Fátima (Portuguese pronunciation: [ˈfatimɐ]) is a civil parish in the municipality of Ourém, in the Portuguese Santarém District. The population in 2011 was 11,596, in an area of 71.84 km². The parish encompasses several villages and localities of which Fátima, with a population of 7,756 residents, is the largest. Part of the urban agglomeration of Leiria, it is 187 km (116 mi) south of Porto and 123 km (76 mi) north of Lisbon. It has been permanently associated with the Marian apparitions that occurred in Cova da Iria in 1917 and which were later recognized by the Catholic Church.
The name of the town and parish is a rendition of the Arabic given name Fatima ( فاطمة Fāṭimah), reportedly the name of a Moorish princess whom Gonçalo Hermigues and his companions kidnapped. The knight took Fatima to a small village of the recently created Kingdom of Portugal, in the Serra de Aire hills. According to the Western narrative, Fatima fell in love with her kidnapper and decided to become herself a Christian to marry him. She was baptized and given a Christian name "Oureana". Arab sources, however, claim that Fatima -as most Reconquest captives- was forced into Christianity , but there is no proof to support either scenarios of her conversion. (Fatimah is also the name of a daughter of Muhammad).
Mademoiselle remembers too well
How once she was belle of the ball
Now the past she sadly recalls.
Mademoiselle lived in grand hotels
Ordered clothes by Chanel and Dior
Millionaires queued at her door.
Oh, she pleased them and teased them
She hooked them and squeezed them
Until like their empires they'd fall
She very soon learned
That the more love she spurned
The more power she yearned
Until she was belle of the ball.
Oh, Mademoiselle, such a soft machiavel
Would play bagatelle with the hearts of young men as
they fell
Mademoiselle would hide in her shell
Could then turn cast a spell on any girl
That got in her way.
She would crave all attention
Men would flock to her side
Woe betide any man who ignored
For she'd feign such affection
Then break down their pretension
When she'd won she would turn away.
Turn away, thoroughly bored.
Mademoiselle, long ago said farewell
To any love left to sell, for the sake of being belle
of the ball
Mademoiselle knows there's no way to quell
Her own private hell, just a shell,
With no heart left at all.
Poor old Mademoiselle.