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Fathoms below the ocean's surface, in King Triton's kingdom, the sea was bubbling with excitement. All the merfolk and mackerel, sardine and salmon, swordfish and snappers swam as fast as their fins would carry them.
No one wanted to miss a single note of the special concert in King Triton's glittering palace.
They gathered in the great hall just as the sea horse announced the arrival of His Royal Highness King Triton. The court composer, Sebastian, tapped his baton and signaled the start of the music.
Six of King Triton's beautiful daughters began to sing as they swirled around the stage. There were Aquata, Andrina, Arista, Attina, Adella, and Alana.
After they had introduced themselves, they turned to present their youngest sister for her musical solo.
All eyes turned to the giant oyster shell center stage. But when it opened, the star of Sebastian's show was missing!
"Ariel!" King Triton bellowed.
But the Little Mermaid didn't hear her father calling her. In fact, she had forgotten about the concert altogether. She had discovered a sunken ship, and couldn't wait to explore it for human treasures to add to her collection. "Isn't it fantastic?" Ariel exclaimed.
"Hurry up, Flounder!"
Ariel and Flounder began to swim through the shadowy ship.
"Have you ever seen anything so wonderful in your entire life?" Ariel gasped, finding a shiny silver fork on the floor.
"Yeah, it's great," Flounder answered nervously. "Now let's get out of here."
"Oh, Flounder," Ariel teased. "Don't be such a guppy."
But no sooner had she spoken than a loud CRUNCH sounded behind them. "Did you hear something?" Flounder asked nervously. He turned to find himself staring into the biggest, meanest, sharpest teeth he had ever seen.
"A shark! Swim!" the little fish cried.
The shark was only inches behind them when Ariel had an idea. She and Flounder squeezed through a hole in an old anchor, and the shark followed. Just as the clever little mermaid had planned, their enemy was too big to fit and got stuck.
"Hah!" bragged Flounder, wiggling his fins in the shark's face. "Take that, you big bully!"
"As a result of your careless behavior, the entire celebration was ruined," Triton scolded his youngest daughter.
"You went up to the surface again, didn't you?"
"I'm sixteen years old. I'm not a child!" Ariel protested. But it was no use. The King was furious. "As long as you live under my ocean, you'll obey my rules," he said, waving his mighty trident. "You are never to go to the surface again!"
Ariel swam away in tears.
"You don't think I was too hard on her, do you, Sebastian?" Triton sighed. He loved his daughter very much and hated to see her unhappy.
"Oh course not," Sebastian said, with a click of his claw.
"Teenagers! Give them an inch and they swim all over you! She needs constant supervision." His Majesty couldn't have agreed more--and appointed Sebastian to keep an eye on the headstrong princess.
Sebastian followed Ariel back to her secret grotto--and he couldn't believe what he saw inside.
The sunlight streaming down from the ocean's surface illuminated Ariel's amazing collection of human treasures. Up above, humans walked and skipped and ran and danced. How she wished she could be part of that world!
The Little Mermaid was daydreaming about having feet instead of fins when a ship sailed over her grotto. She swam to the surface to get a better look.
On board the ship, as part of a birthday celebration for Prince Eric, his faithful guardian, Sir Grimsby, was unveiling an enormous statue of the dashing prince.
As an embarrassed Eric looked at the statue, Ariel looked at Eric. "He's very handsome, isn't he?" she asked Scuttle.
Suddenly a burst of lightning startled the ship's crew to attention. "Hurricane a-comin'!" one of the sailors shouted.
The men began tugging with all their might on the ropes and chains, trying to secure the masts and sails.
But the winds were too strong and the waves too powerful. The ship crashed into the jagged rocks, and Prince Eric was swept into the sea and knocked unconscious. Ariel dove after the Prince, summoning her strength to pull him to the safety of the nearby shore.
"Is he dead?" she asked Scuttle sadly.
He placed his head against Eric's foot and listened hard. "I can't make out a heartbeat," the seagull replied. Moved by the handsome prince, Ariel sang to him sweetly. At the sound of her lovely voice, Eric's eyes fluttered open. Ariel dove back into the sea and watched from a distance as Sir Grimsby helped him back to the palace.
"We're gonna forget this whole thing ever happened," Sebastian insisted.
But Ariel couldn't forget her handsome prince, vowing to return to him someday.
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Pongo, Perdita, and their fifteen puppies lived in a cozy little house in London. The house belonged to their humans, Roger and Anita. They were perfectly happy until they met Cruella De Vil -- Anita's old schoolmate who simply loved spotted puppies.
She wanted to buy them all and make them into spotted fur coats! Roger put his foot down. "These puppies are not for sale and that's final." Cruella was furious but she refused to give up. One night Cruella's two nasty henchmen, Horace and Jasper, kidnapped the puppies! Then they drove out to Cruella's old country estate and waited to hear from their boss. When the puppies got there, they saw lots and lots of other Dalmatian puppies who had also been snatched by Horace and Jasper. Back at home, Pongo and Perdita could not believe what had happened. Perdita knew at once that Cruella was behind her missing puppies. "She has stolen them," sobbed Perdita. "Oh, Pongo, do you think we'll ever find them?" Pongo knew that the Twilight Bark was their only hope. He would bark his message to the dogs in London.
They would pick it up and pass it along to the dogs in the country. And maybe someone would find the puppies. That night the Twilight Bark reached a quiet farm where an old English sheepdog known as Colonel lay sleeping peacefully. "Alert, alert!" shouted Sergeant Tibs, a cat who lived on the farm. "Vital message coming in from London."
The Colonel listened closely. "Fifteen puppies have been stolen!" he cried. Sergeant Tibs remembered hearing barking at the old De Vil place. They headed straight for the gloomy mansion. The Colonel helped Tibs look through the window. Sure enough, there were the fifteen puppies -- plus their eighty-four new friends!
Tibs and the Colonel overheard Cruella, Jasper, and Horace talking. When they heard her plans to make coats out of the puppies, they knew there was no time to waste. The Colonel ran off to get word to Pongo and Perdita while Tibs helped the puppies to escape! As soon as Horace and Jasper realized what was happening, they tried to stop the puppies. But it was too late.
Pongo and Perdita arrived and fought off the foolish thugs as the puppies hurried to safety. Once all the dogs were safely out of the house, they
thanked the Colonel and Tibs and went on their way. A black Labrador retriever arranged for them to ride to London in the back of a moving van that was being repaired. The dogs waited in a blacksmith's shop. Suddenly Cruella's big car drove up the street. She had followed their tracks and was parked and waiting. But Pongo had a clever idea. There were ashes in the fireplace. If they all rolled in them, they would be disguised in black soot. Then they could get aboard the van without Cruella realizing it was them! And that's just what they did. It worked perfectly until a glob of snow dripped onto a puppy and washed off a patch of soot. From her car, Cruella could see it was a Dalmatian puppy. "They're escaping!" she cried as the van took off.
There was a really scary chase. Cruella tried to pass the van on the road, but she ended up crashing through a barricade and driving right into a huge pile of snow. Cruella's beautiful car was a wreck! And that wasn't all.
She had lost the puppies! Cruella threw a tantrum. Pongo and Perdita and 99 puppies arrived home safely, much to Roger and Anita's delight. Roger pulled out a handkerchief and wiped Pongo's face clean. "What will we do with all these puppies?" Anita asked.
"We'll keep them," Roger answered. He sat down at the piano and composed a song right on the spot. "We'll buy a big place in the country, and we'll have a plantation," he sang. "A Dalmatian plantation!" And that's exactly what they did.
Sửa lần cuối bởi monokuro boo : 30-12-2007 lúc 08:01 AM
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THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL
Most terribly cold it was; it snowed, and was nearly
quite dark, and evening— the last evening of the year. In
this cold and darkness there went along the street a poor
little girl, bareheaded, and with naked feet. When she left
home she had slippers on, it is true; but what was the good
of that? They were very large slippers, which her mother
had hitherto worn; so large were they; and the poor little
thing lost them as she scuffled away across the street,
because of two carriages that rolled by dreadfully fast.
One slipper was nowhere to be found; the other had
been laid hold of by an urchin, and off he ran with it; he
thought it would do capitally for a cradle when he some
day or other should have children himself. So the little
maiden walked on with her tiny naked feet, that were
quite red and blue from cold. She carried a quantity of
matches in an old apron, and she held a bundle of them in
her hand. Nobody had bought anything of her the whole
livelong day; no one had given her a single farthing.
She crept along trembling with cold and hunger—a
very picture of sorrow, the poor little thing!
The flakes of snow covered her long fair hair, which
fell in beautiful curls around her neck; but of that, of
course, she never once now thought. From all the
windows the candles were gleaming, and it smelt so
deliciously of roast goose, for you know it was New
Year’s Eve; yes, of that she thought.
In a corner formed by two houses, of which one
advanced more than the other, she seated herself down
and cowered together. Her little feet she had drawn close
up to her, but she grew colder and colder, and to go home
she did not venture, for she had not sold any matches and
could not bring a farthing of money: from her father she
would certainly get blows, and at home it was cold too,
for above her she had only the roof, through which the
wind whistled, even though the largest cracks were
stopped up with straw and rags.
Her little hands were almost numbed with cold. Oh! a
match might afford her a world of comfort, if she only
dared take a single one out of the bundle, draw it against
the wall, and warm her fingers by it. She drew one out.
‘Rischt!’ how it blazed, how it burnt! It was a warm,
bright flame, like a candle, as she held her hands over it: it
was a wonderful light. It seemed really to the little maiden
as though she were sitting before a large iron stove, with
burnished brass feet and a brass ornament at top. The fire
burned with such blessed influence; it warmed so
delightfully. The little girl had already stretched out her
feet to warm them too; but—the small flame went out,
the stove vanished: she had only the remains of the burntout
match in her hand.
She rubbed another against the wall: it burned brightly,
and where the light fell on the wall, there the wall became
transparent like a veil, so that she could see into the room.
On the table was spread a snow-white tablecloth; upon it
was a splendid porcelain service, and the roast goose was
steaming famously with its stuffing of apple and dried
plums. And what was still more capital to behold was, the
goose hopped down from the dish, reeled about on the
floor with knife and fork in its breast, till it came up to the
poor little girl; when—the match went out and nothing
but the thick, cold, damp wall was left behind. She lighted
another match. Now there she was sitting under the most
magnificent Christmas tree: it was still larger, and more
decorated than the one which she had seen through the
glass door in the rich merchant’s house.
Thousands of lights were burning on the green
branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen
in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. The little
maiden stretched out her hands towards them when—the
match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose
higher and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven;
one fell down and formed a long trail of fire.
‘Someone is just dead!’ said the little girl; for her old
grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and
who was now no more, had told her, that when a star falls,
a soul ascends to God.
She drew another match against the wall: it was again
light, and in the lustre there stood the old grandmother, so
bright and radiant, so mild, and with such an expression of
‘Grandmother!’ cried the little one. ‘Oh, take me with
you! You go away when the match burns out; you vanish
like the warm stove, like the delicious roast goose, and like
the magnificent Christmas tree!’ And she rubbed the
whole bundle of matches quickly against the wall, for she
wanted to be quite sure of keeping her grandmother near
her. And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was
brighter than at noon-day: never formerly had the
grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the
little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and
in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither
cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety—they were with God.
But in the corner, at the cold hour of dawn, sat the
poor girl, with rosy cheeks and with a smiling mouth,
leaning against the wall—frozen to death on the last
evening of the old year. Stiff and stark sat the child there
with her matches, of which one bundle had been burnt.
‘She wanted to warm herself,’ people said. No one had the
slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen;
no one even dreamed of the splendor in which, with her
grandmother she had entered on the joys of a new year.
this is a sad fairy tale...
THE EMPEROR’S NEW
CLOTHES (By Andersen)
Many years ago, there was an Emperor, who was so
excessively fond of new clothes, that he spent all his
money in dress. He did not trouble himself in the least
about his soldiers; nor did he care to go either to the
theatre or the chase, except for the opportunities then
afforded him for displaying his new clothes. He had a
different suit for each hour of the day; and as of any other
king or emperor, one is accustomed to say, ‘he is sitting in
council,’ it was always said of him, ‘The Emperor is sitting
in his wardrobe.’
Time passed merrily in the large town which was his
capital; strangers arrived every day at the court. One day,
two rogues, calling themselves weavers, made their
appearance. They gave out that they knew how to weave
stuffs of the most beautiful colors and elaborate patterns,
the clothes manufactured from which should have the
wonderful property of remaining invisible to everyone
who was unfit for the office he held, or who was
extraordinarily simple in character.
‘These must, indeed, be splendid clothes!’ thought the
Emperor. ‘Had I such a suit, I might at once find out what
men in my realms are unfit for their office, and also be
able to distinguish the wise from the foolish! This stuff
must be woven for me immediately.’ And he caused large
sums of money to be given to both the weavers in order
that they might begin their work directly.
So the two pretended weavers set up two looms, and
affected to work very busily, though in reality they did
nothing at all. They asked for the most delicate silk and
the purest gold thread; put both into their own knapsacks;
and then continued their pretended work at the empty
looms until late at night.
‘I should like to know how the weavers are getting on
with my cloth,’ said the Emperor to himself, after some
little time had elapsed; he was, however, rather
embarrassed, when he remembered that a simpleton, or
one unfit for his office, would be unable to see the
manufacture. To be sure, he thought he had nothing to
risk in his own person; but yet, he would prefer sending
somebody else, to bring him intelligence about the
weavers, and their work, before he troubled himself in the
affair. All the people throughout the city had heard of the
wonderful property the cloth was to possess; and all were
anxious to learn how wise, or how ignorant, their
neighbors might prove to be.
‘I will send my faithful old minister to the weavers,’
said the Emperor at last, after some deliberation, ‘he will
be best able to see how the cloth looks; for he is a man of
sense, and no one can be more suitable for his office than
So the faithful old minister went into the hall, where
the knaves were working with all their might, at their
empty looms. ‘What can be the meaning of this?’ thought
the old man, opening his eyes very wide. ‘I cannot
discover the least bit of thread on the looms.’ However,
he did not express his thoughts aloud.
The impostors requested him very courteously to be so
good as to come nearer their looms; and then asked him
whether the design pleased him, and whether the colors
were not very beautiful; at the same time pointing to the
empty frames. The poor old minister looked and looked,
he could not discover anything on the looms, for a very
good reason, viz: there was nothing there. ‘What!’ thought
he again. ‘Is it possible that I am a simpleton? I have never
thought so myself; and no one must know it now if I am
so. Can it be, that I am unfit for my office? No, that must
not be said either. I will never confess that I could not see
‘Well, Sir Minister!’ said one of the knaves, still
pretending to work. ‘You do not say whether the stuff
‘Oh, it is excellent!’ replied the old minister, looking at
the loom through his spectacles. ‘This pattern, and the
colors, yes, I will tell the Emperor without delay, how
very beautiful I think them.’
‘We shall be much obliged to you,’ said the impostors,
and then they named the different colors and described the
pattern of the pretended stuff. The old minister listened
attentively to their words, in order that he might repeat
them to the Emperor; and then the knaves asked for more
silk and gold, saying that it was necessary to complete
what they had begun. However, they put all that was
given them into their knapsacks; and continued to work
with as much apparent diligence as before at their empty
The Emperor now sent another officer of his court to
see how the men were getting on, and to ascertain
whether the cloth would soon be ready. It was just the
same with this gentleman as with the minister; he surveyed
the looms on all sides, but could see nothing at all but the
‘Does not the stuff appear as beautiful to you, as it did
to my lord the minister?’ asked the impostors of the
Emperor’s second ambassador; at the same time making
the same gestures as before, and talking of the design and
colors which were not there.
‘I certainly am not stupid!’ thought the messenger. ‘It
must be, that I am not fit for my good, profitable office!
That is very odd; however, no one shall know anything
about it.’ And accordingly he praised the stuff he could
not see, and declared that he was delighted with both
colors and patterns. ‘Indeed, please your Imperial Majesty,’
said he to his sovereign when he returned, ‘the cloth
which the weavers are preparing is extraordinarily
The whole city was talking of the splendid cloth which
the Emperor had ordered to be woven at his own
And now the Emperor himself wished to see the costly
manufacture, while it was still in the loom. Accompanied
by a select number of officers of the court, among whom
were the two honest men who had already admired the
cloth, he went to the crafty impostors, who, as soon as
they were aware of the Emperor’s approach, went on
working more diligently than ever; although they still did
not pass a single thread through the looms.
‘Is not the work absolutely magnificent?’ said the two
officers of the crown, already mentioned. ‘If your Majesty
will only be pleased to look at it! What a splendid design!
What glorious colors!’ and at the same time they pointed
to the empty frames; for they imagined that everyone else
could see this exquisite piece of workmanship.
‘How is this?’ said the Emperor to himself. ‘I can see
nothing! This is indeed a terrible affair! Am I a simpleton,
or am I unfit to be an Emperor? That would be the worst
thing that could happen—Oh! the cloth is charming,’ said
he, aloud. ‘It has my complete approbation.’ And he
smiled most graciously, and looked closely at the empty
looms; for on no account would he say that he could not
see what two of the officers of his court had praised so
much. All his retinue now strained their eyes, hoping to
discover something on the looms, but they could see no
more than the others; nevertheless, they all exclaimed,
‘Oh, how beautiful!’ and advised his majesty to have some
new clothes made from this splendid material, for the
approaching procession. ‘Magnificent! Charming!
Excellent!’ resounded on all sides; and everyone was
uncommonly gay. The Emperor shared in the general
satisfaction; and presented the impostors with the riband of
an order of knighthood, to be worn in their button-holes,
and the title of ‘Gentlemen Weavers.’
The rogues sat up the whole of the night before the
day on which the procession was to take place, and had
sixteen lights burning, so that everyone might see how
anxious they were to finish the Emperor’s new suit. They
pretended to roll the cloth off the looms; cut the air with
their scissors; and sewed with needles without any thread
in them. ‘See!’ cried they, at last. ‘The Emperor’s new
clothes are ready!’
And now the Emperor, with all the grandees of his
court, came to the weavers; and the rogues raised their
arms, as if in the act of holding something up, saying,
‘Here are your Majesty’s trousers! Here is the scarf! Here is
the mantle! The whole suit is as light as a cobweb; one
might fancy one has nothing at all on, when dressed in it;
that, however, is the great virtue of this delicate cloth.’
‘Yes indeed!’ said all the courtiers, although not one of
them could see anything of this exquisite manufacture.
‘If your Imperial Majesty will be graciously pleased to
take off your clothes, we will fit on the new suit, in front
of the looking glass.’
The Emperor was accordingly undressed, and the
rogues pretended to array him in his new suit; the
Emperor turning round, from side to side, before the
‘How splendid his Majesty looks in his new clothes,
and how well they fit!’ everyone cried out. ‘What a
design! What colors! These are indeed royal robes!’
‘The canopy which is to be borne over your Majesty,
in the procession, is waiting,’ announced the chief master
of the ceremonies.
‘I am quite ready,’ answered the Emperor. ‘Do my new
clothes fit well?’ asked he, turning himself round again
before the looking glass, in order that he might appear to
be examining his handsome suit.
Sửa lần cuối bởi ga_cut_chan : 31-12-2007 lúc 01:28 PM
The lords of the bedchamber, who were to carry his
Majesty’s train felt about on the ground, as if they were
lifting up the ends of the mantle; and pretended to be
carrying something; for they would by no means betray
anything like simplicity, or unfitness for their office.
So now the Emperor walked under his high canopy in
the midst of the procession, through the streets of his
capital; and all the people standing by, and those at the
windows, cried out, ‘Oh! How beautiful are our
Emperor’s new clothes! What a magnificent train there is
to the mantle; and how gracefully the scarf hangs!’ in
short, no one would allow that he could not see these
much-admired clothes; because, in doing so, he would
have declared himself either a simpleton or unfit for his
office. Certainly, none of the Emperor’s various suits, had
ever made so great an impression, as these invisible ones.
‘But the Emperor has nothing at all on!’ said a little
‘Listen to the voice of innocence!’ exclaimed his father;
and what the child had said was whispered from one to
‘But he has nothing at all on!’ at last cried out all the
people. The Emperor was vexed, for he knew that the
people were right; but he thought the procession must go
on now! And the lords of the bedchamber took greater
pains than ever, to appear holding up a train, although, in
reality, there was no train to hold.
monokuro boo (27-01-2008)
Brementown Musicians Bed Time Story / Fairy Tale
Once upon a time in a village so small that you can't even find it on a map there was a small farmhouse standing on the corner of a hay field. If you looked very carefully and squinted your eyes just a bit you would see that right next door to the house there was a wooden stable even tinier than the tiniest house. In the stable there lived a donkey named Chanter.
Chanter had worked very hard and for many years. One day the farmer said to him that he should travel and see the world before the very sad day his eyes would close forever. The farmer patted him on his back, gave him a bag of corn, and wished him good luck.
Chanter smiled and said goodbye to the farmer and began walking along the dusty road. He was walking toward the famous city of Bremen where all of the finest musicians in the world lived. He thought he would become singer.
Chanter walked along the road for more than an hour. Suddenly a howl came up from the ground. He hadn't been looking where he was walking and had stepped right on the paws of dog! The dog jumped up as fast as an old dog can jump. They looked at each other and Chanter quickly apologized for stepping on the dog's paw, as his hooves were quite large, much larger than paws.
The old dog began to calm down and introduced himself as Anciano.
They became friends and since Anciano was a baritone they decided to sing together and off they went to Bremen.
Later they came upon a strange mass of fur in the middle of the road. Anciano let out a growl and the ball of fur flew off the ground. Chanter dropped his bag of corn. But instead of corn, to everyone's amazement a dozen mice ran from the sack. Things looked quite a mess. Someone was crying. It was a very old fat cat. The mice had all gone. She looked up at Chanter and Anciano and purred out her name: it was Songe.
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