A Christmas Carol (Charles Dickens)

Charles Dickens' classic A Christmas Carol is a 5-part Christmas tale, so you can keep your child enthralled for up to 5 days with this wonderful story.

Marley, the ghost

To begin with, Marley was dead. There is no doubt about that. His death certificate was duly signed by the priest, the registrar, the coroner and, as mourner, Scrooge himself. And what Scrooge sees fit to sign is what Scrooge does - everyone in the business knows that. So old Marley was dead as a doornail.

It should be noted that I have no personal experience of how much more dead wood is than other types of wood. In fact, I confess I would have preferred to mention the coffin board myself, if I had to use such a stale analogy anyway. But some people say there's something archaic in that analogy, and God forbid I should touch such a sacred thing with uninitiated hands. This could be a national disaster. So I can do no more than say again that old Marley was as dead as a doornail.

Did Scrooge know about the death? How on earth should he not have known! They had been partners for who knows how many years. Besides, Scrooge was Marley's sole executor, sole heir, sole friend and sole survivor. But Scrooge was by no means so depressed by his bereavement that, as an excellent businessman, he did not celebrate Marley's funeral with a fine "knitting".

Speaking of Marley's funeral, I have to go back to where I started. So again, there can be no doubt that Marley was dead. It is essential to acknowledge this, otherwise there would be nothing wonderful in the story that follows. After all, if we did not know for certain that Hamlet's father had died before the play began, his prowling around the battlements in the stormy night would be worthless. Any elderly gentleman might end up wandering after dusk in some cheerful busy street or - even in St. Paul's Square, without scaring the weak heart of his child to death.

Because Scrooge didn't scrape old Marley's name off the sign, years later the sign above the front door still read Scrooge and Marley. Everyone knew the company by that name. Customers sometimes called Scrooge, sometimes Marley. He went by both names equally. Apparently it made no difference to him.

But when it came to picking off someone he had got his claws into, Scrooge knew no mercy. To blackmail, to twist, to force to his knees, to squeeze every last drop out of a business partner, that was what the old sinner was really good at! He was as hard and sharp as a rough pebble, from which no steel can extract a spark of nobler feeling. He was secretive, retiring, and private as an oyster. The coldness of his being froze his features, furrowed his skin, reddened his eyelids, and stained his narrow mouth blue, which, when he opened it to speak, a whining, repulsive sound escaped his lips. His hair, eyebrows and stubbled chin were also frosty-veined. He took this chilly climate with him everywhere. A dog-cold chill spread through his shop and Christmas Eve failed to warm him or his surroundings one degree. Heat and cold left him cold. The heat couldn't warm him up, nor the chill make him shiver. There was no gale more chilling than a gale of wind, and the incessant rain was no more unrelenting than he. Hail, sky, sleet, drizzle, blizzard, as if they were all the markers of his acerbic personality. Of all the manifestations of the elements, at most he could not be associated with the beneficent spring rain, for Scrooge was anything but beneficent. No one stopped him on his private walks, no one said, 'How do you do, my dear Scrooge? Won't you come and see me once? - Even the beggars were far out of his way, and no child dared to risk his way by asking, "Uncle, please, what time is it? It never happened to Scrooge in all his life that a man or woman asked him where this street or that street or square was. Even the blind beggar's dog would growl angrily at him when he saw him, as if he had said: "My lightless master, this dark look is worse than eternal darkness!"

But it was all right for Scrooge! He wanted nothing more than to sneak through life unnoticed, without any human feeling or contact.

One evening - it was Christmas Eve - old Scrooge was hard at work in his office. The weather was bitterly cold, and there was a fog. He could hear passers-by stamping their feet, warming their frozen feet. The clock on the tower had barely struck three, but it was already dark; there had been no light all day, so to speak. In the neighbouring windows, candle flames were already flickering like wavering red phantoms. The mist seeped in through gaps and keyholes and outside was so thick that only the ghostly shadows of the houses at the far end of the narrow courtyard could be seen. The thickly descending cloud of mist was like the heavy vapour of a giant brewery. Scrooge left the door of his office open to keep an eye on his assistant, who was copying letters in his dark little oud. There was no great fire burning in the boss's room, but in the assistant's room only the residual embers of a lump of coal flickered. The coal-box was in Scrooge's room, and if the doddering assistant should venture to go for a shovelful of coal, the old dead-sure would shout at him to find another job. So his poor head had no choice but to crawl into his knitted soul-warmers and try to warm himself by the candle flame. For a man of poor imagination, he was not very successful.

- Merry Christmas, Uncle, I wish you all the best! - suddenly a cheerful voice called out. The voice was that of Scrooge's nephew, who entered so unobtrusively that the old man was only aware of what he was saying.

- Let's stop this nonsense," he said grimly. The young man in the freezing fog seemed to have come in haste, and was so warm that he now stood before the old man with flushed face and sparkling eyes. His hot breath hovered like a visible vapour about his handsome chin.

- But uncle, you don't mean to say that Christmas is nonsense. You don't mean that yourself.

- But how much! Merry Christmas! Are you happy too? What for? What right? A poor wretch like you, poor as a church mouse.

- "Now I've got you," said the boy, still in a teasing tone, "if happiness were only a question of money, you really couldn't be so sullen and dissatisfied. "Scrooge did not trouble his head much to give the boy any witty answer, but simply nodded:

- Stop this nonsense.

- Don't be angry, brother," said the boy gently.

- Of course I'm angry when there are so many stupid guys out there in the world! Merry Christmas! How in the world can it be, say, happy for you? Is it happiness to have a lot of expenses and not a penny to your name? Or that you're a year older and not a penny richer? That your year's balance sheet is full of losses? Well, if it were up to me, I'd tie everyone who said Merry Christmas to the nativity scene, if I didn't hang them on their own Christmas tree.

- But brother!

- "But brother!" said the old man, visibly losing patience. - Leave me alone now. I'll celebrate Christmas the way I like it.

- Because if you were to celebrate. "But you'd rather curse," said the nephew.

- Well, but now enough, my brother, be happy with your Christmas, and may it bring you as much profit as it has done so far.

- There are some things that I have never benefited from, even though I could have - like Christmas! When Christmas was approaching, I could clearly feel and know that it was the best time of the year. For this feast, apart from its sacred significance and origin, if it can be dispensed with, was for me a blessed feast of understanding, of love, of charity. A feast on which husband and wife, together with their spouses, open their hearts and feel more than ever that they are not bound to each other by self-interest, but that they have become companions on life's journey, destined to stay together until the grave! Not a crumb of gold, not a sliver of silver, has my Christmas ever brought me, and yet I believe it has done me good and made me happy always! God bless you on your holy feast!

From the assistant's hole came a muffled but noticeable expression of pleasure. His poor head, in his confusion, began to poke the little remaining ember so violently that it flickered and went out for good, while his grim boss snapped at him. And you can celebrate by looking for a job! - Then he turned to his brother:

- What an orator you have lost! Isn't it a pity to waste such skills? In fact, you should be in parliament!

- Do not be angry, dear brother, come to us tomorrow! You're welcome for a festive lunch.

- Do you want me to be your guest? You should see your old mother... - and he went on to swear in all his rather fancy cackling.

- But why?" the young man asked.

- Why?! Why did you have to get married?

- Because I was in love.

- You were in love! - Scrooge muttered with as much contempt as if it were more ridiculous than Christmas wishes. Then he added impatiently:

- Are you still here? Well, good night!

- But uncle, why do you say you won't come because I'm married? You never married me even when I was unmarried.

- Good night! - repeated Scrooge firmly.

- I ask nothing of you, nor do I expect anything from you but a kind word. Why can't we be friends?

But Scrooge just shouted at him again:

- Good night!

- I am heartily sorry that you are so stubborn. But God knows, my soul, I have never quarreled with you through no fault of my own, And now I would have no other wish than to approach you on Christmas Eve with a true feeling of kinship. But I'll not falter from it. Just for that, I wish you a merry Christmas.

- "His servant," Scrooge muttered between his teeth.

- And good luck to Scarey!

- Under-served and more spacious! - Scrooge said grimly.

But even then his brother was not out of peace. He closed the door behind him with a gracious smile, and did not fail to wish the servant in the hall a merry Christmas and a happy New Year, which, being more humane than his master, he gratefully returned.

- "Another fool," said Scrooge. "This assistant, this unfortunate fellow, with his fifteen shillings a week, talks of happiness and fortune too. He must be mad about it!

Meanwhile, the "unlucky guy" escorted the boss's nephew to the door and ushered two more visitors inside. They were well-dressed, assured gentlemen, and were already standing in Scrooge's study with their hats off. One held a book, the other a considerable bundle of papers. Both bowed low.

- Scrooge and Marley, if I'm not mistaken," said the taller one, reading the name of the company from the document in his hand. - "Mr Scrooge, or Mr Marley?

- Mr Marley has been a silent partner for the last seven years. So quiet that he could not have been quieter. It is seven years tonight since he died.

- "The deceased's well-known charity and noble sacrifice must surely have been passed on to you," said the visitor solemnly, and bowing even more deeply, he handed Scrooge a collecting bow.

At the ominous word "charity", Scrooge pushed the bow away with a gesture of contempt.

But the guest was not embarrassed.

- "Today, on the Feast of Love, we must reach out to those who need our donations," he said in a smearing voice, and already picking up a pen from the table and holding it out to Scrooge, he continued:

- Many thousands are starving and cold. Hundreds of thousands of people cannot even afford a bowl of hot soup, a good bite to eat, a Christmas tree branch.

- And what are prisons for? - asked Scrooge.

- The prisons? - the newcomer repeated quietly, lowering the dipped pen slightly in his hand.

- Yes, and the tolonchaza, the old people's home and the poorhouse, I hope these excellent public institutions are still in operation?

- Unfortunately, they are busier than they should be.

- I'm glad to hear that, I was afraid they might be on hiatus or closed for good.

- "We believe," replied the gentleman, suddenly regaining his senses, "that these institutions do not provide the broad mass of the people with the spiritual and physical nourishment to which every son of man has a right to aspire. We have therefore resolved to establish a charitable fund, from which we intend to supply the poor with food, drink, and fuel. This is the purpose for which we are collecting, and today of all days, because on this day the needy feel their misery more keenly and everyone who can, gives willingly and gladly. Sir, how much may we add to your name?

- Nothing!

- Oh, noble modesty! Surely you wish us to leave your name unmentioned.

- I wish to be left alone, gentlemen. Since you asked, I'm afraid I must answer. For me, there is no joy in Christmas Eve, you cannot wish me to give a party for idlers. Besides, I pay just enough tax to maintain the institutions I have already mentioned and other charitable things.

- But, sir, think of the shameful poor who would die of shame if they had to openly turn to these institutions.

- They would die! But do it! We hear nothing but overpopulation! Besides, I had nothing to do with this.

- It must have something to do with it, sir. This is a matter for all of us.

- I've got enough on my own. I can't worry about other people's. Good night, gentlemen.

The two gentlemen, seeing the situation as hopeless, left. Scrooge went back to his work with enthusiasm. If there had been a mirror in the room, he would certainly have looked into it to see his satisfied face to face.

Meanwhile, the fog and darkness grew thicker. The wagons moved at a walk, the coachmen in front of the horses with flaming torches in their hands. The old bell of the nearby church steeple, which at other times looked straight down on Scrooge and Marley, now disappeared like a steeple in a cloud of mist. When it did ring every quarter of an hour, it made a sound as if the old tower's teeth were chattering with cold. The cold grew and grew. On the street corner some workmen were repairing the gas main. Beside them, a small portable stove burned a blazing fire. Street urchins, shabby figures, sat around the fire; it lit their faces red as they warmed their blue-frosted fingers with glistening eyes.

Someone left the tap open, and soon a puddle formed around it, which turned into a treacherous ice crust in minutes. The shop windows, decorated with illuminated pine boughs, glowed fabulously. They were so fairylike and visionary in the mist that it seemed almost unbelievable that behind them cold squid were selling their wares for money.

In his magnificent palace, the Lord Chief Justice ordered his cooks and cooks to prepare a feast fit for such a distinguished lord. A few houses away, the little tailor, who had only last week been fined five shillings for loitering in the open street with a drunken head, was now kneading a festive loaf in his little garret, while his frail wife, with her baby in her arms, went to the butcher for meat.

And the cold just got worse. It was so cold now that if Beelzebub had stuck his nose out of the well-heated hell, even for a moment, it would have frozen and the damned devil would have retreated howling in pain to his fiery katlan.

The little boy with the nativity scene had his skinny nose bitten like a dog's bone. The lad paused at Scrooge's door, leaned on his keyhole, and shook his head boldly:

- "An angel from heaven has come down to you..."

But at the sound of the song Scrooge picked up his ruler from the table and threw it at the door, so that the boy ran away frightened. Instead of his song, only the cold wind whistled through the keyhole.

It's finally closing time. Scrooge rose with great difficulty from his desk. The assistant, as if he had been waiting for it, quickly extinguished the candle, put his hat on his head, and was off.

- Sure, you want tomorrow off? - said Scrooge.

- If you will permit me, sir.

- He likes it! And it's not right! I bet if they deducted half a crown for your day off, you'd think it was unlawful.

The assistant smiled shyly.

- But for me to pay you for a whole day, even though you are not working, is not considered unlawful.

- 'There's only one day a year like this, sir,' the assistant stammered.

- "A poor excuse for the fact that you steal a day's wages from me every twenty-fifth of December," said Scrooge, buttoning his thick winter coat to the waist. "Well, I see I am obliged to give you a day off after all. But come early the day after to-morrow morning.

The assistant promised to do the same and they were both finally on the street. Scrooge turned the key on the door, wrapped his long white woollen shawl round his neck (he had no winter coat), and said good-bye to his master. Down a neighbouring street he sledged twenty or so times along a long slide, rubbed shiny by industrious little boys, and then he ran as fast as his legs would carry him, to be in time for the angel's bell.

Scrooge spent his private supper in his usual manner, in his usual mutt. He leafed through the newspapers, amused himself for half an hour with the money-book in his pocket, and then started for home. He lived in the flat that had once belonged to a business partner. The flat consisted of a few uninviting rooms in a gloomy, dark building with access through a long, deserted courtyard. The house stood in such a squalid setting that one could almost believe that as a child he might have played hide-and-seek with his companions, hiding in this nook and never finding his way out. It was old now, and, except for Scrooge's apartment, uninhabited. The other flats had been converted into offices and warehouses over time. The courtyard was so dark that Scrooge, though he had been down it a thousand times and knew every stone, could only grope his way through it. The old building was covered with fog and frosty mist as if Santa Claus himself had sat on the doorstep.

The door of the apartment had a large wrought iron door handle. Scrooge had no doubt seen the knocker every day since he had lived in the house, sometimes several times a day. It is also certain that Scrooge had less imagination than any of the inhabitants of London, including the members of the City Council and the guild masters - which is saying a lot. Consider, too, that, although Scrooge had mentioned the name of his dead business partner in passing this afternoon, he had no intention of thinking of it now. And after all this, let some one try to explain, if he can, how it could have happened that Scrooge, turning the key in the lock and looking at the knocker, saw a human face there: Marley's face. But not some vague shadow, such as lurks in the recesses of dark courtyards! No, the face was clear! It glowed eerily, like a ghostly beam in a dark cellar-room. And yet it was neither frightening nor fierce, looking at him as Marley had looked at him in his life. His pope's eyes glittered eerily and his hair fluttered about his head like the superheated air over a fiery cauldron. His wide-open eyes were unblinking. This immobility and the bluish glow of the whole phenomenon were only ghostly; the face itself was calm and not a bit frightening. The apparition, before Scrooge could look at it closely, had disappeared. Scrooge gazed fixedly at the knocker, his heart clenched with a fear he had never felt before. But he made himself strong, turned the key once more, and resolutely entered the door. He lighted a candle and searched the back of the door for a moment, as if looking for the back of the head of the face he had just seen. But on the back of the door were only a few nuts and bolts holding the huge knocker from the inside.

- Wow! Holy shit! - said Scrooge, and with a great bang he slammed the door. The whole house, and even the wine-cellar below, shook and echoed for a long time.

But Scrooge was not the sort of lad to be frightened by a little repercussion. With the candle in his hand, though perhaps a little more slowly than usual, he went up the stairs to his bedroom with a firm step. The staircase was so wide that a small funeral procession, with a six-car hearse, could easily have passed. True, it was also so dark that the gas lamps of a whole street would have been poorly lit. No wonder that Scrooge, by the wavering light of his flickering wick, could almost see the gloomy procession. But darkness was cheap, and Scrooge liked anything that didn't cost money. Before bolting the hinged door upstairs, he looked carefully round his rooms. The ghostly face was still very fresh in his memory! Bedroom, dining room, pantry - all in order. He peeped under the table - no one! under the divan - no one! A weak fire in the fireplace, a tray with a cup of herbal tea on the mantelpiece (Scrooge had a cold), a spoon, and so on. Well, another look under the bed - nobody! In the wall cupboard - nothing! His housecoat hangs suspiciously on the rug, as if someone had got into it. - Nothing! He also looks in the closet: coal shovel, old shoes, baskets, three-legged sink, dirt floor. Not a soul! He sighs with relief, locks the door and locks it with a separate key. He loosens his tie, puts on a housecoat, takes a nightcap and sits down by the fire to drink his herbal tea. The fire in the fireplace is just flickering. He has to sit close to it to feel a little warmth. A Dutch merchant used to live here when he built the fireplace. Each tile depicts a biblical scene. Cain and Abel, Pharaoh's daughter, the Queen of Sheba, angelic messengers floating on duny clouds, Abraham, Belshazzar, the apostles and hundreds and hundreds of other figures are all depicted on the shining tiles, courtesy of the once valiant potter.

Scrooge looked at them, amused and lost in thought. What strange figures! As if they all looked a little like Marley!

- 'Eh, nonsense,' he finally blurted out, taking long strides across the room.

He paced back and forth for a while, then sat back down with a sigh. He leaned his head against the back of the armchair and his eyes caught the bell that hung on the opposite wall. The bell used to be a long cord that could be rung from the top floor of the building; it had long since fallen into disuse. Scrooge was astonished to see the bell begin to vibrate imperceptibly. The vibration increased, until the bell rang softly, and rang louder and louder, and finally rang loudly. Every bell in the house jingled with it. It lasted perhaps half a minute or a minute, but Scrooge felt it was an eternity. Then suddenly there was a deep silence: all the bells were silenced at once. From the cellar came a chain-rattling. It occurred to Scrooge that in the cellars of haunted houses, ghosts used to rattle their chains. Then the cellar door banged open, the chain-rattling grew louder, and it was plain to hear the chain-rattler coming up the stairs and stopping before the door.

- Loss of eyesight! - said Scrooge - I don't believe it. - But the ghost, ignoring the heavy oak door, was already standing in the room before the fireplace. The flame on the hearth was high, as if to say: I know you! You are Marley's homecoming ghost! Then the flame died away.

Again, the haunting face! Marley's face, hair, eyebrows, beard. His long grey coat, his striped trousers, his shoes! A thick chain around his waist, one end dangling long at his back, dragging him like a barge, rattling. The links, as Scrooge's keen eye at once discovered, were made of keys, padlocks, steel straps from money-boxes! And his body is completely transparent! Even when facing him, you can see the two buttons on the back of his long-sleeved coat.

Scrooge often heard Marley say that Marley had no heart, but he never wanted to believe it. Just as he never really believed it now. For though the ghost was perfectly transparent, and so he could be convinced, he refused to believe his eyes. He didn't want to believe that the cold-eyed apparition was really standing in front of him, that he could actually see his eyes, his face, his chin, even the familiar dice of the scarf holding his chin.

- So, what's it going to be? - said Scrooge at last, cold and cautious as ever.

- "Many things," said the ghost.

- 'That's Marley's voice, no doubt,' Scrooge muttered to himself. Then, with a start, he shouted:

- Who are you?

- Ask who I was instead.

- Well, who were you? - said Scrooge. "For a shade, you seem to care a great deal for shades.

- As long as I lived, I was your partner: Marley James.

- And can you sit down? - asked Scrooge, suspiciously.

- Of course!

- Well, sit down.

Scrooge hesitated to offer him a seat, because he was not convinced that such a transparent phenomenon could occupy the chair. He feared that, if it were impossible, the ghost would find a dreadful explanation. But the shadow sat down calmly by the hearth, as if long accustomed to the place.

- You don't believe in me," he began.

- I confess, no.

- But you can make sure of my presence with your own senses.

- These are the very things I don't believe.

- But why?

- That's because a little mess in the body is enough to mislead our senses. You may be nothing more than a piece of badly digested beef, or a bite of over-fat cheese, or a bad potato. Otherwise, you look less like a grave and more like a lamentable phenomenon, whatever you are!

Scrooge was not in the habit of making puns at other times. If he did now, it was only to encourage himself, as when one whistles in fear in the dark. The truth was that the ghostly voice of the apparition shook him to the marrow of his bones. He broke out in a sweat at the thought of looking into the ghost's stiff eyes. There was something hellish about it, that was for sure. The ghost sat motionless in the chair, but his hair, tie, shoelaces, and sleeves fluttered restlessly as if tossed by an underworld wind.

- See this toothpick? - continued Scrooge, to get a moment's relief from the stiff look of horror.

- "I see," said the ghost.

- But you're not looking.

- "Yet I see it," said the ghost stubbornly, not taking his eyes off Scrooge.

- Well, if I swallowed it, it would surely make my stomach churn to see a hundred leprechauns like you.

In answer the ghost gave a terrific roar, and rattled his chain so horribly that Scrooge had to cling to the arm of the chair to keep from falling to the ground in terror.

Now, with a light movement, as if he were warm, the ghost untied the shawl from his head, with which his chin was covered. His mask fell upon his breast, his gaping mouth was a fearful sight!

- "Mercy!" cried Scrooge, falling on his knees, and covering his face with trembling hands. - Monsters, what do you want of me?

- Doubting man, have you faith in me? - said the ghost in a terrifying voice.

- I believe, I believe! But for a spirit, why walkest thou on earth? Why do you haunt me?

- Destiny has imposed on every man the duty of influencing his fellow men and his environment with his spirit. He who has failed to do this in life must do it after death. I am doomed to do the same, unhappily. My spirit, with which I could have made myself and others happy in my life, is condemned to wander like a restless, wandering shadow. With that he howled again with terror, shaking and wringing his terrible hands in fearful tremors.

- "But you are chained, tell me why?" asked Scrooge, with a shudder.

- This is a chain I have forged myself, step by step, eye by eye, throughout my life. Look what it's made of! Don't you know these things? - Scrooge trembled so with fear that he could not speak.

- Would you like to see the size of the chain you're wearing yourself? Well, seven years ago this Christmas, it was exactly the same size as mine. But since then you've made it a lot bigger! - The half-conscious Scrooge looked around him in horror, but saw nothing.

Now he was begging:

- James, my old friend, tell me everything. Say something comforting, for God's sake.

- I have nothing more to say, and I am not the one you can look to for comfort, Scrooge Ebenezer. Comfort must come from elsewhere, by other messengers. I cannot say as much as I would. I must wander on and on, I cannot rest, I cannot stay here any longer. My spirit, while I lived, moved only around the shop, within the narrow confines of our little money-changing shop. That's why after my death I had to wander and travel incessantly, traveling in terrible agony, in gnawing toil.

It was Scrooge's habit, when he wondered about something, to put his hand absentmindedly into his trouser pocket. He did so again, for the ghost's words also made him wonder. He knelt there with his hands in his pockets without looking up; it was a strange sight.

- "You must not have worked very fast," he said finally, in a somewhat businesslike tone, but with great respect and almost humility.

- "No?" said the ghost.

- You have been dead for seven years! And all you've done is travel?

- Incessantly! I have not had an hour's peace. My conscience kept nagging me.

- And what were you travelling for? - asked Scrooge.

- On the wings of the wind! - said the ghost.

- You've travelled far and wide, you've visited many countries in seven years.

The ghost, hearing this, howled again, and in the silent night he rattled his chain so wildly that if there had been any authority near him he would have been reported for disturbing the peace.

- Oh, you miserable slave, do you not know that centuries must pass, thousands and thousands of working lives must pass into eternity, so that the goodness that lives in the heart of every mortal may yet be manifested here on earth. Every true Christian soul who strives for good in his own little circle will find his life too short in proportion to the greatness of the work to be done. However long the journey of repentance, it cannot make up for a life wasted in vain. I have wasted mine. Wasted uselessly!

- "But you have always fulfilled all your obligations," said Scrooge, in a trembling voice, for he felt more and more that he himself might meet a similar fate.

- Duty, duty! - cried the ghost, wringing his hands. My duty was to the common good. Charity, kindness, love of neighbour, mercy, were all my duty! What you are thinking of, the exact payment of the bills of exchange due, is but a drop of water in a sea of real duty." He lifted his chain high and rattled it once more, looking over each link as if it were the cause of all this, and then with a terrible force, he slammed it to the ground with a rattling clang.

- "It is at this time, at Christmas, that I suffer most," he continued, "the self-reproach is a bitter one, how I have been able to care nothing for the troubles of my fellow men. To walk blind and deaf in the world! To take no heed of the star that led the wise men of the sunrise to the abode of poverty. Would there not have been a hut where they waited for me, where the star should have guided me?

Scrooge was shaking so violently that the ghost shouted at him again:

- Listen, my time is up, but I still have something to tell you.

- 'I am listening,' said Scrooge, 'but please don't be too severe, and speak plainly and simply; I can't understand you if you speak to me in flowery language.

- I don't know how it is possible that you can see me now," the ghost continued. - I have sat beside you before and watched you invisibly.

This communication did not go down very well with Scrooge, for he shivered again and wiped the cold sweat from his brow.

- Today I have come to tell you that you still have the chance and the hope to avoid my fate. I have earned that chance for you myself, Ebenezer!

- 'You have always been a good friend to me,' Scrooge moaned, 'thank you for your kindness.

- 'Three ghosts will visit you,' the ghost said in a muffled voice.

- "Oh," said Scrooge, in horror, and his face grew so long that he almost looked like a ghost himself.

- Is this the opportunity and hope you mentioned? - she asked in a trembling voice.

- Yes.

- Is there no - is there no way to avoid this?

- Only through their visit can you avoid my sad fate. The first will appear tomorrow after midnight at one o'clock!

- Couldn't I have all three at the same time to get it over with? James! - begged Scrooge.

- The second will come the night after tomorrow at the same hour. And the last on the following night, if the clock has struck midnight. You will see me no more, but try to remember what you heard me say tonight for your own sake.

The ghost now fell silent, stepped to the table, picked up his shawl and tied it around his chin again. In the silence, Scrooge distinctly heard the Ghost's teeth click together at this action. He looked up timidly, and saw the otherworldly visitor standing straight before him, with the dangling end of his long chain on his arm. Then, with measured steps, he moved towards the window. The closed window opened of its own accord as the ghost approached. By the time he reached it, the shutters were wide open. Now he beckoned to Scrooge to come nearer. He started, but when he was about two steps away, the spectre stopped him.

Scrooge, paralysed with fear and terror, obeyed the ghost's every move blindly. Strange sounds came through the open window. It was like a broken and infinitely sad lamentation, with the sound of remorse and self-reproach. The ghost listened in silence for a minute, then, joining the mournful chorus, he fled out the window into the dark, cold night.

Scrooge, shaken as he was, could not restrain his curiosity: suddenly he stepped to the window and looked out. Here and there he saw a bustling troop of ghosts, darting hither and thither, incessantly clamouring and whirling. All were chained, like Marley's ghost. Some were chained to each other; they must have been accomplices for life. On closer inspection, Scrooge saw a number of familiar faces among the ghosts. An old gentleman in a white waistcoat, with his coat chained to a huge money-box, was an old acquaintance. The old man was weeping terribly, and was evidently endeavouring to help in some way a woman and a little child who were lying in a doorway deep below him. But the others, too, as many as there were, were all complaining that they could do no good to their fellow-men; it was too late now, what they had failed to do in life they could no longer make up for.

Scrooge was still standing at the window, but his view of the ghostly group was becoming blurred. As he wondered whether the fog was thickening, or whether the shambling figures themselves were becoming a mist, the noise died away, and he could see nothing but the silent, cold, misty night. He closed the window and carefully examined the door through which the ghost had entered the room. The door was locked with a key and two sliding bolts; exactly as he had locked it himself when he came home last night. He felt terribly tired and sleepy. Whether it was the excitement, the day's work, or what he had seen, the spirit world, the conversation with the ghost, or the late hour, who could tell? He went to his bed and, fully dressed as he was, fell into a deep sleep.

The number one ghost

When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark that he could not make out the rectangle of the window opposite his bed. He was struggling to find his bearings when the clock on the nearby church tower began to strike. He listened attentively, then with growing amazement, as the clock struck six, seven, eight, and then on and on and on, finally twelve. Twelve o'clock! It was after two hours when he went to bed. The clock must have broken, perhaps an icicle had fallen into the mechanism. Luckily, his pocket watch had a striking mechanism, so he could check the rattling clock in the dark. But the pocket watch also just hit twelve and stopped.

- It's impossible, I just didn't sleep through the day and half of the next night! Or maybe the old sun has got tired of shining on us and it is now twelve noon?

At this frightening idea, he jumped out of bed and groped his way to the window. He rubbed a small hole in the frozen window pane and peered through it. What little he saw! But he could tell that it was freezing and foggy outside. He saw no passers-by; it must have been night, for there would have been traffic on the street at noon. He felt a little relieved. And he shook away the alarming thought that had been in his sleepless mind for some minutes. What did the text say? "You are to pay this first bill to Mr. Scrooge Ebenezer, or by order of him three days after the presentation, etc., etc." But if it were no longer days? What then? What then can the expression "three days" mean? Who will be able to calculate it? The most terrible legal uncertainty could arise!

He snuggled back into bed and thought over his hazy memories again and again, but he was no wiser. The more he thought about it, the more confused he became. He couldn't escape his tormenting thoughts. The mystery of Marley's ghost kept nagging at him. Whenever he realised, after careful consideration, that he was only dreaming, his mind would return to the starting point with lightning speed, prompting him to try to think about what had happened in a different direction, to ask again: dream or reality?

He had been lying there in thought for about three quarters of an hour when he suddenly remembered that Marley's ghost had announced the arrival of the number one ghost at one past midnight. He resolved to wait for that time, awake at all events. This was all the wiser, for he could not sleep anyway. The last quarter of an hour seemed so terribly long that he had to wonder several times whether he had not dozed off and missed the stroke of the clock. But no! Now the clock sounded with a deep chime. - Bim-bam.

- 'A quarter must be gone,' said Scrooge.

- Bim-bam.

Half past.

- Bim-bam.

Three quarters of it.

- Bim-bam.

- One hour - and nowhere!" he exclaimed triumphantly. But his joy was premature, for the sound of the clock's striking still vibrated in the air, and died away with a slow, low hum. The moment it finally sounded, the room was suddenly bright, and the upholstery of his bed was half-lighted. A hand lifted it aside. It was not the upholstery that fell away from her feet, nor the one behind her back, but the very one that fell face to face, head to head. Half sitting, half lying down, Scrooge stared from behind the half-removed upholstery at the unearthly apparition that had pulled it aside, and now stood so close to him that he could have reached out with outstretched hand.

He was a strange figure - a child and an old man in one, or rather it seemed as if some distorting mirror had reduced an old man to a small child. His shoulder-length hair was snow-white, as if he were grey, but there was not a wrinkle on his face, and his skin was as ashen and lush as a peach. Long, muscular arms, firm, strong hands. His thighs and legs are shapely and, like his arms, bare. Her attire is a short, baggy, snow-white tunic, fastened at the waist by a gorgeous belt of shining belt. In her hand she holds a lush green pine bough and - how strange, in the middle of winter - fresh summer flowers in the folds of her dress. But the strangest thing about her was that a ray of clear, bright light burst forth from the top of her head, enveloping the whole phenomenon in an unearthly glow. Beneath his helmet he held a pointed lampshade-shaped cone. It was obvious that if he placed the cone on his head, the light would go out and the phenomenon would be obscured. But that was not the strangest thing about it! There was more! At first, only parts of his bright belt flickered alternately, here and there, going dark, then shining brightly again. But soon the whole fairy began to change, to change its shape. Now it seemed to be a one-armed, one-legged monster, then a twenty-armed, twenty-legged monster, then a headless torso, then a head without a torso. Its outlines blurred, its shape dissolved into nothingness, only to condense again, slowly clearing, only to stand there, clear and radiant, as it had stood at the moment of its appearance.

- Oh, Lord, are you the ghost whose coming was foretold? - asked Scrooge.

- It's me.

The ghost's voice was low and wonderfully soft. Although it sounded very close, it seemed to come from a distance.

- And who are you?

- I am the ghost of Christmas Eve past.

- For those long gone? - asked Scrooge, now measuring the dwarf figure.

- I am the ghost of your last Christmas Eve.

How could he not, Scrooge suddenly felt an irresistible desire to see the ghost with the hat on his head. He politely asked him to put up his hat.

- What!? - cried the ghost, - would you have your soul with profane hands put out the light that shines from me? Is it not enough that the dark passion of thyself and others like thee has fashioned this hat, which through long years I have been forced to wear, pulled low over my eyes?

Scrooge made a frightened excuse that he had no intention of hurting her, and could not remember when she had forced him to wear the hat. At last he took courage and asked frankly what the purpose of his visit was.

- For your well-being! - said the spirit solemnly.

Scrooge, though he felt true gratitude in his heart, could not help thinking that prosperity for him would have been best served by a night's undisturbed sleep. The ghost seemed to have seen through his thoughts, for he suddenly spoke:

- Well, let's just say you're getting better! Listen to me!

He stretched out his strong hand and gently grasped the astonished Scrooge by the shoulder.

- Get up and follow me!

Scrooge felt that it would be useless to come up with any dodge. It would be in vain to say that the time was late, that the bed was warm and the frost was hard outside, that he was in slippers and a nightgown, and that he had a cold. None of this would help.

The hand that rested on her shoulder, though light, gentle and almost feminine, proved firm and uncontroversial. She rose and was about to follow the ghost when she was horrified to see him heading for the window. She clutched at the hem of her tunic with a shudder.

- 'Think that I am mortal,' he pleaded, 'I cannot fly, and if I step out of the window I will fall badly into the abyss.

- "I will touch you with the tip of my finger, and you will be so relieved that you will float and follow me through time and space," said the ghost, laying his hand on Scrooge's heart. No sooner had his words been spoken than they were out through the wall and into the open air. They stood on the highway, a level field to right and left. The city disappeared, as if swallowed up by the earth. The fog lifted, it was broad daylight, a cold winter's day, a snow-covered landscape.

- 'Good heavens!' said Scrooge, clapping his hands together in amazement, 'this is my native land, where I used to run when I was a boy.

The ghost smiled gently and understandingly at him, seeing that the light and fleeting touch of his hand brought back to the old man's heart long-forgotten childhood experiences, thoughts and hopes. A thousand fragrances, desires, emotions, like messages from a youth gone by, swirled around him.

- "Your lips are trembling," said the ghost. "And what is that gleaming on your cheek?

Scrooge answered, puzzled, that it might be a stuck snowflake, though he knew well that a tear was rolling down his cheek. Then he asked the spirit to lead him, and he would obediently follow.

- Don't you know this road? - asked the ghost.

- "Of course I do, I'd go through it blindfolded," answered Scrooge briskly.

- Strange that you haven't thought about it once in all these years; let's move on!

Slowly they trudged along the road, Scrooge glancing to right and left, greeting every tree, bush, and roadside cross as an old acquaintance. In the distance a little village appeared. Its church steeple beckoned from afar; a little winding stream ran through the village, with many a familiar wooden bridge behind it.

Now some shaggy horses were riding towards them. They were perched on the fur of cheerful little horseshoes, their little hands clinging to the horses' manes. Other little boys sat on carts and shouted merrily at their riding companions. The lilting music of merry children's voices filled the field, the cold clear air echoing with happy laughter.

- "Shadows of the past, we see them, we hear them, but they don't know about us," said the ghost, pointing to the approaching group.

As they passed, Scrooge called them all by name with exuberant glee. What was he glad about? What made his cold hard eyes soften? What made his old heart beat with youthful fervour? Why did he feel infinitely happy at the sound of the children's merry cries? Why did he feel deeply moved when the boys broke up and wished each other a merry Christmas? Why? What was a "Merry Christmas" to Scrooge? Damn Christmas! Was he ever happy at Christmas?

- See the school there? - asked the ghost, - they haven't closed yet. One window is still open. A little boy is still sitting on a bench. His colleagues forgot about him and left him alone. Do you know who the little boy is?

- I know," said Scrooge, with a tear in his eye.

Now they turned off the highway and into the familiar little street. The schoolmaster's house was a large red-brick building; on its small bell-tower a wind chime swayed in the light breeze. Once it must have been a fine, well-kept house, but now it was deserted, dilapidated and desolate. Broken window panes, cobwebs, mossy walls, weeds in the square courtyard, stray dogs chased in the wild garden.

Inside the house, there is little trace of what it once was. From the cold hallway, one could see into a series of barren rooms, poorly and shabbily furnished. The rooms smelt of earth mixed with the smell of half-burnt candles, cheap food and poverty. They walked down the hall towards the far end of the house. They opened into a narrow, long room, even more uninviting than the others. A few rows of shabby school desks were all over the furniture. In one corner, a small boy curled up, reading by the light of a flickering fire.

Scrooge sank down on the bench and had to cry as soon as he saw the orphaned boy. He saw himself, his long-forgotten childhood self. And what an oppressive silence there was in the house! There was not a mouse, not a mouse, not a door creaking. If at least a tap had been dripping somewhere, or the fire had crackled a little, if it had not been warm enough to dry up Scrooge's bitter tears.

The ghost gently snuggled in and pointed to his childhood figure, immersed in reading. Suddenly a man dressed in brightly coloured oriental clothes appeared in front of the open window. He carried an axe in his broad belt and led a donkey loaded with wood on a halter.

- But it's Ali Baba! - "Good old Ali Baba, who came to see me, one old Christmas Eve, when all the other children had gone home, and I was an orphan in the schoolroom! And there goes Hansel and Gretel! Can't you see them? And there's the Sultan's carriage, with its top hat on, because he's been punished by the great magician! He wants it so! Why did he insist on marrying the princess?

Sometimes crying, sometimes laughing, he said these strange words, almost incomprehensible to a serious man. If any of his business associates or acquaintances heard him, they would also wonder!

- Look at that! The parrot!" cried Scrooge. "Its breast is green, its tail yellow! Its tail is as lacy as a lettuce leaf. Do you know which parrot it is? The one that called out to Robinson Crusoe when he sailed round the island and came home again. It said to him, "Where have you been Robinson?" Poor Robinson thought he was dreaming; but he was not dreaming, do we know? The parrot cried. And look there's Friday! How he runs, breathless, to the little cove to save his life.

Then, suddenly, without any transition, though such a thing was not at all Scrooge's habit, he said again in a low, sad voice:

- Poor little boy! - and cried bitterly. Then he reached into his pocket, looked around uncertainly, and murmured, barely audible, as he wiped his tears away with his sleeve:

- I want to, oh I want to... but it's too late!

- What's wrong with you?" asked the ghost.

- Oh, nothing! Just disappearing. A poor little boy with a nativity sang outside my door last night. I wish I had given him something. - The ghost smiled thoughtfully, then waved:

- Now, let's look at another Christmas.

At his words, as if by magic, the "little boy Scrooge" grew a little taller, the room darker and more neglected. The wood of the floor was cracked, the window panes were cracked, the plaster of the roof had fallen in great chunks and bare beams stood up in their place. Why and how all this had happened, Scrooge could not say, but he knew for certain that the scene was perfectly lifelike. In the orphaned school he saw only himself again, now as a big boy. His companions had scattered, each happily hurrying home to spend Christmas Eve with his own.

Now he was not reading, but pacing up and down. Old Scrooge looked sadly at the ghost, and then the door opened and a little girl, much younger than the boy, came in. She came up to the boy, embraced him, kissed him, and called him my dear, dear brother.

- 'I came to take you home, my dear brother,' said the little girl. Her voice was like a silver bell. She giggled with a tinkling sound, clapped her little hands, and kept repeating.

- Home, little Fan? - the boy asked.

- "Yes, home," the little girl replied, beaming with joy. - I'll take you home and I'll never let you go. Daddy's been so good and indulgent lately. The house is heaven! The other night he sat on the edge of my bed, stroking my hair, and I got up the courage to beg him to let me come home. She agreed in a moment and now I've driven here to take you home. But how you've become a man! You're a man now. You must never come back here again. I've had enough! At last, we'll all spend Christmas together in joy and happiness.

- 'You have grown into a real lady yourself, little Fan,' said the boy.

The answer was a merry laugh. The little girl tried to hug her brother's neck, but he was so small she had to stand on tiptoe to reach him. Then, with childish mischievousness, she began to tease and drag him towards the door. He followed her with little reluctance, for he would have been so happy to go.

Then there was a loud noise:

- Bring down Master Scrooge's luggage!

And the schoolmaster himself appeared in the foyer. With condescending haughtiness, he held out his hand to Scrooge, who, embarrassed, rose from one foot to the other. Then he and his sister were ushered into a small, musty room. In this room it was so cold that the maps on the wall and the huge globes in the window glistened with mist and ice-flowers. He set wine and scones before them, but the scones, offered unappetizingly, were unripe, and the wine, filled with sour cheeks, was sour. He sent a glass of wine to the waiting coachman with a servant with a sprig. The servant grinned and returned with the coachman's message that if the wine was from the barrel of yesteryear, he would thank him but not ask for it. Meanwhile, Master Scrooge's luggage was tied to the corner-post. The children parleyed with the master in a vida mater, and then they jumped into the carriage and drove off at a rapid pace along the winding road. The wheel cut deep into the thin layer of snow, a lush green grass trail appearing in its wake across the white field.

- She was a weak little creature, any breeze could have blown her away. "But he has a very good heart," said the ghost.

- She was a sweet, kind-hearted creature. Everybody loved him.

- Later, in her womanhood, she became very ill and died young. I think she had children," said the ghost thoughtfully.

- "He had only one son," said Scrooge.

- Of course, your nephew!

- 'Yes, my nephew,' said Scrooge, with evident embarrassment.

As soon as they stepped out of the school gates, the picture changed. They were on a busy city street, with people rushing to and fro, vehicles moving slowly along the carriageway, jostling, shouting, in the midst of the typical city din. A fleeting glance at the shop windows and it was clear that it was Christmas Eve here too; festive lights, illuminated shops and windows everywhere. The ghost stopped in front of a brightly lit shop and asked Scrooge if he knew the shop.

- "Well, of course I know him," he said, "I've been here as a servant.

They went into the shop. An old man with a French wig sat at his desk on a high platform. The platform was so high that if the old man had happened to grow ten centimetres taller, he would have had to bang his head against the ceiling every time he moved.

- 'My God, Father Fezziwig, in body and soul,' cried Scrooge excitedly.

Father Fezziwig looked at the clock. It was exactly seven o'clock. He rubbed his hands in satisfaction, tugging his misfolded vest back into place. He radiated cheerfulness, good humour and goodwill from head to toe. Now he spoke in a pleasant, warm, friendly voice:

- Hey, Ebenezer, Dick! Come on over here! - Scrooge's former self was a slender young man, and he ran swiftly towards his boss. His fellow-apprentice, Dick, was everywhere behind him.

- 'By my God, my best friend, Dick,' said Scrooge to the ghost, 'by my God, my best friend, Dick. Poor, good Dick!

- Well, boys," said Fezziwig, "closing time, closing time, what are you waiting for? It's Christmas Eve, my boys. We close the shop at so one or two, we don't even say bik-mak.

The two young men needed nothing more. One or two of them were already out on the street - three or four - the cross-locks were already in place - five or six - the keys were turning rapidly in the lock - seven or eight - they were standing there again, proud that the boss hadn't even counted to ten and everything was in place.

- It goes like a charm! - shouted Father Fezziwig and ran nimbly down the high platform. - Now, quickly get everything out of the way! We need space, Dick, quick, quick, Ebenezer!

Move everything aside! Oh, what he would not have put aside at the word of his master! In a minute all was movable at the wall. The floor was swept and swept, the lamps cleaned, the fire poked. The shop was transformed into a warm, bright ballroom. Already the musician was coming in - a musician, strumming his violin.

Mrs. Fezziwigné also came with a mischievous look on her face. The three Misses Fezziwig came, fresh and desirable, with the six cavaliers in their wake, whose hearts they had captivated. All the servants came, boys and girls, in a vida mater group. The maid came with her cousin, the baker. The cook came with her farm boy, the milkman. The delivery boy from the shop across the road, who was rumoured to be a man whose owner couldn't get enough to eat. The neighbour's maid came, whose mistress had her ears red. They all came, the whole street, one after the other, some timidly, some stealthily, some reluctantly, some pushing. One way or another, they were all there. Twenty couples were dancing. The dancers waltzed around the room, constantly changing lead couples, until there were only lead couples and no couple to lead. When the confusion and music was at its height, old Fezziwig gave the signal for a break with a clap, but the couples cheered: how was it! The musician stuck his overheated head into a bucket of red wine, specially prepared for the occasion. He must have taken a sip or two. The fact is that when he reappeared, drained and dripping with wine, he began to play with a fervour as if the musician, who had just been pissed, had been carried home in a sheet and was now a brand new, rested man.

Then again dancing till we dropped, pledging, lady's choice, then dancing again, then cake, nutmeg donuts, cold roast, boiled ham with mixed salad and as much beer as we could fit in our many thirsty throats. The highlight of the evening came after the refreshments were served, when the musician (by God, this guy knows his stuff! Better than I know mine, or you know yours!) played "Sir Roger de Coverley". Old Fezziwig was now in the lead with Mrs. Fezziwigné; it is no mean feat to lead "Sir Roger" with twenty-three or twenty-four pairs of dancers. And what a determined bunch of people, all of whom wanted to dance and didn't want to hear of going home.

But Father Fezziwig won, and even if there had been two or four times as many of them, he would have stood his ground. And Mrs Fezziwig wasn't behind him - not by a single step. He was a real match for her in every way. If anyone knows of a higher accolade, let me pay tribute to this excellent couple. Father Fezziwig pranced with such fire and agility that his footsteps, like flashing lights, almost glowed in the crowd of dancers' legs like a moonbeam hiding in the foliage. She led the dance with unexpected turns and a thousand ideas: forwards, backwards, doubles, quadruples, corkscrews, lady's throws, sea serpents, brassicas and many, many more. But the indefatigable Father Fezziwig even cut out a boxer so fresh and skilful that he was covered in dust!

The ball was still in full swing when the clock struck eleven and the party was over. Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig, standing at the door, said goodbye to everyone with a warm handshake, not failing to offer their best wishes for Christmas to each of them individually. When the last couple had said their goodbyes and the sound of the departing widow's voice had slowly died away in the evening, the couple kissed each other and went to bed with their household in the mood of a happily departed Christmas Eve.

Scrooge watched the whole scene in a daze. His delirious consciousness lingered on its former reality. He recognised everything, he remembered everything, he relived everything with joy, and his whole being was filled with an inexpressible excitement. It was only when his youthful figure and his former friend Dick had vanished from his sight that the ghost who had recalled this world to him came back to him. The ghost stared at him, and the light shone very brightly on his head.

- 'Behold,' said the ghost, 'how little can be done to make this foolish people happy.

- "Nothing," muttered Scrooge.

- Listen and hear the two little ones singing the praises of Father Fezziwig. "Scrooge listened, then turned to the ghost, who continued:

- Well, am I wrong? Father Fezziwig has only spent a few pounds of his money, which he can't take to his grave. Perhaps three or four pounds. I wonder if that's why he deserves so much gratitude and recognition.

- "It is not that," said Scrooge, excitedly, and not noticing that he did not speak like the present Scrooge, but like the former Scrooge. The manner in which the chief can make our service easy or difficult, our work a burden or a pleasure, is the essential thing. A word, a look, a smile, - so small as to be almost unmeasurable, almost incalculable. And yet how important they are, worth more in the right moment than if you were to distribute your entire fortune among us!

Scrooge was suddenly silent, feeling the searching gaze of the spectre.

- Do you have a wish? - the ghost asked.

- Oh, nothing special," said Scrooge.

- But I can see that something is bothering you," the ghost insisted.

- Well, if you must know, I'd love to have a word with my assistant. But right now. That's all I want.

While he was saying this, he saw young Scrooge turning out the lights in the shop, and then they were out again, alone with the ghost in the cold, dark night.

- My time is up," said the ghost. - This command was not addressed to Scrooge, but to some invisible power, who executed it at that instant. The picture was instantly changed. Scrooge saw himself again. He was now an older man, a strong man, a man of good breeding. Desperation and malice, so characteristic of his later years, were not yet visible in his face, but the desire for money and care were already clearly visible in one or two features. A restless, vacillating, greedy look sits on this face. Malice is now putting down its roots; the trunk has not yet grown strong, but we can see where it will cast its shadow.

Scrooge is not alone now, a beautiful young girl in mourning is sitting next to him. The girl has tears in her eyes. She speaks in a veiled, tearful voice:

- I don't mean much to you anymore. You have found yourself a new idol. I've fallen behind. And if your new idol makes you as dizzy as I would have done, I'm sorry indeed.

- What is the new idol?

- The golden calf.

- My God, it's the turn of the world. There is nothing more terrible than poverty. And there is no man who does not strive by every means to create wealth.

- 'You are too afraid of life,' said the girl softly, 'and you only hope that your money will keep you out of trouble. You have given up one noble ambition after another, only to be overcome by the most insidious passion of all: the desire to gain. I've been watching you for a long time, now I see everything clearly.

- What do you see clearly? At most you can see that I've become smarter about life, but it hasn't changed the way I feel!

The girl just waved her head sadly no.

- Or do you see any change?

- You know that our friendship is not from yesterday. It was made when we were both poor and contented and could only hope that, with hard work and diligence, we could, in time, improve our situation somewhat. But you have changed completely since then. You have become a different person!

- I'm only human now!

- You need to feel for yourself that you are no longer who you were. I have not changed. As long as we were two bodies one soul, we could count on being happy. Now our diametrically opposed goals can only bring us unhappiness. How much and how I have pondered this, I will not say, but I will say plainly that I am ready to give you back your freedom.

- Have I ever wanted to be free?

- You never said.

- Well then?

- You didn't say it, but your changed spirit, your different way of life from mine and goals that I can't share with you clearly betrayed your intentions. And in everything that once made my love precious to you, I had to notice the change. Tell me honestly, if we had not met once, would you notice now, and if so, would you seek to win? Would you? - the girl said gently but firmly.

The man seemed to consider the serious words, but finally he said:

- So, you think it's not?

- Oh, how I wish I could disagree. God knows, my soul, I cannot. I have come to the truth, and now I must hold fast to it steadfastly. If you were free to-day, to-morrow, or the day after to-morrow, can I imagine you would choose a poor maiden? You who trust and believe only in money and profit. Or, if, in a weak moment, you were to be unfaithful to your life's principle and do it, would you not regret your reckless step a hundred and a thousand times? I know you would regret it bitterly, and so I bid you farewell. Now, when my heart is still overflowing with love for the man you once were. -

He was about to speak, but she turned away from him, and as he was leaving she said:

- I know this hurts you. It should hurt! But trust me, in a very, very short time you will forget all this as a useless dream and be glad you woke up early. I sincerely wish you happiness in your own way!

With that, he walked slowly away without looking back.

- Ghost! - said Scrooge, "why do you torment me? Enough! Drive me home, I will see no more of you!

- There's one more picture from the past in the back! - the ghost said dully.

- No! I don't want to see it! Don't show me anything! - begged Scrooge.

But the insistent ghost embraced him and forced him to look at the next picture.

He saw a comfortable, spacious room. In front of the fireplace was a beautiful young girl, with features so familiar that Scrooge's heart leapt; but the next moment he saw her. She was an old lady with grey hair. She sat in an arm-chair opposite her daughter. There was a rustling, a shouting, a tumult in the room. Now she saw that there were more children around the two women than she could count in a short time. The children were nothing like the forty children the poet had sung of, who, as we know, behaved like a single child. On the contrary, here each child behaved as if he or she had been forty children. The result: incessant running, ear-splitting clamour. But the two women are not bothered by the noise and laugh heartily at the children's pranks. The girl mingles with them, wrestles with them, and is happy to put up with the little rascals' less than gentle treatment.

Oh, I wish I had been one of them! Although, I swear, I don't think I could have been so rude! I could not for any money have pulled her silk hair, pulled her slippers off her feet, spit on her weak waist, as these good-for-nothing little rascals did. A thousand questions I would have plied her with, to open her sweet lips to words. I could have stared into her sparkling eyes for hours, but I would have said nothing to make her blush. With a light hand I would have stroked her wavy, precious hair, a lock of which is worth more than any treasure. In short, I confess I would have gladly traded places with any child to be with her. But I'd have to appreciate his presence as a man.

Now there is a knock at the door. The children tumble over each other, dragging the girl with them. Disheveled from the romp, dressed in dishevelled clothes, but with a laughing face, she greets her father as he returns home. The father stands in the doorway, followed by a man, who is just as much as ever, rummaging under his luggage. Christmas presents and toys! The children throw themselves on the parcels. They drag the two men along, clutching their legs and arms, tugging at their ties. What a joy and rapture to open each package! One of the children tears the brass knob off the clown's clown-stuffed rattle-cap and puts it in his mouth. He probably thinks it's candy. What fright, confusion and pale faces. The child has swallowed the button! What a relief when he does find the button! Joy, gratitude, happiness, rapture fills the room. Finally the children are tired. They race up the wooden stairs to the top floor where they go to sleep and the house finally quiets down.

Scrooge also watched this scene closely.

The master of the house puts his hand on the shoulder of his charming daughter, gently pulls her to him, and they walk slowly towards the fireplace, where the mistress is already seated in a comfortable armchair. They sit down beside her. Scrooge's heart clenches with pain at the thought of having such a charming, kind daughter, such an understanding wife, such a cosy hearth. A family and a home to brighten the twilight of his life.

- Bella," he turns to her, "who do you think I saw this afternoon?

- I have no idea which one?

- An old friend. Well, can't you guess? Mr Scrooge! I went past his shop and the window was only half closed. There was a candle burning inside so I could see him. It is rumoured that his partner is dying. So he was there alone. I don't think he had anyone else in the world except his partner.

- Ghost, torment me no longer," said Scrooge, in a hiccupping voice. - Take me away!

- I told you that you would see only the shadows of a time long gone. Have the courage to face them.

- No! That's enough. I can't take it anymore!

He was horrified to see that the ghost's face was wonderfully similar to the faces of all the shadows. He was frightened, but he kept bargaining.

- Leave me alone! Take me home. Stop torturing me!

As he said this, it now struck Scrooge that the light on the ghost's head was shining with extraordinary power. He instinctively felt that there must be some mysterious connection between what he had seen and the strength of the light. If the light were extinguished, it might end his further torments. The lampshade-shaped cap was in the ghost's hand. With a sudden movement, he grabbed the cone and in the blink of an eye, he pushed it into the ghost's head. The ghost instantly collapsed and disappeared under the hat. With all his might, Scrooge desperately pressed the hat to the ground. A bright light still burst from the lower edge and gave off a daylight glow.

Scrooge felt that his strength was failing him, and all he could see was that he was in his bedroom again. He could also dimly see the outline of his bed. He squeezed one last grip on the cigarette, then, exhausted, he staggered to his bed and fell into a deep sleep.

The number two ghost

In the midst of a full-throated snore that raised the highest hopes, Scrooge suddenly woke up. Apparently woken by no one and nothing. Yet it was quite unnecessary to inform him that it was again after midnight, and that an hour was approaching. He felt this clearly. That was why he woke up. He knew that the time was very near when he would have to have an important talk with the number two ghost, who would call on him through Marley's intercession.

For a while he wondered which curtain of the bed of ghost number two he was going to draw. Then, although the room was so cold that the tip of his nose was red, he decided to get out of his bedclothes for a minute and pull all the curtains aside. Then he lay back down and looked around. For he was determined to meet the ghost face to face from the first; he would not be taken by surprise, and whatever happened he would not be surprised at anything; in short, he would be prepared for a war of nerves to the utmost.

Gentlemen with a fresh mind and quick determination, who can appreciate the benefits of the moment and give weight to every word and gesture, will understand this ambition. Without wishing to exaggerate Scrooge's abilities and momentary mental strength, it is safe to say that, as far as the appearance of the coming spectre is concerned, he is fully prepared for any phenomenon which may alternate between, say, a new-born and a rhinoceros.

The mistake was simply that, having prepared and prepared for everything, he was in no way prepared for anything. And that is what has already happened. The clock struck one and nothing happened. This was more surprising and frightening than anything else. Scrooge shook with fear like a jelly. Five awkward minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour passed, and still nothing. There he lay in bed, a strange reddish light shining in the room. This reddish uneasy light had been perceptible since the clock struck one. Just light - without any ghosts; more alarming than a dozen ghosts, for he could not make sense of what it might mean or what it would become. He felt almost as if he had been set on a pyre, and the light was pouring from the glowing embers of his own body, without feeling the burn himself! Finally, as if he could do nothing else: he began to think. Of course, everyone now says that he could have done this before. Yes, but it is usually the person in trouble who sees his own situation least clearly. The outsider is always wiser. Anyway, the fact is that he's now thinking. And as he thought, he slowly realised that the light was probably filtering through from the next room. When this thought had taken root enough, he cautiously slipped out of bed, slipped into his slippers and tiptoed to the door.

The moment he put his hand on the doorknob, someone from the other room called his name and told him to come in. Scrooge silently obeyed.

The room he entered was undoubtedly the same room that had been known for years as his dining room. But as he looked around more and his eyes became accustomed to the light, he saw that something wonderful had changed in the room. The ceiling and walls were covered with evergreen vegetation, like a garden. Among the lush green leaves, berries glistened red with dewdrops. From the bright leaves of holly, mistletoe and ivy, the firelight reflected back like a million little mirrors multiplied. In the fireplace the fire burned with a huge blaze. Hardly ever had this old piece of tilework called a fireplace seen such a fire. In the centre of the room, like a king's coronation mound in a fairy tale, were roast turkeys, geese, wild boar's tenderloin, crisp roast mutton, long bunches of sausages, sausages, red apples, yellow oranges, gorgeous pears, horn cakes, sparkling bottles of mulled wine. From the giant heap, delicious aromas wafted and filled every corner of the large room. At the top of this magnificent hill sat a strange, jolly giant, holding a large piece of malt roast in one hand and a flaming torch shaped like a cornucopia in the other. The light of the torch fell sharply on the astonished face of the entering Scrooge. Hesitantly he paused in the doorway.

- "Come closer," the ghost called, "let's get to know each other a bit!

Scrooge approached timidly. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. The spectre's eyes were clear and bright, yet he had not the courage to face it.

- 'I am the ghost of Christmas this year,' the giant thundered. - Look at me!

Scrooge looked up and eyed his visitor. He was wearing a plain green dress with a white fur collar. His coat was unbuttoned, his shirt was unbuttoned, and his bare chest was self-consciously prominent, as if to emphasise his unconcealed sincerity. From under her short dress her bare legs showed. On her head she wore a pine wreath studded with glittering icicles. Her curly brown hair hung in natural curls over her shoulders, her open face, her eyes sparkling with a charming gleam, her voice a voice that was truly a figure of confidence, a figure of untroubled joy. On his left belt hung an old, rusty sheath, without a sword.

- Have you never seen a figure like me? - asked the ghost.

- "Never," said Scrooge.

- You've never been out at night with one of the younger members of my family? Or I should say with one of the older members, because I'm terribly young myself; or perhaps with one of my brothers; I've had a few in the last few years.

- I don't think I've met them. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've hardly had the pleasure of meeting any of them. How many brothers do you actually have?

- "More than one thousand eight hundred," said the ghost.

- What a family! - muttered Scrooge.

The ghost is now up and about.

- "Spirit," said Scrooge, summoning up all his courage, "let us go; lead us wherever you will, and I will follow. Last night I experienced many things that may be of use to me. I need to learn something from you.

- Grab the hem of my dress!

Scrooge obeyed, and clung with both hands to the ghost's clothes.

Egg beads, holly, amberjack, turkey, goose, roast duck, sausage, sausage, roast pork, scones, fruit, mulled wine, all gone in the blink of an eye. Gone too was the room, the fireplace, the red light and the night. They found themselves on a big city street on a white Christmas morning. It was bitter cold. There was the harsh, blaring sound of snow shovels. The masses of snow that had been swept off the rooftops fell to the ground with a thud, much to the delight of the children, who were flushed and admiring the glistening curls.

The dark outlines of houses stood out sharply against the white snow. On the ground, the snow was trampled into dirty mud by passers-by. On the driveway, snow melted in cart tracks, dripping down and pooling at intersections.

From the chimneys came the thick, bitter smoke of damp wood and filled the street as if every chimney in Britain had vomited its smoke. In a word, the weather was not exactly balmy. Yet there was cheerfulness and joy in the air; it could not have been more so under a summer blue sky with a wispy white cloud. This cheerful cheerfulness radiated from the population. The men, standing on the eaves of the houses, shovelling the snow, shouted merrily to each other, sometimes throwing a snowball at each other. They laughed if he hit the target, and even more if he missed. The butcher's shop is still half-open, the orchard's cuckoo's nest is in full glory. The chestnut baskets in the doorway bulge out into the street like the self-respecting belly of some respectable gentleman. Big brown Spanish onions, like real Spaniards, proudly line the shelves and only when a very pretty girl passes by do they wink at her. Pears and apples smile in yellowish goulashes. Above the entrance, lovely bunches of grapes hang on a string. Everyone has the right to look at them, and the shopkeeper's curious courtesy means that anyone can salivate at their sight free of charge. The deep golden yellow of Norfolk's dried apples blends with the warm yellow of the oranges and the cool yellow of the lemons. Paper bags are lined up in a windrow, eagerly waiting to contain all that succulent fruit and bring it to the festive tables of rich and poor as an after-dinner treat. Even the goldfish swim around in the cucumber jar in the centre of the window, looking like a pipsqueak. If you think about what callous and cold creatures living in the damp element they are, their ceaseless circulation becomes an excited protest.

And the grocery store! Oh, the grocery store! Although its windows are closed and the door is only half open, you can still see and hear amazing things through the crack in the door. The pans of the scales tinkle incessantly, the balls of asparagus spin like a devil's engine, the tin cans seem to move magically between shelf and counter. The smell of tea and coffee wafts through the air. Golden raisins pour from the raisin barrels, the cinnamon sticks are the longest cinnamon sticks in the world, the peeled almonds are the whitest almonds in the world. The sugar-coated fruit has such a thick, grooved, greyish sugar coating that you feel sick with hunger just looking at it! The prunes and the wreath of wreaths are also festively decorated; they are adorned with pine and holly. The shoppers in the narrow doorway, driven by the dreadful urgency of festive shopping and the mad importance of the thing, keep bumping into each other, forgetting the goods they have bought and running back for them in excitement. Or they forget to pay and then the shopkeeper gets excited. The staff stand behind the counter with beaming faces in the heat of battle. Their faces are as bright as if they'd been subbaked with the company's speciality cream, reputed to be the world's finest shoe polish.

When the evening bell rings, the town's residents, dressed in festive clothes and with celebratory faces, throng the streets leading to the churches and chapels. The simple folk of the side streets and the end of town carry the festive braided raisin loaf to the baker's in their bearded sheds. The spirit takes a special interest in them. With Scrooge, they stop at the door of the busiest bakery. The ghost opens the lid of the compartment doors and sprinkles holy water from the horn of plenty in his hand on the loaf. If there are a few bickering, sour-faced or sad faces in the crowd, the holy water will soon brighten them up and they will share in the general merriment. You say that quarrelling and sorrow are unworthy of the holy Christmas celebration. And so it is. God knows, my soul, so it is!

As soon as the bell rang, the bakers closed their shops. Only the scones continued to bake, fragrant in the depths of the ovens, while smoke billowed from the chimneys as if they were about to bake the bricks for a festive treat.

- Does the holy water you sprinkled on the bread give it a special flavour? - asked Scrooge.

- Yes, the taste and flavour of Christmas.

- And does this flavour go well with all scones?

- Yes, to all that they give with a good heart. Especially to the poor.

- Why the poor?

- Because they need it most.

Scrooge thought for a moment, then suddenly turned to the ghost.

- Well, if you care so much for the poor, is it not you or one of your relatives who forbids them to cook and bake on Sunday?

- You mean me?

- These poor people have access to a hot meal, so to speak, only on these days of rest, and you would deprive them of this little pleasure?

- Me?!

- Forgive me, I may be wrong, but it was done in your name or in the name of your relatives!

- Some of you claim to know us and to be friends with us. But they do so only to serve their own presumption, arrogance and selfishness on our behalf. To me, to my relatives and friends, they are strangers as if they did not exist. Think of that and put what you complain about on their head, not ours!

Scrooge nodded his head in understanding and they continued to stroll invisibly through the city streets. Already at the baker's, Scrooge observed that the huge form of the Ghost could fit into the narrowest of places, and that in any small putri it was as majestic and superhuman as if it stood in a high, vaulted hall.

Perhaps it was this very ability, or perhaps it was his infinite kindness and love for the poor that prompted the ghost to visit Scrooge's assistant, Mr Cratchit. They walked with determined steps towards the servant's apartment. Scrooge still clung convulsively to the ghost's clothes. The ghost paused on the threshold to sprinkle holy water from the cornucopia on the doorpost. He smiled mischievously, as if to say, 'So this is how the poor devil lives on fifteen shillings a week. Hm! At last, a devil who won't run away from holy water.

Mrs Cratchit was already bustling about in her festive finery. She was dressed in a simple, cheap dress that had been worn two or three times. She set the table with great care. Her youngest daughter, Belinda, ably assisted her. The eldest son, Peter, with his huge, ear-tipped hard collar (at a weak moment, Papa had given his own finest collar as a gift to his favourite and first-born heir), stood by the stove and turned the potatoes in the cauldron with a fork. It was obvious that he considered his hard collar so distinguished and fancy that it would attract attention in a fashionable nightclub.

Now two more small members of the Cratchit family have emerged: a boy and a girl. They sniffed excitedly. They could smell the festive meal and cheered Peter, who, in all his brilliant elegance, was tossing the slowly cooking potatoes around in the bubbling cauldron, while a huge cloud of steam was rising from the cauldron.

- 'I wonder where your father is late,' said Mrs Cratchit, wondering, 'and Tibi is not here yet. Last year at this time Martha had been home for half an hour.

- Martha is here! - cried the two younger children.

- Martha! Martha! We have such a goose!" they proudly announced to the new arrival.

- "My dear heart, God bless you, but you are here, I have been waiting for you," said Mrs Cratchit, kissing her granddaughter from right to left, while she helped her to take off her hat and cloak.

- We had a lot of urgent work to do yesterday, my mother, today was taken up with the cleaning and ramping that we missed yesterday.

- The main thing is that you're already here, sit by the fire to warm up a bit, darling.

- Don't sit down! Don't sit down, Martha! - "Daddy is coming round the corner, hide quickly.

No sooner had Martha gone into hiding than Dad, or Bobi as the children called him, arrived. He had a big pine branch in his hand and little icicles on his moustache, like Santa Claus. Little Tibi was riding on his neck. Poor little Tibi was born with a limp in one leg and had to be kept on a splint and walk with crutches.

- Where is Martha?" asked Bobi, as he entered and looked around.

- "Not yet," said Mrs Cratchit.

- Not here yet? "He's not here this time of year on Christmas Eve," said Bobi, his cheerfulness evaporating. He sighed and wiped his sweating cauldron, for he had to ride home from church. Little Tibi gave his "horse" a good squeeze. Martha, seeing her father's troubled face from her hiding-place, came out, for she did not want to distress him, even in jest. The two smaller children picked up little Tibi and carried him into the kitchen, so that he could see the hustle and bustle and hear the hiss of dinner.

- How did little Tibi behave in church? - his mother now asked.

- "Oh, it was very cute," Bobi replied. He was sitting on the bench, frowning, looking at himself, seeming to be thinking about something. On the way home, he said that it was a good thing he was in the church, because people must have thought of the one who made the lame sharp and the blind sighted, as soon as they saw him on his crutches.

Bobi's voice was trembling with emotion. Oh, little Tibi is getting smarter every day! He is listening, thinking and feeling deeply.

He didn't speak any more, because poor little Tibi was already coming jogging along on his little crutches. He was accompanied from left to right by one of his brothers and sisters. He sat down in his little chair by the fire. And while Bobi was making hot lemonade with his coat rolled up, as if it were possible to protect his coat from further wear and tear, Peter and the other two little ones ran to the baker's for the nut and poppy seed loaf and the roast meat. A few minutes later, they marched in a solemn procession with all these goodies.

Immediately, there was a feverish excitement, as if a roast goose was a rare and precious bird, a rare and precious bird that made the black swan look like a small thing. And in this house it was rare and precious indeed. Excitement was at its peak. Mum poured the hot sauce into the bowl. Peter unloaded the potatoes from the pan with dizzying speed, Belinda sweetened the applesauce, and Martha put the heated plates on the table. Dad sat little Tibi beside him on the table. The other children brought the chairs with a big band and sat down at the table, drumming their spoons impatiently. At last there was the smell of a delicious roast goose, beautifully served in the middle of the table. As soon as the table blessing was said, Mum took the big knife and, in a silence so silent you could hear the buzzing of a fly, ceremoniously cut the roast. The children, led by little Tibi, shouted a loud cheer.

Never such a goose! Bobi himself was not short of words of praise. How soft! How succulent! The skin was crispy and, above all, how cheap! With the delicious apple sauce and fat-fried potatoes, it was such a hearty feast that the whole family was fed, and even stayed. Yes, there was more! Mama Cratchit was particularly proud of this and took great care to put away the leftovers, which were really nothing more than a large bone with a tiny bit of meat on it. The little ones were greasy from ear to ear and could hardly breathe for satiety. They were especially partial to the fat-fried potatoes.

Now Mama Cratchit went out to the kitchen and while Belinda cleared the table and put clean plates in front of everyone, she opened the oven with a great fuss to take out the pudding-pot. Would it cook through enough, would it come out of the mould smooth and in one piece? Would it not collapse? For a moment, she wondered if someone had sneaked in through the kitchen door while the family was giving the pudding all their attention and lifting the whole pot. But no! The pot was in the bottom of the oven! As soon as he lifted the lid, a heady cloud of steam erupted. With a flick of the wrist, the pudding was quivering in all its majesty on the plate. The snow-white steaming cloth smelled like a big wash. And the pudding itself! It smelled like a scent that could not be described! In a moment, Mama Cratchit, blushing from ear to ear with joy, entered the room with the pudding bowl in her hand. The brandy was burning with a blue flame around a tower of pudding, standing magnificently and firmly, with a Christmas candle lit on top.

Never a pudding like this! Bobi was convinced that this was the best pudding that Mom had made during their marriage. Mama Cratchit apologised, saying she found the pudding too small for such a large family. Apparently, she had missed the mark. They all vehemently disagreed and indeed, as soon as the delicious, steaming, sweet, warm meal was handed out, there was a generous portion for all.

At last they dismantled the table, threw a few logs of wood on the fire and surrounded the fireplace. Oranges and apples were added and then piles of chestnuts were thrown on the coals. Bobi placed in front of him the family's wine kit, consisting of a floppy jug and two glasses. Into these he poured the sweet, spicy mulled wine, while the chestnuts roasted on the coals with a cheerful crackle.

- "Merry Christmas to all of you, my dears," Bobi said now, "God help us all!

- May the good Lord bless us all," said little Tibi.

The little one snuggled up close to his father. Bobi held the small, smooth hand in the palm of his hand as if he did not want to let go. He loved and cherished this little crippled child.

- "Ghost," said Scrooge now, with an emotion he had never felt before, "is this little one to die?

- I see an empty chair and a humming in the hall where no one ever sits. If no miracle happens, it means the child will die.

- No! No! Sweet ghost, dear spirit! Don't say that, don't say that. Tell me he'll live!

- I tell you, unless a miracle happens, it's not worth next Christmas. But what's wrong with that? At least it will reduce overpopulation. No?

Scrooge listened with bowed head to his own words, which the ghost had evidently quoted in mockery.

- 'You cowardly man,' said the ghost, 'see how cold and hard-hearted you were when you talked about overpopulation without really thinking it through. You think you can determine the life or death of your fellow man. Don't you think that in God's eyes your life is far less valuable than that of such a crippled child? God! Such talk before thee is as much as a worm on a leaf of the wood to vomit that there are too many hungry fellows down in the mud!

Scrooge listened to the ghost's reproachful words with a broken heart, shining his eyes thoughtfully, and only when he heard his name did he pay attention.

- "To Mr. Scrooge's health," said he. "To his health, to whom we owe this fine festive evening.

- We really have him to thank! He should be here! - said Mrs Cratchit, in a rage. - 'I'll teach you what Christmas is. I'd serve him the pasta. So much that I know he'd swallow it hard.

- 'Darling,' said Bobi, 'don't talk like that in front of the children. Well, and it's Christmas Eve!

- Of course it's Christmas Eve! When else would you think of drinking to the health of such a cantankerous, miserly, greedy, hard-hearted man as your boss, Scrooge. If anybody, you, poor old fellow, should know who he is.

- But darling, stop it! Tonight of all nights is not the night! - If I'm drinking to someone's health, it's gotta be you, honey. What I wish for Mr. Scrooge, I shall not say aloud. May he be happy. As happy as I wish him to be.

They passed the glasses around; the children stuck the tips of their tongues into the wine. Last was little Tibi.

Scrooge was the bogeyman of the family. The mention of his name was enough to wipe the smile off their faces. For five minutes or so, they did not wake up. But then they became more cheerful. Bobi told me that Peter had a job lined up, which, if it worked, would pay five and sixpence a week. The little ones had a good laugh, for they seriously could not imagine Peter earning money as an adult. But Peter stared thoughtfully ahead, as if wondering what he would invest his vast income in. Martha, who was a hand-maid in a small women's workshop, told him what she did in the workshop. She also talked about how hard time sometimes passes while working and how she is looking forward to a day off tomorrow. Oh, how long she'll sleep. What a great thing a holiday like this is! He said he saw a lord and a lady the other day. The lord was hardly the size of Peter. Meanwhile they were happily nibbling roast chestnuts and sipping wine. Sometimes they sang. The song was about a little boy who was tired in a blizzard. Little Tibi's high, ringing voice rang out pleasantly from the choir.

The small, intimate group was unappealing even with the best intentions. They were not very pretty people. Their clothes were poor, faded, their shoes were worn, their clothes were worn and patched, their faces were grey with care and poverty. But happy and contented they were; at least today, at this hour; the spirit of Christmas had sprinkled them with its reconciling, beautifying holy water. They were at the door, but Scrooge still could not take his eyes from them. He looked at little Tibi, in particular, with long, caressing eyes, before the door was closed behind them.

Meanwhile, it was getting dark and the snow was falling in thick flurries. Through the kitchen doors and windows, the warm light from the stoves cast beautiful red and yellow hues on the fresh snow. Lights and smells all over the town told that a festive dinner was being prepared. The window curtains were ready to be drawn to keep out the dark and cold from bright and warm homes. The children's flocks ran merrily antics everywhere to greet the guests, uncles, aunts, grown brothers, grandfathers, grandmothers. Elsewhere, small groups of children set off on field trips to visit. A group of pretty young girls also appeared, dressed in fancy fur coats and tiny boots. Wicked witches! So flirtatiously, with so much fire, they glanced to right and left; woe to the bony bachelor heart they were setting on fire to-day!

Looking at the crowds on the streets, it almost seemed as if there was probably no one left in the houses to welcome this crowd. In fact, there were hardly any houses where guests were not expected. The fires in the fireplaces were so blazing that tongues of flame were shooting out of the chimneys here and there. Peace to men of good will! - said the spirit, and, walking invisibly through the crowd, he swayed hearts with joy and gladness.

Even the old, sometimes grumpy and lonely lamplighter laughed to himself as they passed by. Points of light lit up wherever the old man passed, and he had no idea who was accompanying him on his journey and what made his old heart so light and gay.

Now suddenly the picture changes again, without the ghost having said anything. The landscape is dark, wild, swampy, desolate. Large, uncarved stone cairns are scattered about, white as the graveyard of giants. Untamed waters burst from every side, frozen to greenish ice in the crevices of the cliffs. Moss and gruel, tame sparse grass on the flatter rocks. In the western sky, the setting sun flickers red, like some bloodshot, swollen eye, then slides lower and lower, disappearing below the horizon, swallowed by the cold, wet night.

- What kind of country is this? - Scrooge asked now.

- 'A farm of miners who dig in the dark bowels of the earth,' the ghost replied. - But they know me well. The window of one of the huts was bright; a lamp was burning inside. They were going that way. Through the mud hut wall they entered the room. A stout mother-in-law and an old man with a long beard sat by the fire, surrounded by their children, grandchildren, perhaps great-grandchildren. The old man was singing a Christmas carol in a low, husky voice. The melody rang far out over the barren landscape in the still night. It was an old song he had learned as a child; the others sang only the refrain with him. Whenever the chorus came up, the old man's song grew livelier and more colourful; when the younger ones fell silent, the old man's voice grew tired and hushed.

All this was only glimpsed. They did not spend any time. Scrooge clung tightly to the ghost's clothes and they floated high in the air.

Where to? Far out to the open sea! Scrooge was horrified to see the jagged line of the rocky shore disappear behind them; he listened in horror to the wild roar of the water, as it cut eddies in the sea-bottom, and rippled to and fro, snow-white mounds of water, between the rocky caverns. On a lonely rock, an hour or so from the wild coast, they caught sight of a lighthouse. Seaweed and sea grass wove around the base of the rocks, seagulls fluttered around the tower in an unlikely setting, as if born of sea and storm. The two keepers sat by the hearth, from which a friendly beam of light fell on the raging sea. They sat at an untidy table with a jug of grog and warmly clasped hands, wishing each other a merry Christmas. The older one, with his face furrowed by sea and storm, looked like a statue carved in the sailor's fashion on the bow of an old galleon. He sang in a loud voice, as if to shout over the storm and the crashing waves.

But the spirit has not rested here either. Flying over the stormy, turbulent sea, it carried Scrooge further and further away, until at last they landed on a ship far from any human habitation. They stood by the helmsman, keeping an eye on the officers on duty, the crew. In their dark clothes, in the misty winter's night, the sailors looked like ghostly figures. Most of them were humming some Christmas carol, others were talking in hushed tones about their Christmas experience of long ago, or simply thinking wistfully of home, of their families, of Christmas at home. One thing they all agreed on, officers and crew, watchkeepers and those off duty, was that each had a kind word, a smile for the other, a thought for their absent loved ones, and they were all filled with joy knowing that those absent were certainly thinking of them with love. While Scrooge was still listening to the roar of the stormy wind, and wondering how sailors sail with death-defying safety over this forsaken land, haunting the unknown depths of the bottomless sea, he suddenly heard, to his great astonishment, a familiar, merry laugh. He was even more astonished when he recognised his nephew's voice and found himself in a brightly lit, welcoming, warm room. The ghost was standing beside him, and Scrooge, glancing sideways at him, could well see that he was smiling warmly at his nephew.

- Haha - cackled Scrooge's nephew - hahaha.

By the way, if you know someone who would laugh more heartily and more heartily than Scrooge's nephew, please let me know, I'd like to meet them too.

How wise and excellent that not only sickness, trouble and sadness are contagious, but also joy and happiness. Indeed, they may stick more quickly and thoroughly from one person to another than any other thing. Thus it happened that when Scrooge's nephew laughed so hard that his side ached, the laughter was soon passed on to his wife. All the friends gathered around laughed with them.

- He called the Christmas celebrations a fraud and a deception. By God, what nonsense! And he really meant it!

- "All the more shame to look at it," said the young woman now. She looked like a very smart, clever girl. And she was pretty too - very pretty! Dimpled chin, kiss-marked cherry lips, bright eyes! An attractive, charming phenomenon! Really charming!

- 'He's a foolish old fellow,' said Scrooge's nephew. - 'Full of all sorts of bugs and bugs. But his faults carry their own punishment. I have nothing against him, by the way.

- "You used to say he was terribly rich," said the young woman.

- And what is it worth? Nothing. Exactly nothing. He's not using his money for anything good. Not even to live comfortably and nicely, or to take pleasure in the thought of leaving his money to us. Hahaha!

- I'm not so lenient with him," she said. Her sisters and the other ladies present seemed to be of the same opinion.

- But I am lenient because I feel sorry for him! I couldn't be angry with him even if I wanted to. Who is burdened with his eternal nagging? Only herself. Now he's got it into his head that he's angry with us. What's the result? He's going to miss a dinner. A not very good dinner.

- But yes, it is an excellent, very excellent dinner! - said the young woman. The whole party agreed with her, and it must be said that they were the most appreciative in this matter, for they had just risen from their dinner and were sitting round the fireplace munching their delicacies.

- Well, I'm glad to hear that, because I don't have much faith in the cuisine of young and inexperienced housewives. What do you think about that, Topper? - Topper could see by his blind eyes that he was head over heels in love with one of the housekeeper's sisters; and of course he replied that he, as a fellow-less, unfortunate bachelor, was too prejudiced to give a meaningful answer to such a question. The hostess's sister, a charming, curvaceous blonde in a beautiful lace-collar dress, blushed deeply.

- "Go on, tell me more, once you've started," Scrooge encouraged his nephew's friend, "you're a funny one, you never finish what you start. - Scrooge's nephew now began to laugh again, and though his chubby little sister-in-law held a bottle of smelling-water under his nose, he did not stop until all present were in a fit of laughter.

- I just wanted to say that by not loving us and not befriending us, my old, cranky uncle is depriving himself of pleasant hours. Hours that he certainly cannot enjoy in the exclusive company of his own in his dusty office and musty flat. I, for my part, try to give him a peace offering every Christmas, whether he likes it or not; frankly, I feel sorry for the old man. He can make fun of Christmas as long as he lives, but I believe that if I greet him every year with a smile on my face, his opinion of the holiday of love will improve somewhat. If I have no other effect on him than perhaps to leave fifty pounds for his poor helper, I have done much. I think the old man has built up a great deal this afternoon, for I have put him to work thoroughly. - At this again the company had a good laugh. But Scrooge's nephew was not for a moment offended that they should laugh at him. It was far more important to him that his guests should be merry than that he should care what was the cause of their merriment. And so they merrily went on, passing the wine jug round and round. They drank tea, and after tea they played music. Topper had a pleasant bass voice, which he handled with such ease that he never blushed. The hostess played the harp beautifully and coaxed such light and simple melodies out of the instrument that a child could learn them on first hearing. At the sound of the childish melodies, Scrooge was suddenly reminded of school and his playmates, as the ghost of Christmases past had recalled them to him. By degrees he grew more and more mellow, and he felt clearly that if he had listened more often to these sweet sounds he might have become a man who could see the beauties of life and sometimes feel happy. And when he thought of the end of life, he thought of others, not only the gravedigger who had buried poor old Marley.

When they had had enough of music, they played pawnbrokers, because it's so good to be a child again sometimes. Especially at Christmas, because the holiday itself is a celebration of the child Jesus! First, of course, they played blindfolds. Topper was blindfolded, but it seems the young man in love could see with his corns, for he was always on the trail of the girl in the lace collar. They were probably in collusion with the host and perhaps also with the ghost, who was supposed to be the lovers' patron. Across chairs and tables, all in pursuit of the girl! He knocks over the poker, gets tangled in the curtains, bumps into the piano, but miraculously always knows where she is. He doesn't want to grab anyone but her. If someone were to get in front of him and deliberately grab you, he would dodge them with a wide arc and keep dodging and sidestepping until he was right on her trail again. That cries out that Topper cheats, peeps, and fakes the game. And he's right. In the end, the girl's tricks, her darting, her gliding, her smelling are all in vain, she's trapped in a corner and caught. Now it's up to the boy to make sure he's really caught her. What mischief! He feels his head scarf, his necklace, his ring, all to make sure of his identity. She's sulking, too, and he's barely able to placate her. Both are left out of the next game, and whisper at length behind a curtain.

The landlady was not playing blindfold; she was sitting by the fire in a big armchair with a bay window. Scrooge and the ghost were standing just behind her. But when later on they played "auction" and "the crest of our craft," in these games she was so quick-witted and witty that, to her husband's great delight, she outwitted all his sisters. Which is saying a great deal, considering that there were some very clever girls among them - if you don't believe it, ask Topper!

There must have been twenty or so of them, and they were all playing; even Scrooge, who, quite forgetting himself and the fact that he was invisible and could not be heard, often interposed and hit the nail on the head; we know that he was a shrewd and sharp-witted old fellow, if he sometimes pretended to be simple-minded.

The ghost was pleased to see Scrooge getting into the game. Then, as they were about to leave, Scrooge, like a child, begged them to stay a little longer while the guests dispersed. The ghost would not consent to this.

- 'Ni, a new game is just beginning,' said Scrooge, 'let's stay just half an hour longer!

They played "black and white, yes and no". Scrooge's nephew had to secretly write the word to be guessed on a slip of paper and answer the other players' questions with "black and white, yes-no"; from the answers, he had to guess the word written on the slip of paper. The barrage of questions started, and soon the questions revolved around an animal. All that was certain was that it was a live animal, a nuisance animal, a wild animal; an animal that growls, that snarls, that roams the streets of London. No one leads it, no one lives in the zoo or the circus, no horse, no pig, no donkey, no cat, no bear. Scrooge's nephew laughed louder and louder after each question, and at last he was holding his sides and rolling and kicking on the sofa in his great glee. In the end it was the little chubby girl (with the lace collar) who saved the day:

- I've guessed, I've guessed, I know what it says on the label!

- Well, what?

- Mr Scrooge! Your uncle!

You got him! Everyone admired the sharp-witted girl, although some blamed the host for answering the question "bear?" with a "no". If they had taken Mr Scrooge into account at all, this "no" might have confused them.

- 'Well, what a delightful, amusing time the old gentleman has given us,' said the nephew, 'it would be ungrateful if we did not drink to his health. Where is the wine-can? Come, let us drink!

- Long live Uncle Scrooge! Hooray, hooray for old Scrooge!" they cried in arms.

- We wish him a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, whether you like it or not! Long live Uncle Scrooge.

Scrooge felt cheerful and light. He was filled with feelings he had never felt before: gratitude and happiness. If the spirit had given him time, he would have returned the toast with a solemn oration; he would not have cared that no one could hear his words. But he had no time for that. When his nephew's last words were spoken, the whole picture vanished as if blown away by the wind. In a moment they were on their way again.

They visited a host of houses, saw many things; they left all at ease and satisfied. They stood by sickbeds and the sick were refreshed; the outcasts felt at home for a few minutes; the unhappy were given hope; the poor felt rich, the weak strong. Poor-houses, hospitals, prisons, and all other haunts of misery were visited; the spirit gave comfort and joy to the unfortunate everywhere; Scrooge saw, heard, and learned. It was a long and adventurous night. Scrooge wondered, was it really one night? He also noticed that while he himself had not changed, the ghost seemed to have aged. As they were saying good-bye to a little group of nativity children, Scrooge looked at the ghost and saw that his hair was turning grey.

- Are the lives of ghosts that short? - he asked.

- My life on earth is very short. 'Tonight it ends,' the ghost replied.

- Tonight?

- At midnight. I don't have much time left.

The clock was just past three quarters. - 'Forgive me,' said Scrooge quietly, 'if I ask you a question that is none of my business. Something strange is showing from under your clothes. I can scarcely imagine that it could be part of your body. I don't even know if it is a leg or a claw?

- "With all that flesh on it, I could have a claw," the ghost replied sadly.

With that, she opened her dress; two wretched, emaciated, trembling children emerged. They knelt down and clung with both hands to the hem of her dress.

- Man! Check these out! "Take a good look at them," cried the ghost. - A boy and a girl. Pale-green, ragged, hungry, dark and wistful-looking, miserably humble, both of them! Their faces, in place of the ashes of youth, with ugly wrinkles, flabby skin, protruding bones, and bright blue eyes. On their brows, instead of the breath of the guardian angel, The vicious kick of the devil's hoof. No evil spell, corrupting charm, or any other miracle beyond the comprehension of human reason could have created half such hideous monsters.

Scrooge cooled down. He did not know what to say. At first he felt that perhaps he should praise the children. Perhaps he should say that he found them beautiful. But then he shrank back from this terrible lie, and said only. Your children?

- "Children of Humanity," said the spirit, looking at the two unfortunates. They ran to me to press charges against their parents. This boy: the Unconscious and that girl: the Misery. Beware of them both and all their kin. But most of all the boy, for on his forehead is written Damnation, if there is no one to wipe it off. Thou knowest well what it is, deny it not. Pave the way for those who, for base party interests, tolerate them, though they know where the road leads and the end is inevitable.

- But is there no helping hand or protection for them? - cried Scrooge.

- What are prisons for? - said the ghost mockingly, turning his own words against Scrooge.

The clock struck twelve.

Scrooge turned towards the ghost, but saw nothing. The ghost was gone. As the last stroke of the clock sounded, Scrooge suddenly remembered old Marley's prophecy, and, looking round, saw a strange solemn vision approaching. The vision stood before him shrouded in a billowing mist, a fearful mystery.

The third and final ghost

The vision approached slowly, in silence. When it was quite near, Scrooge fell on his knees; and in the wake of the spectre, for the vision was none other than the third ghost, even the air was full of mystery and horror. He wore from head to foot a baggy black robe, which covered his face, and enveloped his figure, so that only one outstretched hand was visible, and otherwise he was completely lost in the pitch-black night. All that Scrooge could see was that the spectre was a tall, lank figure, and his presence filled him with a solemn, anxious dread. The mysterious, dark figure stood before him silent and motionless.

- Am I in the spirit of Christmas to come? - asked Scrooge.

The ghost did not respond. He held out his hand as if pointing.

- You want to reveal the future to me? Things that have not yet happened, but will happen in time? Is that so?

The shutter of the dark dress seemed to move around the neck. The ghost must have nodded. Scrooge might have taken this for an answer, for there was no other. Though he was used to dealing with ghosts, he was so afraid of this silent spectre that he could hardly stand. The ghost had seen his miserable condition, and seemed to have waited for him. But the pause did Scrooge little good, and made him rather worse. It was horrible to him to think that from behind the dark cloak he should be watched by searching eyes, and that he himself, however hard he tried, should see nothing but a white thin hand and the blurred outline of a shadowy figure.

- 'Ghost of the future!' he cried in despair, 'I fear you more than all the ghosts I have seen. But I know that you have good will towards me, and that you have come to change me and make me a different man. Guide me, then, and I will follow you with trust and gratitude. Will you not speak to me?

No answer. Only the outstretched hand points silently in one direction towards an unknown destination.

- Let's go!" says Scrooge. The night is short and time is precious. Lead on, spirit!

The ghost moved as slowly as it came. Scrooge stepped into its shadow. The shadow enveloped him, lifted him, and carried him away. They did not have to go into the town, the town seemed to grow out of the ground, suddenly it was all around them. They were standing in the middle of the city, in front of the stock exchange. Bankers, merchants, agents were hurrying up and down, money jingling in their pockets, looking at their watches, talking in groups; the picture was familiar to Scrooge.

They stopped near a small group. Scrooge saw the ghost pointing to the group and stood among them to listen to what they were saying.

- No, I don't know the details, I just know that he's dead," said a tall, fat man.

- When did he die? - asked another.

- I think it was last night.

- What was wrong with it, anyway? - he asked, taking a large dose from a third, giant snuff box.

- I thought he would live forever.

- 'My God, this is life,' someone said and yawned loudly.

- Who did he leave his fortune to? - said a red-faced gentleman, with a large drooping wart on the tip of his nose. It was like a turkey's gizzard.

- "The hell knows," said the sleepy-faced man, and yawned again. - Maybe it was the company. He didn't leave it to me, that's for sure!

They all laughed at that.

- It must be a poor funeral for the old man. I don't know who the devil is going to see him out. Maybe if a few of us got together we could go, huh?

- "If there's a good funeral, I'll be happy to go," said the man with the warts. - But there should be a drink.

Again, they had a good laugh.

- 'I seem to be the most unselfish of you,' said the fat gentleman, 'for I don't like to wear black gloves, nor can I eat and drink to my heart's content, but I'll go to the funeral if any one else will come with me. Come to think of it, I was the old man's best friend. Whenever I met him on the street, I always stopped to have a word with him! Well, I must be going. Goodbye.

The small group dispersed, some this way, some that. Scrooge knew them all, but he did not understand why he had to listen to this conversation. He looked at the ghost, curious.

But he didn't say a word, just silently pointed to two men in a side street who were meeting. Scrooge stood listening to them too. Perhaps this conversation might throw some light on the mysterious behaviour of the ghost. He knew these two gentlemen well. Both were wealthy and respectable business men. Scrooge always thought it important that these gentlemen should think well of him. In a strictly business sense, of course. Good for, say, £20,000.

- Hello!" said one of them.

- Good afternoon! How are you? - said the other.

- Nothing special. Old Scratch is dead!

- Yes, I heard it too. It's cold, isn't it?

- Why not at Christmas. Are you sure you don't skate?

- Not me! I have other problems. Well, goodbye!

That is all and no more: greetings, dialogue, farewells; Scrooge is no wiser. He found it incomprehensible why the spirit should attach importance to such trifling conversations as he now overheard. He suspected, at any rate, that there must be some hidden purpose. Marley's death could hardly have been mentioned, for it was the past, and the ghost had to show him the future. Try as he might, he could not make any connection between what he had just heard and himself. But he felt sure that there must be some lesson, the use of which was for the moment hidden. He determined, therefore, to try to remember everything well, and especially to take care that, if his own shadow should appear, he should remember every word and movement of his own shadow! He trusted that the behaviour of his future figure would solve the mystery which he could not yet understand. He entered the Exchange building and looked around, but in his usual place stood a strange man. He looked at the clock, it was stock exchange time, he was always here at this time; he looked at everyone, but could not find anyone who looked even a little like him. He felt disappointed, for he hoped that now at last he might catch a glimpse of his changed self.

The ghost stood beside him, silent and dark. His outstretched hand now pointed straight at him. He suspected that the eyes hidden in the depths of his black helmet were fixed on him, sharp and cold. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a shiver. Now they were out of the building and out of the banking district. They had come to an ugly, disreputable part of town, where Scrooge had never been before, and had only known the neighbourhood by reputation. Dingy, narrow alleys, squalid shacks, dodgy shops, ragged, half-naked people, drunks staggering about. Sewer stench, filth, dirt. Every house, street corner, pub, oozes sin, sleaze and squalor.

In this suspicious environment, they stopped in front of an equally suspicious-looking junk shop. Rags, empty bottles, scrap metal, chains, nails, worn shoes, bones and other rubbish were piled up inside the small shop. The junkman, an old man in his seventies, with a scruffy, unkempt beard, sat on a hewn tiled stove. Charcoal was burning in the stove, spreading stench and smoke, and the little old man was puffing out a cloud of no less fetid smoke from a pipe with a hookah. He seemed to be enjoying his seclusion from the world and his distinguished solitude.

As Scrooge and the ghost reached the front of the shop, a woman came creeping through the door, carrying a large bundle on her back. No sooner had the woman entered than another woman with a baty followed, and then a man in dark clothes entered the shop. They blinked at each other in alarm for a few moments, then suddenly all three of them burst out laughing.

- The cleaning lady was the first, said the woman who came later.

- And the laundress is the second," said the man in dark clothes.

- "And the gravedigger is the third," said the junkman. "It's a lucky thing you all three met at my place. It's like you've just been talking to each other! Well, you've come to the right place. Come into the little room. None of you are new here. Just a moment while I close the bolt door. The creaky thing. I swear there's not another piece of junk like that in the whole warehouse. And I've got a pain in my back. It's also the ugliest bone in the whole store. I'm old and decrepit myself; I'm fit for my junk. Well, come in!

The small room was separated from the shop by a dirty, torn curtain. The little old man poked at the fire, wiped the sooty lamp-glass with his handkerchief, and then went on smoking his pipe in great calm.

Meanwhile, the cleaning woman, dropping her bathtub, sat down on a low stool; she folded her bare arms at her knees and looked at the other two defiantly.

- Well, what is Mrs Dilber staring at? There's nothing in it. All saints have their hands bent towards you. The old man, too, was only looking out for his own advantage in his worldly life.

- He really got that one right! - the washerwoman agreed. - All he ever did was look out for himself!

- Well, why are you blinking like you're scared! Who will know? No one. And we're certainly not going to tell on each other.

- You can rest assured of that," said Mrs Dilber and the man at the same time.

- Well, then everything is fine. Nobody's going to miss these little bits of junk in this bathtub. Least of all the dead.

- If the old bastard had been more humane, he would have had someone to look after his belongings and not died a lonely death like a beaten dog.

- You hit the nail on the head. The old man got his.

- I wish I had gotten mine better. But I had nothing else to go on but what was in this raggedy bag. Well, let's open it, old Joe, and see what you'll give me for it. I don't mind being first and I ain't ashamed of it. We've always stuck together. And it ain't no crime what we do.

It seems that the gravedigger was overcome by the honour of a bully, because he was the first to open his bag. There wasn't much in it. The most valuable were the one or two shirt buttons, forefingers, watch chains, irons, brooches, which immediately caught the eye of the watchmaker. The old man counted everything. He wrote the price of each piece on the wall and then added it up. Pointing to the total, he said only this:

- Sir, that's your demand, and if the wheels come off, I won't give you a penny more. Who's next?

It was Mrs Dilber's turn. Some sheets, towels, two old-fashioned silver spoons, sugar tongs, three pairs of worn shoes. Her bill was also written on the wall by the old man.

- I always pay a higher price for ladies. 'That's my weakness; I'll be ruined,' said the old man, in a complaining tone.'Madam, you'll get that much, and you can't squeeze me for half a farthing, even if you pay extra for it.

- "Well, old man, now let's see my bat," said the woman who arrived first.

The old man knelt down, not that he felt any desire, but rather to untie a couple of knots in his knickers, which he managed to do after a few moans. From the package came some dark fabric of uncertain colour and material.

- What is it? Ceiling bed upholstery?

- Bedspread! 'You have a devil,' said the woman, laughing, leaning forward slightly on her crossed arms.

- You didn't lift him off the bed with his rings and brackets while the old man was still...

- "Yes, I do," the woman said.

- You are a wonder of life! I'm sure you'll do well in life," said old Joe.

- Well, I take what has no legs and I'm not ashamed. Just be careful not to soil the clean blankets.

- Are these his blankets too?

- Who else would they belong to? I assure you, you're not a bit cold without them.

- I hope he didn't die of some epidemic disease? - said the old man, looking at her with a slightly alarmed expression.

- Rest assured, I didn't value his company enough to stay with him if he had a contagious disease. And that shirt you can look at until you're blind, you won't find a poppy seed hole or a palm-sized worn spot. He had the best shirt and how fine it was. Of course I didn't let it go to waste!

- What do you mean, waste? - asked the old man.

- Well, it would be a shame to use such a fine piece of cloth as a shroud. Somebody was stupid enough to put it on, but I didn't hesitate to pull it off. A piece of old cotton is good for the purpose. It looks as good on a corpse as any. If this had stayed on, it wouldn't have looked any better.

Scrooge listened to this conversation with horror.

As this group of underworlders sat by the light of the old old old man's lamp, it almost seemed to him as if demons were fighting over a departed soul. The junkman fished money out of a canvas bag.

- "Ha, ha, ha," laughed one woman, "as long as he was alive, he scared everyone away. Why? For whom? For us, obviously! Because who benefits from it? Only us. Hahaha.

- Ghost! - said Scrooge, shivering from head to toe. - I understand everything. The fate of this unfortunate man might as well be mine. I myself am on my way to such a terrible end. But good heavens, what is this?

The colour has changed again. He saw a bed, a bare bed without curtains. It was so close to him that he could reach it if he stretched out his arm. On the crumpled sheets of the bed lay a dark mass. A corpse.

The room was dark. It was so dark that it was hard to get a good look around. Yet Scrooge, by some secret instinct, strained his eyes and tried to ascertain where he was. From the street a faint light was just falling on the bed where the body lay; unguarded, unmourned, abandoned.

Scrooge looked at the ghost. The ghost's hand pointed to the head of the corpse. The shroud was thrown away so lightly that Scrooge had only to touch it with one finger to see the face of the dead man. He felt clearly that he wished to do so, but when he tried to raise his hand, his strength failed him utterly, so that he was unable to make the slightest movement.

O cold, cold, terrible Death! How terrible and dreadful is your altar: the tomb where your infinite and mysterious realm begins. But whatever thy power, thou canst not touch the heads of those whom in life we loved, honoured, respected. Not a hair of their head can you curl, not a line of their face can you alter. What does it matter that the hand of the dead is bent powerlessly, that his heart no longer beats, if the hand, while he lived, was generous and kind and the heart beat with feeling, warmth and humanity. Reap, Death, reap! Human good deeds bloom on the tombs and proclaim eternal life throughout the world.

These words were whispered to Scrooge by an inner voice as he stood looking at his dead bed. He wondered how the dead man would behave if he were suddenly to rise. Would greed, envy, lust for money still control his thoughts? For he had seen how sadly and ingloriously these traits had brought him! Abandoned by all, he lay sprawled in the dark, lonely house. No woman, no child, no friend to whom he had once spoken a kind word in his life, and who, remembering that word, would now shed a tear for him! There is only a stray cat lurking around the door and rats burrowing under the stove. Scrooge was disgusted to think why they should be circling so excitedly round the corpse.

- 'Ghost,' he said, 'this place is a house of horrors. Believe me, I've learned my lesson. I will not forget it. Take me away from here.

But the ghost was still motionless, pointing to the body's covered head.

- "I understand you," said Scrooge, "and I would do as you wish if I could. But I have not the strength. I haven't the slightest strength!

The ghost stared at him.

- 'If there is any one in this town,' pleaded Scrooge, in agony, 'who has any feeling for the death of this unfortunate man, lead me to him, and let me see who it is.

The ghost's dark cloak spread out like a bat's wing. For a moment Scrooge saw nothing, then suddenly it was broad daylight; they were in a room where a mother was pacing up and down among her children.

The woman glanced at the door with visible impatience; she was obviously waiting for someone. She tried to sew a little, but then got up again, looked out of the window, looked at the clock. The clamour of his playing children - at other times such a pleasant noise - was also hard to bear.

At last the door opened; she ran past him. He was a young man, but trouble and want had already ploughed deep furrows in his face. There was a serenity in his face. Joy, which he tried to conceal, as if ashamed of it.

They sat down to lunch without a word. After a long silence, the woman broke the silence.

- Any news?

The man seemed to hesitate what to answer.

- Good or bad? - the woman now asked.

- Bad.

- Have we finally gone bankrupt?

- No. There is still hope.

- Yes. If you could give me a reprieve. But can we believe in such a miracle?

- "He has already given me a reprieve," said the man.

The woman was a gentle and patient creature, with an open look; all her thoughts were written on her face. Now she folded her hands, praying. Her prayer was a prayer of thanksgiving and a prayer of supplication. Heaven must have forgiven him for the thought that had thrust itself into his mind at the first moment of hearing the news.

- You know that I wanted to visit you last night to beg for a week's reprieve. Her drunken cleaning lady wouldn't let me in; she said she was sick. I thought it was a simple excuse. Well, not only was she really sick, but she was on her last legs.

- Who will be the heir?

- I don't know. But until the situation is clarified, I'm sure we will find the money. Or if we can't get it, perhaps fate won't be so unkind to us that the heir will be as unquestioning a creditor as he was. Tonight, at any rate, we may sleep soundly. Indeed, tempers are at rest. Even the children's faces brightened, though they understood little of the matter. The house breathed a sigh of relief, almost cheerful, happy and calm, because the man was dead. It was the only house in the town where the death had aroused some emotion. And that emotion was also a feeling of relief.

- 'Ghost,' said Scrooge now, 'I only want to see a spark of tenderness, a momentary softening somewhere. Someone to think movingly of the dead, lying there in the cold, dark room, forlorn and private. Oh what a comfortless and agonizing memory! I shall never forget it.

The ghost led him through familiar streets. Scrooge looked to right and left, still hoping to catch a glimpse of his own figure; but in vain.

They arrived at Cratchit's house. Mrs Cratchit and the children were sitting around the fire.

The room was silent. An unusual silence. The little ones, usually so naughty and loud, sat huddled in a corner; Peter was reading a book. Mrs Cratchit and the girls were sewing.

"And he took a child and set him among them."

That sentence rang in Scrooge's ears. Where had he heard it? It must have been Peter reading it from the book on his lap as they entered the door. But why had he stopped reading?

Sighing, Mrs Cratchit put her work aside, burying her face in her hands.

- Sewing strains my eyes, especially when I sew by candlelight; I always start to tear up. I don't want your father to come home and find me with tears in my eyes. I think he will be here soon.

- 'He should have been here long ago,' Peter said, closing the book, 'but he seems to be walking more slowly these days.

They were all silent again. They just nodded sadly, finally Mrs Cratchit spoke again.

- And how could he hurry! Little Tibi was sitting on his neck! He even ran with him!

- How many times have I ridden the poor thing like that! - Peter said.

- Me too, me too," said the other children.

- It was not difficult, because he was so slight. And how Daddy loved him, how he called him, how happy he was to sit next to him. He could warm his little hand. But here's Daddy now!

Bobi stood in the doorway in his little coat - the poor devil still didn't have a winter coat - and hugged his wife as she ran up. His tea was steaming on the mantelpiece, and there was an armchair beside it. As he sat down, a child or two sat on his knee, huddled close to him as if to comfort him. Father, dear father, calm down, don't be sad, be our cheerful companion, dear good father!

Bobi held them gently to her, chatting kindly with the whole family. He admired the work of mum and the girls. He complimented them on their skill and speed. I'm sure they'll be ready before Sunday.

- Sunday! You must have been out today! - said Mrs Cratchit.

- "I was outside," said Bobi, "how nice it would have been if you could have come too. It would have been nice to see what a beautiful, flowery, green, peaceful place it is. But you'll see it many times again. I promised our poor little one that we would visit every Sunday. My poor, dear little boy, my poor, dear little boy!

Again he collapsed into himself; try as he might to control himself, he could not. For if he had been able to control his feelings, he would not have been so strongly bound to this child of his. He went slowly out of the room and upstairs. Upstairs the room was brightly lit, decorated with Christmas branches. A chair stood beside the boy's bed. Poor Bobi sat down sadly on the chair, kissed little Tibi's pale, cold face. The kiss gave him back his strength. Slowly, he began to feel that he had to get used to what had happened. With this calm in his heart, he went back to the others.

They were still sitting around the fire, talking quietly. Mum and the girls were sewing. Bobi told me how she had met Mr. Scrooge's nephew, who was a very fine gentleman and very kind to her.

- Maybe I was a little bit depressed and he asked me what was wrong. And I told him my big problem. You should have seen the compassion with which he squeezed my hand, and how tenderly he said, "I am very sorry for you, sir, and for your wife, that excellent woman." How did he know that?

- How did you know, dear?

- Well, that you are such an excellent woman! - said Bobi.

- "Everyone knows that," Peter said seriously.

- You are right son! Your mother is indeed an excellent woman and deserves to be respected and honoured by all. She also said that if I needed anything, I could always count on her. She even gave me her address. But it wasn't the fact that she offered to help me - which I really don't expect - that made me feel so infinitely better, but her unparalleled kindness and sincere goodness. He spoke as if he knew poor little Tibi and was weeping with us.

- I am sure he must be a very good man," said Mrs Cratchit.

- That's right, darling, and I wouldn't be surprised if Peter got a better job.

- "Listen, Peter," said Mrs Cratchit.

- 'It could be,' said one of the girls, 'if Peter gets a good job and then gets married and leaves us.

- 'You just look after yourself,' said Peter, sulking.

- Well, it may happen sooner or later, my boy, though you still have plenty of time. Children grow up, fly the nest. But one thing is certain, whenever we part, whatever the circumstances, none of us will ever forget little Tibi, who was the first to leave us.

- We will never forget him, Father.

- And if you think how gentle, how peace-loving he was, even though he was a very small child, you will never quarrel among yourselves.

- We will not, Father.

- How nice to hear you say that.

Mrs Cratchit kissed her husband; the girls kissed their father, the little ones kissed their father. Peter held out his hand to her, squeezed it manfully and shook his father's hand. Little Tibi from heaven must have been moved to watch them as they made a sacred vow of love and union in his memory.

- "Spirit," said Scrooge now, "I feel that the moment is coming when we shall part. Please do not leave me till I know who was the dead man we saw in the private house?

The ghost of Christmas Eve to come has now taken Scrooge back to the stock market. Again he searched and again he could not find his future self anywhere. Now he saw that the window of his office opposite the Stock Exchange was open. He ran to the window and looked in, hoping to see what he was looking for. The room was the same, the house was the same, but the office was completely different. He couldn't find what he was looking for here either.

- "Ghost," said Scrooge now, "we have been in the place where my vocation, my business, has bound me, where I have worked. Please show me my future form, my future place.

The ghost was standing on the square in front of the stock exchange, pointing his ghostly hand in a certain direction. He was not pointing to the Stock Exchange, he was not pointing to Scrooge's office. He pointed in another direction.

- The stock exchange is here, my office is over there and you are pointing in a third direction. Where are you pointing?

But the ghost remained silent and motionless. At last Scrooge could do nothing but move slowly in the direction indicated. They came to an iron fence. Scrooge stopped to see what garden lay beyond the fence.

It was the cemetery. Here lay the wretched dead of the lonely house. It was a wild, weedy graveyard. Flowerless weeds, a weedless ground, where too many dead had been crammed. It was desolate and dreary, worthy of the wretched dead of the lonely house.

The ghost stood among the mounds and pointed to a grave. To his stillness and immobility he now added something of ominous, sombre solemnity. Hesitantly, trembling, Scrooge started towards the mound.

- I have a question, spirit; answer it before I step to the tombstone you point to. What shadows are you showing me? Shadows that must necessarily come to pass in the future or shadows that may come to pass?

The ghost remained silent and motionless.

- I believe that our character and our actions determine the direction of our lives and therefore necessarily our destiny. But if we are able to change our character, to adjust our actions to new goals, then our destiny can change. Oh, say, that is why you show me these shadows!

But again the ghost remained still and silent.

Scrooge dragged himself to the grave. On his cracked tombstone was a name:

SCROOGE EBENEZÁR

- "So I am the miserable dead of the lonely house," he cried, turning on his heel.

The ghost's hand now pointed to the tombstone, then to Scrooge.

- No, ghost. It can't be!

The hand was still pointing at him.

- Ghost! - he cried, clinging desperately to the hem of the ghost's garment, "see, I am no longer what I was; it is you who have repaired me. Do not be cruel and say that there is still a way to arrest destiny if I change and begin a new life?

The hand now shook.

- Oh, that I will take Christmas to my heart; I will keep its holy lessons all the year round! I will live in the past, present and future, as you and your companions have taught me! Oh, say, that I may yet wipe my unhappy name from this cursed tombstone!

In desperation, he grabbed the ghost's hand. It tried to push him away, but Scrooge held on with all his strength. He was strong, but the ghost was even stronger than he was, and at last he freed his hand.

Scrooge lay exhausted on the floor. From there, he looked up at the ghost with his hands clasped in prayer. The figure of the ghost now suddenly began to shrink. It grew thinner and thinner, until at last it was only a dark-coloured twisted column. The dark brown twisted column of a four-poster bed!

The end of the story

He saw a column. It was a support column for his own bed. His own bed in his own room, no doubt. And - what heavenly bliss - he also saw his own great future. His own new, completely changed life!

"I want to live in the past, present and future," he repeated happily as he got out of bed. O three spirits who have visited me, you will guide me on my way. And you, Marley James! Heaven on high bless you for it! I kneel to give thanks!

He wanted to shout all this in his great happiness, but his voice was so weak with excitement that he could only whisper. Her breast was still panting from the struggle with the spirit, and her face was wet with tears.

- They were not stolen! They are here! - she said, gently stroking the upholstery of her bed. They are here and I am here! I'm alive! The horrors I have seen will not happen!

In the meantime, he wanted to get dressed, but was too excited to tidy his clothes. He turned his trouser legs inside out. So did his sleeves. He turned his coat inside out. He pulled his vest over his coat. At the nape of his neck he first tied a knot, then tried to untie it, and when that failed, he tore the light silk to shreds.

- 'I don't even know what I'm doing anymore,' he cried, laughing in his broad good humour as he fumbled like a Laocoon in his long stockings. - Oh, so light, so fresh, so happy. So happy like an angel! I feel like a schoolboy, like a brat, like a colt, like a drunken man. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all! Wine, wheat, peace!

He danced on one leg, hopping and jumping, into the living room, where he finally stopped, exhausted.

- "Ni, there's the teapot," he said, again rushing to the fireplace, and running up and down excitedly. And there's the door through which the ghost of Marley James came in. In that corner sat the ghost of Christmas this year. Through that window I saw the ghostly troop roaming the night! It's all real, it all happened to me, it's all true! Hahaha!

He laughed happily, freely, heartily, even though he hadn't had any practice in this for years.

- I don't even know what day it is today! I wonder how much time I've spent in the company of ghosts? Goodness knows! I don't want to know! I don't want to know anything! I'm as ignorant and happy as a blubbering baby!

Now the bells were ringing outside. He had never heard such lush, ringing sounds in his life. Bim-bam, bim-bam, bim-bam-bim-bam! Glory! Bim-bam! To God! Bim-bam! He ran to the window, opened it wide. It was clear, the fog had lifted! Blue skies, sunshine, a blood-curdling chill, and bells ringing. Blessed, pure bells ringing!

A little boy dressed in a festive costume passed under the window. He shouted at him:

- What is it today?

- "What do you mean?" said the boy, wonderingly.

- What day is it? What time is it? My little brother!

- How many decades? What a question! The first day of Christmas.

The first day of Christmas! Well, I didn't sleep through it. The ghosts had done all that happened to me in one night. They really can do all kinds of miracles! Anything they want, they have the power to do!

- Hey, little brother!

- Here!" said the little boy.

- Do you know where the poultry shop is around the corner?

- Of course I can!

- You're a clever boy! Then maybe you know if he sold that big turkey that was in the window?

- The one that was as big as me?

- You're a great guy! A pleasure to talk to you! Just what I thought, buddy! Well?

- It was just hanging there.

- Great! Run over there right now and buy it for me!

- Uncle is joking!

- Not me! I'm talking in all seriousness. Tell the shopkeeper to bring it to me, I'll pay him and have it taken away. You come back too, I'll give you a shilling. But if you come back in five minutes, I'll give you two!

The little boy ran at him as if he had been shot out of a rifle.

- 'I'll send the turkey to Cratchit,' Scrooge muttered to himself, rubbing his palms together in satisfaction. I send it anonymously. The turkey is twice the size of little Tibi. He can wonder who sends the turkey. What an odd joke!

His hand was shaking a little as he wrote the title, but he just finished it and it was ready to read. He went down to the gate to watch the turkey. As he stood there, he caught sight of the knocker-iron.

- The knocker! - and gently touched it - as long as I live, you will always be dear to me. What a serious little pompous face! How could I have missed it before! Well, here's the turkey!

- Hey! Here I am! Merry Christmas! How are you, old man? - That's a turkey! It's got legs like an ostrich and a tail as red as sealing wax. He can't carry that to Camden Town. Get a carriage.

He laughed as he said it, laughed as he paid for the turkey, laughed as he paid for the carriage, laughed as he put two shillings in the little boy's hand, laughed as he went back to his room; sat down in his arm-chair and laughed till he was tired.

Shaving is not normally an easy thing to do. It requires attention, steady hands and calm nerves. But to look away and dance on one foot is truly life-threatening. But Scrooge didn't mind cutting off the tip of his nose, or at most gluing it back with a flastrom, and all would be well again.

He dressed up to the nines and walked out. The people filled the streets; they walked up and down as the spirit of Christmas this year had shown them. Scrooge put his hands behind his back, and gave a merry thumbs-up. So serene and confident was the old man's appearance, that no merry fellow greeted him, "Good morning, sir, and a merry Christmas!" The old man enjoyed this greeting so much that even years later, when he wanted to tell of a pleasant experience, he would mention it. He had scarcely reached the next street when he saw the elder of yesterday's charity men coming towards him. He was embarrassed, and had already anticipated the looks he would get from this brave old gentleman. But suddenly he changed his mind and approached him himself:

- "Good morning, my dear sir," she said, clasping both his hands, "I hope you recognise me? How was your tour yesterday? It was very kind of you to come and see me. I wish you a merry Christmas!

- Mr Scrooge, may I present Mr Scrooge?

- I am, and I hope you don't hold it against me for what happened yesterday. I apologise and ask you to remember me - the rest he whispered in the old man's ear.

- "Creator God!" cried the old man, almost blushing. - Do you really mean that, Mr. Scrooge?

- To the greatest extent. Please consider that I am also paying off a good deal of my old debt. Now, if you'd be so kind as to make a note. You will do that for me, won't you?

- 'Sir,' said the other, still holding Scrooge's hand, 'I have no words.

- "Don't say a word," said Scrooge. "Come and see me sometime. I hope I shall have luck?

- Absolutely. You are very much obliged. Thank you very, very much. Bless you, sir.

He also went to the church, and then he walked again. He watched people dressed in festive costumes, pushed peaches on children's heads, chatted to beggars, looked into huts and peeped through windows. He never thought he would find so much pleasure in such aimless wandering.

Towards evening, he left to visit his nephew.

He walked up and down the gate ten or twelve times before knocking on the door. Heaven knows, his courage was in his veins. Finally he pulled himself together and knocked.

A pretty maid opened the door. But how pretty!

- Is your master at home, dear? - she asked.

- Yes, sir.

- And where can I find it, my dear?

- They are in the dining room, with my mistress. I'll announce it on your orders.

- "Thank you, but they know me," said Scrooge, putting his hand on the handle. He opened the door quietly, cautiously. On the table were white tablecloths, flowers, fine plates, silverware. These young housewives are very careful to keep everything in its place in the greatest order.

Scrooge now spoke.

- Frédi!

Oh, how the young lady shrank! If Scrooge had seen her sitting so comfortably in the arm-chair, with her feet on the low stool, he would have thought twice before frightening her.

- Holy and! Who is it?" cried Fred.

- It's me, Uncle Scrooge. I'm here for dinner. I hope you'll be welcome?

Were they welcome? His brother shook his hand so hard that he tore his arm off. His wife greeted him warmly. Later, the sisters of the hostess and other guests arrived. They were all very kind to him. They hardly wanted to let him go.

- "Don't go yet," they said, "you live only five minutes away.

It was a wonderful, great evening!

The next day Scrooge went to the office just in time. He was determined to overtake Cratchit. Or rather, to catch him as soon as he was late. He succeeded.

Nine hours. 9:15. No sign of Cratchit. He finally arrives at nine eighteen thirty. A full eighteen and a half minutes late. The boss's room door is wide open. Scrooge sees, observes. Poor Bobi, still in the street, takes off his hat and scarf, rushes in, and is already sitting at his desk, pen in hand, as if he had been sitting there since nine o'clock.

Now he speaks in his usual Scrooge voice, or at least in the way he manages to imitate his old self.

- What kind of thing is this? Must you come so late?

- I'm late, sir, I'm very sorry.

- You are too late! I believe that you are late! Please come in here and see me.

- It happens once a year," Bobi says, coming out of his hole.

- "I'll see to it that it never happens again," says Scrooge sternly, and abruptly steps down from the boss's platform. He stands in front of Bobi and pokes him so hard in the side that he staggers back into his hiding place.

- Now I'm going to raise your salary," Scrooge shouts after him.

Cratchit hesitates for a moment before calling for help. Obvious madness! A straitjacket!

- 'Merry Christmas, Bobi,' says Scrooge, now so seriously that it cannot be misunderstood. He pats Bobi's shoulder good-naturedly and continues:

- A merrier Christmas than the ones we have had so far. You've suffered a lot at my place, old boy. But this time it will be different! Today I'm going to raise your salary and take care of your family. We'll talk it all over over over a nice mulled wine. First of all, buy another coal box. Until then, don't put in a single comma.

Scrooge kept his word. In fact, he did far more than he had sworn to do. To little Tibi, who did not die, he was as kind and tender as if he had been his father. There was not in all the town a gentleman so notoriously friendly, so excellent a chief, so good-natured as he.

Of course, there were those who laughed and mocked at the sudden change. But he didn't care much for them. Let them laugh. He wisely knew that good always had its mockers and its laughers. Better to laugh than to be angry. He himself had a good laugh at this cleverness.

He stopped talking to the ghosts. He lived a modest, simple life. And he celebrated Christmas in such a way that anyone could learn from him. And everyone knew it! God bless him and all those who do like him. Or as little Tibi would say:

- May the blessing of the good God be upon us all!

Charles Dickens: Christmas Carol (Hungarian Electronic Library)