A CHRISTMAS CAROL (IN PROSE BEING, A Ghost Story of Christmas)<\/p>\n
by Charles Dickens<\/p>\n
(OCF editing – Part 13)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
STAVE III:\u00a0 THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n AWAKING in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, and<\/strong><\/p>\n sitting up in bed to get his thoughts together, Scrooge had<\/strong><\/p>\n no occasion to be told that the bell was again upon the<\/strong><\/p>\n stroke of One. He felt that he was restored to consciousness<\/strong><\/p>\n in the right nick of time, for the especial purpose of holding<\/strong><\/p>\n a conference with the second messenger despatched to him<\/strong><\/p>\n through Jacob Marley’s intervention. But finding that he<\/strong><\/p>\n turned uncomfortably cold when he began to wonder which<\/strong><\/p>\n of his curtains this new spectre would draw back, he put<\/strong><\/p>\n them every one aside with his own hands; and lying down<\/strong><\/p>\n again, established a sharp look-out all round the bed. For<\/strong><\/p>\n he wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its<\/strong><\/p>\n appearance, and did not wish to be taken by surprise, and<\/strong><\/p>\n made nervous.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Gentlemen of the free-and-easy sort, who plume themselves<\/strong><\/p>\n on being acquainted with a move or two, and being usually<\/strong><\/p>\n equal to the time-of-day, express the wide range of their<\/strong><\/p>\n capacity for adventure by observing that they are good for<\/strong><\/p>\n anything from pitch-and-toss to manslaughter; between which<\/strong><\/p>\n opposite extremes, no doubt, there lies a tolerably wide and<\/strong><\/p>\n comprehensive range of subjects. Without venturing for<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge quite as hardily as this, I don’t mind calling on you<\/strong><\/p>\n to believe that he was ready for a good broad field of<\/strong><\/p>\n strange appearances, and that nothing between a baby and<\/strong><\/p>\n rhinoceros would have astonished him very much.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by<\/strong><\/p>\n any means prepared for nothing; and, consequently, when the<\/strong><\/p>\n Bell struck One, and no shape appeared, he was taken with a<\/strong><\/p>\n violent fit of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter<\/strong><\/p>\n of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time, he lay<\/strong><\/p>\n upon his bed, the very core and centre of a blaze of ruddy<\/strong><\/p>\n light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the<\/strong><\/p>\n hour; and which, being only light, was more alarming than<\/strong><\/p>\n a dozen ghosts, as he was powerless to make out what it<\/strong><\/p>\n meant, or would be at; and was sometimes apprehensive<\/strong><\/p>\n that he might be at that very moment an interesting case of<\/strong><\/p>\n spontaneous combustion, without having the consolation of<\/strong><\/p>\n knowing it. At last, however, he began to think–as you or<\/strong><\/p>\n I would have thought at first; for it is always the person not<\/strong><\/p>\n in the predicament who knows what ought to have been done<\/strong><\/p>\n in it, and would unquestionably have done it too–at last, I<\/strong><\/p>\n say, he began to think that the source and secret of this<\/strong><\/p>\n ghostly light might be in the adjoining room, from whence,<\/strong><\/p>\n on further tracing it, it seemed to shine. This idea taking<\/strong><\/p>\n full possession of his mind, he got up softly and shuffled in<\/strong><\/p>\n his slippers to the door.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n The moment Scrooge’s hand was on the lock, a strange<\/strong><\/p>\n voice called him by his name, and bade him enter. He<\/strong><\/p>\n obeyed.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n It was his own room. There was no doubt about that.<\/strong><\/p>\n But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls<\/strong><\/p>\n and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a<\/strong><\/p>\n perfect grove; from every part of which, bright gleaming<\/strong><\/p>\n berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and<\/strong><\/p>\n ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had<\/strong><\/p>\n been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring<\/strong><\/p>\n up the chimney, as that dull petrification of a hearth had<\/strong><\/p>\n never known in Scrooge’s time, or Marley’s, or for many and<\/strong><\/p>\n many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the floor, to form<\/strong><\/p>\n a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn,<\/strong><\/p>\n great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages,<\/strong><\/p>\n mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts,<\/strong><\/p>\n cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears,<\/strong><\/p>\n immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that<\/strong><\/p>\n made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In easy<\/strong><\/p>\n state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to<\/strong><\/p>\n see; who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty’s<\/strong><\/p>\n horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge,<\/strong><\/p>\n as he came peeping round the door.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Come in!” exclaimed the Ghost. “Come in! and know<\/strong><\/p>\n me better, man!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before this<\/strong><\/p>\n Spirit. He was not the dogged Scrooge he had been; and<\/strong><\/p>\n though the Spirit’s eyes were clear and kind, he did not like<\/strong><\/p>\n to meet them.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” said the Spirit.<\/strong><\/p>\n “Look upon me!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge reverently did so. It was clothed in one simple<\/strong><\/p>\n green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur. This garment<\/strong><\/p>\n hung so loosely on the figure, that its capacious breast was<\/strong><\/p>\n bare, as if disdaining to be warded or concealed by any<\/strong><\/p>\n artifice. Its feet, observable beneath the ample folds of the<\/strong><\/p>\n garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore no other<\/strong><\/p>\n covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining<\/strong><\/p>\n icicles. Its dark brown curls were long and free; free as its<\/strong><\/p>\n genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice,<\/strong><\/p>\n its unconstrained demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded<\/strong><\/p>\n round its middle was an antique scabbard; but no sword<\/strong><\/p>\n was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “You have never seen the like of me before!” exclaimed<\/strong><\/p>\n the Spirit.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Never,” Scrooge made answer to it.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Have never walked forth with the younger members of<\/strong><\/p>\n my family; meaning (for I am very young) my elder brothers<\/strong><\/p>\n born in these later years?” pursued the Phantom.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I don’t think I have,” said Scrooge. “I am afraid I have<\/strong><\/p>\n not. Have you had many brothers, Spirit?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “More than eighteen hundred,” said the Ghost.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “A tremendous family to provide for!” muttered Scrooge.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n The Ghost of Christmas Present rose.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Spirit,” said Scrooge submissively, “conduct me where<\/strong><\/p>\n you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt<\/strong><\/p>\n a lesson which is working now. To-night, if you have aught<\/strong><\/p>\n to teach me, let me profit by it.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Touch my robe!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast.<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Charles Dickens<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A CHRISTMAS CAROL (IN PROSE BEING, A Ghost Story of Christmas) by Charles Dickens (OCF editing – Part 13) STAVE III:\u00a0 THE SECOND OF<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_mi_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[701],"tags":[1011,1010,94,744],"class_list":["post-17053","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-quote-of-the-day","tag-a-christmas-carol","tag-charles-dickens","tag-christmas","tag-quote-of-the-day"],"yoast_head":"\n