STAVEONE.
MARLEY’SGHOST.
Marleywas
dood
dead:tobeginwith.
Thereis
geen
nodoubtwhateveraboutthat.Theregisterofhisburialwas
ondertekend
signedbytheclergyman,theclerk,theundertaker,en
andthechiefmourner.Scrooge
ondertekend
signedit:andScrooge’snamewas
goed
goodupon’Change,foranythinghechosetoputhishand
handto.OldMarleywasas
dood
deadasadoor-nail.Mind!
Idon’tmeanto
zeggen
saythatIknow,ofmyeigen
ownknowledge,whatthereisparticularlydood
deadaboutadoor-nail.Imighthavebeeninclined,myself,toregard
een
acoffin-nailasthedeadestpieceofironmongeryinthetrade.Maar
Butthewisdomofourancestorsisinde
thesimile;andmyunhallowedhandsshallnotdisturbit,
of
ortheCountry’sdonefor.You
zult
willthereforepermitmetorepeat,emphatically,dat
thatMarleywasasdeadaseen
adoor-nail.Scroogeknewhewas
dood
dead?Ofcoursehedid.
Hoe
Howcoulditbeotherwise?Scrooge
en
andhewerepartnersforIdon’tweet
knowhowmanyyears.Scroogewashissoleexecutor,hissoleadministrator,hissoleassign,hissoleresiduarylegatee,hissole
vriend
friend,andsolemourner.And
zelfs
evenScroogewasnotsodreadfullygesneden
cutupbythesadevent,maar
butthathewasanexcellentman
manofbusinessontheverydag
dayofthefuneral,andsolemniseditmet
withanundoubtedbargain.ThementionofMarley’sfuneral
brengt
bringsmebacktothepunt
pointIstartedfrom.Thereis
geen
nodoubtthatMarleywasdood
dead.Thismustbedistinctly
begrepen
understood,ornothingwonderfulcankomen
comeofthestoryIamga
goingtorelate.IfwewerenotperfectlyconvincedthatHamlet’s
Vader
Fatherdiedbeforetheplaybegan,er
therewouldbenothingmoreremarkableinhisnemen
takingastrollatnight,inaneasterlywind,uponhiseigen
ownramparts,thantherewouldbeinanyandere
othermiddle-agedgentlemanrashlyturningoutna
afterdarkinabreezyspot—saySaintPaul’sChurchyardforinstance—literallytoastonishhisson’sweakgeest
mind.ScroogeneverpaintedoutOldMarley’s
naam
name.Thereitstood,yearsafterwards,abovethewarehouse
deur
door:ScroogeandMarley.
ThefirmwasknownasScrooge
en
andMarley.Sometimespeoplenewtothebusiness
noemden
calledScroogeScrooge,andsometimesMarley,maar
butheansweredtobothnames.Itwasallthe
hetzelfde
sametohim.Oh!
Buthewas
een
atight-fistedhandatthegrindstone,Scrooge!een
asqueezing,wrenching,grasping,scraping,clutching,covetous,oude
oldsinner!Hardandsharpasflint,fromwhich
geen
nosteelhadeverstruckoutgenerousvuur
fire;secret,andself-contained,andsolitaryas
een
anoyster.Thecoldwithinhimfrozehis
oude
oldfeatures,nippedhispointednose,shrivelledhischeek,stiffenedhisgait;maakte
madehiseyesred,histhinlipsblue;en
andspokeoutshrewdlyinhisgratingvoice.Een
Afrostyrimewasonhishoofd
head,andonhiseyebrows,en
andhiswirychin.Hecarriedhis
eigen
ownlowtemperaturealwaysaboutwithhim;heicedhis
kantoor
officeinthedog-days;anddidn’tthawitonedegreeatChristmas.
Externalheat
en
andcoldhadlittleinfluenceonScrooge.Geen
Nowarmthcouldwarm,nowintryweatherchillhem
him.Nowindthatblewwasbitterer
dan
thanhe,nofallingsnowwasmeer
moreintentuponitspurpose,geen
nopeltingrainlessopentoentreaty.Foulweatherdidn’t
wist
knowwheretohavehim.Theheaviestrain,
en
andsnow,andhail,andsleet,kon
couldboastoftheadvantageover
overhiminonlyonerespect.Theyoften“camedown”handsomely,
en
andScroogeneverdid.Nobodyever
stopte
stoppedhiminthestreettozeggen
say,withgladsomelooks,“Mybeste
dearScrooge,howareyou?Wanneer
Whenwillyoucometoseeme?”Geen
Nobeggarsimploredhimtobestoween
atrifle,nochildrenaskedhimwhatitwaso’clock,geen
nomanorwomaneveronceinallhisleven
lifeinquiredthewaytosuchen
andsuchaplace,ofScrooge.Zelfs
Eventheblindmen’sdogsappearedtokennen
knowhim;andwhenthey
zagen
sawhimcomingon,wouldtugtheirownersintodoorwaysen
andupcourts;andthenwouldwagtheirtailsasthoughtheysaid,“Noeyeatallis
beter
betterthananevileye,darkmaster!”Maar
ButwhatdidScroogecare!Itwasthevery
wat
thingheliked.Toedgehis
weg
wayalongthecrowdedpathsofleven
life,warningallhumansympathytohouden
keepitsdistance,waswhattheknowingonesnoemen
call“nuts”toScrooge.Onceupon
een
atime—ofallthegooddaysinthejaar
year,onChristmasEve—oldScroogezat
satbusyinhiscounting-house.Itwas
koud
cold,bleak,bitingweather:foggywithal:
en
andhecouldhearthemensen
peopleinthecourtoutside,gowheezingupen
anddown,beatingtheirhandsupontheirbreasts,en
andstampingtheirfeetuponthepavementstonestowarmze
them.Thecityclockshadonlyjustgone
drie
three,butitwasquitedarkalready—ithadden
hadnotbeenlightallday—andcandleswereflaringinthewindowsoftheneighbouringoffices,als
likeruddysmearsuponthepalpablebrownlucht
air.Thefogcamepouringinat
elk
everychinkandkeyhole,andwassodensewithout,dat
thatalthoughthecourtwasofde
thenarrowest,thehousesoppositeweremerephantoms.To
zien
seethedingycloudcomedroopingdown,obscuringalles
everything,onemighthavethoughtdat
thatNaturelivedhardby,en
andwasbrewingonalargescale.The
deur
doorofScrooge’scounting-housewasopen
openthathemightkeephiseyeuponhisclerk,whoineen
adismallittlecellbeyond,een
asortoftank,wascopyingletters.Scrooge
had
hadaverysmallfire,maar
buttheclerk’sfirewassoheel
verymuchsmallerthatitlookedals
likeonecoal.Buthecouldn’treplenishit,forScrooge
hield
keptthecoal-boxinhiseigen
ownroom;andsosurelyastheclerkcamein
met
withtheshovel,themasterpredicteddat
thatitwouldbenecessaryforthemtopart.Wherefore
de
theclerkputonhiswitte
whitecomforter,andtriedtowarmhimselfatde
thecandle;inwhicheffort,notbeing
een
amanofastrongimagination,hefailed.“AmerryChristmas,
oom
uncle!Godsaveyou!”
cried
een
acheerfulvoice.ItwasthevoiceofScrooge’snephew,who
kwam
cameuponhimsoquicklythatdit
thiswasthefirstintimationhehad
hadofhisapproach.“Bah!”
zei
saidScrooge,“Humbug!”Hehadsoheatedhimself
met
withrapidwalkinginthefogen
andfrost,thisnephewofScrooge’s,dat
thathewasallineen
aglow;hisfacewasruddy
en
andhandsome;hiseyessparkled,
en
andhisbreathsmokedagain.“Christmas
een
ahumbug,uncle!”saidScrooge’snephew.
“Youdon’t
bedoelt
meanthat,Iamsure?”“Ido,”
zei
saidScrooge.“MerryChristmas!
What
recht
righthaveyoutobemerry?What
reden
reasonhaveyoutobemerry?You’repoorenough.”
“Come,then,”returned
de
thenephewgaily.“Whatright
heb
haveyoutobedismal?Whatreasonhaveyoutobemorose?
You’rerichenough.”
Scrooge
had
havingnobetteranswerreadyonhet
thespurofthemoment,zei
said,“Bah!”again;
andfolloweditup
met
with“Humbug.”“Don’tbecross,uncle!”
zei
saidthenephew.“Whatelse
kan
canIbe,”returnedtheoom
uncle,“whenIliveinsuchawereld
worldoffoolsasthis?MerryChristmas!
OutuponmerryChristmas!
What’sChristmas
tijd
timetoyoubutatijd
timeforpayingbillswithoutgeld
money;atimeforfindingyourselfa
jaar
yearolder,butnotanuur
hourricher;atimeforbalancingyour
boeken
booksandhavingeveryitemin’emdoor
througharounddozenofmonthspresenteddood
deadagainstyou?IfI
kon
couldworkmywill,”saidScroogeindignantly,“everyidiotdie
whogoesaboutwith‘MerryChristmas’onhislips,moeten
shouldbeboiledwithhiseigen
ownpudding,andburiedwitheen
astakeofhollythroughhishart
heart.Heshould!”
“Uncle!”
pleaded
de
thenephew.“Nephew!”
returnedthe
oom
unclesternly,“keepChristmasinyoureigen
ownway,andletmekeepitinmine.”“Keepit!”
repeatedScrooge’snephew.
“Butyoudon’t
houdt
keepit.”“Letmeleaveit
rust
alone,then,”saidScrooge.“Muchgoodmayit
doen
doyou!Muchgoodit
heeft
haseverdoneyou!”“Thereare
veel
manythingsfromwhichIkunnen
mighthavederivedgood,bywhichIhavenotprofited,Idaresay,”returnedde
thenephew.“Christmasamongthe
rest
rest.ButIamsureI
heb
havealwaysthoughtofChristmastijd
time,whenithascomeround—apartfromde
thevenerationduetoitssacrednaam
nameandorigin,ifanythingbelongingtoitkan
canbeapartfromthat—aseen
agoodtime;akind,forgiving,charitable,pleasant
tijd
time;theonlytimeI
ken
knowof,inthelongcalendarofthejaar
year,whenmenandwomenseembyeen
oneconsenttoopentheirshut-upheartsfreely,en
andtothinkofpeoplebelowthemasiftheyecht
reallywerefellow-passengerstothegrave,en
andnotanotherraceofcreaturesboundonotherjourneys.En
Andtherefore,uncle,thoughitheeft
hasneverputascrapofgoldof
orsilverinmypocket,Igeloof
believethatithasdonemegoed
good,andwilldomegoed
good;andIsay,Godblessit!”
De
TheclerkintheTankinvoluntarilyapplauded.Werd
Becomingimmediatelysensibleoftheimpropriety,hepokedthevuur
fire,andextinguishedthelastfrailsparkforever.“Letmehearanother
geluid
soundfromyou,”saidScrooge,“andyou’llhoudt
keepyourChristmasbylosingyoursituation!You’requite
een
apowerfulspeaker,sir,”headded,turningtohisnephew.“Iwonderyoudon’t
gaat
gointoParliament.”“Don’tbeangry,
oom
uncle.Come!
Dinewithusto-morrow.”
Scrooge
zei
saidthathewouldseehim—yes,indeedhedeed
did.Hewentthewholelengthof
de
theexpression,andsaidthathezou
wouldseehiminthatextremityeerst
first.“Butwhy?”
criedScrooge’snephew.
“Why?”
“Whydidyougetmarried?”
zei
saidScrooge.“BecauseIfellinlove.”
“Becauseyoufellinlove!”
growledScrooge,asif
dat
thatweretheonlyonethinginthewereld
worldmoreridiculousthanamerryChristmas.“Goodafternoon!”
“Nay,
oom
uncle,butyounevercametoseemebeforedat
thathappened.Whygiveitasa
reden
reasonfornotcomingnow?”“Goodafternoon,”
zei
saidScrooge.“Iwantnothingfromyou;
I
vraag
asknothingofyou;whycannotwebefriends?”
“Goodafternoon,”
zei
saidScrooge.“Iamsorry,withallmyheart,tofindyousoresolute.
We
hebben
haveneverhadanyquarrel,towhichIhebben
havebeenaparty.ButI
heb
havemadethetrialinhomagetoChristmas,en
andI’llkeepmyChristmashumourtohet
thelast.SoAMerryChristmas,uncle!”
“Goodafternoon!”
zei
saidScrooge.“AndAHappy
Nieuw
NewYear!”“Goodafternoon!”
saidScrooge.
Hisnephew
verliet
lefttheroomwithoutanangrywoord
word,notwithstanding.Hestoppedattheouterdoortobestowthegreetingsoftheseasonontheclerk,
die
who,coldashewas,waswarmerdan
thanScrooge;forhereturnedthemcordially.
“There’sanotherfellow,”mutteredScrooge;
die
whooverheardhim:“myclerk,
met
withfifteenshillingsaweek,en
andawifeandfamily,praten
talkingaboutamerryChristmas.I’llretiretoBedlam.”
Deze
Thislunatic,inlettingScrooge’snephewout,had
hadlettwootherpeoplein
in.Theywereportlygentlemen,pleasanttobehold,en
andnowstood,withtheirhatsoff,inScrooge’skantoor
office.Theyhadbooksandpapersintheirhands,
en
andbowedtohim.“Scrooge
en
andMarley’s,Ibelieve,”saideen
oneofthegentlemen,referringtohislist.“HaveI
het
thepleasureofaddressingMr.Scrooge,of
orMr.Marley?”“Mr.
Marleyhasbeen
dood
deadthesesevenyears,”Scroogereplied.“He
stierf
diedsevenyearsago,thisverynight.”“Wehavenodoubthisliberalityis
goed
wellrepresentedbyhissurvivingpartner,”zei
saidthegentleman,presentinghiscredentials.Itcertainlywas;
fortheyhadbeen
twee
twokindredspirits.Attheominous
woord
word“liberality,”Scroogefrowned,andshookhishoofd
head,andhandedthecredentialsterug
back.“Atthisfestiveseasonofthe
jaar
year,Mr.Scrooge,”saidthegentleman,nam
takingupapen,“itismeer
morethanusuallydesirablethatweshouldmaken
makesomeslightprovisionforthePooren
anddestitute,whosuffergreatlyatthepresentmoment
time.Manythousandsareinwantofcommonnecessaries;
hundredsofthousandsareinwantofcommoncomforts,sir.”
“Are
er
therenoprisons?”askedScrooge.
“Plentyofprisons,”
zei
saidthegentleman,layingdownde
thepenagain.“AndtheUnionworkhouses?”
demandedScrooge.
“Arethey
nog steeds
stillinoperation?”“Theyare.
Still,”returned
de
thegentleman,“IwishIkon
couldsaytheywerenot.”“TheTreadmill
en
andthePoorLawareinfullvigour,then?”zei
saidScrooge.“Bothverybusy,sir.”
“Oh!
Iwas
bang
afraid,fromwhatyousaidatfirst,dat
thatsomethinghadoccurredtostoppen
stopthemintheirusefulcourse,”zei
saidScrooge.“I’mverygladto
horen
hearit.”“Undertheimpression
dat
thattheyscarcelyfurnishChristiancheerofgeest
mindorbodytothemultitude,”returnedde
thegentleman,“afewofusareendeavouringtoraiseeen
afundtobuythePoorsomemeaten
anddrink,andmeansofwarmth.Wechoose
deze
thistime,becauseitiseen
atime,ofallothers,wanneer
whenWantiskeenlyfelt,en
andAbundancerejoices.WhatshallIputyoudownfor?”
“Nothing!”
Scroogereplied.
“You
wilt
wishtobeanonymous?”“I
wil
wishtobeleftalone,”zei
saidScrooge.“SinceyouaskmewhatI
wil
wish,gentlemen,thatismyantwoord
answer.