STAVEONE.
MARLEY’SGHOST.
Marleywas
død
dead:tobeginwith.
Thereis
ingen
nodoubtwhateveraboutthat.Den
Theregisterofhisburialwassignert
signedbytheclergyman,theclerk,den
theundertaker,andthechiefmourner.Scrooge
signerte
signedit:andScrooge’snamewas
bra
goodupon’Change,foranythinghechosetosette
puthishandto.OldMarleywasas
død
deadasadoor-nail.Mind!
Idon’t
mener
meantosaythatIvet
know,ofmyownknowledge,whatthereisparticularlydød
deadaboutadoor-nail.I
kunne
mighthavebeeninclined,myself,toregarden
acoffin-nailasthedeadestpieceofironmongeryinden
thetrade.Butthewisdomofourancestorsisinthesimile;
og
andmyunhallowedhandsshallnotdisturbdet
it,ortheCountry’sdonefor
for.Youwillthereforepermitmetorepeat,emphatically,thatMarleywasas
død
deadasadoor-nail.Scrooge
visste
knewhewasdead?Of
selvfølgelig
coursehedid.Howcoulditbeotherwise?
Scrooge
og
andhewerepartnersforIdon’tvet
knowhowmanyyears.Scroogewashissoleexecutor,hissoleadministrator,hissoleassign,hissoleresiduarylegatee,hissole
venn
friend,andsolemourner.And
selv
evenScroogewasnotsodreadfullykuttet
cutupbythesadevent,men
butthathewasanexcellentmanofbusinessontheverydagen
dayofthefuneral,andsolemniseditmed
withanundoubtedbargain.ThementionofMarley’sfuneral
bringer
bringsmebacktothepointIstartedfra
from.ThereisnodoubtthatMarleywas
død
dead.Thismustbedistinctlyunderstood,or
noe
nothingwonderfulcancomeofthehistorien
storyIamgoingtorelate.IfwewerenotperfectlyconvincedthatHamlet’s
Far
Fatherdiedbeforetheplaybegan,thereville
wouldbenothingmoreremarkableinhistok
takingastrollatnight,inaneasterlywind,uponhisegne
ownramparts,thantherewouldbeinnoen
anyothermiddle-agedgentlemanrashlyturningut
outafterdarkinabreezyspot—saySaintPaul’sChurchyardforinstance—literallytoastonishhisson’sweaksinn
mind.Scroogeneverpaintedout
Gamle
OldMarley’sname.Thereitstood,yearsafterwards,abovethewarehousedoor:
Scrooge
og
andMarley.Thefirmwas
kjent
knownasScroogeandMarley.Noen ganger
Sometimespeoplenewtothebusinesskalt
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
nosteelhadeverstruckut
outgenerousfire;secret,andself-contained,
og
andsolitaryasanoyster.Den
Thecoldwithinhimfrozehisgamle
oldfeatures,nippedhispointednose,shrivelledhischeek,stiffenedhisgait;gjorde
madehiseyesred,histhinlipsblue;og
andspokeoutshrewdlyinhisgratingvoice.En
Afrostyrimewasonhishodet
head,andonhiseyebrows,og
andhiswirychin.Hecarriedhis
egen
ownlowtemperaturealwaysaboutmed
withhim;heicedhis
kontor
officeinthedog-days;anddidn’tthawit
en
onedegreeatChristmas.Externalheat
og
andcoldhadlittleinfluenceonScrooge.Ingen
Nowarmthcouldwarm,nowintryweatherchillham
him.Nowindthatblewwasbitterer
enn
thanhe,nofallingsnowwasmer
moreintentuponitspurpose,ingen
nopeltingrainlessopentoentreaty.Foulweatherdidn’t
visste
knowwheretohavehim.Den
Theheaviestrain,andsnow,og
andhail,andsleet,couldboastofden
theadvantageoverhiminbare
onlyonerespect.Theyoften“camedown”handsomely,
og
andScroogeneverdid.Nobodyever
stoppet
stoppedhiminthestreettosi
say,withgladsomelooks,“Mykjære
dearScrooge,howareyou?Når
Whenwillyoucometose
seeme?”Nobeggarsimploredhimtobestowatrifle,
ingen
nochildrenaskedhimwhatitwaso’clock,ingen
nomanorwomanevergang
onceinallhislifeinquiredtheveien
waytosuchandsuchasted
place,ofScrooge.Eventheblindmen’sdogsappearedto
kjenne
knowhim;andwhenthey
så
sawhimcomingon,wouldtugtheirownersintodoorwaysog
andupcourts;andthen
ville
wouldwagtheirtailsasom
thoughtheysaid,“Noeyeatallisbedre
betterthananevileye,darkmaster!”Men
ButwhatdidScroogecare!Itwastheverythinghe
likte
liked.Toedgehisway
langs
alongthecrowdedpathsoflivet
life,warningallhumansympathytoholde
keepitsdistance,waswhatde
theknowingonescall“nuts”toScrooge.Onceupon
en
atime—ofallthegooddaysinde
theyear,onChristmasEve—oldScroogesatt
satbusyinhiscounting-house.Itwas
kaldt
cold,bleak,bitingweather:foggywithal:
og
andhecouldhearthefolk
peopleinthecourtoutside,gå
gowheezingupanddown,slå
beatingtheirhandsupontheirbreasts,og
andstampingtheirfeetuponthepavementstonestowarmdem
them.Thecityclockshadonlyjust
gått
gonethree,butitwasganske
quitedarkalready—ithadnotbeenlys
lightallday—andcandleswereflaringinthewindowsoftheneighbouringoffices,som
likeruddysmearsuponthepalpablebrownair.Den
Thefogcamepouringinathver
everychinkandkeyhole,andwassodensewithout,at
thatalthoughthecourtwasofden
thenarrowest,thehousesoppositeweremerephantoms.To
se
seethedingycloudcomedroopingned
down,obscuringeverything,onemightha
havethoughtthatNaturelivedhardt
hardby,andwasbrewingonalargescale.The
døren
doorofScrooge’scounting-housewasåpen
openthathemightkeephiseyeuponhisclerk,whoinen
adismallittlecellbeyond,en
asortoftank,wascopyingletters.Scrooge
hadde
hadaverysmallfire,men
buttheclerk’sfirewassoveldig
verymuchsmallerthatitså
lookedlikeonecoal.Buthecouldn’treplenish
det
it,forScroogekeptthecoal-boxinhiseget
ownroom;andsosurelyastheclerk
kom
cameinwiththeshovel,themasterpredictedthatitville
wouldbenecessaryforthemtopart.Whereforetheclerk
satte
putonhiswhitecomforter,og
andtriedtowarmhimselfatthecandle;inwhicheffort,notbeing
en
amanofastrongimagination,hefailed.“AmerryChristmas,
onkel
uncle!Godsaveyou!”
cried
en
acheerfulvoice.ItwasthevoiceofScrooge’snephew,who
kom
cameuponhimsoquicklythatdette
thiswasthefirstintimationhehadde
hadofhisapproach.“Bah!”
sa
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,”
sa
saidScrooge.“MerryChristmas!
What
rett
righthaveyoutobemerry?What
grunn
reasonhaveyoutobemerry?You’repoorenough.”
“Come,then,”
returnerte
returnedthenephewgaily.“What
rett
righthaveyoutobedismal?What
grunn
reasonhaveyoutobemorose?You’rerichenough.”
Scrooge
hadde
havingnobetteranswerreadyonthespuroftheøyeblikket
moment,said,“Bah!”again;
and
fulgte
followeditupwith“Humbug.”“Don’tbecross,uncle!”
sa
saidthenephew.“Whatelse
kan
canIbe,”returnedtheuncle,“whenIlever
liveinsuchaworldoffoolsasdette
this?MerryChristmas!
OutuponmerryChristmas!
What’sChristmas
tid
timetoyoubutatid
timeforpayingbillswithoutpenger
money;atimeforfindingyourselfa
år
yearolder,butnotantime
hourricher;atimeforbalancingyourbooks
og
andhavingeveryitemin’emgjennom
througharounddozenofmonthspresenteddøde
deadagainstyou?IfI
kunne
couldworkmywill,”saidScroogeindignantly,“everyidiotsom
whogoesaboutwith‘MerryChristmas’onhislips,bør
shouldbeboiledwithhisegen
ownpudding,andburiedwithen
astakeofhollythroughhishjertet
heart.Heshould!”
“Uncle!”
pleadedthenephew.
“Nephew!”
returnedtheunclesternly,“keepChristmasinyour
egen
ownway,andletmeholde
keepitinmine.”“Keepit!”
repeatedScrooge’snephew.
“Butyoudon’tkeepit.”
“Letmeleaveitalone,then,”
sa
saidScrooge.“Muchgoodmayit
gjøre
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;theonlytimeI
vet
knowof,inthelongcalendaroftheåret
year,whenmenandwomenseembyoneconsenttoåpne
opentheirshut-upheartsfreely,og
andtothinkofpeoplebelowthemasom
iftheyreallywerefellow-passengerstothegrave,og
andnotanotherraceofcreaturesboundonotherjourneys.Og
Andtherefore,uncle,thoughithar
hasneverputascrapofgoldeller
orsilverinmypocket,Itror
believethatithasdonemebra
good,andwilldomebra
good;andIsay,Godblessit!”
TheclerkintheTankinvoluntarilyapplauded.
Bli
Becomingimmediatelysensibleoftheimpropriety,hepokedden
thefire,andextinguishedthesiste
lastfrailsparkforever.“Letme
høre
hearanothersoundfromyou,”sa
saidScrooge,“andyou’llkeepyourChristmasbymiste
losingyoursituation!You’requite
en
apowerfulspeaker,sir,”headded,turningtohisnephew.“Iwonderyoudon’t
går
gointoParliament.”“Don’tbeangry,
onkel
uncle.Come!
Dinewithusto-morrow.”
Scrooge
sa
saidthathewouldseehim—yes,indeedhegjorde
did.Hewentthewholelengthof
den
theexpression,andsaidthatheville
wouldseehiminthatextremityførst
first.“Butwhy?”
criedScrooge’snephew.
“Why?”
“Whydidyougetmarried?”
sa
saidScrooge.“BecauseIfellinlove.”
“Becauseyoufellinlove!”
growledScrooge,as
om
ifthatweretheonlyonethinginden
theworldmoreridiculousthanamerryChristmas.“Goodafternoon!”
“Nay,
onkel
uncle,butyounevercametose
seemebeforethathappened.Hvorfor
Whygiveitasagrunn
reasonfornotcomingnow?”“Goodafternoon,”
sa
saidScrooge.“Iwantnothingfromyou;
I
ber
asknothingofyou;whycannotwebefriends?”
“Goodafternoon,”
sa
saidScrooge.“Iamsorry,withallmy
hjerte
heart,tofindyousoresolute.We
har
haveneverhadanyquarrel,tosom
whichIhavebeenapart
party.ButIhavemadethetrialinhomagetoChristmas,
og
andI’llkeepmyChristmashumourtothesiste
last.SoAMerryChristmas,uncle!”
“Goodafternoon!”
sa
saidScrooge.“AndAHappy
Nytt
NewYear!”“Goodafternoon!”
saidScrooge.
Hisnephew
forlot
lefttheroomwithoutanangryord
word,notwithstanding.Hestoppedat
den
theouterdoortobestowden
thegreetingsoftheseasononden
theclerk,who,coldashewas,waswarmerenn
thanScrooge;forhereturnedthemcordially.
“There’sanotherfellow,”mutteredScrooge;
som
whooverheardhim:“myclerk,
med
withfifteenshillingsaweek,og
andawifeandfamily,snakker
talkingaboutamerryChristmas.I’llretiretoBedlam.”
Denne
Thislunatic,inlettingScrooge’snephewut
out,hadlettwoothermennesker
peoplein.Theywereportlygentlemen,pleasanttobehold,og
andnowstood,withtheirhatsav
off,inScrooge’soffice.They
hadde
hadbooksandpapersintheirhands,og
andbowedtohim.“Scrooge
og
andMarley’s,Ibelieve,”saiden
oneofthegentlemen,referringtohislist.“HaveIthepleasureofaddressingMr.Scrooge,
eller
orMr.Marley?”“Mr.
Marley
har
hasbeendeadthesesevenyears,”Scroogereplied.“He
døde
diedsevenyearsago,thisverynight.”“We
har
havenodoubthisliberalityisgodt
wellrepresentedbyhissurvivingpartner,”sa
saidthegentleman,presentinghiscredentials.Itcertainlywas;
forthey
hadde
hadbeentwokindredspirits.Attheominous
ordet
word“liberality,”Scroogefrowned,andshookhishodet
head,andhandedthecredentialstilbake
back.“Atthisfestiveseasonof
de
theyear,Mr.Scrooge,”saidde
thegentleman,takingupapen,“itismer
morethanusuallydesirablethatwebør
shouldmakesomeslightprovisionforde
thePooranddestitute,whosuffergreatlyatde
thepresenttime.Manythousandsareinwantofcommonnecessaries;
hundredsofthousandsareinwantofcommoncomforts,sir.”
“Are
det
therenoprisons?”askedScrooge.
“Plentyofprisons,”
sa
saidthegentleman,layingdownthepenigjen
again.“AndtheUnionworkhouses?”
demandedScrooge.
“Arethey
fortsatt
stillinoperation?”“Theyare.
Still,”returnedthegentleman,“IwishI
kunne
couldsaytheywerenot.”“TheTreadmill
og
andthePoorLawareinfull
fullvigour,then?”saidScrooge.
“Both
veldig
verybusy,sir.”“Oh!
Iwas
redd
afraid,fromwhatyousaidatfirst,thatnoe
somethinghadoccurredtostopthemintheirusefulcourse,”sa
saidScrooge.“I’mverygladto
høre
hearit.”“Undertheimpression
at
thattheyscarcelyfurnishChristiancheerofsinn
mindorbodytothemultitude,”returnedthegentleman,“afewofusareendeavouringtoraiseen
afundtobuytheFattige
Poorsomemeatanddrink,og
andmeansofwarmth.Wechoose
denne
thistime,becauseitisen
atime,ofallothers,når
whenWantiskeenlyfelt,og
andAbundancerejoices.WhatshallI
sette
putyoudownfor?”“Nothing!”
Scroogereplied.
“Youwishtobeanonymous?”
“I
ønsker
wishtobeleftalone,”sa
saidScrooge.“SinceyouaskmewhatI
ønsker
wish,gentlemen,thatismysvar
answer.