wonder where Jonathan is and if he is thinking of me! I wish he
were here.
DR. SEWARD'S DIARY
5 June.—The case of Renfield grows more interesting the more I
get to understand the man. He has certain qualities very largely
developed, selfishness, secrecy, and purpose.
I wish I could get at what is the object of the latter. He seems
to have some settled scheme of his own, but what it is I do not
know. His redeeming quality is a love of animals, though, indeed,
he has such curious turns in it that I sometimes imagine he is only
abnormally cruel. His pets are of odd sorts.
Just now his hobby is catching flies. He has at present such a
quantity that I have had myself to expostulate. To my astonishment,
he did not break out into a fury, as I expected, but took the
matter in simple seriousness. He thought for a moment, and then
said, "May I have three days? I shall clear them away." Of course,
I said that would do. I must watch him.
18 June.—He has turned his mind now to spiders, and has got
several very big fellows in a box. He keeps feeding them his flies,
and the number of the latter is becoming sensibly diminished,
although he has used half his food in attracting more flies from
outside to his room.
1 July.—His spiders are now becoming as great a nuisance as his
flies, and today I told him that he must get rid of them.
He looked very sad at this, so I said that he must some of them,
at all events. He cheerfully acquiesced in this, and I gave him the
same time as before for reduction.
He disgusted me much while with him, for when a horrid blowfly,
bloated with some carrion food, buzzed into the room, he caught it,
held it exultantly for a few moments between his finger and thumb,
and before I knew what he was going to do, put it in his mouth and
ate it.
I scolded him for it, but he argued quietly that it was very
good and very wholesome, that it was life, strong life, and gave
life to him. This gave me an idea, or the rudiment of one. I must
watch how he gets rid of his spiders.watch how he gets rid of his spiders.
He has evidently some deep problem in his mind, for he keeps a
little notebook in which he is always jotting down something. whole
pages of it are filled with masses of figures, generally single
numbers added up in batches, and then the totals added in batches
again, as though he were focussing some account, as the auditors
put it.
8 July.—There is a method in his madness, and the rudimentary
idea in my mind is growing. It will be a whole idea soon, and then,
oh, unconscious cerebration, you will have to give the wall to your
conscious brother.
I kept away from my friend for a few days, so that I might
notice if there were any change. Things remain as they were except
that he has parted with some of his pets and got a new one.
He has managed to get a sparrow, and has already partially tamed
it. His means of taming is simple, for already the spiders have
diminshed. Those that do remain, however, are well fed, for he
still brings in the flies by tempting them with his food.
19 July—We are progressing. My friend has now a whole colony of
sparrows, and his flies and spiders are almost obliterated. When I
came in he ran to me and said he wanted to ask me a great favour, a
very, very great favour. And as he spoke, he fawned on me like a
dog.
I asked him what it was, and he said, with a sort of rapture in
his voice and bearing, "A kitten, a nice, little, sleek playful
kitten, that I can play with, and teach, and feed, and feed, and
feed!"
I was not unprepared for this request, for I had noticed how his
pets went on increasing in size and vivacity, but I did not care
that his pretty family of tame sparrows should be wiped out in the
same manner as the flies and spiders. So I said I would see about
it, and asked him if he would not rather have a cat than a
kitten.
His eagerness betrayed him as he answered, "Oh, yes, I would
like a cat! I only asked for a kitten lest you should refuse me a
cat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would they?"cat. No one would refuse me a kitten, would they?"
I shook my head, and said that at present I feared it would not
be possible, but that I would see about it. His face fell, and I
could see a warning of danger in it, for there was a sudden fierce,
sidelong look which meant killing. The man is an undeveloped
homicidal maniac. I shall test him with his present craving and see
how it will work out, then I shall know more.
10 pm.—I have visited him again and found him sitting in a
corner brooding. When I came in he threw himself on his knees
before me and implored me to let him have a cat, that his salvation
depended upon it.
I was firm, however, and told him that he could not have it,
whereupon he went without a word, and sat down, gnawing his
fingers, in the corner where I had found him. I shall see him in
the morning early.
20 July.—Visited Renfield very early, before attendant went his
rounds. Found him up and humming a tune. He was spreading out his
sugar, which he had saved, in the window, and was manifestly
beginning his fly catching again, and beginning it cheerfully and
with a good grace.
I looked around for his birds, and not seeing them,asked him
where they were. He replied, without turning round, that they had
all flown away. There were a few feathers about the room and on his
pillow a drop of blood. I said nothing, but went and told the
keeper to report to me if there were anything odd about him during
the day.
11 am.—The attendant has just been to see me to say that
Renfield has been very sick and has disgorged a whole lot of
feathers. "My belief is, doctor," he said, "that he has eaten his
birds, and that he just took and ate them raw!"
11 pm.—I gave Renfield a strong opiate tonight, enough to make
even him sleep, and took away his pocketbook to look at it. The
thought that has been buzzing about my brain lately is complete,
and the theory proved.
My homicidal maniac is of a peculiar kind. I shall have to
invent a new classification for him, and call him a zoophagous