Tap the page, move to the top or bottom edge, swipe down, or press Tab to reveal reading controls. Use the arrow keys or swipe sideways to turn pages.
Subsection 2. Symptoms or signs in the mind.
Arculanus, in his commentary on book 9 of Rhazes’ work for Almansor, chapter 16, holds these symptoms to be infinite, as indeed they are, varying with the individual: scarcely one in a thousand is deranged in the same way, says Laurentius, chapter 16.
I will point out a few of the more notable ones, and among them fear and sorrow. Just as these are frequent causes, so, if they persist for a long time, according to Hippocrates and Galen’s aphorisms, they are the surest signs, inseparable companions and distinguishing marks of melancholy: of melancholy as a present condition and as an established habit, says Montaltus, chapter 11, and common to all sufferers, as Hippocrates, Galen, Avicenna and all the more recent writers maintain.
But just as hounds often run off baying on a false scent, never realizing they have lost the trail, so do these writers. For Diocles in antiquity, whom Galen refutes, and among the later writers Hercules de Saxonia, with Ludovicus Mercatus, book 1, chapter 17 on melancholy, raise reasonable objections to this aphorism of Hippocrates. It is not always true, or to be understood so universally: fear and sorrow are not symptoms common to every melancholic person.
“On more serious consideration,” he says, “I find some who are not like this at all. Some are indeed sad but not fearful; some fearful but not sad; some neither fearful nor sad; some both.” He excepts four kinds: people seized by prophetic frenzy, such as Cassandra, Manto, Nicostrata, Mopsus, Proteus and the Sibyls, whom Aristotle acknowledges to have been deeply melancholic.
Baptista Porta supports him, Physiognomy, book 1, chapter 8: they were “stirred by black bile.” People possessed by demons, and those who speak unfamiliar languages, belong to this class; some poets; and those who laugh all the time and imagine themselves kings, cardinals, and so on. They are sanguine, usually cheerful in disposition, and remain so.
Baptista Porta restricts fear and sorrow to those whose temperament is cold; he excludes lovers, Sibyls and people seized by inspiration altogether. So I think I may rightly conclude that they are not always sad and fearful, but usually are, and that without a cause: “they fear things that need not be feared” (Gordonius), “and things of no importance.” Although not all in the same way, says Altomarus, yet all tend to fear, some with an extraordinary and overwhelming fear: Aretaeus.
Many fear death and yet, in a contrary mood, take their own lives: Galen, On the Affected Parts, book 3, chapter 7. Some fear the heavens will fall on their heads; some that they are damned or will be. They are troubled by scruples of conscience, distrust God’s mercies, think they will certainly go to hell and the Devil will have them, and lament greatly: Jason Pratensis.
Fear of devils, death, becoming terribly ill with this or that disease; ready to tremble at everything they encounter; certain that they themselves will die immediately, or that some dear friend or close relative is already dead. Imminent danger, loss and disgrace continually torment others, and so on.
They believe they are made entirely of glass and therefore let no one come near them; or entirely of cork, as light as feathers; others, as heavy as lead. Some fear their heads will fall from their shoulders, or that they have frogs in their bellies, and so on. Montanus, consultation 23, speaks of someone who dared not walk away from home alone for fear of fainting or dying. A second fears that everyone he meets will rob him, quarrel with him or kill him.
A third dares not venture out alone for fear of meeting the Devil or a thief, or becoming ill; he fears all old women as witches, and suspects every black dog or cat he sees of being a devil. Every person who comes near him is bewitched, every creature too: all intend to hurt him and seek his ruin.
Another dares not cross a bridge, come near a pool, a rock or a steep hill, or sleep in a room with crossbeams, for fear he may be tempted to hang or drown himself, or throw himself down. If he is among a silent audience, as at a sermon, he fears he may unintentionally speak aloud, saying something indecent or unfit to be said.
If he is locked in a confined room, he fears suffocating for lack of air, and always carries biscuit, aqua vitae or some strong spirits for fear of fainting or becoming ill. Or if he is in a crowd, in the middle of a church or gathering where he cannot easily get out, even though physically comfortable, he suffers in this way. He will readily promise and undertake any business in advance, but when it comes to carrying it out, he dares not attempt it, fearing an infinite number of dangers, disasters, and so on.
Some fear being burned, or that the ground will give way beneath them or swallow them alive, or that the king will call them to account for some deed they never committed (Rhazes, Continens), and that they will certainly be executed. The terror of such a death troubles them. They fear as much and are as tormented in mind as people who have committed murder, and are distressed without cause, as if they were about to be put to death that very moment: Plater, chapter 3 on mental derangement.
They fear some loss or danger: they will certainly lose their lives, their possessions and everything they have, though they do not know why. Trincavelius, consultation 13, book 1, had a patient determined to take his own life for fear of being hanged, who for three whole years could not be persuaded that he had not killed a man. Plater’s Observations, book 1, gives two other examples of people who feared execution without cause.
If they enter a place where a robbery, theft or similar offence has been committed, they immediately fear they are under suspicion, and often give themselves away without cause. Louis XI, the French king, suspected everyone around him of being a traitor and dared trust no officer.
“Some are afraid of everyone, others of particular people” (Fracastorius, On the Understanding, book 2): some fear everyone alike, some particular men, and cannot bear their company, becoming ill in it or when away from home. Some continually suspect treachery; others fear their nearest and dearest friends (Melanelius, from Galen, Rufus and Aëtius).
And they dare not be alone in the dark for fear of hobgoblins and devils. He suspects everything he hears or sees of being a devil or enchanted; imagines a thousand chimeras and visions, which he is convinced he actually sees, terrifying apparitions; talks with dark figures, ghosts, goblins, and so on.