作者：美国迪士尼公司
出版社：华东理工大学出版社
格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT
迪士尼大电影双语阅读.美女与野兽 Beauty And The Beast试读：
Prologue
The prince scowled. He faced a pair of heavy gilded doors that were shut to him. From beyond, he could hear music and laughter. The party, his party, had already begun. Crystal clinked as guests toasted the night and wandered about the ornate ballroom, their eyes no doubt widening as they took in the hundreds of priceless objects that lined the walls. Beautiful vases, detailed portraits of faraway places, rich tapestries, and solid-gold serving plates were just a few of the many items. And they all paled in comparison to the beauty of the guests themselves. For the Prince did not invite just anyone to his parties. He invited only those he deemed beautiful enough to be in his presence. So they came from all over the world, each one as much on display as the inanimate objects in the room.
Standing in front of the closed doors, the Prince barely noticed the servants as they bustled about him, nervously putting the finishing touches on his costume. His majordomo hovered nearby, pocket watch in hand. The stuffy older man hated the Prince's utter lack of respect for time. In turn, the Prince took great pleasure in wasting the majordomo's. A maid stood next to the Prince, a feather brush in her hand. Gingerly, she painted a white line on the young man's face. The paint glided onto his smooth, flawless skin with ease.
The mask had taken hours to paint, and it showed. It was exquisite. Stepping back, the maid waited as the head valet draped a long jeweled coat over the Prince's shoulders and then carefully inspected it to make sure not one jewel was out of place. Satisfied, he nodded at the maid, who then dusted the Prince's wig with powder. Then both bowed and waited with bated breath for the Prince to act.
Lifting one gloved hand, the Prince gave a single haughty wave. Instantly, a footman appeared. “More light,” the Prince ordered.
“Yes, Your Highness,” the footman said, turning and reaching for the candelabrum placed nearby. He lifted it so it illuminated the Prince's face.
The Prince held a small mirror. It was silver, with flourishes along the back and a delicate handle. Holding it up so he could see his face, the Prince preened.
The Prince had the majordomo open the doors to the ballroom. The servants let out a collective sigh as the doors swung shut behind the Prince. For the next few hours they would be able to relax, out of sight of their cruel, spoiled, and unkind master.
Unaware of his servants' thoughts, or perhaps aware but unconcerned, the Prince made his way across the ballroom. It was a sea of white—per his invitation. Many of the guests were hard to distinguish, save their masks. The result was enchanting. His mouth remained pulled down, however, and his solemn expression did not indicate any pleasure at seeing such beauty in his castle. He never allowed others to see if he felt joy or pain. It afforded him a sense of mystery, which he enjoyed immensely. As he walked, he heard the whispers of young women wondering excitedly if this would be the night he singled them out for a dance. A smug smile tugged at his lips, but he tamped it down and continued on his way.
Pushing through a circle of eligible maidens and their chaperones, the Prince arrived at his throne. Standing beside it, the Prince turned and stared out at the ballroom. He watched a small animated man sit at the grand harpsichord across the room. The Prince locked eyes with the man, who smiled kindly in return, flashing teeth that had seen better days. The Prince nodded. This was, after all, the premier Italian maestro. He and his wife, the elegant operatic diva who stood beside him, were known the world over for their sound. They were, simply put, the best. Because of that, the Prince had needed to have them at his ball.
With the Prince's nod, the maestro began to play and the diva began to sing, her voice filling the ballroom. The Prince strode out onto the floor and started to dance. His moves were smooth and practiced, honed from years of training. Around him, ladies moved in reverse to the Prince, their dancing equally well practiced and smooth. Yet somehow they paled in comparison to him. His presence was bigger than the ballroom, his looks more beautiful, his coldness more chilling than the wind and rain that howled outside.
The diva's voice had just swelled to an almost painful note when, suddenly, above the music and over the wind, the Prince heard the unmistakable sound of someone knocking at the door that led out to the gardens. He lifted his hand, and the music came to an abrupt stop.
The knock came again. For a moment, no one moved. And then all the windows blew open, followed by the door. Rain billowed into the ballroom, and a strong wind caused the candles in the sconces along the walls to flicker and go out. The ballroom was plunged into darkness, and the Prince heard his guests begin to mutter nervously. In the remaining light from the candelabra on the tables, the Prince watched with a mixture of anger and curiosity as a hooded figure entered through the open door. The stranger was hunched over, clutching a gnarled cane with a shaking hand. The visitor moved out of the cold and into the warmth of the ballroom. As the door shut, the hooded figure sighed audibly, clearly happy to be somewhere he—or she—seemed to think was safe and inviting.
That couldn't have been more wrong.
His initial shock fading, the Prince felt rage well up inside him. Grabbing a candelabrum from a nearby table, he stormed through the crowd, pushing people out of his path. By the time he arrived at the door, his face was red, despite the layers of face paint. He noticed that the uninvited guest was an old beggar woman. Hunched as she was, the Prince towered over her.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded with a snarl.
The old woman looked up at him with hope in her eyes. Holding out a single red rose, she said in no more than a whisper, “I'm seeking shelter from the bitter storm outside.” As if on cue, the wind rose to a fever pitch, howling like a mad beast.
The Prince remained unmoved.
He did not care if the woman was cold and wet. She was haggard, old, and a vagrant. And worse still, she was ruining his ball. Another wave of red-hot anger washed over him as he saw the ugliness amid all the beauty he had so carefully and painstakingly created. “Get out!” he sneered, waving her away with his hand. “Get out now. You do not belong here.”
“Please,” the old woman begged. “I am only asking for shelter for one night. I will not even stay in the ballroom.”
The Prince's frown deepened. “Don't you see, old woman? This is a place of beauty,” he said, his voice cold. “You are too ugly for my castle. For my world. For me.” The woman seemed to shrink as the Prince's words tore into her, but the Prince did not appear to have any remorse. Signaling to his majordomo and the head footman, he ordered the woman escorted out.
“You should not be deceived by appearances,” the woman said as the two servants approached, “beauty is found within....”
The Prince threw back his head and laughed cruelly. “Say what you will, hag. But we all know what beautiful looks like—and it is not you. Now go!”
Turning, the Prince moved to leave. But a gasp from his guests gave him pause. As he looked over his shoulder, his eyes grew wide. Something was happening to the old woman. Her dirty cape and hood seemed to engulf her in a cocoon of sorts until she all but disappeared. Then a flash of light erupted, blinding him.
When his vision cleared, the old beggar was gone. In her place was the most beautiful woman the Prince had ever seen. She was floating above him, emitting a dazzling golden light not unlike the sun's. Instantly, the Prince knew exactly what she was, for he had read about such things. She was an enchantress—a woman of magic who had put him to a test.
And he had failed.
Falling to his knees, the Prince held up his hands. “Please,” he said, now the one to beg. “I'm sorry, Enchantress. You are welcome in my castle for as long as you like.”
The Enchantress shook her head. She had seen enough to know that it was a hollow apology. The Prince had no kindness or love in his heart. Magic coursed through her and then washed over the Prince.
The transformation began instantly. The Prince's body was racked with pain. His back arched and he groaned as his body began to grow. His jewelry popped off. His clothes ripped. The surrounding guests screamed at the sight of their host and fled. The Prince reached up, trying to grasp a nearby man's hand, but to his horror, he discovered his own hand resembled that of a monster. The man jumped away and made his escape, along with the others.
Soon the ballroom was empty save for the staff, the entertainers, and a lone dog that belonged to the diva. As they looked on in shock, the Prince's transformation became complete. Where once there had towered a handsome man now cowered a hideous beast. But he was not the only one to have transformed. The rest of the castle and its inhabitants, too, had changed....
The days bled into years, and the Prince and his servants were forgotten by the world until, finally, the enchanted castle stood isolated and locked in perpetual winter. The Enchantress erased all memory of the castle and those who were in it, even from the minds of the people who loved them.
But there did remain one last bit of hope: the rose she had offered the Prince was truly an enchanted rose. If the Prince could learn to love another and earn that person's love in return by the time the last petal fell, the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast forever.序
王子皱起了眉。两扇沉重的镀金大门在他面前紧闭着。门外传来演奏声与谈笑声。舞会，那个为他而准备的舞会，已经开始。水晶杯叮当作响，宾客们为这美好的夜晚举杯，在富丽堂皇的舞池里摇曳生姿。沿墙摆放的数百件稀世珍宝无疑让他们大开眼界。各种精致的花瓶、细节生动的风景画、昂贵的挂毯、纯金的盘子都只是冰山一角。但这些与尊贵的宾客们相比却黯然失色。因为王子并不是随便邀人到他的舞会，他只邀请了那些他认为足够漂亮的人出席。于是，宾客们从世界各地赶来，每个人都打扮得像极了屋内毫无生气的展品。
王子站在紧闭的门前，几乎无视身边为他忙碌的仆人们。他们小心翼翼地整理着王子的礼服，进行最后的收尾。总管在附近来回踱步，手里拿着一块怀表。这古板的老头恨死王子不守时的性格了。然而，王子却对浪费总管的时间这件事十分享受。一名女仆拿着羽毛刷站在王子旁边。她轻轻地在王子年轻的脸庞上画出一条白色的线，刷子在他光滑无瑕的脸上滑过。
几个小时后，面具终于画好了。真是精美绝伦啊!女仆退后等待，贴身男仆把用珠宝点缀的长外套披在王子肩上，仔细检查，确保每块珠宝都恰到好处。他满意地向女仆点头示意，女仆便上前给王子的假发打上粉。随后，两人鞠躬，屏着呼吸静候王子发话。
王子举起一只戴着手套的手，傲慢地一挥。一名男仆立马出现。王子命令道：“再来点光。”“遵命，殿下。”男仆转身走向旁边的烛台，然后举起它照亮王子的脸。
王子拿起一面小镜子。镜子是银制的，背面有繁复的花纹，还有一个雅致的手柄。王子举起镜子，看着镜子里自己的脸，扬扬自得。
王子让总管打开了舞厅的门。当门在王子身后关上的那一瞬间，所有仆人都不约而同地松了一口气。因为在接下来的几个小时里，他们可以好好放松，不用出现在他们那位残酷、娇惯、无情的主人面前了。
王子穿过舞厅，他并不知道仆人们的想法，或者，也许他知道但并不在意。遵循他的邀约，舞厅里面是一片白色的海洋。许多宾客都难以辨认，除了他们的面具。这个结果很令人满意。然而，王子嘴角向下，表情严肃，并没有显露出任何看到城堡内如此盛况的喜悦之情。他从不让人看出他内心的悲喜。这让他有一种神秘感，他相当享受这种感觉。他边走边听到年轻的女士们正窃窃私语，激动地猜测着他今晚会不会单独请她们跳舞。王子嘴角浮现出一丝沾沾自喜的笑意，但他立马收住，继续往前走。
王子穿过一群适婚少女以及她们的监护人，走到他的王座边。他站在王座旁，转身看向舞池。他看到一个有活力的小个子男人坐在房间那头巨大的钢琴旁。王子的目光停留在他身上，他回以一个友好的微笑，露出白得耀眼的牙齿，可见他日子过得不错。王子点头致意。毕竟，这位是意大利顶级的钢琴大师。站在大师身旁的是他的妻子——一位优雅的歌剧首席女主角，他俩的声音享誉世界。简而言之，他们是最出色的。因此，王子需要他们出席自己的舞会。
看到王子点头，那位钢琴大师开始演奏，首席女主角也开始歌唱，声音回荡在整个舞厅里。王子迈向舞池跳起来。他的步子流畅而熟练，显然是经过多年练习的。少女们围绕在他周围逆向舞动，步子也同样熟练而流畅。但跟王子一比，不知怎么的就是逊色不少。他的气场比舞厅更强大，他的外貌比旁人更出众，他的冷酷比外面呼啸的风雨更让人寒意四起。
就在女主角唱到最悲情的乐章时，王子突然在音乐之外、风声之上听到花园方向有人正不合时宜地敲门。他抬手示意，音乐便戛然而止。
敲门声再次响起。一时间，所有人都静止不动。这时，所有的窗户都被风吹开，紧接着门也被吹开了。雨急促地落进舞厅，一股强风吹来，使得壁式烛台上蜡烛的烛光剧烈摇晃直至熄灭。舞厅顿时陷入黑暗，王子听到宾客们紧张地窃窃私语。借着桌上烛台里残存的些许烛光，王子既愤怒又好奇地看着一个戴着兜帽的身影从吹开的门中走了进来。这个陌生人驼着背，一只手颤巍巍地拄着一根造型扭曲的拐杖。这个不速之客从寒夜中走进了温暖的舞厅。门关上时，这个戴着兜帽的身影——不知是男是女——高兴地大声舒了口气，似乎认为自己在这个地方既安全又受欢迎。
那真是大错特错了。
最初的震惊逐渐消散后，王子感到异常愤怒。他抓起旁边桌上的烛台，将挡路的人都推开，怒气冲冲地冲出人群。他走到门那儿时，脸变得通红，即使脸上画有面具也清晰可见。他发现这个不速之客不过是位老乞妇。她佝偻着背，而王子就像高塔一般屹立在她面前。“你这是在干什么？”王子咆哮着质问道。
老妇人抬头看着他，眼里带着希冀。她拿出一枝红玫瑰，用几乎听不到的声音说道：“我想找个地方避避外面的暴风雨。”就在这时，狂风大作，就像疯狂的野兽在嘶吼。
王子岿然不动。
他并不在意这位妇人是否感到寒冷、潮湿。她憔悴而苍老，是个流浪者。更糟的是，她破坏了他的舞会。他看着自己小心翼翼、精心准备的美物之间多了这么个丑东西，怒火再次燃起。“滚出去！”他冷笑着，挥手示意她离开。“现在就滚，你根本就不属于这儿。”“求求你！”老妇人乞求道，“我只待一晚，不会待在舞厅的。”
王子眉头深锁。“你没看见吗，老女人？这个地方只容得下美。”他冷冰冰地说道，“你对于我的城堡，对于我的世界，对于我来说都太丑了。”王子直戳心头的话让老妇人缩成一团，但王子并没有表现出丝毫同情。他示意总管和男仆首领将老妇人赶出去。“你不要被外表所欺骗。”当两名仆人逐渐靠近时，老妇人说道：“美总是源自内心……”
王子往后一扬头，无情地笑道：“随你说什么，老巫婆。我们都知道美是什么样的——反正绝对不是你这样。现在滚出去吧！”
王子转身离开。但是被一位宾客拦住了。他越过肩膀看去，眼睛不由得瞪大。那位老妇人正发生着神奇的变化。她肮脏的斗篷和兜帽似乎要将她吞噬进一个蚕茧似的东西，直到完全包裹然后消失。接着，一道强光闪出，几乎亮瞎他的眼睛。
当他能够看清时，老乞妇不见了。站在那儿的是一个他所见过的最漂亮的女人。她飘在他上方，散发出如太阳般耀眼的金色光芒。王子立刻明白了她的身份，他曾在书里读到过类似的事情。她是女巫——一个来测试他的拥有魔法的女人。
很明显，他没有通过测试。
王子跪了下来，举起双手。“求求你！”他说，现在轮到他求饶了。“对不起，女巫。你想在我的城堡待多久都可以。”
女巫摇摇头。她见过太多这样虚伪的道歉了。王子内心没有善意与仁爱。她催动诅咒，在王子身上施法。
转变立刻开始了。王子的身体在苦痛中变形。他的背部变成了弓形，他的身体开始生长，他不断呻吟着。他身上的珠宝都爆裂弹开，衣服也成了碎片。周围的宾客看到主人的变化都尖叫起来，四散而逃。王子伸出手，试图抓住身边一个男人的手，但他惊恐地发现，自己的手跟怪物的手差不多。那个男人立马跳开，跟其他人一起逃跑了。
舞厅很快空了，只剩下仆人、表演艺人和首席女主角的那条孤零零的狗。他们震惊地看着王子完成变身。那个曾经屹立着一位英俊男子的地方，现在蜷缩着一只丑恶的野兽。不仅他变了，城堡的其他部分以及里面的人都变了……
日复一日，年复一年，王子和他的仆人们被这个世界忘却，最终只有美丽的城堡孤独地耸立着，被永久地锁在寒冬里。女巫消除了人们对城堡以及城堡里的人的所有记忆，甚至把他们从爱他们的人的脑海中消除了。
但还留有最后一线希望：她送给王子的那枝玫瑰其实被施了 魔法。只要王子在它最后一片花瓣落下前，能学会爱别人并得到对方的爱，魔咒就会解除。如果没有，那他只能永远成为一只野兽。
Chapter 1
Belle opened the front door of her cottage. Taking in the picture-perfect pastoral scene in front of her, she sighed. Morning in the small village of Villeneuve began the same way each day. At least it had for as long as Belle had lived there.
The sun would rise slowly over the horizon, its rays turning the fields that surrounded the village more green or gold or white, depending on the season. Then the rays would move along until they touched the white-washed sides of Belle's cottage, which stood right on the outskirts of the village, before finally illuminating the thatched roofs of the homes and shops that made up the village itself. By the time that happened, the villagers themselves would be stirring, preparing for the day. Inside their homes, men would sit down for their morning meals while the women readied the children or finished stirring the porridge. The village would be hushed, as though still shaking off sleep.
Then the clock on the church would strike eight.
And just like that, the village would come alive.
Belle had watched it happen hundreds of times. Yet this morning, like every morning, it still amazed her as she stared down at the little town, full of the same people going about their daily routines. Narrowing her warm brown eyes, she sighed at the mundanity of it all. She often wondered what it would be like to wake up differently.
Belle shook her head. It did her no good to wonder or wish. This was life as she'd always known it, the life she had shared with her papa ever since they had moved from Paris many years earlier. It was a waste of time to dwell on the past or the what-ifs. She had things to do, errands to run, and—she looked down at the book clutched in her hand—a new adventure to find. Straightening her shoulders, Belle pulled the door closed behind her and set off into town.
Within minutes, Belle was making her way down the cobblestoned main street. As she passed other villagers, she nodded distantly. While she had lived in the village most of her life, she still felt like a stranger there. It, like so many in the rural French country-side, was isolated and insular. Most of the people Belle passed on her way had been born there and most would spend the rest of their lives there. To them, the village was the world. And outsiders were viewed with caution.
Belle wasn't entirely sure that even if she had been born in the village she wouldn't still have been treated as an outsider. She really didn't have much in common with most of the others. And if she was being honest, she tended to enjoy reading more than idle small talk—traveling to distant lands and having wondrous adventures.
Weaving her way through the street, she listened as the rest of the villagers greeted each other. She felt a pang of loneliness watching them talk to one another. They all seemed perfectly content with the monotony of their morning routines. No one seemed to share her desire for something new and exciting, for something more.
Belle reached the baker's stand, the sweet smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. As always, the harried baker was holding a tray of freshly made baguettes and muttering to himself. “Bonjour,” Belle said. The man nodded absently.
“One baguette...” Belle peered at the row of jars filled with rich red jam. “And this, too, s'il vous plaît,” she said, picking one up and sliding it into her apron pocket. After she'd paid and collected her goods, she moved on to complete her next errand.
She was just about to turn a corner when she paused. Jean, the old potter, was standing next to his mule looking confused. The cart attached to the mule was loaded with freshly made pottery. Looking up, Jean caught Belle watching him and smiled.
“Good morning, Belle,” he said, his voice scratchy with age. He was peering into his cart, a puzzled expression on his face.
“Good morning, Monsieur Jean,” Belle said in return. “Have you lost something again?”
The older man nodded. “I believe I have. Problem is, I can't remember what,” he said sadly. Then he shrugged. “Well, I'm sure it will come to me.” He turned and pulled on the mule's reins, trying to lead the stubborn animal away. The mule was having none of it. He tried to stick his nose in Belle's pocket, searching for the apple she had hidden there just in case she ran into Jean. Giving the creature a hard yank, Jean succeeded in drawing the mule's attention away from Belle. But he also succeeded in knocking the cart off balance.
Gasping, Belle reached out and grabbed one of the beautiful clay pots just before it fell. Then, satisfied nothing else would fall, she gave the mule the apple and turned to leave.
“Where are you off to?” Jean asked.
She looked back over her shoulder. “To return this book to Pere Robert,” she said, smiling and holding up the well-worn book. “It's about two lovers in fair Verona—”
“Are either of them potters?” Jean interrupted.
Belle shook her head. “No.”
“Sounds boring,” he said.
Belle sighed. She wasn't surprised by Jean's reaction. It was the same reaction she got anytime she mentioned books. Or art. Or travel. Or Paris. Anything other than talk of the village or the villagers was met with indifference—or, worse, disdain.
Just once, Belle thought as she patted Jean's mule on the nose and gave the potter a wave good-bye, I'd like to meet someone who wanted to hear the story of Romeo and Juliet. Or any story, for that matter. She started to walk more quickly, more eager than ever to get to Pere Robert's, get a new book, and return home. At least in her own cottage, she had no one to bother her or judge her. She could just get lost in her stories and imagine the world beyond the provincial town.
Finally, Belle arrived at her destination—the vestry of the church. Pushing open the doors, she breathed a sigh of relief as the quiet and serenity of the building enveloped her. The hubbub and noise of outside faded away, and for the first time that morning, Belle felt at peace. Hearing her enter, a kind man in a long black robe looked up from his book.
“Good morning, Belle,” Pere Robert greeted her. “So where did you run off to this week?”
Belle smiled in return. The well-read priest was one of two people in the entire village Belle felt she could talk to. The other person was
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