"Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you
point,’ said Scrooge, ‘answer me one question. Are these
the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they
shadows of things that May be, only.’
Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by
which it stood.
‘Men’s courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which,
if persevered in, they must lead,’ said Scrooge. ‘But if the
courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is
thus with what you show me.’
The Spirit was immovable as ever.
Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and
following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected
grave his own name, Ebenezer Scrooge.
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‘Am I that man who lay upon the bed.’ he cried, upon
his knees.
The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back
again.
‘No, Spirit. Oh no, no.’
The finger still was there.
‘Spirit.’ he cried, tight clutching at its robe,’ hear me. I
am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have
been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am
past all hope.’
For the first time the hand appeared to shake.
‘Good Spirit,’ he pursued, as down upon the ground he
fell before it:’ Your nature intercedes for me, and pities
me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you
have shown me, by an altered life.’
The kind hand trembled.
‘I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it
all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the
Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I
will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I
may sponge away the writing on this stone.’
In his agony, he caught the spectral hand. It sought to
free itself, but he was strong in his entreaty, and detained
it. The Spirit, stronger yet, repulsed him.
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Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate
aye reversed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom’s hood
and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a
bedpost.
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Stave 5: The End of It
Yes! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his
own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the
Time before him was his own, to make amends in!
‘I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future.’
Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. ‘The Spirits
of all Three shall strive within me. Oh Jacob Marley.
Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this. I say
it on my knees, old Jacob, on my knees.’
He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good
intentions, that his broken voice would scarcely answer to
his call. He had been sobbing violently in his conflict with
the Spirit, and his face was wet with tears.
‘They are not torn down.’ cried Scrooge, folding one
of his bed-curtains in his arms,’ they are not torn down,
rings and all. They are here — I am here — the shadows
of the things that would have been, may be dispelled.
They will be. I know they will.’
His hands were busy with his garments all this time;
turning them inside out, putting them on upside down,
tearing them, mislaying them, making them parties to
every kind of extravagance.
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‘I don’t know what to do.’ cried Scrooge, laughing and
crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoon
of himself with his stockings. ‘I am as light as a feather, I
am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. I
am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to
everybody. A happy New Year to all the world. Hallo
here. Whoop. Hallo.’
He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now
standing there: perfectly winded.
‘There’s the saucepan that the gruel was in.’ cried
Scrooge, starting off again, and going round the fireplace.
‘There’s the door, by which the Ghost of Jacob Marley
entered. There’s the corner where the Ghost of Christmas
Present, sat. There’s the window where I saw the
wandering Spirits. It’s all right, it’s all true, it all happened.
Ha ha ha.’
Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so
many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious
laugh. The father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs.
‘I don’t know what day of the month it is.’ said
Scrooge. ‘I don’t know how long I’ve been among the
Spirits. I don’t know anything. I’m quite a baby. Never
mind. I don’t care. I’d rather be a baby. Hallo. Whoop.
Hallo here.’
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He was checked in his transports by the churches
ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash,
clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding;
hammer, clang, clash. Oh, glorious, glorious.
Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his
head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold;
cold, piping for the blood to dance to; Golden sunlight;
Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious.
Glorious.
‘What’s to-day.’ cried Scrooge, calling downward to a
boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to
look about him.
‘Eh.’ returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.
‘What’s to-day, my fine fellow.’ said Scrooge.
‘To-day.’ replied the boy. ‘Why, Christmas Day.’
‘It’s Christmas Day.’ said Scrooge to himself. ‘I haven’t
missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. They
can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course
they can. Hallo, my fine fellow.’
‘Hallo.’ returned the boy.
‘Do you know the Poulterer’s, in the next street but
one, at the corner.’ Scrooge inquired.
‘I should hope I did,’ replied the lad.
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‘An intelligent boy.’ said Scrooge. ‘A remarkable boy.
Do you know whether they’ve sold the prize Turkey that
was hanging up there — Not the little prize Turkey: the
big one.’
‘What, the one as big as me.’ returned the boy.
‘What a delightful boy.’ said Scrooge. ‘It’s a pleasure to
talk to him. Yes, my buck.’
‘It’s hanging there now,’ replied the boy.
‘Is it.’ said Scrooge. ‘Go and buy it.’
‘Walk-er.’ exclaimed the boy.
‘No, no,’ said Scrooge, ‘I am in earnest. Go and buy it,
and tell them to bring it here, that I may give them the
direction where to take it. Come back with the man, and
I’ll give you a shilling. Come back with him in less than
five minutes and I’ll give you half-a-crown.’
The boy was off like a shot. He must have had a steady
hand at a trigger who could have got a shot off half so fast.
‘I’ll send it to Bon Cratchit’s.’ whispered Scrooge,
rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh. ‘He shan’t
know who sends it. It’s twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe
Miller never made such a joke as sending it to Bob’s will
be.’
The hand in which he wrote the address was not a
steady one, but write it he did, somehow, and went
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down-stairs to open the street door, ready for the coming
of the poulterer’s man. As he stood there, waiting his
arrival, the knocker caught his eye.
‘I shall love it, as long as I live.’ cried Scrooge, patting
it with his hand. ‘I scarcely ever looked at it before. What
an honest expression it has in its face. It’s a wonderful
knocker. — Here’s the Turkey. Hallo. Whoop. How are
you. Merry Christmas.’
It was a Turkey. He never could have stood upon his
legs, that bird. He would have snapped them short off in a
minute, like sticks of sealing-wax.
‘Why, it’s impossible to carry that to Camden Town,’
said Scrooge. ‘You must have a cab.’
The chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle
with which he paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with
which he paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he
recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the
chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair
again, and chuckled till he cried.
Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to
shake very much; and shaving requires attention, even
when you don’t dance while you are at it. But if he had
cut the end of his nose off, he would have put a piece of
sticking-plaster over it, and been quite satisfied.
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He dressed himself all in his best, and at last got out
into the streets. The people were by this time pouring
forth, as he had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas
Present; and walking with his hands behind him, Scrooge
regarded every one with a delighted smile. He looked so
irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four goodhumoured
fellows said,’ Good morning, sir. A merry
Christmas to you.’ And Scrooge said often afterwards, that
of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the
blithest in his ears.
He had not gone far, when coming on towards him he
beheld the portly gentleman, who had walked into his
counting-house the day before, and said,’ Scrooge and
Marley’s, I believe.’ It sent a pang across his heart to think
how this old gentleman would look upon him when they
met; but he knew what path lay straight before him, and
he took it.
‘My dear sir,’ said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and
taking the old gentleman by both his hands. ‘How do you
do. I hope you succeeded yesterday. It was very kind of
you. A merry Christmas to you, sir.’
‘Mr Scrooge.’
‘Yes,’ said Scrooge. ‘That is my name, and I fear it may
not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And
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will you have the goodness’ — here Scrooge whispered in
his ear.
‘Lord bless me.’ cried the gentleman, as if his breath
were taken away. ‘My dear Mr Scrooge, are you serious.’
‘If you please,’ said Scrooge. ‘Not a farthing less. A
great many back-payments are included in it, I assure you.
Will you do me that favour.’
‘My dear sir,’ said the other, shaking hands with him. ‘I
don’t know what to say to such munificence.’
‘Don’t say anything please,’ retorted Scrooge. ‘Come
and see me. Will you come and see me.’
‘I will.’ cried the old gentleman. And it was clear he
meant to do it.
‘Thank you,’ said Scrooge. ‘I am much obliged to you.
I thank you fifty times. Bless you.’
He went to church, and walked about the streets, and
watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted
children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked
down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows,
and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He
had never dreamed that any walk — that anything —
could give him so much happiness. In the afternoon he
turned his steps towards his nephew’s house.
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He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the
courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and did
it:
‘Is your master at home, my dear.’ said Scrooge to the
girl. Nice girl. Very.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Where is he, my love.’ said Scrooge.
‘He’s in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I’ll
show you up-stairs, if you please.’
‘Thank you. He knows me,’ said Scrooge, with his
hand already on the dining-room lock. ‘I’ll go in here, my
dear.’
He turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the
door. They were looking at the table (which was spread
out in great array); for these young housekeepers are
always nervous on such points, and like to see that
everything is right.
‘Fred.’ said Scrooge.
Dear heart alive, how his niece by marriage started.
Scrooge had forgotten, for the moment, about her sitting
in the corner with the footstool, or he wouldn’t have
done it, on any account.
‘Why bless my soul.’ cried Fred,’ who’s that.’
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‘It’s I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner.
Will you let me in, Fred.’
Let him in. It is a mercy he didn’t shake his arm off. He
was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier.
His niece looked just the same. So did Topper when he
came. So did the plump sister when she came. So did
every one when they came. Wonderful party, wonderful
games, wonderful unanimity, wonderful happiness.
But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he
was early there. If he could only be there first, and catch
Bob Cratchit coming late. That was the thing he had set
his heart upon.
And he did it; yes, he did. The clock struck nine. No
Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. He was full eighteen
minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his
door wide open, that he might see him come into the
Tank.
His hat was off, before he opened the door; his
comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy; driving away
with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o’clock.
‘Hallo.’ growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as
near as he could feign it. ‘What do you mean by coming
here at this time of day.’
‘I am very sorry, sir,’ said Bob. ‘I am behind my time.’
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‘You are.’ repeated Scrooge. ‘Yes. I think you are. Step
this way, sir, if you please.’
‘It’s only once a year, sir,’ pleaded Bob, appearing from
the Tank. ‘It shall not be repeated. I was making rather
merry yesterday, sir.’
‘Now, I’ll tell you what, my friend,’ said Scrooge,’ I am
not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And
therefore,’ he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving
Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into
the Tank again;’ and therefore I am about to raise your
salary.’
Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He
had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it,
holding him, and calling to the people in the court for
help and a strait-waistcoat.
‘A merry Christmas, Bob,’ said Scrooge, with an
earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him
on the back. ‘A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow,
than I have given you for many a year. I’ll raise your
salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and
we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a
Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob. Make up the
fires, and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another
i, Bob Cratchit.’
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Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and
infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was
a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a
master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or
any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good
old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in
him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he
was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on
this globe, for good, at which some people did not have
their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such
as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as
well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as
have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart
laughed: and that was quite enough for him.
He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived
upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and
it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep
Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge.
May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny
Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!
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