Among the works of Rousseau which have not been noticed, and which are contained in a new edition of his works published after his death, are the following: I. The Reveries of a Solitary \Vander, being a Journal of the latter part of his Life. 2. Considera tions upon the Government of Poland. 3. The Adven tures of Lord Edward, a novel. 4. Various Memoirs and fugitive Pieces, with a great number of Letters. 5. Emilia and Sophia. 6. An Opera and a Comedy. 7. Translations of the First Book of Tacitus's His tory.
The best edition of his works published collectively is that which appeared in twenty-seven vols. 4to.
It would, we think, be a hopeless task to attempt, with any degree of success, to delineate the character of Rousseau. There perhaps never was a gifted be ing so mysteriously compound, and whose moral na ture so utterly defied all the powers of analysis. In its irregular outline, and amid its ever-changing ma nifestations, it is in vain to seek for any individuality by which it can be characterized: Now we find it clouded with dark suspicions; now exasperated by disappointment; now wound up in its own selfishness; now elevated by noble feeling; now panting for laurels that were not won; and now sinking under exhausted passion into a state of serenity, if not of virtue. The vices and eccentricities of Rousseau have been ascrib ed to the imbecility of his bodily frame, and to the peculiar sensitiveness of his mind; but we cannot find, either in his life or writings, any justification of this opinion. Rousseau was not driven into vice by the resistless tide of passion; he did not sink into poverty through idleness or imprudence; nor did he suffer per secution because he cherished opinions adverse to religion and morality. It was his pride to be vicious, to be poor, and to be persecuted. He published his own vices in their worst form,in order to attract notice and excite criticism. He affected poverty, to gain sympathy and move pity. He invoked persecution before he had conjured up its spirit; and it seems to have been his most ardent wish to live the life of a martyr, though he tried in vain to obtain its consum mation. If the leading object of Rousseau's life was
to make himself an object of notice in the world; if he entered upon a new course of folly and of vice, when he had exhausted the novelties of the last, it becomes no difficult matter to form a tolerably correct estimate of his intellectual attainments. That Rousseau enjoy ed a high degree of contemporary fame cannot be denied by those who are acquainted with the recent history of the literature and politics of Europe; but his reputation is that of notoriety more than of talent, and must gradually sink to the level, at which his ge nius is capable of sustaining it. That Rousseau was a man of powerful talent, that he was an elegant writer, and an acute reasoner, cannot be denied; but we look in vain through his pages for traces of that original and inventive faculty which constitutes genius and secures immortality. In his works of fiction we find no beings of creative fancy, no force of wit, and no power of sustaining character. Eloquent descriptions, scenes of tenderness and pathos, and the ebullitions of highly excited passion, supply their place, and indi cate the peculiar character of his talents. Even his grave works were wrought up,by a slow process of elaboration and correction; and eloquence, ingepuity, and refined taste are their most prominent charac teristics.
The reputation of Rousseau, therefore, cannot be supported by the permanent influence of his writings. His contemporary fame, already much reduced, is sinking fast to its level; and that very reputation, to which his talents give him a claim, is likely to be blighted by the vice and immorality which poison the works on which it must depend. How different is the progress to immortality of the fame of true genius. Founded on the judgment, and not on the passions of men, it is seldom blessed even with the expression of contemporary praise. Death first gives it form, and, disencumbered of its mortal coil, it gathers strength and magnitude, and floats the laurels of its possessor, in full tide, to the most distant ages.