I recollect an attempt to procure some apples, which was attended with circumstances that make me smile and shudder even at this instant.The fruit was standing in a pantry, which by a lattice at a considerable height received light from the kitchen.One day, being alone in the house, I climbed up to see these precious apples, which, being out of my reach, made this pantry appear the garden of Hesperides.I fetched the spit- tried if it would reach them- it was too short- I lengthened it with a small one which was used for game,- my master being very fond of hunting, darted at them several times without success; at length was more fortunate; being transported to find I was bringing up an apple, I drew it gently to the lattice-was going to seize it, when (who can express my grief and astonishment!) I found it would not pass through- it was too large.
I tried every expedient to accomplish my design, sought supporters to keep the spits in the same position, a knife to divide the apple, and a lath to hold it with; at length, I so far succeeded as to effect the division, and made no doubt of drawing the pieces through; but it was scarcely separated (compassionate reader, sympathize with my affliction) when both pieces fell into the pantry.
Though I lost time by this experiment, I did not lose courage, but, dreading a surprise, I put off the attempt till next day, when I hoped to be more successful, and returned to my work as if nothing had happened, without once thinking of what the two obvious witnesses I had left in the pantry deposed against me.
The next day (a fine opportunity offering) I renew the trial.Ifasten the spits together: get on the stool; take aim; am just going to dart at my prey- unfortunately the dragon did not sleep; the pantry door opens, my master makes his appearance, and, looking up, exclaims, "Bravo!"- The horror of that moment returns- the pen drops from my hand.
A continual repetition of ill treatment rendered me callous; it seemed a kind of composition for my crimes, which authorized me to continue them, and, instead of looking back at the punishment, Ilooked forward to revenge.Being beat like a slave, I judged I had a right to all the vices of one.I was convinced that to rob and be punished were inseparable, and constituted, if I may so express myself, a kind of traffic, in which, if I perform my part of the bargain, my master would take care not to be deficient in his; that preliminary settled, I applied myself to thieving with great tranquility, and whenever this interrogatory occurred to my mind, "What will be the consequence?" the reply was ready, "I know the worst, I shall be beat; no matter, I was made for it."I love good eating; am sensual, but not greedy; I have such a variety of inclinations to gratify, that this can never predominate;and unless my heart is unoccupied, which very rarely happens, I pay but little attention to my appetite: to purloining eatables, but extended this propensity to everything I wished to possess, and if Idid not become a robber in form, it was only because money never tempted me.
My master had a closet in the workshop, which he kept locked; this Icontrived to open and shut as often as I pleased, and laid his best tools, fine drawings, impressions, in a word, everything he wished to keep from me, under contribution.These thefts were so far innocent, that they were always employed in his service, but I was transported at having the trifles in my possession, and imagined Istole the art with its productions.Besides what I have mentioned, his boxes contained threads of gold and silver, a number of small jewels, valuable medals, and money; yet, though I seldom had five sous in my pocket, I do not recollect ever having cast a wishful look at them; on the contrary, I beheld these valuables rather with terror than delight.
I am convinced the dread of taking money was, in a great measure, the effect of education.There was mingled with the idea of it the fear of infamy, a prison, punishment, and death: had I even felt the temptation, these objects would have made me tremble; whereas my failings appeared a species of waggery, and, in truth, they were little else; they could but occasion a good trimming, and this I was already prepared for.A sheet of fine drawing-paper was a greater temptation than money sufficient to have purchased a ream.This unreasonable caprice is connected with one of the most striking singularities of my character, and has so far influenced my conduct, that it requires a particular explanation.
My passions are extremely violent; while under their influence, nothing can equal my impetuosity; I am an absolute stranger to discretion, respect, fear, or decorum; rude, saucy, violent, and intrepid: no shame can stop, no danger intimidate me.My mind is frequently so engrossed by a single object, that beyond it the whole world is not worth a thought; this is the enthusiasm of a moment, the next, perhaps, I am plunged in a state of annihilation.Take me in my moments of tranquility, I am indolence and timidity itself; a word to speak, the least trifle to perform, appear an intolerable labor; everything alarms and terrifies me; the very buzzing of a fly will make me shudder: I am so subdued by fear and shame, that Iwould gladly shield myself from mortal view.
When obliged to exert myself, I am ignorant what to do! when forced to speak, I am at a loss for words; and if any one looks at me, I am instantly out of countenance.If animated with my subject, Iexpress my thoughts with ease, but, in ordinary conversations, I can say nothing- absolutely nothing; and, being obliged to speak, renders them insupportable.
