A Christmas Carol — Stave Three : The Second of the Three Spirits (part 2)
by Charles Dickens
By this time it was getting dark and snowing
pretty heavily; and, as Scrooge and the Spirit
went along the streets, the brightness of the
roaring fires in kitchens, parlors, and all sorts
of rooms, was wonderful. Here, the flickering
of the blaze showed preparations for a cosy
dinner, with hot plates baking through and
through before the fire, and deep red curtains,
ready to be drawn to shut out cold and dark-
ness. There, all the children of the house were
running out into the snow to meet their mar-
ried sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, and
be the first to greet them. Here, again, were
shadows on the window-blinds of guests assem-
bling, and there a group of handsome girls, all
hooded and fur-booted, and all chattering at
once, tripped lightly off to some near neighbor's
house; where, woe upon the single man who saw
them enter — artful witches, well they knew it
— in a glow.
But, if you had judged from the numbers of
people on their way to friendly gatherings, you
might have thought that no one was at home
to give them welcome when they got there, in-
stead of every house expecting company, and
piling up its fires half-chimney high. Blessings
on it, how the Ghost exulted! How it bared its
breadth of breast, and opened its capacious
palm, and floated on, outpouring, with a gen-
erous hand, its bright and harmless mirth on
everything within its reach! The very lamp-
lighter, who ran on before, dotting the dusky
streets with specks of light, and who was
dressed to spend the evening somewhere,
laughed out loud as the Spirit passed, though
little kenned the lamplighter that he had any
company but Christmas!
And now, without a word of warning from
the Ghost, they stood upon a bleak and desert
moor, where monstrous masses of rude stone
were cast about, as though it were the burial-
place of giants; and water spread itself where-
soever it listed; or would have done so, but for
the frost that held it prisoner; and nothing
grew but moss and furze, and coarse, rank
grass. Down in the west the setting sun had
left a streak of fiery red, which glared upon
the desolation for an instant, like a sullen eye,
and frowning lower, lower, lower yet, was lost
in the thick gloom of darkest night.
"What place is this?" asked Scrooge.
"A place where miners live, who labor in the
bowels of the earth," returned the Spirit. "But
they know me. See!"
A light shone from the window of the hut,
and swiftly they advanced toward it. Passing
through the wall of mud and stone, they found
a cheerful company assembled round a glowing
fire. An old, old man and woman, with their
children, and their children's children, and an-
other generation beyond that, all decked out
gaily in their holiday attire. The old man, in
a voice that seldom rose above the howling of
the wind upon the barren waste, was singing
them a Christmas song; it had been a very old
song when he was a boy; and from time to time
they all joined in the chorus. So surely as they
raised their voices, the old man got quite blithe
and loud; and so surely as they stopped, his
vigor sank again.
The Spirit did not tarry here, but bade
Scrooge hold his robe, and passing on above
the moor, sped whither? Not to sea? To sea.
To Scrooge's horror, looking back, he saw the
last of the land, a frightful range of rocks,
behind them; and his ears were deafened by
the thundering of water as it rolled , and
roared, and raged among the dreadful caverns
it had worn, and fiercely tried to undermine
the earth.
Built upon a dismal reef of sunken rocks,
some league or so from shore, on which the wa-
ters chafed and dashed, the wild year through,
there stood a solitary lighthouse. Great heaps
of sea-weed clung to its base, and storm-birds
— born of the wind one might suppose, as sea-
weed of the water — rose and fell about it, like
the waves they skimmed.
But even here, two men who watched the light
had made a fire, that through the loophole in
the thick stone wall shed out a ray of bright-
ness on the awful sea. Joining their horny
hands over the rough table at which they sat,
they wished each other Merry Christmas in their
can of grog; and one of them — the elder too,
with his face all damaged and scarred with hard
weather, as the figure-head of an old ship might
be — struck up a sturdy song that was like a
gale in itself.
Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and
heaving sea — on, on — until being far away, as
he told Scrooge, from any shore, they lighted
on a ship. They stood beside the helmsman at
the wheel, the look-out in the bow, the officers
who had the watch; dark, ghostly figures in
their several stations; but every man among
them hummed a Christmas tune, or had a
Christmas thought, or spoke below his breath
to his companion of some by-gone Christmas
Day, with homeward hopes belonging to it. And
every man on board, waking or sleeping, good
or bad, had had a kinder word for one another
on that day than on any day in the year; and
had shared to some extent in its festivities; and
had remembered those he cared for at a dis-
tance, and had known that they delighted to
remember him.
It was a great surprise to Scrooge, while lis-
tening to the moaning of the wind, and think-
ing what a solemn thing it was to move on
through the lonely darkness over an unknown
abyss, whose depths were secrets as profound
as Death; it was a great surprise to Scrooge,
while thus engaged, to hear a hearty laugh. It
was a much greater surprise to Scrooge to rec-
ognize it as his nephew's, and to find himself
standing smiling by his side, and looking at
that same nephew with approving affability!
"Ha! ha!" laughed Scrooge's nephew. "Ha, ha!"
If you should happen, by any likely chance,
to know a man more blessed in a laugh than
Scrooge's nephew, all I can say is, I should
like to know him too. Introduce him to me,
and I'll cultivate his acquaintance.
It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of
things, that while there is infection in disease
and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so
irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-
humor. When Scrooge's nephew laughed in this
way: holding his sides, rolling his head, and
twisting his face into the most extravagant con-
tortions: Scrooge's niece, by marriage, laughed
as heartily as he. And their assembled friends
being not a bit behindhand, roared out lustily.
"Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha ,ha!"
"He said the Christmas was a humbug, as I
live!" cried Scrooge's nephew. "He believed it,
too!"
"More shame for him, Fred!" said Scrooge's
niece indignantly. Bless those women! they
never do anything by halves. They are always
in earnest.
She was very pretty; exceedingly pretty.
With a dimpled, surprised-looking, capital face;
a ripe little mouth, that seemed made to be
kissed — as no doubt it was; all kinds of good
little dots about her chin, that melted into one
another when she laughed; and the sunniest
pair of eyes you ever saw in any little creature's
head. Altogether she was what you would have
called provoking, you know; but satisfactory,
too. Oh, perfectly satisfactory.
"He's a comical fellow," said Scrooge's
nephew, "that's the truth; and not so pleasant
as he might be. However, his offences carry
their own punishment, and I have nothing to
say against him."
"I'm sure he is very rich, Fred," hinted
Scrooge's niece. "At least you always tell me so."
"What of that, my dear?" said Scrooge's
nephew. "His wealth is of no use to him. He
don't do any good with it. He don't make him-
self comfortable with it. He hasn't the satis-
faction of thinking — ha, ha ha! — that he is
ever going to benefit Us with it."
"I have no patience with him," observed
Scrooge's niece. Scrooge's niece's sisters, and
all the other ladies, expressed the same opinion.
"Oh, I have!" said Scrooge's nephew. "I am
sorry for him; I couldn't be angry with him if
I tried. Who suffers by his ill whims? Him-
self, always. Here, he takes it into his head
to dislike us, and he won't come and dine with
us. What's the consequence? He don't lose
much of a dinner ."
"Indeed, I think he loses a very good din-
ner," interrupted Scrooge's niece. Everybody
else said the same, and they must be allowed
to have been competent judges, because they
had just had dinner; and with the desert upon
the table, were clustered around the fire, by
lamplight.
"Well! I am very glad to hear it," said
Scrooge's nephew, "because I haven't any great
faith in these young housekeepers. What do
you say, Topper?"
Topper had clearly got his eye upon one of
Scrooge's niece's sisters, for he answered that a
bachelor was a wretched outcast, who had no
right to express an opinion on the subject.
Whereat Scrooge's niece's sister — the plump one
with the lace tucker; not the one with the roses
— blushed.
"Do go on, Fred," said Scrooge's niece, clap-
ping her hands. "He never finishes what he
begins to say! He is such a ridiculous fellow!"
Scrooge's nephew revelled in another laugh,
and as it was impossible to keep the infection
off; though the plump sister tried hard to do
it with aromatic vinegar; his example was
unanimously followed.
"I was only going to say," said Scrooge's
nephew, "that the consequence of his taking a
dislike to us, and not making merry with us,
is, as I think, that he loses some pleasant mo-
ments, which could do him no harm. I am sure
he loses pleasanter companions than he can
find in his own thoughts, either in his mouldy
old office, or his dusty chambers. I mean to
give him the same chance every year, whether
he likes it or not, for I pity him. He may
rail at Christmas till he dies, but he can't help
thinking better of it — I defy him – if he finds
me going there, in good temper, year after
year, and saying 'Uncle Scrooge, how are you?'
If it only puts him in the vein to leave his
poor clerk fifty pounds, that's something; and
I think I shook him, yesterday."
It was their turn to laugh now, at the no-
tion of his shaking Scrooge. But being thor-
oughly good-natured, and not much caring what
they laughed at, so that they laughed at any
rate, he encouraged them in their merriment,
and passed the bottle, joyously.
After tea, they had some music. For they
were a musical family, and knew what they
were about, when they sung a Glee or Catch,
I can assure you: especially Topper, who could
growl away in the bass like a good one, and
never swell the large veins in his forehead, or
get red in the face over it. Scrooge's niece
played well upon the harp; and playing among
other tunes a simple little air (a mere nothing:
you might learn to whistle it in two minutes),
which had been familiar to the child who
fetched Scrooge from the boarding-school, as he
had been reminded of the Ghost of Christmas
Past. When this strain of music sounded, all
the things that the ghost had shown him came
upon his mind; he softened more and more;
and thought that if he could have listened to
it often, years ago, he might have cultivated
the kindnesses of life for his own happiness
with his own hands, without resorting to the
sexton's spade that buried Jacob Marley.
But they didn't devote the whole evening to
music. After a while they played at forfeits;
for it is good to be children sometimes, and
never better than at Christmas, when its mighty
Founder was a child himself. Stop! There
was first a game of blind man's buff. Of course
there was. And I no more believe Topper was
really blind than I believe he had eyes in his
boots. My opinion is, that it was a done thing
between him and Scrooge's nephew; and that
the Ghost of Christmas Present knew it. The
way he went after that plump sister in the lace
tucker, was an outrage on the credulity of hu-
man nature. Knocking down the fire-irons,
tumbling over the chairs, bumping up against
the piano, smothering himself among the cur-
tains, wherever she went, there he was! He
always knew where the plump sister was. He
wouldn't catch anybody else. If you had fallen
up against him (as some of them did) on pur-
pose, he would have made a feint of endeavor-
ing to seize you, which would have been an af-
front to your understanding, and would in-
stantly have sidled off in the direction of the
plump sister. She often cried out that it wasn't
fair; and it really was not. But when at last
he caught her; when, in spite of all her silken
rustlings, and her rapid flutterings past him,
he got her into a corner whence there was no
escape; then his conduct was the most execra-
ble. For his pretending not to know her; his
pretending that it was necessary to touch her
head-dress, and further to assure himself of
her identity by pressing a certain ring upon
her finger, and a certain chain about her neck;
was vile, monstrous! No doubt she told him
her opinion of it, when, another blind-man be-
ing in office, they were so confidential to-
gether, behind the curtains.
Scrooge's niece was not one of the blind-
man's buff party, but was made comfortable
with a large chair and a foot-stool, in a snug
corner where the Ghost and Scrooge were close
behind her. But she joined in the forfeits, and
and loved her love to admiration with all the letters
of the alphabet. Likewise at the game of How,
When, and Where, she was very great, and, to
the secret joy of Scrooge's nephew, beat her
sisters hollow: though they were sharp girls too,
as Topper could have told you. There might
have been twenty people there, young and old,
but they all played, and so did Scrooge; for,
wholly forgetting in the interest he had in what
was going on that his voice made no sound in
their ears, he sometimes came out with his guess
quite loud, and very often guessed right, too;
for the sharpest needle, best Whitechapel, war-
ranted not to cut in the eye, was not sharper
than Scrooge; blunt as he took it in his head
to be.
The Ghost was greatly pleased to find him
in this mood, and he looked upon him with such
favor, that he begged like a boy to be allowed
to stay until the guests departed. But this
the Spirit said could not be done.
"Here is a new game," said Scrooge. "One
half hour, Spirit, only one!"
It was the game called Yes and No, where
Scrooge's nephew had to think of something,
and the rest must find out what; he only an-
swering to their questions yes or no, as the case
was. The brisk fire of questioning to which
he was exposed, elicited from him that he was
thinking of an animal, a savage animal, an animal
that growled and grunted sometimes, and talked
sometimes, and lived in London, and walked
about the streets, and wasn't made a show of,
and wasn't led by anybody, and didn't live in
a menagerie, and was never killed in a mar-
ket, and was not a horse, or an ass, or a cow,
or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a pig, or a
cat, or a bear. At every fresh question that
was put to him, this nephew burst into a fresh
roar of laughter; and was so inexpressibly
tickled, that he was obliged to get up off the
sofa and stamp. At last the plump sister, fall-
ing into a similar state, cried out:
"I have found it out! I know what it is,
Fred! I know what it is!"
"What is is?" cried Fred.
"It's your uncle S-c-r-o-o-o-o-ge!"
Which it certainly was. Admiration was the
universal sentiment, though some objected that
the reply to "Is it a bear?" ought to have been
"Yes;" inasmuch as an answer in the negative
was sufficient to have diverted their thoughts
from Mr. Scrooge, supposing they had ever had
any tendency that way.
"He has given us plenty of merriment, I am
sure," said Fred, "and it would be ungrateful
not to drink his health. Here is a glass of
mulled wine ready to our hand at the moment;
and I say, 'Uncle Scrooge!' "
"Well, Uncle Scrooge!" they cried.
A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year
to the old man, whatever he is!" said Scrooge's
nephew. "He wouldn't take it from me, but
may have it nevertheless. Uncle Scrooge!"
Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly become so
gay and light of heart, that he would have
pledged the unconscious company in return,
and thanked them in an inaudible speech if the
Ghost had given him time. But the whole scene
passed off in the breath of the last word spoken
by his nephew; and he and the Spirit were
again upon their travels.
Much they saw, and far they went, and many
homes they visited, but always with a happy
end. The Spirit stood beside sick beds, and
they were cheerful; on foreign lands, and they
were close at home; by struggling men, and
they were patient in their greater hope; by
poverty, and it was rich. In almshouse, hos-
pital and jail, in misery's every refuge, where
vain man in his little brief authority had not
made fast the door, and barred the Spirit out, he
left his blessing, and taught Scrooge his precepts.
It was a long night, if it was only a night;
but Scrooge had his doubts of this, because the
Christmas Holidays appeared to be condensed
into the space of time they passed together. It
was strange, too, that while Scrooge remained
unaltered in his outward form, the Ghost grew
older, clearly older. Scrooge had observed this
change, but never spoke of it, until they left a
children's Twelfth Night party, when, looking
at the Spirit as they stood together in an open
place, he noticed that his hair was very grey.
"Are spirits' lives so short?" asked Scrooge.
"My life upon this globe is very brief," re-
plied the Ghost. "It ends to-night."
"To-night!" cried Scrooge.
"To-night at midnight. Hark! The time is
drawing near."
The chimes were ringing the three quarters
past eleven at the moment.
"Forgive me if I am not justified in what
I ask," said Scrooge, looking intently at the
Spirit's robe, "but I see something strange, and
not belonging to yourself, protruding from your
skirts. Is it a foot or a claw?"
"It might be a claw, for the flesh there is
upon it," was the Spirit's sorrowful reply.
"Look here."
From the foldings of its robe, it brought two
children, wretched, abject, frightful, hideous,
miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and
clung upon the outside of its garment.
"Oh, Man! l look here. Look, look, down
here!" exclaimed the Ghost.
They were a boy and a girl. Yellow, meagre,
ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in
their humility. Where graceful youth should
have filled their features out, and touched them
with its freshest tints, a stale and shriveled
hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted
them, and pulled them into shreds. Where
angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked,
and glared out menacing. No change, no deg-
radation, no perversion of humanity, in any
grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful
creation, has monsters half so horrible, and dread.
Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them
shown to him in this way, he tried to say they
were fine children, but the words choked them-
selves, rather than be parties to a lie of such
enormous magnitude.
"Spirit! are they yours?" Scrooge could say
no more.
"They are Man's," said the Spirit, looking
down upon them. "And they cling to me, ap-
pealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignor-
ance. This girl is Want. Beware of them
both, and all of their degree, but most of all
beware this boy, for on his brow I see that
written which ids Doom, unless the writing be
erased. Deny it!" cried the Spirit, stretching
out his hand toward the city. "Slander those
who tell it ye! Admit it for your factious
purposes, and make it worse! And abide the end!"
"Have they no refuge or resources?" cried
Scrooge.
"Are there no prisons?" said the Spirit, turn-
ing on him for the last time with his own
words. "Are there no workhouses?"
The bell struck twelve.
Scrooge looked about him for the Ghost, and
saw it not. As the last stroke ceased to vi-
brate, he remembered the prediction of old
Jacob Marley, and lifting up his eyes, beheld
a solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming
like a mist along the ground toward him.
A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens
Robert K. Haas, Inc., Publishers, New York, N.Y.
Little Leather Edition, pp. 79 - 93
Posted Aug 5, 2018, 2:14 PM UTC · edited
02