It held a branch of fresh green holly in its hand;
and, in singular contradiction of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with
summer flowers. But the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its
head there sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible; and
which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a great
extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm.
Even this, though, when Scrooge looked
at it with increasing steadiness, was notits strangest quality. For as its
belt sparkled and glittered now in one part and now in another, and what was light
one instant, at another time was dark, so the figure itself fluctuated in its
distinctness: being now a thing with one arm, now with one leg, now with twenty
legs, now a pair of legs without a head, now a head without a body: of which
dissolving parts, no outline would be visible in the dense gloom wherein they melted
away. And in the very wonder of this, it would be itself again; distinct and clear
as ever.
‘Are you the Spirit, sir, whose
coming was foretold to me?’ asked Scrooge.
‘I am!’
The voice was soft and gentle.
Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a
distance.
‘Who, and what are you?’
Scrooge demanded.
‘I am the Ghost
of Christmas Past.’
‘Long Past?’ inquired
Scrooge: observant of its dwarfish stature.
‘No. Your past.’
Perhaps, Scrooge could not have told
anybody why, if anybody could have asked him; but he had a special desire to see the
Spirit in his cap; and begged him to be covered.
‘What!’ exclaimed the Ghost,
‘would you so soon put out, with worldly hands, the light I give? Is it not
enough that you are one of those whose passions made this cap, and force me through
whole trains of years to wear it low upon my brow!’
Scrooge reverently disclaimed all
intention to offend, or any knowledge of having wilfully ‘bonneted’ the
Spirit at any period of his life. He then made bold to inquire what business brought
him there.
‘Your welfare!’ said the
Ghost.
Scrooge expressed himself much obliged,
but could not help thinking that a night of unbroken rest would have been more
conducive to that end. The Spirit must have heard him thinking for it said
immediately:
‘Your reclamation, then. Take
heed!’
It put out its strong hand as it spoke,
and clasped him gently by the arm.
‘Rise! and walk with
me!’
It would have been in vain for Scrooge
to plead that the weather and the hour were not adapted to
pedestrian purposes; that bed was warm, and the thermometer a long way below
freezing; that he was clad but lightly in his slippers, dressing-gown, and nightcap;
and that he had a cold upon him at that time. The grasp, though gentle as a
woman’s hand, was not to be resisted. He rose: but finding that the Spirit
made towards the window, clasped its robe in supplication.
‘I am a mortal,’ Scrooge
remonstrated, ‘and liable to fall.’
‘Bear but a touch of my hand
there,’ said the Spirit, laying it upon his heart, ‘and you
shall be upheld in more than this!’
As the words were spoken, they passed
through the wall, and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand.
The city had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and
the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon
the ground.
‘Good Heaven!’ said Scrooge,
clasping his hands together, as he looked about him. ‘I was bred in this
place. I was a boy here!’
The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its
gentle touch, though it had been light and instantaneous, appeared still present to
the old man’s sense of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odours floating
in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and
cares long, long, forgotten!
‘Your lip is
trembling,’ said the Ghost. ‘And what is that upon your
cheek?’
Scrooge muttered, with an unusual
catching in his voice, that it was a pimple; and begged the Ghost to lead him where
he would.
‘You recollect the way?’
inquired the Spirit.
‘Remember it!’ cried Scrooge
with fervour — ‘I could walk it blindfold.’
‘Strange to have forgotten it for
so many years!’ observed the Ghost. ‘Let us go on.’
They walked along the road; Scrooge
recognizing every gate, and post, and tree; until a little market-town appeared in
the distance, with its bridge, its church, and winding river.