A CHRISTMAS CAROL (IN PROSE BEING, A Ghost Story of Christmas)<\/p>\n
by Charles Dickens<\/p>\n
(OCF editing – Part 5)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
“How now!” said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever.<\/strong><\/p>\n “What do you want with me?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Much!”–Marley’s voice, no doubt about it.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Who are you?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Ask me who I was.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Who were you then?” said Scrooge, raising his<\/strong><\/p>\n voice. “You’re particular, for a shade.” He was going<\/strong><\/p>\n to say “to a shade,” but substituted this, as more<\/strong><\/p>\n appropriate.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Can you–can you sit down?” asked Scrooge, looking<\/strong><\/p>\n doubtfully at him.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I can.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Do it, then.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge asked the question, because he didn’t know<\/strong><\/p>\n whether a ghost so transparent might find himself in<\/strong><\/p>\n a condition to take a chair; and felt that in the event<\/strong><\/p>\n of its being impossible, it might involve the necessity<\/strong><\/p>\n of an embarrassing explanation. But the ghost sat<\/strong><\/p>\n down on the opposite side of the fireplace, as if he<\/strong><\/p>\n were quite used to it.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “You don’t believe in me,” observed the Ghost.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I don’t,” said Scrooge.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of<\/strong><\/p>\n your senses?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I don’t know,” said Scrooge.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Why do you doubt your senses?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Because,” said Scrooge, “a little thing affects them.<\/strong><\/p>\n A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may<\/strong><\/p>\n be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of<\/strong><\/p>\n cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There’s more of<\/strong><\/p>\n gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking<\/strong><\/p>\n jokes, nor did he feel, in his heart, by any means<\/strong><\/p>\n waggish then. The truth is, that he tried to be<\/strong><\/p>\n smart, as a means of distracting his own attention,<\/strong><\/p>\n and keeping down his terror; for the spectre’s voice<\/strong><\/p>\n disturbed the very marrow in his bones.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n To sit, staring at those fixed glazed eyes, in silence<\/strong><\/p>\n for a moment, would play, Scrooge felt, the very<\/strong><\/p>\n deuce with him. There was something very awful,<\/strong><\/p>\n too, in the spectre’s being provided with an infernal<\/strong><\/p>\n atmosphere of its own. Scrooge could not feel it<\/strong><\/p>\n himself, but this was clearly the case; for though the<\/strong><\/p>\n Ghost sat perfectly motionless, its hair, and skirts,<\/strong><\/p>\n and tassels, were still agitated as by the hot vapour<\/strong><\/p>\n from an oven.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “You see this toothpick?” said Scrooge, returning<\/strong><\/p>\n quickly to the charge, for the reason just assigned;<\/strong><\/p>\n and wishing, though it were only for a second, to<\/strong><\/p>\n divert the vision’s stony gaze from himself.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I do,” replied the Ghost.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “You are not looking at it,” said Scrooge.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “But I see it,” said the Ghost, “notwithstanding.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Well!” returned Scrooge, “I have but to swallow<\/strong><\/p>\n this, and be for the rest of my days persecuted by a<\/strong><\/p>\n legion of goblins, all of my own creation. Humbug,<\/strong><\/p>\n I tell you! humbug!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook<\/strong><\/p>\n its chain with such a dismal and appalling noise, that<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge held on tight to his chair, to save himself<\/strong><\/p>\n from falling in a swoon. But how much greater was<\/strong><\/p>\n his horror, when the phantom taking off the bandage<\/strong><\/p>\n round its head, as if it were too warm to wear indoors,<\/strong><\/p>\n its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast!<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands<\/strong><\/p>\n before his face.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Mercy!” he said. “Dreadful apparition, why do<\/strong><\/p>\n you trouble me?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Man of the worldly mind!” replied the Ghost, “do<\/strong><\/p>\n you believe in me or not?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I do,” said Scrooge. “I must. But why do spirits<\/strong><\/p>\n walk the earth, and why do they come to me?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “It is required of every man,” the Ghost returned,<\/strong><\/p>\n “that the spirit within him should walk abroad among<\/strong><\/p>\n his fellowmen, and travel far and wide; and if that<\/strong><\/p>\n spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so<\/strong><\/p>\n after death. It is doomed to wander through the<\/strong><\/p>\n world–oh, woe is me!–and witness what it cannot<\/strong><\/p>\n share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to<\/strong><\/p>\n happiness!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain<\/strong><\/p>\n and wrung its shadowy hands.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “You are fettered,” said Scrooge, trembling. “Tell<\/strong><\/p>\n me why?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I wear the chain I forged in life,” replied the Ghost.<\/strong><\/p>\n “I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded<\/strong><\/p>\n it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I<\/strong><\/p>\n wore it. Is its pattern strange to you?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge trembled more and more.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Or would you know,” pursued the Ghost, “the<\/strong><\/p>\n weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself?<\/strong><\/p>\n It was full as heavy and as long as this, seven<\/strong><\/p>\n Christmas Eves ago. You have laboured on it, since.<\/strong><\/p>\n