For the alienist’s dedication was more extraordinary than all the manias residing in the Casa Verde; it was nothing short of astonishing. Bacamarte set about putting in place two administrators, an idea of Crispim Soares’s that Bacamarte accepted along with the apothecary’s two nephews, whom he charged with implementing a set of rules and regulations, approved by the council, for the distribution of food and clothing, as well as keeping the accounts and other such matters. Bacamarte himself was thus free to concentrate on his medical duties.

“The Casa Verde,” he said to the priest, “is now a world unto itself, in which there is both a temporal and a spiritual government.” Father Lopes laughed at this godly quip and added, with the sole aim of making his own little joke: “Any more of that and I’ll have you reported to the Pope himself.”

Once relieved of his administrative burdens, the alienist embarked upon a vast enterprise, that of classifying his patients. He divided them, first, into two main categories—the violent and the meek—and from there proceeded to the subcategories of monomanias, deliria and various kinds of hallucinations. When that was done, he began a long and unremitting analysis of each patient’s daily routine, when their outbursts occurred, their likes and dislikes, their words, gestures, and obsessions; he would inquire into their lives, professions, habits, how their illness had first manifested itself, any accidents suffered in childhood or adolescence, any other illnesses, any family history of mental illness; in short, an inquiry beyond that of even the most scrupulous of magistrates. And each day, he noted down a new observation, some interesting discovery or extraordinary phenomenon. At the same time, he studied the best diets, medicines, cures, and palliatives, both those handed down by his beloved Arabs and those which he himself discovered by dint of wisdom and patience. This work took up most of his time. He barely slept or ate, and even when he did eat he carried on working, either consulting an ancient text or ruminating over some particular matter; he would often spend an entire meal without saying a single word to Dona Evarista.

Chapter 3

GOD KNOWS WHAT HE IS DOING!

By the end of two months, that illustrious lady was the unhappiest of women; she fell into a deep melancholy, grew thin and sallow, ate little, and sighed at every turn. She did not dare to criticize or reproach Bacamarte in any way, for she respected him as her husband and master, but she suffered in silence and was visibly wasting away. One evening over dinner, when her husband asked her what was wrong, she replied sadly that it was nothing; then she summoned up a little courage and went as far as to say that she considered herself just as much a widow as before, adding:

“Who would have imagined that half a dozen lunatics . . .”