A CHRISTMAS CAROL (IN PROSE BEING, A Ghost Story of Christmas)<\/p>\n
by Charles Dickens<\/p>\n
(OCF editing – Part 7)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
STAVE II:\u00a0 THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n WHEN Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that looking out of bed,<\/strong><\/p>\n he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window from<\/strong><\/p>\n the opaque walls of his chamber. He was endeavouring to<\/strong><\/p>\n pierce the darkness with his ferret eyes, when the chimes of a<\/strong><\/p>\n neighbouring church struck the four quarters. So he listened<\/strong><\/p>\n for the hour.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n To his great astonishment the heavy bell went on from<\/strong><\/p>\n six to seven, and from seven to eight, and regularly up to<\/strong><\/p>\n twelve; then stopped. Twelve! It was past two when he<\/strong><\/p>\n went to bed. The clock was wrong. An icicle must have<\/strong><\/p>\n got into the works. Twelve!<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n He touched the spring of his repeater, to correct this most<\/strong><\/p>\n preposterous clock. Its rapid little pulse beat twelve:<\/strong><\/p>\n and stopped.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Why, it isn’t possible,” said Scrooge, “that I can have<\/strong><\/p>\n slept through a whole day and far into another night. It<\/strong><\/p>\n isn’t possible that anything has happened to the sun, and<\/strong><\/p>\n this is twelve at noon!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n The idea being an alarming one, he scrambled out of bed,<\/strong><\/p>\n and groped his way to the window. He was obliged to rub<\/strong><\/p>\n the frost off with the sleeve of his dressing-gown before he<\/strong><\/p>\n could see anything; and could see very little then. All he<\/strong><\/p>\n could make out was, that it was still very foggy and extremely<\/strong><\/p>\n cold, and that there was no noise of people running to and fro,<\/strong><\/p>\n and making a great stir, as there unquestionably would have been<\/strong><\/p>\n if night had beaten off bright day, and taken possession of the<\/strong><\/p>\n world.\u00a0 This was a great relief, because “three days after sight<\/strong><\/p>\n of this First of Exchange pay to Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge or his<\/strong><\/p>\n order,” and so forth, would have become a mere United States’<\/strong><\/p>\n security if there were no days to count by.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge went to bed again, and thought, and thought, and thought<\/strong><\/p>\n it over and over and over, and could make nothing of it.\u00a0 The more he<\/strong><\/p>\n thought, the more perplexed he was; and the more he endeavoured<\/strong><\/p>\n not to think, the more he thought.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Marley’s Ghost bothered him exceedingly. Every time he resolved<\/strong><\/p>\n within himself, after mature inquiry, that it was all a dream, his<\/strong><\/p>\n mind flew back again, like a strong spring released, to its first<\/strong><\/p>\n position, and presented the same problem to be worked all through,<\/strong><\/p>\n “Was it a dream or not?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge lay in this state until the chime had gone three quarters<\/strong><\/p>\n more, when he remembered, on a sudden, that the Ghost had warned<\/strong><\/p>\n him of a visitation when the bell tolled one.\u00a0 He resolved to lie<\/strong><\/p>\n awake until the hour was passed; and, considering that he could<\/strong><\/p>\n no more go to sleep than go to Heaven, this was perhaps the<\/strong><\/p>\n wisest resolution in his power.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n The quarter was so long, that he was more than once convinced he<\/strong><\/p>\n must have sunk into a doze unconsciously, and missed the clock.<\/strong><\/p>\n At length it broke upon his listening ear.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Ding, dong!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “A quarter past,” said Scrooge, counting.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Ding, dong!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Half-past!” said Scrooge.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Ding, dong!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “A quarter to it,” said Scrooge.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Ding, dong!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “The hour itself,” said Scrooge, triumphantly, “and nothing else!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a<\/strong><\/p>\n deep, dull, hollow, melancholy ONE.\u00a0 Light flashed up in the room<\/strong><\/p>\n upon the instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n The curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I tell you, by a<\/strong><\/p>\n hand. Not the curtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his<\/strong><\/p>\n back, but those to which his face was addressed. The curtains<\/strong><\/p>\n of his bed were drawn aside; and Scrooge, starting up into a<\/strong><\/p>\n half-recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the<\/strong><\/p>\n unearthly visitor who drew them: as close to it as I am now<\/strong><\/p>\n to you, and I am standing in the spirit at your elbow.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n It was a strange figure–like a child: yet not so like a<\/strong><\/p>\n child as like an old man, viewed through some supernatural<\/strong><\/p>\n medium, which gave him the appearance of having receded<\/strong><\/p>\n from the view, and being diminished to a child’s proportions.<\/strong><\/p>\n Its hair, which hung about its neck and down its back, was<\/strong><\/p>\n white as if with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle in<\/strong><\/p>\n it, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. The arms were<\/strong><\/p>\n very long and muscular; the hands the same, as if its hold<\/strong><\/p>\n were of uncommon strength. Its legs and feet, most delicately<\/strong><\/p>\n formed, were, like those upper members, bare. It wore a tunic<\/strong><\/p>\n of the purest white; and round its waist was bound<\/strong><\/p>\n a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful. It held<\/strong><\/p>\n a branch of fresh green holly in its hand; and, in singular<\/strong><\/p>\n contradiction of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed<\/strong><\/p>\n with summer flowers. But the strangest thing about it was,<\/strong><\/p>\n that from the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear<\/strong><\/p>\n jet of light, by which all this was visible; and which was<\/strong><\/p>\n doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a<\/strong><\/p>\n great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Even this, though, when Scrooge looked at it with increasing<\/strong><\/p>\n steadiness, was not its strangest quality. For as its belt<\/strong><\/p>\n sparkled and glittered now in one part and now in another,<\/strong><\/p>\n and what was light one instant, at another time was dark, so<\/strong><\/p>\n the figure itself fluctuated in its distinctness: being now a<\/strong><\/p>\n thing with one arm, now with one leg, now with twenty legs,<\/strong><\/p>\n now a pair of legs without a head, now a head without a<\/strong><\/p>\n body: of which dissolving parts, no outline would be visible<\/strong><\/p>\n in the dense gloom wherein they melted away. And in the<\/strong><\/p>\n very wonder of this, it would be itself again; distinct and<\/strong><\/p>\n clear as ever.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to<\/strong><\/p>\n me?” asked Scrooge.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I am!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if<\/strong><\/p>\n instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n