The alienist contemplated his new doctrine with mixed feelings. He was happy because, after such long study, experimentation, and struggle, he could at last affirm the ultimate truth: there never were and never would be any madmen in Itaguai or anywhere else. But he was unhappy because a doubt assailed him. In the field of psychopathology a generalization so broad, so absolute, was almost inevitably erroneous. If he could find just one undeniably well balanced, virtuous, insane man, the new theory would be acceptable—not as an absolute, exceptionless principle, which was inadmissible, but as a general rule applicable to all but the most extraordinary cases.

According to the chroniclers, this difficulty constituted the most dreadful of the spiritual tempests through which the courageous Bacamarte passed in the course of his stormy professional life. But tempests terrify only the weak. After twenty minutes a gentle but radiant dawn dispelled the darkness from the face of the alienist.

“Of course. That’s it, of course.”

What Simão Bacamarte meant was that he had found in himself the perfect, undeniable case of insanity. He possessed wisdom, patience, tolerance, truthfulness, loyalty, and moral fortitude—all the qualities that go to make an utter madman.

But then he questioned his own self-observation. Surely he must be imperfect in some way. To ascertain the truth about himself he convoked a gathering of his friends and questioned them. He begged them to answer with absolute frankness. They all agreed that he had not been mistaken.

“No defects?”

“None at all,” they replied in chorus.

“No vices?”

“None.”

“Perfect in every respect?”

“In every respect.”

“No, impossible!” cried the alienist. “I cannot believe that I am so far superior to my fellow men. You are letting yourselves be influenced by your affection for me.”

His friends insisted. The alienist hesitated, but Father Lopes made it difficult for him not to accept their judgment.

“Do you know why you are reluctant to recognize in yourself the lofty qualities which we all see so clearly?” said the priest. “It is because you have an additional quality that enhances all the others: modesty.”

Simão Bacamarte bowed his head. He was both sad and happy, but more happy than sad. He immediately committed himself to the Green House. His wife and his friends begged him not to. They told him he was perfectly sane. They wept, they pleaded. All in vain.

“This is a matter of science, of a new doctrine,” he said, “and I am the first instance of its application. I embody both theory and practice.”

“Simão! Simão, my love!” cried his wife. Her face was bathed in tears.