The Anatomy of Melancholy

For neither treasures nor a consul’s Lictor can drive away the mind’s Miserable turmoil, or the cares that fly Around panelled ceilings.

Neither treasures nor a mayor’s officers remove The mind’s miserable turmoil, Or the cares that lie about or fly above Their lofty houses, joined with massive beams.

His wealth cannot rescue him, even if his possessions rival Job’s: “Let them be Croesuses and Crassuses; not even Pactolus, rolling its golden waters, could ever snatch them from misery.” Croesus or wealthy Crassus cannot command health or buy himself an appetite.

His Worship, as Apuleius describes him, amid all his abundance and plentiful supplies, is forbidden to eat, or else has no appetite. He lies sick in bed, unable to rest, grievously afflicted by some chronic disease brought on by rich food and ease, or troubled in mind. Meanwhile, his whole household is merry, and even his poorest servant continually feasts.

It is “happiness plated with thin metal,” as Seneca calls it: happiness covered in tinfoil, “unhappy happiness,” an unhappy kind of happiness, if it is happiness at all. His gold, his guards, the clatter of armour, and his fortifications against external enemies cannot free him from inward fears and cares.

For human fears and the cares that dog us Fear neither the clash of arms nor iron weapons; They move boldly among kings and those powerful among kings, And feel no awe before the gleam of gold.

Indeed, the fears and cares that always attend men Fear neither clashing armour nor fierce weapons. They boldly keep company with kings and their peers, Unafraid of any glittering gold.

Count his servants, and you count the enemies he suspects. In place of freedom he harbours ambition. His pleasures are no pleasures; and worst of all, he cannot live privately or enjoy his own company as other men do: his high position is a form of slavery.

A countryman may travel from kingdom to kingdom, province to province, and city to city, feast his eyes on delightful sights, hawk, hunt, and enjoy these ordinary recreations without attracting notice. A prince or great man can do none of this. He stays indoors to preserve his dignity, “lest the honour of majesty be cheapened,” as the kings of China and Borneo and the Tartar khans—those “golden slaves”—are said to do. They are seldom or never seen abroad, “so that people may hold them in greater reverence,” a practice the ancient Persian kings observed so scrupulously.

A poor man takes more pleasure in an ordinary meal, which he seldom has, than they do in all their foreign delicacies and constant supplies of food. “Infrequent use makes pleasure more welcome”: rarity and need make a thing agreeable and pleasant. Darius, put to flight by Alexander, drank muddy water to quench his thirst and swore that it tasted better than any wine or mead.