which there is something bewildered-looking,--bewildered, peering with
lynx-eagerness. A face full of misery, even ignoble misery, and also
of the antagonism against that; something mean, plebeian there,
redeemed only by _intensity_: the face of what is called a Fanatic,--a
sadly _contracted_ Hero! We name him here because, with all his
drawbacks, and they are many, he has the first and chief
characteristic of a Hero: he is heartily _in earnest_. In earnest, if
ever man was; as none of these French Philosophes were. Nay, one would
say, of an earnestness too great for his otherwise sensitive, rather
feeble nature; and which indeed in the end drove him into the
strangest incoherences, almost delirations. There had come, at last,
to be a kind of madness in him: his Ideas _possessed_ him like demons;
hurried him so about, drove him over steep places!--

The fault and misery of Rousseau was what we easily name by a single
word _Egoism_; which is indeed the source and summary of all faults
and miseries whatsoever. He had not perfected himself into victory
over mere Desire; a mean hunger, in many sorts, was still the motive
principle of him. I am afraid he was a very vain man; hungry for the
praises of men. You remember Genlis's experience of him. She took Jean
Jacques to the Theatre; he bargaining for a strict incognito,--"_He_
would not be seen there for the world!" The curtain did happen
nevertheless to be drawn aside: the Pit recognised Jean Jacques, but
took no great notice of him! He expressed the bitterest indignation;
gloomed all evening, spake no other than surly words. The glib
Countess remained entirely convinced that his anger was not at being
seen, but at not being applauded when seen. How the whole nature of
the man is poisoned; nothing but suspicion, self-isolation, fierce
moody ways! He could not live with anybody. A man of some rank from
the country, who visited him often, and used to sit with him,
expressing all reverence and affection for him, comes one day, finds
Jean Jacques full of the sourest unintelligible humour. "Monsieur,"
said Jean Jacques, with flaming eyes, "I know why you come here. You
come to see what a poor life I lead; how little is in my poor pot that
is boiling there. Well, look into the pot! There is half a pound of
meat, one carrot and three onions; that is all: go and tell the whole
world that, if you like, Monsieur!"--A man of this sort was far gone.
The whole world got itself supplied