the place where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth." It is, thus, on a background of hell-fire that Chateaubriand depicts the love of the Christian confessor and the heathen prophetess. In _Atala_, where we have a kindred representation of combined suffering and pleasure, the insincere anathema against earthly love was not yet launched. We come upon much the same idea in one of Alfred de Vigny's youthful works, _Eloa_, a beautiful and notable poem which describes the seduction of a charming young angel of the female sex by the Prince of Darkness. The Satan of _Les Martyrs_ was a revolutionist, but De Vigny's Satan is hardly to be distinguished from the Eros of the ancients. Without telling who he is, he ensnares the fair angel with his personal charms and his eloquence, and draws her with him into the abyss. He himself describes his power in the following words: Je suis celui qu'on aime et qu'on ne connaît pas. Sur l'homme j'ai fondé mon empire de flamme Dans les désirs du cœur, dans les rêves de l'âme, Dans les liens des corps, attraits mystérieux, Dans les trésors du sang, dans les regards des yeux. C'est moi qui fait parler l'épouse dans ses songes; La jeune fille heureuse apprend d'heureux mensonges; Je leur donne des nuits qui consolent des jours, Je suis le Roi secret des secrètes amours. We are irresistibly reminded of the song to Eros in the _Antigone_ of Sophocles. As the period is now rapidly descending the incline leading to the conception of Eros as the devil himself, it is only natural that in the descriptions of "real" love on which it prides itself it should be more frigid and impotent, more seraphic and platonic than any other age we are acquainted with. Let us see how the Velléda of the day, Madame de Krüdener herself, describes love in _Valerie_. Although _Valerie_ is an imitation of _Werther_, it is in many ways extremely unlike _Werther_. It is the story of a young Swede, Gustave Linar by name, who in his childhood learned from his mother "to love virtue," and who continues to love it until he dies. Along with virtue he loves Valérie, but Valérie is the wife of the Count, his master and ideal, and is herself such a quintessence of all the virtues that he regards her with a reverence which makes desire impossible. Alexander Stakjev confessed his feelings to Krüdener, but Gustave utters not a word to the Count, nor does he ever speak of his sufferings to the woman he loves.[3] Preyed upon by uncomprehended and unavowed love, and far too well-behaved to shoot himself, he dies of consumption.