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Essential MATLAB
for Engineers and Scientists
This page intentionally left blank
Essential MATLAB
for Engineers and Scientists
Sixth Edition
Brian H. Hahn
Daniel T. Valentine
Copyright © 2017, 2013, 2010 Daniel T. Valentine. Published by Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2007, 2006, 2002 Brian D. Hahn and Daniel T. Valentine. Published by Elsevier Ltd.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form
or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior
written permission of the publisher.
Permissions may be sought directly from Elsevier’s Science & Technology Rights Department in Oxford,
UK: phone: (+44) 1865 843830, fax: (+44) 1865 853333, E-mail: [email protected]. You may
also complete your request online via the Elsevier homepage (http://www.elsevier.com), by selecting
“Support & Contact” then “Copyright and Permission” and then “Obtaining Permissions.”
ISBN: 978-0-08-100877-5
Typeset by VTeX
Contents
PREFACE .............................................................................................................xv
Part 1 Essentials................................................................. 1
CHAPTER 1 Introduction............................................................................... 3
1.1 Using MATLAB..............................................................................5
1.1.1 Arithmetic .........................................................................5
1.1.2 Variables............................................................................7
1.1.3 Mathematical functions ...................................................8
1.1.4 Functions and commands ...............................................8
1.1.5 Vectors...............................................................................9
1.1.6 Linear equations.............................................................11
1.1.7 Tutorials and demos.......................................................12
1.2 The desktop ................................................................................13
1.2.1 Using the Editor and running a script ..........................13
1.2.2 Help, publish and view ...................................................16
1.2.3 Symbolics and the MuPAD notebook APP....................18
1.2.4 Other APPS .....................................................................23
1.2.5 Additional features .........................................................23
1.3 Sample program ........................................................................25
1.3.1 Cut and paste..................................................................25
1.3.2 Saving a program: script files .......................................27
Current directory ................................................................................28
Running a script from the current folder browser ..........................29
1.3.3 A program in action........................................................29
Summary ....................................................................................30
Exercises.....................................................................................31
The main reason for a sixth edition of Essential MATLAB for Engineers and Scien-
tists is to keep up with MATLAB, now in its latest version (9.0 Version R2016a).
Like the previous editions, this one presents MATLAB as a problem-solving
tool for professionals in science and engineering, as well as students in those
fields, who have no prior knowledge of computer programming.
In keeping with the late Brian D. Hahn’s objectives in previous editions, the
sixth edition adopts an informal, tutorial style for its “teach-yourself” ap-
proach, which invites readers to experiment with MATLAB as a way of discov-
ering how it works. It assumes that readers have never used this tool in their
technical problem solving.
MATLAB, which stands for “Matrix Laboratory,” is based on the concept of
the matrix. Because readers will be unfamiliar with matrices, ideas and con-
structs are developed gradually, as the context requires. The primary audience
for Essential MATLAB is scientists and engineers, and for that reason certain ex-
amples require some first-year college math, particularly in Part II. However,
these examples are self-contained and can be skipped without detracting from
the development of readers’ programming skills.
MATLAB can be used in two distinct modes. One, in keeping the modern-age
craving for instant gratification, offers immediate execution of statements (or
groups of statements) in the Command Window. The other, for the more pa-
tient, offers conventional programming by means of script files. Both modes
are put to good use here: The former encouraging cut and paste to take full
advantage of Windows’ interactive environment. The latter stressing program-
ming principles and algorithm development through structure plans.
Although most of MATLAB’s basic (“essential”) features are covered, this book
is neither an exhaustive nor a systematic reference. This would not be in keep-
ing with its informal style. For example, constructs such as for and if are not
always treated, initially, in their general form, as is common in many texts, but
are gradually introduced in discussions where they fit naturally. Even so, they
xv
xvi Preface
are treated thoroughly here, unlike in other texts that deal with them only su-
perficially. For the curious, helpful syntax and function quick references can be
found in the appendices.
The following list contains other highlights of Essential MATLAB for Engineers
and Scientists, Sixth Edition:
Warnings of the many pitfalls that await the unwary beginner
Numerous examples taken from science and engineering (simulation, pop-
ulation modeling, numerical methods) as well as business and everyday
life
An emphasis on programming style to produce clear, readable code
Comprehensive chapter summaries
Chapter exercises (answers and solutions to many of which are given in an
appendix)
A thorough, instructive index
Essential MATLAB is meant to be used in conjunction with the MATLAB soft-
ware. The reader is expected to have the software at hand in order to work
through the exercises and thus discover how MATLAB does what it is com-
manded to do. Learning any tool is possible only through hands-on expe-
rience. This is particularly true with computing tools, which produce correct
answers only when the commands they are given and the accompanying data
input are correct and accurate.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank Mary, Clara, Zoe Rae and Zach T. for their support and
encouragement. I dedicate the sixth edition of Essential MATLAB for Engineers
and Scientists to them.
Daniel T. Valentine
1
Part 1 concerns those aspects of MATLAB that you need to know in order to
come to grips with MATLAB’s essentials and those of technical computing. Be-
cause this book is a tutorial, you are encouraged to use MATLAB extensively
while you go through the text.
PART
Essentials
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CHAPTER 1
Introduction
This book assumes that you have never used a computer before to do the sort
of scientific calculations that MATLAB handles, but are able to find your way
3
Essential MATLAB for Engineers and Scientists. DOI:10.1016/B978-0-08-100877-5.00002-5
Copyright © 2017 Daniel T. Valentine. Published by Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
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Nançay is far more likely to have burned his fingers than this young
man.”
“It is strange,” remarked Jacques des Horloges; “M. de Bruneau is
the last man of whom I should expect such disloyalty; he could not
have been in his senses.”
“He says that he had been drinking when the confession was forced
from him,” Père Antoine rejoined; “it was at Archambault’s pastry
shop.”
“You have seen him, then?” asked Madame Michel eagerly.
“I went immediately to the Châtelet,” the priest replied; “I found him
much as I expected. He has not the fortitude to meet such a
calamity.”
“He has powerful patrons, mon père,” the goodwife said; “is there no
hope of intercession?”
The priest shook his head.
“None,” he answered; “there have been too many plots, too many
intrigues; they will make an example of him. The whole weight of
the Marquis de Nançay’s influence, never greater than now, will be
thrown into the scale against the prisoner.”
“Ay,” remarked Michel sternly, “’tis his opportunity to be rid of a
troublesome rival, and marvellously well planned too, if I mistake
not.”
“I fear so,” said Père Antoine thoughtfully; “it has worked out
strangely, at least. Certainly, M. de Bruneau’s death is in his favor.”
“I am sorry for the accused,” said the clockmaker; “I remember him
from a lad of twelve. ’Tis a sad end for a young man and a soldier.
Did you tell him aught of that matter whereof we spoke before?” he
added, glancing anxiously at the priest.
Père Antoine shook his head. “Nay,” he answered. “How would it
profit us? He is as good as a dead man, so could not aid us if he
would, and I have never been sure that he would. He is a feather-
brain, and we cannot put so weighty a matter into idle or desperate
hands. He cannot aid us, but he might work us some mischief with
his careless tongue even now. I deemed it best that he should die in
ignorance of that which would not serve him, and might harm
others.”
“I have felt much as you do, father,” Michel rejoined, after a
moment’s silence; “once or twice he came here to the shop, talking
with me freely, yet I did not wholly trust him. He seemed to me a
harebrained, ambitious young man, desiring nothing so much as his
own aggrandizement and not likely to welcome the thought that one
stood ahead of him upon the road to name and fortune.”
The priest did not immediately reply; he was leaning forward and
fingering out a silent piece of music on the table with his slender
fingers.
“There might have been some question as to his claim,” he said
thoughtfully; “in a case like this, where there is confiscation, he
might have had a better chance than the true heir.”
Madame Michel drew her breath deeply, clasping her hands to her
bosom.
“The finger of God is in it!” she exclaimed devoutly.
“His hand directs all things,” Père Antoine returned quietly; “it is our
blindness which does not recognize it.”
There was another pause, and in it Madame Michel surreptitiously
wiped a tear from her eyes. The regular throbbing tick of the clocks
sounded distinctly from the shop, and little Péron began to doze,
with his head on the low stool in the corner; it was past his bedtime,
but he was forgotten.
“When will M. de Bruneau be tried?” asked Jacques des Horloges, at
last.
“Immediately,” Père Antoine replied; “’tis a well established case;
there are several witnesses, all relatives of M. le Marquis.”
“Sent purposely, no doubt,” exclaimed madame indignantly. “The old
rogue!”
“I am sorry for the poor gentleman,” Michel said once more; “he is
like to have a short shrift. Will you see him again, mon père?”
“I have a permit from the king,” the priest replied, “and I shall stay
with the unhappy prisoner to the end. There is absolutely no earthly
hope, and I fear M. de Bruneau has never set great store by the
heavenly.”
As he spoke, he rose from his seat to leave them, and the
movement startled Péron, who opened his sleepy eyes just as the
priest glanced in his direction.
“The child has been asleep,” Père Antoine remarked, smiling. “How
great a blessing is the unconscious freedom from care! I had well
nigh forgotten your present, Péron,” he added, thrusting his hand
into his wallet and drawing out a pale blue silk handkerchief; “I
brought this for you, little one, because you begged for a silk
handkerchief the other day.”
The child was wide-awake now and came running to the priest, all
eagerness for the small bit of silk in Père Antoine’s outstretched
hand.
“Oh, madame, it is just like the beautiful silk in the chest in the
garret!” Péron cried, delighted; “the same pale blue—but it is not so
thick and glossy!” he added, on examination.
At the child’s words both men glanced quickly at Madame Michel,
whose face flushed scarlet.
“Hush, Péron!” she exclaimed angrily, “you do not know what you
say.”
“How is this, mother?” asked Jacques des Horloges gravely.
She laughed a little, her agitation giving way to a milder feeling.
“I left the ladder down and the little rogue is as active as a cat and
more curious,” she said, apologetically.
Père Antoine smiled, laying his hand softly on the child’s curls.
“The likeness to his father grows daily,” he remarked to Jacques; “do
you not see it?”
“I try to think it is in my eyes,” rejoined the clockmaker bluntly; “it is
like to do him more mischief than good.”
“He is in higher hands than ours,” replied the priest sadly, making a
sign as though he blessed the child, before he bade them good-night
and went on his solemn errand to the Châtelet.
CHAPTER IV
THE PASTRY SHOP ON THE RUE DES PETITS
CHAMPS
IT was not until Péron was ten years old that he made a journey
outside the gates of Paris. Jacques des Horloges was accustomed to
go from one grand house to another, to regulate and mend the great
clocks, for his skill was held in high esteem, and such errands
frequently took him beyond the city limits. But he had never taken
the boy with him until one day, as he was setting out, Péron begged
so hard to be allowed to accompany him that he consented. The
stout Norman horse which Jacques always rode stood saddled at the
door, and the clockmaker had just finished packing his saddle-bags
when the child ran out, eager and importunate for the privilege of a
ride beyond the gates. Michel listened to the petitioner with some
amusement and a good deal of doubt. He stood hesitating, his hand
on the saddle and his eyes on the pleading face. He was wavering
between a desire to gratify the boy and a doubt of the wisdom of
yielding to persuasion; and while he was still undecided his wife
came to the door.
“Péron wants to go,” he said, smiling, “and I have the mind to take
him, only”—he paused, still looking at the child—“I am going to
Poissy and beyond.”
“To Nançay?” madame said quickly, and she too looked at Péron.
“Ah, may I not go?” cried the boy, turning from one to the other. “I
will be good, I will do just as I am bid!”
“Poor baby!” exclaimed the woman, “’tis a pity, and yet—”
“There can be no harm done, I think,” Jacques remarked, after a
moment, “and it is meet that the child should see something besides
the shop and the Rue de la Ferronnerie. Give me what he may need
for three days, and he shall go.”
Péron uttered a cry of delight, and danced about on the doorstep,
while Madame Michel hesitated yet a moment longer.
“Ought we to ask Père Antoine?” she said doubtfully.
Jacques des Horloges shook his head. “I have not time,” he said,
“and, after all, it is no great matter. So be quick, for I must be off.”
Without more ado a little bundle for Péron was added, he was
mounted behind the clockmaker, and they set out on their journey,
the child as full of eagerness as though they were going out into a
new world. He looked about him proudly from his perch behind
Jacques; he felt that it was an important event in his life, and he
was conscious of the envious glances of the children in the streets.
But the sights of the city were familiar to him, and it was not until
they had passed beyond the limits of Paris and were traversing the
green meadows that he realized the delights of a ride in the open
country. He was not a talkative child, and he took his pleasure
silently, gazing about him with great interest and noting every
unusual object. The river seemed so beautiful out here, running
through the fields, that he could scarcely believe that it was the
same Seine into which he had so often looked from the Pont Neuf.
Those observant dark eyes saw every wild flower, every green leaf
by the wayside, and followed eagerly the flight of the swallows
overhead.
Jacques des Horloges was as little inclined to conversation as the
child. The clockmaker’s broad, sturdy figure sat squarely on the back
of his stout horse, and he kept his eyes on the road, attending
steadily to his own business. He was not a romantic person, and
would have been much amazed at the child’s fancies about the
matter-of-fact objects in view. He was a plain man who saw only
plain duties in life, and, for the most part, performed his share of
them in a simple way.
This silent couple made the journey of five leagues to St. Germain-
en-Laye without interruption and without incident, and riding into
the town stopped for dinner at the Three Moons. The child, tired
from the long ride, was glad to find a seat at the table in the public
room, where they were forced to wait some time to be served, for it
was crowded with guests. It was the season for the annual fair in
the forest of St. Germain, and the inn was filled with traders,
mummers, and merrymakers going there for business or
entertainment. At a table near Michel’s sat a company of strolling
players, and the jests and the grimaces of the clown soon aroused
Péron in spite of his weariness. The grotesquely painted face and
the gay dress with its fringe of bells delighted the child and diverted
his attention even from his food. There were soldiers here too; but
he had cared less for them since the scene at Archambault’s,
although he could not yet entirely resist the fascination of their
highly polished corselets and the rattle of swords and spurs. There
were peddlers there with their packs, on the way to trade at the fair,
musicians, countrymen, a motley gathering and a lively one, the
ripple of talk and laughter, the clatter of dishes, the rush and hurry
of attendance, all enlivening the scene. Yet there was grave enough
talk whispered in some of the corners of that very room. Where
there was a knot of persons of the better class, the conversation ran
on the quarrel of the queen-mother and the king, on the defeat of
her troops at Ponts-de-Cé and the possibilities of peace; of the
influence of Albert de Luynes and the return of the Bishop of Luçon
from exile at Avignon. Food enough for talk, but it was low spoken;
there had been two courts and two factions too long for men to
venture free speech. Marie de’ Medici, the queen-mother of France,
who had ruled during the king’s long minority, could not retire from a
foremost place in the government. Jealous, spiteful, scheming,—a
wily Italian,—she never rested from her endeavors to control her son
and his affairs until she was defeated by the wit and determination
of Richelieu; and for years France beheld the strange spectacle of
two courts and two trains of courtiers, a mother and son at swords’
points with each other. Behind all this was the ever-watchful jealousy
of the two religious parties. The Huguenots, no longer protected by
the great Henry, were suspicious of his son and fearful that their
rights would be infringed. The Catholics, on the other hand,
liberated from the strong rule of the dead king, and hoping much
from Louis XIII., were as restless and eager for strife as ever, and
found themselves, in their turn, encroached upon by the Huguenots,
who were unwilling to grant the freedom of religion to others which
they demanded for themselves. So long the victims of intolerance,
they were themselves intolerant. Already the great trouble was
brewing that would culminate in the siege and fall of La Rochelle,
the stronghold of the Protestants. During the regency of Marie de’
Medici—a season of weakness between the time of Henri IV. and
that of Richelieu—the grandees had grown restless again under the
royal yoke. Since the days of François I. the power of the great
nobles had been diminishing; they saw it with infinite discontent,
and now gathered around the queen-mother, intriguing and plotting
for a larger part in affairs, encouraged to hope much from the
divisions in the state, and from the jealousy and reckless ambition of
Monsieur, the king’s brother. All these matters therefore furnished
fruitful topics of conversation at every public house; and dangerous
gossip it was.
Jacques des Horloges was too wise to join in such talk, but he met
some friends and it was some time before he set out again upon his
journey. The two—the clockmaker and the child—left the town and
rode on to Poissy, passing through the midst of the fair before they
reached the gates of that place. The booths were set up in the edge
of the forest under the shelter of the trees, and from branch to
branch were swung ropes of flowers and evergreen, from which
hung little bells that tinkled merrily with every breeze. The open
grass plots were covered with dancers, arrayed in the gayest hues,
like a moving bouquet of tulips, while the music was furnished by
various groups of players, and was full of variety, from the loud
blasts of the hautboys to the guitars which were coming into
common use, having been introduced at the French court from Italy.
There were, too, the shrill sweet notes of the flaïos de saus, or reed
flutes, which were coupled by pairs in the orchestras and played the
minor keys, some soft and even sweet, especially in the open air, in
spite of the crudeness of the instruments. The scene was not only
gay, but it had a certain rural charm of its own, which was not even
cheapened by the itinerant tradesmen who were crying their wares
by the roadside. There was a large concourse of people, for the Fête
de St. Louis never failed to bring a full attendance. There was a
poultry show, too, and a horse show, each drawing a large audience,
and a full selection of marvels to dazzle and bewilder the country
people.
Jacques des Horloges, however, was not diverted from his even
course by sights which he had witnessed every year, and he rode
along at a steady gait, until a strolling gypsy stopped his horse,
offering to tell the clockmaker’s fortune. Michel shook his head.
“Away with you,” he said impatiently, “I have more serious work to
do than to listen to your babble.”
“Have a care, master,” retorted the fortune-teller glibly; “’tis ill-luck
to scorn a friendly warning, there may be trouble ahead!”
“Pah!” ejaculated the clockmaker, urging on his stout horse, “the
devil take your nonsense.”
“’Tis not the time for indifference,” said the gypsy, holding up a long
finger; “the king makes peace with the queen; changes come;
yonder boy is not yours!”
Jacques des Horloges stirred uneasily in his saddle.
“Mère de Dieu!” he exclaimed softly, but he only urged his horse on,
without looking back until he reached the gates of Poissy.
Here they put up at the first hostelry in the main street, and Jacques
saw his horse safely stalled in the stable before he took his saddle-
bags on his arm and set out with Péron to attend to the errand
which had brought him so far. They passed through the streets out
on to the road which led along the bank of the Seine. To the left, the
ground rose gradually until it reached a hilly elevation, fringed by a
woodland. Some sheep were grazing on the slopes, and the
afternoon sun cast long shadows in the hollows. Over the tree-tops
showed the gray turrets and gabled roof of a large château. The
clockmaker plodded along, leading the child by the hand, and
neither spoke until a turn in the road brought them around the
shoulder of the hill and in full view of the house. Then Péron uttered
an exclamation of pleased surprise, and Jacques des Horloges
stopped involuntarily and stood looking at the scene.
“Do you like it?” he said, turning to the child.
“It is beautiful,” replied Péron; “is it the king’s house?”
Jacques laughed. “Nay,” he said, “did you think it like the Louvre?
We are going here to fix the old jacquemart. This is the Château de
Nançay.”
Before them the ground rose in a succession of terraces to the
elevation on which were the buildings. A stone wall ran along the
face of the lowest terrace, with great iron gates, which stood open.
Above this were three other terraces, faced by low parapets, in the
Italian fashion, and beautifully grassed and planted with roses. The
highest formed an immense quadrangle, in the center of which stood
the château and its out-buildings. It was of gray stone and of a
graceful style of architecture, a mantle of ivy climbing over its turrets
and arching the long row of windows which commanded the
terraces. Behind it were the stables and the house of the steward of
the estate. The whole place was in perfect order and beautifully
situated on the spur of the hill, overlooking the river and sheltered
by a small forest in the rear. On the central turret of the château was
one of the old jacquemarts, and even at a distance two figures could
be discerned, one on either side of the dial, which, on nearer
inspection, proved to be two knights in complete armor, who struck
the hours with their bronze maces on a great silver bell above the
face of the clock. It was a very old clock, one of the first made in
imitation of the famous jacquemart of Dijon, and this central turret
of Nançay had borne for years the name of “Tour de l’Horloge.”
To Péron, this house was more beautiful than the Louvre or the
Palais des Tournelles in the old Marais, because of the open country
about it. To the child, bred in Paris, the green field and waving trees,
the slope of the hill-tops, the blooming flower garden, was a setting
of perfect beauty. He followed the clockmaker up the successive
steps of the terraces, too obedient to lag behind, but gazing about in
pleased wonder. He saw the great velvet faces of the pansies, the
clustering roses, the more modest violets; he noticed everything that
escaped the eye of Jacques des Horloges; and he followed, in the
same silent mood, into the great house itself. They did not approach
the stately main entrance, but were admitted by a porter at a side
door. The clockmaker was expected, and being an old visitor was
permitted to set about his work undisturbed. It was his business to
wind and clean and lubricate the machinery of every clock in the
château, from the jacquemart to the cook’s timepiece, and there
were many. Jacques was a man who performed all tasks
expeditiously and quietly, and he commenced his rounds at once,
only bidding Péron keep near him. He entertained no fear of the
child getting into mischief; in that respect he was too unchildlike,
and often perplexed the good clockmaker.
There was no occasion to fear that Péron would offend for lack of
interest in what he saw; the boy was amazed and delighted at the
beauty and richness of the château’s interior. The floor of the great
hall was tessellated, paved with Italian marble, and the balustrade of
the main staircase was elaborately carved. While the clockmaker was
busily engaged with the old timepiece in the hall, Péron went about
softly, peeping in first at one door and then at another, each in turn,
giving him such a bewildering vista of beauty and luxury, that the
child fancied himself in fairyland. No one seemed to be stirring in
this part of the house; indeed the marquis was away from home,
and the little explorer, meeting no one, grew bolder and ventured
into the dining-room to look at the display of silver and gold on the
immense carved sideboard. Here were not only dishes and goblets,
but also fanciful vases and figures of the precious metals; there were
also several beautiful examples of ceramic art, the work of Maître
Bernard des Thuilleries and of his predecessor, Robbia; and the
abace and crédence, nearer the table, were covered respectively
with rare glass and plates and dishes. The room was very long, and
at the end was a mirror in a gold frame of such curious design,—
ropes of flowers tied with broad ribbons and held above and below
the glass by golden cupids,—that Péron stood a long while
examining it, not noticing his own figure reflected therein. A strange
contrast he presented to his rich surroundings, the clockmaker’s boy,
in plain, dark clothes and coarse boots, but handsome and full of
health, and large for his years.
Beyond the mirror was a door draped with pale blue hangings, and
Péron, grown bold, lifted the silken curtains and stepped into a
smaller room, softly carpeted and richly furnished. But here he was
destined to meet with a surprise. He had advanced quite a way
before he became suddenly aware that he was not alone. At the
other end of the apartment stood a child, a little girl, of about
Péron’s own age or less, and she was gazing at him in the most
profound amazement. She had seen the intruder before he was
aware of her presence, and was searching him with a glance that
was not only full of astonishment but of disdain, as she observed
every detail of his shabby appearance.
At the sight of her Péron halted too and stood returning her gaze,—
but with very different feelings. To him she seemed the most
beautiful child that he had ever seen. At the first glance he thought
her a fairy. She was small and slight, with the fair, rosy loveliness of
childhood, her great black eyes, fringed with long black lashes and
set off with delicately pencilled black brows, while, in direct contrast,
her hair was like spun gold and extremely fine and glossy. This little
vision was arrayed in pure white, with ruffles of fine lace and little
white silk shoes. It was not marvellous that the clockmaker’s child
should gaze in amazement at this small beauty who, in his eyes,
rivalled the fairest belle of the Marais.
CHAPTER VI
A BUNCH OF VIOLETS