Unlike former love stories, _Adolphe_ does not delineate love only in its first awakening in the dawn of delusive hopes, but follows it through its whole existence, depicts its growth, its strength, its decay, its death, and even pursues it to the other side of the grave and shows the feelings into which it is transformed. Hence _Adolphe_, even more than _René_, is the story of the individual's rude awakening from delusion, the representation of the anguish of disappointment. It is the flower of life which is here stripped of its petals one by one and carefully dissected. In this point, too, the book is a great contrast to _Werther, Werther_ is naïve in comparison. It is the same flower, the perfume of which is a deadly poison to Werther, that is calmly dissected by Adolphe. The change is expressed in the very costume; the blue coat and yellow waistcoat have made way for our dull, funereal black. But the flame which is extinguished in the man's breast now burns in the woman's. _Adolphe_ is woman's _Werther_. The passion and melancholy of the new age have advanced another step; they have spread to the other sex. In _Werther_ it was the man who loved, suffered, stormed, and despaired; in comparison with him the woman was sound, strong, and unharmed--perhaps a trifle cold and insignificant. But now it is her turn, now it is she who loves and despairs. In _Werther_ it was the woman who submitted to the laws of society, in _Adolphe_ it is the man who does so. The selfsame war waged by Werther in the name of his love is now waged by Eléonore, and with equally tragic result.