Post on 15-Dec-2018
Trabalho de Projecto apresentado para cumprimento dos
requisitos necessários à obtenção do grau de Mestre em
Tradução realizado sob a orientação científica de Karen Bennett
AGRADECIMENTOS
To Luís and Angelina Iria, my maternal grandparents, who made it so I could
follow my dreams and keep studying. Without them, I would not be who I am today and
I am eternally grateful for all they provided for me and the life they gave me.
To my professor, Karen Bennett, who inspired me through Componente Letiva
and then guided me through Componente Não Letiva, and for giving me the confidence
I needed to write in English.
To Daniel and his family, who have been by my side throughout all my academic
path. For the kind words, for believing in me, for not letting me give up and pushing me
to always try my best. You helped me become a better scholar, but also a better person.
To Katie, for being my friend since I could barely speak English, for all her support
and help as I grew and my love for writing grew with me. It has been so many years and
you are still my best of friends – and my English would have turned out to be a miserable
shadow of itself without you.
To Kiwi, to Manga, to Eva and to Nico for their unconditional love and for chirping
happy thoughts when I felt sad, lost or overwhelmed.
Tradução e comentário de “A Fada Oriana” por Sophia de Mello Breyner
Andresen, uma autora canónica no ensino português ignorada na língua inglesa
Translation and commentary of A Fada Oriana (The Fairy Oriana) by Sophia de Mello
Breyner Andresen, a canonical Portuguese author in the teaching system neglected
in English
Marta Filipa Iria Silva
[RESUMO]
Este trabalho de projeto procura traduzir A Fada Oriana, um texto infantil de 1958, situando-o no seu tempo e contexto apropriado, ou seja, um Portugal oprimido, pobre e censurado pela ditadura fascista que se autointitulou de Estado Novo. A realidade do dia a dia e a realidade sociolinguística eram completamente diferente da nossa realidade contemporânea. Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen foi uma famosa autora Portuguesa que ainda hoje faz parte do Plano Nacional de Leitura no sistema de ensino Português e faz parte do cânon do ensino, mas cujas histórias infantis nunca foram traduzidas para a língua inglesa. A tradução tenta preservar a cultura Portuguesa numa cápsula de tempo, sem a preocupação de domesticar o texto para o leitor-criança moderno, escolhendo então um novo leitor-adulto e mercado académico de nicho onde possa encontrar um equilíbrio saudável entre a fidelidade ao texto fonte, fluência e o prazer do leitor.
Palavras-chave: Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen, tradução de contos de fadas,
tradução literária
[ABSTRACT]
This project is a translation of A Fada Oriana, a Portuguese children’s book first written in 1958. It wishes to place the text in its appropriate timeframe and context, that is, an oppressed, poor and censured Portugal under the power of a fascist dictatorship that called itself the Estado Novo. The everyday reality and sociolinguistic reality then were completely disconnected from our contemporary reality. Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen was a famous Portuguese author that is still inserted in the education system today and is part of the teaching canon. Nevertheless, her children’s stories were never translated into English. The translation wishes to preserve Portuguese culture in a time capsule, without attempting to domesticate the text for the child reader; instead it chooses a new adult reader and a niche academic market, where it can hopefully find a healthy balance between fidelity to the source text, fluency and reading pleasure.
Keywords: Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen, fairy-tale translation, literary translation
Table of Contents
GENERAL INTRODUCTION ............................................................................................................. 1
PART 1. THEORETICAL CONCERNS ................................................................................................ 3
1. Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen....................................................................................... 3
2. The Portuguese target reader and children’s literature during Estado Novo....................... 4
3. The Anglophone target reader and target publisher ........................................................... 5
PART 2. THE TRANSLATION ........................................................................................................... 6
1. Translated Chapters .............................................................................................................. 6
I – Good fairies and Evil Fairies ............................................................................................. 6
II – Oriana .............................................................................................................................. 6
III – The Very Rich Man........................................................................................................ 13
IV – The Fish ........................................................................................................................ 19
V – The Fairy Queen ............................................................................................................ 27
VIII - The Tree and the Animals ........................................................................................... 31
2. Commentary ............................................................................................................................ 40
2.1 Adapting the dialogue punctuation from Portuguese into English ................................... 40
2.2 Regular formal Portuguese register and the traditional fairy-tale register in English ...... 42
2.3 Problematic semantic choices in Modern Western Culture ............................................. 43
2.3.1 ‘Homens’, or ‘men’ as the traditional word for ‘Humankind’ .................................... 45
2.3.2 ‘Moleira’ as ‘millerwoman’ or just ‘the miller’s wife’ ................................................ 46
2.3.3 ‘Fadas más’: should they be ‘bad fairies’ or ‘evil fairies’? .......................................... 46
2.4 Translating an informal word for a currency that has not been in use for 16 years ........ 48
2.5 Translating proper nouns .................................................................................................. 49
2.5.1 ‘Sião’: a geographical term out of political fashion .................................................... 49
2.5.2 ‘Salomão’: the seemingly randomly named fish ........................................................ 50
2.6 Gender neutrality of objects in English and personification ............................................. 51
GENERAL CONCLUSION ............................................................................................................... 53
BIBLIOGRAPHY ............................................................................................................................. 56
ANNEXES ..................................................................................................................................... 58
1. Chapters cut from the Target Text: ................................................................................. 58
VI – The Abandoned Forest ................................................................................................. 58
VII - The City ........................................................................................................................ 64
IX - The Abyss ...................................................................................................................... 70
2. Source text: ..................................................................................................................... 74
I – Fadas boas e Fadas más ................................................................................................. 74
II – Oriana ............................................................................................................................ 74
III – O Homem Muito Rico ................................................................................................... 81
IV – O Peixe ......................................................................................................................... 87
V – A Rainha das Fadas ........................................................................................................ 95
VI – A Floresta Abandonada ................................................................................................ 99
VII – A Cidade .................................................................................................................... 105
VIII – A Árvore e os Animais .............................................................................................. 111
IX – O Abismo .................................................................................................................... 120
1
GENERAL INTRODUCTION
This project memory aims to fulfil the objectives of the Componente Não Letiva
(CNL) of the Master’s Degree in Translation of the Faculdade de Ciências Sociais e
Humanas da Universidade Nova de Lisboa and to be the one of the first published
translations of Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen’s children’s tale A Fada Oriana (first
written in 1958 and first published in 1964).
Of all three options available, the project was chosen as a way of both testing
what has been learned in the Componente Letiva and acquiring more experience in
translating literature, especially from Portuguese into English while allowing some
freedom in the areas and themes explored. For this, A Fada Oriana by Sophia de Mello
Breyner Andresen was the chosen piece of literature. It is a re-imagination of the Greek
mythological tale of Narcissus with a Christian undertone and a happier ending. It
follows the story of a good fairy that took care of her forest and the people within it until
a fish lured her to the water and she saw herself. As she fell in love with her reflection,
she forgot all her good fairy duties. Everything went wrong in the forest without Oriana’s
guidance: people left for the city, where they found nothing but pain and misery while
getting lost in the alleys, and the animals ran for the hills. As punishment, the Fairy
Queen took away her wings and magic wand, telling the fairy she could only have them
back when she showed true selflessness. It is a moralistic fairy-tale that teaches
empathy, selflessness and the importance of one’s responsibilities.
Andresen is a canonical author in the Portuguese education system and an
award-winning poet that has been largely neglected in English-speaking countries,
although her work has been translated into other European languages and even into
Chinese. With this project, this author (and Portuguese culture in general) can hopefully
gain more exposure in the English-speaking world and, now that English is a Lingua
Franca, also gain more exposure world-wide indirectly.
The project is divided into two parts. The first part briefly introduces the author,
addresses children’s literature and introduces the new intended target reader. It also
2
discusses possible outlets for publication of the book, such as Carcanet’s series The
Aspects of Portugal or other scholarly and educational editions.
The second part is the translation. The entire book was translated and annexed
to this project but due to page limit constraints only problematic chapters are included
in the body of the text and have been commented on. The translation present in the text
body consists of the following chapters: I – Good Fairies and Evil Fairies (181 words), II
– Oriana (2,161 words), III – The Very Rich Man (2,046 words), IV – The fish (2,474
words), V – The Fairy Queen (947 words) and VIII – The Tree and the Animals (2,307
words) for a total of 10,116 words translated.
The commentary is also present in the second part of this project. It describes
the translation, comments on the process and explains the translation choices made
with a focus on semantic choices driven by sociocultural factors. It is, after all, a literary
text and as times change, language adapts to change with use. Contemporary English
has undergone important sociolinguistic changes driven by social and political pressures,
which may pose an issue while translating texts from languages, cultures and periods
without the same concerns as the target reader and intended culture. How should older
texts that no longer fit within our values be treated, and can they still be inserted in
modern times?
Alongside those issues, there is also some attention to the nationality of the
translator, who belongs to the source culture rather than the target culture. This fact
certainly influences the interpretation of the source text and subsequent rewriting into
English, therefore the advantages and disadvantages of translating into English as a
lingua franca when the translator belongs to the source culture are also briefly
discussed.
3
PART 1. THEORETICAL CONCERNS
1. Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen
Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen was born in 1919, just before Portugal fell in
tumultuous times. When she was a little over seven years old, in 1926, a coup removed
the Primeira República Portuguesa from power and instated a military dictatorship. In
1933, the new constitution was approved, and the military dictatorship became known
as Estado Novo, an authoritarian regime. She was very outspoken against the regime,
which was not taken lightly, and she was considered a persona non-grata. This meant
that any interviews she did were censored, her house would be searched for no reason
and any poems published in newspapers or periodicals were cut and censored. In
addition to interviews, she also collaborated with various journals and periodicals, like
Aventura, Variante, Atlântico, Unicórnio, Tábua Redonda and Diário Popular (Oliveira
1981: 60), alongside her poetry. Despite all this, she still managed to be published: A
Fada Oriana, for example, was published in 1964, ten years before the regime fell, and
she won her first literary award in 1966 (however, it was the only one she won until
1977). She was a famous poet and won a myriad of other awards, including the Prémio
Camões in 1999; but she also wrote narratives, such as Contos Exemplares (1962),
Histórias da Terra e do Mar (1984) and many others.
As said by Andresen in an interview to Eduardo Prado Coelho in 1986, her five
children were the reason her tales began taking shape. According to Martins (1994: 90-
91), she was influenced by stories such as the satirical narrative Gulliver’s Travels (1726)
by Jonathan Swift, whose ideals amused her, as he wrote to Alexander Pope in 1725
saying that he intended it to “vex the world rather than divert it” (Swift 1801: 37); by
the tales of Sindbad the Sailor, a later addition to The Thousand and One Nights, which
told the story of merchants trading under rough and dangerous times (Britannica 2016)
and by The Adventures of Robison Crusoe (1789) by Daniel Defoe, a fictional travelogue
of a castaway. Her children’s stories are modern fairy-tales and were also inspired by
classic fairy-tales by Charles Perrault, Hans Christian Andersen and the Grimm brothers.
She was also heavily influenced by the sea and sea themes, as well as by her studies in
Classical Philology and Greek mythology. Both the sea and Greek mythology are
recurring themes in A Fada Oriana: Oriana’s story mirrors the Greek tale of Narcissus
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closely. Furthermore, there are two very important fish in the story, the nameless fish,
known only as “the fish” and one that is named, fish Solomon. The first one feeds Oriana
compliments and helps her forget all her responsibilities and the second one has her
wait for seven days by the sea shore, which she does, forgetting the old woman
completely and thus severing the last of her empathic feelings towards the inhabitants
of the forest.
Andresen passed away in 2004 and, since 2014, her remains have rested at the
National Pantheon, a place reserved for Portuguese citizens who have greatly
distinguished themselves.
2. The Portuguese target reader and children’s literature during Estado
Novo
Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen had already published poetry and earned
renown amongst her adult readership when she emerged as a children’s book writer in
1958 with the first edition of A Fada Oriana. Andresen began writing for children when
her own children were sick and irritable. Natércia Rocha (1984: 80) characterizes
Andresen’s children’s stories as moralistic and magical, with the fantastic and the surreal
leading the plot through flowing, delicate and musical writing.
There was a long period of stagnation in the 1930s, caused by the consolidation
of António Salazar’s power, the Spanish civil war and the pre-world war tensions. This
led to a decline in the amount of children’s literature produced. However, in the 1950s,
there was a rise in national talent in the genre, consisting of names like Sophia de Mello
Breyner Andresen, Maltilde Rosa Araújo, Esther de Lemos, and so on (Rocha 1984: 80-
82). Salazar’s Catholic background made it so the values he imposed the State were
Catholic and conservative in nature, with special emphasis on nationalism and rurality.
All artistic production took a heavy toll under the repressive regime, including literary
creation and thus children’s literature. Much of the production was disguised
propaganda designed to morally format the children, and everything else would be
censored in accordance with the values of the regime, so there was no doubt or question
of the political, moral and ideological principles of the state. The state co-authored
5
whatever was published, and, in time, authors would censor themselves (Patriarca 2012:
29-32).
A Fada Oriana was targeted at young children under an oppressive regime in a
poor and rural country, a product of circumstance and time. Therefore, it can no longer
be expected to resonate with young children in developed countries today.
3. The Anglophone target reader and target publisher
This translation does not intend to share a similar target reader with the source
text. It is no longer aimed at middle-school-aged children for cultural and socioeconomic
reasons. The British website schoolreadinglist.co.uk, managed by English teachers,
librarians and parents, recommends 33 different books for children aged 10 to 11 years
old (the age at which Portuguese children read the source text, as per the Plano Nacional
de Leitura) and none of them are translations. If the translation were to be marketed for
children, the established native English-speaking authors would always take precedence
over a translated Portuguese author who, despite being a canonical author in the
education system in Portugal who has been consistently taught since 1979 (Matias,
2003: 34).
Source-text-oriented translations are no longer fashionable in contemporary
leisure literature mostly because they possess low economic value, which, as Venuti
(1995: 12) says, as the market is “enforced by editors, publishers and reviewers, fluency
results in translations that are eminently readable and therefore consumable on the
book market”. The target text has opted for a completely different readership: this
translation is aimed at adults and young people (whether native English speakers or
speakers of English as a lingua franca) that are interested in Portuguese culture. It could
also function as a culturally rich learning tool for students of Portuguese as a foreign
language, in which case it could be packaged as a parallel-text edition. The target text
could be published in Carcanet’s series Aspects of Portugal – either as a stand-alone text
or in a bigger edition featuring all of Andresen’s short stories. Carcanet Press is a British
renowned literary published, founded in 1969 by Michael Schmidt. The collection of
Aspects of Portugal is a series of books ranging from history to prose, all focusing on
Portuguese culture.
6
PART 2. THE TRANSLATION
1. Translated Chapters
The Fairy Oriana
I – Good fairies and Evil Fairies
There are two kinds of fairies: good fairies and evil fairies. Good fairies do good
things and evil fairies do evil things.
Good fairies water the flowers with morning dew, light the fires of old people,
hold back the children about to fall in the river, enchant the gardens, dance in the air,
make up dreams and, at night, place golden coins in the shoes of the poor.
Evil fairies dry up the wells, extinguish the fires of the shepherds, tear up the
clothes drying in the sun, disenchant the gardens, bother the children, torment the
animals and steal from the poor.
When a good fairy sees a dead tree with dry branches and no leaves, she touches
it with her magic wand and in that same instant the tree is filled with leaves, flowers,
fruits and singing birds.
When an evil fairy sees a tree filled with leaves, flowers, fruits and singing birds,
she touches it with her cursed magic wand and in that same instant an icy wind rips out
the leaves, makes the fruits rot, the flowers wither and the birds drop dead.
II – Oriana
Once upon a time there was a fairy called Oriana. She was a good fairy and she
was very pretty. She was free; joyfully and happily dancing on the fields, on the hills, in
the woods and on the beaches.
One day, the Fairy Queen called her and said:
"Oriana, come with me."
And together they soared across plains, lakes and mountains until they arrived
at a country with a very big forest.
7
"Oriana," said the Fairy Queen, "I give you this forest. Every man, animal and
plant that lives here is, from now on, under your care. You are the fairy of this forest.
You must promise me you will never leave it."
To which Oriana replied,
"I promise."
From that day on, Oriana lived in the forest. At night, she slept in an oak trunk.
In the morning, she would wake up very early, way before the flowers and the birds. Her
clock was the very first ray of sunshine because she had a lot to do. Everyone needed
her in the forest. She would warn the rabbits and the deer that the huntsmen were
coming. She would water the plants with morning dew. She would watch over the
miller's eleven children. She would rescue the birds that were stuck in the rat traps.
At night, when everyone was asleep, Oriana would go to the prairies to dance
with the other fairies. Or she would fly above the forest and, spreading her wings, she
would stay still, hanging in the air between the earth and the sky. All around the forest
there were sleeping fields and mountains, full of silence. Far away you could see lights
of a city looking on to its river. During the day and up close, the city was dark, ugly and
sad. But at night the city would shine bright, full of lights: green, purple, yellow, blue,
red and lilac, as if there was a big party. It seemed made of opals, of rubies, of glitter, of
emeralds and sapphires.
A summer passed, then an autumn, then a winter and then spring came. One
morning in April, Oriana rose even earlier than usual. As soon as the first ray of sunshine
entered the forest, she left the oak trunk where she slept. She took a deep breath,
breathing in the scent of the dawn and danced a bit. Then she combed her hair with her
fingers and washed her face with morning dew.
"What a beautiful morning!" she said. "I have never seen a morning this blue,
this green, so fresh and golden."
And she danced through the forest, greeting everything. The trees woke up first,
then the roosters, then the birds, then the flowers, then the rabbits, then the deer and
the foxes. After that, the men started waking up, and Oriana went to visit the old
woman.
8
She was a very old woman who lived in an even older house. And inside the house
there were only rags, broken furniture and cracked crockery. Oriana peeked through the
unglazed window. The old woman was doing housework whilst talking to herself, saying:
"What a dark life, what a dark life! I am as old as time and I still need to work. I
have no children to help me. If it wasn't for the fairies, where would I be?...
… When I was young I would play in the forest, and the animals, leaves and
flowers would play with me. My mother would comb my hair and place a dancing ribbon
in my dress. Now, if it wasn't for the fairies, where would I be?...
… When I was young I would laugh all day, and at the balls I would dance all night;
I had over a hundred friends. Now that I am old, I have none. If it wasn't for the fairies,
where would I be?...
… When I was young I had gentlemen telling me I was beautiful and throwing
carnations at my feet. Now the boys run after me, calling me ‘old crone, old crone!’ and
throw rocks at me. If it wasn't for the fairies, where would I be?...
… When I was young I had a palace, silk dresses, maids and lackeys. Now I am
old, and I have nothing. If it wasn't for the fairies, where would I be?”
Oriana heard this lament every morning, and every morning she would be sad,
feeling sorry for the old woman, so curved, so wrinkly and so alone, who spent her whole
days grumbling and sighing.
Fairies would only show themselves to children, animals, trees and flowers, so
the old woman never saw Oriana. But even though she couldn't see her, she knew she
was there, ready to help.
After she swept her house, the old woman lit the stove and boiled some water.
She opened the coffee canister and said:
"I am out of coffee."
Oriana touched the canister with her magic wand and filled it with coffee.
The old woman made the coffee, then she held her milk mug and said:
"I am out of milk."
9
Oriana touched the mug with her magic wand and filled it with milk.
The old woman grabbed the sugar bowl and said:
"I am out of sugar."
Oriana touched the sugar bowl with her magic wand and filled it with sugar.
The old woman opened the bread drawer and said:
"I am out of bread."
Oriana touched the drawer with her magic wand and inside the drawer was a
loaf of bread and some butter.
The old woman grabbed the bread and said:
"If it wasn't for the fairies, where would I be?"
Oriana heard her and smiled.
The old woman ate and drank and then sighed.
"Now I have to go to work."
Her job was to collect dry branches to sell in the city afterwards.
Every morning, Oriana would help her gather wood, and every morning she
would guide her into the city, because the old woman’s sight was very poor and the path
to the city was too close to the abyss and she could fall in if the fairy did not guide her.
And so, in that April morning, Oriana and the old woman walked along the road,
the old woman bent over, leaning against a stick, and Oriana fluttering in the air like a
butterfly. And, without the old woman noticing, the fairy held the bundle of wood, so it
would be lighter on her crooked back.
When they got to the city, the old woman went to sell the wood door to door,
and Oriana flew to a rooftop where she sat watching the city, waiting for her friend.
While she waited, she started talking to the swallows.
"The faraway countries are beautiful," said the swallows.
"Could you tell me all about them?" asked Oriana.
10
"The king of Siam has a palace with golden roofs and in China there are porcelain
towers," said a swallow.
"In Oceania there are islands made of coral covered in grass and palm trees. And
in those islands, people dress themselves with flowers and they're all beautiful, good
and happy," said another swallow.
"Kangaroos have a pouch in which they keep their children and the king of Tibet
can read the thoughts of every man," said another swallow.
"At the top of the Andes mountain range there are abandoned cities where only
eagles and serpents live," said another swallow.
"That is wonderful! Could you tell me more?" asked Oriana.
"Some things can’t be told, they must be shown," replied the swallows. "The
wonders of the world are so, so many! But come with us, Oriana. We leave when autumn
comes. You too have two wings. Come with us."
But Oriana stared at the vast round and transparent sky, sighed and replied:
"I can’t go. The men, animals and plants of the forest need me."
"But you have two wings, Oriana. You can fly above the oceans and the
mountains. You can go to the other side of the world. There is always more and more
space. Imagine how good it would be if you came. You could fly high above the clouds,
or you could fly close to the blue sea, dipping the tip of your toes in the cold waves. You
could fly above virgin forests and breathe in the scent of unknown fruits and flowers.
You would see the cities, hills, rivers, deserts and oases. In the middle of the big Ocean
there are tiny islands with beaches of white, thin sand. Over there, in the moonlight,
everything is blue, still and silver. Imagine all these things, Oriana."
But Oriana, looking at the sky and at the wandering clouds, sighed and said:
"I imagine what would become of the old woman without me when she woke up
on a cold winter morning and could not find the bread or milk."
"Come with us, Oriana," the swallows invited again.
11
"I promised I would take care of the forest," replied the fairy. "And a promise is
something very important."
The swallows stared at her with their shiny hardened black eyes, and harshly
said:
"Oriana, you don't deserve your wings. You don't love the wide open spaces and
don’t care about freedom."
Oriana lowered her head and replied:
"I made a promise."
The swallows turned their backs on her and ignored her.
As soon as the old woman finished selling her wood she left the city, the fairy
right behind her, and together they returned to the forest.
When they arrived, it was almost noon. Oriana left the old woman and went to
the woodcutter's house.
The woodcutter was very poor. At his house, there was only a bed, a fireplace, a
table and three stools.
The door was open because there was nothing worth stealing.
Before coming in, Oriana picked up three little pebbles from the ground.
The house was very tidy because the woodcutter's wife enjoyed doing everything
to perfection. Besides, there was very little to tidy up.
Oriana looked around the house to see what was missing.
She opened the bread drawer and saw there was still bread, so she closed it
again.
Then she opened the clothes drawer. The clothes were few and poor, but clean
and sewn up. But there was a shirt so old and with so many holes that even after sewing
it was torn. Oriana placed a little white pebble inside the drawer, touched it with her
magic wand and the little pebble turned into a new shirt.
Afterwards, Oriana opened the money drawer and saw it was empty. She placed
a little pebble inside and turned it into a new round coin.
12
And under the table was the woodcutter's son's ball. Oriana picked it up and saw
it was ruined. So, she placed the last little pebble under the table and turned it into a
new ball.
Almost every day, Oriana would go to the woodcutter's house. She would always
take three little white pebbles with her and turn them into whatever they needed the
most. And the woodcutter's wife would tell her husband:
"I wonder who this good person is that comes into our home when I go out and
brings me what I need?"
Oriana left the woodcutter's house and she thought:
"Today is festival day; the miller went to the city to sell flour and his wife went
with him with their eleven children. I am going to their place to see what they need."
And she went to the miller's house.
The door was locked, but Oriana touched the lock with her magic wand and
opened it.
The house was a mess. Everything was upside down and covered in flour.
Everything was out of place. Because the miller's wife had eleven children and was very
messy and absent-minded, and never had time for anything. Without Oriana their house
would be impossible to live in.
Oriana came in and looked around. She sighed at that much disarray. Then she
went to pick up a broom and a duster and cleaned the whole house. She fixed the broken
things with her magic wand. She washed the dishes and placed them in the cupboards.
She brushed the clothes and hung them up. She stitched all the clothes inside the
clothes' basket and fixed the broken toys.
When she finished all this, she looked around her. The house was beautiful, full
of order and cleanliness. Oriana smiled and left.
And almost every day Oriana would clean the miller's house. But the miller's wife
would never realize a fairy had been there, because she was always late and left home
in a hurry, and since she was always distracted she would not notice she had left her
13
house all topsy-turvy. So, when she would come back home she would not be surprised
everything was in order, because she didn't remember leaving any untidiness.
Oriana left the miller's house and went to the Very Rich Man's house.
III – The Very Rich Man
The Very Rich Man had no wife, no children and no friends. He only had servants.
His house was in the middle of a very well-kept garden, with grass, bushes, and
sand paths.
Oriana circled the house, so she could spot where to come in. All the doors were
locked, and Oriana could not open them. Because in the Very Rich Man's house, the
locks were so expensive not even a magic wand could unlock them. But there was an
open window. It was the window to the living room. Oriana peeked and saw no one
there. There were only the things. But there lingered a very bad atmosphere. The sofas
and the chairs would elbow each other, the dressers would kick the walls, the flower
vases would ask the boxes and the ashtrays to stop squeezing them, and the flowers
said:
"I can't stay here, can't stay here, I can't breathe!"
The room was filled to the brim.
Oriana went in and the things begun talking over each other.
"Oriana, get us out of here," screamed the flowers.
"Oriana, can you tell the flower vase to stop pushing me?" asked the box.
"Oriana, can you tell the table to stop stepping on me so hard?" asked the carpet.
"Oriana, can you tell the sofa to stop elbowing me?" asked the chair.
"Oriana, can you tell the folding screen to move?" asked the wall.
"Oriana," said the mirror, "can you get me out of here. I am always watching. I
see all. This room full of things, this room with no space, no emptiness, no width, it tires
and hurts my glass eyes."
"Settle down, calm down, don't speak all at once," said the fairy.
14
And so, the things went quiet and the table said:
"Oriana, we can’t be here. We do not fit this room. There are too many things
here. We are much too tight. And we are all things with different shapes and we don't
get along well. I am a very antique table; I am from a convent dining room. I am long,
but the room was big, and I fit there well, as besides me, only stools were there. I feel
awful here. The things are always shoving me. Me and the golden sofa do not get along.
I am all plain, and he is all woven. We can’t get along. I am a convent table, I made a
poverty vow, I can’t live in this room. Oriana, touch me with your wand and make me fly
away to my convent.”
Then the dresser said:
"I’m a very beautiful and antique dresser. For two centuries, I lived in a manor in
a farm. I was in a very big room and whoever walked in would see how beautiful I was
right away. During the day, I would hear the children laughing in the garden and I would
hear them chase each other through the halls. At night, I would only hear the wind
singing, the frogs and the running fountain in the garden. Many lights would be lit during
parties. People would walk by me and they would say:
… 'What a beautiful dresser!'…
… And the house owner would reply: …
… 'My father had it1 made.' …
… And in a couple of decades another house owner would say: …
… 'My grandfather had it made.' …
… Another couple of decades would pass and another house owner would say:
…
… 'My great–grandfather had it made.'…
1 a (her, personal pronoun) in the original. In Portuguese, the word cómoda (dresser) is female. In the story, the dresser is personified and should speak with a female voice. However, as the characters speaking (the men) would not be aware that the objects were animated and in English common nouns are gender neutral, they would call her ‘it’. All objects have grammatical genders in Portuguese, and thus they are male or female, depending on whichever grammatical gender their word is assigned. Since the same does not happen in English, their characterization was left open and up to the reader’s imagination.
15
… Yet another couple of decades would pass, and another house owner then
would say: …
… 'My great–great–grandfather had it made.'…
… Because I would pass on generation to generation. And I met the fathers, the
sons, the grandsons and their grandsons…
… I was part of the family. When I was sold, everyone cried. Tears would fall from
the trees onto the ground and their leaves waved goodbye. Here it's different. Here no
one is my friend, neither men or things. When someone mentions how beautiful I am,
the house owner says, ‘I bought her for 100 gold coins’2 Oriana, take me away from here.
Take me back to the room in the farm manor."
Then the mirror spoke and said:
"I was in a palace and in front of me there was space, space and more space. The
floor was plain shiny marble. And I was at the end of a lonesome and quiet gallery. And
would contemplate how the hours would change. I saw kings and queens, polished for
coronation day, with their sparkling heavy crowns. I saw ministers, advisers and the
important men, with their long noses, their serious faces and somber auras. And I saw
damsels in white dresses running to the lone gallery for a moment. They would glide
light and fast denying everyone’s flowers. And I saw rebellious crowds pass me by, in
despair, destroying everything, seeking justice. I saw, I saw, I saw…
… I am a mirror; I have spent my whole life watching. The images all entered me…
… I saw, I saw, I saw. And now I am in this room without somewhere to rest my
glass eyes. Oriana, get me out of here and place me in front of a white wall, plain and
naked."
And one by one all the things asked her to take them somewhere else.
"My dear things," said Oriana, "I can’t do as you ask. If I made you disappear, the
house owner would be very upset. And I can’t come into a house to upset their owners."
2100 Contos in the original. (One) Conto is the colloquial word for 1000 escudos ($, iso code: PTE), a now
obsolete currency in Portugal, having been replaced by the Euro (€, iso code: EUR) in January 2002.
16
"So, what can you do?" asked the things.
"Nothing," said Oriana. "This room looks hopeless. When I go into other houses,
I make missing things appear. But there is nothing missing here. There are too many
things. I would have to remove some. But I can’t come into a house and take away what
is already there."
"If you can’t take us out of here make the room bigger so we fit."
"I am really sorry," said Oriana, "but that is impossible. When the owner of this
house had it made, he told the architect: 'I want a small house because of jealous eyes.'"
The things went silent for a minute, thought and said:
"Oriana, make the house owner gift us to someone that has no furniture."
"That," said Oriana, "is a great idea. I know what to do."
On top of the table were a notepad and a pen.
Oriana grabbed the pen and wrote:
"Whoever is kind to the poor lends to the Lord. Give the poor half your furniture."
"Great," said the things.
"Oriana," said the mirror, "I beg you to remove that ballerina from my line of
sight. I am tired of looking at her all day with a foot in the air in a state of imbalance. My
glass eyes have no eyelids. Only the nights are my eyelids. But during the day I can never
close my eyes. And I am too tired of spending my days watching a ballerina with a foot
up in the air."
The ballerina was in a shelf in front of the mirror.
Oriana picked her up and moved her to the top of the dresser, so the mirror could
not see her.
"Thank you," said the mirror.
Then they heard footsteps in the corridor and Oriana hid behind the folding
screen.
The door opened, and the Very Rich Man came in.
17
As soon as he entered he saw the notepad on the table. He was furious at the
miserly note he read and exclaimed:
"Who dares this?!"
Then he noticed the ballerina had been moved, was angry again and exclaimed:
"Oh!"
He rang the bell and the butler appeared.
"Call all the servants immediately!" said the Very Rich Man.
They all came in the very next moment. They queued in front of the door. The
Very Rich Man turned to them, turning his back on the table with the notepad and on
the dresser with the ballerina and said:
"Two outrageous things have happened in this house. Woe betide those who
have done them! I want the guilty person to come clean. I want to know who wrote
these judgements on the paper and who moved the ballerina."
The servants were terrified. Hearing this speech upset Oriana. In a blink, she
touched the notepad with her magic wand, making the notes disappear and touched the
ballerina, making her fly back to the shelf.
The Very Rich Man grabbed the notepad, turned it to the servants and said:
"Who wrote this?"
The servants saw a white piece of paper and replied:
"There is nothing there."
The Very Rich Man thought he was dreaming.
He didn't know what to do or say. He coughed and said in a very stern tone:
"Who moved the ballerina from the shelf?"
But he looked at the shelf and noticed the ballerina was back there again. He
thought he had gone mad. He got furious again and very embarrassed with the way he
was acting. He had no idea what to tell the servants. He coughed again and said:
"It was an experiment. You can leave now."
18
The servants left, and the Very Rich Man sat in a chair talking to himself:
"This was a joke. But it was so well done I didn't get it. Surely it was the living
room maid. By now they are all in the kitchen laughing at me. I should fire her."
Oriana was stunned.
"What a horrible house," she thought, "everything goes wrong here. I couldn't
help anyone."
While thinking, she peeked above the folding screen. The Very Rich Man had his
back turned to her and she noticed he was bald as a coot. She was filled with pity. She
decided to give him some hair. She touched with his head with her magic wand and
immediately filled it with thousands of tiny little hairs. The Very Rich Man felt an itch in
his head. He went to the mirror to check it out. And saw he had his head full of new hair
growths.
At first, he didn't believe what he was seeing. He had his mouth agape for a
moment, unable to talk.
Then he shouted:
"HAIR!...
…HAIR!…
…HAIR!!?"
When he was done shouting he said:
"How come I am growing hair? I have been bald for so long and tried so many
medicines that have never worked, up until today!"
He was quiet for a second and suddenly facepalmed, exclaiming:
"I know, I know what did it. It was that widow asking for a job for her son. She
started talking about how poor she was, and I started talking about how bald I was. She
said: …
…'I don't have any money!'…
… And I said: …
19
… 'I don't have any hair!'…
… So, she told me she would send me a medicine that would make my hair
grow back. And the next day she sent me a bottle with some medicine inside. I used the
medicine and my hair grew! I must thank her! I must get her son a job! Right now!"
And the Very Rich Man, very excited, grabbed the phone and dialed a number.
The widow picked up.
They greeted each other and then the Very Rich Man said:
"Madam, I am insanely grateful! I kneel at your feet and kiss your hands. I have
hair! I might even grow curls! And I think the new hair will be blond! I have always
wanted to be rich and blond. So far, I had only been rich. Now, thanks to you, I'll be
blond! Blond! Blond! I want to thank you. I want to talk to your son."
The widow's son came to the phone and the Very Rich Man told him:
"I have a job for you! A magnificent place, perfect, ideal. You only need go there
twice a week and you’ll make 30 gold3 a month. There is nothing to do. It is a very
important place. They gave it to me, it was for me, but now it's for you!"
Hearing this, Oriana thought, "Finally! I could do something in this house. I can
leave now. Phew!"
And she left through the window.
IV – The Fish
There was a wonderful fresh afternoon outside. The breeze danced with the
grass in the fields. You could hear the birds singing. There seemed to be golden dust in
the air.
Oriana ran, danced and flew through the forest until she reached the river.
It was a tiny and transparent river, almost a creek, and there were clovers,
poppies and daisies growing in the riverbank. Oriana sat watching the stream amongst
the grass and the flowers. And she heard a voice calling her:
3 30 contos in the original.
20
"Oriana, Oriana."
The fairy turned and saw a fish flopping in the sand.
"Save me, Oriana," screamed the fish. "I jumped after a fly and I landed too far
from the river."
Oriana grabbed the fish and placed him back in the water.
"Thank you, thank you!" said the fish, bowing at her. "You saved my life and the
life of a fish is a delicious life. Thank you very much, Oriana. If you ever need something
from me, I am at your disposal."
"Thank you," said Oriana, "I don't need anything right now."
"Remember my promise. I will never forget that I owe you my life. You can ask
me anything you want. Without you I would have choked to death in the middle of the
clovers and the daisies. My gratitude is eternal."
"Thank you," said the fairy.
"Good afternoon, Oriana. I must leave now, but when you want to just come to
the river and call for me." And with many salutes the fish said goodbye to the fairy.
Oriana stared at the fish amusedly, because he was such a tiny fish, but very
important looking.
And when she was looking at the fish she saw her face reflected in the water. The
reflection came up from the bottom of the creek and met her with a smile on her red
lips. And Oriana saw her blue eyes like sapphires, her blonde hair like cornfields, her
white skin like lilies and her glittering air-like wings.
"Look how beautiful I am" she said. "I am beautiful. I had never thought of this. I
had never thought of looking at myself. Look how big my eyes are, how thin my nose is,
how golden are my hairs! My eyes shine like blue stars; my neck is tall and thin like a
tower. How odd life is! If it wasn't for this fish jumping out of water to catch the fly, I
would have never seen myself. The trees, animals and flowers have seen me and know
how beautiful I am. But I had never seen it!"
21
Oriana was amazed with her discovery. Leaning over the water, she would not
get tired of looking at herself. The hours went by and she kept talking to her reflection.
The sun went down; the night came, and the river went dark. Oriana could not
see herself anymore. She got up and stood brooding for some time. Then she looked
around and said:
"The night is here! Time went by so fast!"
And she remembered it was time to visit her friend, the Poet. Because the Poet
was the only grown-up Oriana could show herself to. He was different from the other
grown-ups.
The Poet lived at the end of the forest, in a very old and tall tower, covered with
ivy, wisteria and rose trees. Oriana flew above the trees in the first blue of the night. The
tower door was opened, but Oriana came in through the window with the breeze. The
climbing plant's roses shivered and danced when she arrived.
"You are late today" said the Poet.
"I was leaning over the river seeing my reflection" said Oriana. "I was late
because I was enchanted with my beauty."
"Oriana," said the Poet, "enchant the night."
So, Oriana touched the night with her magic wand and enchanted it.
And the Poet told her:
"You bring me so much more than beauty. There are many beautiful girls in the
world. But only you can enchant the night because you are a fairy."
So, Oriana sat at on the edge of the window and started telling him the wonderful
stories of the horses of the wind, of the cave with two dragons and of the rings of Saturn.
The Poet told her his verses, clear and bright like stars. Then they both watched quietly
the Moon going up in the sky. Until a far-away bell brought them the sound of the twelve
strokes of midnight and Oriana and the Poet said their goodbyes.
The next morning Oriana took the old woman to the city. But as soon as she got
back, she quickly flew to the river. She knelt in the riverbank and leaned over the water.
22
Her sun-touched reflection appeared on the surface of the water.
"Look how beautiful I am!" said Oriana. "I look even more beautiful than
yesterday. Do I really look as beautiful as I see myself in the water?"
Oriana looked intently at the other reflections in the river. And it seemed to her
that the reflected trees in the river were much better looking than the trees themselves.
"Maybe," she thought, "my reflection looks better than I do! How will I know the
truth?"
She remembered the fish and called him:
"Fish, fish, fish, my friend!"
The fish appeared and said:
"Good morning, Oriana. Here I am."
"Fish," said the fairy, "I need you. I want to know if my reflection in the river is
prettier than me."
"Nothing in the world is as beautiful as you," said the fish. "You are so much
more than your reflection. Your eyes are brighter, your hair more golden, your lips are
redder."
"You think so?" asked Oriana.
She was brooding.
Suddenly she had an idea as she remembered the mirror. She thought, "I'll see
what the mirror has to say."
She said, "See you later, fish."
And, fast as an arrow, she went to the Very Rich Man's house.
The window was open and the room was empty.
Oriana came in, greeted the things and placed herself in front of the mirror:
"Mirror," she said, "take a good look at me and show me as I am: I saw my
reflection in the river and I think I am beautiful. But I am scared the river embellished
23
and flattered me just as it flatters the landscape. Show me as I am so I can know if the
fish told the truth and I really am more beautiful than my reflection in the river."
"Oriana," said the mirror, " I am, as you know, a very antique mirror. Pretty girls
have placed themselves in front of me to see what they look like and all of them want
to know if there is anyone fairer than them in the world. Take a good look at yourself.
You are very pretty, but there is something prettier than you."
"What is it?" asked Oriana expectantly.
"A naked white wall."
"Don't talk about that wall again," said Oriana, upset.
But she took a good look at herself and said:
"I think I am beautiful."
"That is good," said the mirror. "But you can’t imagine the sheer number of girls
that looked themselves in my eyes throughout the centuries and said, ‘I think I am
beautiful!’"
"Goodbye, then," said the fairy, rather annoyed.
"Don't leave yet. I want to ask something of you."
"What is it?"
"Take away the Very Rich Man's hair again."
"Why would I do something so wicked?"
"Because he spends the whole day in front of me, seeing himself in me and
saying, 'What beautiful hair.' And I can’t look at him anymore."
"In this house," said Oriana, "everything goes wrong."
And she left.
Once outside she thought:
"I am never coming back to this house: the mirror just mocked me. They have
everything, and everything is hopeless."
And she went back to the river.
24
She sat at the edge of the water and the fish appeared:
"Fish," said Oriana, "I saw myself in the mirror of the Very Rich Man, and I
thought I was very pretty, as pretty as this reflection in the river. But the mirror told me
a white wall was more beautiful than me!"
"The mirrors are dreamers, always imagining what they do not see. You are so
much more beautiful than a wall. I have never seen anyone as beautiful as you. But I
think it is a shame your hair is always such a mess."
"Ah?!" said Oriana, restless.
"You have to change your hairstyle," said the fish. "I'll teach you!"
And the fish started teaching her:
"Part your hair sideways, pull your curls backwards, pull the right wave forward,
put the left wave backward and curl up the hair in your nape."
Oriana did everything the fish told her to, but he was not satisfied. He had her
undo everything she had done and restart again. Oriana did and redid waves and curls.
Until it started getting dark.
"Now it is better," said the fish. "But tomorrow we will try out another hairstyle."
"See you tomorrow, then," said Oriana.
And she walked slowly through the forest, brooding.
It was almost night when she arrived at the Poet's tower. She sat on the edge of
the window and asked:
"Do you think I am different?"
"No," said the Poet. "I think you are the same."
"But I changed my hair."
"I hadn't noticed."
Oriana went quiet, upset with the answer.
The Poet asked her:
"Oriana, can you fill the air with music?"
25
Oriana touched the air with her magic wand and the air was filled with music.
It was a full moon and the moonlight flooded the night. It smelled like
honeysuckle and roses.
"Oriana," said the Poet, “dance tonight's dance."
And Oriana started dancing in the air, tiptoeing, the Spring Night Moon Dance.
She danced like the flowers dance in the wind, and her arms were like running rivers.
The Poet sat on the edge of the window watching her, and from the depths of
the forest came the deer, the rabbits, the birds and the butterflies to watch the fairy
dance.
Until the far-away wind brought the sound of the twelve strokes of midnight.
Oriana said goodbye to the Poet and vanished.
The next day, in the morning, after taking the old woman to town, Oriana ran to
kneel in front of the river. The fish was already waiting. They started trying new
hairstyles right away. The fish had her make a flower crown, for her head. Oriana spent
the morning and the afternoon picking flowers, looking at herself in the river and hearing
the fish's compliments. She forgot to go to the miller's house and to the woodcutter's
house. She forgot to take care of the animals. She forgot to water the flowers. But at
night she went to visit the Poet.
And, from then on, Oriana abandoned, one by one, every man, animal and plant
that lived in the forest. One day she abandoned the Poet as well. Because one afternoon
the fish told her:
“You are beautiful in the sunlight, but you must look even better by candlelight.”
And that night, instead of visiting the Poet, Oriana filled the riverbank with
fireflies and will-o'-the-wisps and spent the night looking at herself in the water.
It was a wonderful night. It seemed like an extraordinary and fantastic night in
the middle of the silence and darkness of the forest.
The will-o'-the-wisps and the fireflies were like tiny stars and Oriana would see
herself in the water surrounded by lights, flames and shadows, with her bright eyes, her
luminous hair, her lily crown and her transparent wings.
26
And from that day onward she never visited the Poet again. She forgot all her
friends. The only person she still visited was the old woman, because she felt an
immense sorrow when she heard her say how beautiful and young she had been and
now she was old, wrinkly and ugly. So, every morning she would lit her fire, place milk
in her cup, coffee in the canister, sugar in the sugar bowl, bread and butter in the drawer
and then guided her along the way to the city, so she would not fall in the abyss.
But as soon as she got back from the city with the old woman she would go
straight to the river, to stare at her beauty and hear the compliments of her fish admirer.
And, during spring, Oriana adorned herself with crowns and collars made of
honeysuckle, daisies, daffodils, orange blossoms and poppies.
Afterwards, during the summer, Oriana adorned herself with carnations, roses
and lilies. And in the autumn with red vine leaves, dahlias and chrysanthemums.
But when winter came there were only violets.
And after a while the fish said:
"I think the purple of the violets really goes with the white of your skin and the
blonde of your hair. In any case, you haven't changed your adornments in days. I think
you should vary them.”
"How can I do that?" replied Oriana. "It's winter and there are no other flowers
in the forest."
The fish thought for a bit and said:
"You could use pearls."
"How will I get pearls?"
"Could you wait a second," asked the fish.
After a while he came back with a ring for the fairy.
"Take this ring."
Oriana took the ring and he told her:
"Put it on your finger and fly to the sea.”
27
And when you get to the seashore call for the fish Solomon, show him the ring
and ask him to bring you a thousand pearls from the eastern sea.
Oriana did just that.
She flew above forests, hills, cities and fields until she reached a very big and
deserted beach, where foamy sea waves would crash.
And she went to the seashore and called:
"Fish, fish, fish Solomon."
And a black and blue fish with red eyes appeared and asked:
"Who calls for me?"
"It is me, Oriana, the fairy. I brought you this ring."
"Tell me what you want."
"I want you to bring me a thousand pearls from the eastern sea."
"Sit on that rock," replied Solomon the fish "and wait for my return."
Oriana sat on the rock and waited seven days and seven nights.
Occasionally she would remember the old woman, but she would think, "I'm sure
the fish won't take long. She won't even notice I am gone. She knows the way so well
she surely won't fall off the cliff and into the abyss."
After the seventh night, the fish came at the break of dawn. He brought with him
a big turtle shell with the thousand pearls inside.
"Thank you, fish Solomon," said the fairy.
And, grabbing the turtle shell, she went back to the forest.
V – The Fairy Queen
As soon as she got to the riverbank she called, "Fish, my friend, here are the
pearls."
And the fish brought forth ten silver necklaces and Oriana threaded the pearls
and made ten necklaces.
28
She wrapped one around her neck, one around each arm and braided the
remaining into her hair.
Then she leaned over the water. It was a bright and clear Winter's day. And
Oriana saw her reflection clearer than ever. She had never thought herself so beautiful.
The glowing pearls surrounded her neck, reflected in her skin, lit up her hair.
"Never have I seen something so beautiful!" she exclaimed.
"You look like the queen of the sea, the princess of the moon, the goddess of the
pearls," said the fish.
"I will never leave the riverbank," said Oriana. "I want to spend the rest of my life
looking at myself."
But suddenly Oriana went quiet. There was a silence in the air. And from that
silence rose a voice, a loud, straightforward and rigorous voice that called:
"Oriana!"
Oriana shuddered and turned around. By her side, in the air, was the Fairy
Queen.
And the loud, straightforward and rigorous voice spoke again: "Oriana, what are
you doing?"
Oriana went pale and replied:
"I was looking at myself."
"What about your promise?"
Oriana lowered her head and did not reply. "Oriana," said the voice, "you broke
your promise and abandoned the forest. You abandoned the men, animals and plants.
The children were afraid, and you did not comfort them, the poor were hungry, and you
did not feed them, the little birds fell of the nest and you did not pick them up, the Poet
waited for you until the twelve strokes of midnight and you did not appear. You left the
woodcutter, the miller, the Poet. In the end, you even abandoned the old woman. You
did not keep your promise. For one spring, one summer and one winter you spent day
29
and night leaning over a river, hearing a fish complimenting you, in love with yourself.
For that, Oriana, you will no longer have wings and will lose your magic wand."
And with these words the Fairy Queen gestured in the air. And in that same
moment, like leaves falling from tree branches in autumn, Oriana saw her wings falling
off her shoulders, drying up and dying like two old papers. The wind blew past and took
them with him. Oriana ran after them, but she could no longer fly, and the wings
vanished. And she saw her magic wand break apart and break apart into dust, falling to
the ground.
And Oriana tried to gather the dust, kneeling in the ground. But the dust was
already mixed with the soil and that was all her hands could grab.
And the loud, straightforward and rigorous voice called again:
"Oriana!"
Oriana got up, face covered in tears and hands covered in dirt, and begged the
Fairy Queen,
"Please, give me my wings back! Give me my magic wand back, please! Forgive
my vanity. I know I broke my promise, I know I abandoned the men, animals and plants
of the forest. The fish filled me with vanity with his compliments. I looked at myself so
much I forgot everything. But give me my wings back. I want it to be like before. I want
to help the men, the animals and the plants again. Without a magic wand and wings I
can’t be a fairy. I need the wings to fly to those who call me, I need the magic wand to
help those who need me.
But the loud, straightforward and rigorous voice of the Fairy Queen replied,
"Walk through the forest and see the wrong you have done. See what happened
to the men, animals and plants you abandoned. You forgot everyone else by looking at
yourself. You will only have your wings back when you undo all the wrong you have
done. You will only have your wings back when you forget about yourself while thinking
of the others."
And with these words, the Fairy Queen was gone.
30
And Oriana was left by herself at the riverbank, with a face full of tears and hands
full of dirt.
She kneeled next to the river to wash her hands. But when she saw her wingless
image in the water she started sobbing and saying:
"Wings, wings, oh my wings! How ugly is a wingless fairy! How ridiculous is a
wingless fairy! No one will believe I am a fairy. They will think I am just a beautiful girl.
But I do not want to be a beautiful girl. I want to be a fairy."
Oriana felt very sad and very lonely.
She remembered the fish and thought,
"I will ask the fish for help. It is his fault after all."
And she started calling,
"Fish, fish, fish, my friend!"
But the fish did not appear.
Oriana called again,
"Fish, fish, come comfort me! Come see how sad I am, look what happened to
me!"
But the fish did not appear.
"He must have run off," thought Oriana. "I will wait for him to come back."
And she waited and waited, sat by the riverbank.
But many hours went by and the fish did not appear.
"What a terrible friend" thought Oriana, "I am so sad, and he will not come up to
comfort me."
Oriana remembered all the old friends she had abandoned.
And she remembered what the Fairy Queen had told her,
"See what happened to the men, animals and plants you abandoned."
And, getting up, she wiped her tears and started walking through the forest.
31
VIII - The Tree and the Animals
The day was breaking when she got there. The dawn was white with mist. It was
when the birds should start waking up to sing. But the birds were gone to the hills and
no animal sang.
“Such silence! Such silence!” muttered Oriana. “You can tell that my bird friends
flew away. Oh, how lonely I am! Oh, how tired I am! I don’t know where to go and I can’t
walk a step more.”
Having said this, Oriana leaned her head against a tree trunk and started crying.
It was a strong trunk, rugged and black. Oriana encircled her hands around it and
pressed her face against the rough bark. The tree leaned down and, with its branches,
picked her up, then it covered her with its foliage and put two leaves over her eyes.
Oriana fell asleep.
It was high morning when she woke up. A thousand sunrays passed through the
forest. Oriana saw the blue sky through the green leaves. She stretched and took a deep
breath, taking in the scents of the earth. She felt full of joy at the beauty of everything.
She said:
“What a beautiful morning!”
But suddenly she remembered the previous day. She remembered the
woodcutter, the miller’s wife and the Poet.
She thought:
“I must find a way to fix everything. Surely there is a way. There must be one. But
what shall I do?”
She placed her elbow on her knee, so she could hold her chin and started
thinking. Suddenly, she exclaimed:
“I will look for the miller’s son. The animals that have gone to the hills must know
where he is. I will ask them to help me find him. And I will ask them to come to the city
to help me release the woodcutter. And then maybe the fox, who is so cunning, can
convince the Poet that I am a fairy.
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And, delighted with her idea, Oriana danced.
Then she turned to the tree and said:
“Thank you, tree. Even though I no longer have wings you saw I was a fairy. When
I came to you I was sad and tired, but you gave me peace and covered me with your
leaves. Now I am going to search for the miller’s son. Yesterday I cried and thought there
was no way to save my friends and no cure for my sadness. But you covered my eyes
with your leaves and while I slept my sadness went away. This morning is so green and
so blue! And I am so happy because I am sure there is a way!”
Oriana said goodbye to the tree and headed for the hills.
The hills were far away and were all blue.
Oriana walked on and on.
And she thought:
“How hard are men’s lives, because they have no wings!”
And she walked, walked and walked.
At sunset the hills went dark against the red sky.
The night came, and moonlight fell over the fields.
Oriana looked for a tree to sleep on, because fairies can only sleep on trees.
And she found a pine.
During the night the pine kept repeating:
“When the wind blows I imagine I’m a mast.”
As soon as dawn came Oriana went on her way.
She got to the top of the hills and called all the animals.
She told them:
“I am Oriana, the fairy.”
They said:
“But where are your wings and your magic wand?”
33
Oriana told them her story and asked:
“Do you know where the miller’s son is?”
“He is here,” replied the deer, coming out from behind a rock with the miller’s
son on his back.
“Please, give him to me,” said Oriana. “I want to take him back to his mother.”
“A fairy with no wings,” said the deer, “is a very strange thing. I can’t give you a
child, because a child is a sacred thing. I can’t give a child to someone who claims to be
a fairy but has no wings to show.”
“I am a fairy,” said Oriana, “but I can’t prove I am one.”
“Present witnesses!” said the rabbit.
“Anyway,” said the fox, “we can’t trust her. On the one hand, she has no wings
and doesn’t seem to be a fairy. On the other hand, even if she is the fairy Oriana, we
can’t trust her. Because that fairy left us, broke her promise and betrayed her word.”
“I did break my promise, but I regret it terribly,” said Oriana. “I have been crying
for three days.”
“Present a witness!” said the deer.
“The fish!” said the fairy. “He has seen everything. He was the reason I forgot the
men, animals and plants that live in the forest. He saw the Fairy Queen raise her hand
and say I would lose my wings. He saw the wind take away my wings!”
“If the fish says he saw your wings vanish, taken by the wind, and that it was the
Fairy Queen that punished you and that you are the fairy Oriana, then we will believe
you,” said the porcupine.
“And if everyone believes you,” said the deer, “I will give you the miller’s son, so
you can take him to his mother.”
“I will look for the fish,” said Oriana. “Meet me at the riverbank tomorrow, at
midday.”
“Tomorrow,” said all the animals, “we’ll meet you at the riverbank.”
“See you tomorrow,” said Oriana.
34
And she went on her way again.
She walked, walked, walked.
The next day, as soon as dawn rose, Oriana was leaning over the river, calling:
“Fish, fish, fish, my friend!”
The fish appeared.
“Good morning, Oriana” he said grumpily. “Your hair looks terrible.”
“I don’t have any time to fix it” said Oriana. “There are more important things
than having my hair done. I must save all men, animals and plants that live in the forest.
I must undo all the wrong I have done. I saw the miller woman’s sadness, the
woodcutter’s misery, and the Poet’s loneliness. I want to be good again. I want to help
others. Tell the animals that you know I am a fairy.”
“Oriana,” replied the fish, “you are a dear friend, but in all fairness, I can’t
disrespect the Fairy Queen. She is very angry with your behaviour.”
“It was your fault,” said Oriana.
“Excuse me!” said the fish. “It was not my fault! I didn’t know you had made a
promise to take care of the men, animals and plants that live in the forest. I had nothing
to do with it.”
“There’s no point in arguing,” said Oriana. “I only have this to ask of you: the
animals don’t believe I am a fairy because I have no wings. They say fairies always have
wings. I want you to tell them you saw the Fairy Queen take my wings away and that
you know I am the fairy Oriana.”
“Of course I know who you are.” said the fish, “But that animal business has
nothing to do with me.”
“Fish,” said Oriana, “the day I saved you, you told me: ‘You can come to the river
and call for me whenever you want. You can ask me anything you want.’ And that is why
I now ask you: please tell the animals I am a fairy.”
“You know,” said the fish, “you can’t expect me to be thankful for something you
have done if you are going to throw it in my face.”
35
Oriana blushed, speechless. She felt like spitting on that cowardly entitled fish.
But then she remembered the woodcutter rotting in jail, the miller’s wife that had lost
her son and the Poet who no longer believed in fairies. She collected herself and said,
“Fish, you must tell the animals I am the fairy Oriana.”
“Fine,” said the fish. “I don’t want to be ungrateful. When the animals arrive, call
for me.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” said Oriana.
“I shall see you soon,” said the fish in a polite and ceremonial tone. Then, he
vanished.
Oriana was waiting for the animals. The sun rose up in the sky until midday, when
they appeared.
They walked in a line with serious faces. First came the wolf and at the end of
the line came the deer, with the miller’s son on his back.
“Good day,” said Oriana.
“Good day,” replied the animals. “Where is your witness?”
“He will be here,” said the fairy. “He is just waiting for me to call for him.”
Oriana kneeled next to the river and called,
“Fish, fish, fish, my friend!”
The fish did not appear.
Oriana called again,
“Fish, fish, fish, my friend!”
And the fish did not appear.
“Where is the fish?” asked the animals.
“He hasn’t had time to arrive yet,” replied the fairy.
And she called again,
“Fish, fish, fish, my friend!”
36
But the fish did not appear.
“He’s late,” said Oriana.
“Very late,” said the very punctual pig. “It’s already past midday.”
“We’ll wait,” said the deer.
And they waited.
Occasionally, Oriana called out,
“Fish, fish, fish my friend!”
But he would not show up.
The sun was setting on the other side of the river.
The animals were getting angry. Oriana was distressed and embarrassed.
“The fish is not coming then?” asked a rabbit.
“He’s not coming,” the animals agreed.
“Maybe something happened to him,” said Oriana, “he promised he would be
my witness.”
“But he didn’t come,” said the fox.
Oriana started crying and said,
“Maybe someone fished him.”
Some animals started laughing, others got angry.
“You said the fish would be your witness and there was no fish,” yelled the wolf.
“You said you were a fairy, yet you have no wings,” grumbled the pig.
“You don’t have a magic wand either,” added the fox.
“She has no witness and she’s no fairy,” the animals yelled. “Let’s go.”
“I am a fairy,” said Oriana.
“You’re lying,” they yelled again.
“I don’t lie,” said Oriana.
37
And, turning to the deer with tears rolling down her face, Oriana asked,
“Would you please give me the miller’s son? Believe me. I am a fairy.”
“No,” replied the deer. “I don’t believe you.”
“Let’s leave.” Said the wolf.
And Oriana was alone.
In tears, she said,
“Fish, fish, cowardly fish! You spent days saying I was beautiful and now I call for
you and you don’t show up. You ungrateful, lying, cowardly fish! I saved your life and
you won’t help me. I am so alone! No one will help me!”
Oriana heard a noise behind her. She went quiet and listened. A sweet, gentle
and wavy voice called:
“Oriana.”
Oriana turned around and saw a very beautiful fairy looking at her, smiling. Her
eyes were glittering black, her hairs were like dark blue serpents, her wings had a
thousand colours, like butterfly wings. And she held another pair of wings in her left
hand.
“Oriana,” she said, “do you want to have wings again?”
“I do, I do,” said Oriana.
“These wings I hold in my left hand are for you.”
“For me?” repeated Oriana, in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“Please give them to me fast, hurry!” Oriana begged, shaking.
“But first you must promise something.”
“Promise what?” Oriana asked.
The dark–haired fairy smiled and said:
“I am the Queen of the Evil Fairies. If you want me to give you these wings, you
must promise that from this day onwards you will follow my orders.”
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“And what are your orders?” Oriana asked.
“My orders,” said the Queen of the Evil Fairies, “are as follows: …
… Dirty the fountain’s water…
… Cover the flowers in cobwebs…
… Dry out the seeds that are germinating in the earth…
… Steal the nightingale’s voice…
… Sour the wine…
… Steal from the poor…
… Push the children…
… Put out old people’s fires…
… Steal the scent of the roses…
… Torment animals…
… Disenchant the world…”
“No! No! No!” said Oriana, recoiling in horror. “I don’t want to do any of those
things!”
“If you don’t promise to do these things, I won’t give you these wings” said the
dark–haired fairy.
“I would rather have no wings.”
“Without wings you can’t be a fairy.”
“I would rather not be a fairy.”
“Choose carefully, Oriana: these wings have a thousand colors, like butterfly
wings, and with them you can fly, instead of walking so laboriously, step by step, over
the earth, tearing your feet on the pathway.”
“I would rather be good!” said Oriana. “I want to be good, even if that means I
can’t have wings.”
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“How sorry I feel for you, Oriana!” the evil fairy said, laughing. “You do everything
upside down: first you lost your wings because a fish was complimenting you. Now I
bring you a pair of wings like those of a butterfly and you don’t want them. You fill me
with pity, Oriana: you are a silly fool and you chose wrong.”
The dark–haired fairy vanished cackling.
Oriana found herself alone, thinking:
“I will never ever have wings again. Because I did wrong, I lost my blue wings.
And now, because I did not want to do more wrong, I have lost the butterfly-like wings.
It’s as if I am not a fairy. No one will ever believe that I am a fairy again. Maybe I’ll forget
I am a fairy myself. I will have to live like a regular girl. I will never be able to fly over the
rocky paths. I will have to walk step by step along the rocky paths like the other girls. But
at least I can be good. I can go to the city and help others. I must go to the city; men’s
lives are harder there.”
And Oriana started walking towards the city.
40
2. Commentary
The translation was relatively easy as the source text had a simple and straightforward
prose style. There have been no significant changes in the Portuguese language since
1958 except for the Spelling Agreement of 1990 which made some minor changes to
spelling, therefore the source text was easy to read and interpret.
There were, however, still a few problems: the register of the source text did not fit with
the intended target reader of the target text and required semantic and structural
changes to be in line with the typical English fairy-tale register. Additionally, the
dialogue, which plays a critical role in the source text, was unreadable for the
international speaker and had to be adapted to follow typical English dialogue
formatting.
Most of the issues were semantic and motivated by sociocultural differences in language
and period: modern western culture shifts rapidly, and what was acceptable 60 years
ago, when the source text was published, may not be fashionable in contemporary
culture. Problems include language that may be perceived as sexist, subtle religious
imagery and proper names that show political stances. There was also a problem with
grammatical gender and how personification works in Portuguese, versus the
genderless objects in English grammar which follows a natural gender rule for gender
attribution.
2.1 Adapting the dialogue punctuation from Portuguese into English
Transferring a literary text from one language to another often requires
domestication of more than just grammar and lexicon. The punctuation, for example,
differs greatly among European languages and it is not intuitive at all: Portuguese and
Spanish both use the long dash to indicate the start and end of dialogue. French can use
both the long dash and the guillemet, and German uses mostly the guillemets. Neither
of those are used in English for dialogue, with the guillemet not being used at all.
In this translation, the dialogue was fully domesticated, in both punctuation and
in register. The choice to domesticate punctuation was because an English reader (or
anyone reading a text in English) should not be expected to be familiar with the
Portuguese punctuation system. Additionally, it would look too foreign and shocking at
41
a first reading – domestication allows the text to remain fluent and ensures a smooth
reading:
Source Text Target Text
– Os países distantes são maravilhosos –
diziam as andorinhas.
– Contem, contem – pediu Oriana.
"The faraway countries are beautiful,"
said the swallows.
"Could you tell me about them?" asked
Oriana.
In Portuguese, dashes are used both to initiate and end the dialogue and there
is no punctuation needed, other than interjections such as exclamation and question
marks. In English, single or double inverted commas are used, with a regular comma
preceding the inverted commas where no other punctuation is necessary. For this
translation, the double inverted commas were the most appropriate as the main
initiator, as there were instances where certain characters narrated dialogues they had
witnessed; for instances of dialogue within dialogue, the single inverted commas were
used.
Paragraphs in the middle of dialogue were also a common occurrence in the
source text. They happen in II – Oriana, during the old woman’s soliloquy, III – The Very
Rich Man, when The Very Rich Man is talking to himself about his hair, in VIII – The Tree
and the Animals when the Queen of the Evil Fairies is telling Oriana what she must do
to earn and keep her butterfly wings but also in chapter VI – The Abandoned Forest
(annexed, p. 98). The source text utilises the guillemet ‘»’ to indicate the dialogue has
not yet finished. As the guillemet is not utilised in English at all, ellipsis ‘…’ were used
before and after the sentence instead, to make it clearer for the reader, as opposed to
having no punctuation, thus making it harder to discern whether the character was still
speaking or not.
The dialogue in this source text was intricate: with the long dashes for regular
dialogue but also for dialogue within dialogue, and the guillemet for paragraphs in the
middle of dialogue. This punctuation would have only made sense to a Portuguese,
Spanish or French reader. As this translation aims to be accessible to all speakers of
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English (native or otherwise) and therefore was adapted into the general English format.
The target text assumes that if the reader has the required level of English to read it, the
reader is also familiar with the English dialogue format.
2.2 Regular formal Portuguese register and the traditional fairy-tale
register in English
The source text maintains a regular formal register in Portuguese. The target text
took a similar approach, aiming for the fairly formal conservative register of the typical
fairy-tale. Some of the words and expressions from the intended register are barely used
in everyday conversations today but are very common in fairy-tales; these include cliché
words such as ‘cunning’, ‘cackle’ or ‘high morning’. The decision behind this change of
register is that old-fashioned and highly formal words and structures in the narrative
help convey the traditional setting and set the tone for the story.
Maintaining register, however, proved to be a challenge at first as the level of
register fluctuated throughout the first draft of the translation. Most problems came
from unknowingly lowering the register, making certain expressions stand out and seem
out of place with the rest of the text. This happened mostly due to inexperience. Not
being able to accurately identify the register was also one of the issues that stemmed
from not being a native English speaker and was overcome with careful reviewing.
Examples are shown in the table below:
Source Text Target Text (draft) Target Text (revised)
De manhã acordava muito
cedo, acordava ainda
antes das flores e dos
pássaros.
In the morning, she would
wake up very early, way
before the flowers and the
birds
In the morning, she would
wake up very early, long
before the flowers and the
birds
Enquanto esperava,
começou a conversar com
as andorinhas:
While she waited, she
started chatting with the
swallows.
While she waited, she
started talking to the
swallows.
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For a less experienced and non-native translator, the line between formal and
informal language is blurred. The middle column shows some examples of register
problems in the first draft. All three expressions, ‘way before’, ‘chatting’ and ‘show up’
are modern, but also very informal and are better suited to everyday oral conversation.
Those expressions do not fit as part of the narrator’s conservative and traditionalist
style.
The freedom that the literary model allows can be overwhelming: sensitivity to
register is a very advanced skill in foreign language learning. It can take years of exposure
and studying to master. This makes much harder for the non-native student-translator,
or even a professional translator with little work experience, to correctly identify and
use the proper register. In addition to this, non-native English speakers are generally
translating into English as a Lingua Franca – mostly scientific or technical texts with fixed
structures and clearer guidelines. This translation was done not into a Standard English,
but into a very formal literary register to elevate the fairy-tale to a traditional and
timeless status.
2.3 Problematic semantic choices in Modern Western Culture
Sociocultural, economic and technological changes in the western world have
meant that our reality nowadays is very different from Andresen’s. New ideologies and
social pressures have brought linguistic changes. Moral views and values have changed
and much of what was considered normal is no longer accepted. In 1997, Flotow (1997:
14) had already commented on how translating in an era of feminism (one of the new
ideologies that has arisen in contemporary times, but not the only one) had significant
effects on translation. She also mentions how translators face a new set of problems:
how they should intervene, when they should or should not ‘correct’ a text and ponders
about just how political their role is.
There is also an increasing tendency for political correctness, which prompted
Fairclough (2003: 26-27) to comment on how “we need a balanced view of the
importance of language in social change and politics, which avoids a linguistic
O peixe apareceu e disse: The fish showed up and
said:
The fish appeared and
said:
44
vanguardism as well as dismissing questions about language as trivial”. Indeed,
discourse intervention in modern times has become akin to censorship, which turns to
self-censorship even during translated as to be accepted by the masses and to increase
the marketability of the text in the target culture.
This has led to provocative mainstream rewritings and adaptations such as
Disney’s Shrek (2001), which turns fairy-tale clichés upside down: the ugly green ogre is,
in fact, the hero; the royalty is in the wrong; the princess falls in love with the ugly ogre
and the hero’s steed is the love interest of the dragon. Shrek was critically acclaimed
despite being a fairy-tale that has been turned inside out. In a similar (but much more
violent) vein, Roald Dahl’s 1982 book Revolting Rhymes is also a satirical rewriting of
well-known fairy-tales. Nevertheless, the stories are very unconventional – Little Red
Riding Hood shoots the Big Bad Wolf, because she can defend herself and does not need
a huntsman to save her, and Cinderella marries a jam-maker instead of the prince,
because the prince was an awful person. These rewritings have been marketed towards
children and are critically well received in the modern world – in fact, BBC One adapted
the rhymes to TV in two half hour animated films in 2016, which is available on Netflix
as well. Both Shrek and Revolting Rhymes have dropped the conservative fairy-tale
values, which are no longer fashionable in our contemporary culture.
In a highly satirical rewriting of children’s stories called Politically Correct
Bedtime Stories, Garner makes a joke out of what happens when discourse intervention
is taken to the absolute extreme, claiming we have a social obligation to rewrite stories
that were used to “entrench the patriarchy, to estrange people from their own natural
impulses, to demonize ’evil’ and to ‘reward‘ an ‘objective’ ‘good’” to into stories that are
sensitive to “womyn’s issues, minority cultures and the environment” (Garner 1994: 3).
He finishes his introduction by apologising for any “sexist, racist, culturalist, nationalist,
regionalist, ageist, lookist, ableist, sizeist, speciesist, intellectualist, socioeconomicist,
ethnocentrist, phallocentrist, heteropatriarchalist, or other type of bias as yet
unnamed”. (Garner 1994: 4). This satirizes our society and values but also the need to
constantly rewrite classical stories so they will serve our values.
The sociocultural and linguistic phenomena of modern times were not ignored.
Even though the translation has followed less politically correct semantic choices that
45
may be controversial due to their conservativism, they have been reflected upon. This
translation strives for balance in all things – be it between faithfulness to the source text
and enjoyment for the reader as well as fluency in the target text but also between the
linguistic issues. The semantic problems encountered mirror the linguistic and discursive
problems of today and ought to be discussed. This translation is neither a satirical or
ironic rewriting of the source text, but it has not undergone a cultural domestication
either.
2.3.1 ‘Homens’, or ‘men’ as the traditional word for ‘Humankind’
In Portuguese, people can be referred to as ‘homens’, ‘pessoas’ or ‘gente’. In the
text, Andersen uses ‘homens’ thirty-one times, ‘pessoas’ eight times and ‘gente’ four
times. The last two words are never used to refer to the people that live in the forest
with Oriana, with the word used always being ‘homens’ (men). Traditionally, the word
‘men’ has been used to refer to all of humankind. In modern times, it could be viewed
as sexist language that promotes patriarchy. However, there is much to consider on
whether to translate all mentions of ‘homens’ into a generic ‘people’ except when
‘homens’ is referring to human males, or to keep ‘homens’ as ‘men’. The patriarchy was
indeed deeply entrenched in the values of Portuguese culture during Estado Novo and
this translation wishes to preserve traditional values and culture of Portugal during the
Estado Novo. It is therefore inappropriate to modernize the language into a socially
acceptable modern English, but rather to keep the past as it was, with its flaws included.
The typical fantasy register chosen for the translation tends to use the word
‘men’ as general for humankind. For example, J.R.R. Tolkien refers to Gondor, a kingdom
in the Middle-Earth mostly populated by humans, as the ‘kingdom of men’ and George
R. R. Martin refers to humankind in Westeros as ‘the first men’. In the highly popular TV
adaptation of a Song of Ice and Fire called A Game of Thrones (2011-2019), the term ‘the
first men’ was kept as a name for humankind in a world where other sentient races (such
as dragons and other forest beings) have walked the earth. In A Fada Oriana, everything
is seemingly sentient: the objects, the trees, the animals, and it admits the existence of
fantastical creatures such as fairies. Utilizing words like “folk” or “people” when
referring to humans who live in the forest could create problems in the interpretation
46
of a text where folklore creatures, such as fairies, exist, as ‘people of the forest’, ‘forest
people’, ‘forest folk’ or ‘folk of the forest’ could be read as a euphemism.
An entry in the Cambridge’s Dictionary series of grammar articles called English
Grammar Today suggests using ‘human beings’ or ‘humankind’ in lieu of ‘men’. That
option, however, would clash with fluency and turn the text into translationese by
having sentences such as “human beings of the forest” or “humankind of the forest”
(Venuti 1995: 4) and this translation aims for fluency and not for domestication.
2.3.2 ‘Moleira’ as ‘millerwoman’ or just ‘the miller’s wife’
‘Miller’ is a relatively old word for someone who operates a mill as today all such
processes are automated. It is a gender-neutral word and both the Merriam-Webster
and Cambridge’s online dictionaries refer to miller as ‘person’. However, due to the
nature of the work it is often assumed that the job would be undertaken by a man.
Furthermore, as the word ‘millerwoman’ does not exist in English, there is no other way
to create a female noun except using ‘female miller’, which sounds very unnatural; and
the text requires us to distinguish which miller (the male or the female) is being spoken
of and the lack of proper names does not help.
Andresen calls the wife of the miller a ‘moleira’ (the female form of the noun
moleiro (miller), achieved by replacing the final ‘o’ with an ‘a’) seven times and uses
‘mulher do moleiro’ (the miller’s wife) five times. It is unclear whether she is an actual
miller or if it is just the Portuguese tendency to not repeat the same word and find
synonyms instead. With the lexical problems, the role of the woman in Estado Novo
propaganda, in which the wife is portrayed as a mother and discouraged to hold a job
(Patriarca 2012: 33) and the fact that the miller’s wife has eleven children, both ‘moleira’
and ‘mulher do moleiro’ have been translated to ‘the miller’s wife’ on every occasion.
2.3.3 ‘Fadas más’: should they be ‘bad fairies’ or ‘evil fairies’?
In the source text, Oriana is described as a ‘fada boa’, which is literally translated
as ‘good fairy’. She takes care of the forest, of the animals, plants and people that dwell
in it, and is supposed to maintain a good moral character. She must “water the flowers
with morning dew, light the fires of old people, hold back the children about to fall in
the river, enchant the gardens, dance in the air, make up dreams and, at night, place
47
golden coins in the shoes of the poor”, as per chapter I – Good fairies and evil fairies.
She is the cog that makes the forest tick. The opposite of the ‘good fairies’ are the ‘fadas
más’. In Portuguese, ‘má’, which is the feminine form of ‘mau’, can adopt many
meanings with different degrees of seriousness: bad, evil, wicked, and all the synonyms.
These fairies, who are also described in the first chapter, “dry up the wells, extinguish
the fires of the shepherds, tear up the clothes drying in the sun, disenchant the gardens,
bother the children, torment the animals and steal from the poor”.
Fairies in folklore have been both of benevolent and mischievous nature. All the
synonyms would fit as an adjective: bad fairies, mischievous fairies, wicked fairies or evil
fairies. Contextually, however, the fairies in the source text were not just ‘bad’ or
‘mischievous’. In chapter VIII – The tree and the animals, when their Fairy Queen
appears to offer Oriana butterfly-like wings, she says she would have to do things like
steal the nightingale’s voice and sour the wine. She would have to disenchant the world
and make it a worse place for no apparent reason. That could only be classified as
‘wicked’, or worse, ‘evil’. The word ‘wicked’ is much less intense than ‘evil’ despite being
synonyms, as it can even mean ‘playfully mischievous’, something which these fairies
are not. They are consciously evil and have no morals or empathy for the other beings
of the forest. Indeed, the Queen of the Evil Fairies mocks Oriana for refusing the wings
and wishing to remain good, then vanishes.
‘Good’ and ‘evil’ have always been the dichotomy at the core of all moralistic
fairy-tales; and, these fairies are an evil entity in the source text, despite not being the
main antagonist and just co-existing with the good fairies; they are forces that cancel
each other out rather than one prevailing over the other. Yet they are both necessary.
Without the ‘good’ of Oriana, the forest fell into ruin and was taken over by darkness.
There is also implied Christian symbolism: alongside fish Solomon, the main
antagonist can be interpreted as being Vanity, one of the seven deadly sins (and thus,
evil), which Oriana succumbs to. The Fairy Queen takes away her wings because she
went down an immoral path and thus is no longer good. That is why the Queen of the
Evil Fairies comes to Oriana, after all she had already gone down the immoral, sinful path
and was desperate to be a fairy again. The fact that Oriana refuses and would rather be
a regular girl and do good deeds than be an evil fairy just for wings is what sets her on
48
the path for redemption. Andresen had a religious background and Christianity played a
very influential role in the state, following Oliveira de Salazar’s Christian values.
If this translation were to be read by modern children, ‘bad’, ‘mischievous’ or
‘wicked’ would have been suitable words, despite softening the inherent evilness of the
fairies – in fact, it would have been a preferred solution to make it more appropriate,
but also to undermine the religious imagery (which modern child readers may not be as
familiar with). However, not only those linguistic measures are not necessary for the
adult target reader but the immoral, apathetic to suffering and cruel ‘evil’ is also a better
lexical contrast to the morally righteous ‘good’. The fairies characterised as ‘más’ have
thus been translated as ‘evil’, the strongest available word for wickedness, which also
maintains the subtle religious theme through the story.
2.4 Translating an informal word for a currency that has not been in use
for 16 years
Chapter III – The Very Rich Man contains a strong cultural marker: the word
‘contos’. ‘Contos’ is an informal way of saying a thousand escudos, the Portuguese
currency which circulated from 1911 to 2002. In the story, the dresser cost 100 contos,
or 100,000 escudos and the job The Very Rich Man had for the widow’s son paid 30
contos, or 30,000 escudos.
The first option to convert the currency into a relatable modern currency.
100,000 Escudos would be 498.80 euros, which still would not make much sense to a
reader of a country which does not use the euro. It would be the same as not translating
the Escudos, or worse: it also does not account for inflation. In 1958, 100 contos was an
exorbitant amount of money that could buy a house. In 2018, 500 euros would be a fair
price for a good quality dresser and is less money than minimum wage in Portugal, which
is currently 580 euros as of January 2018.
A different approach was taken instead by opting for the generic fantasy money
route, gold coins. This decision goes in line with the translation strategy adopted, a
compromise between information and enjoyment. However, the Escudo was not
forgotten and is instead mentioned in the footnotes, which also includes the Euro
conversion and facilitates the international reader to convert the Euros into their own
49
currency. This path also allowed me to keep the timelessness of the fairy-tale in the core
text while preserving and explaining the original Portuguese cultural marker in a non-
intrusive way.
2.5 Translating proper nouns
The text has very few proper nouns. Most of the characters remain unnamed,
being referred to by common names instead. Regardless of their importance in the
story, most relevant characters like the fish, the miller, and so on, do not even have their
common nouns capitalized in the source text (as is the norm in fairy-tales). The Fairy
Queen, the Queen of the Evil Fairies, the Poet and the Very Rich Man are exceptions to
this and have their common names stand out.
All the proper nouns present in the text were very similar in their transference
into English or required no change at all. Oriana works very well in English and required
no rewriting or alternative spelling; there is actually a book of British madrigals
published in 1601 by Thomas Morley called The Triumphs of Oriana , which were written
for Queen Elizabeth I, as Oriana was one of her names. Every other name has an English
equivalent, which facilitates this edition’s educational purpose as well as facilitating the
translation.
There were two proper nouns that prompted questions as there is a certain
reluctance in translating names of characters from English into Portuguese which was
also felt whilst translating into English. The fish Salomão (Solomon), the only other
character with a given name besides Oriana, and Sião, the former name of the kingdom
of Thailand. However, Sião is pronounced /sɪɑ̃ɯ̃/ and Salomão is pronounced
/sɐʟʊɱɑ̃ɯ̃/. Both share the phoneme /ɑ̃ɯ̃/, a nasalized sound that most English
speakers, English as a lingua franca or native, are not expected to be familiar with.
2.5.1 ‘Sião’: a geographical term out of political fashion
‘Sião’ was translated into ‘Siam’, even though the name is no longer used. It is
an old geographical name for Thailand, which first changed names in 1939, under a
fascist dictatorship. They allied themselves with Japan in the Second World War, so the
western powers did not recognize their name until 1948 (Cavendish: 1999). However,
Siam was already Thailand by the time that A Fada Oriana was published in 1964 but
50
was not recognized as such in the text. There are three probable causes for this: the first
cause is the influence of Ralph Wright’s 32-minute documentary Siam, released in 1954
and distributed by Walt Disney. The half-length film was nominated for an Oscar on Best
Short Subject, Two Reel in 1954 and won a Small Silver Plaque at Berlin International
Film Festival in 1955. The second cause is the fact that the Portuguese were the ones
responsible for Siam’s geographical term after adopting the term from the Sanskrit word
‘syam’ in the 16th century (Cavendish, 2014); and the final cause may be a subtle
provocation at the regime by not accepting a name that was first changed under a fascist
dictatorship, especially since Thailand means ‘land of the free’.
2.5.2 ‘Salomão’: the seemingly randomly named fish
‘Salomão’ was translated into ‘Solomon’, although his name had more possible
spellings: ‘Shlomo’ (from shalom, which means peace in Hebraic) or the direct
translations of the Arabic name, ‘Suleiman’ or ‘Suleyman’. The significance of the name
had to be considered whilst choosing the spelling. ‘Suleiman’ or ‘Suleyman’ were not
considered because they ended in ‘man’ and did not particularly suit a fish. ‘Shlomo’ was
phonetically and aesthetically interesting as the name of a fish in a fantasy story, but the
meaning of the name was not very fitting. Finally, there was Solomon, the spelling most
commonly associated with a biblical Hebraic king and the name given to a 20-liter wine
bottle. Whilst wine is a significant cultural marker in Portugal, it is unlikely the fish was
named solely because of wine. It is easy to overlook Solomon if the reader has no (or
only superficial) biblical knowledge. The biblical figure Solomon was a great, wise king
and ruled over Israel but eventually fell from grace due to his vanity, lust and worship of
pagan gods. The fish Solomon is more than likely inspired on the biblical king and his
appearance foreshadows the appearance of the Fairy Queen in the next chapter, V –
The Fairy Queen. The following passage of the bible of Solomon’s interaction with God
mirrors Oriana’s interaction with the Fairy Queen, after Oriana ignored the orders of the
Fairy Queen to take care of the forest and succumbed to her own vanity instead:
The LORD grew angry with Solomon, because his heart had turned away
from being with the LORD, the God of Israel, who had appeared to him twice.
The LORD had commanded Solomon about this very thing, that he shouldn’t
follow other gods. But Solomon didn’t do what the LORD commanded.
51
The LORD said to Solomon, “Because you have done all this instead of
keeping my covenant and my laws that I commanded you, I will most certainly
tear the kingdom from you and give it to your servant. (Common English Bible,
Kings, 1.9-11)
2.6 Gender neutrality of objects in English and personification
English only has a natural gender, which mostly follows the rules of the biological
sex of the subject. That is, gender is mostly attributed to animate entities. According to
Östen Dahl in Animacy and the Notion of Semantic Gender (2000:1), gender attribution
follows an animacy hierarchy which goes from humans → animals → inanimate. Even
then, being an animal in that hierarchy does not guarantee being assigned a gender, as
there are ‘lesser’ animals that may be considered as inanimate entities and thus remain
genderless. Animate entities can be male or female, ‘he’ or ‘she’, depending on the
biological sex and inanimate entities are a genderless ‘it’.
Portuguese is a gendered language, in which “the link between grammatical
gender and word meaning appears to be completely unpredictable” (Cubelli, 2011: 450).
Every noun is assigned a gender, male or female, and there is no neutral gender. This
would not be a problem in this translation if inanimate objects remained inanimate, or
if they were personified like Disney’s film adaptation of Beauty and the Beast (1991),
where the objects have proper names, attributed genders and every other character is
aware of their animacy status.
In chapter III – The Very Rich Man, the things in the house talk to Oriana, begging
her to save them from the crowded room they are in. In Portuguese, the innate gender
of the words helps characterize the objects. As Jakobson says, “ways of personifying or
metaphorically interpreting inanimate nouns are prompted by their gender” (Jakobson
2012: 117) without more information, the reader automatically attributes female voices
to the wall, the flowers, the dresser and so on, and male voices to the sofa, to the mirror,
etc. In the English translation their gender was left arbitrary, allowing the reader to
imagine male or female voices as they please. Otherwise, the text would be too cluttered
with information on the inanimate objects instead of drawing their characterization
from the simplicity of the natural grammatical properties of the word. The problem
52
arises when the dresser, or ‘cómoda’ is talking about itself – or rather herself – and it
narrates human dialogue. In Portuguese, ‘cómoda’ is, grammatically, a female noun. The
word ends in ‘-a’ and is preceded by the definite article ‘a’, which also doubles as a
personal pronoun. In English, the dresser is an object. Grammatically, ‘dresser’ should
be replaced by the pronoun ‘it’ – except in the source text, the dresser is alive.
There were two options, as shown in the table below:
Source Text Target Text (Female) Target Text (Object)
– Que cómoda tão
bonita!
E o dono da casa
respondia:
– Foi o meu pai que a
mandou fazer.
'What a beautiful
dresser!'
And the house owner
would reply:
'My father had her
made.'
'What a beautiful
dresser!’
And the house owner
would reply:
'My father had it
made.'
The first option is a literal translation. It admits the dresser is female and uses
the personal pronoun ‘her’. However, that is the only reference to the gender of the
dresser in the English text, and looks very out of place. Additionally, it dismisses an
important point: except for the Poet, no human is aware of the fantasy elements of their
own world. This means that, even though dialogue is happening within dialogue, the
dresser is still quoting what humans said regarding the dresser. Since they have never
heard the dresser speak or have seen it show any signs of animacy, they would not, in a
normal dialogue situation, consider any pronoun other than ‘it’ to refer to the dresser.
Therefore, the personal pronoun ‘a’ was translated as ‘it’. Then, this peculiarity was
utilised to describe the problem in a footnote, paying attention to their status of secret
animacy and their innate characterisation in Portuguese.
53
GENERAL CONCLUSION
The aim of this project was to draw attention to Portuguese literary culture, to a
famous Portuguese author who has been critically well-received nationally and has been
part of the literary teaching canon from as early as 1979; but also, to study the
theoretical and practical issues in translating a source text that no longer resonates with
contemporary culture. In the first iteration of this project, the target reader was English-
speaking children, which would almost certainly be native speakers. Non-native
speakers most likely would not have acquired, through the regular teaching system, the
necessary language skills required to read the entire book (about 50 pages) without help
from a supervising teacher.
However, as children’s literature and its cultural shifts were explored, it was
noted that what was popular in the 20th century in Portugal (during a fascist and
oppressive dictatorship) is no longer fashionable in a contemporary English-speaking
world, despite the source text still being relatively popular among teaching staff in the
source culture which is traditionally conservative. This holds true not only for the moral
views, but also for the language used in the source text.
Without rethinking and rewriting the target text until it was appropriate and in
line with contemporary values (which may likely have yielded a completely different
fairy-tale altogether, thus defying the entire point of the project), the translation would
have had no marketability and would not have been accepted by publishers, let alone
be accepted into recommended reading lists. It was then that it was decided to redirect
the target text towards adults – scholars, or indeed regular readers with an interest in
Portuguese culture. With this decision came the need to find a healthy balance between
fidelity and leisure, and so the target text was conservatively translated very closely to
the source text in lexical terms, but with its grammar, linguistic structures and
punctuation domesticated to help facilitate the reader’s understanding.
Ideally, this translation would be published with a contextual preface explaining
the prevalent cultural values in Portugal during the Estado Novo, a short biography of
the text’s author Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen, and the contemporary relevance
54
of the source text in its source culture (e.g., its relevance and moulding of the literary
canon in teaching systems).
As has already been stated in this project, foreignization yields considerably less
satisfactory results market-wise than a domestication. While this translation is neither
a full foreignization or a full domestication, preferring to sit comfortably in the middle,
it would still always be followed by the stigma of being a translation – one done not only
by an unknown student-translator, but a non-native one at that. As Peter Newmark says
on the first page of his introduction of A Textbook of Translation,
I shall assume that you, the reader, are learning to translate into your language of habitual use, since that is the only way you can translate naturally, accurately and with maximum effectiveness. In fact, however, most translators do translate out of their own language ('service' translation) and contribute greatly to many people's hilarity in the process. (Newmark 1988: 3)
While translations from a non-native language are still relatively frowned upon,
they are slowly becoming acceptable in the scientific and other academic fields, from
any language into English as a Lingua Franca, regardless of the translator’s mother
tongue. This is because the technical, functional and comprehension requirements are
completely different for a literary text.
It could be argued that non-native speakers are not as equipped to write at
maximum fluency: they may have difficulties in letting go of the linguistic structures
present in their mother tongue; they may not transfer text in a satisfying manner to a
language they have not been speaking since birth but acquired at an older age. A great
part of language acquisition is exposure and practice and the translator’s language skills
may limit the naturalness of the target text.
However, non-native translators translating from their mother tongue into
another language they are fluent in do, arguably, have something to add that native
translators translating from another language into their mother tongue do not. They can
understand the subtleties of the grammar and the linguistic structures of the source
text, can read ‘between the lines and understand all the hidden intricacies of the source
culture which will allow for a better transfer into a new text. While they may struggle
with domestication (as they are often not familiar with the target culture), in cases of
55
foreignization, a non-native translator could be an acceptable choice. The raw grammar
and other minor mistakes can be overcome with the help of a native reviewer.
With this translation and the critical commentary that goes along with it, this
project also aims to be a small step towards breaking the stigma surrounding non-native
translators working on literary texts.
56
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Primary Bibliography:
Andresen, Sophia De Mello Breyner. A Fada Oriana. Lisboa: Figueirinhas, 1993. Print.
Secondary Bibliography:
Carcanet Press. Carcanet Press, n.d. Web. 20 Feb. 2018. <http://www.carcanet.co.uk>.
Cavendish, Richard. “Siam Becomes Thailand.” History Today, June 2014,
<ww.historytoday.com/richard-cavendish/siam-becomes-thailand>.
Cavendish, Richard. “Siam Officially Renamed Thailand.” History Today, May 1999,
<www.historytoday.com/richard-cavendish/siam-officially-renamed-thailand>.
Common English Bible. Bible Gateway. Web. 14 Mar 2018.
Cubelli, Roberto, Daniela Paolieiri, Lorella Lotto. “The Effect of Grammatical Gender on
Object Categorization.” Journal of Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory, and
Cognition, vol. 37, no. 2, 2011, pp. 449–460., doi:10.1037/a0021965.
Cunha, Isabel Arriaga E. "DESTAQUE. Adeus Escudo, Bom Dia Euro." PÚBLICO. Público,
30 Dec. 1998. Web. 06 Mar. 2018. <https://www.publico.pt/1998/12/31/jornal/adeus-
escudo-bom-dia-euro-121062>.
Dahl, Östen. “Animacy and the Notion of Semantic Gender.” Gender in Grammar and
Cognition, Jan. 2000, doi:10.1515/9783110802603.99.
Dahl, Roald, and Quentin Blake. Revolting Rhymes. London: Puffin, 2016. Print.
De Oliveira, César, Fernando Rosas, José Medeiros Ferreira, Manuel Braga Da Cruz,
Maria Inácia Rezola, Sacuntala De Miranda, Fernando Martins, José Maria Brandão De
Brito, Ana Bela Nunes, Rui Ferreira Da Silva, Jorge Ramos Do Ó, and António
Nóvoa. Nova História De Portugal: Portugal E O Estado Novo (1930-1960). Ed. Joel
Serrão and A.H. De Oliveira. Comp. Fernando Rosas. Vol. XII. Lisboa: Editorial Presença,
1992. Print.
Fairclough, Norman. "`Political Correctness': The Politics of Culture and
Language." Discourse & Society 14.1 (2003): 17-28. Web. 13 Mar. 2018.
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Frazão, Dilva. "Biografia De Sophia De Mello Breyner Andresen." EBiografia. N.p., 14 Apr.
2016. Web. 20 Sept. 2017.
Infopédia. "A História Do Escudo." Infopédia. Porto Editora, n.d. Web. 06 Mar. 2018.
<https://www.infopedia.pt/$historia-do-escudo>.
Jakobson, Roman. "On Linguistic Aspects of Translation." 1959. The Translation Studies
Reader, Lawrence Venuti (ed.). New York: Routledge, 2012. 117. Print.
"Man, Mankind or People ? - English Grammar Today." Cambridge Dictionary. N.p., n.d.
Web.f 14 Mar. 2018. <https://dictionary.cambridge.org/grammar/british-
grammar/man-mankind-or-people>
Martins, Maria João. “Sophia De Mello Breyner Andresen.” Mulheres Portuguesas:
Divas, Santas e Demónios, Vega, 1994, pp. 90–91. Print.
Matias, Ana Cristina Simões. Percursos De Leitura Da Poesia De Sophia De Mello Breyner
Andresen Nas Disciplinas De Português A E B Do 12º Ano. Diss. Universidade Do Algarve
Faculdade De Ciências Sociais E Humanas, 2003. Algarve: Universidade Do Algarve, 2003.
Print.
Munro, Eleasaid. "Feminism: A Fourth Wave?" The Political Studies Association (PSA).
N.p., n.d. Web. 13 Mar. 2018. <https://www.psa.ac.uk/insight-plus/feminism-fourth-
wave>.
Newmark, Peter. A Textbook of Translation. New York: Prentice Hall, 1988. Print.
Oliveira, Américo Lopes De. "Sophia De Mello Breyner Andresen." Dicionário De
Mulheres Célebres. Porto: Lello, 1981. 60. Print.
Patriarca, Raquel. "O Livro Infantojuvenil Em Portugal Entre 1870 E 1940 – Uma
Perspetiva Histórica." Diss. Faculdade De Letras Universidade Do Porto, 2012. Faculdade
De Letras Universidade Do Porto. Universidade Do Porto, 16 Apr. 2013. Web. 21 Mar.
2018. <https://sigarra.up.pt/flup/pt/pub_geral.pub_view?pi_pub_base_id=28037>.
Rocha, Natércia. Breve História Da Literatura Para Crianças Em Portugal. Lisboa:
Instituto De Cultura E Língua Portuguesa, 1984. Print.
"Sindbad the Sailor." Sindbad the Sailor. Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 10 Apr. 2016.
Web. 29 Nov. 2017.
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Shrek. Dir. Andrew Adamson and Vicky Jenson. Dreamworks, 2001.
Swift, Jonathan. "Letter: Swift to Pope - 5." The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift. Ed.
Thomas Sheridan, John Nicols, John Boyle, Patrick Delany, John Hawkesworth, Deanne
Swift, William Bowyer, John Birch, and George Faulkner. Vol. 14. London: Luke Hansard,
1801. 37. Print.
Tokien, Tom. "Suggested Reading List for Year 6 Pupils | KS2 | Age 10-11." The School
Reading List. N.p., 6 May 2013. Web. 5 Feb. 2018.
<https://schoolreadinglist.co.uk/reading-lists-for-ks2-school-pupils/suggested-reading-
list-for-year-6-pupils-ks2-age-10-11/>.
Vasconcelos, José Carlos de. "Sophia: A Luz Dos Versos." Interview. Jornal De Letras
[Lisboa] 25 June 1991, 468th ed.: 8. Print.
Venuti, Lawrence. The Translator's Invisibility: A History of Translation. London:
Routledge, 1995. Print.
Von Flotow, Louise. Translation and Gender: Translating in the 'Era of Feminism'.
University of Ottawa Press, 1997.
ANNEXES
1. Chapters cut from the Target Text:
VI – The Abandoned Forest
Everything was quiet. The forest seemed deserted. No birds were heard. There
were no flowers. But there were many poisonous mushrooms. And Oriana called,
"Birds, squirrels, deer, rabbits and hares!"
She heard a noise underneath the floor and, tiny and black, a viper appeared.
"Good morning," said the viper.
"Good morning, viper," replied Oriana. "Where are the other animals?"
"They all left for the hills. Since Oriana, the fairy, left them and they had no one
to protect them from huntsmen, they had to run far away. Only rats, vipers, ants,
mosquitoes and spiders stayed."
59
"Ah!" said Oriana, blushing in shame.
And she asked:
"Do you know who I am?"
"No," said the viper. "All I see is that you are a very beautiful girl.”
"I am not a beautiful girl. I am a fairy. I am Oriana.”
"Ah! How very odd! Where are your wings? No one has ever seen a fairy without
wings."
"I do not have any wings, but I will have them back in a couple of days. It is a
story I can’t tell you."
"I am always underground, I had never seen you before, but I have heard of you."
"Really? What was told of me?"
"I was told you were very good and took care of the forest before, but one day
you left all your friends because you fell in love with a fish."
"That is a lie," said Oriana, furious. "I never fell in love with the fish. What a silly
story!"
"Well you should know that is what is being said. Stories say you would spend
hours and hours leaning over the river doing your hair and adorning yourself with
flowers, so the fish would tell you how beautiful you were."
"But I never fell in love with the fish. I would spend hours by the river because I
enjoyed watching myself."
"Maybe it is how you said. But the fish told the other fish, who then told the
birds, who told the rabbits, who told the vipers, that you were madly in love and only
wanted to make yourself prettier for him."
Oriana was appalled. She felt ridiculous. She looked at the viper and said:
"That is a very silly lie. A fairy can’t fall in love with a fish. What a trickster! He
speaks with a tongue forked like yours."
60
And, turning her back, Oriana went on her way, but while she walked she heard
the evil hissing laughter of the viper:
“SSSSSSSSSSS.”
After walking for a long time, she arrived at the miller’s house. There everything
was broken. the house seemed abandoned a long time ago. The fire was put out; the
rooms were full of spider webs. Oriana grabbed a broom and a drag and started
sweeping and cleaning the house. then she heard the noise and the voice called her:
“Oriana!”
It was a mouse.
“Oriana, it's pointless to tidy the house up. No one lives here but me. The miller,
his wife and their children went to the city.”
“Ah! But why?” asked Oriana.
“One of the younger children went missing one day, the four–year-old one with
black curls. The miller and his wife looked for him through the whole forest for nine days
without finding him, and after nine days the miller said: …
… ‘Our son is lost in the forest, he has been eaten by wolves, or fell in the river,
that took his drowned body far away. There is no point looking for him further. Let us
leave the forest before another disaster happens.’…
… ‘I could feel something bad coming for a long time’ said the miller's wife.
‘Everything was going wrong lately. when I got home, everything was a mess. My
children were always falling in the river and would always come back dirty, torn and full
of wounds. Let us leave this forest quickly.’…
… And after this chat the miller and his wife packed their bags and their
bundles, put everything in a wagon end left for the city with their children. So, there is
no point in tidying up the house.”
“Everything was my fault,” sighed Oriana, “I left them. The miller's children fell
in the river and came back dirty, torn and wounded because I would not take care of
them. One even got lost. How can I undo all the wrong I've done?
61
And with this Oriana started crying next to the fireplace.
“It’s a great sadness,” said the mouse. “And it really was your fault.”
Oriana grabbed the broom, saying:
“Despite everything, I will finish cleaning the house.”
When she finished everything, the fairy said goodbye to the mouse and began
walking through the forest again. Through the way there were stones that would hurt
her feet and bushes that would sting her. When she had wings, she could fly over the
bad trails and only come down when the ground was covered in moss, soft grass or thin
sand.
“Men’s lives are hard,” she thought. “They don’t have wings to fly over the bad
things.”
Oriana arrived at the woodcutter’s house. The fire was put out there too, and
the floor was covered in dust.
The bed, the table and the stools were gone. Oriana kneeled next to the fireplace
and cried. And she heard a voice saying:
“Where are your wings?”
It was an ant.
“The fairy queen took my wings because I broke a promise.”
“It was a fair punishment, because you forgot and abandoned your friends. Look
what happened in this shack. The woodcutter and his wife were very poor. But every
morning you would walk in here with three little white stones, and you would turn the
stones into money, clothes and bread. But one morning you did not come. And from
that day onwards there was hunger, cold and misery in this shack. One day the
woodcutter told his wife…
… ‘We can’t keep living in so much poverty. Let's go to the city to find work.’…
… And they bundled their rags, placed their furniture on their backs and, holding
their son by the hand, they left to the city. They were sad and cried a lot when they said
62
goodbye to the shack, where they had been so happy, back when every day you would
visit them with three white stones.”
“Oh, ant,” said Oriana, sobbing. “Can I undo all the wrong I have done? I’ve only
just understood how important my promise was. I've only just understood how much
the forest needs me.”
“I don't know what advice to give you,” replied the ant. “But if you regret having
abandoned us, if you want to help the men, animals and plants again, do me a favor.”
“What is it?” Oriana asked, wiping her tears away.
“Take a white stone and turn it into a sugar cube.”
“Oh, ant!” said Oriana. “I don't have a magic wand anymore. I can’t do what you
ask. I can't even help an ant.”
“If you can't help me, goodbye, Oriana. I have a lot to do.”
And, looking very busy, the ant left.
Oriana sighed, got up and left the shack.
It was already getting dark outside. The fairy started walking to the Poet's tower.
The tower was far away, and the way was wild, full of thorns and stones. Oriana would
cut her feet with every step. There were no birds singing, no rabbits running, no majestic
deer with their sweet eyes. All there was in the forest was silence, abandonment and
loneliness. When Oriana got to the tower, it was already very dark. She had bleeding
feet and a heavy heart.
The door to the tower was open. Oriana went in, and went up the stairs, thinking:
“The Poet will comfort me, he will tell me what to do. He will let me cry on his
shoulder, cry until my loneliness is gone.”
Oriana opened the door to the Poet's room, and saw the room was empty.
The papers that used to cover the furniture and the floor were gone. But the
extinguished hearth was full of burnt paper ash. And the wind, coming through the
window, would scatter the ashes. Everything was covered in ashes.
63
Oriana walked across the room and her hurt feet left blood red footprints over
the soft white ash. And she kneeled in front of the burnt papers, and with tears rolling
down her face, she said,
"I came looking for my friend but didn't find him. Oh, how will I undo all the
wrong I've done? I broke everyone's happiness. I forgot my word and abandoned my
promise. Now all I find is extinguished fires, empty houses and ash."
A spider came down from the ceiling, holding onto her glimmering gossamer
thread, and asked:
"Are you Oriana, the fairy?"
"I know I am Oriana, but I don't know if I'm a fairy. I broke my promise and the
Fairy Queen punished me: the wind took my wings and my magic wand turned to dust.
"It's a fair punishment," said the spider, "Because you abandoned your friends.
Here's what happened in this house: one night you didn't come. And the next day, as
soon as night fell, the Poet leaned against the window waiting for you. When a leaf
moved, when a dry twig creaked, or the breeze made the grass dance, he would say: 'It's
Oriana.' But it wasn't you. You never came back. And he waited for nights on end.
Without reading, writing, or doing anything…
… He paced through the room and talked to himself. Until one night, when the
first rooster of the dawn sung, he said, …
… 'Oriana lied. She told me: 'I will never ever abandon you'. But I have waited,
waited and waited. The nights have gone by slowly, one by one. Oriana no longer shows
up…
… The world is no longer enchanted. I want to go to the city and become like the
other men…
… I want to become like the men who don't believe in magic and don't write
verses. I will burn all my books and papers.'
And after he said this he lit a big fire in the fireplace with all the books and papers
where his verses were written.
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He sat watching the fire burn and the glare of the flames danced in his pale, sad
face. When everything turned to ash, he got up and left for the city. I watched him vanish
into the cold light of the dawn."
"It was my fault," said Oriana. "How can I revive his verses from ash? How can I
make my friend's joy and companionship be reborn from this ash?" Oh, how the fish
deceived and tricked me with his compliments! I want to undo the wrong I have done. I
will go to the city to get the men and to the hills to get the animals who are my friends."
And, getting up from the floor, Oriana said goodbye to the spider and left for the
city. She walked through the city again, hurting and tearing her feet in the rocks and
gorse. She walked the path next to the abyss, and at midday, she arrived at the city.
VII - The City
The streets were full of people and Oriana felt very lost and very dizzy in the
middle of so many houses, noise and commotion. She looked everywhere, searching for
someone who could help her. But all she saw was unknown faces that walked right past
her. She decided to ask the signalman,
"Could you please tell me, mister signalman, if you know a miller that came from
the forest and has eleven children?"
"There must be a million people in this city and I don't know any millers. Move
along now, you're holding up traffic!" And Oriana went on, pushed by the crowd.
Then she asked a newspaper salesman,
“Excuse me, please. Do you know where a miller that came from the forest with
many children might live?"
"There are so many persons living in this city! How should I know where the
miller lives? Let me through!"
So, Oriana walked into a hat shop and the shop owner came running.
Oriana asked,
"Do you know a miller from the forest with eleven children?"
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"No, I do not. But I have a beautiful hat there that seems to have been made
especially for you! Sit in front of the mirror and see how pretty you'll look."
But Oriana remembered the fish and ran from the shop. Then she saw a man
sitting in a terrace, drinking beer, and asked him:
"Do you know a miller from the forest with many children?"
"I don't know any miller, but I would like to know you, I have never seen such a
pretty girl in this city before." Oriana remembered the fish's compliments again and ran,
terrified.
She kept asking around for the miller, but no one would give her a straight
answer. After walking through many streets filled with shops, cars and men, she arrived
at a very poor neighborhood, on the other side of the city. The streets were dark, narrow
and dirty. So dark, so narrow and so dirty that when the sun finally got there, it was
already pale.
"What a sad place!" thought Oriana. A cat walked by.
"Hello, cat," said Oriana. "Do you know where a miller from the forest with
eleven children lives?
"I do," said the cat. "Come with me" They walked two streets and went into the
building number 9537. They went up the fourth floor and knocked on the door.
The miller's wife was at the door.
"Good morning," said Oriana. "I am the fairy Oriana, and I came from the forest
looking for you."
"What an odd thing," said the miller's wife. "Where are your wings?"
Oriana told her story and asked her to come back to the forest.
"From this day onwards," she said "I will take care of your children and clean your
house again."
But the miller's wife would not believe a word she said.
"I don't believe in fairies I will only believe your words and I will only go back to
the forest if you bring me my lost child first."
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And with this, she closed the door.
Oriana turned to the cat sadly and said:
"No one believes me. I am so, so tired! Tell me: do you know where the
woodcutter from the forest lives? Maybe he'll believe me."
"No, I do not," said the cat. And they said their goodbyes.
Oriana walked the streets by herself again, asking questions no one would give
an answer to.
Until she found a stray dog.
“Tell me, dog, do you know where the woodcutter from the forest lives with his
wife and child?”
“I do,” said the dog. “Come with me.”
Oriana followed the dog until they arrived at a very poor neighborhood. The
houses were made of tin, the women were pale and disheveled, the men had torn
clothes and unshaven faces. The children played in the mud.
“It’s there,” said the dog, pointing to a hut falling apart.
Oriana peeked inside the hut.
The woodcutter’s wife was sitting on the floor with her son asleep on her lap.
They were both so pale and so thin that Oriana hardly recognized them. There was no
bed, no mattress, no stool, no furniture at all. There was only a pile of rags on a corner.
Oriana could feel her eyes starting to fill with tears. She felt a knot in her throat
and a huge weight on her back. Like she had lead wings. Crying, she told the
woodcutter’s wife:
“I am the fairy Oriana, and I abandoned you. It’s my fault you have fallen in
disgrace. Forgive me for the wrong I have done you and help me undo it.”
“What wrong have you done me?” asked the wife. “I’ve never seen you before.”
Oriana told her everything. The wife replied:
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“I had always thought there had to be a fairy in the forest. Oh! Why did you
abandon us? Listen to our story,
When we got to the city my husband got a job in the docks. But he earned very
little. We rented a room, but after a while we could no longer afford rent and the
landlord kicked us out and kept our furniture. So, we came to this hut, and with our rags
we made a bed on the floor. Then winter came, and the wind and the rain wouldn’t let
us sleep. We would put our son between our bodies, so the rain wouldn’t make him wet
and the wind wouldn’t freeze him. And winter kept going. One day our son got sick and
wouldn’t stop coughing. During the night, our bodies weren’t enough to keep him warm.
The doctor came, gave him a medicine and said: ‘He needs two very warm blankets.’
The next day, after work, my husband went around the city begging door to door. He
only got six coins and he needed fifty to buy the blankets. The next day he walked past
a shop that was selling blankets. My husband was a good and honorable man, but our
son was freezing to death. So, he stole two blankets and ran. The shop owner called the
Police and they went after him. And they were shouting,
‘Grab the thief!!! Thief! Thief!’
They arrested him and threw him in jail. I went to the jail to ask for him, with my
son in my arms. But they sent me away and told me the father of my son was a thief.
Now I am just sitting here, and there is nothing I can do. Nothing. You are a fairy, help
us.”
“How awful is the wrong I have done!” said Oriana. “When I was leaning over the
river and I would see my hair, my face, my neck like a tall white tower, the wrong I was
doing seemed good and beautiful. But now I see the wrong I have done is empty houses,
unlit fires, hunger, cold, tears, jails.”
“Will you help me?” asked the woodcutter’s wife.
“Come back to the forest with me,” said Oriana. “I promise that from this day
onward I will never abandon you.”
“I will only go back with you if you go to the jail to get my husband. I can’t go
back without him.”
“Wait for me then,” said Oriana. “I will get your husband.”
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Oriana walked along the city again. Walked and walked until she arrived at the
jail door. It was a sad door, dark and stained by humidity.
“Good morning” she greeted the guard. “Have you arrested a woodcutter that
stole two wool blankets?”
“I have,” said the guard.
“I ask you to release him. He’s my friend and he’s not a thief. I know he’s not a
thief.”
“He stole,” said the guard. “So, he’s a thief.”
“He stole because his son was freezing to death, so he’s not a thief.”
“Law says he’s a thief,” replied the guard.
“I don’t want you calling him a thief,” said Oriana.
“You are insulting authority. I’ll have you arrested too,” said the guard.
And he called out,
“Need two guards to arrest this girl.”
Having heard this, Oriana ran off. No one could catch her, because even though
she didn’t have her wings anymore she was still a fairy, and she could run a lot faster
than men.
And Oriana went along the city. She was so upset that she was speaking to herself
out loud. People laughed at her, saying,
“She’s crazy, talking to herself.”
Oriana would run, embarrassed.
But other people would say,
“What a beautiful girl! This city had never seen such a beautiful girl. Like a May
lily, like a star.”
When she heard this, she would run even faster, as she remembered the fish’s
compliments.
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Until it got dark. The sun went down, and the city lights went up. There lights
were blue, green, white, yellow, purple and red. The ground was glittering black.
Oriana was looking for the Poet.
She looked for him in the streets, in the public squares and gardens. She looked
for him in cafés, in pastry shops, in terraces, in taverns. She looked for him in viewpoints,
in tramway stops and at the cinemas. Until the city lights went out one by one. When
the first rooster sang, at dawn, there was only one house still lit.
“He is there,” said Oriana.
She walked towards the light and arrived at a wide street with tall houses. Oriana
had been there before in the afternoon, but the street was full of shouts, people,
movement, noise and cars. Now everything was still and quiet. The doors and the
windows were closed. There was only one door open, where the light she had seen came
from.
Oriana peeked and saw a large room with many small tables with white and cold
marble tops. It was a café that had been full of people during the day. Now it barely had
anyone. There was a tired servant, leaning against the counter, four dark men sitting
around a table to the right of the entrance and, at the end of the bar, alone, sitting in
front of an empty glass, was the Poet. Oriana walked across the room in silence and sat
in front of him. The Poet was so lost in his thoughts he did not see her arrive. His eyes
stared into the distance and saw nothing. The fairy touched his hand softly, saying:
“It’s me. Oriana. I am back!”
“Oriana,” he said, laughing.
He stood quiet for a moment. Then his smile came undone and his face turned
sad and rough. He asked:
“Where are your wings?”
“I don’t have wings anymore” she replied, lowering her head.
“Where is your magic wand?”
“I lost it” said Oriana.
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“If you are Oriana, enchant the night.”
“I can’t.”
About to scream, the Poet told her,
“You are not Oriana. Your face is like hers, but you lie because you have no wings
and you can’t enchant the night. You are not Oriana. The world is disenchanted. Oriana
lives in the forest with the trees, wind and flowers. There is no Oriana here. Leave.
Hurry.”
He kept speaking louder. People were starting to stare. Oriana covered her face
with her hands and the Poet shouted:
“Begone!”
Oriana got up and, hiding her face, ran off the café. She heard the servants and
the f our men laughing as she went by. She ran through the street and the laughs and
mockery ran after her.
Oriana went back to the forest.
IX - The Abyss
Halfway through a lot of walking, she saw a shadow coming from the city, walking
towards her. It was a dark shadow, bent over itself, walking slowly with the help of a
stick. Oriana realized it was the old woman. She thought:
“The poor old woman! I never came back to help, she is almost blind and keeps
walking this dangerous path next to the cliff. After today I will guide her every day like I
used to.”
She hurried her pace to reach her friend faster.
Suddenly Oriana screamed. She saw the old woman take a wrong turn and start
walking towards the abyss.
“Oh!” said the fairy “She’s going to fall in the abyss!”
She shouted:
“Stop! Stop!”
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And she started running.
Oriana was really far from the old woman and the old woman was really close to
the abyss. But she walked slowly, and Oriana ran fast.
She ran and ran.
And she would shout:
“Stop! Stop!”
But the old woman was deaf and poor sighted and, without seeing nor hearing,
she would walk slowly.
“If I had wings I would be there already!” thought Oriana.
And she ran and ran.
The old woman stopped to rest. She was one step from falling in the abyss.
Oriana, ten steps away from her, thought:
“I’ll get there in time!”
But just as she held her hand out to grab her, the old woman took one step
forward and fell in the abyss.
Oriana forgot she had no wings and jumped into the abyss to save the old
woman.
She grabbed her by the legs and tried to fly, but she could not. That is when she
remembered she had no wings.
“Oh no!” she said.
She could see the depths of the abyss underneath her like a mouth agape and
ready to devour her.
“Oh my, oh my!” shouted the old woman.
They kept on falling.
But suddenly, like a lightning bolt, there was the Fairy Queen. She reached out
and touched Oriana with her magic wand.
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In that same moment Oriana stopped falling and stood still, suspended in
nothingness, holding the old woman.
And the loud, straightforward and rigorous voice said:
“Oriana, you have been true to your promise today. To save the old woman, you
forgot about yourself and jumped in the abyss. You felt so strongly for your friend you
forgot to be afraid. Because you are Oriana, the fairy whom I gave the plants, animals
and men of the forest to. You are the one who watches over them, so they can live in
peace. When you abandoned them, the animals ran for the hills, the flowers dried up
and the men left to the city, where they got lost in the crossroads. But today you have
been true to your promise. For that, I order that two wings sprout out of your shoulders
once again.”
As she said this, the Fairy Queen waved her right hand in the air.
And new wings sprouted from Oriana’s shoulders.
“Wings, wings, oh, my wings!” shouted Oriana, trembling with joy.
And as she gave her a magic wand, the Fairy Queen told her:
“Take this magic wand and don’t forget your promise ever again!”
As soon as the Fairy Queen finished talking, she was gone like a lightning bolt.
Oriana and the old woman flew back up to the path, then Oriana set her down
and guided her into the forest.
Out of her mind with fright, the old woman looked around her and said:
“Oh, it seems like the fairies are back!”
But Oriana was already gone, flying as fast as an arrow, straight to the hills.
When she got there, she called for the deer, the wolf, the fox, the porcupine and
the rabbits and asked them for the miller’s son.
The animals saw how she was a fairy with wings and a magic wand and gave her
the child.
Oriana took him in her arms and flew very high, above the clouds, until she
reached the city.
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When she saw the street where the miller lived, she came down and knocked on
the door. The door opened to show the miller’s wife, who screamed when she saw a
fairy holding her son.
“Here is the son you lost,” said Oriana.
“Now,” said the miller’s wife, “I see you’re a fairy. Tomorrow we’ll all go back to
the forest.”
And Oriana went to the prison. She made the guards fall asleep with her magic
wand, opened the cell and freed the woodcutter.
The woodcutter, his wife and his son returned to the forest that same day.
When the night came, Oriana walked into the café. The waiter was asleep,
leaning against the bar; the four men talked with their backs to the room. In a table at
the end of the café, pale and alone, was the Poet.
Oriana walked across the café unseen. She stopped in front of the Poet and
touched his hand softly.
He looked up and saw her. He saw her wings and her magic wand. He saw she
was floating, not letting her feet touch the ground.
“It’s me,” she said.
“Now I see you. Now I see you are a fairy. Thank you, Oriana. For coming back.”
Oriana held his hand and they left the café without anyone seeing them. They
walked through the city and its flashy crossroads, they walked through the squares,
avenues and piers. And they left the city.
They took the long path by the abyss to the forest.
The full moon lit the hills and the fields.
When they got to the forest, the Poet asked:
“Oriana, can you enchant everything?”
And Oriana rose her magic wand, and everything was enchanted.
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2. Source text:
A Fada Oriana
Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen
I – Fadas boas e Fadas más
Há duas espécies de fadas: as fadas boas e as fadas más. As fadas boas fazem
coisas boas e as fadas más fazem coisas más.
As fadas boas regam as flores com orvalho, acendem o lume dos velhos, seguram
pelo bibe as crianças que vão cair ao rio, encantam os jardins, dançam no ar, inventam
sonhos e, à noite, põem moedas de oiro dentro dos sapatos dos pobres.
As fadas más fazem secar as fontes, apagam a fogueira dos pastores, rasgam a
roupa que está ao sol a secar, desencantam os jardins, arreliam as crianças, atormentam
os animais e roubam o dinheiro dos pobres.
Quando uma fada boa vê uma árvore morta, com os ramos secos e sem folhas,
toca-lhe com a sua varinha de condão e no mesmo instante a árvore cobre-se de folhas,
de flores, de frutos e de pássaros a cantar.
Quando uma fada má vê uma árvore cheia de folhas, de flores, de frutos e de
pássaros a cantar, toca-lhe com a sua varinha mágica do mau fado, e no mesmo instante
um vento gelado arranca as folhas, os frutos apodrecem, as flores murcham e os
pássaros caem mortos no chão.
II – Oriana
Era uma vez uma fada chamada Oriana. Era uma fada boa e era muito bonita.
Vivia livre, alegre e feliz dançando nos campos, nos montes, nos bosques, nos jardins e
nas praias.
Um dia a Rainha das Fadas chamou-a e disse-lhe:
– Oriana, vem comigo.
E voaram as duas por cima de planícies, lagos e montanhas. Até chegarem a um
país onde havia uma grande floresta.
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– Oriana – disse a Rainha das Fadas –, entrego-te esta floresta. Todos os homens,
animais e plantas que aqui vivem, de hoje em diante, ficam à tua guarda. Tu és a fada
desta floresta. Promete-me que nunca a hás-de abandonar.
Oriana disse:
– Prometo.
E daí em diante, Oriana ficou a morar na floresta. De noite dormia dentro do
tronco de um carvalho. De manhã acordava muito cedo, acordava ainda antes das flores
e dos pássaros. O seu relógio era o primeiro raio de sol. Porque tinha muito que fazer.
Na floresta todos precisavam dela. Era ela que prevenia os coelhos e os veados da
chegada dos caçadores. Era ela que regava as flores com orvalho. Era ela que tomava
conta dos onze filhos do moleiro. Era ela que libertava os pássaros que tinham caído nas
ratoeiras.
À noite, quando todos dormiam, Oriana ia para os prados dançar com as outras
fadas. Ou então voava sozinha por cima da floresta e, abrindo as suas asas, ficava
parada, suspensa no ar entre a terra e o céu. À roda da floresta havia campos e
montanhas adormecidos e cheios de silêncio. Ao longe viam-se as luzes de uma cidade
debruçada sobre o seu rio. De dia e vista de perto a cidade era escura, feia e triste. Mas
à noite a cidade brilhava cheia de luzes verdes, roxas, amarelas, azuis, vermelhas e
lilases, como se nela houvesse uma festa. Parecia feita de opalas, de rubis, de brilhantes,
de esmeraldas e de safiras.
Passou um Verão, passou um Outono, passou um Inverno. E chegou a Primavera.
E certa manhã de Abril, Oriana acordou ainda mais cedo do que o costume. Mal o
primeiro raio de sol entrou na floresta, ela saiu de dentro do tronco do carvalho onde
dormia. Respirou fundo os perfumes da madrugada e fez uns passos de dança. Depois
penteou os cabelos com os dedos das mãos a fazerem de pente e lavou a cara com
orvalho.
– Que manhã tão bonita! – disse ela. – Nunca vi uma manhã tão azul, tão verde,
tão fresca e tão doirada.
E foi pela floresta fora dançando e dizendo bom-dia às coisas. Primeiro
acordaram as árvores, depois os galos, depois os pássaros, depois as flores, depois os
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coelhos, depois os veados e as raposas. A seguir, começaram a acordar os homens.
Então Oriana foi visitar a velha.
Era uma velha muito velha que vivia numa casa velhíssima. E dentro da casa só
havia trapos, móveis partidos e loiça rachada. Oriana espreitou pela janela que não tinha
vidro. A velha estava a arrumar a casa e enquanto trabalhava falava sozinha, dizendo:
– Que negra vida, que negra vida! Estou tão velha como o tempo e ainda preciso
de trabalhar. E não tenho nem filho nem filha que me ajude. Se não fossem as fadas que
seria de mim? "Quando eu era pequena brincava na floresta e os animais, as folhas e as
flores brincavam comigo. A minha mãe penteava os meus cabelos e punha uma fita a
dançar no meu vestido. Agora, se não fossem as fadas, que seria de mim?
«Quando eu era nova ria o dia todo. Nos bailes dançava sempre sem parar. Tinha
muito mais do que cem amigos. Agora sou velha, não tenho ninguém. Se não fossem as
fadas que seria de mim?
«Quando eu era nova tinha namorados que me diziam que eu era linda, e me
atiravam cravos quando eu passava. Agora os garotos correm atrás de mim, chamam-
me "velha", "velha", e atiram-me pedras. Se não fossem as fadas que seria de mim? "
Quando eu era nova tinha um palácio, vestidos de seda, aios e lacaios. Agora estou velha
e não tenho nada. Se não fossem as fadas que seria de mim?
Oriana ouvia esta lamentação todas as manhãs e todas as manhãs ficava triste,
cheia de pena da velha, tão curvada, tão enrugada e tão sozinha, que passava os dias
inteiros a resmungar e a suspirar.
As fadas só se mostram às crianças, aos animais, às árvores e às flores. Por isso
a velha nunca via Oriana; mas, embora não a visse, sabia que ela estava ali, pronta a
ajudá-la.
Depois de ter varrido a casa, a velha acendeu o lume e pôs água a ferver. Abriu
a lata do café e disse:
– Não tenho café.
Oriana tocou com a sua varinha de condão na lata e a lata encheu-se de café.
A velha fez o café e depois pegou na caneca do leite e disse:
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– Não tenho leite.
Oriana tocou com a sua varinha de condão na caneca e a caneca encheu-se de
leite.
A velha pegou no açucareiro e disse:
– Não tenho açúcar.
Oriana tocou com a varinha de condão no açucareiro e o açucareiro encheu-se
de açúcar.
A velha abriu a gaveta do pão e disse:
– Não tenho pão.
Oriana tocou com a varinha de condão na gaveta e dentro da gaveta apareceu
um pão com manteiga.
A velha pegou no pão e disse:
– Se não fossem as fadas que seria de mim!
E Oriana, ouvindo-a, sorriu.
A velha comeu, bebeu e no fim suspirou.
– Agora tenho de ir ao meu trabalho.
O trabalho da velha era apanhar ramos secos que depois ia vender à cidade. E
todas as manhãs Oriana a ajudava a apanhar os ramos e todas as manhãs a guiava até à
cidade, pois a velha via muito mal e o caminho que ia da floresta para a cidade passava
ao lado de grandes abismos, onde a velha poderia cair se a fada não a guiasse.
E assim nessa manhã de Abril, Oriana e a velha foram as duas pela estrada fora,
a velha toda curvada, encostada a um pau, e Oriana voando no ar como uma borboleta.
E sem que a velha a visse, a fada segurava o feixe de lenha para que ele pesasse menos
sobre as costas dobradas.
Quando chegaram à cidade, a velha foi de porta em porta vender a lenha e
Oriana voou para cima de um telhado, onde se sentou a ver a cidade, à espera da sua
amiga. Enquanto esperava, começou a conversar com as andorinhas:
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– Os países distantes são maravilhosos – diziam as andorinhas.
– Contem, contem – pediu Oriana.
– O rei do Sião tem um palácio com um telhado de oiro e na China há torres de
porcelana – disse uma andorinha.
– Na Oceânia há ilhas de coral cobertas de relva e palmeiras. E nessas ilhas as
pessoas vestem-se com flores e são todas bonitas, boas e felizes – disse outra andorinha.
– Os cangurus têm uma algibeira para guardar os filhos e o rei do Tibete sabe ler
o pensamento de todos os homens – disse outra andorinha.
– No alto das montanhas dos Andes há cidades abandonadas, onde só vivem
águias e serpentes – disse outra andorinha.
– Que maravilha! Contem tudo – pediu Oriana.
– Não se pode contar tudo – responderam as andorinhas. – As maravilhas do
mundo são tantas, tantas! Mas vem connosco, Oriana. Quando vier o Outono nós
partimos. Tu também tens duas asas. Vem connosco.
Mas Oriana olhou o vasto céu redondo e transparente, suspirou e respondeu:
– Não posso ir. Os homens, os animais e as plantas da floresta precisam de mim.
– Mas tu tens duas asas, Oriana. Podes voar por cima dos oceanos e das
montanhas. Podes ir ao outro lado do Mundo. Há sempre mais e mais espaço. Imagina
como seria bom se viesses. Podias voar muito alto, por cima das nuvens, ou podias voar
rente ao mar azul, mergulhando a ponta dos teus pés na água fria das ondas. E podias
voar por cima das florestas virgens, e respirar o perfume das flores e dos frutos
desconhecidos. Vias as cidades, os montes, os rios, os desertos e os oásis. No meio do
grande Oceano há ilhas pequeninas com praias de areia branca e fina. Ali, nas noites de
luar, tudo fica azul, parado e prateado. Imagina estas coisas, Oriana.
Mas Oriana, olhando o alto céu e as nuvens vagabundas, suspirou e disse:
– Imagino o que seria da velha sem mim quando ela acordasse numa manhã fria
de Inverno e não encontrasse nem o pão nem o leite.
– Vem connosco, Oriana – tornaram a pedir as andorinhas.
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– Eu prometi tomar conta da floresta – respondeu a fada – e uma promessa é
uma coisa muito importante.
Então as andorinhas fitaram-na com olhos pretos duros e brilhantes, e com um
ar severo disseram:
– Oriana, não mereces ter asas. Tu não amas o espaço e desprezas a liberdade.
Oriana baixou a cabeça e respondeu:
– Eu fiz uma promessa.
As andorinhas viraram-lhe as costas e não fizeram mais caso dela.
Mal a velha acabou de vender a sua lenha saiu da cidade, acompanhada pela
fada, e voltaram as duas para a floresta. Quando lá chegaram era quase meio-dia. Oriana
separou-se da velha e foi a casa do lenhador.
O lenhador era muito pobre. Na sua casa só havia uma cama, uma lareira, uma
mesa e três bancos.
A porta estava aberta porque não havia ali nada que valesse a pena roubar.
Oriana, antes de entrar, apanhou do chão três pedrinhas brancas.
A casa estava muito arrumada porque a mulher do lenhador gostava de fazer
tudo muito bem feito. Além disso, havia ali muito pouco que arrumar.
Oriana deu a volta à casa para ver o que faltava.
Abriu a gaveta do pão e viu que ainda havia pão, por isso tornou a fechá-la.
Depois abriu a gaveta da roupa. A roupa, que era pouca e pobre, estava toda
limpa e cosida. Mas havia uma blusa tão velha e com tantos buracos que, mesmo depois
de cosida, estava rota. Oriana pôs uma pedrinha branca dentro da gaveta, tocou-lhe
com a sua varinha de condão e a pedrinha transformou-se numa blusa nova.
A seguir, Oriana abriu a caixa do dinheiro e viu que estava vazia. Pôs lá dentro
uma pedrinha branca e transformou-a numa moeda nova muito redonda.
E debaixo da mesa estava a bola do filho do lenhador. Oriana pegou-lhe e viu
que estava toda estragada. Então pôs debaixo da mesa a última pedrinha branca e
transformou-a numa bola nova.
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E quase todos os dias Oriana ia a casa do lenhador. Levava sempre três pedrinhas
brancas e transformava-as nas coisas que faziam mais falta. E a mulher do lenhador dizia
ao marido:
– Quem será esta pessoa tão boa que vem a nossa casa quando eu vou sair e que
me traz as coisas de que eu preciso?
Oriana saiu da casa do lenhador e pensou:
"Hoje é dia de feira, o moleiro foi à cidade vender a farinha. A mulher foi com ele
e levou os onze filhos. Vou a casa deles ver o que lá falta."
E foi a casa do moleiro.
A porta estava fechada à chave, mas Oriana tocou na fechadura com a sua
varinha de condão e a porta abriu-se.
A casa estava toda desarrumada. Estava tudo de pernas para o ar e tudo coberto
de farinha. Estava tudo fora do sítio. Porque a mulher do moleiro tinha onze filhos e era
muito desordenada e distraída, e nunca tinha tempo para nada. Se não fosse Oriana não
se poderia viver naquela casa.
Oriana entrou e olhou à sua roda. Suspirou ao ver tanta desordem. Depois foi
buscar uma vassoura e um espanador e varreu e limpou a casa toda. Com a sua varinha
de condão colou as coisas partidas. Lavou a loiça e arrumou-a nos armários. Escovou os
fatos e pendurou-os. Coseu toda a roupa que estava dentro do cesto da roupa e arranjou
os brinquedos partidos.
Quando acabou de fazer tudo isto, olhou à sua roda. A casa estava linda, cheia
de ordem e de limpeza. Então Oriana sorriu e foi-se embora.
E quase todos os dias Oriana arrumava a casa do moleiro. Mas a moleira nunca
percebia que tinha ali estado uma fada, porque saía sempre de casa atrasada e a correr,
e como era muito distraída não reparava que deixava tudo desarrumado e de pernas
para o ar. E quando chegava a casa não se espantava nada de encontrar tudo em ordem,
porque não se lembrava de que tinha deixado tudo fora de ordem.
Oriana saiu de casa do moleiro e foi a casa do Homem Muito Rico.
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III – O Homem Muito Rico
O Homem Muito Rico não tinha nem mulher, nem filhos, nem amigos. Só tinha
criados.
A casa dele ficava no meio dum jardim muito bem tratado, com relva, arbustos,
flores e ruas de areia.
Oriana deu a volta à casa para ver por onde é que havia de entrar. As portas
estavam todas fechadas à chave e Oriana não as podia abrir. Porque em casa do Homem
Muito Rico as fechaduras eram tão caras que nem uma varinha de condão as podia abrir.
Mas havia uma janela aberta. Era a janela da sala. Oriana espreitou e viu que na sala não
estava pessoa nenhuma. Só lá estavam as coisas. Mas reinava uma atmosfera de grande
má disposição. Os sofás e as cadeiras davam cotoveladas uns nos outros, as cómodas
davam coices nas paredes, as jarras diziam ás caixas e aos cinzeiros que não as
apertassem, e as flores diziam:
– Não posso mais, não posso mais, falta-me o ar! A sala estava cheia como um
ovo.
Oriana entrou e as coisas puseram-se todas a falar ao mesmo tempo.
– Oriana, Oriana, tira-nos daqui – gritavam as flores.
– Oriana, diz à jarra que não me empurre – pediu a caixa.
– Oriana, diz à mesa que não me pise com tanta força – pediu o tapete.
– Oriana, diz ao sofá que não me dê cotoveladas – pediu a cadeira.
– Oriana, diz ao biombo que se chegue para lá – pediu a parede.
– Oriana – pediu o espelho –, tira-me daqui. Eu estou sempre a ver, vejo tudo.
Esta sala cheia de coisas, esta sala sem espaço, sem vazio, sem largueza, cansa e magoa
os meus olhos de vidro.
– Sosseguem, acalmem-se, não falem todos ao mesmo tempo – pediu a fada.
Então as coisas calaram-se todas e depois a mesa disse:
– Oriana, não podemos estar aqui. Não cabemos nesta sala. Nesta sala há coisas
de mais. Estamos todos apertadíssimos. E somos coisas com feitios diferentes e não nos
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entendemos bem. Eu sou uma mesa antiquíssima; estava na sala de jantar dum
convento. Eu sou comprida, mas a sala era grande e eu cabia lá bem porque, além de
mim, só lá estavam os bancos. Aqui sinto-me muito mal. As coisas estão sempre a dar-
me encontrões. Há uma grande embirração entre mim e o sofá doirado. Eu sou toda lisa,
ele é todo feito de torcidos. Não nos podemos entender. Eu sou uma mesa de convento,
fiz voto de pobreza, não posso viver nesta sala. Oriana, toca-me com a tua varinha de
condão e faz-me ir pelos ares para o meu convento.
Depois falou a cómoda:
– Sou uma cómoda muito bonita e muito antiga. Durante dois séculos morei no
solar de uma quinta. Estava numa sala muito grande e quem entrava via logo como eu
era bonita. Durante o dia eu ouvia as vozes das crianças rindo no jardim e ouvia-as correr
umas atrás das outras pelo corredor. À noite ouvia só o cantar do vento, das rãs e o
correr da fonte no jardim. Nos dias de festa acendiam-se muitas luzes. As pessoas
passavam ao meu lado e diziam:
– Que cómoda tão bonita!
E o dono da casa respondia:
– Foi o meu pai que a mandou fazer.
E daí a umas dezenas de anos havia outro dono da casa que respondia:
– Foi o meu avô que a mandou fazer.
Passavam mais dezenas de anos e havia outro dono da casa que respondia:
– Foi o meu bisavô que a mandou fazer.
Tornavam a passar mais dezenas de anos e havia outro dono da casa que
respondia:
– Foi o meu trisavô que a mandou fazer.
Porque eu ia de geração em geração. E conheci os pais, os filhos, os netos e os
netos dos netos. Eu era uma pessoa da família. Quando fui vendida todos choraram. As
lágrimas das árvores caíam gota a gota no chão e as suas folhas faziam mil sinais de
adeus. Aqui é diferente. Aqui ninguém é meu amigo, nem os homens, nem as coisas.
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Quando alguém diz que eu sou bonita o dono da casa responde: «Comprei-a por cem
contos. Oriana, leva-me daqui. Leva-me outra vez para a sala do solar da quinta.
Depois falou o espelho e disse:
– Eu estava num palácio e em frente de mim havia espaço, espaço, espaço. E o
chão era de mármore liso e brilhante. E eu estava no fundo de uma galeria silenciosa e
solitária. E contemplava o mudar das horas do dia. Vi os reis e as rainhas, pálidos no dia
da coroação, com as suas coroas cintilantes e pesadas. Vi os ministros, os conselheiros
e os homens importantes com o seu nariz comprido, a sua cara de caso e o seu ar solícito.
E vi as namoradas de vestido branco que nas noites de baile fugiam um instante para a
galeria solitária. Elas deslizavam rápidas e leves negando sempre a flor que lhes pediam.
E vi as multidões das revoluções que passavam, desesperadamente, partindo tudo, à
procura de justiça. Vi, vi, vi.
Eu sou um espelho; passei toda a minha vida a ver. As imagens entraram todas
dentro de mim. Vi, vi, vi. E agora estou nesta sala onde não há um lugar onde os meus
olhos de vidro descansem. Oriana, tira-me daqui e põe-me em frente de uma parede
branca, nua e lisa.
E uma por uma todas as coisas foram pedindo que as levasse para outro sítio.
– Minhas queridas coisas – disse Oriana –, eu não posso fazer
o que me pedem. Se eu as fizesse desaparecer daqui, o dono da casa teria um
grande desgosto. E eu não posso entrar numa casa para dar desgostos ao seu dono.
– Então o que é que se há-de fazer? – perguntaram as coisas.
– Nada – disse Oriana. – Nesta sala tudo tem um ar irremediável. Quando entro
nas outras casas, faço aparecer as coisas que faltam. Mas aqui não falta nada. Aqui está
tudo a mais. Era preciso tirar coisas. Mas eu não posso entrar numa casa e tirar o que lá
está.
– Então se não nos podes tirar daqui faz crescer a sala para nós cabermos.
– Tenho muita pena – disse Oriana – mas é impossível. Quando o dono desta
casa a mandou fazer disse ao arquitecto: «Faça-me uma casa pequena, por causa das
invejas.
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As coisas calaram-se um instante, pensaram e disseram:
– Oriana, convence o dono da casa a dar-nos de presente a alguém que não
tenha móveis.
– Isso – disse Oriana – é uma óptima ideia. Já sei o que vou fazer.
Em cima da mesa estava um bloco de papel e uma caneta. Oriana pegou na
caneta e escreveu:
Quem dá aos pobres empresta a Deus. Dá metade dos teus móveis aos pobres.
– Óptimo – disseram as coisas.
– Oriana – disse o espelho –, peço-te que tires da minha frente aquela bailarina
de Saxe. Estou farto de a ver o dia inteiro sempre com um pé no ar em posição de
desequilíbrio. Os meus olhos de vidro não têm pálpebras. Só as noites são as minhas
pálpebras. Mas durante o dia nunca posso fechar os olhos. E estou cansadíssimo de
passar os dias a ver uma bailarina com o pé no ar.
A bailarina estava numa prateleira em frente do espelho. Oriana pegou nela e
pô-la no outro lado da sala, em cima da cómoda, de maneira a que o espelho não a visse.
– Obrigado – disse o espelho.
Então ouviram-se passos no corredor e Oriana escondeu-se atrás do biombo.
A porta abriu-se e entrou o Homem Muito Rico.
Mal entrou viu o bloco de papel que estava em cima da mesa. Leu o que lá estava
escrito, ficou furioso porque era muito avarento, e exclamou:
– Que grande atrevimento!
Depois viu que a bailarina tinha sido mudada de sítio, ficou outra vez furioso e
exclamou:
– Oh!
Tocou a campainha e apareceu o mordomo.
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– Chama imediatamente os criados todos – disse o Homem Muito Rico.
Daí a um instante entraram os criados todos. Puseram-se em bicha em frente da
porta. O Homem Muito Rico voltou-se para eles, virando as costas à mesa onde estava
o papel e à cómoda onde estava a bailarina, e disse:
– Passaram-se nesta casa duas coisas escandalosas. Ai de quem as fez! Quero
que o culpado se acuse. Quero saber quem é que escreveu sentenças no papel e quem
é que mudou a bailarina do sítio.
Os criados estavam assustadíssimos. Oriana, ouvindo este discurso, ficou muito
aflita com o que tinha feito. Num abrir e fechar de olhos tocou com a sua varinha de
condão no bloco, fazendo desaparecer o que lá estava escrito e tocou na bailarina,
fazendo-a voar para cima da prateleira.
O Homem Muito Rico pegou no bloco, virou-o para os criados e disse:
– Quem escreveu isto?
Os criados viram uma folha em branco e responderam:
– No bloco não está nada escrito.
O Homem Muito Rico pensou que estava a sonhar.
Não sabia o que havia de dizer nem sabia que cena é que havia de fazer. Tossiu
e disse com uma voz muito severa:
– Quem é que tirou a bailarina da prateleira?
Mas olhou para a prateleira e viu que a bailarina já lá estava outra vez. Pensou
que estava doido. Ficou outra vez furioso e muito envergonhado com a figura que estava
a fazer. Não sabia o que havia de explicar aos criados. Tornou a tossir e disse:
– Eu estava a fazer uma experiência. Já se podem ir embora.
Os criados foram-se embora e o Homem Muito Rico sentou-se numa cadeira e
começou a falar sozinho:
– Isto foi uma partida. Mas foi tão bem feita que eu não percebi nada. Foi com
certeza a criada da sala. A estas horas estão todos na cozinha a rir-se de mim. Tenho que
despedir a criada da sala.
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Oriana estava aterrada.
– Que casa horrível – pensava ela –, aqui tudo dá mau resultado. Não consegui
ajudar ninguém.
Enquanto pensava isto espreitou por cima do biombo. O Homem Muito Rico
estava sentado de costas para ela e Oriana viu que ele era careca como um ovo. Então
ficou cheia de pena. Resolveu pôr-lhe cabelo. Tocou-lhe com a sua varinha de condão
na careca e imediatamente a careca se cobriu de milhares de cabelinhos muito curtos.
O Homem Muito Rico sentiu comichão na cabeça. Foi ao espelho ver o que era. E viu
que tinha a cabeça cheia de cabelo novo a nascer.
Primeiro não acreditou no que viu. Esteve um instante de boca aberta, sem
poder falar. Depois gritou:
– CABELO!
– CABELO!
– CABELO!!?
Quando acabou de gritar, disse:
– Porque será que me nasceu cabelo? Há tantos anos que eu era careca e
experimentei tantos remédios que nunca, até hoje, tinham dado resultado!
Ficou um instante calado e de repente bateu com a mão na testa, exclamando:
– Já sei, já descobri o que foi. Foi aquela viúva que me veio pedir um emprego
para o filho! Ela começou a falar da sua pobreza e eu comecei a falar da minha falta de
cabelo.
Ela disse:
«– Não tenho dinheiro nenhum!
«E eu respondi:
«– Não tenho cabelo nenhum!
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«E ela então disse-me que me ia mandar um remédio que fazia crescer o cabelo.
E no dia seguinte mandou-me um frasco com um remédio dentro. Eu pus o remédio e
nasceu o cabelo! Tenho de lhe agradecer! Tenho de lhe arranjar um emprego para o
filho! Vai ser já!
E o Homem Muito Rico, muito excitado, pegou no telefone e marcou um
número.
Foi a viúva que veio ao telefone. Disseram-se bons-dias e depois o Homem Muito
Rico disse:
– Minha senhora, estou desvairado e louco de gratidão. Ajoelho-me aos seus pés
e beijo as suas mãos. Imagine que já tenho cabelo! Se calhar até vou ter caracóis! E até
me parece que o cabelo que me está a nascer é loiro. Os grandes ideais da minha vida
foram sempre ser rico e ser loiro. Até aqui só tinha conseguido ser rico. Agora, graças a
si, vou ser loiro! Loiro! Loiro! Quero-lhe agradecer. Quero falar com o seu filho!
O filho da viúva veio ao telefone e o Homem Muito Rico disse-lhe:
– Tenho um lugar para si! Um lugar magnífico, perfeito, ideal. Basta lá ir duas
vezes por semana e ganha trinta contos por mês. Não tem nada que fazer. É um lugar
importantíssimo. Tinham-mo oferecido a mim, era para mim, mas agora é para si!
Ouvindo isto, Oriana pensou:
– Até que enfim! Consegui fazer qualquer coisa nesta casa. Já me posso ir
embora! Uf!
E saiu pela janela.
IV – O Peixe
Cá fora a tarde estava maravilhosa e fresca. A brisa dançava com as ervas dos
campos. Ouviam-se pássaros a cantar. O ar parecia cheio de poeira de oiro.
Oriana foi pela floresta fora, correndo, dançando e voando, até chegar ao pé do
rio. Era um rio pequenino e transparente, quase um regato e nas suas margens cresciam
trevos, papoilas e margaridas. Oriana sentou-se entre as ervas e as flores a ver correr a
água. E ouviu uma voz que a chamava:
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– Oriana, Oriana.
A fada voltou-se e viu um peixe a saltar na areia.
– Salva-me, Oriana – gritava o peixe. – Dei um salto atrás de uma mosca e caí
para fora do rio.
Oriana agarrou no peixe e tornou a pô-lo na água.
– Obrigado, muito obrigado – disse o peixe, fazendo muitas mesuras. – Salvaste-
me a vida e a vida de um peixe é uma vida deliciosa. Muito obrigado, Oriana. Se
precisares de alguma coisa de mim lembra-te que eu estou sempre às tuas ordens.
– Obrigada – disse Oriana –, agora não preciso de nada.
– Lembra-te da minha promessa. Nunca esquecerei que te devo a vida. Pede-me
tudo quanto quiseres. Sem ti eu morreria miseravelmente asfixiado entre os trevos e as
margaridas. A minha gratidão é eterna.
– Obrigada – disse a fada.
– Boa tarde, Oriana. Agora tenho de me ir embora, mas quando quiseres vem ao
rio e chama por mim.
E com muitas mesuras o peixe despediu-se da fada.
Oriana ficou a olhar para o peixe, muito divertida, porque era um peixe muito
pequenino, mas com um ar muito importante.
E quando assim estava a olhar para o peixe viu a sua cara reflectida na água. O
reflexo subiu do fundo do regato e veio ao seu encontro com um sorriso na boca
encarnada. E Oriana viu os seus olhos azuis como safiras, os seus cabelos loiros como as
searas, a sua pele branca como lírios e as suas asas cor do ar, claras e brilhantes.
– Mas que bonita que eu sou – disse ela. – Sou linda. Nunca tinha pensado nisto.
Nunca me tinha lembrado de me ver! Que grandes que são os meus olhos, que fino que
é o meu nariz, que doirados que são os meus cabelos! Os meus olhos brilham como
estrelas azuis, o meu pescoço alto e fino como uma torre. Que esquisita que a vida é! Se
não fosse este peixe que saltou para fora da água para apanhar a mosca, eu nunca me
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teria visto. As árvores, os animais e as flores viam-me e sabiam como eu sou bonita. Só
eu nunca me via!
Oriana estava maravilhada com a sua descoberta. Debruçada sobre a água, não
se cansava de se ver. As horas passavam e ela continuava conversando com a sua
imagem.
Até que o Sol se pôs, veio a noite e o rio escureceu. Oriana deixou de ver o seu
reflexo. Levantou-se e ficou algum tempo imóvel a cismar. Depois olhou à sua volta e
disse:
– Chegou a noite! Como o tempo passou depressa!
Então lembrou-se de que era a hora de ir visitar o seu amigo Poeta. Porque a
única pessoa crescida a quem Oriana podia aparecer era ao Poeta. Porque ele era
diferente das outras pessoas crescidas.
O Poeta morava no fundo da floresta, numa torre muito alta e muito antiga,
coberta de heras, de glicínias e de roseiras. Oriana voou sobre as árvores através do
primeiro azul da noite. A porta da torre estava aberta, mas Oriana entrou pela janela
com a brisa. As rosas da trepadeira estremeceram e dançaram quando ela chegou.
– Hoje vens tarde – disse o Poeta.
– Estive debruçada sobre o rio a ver o meu reflexo – respondeu Oriana. –
Demorei-me porque fiquei encantada com a minha beleza.
– Oriana – pediu o Poeta –, encanta a noite.
Então Oriana tocou com a sua varinha de condão na noite e a noite ficou
encantada.
E o Poeta disse-lhe:
– O que tu me trazes é muito mais do que a beleza. No mundo há muitas meninas
bonitas. Mas só tu que podes encantar a noite porque és uma fada.
Então Oriana sentou-se na beira da janela e contou as histórias maravilhosas dos
cavalos do vento, da caverna dos dragões e dos anéis de Saturno. O Poeta disse-lhe os
seus versos, que eram claros e brilhantes como estrelas. Depois ficaram os dois calados
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enquanto a Lua subia no céu. Até que um sino trouxe de longe o som das doze badaladas
da meia-noite e Oriana e o Poeta despediram-se.
No dia seguinte de manhã Oriana foi levar a velha à cidade. Mas mal voltou da
cidade voou rapidamente para o rio. Ajoelhou-se na margem e inclinou-se sobre a água.
O seu reflexo apareceu todo doirado de sol à tona do rio.
– Mas que bonita que eu sou! – disse Oriana. – Hoje ainda estou mais bonita do
que ontem. Serei eu realmente tão bonita como me vejo na água?
Oriana olhou bem para os outros sítios do rio onde se reflectiam as árvores. E
pareceu-lhe que o reflexo das árvores no rio era mais bonito do que as próprias árvores.
– Se calhar – pensou ela – o meu reflexo é mais bonito do que eu! Como é que
eu hei-de saber a verdade?
Então lembrou-se do peixe e chamou-o:
– Peixe, peixe, peixe, meu amigo! O peixe apareceu e disse:
– Bom dia, Oriana. Aqui estou.
– Peixe – disse a fada –, preciso de ti. Quero saber se o meu reflexo no rio é mais
bonito do que eu.
– Nada no mundo é tão bonito como tu – disse o peixe.
– Tu és muito mais bonita do que o teu reflexo. Tens os olhos mais brilhantes, o
cabelo mais doirado, a boca mais vermelha.
– Achas que sim? – perguntou Oriana.
E ficou a cismar.
De repente teve uma ideia: lembrou-se do espelho. Pensou:
– Vou ver o que diz o espelho.
Disse:
– Até logo, peixe.
E, rápida como uma seta, dirigiu-se a casa do Homem Muito Rico.
A janela estava aberta e a sala estava vazia.
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Oriana entrou, disse bom-dia às coisas e pôs-se em frente do espelho:
– Espelho – disse ela –, olha-me bem, mostra-me como eu sou: vi o meu reflexo
no rio e achei-me linda. Mas tenho medo de que o rio me tenha embelezado e lisonjeado
como lisonjeia a paisagem. Mostra-me bem como eu sou para eu ver se o peixe disse a
verdade e se eu sou ainda mais bonita do que o meu reflexo no rio.
– Oriana – disse o espelho –, sou, como já sabes, um espelho antiquíssimo. Há
séculos que todas as meninas bonitas se põem em frente de mim para ver como são e
todas querem saber se haverá no mundo alguém mais bonito do que elas. Vê-te bem.
És muito bonita, mas há uma coisa muito mais bonita do que tu.
– O que é? – perguntou Oriana, ansiosamente.
– Uma parede branca, nua e lisa.
– Não me fales mais nessa parede – disse Oriana, desconsolada. Mas depois
olhou-se muito no espelho e disse:
– Eu acho-me linda.
– Ainda bem – disse o espelho. – Mas não imaginas a quantidade de meninas
que pelos séculos fora se olharam nos meus olhos de vidro e disseram: «Acho-me linda!
– Então, adeus – disse a fada, um pouco zangada.
– Não te vás já embora. Quero-te pedir uma coisa.
– O que é?
– Tira outra vez o cabelo ao Homem Muito Rico.
– Mas porque é que eu hei-de fazer essa maldade?
– Porque ele passa o dia em frente de mim, a ver-se em mim e a dizer: «É um
cabelo lindo. E eu já não o posso olhar.
– Nesta casa – disse Oriana – tudo dá mau resultado. E foi-se embora.
Cá fora pensou:
– Nunca mais volto a esta casa: o espelho fez troça de mim. Aqui nada há que
falte e tudo é irremediável.
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E foi outra vez para o rio.
Sentou-se à beira da água e apareceu o peixe:
– Peixe – disse Oriana –, vi-me no espelho do Homem Muito Rico, e achei-me
muito bonita, tão bonita como neste reflexo do rio. Mas o espelho disse-me que havia
uma parede branca que era ainda mais bonita do que eu!
– Os espelhos são uns sonhadores, estão sempre a imaginar o que não vêem. És
muito mais bonita do que uma parede. Eu nunca vi ninguém tão bonito como tu. Mas
acho que é uma pena andares tão mal penteada.
– Ah?! – disse Oriana, inquieta.
– Tens de mudar de penteado – disse o peixe. – Eu ensino-te! E o peixe começou
a ensinar:
– Faz risca ao lado, puxa os caracóis mais para trás, puxa a onda da direita mais
para a frente, põe a onda da esquerda mais para trás e faz caracóis na nuca.
Oriana fez tudo quanto o peixe disse, mas ele ainda não ficou contente. Mandou-
a desmanchar o que tinha feito e recomeçar tudo outra vez. Oriana fez e refez ondas e
caracóis. Até que começou a escurecer.
– Agora está melhor – disse o peixe. – Mas amanhã vamos experimentar outro
penteado.
– Então até amanhã – disse Oriana.
E foi lentamente, cismando, pela floresta fora.
Era quase noite quando chegou à torre do Poeta. Sentou-se na beira da janela e
perguntou:
– Achas que estou diferente?
– Não – disse o Poeta. – Acho que estás igual.
– Mas mudei de penteado.
– Não tinha reparado.
Oriana ficou calada, desconsolada com a resposta. O Poeta pediu-lhe:
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– Oriana, enche o ar de música.
Oriana tocou com a sua varinha de condão no ar e o ar encheu-se de música.
Estava lua cheia e o luar inundava tudo. Cheirava a madressilva e a rosas.
– Oriana – pediu o Poeta –, dança a dança da noite de hoje.
Então Oriana começou a dançar no ar, em pontas dos pés, a «Dança da Noite de
Luar da Primavera.
Dançava como as flores dançam no vento, e os seus braços eram iguais ao correr
dos rios.
O Poeta sentou-se na beira da janela a vê-la e do fundo da floresta vieram os
veados, os coelhos, as aves e as borboletas, para verem a dança da fada.
Até que o vento trouxe de longe o som das doze badaladas da meia-noite. Oriana
despediu-se do Poeta e desapareceu.
No dia seguinte, de manhã, Oriana, depois de levar a velha à cidade, foi a correr
ajoelhar-se em frente do rio. O peixe já estava à sua espera. Começaram logo a ensaiar
penteados. O peixe mandou-a fazer uma coroa de flores, para pôr na cabeça. Oriana
passou a manhã e a tarde a colher flores, a ver-se no rio e a ouvir os elogios do peixe.
Esqueceu-se de ir a casa do moleiro e a casa do lenhador. Esqueceu-se de tomar conta
dos animais. Esqueceu-se de regar as flores. Mas à noite foi visitar o Poeta.
E, daí em diante, Oriana foi abandonando um por um todos os homens, animais
e plantas que viviam na floresta. Um dia abandonou também o Poeta. Foi porque uma
tarde o peixe lhe disse:
– Vista à luz do Sol és linda, mas de noite, vista à luz de uma chama, deves ser
ainda mais bonita.
E nessa noite Oriana, em vez de ir visitar o Poeta, encheu a margem do rio com
pirilampos e fogos–fátuos e passou a noite a ver-se na água.
Foi uma noite maravilhosa. Parecia uma festa extraordinária e fantástica no meio
do silêncio e da escuridão da floresta.
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Os fogos–fátuos e os pirilampos eram iguais a estrelas pequeninas e Oriana via-
se na água rodeada de luzes, de chamas e de sombras, com os seus olhos brilhantes, os
seus cabelos luminosos, a sua coroa de lírios e as suas asas transparentes.
E daí em diante nunca mais foi ver o Poeta. Esqueceu-se de todos os seus amigos.
A única pessoa que ela continuava a visitar era a velha, porque sentia imensa pena
quando a ouvia dizer que em tempos idos tinha sido nova e linda e agora era velha,
enrugada e feia. Por isso, todas as manhãs lhe acendia o lume, lhe punha leite na caneca,
café na lata, açúcar no açucareiro, pão com manteiga na gaveta e depois a guiava ao
longo do caminho da cidade, para que ela não caísse nos abismos.
Mas mal voltava da cidade com a velha ia rapidamente para o rio, mirar a sua
beleza e ouvir os elogios do seu admirador peixe.
E, durante a Primavera, Oriana enfeitou-se com coroas e colares feitos de
madressilva, margaridas, narcisos, flor de laranjeira, papoilas.
Depois, no Verão, Oriana enfeitou-se com cravos, rosas e lírios. E no Outono
enfeitou-se com folhas vermelhas de vinha, com dálias e crisântemos.
Mas quando chegou o Inverno só havia violetas. E ao fim de algum tempo o peixe
disse:
– Eu acho que o roxo das violetas diz muito bem com o branco da tua pele e o
loiro do teu cabelo. Em todo o caso há já dias e dias que não mudas de enfeites. Acho
que devias variar.
– Como é que eu hei-de variar? – respondeu Oriana. – Agora é Inverno e não há
outras flores na floresta.
O peixe pensou um bocado e disse:
– Podias enfeitar-te com pérolas.
– Mas onde é que eu hei-de ir buscar pérolas?
– Espera um instante – pediu-lhe o peixe.
E passado algum tempo voltou com um anel que deu à fada.
– Toma este anel.
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Oriana pegou no anel e ele disse-lhe:
– Põe o anel no teu dedo e voa até ao mar.
E quando chegares à orla das ondas chama pelo peixe Salomão, mostra-lhe o
anel e pede-lhe que te traga mil pérolas do mar do Oriente.
Oriana assim fez.
Voou sobre florestas, montes, cidades e campos até que chegou a uma praia
muito grande e deserta, onde se quebravam, cheias de espuma, as ondas do mar.
E foi até à orla das ondas e chamou:
– Peixe, peixe, peixe Salomão.
E apareceu um peixe preto e azul com os olhos vermelhos, e perguntou:
– Quem me chama?
– Sou eu, a fada Oriana. Trago-te este anel.
– Diz o que queres.
– Quero que me tragas mil pérolas do mar do Oriente.
– Senta-te naquele rochedo – respondeu o peixe Salomão – e espera que eu
volte.
Oriana sentou-se no rochedo e esperou sete dias e sete noites. De vez em
quando lembrava-se da velha, mas pensava:
«Com certeza que o peixe não se há-de demorar. Ela nem vai dar pela minha
falta. Conhece tão bem o caminho que, com certeza, não há-de cair no abismo.
Depois da sétima noite, o peixe apareceu ao romper o dia. Trazia uma grande
casca de tartaruga que tinha lá dentro as mil pérolas.
– Obrigada, peixe Salomão – disse a fada.
E, pegando na casca de tartaruga, voltou para a floresta.
V – A Rainha das Fadas
Mal chegou à beira do rio, Oriana chamou: – Peixe, meu amigo, aqui estão as
pérolas.
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E o peixe trouxe do fundo do rio dez fios de prata e Oriana enfiou as pérolas e
fez dez colares.
Enrolou um colar à volta do pescoço, enrolou um colar à volta de cada braço e
entrançou nos seus cabelos os outros sete colares.
Depois debruçou-se nas águas. Era um dia de Inverno muito luminoso e
transparente. E Oriana viu o seu reflexo mais claro e mais nítido do que nunca. E nunca
se tinha achado tão bonita. O brilho redondo das pérolas rodeava o seu pescoço,
reflectia-se na sua pele, iluminava o seu cabelo.
– Nunca, nunca vi nada tão bonito! – exclamava ela.
– Pareces a rainha do mar, a princesa da Lua, a deusa das pérolas – disse o peixe.
– Nunca mais me vou embora da margem do rio – disse Oriana. – Quero passar
o resto da minha vida a olhar para mim.
Mas de repente Oriana calou-se. Porque ouviu no ar um silêncio. E nesse silêncio
levantou-se uma voz, uma voz alta, direita e severa que chamou:
– Oriana!
Oriana estremeceu e voltou-se. Ao seu lado, no ar, estava a Rainha das Fadas.
E a voz alta, direita e severa tornou a falar: – Oriana, o que é que estavas a fazer?
Oriana, pálida, respondeu:
– Estava a olhar para mim.
– E a tua promessa?
Oriana baixou a cabeça e não respondeu.
– Oriana – disse a voz–, faltaste à tua promessa e abandonaste a floresta.
Abandonaste os homens e os animais e as plantas. As crianças tiveram medo e
tu não as consolaste, os pobres tiveram fome e tu não lhes deste comida, os pássaros
caíram do ninho e tu não os apanhaste, o Poeta esperou por ti até às doze badaladas da
meia-noite e tu não apareceste. Abandonaste o lenhador, o moleiro, o Poeta. Por fim
até abandonaste a velha. Não cumpriste a tua promessa. Durante uma Primavera, um
Verão e um Outono passaste os dias e as noites debruçada sobre um rio, a ouvir os
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elogios de um peixe, apaixonada por ti. Por isso, Oriana, deixarás de ter asas e perderás
a tua varinha de condão.
E, dizendo isto, a Rainha das Fadas fez, no ar, um gesto com a sua mão. E no
mesmo instante, assim como as folhas das árvores no Outono caem dos ramos, assim
Oriana viu as suas asas caírem dos seus ombros e ficarem de repente secas e mortas
como dois papéis velhos. E o vento passou e levou-as pelo ar. Oriana correu atrás delas,
mas já não podia voar e as asas desapareceram. E viu a sua varinha de condão partir-se
aos bocados e desfazer-se em poeira, que caiu no chão.
E Oriana quis apanhar a poeira, e ajoelhou-se no chão. Mas a poeira já estava
misturada com a terra e as mãos de Oriana só conseguiram apanhar terra.
E a voz alta, direita e severa tornou a chamar:
– Oriana!
Oriana levantou-se e, com a cara coberta de lágrimas e as mãos cheias de terra,
pediu à Rainha das Fadas:
– Dá-me outra vez as minhas asas! Dá-me outra vez a minha varinha de condão!
Perdoa-me a minha vaidade. Eu sei que faltei à minha promessa, sei que abandonei os
homens, os animais e as plantas da floresta. O peixe encheu-me de vaidade com os seus
elogios. Olhei tanto para mim que me esqueci de tudo. Mas dá-me outra vez as minhas
asas. Eu quero voltar a ser como dantes. Quero voltar a ajudar, os homens, os animais e
as plantas. Mas sem varinha de condão e sem asas, eu não posso ser uma fada. Preciso
das asas para voar ao encontro de quem me chama; preciso da varinha de condão para
poder ajudar os que precisam de mim.
Mas a voz alta, direita e severa da Rainha das Fadas respondeu-lhe:
– Vai pela floresta fora e vê o mal que fizeste. Vê o que aconteceu aos homens,
aos animais e às plantas que tu abandonaste. A olhar para ti esqueceste-te dos outros.
Só tornarás a ter asas quando tiveres desfeito todo o mal que fizeste. Só tornarás a ter
asas quando te esqueceres de ti a pensar nos outros.
E mal acabou de dizer estas palavras, a Rainha das Fadas desapareceu.
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E Oriana ficou sozinha à beira do rio, com a cara cheia de lágrimas e as mãos
cheias de terra.
E ajoelhou-se ao pé do rio para lavar as mãos. Mas quando viu na água a sua
imagem sem asas começou a soluçar e a dizer:
– Asas, asas, ai minhas asas! Que feio que é uma fada sem asas! Que ridículo que
é uma fada sem asas! Ninguém vai acreditar que sou uma fada. Vão julgar que sou só
uma menina bonita. Mas eu não quero ser uma menina bonita, quero ser uma fada.
Oriana sentia-se muito triste e muito sozinha. Lembrou-se do peixe e pensou:
– Vou pedir ao peixe que me ajude. Ele é que teve a culpa disto tudo.
E pôs-se a chamar:
– Peixe, peixe, meu amigo!
Mas o peixe não apareceu.
Oriana tornou a chamar:
– Peixe, peixe, vem-me consolar! Vem ver como estou triste, olha o que me
aconteceu!
Mas o peixe não apareceu.
– Deve ter fugido para longe – pensou Oriana. – Vou esperar que ele volte.
E esperou, esperou, sentada à beira do rio. Mas passaram muitas horas e o peixe
não apareceu.
– Que mau amigo – pensou Oriana –, estou triste e ele não me vem consolar.
Então Oriana lembrou-se dos amigos antigos que ela tinha abandonado. E
lembrou-se de que a Rainha das Fadas lhe dissera:
– Vai ver o que aconteceu aos homens, aos animais e às plantas que tu
abandonaste.
E, levantando-se, limpou as suas lágrimas e começou a percorrer a floresta.
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VI – A Floresta Abandonada
Estava tudo muito quieto e muito calado. A floresta parecia despovoada. Não se
ouviam pássaros. Não havia nenhuma flor. Mas havia muitos cogumelos venenosos. E
Oriana chamou:
– Pássaros, esquilos, veados, corças, coelhos, lebres!
Então ouviu um barulho no chão e, pequenina e preta, a víbora apareceu.
– Bom dia – disse a víbora.
– Bom dia, víbora – respondeu Oriana. – Onde estão os outros animais?
– Foram-se todos embora para os montes. Como a fada Oriana os abandonou e
não tinham ninguém para os proteger dos tiros dos caçadores, eles tiveram de fugir para
muito longe. Só ficaram os ratos, as víboras, as formigas, os mosquitos e as aranhas.
– Ah! – disse Oriana, corando de vergonha. E perguntou:
– Sabes quem eu sou?
– Não – disse a víbora. – Vejo só que és uma menina muito bonita.
– Não sou uma menina bonita. Sou uma fada, sou a fada Oriana.
– Ah! Mas que esquisito! Onde é que estão as tuas asas? Nunca ninguém viu uma
fada sem asas.
– Agora não tenho asas, mas daqui a dias vou voltar a tê-las. É uma história que
não te posso contar.
– Eu, como ando sempre metido debaixo da terra, nunca te tinha visto, mas já
tinha ouvido falar de ti.
– Sim? O que te disseram de mim?
– Contaram-me que dantes eras muito boa e tomavas conta da floresta, mas um
dia abandonaste os teus amigos todos porque te apaixonaste por um peixe.
– Isso é mentira – disse Oriana, furiosa. – Nunca me apaixonei pelo peixe. Que
história tão estúpida!
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– Pois fica sabendo que é isso o que se diz. Até contam que tu passavas horas e
horas debruçada sobre o rio a fazer penteados e a enfeitar-te com flores só para o peixe
te dizer que estavas muito bonita.
– Mas eu nunca me apaixonei pelo peixe. Eu passava horas ao pé do rio porque
gostava de me ver no rio.
– Talvez seja como dizes. Mas o peixe contou aos outros peixes, que contaram
aos pássaros, que contaram aos coelhos, que contaram às víboras, que tu estavas louca
de amor por ele e que só pensavas em te enfeitares para que ele te achasse bonita.
Oriana estava indignada. Sentia-se ridícula. Olhou para a víbora e disse:
– Isso é uma mentira muito estúpida. Uma fada não se pode apaixonar por um
peixe. Essa história é má-língua. É a célebre má-língua das víboras. E, virando as costas,
Oriana seguiu o seu caminho, mas enquanto se afastava ouviu o riso mau e sibilante da
víbora:
– sssssssssss.
Ao fim de muito andar chegou à casa do moleiro. A porta estava aberta. Lá
dentro estava tudo na maior desordem: as gavetas e os armários abertos e vazios, o
chão e os móveis cobertos de poeira, e havia por todos os lados coisas partidas. A casa
parecia ter sido abandonada há muito tempo. O lume estava apagado, os quartos cheios
de teias de aranha. Oriana pegou numa vassoura e num trapo e começou a varrer e a
limpar a casa. Então ouviu um ruído e uma voz que a chamou:
– Oriana!
Era um rato.
– Oriana, não vale a pena arrumares a casa. Já não vive aqui ninguém senão eu.
O moleiro, a moleira e os seus filhos foram viver para a cidade.
– Ah! Mas porquê? – perguntou Oriana.
– Um dia desapareceu um dos filhos mais novos, aquele que tem caracóis pretos
e que tem quatro anos. O moleiro e a moleira procuraram-no durante nove dias pela
floresta toda sem o encontrar, e ao fim de nove dias o moleiro disse:
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– O nosso filho perdeu-se na floresta, ou foi comido pelos lobos, ou caiu ao rio,
que o levou afogado para longe. Não vale a pena procurá-lo mais. Vamo-nos embora da
floresta antes que torne a acontecer outro desastre.
– Há muito tempo que eu sentia que ia acontecer uma coisa má – disse a moleira.
– Ultimamente tudo me corria torto. Quando eu chegava a casa encontrava tudo
desarrumado.
Os meus filhos estavam sempre a cair ao rio e voltavam sempre para casa sujos,
rotos e cheios de feridas. Vamos depressa embora da floresta.
E depois desta conversa o moleiro e a mulher fizeram as malas e as trouxas,
puseram tudo numa carroça e foram com os filhos para a cidade. Por isso não vale a
pena arrumares a casa.
– Foi tudo por minha culpa – suspirou Oriana –, fui eu que os abandonei. Os filhos
do moleiro caíam ao rio e voltavam para casa sujos, rotos e feridos porque eu não
tomava conta deles. Até que um se perdeu. Ai como é que eu hei-de desfazer o mal que
fiz?
E dizendo isto Oriana pôs-se a chorar ao pé do lume apagado.
– É uma grande tristeza – disse o rato. – E foi realmente tua a culpa.
Oriana pegou na vassoura, dizendo:
– Apesar de tudo, vou acabar de arrumar e limpar a casa.
Quando chegou ao fim das limpezas, a fada despediu-se do rato e foi outra vez
pela floresta fora. Pelo caminho havia pedras que lhe magoavam os pés e tojos e matos
que a picavam. Quando ela tinha asas, voava por cima dos caminhos maus e só pousava
no chão os seus pés quando o chão estava coberto de musgo, de relva macia ou de areia
fina.
«Que difícil que é a vida dos homens, pensou ela. "Eles não têm asas para voar
por cima das coisas más.
Andando, Oriana chegou à cabana do lenhador. Também ali o lume estava
apagado, o chão coberto de pó.
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A cama, a mesa e os bancos tinham desaparecido. Então Oriana ajoelhou-se ao
pé do lume apagado e chorou. E ouviu uma voz dizer:
– Oriana, que é feito das tuas asas?
Era uma formiga.
– A Rainha das Fadas tirou-me as minhas asas porque eu faltei à promessa que
lhe fiz.
– Foi um castigo justo porque tu esqueceste e abandonaste os teus amigos. Vê o
que aconteceu nesta cabana. O lenhador e a mulher eram muito pobres. Mas todas as
manhãs tu aqui entravas com três pedrinhas brancas. E transformavas as pedras em
dinheiro, em roupa, em pão. Até que houve uma manhã em que tu não vieste. E dai em
diante passou a haver fome, frio e miséria nesta cabana. E um dia o lenhador disse à
mulher:
«– Não podemos continuar a viver com tanta miséria. Vamos para a cidade
procurar trabalho.
«E fizeram uma trouxa com os seus trapos e pegaram nos móveis às costas e com
o filho pela mão partiram para a cidade. Iam tristes e choraram muito quando se
despediram desta cabana, onde eram felizes, no tempo em que tu todos os dias os
visitavas com três pedras brancas.
– Ai, formiga – disse Oriana, soluçando –, como é que eu hei-de desfazer todo o
mal que fiz? Só agora é que eu compreendo como a minha promessa era importante. Só
agora é que eu compreendo como a floresta precisa de mim.
– Não sei que conselho te hei-de dar – respondeu a formiga. – Mas já que estás
arrependida de nos teres abandonado, já que queres voltar a ajudar os homens, os
animais e as plantas, faz-me um favor.
– O que é? – perguntou Oriana, limpando as lágrimas.
– Pega numa pedra branca e transforma-a numa pedra de açúcar.
– Ai, formiga! – disse Oriana. – Já não tenho varinha de condão. Não posso fazer
o que me pedes. Já não sirvo nem para ajudar uma formiga.
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– Então se não me podes ajudar, adeus, Oriana. Tenho muito que fazer.
E, com um ar muito atarefado, a formiga foi-se embora.
Oriana suspirou, levantou-se e saiu da cabana.
Cá fora já anoitecia. A fada pôs-se a caminho da torre do Poeta. A torre ficava
longe e o caminho era selvagem, cheio de picos e de pedras. Oriana caminhava cortando
a cada instante os seus pés. Não se ouvia cantar nenhum pássaro, não se via correr
nenhum coelho, não se via aparecer nenhum veado com o seu ar majestoso e os olhos
húmidos de doçura. Em toda a floresta pairava o silêncio, o abandono, a solidão. Quando
Oriana chegou à torre, era já noite fechada. E ela levava os pés em sangue e o coração
pesado.
A porta da torre estava aberta. Oriana entrou, subiu as escadas, pensando:
– O Poeta vai-me consolar, vai-me dizer o que hei-de fazer.
Ele vai encostar a minha cabeça ao seu ombro para que eu possa chorar, chorar
até que a minha solidão se desfaça.
Oriana abriu a porta do quarto do Poeta. E viu que o quarto estava vazio.
Os papéis que dantes cobriam os móveis e o chão tinham desaparecido. Mas a
lareira apagada estava cheia de cinza de papéis queimados. E o vento, que entrava pela
janela, espalhava as cinzas. Estava tudo coberto de cinza.
Oriana atravessou o quarto e os seus pés feridos deixaram pegadas vermelhas
de sangue sobre a cinza macia e branca. E ela ajoelhou-se em frente dos papéis
queimados e, com a cara coberta de lágrimas, disse:
– Vim à procura do meu amigo e não o encontrei. Oh, como é que poderei
desfazer o mal que fiz! Eu quebrei a felicidade dos homens, dos animais e das coisas. Eu
esqueci a minha palavra e abandonei a minha promessa. Agora só encontro lumes
apagados, casas vazias e cinza.
Então uma aranha desceu do tecto, agarrada ao seu fio brilhante, e perguntou:
– És a fada Oriana?
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– Sei que sou Oriana, mas já não sei se sou fada. Faltei à minha promessa e a
Rainha das Fadas castigou-me: o vento levou as minhas asas e a minha varinha de
condão transformou-se em poeira.
–É um castigo justo – disse a aranha –, porque tu abandonaste os teus amigos.
Ouve o que aconteceu nesta casa: uma noite tu não vieste. E no dia seguinte, mal caiu a
noite, o Poeta encostou-se à janela à tua espera. E quando uma folha mexia, quando um
ramo seco estalava ou quando a brisa fazia dançar as ervas, ele dizia: «É Oriana. Mas
não eras tu. Tu nunca mais voltaste. E ele esperou noites e noites sem fim. Sem ler, sem
escrever, sem fazer nada.
Passeava pelo quarto e falava sozinho. Até que uma noite, quando cantou o
primeiro galo da madrugada, ele disse:
– Oriana mentiu. Ela tinha-me dito: «Nunca, nunca te hei-de abandonar. Mas eu
tenho esperado, esperado, esperado. As noites têm passado devagar, uma por uma.
Oriana já não aparece.
O mundo está desencantado. Quero ir para a cidade e quero tornar-me igual aos
outros homens.
Quero tornar-me igual aos homens que não acreditam em encantos e que não
escrevem versos. Vou queimar todos os meus livros e papéis.
«E depois de ter dito isto fez um grande fogo na lareira com os livros e papéis
onde estavam escritos os seus versos.
«Ficou sentado a ver arder o lume e o reflexo da chama dançava na sua cara
pálida e triste. E quando tudo se desfez em cinza, ele levantou-se e partiu para a cidade.
E eu vi-o desaparecer na luz fria da madrugada.
– Foi minha a culpa – disse Oriana. – Como é que eu agora poderei fazer renascer
os seus versos da cinza? Como é que eu hei-de fazer que a alegria e a amizade do meu
amigo renasçam desta cinza? Ai, como o peixe me iludiu e me enganou com os seus
elogios! Eu quero desfazer o mal que fiz. Irei à cidade buscar os meus amigos homens;
irei aos montes buscar os meus amigos animais.
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E, levantando-se do chão, Oriana despediu-se da aranha e partiu para a cidade.
Atravessou outra vez a floresta, ferindo os seus pés nas pedras e rasgando-se nos tojos.
Passou pelo caminho cheio de abismos e, quando era meio-dia, chegou à cidade.
VII – A Cidade
As ruas estavam cheias de gente e Oriana sentiu-se muito perdida e muito tonta
no meio de tantas casas, de tanto barulho, de tanta agitação. Olhava por todos os lados
à procura de alguém que a pudesse ajudar. Mas só via desconhecidos, que passavam
sem sequer a ver. Resolveu perguntar ao sinaleiro:
– Diga-me, se faz favor, senhor sinaleiro conhece um moleiro que veio da floresta
e que tem onze filhos?
– Nesta cidade há um milhão de pessoas e eu não conheço moleiros. Siga, siga,
está a interromper o trânsito! E Oriana seguiu, empurrada pela multidão.
Depois perguntou a um vendedor de jornais:
– Diga-me, se faz favor. Sabe onde vive um moleiro que veio da floresta e que
tem muitos filhos?
– Nesta cidade vive tanta, tanta gente! Como é que eu hei-de saber onde vive o
moleiro? Deixe-me passar!
Então Oriana entrou numa loja de chapéus e a dona da loja veio ter com ela a
correr.
Oriana perguntou:
– Conhece um moleiro que veio da floresta e que tem onze filhos?
– Não, não conheço. Mas tenho aqui um chapéu lindo que parece feito de
propósito para si. Sente-se em frente do espelho e vai ver como fica bonita.
Mas Oriana lembrou-se do peixe e saiu da loja a correr. Depois viu um homem
que estava sentado numa esplanada a beber cerveja e perguntou-lhe:
– Conhece um moleiro que veio da floresta e que tem muitos filhos?
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– Não conheço nenhum moleiro, mas quero conhecê-la a si, porque nunca aqui
na cidade vi uma menina tão bonita. Oriana tornou a lembrar-se dos elogios do peixe e
fugiu, espavorida.
E assim foi perguntando pelo moleiro a muita gente, mas ninguém lhe dava
resposta certa. Depois de ter percorrido muitas ruas cheias de lojas, de carros e de
homens, foi ter a um bairro muito pobre, do outro lado da cidade. As ruas eram escuras
e estreitas e sujas. Tão escuras, tão estreitas, tão sujas, que o sol, quando ali chegava,
empalidecia.
– Que sitio tão triste! – pensou Oriana. E passou um gato.
– Olá, gato – disse Oriana. – Sabes onde é que mora um moleiro que veio da
floresta e que tem onze filhos?
– Sei – disse o gato. – Vem atrás de mim. Atravessaram duas ruas e entraram no
número 9537. Subiram até ao quarto andar e bateram à porta.
A mulher do moleiro apareceu.
– Bom dia – disse Oriana. – Eu sou a fada Oriana e vim da floresta à tua procura.
– Que coisa tão esquisita – disse a moleira. – Onde é que estão as tuas asas?
Oriana contou-lhe a sua história e pediu-lhe que voltasse para a floresta.
– Daqui em diante – disse ela – tornarei a tomar conta dos teus filhos e a arrumar
a tua casa.
Mas a mulher do moleiro não acreditava no que ela dizia.
– Eu não acredito em fadas. Só acreditarei nas tuas palavras e só irei de novo
para a floresta se primeiro me trouxeres o meu filho que se perdeu.
E, tendo dito isto, fechou a porta.
Oriana, muito triste, voltou-se para o gato e disse:
– Ninguém acredita em mim. Estou tão, tão cansada! Diz-me: sabes onde mora
o lenhador que veio da floresta? Talvez ele acredite em mim.
– Não, não sei – disse o gato. E despediram-se.
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Oriana foi outra vez sozinha pelas ruas fazendo perguntas a que ninguém
respondia.
Até que encontrou um cão vadio.
– Diz-me, cão, sabes onde mora o lenhador que veio da floresta com a mulher e
o filho?
– Sei – disse o cão. – Vem atrás de mim.
E Oriana seguiu o cão até que chegaram os dois a um bairro miserável. As casas
eram feitas de latas, as mulheres eram pálidas e desgrenhadas, os homens tinham fatos
rotos e caras por barbear. As crianças brincavam na lama.
– É ali – disse o cão apontando para um casebre meio desfeito. Oriana espreitou
para dentro do casebre.
A mulher do lenhador estava sentada no chão e tinha o filho a dormir no colo.
Estavam os dois tão pálidos e tão magros que Oriana mal os reconheceu. Não havia nem
cama, nem colchão, nem banco, nem móvel nenhum. Havia só, a um canto, um monte
de trapos.
Oriana sentiu os seus olhos encherem-se de lágrimas. Sentiu um nó na garganta
e um terrível peso sobre as suas costas. Era como se tivesse umas asas de chumbo. E,
chorando, falou assim à mulher do lenhador:
– Eu sou a fada Oriana, que te abandonei. E por minha culpa que tu és tão
desgraçada. Perdoa-me o mal que eu te fiz e ajuda-me a desfaze-lo.
– Que mal ‚ que tu me fizeste? – perguntou a mulher. – Eu nunca te vi.
Oriana contou-lhe tudo. A mulher respondeu:
– Eu sempre pensei que na floresta devia haver uma fada. Ai!, porque é que nos
abandonaste? Ouve a nossa história:
«Quando chegámos à cidade o meu marido arranjou um emprego no cais. Mas
o que ganhava era muito pouco. Alugámos um quarto, mas ao fim de algum tempo não
podíamos pagar a renda e o senhorio pôs-nos na rua e ficou com os nossos móveis.
Então viemos para este casebre, e com os nossos trapos fizemos uma cama no chão. E
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veio o Inverno, e o vento e a chuva não nos deixavam dormir. E nós púnhamos o corpo
do nosso filho entre os nossos corpos para que a chuva não o molhasse e o vento não o
gelasse. E o Inverno continuou. Um dia o nosso filho adoeceu, e não parava de tossir. E
durante a noite o calor do nosso corpo não chegava para o aquecer. Veio o médico, deu-
lhe um remédio e disse: «Ele precisa de dois cobertores bem quentes. E no dia seguinte,
depois do trabalho, o meu marido foi pela cidade pedir esmola de porta em porta. Mas
só lhe deram seis moedas e ele precisava de cinquenta para comprar os cobertores. E
no dia seguinte ele passou perto duma loja, onde estavam cobertores à venda. E ele era
um homem bom e honrado, mas o nosso filho estava a morrer de frio. Por isso roubou
dois cobertores e fugiu. Mas veio o dono da loja e chamou a Policia e foram atrás dele.
E gritavam:
«– Agarra que ‚ ladrão!!! Ladrão! Ladrão!
«E levaram-no preso e meteram-no na cadeia. E eu fui à porta da cadeia pedir
por ele, com o meu filho nos braços. Mas mandaram-me embora e disseram-me que o
pai do meu filho era ladrão. E agora eu estou aqui sentada e não posso fazer nada, nada.
Tu, que és uma fada, ajuda-nos.
– Que mau é o mal que eu fiz! – disse Oriana. – Quando eu me debruçava sobre
o rio via os meus cabelos, a minha cara, o meu pescoço igual a uma torre branca e direita.
E o mal que eu fazia parecia-me bom e lindo. Mas agora eu vejo que o mal que eu fiz ‚
casas vazias, lumes apagados, fome, frio, lágrimas, prisões.
– Ajuda-me – pediu a mulher do lenhador.
– Volta comigo para a floresta – disse Oriana. – Eu prometo que de hoje em
diante nunca mais te abandonarei.
– Só vou contigo se primeiro fores … prisão buscar o meu marido. Sem ele não
posso ir.
– Então espera por mim – disse Oriana. – Eu vou buscar o teu marido.
E Oriana foi outra vez pela cidade fora. Andou, andou, até que chegou à porta da
prisão. Era uma porta triste, escura, cheia de manchas de humidade.
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– Bom dia – disse ela ao guarda. – É aqui que está preso um lenhador que roubou
dois cobertores de lã?
– É aqui – disse o guarda.
– Peço-te que o soltes. Ele ‚ meu amigo e não é um ladrão. Eu sei que ele não é
um ladrão.
– Roubou – disse o guarda. – Por isso é um ladrão.
– Ele roubou porque o filho dele estava a morrer de frio, por isso não é um ladrão.
– A lei diz que ele é um ladrão – respondeu o guarda.
– Não quero que digas que ele é um ladrão – disse Oriana.
– Estás a insultar a autoridade. Vou-te mandar prender – disse o guarda.
E chamou:
– Venham cá dois guardas prender esta rapariga.
Oriana, quando ouviu isto, fugiu a correr. E ninguém a conseguiu agarrar,
porque, embora ela já não tivesse asas, ainda era uma fada e por isso corria muito mais
depressa do que os homens.
E Oriana foi pela cidade fora. Ia tão aflita que falava alto sozinha. E as pessoas
riam-se, dizendo:
– É uma doida que vai a falar sozinha.
E Oriana fugia, envergonhada.
Mas havia outras pessoas que diziam:
– Ai que menina tão bonita! Nunca uma menina tão bonita pisou as ruas desta
cidade. Parece um lírio de Maio, parece uma estrela.
E quando ouvia isto, Oriana fugia ainda mais, porque se lembrava dos elogios do
peixe.
Até que anoiteceu. Apagou-se a luz do Sol e acenderam-se as luzes da cidade.
Havia luzes azuis, luzes verdes, luzes brancas, luzes amarelas, luzes roxas, luzes
vermelhas. E o chão da cidade era brilhante e preto.
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Oriana pôs-se à procura do Poeta.
Procurou-o nas ruas, nas praças, nos jardins públicos. Procurou-o nos cafés, nas
pastelarias, nas esplanadas, nas tabernas. Procurou-o nos miradouros, nas paragens dos
eléctricos e nas saídas dos cinemas. Até que as luzes da cidade se foram apagando uma
por uma. E quando cantou o primeiro galo, de madrugada, só já havia uma casa com luz.
– É ali – disse Oriana.
E caminhou para a luz. Foi ter a uma rua larga com casas altas. Oriana j por ali
tinha passado de tarde. Mas a essa hora a rua estava cheia de gritos, de pessoas, de
movimento, de barulho, de carros. Agora estava tudo quieto e calado. As portas e as
janelas estavam fechadas. Só havia uma porta aberta, onde brilhava a luz que ela tinha
visto.
Oriana espreitou e viu uma grande sala com muitas mesas pequenas que tinham
tampas de mármore brancas e frias. Era um café que de dia estava cheio de gente. Agora
não havia ali quase ninguém. Havia só um criado com sono, encostado ao balcão, quatro
homens escuros sentados à roda de uma mesa, à direita da entrada, e, ao fundo,
sozinho, sentado em frente de um copo vazio, estava o Poeta. Oriana atravessou a sala
em silêncio e sentou-se em frente dele. O Poeta estava tão perdido nos seus
pensamentos que nem a viu chegar. Os seus olhos olhavam para longe e não viam. A
fada tocou-lhe levemente na mão, dizendo:
– Sou eu. Sou a fada Oriana. Voltei!
– Oriana – disse ele, rindo.
E ficou um momento calado. Mas depois o seu sorriso desfez-se, a sua cara
tornou-se triste e dura. E perguntou:
– Onde é que estão as tuas asas?
– Já não tenho asas – respondeu Oriana, baixando a cabeça.
– Onde é que está a tua varinha de condão?
– Perdi-a – disse Oriana.
– Se és Oriana, encanta a noite.
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– Não posso.
Então o Poeta disse-lhe, quase gritando:
– Não és Oriana. A tua cara é igual à cara da fada Oriana, mas mentes porque
não tens asas e não podes encantar a noite. Não és Oriana. O Mundo está desencantado.
Oriana vive na floresta com as árvores, com o vento, com as flores. Aqui não há Oriana.
Vai-te embora. Depressa.
Falava cada vez mais alto. As pessoas começavam a olhar para eles. Oriana tapou
a cara com as mãos. E o Poeta gritou:
– Desaparece!
Oriana levantou-se e, escondendo a cara, saiu a correr do café. Ouviu os criados
e os quatro homens rirem quando ela passava. Fugiu pela rua fora e os risos e as troças
corriam atrás dela.
E Oriana voltou para a floresta.
VIII – A Árvore e os Animais
Quando lá chegou nascia o dia. A madrugada estava branca de névoa. Era a hora
em que os pássaros acordam e começam a cantar. Mas os pássaros tinham fugido para
os montes e ninguém cantava.
– Que silêncio! Que silêncio! – murmurava Oriana. – Vê-se bem que os meus
amigos pássaros fugiram. Ai como eu estou sozinha! Ai como eu estou cansada! Não sei
para onde hei-de ir e não posso dar mais um passo.
E dizendo isto Oriana encostou a cabeça ao tronco de uma árvore e começou a
chorar.
Era um tronco forte, áspero, negro. E Oriana rodeou-o com os seus braços e
colou a cara à casca rugosa. Então a árvore baixou-se e, com os seus ramos, pegou nela
ao colo. Cobriu-a com a sua folhagem e pôs duas folhas sobre os seus olhos. E Oriana
adormeceu.
Era manhã alta quando acordou. Mil raios de sol atravessavam a floresta. Oriana
viu o céu azul através das folhas verdes.
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Espreguiçou-se, respirando fundo os perfumes da terra. Sentiu-se cheia de
alegria por tudo ser tão bonito.
E disse:
– Que linda manhã!
Mas de repente lembrou-se do dia da véspera. Lembrou-se do lenhador, da
moleira e do Poeta.
Pensou:
«Tenho de encontrar um remédio. Com certeza que h um remédio. Tem de haver
um remédio. Mas o que ‚ que hei-de fazer?
E, pondo o cotovelo no joelho e o queixo na mão, Oriana pôs-se a pensar. Até
que exclamou:
– Vou procurar o filho do moleiro. Os animais que foram para os montes devem
saber onde ele está. Vou pedir que me digam como ‚ que o hei-de encontrar. E vou-lhes
pedir também que venham comigo à cidade ajudar-me a soltar o lenhador. E talvez que
a raposa, que é tão inteligente, consiga convencer o Poeta de que eu sou uma fada.
E, radiante com a sua ideia, Oriana faz um passo de dança. Depois voltou-se para
a árvore e disse:
– Obrigada, árvore. Apesar de eu já não ter asas, tu viste que eu era uma fada.
Quanto eu cheguei ao pé de ti vinha triste e cansada, mas tu deste-me a tua paz e
cobriste-me com as tuas folhas. E agora eu vou procurar o filho do moleiro. Ontem eu
chorava e julgava que não podia salvar os meus amigos e que não havia remédio para a
minha tristeza. Mas tu cobriste os meus olhos com as tuas folhas e enquanto eu dormia
a minha tristeza desfez-se. Esta manhã é tão verde e tão azul! E eu estou tão contente
porque tenho a certeza de que há um remédio!
Oriana despediu-se da árvore e foi a caminho dos montes. Os montes eram longe
e estavam todos azuis.
Oriana andou, andou.
E pensava:
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– Que difícil que é a vida dos homens, porque não têm asas!
E andou, andou, andou.
Ao pôr-do-sol os montes ficaram escuros contra o céu vermelho. E veio a noite e
o luar caiu sobre os campos.
Oriana procurou uma árvore para dormir, porque as fadas só podem dormir nas
árvores.
E encontrou um pinheiro.
Durante a noite o pinheiro dizia:
– Quando passa o vento imagino que sou um mastro.
Logo de madrugada Oriana pôs-se a caminho.
Chegou ao alto dos montes e chamou todos os animais. E disse-lhes:
– Sou a fada Oriana.
Eles disseram:
– Mas onde ‚ que estão as tuas asas e a tua varinha de condão? Oriana contou-
lhes a sua história e perguntou:
– Sabem onde é que está o filho do moleiro?
– Está aqui – disse o veado, que apareceu detrás de um penedo com o filho do
moleiro às costas.
– Dá-mo – disse Oriana –, eu quero levá-lo à mãe dele.
– Uma fada sem asas – disse o veado – ‚ é uma coisa muito esquisita. Não te
posso entregar uma criança, porque uma criança é uma coisa sagrada. Não posso
entregar uma criança a quem diz que é uma fada, mas não pode mostrar as suas asas.
– Eu sou uma fada – disse Oriana –, mas não posso provar que sou uma fada.
– Apresenta testemunhas – disse o coelho.
– De qualquer maneira – disse a raposa – não podemos ter confiança nela. Por
um lado, não tem asas e por isso não parece uma fada. Por outro lado, mesmo que seja
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a fada Oriana, não podemos ter confiança nela. Porque a fada Oriana abandonou-nos,
faltou à sua promessa e atraiçoou a sua palavra.
– Eu faltei à minha promessa, mas estou muito arrependida – disse Oriana. – Há
três dias que estou sempre a chorar.
– Apresenta uma testemunha – disse o veado.
– O peixe – disse a fada – assistiu a tudo. Ele é que teve a culpa de eu me ter
esquecido dos homens, dos animais e das plantas que vivem na floresta. Ele viu a Rainha
das Fadas levantar a mão no ar e ouviu-a dizer que eu ia perder as minhas asas. Ele viu
o vento que levou as minhas asas!
– Se o peixe disser que viu as tuas asas desaparecerem, levadas pelo vento, e
que foi a Rainha das Fadas que te castigou, e que tu és a fada Oriana, nós acreditamos
em ti – disse o porco-espinho.
– E se todos acreditarem em ti – disse o veado – eu entrego-te o filho do moleiro
para o levares à mãe dele.
– Vou procurar o peixe – disse Oriana. – Amanhã ao meio-dia venham ter comigo
à beira do rio.
– Amanhã – disseram todos os animais – vamos ter contigo à beira do rio.
– Até amanhã – disse Oriana.
E pôs-se outra vez a caminho.
Andou, andou, andou.
E no dia seguinte, mal nasceu o dia, Oriana estava debruçada sobre o rio,
chamando:
– Peixe, peixe, peixe, meu amigo!
Apareceu o peixe.
– Bom dia, Oriana – disse ele, com ar mal disposto. – Estás muito mal penteada.
– Não tenho tempo para me pentear – disse Oriana.
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– Há coisas muito mais importantes do que estar bem penteada. Tenho de salvar
todos os homens, os animais e as plantas que vivem na floresta. Tenho de desfazer o
mal que fiz. Eu vi a tristeza da mulher do moleiro, e vi a miséria do lenhador, e a solidão
do Poeta. Quero tornar a ser boa. Quero ajudar os outros. Diz aos animais que tu sabes
que eu sou uma fada.
– Oriana – respondeu o peixe –, eu sou muito teu amigo, mas realmente não
posso deixar de ter respeito pela Rainha das Fadas. A Rainha das Fadas está muito
zangada contigo porque tu te portaste muito mal.
– Foi tua a culpa – disse Oriana.
– Perdão – disse o peixe –, não foi minha a culpa. Eu não sabia que tu tinhas feito
uma promessa de tomar conta dos homens, dos animais e das plantas que vivem na
floresta. Não tenho nada a ver com o assunto.
– Não vale a pena discutir – disse Oriana. – Só te quero pedir isto: como eu não
tenho asas, os animais não acreditam que eu seja uma fada. Dizem que as fadas têm
sempre asas. Eu quero que tu lhes digas que viste a Rainha das Fadas tirar-me as asas e
que sabes que eu sou a fada Oriana.
– Está claro – disse o peixe – que eu sei que tu és a fada Oriana. Mas essa história
dos animais não me diz respeito.
– Peixe – disse Oriana –, no dia em que eu te salvei tu disseste: «Quando quiseres
vem ao rio e chama por mim. Pede-me tudo quanto quiseres. E por isso agora eu peço:
diz aos animais que eu sou a fada Oriana.
– Sabes – disse o peixe –, quando uma pessoa nos atira à cara o favor que nos
fez perde o direito à nossa gratidão.
Oriana ficou muito corada, sem saber o que havia de responder. Apeteceu-lhe
cuspir naquele peixe importante e covarde. Mas lembrou-se do lenhador, que estava na
prisão, da mulher do moleiro, que não sabia do filho, e do Poeta, que já não acreditava
em fadas. E resolveu ter paciência. Disse:
– Peixe, eu peço-te que digas aos animais que eu sou a fada Oriana.
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– Está bem – disse o peixe. – Eu não quero ser ingrato. Quando chegarem os
animais, chama por mim.
– Obrigada, obrigada, obrigada! – disse Oriana.
– Até já – disse o peixe, com um ar cerimonioso e bem-educado. E desapareceu.
Oriana pôs-se à espera dos animais. O Sol foi subindo no céu. Até que chegou o
meio-dia. E ao meio-dia apareceram os animais.
Vinham todos em bicha, com um ar muito sério. À frente vinha o lobo. No fim
vinha o veado, que trazia às costas o filho do moleiro.
– Bom dia – disse Oriana.
– Bom dia – responderam os animais. – Onde está a tua testemunha?
– Vem já – disse a fada. – Está à espera do meu chamamento.
E, ajoelhando-se à beira do rio, Oriana chamou:
– Peixe, peixe, peixe, meu amigo!
O peixe não apareceu.
Oriana tornou a chamar:
– Peixe, peixe, peixe, meu amigo!
E o peixe não apareceu.
– Então o peixe? – perguntaram os animais.
– Ainda não teve tempo de chegar – respondeu a fada.
E tornou a chamar:
– Peixe, peixe, peixe, meu amigo!
Mas o peixe não apareceu.
– Está atrasado – disse Oriana.
– Muito – disse o porco, que era pontualíssimo –, já passa do meio-dia.
– Vamos esperar – disse o veado.
E puseram-se à espera.
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De vez em quando Oriana chamava:
– Peixe, peixe, peixe, meu amigo!
Mas o peixe não aparecia.
O Sol começou a passar para o outro lado do rio.
Os animais começaram a zangar-se. Oriana estava aflita e envergonhada.
– Afinal o peixe não aparece? – perguntou um coelho.
– Não aparece – concluíram todos.
– Deve ter-lhe acontecido alguma coisa – disse Oriana – ele prometeu que vinha
servir de minha testemunha.
– Mas não veio – disse a raposa.
Oriana começou a chorar e disse:
– Talvez alguém o tenha pescado.
Alguns animais começaram a rir, outros zangaram-se.
– Disseste que o peixe vinha ser tua testemunha, e o peixe não apareceu – gritou-
lhe o lobo.
– Disseste que eras uma fada e não tens asas – resmungou o porco.
– E também não tens varinha de condão – acrescentou a raposa.
– Não tem testemunha, e não é fada – gritaram os animais todos. – Vamos
embora.
– Eu sou uma fada – disse Oriana.
– Mentes! – gritaram os animais.
– Não minto – disse Oriana.
E voltando-se para o veado, com a cara cheia de lágrimas, Oriana pediu:
– Dá-me o filho do moleiro! Acredita em mim. Eu sou uma fada.
– Não – respondeu o veado. – Eu não acredito em ti.
– Vamos embora – disse o lobo.
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Oriana ficou sozinha.
E chorando, dizia:
– Peixe, peixe, peixe covarde! Passaste dias e dias a dizer-me que eu era linda e
agora eu chamo por ti e não apareces. Peixe ingrato, mentiroso e covarde! Salvei-te a
vida e agora não me ajudas. Estou sozinha, sozinha! Quem me há-de ajudar!
Então ouviu atrás de si um barulho. Calou-se e escutou. E uma voz doce, meiga
e ondulada chamou:
– Oriana.
Oriana voltou-se e viu ao seu lado uma fada muito bonita, que a olhava sorrindo.
Os seus olhos eram pretos e brilhantes, os seus cabelos eram iguais a serpentes azuis-
escuras, as suas asas eram de mil cores, como as asas das borboletas. E trazia na mão
esquerda outras duas asas.
– Oriana – disse ela –, queres tornar a ter asas?
– Quero, quero – disse Oriana.
– Estas asas que trago na minha mão esquerda são para ti.
– Para mim? – repetiu Oriana, que nem acreditava no que ouvia.
– Sim.
– Dá-mas depressa, depressa! – pediu Oriana, tremendo.
– Primeiro tens de fazer uma promessa.
– Que promessa? – perguntou Oriana.
Então a fada de cabelos pretos sorriu e disse:
– Eu sou a Rainha das Fadas Más. Se queres que eu te dê estas asas, tens de
prometer que de hoje em diante passar a cumprir as minhas ordens.
– E quais são as tuas ordens? – perguntou Oriana
– As minhas ordens – disse a Rainha das Fadas Más – são estas:
«Sujar a água das fontes.
«Pôr teias de aranha em cima das flores.
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«Fazer secar as sementes que estão na terra a germinar.
«Roubar a voz dos rouxinóis.
«Azedar o vinho.
«Roubar o dinheiro dos pobres.
«Empurrar as crianças.
«Apagar o lume dos velhos.
«Roubar o perfume das rosas.
«Atormentar os animais.
«Desencantar o mundo.
– Não! Não! Não! – disse Oriana, recuando com horror. – Eu não quero fazer
essas coisas.
– Se não prometes fazer estas coisas, não te dou estas asas – disse a fada dos
cabelos pretos.
– Antes quero não ter asas.
– Sem asas não podes ser uma fada.
– Antes quero não ser uma fada.
– Pensa bem, Oriana: estas asas têm mil cores, como as das borboletas, e com
elas poder s voar no ar, em vez de andares com tanto custo, passo a passo, sobre a terra,
rasgando os teus pés nas pedras dos caminhos.
– Antes quero ser boa – disse Oriana. – Quero ser boa, mesmo que por isso não
possa ter asas.
– Que pena que eu tenho de ti, Oriana! – disse, rindo, a fada má – Tu fazes tudo
de pernas para o ar: primeiro perdeste as tuas asas por causa dos elogios de um peixe.
E agora eu trago-te duas asas iguais às das borboletas e tu não as queres. Tenho dó de
ti, Oriana: és tonta e pateta e não sabes escolher.
E a fada dos cabelos pretos desapareceu a rir. Oriana ficou sozinha e pensava:
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– Nunca, nunca mais terei asas. Porque me enganei, perdi as minhas asas azuis.
Porque não quis ser má, perdi as asas iguais às asas das borboletas. Agora ‚ como se eu
não fosse uma fada. Ninguém nunca mais acreditar que sou uma fada. Talvez eu própria
até me esqueça de que sou uma fada. Tenho de viver como se fosse uma rapariga como
as outras. Nunca mais poderei voar por cima dos caminhos cheios de pedras. Tenho de
caminhar passo a passo pelos caminhos cheios de pedras, como as outras raparigas. Mas
posso, ao menos, ser boa. Posso ir para a cidade e ajudar os outros. Tenho de ir para a
cidade, porque ‚ é lá que a vida dos homens ‚ mais difícil
E Oriana pôs-se a caminho da cidade.
IX – O Abismo
Andou, andou, e quando ia já quase a meio caminho viu ao longe um vulto que
vinha da cidade avançando ao seu encontro. Era um vulto escuro, todo curvado, que
caminhava devagar, encostado a um pau. Oriana percebeu logo que era a velha. E
pensou:
– Coitada da velha! Eu nunca mais a vim ajudar e ela, quase cega, anda sozinha
por este caminho tão perigoso ao lado do abismo. De hoje em diante vou tornar a guiá-
la todos os dias, como antigamente.
E apressou o passo para chegar mais depressa ao pé da sua amiga.
Mas de repente Oriana deu um grito. Porque viu a velha enganar-se na direcção,
e começar a caminhar para o abismo.
– Ai! – disse a fada –, ela vai cair no abismo! Gritou:
– Pára! Pára!
E começou a correr.
Oriana estava muito longe da velha e a velha estava muito perto do abismo. Mas
a velha andava muito devagar e Oriana corria muito depressa.
Corria, corria. E gritava:
– Pára! Pára!
Mas a velha era surda e catracega e, sem ver nem ouvir, caminhava devagarinho.
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– Se eu tivesse asas já lá estava! – pensava Oriana. E corria, corria.
A certa altura a velha parou para descansar. Estava a um passo do abismo.
Oriana, a dez passos dela, pensou:
– Ainda chego a tempo!
Mas quando Oriana j estendia o seu braço para a agarrar a velha deu um passo
em frente e caiu no abismo.
– Ai! – gritou Oriana.
E esquecendo-se de que não tinha asas, saltou no abismo, para salvar a velha.
Conseguiu apanhá-la pelas pernas e depois quis voar, mas não pôde. E lembrou-
se de que não tinha asas.
– Ai de nós! – disse ela.
Viu debaixo de si o fundo abismo aberto como uma enorme boca que a ia
devorar.
– Ai, ai, ai! – gritava a velha.
E caíam, caíam.
Mas de súbito, como um relâmpago, apareceu no ar a Rainha das Fadas.
Estendendo o seu braço, ela tocou em Oriana com a sua varinha de condão.
E no mesmo instante Oriana parou de cair e ficou imóvel, suspensa no ar,
segurando a velha.
E a voz alta e direita disse:
– Oriana, cumpriste hoje a tua promessa. Para salvar a velha, esquecendo-te de
ti, saltaste no abismo. E o teu dó pela tua amiga foi tão grande que nem te lembraste de
ter medo. Porque tu és a fada Oriana a quem foram entregues as plantas, os animais e
os homens da floresta. E és tu que os guardas para que eles possam viver em paz.
Quando tu os abandonaste, os animais fugiram para os montes, as flores secaram e os
homens foram para a cidade, onde se perderam nas ruas cruzadas. Mas hoje tu
cumpriste a tua promessa. Por isso eu ordeno que de novo nasçam duas asas nos teus
ombros.
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E dizendo isto, a Rainha das Fadas fez um gesto no ar com a mão direita.
E logo nos ombros de Oriana apareceram outras asas.
– Asas, asas, ai, minhas asas! – gritou Oriana, tremendo de alegria.
E dando-lhe a sua varinha de condão, a Rainha das Fadas disse-lhe:
– Toma esta varinha de condão e não esqueças nunca mais a tua promessa!
E mal acabou de falar, a Rainha das Fadas, como um relâmpago, desapareceu.
Então Oriana voou com a velha até ao caminho e, pousando-a no chão, guiou-a
até à floresta.
Tonta de susto, a velha olhava à sua roda e dizia:
– Ai, parece que voltaram as fadas!
Mas Oriana já tinha desaparecido, pois, rápida como uma seta, voava para os
montes.
Quando ali chegou, chamou o veado, o lobo, a raposa, o porco-espinho e os
coelhos e pediu-lhes o filho do moleiro. Os animais viram que ela era uma fada com asas
e varinha de condão e entregaram-lhe a criança.
Oriana tomou-a nos braços e voou muito alto, por cima das nuvens, até à cidade.
E quando viu a rua onde morava agora o moleiro, desceu do ar e bateu à porta
da casa. A porta abriu-se e apareceu a moleira, que deu um grito ao ver o seu filho ao
colo de uma fada.
– Está aqui o teu filho que tinhas perdido – disse Oriana.
– Agora – disse a moleira – vejo que és uma fada. Amanhã voltaremos todos para
a floresta.
E Oriana foi à prisão. Com a sua varinha de encantar adormeceu os guardas, abriu
as grades e soltou o lenhador.
E nesse mesmo dia o lenhador, a mulher e o filho voltaram para a floresta.
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E quando chegou a noite, Oriana entrou no café. O criado dormia, encostado ao
balcão; os quatro homens conversavam de costas para a sala. Na mesa do fundo, pálido
e sozinho, estava o Poeta.
Oriana atravessou o café, sem que ninguém a visse. Parou em frente do Poeta e
tocou-lhe ao de leve na mão.
Ele levantou a cabeça e viu-a. Viu as suas asas e a sua varinha de condão. E viu
que ela estava em pé no ar, sem que os seus pés tocassem no chão.
– Sou eu – disse ela.
– Agora vejo que és tu. Agora vejo que és uma fada. Obrigado, Oriana, porque tu
voltaste.
Oriana deu-lhe a mão e, sem que ninguém os visse, saíram do café.
Atravessaram a cidade e as suas ruas cruzadas com anúncios luminosos.
Atravessaram as praças, as avenidas e os cais. E saíram da cidade.
Foram pelo caminho ao longo do abismo até à floresta.
A lua cheia iluminava os montes e os campos.
Quando chegaram à floresta, o Poeta pediu:
– Oriana, encanta tudo.
E Oriana levantou a sua varinha de condão e tudo ficou encantado.