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

4

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.

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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.

57

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.

111

– 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.