captive, bound, and
double-ironed,’ cried the phantom, ‘not to know, that ages of incessant
labour by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good
of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit
working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life
too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can
make amends for one life’s opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was
I!’
‘But you were
always a good man of business, Jacob,’ faltered Scrooge, who now began to
apply this to himself.
‘Business!’ cried the Ghost,
wringing its hands again. ‘Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my
business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The
dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my
business!’
It held up its chain at arm’s
length, as if that were the cause of all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily
upon the ground again.
‘At this time of the rolling
year,’ the spectre said, ‘I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds
of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star
which led the Wise Men to a poor abode? Were there no poor homes to which its light
would have conducted me!’
Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear
the spectre going on at this rate, and began to quake exceedingly.
‘Hear me!’ cried the Ghost.
‘My time is nearly gone.’
‘I will,’ said Scrooge.
‘But don’t be hard upon me! Don’t be flowery, Jacob!
Pray!’
‘How it is that I appear before
you in a shape that you can see, I may not tell. I have sat invisible beside you
many and many a day.’
It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge
shivered, and wiped the perspiration from his brow.
‘That is no light
part of my penance,’ pursued the Ghost. ‘I am here tonight to warn you,
that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my
procuring, Ebenezer.’
‘You were always a good friend to
me,’ said Scrooge. ‘Thank’ee!’
‘You will be haunted,’
resumed the Ghost, ‘by Three Spirits.’
Scrooge’s countenance fell almost
as low as the Ghost’s had done.
‘Is that the chance and hope you
mentioned, Jacob?’ he demanded, in a faltering voice.
‘It is.’
‘I — I think I’d
rather not,’ said Scrooge.
‘Without their visits,’ said
the Ghost, ‘you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first
tomorrow, when the bell tolls one.’
‘Couldn’t I take ’em
all at once, and have it over, Jacob?’ hinted Scrooge.
‘Expect the second on the next
night at the same hour. The third upon the next night when the last stroke of twelve
has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you
remember what has passed between us!’
When it had said these words, the
spectre took its wrapper from the table, and bound it round its head, as before.
Scrooge knew this, by the smart sound its teeth made, when the jaws
were brought together by the bandage. He ventured to raise his eyes again, and found
his supernatural visitor confronting him in an erect attitude, with its chain wound
over and about its arm.
The apparition walked backward from him;
and at every step it took, the window raised itself a little, so that when the
spectre reached it, it was wide open. It beckoned Scrooge to approach, which he did.
When they were within two paces of each other, Marley’s Ghost held up its
hand, warning him to come no nearer. Scrooge stopped.
Not so much in obedience, as in surprise
and fear: for on the raising of the hand, he became sensible of confused noises in
the air; incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret; wailings inexpressibly
sorrowful and self-accusatory. The spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in
the mournful dirge; and floated out upon the bleak, dark night.
Scrooge followed to the window:
desperate in his curiosity. He looked out.
The air filled with phantoms, wandering
hither and thither in restless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them
wore chains like Marley’s Ghost; some few (they might be guilty governments)
were linked together; none were free. Many had been personally known to Scrooge in
their lives. He had been quite familiar with one old ghost, in a white waistcoat,
with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle, who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an infant, whom it saw
below, upon a door-step. The misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to
interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power for ever.
Whether these creatures faded into mist,
or mist enshrouded them, he could not tell. But they and their spirit voices faded
together; and the night became as it had been when he walked home.
Scrooge closed the window, and examined
the door by which the Ghost had entered. It was double-locked, as he had locked it
with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say,
‘Humbug!’ but stopped at the first syllable. And being, from the emotion
he had undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the Invisible World,
or the dull conversation of the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need of
repose; went straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep upon the
instant.