All this variety is produced by the different degrees of heat and cold. Hercules de Saxonia holds that it proceeds entirely from the disordered balance of the spirits alone—especially the animal spirits, which are immaterial—the nearest and immediate causes of melancholy, according to whether they are hot, cold, dry or moist. Their agitation produces the diversity of symptoms that he enumerates in chapter 13 of his Treatise on Melancholy, discussing it at length in every part.

Others hold that they arise from the differing degrees to which the four humours are scorched. In this unnatural melancholy, corrupted blood, scorched choler or natural melancholy—transformed by excessive heat and scorching into something like a caustic lye compared with its natural state—produce, according to the diversity of their substance, various strange symptoms. Timothy Bright enumerates these in his following chapter; so does Arculanus, according to the four principal scorched humours, as do many others.

For example, if it proceeds from phlegm—which is rare and less frequent than the other kinds—it produces sluggish symptoms and a kind of stupor, or impairment without strong emotion. They are sleepy, says Savonarola, dull, slow, cold, dull-witted and ass-like. “Asinine melancholy,” Melanchthon calls it. They are much given to weeping and delight in waters, ponds, pools, rivers, fishing, fowling and the like (Arnoldus, Breviary, book 1, chapter 18). They are pale, slothful, inclined to sleep and heavy; much troubled by headache, continual brooding and muttering to themselves.

They dream of water and of being in danger of drowning, and fear such things, says Rhazes. They are fatter than other melancholic people, have muddy complexions, are more inclined to spit and sleep, are more troubled by rheum than the rest, and always keep their eyes fixed on the ground. Hercules de Saxonia had such a patient, a widow in Venice, who was fat and continually very sleepy; Christophorus à Vega had another affected in the same way.

If it is long-established or violent, the symptoms are more apparent. They are plainly deranged and seem ridiculous to others in all their gestures, actions and speech, imagining impossibilities, like the man in Christophorus à Vega who thought he was a cask of wine, and that man of Siena who resolved not to piss for fear of drowning the whole town.

If it proceeds from scorched blood, or if blood is mixed into it, such people commonly have ruddy complexions and high colour, according to Salust Salvianus and Hercules de Saxonia. And, as Savonarola and Victorius Faventinus in his Empirics add, the veins of their eyes are red, as well as their faces. They are much inclined to laughter, witty and merry, imaginative in conversation, agreeable if the condition is not far advanced, and much given to music, dancing and women’s company.

They think entirely about such things and imagine that they see or hear plays, dancing and similar entertainments, free from all fear and sorrow, as Hercules de Saxonia supposes. If they are more strongly affected by this kind of melancholy, Arnoldus adds in his Breviary, book 1, chapter 18, they are like the man of Argos in the poet, who sat laughing all day long as though he had been at a theatre.

Another such man is mentioned by Aristotle, living at Abydos, a town in Asia Minor. He would sit in the same way, as though he were on a stage, and sometimes act himself, then clap his hands and laugh as though greatly pleased by the spectacle. Wolfius tells of a countryman called Brunsellius, subject to this humour, who happened to be at a sermon and saw a half-asleep woman fall off a bench. Most of the congregation laughed at the sight, but he was so moved that for three whole days afterwards he did nothing but laugh, which greatly weakened him and left him worse for a long time afterwards.

Old Sophocles was such a man, and Democritus himself had “cheerful delirium,” very much in this vein. Laurentius, chapter 3 of On Melancholy, thinks that this kind of melancholy, slightly scorched and with some admixture of blood, is what Aristotle meant when he said that melancholic people are the most intellectually gifted of all. It often causes a divine rapture and a kind of inspired possession, stirring them to become outstanding philosophers, poets, prophets and so forth. Mercurialis, consultation 110, gives the example of a young patient of his with sanguine melancholy, a man of great intellectual ability and exceptional learning.

If it arises from scorched choler, they are bold and shameless, more reckless in disposition, inclined to quarrel and think about such things—battles, combats and their own prowess—furious, impatient in conversation, stubborn, unyielding and extravagant in their opinions. If stirred up, they become extremely violent and outrageous, ready to shame or provoke anyone, to kill themselves and others. Arnoldus adds that they are stark mad in fits; they sleep little, and their urine is thin and fiery (Guianerius). During their fits you will hear them speak every sort of language—Hebrew, Greek and Latin—though they were never taught them and never knew them before.

Apponensis, in his commentary on section 30 of the Problems, speaks of a mad woman who spoke excellent Latin; and Rhazes knew another who could prophesy during her fit and truly foretell future events. Guianerius had a patient who could compose Latin verses when the Moon was combust, though otherwise unlettered. Avicenna and some of his followers hold that, when these symptoms occur, they come from the devil, and that such people are “demon-possessed”—possessed rather than mad or melancholic, or both together, as Jason Pratensis thinks: “Evil spirits intrude,” and so on.