELL

Modernism's debt to Paul Cezanne is enormous and many-faceted. He is justly called "the father of Modern Art," who before relinquishing his brush in death, pointed the onward way. His great paint- ings, notably some of the landscapes and still-lifes, could be appreciated as having been wrought by a man noble in aspiration and often superb in ac- complishment. He was strong in the strength of an individual style, a personal power to create.

This is the first monograph on Cezanne to be com- piled which contains pictures to be found only in American collections. Many of his best paintings have in late years found a haven in our galleries thus completing our rich representation of this master's work. The eight reproductions in full- color and the forty-eight black and white half-tone lithographs exhibited in this volume are the final choice made from hundreds of works of art owned by famous private collectors and institutions in America. Many of them have never been repro- duced before.

Edward Alden Jewell is the art critic of "The New York Times" and has been writing a distinguished column for many years. Thanks to the enthusiastic co-operation of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, The Art Institute of Chicago, Durand-Ruel, New York, The Fogg Museum of Art, Cambridge, The Frick Collection, the Honolulu Academy of Arts, The Lewisohn Collection, The Chester Dale Col- lection, the National Gallery of Art, Washington,

( Continued on back flap )

Published by THE HYPERION PRESS

Distributed h\ DUELL, SLOAN and PEARCE

New York

Property of The Hilla von Rebay Foundation

VASE OF FLOWERS c. 1876 Oil 28%" x23y2"

Courtesy of The National Gallery of Art, Washin%ton> D. C, Chester Dale Collection (Loan)

PAUL

CEZANNE

by

EDWARD ALDEN JEWELL

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Q^JL^cA^o-^\

Published by

THE HYPERION PRESS

Distributed by

DUELL, SLOAN and PEARCE NEW YORK

THIS VOLUME,

ONE OF THE HYPERION ART MONOGRAPHS,

WAS EDITED BY AIMEE CRANE

AND PUBLISHED IN MCMXLIV FOR

THE HYPERION PRESS

CEZANNE

h

EDWARD ALDEN JEWELL

y "tr njhk great post-impressionist painters, them, were strange. Men of genius inv Jl I suppose, in some respects at least.

all four of variably are, ppose, in some respects at least. Of course "strange" is a not too explicit term. As applied to these artists — Cezanne, Seurat, Gauguin and Van Gogh — its sense ranges from hermit-like sequestration to madness. The point of divergence from what we also inexplicitly speak of as the human "norm" need not be labored. But it is per- haps interesting enough to warrant our making note of the matter as prelude to the pages that follow. Contrasted with great contemporaries of theirs such as Renoir and Corot, these four Post-Impressionists confront us with curious psychological problems.

Most "dramatic" were the lives of Vincent Van Gogh and Gauguin, the sensational elements of which have been so widely publicized. We are well acquainted with the tragic circumstances that shaped Vincent's last years: his religious fanaticism; his hallucinations and sun-drenched, demented frenzies at Aries; his incarceration in an asylum at Saint- Rt-my, and the desperate bungled suicide at Auvers. Like- wise thrice familiar to us is Gauguin's turbulent career: his relinquishment of economic security in the interest of becoming a painter; the subsequent abandonment of his family and the "flight from civilization;" his romantic but harried and disease-blighted existence in the South Seas; death and lonely burial in that alien "paradise."

No such violent developments marked the careers of Georges Seurat and Paul Cezanne. Seurat appears to have been at heart a recluse: a strange spirit, indwelling, mor- bidly secretive, remote, laboring endlessly alone by lamp- light over the little dots of his pointillist science. As for Cezanne, after a not extraordinarily eventful youth, and, having become an artist, after ardently repeated vain attempts to achieve success in Paris, he retired to his native province in southern France and seldom, during his last years, emerged from a solitude dedicated to the always painful effort to "realize" in terms of paint. "Old Hermit of Aix," they called him.

Paul Cezanne was born in January of the year 1839 in

Aix-en-Provence. His father, Louis-Auguste, was at that time a prosperous hat merchant and afterward became a still more affluent banker. The family was well-to-do, and Paul, throughout his life, had no financial difficulties worth mentioning here.

The impulse to express himself as an artist began to be revealed when he was a small child, though later on, as a schoolboy, he appears not to have made any conspicuous officially recognized progress in that direction. Gerstle Mack, in his superbly thorough biography, suggests that young Paul's art work produced in the classes of the College Bourbon at Aix may, even then, have contained a germ of "power and originality" that proved disconcerting to his academic teach- ers. This, in any event, was only a very mild taste of what was to come.

With formal education finished in 1858, when he was about 20, the question of settling to his life work stood next in order. By this time Paul Cezanne knew definitely that he wanted, more than anything else, to paint. But Pt-re Cezanne had sharply conflicting ideas on the subject. He expected Paul to become a banker, ultimately to succeed him in this lucrative business. If he didn't want to be a banker, then Paul should choose some other respectable profession, pref- erably the law. They fought it out, and Louis-Auguste won. But that did not mean the issue was settled for good.

Paul miserably complied and, choosing "the lesser of two evils," studied law for three years. All this time, though, secretly encouraged by his devoted mother and by his sister Marie, he continued by every means possible to undermine his father's resistance. And at last the unequal struggle came to an end. In 1861 the glorious objective was attained: Paris, where Zola, the closest friend of Paul's youth, was struggling to establish himself as a writer. Paul received an allowance and was granted his freedom: to paint, to make of his life what he saw fit — though all this, from Ix>uis-Auguste's point of view, was calamitous and would end badly.

Nor, on Paul Cezanne's side did the so eagerly antici- pated Paris venture turn out to be smooth sailing. At first he saw a great deal of Zola; after a time, less and less, until

$

finally, years later, there came a complete break between them.

He entered the Atelier Suisse, an informal sort of school, without instruction of the customary kind. Students just went there ami painted. Paul was a prodigious worker; remained so all his life. But he was far from satisfied with the progress made. Zola, at one stage, posed for him. The por- trait was a failure, and Cezanne, in one of his rages, destroyed it. He blew hot and cold about Paris. There was the Louvre, and he spent much time there with the old masters. There u.is Entile Zola, but for some reason their friendship was no longer what it had been when they were carefree, dreaming youths. Zola is quoted as having once remarked:

"1 le is made all of a piece, rigid and hard.* ** To convince him of anything is like trying to persuade the towers of Notre Dame to dame a quadrille * * * Here he is, thrown into life, bringing to it certain ideas, unwilling to change them except on his own judgment; at the same time remaining the kind- est fellow in the world, always agreeing with you in speech because of his dislike of arguments, but thinking his own thoughts unmoved."

And Gerstle Mack, who publishes the letter from which quotation has just been made, sums it up thus: "His temper cut him off from the joys of peaceful understanding friend- ship, from the pleasures of good, idle, rambling talk over a glass of wine and a pipe." Further: "Few men have lived so consistently detached from the outside world as Paul Cezanne. * * * It might be said that he and his painting were enclosed in a sort of vacuum, from which everything else in life was excluded. But within that vacuum what titanic struggles took place!"

By autumn of the same year he was back in Aix again. And discouragement paved the way to his capitulating and accepting a job as clerk in his father's bank. He stuck at that for a year. But the desire to be an artist burned as fiercely as ever within him. The margins of the bank ledgers were scribbled with sketches and bits of verse. He continued to paint. I.ouis-Auguste saw that it was hopeless. In the autumn of 1862 Cezanne returned to Paris, staying there much longer than before.

And it was during this period that he met some of the younger painters, who, likewise in revolt against academic procedure, were eventually to become known as the Impres- sionists. He sought admission to the Beaux-Arts but couldn't make the entrance grade. This isn't to be wondered at, since the Beaux-Arts was the center of academism and at this time Paul Cezanne was flinging paint on canvas in, for the most part, a savage, undisciplined effort to create big romantic "literary" themes of his own imagining; themes (save for a few sober portraits) of violence, of brooding or even screaming Baroque impetuosity.

He submitted pictures to the official Salon, which were promptly rejected. He fought the Salon, writing strong letters of protest and demanding that the Salon des Refuses of 1863 be resumed. All this got him nowhere.

In 1871, despite his neurotic horror of entangling human relationships — his constant fear lest people "get their hooks

in him" — C6zanne was living with Hortense Fiquet, who afterward became his wife. Their son, Paul, was born in 1872.

With respect to art, the years 1872-74 brought an impor- tant turning point. These years were spent working with Pissarro at Auvers-sur-Oise. And it was under this benign influence that Cezanne renounced his former impetuous manner of painting; yielded to the discipline of Pissarro's orderly "science." It was vital on two counts, the impression- ist experience at Auvers. His palette was lightened, and Cezanne developed, under Pissarro's guidance, a brush tech- nique that, with modifications and adaptations, was retained; also, the experience taught him to go to nature for his motifs, instead of attempting, as before, to "realize" on the basis alone of ideas generated within himself.

But the "science" of Impressionism, about which I have written at some length elsewhere, could not permanently hold Cezanne. He was not content to paint just the realistic shimmer of surfaces. With increasing ardor he sought the solid substance beneath; and it was this quest that, if tending more and more toward the abstract, carried him through all the remaining years of his life. Doggedly, slowly — often in

THE LOVE OF PUGET

1888-95 Pencil drawing \9\i" xU%"

Courtesy of The Brooklyn Museum, New York

despair, yet with unconquerable courage — he continued to strive, now in Paris, now in Aix or elsewhere, to tether in paint a vision that, clearly apprehended at last, was his own.

Success, in the sense of recognition, was consistently withheld. When Cezanne exhibited with the Impressionists,

critics would single him out tor their most vitriolic blasts. He was called a madman. Someone Suggested that he must have delirium tremens. I \ en as the true Impressionists, and others associated with them, gained public toleration

and half-grudging favor, Cezanne'a name still was anathema. "People stand in trout of Cezanne'a pictures in order to have a good laugh."

After 1877 he did not exhibit with the Impressionists. Except tor a painting that got into the Salon "by the back door" in 1882, and one that vicariously entered the Exposi- tion Universelle ot 1889 (both occasioning not the slightest stir) Cezanne's work was not exhibited in France for nearly two decades. Gerstle Mack tells us that "as far as the public was concerned, the interval was a period of complete isola- tion tor Ce/anne."

It was just as well. The abuse heaped upon him hurt. Failure to secure recognition had entailed many a heartache. But Cezanne, withdrawing into himself, prospered spirit-

l>

THE MERCURY OF PIG 11. 1. E

1879-82 Drawing lr7-\-." \ H>' ■ Courtesy of Weyhe Gallery, Xew York

u.illy. The hard way and there could have been in his t .ise no other DTOVed tor him the wa\ oi s.ilv.ition.

On the material tide he had fen worries, lbs father, who died in 1886, had kept him financially independent snd left

him well provided for. lbs mother died eleven yean later.

In isi's he went n> Paris, remaining dure about a year.

Returned, he did not leave \i\ again e\iept for one |hoN absence in 1904,

( >t his native Provence, which he loved so deeply, he had

once said: "When one has been born down there, nothing else is worth much."

Cezanne died at Aix in 1906, aged 67.

lbs development as a painter tails roughly, as I see it, into four phases, which have been touched upon in the tore going pages. In his youth, inclined to be fiery and governed by the intenser sort of enthusiasms, it was Cezanne'a over- whelming desire, as we have seen, to paint great dark Baroque subjects. These indicate what might have been the direction of his continued growth had he not shifted his whole approach, to become the Cezanne we chiefly know today.

The principal inspiration then was furnished by masters such as Delacroix, Rubens, and the Venetians. The themes have been aptly described as "inner visions," antecedent to the practice of directly contemplating nature. In those early pictures his approach to nature was not direct, but in- stead that of a poet aspiring, without the necessary techni- cal equipment, to take by storm peaks of imaginative, often fantastic, attainment hopelessly out of reach. In Roger Fry's opinion public encouragement prompting Cezanne to persist in this direction "might have deprived us of the greatest master of modern times." Cezanne, though utterly sincere, was groping. He had not yet found himself.

He did not begin really to find himself until, associated with Pissarro, he adopted the direct approach to nature. But, as I have tried to show, the working out of that method proved far less simple than it may have looked at first. The little patiently applied brushstrokes might come gradually to supplant an earlier broad lathering and plastering on of paint. With this new technique one might learn to imitate the effects of light. Vet Cezanne as he proceeded felt with augmenting assurance that there is more to nature than out- ward "effects. " Through these his eye must pierce till it had come to grips with the forms beneath. It meant that his problem concerned, in the long run, not appearances, but rather abstract form itself and abstract space. What it most clearly meant was that a new "inner vision" was now seeking release.

Of the persistence of this vision within himself, new though the guise it took, Ce/anne seems sometimes to have been fully cognizant. True, in a letter, written near the close of his life to Entile Bernard, he said: "For progress towards realization there is nothing but nature, ami the eve becomes educated through contact with her." Vet in another letter to Bernard, in the same year (1904) Cezanne acknowledg

that for the artist external nature is not all. While "one cannot be too scrupulous, too sincere, or too humble before nature, one is more or less master of one's model, and above all of one's means of expression.'' Yes, "one must penetrate what is in front of one and persevere in expressing oneselj ;is logically as possible." Me has also, somewhere, spoken ot the creative expression that docs not imitate, but instead that parallels nature.

From the Auvers period onward, Cezanne seldom attempt- ed to paint without a model (whether fruit, flowers, a moun- tain, or the human form). Without these he would fumble again, as in his youth, and be lost. All through the years, it is true, the old urge toward imaginative motifs persisted, and would sometimes become openly recrudescent, as in those late ambitious compositions of bathers — -which, however noble in spirit, desperately publish the fact that he had turned away from the direct approach to nature and was help- lessly striving without models.

It might be said, and I think reasonably, that everything Ct/anne created was shaped, in one way or another, by em- battled elements of conflict within. I am by no means the first to point out that Cezanne seems to have been powerless fully and triumphantly to "realize" on the basis alone of inner propulsion. To this must be attributed the relative failure of those grandiose dreams of his youth. Like Courbet (though the results were quite divergent) he "could not con- vincingly paint what was not before his eyes." That, by the way, is why Courbet would not try to paint an angel: it just wasn't there. With whatever vehemence Cezanne might repu- diate verisimilitude, hiss point of departure had nevertheless to be concrete actuality. His creative "sensations" must be experienced "in the presence of nature."

On the other hand, I think that at all times Cezanne was a subjective artist — even when, confronted with nature itself, he tried so hard to "realize" what he called his motifs. Cezanne was never objective in the sense that applies to painters who try literally to set down what is before them. Cezanne always reorganized. He simplified, distorting freely when the design, for his purposes, called for distortion. He followed his innate architectonic sense, however much it might appear that he was dependent upon the object — land- scape or still-life or a human sitter.

The upshot shows some curious and I believe significant aspects. Although Cezanne was so passionately devoted to his sovereign desire to create art, there yet appears something strangely passionless in his impartial attitude toward subject. Any model (save the nude, of which he had an odd sort of neurotic fear) would serve his purpose, if only he could keep it before him long enough — for he worked with painful de- liberation. Landscape was tractable, especially in Provence, where, as he once mentioned to Pissarro, "vegetation does not change," so that months could be spent on a single canvas. Generally tractable, too, were objects assembled for still- life. Fruit, of course, does unfortunately decay. And Vollard

GUILLAUMIN WITH THE HANGED MAN 1873 Etching 6%"xW Courtesy of The Art Institute of Chicago, The Albert Rouillier

Memorial Collection

tells us that Cezanne didn't hesitate to use artificial flowers, or, when even these failed him by fading, illustrations in magazines.

In the human realm difficulties not always surmountable were encountered. In painting a portrait he would insist, with ominous flourishes of the palette knife, upon a sitter's remaining absolutely, for hours at a stretch, immobile, "like an apple." One never knew when in rage he might slash a canvas to shreds, or fling it out of the window. Mme. Cezanne must have been patience itself, for she posed for numerous portraits, not all of which, despite that phenomenal patience of hers, were brought to completion. It must have been truly dreadful, posing for Cezanne.

Vollard gives us some idea of the lengths to which the artist would go in carrying out his complex plan. Two little spots of bare canvas remain on the hand in Vollard's portrait. "Don't you see," Cezanne is quoted as explaining, "that if I put something there by guesswork, I might have to paint the whole canvas over starting at that point?"

Vollard confides that "the prospect made me tremble." The painting of his portrait required, as it was, 115 sittings.

I have alluded to all this not by way of dwelling upon the

8

ordeal through which a human sitter had to pass who posed for Cezanne. The point I would make is that in his mature painting Cezanne approached every subject with the same dispassionate wish just to "realize" ideas that formed in his own head; ideas founded on what might be Called plastic geometry. Cezanne saw in terms of volumes, planes, and space. He did awav with aerial perspective. He established recession from the picture plane by means of a system <>t modulated color or the use of different colors to mark the receding planes. He sought "eternal verities," impersonal except in the sense that they were personal with him.

M.mv of the landscapes are magnificent. So are main ol the austere or more sensuous still-hfes. Figure subjects such as those constituting the "Card Players" scries are superblv designed and very solidly painted. Most of the portraits fail, as such, because of the very nature of his approach. He portrayed a human sitter just as he would poitraj Mont Ste.-Yictoire or an apple. His consuming interest lav, as I have said, in volumes, planes, space, design. And while all of these abstract qualities are of first-rate importance in art, and could not be dispensed with, the sum of them, without that vital "something else," can never reveal for us true- inward human character.

\o« and then, let us concede, Cezanne did more palpablv succeed in this respect, exploring deeper strata of an individual spirit. To some extent, maybe, this is true of the marve- lously constructed portrait of M. Gershoy. It is particularly trvie in the instance of certain self-portraits. But I think it fair and even urgent to say that in Cezanne's work we en- counter little indeed that bears any profound relationship to living flesh and blood. It is because of this transcendent, coldly calculating concern with architectonic problems of "picture-making" that he differs so drastically from an artist such as Rembrandt.

Through endless contemplation of nature Cezanne gleaned elements that, freely transformed, mastered, could be shaped to the requirements of his own splendid scheme of abstract values, to his heart's desire. From a human point of view,

Water-color sketch Courtesy of Erich Maria Remarque, New '.

Water-color sket< h

Courtesy of Erich Maria Remarque, Xe:c York

many of the portraits (especially of Mine. Cezanne, his most frequent sitter) are little more than travesties, however arresting as purely plastic accomplishment the result may be deemed.

The fourth phase of Cezanne's development, to which I have referred, embodies the increasingly abstract expression toward which he moved during the final years. This trend is best illustrated in landscapes of that period. Some ol these are almost pure essence abstractions, slenderly equipped indeed with representational signposts by means of which one might "recognize" the specific scene studied by the artist. The difference between them and earlier landscapes is striking. Subtle suggestion now is everything, both in oils and in certain diaphanous water-colors, water-colors at once so delicate and so firm in their short-hand delineation of solid earth forms.

Cezanne's theory it was, frequently cited, that all nature could be reduced to the sphere, the cone, and the cylinder. This concept we find more generally applied in his work; its application, I mean, goes back much further than the latest period about which we are now speaking. It may often be sensed especially in still-lifes. With that in mind, and the much more loosely brushed late abstractions, we are tempted to speculate concerning development of a radical nature that all this seems to adumbrate.

While no one, of course, can be certain that Cezanne would ever have traveled altogether beyond the realm of outward or visible actuality, it is fascinating to entertain the possibility that, had he lived a decade or so longer, in full command of his creative power, he might, himself, have "invented" Cubism. Be that as it may, one need I think hardly qualify the assertion that those late abstract land- scapes and the sphere-cone-cylinder principle constitute the source to which, a generation thence, Picasso and Braquc turned; the base on which were predicated their cubist ex- periments. Modernism's debt to C< v.inne is enormous and many-faceted. Cezanne it was, justly called "the father ol

Modern Art," who, before relinquishing his brush in death, pointed the onward way.

A word might be added concerning my own fluid atti- tude toward Cezanne's work. It has passed through a cycle of transformation since 1928, when, under the xgis of Roger Fry and Julius Meier -Graefe in particular, I sailed off, exalted, into the empyrean, and spoke of Cezanne's plastic

metry as a matter of planets and starry cosmic space. One could not, I pronounced, escape, contemplating pic- tures by Ct'/anne, "the awe that at times clutches in the throat of even a seasoned astronomer." A year thence, still on the side of ecstasy, I could affirm that "each apple had arrived at its destination in a miniature universe.'-' But by the time Mr. Bulliet decided that through all the ages only Rembrandt, Kl Greco, Michelangelo, and Giotto were of Cezanne's "stature," I found that I had begun to calm down.

In 1931, writing about the respective approaches of Van Gogh and Ct'/anne to color, I was ready to ask: "Have we any evidence that the Hermit of Aix ever missed a pulsebeat over the radiance of a flowering orchard?" Though it might amount to heresy, I confessed being not moved as before by Ct zanne's geometrical system. I doubted whether genius of the most transcendent sort flashed through every least

stroke of a laborious brush. Such superlatives should go.

Finally, in 1934, visiting a large Cezanne exhibition in Philadelphia, I suddenly felt that the whole problem had, for me, become resolved. For years I had, if with a troubled and less and less resolute mind, subscribed to the prevailing attitude of hush and awe. All at once my eyes were opened to a new vision of the master, who had ceased to be some kind of superhuman demi-god. With a sigh I let it all go, and confessed that this renunciation was followed by a curi- ous peace of mind: "I was free of the Cezanne albatross."

No longer did Cezanne's work seem to me but "a labored critical figment." The great paintings, notably some of the landscapes and still-lifes, could be appreciated as having been wrought by a man noble in aspiration and often superb in accomplishment. Like the other great nineteenth-century French artists, he was strong in the strength of an individual style, a personal power to create. Cezanne was just . . . (Kzanne.

There is a charming little anecdote, often quoted, which sums up so well my present attitude that I should like it to stand as my last word in this brief survey. A Frenchman and his son were riding, and saw, near at hand, an artist at his easel in a field. The boy said: "Look, there's Cezanne!" How, the father asked, could the boy be sure? The reply was perfect: "Well, don't you see he is painting a Cezanne?"

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Albert C. Barnes and Violette de Mazia, The Art of Cezanne. New

York, 1939, Harcourt, Brace and Co. Emile Bernard, Souvenirs sur Paul Cezanne. Paris, 1926, R. G.

Michel. Fritz Burger, Cezanne, una1 Hodler. Miinchen, 1913, Delphin-

Yerlag. Cezanne. Paris, 1914, Bernheim-Jeune. Texte d'Octave Mirbeau,

Theodore Duret, Leon Werth, Frantz Jourdan. Cezanne, Gauguin, Seurat and Fan Gogh. First Loan Exhibition,

November 1929. New York, 1929, Museum of Modern Art.

Foreword by Alfred H. Barr, Jr. Cezanne (Issue on Cezanne), l' Amour de I 'Art. Paris, May 1936,

Editions A. Sedrowski. Paul Cezanne. London, 1929, The Studio, Ltd. Text by Anthony

Bertram. Adrien Chappius, Dessins de Paul Cezanne. Paris, 1938, Editions

des Chroniques du Jour. Gustave Coquiot, Cezanne. Paris, 19 1 9, Ollendorf. Elie Faure, Cezanne. New York, 1913, Association of American

Painters and Sculptors, Inc. Translated by Walter Pach. Elie Faure, Cezanne. Paris, 1926, G. Cres et Cie. Elie Faure, Cezanne. Paris, 1936, G. Cres et Cie. (Text in French

and English.) •Roger Eliot Fry, Cezanne, a Study 0/ His Development. New York,

. :-, Macmillan Co. Joachim Gasquet, Cezanne. Paris, 1921, Bernheim-Jeune. Joachim Gasquet, Cezanne. Paris, 1927, F. Sant Andrea. Joachim Gasquet, Cezanne. Berlin, 1930, Bruno Cassirer Verlag. Hans Graber, Paul Cezanne, Xach Eigenen und Fremden Zeugnissen.

I, 1942, Benno Schwabe & Co., Verlag. Tristan 1.. Klingsor, Cezanne. Paris, 1923, Rieder. Tristan I.. Klingsor, Cezanne. New York, 1024, l)odd, Mead & Co. Leo Largui< . >/<■ 0» le Drome de la Peinture. Paris, no date.

Editions Denoel et Steele. I 0 Larguier, l.e Dimanche avec Paul Cezanne. Paris, 1925, L'Edition.

*Gerstle Mack, Cezanne. New York, 1936, Alfred A. Knopf. Gerstle Mack, La Vie de Paul Cezanne. Paris, 1938, Gallimard.

Translated from the English by Nancy Bouwens. Julius Meier-Graefe, Cezanne. Miinchen, 1923, R. Piper & Co. *Julius Meier-Graefe, Cezanne. New York, 1927, Charles Scribner's

Sons. Translated from the German by J. Holroyd-Reece. Fritz Novotnv, Cezanne. Vienna, 1938, Verlag von Anton Schroll

&Co. Fritz Novotny and Ludwig Goldscheider, Cezanne. New York,

1937, Oxford University Press. Eugenio D'Ors, Cezanne. Paris, 1930, Editions des Chroniques du

Jour. Translated from Spanish to French by De Francesco

Amunategiu. Kurt Pfister, Cezanne, Gestalt, Werk, Mythos. Potsdam, 1927,

Gustav Kiepenheuer Verlag. Maurice Raynal, Cezanne. Paris, 1936, Editions de Cluny. Maurice Raynal, Cezanne. Paris, 1939, Albert Skira. (Les Tresors

de la Peinture Francaise.) John Rewald, Cezanne et Zola. Paris, 1936, Editions A. Sedrowski. John Rewald, ed., Paul Cezanne Correspondance. Paris, 1937, Edi- tions Bernard Grasset. John Rewald, ed., Paul Cezanne Letters. London, 1941, Bruno

Cassirer. Translated from the French by Marguerite Kay. Georges Riviere, Cezanne, le Peintre Solitaire. Paris, 1936, H.

Floury. Georges Riviere, Le Maitre Paul Cezanne. Paris, 1923, H. Floury. Lionello Venturi, Cezanne. Paris, 1936, Paul Rosenberg, Editeur.

2 vols. Ambroise Vollard, Cezanne. Paris, 1914, Galerie A. Vollard. Ambroise Vollard, Cezanne. Paris, 1924, G. Cres et Cie. *Ambroise Vollard, Paul Cezanne, His Life and Art. New York,

1937, Crown Publishers. Translated by Harold L. Van Doren. Ambroise Vollard, Unit Phototypes d'apres Cezanne. Paris, 1919,

G. Cres et Cie. H. Yon Wedderkop, Cezanne. Leipzig, 1922, Klinkhardt & Biermann.

* Reference in the text.

IO

i TILL 1. 1 11'.

c. 1890 Oil 2SW x31M" Horud Gallery of Art, Washington, D. <?., Chester Dale Collect: , . /. m)

CIRf. Ill Til .1 DO I. L

1900-02 Oil 29V x 24"

Courtesy of The Honolulu Academy of Arts

B'jY WITH .1 STRAW II. IT

1896 oil 27M"x23 '

Courtesy of Mr. J. Stransky, N York

MME. CI-:/.. 1\ VE TN THE GREENHOUSE

Collection of Mr. Stephen C. Clark, New York

1890 Oil 36-V'x29

s

UXCLE DOM IMC AS .1 MONK

Copyright The Frick Collection, Xew York

c. 1865-67 Oil 25" x 21"

15

LA TAXTE MARIE

[6

Courtesy of The City Art Museum, St. Louis

1867-69 Oil 2l"xUy2"

ril.L.-IC.F. OF G.IRD.ISSF.

Collection of The Brooklyn Museum, NtVD

1885-86 Oil 36>_;"x30"

IS

i II \ TE-l'ICT01RE MOUNT. II V Oil 25 %" x 32 V8"

The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, H. 0. Havemeyer Collection

ALTERS, SMALL HOUSES c. 1881 Oil ISWxll"

The Fogg Museum of Art, Harvard University, Bequest of Annie S. Coburn

19

THE GLADE

c. 1892-96 Oil 39%"x32^" The Toledo Museum of Art, Edward Drummond Libbey Collection

20

THE BASKET OF APPLES 1885 Oil 24^" x 31".

The Art Institute of Chicago, Helen Birch Bartlett Memorial Collection

Water-color sketch Courtesy of Erich Maria Remarque, New York

21

BOTHERS

Water-color 7y2" x 10 M" Courtesy of Dr. and Mrs. Leslie M. Maitland, Bel-Air, Los Angeles

Water-color sketch Courtesy of Erich Maria Remarque, New York

22

PORTRAIT Of MADAME CEZANNE

Collection of Sam Salz, New York Colorplaie: Fortune Magazine

1883 S7 Oil is i," x IS"

i

%

THE tRTISrS 1 .11' HER

ft .. i T "

1863 Oil 65 H x4S

Collection of Raymond Pitcairn. B>\>i Athyn

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST BEFORE HIS EASEL

Courtesy of Bignou Gafferyt Xrx York

1885-87 Oil 36" x 2*

THE COTTAGE IN THE TREES

Courtesy of Durand-Rue/, New York

1873 Oil 24" x \9H"

PORTRAIT OF HENRI GAS$]L IT

Courtesy of The Bipiou Gallery, Veto York

c. 1896-97 Oil 21'»"x I

STILL LIFE

Collection of Mr. John T. Spaulding, Boston

1890-94 Oil 13"xl6)i"

THE HOUSE

1888-92 Water-color 22 3^" x 17"

Courtesy of Mr. F. II. Unschland, New York

28

CHESTXL'T TREES AT JAS DE BOVFFAN

Copyright The Frick Collection, New York

1885-87 Oil 2834"'x36"

THE TIMEPIECE OF BL 1CK V 1RBLE

1869 71 Oil 21 ' Collection of Mr. Edward G. Robinson, Beverly Hills

FLOWERS IN 1 GREEN VASE

1873-77 Oil \%\i"xU\i"

Courtesy of Mr. Carroll S. Tyson, Jr., Philadelphia

SPRIXG HOODS

1883-87 Water-color I>',"xll" Courtesy of The Buffalo Fine Arts Academy y Albright Art Gallery

31

MAN SEATED

32

Courtesy of The Lewisohn Collection, New York

Oil 21"xl7&"

PORT R.I IT <jI THE ARTISTS Hill:

' urtesy of The Museum of line .hi , lioston

c. 1877 Oil 28'/'x22','

34

THE BATHERS 1890 Oil 20^"x24K'

The Art Institute of Chicago, Amy Irwin McCormick Memorial, Gift of Robert R. McCormick

MAN KITH A STRAW II AT — PORTRAIT OF BOYER 1870-71 Oil 21 ■•<i" x 15" T

Courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, NetO York

PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST'S SON, PAUL 1885 Oil 2Sy2"x2\\i"

The National Gallery of Art, Washington, D. C, Chester Dale Collection

I.E.-f.XI.XG //'O.W./.Y

Courtesy of Dr. and Mrs. Harry Bakivin, New York

1896 Oil 36" x 2^

THE PLA '.XT

c. 1886 Water-color 20" x 13"

Courtesy of IVildenstein Gallery, New York

HOUSE OF DR. GACHET AT AUGERS 1873 Oil 24" x 20' .,"

The Art Institute of Chicago, Mr. and Mrs. M. A. Ryerson Collection

39

4o

PORT R A IT OF MADAME CEZANNE

Courtesy of Mr. S. S. White, jrd, Ardmore, Pa.

c. 1885 Oil 1Wx15'

f f

^fA/" PORTRAIT

Courtesy of The Phillips Memorial Gallery, Washington, D. C.

c. 1877 Oil 24"xl8>_."

THE SEA AT L'ESTA^UE

1883-86 Oil 28"x35^"

42

Collection of Paul Cezanne Fils, Paris

THE HIS DISC ROAD

1879-82 Oil 24'f x28>_."

Collection oj Mr. "John T. Spau/ding, Boston

43

PORTRAIT OF A WOMAN

44

Collection of Marcel Kap/erer, Paris

1892-96 Oil 26"x2\y5'

PORTRAIT OF LOUIS

1875-76 Oil 17"x2P,

Courtesy of Mr. Maurice If'ertheim, New York

45

THE CARD PLAYERS

46

Courtesy of Mr. Stephen C. Clark, New York

1890-92 Oil 2SH"x32*A"

re le

THE WALLS

Courtesy of Durand-Ruel, New York

1875-76 Oil 20"x26"

PORTRAIT OF AMBROISE BOLLARD

Collection of Ambroise Vollard, Paris

1899 Oil 40"x32H"

D. G, ami virtually all tin- collectors in the entire country whose facilities were generously made available to the editor, ■ permanent exhibition <>t ( i /.uuu paintings comes into the possession of

each owner of this volume.

Re bay

U Jewell, Edward Allen

kk PAUL CEZANNE. New York,

.CU25 lyperion Press, cl9^- J59 '

M Jewell, Edward Allen Rebay kk PAUL CEZANNE. New York,

.CU25 lyperion Press, cl9^.

VinHOR

TITLE

DATE LOANED

BORROWER S NAME

DATE RETURNED

RENOIR

by

ROSAMUND FROST

Pierre Auguste Renoir is one of our foremost modern old masters. We accept his pictures, as we accept the great compositions of Titian and Poussin and Delacroix. He is now re-estimated a quarter century after his death.

8 reproductions in full color 48 black and white half-tone lithographs 11" x 14" S3. 00

MARY CASSATT

by

MARGARET BREUNING

Mary Cassatt, who has only recently received recognition as one of our most accomplished artists, presents the anomaly of being a thorough American, although spending the greater part of her life in Paris, and acquiring her distinctive style- while under French influences.

8 reproductions in full color 48 black and white half-tone lithographs 11" x 14" S3. 00

Published by THE HYPERION PRESS

Distributed by DUELL, SLOAN and PEARCE New York