The Anatomy of Melancholy

Robert, duke of Normandy, imprisoned by his youngest brother, Henry I, “from that day wasted away in prison with inconsolable grief,” says Matthew Paris: from that day onwards he pined away with grief. Jugurtha, that noble commander, was brought to Rome in triumph and then imprisoned; through anguish of soul and melancholy, he died.

Roger, bishop of Salisbury, second only to King Stephen—the man who built the famous castle at Devizes in Wiltshire—was so tormented in prison by hunger and all the sufferings of such people “that he did not wish to live and did not know how to die”: he would not live and could not die, caught between fear of death and the torments of life. Francis, king of France, was taken prisoner by Charles V and became “melancholy almost to death,” says Guicciardini: melancholy almost to death, and in an instant. But this is as clear as the sun and needs no further illustration.