the extreme flowering of the Latin genius. It is not too much to
say that the critical writings of Anatole France recall the Causeries du
Lundi, the golden age of Sainte-Beuve!

As a writer of fiction, Anatole France made his debut in 1879 with
'Jocaste', and 'Le Chat Maigre'. Success in this field was yet decidedly
doubtful when 'Le Crime de Sylvestre Bonnard' appeared in 1881. It at
once established his reputation; 'Sylvestre Bonnard', as 'Le Lys Rouge'
later, was crowned by the French Academy. These novels are replete with
fine irony, benevolent scepticism and piquant turns, and will survive the
greater part of romances now read in France. The list of Anatole France's
works in fiction is a large one. The titles of nearly all of them,
arranged in chronological order, are as follows: 'Les Desirs de Jean
Seyvien (1882); Abeille (1883); Le Livre de mon Ami (1885); Nos Enfants
(1886); Balthazar (1889); Thais (1890); L'Etui de Naire (1892); Jerome
Coignard, and La Rotisserie de la Reine Pedanque (1893); and Histoire
Contemporaine (1897-1900), the latter consisting of four separate works:
'L'Orme du Mail, Le Mannequin d'Osier, L'Anneau d'Amethyste, and Monsieur
Bergeret a Paris'. All of his writings show his delicately critical
analysis of passion, at first playfully tender in its irony, but later,
under the influence of his critical antagonism to Brunetiere, growing
keener, stronger, and more bitter. In 'Thais' he has undertaken to show
the bond of sympathy that unites the pessimistic sceptic to the Christian
ascetic, since both despise the world. In 'Lys Rouge', his greatest
novel, he traces the perilously narrow line that separates love from
hate; in 'Opinions de M. l'Abbe Jerome Coignard' he has given us the most
radical breviary of scepticism that has appeared since Montaigne. 'Le
Livre de mon Ami' is mostly autobiographical; 'Clio' (1900) contains
historical sketches.

To represent Anatole France as one of the undying names in literature
would hardly be extravagant. Not that I would endow Ariel with the
stature and sinews of a Titan; this were to miss his distinctive
qualities: delicacy, elegance, charm. He belongs to a category of writers
who are more read and probably will ever exercise greater influence than
some of greater name. The latter show us life as a whole; but life as a
whole is too vast and too remote to excite in most of us more than a
somewhat languid curiosity. France confines himself to themes of the