Upon reaching this conclusion, the eminent alienist experienced two opposing sensations, one of pleasure, the other of dejection. The pleasure was on seeing that, at the end of long and patient investigation, involving unrelenting work and a monumental struggle against the entire population, he could now confirm the following truth: there were no madmen in Itaguaí; the town possessed not one single lunatic. But no sooner had this idea refreshed his soul than another appeared, completely neutralizing the effect of the first: a doubt. What! Not one single well-adjusted brain in the whole of Itaguaí? Would such an extreme conclusion not, by its very nature, be erroneous? And would it not, moreover, destroy the entire majestic edifice of his new psychological doctrine?

The chroniclers of Itaguaí describe the illustrious Simão Bacamarte’s anguish as one of the most terrifying moral maelstroms ever to afflict mankind. But such tempests only terrify the weak; the strong brace themselves and stare into the eye of the storm. Twenty minutes later, the alienist’s face lit up with a gentle glow.

“Yes, that must be it,” he thought.

And here is what it was. Simão Bacamarte had discovered within himself all the characteristics of perfect mental and moral equilibrium. It seemed to him that he possessed wisdom, patience, perseverance, tolerance, truthfulness, moral vigor, and loyalty; in other words, all the qualities that together defined a confirmed lunatic. It’s true that doubts immediately followed, and he even concluded that he was mistaken; but, being a prudent man, he gathered together a group of friends and asked them for their candid opinion. Their verdict was affirmative.

“Not a single defect?”

“Not one,” they replied in unison.

“No vices?”

“None.”

“Absolutely perfect?”

“Absolutely.”

“No,” cried the alienist, “it’s impossible! I don’t recognize in myself the superiority you have so generously described. You’re just saying these things out of kindness. I’ve examined myself and I can find nothing to justify the excesses of your affections.”

The assembled friends insisted; the alienist resisted; finally, Father Lopes explained everything with this astute observation:

“Do you know why you can’t see in yourself those lofty virtues we all so admire? It’s because you have one further quality that outshines all the rest: modesty.”

His words were decisive. Simão Bacamarte bowed his head, both happy and sad, and yet more happy than sad. Without further ado, he committed himself to the Casa Verde. In vain his wife and friends told him to stay, that he was perfectly sane and balanced; but no amount of begging or pleading or tears would detain him for even one moment.

“It is a matter of science,” he said. “It concerns an entirely new doctrine, of which I am the very first example. I embody both the theory and the practice.”

“Simão! My darling Simão!” wailed his wife, tears streaming down her face.