The visit begins in the old living room and reading room, the ‘Sala Minhota’, so named because of the strong presence of this Portuguese region [Minho] in the pieces on display, through elements such as the Hearts of Viana. Right there, we realise that Fernando de Castro was not just a collector; he was also an inventor, since many of the pieces were commissioned by him — and he relied on the work of skilled carpenters. A bookcase inspired by an ox yoke or a frame with a photograph of his parents, which is actually the headboard of a bed, are just two examples among many of his inventive spirit.

Practically the entire house is covered with gilded woodcarvings in the Baroque style. This material comes from churches and convents that were closed in 1911 during the First Republic, through the Law of Separation of Church and State, and which Fernando made a point of recovering.

The dining room, filled with religious art, replicates the interior of a chapel and is separated from the rest of the house by an ornate gate that is ‘an exact replica of one found in the Church of São Francisco.’ ‘He saw it, liked it, copied it and had it built,’ says Anabela Ribeirinho, technical assistant at the Soares dos Reis National Museum. Our guide points out that ‘a characteristic of house museums is that there is always a table set in the dining room,’ but that this is not the case here because Maria da Luz, Fernando's sister, took with her the objects that ‘evidenced family life, which showed that it was a dwelling house.’

We went up to the first floor and came across a ‘Golden Room’, a larger and brighter room, where the gilded woodcarving is more vibrant. It is a kind of ballroom, ‘inspired by the Palace of Versailles and the Palace of Queluz’, and differs from the other rooms in the number of mirrors that cover it and also in the absence of religious images. Of particular note is the painting Le Malade Imaginaire, by Giuseppe Signorini (late 19th century - early 20th century), which conveys a certain humour - a real figure assessing the state of health of a clerical figure.

The stairs leading to the top floor are an antechamber of wonder. The gilded woodcarving, now darker and denser, gains even more body and weight and seems to overwhelm visitors. There is an inaccessible pulpit and a collection of reliquaries without relics, the only bright spot being a colourful stained-glass window in the ceiling.

Between the doors that lead nowhere — or that promise passages that do not exist — and religious images and paintings that span centuries (from the 16th to the 20th century), there are other details that encapsulate Fernando de Castro's irreverent and playful spirit, such as two pieces of faience from Caldas da Rainha, hidden in the bedside table: the John Bull chamber pot and the ceramic spittoon by Rafael Bordalo Pinheiro.

Also noteworthy is Fernando de Castro's library, comprising more than three thousand volumes, but which remains inaccessible to visitors. However, its catalogue is available at the Soares dos Reis National Museum library and, upon request, the books can be consulted there. Ana Mântua adds that a master's thesis on this bibliographic collection will soon be written.

To this day, Fernando de Castro remains an enigmatic figure. Little is known about his personal life. His home is perhaps a reflection of his inner world and his most ambitious visual poem — a place where the sacred and the profane meet, that “altar without worship”.