A CHRISTMAS CAROL (IN PROSE BEING, A Ghost Story of Christmas)<\/p>\n
by Charles Dickens<\/p>\n
(OCF editing – Part 21)<\/p>\n
He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now<\/strong><\/p>\n he almost touched a bed: a bare, uncurtained bed: on which,<\/strong><\/p>\n beneath a ragged sheet, there lay a something covered up,<\/strong><\/p>\n which, though it was dumb, announced itself in awful<\/strong><\/p>\n language.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with<\/strong><\/p>\n any accuracy, though Scrooge glanced round it in obedience<\/strong><\/p>\n to a secret impulse, anxious to know what kind of room it<\/strong><\/p>\n was. A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon<\/strong><\/p>\n the bed; and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept,<\/strong><\/p>\n uncared for, was the body of this man.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge glanced towards the Phantom. Its steady hand<\/strong><\/p>\n was pointed to the head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted<\/strong><\/p>\n that the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger upon<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge’s part, would have disclosed the face. He thought<\/strong><\/p>\n of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it;<\/strong><\/p>\n but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss<\/strong><\/p>\n the spectre at his side.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up thine altar<\/strong><\/p>\n here, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy<\/strong><\/p>\n command: for this is thy dominion! But of the loved,<\/strong><\/p>\n revered, and honoured head, thou canst not turn one hair<\/strong><\/p>\n to thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious. It is<\/strong><\/p>\n not that the hand is heavy and will fall down when released;<\/strong><\/p>\n it is not that the heart and pulse are still; but that the<\/strong><\/p>\n hand WAS open, generous, and true; the heart brave, warm,<\/strong><\/p>\n and tender; and the pulse a man’s. Strike, Shadow, strike!<\/strong><\/p>\n And see his good deeds springing from the wound, to sow<\/strong><\/p>\n the world with life immortal!<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n No voice pronounced these words in Scrooge’s ears, and<\/strong><\/p>\n yet he heard them when he looked upon the bed. He<\/strong><\/p>\n thought, if this man could be raised up now, what would be<\/strong><\/p>\n his foremost thoughts? Avarice, hard-dealing, griping cares?<\/strong><\/p>\n They have brought him to a rich end, truly!<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n He lay, in the dark empty house, with not a man, a<\/strong><\/p>\n woman, or a child, to say that he was kind to me in this<\/strong><\/p>\n or that, and for the memory of one kind word I will be<\/strong><\/p>\n kind to him. A cat was tearing at the door, and there was<\/strong><\/p>\n a sound of gnawing rats beneath the hearth-stone. What<\/strong><\/p>\n they wanted in the room of death, and why they were so<\/strong><\/p>\n restless and disturbed, Scrooge did not dare to think.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Spirit!” he said, “this is a fearful place. In leaving it,<\/strong><\/p>\n I shall not leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the<\/strong><\/p>\n head.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I understand you,” Scrooge returned, “and I would do<\/strong><\/p>\n it, if I could. But I have not the power, Spirit. I have<\/strong><\/p>\n not the power.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Again it seemed to look upon him.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “If there is any person in the town, who feels emotion<\/strong><\/p>\n caused by this man’s death,” said Scrooge quite agonised,<\/strong><\/p>\n “show that person to me, Spirit, I beseech you!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n The Phantom spread its dark robe before him for a<\/strong><\/p>\n moment, like a wing; and withdrawing it, revealed a room<\/strong><\/p>\n by daylight, where a mother and her children were.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n She was expecting some one, and with anxious eagerness;<\/strong><\/p>\n for she walked up and down the room; started at every<\/strong><\/p>\n sound; looked out from the window; glanced at the clock;<\/strong><\/p>\n tried, but in vain, to work with her needle; and could hardly<\/strong><\/p>\n bear the voices of the children in their play.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n At length the long-expected knock was heard. She hurried<\/strong><\/p>\n to the door, and met her husband; a man whose face was<\/strong><\/p>\n careworn and depressed, though he was young. There was<\/strong><\/p>\n a remarkable expression in it now; a kind of serious delight<\/strong><\/p>\n of which he felt ashamed, and which he struggled to repress.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n He sat down to the dinner that had been hoarding for<\/strong><\/p>\n him by the fire; and when she asked him faintly what news<\/strong><\/p>\n (which was not until after a long silence), he appeared<\/strong><\/p>\n embarrassed how to answer.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Is it good?” she said, “or bad?”–to help him.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Bad,” he answered.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “We are quite ruined?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “No. There is hope yet, Caroline.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “If he relents,” she said, amazed, “there is! Nothing is<\/strong><\/p>\n past hope, if such a miracle has happened.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “He is past relenting,” said her husband. “He is dead.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n She was a mild and patient creature if her face spoke<\/strong><\/p>\n truth; but she was thankful in her soul to hear it, and she<\/strong><\/p>\n said so, with clasped hands. She prayed forgiveness the next<\/strong><\/p>\n moment, and was sorry; but the first was the emotion of<\/strong><\/p>\n her heart.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “What the half-drunken woman whom I told you of last<\/strong><\/p>\n night, said to me, when I tried to see him and obtain a<\/strong><\/p>\n week’s delay; and what I thought was a mere excuse to avoid<\/strong><\/p>\n me; turns out to have been quite true. He was not only<\/strong><\/p>\n very ill, but dying, then.”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “To whom will our debt be transferred?”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “I don’t know. But before that time we shall be ready<\/strong><\/p>\n with the money; and even though we were not, it would be<\/strong><\/p>\n a bad fortune indeed to find so merciless a creditor in his<\/strong><\/p>\n successor. We may sleep to-night with light hearts, Caroline!”<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Yes. Soften it as they would, their hearts were lighter.<\/strong><\/p>\n The children’s faces, hushed and clustered round to hear what<\/strong><\/p>\n they so little understood, were brighter; and it was a happier<\/strong><\/p>\n house for this man’s death! The only emotion that the<\/strong><\/p>\n Ghost could show him, caused by the event, was one of<\/strong><\/p>\n pleasure.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n “Let me see some tenderness connected with a death,” said<\/strong><\/p>\n Scrooge; “or that dark chamber, Spirit, which we left just<\/strong><\/p>\n now, will be for ever present to me.”<\/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 21) He recoiled in terror, for the<\/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-17130","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