STAVEONE.
MARLEY’SGHOST.
Marleywas
død
dead:tobeginwith.
Thereis
ingen
nodoubtwhateveraboutthat.Den
Theregisterofhisburialwasunderskrevet
signedbytheclergyman,theclerk,den
theundertaker,andthechiefmourner.Scrooge
underskrev
signedit:andScrooge’snamewas
godt
goodupon’Change,foranythinghechosetosætte
puthishandto.OldMarleywasas
død
deadasadoor-nail.Mind!
Idon’t
mener
meantosaythatIved
know,ofmyownknowledge,whatthereisparticularlydød
deadaboutadoor-nail.I
kunne
mighthavebeeninclined,myself,toregarden
acoffin-nailasthedeadestpieceofironmongeryinden
thetrade.Butthewisdomofourancestorsisinthesimile;
og
andmyunhallowedhandsshallnotdisturbit,eller
ortheCountry’sdonefor.You
vil
willthereforepermitmetorepeat,emphatically,thatMarleywasasdød
deadasadoor-nail.Scrooge
vidste
knewhewasdead?Of
selvfølgelig
coursehedid.Howcoulditbeotherwise?
Scrooge
og
andhewerepartnersforIdon’tved
knowhowmanyyears.Scroogewashissoleexecutor,hissoleadministrator,hissoleassign,hissoleresiduarylegatee,hissole
ven
friend,andsolemourner.And
selv
evenScroogewasnotsodreadfullyskåret
cutupbythesadevent,men
butthathewasanexcellentmanofbusinessontheverydagen
dayofthefuneral,andsolemniseditmed
withanundoubtedbargain.ThementionofMarley’sfuneral
bringer
bringsmebacktothepunkt
pointIstartedfrom.Thereis
ingen
nodoubtthatMarleywasdød
dead.Thismustbedistinctlyunderstood,or
noget
nothingwonderfulcancomeofden
thestoryIamgoingtorelate.Hvis
IfwewerenotperfectlyconvincedthatHamlet’sFar
Fatherdiedbeforetheplaybegan,thereville
wouldbenothingmoreremarkableinhistakingastrollatnatten
night,inaneasterlywind,uponhisegne
ownramparts,thantherewouldbeinenhver
anyothermiddle-agedgentlemanrashlyvender
turningoutafterdarkinabreezyspot—saySaintPaul’sChurchyardforinstance—literallytoastonishhisson’sweaksind
mind.Scroogeneverpaintedout
Gamle
OldMarley’sname.Thereit
stod
stood,yearsafterwards,abovethewarehousedoor:Scrooge
og
andMarley.Thefirmwas
kendt
knownasScroogeandMarley.Nogle gange
Sometimespeoplenewtothebusinesskaldte
calledScroogeScrooge,andsometimesMarley,men
butheansweredtobothnames.Itwas
alt
allthesametohim.Oh!
Men
Buthewasatight-fistedhånd
handatthegrindstone,Scrooge!en
asqueezing,wrenching,grasping,scraping,clutching,covetous,gammel
oldsinner!Hardandsharpasflint,fromwhich
ingen
nosteelhadeverstruckud
outgenerousfire;secret,andself-contained,
og
andsolitaryasanoyster.Den
Thecoldwithinhimfrozehisgamle
oldfeatures,nippedhispointednose,shrivelledhischeek,stiffenedhisgait;gjorde
madehiseyesred,histhinlipsblue;og
andspokeoutshrewdlyinhisgratingvoice.En
Afrostyrimewasonhishoved
head,andonhiseyebrows,og
andhiswirychin.Hecarriedhis
egen
ownlowtemperaturealwaysaboutmed
withhim;heicedhis
kontor
officeinthedog-days;anddidn’tthawit
en
onedegreeatChristmas.Externalheat
og
andcoldhadlittleinfluenceonScrooge.Ingen
Nowarmthcouldwarm,nowintryweatherchillham
him.Nowindthatblewwasbitterer
end
thanhe,nofallingsnowwasmere
moreintentuponitspurpose,ingen
nopeltingrainlessopentoentreaty.Foulweatherdidn’t
vidste
knowwheretohavehim.Den
Theheaviestrain,andsnow,og
andhail,andsleet,couldboastofden
theadvantageoverhiminkun
onlyonerespect.Theyoften“camedown”handsomely,
og
andScroogeneverdid.Nobodyever
stoppede
stoppedhiminthestreettosige
say,withgladsomelooks,“Mykære
dearScrooge,howareyou?Hvornår
Whenwillyoucometose
seeme?”Nobeggarsimploredhimtobestowatrifle,
ingen
nochildrenaskedhimwhatitwaso’clock,ingen
nomanorwomaneveronceinallhisliv
lifeinquiredthewaytosuchandsuchasted
place,ofScrooge.Eventheblindmen’sdogsappearedto
kende
knowhim;andwhenthey
så
sawhimcomingon,wouldtugtheirownersintodoorwaysog
andupcourts;andthenwouldwagtheirtailsasthoughthey
sagde
said,“Noeyeatallisbedre
betterthananevileye,darkmaster!”Men
ButwhatdidScroogecare!Itwastheverythinghe
lide
liked.Toedgehisway
langs
alongthecrowdedpathsoflife,warningal
allhumansympathytokeepitsdistance,waswhatde
theknowingonescall“nuts”toScrooge.Onceuponatime—of
alle
allthegooddaysinde
theyear,onChristmasEve—oldScroogesad
satbusyinhiscounting-house.Itwascold,bleak,bitingweather:
foggywithal:
og
andhecouldhearthepeopleinthecourtudenfor
outside,gowheezingupandned
down,beatingtheirhandsupontheirbreasts,og
andstampingtheirfeetuponthepavementstonestowarmdem
them.Thecityclockshadonlyjust
gået
gonethree,butitwasquitedarkalready—ithavde
hadnotbeenlightallday—andcandleswereflaringinthewindowsoftheneighbouringoffices,som
likeruddysmearsuponthepalpablebrownluft
air.Thefogcamepouringinat
hver
everychinkandkeyhole,andwassodensewithout,at
thatalthoughthecourtwasofde
thenarrowest,thehousesoppositeweremerephantoms.To
se
seethedingycloudcomedroopingned
down,obscuringeverything,onemighthave
havethoughtthatNaturelivedhårdt
hardby,andwasbrewingonalargescale.The
døren
doorofScrooge’scounting-housewasåben
openthathemightkeephiseyeuponhisclerk,whoinen
adismallittlecellbeyond,en
asortoftank,wascopyingletters.Scrooge
havde
hadaverysmallfire,men
buttheclerk’sfirewassoverymuchsmallerat
thatitlookedlikeonecoal.Men
Buthecouldn’treplenishit,forScroogeholdt
keptthecoal-boxinhiseget
ownroom;andsosurelyastheclerk
kom
cameinwiththeshovel,themasterpredictedthatitville
wouldbenecessaryforthemtoskille
part.Whereforetheclerkputonhiswhitecomforter,
og
andtriedtowarmhimselfatthecandle;inwhicheffort,notbeing
en
amanofastrongimagination,hefailed.“AmerryChristmas,
onkel
uncle!Godsaveyou!”
cried
en
acheerfulvoice.ItwasthevoiceofScrooge’snephew,who
kom
cameuponhimsoquicklythatdette
thiswasthefirstintimationhehavde
hadofhisapproach.“Bah!”
sagde
saidScrooge,“Humbug!”Hehadsoheatedhimself
med
withrapidwalkinginthefogog
andfrost,thisnephewofScrooge’s,at
thathewasallinen
aglow;hisfacewasruddy
og
andhandsome;hiseyessparkled,
og
andhisbreathsmokedagain.“Christmas
en
ahumbug,uncle!”saidScrooge’snephew.
“Youdon’t
mener
meanthat,Iamsure?”“Ido,”
sagde
saidScrooge.“MerryChristmas!
What
ret
righthaveyoutobemerry?What
grund
reasonhaveyoutobemerry?You’repoorenough.”
“Come,then,”returnedthenephewgaily.
“What
ret
righthaveyoutobedismal?What
grund
reasonhaveyoutobemorose?You’rerichenough.”
Scrooge
havde
havingnobetteranswerreadyonthespurofthemoment,sagde
said,“Bah!”again;
andfolloweditup
med
with“Humbug.”“Don’tbecross,uncle!”
sagde
saidthenephew.“Whatelse
kan
canIbe,”returnedtheuncle,“whenIlever
liveinsuchaworldoffoolsasdenne
this?MerryChristmas!
OutuponmerryChristmas!
What’sChristmas
tid
timetoyoubutatid
timeforpayingbillswithoutpenge
money;atimeforfindingyourselfa
år
yearolder,butnotantime
hourricher;atimeforbalancingyourbooks
og
andhavingeveryitemin’emgennem
througharounddozenofmonthspresenteddød
deadagainstyou?IfI
kunne
couldworkmywill,”saidScroogeindignantly,“everyidiotder
whogoesaboutwith‘MerryChristmas’onhislips,bør
shouldbeboiledwithhisegen
ownpudding,andburiedwithen
astakeofhollythroughhishjerte
heart.Heshould!”
“Uncle!”
pleadedthenephew.
“Nephew!”
returnedtheunclesternly,“keepChristmasinyour
egen
ownway,andletmeholde
keepitinmine.”“Keepit!”
repeatedScrooge’snephew.
“Butyoudon’tkeepit.”
“Letmeleaveitalone,then,”
sagde
saidScrooge.“Muchgoodmayit
gøre
doyou!Muchgoodit
har
haseverdoneyou!”“Thereare
mange
manythingsfromwhichIkunne
mighthavederivedgood,bysom
whichIhavenotprofited,Idaresay,”returnedthenephew.“Christmasamong
de
therest.ButIam
sikker
sureIhavealwaysthoughtofChristmastid
time,whenithascomeround—apartfromthevenerationduetoitssacrednavn
nameandorigin,ifanythingbelongingtoitkan
canbeapartfromthat—asen
agoodtime;akind,forgiving,charitable,pleasant
tid
time;theonlytimeIknowof,inthelongcalendarofthe
året
year,whenmenandwomenseembyoneconsenttoåbne
opentheirshut-upheartsfreely,og
andtothinkofpeoplebelowthemasiftheyvirkelig
reallywerefellow-passengerstothegrave,og
andnotanotherraceofcreaturesboundonotherjourneys.Og
Andtherefore,uncle,thoughithar
hasneverputascrapofgoldeller
orsilverinmypocket,Itror
believethatithasdonemegodt
good,andwilldomegodt
good;andIsay,Godblessit!”
TheclerkintheTankinvoluntarilyapplauded.
Blive
Becomingimmediatelysensibleoftheimpropriety,hepokedden
thefire,andextinguishedthesidste
lastfrailsparkforever.“Letme
høre
hearanothersoundfromyou,”sagde
saidScrooge,“andyou’llkeepyourChristmasbymiste
losingyoursituation!You’requite
en
apowerfulspeaker,sir,”headded,turningtohisnephew.“Iwonderyoudon’t
går
gointoParliament.”“Don’tbeangry,
onkel
uncle.Come!
Dinewithusto-morrow.”
Scrooge
sagde
saidthathewouldseehim—yes,indeedhegjorde
did.Hewentthewholelengthof
den
theexpression,andsaidthatheville
wouldseehiminthatextremityførst
first.“Butwhy?”
criedScrooge’snephew.
“Why?”
“Whydidyougetmarried?”
sagde
saidScrooge.“BecauseIfellinlove.”
“Becauseyoufellinlove!”
growledScrooge,asifthatwerethe
eneste
onlyonethingintheverden
worldmoreridiculousthanamerryChristmas.“Goodafternoon!”
“Nay,
onkel
uncle,butyounevercametose
seemebeforethathappened.Hvorfor
Whygiveitasagrund
reasonfornotcomingnow?”“Goodafternoon,”
sagde
saidScrooge.“Iwantnothingfromyou;
I
beder
asknothingofyou;whycannotwebefriends?”
“Goodafternoon,”
sagde
saidScrooge.“Iamsorry,withallmy
hjerte
heart,tofindyousoresolute.We
har
haveneverhadanyquarrel,tosom
whichIhavebeenapart
party.ButIhavemade
det
thetrialinhomagetoChristmas,og
andI’llkeepmyChristmashumourtodet
thelast.SoAMerryChristmas,uncle!”
“Goodafternoon!”
sagde
saidScrooge.“AndAHappy
Nyt
NewYear!”“Goodafternoon!”
saidScrooge.
Hisnephew
forlod
lefttheroomwithoutanangryord
word,notwithstanding.Hestoppedat
den
theouterdoortobestowden
thegreetingsoftheseasononden
theclerk,who,coldashewas,waswarmerend
thanScrooge;forhereturnedthemcordially.
“There’sanotherfellow,”mutteredScrooge;
som
whooverheardhim:“myclerk,
med
withfifteenshillingsaweek,og
andawifeandfamily,taler
talkingaboutamerryChristmas.I’llretiretoBedlam.”
Denne
Thislunatic,inlettingScrooge’snephewout,havde
hadlettwootherpeoplei
in.Theywereportlygentlemen,pleasanttobehold,og
andnowstood,withtheirhatsoff,inScrooge’skontor
office.Theyhadbooksandpapersintheirhands,
og
andbowedtohim.“Scrooge
og
andMarley’s,Ibelieve,”saiden
oneofthegentlemen,referringtohislist.“HaveIthepleasureofaddressingMr.Scrooge,
eller
orMr.Marley?”“Mr.
Marley
har
hasbeendeadthesesevenyears,”Scroogereplied.“He
døde
diedsevenyearsago,thisverynight.”“Wehave
ikke
nodoubthisliberalityisgodt
wellrepresentedbyhissurvivingpartner,”sagde
saidthegentleman,presentinghiscredentials.Itcertainlywas;
forthey
havde
hadbeentwokindredspirits.At
det
theominousword“liberality,”Scroogefrowned,og
andshookhishead,andhandeddet
thecredentialsback.“Atthisfestiveseasonofthe
året
year,Mr.Scrooge,”saidthegentleman,tog
takingupapen,“itismere
morethanusuallydesirablethatweshouldgør
makesomeslightprovisionfortheFattige
Pooranddestitute,whosuffergreatlyatthepresenttime.Mange
Manythousandsareinwantofcommonnecessaries;hundredsofthousandsareinwantofcommoncomforts,sir.”
“Are
der
therenoprisons?”askedScrooge.
“Plentyofprisons,”
sagde
saidthegentleman,layingdownthepenigen
again.“AndtheUnionworkhouses?”
demandedScrooge.
“Arethey
stadig
stillinoperation?”“Theyare.
Still,”returnedthegentleman,“I
ønske
wishIcouldsaytheywerenot.”“TheTreadmill
og
andthePoorLawareinfuld
fullvigour,then?”saidScrooge.
“Both
meget
verybusy,sir.”“Oh!
Iwas
bange
afraid,fromwhatyousaidatførste
first,thatsomethinghadoccurredtostoppe
stopthemintheirusefulcourse,”sagde
saidScrooge.“I’mverygladto
høre
hearit.”“UndertheimpressionthattheyscarcelyfurnishChristiancheerof
sind
mindorbodytothemultitude,”returnedthegentleman,“afewofusareendeavouringtoraiseen
afundtobuytheFattige
Poorsomemeatanddrink,og
andmeansofwarmth.Wechoose
denne
thistime,becauseitisen
atime,ofallothers,whenWantiskeenlyfelt,og
andAbundancerejoices.WhatshallIputyou
ned
downfor?”“Nothing!”
Scroogereplied.
“You
ønsker
wishtobeanonymous?”“I
ønsker
wishtobeleftalone,”sagde
saidScrooge.“SinceyouaskmewhatI
ønsker
wish,gentlemen,thatismysvar
answer.