“Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau,
The apostle of affliction, he who threw
Enchantment over passion, and from woe
Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew
The breath which made him wretched; yet he knew
How to make madness beautiful, and cast
O’er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue
Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they passed
The eyes, which o’er them shed tears feelingly and fast.

“His life was one long war with self-sought foes,
Or friends by him self-banished; for his mind
Had grown Suspicion’s sanctuary, and chose,
For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind,
’Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind. 
But he was frenzied,-wherefore, who may know? 
Since cause might be which skill could never find;
But he was frenzied by disease or woe
To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show.”

One would rather, however, dwell on the brighter hues of the picture than on its shadows and blemishes; let us not, then, seek to “draw his frailties from their dread abode.”  His greatest fault was his renunciation of a father’s duty to his offspring; but this crime he expiated by a long and bitter repentance.  We cannot, perhaps, very readily excuse the way in which he has occasionally treated the memory of his mistress and benefactress.  That he loved Madame de Warens—­his ’Mamma’—­deeply and sincerely is undeniable, notwithstanding which he now and then dwells on her improvidence and her feminine indiscretions with an unnecessary and unbecoming lack of delicacy that has an unpleasant effect on the reader, almost seeming to justify the remark of one of his most lenient critics—­that, after all, Rousseau had the soul of a lackey.  He possessed, however, many amiable and charming qualities, both as a man and a writer, which were evident to those amidst whom he lived, and will be equally so to the unprejudiced reader of the Confessions.  He had a profound sense of justice and a real desire for the improvement and advancement of the race.  Owing to these excellences he was beloved to the last even by persons whom he tried to repel, looking upon them as members of a band of conspirators, bent upon destroying his domestic peace and depriving him of the means of subsistence.

Those of his writings that are most nearly allied in tone and spirit to the ‘Confessions’ are the ‘Reveries d’un Promeneur Solitaire’ and ‘La Nouvelle Heloise’.  His correspondence throws much light on his life and character, as do also parts of ‘Emile’.  It is not easy in our day to realize the effect wrought upon the public mind by the advent of ‘La Nouvelle Heloise’.  Julie and Saint-Preux became names to conjure with; their ill-starred amours were everywhere sighed and wept over by the tender-hearted fair; indeed, in composing this work, Rousseau may be said to have done for Switzerland what the author of the Waverly Novels did for Scotland, turning its