Reading the last chapter of my text, "The Failure and Success of CÚzanne", it recounts how his art was panned early on, described as child-like, naive beginner's work. While both academics and avant-garde were tearing him apart in Paris, he suffered a number of personal blows, including Zola's cruel portrayal of him in his L'Oeuvre, which ended their friendship (that son of a bitch!), and an unconsummated passion for his parents' maid (that icy whore!). He was becoming, the author puts it, increasingly melancholic and reclusive.
Gauguin was one of the artist's few admirers, calling him "that misunderstood man, whose nature is essentially mystical ... he spends whole days on the tops of mountains, reading Virgil and gazing at the sky."
I wanna give CÚzanne a big hug.