STAVEONE.
MARLEY’SGHOST.
Marleywasdead:
to
begynne
beginwith.Thereisno
tvil
doubtwhateveraboutthat.Theregisterofhisburialwassignedbytheclergyman,theclerk,theundertaker,andthechiefmourner.
Scroogesignedit:
andScrooge’snamewasgoodupon’Change,foranythinghe
valgte
chosetoputhishandto.OldMarleywasasdeadasadoor-nail.
Mind!
Idon’tmeantosaythatIknow,ofmyownknowledge,whatthereisparticularlydeadaboutadoor-nail.
Imighthavebeeninclined,myself,toregardacoffin-nailasthedeadest
stykke
pieceofironmongeryinthetrade.Butthewisdomofourancestorsisinthesimile;
andmyunhallowedhandsshallnotdisturbit,ortheCountry’sdonefor.
Youwillthereforepermitmetorepeat,emphatically,thatMarleywasasdeadasadoor-nail.
Scroogeknewhewasdead?
Ofcoursehedid.
Howcoulditbeotherwise?
ScroogeandhewerepartnersforIdon’tknowhowmanyyears.
Scroogewashissoleexecutor,hissoleadministrator,hissoleassign,hissoleresiduarylegatee,hissolefriend,andsolemourner.
AndevenScroogewasnotsodreadfullycutupbythesadevent,butthathewasan
utmerket
excellentmanofbusinessontheverydayofthefuneral,andsolemniseditwithanundoubtedbargain.ThementionofMarley’sfuneralbringsmebacktothepointIstartedfrom.
Thereisno
tvil
doubtthatMarleywasdead.Thismustbedistinctlyunderstood,ornothing
vidunderlig
wonderfulcancomeofthestoryIamgoingtorelate.IfwewerenotperfectlyconvincedthatHamlet’sFatherdiedbeforetheplay
begynte
began,therewouldbenothingmoreremarkableinhistakingastrollatnight,inaneasterlyvind
wind,uponhisownramparts,thantherewouldbeinanyothermiddle-agedgentlemanrashlyturningoutaftermørket
darkinabreezyspot—saySaintPaul’sChurchyardforinstance—literallytoastonishhisson’sweakmind.ScroogeneverpaintedoutOldMarley’sname.
Thereitstood,yearsafterwards,
over
abovethewarehousedoor:ScroogeandMarley.
ThefirmwasknownasScroogeandMarley.
SometimespeoplenewtothebusinesscalledScroogeScrooge,andsometimesMarley,butheansweredtobothnames.
Itwasallthesametohim.
Oh!
Buthewasatight-fistedhandatthegrindstone,Scrooge!
asqueezing,wrenching,grasping,scraping,clutching,covetous,oldsinner!
Hardandsharpasflint,fromwhichnosteelhadeverstruckoutgenerousfire;
hemmelig
secret,andself-contained,andsolitaryasanoyster.Thecoldwithinhimfrozehisoldfeatures,nippedhispointed
nese
nose,shrivelledhischeek,stiffenedhisgait;madehiseyesred,histhinlips
blå
blue;andspokeoutshrewdlyinhisgrating
stemme
voice.Afrostyrimewasonhishead,andonhiseyebrows,andhiswirychin.
He
bar
carriedhisownlowtemperaturealwaysaboutwithhim;heicedhisofficeinthedog-days;
anddidn’tthawitonedegreeat
Julen
Christmas.ExternalheatandcoldhadlittleinfluenceonScrooge.
Nowarmthcouldwarm,nowintryweatherchillhim.
No
vind
windthatblewwasbittererthanhe,nofallingsnowwasmoreintentuponitspurpose,nopeltingregn
rainlessopentoentreaty.Foulweatherdidn’tknowwheretohavehim.
Theheaviest
regn
rain,andsnow,andhail,andsleet,couldboastoftheadvantageoverhiminonlyonerespect.They
ofte
often“camedown”handsomely,andScroogeneverdid.Nobodyeverstoppedhiminthestreettosay,withgladsomelooks,“MydearScrooge,howareyou?
Whenwillyoucometoseeme?”
Nobeggarsimploredhimtobestowatrifle,nochildrenaskedhimwhatitwaso’clock,nomanorwomaneveronceinallhislifeinquiredthewaytosuchandsuchaplace,ofScrooge.
Eventheblindmen’sdogsappearedtoknowhim;
andwhentheysawhimcomingon,wouldtugtheirownersintodoorwaysandupcourts;
andthenwouldwagtheirtailsasthoughtheysaid,“No
øye
eyeatallisbetterthananondt
evileye,darkmaster!”ButwhatdidScroogecare!
Itwastheverythingheliked.
Toedgehiswayalongthecrowdedpathsoflife,warningallhumansympathytokeepitsdistance,waswhattheknowingonescall“nuts”toScrooge.
Onceuponatime—ofallthegooddaysintheyear,onChristmasEve—oldScroogesat
opptatt
busyinhiscounting-house.Itwascold,bleak,bitingweather:
foggywithal:
andhecouldhearthepeopleinthecourtoutside,gowheezingupanddown,beatingtheirhandsupontheirbreasts,andstampingtheir
føtter
feetuponthepavementstonestovarme
warmthem.Thecityclockshadonlyjustgonethree,butitwasquite
mørkt
darkalready—ithadnotbeenlightallday—andcandleswereflaringinthewindowsoftheneighbouringoffices,likeruddysmearsuponthepalpablebrownair.Thefogcamepouringinateverychinkandkeyhole,andwassodensewithout,thatalthoughthe
retten
courtwasofthenarrowest,thehousesoppositeweremerephantoms.Toseethedingycloudcomedroopingdown,obscuringeverything,onemighthavethoughtthatNaturelivedhardby,andwasbrewingona
stor
largescale.ThedoorofScrooge’scounting-housewasopenthathemightkeephis
øye
eyeuponhisclerk,whoinadismallittlecelle
cellbeyond,asortoftank,wascopyingletters.Scroogehadaverysmallfire,buttheclerk’sfirewassoverymuchsmallerthatitlookedlikeonecoal.
Buthecouldn’treplenishit,forScroogekeptthecoal-boxinhisownroom;
andsosurelyastheclerkcameinwiththeshovel,themasterpredictedthatitwouldbe
nødvendig
necessaryforthemtopart.Whereforetheclerkputonhiswhitecomforter,andtriedto
varme
warmhimselfatthecandle;inwhicheffort,notbeingamanofa
sterk
strongimagination,hefailed.“Amerry
Jul
Christmas,uncle!Godsaveyou!”
criedacheerful
stemme
voice.ItwasthevoiceofScrooge’snephew,whocameuponhimso
raskt
quicklythatthiswasthefirstintimationhehadofhisapproach.“Bah!”
saidScrooge,“Humbug!”
Hehadsoheatedhimselfwithrapidwalkinginthefogandfrost,thisnephewofScrooge’s,thathewasallinaglow;
hisfacewasruddyandhandsome;
hiseyessparkled,andhisbreath
røykte
smokedagain.“Christmasahumbug,uncle!”
saidScrooge’snephew.
“Youdon’tmeanthat,Iamsure?”
“Ido,”saidScrooge.
“Merry
Jul
Christmas!Whatrighthaveyoutobemerry?
Whatreasonhaveyoutobemerry?
You’repoorenough.”
“Come,then,”returnedthenephewgaily.
“Whatrighthaveyoutobedismal?
Whatreasonhaveyoutobemorose?
You’re
rik
richenough.”Scroogehavingnobetteranswerreadyonthespurofthemoment,said,“Bah!”
again;
andfolloweditupwith“Humbug.”
“Don’tbecross,uncle!”
saidthenephew.
“WhatelsecanIbe,”returnedtheuncle,“whenIliveinsuchaworldoffoolsasthis?
Merry
Jul
Christmas!OutuponmerryChristmas!
What’sChristmastimetoyoubutatimeforpayingbillswithoutmoney;
atimeforfindingyourselfayearolder,butnotanhourricher;
atimeforbalancingyourbooksandhavingeveryitemin’emthrougha
rundt
rounddozenofmonthspresenteddeadagainstyou?IfIcouldworkmywill,”saidScroogeindignantly,“every
idiot
idiotwhogoesaboutwith‘MerryChristmas’onhislips,shouldbeboiledwithhisownpudding,andburiedwithastakeofhollythroughhisheart.Heshould!”
“Uncle!”
pleadedthenephew.
“Nephew!”
returnedtheunclesternly,“keep
Julen
Christmasinyourownway,andletmekeepitinmine.”“Keepit!”
repeatedScrooge’snephew.
“Butyoudon’tkeepit.”
“Letmeleaveitalone,then,”saidScrooge.
“Muchgoodmayitdoyou!
Muchgoodithaseverdoneyou!”
“TherearemanythingsfromwhichImighthavederivedgood,bywhichIhavenotprofited,I
tør
daresay,”returnedthenephew.“Christmasamongtherest.
ButIamsureIhavealwaysthoughtofChristmastime,whenithascomeround—apartfromthevenerationduetoitssacrednameandorigin,ifanythingbelongingtoitcanbe
bortsett
apartfromthat—asagoodtime;akind,forgiving,charitable,pleasanttime;
theonlytimeIknowof,inthelongcalendaroftheyear,whenmenandwomen
ser ut
seembyoneconsenttoopentheirshut-upheartsfreely,andtothinkofpeoplebelowthemasiftheyreallywerefellow-passengerstothegrave,andnotanotherrase
raceofcreaturesboundonotherjourneys.Andtherefore,uncle,thoughithasneverputascrapof
gull
goldorsilverinmypocket,Ibelievethatithasdonemegood,andwilldomegood;andIsay,Godblessit!”
TheclerkintheTankinvoluntarilyapplauded.
Becoming
umiddelbart
immediatelysensibleoftheimpropriety,hepokedthefire,andextinguishedthelastfrailsparkforever.“Letmehearanothersoundfromyou,”saidScrooge,“andyou’llkeepyour
Jul
Christmasbylosingyoursituation!You’requiteapowerfulspeaker,sir,”headded,turningtohisnephew.
“I
lurer
wonderyoudon’tgointoParliament.”“Don’tbe
sint
angry,uncle.Come!
Dinewithusto-morrow.”
Scroogesaidthathewouldseehim—yes,indeedhedid.
Hewentthewholelengthoftheexpression,andsaidthathewouldseehiminthatextremityfirst.
“Butwhy?”
criedScrooge’snephew.
“Why?”
“Whydidyougetmarried?”
saidScrooge.
“BecauseIfellinlove.”
“Becauseyoufellinlove!”
growledScrooge,asifthatweretheonlyonethingintheworldmore
latterlig
ridiculousthanamerryChristmas.“Goodafternoon!”
“Nay,uncle,butyounevercametoseemebeforethathappened.
Whygiveitasareasonfornotcomingnow?”
“Goodafternoon,”saidScrooge.
“Iwantnothingfromyou;
Iasknothingofyou;
whycannotwebefriends?”
“Goodafternoon,”saidScrooge.
“Iamsorry,withallmyheart,tofindyousoresolute.
Wehaveneverhadanyquarrel,towhichIhavebeenaparty.
ButIhavemadethetrialinhomageto
Jul
Christmas,andI’llkeepmyJul
Christmashumourtothelast.SoAMerry
Jul
Christmas,uncle!”“Goodafternoon!”
saidScrooge.
“AndAHappyNewYear!”
“Goodafternoon!”
saidScrooge.
Hisnephewlefttheroomwithoutan
sint
angryword,notwithstanding.Hestoppedattheouterdoortobestowthegreetingsoftheseasonontheclerk,who,coldashewas,waswarmerthanScrooge;
forhereturnedthemcordially.
“There’sanotherfellow,”mutteredScrooge;
whooverheardhim:
“myclerk,withfifteenshillingsaweek,andawifeandfamily,talkingaboutamerry
Jul
Christmas.I’llretiretoBedlam.”
Thislunatic,inlettingScrooge’snephewout,hadlettwootherpeoplein.Theywereportlygentlemen,pleasanttobehold,andnowstood,withtheirhatsoff,inScrooge’soffice.
Theyhadbooksandpapersintheirhands,andbowedtohim.
“ScroogeandMarley’s,Ibelieve,”saidoneofthegentlemen,referringtohis
liste
list.“HaveIthepleasureofaddressingMr.Scrooge,orMr.Marley?”
“Mr.
Marleyhasbeendeadthese
syv
sevenyears,”Scroogereplied.“Hedied
syv
sevenyearsago,thisverynight.”“Wehaveno
tvil
doubthisliberalityiswellrepresentedbyhissurvivingpartner,”saidthegentleman,presenterte
presentinghiscredentials.Itcertainlywas;
fortheyhadbeentwokindredspirits.
Attheominousword“liberality,”Scroogefrowned,andshookhishead,andhandedthecredentialsback.
“Atthisfestiveseasonoftheyear,Mr.Scrooge,”saidthegentleman,takingupapen,“itismorethan
vanligvis
usuallydesirablethatweshouldmakesomeslightprovisionforthePooranddestitute,whosuffergreatlyatthepresenttime.Manythousandsareinwantofcommonnecessaries;
hundredsofthousandsareinwantofcommoncomforts,sir.”
“Aretherenoprisons?”
askedScrooge.
“Plentyofprisons,”saidthegentleman,
la
layingdownthepenagain.“AndtheUnionworkhouses?”
demandedScrooge.
“Aretheystillinoperation?”
“Theyare.
Still,”returnedthegentleman,“IwishIcouldsaytheywerenot.”
“TheTreadmillandthePoorLawareinfullvigour,then?”
saidScrooge.
“Bothvery
opptatt
busy,sir.”“Oh!
Iwasafraid,fromwhatyousaidatfirst,thatsomethinghadoccurredtostopthemintheirusefulcourse,”saidScrooge.
“I’mvery
glad
gladtohearit.”“UndertheimpressionthattheyscarcelyfurnishChristiancheerofmindorbodytothemultitude,”returnedthegentleman,“afewofusareendeavouringtoraiseafundtobuythePoorsome
kjøtt
meatanddrink,andmeansofwarmth.We
velger
choosethistime,becauseitisatime,ofallothers,whenWantiskeenlyfelt,andAbundancerejoices.WhatshallIputyoudownfor?”
“Nothing!”
Scroogereplied.
“Youwishtobeanonymous?”
“Iwishtobeleftalone,”saidScrooge.
“SinceyouaskmewhatIwish,gentlemen,thatismyanswer.