Strange and sudden change in Renfield last
night. About eight o'clock he began to get excited and sniff about as a dog does
when setting. The attendant was struck by his manner, and knowing my interest
in him, encouraged him to talk. He is usually respectful to the attendant and
at times servile, but tonight, the man tells me, he was quite haughty. Would not
condescend to talk with him at all.
All he would say was, "I don't
want to talk to you. You don't count now. The master is at hand."
attendant thinks it is some sudden form of religious mania which has seized him.
If so, we must look out for squalls, for a strong man with homicidal and religious
mania at once might be dangerous. The combination is a dreadful one.
nine o'clock I visited him myself. His attitude to me was the same as that to
the attendant. In his sublime self-feeling the difference between myself and the
attendant seemed to him as nothing. It looks like religious mania, and he will
soon think that he himself is God.
These infinitesimal distinctions between
man and man are too paltry for an Omnipotent Being. How these madmen give themselves
away! The real God taketh heed lest a sparrow fall. But the God created from human
vanity sees no difference between an eagle and a sparrow. Oh, if men only knew!
half an hour or more Renfield kept getting excited in greater and greater degree.
I did not pretend to be watching him, but I kept strict observation all the same.
All at once that shifty look came into his eyes which we always see when a madman
has seized an idea, and with it the shifty movement of the head and back which
asylum attendants come to know so well. He became quite quiet, and went and sat
on the edge of his bed resignedly, and looked into space with lack-luster eyes.
thought I would find out if his apathy were real or only assumed, and tried to
lead him to talk of his pets, a theme which had never failed to excite his attention.
first he made no reply, but at length said testily, "Bother them all! I don't
care a pin about them."
"What?" I said. "You don't mean
to tell me you don't care about spiders?" (Spiders at present are his hobby
and the notebook is filling up with columns of small figures.)
To this he
answered enigmatically, "The Bride maidens rejoice the eyes that wait the
coming of the bride. But when the bride draweth nigh, then the maidens shine not
to the eyes that are filled."
He would not explain himself, but remained
obstinately seated on his bed all the time I remained with him.
I am weary
tonight and low in spirits. I cannot but think of Lucy, and how different things
might have been. If I don't sleep at once, chloral, the modern Morpheus! I must
be careful not to let it grow into a habit. No, I shall take none tonight! I have
thought of Lucy, and I shall not dishonour her by mixing the two. If need be,
tonight shall be sleepless.