She took the liberty of inquiring whether it was long since Anatole had left Paris and how he had liked that city.
LEROY - BEAULIEU, HENRI JEAN BAPTISTE Anatole (1842-), French publicist, was born at Lisieux, on the 12th of February 1842.
- Georges Alfassa, La Crise agraire en Russie (Paris, 1905); Anatole Leroy-Beaulieu, L'Empire des Tsars (3 vols., Paris, 1882-88; Eng.
Among critical works are: Anatole Feugere, Bourdaloue, sa predication et son temps (Paris, 1874); Adrien Lezat, Bourdaloue, theologien et orateur (Paris, 1874); P. M.
Henri Jean Baptiste Anatole Leroy-Beaulieu >>
Anatole France >>
In the second volume of La Vie litteraire Anatole France contests the theory of Sainte-Beuve.
Anatole Jean-Baptiste Antoine de Barthelemy >>
4 was married to Prince Anatole Demidov.
(1857); Anatole de Montaiglon and Georges Duplessis in Revue universelle des arts, i.
Siecle (Paris, 1901), and L'Allemagne, la France et la question d'Autriche (76, 1902); Rene Henry, Questions d'Autriche-Hongrie et question d'orient (Paris, 1903), with preface by Anatole LeroyBeaulieu; " Scotus Viator," The Future of Austria-Hungary (London, 1907).
An interesting reconstruction is given by Anatole France in Sur la Pierre blanche.
1869), who has been influenced by Strindberg and by Anatole France.
Anatole France delivered an impassioned oration at the grave.
ANATOLE JEAN-BAPTISTE ANTOINE DE BARTHELEMY (1821-1904), French archaeologist and numismatist, was born at Reims on the 1st of July 1821, and died at Ville d'Avray on the 27th of June 1904.
As an historical figure, it is impossible to dogmatize concerning the personality of Joan of Arc. The modern clerical view has to some extent provoked what appears, in Anatole France's learned account, ably presented as it is, to be a retaliation, in regarding her as a clerical tool in her own day.
I don't speak of Anatole, your youngest.
Hippolyte is at least a quiet fool, but Anatole is an active one.
"Have you never thought of marrying your prodigal son Anatole?" she asked.
Anna Pavlovna had already managed to speak to Lise about the match she contemplated between Anatole and the little princess' sister-in-law.
Pierre was staying at Prince Vasili Kuragin's and sharing the dissipated life of his son Anatole, the son whom they were planning to reform by marrying him to Prince Andrew's sister.
Reaching the large house near the Horse Guards' barracks, in which Anatole lived, Pierre entered the lighted porch, ascended the stairs, and went in at the open door.
A bottle here, said Anatole, taking a glass from the table he went up to Pierre.
Anatole kept on refilling Pierre's glass while explaining that Dolokhov was betting with Stevens, an English naval officer, that he would drink a bottle of rum sitting on the outer ledge of the third floor window with his legs hanging out.
"Go on, you must drink it all," said Anatole, giving Pierre the last glass, "or I won't let you go!"
"No, I won't," said Pierre, pushing Anatole aside, and he went up to the window.
Dolokhov was holding the Englishman's hand and clearly and distinctly repeating the terms of the bet, addressing himself particularly to Anatole and Pierre.
Anatole with his swaggering air strode up to the window.
Anatole turned to the Englishman and taking him by one of the buttons of his coat and looking down at him--the Englishman was short--began repeating the terms of the wager to him in English.
Anatole did not release him, and though he kept nodding to show that he understood, Anatole went on translating Dolokhov's words into English.
Anatole brought two candles and placed them on the window sill, though it was already quite light.
Anatole stood erect with staring eyes.
Anatole Kuragin's father managed somehow to get his son's affair hushed up, but even he was ordered out of Petersburg.
He had arranged this for himself so as to visit his neglected estates at the same time and pick up his son Anatole where his regiment was stationed, and take him to visit Prince Nicholas Bolkonski in order to arrange a match for him with the daughter of that rich old man.
Prince Vasili and Anatole had separate rooms assigned to them.
Anatole, having taken off his overcoat, sat with arms akimbo before a table on a corner of which he smilingly and absent-mindedly fixed his large and handsome eyes.
Then Anatole came up to her.
Anatole stood with his right thumb under a button of his uniform, his chest expanded and his back drawn in, slightly swinging one foot, and, with his head a little bent, looked with beaming face at the princess without speaking and evidently not thinking about her at all.
Anatole was not quick-witted, nor ready or eloquent in conversation, but he had the faculty, so invaluable in society, of composure and imperturbable self-possession.
But Anatole was dumb, swung his foot, and smilingly examined the princess' hair.
Prince Vasili readily adopted her tone and the little princess also drew Anatole, whom she hardly knew, into these amusing recollections of things that had never occurred.
Anatole answered the Frenchwoman very readily and, looking at her with a smile, talked to her about her native land.
When he saw the pretty little Bourienne, Anatole came to the conclusion that he would not find Bald Hills dull either.
Anatole kissed the old man, and looked at him with curiosity and perfect composure, waiting for a display of the eccentricities his father had told him to expect.
"Now you, young prince, what's your name?" said Prince Bolkonski, turning to Anatole, "come here, let us talk and get acquainted."
"Now the fun begins," thought Anatole, sitting down with a smile beside the old prince.
Now tell me, my dear boy, are you serving in the Horse Guards? asked the old man, scrutinizing Anatole closely and intently.
Ha, ha, ha! laughed Prince Bolkonski, and Anatole laughed still louder.
Anatole returned smiling to the ladies.
Anatole is no genius, but he is an honest, goodhearted lad; an excellent son or kinsman.
So her future shaped itself in Mademoiselle Bourienne's head at the very time she was talking to Anatole about Paris.
Anatole, laughing and in high spirits, came and leaned on his elbows, facing her and beside Mademoiselle Bourienne.
In the evening, after supper, when all were about to retire, Anatole kissed Princess Mary's hand.
Anatole went up to kiss the little princess' hand.
They all separated, but, except Anatole who fell asleep as soon as he got into bed, all kept awake a long time that night.
The old prince knew that if he told his daughter she was making a mistake and that Anatole meant to flirt with Mademoiselle Bourienne, Princess Mary's self-esteem would be wounded and his point (not to be parted from her) would be gained, so pacifying himself with this thought, he called Tikhon and began to undress.
When Princess Mary went to her father's room at the usual hour, Mademoiselle Bourienne and Anatole met in the conservatory.
"I expect you have guessed that Prince Vasili has not come and brought his pupil with him" (for some reason Prince Bolkonski referred to Anatole as a "pupil") "for the sake of my beautiful eyes.
She raised her eyes, and two steps away saw Anatole embracing the Frenchwoman and whispering something to her.
Do you wish or not to be Prince Anatole Kuragin's wife?
Anatole used to come to borrow money from her and used to kiss her naked shoulders.
"That is Bezukhova's brother, Anatole Kuragin," she said, indicating a handsome officer of the Horse Guards who passed by them with head erect, looking at something over the heads of the ladies.
The handsome Anatole was smilingly talking to a partner on his arm and looked at Natasha as one looks at a wall.
Dolokhov and Anatole Kuragin have turned all our ladies' heads.
This was Anatole Kuragin whom she had seen and noticed long ago at the ball in Petersburg.
Anatole went up to him and began speaking to him, looking at and indicating the Rostovs' box.
During this act every time Natasha looked toward the stalls she saw Anatole Kuragin with an arm thrown across the back of his chair, staring at her.
During the entr'acte a whiff of cold air came into Helene's box, the door opened, and Anatole entered, stooping and trying not to brush against anyone.
Anatole smiled as though to encourage her.
Anatole left the box, serene and gay.
As they were leaving the theater Anatole came up to them, called their carriage, and helped them in.
Anatole consented and went to Moscow, where he put up at Pierre's house.
As Shinshin had remarked, from the time of his arrival Anatole had turned the heads of the Moscow ladies, especially by the fact that he slighted them and plainly preferred the gypsy girls and French actresses--with the chief of whom, Mademoiselle George, he was said to be on intimate relations.
Anatole had very soon abandoned his wife and, for a payment which he agreed to send to his father-in-law, had arranged to be free to pass himself off as a bachelor.
Anatole was always content with his position, with himself, and with others.
Anatole was sincerely fond of Dolokhov for his cleverness and audacity.
Dolokhov, who needed Anatole Kuragin's name, position, and connections as a bait to draw rich young men into his gambling set, made use of him and amused himself at his expense without letting the other feel it.
Apart from the advantage he derived from Anatole, the very process of dominating another's will was in itself a pleasure, a habit, and a necessity to Dolokhov.
Anatole had no notion and was incapable of considering what might come of such love-making, as he never had any notion of the outcome of any of his actions.
Eh? said Anatole, with a good-humored laugh.
Anatole had asked her to bring him and Natasha together, and she was calling on the Rostovs for that purpose.
Anatole was at the door, evidently on the lookout for the Rostovs.
Anatole moved a chair for Natasha and was about to sit down beside her, but the count, who never lost sight of her, took the seat himself.
Anatole sat down behind her.
"I don't think so when I look at you!" said Anatole, following Natasha.
Anatole asked Natasha for a valse and as they danced he pressed her waist and hand and told her she was bewitching and that he loved her.
During the ecossaise, which she also danced with him, Anatole said nothing when they happened to be by themselves, but merely gazed at her.
Anatole was not upset or pained by what she had said.
Later on she recalled how she had asked her father to let her go to the dressing room to rearrange her dress, that Helene had followed her and spoken laughingly of her brother's love, and that she again met Anatole in the little sitting room.
Natasha looked round at her, and then, red and trembling, threw a frightened look of inquiry at Anatole and moved toward the door.
She was tormented by the insoluble question whether she loved Anatole or Prince Andrew.
But she also loved Anatole, of that there was no doubt.
With trembling hands Natasha held that passionate love letter which Dolokhov had composed for Anatole, and as she read it she found in it an echo of all that she herself imagined she was feeling.
At that party Natasha again met Anatole, and Sonya noticed that she spoke to him, trying not to be overheard, and that all through dinner she was more agitated than ever.
Anatole had lately moved to Dolokhov's.
Anatole had a passport, an order for post horses, ten thousand rubles he had taken from his sister and another ten thousand borrowed with Dolokhov's help.
Anatole, with uniform unbuttoned, walked to and fro from the room where the witnesses were sitting, through the study to the room behind, where his French valet and others were packing the last of his things.
Dolokhov banged down the lid of his desk and turned to Anatole with an ironic smile:
Eh? said Anatole, making a grimace.
Dolokhov smiled contemptuously and condescendingly when Anatole had gone out.
Anatole returned and looked at Dolokhov, trying to give him his attention and evidently submitting to him involuntarily.
And Anatole sighed and embraced Dolokhov.
Anatole ejaculated and again made a grimace.
"Go to the devil!" cried Anatole and, clutching his hair, left the room, but returned at once and dropped into an armchair in front of Dolokhov with his feet turned under him.
Eh? repeated Anatole, sincerely perplexed by a thought of the future.
Anatole went into the back room.
Anatole lay on the sofa in the study leaning on his elbow and smiling pensively, while his handsome lips muttered tenderly to himself.
"I don't want to," answered Anatole continuing to smile.
Anatole rose and went into the dining room.
Balaga was a famous troyka driver who had known Dolokhov and Anatole some six years and had given them good service with his troykas.
Anatole and Dolokhov liked Balaga too for his masterly driving and because he liked the things they liked.
And Anatole and Dolokhov, when they had money, would give him a thousand or a couple of thousand rubles.
"Good day, your excellency!" he said, again holding out his hand to Anatole who had just come in.
"I say, Balaga," said Anatole, putting his hands on the man's shoulders, "do you care for me or not?
Don't make jokes! cried Anatole, suddenly rolling his eyes.
Have a drink! said Anatole, and filled a large glass of Madeira for him.
Anatole looked at his watch.
"Do you know, one Christmas I drove from Tver," said Anatole, smilingly at the recollection and turning to Makarin who gazed rapturously at him with wide-open eyes.
Anatole went out of the room and returned a few minutes later wearing a fur coat girt with a silver belt, and a sable cap jauntily set on one side and very becoming to his handsome face.
Though they were all going with him, Anatole evidently wished to make something touching and solemn out of this address to his comrades.
Makarin embraced Anatole with tears in his eyes.
"Now, quick march, lads!" said Anatole, rising.
"Well, good-by, Matrena," said Anatole, kissing her.
Anatole and Dolokhov got in with him.
The young fellow on the box jumped down to hold the horses and Anatole and Dolokhov went along the pavement.
Anatole followed the maid into the courtyard, turned the corner, and ran up into the porch.
Who are you? asked Anatole in a breathless whisper.
Dolokhov, after Anatole entered, had remained at the wicket gate and was struggling with the yard porter who was trying to lock it.
In a sleigh drawn by two gray trotting-horses that were bespattering the dashboard with snow, Anatole and his constant companion Makarin dashed past.
Anatole was sitting upright in the classic pose of military dandies, the lower part of his face hidden by his beaver collar and his head slightly bent.
That Prince Andrew's deeply loved affianced wife--the same Natasha Rostova who used to be so charming--should give up Bolkonski for that fool Anatole who was already secretly married (as Pierre knew), and should be so in love with him as to agree to run away with him, was something Pierre could not conceive and could not imagine.
After hearing the details of Anatole's marriage from Pierre, and giving vent to her anger against Anatole in words of abuse, Marya Dmitrievna told Pierre why she had sent for him.
He drove through the town seeking Anatole Kuragin, at the thought of whom now the blood rushed to his heart and he felt a difficulty in breathing.
He paced through the ballroom, waited till everyone had come, and as Anatole had not turned up did not stay for dinner but drove home.
Anatole, for whom Pierre was looking, dined that day with Dolokhov, consulting him as to how to remedy this unfortunate affair.
When Pierre returned home after vainly hunting all over Moscow, his valet informed him that Prince Anatole was with the countess.
Pierre without greeting his wife whom he had not seen since his return-- at that moment she was more repulsive to him than ever--entered the drawing room and seeing Anatole went up to him.
Anatole, come with me!
Anatole glanced round at his sister and rose submissively, ready to follow Pierre.
Anatole followed him with his usual jaunty step but his face betrayed anxiety.
Having entered his study Pierre closed the door and addressed Anatole without looking at him.
He seized Anatole by the collar of his uniform with his big hand and shook him from side to side till Anatole's face showed a sufficient degree of terror.
Anatole glanced at him and immediately thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out his pocketbook.
Pierre took the letter Anatole handed him and, pushing aside a table that stood in his way, threw himself on the sofa.
Anatole sat at a table frowning and biting his lips.
Pierre paused and looked at Anatole no longer with an angry but with a questioning look.
"I don't know about that, eh?" said Anatole, growing more confident as Pierre mastered his wrath.
"Though it was tête-à -tête," Anatole continued, "still I can't..."
Next day Anatole left for Petersburg.
Pierre did not know how to refer to Anatole and flushed at the thought of him--"did you love that bad man?"
After his interview with Pierre in Moscow, Prince Andrew went to Petersburg, on business as he told his family, but really to meet Anatole Kuragin whom he felt it necessary to encounter.
Anatole Kuragin promptly obtained an appointment from the Minister of War and went to join the army in Moldavia.
Anatole Kuragin, whom Prince Andrew had hoped to find with the army, was not there.
She included among her enemies the creditors and all who had business dealings with her father, and always at the thought of enemies and those who hated her she remembered Anatole who had done her so much harm--and though he did not hate her she gladly prayed for him as for an enemy.
Only at prayer did she feel able to think clearly and calmly of Prince Andrew and Anatole, as men for whom her feelings were as nothing compared with her awe and devotion to God.
Anatole was sobbing painfully.
On the way Pierre was told of the death of his brother-in-law Anatole and of that of Prince Andrew.
The first volume of which was issued by his grandson Count Anatole Nesselrode at Paris in 1904.
