“Our position as councillors,” he concluded, “grants us no special powers, nor does it exclude us from the foibles of the human mind.”

Simão Bacamarte accepted the bylaw with all its restrictions. As for the councillors being exempted, he declared that he would have been deeply saddened had he been compelled to commit a single one of them to the Casa Verde; the clause itself, however, was the best possible proof that their mental faculties did not suffer from perfect equilibrium. The same could not, however, be said for Councillor Galvão, whose wisdom in objecting to the exemption, and moderation in responding to his colleagues’ abusive tirades, clearly demonstrated a well-organized brain, and on this account Bacamarte respectfully requested the council to hand him over for treatment. The council, still somewhat offended by Councillor Galvão’s behavior, considered the alienist’s request and voted unanimously in favor.

It goes without saying that, according to the new theory, a person could not be committed to the Casa Verde on the basis of a single incident or word; rather, a long examination was required, exhaustively covering both past and present. For example, it took thirty days after the bylaw was passed for Father Lopes to be arrested, and forty days for the apothecary’s wife. This lady’s detention filled her husband with indignation. Crispim Soares left his house spitting with rage, and declaring to whoever he met that he was going to box the tyrant’s ears. Upon hearing this in the street, one of the alienist’s sworn enemies immediately set aside his animosity and rushed to Simão Bacamarte’s house to warn him of the danger. Bacamarte expressed his gratitude to his erstwhile adversary, and in a matter of minutes ascertained the worthiness and good faith of the man’s sentiments, his respect and generosity toward his fellow man; he thereupon shook him warmly by the hand and committed him to the Casa Verde.

“A most unusual case,” he said to his astonished wife. “Now let’s wait for our good friend Crispim.”

Crispim arrived. Sorrow had overcome anger, and the apothecary did not after all box the alienist’s ears. The latter consoled his dear friend, assuring him that all was not lost; his wife might well have some degree of cerebral imbalance, and he, Bacamarte, would examine her very thoroughly to find out. In the meantime, though, he could scarcely let the woman roam the streets. Seeing certain advantages in reuniting them—on the basis that the husband’s slippery duplicity might in some way cure the moral refinement he had detected in the wife—Bacamarte told Soares:

“You can work in your dispensary during the day, but you will have lunch and dinner here with your wife, and stay overnight, and spend all day here on Sundays and public holidays.”

The proposal placed the poor apothecary in the position of Buridan’s ass. He very much wanted to be with his wife, but feared returning to the Casa Verde; he remained caught in this dilemma for some time, until Dona Evarista rescued him by promising to visit her dear friend and relay messages back and forth between them. Crispim Soares gratefully kissed her hands. This gesture of cowardly egotism struck the alienist as almost sublime.