STAVEONE.
MARLEY’SGHOST.
Marleywasdead:
tobeginwith.
Thereisnodoubtwhateveraboutthat.
The
registre
registerofhisburialwassignedbytheclergyman,thegreffier
clerk,theundertaker,andthechiefmourner.Scroogesignedit:
andScrooge’snamewasgoodupon’Change,foranythinghechosetoputhishandto.
OldMarleywasasdeadasadoor-nail.
Mind!
Idon’tmeantosaythatIknow,ofmyownknowledge,whatthereis
particulièrement
particularlydeadaboutadoor-nail.Imighthavebeeninclined,myself,to
considérer
regardacoffin-nailasthedeadestpieceofironmongeryinthetrade.Butthe
sagesse
wisdomofourancestorsisinthesimile;andmyunhallowedhandsshallnot
dérangeront
disturbit,ortheCountry’sdonefor.Youwilltherefore
permettrez
permitmetorepeat,emphatically,thatMarleywasasdeadasadoor-nail.Scroogeknewhewasdead?
Ofcoursehedid.
Howcoulditbeotherwise?
ScroogeandhewerepartnersforIdon’tknowhowmanyyears.
Scroogewashis
seul
soleexecutor,hissoleadministrator,hisseul
soleassign,hissoleresiduarylegatee,hisseul
solefriend,andsolemourner.AndevenScroogewasnotsodreadfullycutupbythesadevent,butthathewasanexcellentmanofbusinessontheverydayofthefuneral,andsolemniseditwithanundoubted
affaire
bargain.ThementionofMarley’sfuneralbringsmebacktothepointIstartedfrom.
ThereisnodoubtthatMarleywasdead.
Thismustbedistinctlyunderstood,ornothingwonderfulcancomeofthestoryIamgoingtorelate.
IfwewerenotperfectlyconvincedthatHamlet’sFatherdiedbeforetheplaybegan,therewouldbenothingmore
remarquable
remarkableinhistakingapromenade
strollatnight,inaneasterlywind,uponhisownramparts,thantherewouldbeinanyothermiddle-agedgentlemanrashlyturningoutafterdarkinabreezyspot—saySaintPaul’sChurchyardforinstance—literallytoastonishhisson’sweakmind.ScroogeneverpaintedoutOldMarley’sname.
Thereitstood,yearsafterwards,abovethewarehousedoor:
ScroogeandMarley.
ThefirmwasknownasScroogeandMarley.
SometimespeoplenewtothebusinesscalledScroogeScrooge,andsometimesMarley,butheansweredtobothnames.
Itwasallthesametohim.
Oh!
Buthewasatight-fistedhandatthegrindstone,Scrooge!
a
serre
squeezing,wrenching,grasping,scraping,clutching,covetous,oldpécheur
sinner!Hardandsharpas
silex
flint,fromwhichnosteelhadeverstruckoutgénéreux
generousfire;secret,andself-contained,and
solitaire
solitaryasanoyster.Thecoldwithinhimfrozehisoldfeatures,nippedhispointednose,shrivelledhis
joue
cheek,stiffenedhisgait;madehiseyesred,histhinlipsblue;
andspokeoutshrewdlyinhisgratingvoice.
Afrostyrimewasonhishead,andonhiseyebrows,andhiswiry
menton
chin.Hecarriedhisownlow
température
temperaturealwaysaboutwithhim;heicedhisofficeinthedog-days;
anddidn’tthawitonedegreeatChristmas.
ExternalheatandcoldhadlittleinfluenceonScrooge.
No
chaleur
warmthcouldwarm,nowintryweatherchillhim.Nowindthatblewwasbittererthanhe,nofallingsnowwasmoreintentuponitspurpose,nopeltingrainlessopentoentreaty.
Foulweatherdidn’tknowwheretohavehim.
Theheaviestrain,andsnow,andhail,andsleet,could
vanter
boastoftheadvantageoverhiminonlyonerespect.Theyoften“camedown”handsomely,andScroogeneverdid.
Nobodyeverstoppedhiminthestreettosay,withgladsomelooks,“MydearScrooge,howareyou?
Whenwillyoucometoseeme?”
Nobeggars
supplié
imploredhimtobestowabagatelle
trifle,nochildrenaskedhimwhatitwaso’clock,nomanorwomaneveronceinallhislifeinquiredthewaytosuchandsuchaplace,ofScrooge.Eventheblindmen’sdogsappearedtoknowhim;
andwhentheysawhimcomingon,wouldtugtheirownersintodoorwaysandupcourts;
andthenwouldwagtheirtailsasthoughtheysaid,“Noeyeatallisbetterthananevileye,darkmaster!”
ButwhatdidScroogecare!
Itwastheverythingheliked.
Toedgehiswayalongthecrowdedpathsoflife,warningallhuman
sympathie
sympathytokeepitsdistance,waswhattheknowingonescall“nuts”toScrooge.Onceuponatime—ofallthegooddaysintheyear,onChristmasEve—oldScroogesatbusyinhiscounting-house.
Itwascold,
sombre
bleak,bitingweather:foggywithal:
andhecouldhearthepeopleinthecourtoutside,gowheezingupanddown,beatingtheirhandsupontheirbreasts,andstampingtheirfeetuponthe
trottoir
pavementstonestowarmthem.Thecityclockshadonlyjustgonethree,butitwasquitedarkalready—ithadnotbeenlightallday—andcandleswereflaringinthewindowsoftheneighbouringoffices,likeruddysmearsuponthepalpablebrownair.
The
brouillard
fogcamepouringinateverychinkandkeyhole,andwassodense
densewithout,thatalthoughthecourtwasofthenarrowest,thehousesoppositeweremerephantoms.Toseethedingy
nuage
cloudcomedroopingdown,obscuringeverything,onemighthavethoughtthatNaturelivedhardby,andwasbrasser
brewingonalargescale.ThedoorofScrooge’scounting-housewasopenthathemightkeephiseyeuponhis
greffier
clerk,whoinadismallittlecellbeyond,asortoftank,wascopyingletters.Scroogehadaverysmallfire,buttheclerk’sfirewassoverymuchsmallerthatitlookedlikeone
charbon
coal.Buthecouldn’treplenishit,forScroogekeptthecoal-boxinhisownroom;
andsosurelyasthe
greffier
clerkcameinwiththepelle
shovel,themasterpredictedthatitwouldbenecessaryforthemtopart.Whereforethe
greffier
clerkputonhiswhitecomforter,andtriedtowarmhimselfatthebougie
candle;inwhicheffort,notbeingamanofastrongimagination,hefailed.
“AmerryChristmas,uncle!
Godsaveyou!”
criedacheerfulvoice.
ItwasthevoiceofScrooge’snephew,whocameuponhimsoquicklythatthiswasthefirstintimationhehadofhisapproach.
“Bah!”
saidScrooge,“Humbug!”
Hehadsoheatedhimselfwithrapidwalkinginthe
brouillard
fogandfrost,thisnephewofScrooge’s,thathewasallinaglow;hisfacewasruddyandhandsome;
hiseyes
scintillaient
sparkled,andhisbreathsmokedagain.“Christmasahumbug,uncle!”
saidScrooge’snephew.
“Youdon’tmeanthat,Iamsure?”
“Ido,”saidScrooge.
“MerryChristmas!
Whatrighthaveyoutobemerry?
Whatreasonhaveyoutobemerry?
You’repoorenough.”
“Come,then,”returnedthenephewgaily.
“Whatrighthaveyoutobedismal?
Whatreasonhaveyoutobemorose?
You’rerichenough.”
Scroogehavingnobetteranswerreadyonthespurofthemoment,said,“Bah!”
again;
andfolloweditupwith“Humbug.”
“Don’tbecross,uncle!”
saidthenephew.
“WhatelsecanIbe,”returnedtheuncle,“whenIliveinsuchaworldoffoolsasthis?
MerryChristmas!
OutuponmerryChristmas!
What’sChristmastimetoyoubutatimeforpayingbillswithoutmoney;
atimeforfindingyourselfayearolder,butnotanhour
riche
richer;atimeforbalancingyourbooksandhavingeveryitemin’emthrougharound
douzaine
dozenofmonthspresenteddeadagainstyou?IfIcouldworkmywill,”saidScroogeindignantly,“everyidiotwhogoesaboutwith‘MerryChristmas’onhislips,shouldbe
bouilli
boiledwithhisownpudding,andburiedwithapieu
stakeofhollythroughhisheart.Heshould!”
“Uncle!”
supplié
pleadedthenephew.“Nephew!”
returnedtheunclesternly,“keepChristmasinyourownway,andletmekeepitinmine.”
“Keepit!”
repeatedScrooge’snephew.
“Butyoudon’tkeepit.”
“Letmeleaveitalone,then,”saidScrooge.
“Muchgoodmayitdoyou!
Muchgoodithaseverdoneyou!”
“TherearemanythingsfromwhichImighthavederivedgood,bywhichIhavenotprofited,Idaresay,”returnedthenephew.
“Christmasamongtherest.
ButIamsureIhavealwaysthoughtofChristmastime,whenithascomeround—apartfromthevenerationduetoitssacrednameand
origine
origin,ifanythingbelongingtoitcanbeapartfromthat—asagoodtime;akind,forgiving,
charité
charitable,pleasanttime;theonlytimeIknowof,inthelong
calendrier
calendaroftheyear,whenmenandwomenseembyoneconsenttoopentheirshut-upheartslibrement
freely,andtothinkofpeoplebelowthemasiftheyreallywerefellow-passengerstothegrave,andnotanotherraceofcreaturesboundonotherjourneys.Andtherefore,uncle,thoughithasneverputascrapofgoldorsilverinmypocket,Ibelievethatithasdonemegood,andwilldomegood;
andIsay,Godblessit!”
The
commis
clerkintheTankinvoluntarilyapplaudi
applauded.Becomingimmediatelysensibleoftheimpropriety,hepokedthefire,and
éteint
extinguishedthelastfrailsparkforever.“Letmehearanothersoundfromyou,”saidScrooge,“andyou’llkeepyourChristmasbylosingyoursituation!
You’requiteapowerful
orateur
speaker,sir,”headded,turningtohisnephew.“Iwonderyoudon’tgointoParliament.”
“Don’tbeangry,uncle.
Come!
Dinewithusto-morrow.”
Scroogesaidthathewouldseehim—yes,indeedhedid.
Hewentthewhole
longueur
lengthoftheexpression,andsaidthathewouldseehiminthatextremityfirst.“Butwhy?”
criedScrooge’snephew.
“Why?”
“Whydidyougetmarried?”
saidScrooge.
“BecauseIfellinlove.”
“Becauseyoufellinlove!”
growledScrooge,asifthatweretheonlyonethingintheworldmoreridiculousthanamerryChristmas.
“Goodafternoon!”
“Nay,uncle,butyounevercametoseemebeforethathappened.
Whygiveitasareasonfornotcomingnow?”
“Goodafternoon,”saidScrooge.
“Iwantnothingfromyou;
Iasknothingofyou;
whycannotwebefriends?”
“Goodafternoon,”saidScrooge.
“Iamsorry,withallmyheart,tofindyousoresolute.
Wehaveneverhadany
querelle
quarrel,towhichIhavebeenaparty.ButIhavemadethetrialin
hommage
homagetoChristmas,andI’llkeepmyChristmashumourtothelast.SoAMerryChristmas,uncle!”
“Goodafternoon!”
saidScrooge.
“AndAHappyNewYear!”
“Goodafternoon!”
saidScrooge.
Hisnephewlefttheroomwithoutanangryword,notwithstanding.
Hestoppedattheouterdoortobestowthe
salutations
greetingsoftheseasononthegreffier
clerk,who,coldashewas,waschaud
warmerthanScrooge;forhereturnedthemcordially.
“There’sanotherfellow,”mutteredScrooge;
whooverheardhim:
“my
greffier
clerk,withfifteenshillingsaweek,andawifeandfamily,talkingaboutamerryChristmas.I’ll
retirer
retiretoBedlam.”Thislunatic,inlettingScrooge’snephewout,hadlettwootherpeoplein.Theywereportlygentlemen,pleasanttobehold,andnowstood,withtheirhatsoff,inScrooge’soffice.
Theyhadbooksandpapersintheirhands,andbowedtohim.
“ScroogeandMarley’s,Ibelieve,”saidoneofthegentlemen,referringtohislist.
“HaveIthepleasureofaddressingMr.Scrooge,orMr.Marley?”
“Mr.
Marleyhasbeendeadthesesevenyears,”Scrooge
répondit
replied.“Hediedsevenyearsago,thisverynight.”
“Wehavenodoubthisliberalityiswellrepresentedbyhissurvivingpartner,”saidthegentleman,presentinghiscredentials.
Itcertainlywas;
fortheyhadbeentwokindredspirits.
Atthe
sinistre
ominousword“liberality,”Scroogefrowned,andshookhishead,andhandedthecredentialsback.“Atthis
festive
festiveseasonoftheyear,Mr.Scrooge,”saidthegentleman,takingupapen,“itismorethanusuallysouhaitable
desirablethatweshouldmakesomelégère
slightprovisionforthePooranddestitute,whosuffergrandement
greatlyatthepresenttime.Manythousandsareinwantofcommonnecessaries;
hundredsofthousandsareinwantofcommoncomforts,sir.”
“Aretherenoprisons?”
askedScrooge.
“Plentyofprisons,”saidthegentleman,layingdownthepenagain.
“AndtheUnionworkhouses?”
demandedScrooge.
“Aretheystillinoperation?”
“Theyare.
Still,”returnedthegentleman,“IwishIcouldsaytheywerenot.”
“TheTreadmillandthePoorLawareinfullvigour,then?”
saidScrooge.
“Bothverybusy,sir.”
“Oh!
Iwasafraid,fromwhatyousaidatfirst,thatsomethinghad
produit
occurredtostopthemintheirusefulcourse,”saidScrooge.“I’mverygladtohearit.”
“Undertheimpressionthatthey
à peine
scarcelyfurnishChristiancheerofmindorbodytothemultitude,”returnedthegentleman,“afewofusareendeavouringtoraiseafonds
fundtobuythePoorsomemeatanddrink,andmeansofchaleur
warmth.Wechoosethistime,becauseitisatime,ofallothers,whenWantiskeenlyfelt,andAbundancerejoices.
WhatshallIputyoudownfor?”
“Nothing!”
Scrooge
répondu
replied.“Youwishtobeanonymous?”
“Iwishtobeleftalone,”saidScrooge.
“SinceyouaskmewhatIwish,gentlemen,thatismyanswer.