I found myself audibly blurting out, "Really?" as I continued to read about Moll's thieving escapades. I've no doubt that Moll's childhood was less than, and so she never lets her reader forget it. On several occasions, Moll distinctly notes her hardened heart: "I was enter'd a compleat Thief, harden'd to a Pitch above all the Reflections of Conscience or Modesty," (p 159) yet not a complete thought later, she acknowledges the effect of a corrupted conscience and her selfish gain from it: "but practise hardened me... for in a word, my new Partner in Wickedness and I... grew Rich, and we had at one time One and Twenty Gold Watches in our Hands." (160).
I realize that Moll's lifestyle should not shock or disgust because the reader is aware of her thoughts and motives, but each time she reveals her heart's nature, my eyebrows furrow farther than I thought possible and I judge her for the horrible acts she is committing in her life. After reading her whole process of stealing a beaded necklace from a child, I thought, "Not cool" as I shook my head. And when she explained to the reader her seemingly good intentions for stealing a necklace from the child, the extent to which her heart hardened is unbelievable, "as I did the poor Child no harm, I only said to myself, I had given the Parents a just Reproof for their Negligence in leaving the poor little Lamb to come home by it self, and it would teach them to take more Care of it another time" (153-54). So, by Moll's logic, this theft was truly meant to educate her parents on the faculty of their trust. Great?
Yet, it's easy for me to judge Moll because by the standards of lawfulness, I conform to a valuable standard, and Moll lives a life far away from these values upheld by society; with this thought in mind, I feel sympathy for Moll. She had a gloomy childhood which was void of the happiness I knew as a child. I mean, she was a part of an incestuous relationship-- if someone ever made it out of that situation without feeling the need to leave a wake of destruction, there might be some deep, psychological problems lurking around. So, along with Moll's terrible "adventures", let's say, I pity her life and all its waywardness.
When Moll turns to thievery, Defoe gives us what he promised at the outset -- a woman who is wicked and whose behaviors should be seen as wicked. She does not blame her circumstances but rather decries herself as avaricious. She's likes what she does and she's good at it. In some ways, I find her harder to blame in this part of the story.
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