Atlas Nightshade

Day 15

"Sacred to the memory of George Canon, who died, in the hope of a

glorious resurrection, on July, 29, 1873, falling from the rocks at

Kettleness. This tomb was erected by his sorrowing mother to her dearly

beloved son. 'He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.'

Really, Mr. Swales, I don't see anything very funny in that!" She spoke

her comment very gravely and somewhat severely.

"Ye don't see aught funny! Ha! ha! But that's because ye don't gawm the

sorrowin' mother was a hell-cat that hated him because he was

acrewk'd--a regular lamiter he was--an' he hated her so that he

committed suicide in order that she mightn't get an insurance she put on

his life. He blew nigh the top of his head off with an old musket that

they had for scarin' the crows with. 'Twarn't for crows then, for it

brought the clegs and the dowps to him. That's the way he fell off the

rocks. And, as to hopes of a glorious resurrection, I've often heard him

say masel' that he hoped he'd go to hell, for his mother was so pious

that she'd be sure to go to heaven, an' he didn't want to addle where

she was. Now isn't that stean at any rate"--he hammered it with his

stick as he spoke--"a pack of lies? and won't it make Gabriel keckle

when Geordie comes pantin' up the grees with the tombstean balanced on

his hump, and asks it to be took as evidence!"

I did not know what to say, but Lucy turned the conversation as she

said, rising up:--

"Oh, why did you tell us of this? It is my favourite seat, and I cannot

leave it; and now I find I must go on sitting over the grave of a

suicide."

"That won't harm ye, my pretty; an' it may make poor Geordie gladsome to

have so trim a lass sittin' on his lap. That won't hurt ye. Why, I've

sat here off an' on for nigh twenty years past, an' it hasn't done me

no harm. Don't ye fash about them as lies under ye, or that doesn' lie

there either! It'll be time for ye to be getting scart when ye see the

tombsteans all run away with, and the place as bare as a stubble-field.

There's the clock, an' I must gang. My service to ye, ladies!" And off

he hobbled.

Lucy and I sat awhile, and it was all so beautiful before us that we

took hands as we sat; and she told me all over again about Arthur and

their coming marriage. That made me just a little heart-sick, for I

haven't heard from Jonathan for a whole month.

* * * * *

_The same day._ I came up here alone, for I am very sad. There was no

letter for me. I hope there cannot be anything the matter with Jonathan.

The clock has just struck nine. I see the lights scattered all over the

town, sometimes in rows where the streets are, and sometimes singly;

they run right up the Esk and die away in the curve of the valley. To my

left the view is cut off by a black line of roof of the old house next

the abbey. The sheep and lambs are bleating in the fields away behind

me, and there is a clatter of a donkey's hoofs up the paved road below.

The band on the pier is playing a harsh waltz in good time, and further

along the quay there is a Salvation Army meeting in a back street.

Neither of the bands hears the other, but up here I hear and see them

both. I 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 yet 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 with 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 to-day I told him that he must get rid of them. He looked

very sad at this, so I said that he must clear out 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 blow-fly, 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. He has evidently some deep problem

in his mind, for he keeps a little note-book 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 diminished. 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 the 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?" 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 p. m._--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 the 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 a. m._--The attendant has just been to 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 p. m._--I gave Renfield a strong opiate to-night, enough to make

even him sleep, and took away his pocket-book 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 zoöphagous

(life-eating) maniac; what he desires is to absorb as many lives as he

can, and he has laid himself out to achieve it in a cumulative way. He

gave many flies to one spider and many spiders to one bird, and then

wanted a cat to eat the many birds. What would have been his later

steps? It would almost be worth while to complete the experiment. It

might be done if there were only a sufficient cause. Men sneered at

vivisection, and yet look at its results to-day! Why not advance science

in its most difficult and vital aspect--the knowledge of the brain? Had

I even the secret of one such mind--did I hold the key to the fancy of

even one lunatic--I might advance my own branch of science to a pitch

compared with which Burdon-Sanderson's physiology or Ferrier's

brain-knowledge would be as nothing. If only there were a sufficient

cause! I must not think too much of this, or I may be tempted; a good

cause might turn the scale with me, for may not I too be of an

exceptional brain, congenitally?