The papers that I read on the way to Jack Straw’s Castle were all too familiar, for they were, in places, identical to the journal entries supposedly written by Jonathan Harker and published as part of the Dracula Papers, though they pre-dated his accounts by nearly a year.
Renfield had travelled a similar path to the one described by Harker, stopping for a time in Munich before travelling onward on to Transylvania. It seemed that Renfield met with some misfortune in the wilds while in Germany, resulting in his experiencing vivid, waking dreams, in which he was assailed by gigantic wolves, and feelings of inexplicable dread. When he awoke from his nightmare, he was in the castle of Count Dracula, whereupon he discovered that his host had sent a party to look for him and carry him to safety.
Renfield’s writings trod a hazy line between fact and fiction. It seemed clear to me that he had taken a turn after an ill-advised trek through the snow, becoming feverish and confused as a result. Though Dracula had taken him in and nourished him, Renfield had not received the medical attention that he so badly required, and thus a bout of brain fever slowly drove him mad.
Entry after entry detailed the poor man’s downward spiral into insanity. I wondered what the Count had made of it all—seeing his guest become increasingly delusional and raving, until there was no choice but to lock Renfield in his room and arrange for him to return to England and the care of Peter Hawkins.
The version of events penned by Jonathan Harker was so rational in comparison—so believable—that the discovery of these papers now appeared a great betrayal. The obvious lunacy had been eradicated from the accounts; times and places had been altered. Jonathan Harker’s journal, which formed the bedrock of what would later become the Dracula Papers, was a lie.
Letter, R. M. Renfield to Peter Hawkins, 15 April 1892
Mr Hawkins,
I regret to inform you that, although I have reached Castle Dracula, it is after some delay and not without toil. I experienced an accident on the road some distance east of Munich, and although my injuries are not severe, I am quite unwell. I feel it worsen, in my blood.
Count Dracula was pivotal in assisting me, for despite the great distance he was able to direct a party to find me and bring me safely to Transylvania. The Count is proving an amiable and attentive host. He expresses regret that you were not able to take the trip personally, but hopes that he shall meet you when he visits London to further discuss his investments.
I expect to be detained for several weeks, though I shall endeavour to conduct our business as agreed.
R.M.R.
Extract from R. M. Renfield’s Diary, 2 May 1892
Every night the same. Every night the Count tests me. He summons me to dine with him, long after the others have gone to bed. He never eats. He never drinks. He merely watches me. Studies me. He says he has my best interests at heart, that he wishes only to keep me away from the bustle of his household, that I am weak and should be resting, but I see what he is doing.
He is a strange one, or so I first thought. Now I see that there is more to the Count than meets the eye. When we do not speak of business, we speak of Transylvania; of his ancestry; of ancient battles and ancient kings, united by blood.
I understand the test. The Count is powerful, and ancient. All this talk of tradition, of war, of Magyars and Boyars—he tempts me. He shows me glimpses of power that he himself has surely wielded, of victories he has tasted. How can it be? How can a man so youthful have endured down the long years? What powerful blood must throb in his veins for him to stand before me each night, a man and yet not a man?
Tonight, I looked out of the small window of my room, and I saw a shadow in the courtyard; a great wolf had entered the gates of the castle, and stole across the flagstones like one of the Count’s hounds. A faithful creature of the night, summoned to its master.
I hear it now: it calls. And I wait.
Extract from R. M. Renfield’s Diary, 20 May 1892
One fly. Two flies. Three flies. Four.
No, no, no. It did not work last time. I felt nothing. The flies alone are not valuable enough. Their essence is too weak.
Five flies!
Yes, five flies might do it. Five flies might be equal to a big fat spider.
I shall feed five flies to a spider, and that should make the spider worth twice its value in the eyes of the Lord. One spider eats five flies, and the spider becomes two spiders. That’s how he does it. That’s how his kind have always done it. He told me. The blood is the life.
Are spiders enough to nourish me the way the master’s prey nourishes him? Perhaps I need something more valuable still.
They have little birds here in the mountains. Wagtails, with yellow breasts. They come to my window sometimes during the day. What must a wagtail be worth?
Ten spiders.
Yes, a wagtail is worth ten spiders. So for each wagtail I must catch five spiders, and feed each spider five flies. That will make the approximate worth of ten spiders. It is easier to catch flies than spiders, and wagtails are noble little birds. They would surely not stoop to eating flies. They are not as wretched as me.
A wagtail that eats ten spiders is two wagtails. Are two wagtails worth a human soul? If I eat two wagtails will I feel the strength of the old country flow through my veins, like it flows through the master’s? It is a great effort to catch a wagtail. I cannot waste it once it is caught. I may need several. I may need something larger first, like a cat. Yes, a cat! If a cat ate ten wagtails and became two cats, would that be enough?
Two cats? Can I get a cat, from up here in my solitary room?
And if I could get one cat, why not five?