“There goes Porfírio, off to Dr. Bacamarte’s house,” said his wife to him the following day, at his bedside. “He’s got people with him.”
“They’re going to arrest the doctor,” thought the apothecary.
One thought leads to another; the apothecary was convinced that once they’d arrested the alienist, they would come after him as an accomplice. This thought proved to be a more effective remedy than any caustic lotion. Crispim Soares sat up, pronounced himself better, and said that he was going out. Despite all his wife’s efforts and protestations, he got dressed and left the house. The chroniclers are unanimous in recording that her certainty that the apothecary was about to place himself nobly at the alienist’s side was a great consolation to her; they go on to note very shrewdly just how powerful our illusions can be; for the apothecary resolutely made his way not to the alienist’s house, but to the government palace. On arrival, he expressed surprise on finding that the barber was not there, explaining that he had come to pledge his allegiance, having been unable to do so the previous day due to illness. With some effort he managed a cough. The functionaries who heard his declaration, knowing full well the apothecary’s close links with the alienist, understood the significance of this new declaration of allegiance, and treated Crispim Soares with punctilious kindness. They assured him that the barber would return shortly; His Lordship had gone to the Casa Verde on important business, but would not be long. They offered him a chair, refreshments, and compliments; they told him that the cause of the illustrious Porfírio was the cause of every patriot, to which the apothecary responded that, yes, indeed, he had never doubted it for a minute, and would be sure to have it brought to His Majesty’s attention.
Chapter 9
TWO FINE CASES
The alienist did not delay in receiving the barber, declaring that since he had no means to resist, he was ready to obey. He asked only that he should not be obliged to witness the destruction of the Casa Verde.
“You are much mistaken, Your Lordship” said the barber after a short pause, “in attributing such barbarous intentions to my government. Rightly or wrongly, public opinion believes that the majority of patients placed here are perfectly sane, but the government recognizes that this is a purely scientific matter and does not intend to attempt to regulate the matter with municipal bylaws. Furthermore, the Casa Verde is a public institution, for that is how we received it from the hands of the now-disbanded council. However, there is—as indeed there must be—an intermediate proposal that may restore the public’s peace of mind.”
The alienist could barely conceal his astonishment; he confessed that he had been expecting an entirely different outcome: the tearing down of the asylum, prison for him, or even exile, indeed anything but—
“You are surprised,” interrupted the barber gravely, “because you have not paid close enough attention to the heavy responsibilities of government. The people, blinded by compassion, which, in such cases, provokes a perfectly legitimate sense of indignation, may demand from their government a certain series of measures, but the government, with the responsibilities incumbent upon it, should not carry them out, or at least not in their entirety. Such is the situation we find ourselves in. The valiant revolution that yesterday brought down a despised and corrupt council, clamored for the destruction of the Casa Verde, but can a government take it upon itself to abolish madness? Certainly not. And if governments cannot abolish madness, are they any better qualified to detect and identify it? Again, no—it is a matter for science. Hence, in such a delicate matter as this, the government neither can nor should dispense with the aid and counsel of Your Lordship. What we ask of you is that, together, we find some means to satisfy public opinion. Let us join forces, and the people will fall into line. One acceptable solution, unless Your Lordship has a better suggestion, would be to remove from the Casa Verde those patients who are almost cured, as well as those who are simply harmless eccentrics. In that way, and without great danger, we can show a certain degree of benign tolerance.”
After a pause of about three minutes, Simão Bacamarte asked: “How many dead and injured were there in yesterday’s altercations?”
The barber was taken aback by the question, but quickly replied that there had been eleven dead and twenty-five wounded.
“Eleven dead and twenty-five wounded!” the alienist repeated two or three times.
The alienist intimated that he wasn’t entirely happy with the proposal, but that he would come up with an alternative within a few days. He asked a number of questions about the previous day’s events, the attack, the defense, the dragoons switching sides, any resistance offered by the councillors, and so on, to which the barber gave fulsome answers, laying great emphasis on how utterly discredited the council was. The barber confessed that the new government did not yet enjoy the backing of the town’s leading citizens, but then that was something where the alienist himself could make all the difference. The government, concluded the barber, would be greatly relieved if it could count on the sympathy, if not the goodwill, of the loftiest mind in Itaguaí, and, no doubt, in the entire kingdom. But none of this made a button of difference to the noble, austere features of that great man, who listened in silence, showing neither pride nor modesty, as impassive as a stone deity.
“Eleven dead and twenty-five wounded,” repeated the alienist, after accompanying the barber to the door. “Here we have two fine cases of cerebral incapacity. This barber exhibits clear symptoms of shameless duplicity. As for the idiocy of those who cheered him, what further proof is needed than those eleven dead and twenty-five wounded? Yes, two fine cases!”
“Long live noble Porfírio!” shouted the thirty-odd people waiting for the barber outside.
The alienist peered out the window and managed to catch the end of the barber’s short address to the excited crowd.
“. . . for I will be vigilant, of this you can be certain, yes, ever vigilant in fulfilling the wishes of the people. Trust in me, and everything will be resolved in the best possible manner. I only wish to remind you of the need for order. Order, my friends, is the very foundation of government!”
“Long live noble Porfírio!” shouted the thirty voices, waving their hats.
“Two fine cases!” murmured the alienist.
Chapter 10
THE RESTORATION
Within five days, the alienist had committed to the Casa Verde around fifty supporters of the new government. The people were outraged. The government, bewildered, did not know how to react. João Pina, another barber, said openly in the streets that Porfírio had “sold his soul to Simão Bacamarte,” a phrase which rallied the most ardent of the town’s citizens to Pina’s side. Seeing his old rival in the arts of the razor at the head of this new insurrection, Porfírio understood that all would be lost if he did not move decisively; he issued two decrees, one abolishing the Casa Verde and the other banishing the alienist. João Pina ably demonstrated, with eloquent turns of phrase, that Porfírio’s actions were nothing but a ruse and should not be taken seriously. Two hours later, Porfírio was ignominiously defeated, and João Pina assumed the heavy task of government. Finding in the filing cabinets drafts of the proclamation, the loyal address to the viceroy, and other inaugural documents left by the previous government, he lost no time in having them copied and dispatched; the chroniclers specifically state, and indeed it can be safely assumed, that he took care to change the names, so that where the other barber had written “corrupt council,” the new barber referred to “an impostor steeped in evil French doctrines contrary to the sacrosanct interests of His Majesty,” and so on.
At this point, a detachment of troops sent by the viceroy entered the town and restored order. The alienist immediately demanded that Porfírio be handed over to him, along with fifty or so other individuals, whom he declared to be mentally deranged. Furthermore, they promised to hand over a further nineteen of the barber’s followers, who were convalescing from injuries inflicted in the initial r
ebellion.
This moment in Itaguaí’s crisis also marked the zenith of Simão Bacamarte’s influence. Everything he asked for they gave him, and one of the most vivid proofs of the eminent doctor’s influence can be found in the alacrity with which the councillors, restored to their positions, agreed that Sebastião Freitas should also be committed to the asylum. Aware of the extraordinary inconsistency of this particular councillor’s opinions, the alienist identified the case as pathological, and locked the man up. The same thing happened to the apothecary. Ever since he had learned of Soares’s instantaneous decision to back the rebellion, the alienist had weighed it against the apothecary’s consistent expressions of support for him, even on the very eve of the revolt, and had him arrested too. Crispim Soares did not deny the fact, but tried to explain it away by saying that he had succumbed to an impulse of fear upon seeing the rebellion triumphant, pointing out in his own defense that he had quickly returned to his sickbed and played no further part in events. Simão Bacamarte did not argue with him, remarking to the others present that fear can also be father to insanity, and that Crispim Soares’s case struck him as one of the clearest examples of such a phenomenon.
But the most obvious proof of Simão Bacamarte’s influence was the docility with which the town council handed over its own chairman. This worthy official had declared in open session that he would be content with no less than a tun of blood to cleanse him of the Canjicas’s effrontery, and his words reached the alienist’s ears via the mouth of the town clerk, who came to him flushed with excitement. Simão Bacamarte began by putting the town clerk in the Casa Verde, and from there he went to the town hall and informed the council that the chairman of the council was suffering from “bull mania,” a type of madness he intended to make a study of, to the great benefit of mankind. The council at first hesitated, but finally gave in.
From then on this harvest of men proved unstoppable. A man could not invent or repeat the simplest of lies, even when it was to the advantage of the inventor or spreader of the lie, without being thrown into the Casa Verde. Everything was madness. Composers of riddles, aficionados of puzzles and anagrams, slanderers, nosy parkers, preening dandies, and pompous officials: no one escaped the alienist’s emissaries. He spared sweethearts but not strumpets, saying that the first yielded to a natural impulse, the second only to vice. A man could be a miser or a spendthrift and still be hauled off the Casa Verde; hence the claim that there was no rule for determining what constituted complete sanity. Certain chroniclers believe that Simão Bacamarte did not always act in good faith, and they cite in support of this allegation (which I cannot entirely vouch for) the fact that he persuaded the council to pass a bylaw authorizing the wearing of a silver ring on the thumb of the left hand by any person who, without any further proof, documentary or otherwise, claimed to have a drop or two of blue blood in his or her veins. These chroniclers say that Bacamarte’s secret goal was to enrich a certain silversmith in the town, who was a close friend. However, while it is certainly true that the jeweler saw his business prosper following the new municipal ordinance, it is no less true that the bylaw also provided the Casa Verde with a host of new inmates; it would therefore be reckless to determine which of these was the eminent doctor’s true objective. As for the reason justifying the arrest and incarceration of all those who wore the ring, that is one of the obscurest aspects of the entire history of Itaguaí. The likeliest theory is that they were locked up for going around waving their hands about for no good reason, in the streets, at home, even in church. Everyone knows that lunatics wave their hands about a lot. In any event, this is pure conjecture; there is no concrete evidence.
“Where will it all end?” exclaimed the local gentry. “Ah, if only we had supported the Canjicas . . .”
Then one morning, on the day that the council was due to hold a grand ball, the whole town was shaken by the news that the alienist’s own wife had been committed to the Casa Verde. No one could believe it; some scoundrel must surely have made it up. But no, it was absolutely true. Dona Evarista had been taken away at two o’clock in the morning. Father Lopes rushed to see the alienist and inquired discreetly about the matter.
“I’ve had my doubts for some time now,” her husband said gravely. “Her previous matrimonial modesty, in both her marriages, cannot be reconciled with the positive frenzy for silks, velvets, laces, and precious stones she has displayed since her return from Rio de Janeiro. That was when I began to observe her closely. Her conversations revolved entirely around such fripperies; if I talked to her about the royal courts of olden times, she would immediately ask about the dresses worn by the ladies; if she received a visit from a lady when I was out, before telling me the purpose of the visit she would first describe the visitor’s outfit, approving of some items and criticizing others. One day, which I am sure Your Reverence will remember, she offered to make a new dress every year for the statue of Our Lady in the parish church. These were all serious symptoms in themselves, but it was last night that her complete insanity manifested itself. She had carefully selected and made all the final alterations to the gown she was planning to wear to the municipal ball; her only hesitation was between a garnet or sapphire necklace. The day before yesterday, she asked me which one she should wear; I replied that either one would go very well. Yesterday, she repeated the question over breakfast; shortly after lunch I found her silent and thoughtful.
“ ‘What’s the matter?” I asked her.
“ ‘I’d like to wear the garnet necklace, but the sapphire one is so pretty!’
“ ‘So wear the sapphire one.’
“ ‘But then what about the garnets?’
“Anyway, the afternoon and evening passed without any further developments. We had supper and went to bed. In the middle of the night, sometime around one-thirty, I woke up and she wasn’t there. I got out of bed, went to our dressing room, and found her with the two necklaces, trying them on in front of the mirror, first one, then the other. She was obviously deranged, so I had her committed at once.”
The alienist’s response did not satisfy Father Lopes, but he said nothing. The alienist, however, understood the priest’s silence and explained to him that Dona Evarista’s case was one of “sumptuary mania,” not incurable, and certainly worthy of study.
“In six weeks she’ll be cured,” he concluded. “I’m sure of it.”
The eminent doctor’s selfless devotion further enhanced his standing in the town. Rumors, suspicions, and doubts all crumbled into dust, for he had not hesitated to lock up his own wife, whom he loved with all his heart. No one could oppose him now, still less accuse him of having anything but strictly scientific motives.
He was a great and austere man, Hippocrates and Cato rolled into one.
Chapter 11
ITAGUAÍ’S ASTONISHMENT
And now, dear reader, prepare yourself to feel as astonished as did the townspeople of Itaguaí when it was announced that the lunatics in the Casa Verde would all be released.
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“That’s impossible. Some of them, perhaps . . . but all?”
“All. That’s what he said in the memorandum he sent to the council this morning.”
The alienist had indeed sent an official memorandum to the council, setting out the following points, in numbered paragraphs:
1. Having consulted statistics relating to both the town and the Casa Verde, four-fifths of the population are currently residing in said establishment.
2. This displacement of population leads me to examine the fundamental basis of my theory of mental illness, pursuant to which all persons whose faculties are not in perfect equilibrium must be considered insane.
3. As a result of said examination and in the light of said statistics, I am now convinced that the true doctrine is the contrary, and that the disequilibrium of mental faculties should therefore be considered normal and exemplary, whereas those whose mental equilibrium is undisturbe
d should henceforth be treated as probably pathological.
4. In the light of this discovery, I hereby inform the council that I will set free the current inmates of the Casa Verde, and replace them with such persons as fulfill the conditions set out above.
5. I will spare no effort in the pursuit of scientific truth, and I expect the same dedication on the part of the council.
6. I will repay the council and individuals concerned the sum total of the stipend received for lodging the presumed lunatics, minus any amounts already spent on food, clothing, etc., which the council can verify upon inspection of the Casa Verde’s account ledgers and coffers.
You can imagine the astonishment of the people of Itaguaí, and the joy of the inmates’ friends and relations. Banquets, dances, colored lanterns, and music—no expense was spared in celebrating the happy event. I shall not describe the festivities since they are not relevant to our purposes, but they were magnificent, highly emotional, and prolonged.
As is always the way with human affairs, in the midst of the rejoicing provoked by Simão Bacamarte’s memorandum, no one paid any attention to the words at the end of the fourth paragraph, which were later to prove of such importance.
Chapter 12
THE END OF THE FOURTH PARAGRAPH
Lanterns were extinguished, families reunited, and everything seemed to return to its rightful place. Order reigned, and the council once again governed without any external interference; its own chairman and Councillor Freitas returned to their respective positions. Porfírio the barber, chastened by events and having “experienced all in life,” as the poet said of Napoleon (and even more than that, because Napoleon never experienced the Casa Verde), decided that the obscure glories of razor and scissors were preferable to the brilliant calamities of power. He was, of course, prosecuted by the authorities, but the townspeople begged His Majesty to show clemency, and a pardon was duly granted. João Pina was cleared of all charges, since his actions had brought down a rebel. The chroniclers think it was this that gave birth to our adage, “When a thief robs a thief the sentence is but brief,” an immoral saying, it’s true, but still highly useful.