Fifthly. To exercise frequently the most
simple operations of the mind upon the objects
of his physical wants; and, at length, by
inducing the application of them to objects of
instruction.

The wild boy's petulant activity at first
degenerated into a dangerous apathy and a desire
for solitude, in order to escape the curiosity
and importunities of sight-seers. Except when
hunger led him to the kitchen, he was almost
always to be found squatting in a corner of the
garden, or concealed in the second story of some
ruinous buildings. In this deplorable situation
he was seen by some people from Paris, who,
after a very short examination, adjudged him to
be only fit to be sent to Bedlam. As if society had
a right to take a child from a free and innocent
life, and dismiss him to die of melancholy in a
madhouse, that he might thus expiate the
misfortune of having disappointed public curiosity!

His indolence, long sleeps, races in the open
air, and his frequent and excessive meals, were
all borne with patiently by good M. Itard.
Sudden changes of atmosphere delighted the
young savage, and he broke into mad peals of
laughter if the sun flashed out suddenly from
behind clouds. Snow made him leap for joy;
he would roll himself half naked in it, and
devour it by whole handfuls. He sometimes
broke into fits of ungovernable rage. Often he
would cease to rock himself to and fro, his
usual habit, and would sink into fits of melancholy
reverie, staring at water, or remaining half
the night looking at the moon, breathing hard
and snoring at intervals. By degrees M. Itard
reduced his meals, regulated his sleep, and made
his exercise more subservient to his instruction.

The senses of this wild boy were for a long
time in a strange state of torpor. He never
sneezed or shed tears. He would squat down
at the asylum on the turf, and remain for hours
in the wind and rain. If live coals fell from
the grate near him, he would snatch them in
his hand, and throw them back without alarm.
He would eat potatoes burning hot. His hearing
was equally stagnant; he paid no attention
even to the firing of pistols close to him, but
was always alive to the cracking of a walnut,
his favourite fruit.

The nervous power being feeble in all the
senses, M. Itard made it part of his plan to
develop sensibility. The boy was accustomed
to the use of the warm bath, and taught to
regulate its temperature himself. The use and
value of clothing was taught him by his being
exposed to the cold within the reach of his
clothes, until he found out the method of
putting them on himself.

M. Itard says that he then roused the
susceptibilities of joy and anger. To use his
own words:

"I provoked the latter, only at distant
intervals, in order that the paroxysm might by
that means be more violent, and always be
attended with a plausible semblance of justice.
I sometimes remarked that, at the moment of
his most violent indignation, his understanding
seemed to acquire a temporary enlargement,
which suggested to him some ingenious
expedient for freeing himself from disagreeable
embarrassment."

The poor boy was as easily delighted as he
was impassioned. A ray of the sun, received
on a mirror, reflected in his chamber, and
thrown on the ceiling; a glass of water, which
was made to fall, drop by drop, from a certain
height on the end of his fingers whilst he was
bathing; and even a little milk, contained in a
wooden porringer which was placed at the
further end of his bath and which the oscillations
of the water moved about, excited in him
lively emotions of joy, which were expressed
by shouts and the clapping of his hands. These
were very nearly all the means necessary in
order to enliven and delight, often almost to
intoxication, this simple child of nature.

As the wild boy advanced in civilisation, he
began to inherit its drawbacks. He caught
violent colds, and, to his horror and dismay,
began to sneeze. His first sneeze brought on
a fit.

M. Itard's next endeavour was to create in
this poor boy the vilum corpus of Parisian
philosophy—new wants, trusting that new wants
would bring new ideas. Toys were given him;
but instead of interesting, they only vexed him,
and he sought every opportunity to hide or
destroy them. They seemed to make him think, and
thinking, or rather trying to think, gave him
pain. The kind but rather tormenting tutor
then tried to rouse his memory and attention by
putting a chesnut under one of three silver
goblets, and playing at thimble-rig changes
with them. These changes he was quick in
detecting. For all sweetmeats and delicate
food the Aveyron savage entertained an
insurmountable aversion. In vain the
philosopher tried to inspire him with a dangerous
liking for strong liquors and highly spiced
dishes; but lentils and such favourite food
were rewards that could induce him to go
anywhere and do anything. His great delight was
being driven out into the country; but the hills
and woods of Montmorency roused even in
a short visit all his former savage restlessness
and desire for liberty. His walks were, therefore,
afterwards restricted to the gardens of the
Luxembourg and the grounds of the Observatory.

To his governess the young savage displayed
great affection. M. Itard says:

"He never leaves her without evident uneasiness,
nor ever meets her without expressions of
satisfaction. Once, after having slipped from
her in the streets, on seeing her again he burst
into a flood of tears. For some hours he still
continued to show a deep-drawn and interrupted
respiration, and a pulse in a kind of febrile state.
Madame Guerin having then addressed him in
rather a reproachful manner, he was again
overwhelmed with tears. The friendship which he
feels for me is much weaker, as might naturally
have been expected."

We should have been strongly inclined to