A CHRISTMAS CAROL - Stave Four (2024)

he Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. Whenit came, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for inthe very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed toscatter gloom and mystery.

It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealedits head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand. But for this it would have beendifficult to detach its figure from the night, and separate itfrom the darkness by which it was surrounded.

He felt that it was tall and stately when it came besidehim, and that its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. He knew no more, for the Spirit neitherspoke nor moved.

"I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet ToCome?" said Scrooge.

The Spirit answered not, but pointed downward with itshand.

"You are about to show me shadows of the things thathave not happened, but will happen in the time before us," Scrooge pursued. "Is that so, Spirit?"

The upper portion of the garment was contracted for aninstant in its folds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head.That was the only answer he received.

Although well used to ghostly company by this time,Scrooge feared the silent shape so much that his legs trembledbeneath him, and he found that he could hardly stand whenhe prepared to follow it. The Spirit pauses a moment, asobserving his condition, and giving him time to recover.

But Scrooge was all the worse for this. It thrilled himwith a vague uncertain horror, to know that behind thedusky shroud there were ghostly eyes intently fixed uponhim, while he, though he stretched his own to the utmost,could see nothing but a spectral hand and one great heapof black.

"Ghost of the Future!" he exclaimed, "I fear you morethan any spectre I have seen. But as I know your purposeis to do me good, and as I hope to live to be anotherman from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company,and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speakto me?"

It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straightbefore them.

"Lead on," said Scrooge. "Lead on. The night iswaning fast, and it is precious time to me, I know. Leadon, Spirit."

The Phantom moved away as it had come towards him.Scrooge followed in the shadow of its dress, which bore himup, he thought, and carried him along.

They scarcely seemed to enter the city; for the city ratherseemed to spring up about them, and encompass them of itsown act. But there they were, in the heart of it; onChange, amongst the merchants; who hurried up and down,and chinked the money in their pockets, and conversed ingroups, and looked at their watches, and trifled thoughtfullywith their great gold seals; and so forth, as Scrooge hadseen them often.

The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men.Observing that the hand was pointed to them, Scroogeadvanced to listen to their talk.

"No," said a great fat man with a monstrous chin," Idon't know much about it, either way. I only know he'sdead."

"When did he die?" inquired another.

"Last night, I believe."

"Why, what was the matter with him?" asked a third,taking a vast quantity of snuff out of a very large snuff-box."I thought he'd never die."

"God knows," said the first, with a yawn.

"What has he done with his money?" asked a red-facedgentleman with a pendulous excrescence on the end of hisnose, that shook like the gills of a turkey-co*ck.

"I haven't heard," said the man with the large chin, yawning again. "Left it to his company, perhaps. He hasn'tleft it to me. That's all I know."

This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.

"It's likely to be a very cheap funeral," said the samespeaker; "for upon my life I don't know of anybody to goto it. Suppose we make up a party and volunteer?"

"I don't mind going if a lunch is provided," observed thegentleman with the excrescence on his nose. "But I mustbe fed, if I make one."

Another laugh.

"Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all," said the first speaker," for I never wear black gloves, and Inever eat lunch. But I'll offer to go, if anybody else will.When I come to think of it, I'm not at all sure that I wasn'this most particular friend; for we used to stop and speakwhenever we met. Bye, bye."

Speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed with other groups. Scrooge knew the men, and looked towards theSpirit for an explanation.

The Phantom glided on into a street. Its finger pointedto two persons meeting. Scrooge listened again, thinkingthat the explanation might lie here.

He knew these men, also, perfectly. They were men of ayebusiness: very wealthy, and of great importance. He had madea point always of standing well in their esteem: in a businesspoint of view, that is; strictly in a business point of view.

"How are you?" said one.

"How are you?" returned the other.

"Well!" said the first. "Old Scratch has got his own atlast, hey."

"So I am told," returned the second. "Cold, isn't it."

"Seasonable for Christmas time. You're not a skater, Isuppose?"

"No. No. Something else to think of. Good morning."

Not another word. That was their meeting, theirconversation, and their parting.

Scrooge was at first inclined to be surprised that theSpirit should attach importance to conversations apparently sotrivial; but feeling assured that they must have some hiddenpurpose, he set himself to consider what it was likely to be.They could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing on thedeath of Jacob, his old partner, for that was Past, and thisGhost's province was the Future. Nor could he think of anyone immediately connected with himself, to whom he couldapply them. But nothing doubting that to whomsoeverthey applied they had some latent moral for his own improvement,he resolved to treasure up every word he heard,and everything he saw; and especially to observe theshadow of himself when it appeared. For he had an expectationthat the conduct of his future self would give himthe clue he missed, and would render the solution of theseriddles easy.

He looked about in that very place for his own image; butanother man stood in his accustomed corner, and though theclock pointed to his usual time of day for being there, hesaw no likeness of himself among the multitudes that pouredin through the Porch. It gave him little surprise, however;for he had been revolving in his mind a change of life, andthought and hoped he saw his new-born resolutions carriedout in this.

Quiet and dark, beside him stood the Phantom, with itsoutstretched hand. When he roused himself from histhoughtful quest, he fancied from the turn of the hand, andits situation in reference to himself, that the Unseen Eyeswere looking at him keenly. It made him shudder, and feelvery cold.

They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure partof the town, where Scrooge had never penetrated before,although he recognised its situation, and its bad repute. Theways were foul and narrow; the shops and houses wretched;the people half-naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly. Alleys andarchways, like so many cesspools, disgorged their offenses ofsmell, and dirt, and life, upon the straggling streets; and thewhole quarter reeked with crime, with filth, and misery.

Far in this den of infamous resort, there was a low-browed,beetling shop, below a pent-house roof, where iron, old rags,bottles, bones, and greasy offal, were bought. Upon the floor within, were piled up heaps of rusty keys, nails, chains, hinges,files, scales, weights, and refuse iron of all kinds. Secretsthat few would like to scrutinise were bred and hidden inmountains of unseemly rags, masses of corrupted fat, andsepulchres of bones. Sitting in among the wares he dealt in, by acharcoal stove, made of old bricks, was a grey-haired rascal,nearly seventy years of age; who had screened himself from thecold air without, by a frowsy curtaining of miscellaneoustatters, hung upon a line; and smoked his pipe in all the luxuryof calm retirement.

Scrooge and the Phantom came into the presence of thisman, just as a woman with a heavy bundle slunk into theshop. But she had scarcely entered, when another woman,similarly laden, came in too; and she was closely followed bya man in faded black, who was no less startled by the sightof them, than they had been upon the recognition of eachother. After a short period of blank astonishment, in whichthe old man with the pipe had joined them, they all threeburst into a laugh.

"Let the charwoman alone to be the first!" cried she whohad entered first. "Let the laundress alone to be the second;and let the undertaker's man alone to be the third. Lookhere, old Joe, here's a chance. If we haven't all three methere without meaning it!"

"You couldn't have met in a better place," said old Joe,removing his pipe from his mouth. "Come into the parlour.You were made free of it long ago, you know; and the othertwo an't strangers. Stop till I shut the door of the shop.Ah. How it skreeks. There an't such a rusty bit of metalin the place as its own hinges, I believe; and I'm sure there'sno such old bones here, as mine. Ha, ha! We're all suitableto our calling, we're well matched. Come into theparlour. Come into the parlour."

The parlour was the space behind the screen of rags. Theold man raked the fire together with an old stair-rod, andhaving trimmed his smoky lamp (for it was night), with thestem of his pipe, put it in his mouth again.

While he did this, the woman who had already spokenthrew her bundle on the floor, and sat down in a flauntingmanner on a stool; crossing her elbows on her knees, andlooking with a bold defiance at the other two.

"What odds then. What odds, Mrs Dilber." said thewoman. "Every person has a right to take care of themselves.He always did."

"That's true, indeed," said the laundress. "No manmore so."

"Why then, don't stand staring as if you was afraid,woman; who's the wiser? We're not going to pick holes ineach other's coats, I suppose?"

"No, indeed," said Mrs Dilber and the man together."We should hope not."

"Very well, then!" cried the woman. "That's enough.Who's the worse for the loss of a few things like these?Not a dead man, I suppose."

"No, indeed," said Mrs Dilber, laughing.

"If he wanted to keep them after he was dead, a wicked oldscrew," pursued the woman, "why wasn't he natural in hislifetime? If he had been, he'd have had somebody to lookafter him when he was struck with Death, instead of lyinggasping out his last there, alone by himself."

"It's the truest word that ever was spoke," said MrsDilber. "It's a judgment on him."

"I wish it was a little heavier judgment," replied thewoman; "and it should have been, you may depend upon it,if I could have laid my hands on anything else. Open thatbundle, old Joe, and let me know the value of it. Speak out plain. I'm not afraid to be the first, nor afraid for them tosee it. We know pretty well that we were helping ourselves,before we met here, I believe. It's no sin. Open the bundle,Joe."

But the gallantry of her friends would not allow of this;and the man in faded black, mounting the breach first,produced his plunder. It was not extensive. A seal or two,a pencil-case, a pair of sleeve-buttons, and a brooch of nogreat value, were all. They were severally examined andappraised by old Joe, who chalked the sums he was disposedto give for each upon the wall, and added them up into atotal when he found there was nothing more to come.

"That's your account," said Joe, "and I wouldn't giveanother sixpence, if I was to be boiled for not doing it.Who's next?"

Mrs Dilber was next. Sheets and towels, a little wearingapparel, two old-fashioned silver teaspoons, a pair ofsugar-tongs, and a few boots. Her account was stated on the wallin the same manner.

"I always give too much to ladies. It's a weakness of mine,and that's the way I ruin myself," said old Joe. "That'syour account. If you asked me for another penny, and madeit an open question, I'd repent of being so liberal and knockoff half-a-crown."

"And now undo my bundle, Joe," said the first woman.

Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenienceof opening it, and having unfastened a great many knots,dragged out a large and heavy roll of some dark stuff.

"What do you call this?" said Joe. "Bed-curtains?"

"Ah!" returned the woman, laughing and leaning forwardon her crossed arms. "Bed-curtains."

"You don't mean to say you took them down, rings andall, with him lying there?" said Joe.

"Yes I do," replied the woman. "Why not?"

"You were born to make your fortune," said Joe," andyou'll certainly do it."

"I certainly shan't hold my hand, when I can get anythingin it by reaching it out, for the sake of such a man as hewas, I promise you, Joe," returned the woman coolly. "Don'tdrop that oil upon the blankets, now."

"His blankets?" asked Joe.

"Whose else's do you think?" replied the woman. "Heisn't likely to take cold without them, I dare say."

"I hope he didn't die of any thing catching. Eh?" saidold Joe, stopping in his work, and looking up.

"Don't you be afraid of that," returned the woman. "Ian't so fond of his company that I'd loiter about him forsuch things, if he did. Ah. you may look through thatshirt till your eyes ache; but you won't find a hole in it, nora threadbare place. It's the best he had, and a fine one too.They'd have wasted it, if it hadn't been for me."

"What do you call wasting of it?" asked old Joe.

"Putting it on him to be buried in, to be sure," repliedthe woman with a laugh. "Somebody was fool enough todo it, but I took it off again. If calico an't good enough forsuch a purpose, it isn't good enough for anything. It's quiteas becoming to the body. He can't look uglier than he didin that one."

Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. As they satgrouped about their spoil, in the scanty light afforded bythe old man's lamp, he viewed them with a detestation anddisgust, which could hardly have been greater, though theydemons, marketing the corpse itself.

"Ha, ha!" laughed the same woman, when old Joe,producing a flannel bag with money in it, told out theirseveral gains upon the ground. "This is the end of it, yousee. He frightened every one away from him when he was alive, to profit us when he was dead. Ha, ha, ha!"

"Spirit," said Scrooge, shuddering from head to foot. "Isee, I see. The case of this unhappy man might be my own.My life tends that way, now. Merciful Heaven, what isthis?"

He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and nowhe almost touched a bed: a bare, uncurtained bed: on which,beneath a ragged sheet, there lay a something covered up,which, though it was dumb, announced itself in awfullanguage.

The room was very dark, too dark to be observed withany accuracy, though Scrooge glanced round it in obedienceto a secret impulse, anxious to know what kind of room itwas. A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight uponthe bed; and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept,uncared for, was the body of this man.

Scrooge glanced towards the Phantom. Its steady handwas pointed to the head. The cover was so carelessly adjustedthat the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger uponScrooge's part, would have disclosed the face. He thoughtof it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it;but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismissthe spectre at his side.

Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up thine altarhere, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thycommand: for this is thy dominion. But of the loved,revered, and honoured head, thou canst not turn one hairto thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious. It isnot that the hand is heavy and will fall down when released;it is not that the heart and pulse are still; but that thehand was open, generous, and true; the heart brave, warm,and tender; and the pulse a man's. Strike, Shadow, strike.And see his good deeds springing from the wound, to sowthe world with life immortal!

No voice pronounced these words in Scrooge's ears, andyet he heard them when he looked upon the bed. Hethought, if this man could be raised up now, what would behis foremost thoughts. Avarice, hard-dealing, griping cares.They have brought him to a rich end, truly.

He lay, in the dark empty house, with not a man, awoman, or a child, to say that he was kind to me in thisor that, and for the memory of one kind word I will bekind to him. A cat was tearing at the door, and there wasa sound of gnawing rats beneath the hearth-stone. Whatthey wanted in the room of death, and why they were sorestless and disturbed, Scrooge did not dare to think.

"Spirit,." he said, "this is a fearful place. In leaving it,I shall not leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go."

Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to thehead.

"I understand you," Scrooge returned, "and I would doit, if I could. But I have not the power, Spirit. I havenot the power."

Again it seemed to look upon him.

"If there is any person in the town, who feels emotioncaused by this man's death," said Scrooge quite agonised,"show that person to me, Spirit, I beseech you."

The Phantom spread its dark robe before him for amoment, like a wing; and withdrawing it, revealed a roomby daylight, where a mother and her children were.

She was expecting some one, and with anxious eagerness;for she walked up and down the room; started at everysound; looked out from the window; glanced at the clock;tried, but in vain, to work with her needle; and could hardlybear the voices of the children in their play.

At length the long-expected knock was heard. She hurriedto the door, and met her husband; a man whose face was careworn and depressed, though he was young. There wasa remarkable expression in it now; a kind of serious delightof which he felt ashamed, and which he struggled to repress.

He sat down to the dinner that had been boarding forhim by the fire; and when she asked him faintly what news(which was not until after a long silence), he appearedembarrassed how to answer.

"Is it good." she said, "or bad?" -- to help him.

"Bad," he answered.

"We are quite ruined."

"No. There is hope yet, Caroline."

"If he relents," she said, amazed, "there is. Nothing ispast hope, if such a miracle has happened."

"He is past relenting," said her husband. "He is dead."

She was a mild and patient creature if her face spoketruth; but she was thankful in her soul to hear it, and shesaid so, with clasped hands. She prayed forgiveness the nextmoment, and was sorry; but the first was the emotion ofher heart.

"What the half-drunken woman whom I told you of lastnight, said to me, when I tried to see him and obtain aweek's delay; and what I thought was a mere excuse to avoidme; turns out to have been quite true. He was not onlyvery ill, but dying, then."

"To whom will our debt be transferred?"

"I don't know. But before that time we shall be readywith the money; and even though we were not, it would bea bad fortune indeed to find so merciless a creditor in hissuccessor. We may sleep to-night with light hearts, Caroline."

Yes. Soften it as they would, their hearts were lighter.The children's faces hushed, and clustered round to hear whatthey so little understood, were brighter; and it was a happierhouse for this man's death. The only emotion that theGhost could show him, caused by the event, was one ofpleasure.

"Let me see some tenderness connected with a death," saidScrooge; "or that dark chamber, Spirit, which we left justnow, will be for ever present to me."

The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiarto his feet; and as they went along, Scrooge looked here andthere to find himself, but nowhere was he to be seen. Theyentered poor Bob Cratchit's house; the dwelling he hadvisited before; and found the mother and the children seatedround the fire.

Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were asstill as statues in one corner, and sat looking up at Peter,who had a book before him. The mother and her daughterswere engaged in sewing. But surely they were very quiet.

"And he took a child, and set him in the midst ofthem."

Where had Scrooge heard those words? He had notdreamed them. The boy must have read them out, as heand the Spirit crossed the threshold. Why did he notgo on?

The mother laid her work upon the table, and put herhand up to her face.

"The colour hurts my eyes," she said.

The colour? Ah, poor Tiny Tim.

"They're better now again," said Cratchit's wife. "Itmakes them weak by candle-light; and I wouldn't show weakeyes to your father when he comes home, for the world. Itmust be near his time."

"Past it rather," Peter answered, shutting up his book."But I think he's walked a little slower than he used,these few last evenings, mother."

They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in asteady, cheerful voice, that only faltered once:

"I have known him walk with -- I have known him walkwith Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed."

"And so have I," cried Peter. "Often."

"And so have I," exclaimed another. So had all.

"But he was very light to carry," she resumed, intent uponher work, "and his father loved him so, that it was notrouble -- no trouble. And there is your father at the door!"

She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his comforter-- he had need of it, poor fellow -- came in. His teawas ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who shouldhelp him to it most. Then the two young Cratchits gotupon his knees and laid, each child a little cheek, againsthis face, as if they said, "Don't mind it, father. Don't begrieved."

Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly toall the family. He looked at the work upon the table, andpraised the industry and speed of Mrs Cratchit and the girls.They would be done long before Sunday, he said.

"Sunday. You went to-day, then, Robert?" said hiswife.

"Yes, my dear," returned Bob. "I wish you could havegone. It would have done you good to see how green aplace it is. But you'll see it often. I promised him that Iwould walk there on a Sunday. My little, little child!" cried Bob. "My little child!"

He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. If hecould have helped it, he and his child would have been fartherapart perhaps than they were.

He left the room, and went up-stairs into the room above,which was lighted cheerfully, and hung with Christmas.There was a chair set close beside the child, and there weresigns of some one having been there, lately. Poor Bob satdown in it, and when he had thought a little and composedhimself, he kissed the little face. He was reconciled to whathad happened, and went down again quite happy.

They drew about the fire, and talked; the girls and motherworking still. Bob told them of the extraordinary kindnessof Mr Scrooge's nephew, whom he had scarcely seen butonce, and who, meeting him in the street that day, and seeingthat he looked a little -- "just a little down you know," saidBob, inquired what had happened to distress him. "Onwhich," said Bob, "for he is the pleasantest-spoken gentlemanyou ever heard, I told him. 'I am heartily sorry for it, MrCratchit,' he said, 'and heartily sorry for your good wife.' By the bye, how he ever knew that, I don't know."

"Knew what, my dear?"

"Why, that you were a good wife," replied Bob.

"Everybody knows that," said Peter.

"Very well observed, my boy!" cried Bob. "I hope theydo. 'Heartily sorry,' he said, 'for your good wife. If Ican be of service to you in any way,' he said, giving mehis card, 'that's where I live. Pray come to me.' Now, itwasn't," cried Bob," for the sake of anything he might beable to do for us, so much as for his kind way, that this wasquite delightful. It really seemed as if he had known ourTiny Tim, and felt with us."

"I'm sure he's a good soul," said Mrs Cratchit.

"You would be surer of it, my dear," returned Bob, "ifyou saw and spoke to him. I shouldn't be at all surprised mark what I say, if he got Peter a better situation."

"Only hear that, Peter," said Mrs Cratchit.

"And then," cried one of the girls, "Peter will be keepingcompany with some one, and setting up for himself."

"Get along with you!" retorted Peter, grinning.

"It's just as likely as not," said Bob, "one of these days;though there's plenty of time for that, my dear. But howeverand when ever we part from one another, I am sure weshall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim -- shall we -- or thisfirst parting that there was among us."

"Never, father!" cried they all.

"And I know," said Bob, "I know, my dears, that whenwe recollect how patient and how mild he was; although hewas a little, little child; we shall not quarrel easily amongourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim in doing it."

"No, never, father!" they all cried again.

"I am very happy," said little Bob, "I am very happy!"

Mrs Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, thetwo young Cratchits kissed him, and Peter and himself shookhands. Spirit of Tiny Tim, thy childish essence was fromGod.

"Spectre," said Scrooge, "something informs me that ourparting moment is at hand. I know it, but I know nothow. Tell me what man that was whom we saw lying dead."

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him, asbefore -- though at a different time, he thought: indeed, thereseemed no order in these latter visions, save that they werein the Future -- into the resorts of business men, but showedhim not himself. Indeed, the Spirit did not stay for anything,but went straight on, as to the end just now desired,until besought by Scrooge to tarry for a moment.

"This courts," said Scrooge, "through which we hurry now,is where my place of occupation is, and has been for a lengthof time. I see the house. Let me behold what I shall be,in days to come."

The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.

"The house is yonder," Scrooge exclaimed. "Why do youpoint away?"

The inexorable finger underwent no change.

Scrooge hastened to the window of his office, and lookedin. It was an office still, but not his. The furniture wasnot the same, and the figure in the chair was not himself.The Phantom pointed as before.

He joined it once again, and wondering why and whitherhe had gone, accompanied it until they reached an iron gate.He paused to look round before entering.

A churchyard. Here, then, the wretched man whose namehe had now to learn, lay underneath the ground. It was aworthy place. Walled in by houses; overrun by grass andweeds, the growth of vegetation's death, not life; choked upwith too much burying; fat with repleted appetite. Aworthy place!

The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down toOne. He advanced towards it trembling. The Phantom wasexactly as it had been, but he dreaded that he saw newmeaning in its solemn shape.

"Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point," said Scrooge, "answer me one question. Are these theshadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows ofthings that May be, only?"

Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by whichit stood.

"Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, ifpersevered in, they must lead," said Scrooge. "But if thecourses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it isthus with what you show me."

The Spirit was immovable as ever.

Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; andfollowing the finger, read upon the stone of the neglectedgrave his own name, EBENEZER SCROOGE.

"Am I that man who lay upon the bed?" he cried, uponhis knees.

The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.

"No, Spirit! Oh no, no!"

The finger still was there.

"Spirit!" he cried, tight clutching at its robe, "hear me.I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I musthave been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if Iam past all hope?"

For the first time the hand appeared to shake.

"Good Spirit," he pursued, as down upon the ground hefell before it: "Your nature intercedes for me, and pitiesme. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows youhave shown me, by an altered life."

The kind hand trembled.

"I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep itall the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and theFuture. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. Iwill not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me Imay sponge away the writing on this stone!"

In his agony, he caught the spectral hand. It sought tofree itself, but he was strong in his entreaty, and detained it.The Spirit, stronger yet, repulsed him.

Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate ayereversed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress.It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost.

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