Archive for the '59 Years Old' Category

Fifty-Nine Year Old: R.M. Renfield



(Kept in phonograph)

25 April. – Ebb tide in appetite to-day. Cannot eat, cannot rest, so diary instead. Since my rebuff of yesterday I have a sort of empty feeling; nothing in the world seems of sufficient importance to be worth the doing… As I knew that the only cure for this sort of thing was work, I went down amongst the patients. I picked out one who has afforded me a study of much interest. He is so quant in his ideas, and so unlike the normal lunatic, that I have determined to understand him as well as I can. To-day I seemed to get nearer than ever before to the heart of his mystery.

I questioned him more fully than I had ever done, with a view to making myself master of the facts of his hallucination. In my manner of doing it there was, I now see, something of cruelty. I seemed to wish to keep him to the point of his madness – a thing I avoid with the patients as I would mouth of hell. (Mem., under what circumstances would I not avoid the pit of hell?) Omnia Romae vernalia sunt. Hell has its price! verb. sap. If there be anything behind this instinct it will be valuable to trace it afterwards accurately, so I had better commence to do so, therefore –

R.M. Renfield, aetat. 59 – Sanguine temperament; great physical strength; morbidly excitable; periods of gloom ending in some fixed idea which I cannot make out. I presume that the sanguine temperament itself and the disturbing influence end in a mentally-accomplished finish; a possibly dangerous man, probably dangerous if unselfish. In selfish men caution is as secure an armour for their foes as for themselves. What I think of on this point is, when self is the fixed the centripetal force is balanced with the centrifugal: when duty, a cause, etc. is the fixed point, the latter force is paramount, and only accident or a series of accidents can balance it.

Bram Stoker, Dracula

Published in: 59 Years Old | on December 14th, 2011 | No Comments »

Fifty-Nine Year Old: Florence Hurlbird

I had expected to find the Musses Hurlbird excessively old – in the nineties of thereabouts. The time had passed so slowly that I had the impression that it must have been thirty years since I had been in the United States. It was only twelve years. Actually Miss Hurlbird was just sixty-one and Miss Florence Hurlbird fifty-nine, and they were both, mentally and physically, as vigorous as could be desired. They were, indeed, more vigorous, mentally, than suited my purpose, which was to get away from the United States as quickly as I could. The Hurlbirds were an exceedingly united family – exceedingly united except on one set of points. Each of the three of them had a separate doctor, whom they trusted implicitly – and each had a separate attorney. And each of them distrusted the other’s doctor and the other’s attorney. And, naturally, the doctors and the attorneys warned one all the time – against each other. You cannot imagine how complicated it all became for me.

Ford Madox Ford, The Good Soldier

Published in: 59 Years Old | on December 14th, 2011 | No Comments »