deploráveis do catolicismo
O Henrique tem uma atracção fatal pelo apanhado genérico. E quando
escreve estas coisas, desta maneira, desaparecem o historiador e o
católico. Em seu lugar fica a professora de Geografia do oitavo ano:
dedo em riste, voz aguda, aplicando um ralhete à turma, como se fosse um
conteúdo programático
𝐷𝑒𝑢-𝑠𝑒 𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑜 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑎. 𝐻𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑅𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑜, 𝑢𝑚 𝘩𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑚 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑗𝑎́ 𝑖𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑜𝑢 𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑖𝑡𝑎 𝑒 𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑟𝑑𝑎, 𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑗𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑒 𝑜𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑏𝑜𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑠, 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑢 𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑎 𝑖𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑟 𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑜́𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑜𝑠. 𝑀𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑎: 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑜́𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑜𝑠 𝘩𝑎́ 𝑚𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑜𝑠. 𝐴𝑡𝑒́ 𝑜 𝐻𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒́ 𝑢𝑚 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠. 𝑂𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑜́𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑜𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑜 𝐻𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑙𝘩𝑒𝑢 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑖𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑟 𝑠𝑎̃𝑜 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑗𝑜𝑒𝑙𝘩𝑎𝑚 𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑚 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑚 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑙𝜄́𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑢́𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑐𝑎. 𝑂𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑎́𝑣𝑒𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑠𝑚𝑜. 𝑂 𝐻𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑚 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝜄́𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑎 𝑒 𝑒́ 𝑢𝑚 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑝𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑢𝑚 𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑙, 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑚𝜄́𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑜: 𝑜 𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑟.
𝐸𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑐̧𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑇𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑝. 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑜𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑚 𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑟 𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑜. 𝐷𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑚 𝑎̀ 𝑑𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑖𝑡𝑎 𝑑𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑎 𝑗𝑢𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑒, 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑖𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑟 𝑛𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑠𝑐𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑜́𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒 𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑚 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒. 𝐸 𝑒𝑖𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑚 𝑡𝑖𝑟𝑎 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑎 𝑑𝑜 𝑏𝑜𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒́ 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑝𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑎, 𝑠𝑎𝑐𝑎 𝑑𝑎 𝑠𝑢𝑎 𝑣𝑒𝑙𝘩𝑎 𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑒: 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜 𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑜́𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑗𝑜𝑒𝑙𝘩𝑎 𝑛𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑎 𝑒́ 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑜́𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑜 𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜. 𝑀𝑎𝑖𝑠: 𝑒́ 𝘩𝑖𝑝𝑜́𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑎. 𝐸 𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎: 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑎 𝑢𝑚 𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜 𝑣𝑒𝑙𝘩𝑜, 𝑎́𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑜, 𝑐𝑢𝑗𝑜 𝑢́𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑒́ 𝑎 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑒. “𝑈𝑚 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑜”, 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑢.
𝑑𝑒 𝐶𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑎 𝐸𝑢𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑎. 𝐸́ 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑝𝑎𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑑𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑐𝑜́𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑐𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑆𝑎̃𝑜 𝑃𝑎𝑢𝑙𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑜𝑠 𝐹𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑠: “𝑎𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝐽𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑠, 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜 𝑜 𝑗𝑜𝑒𝑙𝘩𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑒́𝑢𝑠, 𝑛𝑎 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎 𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑠𝑚𝑜𝑠”. 𝑆𝑒 𝑎𝑡𝑒́ 𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑠𝑚𝑜𝑠…
𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑜, 𝑠𝑒 𝑜 𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑢𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑏𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟, 𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑎 𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑖𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑟: 𝑎 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒̂𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑎 𝐸𝑝𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑝𝑎𝑙 𝑃𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑔𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑢 𝘩𝑎́ 𝑏𝑒𝑚 𝑝𝑜𝑢𝑐𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜 𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑐̧𝑜̃𝑒𝑠 𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒 𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑝𝑜 𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑎 𝑀𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑎. 𝐴𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑎𝑠 𝑢𝑚𝑎 — 𝑢𝑚𝑎 — 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎́ 𝑎𝑜 𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒́𝑟𝑖𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑙: 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑢𝑛𝘩𝑎̃𝑜. 𝐸𝑚 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑜𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑠, 𝑎 𝐼𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑗𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎́ 𝑑𝑒 𝑝𝑒́, 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑒 𝑗𝑜𝑒𝑙𝘩𝑜𝑠. 𝑃𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑜, 𝐻𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒, 𝑑𝑒𝑖𝑥𝑒 𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑢𝑠 𝑖𝑟𝑚𝑎̃𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑚 𝑒𝑚 𝑝𝑎𝑧, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝘩𝑎́ 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑟𝑎, 𝘩𝑎́ 𝑙𝑖𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒.
𝐷𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑚 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑟 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑖𝑠𝑎, 𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑢𝑧 𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑚 𝑎 𝑢𝑚𝑎 “𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑎”. 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑝𝑜́. 𝑈𝑚𝑎 𝑒𝑥𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒́𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑎. 𝐸́ 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑙𝜄́𝑐𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑚𝑒: 𝑠𝑒 𝘩𝑎́ 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑚 𝑜 𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑔𝑜, 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑜 𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑐𝑜, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎̃𝑜 𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑎 𝑓𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒.ᐣ 𝐸́ 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑎. 𝐸 𝑒́ 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎. 𝑂 𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎́ 𝑒𝑚 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑟 𝑎 𝑙𝜄́𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑔𝑎, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑎𝑟𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑜𝑙𝑜́𝑔𝑖𝑐𝑎 𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒. 𝑇𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑎-𝑠𝑒, 𝑠𝑖𝑚, 𝑑𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑎 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑜𝑠 𝑠𝑒́𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑚, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑧 𝑑𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑚 𝑎 𝑠𝑢𝑎 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑎 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑎. 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑙: 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜, 𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑎𝑙, 𝑖𝑚𝑢𝑡𝑎́𝑣𝑒𝑙. 𝑂 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑚 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎 𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑎 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐̧𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎 𝐼𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑗𝑎 𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑠𝑒́𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑜́ 𝑓𝑜𝑖 (𝑎𝑏𝑟𝑢𝑝𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒) 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑑𝑎 𝘩𝑎́ 𝑚𝑒𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑢́𝑧𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑑𝑒́𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑎𝑠. 𝑂𝑢𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑜̃𝑒𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑚-𝑛𝑜: 𝑜𝑠 𝑗𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑢𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑧𝑎𝑚 𝑒𝑚 𝘩𝑒𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑐𝑜, 𝑜𝑠 𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑥𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑚 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑜 𝑏𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑠𝑙𝑎𝑣𝑜́𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑜, 𝑙𝜄́𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑒́𝑚 𝑗𝑎́ 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑠𝑎̃𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠. 𝐸 𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑒́𝑚 𝑙𝘩𝑒 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑚𝑎 𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑜𝑟𝑎̂𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑎. 𝑃𝑒𝑙𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑒𝑛𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑜.
𝐸 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎̃𝑜 𝑣𝑒𝑚 𝑜 𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑑𝑜. 𝐴 𝑚𝑒́𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑎 𝑎𝑏𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑎 𝑑𝑎 𝑓𝑒́ 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑎 𝑒𝑚 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑜𝑠 𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑠. 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑎 𝐼𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑗𝑎 𝑓𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑂𝑁𝐺 𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒̂𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙. 𝑁𝑎̃𝑜 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑚 𝑚𝑎𝑙. 𝑁𝑎𝑑𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎 𝑜 𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑑𝑜. 𝑂 𝐻𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑅𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑜 𝑒́ 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑢 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑎 𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑖𝑥𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑛𝑢́𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑑𝑜. 𝐸𝑠𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑎 𝑒𝑚 𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝐿𝑎́𝑧𝑎𝑟𝑜. 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝐵𝑒𝑡𝑎̂𝑛𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑢 𝑢𝑚 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑢𝑚𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝜄́𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑒́𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝐽𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑠. 𝐸 𝐽𝑢𝑑𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒: “𝑃𝑜𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑢 𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑏𝑎́𝑙𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑜 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑧𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑎́𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑠 𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑢 𝑎𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑠.ᐣ” 𝑅𝑒𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑚 𝑏𝑒𝑚.ᐣ 𝑁𝑎𝑑𝑎 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑜𝑠: 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎 𝑜 𝐻𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑟. 𝐹𝑜𝑖 𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑎 𝑣𝑒𝑧 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑢𝑒́𝑚 𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑢𝑧𝑖𝑟 𝑎 𝑓𝑒́ 𝑎𝑜 𝑢́𝑡𝑖𝑙. 𝐸 𝐶𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑢 𝐽𝑢𝑑𝑎𝑠. 𝑅𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑢 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑒́ 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑣𝑎 𝑎 𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑟. 𝐸, 𝑛𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒, 𝑎𝑗𝑜𝑒𝑙𝘩𝑜𝑢-𝑠𝑒 𝐸𝑙𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑜́𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑜, 𝑙𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑜𝑠 𝑝𝑒́𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝜄́𝑝𝑢𝑙𝑜𝑠. 𝐷𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑒́𝑟𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑜, 𝑖𝑛𝑢́𝑡𝑖𝑙 𝑎𝑜𝑠 𝑜𝑙𝘩𝑜𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝐽𝑢𝑑𝑎𝑠, 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑜𝑢 𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑜́𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑜 𝑠𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜.
𝐴𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑠, 𝑗𝑎́ 𝑜𝑠 𝑀𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑠 𝘩𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑎𝑚 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑢𝑚 𝑀𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑜. 𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑜 𝑒 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝐿𝘩𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑚 𝑛𝑎𝑑𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒. 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝜄́𝑣𝑒𝑙: 𝑒𝑚 𝑣𝑒𝑧 𝑑𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑝𝑎𝑠, 𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑜, 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑜 𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑟𝑟𝑎; 𝜄́𝑛𝑠𝜄́𝑔𝑛𝑖𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝑅𝑒𝑖, 𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑓𝑒𝑡𝑎 𝑒 𝑆𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑑𝑜𝑡𝑒. 𝐸́ 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑚 𝑜 𝐷𝑒𝑢𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑏𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑎 𝑐𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑑𝑎 𝑆𝑢𝑎 𝑔𝑙𝑜́𝑟𝑖𝑎. 𝐴̀ 𝑙𝑢𝑧 𝑑𝑒 𝑅𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑠𝑛𝑜𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑎, 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒; 𝑢𝑚 𝑒𝑞𝑢𝜄́𝑣𝑜𝑐𝑜. 𝑃𝑜𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑖 𝑎𝜄́ 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑢 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑎.
𝑂 𝐻𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑚 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑜 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑛𝘩𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑒́𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑜. 𝐸 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑠, 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑎, 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑚 𝑜 𝘩𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑟 𝑒 𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑜́𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑜. 𝐸𝑚 𝑠𝑒𝑢 𝑙𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑎 𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑎 𝑑𝑒 𝐺𝑒𝑜𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑜 𝑜𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑣𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑜: 𝑑𝑒𝑑𝑜 𝑒𝑚 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒, 𝑣𝑜𝑧 𝑎𝑔𝑢𝑑𝑎, 𝑎𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑢𝑚 𝑟𝑎𝑙𝘩𝑒𝑡𝑒 𝑎̀ 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑚𝑎, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑢𝑚 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑢́𝑑𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑎́𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑜.
𝑁𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑛𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑎 𝑒, 𝑑𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑒𝑚 𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎, 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑒́ 𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑧, 𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑧. 𝑁𝑎̃𝑜 𝑒́ 𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑧, 𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑧. 𝑂𝑢, 𝑛𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑧 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝐶𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑎 𝐶𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑜, “𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑒́ 𝑎 𝑎𝑐𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜, 𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑔𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑎 𝑎𝑐𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜”. 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑒𝑢, 𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑎, 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑜. 𝑃𝑜𝑑𝑖𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜𝑠𝑜 𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑢𝑎𝑣𝑒. 𝐸𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑢 𝑎 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑜.
𝑆𝑒𝑖 𝑑𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑚 𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑗𝑜𝑒𝑙𝘩𝑒 𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑚 𝑓𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑝𝑒́, 𝑠𝑒𝑖 𝑑𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑚 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑏𝑎 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑢𝑛𝘩𝑎̃𝑜 𝑛𝑎 𝑚𝑎̃𝑜 𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑚 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑙𝘩𝑎 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑎𝑟. 𝑁𝑎 𝐼𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑗𝑎, 𝑒𝑛𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝐷𝑒𝑢𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑟 𝑒 𝑜 𝘩𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑚 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑟, 𝘩𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑎́ 𝑙𝑢𝑔𝑎𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑎 𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑠. 𝐴𝑡𝑒́ 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑜 𝐻𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒. 𝐴𝑡𝑒́ 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑚.
* Músico e vive em Lisboa.