616 | Rousseau : [ Dec. 
simple enjoyments of home, would never peril her own reputation, or 
that of her family, by encouraging an attachment framed in guilt, and at 
variance with the most obvious duties. If, however, she did encourage 
such attachment, she would not rest satisfied, as Eloise—and herein 
lies an additional violation of nature—is represented to have been, with 
the mere theoretical enjoyments of guilt: she would at once reduce 
speculation to practice. In like manner, a husband described as being 
endowed with an-almost romantic sense of honour, and even with a scep- 
tical turn of mind that had its origin in principle, would never, consist- 
ently with these qualities, look with indifference on the hazardous con- 
dition of a wife who trod daily on a precipice enwreathed with flowers : 
he would either snatch her from the brink, or perish with her. But, 
supposing he relied on her virtuous self-possession for her safety, he 
would then shew himself utterly unacquainted with the human heart ; 
so that, in either sense, whether viewed as a man of the world, or a man 
of honour, (and Rousseau invests him with both qualities in the 
extreme), Monsieur de Wolmar must be set down as a picturesque but 
ludicrous anomaly. 
As the characters of the Eloise are unnatural, so also are the senti- 
ments—those, at least, which profess to adapt themselves to reality. 
They are couched, as we before observed, in sweet and honied language, 
yet inculcate the most pernicious morals. They bubble up with apparent - 
artlessness from a good and benevolent heart, yet are tainted all over 
with miasma. Vice is taught to lisp the sentiments of a generous wis- 
dom: the language of the Cecropian Pallas is mouthed by the Cyprian 
Venus ; Eloise prates of chastity, Saint Preux of reason, and both, of 
the charms of patriarchal innocence and simplicity. It was upon a 
principle pretty similar to this, and at least with equal sincerity, that 
the Gracchi complained of sedition. It has been the object with many 
undoubted moral authors, to paint the fascinations of vice in the most 
alluring colours, in order to contrast it afterwards with the penalties it 
must pay perforce to virtue, and thus to work out a more obvious 
and impressive homily. This is not the case with Rousseau. Vice, 
throughout his Eloise, robed in the garb of modesty, is triumphant ; 
she is even pitied, and monopolizes the tears due to her celestial 
adversary. Who, except by the determined efforts of a strong mind, 
ean bear for an instant to condemn Madame de Wolmar—the beautiful 
—the sensitive—the confiding? Who can forget her high-wrought, 
impassioned youth, her exceeding love of nature, of art, of all, in short, 
that contributes to the grace, the ornament, and the simplicity of exist- 
ence? Even up to the present moment, though years have elapsed, 
fashions have changed, and literature has diverged into new channels, 
she is ever visibly before us. The rocks of Meillerie breathe of her— 
Clarens is eloquent of her name—Vevay whispers it through all her 
woods—and the evening breeze, as it sighs over the blue waters of 
Geneva, repeats the last parting that rent the. souls of herself and her 
unforgotten lover. She has a distinct—a separate—an undivided exist- 
ence in our memories: for the Eloise, be it observed, is not a book to be’ 
laid aside with childhood ; it grows with our growth, and strengthens 
with our strength ; we abjure its principles, but, despite ourselves, we 
hug its sensibility to our hearts ; and even when we repudiate it as the 
true Liber Amoris, or Book of Love, it puts forth new claims to our 
admiration by its exuberant fulness of ideas, its ingenious sophistry, and 
