Supper was coming to an end; it was half-past eight; a few musicians were arriving in readiness for the ball. Still to come was a poem by Eduardo Valadares and a few more toasts to all those present and to those few who were absent. Now, with the liqueurs coming to the aid of the muses, battle was engaged between Lieutenant Porfírio and Justiniano Vilela, although the latter had to be urged to enter the arena. Once all subjects for debate had been exhausted, Porfírio proposed a toast to the army and its generals, and Vilela a toast to the union of all the provinces of the empire. When everyone else got up from the table, the two of them remained behind, warmly toasting all the practical and useful ideas of this world and the next.

The ball that followed was a very lively affair that went on until three in the morning.

No untoward incident marred the party. At most, there was a rather regrettable remark made by José Lemos when dancing with Dona Margarida, during which he boldly lamented her fate at having a husband who preferred proposing endless toasts to enjoying the priceless good fortune of being by her side. Dona Margarida smiled, and the incident went no further.

At two o’clock, Dr. Valença left with his family, and, despite the generally familiar tone of the party, he had not lost one iota of his habitual gravity all evening. Calisto Valadares escaped when Dona Beatriz’s younger daughter got up to sing at the piano, and the other guests gradually drifted away.

When the party finally drew to a close, the last two tribal leaders of the dining table were still toasting all and sundry. Vilela’s final toast was to the world’s progress via coffee and cotton, while Porfírio raised his glass to universal peace.

However, the real toast of that memorable feast was the little baby born in January of the following year, who, if he survives his teething pains, will live to continue the Lemos dynasty.

The Alienist

THE ALIENIST

Chapter 1

ON HOW ITAGUAÍ GAINED A MADHOUSE

THE CHRONICLES OF ITAGUAí record that a long time ago there lived in the town a certain physician, Dr. Simão Bacamarte, the son of landed gentry, and the greatest physician in Brazil, Portugal, and the two Spains. He had studied at Coimbra and Padua. At thirty-four, he returned to Brazil, the king being unable to persuade him to stay in Coimbra, running the university, or in Lisbon, attending to matters of state.

“Science,” he said to His Majesty, “is my sole concern; Itaguaí is my universe.”