A Christmas Carol became a sensation when it was first published, influencing our Christmas traditions. This is a story-parable about the rebirth of the miser and misanthrope Scrooge, in which the writer, with the help of fantastic images of Christmas Spirits, shows his hero the only way to salvation - to do good to people. The book is superbly illustrated.
The story of Scrooge - a man who loved no one, hated everyone, and legends circulated around the city about his stinginess and callousness. He was treated accordingly. One day, the spirit of Marley's late companion appeared to Scrooge. The author skillfully describes the appearance of this spirit in such a way that the blood in the veins of not only the protagonist, but also the reader, runs cold. Scrooge spent his entire life hoarding, didn’t help anyone, and didn’t respond to requests. And then he completely loses peace. We are witnessing a complete rebirth of man. Cynicism is replaced by bitter regret and repentance. Marley asks the Higher Powers to help his friend change. They send three more spirits to help him. The appearance of everyone is a real test for Scrooge. However, he succeeded. It turns out how wonderful life is when you live for others! Empty and barren, it is filled with quality content. If this had not happened, then within a year the hero would have died. This is what the spirit of Christmas predicted for him. The gloom and hopelessness of the plot gradually dissolve, giving way to light, love, and joy.
Quotes from the book A Christmas Carol:
“At least the Christmas holidays. But all the same, besides the reverence that one feels before this sacred word, and the pious memories that are inseparable from it, I have always looked forward to these days as the best of the year. These are joyful days - days of mercy, kindness, forgiveness. These are the only days in the entire calendar when people, as if by tacit agreement, freely open their hearts to each other and see in their neighbors, even the poor and disadvantaged, the same people as themselves, wandering the same road to the grave with them, and not some beings of a different breed who should take a different path. And therefore, uncle, although it is true that at Christmas time I have never had a single coin added to my pocket, I believe that Christmas brings me good and will continue to bring good, and long live Christmas!
“The fog is getting thicker, the frost is getting stronger! Fierce, piercing cold! If Saint Dunstan, instead of red-hot tongs, had grabbed Satan by the nose with this kind of frost, he would have howled from such a thorough pinch!”
“In the back alley of the house there was such a swirling thick fog and there lay such a thick layer of frost, as if the evil spirit of bad weather itself was sitting there, immersed in heavy thought.”
“The soul contained in every person,” the ghost objected, “must communicate with people and, following them everywhere, participate in their fate. And those who did not fulfill this during life are doomed to hang around after death. He is condemned to travel around the world and - oh, woe is me! - to look at the joys and sorrows of people, which he no longer has the power to share, but once he could - for the joy of himself and others.”
“I wear a chain that I forged myself during my life,” answered the ghost. “I forged it link by link and yard by yard.” I girded myself with it of my own free will, and of my own free will I wear it. Isn’t the sight of this chain familiar to you?”
"- Affairs! - cried the ghost, wringing his hands again. - Caring for my neighbor - that was what should have become my business. The public good is what I should have strived for. Mercy, compassion, generosity, this is what I had to direct my activities towards. And engaging in commerce is just a drop of water in the vast ocean of deeds destined for us.”
“And all these spirits clearly wanted to intervene in the affairs of mortals and bring good, but they had already lost this opportunity forever, and this was precisely the reason for their torment.”
“The spirit turned a gentle glance towards Scrooge. His light touch, fleeting and weightless as it was, awakened some feelings in the chest of old Scrooge. It seemed to him that a thousand smells wafted over him, and each smell awakened thousands of memories of long-forgotten thoughts, aspirations, joys, hopes.”
“And then there was dancing again, and then forfeits and dancing again, and then there was sweet pie, and mulled wine, and a large piece of cold roast beef, and a large piece of cold boiled beef, and in the end there were fried pies with raisins and cinnamon and plenty beer"
“Oh, all this means so little to you now,” she said quietly. “You now worship another deity, and it has driven me out of your heart.” Well, if it can support and comfort you, as I would like to support and comfort, then, of course, I should not be sad.
-What is this deity that displaced you? - asked Scrooge.
- Money.
- There is no justice on earth! - said Scrooge. - The world most mercilessly punishes poverty, and no less severely - in words, at least - condemns the pursuit of wealth.
“You tremble too much before the opinion of the world,” she meekly reproached him. “You changed all your previous hopes and dreams for the sake of one thing - to become invulnerable to his pin pricks. Didn’t I see how all your noble aspirations died one after another and a new all-conquering passion, the passion for profit, little by little took possession of you completely!
“However, I admit, I would immensely like to touch her lips, turn to her with a question, see how she opens her lips, answering me! Admire her lowered eyelashes without bringing color to her cheeks! Let down her silky hair, each strand of which is a priceless treasure! In a word, I won’t hide the fact that I would like to enjoy all the rights of a playful child, but at the same time be an old enough man to know their value.”
“Scrooge involuntarily thought that the same graceful, full of life creature could call him father and warm the harsh winter of his old age with the breath of her spring!”
“Stacked on the floor in a huge pile resembling a throne were roasted turkeys, geese, chickens, game, pork hams, large pieces of beef, suckling pigs, garlands of sausages, fried pies, plumpuddings, barrels of oysters, hot chestnuts, ruddy apples, juicy oranges. , fragrant pears, huge liver pies and steaming bowls of punch, the fragrant vapors of which hung in the air like fog.”
“It was morning, Christmas morning and a good strong frost, and a kind of music was sounding on the street, a little harsh, but pleasant - they were clearing snow from the sidewalks and raking it from the roofs, to the insane delight of the boys, who watched how, crumbling into the smallest dust, they collapsed on snow avalanches on the ground.
Against the background of the dazzling white cover that lay on the roofs, and even the not so snow-white one that lay on the ground, the walls of the houses seemed gloomy, and the windows even gloomier and darker. The heavy wheels of carriages and wagons left deep ruts in the snow, and at the intersections of large streets these ruts, crossing hundreds of times, formed a complex network of channels filled with ice water. The sky was gloomy, and the streets were drowned in an ashen-dirty haze, similar either to frost or steam and settling on the ground with a dark dew like soot, as if all the chimneys of England had conspired with each other - and well, whoever would smoke what a lot! In a word, neither the city itself nor the climate were particularly conducive to fun, and yet there was fun on the streets - as fun as it doesn’t happen, perhaps, even on the nicest summer day, when the sun shines so brightly and the air is so fresh and clean."
“The counters of the fruit stalls shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. There were huge round baskets of chestnuts, like the waistcoated bellies of jolly old gentlemen. They stood leaning against the ceiling, and sometimes even rolled out of the threshold, as if they were afraid to suffocate from plethora and satiety. There were also ruddy, dark-skinned, fat-bellied Spanish onions, smooth and shiny, like the fat-slick cheeks of Spanish monks. Slyly and impudently, they winked from the shelves at the girls running past, who with feigned shyness glanced furtively at the mistletoe sprig suspended from the ceiling. There were apples and pears stacked in tall, colorful pyramids. There were bunches of grapes, hung by the shop owner in the most prominent places, so that passers-by could, admiring them, salivate for free. There were piles of nuts - brown, slightly fluffy - whose fresh aroma brought back memories of past walks through the forest, when it was so pleasant to wander, drowning ankle-deep in fallen leaves, and hear them rustle under your feet. There were baked apples, plump, glossy brown, complementing the bright yellow of the lemons and oranges and with all their delicious appearance persistently and passionately convincing you to take them home in a paper bag and eat them for dessert.
“The mixed aroma of coffee and tea tickled the nostrils so pleasantly, and there were so many raisins and such rare varieties, and the almonds were so dazzlingly white, and the cinnamon sticks were so straight and long, and all the other spices smelled so delicious, and the candied fruits shone through so seductively covering them with sugar icing, which even the most indifferent buyers began to suck in the pit of their stomach! And not only were the figs so fleshy and juicy, and the dried plums blushed so bashfully and smiled so sweet and sour from their sumptuously decorated boxes, and everything, absolutely everything looked so tasty and so elegant in its Christmas decoration...”
“Here, on your sinful land,” said the Spirit, “there are many people who are proud of their closeness to us and, prompted by hatred, envy, anger, pride, bigotry and selfishness, do their bad deeds, hiding behind our name. But these people are as alien to us as if they had never been born. Remember this and blame only themselves for their actions, not us.”
“Illness and sorrow are easily transmitted from person to person, but still there is nothing more contagious on earth than laughter and a cheerful mood, and I see in this the expedient, noble and fair arrangement of things in nature.”
“It’s so gratifying sometimes to become children again, at least for a while! And this is especially good at Christmas time, when we celebrate the birth of the divine baby.”
“The spirit stood at the bedside of the sick man, and the sick man was encouraged and cheerful; he approached the wanderers, yearning for a foreign land, and it seemed to them that their homeland was close; to those exhausted in everyday struggle - and they were inspired by new hope; to the poor - and they found wealth in themselves. In prisons, hospitals and almshouses, in wretched shelters of poverty - wherever vanity and pathetic earthly pride do not close a person’s heart to the gracious spirit of the holiday - everywhere he gave people his blessing and taught Scrooge the commandments of mercy.”
“The boy's name is Ignorance. The girl's name is Poverty. Beware of both and everything that is related to them, but most of all, beware of the boy, for “Destruction” is inscribed on his forehead and he brings death with him if this inscription is not erased. Well, deny it! - cried the Spirit, turning towards the city and stretching out his hand towards it.
Blame those who tell you this! Use ignorance and poverty for your unclean, selfish purposes! Increase them, multiply them! And wait for the end!”
“And the best and most remarkable thing was that the Future belonged to him and he could still change his fate.”
“I don’t know what’s happening to me! - he cried, crying and laughing and with the help of the stockings wrapped around him, turning into a kind of Laocoon. - It’s so easy for me, as if I were a piece of fluff, so joyful, as if I were an angel, so fun, as if I were a schoolboy! And my head is spinning like a drunk! Merry Christmas, happy holidays to everyone, everyone! I wish a happy New Year to everyone, everyone in the world! Gop-la-la! Gop-la-la! Hooray! Hooray! Oh-la-la!
“Running to the window, Scrooge lifted the frame and leaned out. No darkness, no fog! Clear, fine day. Stinging, invigorating frost. He whistles into his icy pipe and makes the blood dance through his veins. Golden sun! Azure sky! Transparent fresh air! Merry ringing of bells! Oh, how wonderful! How wonderful, wonderful!”
“Some people laughed at this transformation, but Scrooge did not pay attention to them - laugh your heart out! He was smart enough and knew that this is how the world works - there will always be people ready to ridicule a good deed. He understood that those who laugh are blind, and thought: let them laugh, as long as they don’t cry! His heart was cheerful and light, and that was quite enough for him.”
“And now all we have to do is repeat after Little Tim: may God overshadow us all with his mercy!”
Excellent edition:
Literature of the world: Literature of England
First edition of the book (1843):
In cinema and animation:
- The story has been filmed several times. The earliest film version was the 1901 silent film Scrooge, or Marley's Ghost. In November 2009, another film adaptation was released.
- The famous Disney cartoon character Scrooge McDuck was named after the main character of A Christmas Carol. In fact, he first appeared in a Disney cartoon based on this story, where all the characters were played by Disney characters, for example, Mickey Mouse as Bob Cratchit, Pete as the Spirit of Christmas Future, etc.
- The New Christmas Tale (English: Scrooged) is a modern satirical adaptation of A Christmas Carol made by director Richard Donner in 1988.
- 1992 feature film The Muppet Christmas Carol.
- One of the episodes of the animated series "101 Dalmatians". The plot of this series has both similarities and differences.
- In one of the episodes of the animated series "Ghostbusters", the heroes accidentally find themselves in the reality of the story and catch the Spirits of Christmas when they attack Scrooge. Returning to their reality, they discover that the Christmas holiday has ceased to exist. And then they return to Scrooge’s reality and themselves replace the Spirits of Christmas (the Spirit of Christmas Past is portrayed by Peter, the present by Winston, and the future by Ray). Meanwhile, Egon manages to return the real Spirits.
- A slightly changed meaning of the story is present in the cartoon “All Dogs Celebrate Christmas.”
- In the A Christmas Carol-based episode "A Time to Repent," Nicole Julian's character encounters the ghosts of Christmas Present, Christmas Past, and Future Christmas.
- In the special episode of the television series Doctor Who, which was released on December 25, 2010, events take place according to the plot of the story.
- The script for the comedy melodrama “Ghosts of Girlfriends Past” was written based on “A Christmas Carol.” In this version, the emphasis falls mainly on the topic of sex and the main character’s relationships with both many random women and his childhood friend and first love.
- The Beavis and Butt-head Extended Episode "Beavis and Butt-head Do Cristmas" also parodies A Christmas Carol by having Beavis dream that he is a cruel diner owner. Principal McVicker turns into his downtrodden employee as Bob Cratchit; hippie teacher David portrays the good spirit of the current Christmastide, and the evil physical education teacher becomes the sinister spirit of future Christmastide.
- "Barbie: A Christmas Story." A story based on the work of Charles Dickens. In the cartoon, everything is depicted much kinder than in the original.
- In one episode, "Naughty Animations," the plot is based on a Christmas carol. Mr. Blots plays the role of Scrooge, and the Warners appear as ghosts.
- In one of the episodes of the animated series "Tutenstein" the plot depicts a similar time travel, although it has nothing to do with Christmas.
In economics
Philosophy professor at the University of Arizona Gerald Gaus published an article in 1997, “The Importance of Minding Your Own Business,” dedicated to the political rehabilitation of Ebenezer Scrooge. The author states that Scrooge is the embodiment of an important and rare virtue: the ability not to meddle in other people's affairs without asking. It is this feature that underlies a libertarian society, the professor believes.
STROPHE ONE To begin with, Marley was dead. There was no doubt about it. His burial certificate was signed by the priest, the clerk, the undertaker and the senior gravedigger. It was signed by Scrooge. And if Scrooge put his hand to any document, this paper had weight on the stock exchange. So old Marley was dead as a nail in the lintel. Please note: I am not at all claiming that own experience I became convinced that the nail driven into the ceiling was somehow especially dead, more dead than all the other nails. No, I personally would rather prefer a nail driven into a coffin lid as the most dead object of all hardware. But this saying reflects the wisdom of our ancestors, and if my wicked tongue dared to change it, you would have the right to say that our country is sliding into the abyss. Therefore, may I be allowed to repeat again and again: Marley was dead as a nail in the lintel. Did Scrooge know about this? Of course. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and Marley have been companions since time immemorial. Scrooge was Marley's only confidant, his only authority in all matters, his only executor, his only legal heir, his only friend, and the only person who accompanied him to the graveyard. And yet Scrooge was not so depressed by this sad event that his business acumen could fail him, and he celebrated the day of his friend’s funeral by concluding a very profitable deal. Now I mentioned Marley's funeral, and that brings me back to where I started. There could not be the slightest doubt that Marley was dead. This must be clearly understood, otherwise there will be nothing extraordinary in the story that I intend to tell you. After all, if we did not know for certain that Hamlet’s father died long before the start of the performance, then his walk on a windy night along the ramparts around his castle would hardly seem to us something supernatural. In any case, no more supernatural than the behavior of any elderly gentleman who had the whim of taking a walk at midnight in some place not protected from the wind, well, say, in the cemetery of St. Pavel, pursuing the only goal - to amaze the already frustrated imagination of his son. Scrooge did not blot out Marley's name on the sign. It was there, above the office door, years later: SCROOGE and MARLEY. The company was well known by this name. And some newbie in business, addressing Scrooge, sometimes called him Scrooge, and sometimes Marley. Scrooge responded no matter how he was called. He didn't care. What a badass he was, that Scrooge! This is someone who knew how to squeeze out juices, pull out veins, hammer into a coffin, rake, seize, grab, extort... The old sinner knew how, he knew how! It was not a man, but a flint. Yes, he was cold and hard, like flint, and no one had ever managed to carve even a spark of compassion from his stone heart. Secretive, withdrawn, lonely - he hid like an oyster in his shell. Mental cold froze the senile features of his face from the inside, sharpened his hooked nose, wrinkled the skin on his cheeks, constrained his gait, made his lips turn blue and his eyes red, and made his creaky voice icy. And even his stubbled chin, sparse hair and eyebrows seemed frosted with frost. He brought this chilling atmosphere with him everywhere. Scrooge's presence froze his office in the summer heat, and he did not allow it to thaw even half a degree even on merry Christmastide. Heat or cold in the yard - Scrooge was little concerned about this. No heat could warm him, and no frost could penetrate him. The fiercest wind could not be more evil than Scrooge, the fiercest blizzard could not be as cruel as he, the heaviest rain could not be so merciless. The bad weather could do nothing to get through it. Rain, hail, and snow could boast only one advantage over Scrooge - they often descended on the earth in generous abundance, and Scrooge was unknown to generosity. No one ever stopped him on the street with a joyful exclamation: “Dear Scrooge! How are you? When will you come to see me?” Not a single beggar dared to reach out to him for alms, not a single child dared to ask him what time it was, and not a single soul ever asked him to show him the way. It seemed that even the dogs, guides to the blind, understood what kind of person he was, and, seeing him, they hurried to drag their owner into the first entrance or gateway they came across, and then wagged their tail for a long time, as if saying: “Yes, for me, a man without eyes, like you, master, much better than with the evil eye." Do you think this upset Scrooge? Not at all. He made his way through life, avoiding everyone, and those who knew him well believed that it was somehow sweet for him to scare away the slightest manifestation of sympathy. And then one day - and not just sometime, but on Christmas Eve itself - old Scrooge was poring over account books in his office. It was cold, dreary weather, and still foggy, and Scrooge could hear passers-by outside the window scurrying back and forth, stamping loudly along the sidewalk, puffing and beating their sides to keep warm. The city clock in the bell tower had just struck three, but it was already getting dark, and that day and in the morning everything, and the lights of the candles that glowed in the windows of the offices lay like crimson strokes on the dark curtain of fog - so dense that it seemed you could touch it hand. The fog crawled into every crack, seeped into every keyhole, and even in this cramped courtyard, the houses opposite, barely visible behind a thick dirty gray veil, looked like ghosts. Looking at the clouds of fog that descended lower and lower, hiding all objects from view, one might think that Nature herself had opened a brewery somewhere in the neighborhood and was brewing beer for the holiday. Scrooge kept the office door ajar so that he could keep an eye on his clerk, who was copying papers in a dark little closet, or rather a closet. If Scrooge had not enough coal in the fireplace, then the clerk had even less - it seemed that there was only one coal smoldering there. But the clerk could not add coal, since Scrooge kept a box of coal in his room, and as soon as the clerk appeared there with a fireplace scoop, the owner began to express fear that he would have to part with his assistant. Therefore, the clerk wrapped a white woolen scarf tightly around his neck and tried to warm himself by a candle, however, not having a particularly ardent imagination, and here he failed. - Happy holiday, uncle! I hope you have a lot of fun this Christmas! - there was a cheerful exclamation. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew. The young man burst into the office so quickly that Scrooge did not have time to raise his head from the papers as his nephew was already standing near his desk. - Nonsense! - Scrooge grumbled. - Nonsense! Scrooge's nephew was so warmed up, walking briskly through the frost that he seemed to be radiating with heat, like from a stove. His cheeks were flushed - it was simply delightful to look at, his eyes sparkled, and steam poured out of his mouth. - Is Christmas time nonsense, uncle? - asked the nephew. - That's right, I didn't understand you! - We heard! - said Scrooge. - Have fun at Christmas time! By what right do you want to have fun? What reason do you have for fun? Or do you feel like you're not poor enough yet? “In that case,” the nephew responded cheerfully, “by what right are you so gloomy, uncle?” What reason do you have for being gloomy? Or do you feel like you're not rich enough yet? To this Scrooge, not having time to prepare a more intelligible answer, repeated his “nonsense” and added “nonsense!” “Don’t grumble, uncle,” said the nephew. - What do you want me to do? - objected Scrooge, - what if I live among such dunces as you? Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! Fuck you with your Christmastide! What is Christmas time for people like you? This means that it’s time to pay the bills, and the money is going to roll in the air. It's time to draw up the annual balance sheet, but month after month you have no profits, only losses, and although one has been added to your age, not a single penny has been added to your capital. “If it were up to me,” Scrooge continued indignantly, “I would be such a blockhead who runs around and shouts: “Merry Christmastide! Merry Christmastide!" - he would have been boiled alive along with the filling for the Yuletide pudding, and a holly stake driven into his grave *. "Uncle!" the nephew begged. "Nephew!" the uncle snapped. - Celebrate them! - exclaimed the nephew. - So you don’t manage them! - Then don’t bother me to forget about them. in the light of good things that were of no use to me,” answered the nephew. “But all the same, in addition to the reverence that you feel before this sacred word, and the pious memories that are inseparable from it, I always looked forward to these. days as the best in the year. These are joyful days - days of mercy, kindness, forgiveness. These are the only days in the entire calendar when people, as if by silent agreement, freely open their hearts to each other and see in their neighbors, even in the poor and disadvantaged. , - the same people as themselves, wandering the same road to the grave with them, and not some creatures of a different breed who should take a different path. And therefore, uncle, although it is true that at Christmas time I have never had a single coin added to my pocket, I believe that Christmas brings me good and will continue to bring good, and long live Christmas! The clerk in his nook involuntarily clapped his hands, but immediately, realizing the indecency of such behavior, rushed to stir the coals with a poker and extinguished the last meager spark... - Hey, you! - said Scrooge. - One more sound and you will celebrate your Christmastide somewhere else. And you, sir,” he turned to his nephew, “you, I see, are a talker.” I wonder why you are not in parliament. - You will be angry, uncle! Come visit us tomorrow and have lunch with us. Scrooge replied that he would rather visit... Yes, he said so, without any embarrassment, and in conclusion added a few more strong words. - Yes, why? - the nephew cried. - Why? - Why did you get married? - asked Scrooge. - Fell in love, that's why. - Fell in love! - Scrooge grumbled in a tone as if he had heard yet another desperate absurdity like “merry Christmastide.” - Well, I have the honor! - But listen, uncle, you haven’t favored me with your visits before, why now blame everything on my marriage? - I have the honor! - repeated Scrooge. - Yes, I don’t ask anything from you, I don’t need anything from you. Why can't we be friends? - I have the honor! - said Scrooge. - It’s a pity that you are so adamant. I’ve never quarreled with you, and I don’t understand why you’re angry with me. And yet, I made this attempt at rapprochement for the sake of the holiday. Well, I won’t change my festive mood. So, I wish you a Merry Christmas, Uncle. - I have the honor! - said Scrooge. - And happy New Year! - I have the honor! - repeated Scrooge. And yet the nephew, leaving the office, did not express his annoyance in any way. At the door he paused to bring his congratulations to the clerk, who, although numb from the cold, nevertheless turned out to be warmer than Scrooge and returned the greeting cordially. - Here's another crazy one! - muttered Scrooge, who overheard the clerk's answer. - Some pathetic scribe, with a salary of fifteen shillings, burdened with a wife and children, and there he talks about merry Christmastide! It’s time to run away from such people into Bedlam! Meanwhile, the poor madman, having released Scrooge's nephew, let in new visitors. They were two portly, pleasant-looking gentlemen; they were holding some folders and papers in their hands. Taking off their hats, they entered the office and bowed to Scrooge. - Scrooge and Marley, if I'm not mistaken? - asked one of them, checking with some list. - Do I have the pleasure of talking with Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley? “Mr. Marley has been buried in the cemetery for seven years,” answered Scrooge. - He died on Christmas Eve, exactly seven years ago. “In this case, we have no doubt that the generosity and breadth of nature of the deceased are equally characteristic of his surviving companion,” said one of the gentlemen, presenting his documents. And he was not mistaken, for they were worth each other, these worthy companions, these kindred souls. Hearing the ominous word "generosity", Scrooge frowned, shook his head and returned the visitor his papers. “On these holidays, Mr. Scrooge,” the visitor continued, taking a pen from the desk, “more than ever, it is appropriate for us to show, to the best of our ability, concern for the orphans and the disadvantaged, who especially suffer at such a harsh time of year.” Thousands of poor people suffer from lack of basic necessities. Hundreds of thousands are homeless. - Don’t we have forts? - asked Scrooge. - Ostrogov? “As much as you like,” the visitor answered, putting the pen back. - What about workhouses? - continued Scrooge. -Are they still active? - Unfortunately, still. Although,” the visitor noted, “I would be glad to report that they were covered.” - So, forced labor exists and the poor law remains in force? - Neither one nor the other has been cancelled. - And you scared me, gentlemen. From your words, I was ready to conclude that all this good activity for some reason came to naught. Glad to hear I was wrong. “Convinced that all these laws and institutions give nothing to either the soul or the body,” the visitor objected, “we decided to collect donations for the benefit of the poor in order to buy them a certain amount of food, drink and warm clothing.” We chose Christmas Eve for this purpose precisely because on these days the need is felt especially acutely, and abundance gives especially much joy. What amount will you allow me to write on your behalf? - None. - Do you want to donate without revealing your name? “I want to be left alone,” Scrooge snapped. - Since you, gentlemen, wanted to know what I want, here is my answer. I don’t pamper myself on holidays and I don’t have the means to pamper idle people. I support the institutions mentioned, and it costs me a lot. Those in need can go there. - Not everyone can do this, and some don’t want to - they’d rather die. “If they prefer to die, so much the better,” said Scrooge. - This will reduce the population surplus. Besides, I'm sorry, I'm not interested. - This should interest you. “None of this concerns me at all,” said Scrooge. - Let everyone mind their own business. In any case, I have my fill of things to do. Goodbye gentlemen! Seeing that it was useless to insist, the gentlemen left, and Scrooge, very pleased with himself, returned to his interrupted studies in an unusually cheerful mood for him. Meanwhile, outside the window, the fog and darkness thickened so much that torchbearers appeared on the streets, offering their services to run ahead of the carriages and illuminate the road. The ancient church bell tower, whose ancient hoarse bell spent days ironically leering at Scrooge from the lancet window, was completely hidden from view, and the bell was ringing the hours and quarters somewhere in the clouds, accompanying each blow with such a plaintive rattling tremolo, as if it had no teeth. got caught from the cold. And the frost kept getting stronger. In the corner of the courtyard adjacent to the main street, workers were repairing gas pipes and lit a large fire in a brazier, around which a crowd of ragged boys and boys had gathered. They warmed their hands over the brazier and did not take their enchanted gaze off the burning coals. Water oozed from the tap on the street, and it, forgotten by everyone, gradually grew overgrown with ice in dreary solitude until it turned into a dull, slippery block. Gas lamps burned brightly in store windows, casting a reddish glow on the pale faces of passers-by, and the sprigs and berries of holly that decorated the windows crackled in the heat. The green and chicken shops were decorated so elegantly and magnificently that they turned into something outlandish, fabulous, and it was impossible to believe that they had anything to do with such ordinary things as buying and selling. The Lord Mayor, in his majestic residence, had already ordered five dozen cooks and butlers not to lose face so that he could celebrate the holiday as it should be, and even the little tailor, whom he had fined the day before for appearing on the street while drunk and having bloodthirsty intentions, had already stirred his holiday pudding in his attic, while his skinny wife and skinny son ran to buy beef. The fog is getting thicker, the frost is getting stronger! Fierce, piercing cold! If Saint Dunstan*, instead of red-hot tongs, had grabbed Satan by the nose with this kind of frost, he would have howled from such a thorough pinch! A certain young owner of a rather insignificant nose, moreover, already bitten by the voracious frost, which clung to him like a hungry dog on a bone, clung to the keyhole of Scrooge’s office, wanting to glorify Christmas, but at the very first sounds of the Christmas hymn: May he send you joy God. Let nothing sadden you... Scrooge grabbed the ruler so decisively that the singer fled in fear, leaving the keyhole at the mercy of the fog dear to Scrooge and the frost even closer to him in spirit. Finally the time has come to close the office. Scrooge reluctantly climbed down from his high stool, giving a silent sign to the clerk who was languishing in the closet, and he instantly blew out the candle and put on his hat. - You probably don’t intend to come to work tomorrow at all? - asked Scrooge. - If only it is quite convenient, sir. “This is completely inconvenient,” said Scrooge, “and unconscionable.” But if I withhold half a crown from you for this, you will consider yourself offended, won’t you? The clerk managed some semblance of a smile. “However,” continued Scrooge, “it doesn’t occur to you that I can consider myself offended when I pay you a salary for nothing.” The clerk noted that this happens once a year. “That’s a pretty weak excuse for putting your hand in my pocket every year on the twenty-fifth of December,” said Scrooge, buttoning up his coat. - But, as you can see, you want to walk the whole day tomorrow at all costs. So please show up the day after tomorrow as early as possible. The clerk promised to appear as early as possible, and Scrooge, still grumbling, stepped over the threshold. In the blink of an eye the office was locked, and the clerk, having rolled twenty times - to pay tribute to Christmas Eve - down the icy slope of Cornhill with a horde of boys (the ends of his white scarf fluttered behind him, because he could not afford the luxury of having a coat) , ran as fast as he could home to Camden Town to play blind man's buff with his kids. Scrooge ate his dull dinner in the dull tavern where he was in the habit of dining, looked through all the newspapers there, and, having whiled away the rest of the evening over his account book, went home to bed. He lived in an apartment that once belonged to his late partner. It was a gloomy suite of rooms, occupying part of a low, gloomy building in the depths of the courtyard. This house was clearly not built on the spot, and it involuntarily came to mind that once at the dawn of his youth he accidentally ran here, playing hide and seek with other houses, and got stuck, unable to find his way back. Now it was a very old house and very gloomy, and, except for Scrooge, no one lived in it, and all the other premises were rented out as offices. It was so dark in the courtyard that even Scrooge, who knew every cobblestone there, was forced to grope his way, and in the black gateway of the house such a thick fog swirled and there lay such a thick layer of frost, as if the evil spirit of the weather itself was sitting there, immersed in heavy thought. And so. It is reliably known that there was nothing remarkable about the door knocker hanging at the entrance doors, except for its excessively large size. The fact remains undeniable that Scrooge saw this hammer every morning and every evening from the very day he settled in this house. There is no doubt that Scrooge could not boast of a particularly lively imagination. It worked no better for him, and perhaps even worse, than for any Londoner, not even excluding (and this is a strong word!) city councilors, aldermen and guild members. It should also be noted that Scrooge, having mentioned during the day about his companion, who died seven years ago, never again remembered the deceased. Now let someone explain to me how it could happen that Scrooge, having inserted the key into the keyhole, suddenly saw in front of him not a mallet, which, by the way, had not undergone any changes during this time, but Marley’s face. Marley's face, it was not buried in impenetrable darkness, like all the other objects in the yard, but on the contrary, it emitted a ghostly light, just like a rotten lobster in a dark cellar. It did not express either rage or anger, but looked at Scrooge in exactly the same way as the late Marley looked at him during life, pushing his colorless glasses onto his pale, like a dead forehead. Only the hair moved somehow strangely, as if heat from a hot oven was blowing on it, and the wide-open eyes looked completely motionless, and this, combined with the corpse-like complexion, inspired horror. And yet it was not so much the appearance or expression of this face that was terrible, but something else that seemed to be outside of it. Scrooge stared wide-eyed at this marvel, and Marley's face immediately turned into a door knocker. We would be lying if we said that Scrooge was not amazed and that chill that he had not felt since childhood did not run through his veins. But after a moment's hesitation, he resolutely took the key again, turned it in the lock, entered the house and lit a candle. True, he hesitated a little before slamming the door behind him, and even looked behind it cautiously, as if afraid to see Marley’s braid sticking out through the door onto the stairs. But there was nothing on the door except the screws and nuts on which the hammer was held, and, muttering: “Ugh, hell!” Scrooge slammed the door with a crash. The knock of the door rolled through the house like a clap of thunder, and every room on the upper floor and every barrel below, in the wine merchant's cellar, responded to it with a discordant echo. But Scrooge was not one to be intimidated by this. He bolted the door and began to slowly climb the stairs, straightening the candle along the way. Are you familiar with those spacious old staircases? It seems that you can ride on them in a carriage with gears and drag anything through. And don't they, in this respect, slightly resemble our new parliament? Well, a whole funeral procession could have passed along those stairs, and even if someone had decided to place the hearse across, with the shafts against the wall, and the doors against the railing, then there would still be enough free space on the stairs. Was this the reason why Scrooge felt as if a funeral horn was moving of its own accord in the semi-darkness ahead of him on the stairs? Half a dozen gas lamps would not have sufficed to light such a staircase properly, so you can easily imagine to what extent Scrooge's solitary candle could dispel the darkness. But Scrooge didn’t care about that and moved further up the stairs. There is no money to be paid for darkness, and therefore Scrooge had nothing against darkness. Still, before slamming the heavy door of his apartment behind him, Scrooge walked through the rooms to make sure that everything was in order. And not surprisingly, the face of the late Marley was still before his eyes. Living room, bedroom, storage room. Everywhere everything is as it should be. There is no one under the table, no one under the sofa, a meager fire smolders in the fireplace, a bowl and spoon are waiting on the table, a saucepan with liquid oatmeal (which Scrooge used to treat himself at night for a cold) is on the shelf in the hearth. There was no one under the bed, no one in the closet, no one in the robe that was hanging on the wall and looked kind of suspicious. In the pantry everything is in place: rusty fireplace grates, a pair of old shoes, two fish baskets, a three-legged washbasin and a poker. Satisfied with the inspection, Scrooge locked the door to the apartment - locked, mind you, with two turns of the key, which was not at all part of his habit. Having thus protected himself from any surprises, he took off his tie, put on his robe, nightcap and slippers and sat down by the fireplace to sip some porridge. The fire in the hearth was barely warm - it was of little use on such a cold night. Scrooge had to move close to the grate and bend low over the fire in order to feel the faint breath of warmth from this miserable handful of coals. The fireplace was old, old, built in time immemorial by some Dutch merchant and lined with strange Dutch tiles depicting scenes from the Holy Scriptures. Here were Cains and Abels, the daughters of Pharaoh and the Queen of Sheba, Abrahams and Belshazzars, angels descending to earth on clouds like featherbeds, and apostles setting off on sea voyages on vessels resembling gravy boats - in a word, hundreds of figures that could occupy Scrooge's thoughts. However, no - the face of Marley, who had died seven years ago, suddenly appeared in front of him, coming to life again, like the prophet’s staff once did *, and obscured everything else. And no matter which tile Scrooge looked at, Marley’s head immediately clearly appeared on each one - as if there were no images at all on the smooth surface of the tiles, but she had the ability to recreate images from scraps of thoughts that randomly flashed through his brain. - Nonsense! - Scrooge grumbled and began to pace around the room. After walking several times from corner to corner, he sat down again on the chair and threw his head back. Then his gaze accidentally fell on the bell. This old bell, which had long ago become unnecessary, was, for some unknown purpose, once hung in the room and connected to one of the rooms on the upper floor. With boundless amazement and a feeling of inexplicable fear, Scrooge suddenly noticed that the bell began to swing. At first it swayed noticeably, and the ringing was almost inaudible, but soon it began to ring loudly, and all the bells in the house began to echo it. The ringing probably lasted no more than a minute, but to Scrooge that minute seemed like an eternity. Then the bells stopped just as suddenly as they had started ringing - all at once. And immediately from somewhere below came the clanking of iron - as if in the cellar someone was dragging a heavy chain along the barrels. Scrooge involuntarily recalled stories that when ghosts appear in houses, they usually drag chains behind them. Then the cellar door swung open with such a roar, as if a cannon had been fired, and the ringing of chains began to be heard even more clearly. Now he was heard on the stairs and began to approach Scrooge’s apartment. - It's still nonsense! - said Scrooge. - I don't believe in ghosts. However, his face changed when he saw one of them right in front of him. Without the slightest delay, the ghost entered the room through the locked door and stopped in front of Scrooge. And at that same second the flame, which had completely died out in the hearth, suddenly flared up brightly, as if it wanted to exclaim: “I recognize him! This is the Spirit of Marley!” - and it went dark again. Yes, it was his face. Marley's face. Yes, it was Marley, with his braid, in his constant vest, tight trousers and boots. The tassels on the boots were sticking out, the hair on the head was sticking out, the braid was sticking out, the tails of the coat were sticking out. A long chain encircled him and trailed behind him along the floor like a tail. It was composed (Scrooge had a good look at it) of keys, padlocks, locks, piggy banks, documents, ledgers, and heavy purses with iron clasps. The ghost's body was completely transparent, and Scrooge, looking at it from the front, clearly saw through the vest two buttons on the back of the coat. Scrooge had heard more than once that Marley had no heart, but until that moment he had never believed it. Yes, even now he could not believe it, although again and again he glared at the ghost and clearly saw that it was standing in front of him, and clearly felt its deathly gaze on him. He even saw what kind of fabric the scarf was made from, which covered the head and neck of the ghost, and thought that he had never seen such a scarf on the late Marley. And yet he did not want to believe his eyes. - What does it mean? - Scrooge said sarcastically and coldly, as always. - What do you want from me? - A lot. - There could not be the slightest doubt that this was Marley’s voice. - Who are you? - Better ask, who was I? - Who were you in that case? - asked Scrooge, raising his voice. - For a ghost, you are too priv... picky. - He wanted to say picky, but was afraid that it would look like a pun. - During my life I was your companion, Jacob Marley. - Would you like... Could you sit down? - asked Scrooge, peering doubtfully at the spirit. - Can. - So sit down. In asking his question, Scrooge was not sure that such a disembodied being was capable of occupying a chair, and feared that rather delicate explanations might become necessary. But the ghost, as if nothing had happened, sat down in the chair on the other side of the fireplace. It seemed that this was the most familiar thing for him. “You don’t believe in me,” the ghost remarked. “No, I don’t believe it,” said Scrooge. “What, besides the evidence of your own feelings, could convince you that I exist?” - Don't know. - Why don’t you want to believe your eyes and ears? “Because every little thing affects them,” said Scrooge. “There’s a slight problem with digestion, and they can no longer be trusted.” Maybe you are not you at all, but an undigested piece of beef, or an extra drop of mustard, or a slice of cheese, or an undercooked potato. Perhaps you did not come from the realm of spirits, but from the oven, for all I know! Scrooge was not a very great wit by nature, and now he certainly had no time for jokes, but he tried to make jokes in order to at least dispel his fear a little and direct his thoughts to something else, because, to tell the truth, the voice of a ghost made him the blood ran cold in my veins. To sit silently, staring into those motionless, glazed eyes - no, damn it, Scrooge felt that he could not stand this torture! And besides everything else, there was something inexpressibly creepy in the afterlife atmosphere that surrounded the ghost. It’s not that Scrooge himself didn’t feel it, but he clearly saw that the ghost had brought it with him, for, although he sat completely motionless, his hair, the skirts of his coat and the tassels on his boots were constantly moving, as if the heat was breathing on them from some something like a hellish fiery furnace. - Do you see this toothpick? - asked Scrooge, going on the offensive from fear and trying to avert the stony, motionless gaze of the ghost at least for a moment. “I see,” said the ghost. “Don’t look at her,” said Scrooge. “I don’t look, but I see,” was the answer. “So,” said Scrooge. “It’s enough for me to swallow it so that for the rest of my days I’ll be haunted by evil spirits created by my own imagination.” In a word, all this is nonsense! Nonsense and nonsense! At these words, the ghost suddenly let out such a terrible scream and began to rattle his chains so frantically and terribly that Scrooge clung to the chair, afraid of falling unconscious. But this was still nothing compared to the horror that seized him when the ghost suddenly unwound his headscarf (one might have thought that he felt hot! ) and his jaw dropped. Wringing his hands, Scrooge fell to his knees. - Have mercy! - he begged. - A terrible vision, why are you torturing me! - Vain mind! - answered the ghost. - Do you believe in me now or not? “I believe,” exclaimed Scrooge. - How can you not believe it! But why do you, spirits, wander the earth, and why did you appear to me? “The soul contained in every person,” the ghost objected, “must communicate with people and, following them everywhere, participate in their fate.” And those who did not fulfill this during life are doomed to hang around after death. He is condemned to travel around the world and - oh, woe is me! - to look at the joys and sorrows of people, which he no longer has the power to share, but once he could - for the joy of himself and others. And then a scream erupted from the ghost’s chest again, and he again rattled his chains and began to wring his disembodied hands. -Are you in chains? - Scrooge stammered, trembling. - Tell me - why? “I wear a chain that I forged myself during my life,” answered the ghost. “I forged it link by link and yard by yard.” I girded myself with it of my own free will, and of my own free will I wear it. Isn't the sight of this chain familiar to you? Scrooge began to tremble more and more. “Perhaps,” the ghost continued, “you want to know the weight and length of the chain that you yourself are carrying?” On a certain Christmas Eve seven years ago, she was no shorter than this one and weighed no less. But you’ve worked a lot on it since then. Now this is a reliable, heavy chain! Scrooge looked at his feet, expecting to see an iron chain a hundred yards long entwined around them, but he saw nothing. - Jacob! - he begged. - Jacob Marley, old man! Let's talk about something else! Comfort me, comfort me, Jacob! - I bring no comfort, Ebenezer Scrooge! - answered the ghost. - It comes from other spheres. Other messengers bring it to other kinds of people. And I also cannot reveal to you everything that I would like. Very little is allowed to me. I don’t dare rest, I don’t dare hesitate, I don’t dare stop anywhere. During my lifetime, my spirit never flew beyond the close confines of our office - can you hear me! - I have never wandered beyond the walls of this hole - our money changer - and years of long, exhausting wanderings await me now. Scrooge, when thoughtful, had the habit of putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers. Reflecting on the ghost’s words, he even now mechanically put his hands in his pockets, without getting up from his knees and without raising his eyes. “You must be traveling slowly, Jacob,” Scrooge remarked respectfully and humbly, although in a businesslike manner. - Take your time! - the ghost snorted. “You’ve been dead for seven years,” Scrooge reflected. - And always on the road! “All the time,” the ghost repeated. - And not a minute of rest, not a minute of peace. Constant remorse. - And how fast do you move? - asked Scrooge. “On the wings of the wind,” answered the ghost. “In seven years you must have covered a fair distance,” said Scrooge. Hearing these words, the ghost again let out a terrifying cry and rattled his chains so furiously, disturbing the dead silence of the night, that the policeman on duty would have every reason to bring him to justice for disturbing public peace and order. - O slave of your vices and passions! - the ghost cried. - Not to know that centuries of tireless labor of immortal souls must sink into eternity before all the good that must triumph on earth is realized! Not to know that every Christian soul, doing good, even in the most humble field, will find its earthly life too fleeting for the limitless possibilities of good! Not knowing that even centuries of repentance cannot compensate for the opportunity lost on earth to do a good deed. I didn't know! I didn't know! “But you’ve always done your business well, Jacob,” muttered Scrooge, who had already begun to apply his words to himself. - Affairs! - cried the ghost, wringing his hands again. - Caring for my neighbor - that was what should have become my business. The public good is what I should have strived for. Mercy, compassion, generosity, this is what I had to direct my activities towards. And engaging in commerce is just a drop of water in the vast ocean of destined affairs for us. And the ghost shook the chain, as if it were the reason for all his fruitless regrets, and then slammed it on the floor. “These days, when the year is already drawing to a close, I suffer especially greatly,” said the ghost. - Oh, why, walking in the crowd of my neighbors, I lowered my eyes and never raised them to that blessed star that directed the feet of the Magi to their wretched shelter. After all, its radiance could show me the way to the poor man’s hut. Scrooge was already losing his temper - he was extremely frightened that the ghost was becoming more and more agitated. - Listen to me! - the ghost cried. - My time is running out. “I will listen,” said Scrooge, “but have pity on me.” Jacob, don't be so lofty. Please, speak more simply! - How it happened that I appeared before you, in a form accessible to your vision, I will not reveal to you. Invisible, I sat next to you day after day. The discovery was not pleasant. Scrooge began to shake again as if in a fever, and he wiped the cold sweat that stood out on his forehead. “And, believe me, this was not the easy part of my experience,” the ghost continued. “And I came here this night to tell you that all is not lost for you.” You can still escape my fate, Ebenezer, for I have taken care of you. “You have always been my friend,” said Scrooge. - Thank you. “You will be visited,” continued the ghost, “by three more Spirits.” Now Scrooge's jaw dropped. “Isn’t this what you’ve been working on, Jacob, isn’t this my hope?” - he asked in a fallen voice. - In this. “Then... then maybe it’s better not,” said Scrooge. “If these Spirits do not appear to you, you will follow in my footsteps,” said the ghost. - So, expect the first Spirit tomorrow, as soon as the Hour of Midnight strikes. “Can’t they all come at once, Jacob?” - Scrooge asked timidly. - To get this over with as quickly as possible? - Expect the second one the next night at the same hour. Expect the third - on the third day at midnight, with the last stroke of the clock. And you are no longer destined to meet me again. But look, for your own good, firmly remember everything that happened to you today. Having said this, the spirit of Marley took his handkerchief from the table and wrapped it around his head again. Scrooge guessed this when he heard the ghost's teeth clanking as the jaw, pulled up by a handkerchief, fell into place. Then he dared to look up and saw that his otherworldly alien was standing in front of him, stretched out to his full height and throwing a chain over his hand like a train. The ghost began to back away towards the window, and at the same time the window frame began to slowly rise. With each step she rose higher and higher, and when he reached the window, it was already open. The ghost beckoned to Scrooge, and he obeyed. When there were no more than two steps between them, the ghost raised his hand in warning. Scrooge stopped. He stopped not so much out of submission as out of amazement and fear. For as soon as the ghost’s hand rose up, some indistinct sounds reached Scrooge: vague and incoherent, but inexpressibly pitiful lamentations and groans, heavy sighs of repentance and bitter regrets. The ghost listened to them for a minute, and then added his voice to the plaintive chorus and, soaring above the ground, melted into the darkness of the frosty night outside the window. Curiosity overcame fear, and Scrooge also approached the window and looked out. He saw a host of ghosts. With pitiful cries and lamentations, they rushed restlessly through the air to and fro, and all, like the spirit of Marley, were in chains. There was not a single ghost that was not burdened with a chain, but some (apparently members of some evil government) were bound by one chain. Scrooge knew many of them well during his lifetime, and with one elderly ghost in a white vest he was once even on short leg. This ghost, with a monstrous fireproof cabinet chained to his ankle, complained piteously that he was deprived of the opportunity to help the poor woman who was sitting with a baby in her arms on the steps of the porch. And all these spirits clearly wanted to intervene in the affairs of mortals and bring good, but they had already lost this opportunity forever, and this was precisely the reason for their torment. Whether the fog swallowed up the ghosts, or whether they themselves turned into fog, Scrooge never understood. Only they melted away immediately, as did their ghostly voices, and again the night was like night, and everything became exactly the same as before when he returned to his home. Scrooge closed the window and examined the door through which Marley's ghost had entered him. It was still locked with two turns of the key - after all, he had locked it himself - and all the bolts were in order. Scrooge wanted to say “nonsense!”, but stopped at the first syllable. And either from fatigue and the excitement he experienced, or from a conversation with a ghost, which inspired melancholy on him, and perhaps from contact with Otherworld or, finally, simply because the hour was late, but Scrooge suddenly felt that he was unbearably sleepy. Without undressing, he fell onto the bed and immediately fell asleep like the dead.Charles Dickens
Christmas stories
CHRISTMAS HYMN IN PROSE
(=A CHRISTMAS CAROL IN PROSE)
Yule story haunted
Stanza One
To begin with, Marley was dead. There was no doubt about it. His burial certificate was signed by the priest, the clerk, the undertaker and the senior gravedigger. It was signed by Scrooge. And if Scrooge put his hand to any document, this paper had weight on the stock exchange.
So old Marley was dead as a nail in the lintel.
Please note: I do not at all claim that I am convinced from my own experience that a nail driven into a lintel is somehow especially dead, more dead than all other nails. No, I personally would rather prefer a nail driven into a coffin lid as the most dead object of all hardware. But this saying reflects the wisdom of our ancestors, and if my wicked tongue dared to change it, you would have the right to say that our country is sliding into the abyss. Therefore, may I be allowed to repeat again and again: Marley was dead as a nail in the lintel.
Did Scrooge know about this? Of course. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and Marley have been companions since time immemorial. Scrooge was Marley's only confidant, his only authority in all matters, his only executor, his only legal heir, his only friend, and the only person who accompanied him to the graveyard. And yet Scrooge was not so depressed by this sad event that his business acumen could fail him, and he celebrated the day of his friend’s funeral by concluding a very profitable deal.
Now I mentioned Marley's funeral, and that brings me back to where I started. There could not be the slightest doubt that Marley was dead. This must be clearly understood, otherwise there will be nothing extraordinary in the story that I intend to tell you. After all, if we did not know for certain that Hamlet’s father died long before the start of the performance, then his walk on a windy night along the ramparts around his castle would hardly seem to us something supernatural. In any case, no more supernatural than the behavior of any elderly gentleman who had the whim of taking a walk at midnight in some place not protected from the wind, well, say, in the cemetery of St. Pavel, pursuing the only goal - to amaze the already frustrated imagination of his son.
Scrooge did not blot out Marley's name on the sign. It was there, above the office door, years later: SCROOGE and MARLEY. The company was well known by this name. And some newbie in business, addressing Scrooge, sometimes called him Scrooge, and sometimes Marley. Scrooge responded no matter how he was called. He didn't care.
What a badass he was, that Scrooge! This is someone who knew how to squeeze out juices, pull out veins, hammer into a coffin, rake, seize, grab, extort... The old sinner knew how, he knew how! It was not a man, but a flint. Yes, he was cold and hard, like flint, and no one had ever managed to carve even a spark of compassion from his stone heart. Secretive, withdrawn, lonely - he hid like an oyster in his shell. Mental cold froze the senile features of his face from the inside, sharpened his hooked nose, wrinkled the skin on his cheeks, constrained his gait, made his lips turn blue and his eyes red, and made his creaky voice icy. And even his stubbled chin, sparse hair and eyebrows seemed frosted with frost. He brought this chilling atmosphere with him everywhere. Scrooge's presence froze his office in the summer heat, and he did not allow it to thaw even half a degree even on merry Christmastide.
Heat or cold in the yard - Scrooge was little concerned about this. No heat could warm him, and no frost could penetrate him. The fiercest wind could not be more evil than Scrooge, the fiercest blizzard could not be as cruel as he, the heaviest rain could not be so merciless. The bad weather could do nothing to get through it. Rain, hail, and snow could boast only one advantage over Scrooge - they often descended on the earth in generous abundance, and Scrooge was unknown to generosity.
No one ever stopped him on the street with a joyful exclamation: “Dear Scrooge! How are you? When will you come to see me?” Not a single beggar dared to reach out to him for alms, not a single child dared to ask him what time it was, and not a single soul ever asked him to show him the way. It seemed that even the dogs, guides to the blind, understood what kind of person he was, and, seeing him, they hurried to drag their owner into the first entrance or gateway they came across, and then wagged their tail for a long time, as if saying: “Yes, for me, a man without eyes, like you, master, much better than with the evil eye."
Do you think this upset Scrooge? Not at all. He made his way through life, avoiding everyone, and those who knew him well believed that it was somehow sweet for him to scare away the slightest manifestation of sympathy.
And then one day - and not just sometime, but on Christmas Eve itself - old Scrooge was poring over account books in his office. It was cold, dreary weather, and still foggy, and Scrooge could hear passers-by outside the window scurrying back and forth, stamping loudly along the sidewalk, puffing and beating their sides to keep warm. The city clock in the bell tower had just struck three, but it was already getting dark, and that day and in the morning everything, and the lights of the candles that glowed in the windows of the offices lay like crimson strokes on the dark curtain of fog - so dense that it seemed you could touch it hand. The fog crawled into every crack, seeped into every keyhole, and even in this cramped courtyard, the houses opposite, barely visible behind a thick dirty gray veil, looked like ghosts. Looking at the clouds of fog that descended lower and lower, hiding all objects from view, one might think that Nature herself had opened a brewery somewhere in the neighborhood and was brewing beer for the holiday.
Scrooge kept the office door ajar so that he could keep an eye on his clerk, who was copying papers in a dark little closet, or rather a closet. If Scrooge had not enough coal in the fireplace, then the clerk had even less - it seemed that there was only one coal smoldering there. But the clerk could not add coal, since Scrooge kept a box of coal in his room, and as soon as the clerk appeared there with a fireplace scoop, the owner began to express fear that he would have to part with his assistant. Therefore, the clerk wrapped a white woolen scarf tightly around his neck and tried to warm himself by a candle, however, not having a particularly ardent imagination, and here he failed.
Charles Dickens
Miser Scrooge
Yuletide song V prose
A Christmas Carol In Prose - 1843 .
Translation L. A. Meya .
Source: Charles Dickens. Miser Scrooge. Christmas song in prose. - St. Petersburg: N. G. Martynov, 1898. Original here: Wikisource .First stanza.
Marley's ghost.
Let's start from the beginning: Marley died. There can be no shadow of doubt about this. The register of births is signed by the parish priest, the clergyman and the undertaker. Scrooge also signed it, and Scrooge’s name was loud on the stock exchange, wherever and whatever it pleased him to sign. The fact is that old Marley was driven into his grave like an aspen stake. Let me! Don’t think that I am personally convinced of the deadness of an aspen stake: I think, on the contrary, that there is nothing deadlier in the trade of a nail driven into the lid of a coffin... But... the mind of our ancestors was formed on similarities and proverbs, and not by my wicked hand it is appropriate to touch the sacred ark of centuries - otherwise my homeland will perish... So, you will allow me to repeat with due expressiveness that Marley was driven into the grave like an aspen stake... The question is: did Scrooge know that Marley had died? Of course he knew, but how could he not know? He and Marley personified the trading company. “God knows how many years Scrooge has been the executor, the only trustee, the only friend and the only attendant of Merle’s coffin.” In truth, the death of his friend did not upset him so much that, on the very day of the funeral, he did not turn out to be a business man and a thrifty manager of the sad procession. It is this word that leads me to my first thought, namely, that Marley undoubtedly died, and that, therefore, if he had not died, there would be nothing surprising in my story. If we were not convinced that Hamlet’s father had died before the play began, none of us would have even paid attention to the fact that a gentleman of venerable years was strolling inopportunely, in the darkness and in the fresh breeze, along the city ramparts, between the graves, with the only The goal is to completely destroy the damaged mental abilities of his beloved son. As for Scrooge himself, it never occurred to him to cross out the name of his fellow trader from the account books: for many years after Marley’s death, there was still a sign above the entrance to their common store with the inscription: “Scrooge and Marley.” The company of the trading house was still the same: “Scrooge and Marley”. It sometimes happened that some gentlemen, new to trade turnover, called this house: Scrooge - Scrooge, and sometimes simply: Merley; but the company was always ready to respond equally to one name or another. ABOUT! Scrooge fully studied his hand millstone and held it tightly in his fist, a dear man - and an old sinner: a miser for show, he knew how to press, and squeeze, and scrape, and most importantly, not let go of his hands. He was unyielding and strong, like a flint of a gun; you couldn’t even get a spark out of him without flint; he was silent, secretive and reclusive, like an oyster. Mental cold froze his face, pinched his pointed nose, wrinkled his cheeks, stiffened his gait and soured his voice. The constant frost whitened his head, eyebrows and convulsively sly chin. Always and everywhere he brought his own temperature with him - below zero, he froze his office even during the holidays and, for the sake of Christmas itself, did not raise the heart thermometer by a single degree. External heat and cold did not have the slightest influence on Scrooge: the summer heat did not warm him, he did not feel cold in the cruelest winter; and yet the autumn wind has never been sharper than it; Neither snow nor rain had ever fallen on anyone's head as mercilessly as he did; he did not allow rain, sleet, or frost - in all their abundance: Scrooge did not understand this word. No one has ever met him on the street with a friendly smile and the words: “How are you, most honorable Mr. Scrooge? When will you visit us?” Not a single beggar dared to stretch out their hands to him for a half-shade; not a single boy asked him: “What time is it?” No one, neither man nor woman, during Scrooge's entire life, asked him: “how to get there?” Even the dog - the counselor of the street blind man, it seems - knew Scrooge: as soon as he saw him, he would lead his master either under the gate or into some nook and cranny, and begin wagging his tail, as if saying: “My poor master “Do you know that it’s better to go blind than to put the evil eye on good people?” What does it matter to Scrooge? This is exactly what he craved. He longed to walk the path of life alone, apart from the crowd, with a sign on his forehead: “Pa-adi-beware!” And then - “don’t feed him gingerbread!” as they say, gourmands are children. One day, on the best day of the year, Christmas Eve, old Scrooge was sitting in his office and was very busy. It was freezing; the fog was falling; Scrooge could hear the passers-by in the alley whistling into their fists, puffing, clapping their hands, and dancing on the trepak panel to keep warm. At the City Tower it had only struck three o'clock in the afternoon, and it was already completely dark outside. However, it had not been light since morning, and the lights in the neighboring windows of the offices turned red as oil stains against the blackish background of the thick, almost tactile air. The fog penetrated into the houses through all the cracks and keyholes; in the open air he became so united that, despite the narrowness of the lane, the opposite houses seemed like some kind of ghosts. Looking at the dark clouds, one would think that they were descending closer and closer to the ground with the intention of smoking the huge brewery. The door to Scrooge's office was open, so that he could constantly keep an eye on his clerk, who was busy copying out several papers in a dark closet - something like a well. Scrooge's fire was barely smoldering in his fireplace, and the clerk's was even smaller: just one coal. He could not add anything to it, because the basket of coals stood in Scrooge’s room, and every time the clerk timidly entered with a shovel, Scrooge warned him that he would be forced to part with him. As a result, the clerk wrapped a white “nose-hide” around his neck and tried to warm up by the candle; but, with such a visible lack of ingenuity, of course he did not achieve his goal. - Happy holiday, uncle, and may God bless you! - a cheerful voice rang out. The voice belonged to Scrooge's nephew, who took his uncle by surprise. - What kind of nonsense is this? - asked Scrooge. His nephew walked towards him so quickly and became so flushed in the frosty fog that his cheeks were ablaze, his face was as red as a cherry, his eyes sparkled and steam poured out of his mouth in a column. - Like uncle: Christmas time is nothing? - Scrooge's nephew remarked. - Is that what you're saying? - What then? - answered Scrooge. - Merry Christmastide. What right do you have to have fun? What right do you have to splurge on fun?.. After all, he’s already poor... - That’s enough, that’s enough! - the nephew objected. “Better tell me: what right do you have to frown and fuss over numbers?.. After all, you’re already rich.” - Bah! - continued Scrooge, not prepared for the answer, and for his “Bah!” added: All this is nonsense! - Stop moping, uncle. - You will inevitably become depressed with such crazy people. Merry Christmas! Well - his, your fun!.. And what are your Christmastide? Urgent time - to pay bills; and you probably don’t even have any money... But with every Christmastide, you age a whole year and remember that you lived another twelve months without profit. No! If it were up to me, I would order each such crazy person, for congratulatory errands, to be boiled in a cauldron - with his own pudding, buried, and at the same time, so that he would not run away from the grave, pierce his chest with a branch of holly... This is - like this! - Uncle! - the nephew began to speak, - as a lawyer for Christmastide. - What, nephew? - his uncle interrupted him sternly. - Celebrate Christmastide for yourself as you want, and I’ll celebrate them in my own way. - Will you celebrate? - his nephew repeated after him. - Is that really how they celebrate? - Well, don’t!.. I wish you New Year new happiness if the old is not enough. - It’s true: I’m missing something... Yes, there’s no need that the New Year has never filled my pocket yet, but still Christmas time is Christmas time for me. Scrooge's clerk involuntarily applauded this speech from the well known to us; but, realizing the indecency of his act, he rushed to adjust the fire in the fireplace and extinguished the last spark. “If you put it out any longer,” Scrooge told him, “you’ll have to celebrate Christmastide in another place.” And to you, sir, he added, turning to his nephew, I must give complete justice: you are an excellent leader and it is in vain that you do not enter parliament. - Don’t be angry, uncle: it will happen! Come and have lunch with us tomorrow. Scrooge answered him to go to... Really: that’s what he said, he said the whole word, and so he said: let’s go... (The reader can, if he pleases, finish the word). “But why,” cried the nephew? Why? - Why did you get married? - Because - because I fell in love. -- Love! - muttered Scrooge, and muttered as if, after the word - new year, love was the stupidest word in the world. - Listen, uncle! After all, you have never come to see me before: what does my marriage have to do with it? -- Goodbye! - said Scrooge. “I don’t want anything from you, I don’t ask for anything: why shouldn’t we remain friends?” -- Goodbye! - said Scrooge. - I am truly upset by your determination... It seems that there was nothing between us... at least on my part... I wanted to spend the first day with you, - well? what to do! I’ll still have fun - and I wish the same for you. -- Goodbye! - said Scrooge. The nephew left the room without expressing his displeasure in a word; but he stopped on the threshold and congratulated the clerk who was seeing him off on the upcoming holiday, and despite the constant cold, there was still more warmth in him than in Scrooge. Therefore, he responded cordially to his congratulatory greeting, so that Scrooge heard his words from his room and whispered: “What a complete fool!” He serves as my clerk; receives fifteen shillings a week; in his arms his wife and children; and there he rejoices at the holiday!... Well, why doesn’t he invite himself to the madhouse? At this time, the complete fool, having seen off Scrooge’s nephew, brought two new visitors into the office: both gentlemen seemed to be extremely decent people, with a good appearance, and both took off their hats at the entrance. They had some registers and papers in their hands. - Scrooge and Marley, it seems? - asked one of them with a bow and looked at the list. -Who do I have the pleasure of talking to: Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley? “Mr. Marley died seven years ago,” answered Scrooge. “He died exactly seven years ago, on this very night.” “We have no doubt that the generosity of the deceased found a worthy representative in his surviving companion!” - said the stranger, presenting an official document authorizing him to hold an alms meeting for the poor. It was impossible to doubt the authenticity of this paper; however, with an annoying word: generosity, Scrooge frowned, shook his head, and returned the certificate to his visitor. “At this joyful time of the year, Mr. Scrooge,” said the visitor, taking up a pen, “it would be most desirable to collect all possible benefits for the poor and needy, who are now suffering more than ever: thousands of them are deprived of the most necessary things in life; a hundred thousand do not dare even dream of the most humble comforts. -Have the prisons already been destroyed? - asked Scrooge. “For mercy,” answered the stranger, lowering his pen. “Yes, there are much more of them now than there were before...” “So,” continued Scrooge, “the shelters have ceased their activities?” “Excuse me, sir,” objected Scrooge’s interlocutor: God forbid that they stop it? - So the philanthropic millstone still grinds on the basis of the law? - Yes! Both he and the law still have a lot to do. - Oh!... But I thought that some unforeseen circumstance prevented the existence of these useful institutions... I am sincerely, sincerely glad that I was mistaken! - say Scrooge. - In the full conviction that neither prisons nor shelters can Christianly satisfy the physical and spiritual needs of the crowd, several individuals collected a small sum by subscription to buy the poor, for the upcoming holidays, a piece of meat, a mug of beer and a handful of coal... How much would you like to subscribe? - Yes... not by any means! - answered Scrooge. - You probably want to remain anonymous. - I would like to be left alone. If you, gentlemen, are asking yourself, what do I want? Here's my answer. For me, a holiday is not a joy, and I do not intend to encourage the carousing of every parasite. And without that, I pay enough to support charitable institutions... that is, prisons and asylums... even if those who feel ill in another place go to them. “But it’s impossible for others to go there, but for others it’s easier to die.” - And if it’s easier, who’s stopping them from doing so, for the sake of reducing the poverty-stricken population? However, excuse me - all this is a dark letter for me. - However, it doesn’t cost you anything to learn it? - It’s none of my business! - Scrooge objected... His anger will prevail for days . And I have more things to do than days. Let me say goodbye to you, gentlemen!... Realizing the futility of further insistence, the strangers left. Scrooge sat down to work again in a self-satisfied mood. And the fog and darkness grew thicker and thicker, so that lights began to sparkle along the streets, intended to bridle the carriage horses and guide them to the right path. The old bell tower with a frowning bell, constantly watching out of curiosity through its Gothic window, Scrooge’s office, suddenly disappeared from view and began to ring the quarters, half-hours and hours in the clouds. The frost grew stronger. In the corner of the yard, several workers were adjusting gas pipes and heating up a huge brazier; a whole crowd of men and ragged children crowded around: they rubbed their hands with pleasure and squinted at the fire. The tap of the locked fountain was so frozen that it was disgusting to look at. The gas lamps of the shops illuminated the branches and berries of the holly and cast a reddish glow on the pale faces of passers-by. The butcher's and greengrocer's shops shone with such luxury and presented such a magnificent spectacle that it would never have occurred to anyone to connect with them the idea of calculation and profit. The Lord Mayor, in his fortress of the Mansion-House, gave orders, right and left, as becomes a Lord Mayor on Christmas Eve, to his fifty cooks and fifty housekeepers. Even the poor tailor (just last Monday, subjected to a fine of five shillings for drunkenness and rowdyness in the street), even he began to fuss about tomorrow's pudding in his attic, and his skinny half, with a skinny sucker in his arms, went buy the required piece of beef to the slaughterhouse. Meanwhile, the fog becomes thicker and thicker, the cold is more vivid, harsher, more piercing. So he firmly pinched the nose of a street boy, frail, gnawed by hunger, like a bone by a dog: the owner of this nose puts his eye to the keyhole of Scrooge’s office and begins to praise Christ, but at the first words: Lord save you, Good Master! Scrooge grabs the ruler so energetically that the singer, in horror, runs away as fast as he can, leaving the keyhole into the prey of fog and frost, and they immediately burst into the room... of course, out of sympathy for Scrooge... Finally, it’s time to lock the office: Scrooge gloomily leaves his stool, as if giving a silent sign to his clerk to get out quickly: the clerk instantly puts out the candle and puts on his hat. - I assume that tomorrow you will stay at home all day? - asks Scrooge. - If it suits you, sir. - This is not at all inconvenient for me, and in general, on your part, it’s unfair. If, for tomorrow, I withheld half a crown from your salary, I am sure you would be offended? The clerk smiled slightly. “And meanwhile,” continued Scrooge, “you will not consider it an insult to me that I should pay you for a whole day for nothing.” The clerk noted that this only happens once a year. “It’s a bad excuse and a bad excuse to put your hand in someone else’s pocket every December 25th,” objected Scrooge, buttoning his coat up to his chin. Nevertheless, I believe that you need the whole day tomorrow: try to reward me for it the day after tomorrow, and as early as possible. The clerk promised, and Scrooge, grumbling under his breath, left the house. The office was locked in the blink of an eye, and the clerk, crossing both ends" nosy"Wearing a vest (he considered a frock coat a luxury), he set off along the Korngill panel, slipping twenty times along with the crowd of boys who kept falling in honor of Christmas Eve. He ran at full speed to his apartment at Camden Town to catch the blind man's buff [ The game of blind man's buff is a necessary accessory to England for Christmas Eve and all Christmastides in general..]. Scrooge sat down to a meager dinner in his usual penny tavern. Having re-read all the magazines and, at the end of the evening, charming himself by looking at his account book, he went home for the night. He occupied the former apartment of his late colleague; a long row of dark rooms in an old, gloomy building, at the very end of a back street. God knows how it got there? It seemed that from a young age it played hide and seek with other houses, hid, and then did not find its way. It was dilapidated and sad, because except for Scrooge, no one lived in it: the rest of the apartments were occupied by various offices and bureaus. The courtyard was so dark that Scrooge himself, although he knew every slab by heart, had to feel his way through. Cold and fog pressed tightly against the old front door, and you would have thought that the genius of winter sat on its threshold, immersed in sad thoughts. The fact is that there was nothing remarkable about the door knocker except its exorbitant size; another fact is that Scrooge has seen this hammer every day, morning and evening, since he moved into the house; that for all this, Scrooge had a so-called imagination less than even the corporation of notables and aldermans [ That is, representatives of all kinds of workshops and guilds. ]. It should also not be forgotten that for seven whole years, which means just from the day of Marley’s death, Scrooge never thought about the dead man. Explain to me, please, if you can: how did it happen that Scrooge, turning the key in the lock, saw with his own eyes Marley’s face in place of the door knocker? Truly I say to you: the face of Marley! It was not an impenetrable shadow, like all the other objects in the yard, on the contrary: it glowed with some kind of bluish sheen, like a rotten sea crayfish in a dark cellar. There was nothing angry or ferocious in his expression: Marley looked at Scrooge - as always, raising the ghost of his glasses to the ghost of his forehead. His hair moved on his head as if from some kind of breath, or from hot steam; Marley looked with all his eyes, but they were motionless. This circumstance and the bluish color of his skin were terrifying, although Scrooge’s horror did not come from the deathly expression of his face, but from himself, so to speak. Looking closely at this phenomenon, Scrooge again saw only the door knocker. We would sin before our conscience if we said that Scrooge did not feel either a trembling or a terrible, hitherto unfamiliar excitement in his blood. However, he quickly turned the key, entered the room and lit a candle. He stopped for a moment in indecision and, before locking the door, looked to see if there was anyone behind it, as if he was afraid that Marley’s thin nose was about to appear in the hallway. But there was nothing behind the door except the nuts and screws holding the door knocker from the inside. "Bah! Bah!" said Scrooge and slammed the door hard. A thunderous roar rang through the entire house. Every room upstairs and every barrel downstairs in the wine cellar took a special part in this concert of echoes. Scrooge was not the type to be afraid of echoes: he locked the door tightly, walked through the hallway and began to climb the stairs, adjusting the candle on the way. You will tell me about ancient staircases, of blessed memory, along which a carriage of six horses could pass side by side, or a procession with one of the small parliamentary affairs could pass, and I will tell you that Scrooge’s staircase was something else: it was possible to carry the road across, so that one end would be facing the wall and the other to the railing, and this would not mean anything, perhaps there would still be room left. For this very reason, it seemed to Scrooge that a funeral procession was ascending the stairs in front of him in the darkness. Half a dozen street gas jets could hardly have illuminated the canopy enough: you can imagine what a bright radiance Scrooge's candle cast! ... He rose as if nothing had happened: after all, darkness costs nothing, and therefore Scrooge did not feel any aversion to it. But first of all, having entered his room, he looked around all the rooms, apparently disturbed by the memory of the mysterious face. The living room, bedroom and storage room were in order. There was no one under the table, no one under the sofa; the fire was smoldering and heated a pan of gruel (Scrooge had a runny nose); there was also no one in the bedroom under the bed or in the pantry; no one hid behind the robe hanging on the wall. Having completely calmed down, Scrooge double-locked the door, put on his robe, shoes, and nightcap, sat down in front of the fire and began to make the gruel. The stove was built a long time ago, probably by some Dutch merchant. On the tiles there were images borrowed from the Bible: Cains and Abels, the daughters of Pharaoh, the Queens of Sheba, Belshazzars... and yet above all of them, it seemed, the persistent face of Merley flashed... - Nonsense! - said Scrooge and began to walk up and down the room. Suddenly his eyes stopped on an old bell, which had not been in use for a long time and was placed, for some purpose, in the lower part of the house. Imagine Scrooge's amazement and horror when this bell began to move: at first, it only swayed almost without a sound, but then the bell began to ring, and all the other bells in the house picked it up. They rang for no more than a minute, but that minute seemed like a whole hour to Scrooge. The bells fell silent, just as they had started ringing: all at once. Their ringing was replaced by the clanking of iron, as if someone below, in the wine cellar, was dragging a heavy chain along the barrels. Scrooge remembered that all ghosts drag chains behind them. The cellar door swung open with a terrible knock, and Scrooge heard the sound of a chain, first in the first dwelling, then on the stairs, and finally right opposite his door. - All this is sheer nonsense! - said Scrooge. - And I don’t want to believe it! However, his face changed when the ghost entered the room straight through the locked, thick door. A dying light flashed in the fireplace, as if shouting: “I recognize him! This is the ghost of Marley!” and then went out. Perfect, Marley’s face is perfect: the same thin braid; his same ordinary vest, the same tight-fitting trousers: and the silk tassels on his boots still sway in harmony with the braid, the skirts of the dress and the toupee. The chain wrapped around his waist and trailed behind the ghost with a long tail. Scrooge saw that it was composed of cash drawers, bunches of keys, iron bolts, locks, large books, folders and heavy steel purses. The ghost's body was so transparent that Scrooge, looking at his vest, clearly saw through it two buttons sewn to the back of the caftan. But although Scrooge remembered that during Marley’s life (according to neighboring gossip), he had no entrails, he still did not believe his eyes, but he noticed everything down to the smallest detail, even down to the foulard on his head, tied under his chin. -- What does it mean? - he asked coldly and mockingly, as always. -What do you want from me? - A lot. There is no doubt: the voice of Marley. - Who are you? - That is: Who I was. - Well, who? - asked Scrooge, raising his voice... - For a ghost, you are a great purist... [ Purism - the desire for purity of morals .] - During my life I was your colleague Jacob Marley. -Can you... sit down? -- Can. - Sit down. Scrooge invited the ghost to sit down to test whether such a transparent creature was able to sit, and to avoid an unpleasant explanation. The ghost sat down very cheekily. -You don't believe in me? - he remarked. - I don’t believe it. “What proof of my reality do you require, other than the evidence of your feelings?” - I don’t know either. - Why don’t you trust your feelings? - Because they can be distorted by any accident, any upset stomach, and in essence you are, perhaps, nothing more than a piece of undigested meat, or half a spoonful of mustard, a piece of cheese, a piece of raw potato? If anything, you smell more like juniper than juniper. Scrooge did not like jokes at all, and now he least of all felt the desire to joke, but he joked in order to give a different direction to his thoughts and overcome his horror, so that the voice of the ghost made him tremble to the very marrow of his bones. Scrooge endured hellish torture, sitting opposite the ghost and not daring to take his eyes off those motionless, glassy eyes. And, in fact, there was something terrible in the hellish atmosphere that surrounded the ghost: Scrooge, of course, could not feel it himself, but he saw that the ghost was sitting completely motionless, and meanwhile his hair, the skirts of his caftan and the brushes of his boots were moving , as if from sulfuric steam flying out of some kind of furnace. - Do you see this toothpick? - asked Scrooge in order to dispel his fear and at least for a moment tear away from himself the cold, marble-like gaze of the ghost. “I see,” answered the ghost. - You don’t even look at her! “That doesn’t stop me from seeing her.” - So - here it is: I just have to swallow it - and for the rest of my days I will be surrounded by a legion of brownies of my own creation. All this is nonsense, I tell you... Nonsense! At this word, the ghost screamed terribly and shook the chain so deafeningly, so mournfully that Scrooge grabbed the chair with both hands so as not to faint. But his horror doubled when the ghost suddenly tore the foulard from his head and at the same time his lower jaw fell onto his chest. Scrooge fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands. - Merciful God! - he screamed. - Damn ghost!... Why did you come to torment me? - Carnal soul, earthly soul! - answered the ghost. - Do you believe in me now? “You must believe against your will?...” said Scrooge. - But why do spirits roam the earth and why do they come to me? ... “It is the duty of every person,” answered the ghost, “to communicate his soul with his neighbor: if he deviates from this during life, his soul is condemned to wander in the world after death... She is condemned to be a useless and indifferent witness of everyone before? personal phenomena, whereas during life she could have merged with other souls to achieve the common good. - The ghost screamed again and wrung his disembodied hands. -Are you shackled? asked the trembling Scrooge; - but tell me - for what? “I wear the chain that I myself forged in life, link by link, arshin by arshin; He put it on himself voluntarily, so that he could always wear it voluntarily. Maybe you like this sample? Scrooge trembled more and more. “Or do you want,” continued the ghost, to know the weight and length of your own chain? Seven years ago, day after day, it was as long and heavy as mine; then you worked on it some more, and now - a nice chain has come out... Scrooge looked around him at the floor, was there an iron chain on him, about fifty fathoms? But there was no chain. “Jacob,” he said in a pleading voice, “my old friend Jacob Marley, talk to me again, tell me a few words of consolation, Jacob!” “It’s not for me to console,” answered the ghost, “consolation is brought from above, by other ambassadors, and to other people than you, Ebenezer Scrooge!” I can’t even tell you everything that I would like to say: I am doomed to wander without rest and not stop anywhere. You know that on earth my soul did not cross the boundaries of our office, and that is why I am now destined to make many more difficult journeys! Scrooge had a habit, when he was thinking, of putting his hands in his trouser pocket: he did so now, when last words ghost, but did not get up from his knees. - You must be quite late? - he noticed how earnestly business man, however, with humility and respect. - I'm late! - repeated the ghost. “He’s been dead for seven years,” reasoned Scrooge, and all the time on the road... “All the time!” - said the ghost... - and no rest, no peace, and the continuous torture of remorse... - Are you traveling quickly? - asked Scrooge. “On the wings of the wind,” answered the ghost. - We must have seen many countries! - continued Scrooge. At these words, the ghost screamed for the third time and rattled the chain so much that the patrol would have every right to bring him to court for making noise at night. -- ABOUT! woe to me, the chained prisoner! - he groaned. - Woe to me because I forgot the duty of every person - to serve society, the great cause of humanity, destined by the supreme being, I forgot that with late regret and repentance I did not atone for the lost opportunity for the benefit and good of my neighbor! And here is my sin, here is my sin! “However, you have always been a dutiful person, you knew how to do business very well...” muttered Scrooge, beginning to apply the ghost’s words to himself. -- Affairs! - shouted the ghost, again wringing his hands, - all of humanity was my business; my business was the common good, philanthropy, mercy, complacency and forbearance: these were my affairs! And trade turnover is one drop in the vast ocean of my past affairs! He raised the chain to the full length of his arm, as if indicating the cause of his fruitless regrets, and threw it again on the floor. “I suffer most of all,” continued the ghost, precisely at these last days year. Why then did I pass by the crowd with my eyes bowed down to earthly blessings, and did not lift up their grief?, to the gracious, guiding star of the Magi! Perhaps her light would also lead me to some poor abode... Scrooge was very frightened by this turn of phrase and trembled all over. -- Listen! - the ghost shouted to him, - the term assigned to me must end soon... - I’m listening, - said Scrooge, - I just ask you to spare me, Jacob: is it possible to use less rhetoric... - I can’t explain to you - - Why did I appear to you in my current form?.. I had to sit next to you invisibly so many times. This confession was not very pleasant: Scrooge shuddered and wiped the cold note on his forehead. - Yes - this punishment is also not the most severe... I was sent to inform you that you have an opportunity and hope of avoiding my fate. Listen, Ebenezer!... “You have always been favorable and friendly to me,” said Scrooge. -- Thank you. “Three spirits will visit you,” added the ghost. Scrooge's face instantly turned as pale as that of the ghost himself. “Did you tell me about this opportunity and this hope, Jacob?” - he asked in a weakened voice. - Yes. - I... I... suppose it would be better without them somehow? “Without their visit, there is no hope for you to escape my fate.” Wait" first"Tomorrow, at exactly one o'clock." "Can't I receive all three of them at once, Jacob?" Scrooge remarked insinuatingly. "Wait." second"at the same time the next night, as well" third" - on the third, as soon as the last stroke of twelve o'clock strikes. You don't expect to see me again; but for your own benefit, remember what happened between us. After these words, he took it from the table and tied it as before , his guard. Scrooge looked up and saw that his mysterious visitor was standing in front of him, all wrapped in a chain, the ghost backed towards the sash window, and with every step he took, the window rose higher and higher, and finally the ghost beckoned to Scrooge. to himself, and he obeyed. At the distance of the last two steps, Marley’s shadow raised his hand, not allowing him to come closer - Scrooge stopped, but not out of obedience, but out of amazement and fear: some kind of dull noise rushed through the air and was heard. incoherent sounds: cries of despair, melancholy complaints, groans torn from the chest by remorse and remorse. The ghost listened to them for a moment, and then added his voice to the general chorus and disappeared into the pale twilight of the night. With feverish curiosity, Scrooge approached the window and looked in. him. The air was filled with wandering and moaning ghosts. Each, like Marley's shadow, dragged a chain behind him; some (perhaps secretaries of ministers with the same political convictions) were shackled in pairs; there was not a single one free. Scrooge knew some of them personally during his lifetime. The punishment of all of them was obviously that they intensified, although it was too late, to interfere in human affairs and do good to someone; but they lost this opportunity forever. Did these fantastic creatures themselves merge with the fog, did the fog cover them with its shadow? Scrooge knew nothing; As soon as they disappeared, their voices fell silent at once, and the night again became the same as it was when Scrooge returned home. He closed the window and carefully examined the front door: it was double-locked and the locks were intact. Exhausted, tired, Scrooge rushed into bed without undressing, and immediately fell asleep...
Second stanza
First of three
When Scrooge woke up, it was so dark that he could barely see where the transparent window was, where the opaque walls of the room?... In vain he strained his ferret eyes until the clock of the neighboring church struck four quarters: Scrooge listened and still did not recognize the hour. To his great amazement, the heavy bell struck first six, and then seven, and then eight, and so on until twelve, then stopped. Midnight! He had already slept for two hours, so?... Is the clock not striking correctly? Did a piece of ice get into the hair? Midnight! Scrooge pressed the machine of his rehearsal clock to check the bell clock, which, in his opinion, was ringing nonsense. The quick clock struck twelve times and fell silent. - How so! It is impossible,” said Scrooge, “that I should sleep all day and sleep another night.” It can't be that the sun has turned from midnight to? noon! This idea excited him to the point that he jumped out of bed and went to the window. He had to wipe the glass with the sleeve of his robe to see anything. He only saw that it was very cold, that the fog did not lift, that various gentlemen were passing back and forth, passing and making noise, as befits when night and frost drive away the day and take over the world. This was a great relief to Scrooge, for without it, what? would all the three-day bonds be signed in the name of Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge? They would only be collateral for the Hudson Mists. Scrooge would not have understood the three hour quarters, nor would he have understood the fourth, if, when it rang, it did not remind him of the spiritual visit he was expecting. He lay down again on the bed and decided not to sleep until the last quarter rang in the bell tower: to fall asleep would mean to consume the month. Scrooge's determination was, in our extreme opinion, the most reasonable. This quarter of an hour seemed so long to him that he fell asleep several times without noticing it or hearing the clock strike. Finally he heard: “Ding! Don!” -- "Quarter!" considered Scrooge. "Ding! Ding!" - “Half an hour,” said Scrooge. "Ding! Ding!" - "Three quarters!" said Scrooge. "Ding! Ding." - It's an hour! - shouted the triumphant Scrooge, - and no one! “He said this while the clock was striking, but the last blow, dull, sad, funeral, had not yet died down - the room was bathed in bright light and someone pulled back the bed curtains. But not the ones that were behind, not the ones at the feet, but the ones that were face to face. The curtains were drawn back, Scrooge rose - and the mysterious visitor, who had drawn back the curtains, stood face to face with him. The figure was strange... It looked like a child, and like an old man, something supernaturally in between, something that had acquired the ability to hide its height and pretend to be a child. His hair curled around his neck and fell down his back, gray, as if, in fact, from old age, and there was not a wrinkle on his face; the skin was as fresh as a child's, and his long arms showed off their muscular hands - a sign of extraordinary strength. His bare legs and calves were so developed, as if he easily and unfeelingly carried the entire burden of life on them. He was wearing a white, white tunic, tied with a bright, shiny belt. In his hands he held a green branch of holly, freshly cut and, probably to contradict this emblem of winter, strewn with all kinds of summer flowers. But what was even stranger about his clothes was that a radiance sparkled over his head, probably illuminating all moments of life in moments of joy and sorrow. This light came, as I already said, from his head, but he could extinguish it whenever he wanted, with a large funnel, or - something like it, let's say - a funnel pressed under his armpit. Nevertheless, this instrument, whatever it was, did not attract Scrooge's exclusive attention. What occupied him, strictly speaking, was the belt; it will flash here, then here, then go out, and the entire physiognomy of its owner, one way or another, will take on an expression accordingly. Now it was a one-armed creature, now it was one-legged, now it was on twenty legs without a head, now it was a head without a body: the limbs disappeared, not allowing changes to be seen in their bizarre outlines. And then he became himself again, more than ever. - Dear Sir! - asked Scrooge: - are you the spirit predicted to me? - I. The voice was so sweet, so pleasant, and so quiet, as if it was whispering not in Scrooge’s ear, but somewhere far away. -Who are you? - asked Scrooge. - Last holiday. - Past? how long ago? - continued Scrooge, peering at the height of the dwarf. -- Last. If someone had asked Scrooge - why? He would not have answered, but still he was burning with the desire to force the funnel already known to readers onto his visitor, and asked the spirit about it. - Here's another! - the ghost shouted. “Would you like to extinguish the heavenly flame with worldly hands?” Here's another!... Aren't you one of those who put this hat on me out of callous pride and forced me to wear it for eyelids and eyelids?... Scrooge respectfully renounced any intention to offend, or " cover"whatever spirit . Then he dared to ask him: what does he want? “Your happiness,” answered the ghost. Scrooge thanked him, but could not resist the thought that a good night would have achieved the proposed goal much more quickly. Probably the spirit caught his thought on the fly, because he immediately said: “Your happiness, that is, your salvation... so beware...” At these words, he extended his strong hand and quietly took Scrooge’s arm. - Get up and follow me! - he said. In vain would Scrooge preach that the time of year and hour were not suitable for a walk on foot, that he was much warmer in bed than in the yard, that his thermometer was much below zero, that he was dressed too lightly, that is, in shoes, a dressing gown and in a nightcap, and besides, he had a runny nose - all this sermon would have been in vain: there was no way to free himself from the squeeze of this feminine soft hand. Scrooge stood up, but, noticing that the spirit was heading towards the window, he grabbed the floors his clothes, begging. “Just think: I’m a mortal, I can fall.” “Let me just touch here,” said the spirit, placing his hand on his heart: “you will have to endure many more tortures.” - Before he could finish speaking, they flew through the walls and found themselves on the field. The city was as if it had never happened. At once both the darkness and the fog disappeared, because it was a winter day and the snow turned white. -- God! said Scrooge, clasping his hands and peering. - Yes, this is where I grew up! The spirit looked at him favorably. His quiet, instant touch awakened his former sensitivity in the old man: he smelled of something from the past, something so fragrant that it wafted with memories of former hopes, former joys and former worries, long forgotten! -Your lips are trembling! - said the ghost. - And what is that on your cheek? “Nothing,” Scrooge whispered in a strangely excited voice: “it wasn’t fear that tore out my cheek, it’s not a sign of it, it’s just a dimple.” Lead me where I need to go. - Do you know the way? - asked the spirit. - I did! - Scrooge shouted. - Yes, I will find her blindfolded. “It’s strange, then, that you haven’t forgotten for so many years!” - the spirit noticed. - Let's go. Let's go along the road; Scrooge recognized every gate, every gate, every tree, until a town appeared in front of them in the distance, with a bridge, a cathedral and a winding river. Several long-maned ponies harnessed to carts trotted past. The boys sat on the ponies and called to each other merrily. “These are only shadows of the past,” said the ghost, “they do not see us.” Cheerful travelers passed by, and Scrooge recognized each of them and called them by name. And why was he so pleased to see them? And why did his gaze, constantly lifeless, suddenly become animated? And why did his heart tremble at the sight of these passers-by? And why was he so happy when he heard mutual congratulations on the upcoming holiday, on the way to every crossroads? And how could there be a merry Christmas holiday for Scrooge? For him, the merry Christmas holiday was a paradox. He never brought him anything. - The school is not completely empty yet: there is still a lonely child left, forgotten by all his comrades! - said the spirit. “I’ll find out,” confirmed Scrooge, and took a deep breath. They turned from the main road onto a country road, briefly known to Scrooge, and approached a building made of dark brick, with a weather vane on top. A bell hung above the roof; the house was old, the outbuildings were empty: their walls were damp and covered with moss, the glass in the windows was broken, the doors came off their hinges. Chickens clucked swaggeringly in the stables; the barns and barns were overgrown with grass. And the inside of this building did not retain its former appearance, because whoever entered the dark vestibule, whoever looked through the open doors at the long row of open rooms, would have seen how impoverished, dilapidated they were, how cold and how lonely they were. It smelled of a cold, naked prison, or a workhouse, where every day they were exhausted, and yet they were starving. The spirit and Scrooge walked through the back hay door, and saw a long, sad hall with pine school benches and pulpits lined up in a row. At one of the pulpits, warmed by a weak stove fire, a lonely child sat and read something. Scrooge sat down on a bench and cried, recognizing himself, constantly forgotten and abandoned. There was not a single echo that died out in the house, not a single squeak of mice fighting behind the wallpaper, not a single half-frozen drop falling from a water cannon in the backyard, not a single rustle of the wind in the leafless branches of a skinny poplar, not a single creaking of the doors of an empty store, not the slightest crack. a light in the fireplace - nothing, nothing, no matter what sounded in Scrooge’s heart, no matter what squeezed a copious stream of tears from his eyes. The spirit touched his hand and pointed him to the child, to this " yourself"Scrooge, deep in reading. “Poor child!” said Scrooge, and began to cry again. “I wish,” he whispered, putting his hand in his pocket, looking around, and wiping his eyes with his sleeve, “I wish,” Yes, it’s late... “What is late?” asked the spirit. “Nothing,” answered Scrooge, “I remembered the boy... Yesterday I praised Christ... I would like to give him something.” something: that’s all... The ghost smiled thoughtfully, waved his hand at Scrooge to shut up, and said: “Let’s look at the new holiday.” Scrooge saw himself as a teenager in the same room, only more dark and more smoky. The window sills were cracked. ; the glass broke; lime fell from the ceiling in heaps and exposed the motherboard [ A beam (log) located in the middle of the house and which is the basis for fastening the roof and the entire house.-- Wikisource Editor's Note.]. But - how this all happened personally, Scrooge did not understand, just like you, readers. But he understood this: That all this happened, that of the schoolchildren of that time he was the only one left in this hall, as before, and everyone else, as before, went home to have fun at Christmas time. He no longer read, but walked around the familiar hall, back and forth, in complete despair. Scrooge looked at the young spirit, shook his head sadly, and glanced sadly at the hay door. The door swung wide open and a little girl flew in like an arrow. She wrapped her arms around Scrooge’s neck and began to kiss him, babbling: “Darling—my dear brother, behind you have you arrived? - she said, clapping her little hands and rolling with laughter. - Home! home! home! - Home! my little Fanny? - asked the boy. - Home! - she repeated, her whole face beaming, - and forever, forever!... Papa is now so kind that there is paradise in the house. One evening, at night, he began to speak to me so tenderly that I was no longer afraid to ask him: is it possible to take you home for the holiday? He answered: “It’s possible.” And he sent a cart with me. Are you really that big? - she continued, looking at Scrooge with all her eyes... - So, you will never return here?... At Christmas time, you and I will have fun. - Yes, it seems that you are already a woman, little Fanny? - the young man shouted. Again Fanny clapped her hands, and again rolled with? laughter. Then she wanted to pat Scrooge on the head, but due to her small stature, she couldn’t reach it; she laughed again and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Then, in the name of this childishly frank kiss, she dragged him to the door, and he followed her without the slightest regret about school. In the hallway they heard a terrible voice: “Throw away Mr. Scrooge’s suitcase!... quickly!... Following this voice, its owner himself, the schoolboy’s mentor, appeared and shook his hand so that it brought him into indescribable trepidation, for the sake of separation. Then he invited both brother and sister into the outdated hall, so low that one could mistake it for a cellar, and so cold that both earthly and celestial globes froze in the walls of its windows. He invited and treated the young couple to such light wine, and such a heavy pie, in a word, such delicacies, that when he sent out his homely servant to treat the waiting postman with something, the postman replied that if it had been the other day’s wine, it would have been better not to bring it. Meanwhile Mr. Scrooge's suitcase was secured to the top of the carriage; The children joyfully said goodbye to the teacher, and merrily rushed along the garden clearing, the wheels of the carriage foaming up both the snow and frost that sprinkled the gloomy leaves of the trees. “There was a spark of God’s fire in her,” said the ghost, “and it could be blown out with one breath, but her heart was beating hotly...” “Your truth,” answered Scrooge, “and God forbid.” - I have to argue with you about this. “It seems she was married,” asked the spirit, “and died, leaving behind two children?” “One,” answered Scrooge. “Your truth,” continued the spirit, “one—your nephew.” Scrooge felt somehow awkward, and he answered briefly: “Yes.” Despite the fact that Scrooge had just left school, he found himself on the crowded streets of some city: as if shadows flashed before him, either people, or carts, or carriages, arguing with each other on the pavements, and calling to each other on the pavements and noise, and all kinds of exclamations of a real city. It was clear from the bright displays of goods in shops and stores that they were celebrating the eve of the Nativity of Christ there too; no matter how dark the evening was, the streets lit up. The spirit stopped at the door of some shop and asked Scrooge: will he know? “What kind of question is this?” said Scrooge. - After all, I studied here, I was a clerk here. Both entered. At the sight of the old man, in a Welsh wig, seated so high behind the desk that - if this gentleman were still two inches tall - he would probably hit his head on the ceiling, the excited Scrooge shouted: “Yes, it’s Fezziwig himself.” He has risen, and may the Almighty forgive the old man! The old man put down his pen and looked at his watch: it was seven. He rubbed his hands cheerfully, pulled off his wide doublet, laughed from head to toe, and proclaimed: “Ebenezer!” Dickk! The former Scrooge entered, accompanied by his former companion. - Yes - it's probably Dick Willkins! - Scrooge remarked to the ghost... - May God have mercy on me: this is he, once lovingly devoted to me! - Come on, come on, guys! shouted Fezziwig. -- What? now back to work?... Christmas Eve, Dick! Christmas Eve, Ebenezer! Quickly - lock the shutters! You will never believe how both young men rushed out into the street as fast as they could: one, two, three - and the matter was over!... They were just out of breath, like horses... - Ho-ho! - shouted Fezzivig, - get out of here, guys! Space - space! Instantly, Dick, instantly, Ebenezer! Down!... but they wouldn’t have left the blue powder, in the eyes of Fezzivig himself... Everything that was lifting disappeared in the blink of an eye; the floor was swept and sprayed; the lamps are lit; a whole heap of coal was thrown into the fireplace: a ballroom emerged from the store, as warm, dry and illuminated as it should be for a Christmas evening. Suddenly the violinist appeared with his notes, climbed onto the pulpit, and began to saw on the strings - at least hold on to your sides!... Lady Fezziwig also appeared - a personified smile from all over her mouth; Three idolically shining Misses Fezziwig appeared, and behind them six unlucky men, pierced by arrows of virgin eyes into the very heart, and after them: all the youth who served in the house; a maid with her cousin the baker; the cook with her brother's constant friend; hungry, on suspicion that his owner is not feeding him, a neighbor clerk with a girl whom his mistress was reliably pulling by the ears. .. That's it - it all happened, everything danced and completely confused the old Fezzivig couple, tirelessly confusing the figures and losing cadence... Finally, the old man had to clap his hands and shout to the violinist: “Basta!” The artist consoled himself by pouring a pre-prepared can of beer down his throat and stopped drinking. Only he immediately set to work again, with the same, no, not the same, with a new fervor, as if another equally ardent musician had jumped on his shoulders. Then they danced some more, took out the forfeits, danced again; then we tasted Christmas Eve pie and fizzy lemonade, and almost half an ox, and minced meat pies, and cold broth, and a lot of beer... But the greatest delight, after the broth and roast, was the violinist (between us, such a damn rogue, that neither you nor I can carry it out) when he wrote: “Sir Robert de Coverly” [ That is, "Sir Robert de Coverley"; national song, hardly translated as - let's say - our "Kamarinskaya".]. Then old man Fezziwig came out into the middle with Mrs. Fezziwig. Both of them became the leader of the dancers. This was their job: to lead and direct twenty games, or twenty-four pairs, and it was not easy to joke with them!... But if the pairs were twice as large, or even four times, old Fezzivig would not have refused to break through walls forehead, and Mrs. Fezziwig too... Because: she contained within herself a worthy, truly full half of Mr. Fezziwig... If this is not praise, look for something else: I, for my part, refuse. Mr. Fezziwig's calves - may we be forgiven for this comparison - were decidedly the phases of the month; appeared, disappeared, appeared again... And when the old Fezzivig couple finally performed: “advance-reculée; hands to the ladies; balane salue; tir-bouchon; thread in thread and in place,” Fezzivig performed the entreche so easily, as if he moved his legs on the flageolet, and then suddenly straightened up on the same legs as I... Finally, at eleven o’clock, the ball ended and the couple, shaking hands with their visitors, congratulated them goodbye on the upcoming holiday. In parting, they shook hands with their clerks, and they, as befitted them, went to lie down in the counter. All this time, Scrooge was, to tell the truth, something of a demoniac. Soul and heart he merged with his second self: everywhere and everywhere he recognized yourself, with former joys, delights and hopes. Only when his own and Dick's shining faces disappeared - only then did he come to his senses, began to hereby Scrooge and remembered the spirit... And the Spirit glared at him with its piercing gaze, and the flame sparkled brighter and brighter above his head. “But it doesn’t take much,” he said, to instill a feeling of gratitude in these fools? -- A little? - repeated Scrooge. The spirit gave him a sign to listen to the conversation of the young clerks: with all the fullness of their souls they praised Fezzivig... - And why do they praise him? - added the spirit. - It seems because of a trifle: three or four pounds sterling, considering your earthly prices?... Is it really worth praising him for this? “That’s not the point,” remarked Scrooge, involuntarily transformed into his former self, “that’s not the point, spirit!... Our share depends on Fezziwig: whether it will be good or not good for us to serve with him, all this depends on him, on his look, his smile, on everything that cannot be transferred to the accounts or entered into the office book. So what! If he says the word, he will shower it with gold. Scrooge, saying this, managed to catch the piercing glance of the spirit, thrown sideways, and fell silent. - What's wrong with you? - asked the ghost. “Nothing special,” replied Scrooge. “However, it seemed to me?...” the ghost insisted. -- Nothing! - Scrooge hastened to confirm. - Nothing!... I would just like to say two or three words to my clerk... That's all. At this time of the past I Scrooge's lamp went out, and the ghost and Scrooge found themselves, side by side. side, in the open air. - I have to go! - said the spirit, - live! This word was not spoken to Scrooge, nor to any of the faces he saw, but it was embodied, and Scrooge again saw the second I. He was, however, a little older - in the full bloom of his years, as they say. There were already signs of maturity on his face, but stinginess had also managed to run its furrow across it. One could guess from just the restlessly darting eyes what passion had taken possession of this soul; by the shadow one could already identify the teenager of the tree. Now Scrooge was not alone: a young, beautiful girl in mourning was sitting next to him, and the tears in her eyes reflected to Scrooge a former Christmas Eve, illuminated by the radiance of a ghost. “There’s no need,” she said in a quiet voice, “there’s no need—at least for you!” Another passion replaced yours, your soul bowed to another idol. - In front of what idol is this? - asked Scrooge. - In front of the golden calf. - And here is human justice! - he screamed. “People do not persecute anything so cruelly as poverty, and they are not so bitter against anything as against the desire to get rich.” “You are too afraid of public opinion,” the young girl continued just as tenderly: “you sacrificed your best hopes to avoid a shameful secular sentence.” I witnessed how your noblest aspirations were erased one after another - all as a sacrifice to your only passion: self-interest. Is it true? - So what? Let's assume that I'm getting smarter over the years... For you, I'm still the same! She shook her head. -Have I changed? - We have long-standing obligations... We sealed them, poor fellows, both happy with the wretched lot, and both were waiting for an opportunity to settle down. You have changed a lot since then... “But I was a child then,” Scrooge remarked impatiently. - Well, well Now Are you burdened by our previous obligations? “I didn’t say that,” Scrooge remarked again. - They didn’t say it, but they showed it. And if I freed you from your word, would you offer me your hand as before? Scrooge was about to answer, but she continued: “You would do badly to marry me, for you would soon repent, and would joyfully await the day of our certain separation.” That's what she said and disappeared. - Spirit! began Scrooge. - Is it possible not to show me anything like this? Take me home... why do you want to torture me? - Another shadow! - the ghost shouted. “Oh, no - no!...” screamed Scrooge. - Don’t show me anything like that... But the inexorable ghost squeezed him in its strong embrace and forced him to forcibly peer into the past. Instantly they were transported to another place, and a different view struck their eyes. They saw a small, not luxurious, but pleasant and comfortable room. At the hot winter fireplace sat a pretty young girl, so much like first that Scrooge was confused. But soon he saw his first acquaintance, already the mother of the family, surrounded, not counting her eldest daughter, by a whole gang of children. It is impossible, even approximately, to imagine what kind of noise and commotion the children raised. That's how they resembled old fairy tale about forty silent children, only the other way around: each of them would go one forty. And suddenly everything fell silent... The hay door swung open with thunder, and the father of the family himself came in - with toys... They were instantly snatched up, and the whole gang disappeared into the little room. The happy father, freed, sat down between his wife and daughter. It was then that Scrooge understood the meaning of the great words of his father and husband, and understood everything that he had lost in life. He wiped his eyes... “Bella,” said the husband, “I saw your old, old friend this evening...” “Really Scrooge?” -- His. He walked past the office, saw the light, looked out the window, alone, as always... They say his assistant is dying. - Spirit! - Scrooge whispered, breathless: - if only you would take me away from here... - I promised you, - said the spirit, - to show the shadows of the past, don’t blame me if the past was... - Take me away , - said Scrooge: - I can no longer bear this sight!... He looked at the spirit, saw that, by an incomprehensible coincidence of circumstances, sees He saw all the old, familiar faces on his face - he saw and rushed at him. - Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Stop tormenting me! - he shouted. In the midst of the struggle that arose, if I may use the word “struggle” (because the spirit did not lift a finger), Scrooge noticed that the radiance above the head of his opponent flared up more and more. Applying this circumstance to the influence produced on him by the spirit, Scrooge grabbed with both hands the extinguishing funnel known to readers and unexpectedly jammed it onto the ghost, the spirit. He sat down for as long as the funnel lasted. But in vain Scrooge leaned his whole body on this extinguisher: bright rays broke through its metal walls and scattered on the floor. Scrooge had been feeling sleepy for a long time; He made his last effort with an exhausted hand, - he pressed the extinguisher, and fell on his bed, - sleepy, as if dead...
Third stanza
"
Second
"
Awakened by someone's heroic snoring, Scrooge sat up in bed, and there was nothing to say to him: " what time is it? " He sensed it in his heart: it was precisely hour! Scrooge remembered very clearly Marley's prophetic words, and a shiver ran through him from head to toe when someone pulled back his curtains, right from the front side of the bed... Wouldn't it be nice, gentlemen, freethinkers, to lie for a minute or two under the same sheet with the venerable Mr. Scrooge?... No one pulled back the curtains; but from the nearest room some fantastic light burst into all the wells, and Scrooge began to think positively: was there, in fact, someone there, nearby? Of course it is: someone even called him. He opened the door to the voice in the nearest room, entered with a candle and saw this: He saw his own living room, but significantly changed. The walls and ceiling were woven with a net of greenery and were adorned with scarlet berries, as if in the living room a whole grove had risen in the evening... In the leaves of holly, mistletoe and ivy, the light reflected and played, as if in a myriad of small mirrors. The fire was crackling and burning in the fireplace, and such that the skinny, cold fire of “Scrooge and Marley” had never even suspected such a fire, not even in one winter. On the floor lay in a high heap, something like a throne: turkeys, geese, all kinds of game and living creatures, all kinds of meat - piglets, hams, yard-long sausages, sausages, mince pies, plum puddings, barrels of oysters, baked chestnuts, ruddy apples, juicy oranges and pears, huge "Epiphany" pies - and, behind all this, punch bowls full of aroma... The cheerful giant - "for show" sat, stretching, on the sofa; in his hand he had something like a torch, similar to a “horn of plenty,” and he raised it when Scrooge looked into the half-open door. - Come in! - the ghost shouted. - Come in, don’t be afraid... Meet me, my dear! Scrooge entered with a timid bow: he was no longer the same gloomy Scrooge, and although the spirit looked at him with a benevolent gaze, Scrooge still did not raise his eyes. - I am the current one holiday ! - said the spirit. - Look at me... Scrooge respectfully obeyed. Holiday he was either in a robe or a tunic, but only in something dark green and with white fur trim. These clothes were thrown on him so carelessly that his entire broad chest came out. The legs were also bare, and on the head there was only a crown of holly, sprinkled with diamonds of frost. The long curls of his black hair flowed freely; the eyes were burning, the hand was extended in a friendly manner; the voice sounded joyful; all his techniques were positively relaxed. At his hip hung a rusty scabbard without a sword. - You have never such haven't you seen it? - the spirit shouted. “Never before,” answered Scrooge. “Didn’t you ever happen to run into my smaller ones on the road... it’s my fault!” - with my older brothers?... I’m still so young!... - said the spirit. “I’m afraid, I’m really afraid, that it didn’t happen,” answered Scrooge. - Do you have many brothers, spirit? “Yes... one thousand eight hundred and something,” said the Spirit. - Family! whispered Scrooge. - That’s how much money goes for the house... The spirit rose from its place. - Listen! - said Scrooge. - Take me somewhere; Today I learned such a lesson that I will never forget... “Touch my clothes,” the spirit answered him. Scrooge grabbed onto it. Holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkeys, geese, game, livestock, hams, pigs, sausages, oysters, pies, puddings, fruit and punch - all disappeared at once. The room also disappeared, and the fire in the fireplace, and the reddish glow of the fire, even the night itself - everything disappeared. They found themselves already in the morning, Christmas morning, on the street. It was cold; The townsfolk put on a somewhat wild but lively concert, scraping the panels in front of their houses and sweeping snow from the roofs, to the great joy of the boys, who admired these artificial avalanches. The facades of the houses were blackened on the white tablecloth of snow, and the black windows were even blacker on it... But all this did not disturb the cleaners on the roofs: they called to each other, threw snowballs and laughed from the bottom of their hearts if they missed. The green shops and fruit shops shone in their full splendor: pot-bellied chestnuts, which, it seemed, would be struck; Spanish garlic - a photograph of the reddish monks of his homeland, with bullying glances at the girls; again pears; again apples, crowded into delicious pyramids; bunches of grapes, intricately hung by sellers, in exactly the right place to make buyers' mouths water; heaps of mossy and dark nuts, with the smell of amorous forest walks, ankle-deep in dry leaves, juicy oranges and lemons - all this just begged to be put straight into your mouth. The gold and silver fish, despite all the apathy of their nature, also fussily opened their mouths, as if they were about to swallow something. It was on this very day that the following happened at Scrooge's clerk, Mr. Cratchit: Oh! What a wonderful pudding his large family had!... Bob Cratchit announced, quite calmly and seriously, that he recognized this pudding the best work Mrs. Cratchit since their wedding day. Mrs. Cratchit remarked to this that now that such a heavy burden had fallen from her heart, she must declare her former fear: had she not suffered too much torment? Each member of the family considered it his duty to express his opinion on this matter; but no one mentioned that for such a family there was very little pudding. Frankly speaking, it would be bad to think and say this; and any of the Cratchits, at this thought, would have burned with shame. “Finally we had lunch, took off the tablecloth, swept it, and turned on the fire.” Bob made grog and it turned out great; They put apples and oranges on the table and a full handful of baked chestnuts. Then the whole family gathered around the fireplace, as Cratchit put it: all around, that is, he wanted to say in a semicircle; Then they placed in front of him, Bob, all the family crystals, such as: two glasses and a milk jug without a handle. So what of this? all the same: the same boiling liquid was poured into them, which would have been poured into golden bowls. Bob proposed the following toast: - Happy holiday, God bless us! The whole family responded. - God bless us! - Spirit! - said Scrooge. -- good spirit!.. Will any of them die of poverty? -- Don't know! - answered the spirit: - even if someone dies, he will only reduce the useless population. Scrooge bowed his head repentantly. - Listen! - the spirit told him. - Do you dare talk about death?... My God! Some insect sits on a piece of paper and talks about the life and death of other insects!... Scrooge humbly accepted this reproach, and, trembling, lowered his gaze to the ground. But soon he raised them when he heard them. - To the health of Mr. Scrooge! - Bob shouted. - I invite everyone to drink to the health of my master, Mr. Scrooge! - Good owner! - interrupted Mrs. Cratchit. - If he fell into my clutches, I would show him... - Yes, dear children!... - Bob remarked, - a holiday... - Is that what a holiday is for, to drink to the health of such a cursed , Robert! You know yourself... - My dear! - Bob continued in the same gentle voice. - Remember: today is Christmas Eve. “I’ll drink to your health, and I’ll drink to Christmas Eve,” objected Mrs. Cratchit; but not for him! And if I drink, it won’t be good for him... But by the way, God bless him - for the holiday! The children drank to Mr. Scrooge's health, following their mother, although reluctantly. One reminder of his name cast a shadow on their bright, children's holiday. But this shadow was momentary, and it flashed by... Breaking away from this family scene, Scrooge, along with his spirit, rushed through the deserted streets of the city. The night was approaching gloomily and blackly; the snow fell in plops; but in the kitchens and living rooms the lights sparkled with extraordinary effect. Here, a flickering flame signified preparations for a family meal, with warmed plates and crimson curtains to protect against the cold and darkness of the street. That's where all the kids ran out to meet either their married sisters, or brothers, or cousins, or uncles or aunts, in order to vying with each other to congratulate them on the holiday. Further on the curtains were drawn the silhouettes of beautiful girls, in bonnets and fur boots: they, talkative birds, had gathered somewhere for the evening... And woe to the bachelor (they have already bewitched), and woe to him if he looks at their rouged cheeks frost. Judging by the number of passers-by, one might think that there was not a single person left in the houses to greet the welcome guests, and yet there was not a single house where guests were not expected, where a fireplace full of coals was not burning for them. That’s why, O righteous Lord! How delighted the spirit was! How he revealed his broad chest! How he extended his mighty hand! How he soared above this crowd, splashing handfuls of his bright joy on it, speckling everyone who came to hand! Even the lamplighter, this igniter and sower of sparks of light along the dark streets, even he, completely dressed for the evening, even he laughed when he looked at the spirit, although he did not suspect that he had come face to face with the great “holiday” itself. Suddenly the spirit, without saying a word, transported his interlocutor to such a deserted swamp, lined with such huge stones that, of course, it could be called a cemetery of giants. Water seeped in everywhere, like a spring gushing out of the ground, and the frost laid a hand on it and kept it in due obedience. Apart from moss, except gorse and some skinny blades of grass, there was nothing around. Along the edge of the sky, from sunset, the sun traced a crimson path with its rays over this bleak area, and - you had to see - how it set, how it closed its eyes and dozed, and how it finally fell completely asleep... - Where are we? - asked Scrooge. - In the very heart of the earth, where miners have been working for so many years... Look!... Having said these words, the spirit rushed with Scrooge past the hut where the old coal miner was celebrating Christmas with his grandchildren... They looked at the joyful faces and flew on... They flew over the noisy sea, straight to the lighthouse; Foamy waves crashed against the lighthouse, splashing onto the wings of stormy seagulls. Daughters, perhaps, of the wind itself, the seagulls sank and rose above the floating meadows of sea grass and algae. But even here, two lighthouse keepers lit a festive light, and it swayed with sparks on the waves. Extending calloused hands to each other, the watchmen sipped grog and congratulated each other on the holiday. The elder of the two began to sing some wild song, so loud that his voice could be mistaken for the roar of a storm. The spirit kept flying, kept flying over the dark, raging sea, until it landed with Scrooge, far from the shore and any land, on some ship. They stopped either near the helmsman, or near the watch guards and officers, and peered into these dark, fantastic faces; but everyone, no matter whom they approached, either hummed a holiday song, or thought about a holiday, or reminded his comrade of some past holiday - and all this was connected with the joyful hope of returning safely to the arms of his own family. Everyone, bad and good, evil and kind, everyone exchanged greetings, everyone remembered their relatives and friends, knowing that the people they loved, in turn, also thought about them. Scrooge's surprise was unspeakable when he listened to the howling of the wind and pondered this night flight over unknown, mysterious as death, abysses - Scrooge's surprise was unspeakable - at someone's suddenly heard cheerful laughter. But his surprise transcended all boundaries when he recognized his nephew’s laughter, and he himself found himself in a bright, warm, sparkling clean room. The spirit stood next to him and looked at his nephew tenderly and lovingly. - Ha! Ha! Ha! - Scrooge's nephew burst into tears. - Ha! Ha! Ha! If, against all probability, you happened to meet a person gifted with the ability to laugh with all the fullness of his soul - more and more sincere than Scrooge's nephew, I will tell you one thing: I would persistently ask you to introduce me to your friend. Do me a favor and introduce me. Fate had a very happy, truthful and noble idea - to reward a person, for all his contagious illnesses and sorrows, with an even more contagious and irresistibly cheerful laughter. So Scrooge's nephew laughed at the top of his lungs; His wife and friends laughed heartily: Ha-ha-ha! - Honestly! - shouted the nephew: - he told me that Christmas time is nothing, and - believe me, he himself is firmly convinced of this! - All the more shame for him, Fred! - Scrooge's betrothed niece remarked indignantly. In general, women don’t do anything halfway and take on every task in earnest. The niece - she is also the wife of Scrooge's nephew - was sweet, that is, extremely sweet, with a charming head, with an ingenuous, sincere expression on her face; and at the same time - what a captivating smile, what lively sparkling eyes! - The great miracle worker is my old man! - continued the nephew. “No doubt, he could have been a little more courteous: but his shortcomings are punished by themselves, and I have nothing to say against him.” “He seems to be very rich, Fred?” - Eh! What's the use of his wealth, my dear? Wealth brings him nothing: he cannot be useful not only to others, not even to himself. He doesn't even have the pleasure of thinking... ha-ha-ha! - that soon he will have to reward us. - I can't stand him! - said the niece. Her sisters and other ladies agreed with her opinion. -- ABOUT! I'm more lenient than you! - the nephew objected. - I just feel sorry for him. Who does his wayward antics harm? for him... I’m not saying this because he refused to have lunch with us - in this case, he only benefits: he got rid of a bad lunch. “Really?... And it seems to me that he lost a very good dinner!...” his young wife interrupted him. All the guests shared this conviction, and - we must tell the truth - they could have been inappropriate judges in this case, for they had just deigned to eat, and at the moment the dessert had not yet left the table, and the whole company crowded around the fireplace, in the light of the lamp. “Honestly, I am very pleased to be dissuaded: until now I had little faith in the ability of the young owners.” Isn't that right, Topper? Probably Topper looked at one of the sisters of Scrooge's niece, which is why he replied: I am a bachelor and nothing more than a pathetic pariah and have no right to express my opinion on such a subject; and the sister of Scrooge's niece - this plump creature in the lace scarf that you see, was all blushing. - Carry on, Fred! - shouted his wife, clapping her hands impatiently. It starts and stops... how unbearable it is! “I just wanted to add that the old man deprived himself of pleasant company; she is certainly more cheerful than his thoughts and the dark, damp office. However, I have not calmed down yet: every year I will go to him with a greeting: how is your health, uncle? I have the honor to congratulate you on the holiday! If I stir him up so much that he at least refuses twelve hundred pounds to his poor clerk, that will be good. I don’t know why, but it seems to me that I greatly shook him yesterday... Now the guests had to laugh at the arrogant claim of the owner - to shake Scrooge. But Fred was a kind fellow, he was not at all offended by jokes, and he also added fun to the company with a round bottle. After tea we started playing music, because all the interlocutors, I assure you, were wonderful performers of various ariettes and ritornellos, and especially Topper: he artistically poured his bass from tone to tone, without straining the veins on his forehead and without blushing like a lobster. The hostess turned out to be an excellent harpist; among other pieces, she played a simple song, so simple that one could whistle it from memory in two minutes; but Scrooge shuddered: this song was sung by a little girl who had once attended him at school. .. After the music they started playing forfeits, and above all blind man's buff. In blind man's buff, Topper again distinguished himself with his trickery and dexterity in pursuing a plump girl in a lace scarf: no matter how she dropped the fireplace grate, then a chair, no matter how she hid behind the curtains, he caught her in some corner. The hostess did not take part in the blind man's buff, but sat down to the side on a quiet chair and put her feet on a stool; behind the chair stood the spirit and Scrooge. But she took an active part in the forfeits and then, to Fred’s great pleasure, she showed herself: she outshone everyone, even her sisters, although they were far from stupid - just ask Topper... She was especially distinguished in " how much do you love him"and in" where, when and why?"Fred himself fell apart and the spirit did not take his benevolent glances off him, to such an extent that Scrooge began to beg him, like a child, to wait until the guests left; but the spirit said that this was impossible. - Here's another new game! - said Scrooge: - another half hour, spirit, only half an hour... They played " yes and no". Fred had to be in charge: he had to think of a word, and the players had to guess, offering him questions and demanding an answer from him or yes or no ? Bombarded by the crossfire of questions, Fred was forced, willy-nilly, to make several confessions, namely, what he thought about the animal: that the animal was alive; an unpleasant, wild animal; that sometimes it growls, sometimes it grunts, but before it spoke; that it is found in London and even walks the streets, but that it is not shown for money, is not led on a leash, is not kept in a menagerie, and is not killed in a slaughterhouse; that it is neither a horse, nor a donkey, nor a cow, nor a bull, nor a tiger, nor a dog, nor a pig, nor a cat, nor a bear. - With each new question, the scammer Fred burst into laughter so much that he jumped up from the sofa and began to stomp his feet. Finally, the plump sister burst into laughter and screamed. - You guessed right, you guessed right, Fred! I know what it is? - What is it? asked Fred. “Your Uncle Skru-u-j?” That's exactly what happened. A general outburst of praise followed, although there were some slight criticisms. - Well, what then? - Fred noted. “He gave us so much pleasure that it wouldn’t be a sin for us to drink to his health, fortunately we have a glass of burnt drink in our hands!” - for the health of Uncle Scrooge! - It's coming! To the health of Uncle Scrooge! - the guests picked up. - Happy holiday and happy new year to the old man, whoever he is! - Fred shouted: he didn’t want my verbal congratulations, let him accept it in absentia: for the health of Uncle Scrooge! Scrooge took such part in the general fun that he was about to make a speech of thanks; but suddenly the whole scene disappeared, and the spirit and Scrooge were off again. Their journey was long: they saw many places, visited many monasteries and dwellings. The spirit came to the bedside of the sick, and they forgot their ailments; and for a moment it seemed to the suffering exile that he was falling again into the bosom of his dear homeland. He enlightened the soul, doomed to a desperate struggle with fate, with a sense of self-sacrifice and hope for a better fate; approached the poor - and they considered themselves rich. Into houses of charity, to hospitals and prisons, to all the dens of poverty, everywhere where a vain and proud person could not - with his insignificant, transient power - deny entry and block the paths of the disembodied spirit - everywhere the spirit brought with him - blessings, everywhere Scrooge heard from him the commandment of mercy. This night was long if everything happened in one night; but Scrooge doubted; it seemed to him that several Christmas Eves had merged into one during the time he was in spirit. Another oddity: Scrooge did not notice the slightest external change in himself, and his spirit apparently became older and older. This change did not escape Scrooge, but he did not say a word until, leaving one of the dons, where a crowd of children was glorifying the Epiphany, he saw that the hair on the spirit’s head had turned white. - Is the life of spirits so short? - he asked when they were alone. “Indeed,” answered the spirit, “my life on the globe is very short; it ends tonight. - Tonight! - Scrooge screamed. - Exactly at midnight. Chu? the hour is near. At this time the clock struck about three quarters of ten. “Excuse my indiscreet question,” said Scrooge, peering intently at the spirit’s clothes: “I see under the hem of your dress something strange that does not belong to you... What is it: a leg or a claw?” “It could be called a claw, because there is a little meat on top,” answered the spirit sadly. - Look! He opened the tails of his clothes and two children fell out - two poor creatures - despicable, disgusting, vile, disgusting, repulsive; they fell to their knees at Scrooge's feet and clung to his dress. - Oh, man! bow, bow your eyes to your feet! - the spirit shouted. They were a boy and a girl - yellow, thin, in rags, with frowning faces, fierce, although reptiles - in their vile humiliation. Instead of the attractive infancy that should have covered their cheeks with a fresh spring blush, someone’s faded, withered hand, like the hand of time, wrinkled these sunken cheeks and erased the life colors from them; in these eyes, from where it seemed that angels should have smiled at God’s world, now demons nested and cast threatening glances. No change, no decline, no perversion of the human race, to the highest degree, and with all the mysterious deviations of nature, could ever produce such monsters, disgusting and terrible. Scrooge recoiled, pale with fear. - However, not wanting to offend the spirit, perhaps the parent of these children, he wanted to say: “What cute children!”, but the words themselves stopped in his throat so as not to participate in such an incredible lie. - Spirit, are these your children? That's all Scrooge could say. “Children of men,” answered the spirit; - they turned to me with a petition against their fathers. This one is called “ignorance”, and this one is called “poverty”. Fear both and their offspring; but be more afraid of the first - I read on his forehead: " curse". “Hurry, O Babylon!” cried the spirit, stretching out his hand to the city: hurry to blot out this word - it condemns you even more than this unfortunate one: he is only to misfortune, you are to destruction! Dare to say that you are not to blame, slander even your accusers: it may serve you for a while, to achieve your criminal goals; but... beware of the end! - And they have no refuge! - Scrooge cried - How!... “Are there no prisons?” asked the spirit, mockingly repeating Scrooge’s own words for the last time: “are there no strait houses?” The clock began to strike midnight, but the spirit was no longer there. Jacob Marley and looked up: a majestic-looking ghost, wrapped in a wide robe with a veil, flew up to him, gliding along the ground like steam.
Fourth stanza
The ghost approached slowly, important and silent. When he was already quite close, Scrooge bowed his knee before him, because the ghost seemed to be pouring some kind of gloomy and mysterious horror into the air around him. The long black robe completely covered him from head to toe and left only one outstretched arm outside: otherwise it would have been very difficult to distinguish him and separate him from the thick shadows of the night. Scrooge noticed that the ghost was tall, of majestic bearing, and that his mysterious presence instilled solemn fear and awe in a person. But he could no longer find out anything else, because the ghost did not say a single word, did not make a single movement. - Perhaps I have the honor of being in the presence of the future holiday? - asked Scrooge. The ghost did not answer, but did not lower his outstretched hand. - You will show me something that should happen, but has not happened yet... isn’t it? - continued Scrooge. The upper folds of black clothing moved closer together for a moment, as if a ghost had bowed its head; but this movement was his only answer. Although accustomed to dealing with spirits, Scrooge still felt such horror in the presence of this silent ghost that his legs trembled and he could hardly stand on them when he prepared to follow his guide. The ghost stopped for a moment, as if he wanted to give Scrooge time to gather his strength. But Scrooge’s excitement only intensified, especially when he thought that through this black shroud the motionless gaze of a ghost was fixed on him. - Spirit of the future! - he screamed. “I fear you more than all the previous ghosts; but since I know that you wish me well; since my intention is to change my lifestyle, I am gratefully ready to follow you... Will you talk to me? No answer. Just point forward with your outstretched arm. - Lead me! - said Scrooge. “The night is moving quickly, and I know that this time is precious for me.” Lead me, spirit? The ghost also moved away as it approached. Scrooge watched him in the shadow of his clothes, and it seemed to him that this shadow lifted him and carried him away with it. It cannot be said definitively that they entered the city: rather, the city floated around them and enveloped them in its movement. In any case, they found themselves in the very heart of the City at the stock exchange, among the merchants: the merchants were quickly darting in all directions, money jingling in their pockets, gathering in groups to talk about business, looking at their watches, thoughtfully rattling their huge key rings... etc. . d. - in a word; they were all the same as Scrooge had seen them so often. The ghost stopped near a small group of these capitalists, and Scrooge, noticing the direction of his hand, also came up to listen to the conversation. “No,” said the tall, fat gentleman with a monstrous chin, “I don’t know anything else—I only know that I’m dead.” -- When? “Last night, I think.” - How did he manage his fortune? - asked another gentleman with a growth on his nose that looked like the crop of an Indian rooster. - Really, I don’t know... Maybe he bequeathed it to his Society... in any case: not for me- this is what I know for sure. General laughter greeted this joke. “I think,” the gentleman with the growth spoke, the funeral will not cost him much: no one knew him and there will not be many people willing to see his body off. However, I think I’ll go: I’d just like a snack! - Well, then I’m more unselfish than all of you, gentlemen! - The gentleman with the double chin spoke. “I don’t wear black gloves, I don’t eat at funerals, but I’ll still go, even without an invitation, and that’s why it seems to me that the deceased considered me his true friend - no matter how he meets, he’ll always talk... goodbye, gentlemen.” ! The group laughed and mingled with others. Scrooge recognized all these gentlemen and looked at the ghost as if he wanted to ask him for an explanation. The ghost slid into a side street and pointed his finger at the two gentlemen who had just met. Scrooge began to listen again, hoping to at least find out the word of the riddle. He knew the gentlemen very well: they were two rich, respectable merchants, and Scrooge very much appreciated their respect for himself, of course, respect in business, simply and positively only in business. - How are you doing? - said one. - How are you? - asked another. - Yes, okay. And the old "Gobseck" of that... completely paid off... Hm? - They told me... But it’s cold, isn’t it? - It's time! It's time: Christmas time... I assume you don't skate? - No, no: I have something else to think about... Goodbye? And not a word more. Such were their meetings, conversation and farewell. Scrooge was at first surprised why the ghost attached such importance to empty talk; but, internally convinced that there must be some meaning hidden in them, he began to think to himself - what exactly is it? It is difficult to imagine that in all this there is a hint of Jacob’s death: it happened so long ago, and the ghost is a harbinger of the future. There is no one to think about his acquaintances... Nevertheless, without doubting that a mysterious lesson was being prepared for him here, for his own good, Scrooge decided not to drop a single word, not to ignore even the slightest circumstance, and most importantly not to let eye from your second I, upon his appearance: Scrooge was sure that his behavior future self will serve as a clue to him. He began to look for yourself at the stock exchange, but his usual place in his favorite corner was occupied by someone else and, although the stock exchange clock showed exactly the time when he appeared here, however, in the large crowd crowded on the porch of the building, there was no one in the slightest degree similar on his person. This, however, did not surprise him at all: he thought that with a future change in the type of his life, of course his type of occupation would also change. The ghost stood opposite him, motionless, gloomy, with his arm outstretched. When Scrooge woke up, it seemed to him, from the movement of his hand and from the upright position of the ghost, that his eyes were invisible and fixed intently at him! At this thought, he trembled from head to toe... Leaving the noisy disgrace of trade and transactions, they were transported to a remote nook of the city, where Scrooge had never been, but knew well, according to rumors, the bad reputation about this nook. Dirty, narrow streets; shops and houses; the inhabitants - half naked, drunk, on bare feet - disgusting... Dark, covered passages, like sewers, spewed into the labyrinth of streets - both residents and their suffocating smell; the whole quarter breathed crime, dirt, and poverty. At the very bottom of this lair one could see, under a protruding canopy, an iron bench: iron, rags, broken glass, bones, shards of dishes, rusty keys, toothless saws, bolts, scales, weights - everything was in it. [ We have published some details of Charles Dickens's story because they have an incomprehensible, indescribable, purely London flavor to most readers. From this release, in our extreme opinion, the story loses a little... of course for Holy Rus'.] Perhaps this heap of oily rags and bones contained such secrets that it would be better not to know them. In front of all this rubbish sat a gentleman, about seventy years old, gray-haired and flabby; sat behind a holey curtain hanging on the window and smoked a short pipe, enjoying complete solitude. Scrooge and the ghost appeared before him - just at the moment when a woman staggered into the shop, with a heavy bundle on her back. Following her, another woman entered, with the same knot, and a man in a black shabby dress. They all seemed surprised to see each other. After a few moments of bewilderment, shared by the owner, they all burst out laughing. - Go, go into the hall! - said the owner. “Well, there you go,” said the first woman. What? Shouldn't he act like all good people? I would take a sister of mercy: at least there would be someone to close his eyes... Otherwise he would die in his kennel like a dog... But what’s wrong?... Untie my knot, Joy! But old Joy first untied the man's knot - the gravedigger; he was not a climber: a signet - another, a pencil box, two sleeve cufflinks, a penny pin - that's all... Old Man Joy examined each item separately and marked with chalk on the wall the amount appropriate for each item. “Here’s what I can give you,” he said, and—fry me over a small fire—I won’t add sixpence... Who’s there? There were two in line ladies". “I always pass before the ladies!” said Joy, accepting from the second visitor a tablecloth, napkins, a pair of dresses, two old teaspoons, sugar tongs and a number of boots. “I always pass before the ladies,” - and this is my weakness!... Here is your bill... If you ask for an increase, I will be forced to take off my first estimate. - Well, now, Joy, untie my knot! - said the first visitor. Joey knelt down, untied many of the knots, and pulled out a piece of some dark material. “What is this?” “Bed curtains?” the woman answered with a laugh. so that you take them off with him?- Why? - Well!... You were born rich, and you will... - What? My hand won’t tremble... the saleswoman asked completely calmly: is it really something to regret? - So this is his curtains and sheets? - And whose? Aren't you afraid that he'll catch a runny nose? “I hope he didn’t die from some contagious disease... hmm?” asked old Joy, raising his head. - Don't be afraid, Joy! Am I really that stupid to get involved with him if only?... Oh! You can turn this shirt inside out and there it is: I can tell you that it’s good - his best shirt... Thank God that I turned up: without me it would have been lost... - What? is this missing? - asked old man Joy. - Well, here’s the thing: they probably would have buried him in this shirt; - she answered, laughing: in my opinion, - not so: the dead man doesn’t care what he lies in: calico or linen... Scrooge barely listened to this conversation. In general, all the faces seemed to him like demons, dissecting, vying with each other, someone’s corpse. He recoiled in horror, for the scene had changed, and he could hardly touch the bed, without curtains: on the bed, under the holey sheet, lay something , understandable only in the terrible language of death. The room was very dark, too dark to see anything in it, although Scrooge peered into this twilight with inquisitive eyes. A pale light from outside fell directly on the bed where the corpse of this naked, robbed, abandoned, unmourned and unguarded dead man lay. Scrooge looked at the spirit; he pointed his finger at the dead man's head. The shroud was thrown on so carelessly that all you had to do was touch it with your finger, and the whole face of the dead man would be visible. Scrooge understood this; He even had an urge to lift the shroud, but... he didn’t have enough strength. Oh, cold - cold, terrible scarecrow - death! Build your altars here, surround them with all your horrors: you are the complete mistress here!... But if you fall on a beloved, revered and dear head, you will not have power over a single hair of this head. It’s not that this hand doesn’t fall lifelessly heavy, it’s not that this pulse doesn’t stop, no! - but this hand was open honestly, warmly and generously for everyone; but this heart was noble, warm and tender beating in the chest... Strike, strike, merciless death. Your blows are in vain: beyond fleeting life is immortality!.. No one uttered these words; but Scrooge heard them, looking at the bed. “If this man came to life...” thought Scrooge, “what would he say about his past?” Stinginess, hardness of heart, thirst for acquisitions - this is what they lead to! And here he is, here he is - lying in an empty gloomy house: there is no man, no woman, no child who could say: he helped me then and then, and I will repay him in turn, at least for your kind words. There was no one there. Only a cat was scratching at the door, and rats were gnawing something under the stone flooring of the fireplace. And what did they need in this funeral room? Why were they so raging?... Scrooge did not even dare to think about it... - Spirit! he said: this room is terrible. Having left her, I will not forget the lesson given to me... Believe me... and - quickly leave! The ghost still pointed his motionless finger at the head of the corpse. “I understand you,” said Scrooge, and I would do what you want if I could... But I have no strength... I have no strength, Spirit!... Show me something where death is bid farewell with tender tears?... The ghost rushed him through the familiar streets, and they entered the house of poor Bob Cratchit. Grief knocked on his door: his dear, sick, lame son, whom he always carried on his shoulder, died, his dear one, dear Tiny-Tim, died. The mother and the other children were sitting by the fireplace... They were calm, very calm. The small, noisy Cratchits stood petrified in the corner and did not take their eyes off their older brother Peter and the book unfolded in front of him. The mother and girls were sewing something like that. The whole family was completely calm. " And he placed a boy among them". Where did Scrooge hear these words?.. but he did not hear them in a dream. Peter probably read them aloud when Scrooge and the spirit crossed the threshold... But why did Peter stop reading? His mother put the work on the table and covered her face hands. “It seems, father?” she said a little later, and ran towards her poor Bob, who came in in his inseparable " hide your nose", - and it’s good that this time he was not separated from him. Almost the whole family brought him tea heated in the fireplace, vying with each other. Both little Cratchit climbed onto his knees, and each pressed their cheek to his cheek, as if saying: Don’t think about this, daddy!... Don't be upset. Bob was very cheerful, praised his wife's work and said that she would probably be in time before Sunday - So, you came by today? there, Robert? - asked the wife. - Yes. I am very sorry that you were not there... the place is excellent - everything is green all around... However, you will see... I promised him that I would go for a walk with him on Sundays... My poor, dear child ! - Bob shouted. And he burst into tears uncontrollably... He hurriedly left the room and went up to the upper apartment, lit and decorated with flowers in a festive manner. There was a chair opposite the dead child's bed, and it seemed as if someone had just gotten out of it. Bob sat down, in turn, sat and stood up, stood up, kissed the cold, sweet face, and went downstairs... The ghost quickly, quickly rushed Scrooge out of this room and did not stop anywhere until Scrooge himself said: “Wait!” .. here is the yard and the house, familiar to me for a long time... let me see - what should I be? The ghost stopped; but his hand was extended in a different direction. “But that’s where the house is,” remarked Scrooge, “why are you beckoning me further?” The ghost's inexorable finger did not change its position. Scrooge hurriedly ran to the window of his office and looked inside: the office remained an office - just not his. And the furniture was different, and it wasn’t him sitting in the chairs. The ghost kept pointing his hand somewhere... Scrooge completely lost his head and was transported with his counselor to some kind of iron grate. - Without yet stepping over it, he looked around... the cemetery! This is where, probably, lies, under several feet of earth, the unfortunate person whose mysterious name Scrooge will find out now. By God, it was a nice place: all around were the walls of neighboring houses: there was turf and weeds on the ground; so many graves, so many graves clarified they are a land that makes you sick... A nice place!... The spirit pointed to one grave - Scrooge walked up to it and read: - " Ebenezer Scrooge". - So it was I who saw myself on my deathbed? - shouted Scrooge, falling to his knees. The spirit pointed his finger at him and at the grave, then at the grave and at him. - No, spirit, no - no, no! The spirit’s finger seemed to freeze in the same position. “Spirit!” Scrooge cried, clutching the ghost’s dress, listen to me; I’m not the same person, I won’t be the person I was before I met you. .. Why are you showing me all this, if there is no hope for me? For the first time, the ghost’s hand moved. “Good spirit!” continued Scrooge, who was lying face down: “intercede for me, have mercy on me.” that I can change all these images if I change my life? The ghost waved his hand benevolently. “I will honor Christmastide with all my heart, and I will wait for them all year round. I will live in the past, in the present and in the future: all of you are three spirits.” gave me unforgettable lessons... Oh! tell me that I can erase this inscription from the gravestone? Scrooge desperately grabbed the ghost’s hand: the hand slipped out, but Scrooge squeezed it as if with pincers; however, the ghost was still stronger than Scrooge, and pushed him away. Raising both hands in a final plea for a change in his fate, Scrooge noticed that the spirit's clothes were becoming thinner and thinner, and the spirit itself was gradually transformed, and was transformed into a curtained bedpost.
Fifth stanza
Indeed, it was a curtain post. Yes. And the post above Scrooge's own bed, and even in Scrooge's own bedroom. He had a whole day ahead of him - to recover and change his lifestyle. “I will live in the past and in the present...” repeated Scrooge, jumping out of bed. “Three spiritual lessons stuck in my memory. Oh, Jacob Marley! May the feast of the Nativity of Christ be hallowed. - They haven’t been removed, they haven’t been removed! - continued Scrooge, hugging the bed curtains with a sob. And the rings are intact... And all I saw was a dream!... He wrinkled and kneaded the dress, not understanding what he was doing. -- My God! - he said, grabbing the stockings in both hands and standing with them in the pose of Laocoon, entwined with snakes. -- God! I am lighter than fluff, happier than a disembodied spirit, more cheerful than a schoolboy, drunker than wine!... Happy holiday! I have the honor to congratulate everyone on the holiday!... Hey! who's there? Ay!... Ho-ho-ho!... In one leap he jumped from the bedroom to the living room and stopped there, out of breath. - Here is the saucepan with the gruel! - he shouted. - Here is the door, through her Marley's ghost has entered! Here is the corner where the current Christmas Eve sat! Here is the window from where I watched the sinful souls: everything is in place, everything is in order... Ha-ha-ha-ha! And it was like this... For a man who had not laughed for so many years, this laughter was solemnly magnificent, it was the ancestor of endless roller coasters. laughter. - I don’t know - what is our date today? - continued Scrooge. “I don’t know how much time I spent between spirits.” I don’t know anything: I’m just a child... And how I wish I was a little child... Hey, hey, hey, hey!... His delight was tempered by the church bells, ringing loudly: "Ding-deeny dong-boom, boom! Ding ding dong, boom, boom, boom! Don, ding-dong, boom"!-- Great! Great! - shouted Scrooge; ran to the window and looked out into the street. There was no frost, no fog: it was a clear, fresh day, one of those that amuses and strengthens, and drives the blood through the veins to “dance.” Golden Sun; blue sky; bell ringing... Excellent! Great!... - What day is it today? - Scrooge shouted from the window to some boy who was probably staring at him. -- What? - asked the amazed boy. - What day is it today, my dear? - repeated Scrooge. -- Today? - the boy asked again. - Yes, today is Christmas. -- Christmas! - thought Scrooge. - So I didn’t lose him. The spirits arranged everything in one night. They can do anything - who doubts that? - everyone can... - Hey, hey, dear? -- Well? - answered the boy. - Do you know the butcher shop on the corner of second street? -- Certainly. - Smart child! - Scrooge remarked to himself. - The child is wonderful... Do you know whether the turkey is sold or not, not the small one, but which one is larger? -- A! This is what will happen to me? - Delightful child! whispered Scrooge. It’s fun to talk to him... - Well, this one, my little kitten! - Not sold yet. - Really?.. - Go buy it. - Joker! - answered the boy. “No,” said Scrooge, “I’m not joking.” Buy it and tell it to be brought to me. I'll give you the address where to take it. Take some boy from the shop with you, and here's a shilling. “If you come back with your purchase in five minutes, I’ll give you more.” The boy flew like an unstoppable arrow. “I’ll send this turkey to Bob Cratchit,” whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands and laughing: “he won’t know - from whom?” She's twice as thick as Tiny Tim... I'm sure Bob will understand this joke... He wrote the address with a somewhat trembling hand, and went downstairs to meet the clerk from the butcher shop. A door knocker caught his eye. - All my life I will love you! said Scrooge, stroking the hammer. - And until now I didn’t notice him!... And what an honest expression in his entire face... Oh, my kind, my elegant hammer! And here comes the turkey!... You are such a thing! Ege-ge-ge-ge! “We have the honor to congratulate you on the holiday”!.. And sure enough, there was a turkey!... I don’t believe that this bird would ever stand on its feet, they would have broken under it like wax sticks. “But here’s the thing: you can’t take it down to Camden Town, said Scrooge: you have to take a cab” [ Cab - something like a convertible, i.e. a two-wheeled cart, or cart .]. All this was said with laughter; with a laugh, with a cheerful laugh, Scrooge paid for both the turkey and the cab, with a laugh he gave the money to the boy, and, choking and laughing until he cried, fell into his chair. Then he shaved, dressed in his best dress, and went out for a walk through the streets. There was a thick crowd in the streets; Scrooge looked at everyone smugly, put his hands behind his back, so smugly that three or four passing onlookers could not resist and greeted him with the words: “Hello, sir! We have the honor to congratulate you on the holiday!” Before he had gone a few steps, he was met by that elegant gentleman who had come to his office the day before with the question: “Scrooge and Marley, it seems?” Scrooge was embarrassed; but he immediately recovered himself, and said, taking the honorable gentleman by both hands: “How are you, sir?” I hope that yesterday, to your credit, was a good day? Let me congratulate you on the holiday, sir! - Mister Scrooge? - Yes. I'm afraid this nickname is not entirely pleasant for you? Allow me to apologize: would you be so kind as to... (Scrooge said a few words in the venerable gentleman's ear.) - Lord! really? - asked the gentleman, breathless. My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious? - No jokes! - answered Scrooge. - I am paying off an old debt, if your grace will accept?... - Dear sir! - the interlocutor interrupted Scrooge, shaking his hand in a friendly manner: I don’t know how to praise such a great thing... - For God’s sake, not a word more! - Scrooge stopped him. - Come to me... you will come, won’t you? -- ABOUT! without any doubt! - the old gentleman cried convincingly. “Thank you,” said Scrooge. “I am infinitely obliged to you, and I offer my gratitude a thousand times.” "Farewell". He went into church; ran through the streets; gave the boys a few light clicks on the heads; I was amazed at the pleasantness of my walk, and in the afternoon I headed towards my nephew’s house. He walked past the familiar door a dozen times and did not dare to enter. Finally he dared and knocked. - Is the master at home, my dear? - Scrooge asked the maid: - how pretty you are, by God!... - At home, sir! - Where is it, cutie? - In the dining room, sir, with Mrs.... If you allow, I will accompany you. “Thank you: he knows me,” replied Scrooge, leaning on the handle of the lock. - I’ll come in myself. He opened the door and stuck his head in. The young couple examined the festively laid table... - Fred! - said Scrooge. - Oh my God! - how his betrothed niece shuddered! Scrooge forgot how she sat in the chair, with her feet on the stool: otherwise he would not have dared to enter so accidentally. -- God! - Fred screamed: - who is that there? “I, I, your Uncle Scrooge... I’ve come for dinner... can I come in?” That was the question! Fred almost sprained his arm while dragging him into the dining room. Five minutes later Scrooge was right at home. Nothing could have been more cordial than the welcome of his nephew and niece. They did exactly the same thing when Topper and the plump sister and all the other guests arrived. What an amazing society, what an amazing game of forfeits, what u-di-vi-tel-noe fun. The next day Scrooge came early to his office - oh! early, early... All he wanted was to come before Bob Cratchit and catch him at the crime scene. And so he succeeded! The clock rang nine - Bob was gone; nine and a quarter - still no Bob. Bob was eighteen and a half minutes late. Scrooge sat in the open door so that he could better see Bob descend into his well. Before opening the door yet, Bob took off his hat and hid his nose; and then, in the blink of an eye, he found himself on his stool and put his pen to paper as if he wanted to catch up with the nine hours that had flown away. - Hey, sir! - shouted Scrooge, falling as faithfully as possible into his previous tone: - why so late? - I feel very unpleasant, sir! - said Bob. - I'm a little late. - We're late! - continued Scrooge. - It really seems to me that you are late. Come here... - Once a year, sir! - Bob remarked timidly, getting out of his well. “It won’t happen again... I went on a little spree yesterday, sir!...” “That’s all good,” said Scrooge, “but I must tell you, dear friend, that I cannot tolerate such disorder.” And therefore, he added, jumping up from the stool and pushing Bob under the side so that he flew towards his well, therefore, I want to increase your salary. Bob trembled and extended his hand to the ruler. There was a moment when he wanted to hit Scrooge with a ruler, grab him by the collar and call people to put a fever shirt on Scrooge. - Happy holiday, Bob! - Scrooge said importantly and patted his clerk on the shoulder in a friendly manner. - More cheerful than ever. I will increase your salary and try to help your hardworking family. Today we'll talk about our business over a Christmas glass of bischof, Bob! Scrooge not only kept his word, but did much, much more than he promised. For Tiny-Tim (he, of course, never thought of dying), Scrooge truly became a second father. And Scrooge became such a good friend, such a good master and such a good man, like every citizen of every good, old city, in the good, old world. There were gentlemen who laughed at such a change, but Scrooge allowed them to laugh, and did not even turn an ear. In revenge on these gentlemen, he himself laughed from the fullness of his soul. He stopped all relations with spirits; but he made friends with people, and prepared to celebrate Christmastide with them in a friendly manner every year, and everyone gave him complete justice, that no one celebrated the holidays so cheerfully. If only they said the same about you, about me, about all of us. .. And then, as Tiny-Tim put it: " May the Lord save us all, no matter how many of us there are!"
Charles Dickens is a writer whom everyone now knows and no one knows. The name has been heard, but the books have not been read. But we watched Disney cartoons about Uncle Scrooge, not suspecting that Dickens was not writing about ducks at all.
It is believed that Dickens is a Christian moralist, but few people know why. Perhaps modernity will rediscover this once internationally popular writer for us. An empty chair pushed away from the table with sheets of paper and a pen - that’s what I saw English artist Luke Fields on the day of Charles Dickens's death, entering his office*. This is how the famous drawing “Empty Chair” was born.
The heroes of his books gathered around the table at which the great writer worked: Mr. Pickwick with his faithful servant and friend Sam Weller, Oliver Twist, Florence Dombey, David Copperfield, little Nell with her grandfather and many, many others born of his imagination, but so alive and authentic. Alas, almost no one reads Dickens these days. Most people are familiar with Oliver Twist in the light-hearted musical format; the name of one of Dickens's most tragic characters, Scrooge, is firmly associated with the dim-witted hero of Disney's "DuckTales", and they will say about David Copperfield that he is a famous magician.
Childhood, adolescence, youth
Charles Dickens was born on February 7, 1812 in the British city of Portsmouth. On his father's side, he came from a “low” class: his grandfather was a butler, his grandmother was a maid. The father, an official of the naval department, was very burdened by his origin - unlike his son, who was completely alien to class prejudices. As a child, Charles had two passions: theater and reading. In the friendly and cheerful Dickens family, home performances were constantly staged, and the future writer was in the lead roles. The love for the literary word began with the nanny’s fairy tales - fairy tales that we would now call “horror stories.”
As he grew older, Charles became engrossed in collections of English and Arabic fairy tales, but could not stand edifying children's books. And most of all he loved Shakespeare and the New Testament, which he later often quoted in his novels. The Dickens family belonged to the mainstream Anglican Church, but young Charles received a rather bizarre religious upbringing. The nanny sang church hymns to him at night, which made the impressionable boy cry into his pillow. When the Dickens family was in Chatham, there was a Baptist chapel near their home. Charles's parents were acquainted with her abbot, although they were not particularly religious. For Dickens, a brief interaction with enthusiastic pastors was enough to forever become disgusted with pompous sermons. However, Charles Dickens soon had much bigger troubles than having to attend tedious meetings. The father, a man of a broad soul, but careless and wasteful, was unable to pay off his creditors and ended up in debtor's prison, and with him Dickens' mother and younger children. Charles often visited his family in the Marshalsea prison, and these impressions formed the basis of scenes from Mr. Pickwick's stay in debtor's prison and episodes from his other novels. Dickens was then 12 years old, he lived in a boarding house with the same useless children and worked in a factory for the production of blacking wax. The writer bitterly recalled this time of humiliation, the feeling of complete abandonment in the novel “David Copperfield.” The spectacle of social injustice and the callous attitude towards child workers forever determined the main pathos of his work: the protection of the poor, especially children. He wandered around London a lot, saw its contrasts: rich mansions and the terrible slums of Seven Dials.
“What monstrous memories I took away from there! - Dickens said later. - What visions! Vice, humiliation, poverty! Then, thanks to the inheritance of the housekeeper’s grandmother, his father was released from debtor’s prison and enrolled Charles in a private school with the loud name “Wellington House Academy”. After graduating, young Dickens served as something like a courier in law firms. He was a stenographer at Doctor's Commons, where he wrote reports of court proceedings and acquired an excellent knowledge of people, laws and the intricacies of legal proceedings - all of which would later be reflected in his books.
And he called for mercy for the fallen
In 1833, Dickens's first story, "Dinner at Poplar Walk," was published under the pseudonym Boz. Under the same pseudonym, his first book of essays was published in 1836. Their heroes were petty officials and bourgeoisie, clerks, owners of poor shops, hostesses of boarding houses, moneylenders, coachmen, actors - poor people forced to fight every day for a piece of bread, but without losing human dignity and the ability to enjoy life.
The book played its role - Dickens became a popular author, he began to be actively published, and moreover, orders began to appear. In February 1836, the famous publishers Chapman and Hall invited him to write text for the sports drawings of the artist Robert Seymour. In these drawings, members of a certain “Nimrod Club” are engaged in hunting, fishing, sports exercises and constantly find themselves in some kind of tragicomic situations. It was necessary to write a humorous story about the adventures of would-be athletes based on these pictures. But Dickens was cramped within the framework set by the artist, and he told the publishers that he “would like to go his own way, with greater freedom to choose people and scenes from English life.” And so it happened. Now it was not the writer who followed the artist, but engravings were born as illustrations to the text. This is how the “Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club” appeared, after the publication of which Dickens became famous.
There is no need to retell this hilariously funny and touching book. Suffice it to say that in our unkind times, it can serve as a good cure for despondency, despair and irritation. Mr. Pickwick, a wealthy and respectable elderly gentleman who retired from business and decided to travel in order to record his observations about people, initially evokes an ironic grin in the reader. Moreover, the author is frolicking with all his might, gracefully and at the same time bitingly making fun of his hero, who every now and then finds himself in an absurd position due to his ignorance of life and people. But, as the modern English writer Angus Wilson, author of a book about Dickens, noted, “gradually Mr. Pickwick wins our affection with his constant optimism, his courtesy, his inexhaustible courtesy and gallantry, his readiness to get into trouble, just to help a person in need, his determination to go against what seems unfair to him, and most importantly - with his romantic soul and complete reluctance to obey the authorities. From an elderly, portly, respectable rentier, he almost managed to turn into a knight errant with a childish and noble heart.” F. M. Dostoevsky noticed that Pickwick is very similar to Don Quixote. Let us add that Mr. Pickwick's servant, Sam Weller, in this case - Sancho Panza.
It is this keen interest in people “not of this world” that makes Dickens similar to his contemporary Dostoevsky. Prince Myshkin, of course, is incomparably more tragic, but he has a lot in common with Mr. Pickwick. Perhaps this is a kind of chosenness, as E. Wilson says. God's grace is poured out on them, although they have a hard time in earthly life... It must be said that the readers of “The Pickwick Club” enthusiastically greeted not only the humorous episodes of the novel, which was published with a continuation - in the so-called “issues” (Dickens preferred this form of presentation their novels). When the story took a dramatic turn (Mr. Pickwick ended up in prison due to the machinations of Dodson and Fogg, dishonest and cynical lawyers), when it acquired an acute social resonance and it began to talk about the injustice of English laws, the dishonesty of the court and corruption, the merciless truth about “day of life” - circulation increased tenfold!
There are no obvious Christian references in The Pickwick Club, but everything in this novel is permeated with the Christian light of compassion for people. And not only to people, but also to a bird in a cage, flowers suffocating without water in a bouquet - to all living things. After The Pickwick Club, Oliver Twist and The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby were written, and then The Curiosity Shop, which began as a story for children, but gradually became deeper and sadder. Then from his pen came the historical novel “Barnaby Rudge”, “Martin Chuzzlewit”, “Dombey and Son”, “David Copperfield”...
David Copperfield is Dickens's most autobiographical novel. This book had a great influence on Dostoevsky, who, being in exile and finally receiving permission to read, first took up this book. “We understand Dickens in Russian, I am sure, almost the same way as the English, even, perhaps, with all the shades,” he later wrote.
Christmas stories
Dickens's most expressively Christian views are embodied in his famous "Christmas Tales." For the Christmas issues of Home Reading magazine, Dickens wrote a new story every year, although not necessarily with a “Christmas” theme. This is how the stories “A Christmas Carol”, “The Bells”, “The Cricket at the Hearth”, “The Battle of Life”, “Obsessed” appeared. The best of the “Christmas Stories” is, of course, “A Christmas Carol,” which will be of interest to all generations in the family, from grandparents to grandchildren of all ages. The story of Ebenezer Scrooge, a successful businessman from the City of London, who sacrificed his family, friends, and simple human happiness for the sake of his career, is a parable, a fantasy, and a painfully realistic story about how a generally good person turns into a greedy and heartless misanthrope. a sort of “hole in humanity,” an English double of Gogol’s Plyushkin.
On Christmas Eve, the whole of London is festively animated: everyone from the poor man to the Lord Mayor is preparing for Christmas. But for the gloomy Scrooge, frozen inside, the great holiday is an annoying downtime in everyday work, a day when he cannot increase his capital. And that’s why he hates Christmastide and all this festive rejoicing around. But in his lonely, cold, huge and gloomy apartment, shortly before midnight, the ghost of his companion Marley appears and, quite frightening, tells about the punishment that he, Marley, bears after death.
He must see human joys that he cannot share, and during his lifetime he did not want to! - and human sorrows that he cannot help, although he could during his lifetime. Now he is forced to wander around the world and drag behind him the chain that he forged himself during his life - a chain “of keys, padlocks, piggy banks, documents, ledgers and heavy wallets...” Marley begged higher powers to give Scrooge a chance to atone for all the evil he had done. , so that he does not repeat the fate of his companion. And so to the shocked Scrooge, from whom materialism quickly evaporates, and with it arrogance and contempt for everything that is not connected with profit, three spirits appear.
The first is the yuletide spirit of past years- shows him his own childhood and youth, when he still believed in miracles, and had friends, and loved his little sister, who died quite young (her son, his nephew, who without any selfishness came to congratulate his uncle at the beginning of the story, Scrooge rudely drives away ). He sees himself breaking off a relationship with a girl who loved him, because his main goal was his career, and the same girl, already married to someone else, and her husband, surrounded by a horde of children, and a beautiful eldest daughter, looking like her mother in youth, this whole happy and friendly family in which love reigns.
“Scrooge involuntarily thought that the same graceful, full of life creature could call him father and warm the harsh winter of his old age with the breath of her spring!”
Second spirit appearing to Scrooge, is the spirit of the current Christmastide. He shows the old man the family of his clerk, whom Scrooge despises and mercilessly exploits. Although this family of many children ekes out a semi-beggarly existence, how they love each other, how they know how to enjoy the simple little things of the holidays! And, perhaps, for the first time, compassion awakens in Scrooge’s hardened heart for a stranger - the meek Little Tim, the patient cripple. “Spirit,” said Scrooge, overcome with a sympathy he had never felt before. - Tell me, will Little Tim live? “I see an empty bench near this poor hearth,” answered the spirit. - And a crutch, left without an owner, but kept with love. If the future does not change this, the child will die. - No no! - Scrooge cried. - Oh no! Good spirit, tell him that fate will spare him! “If the future does not make changes to this,” the spirit repeated, “the child will not live to see the next Christmastide.” But what's the problem? If he is destined to die, let him die, and thereby reduce the surplus population! Hearing the spirit repeat his own words, Scrooge hung his head, tormented by remorse and sadness. And the spirit continues: “Do you decide which people should live and which should die? Perhaps you yourself, in the eyes of the heavenly judge, are much less worthy of life than millions of people like this poor man’s child. Oh God! Some insect, perched on a blade of grass, pronounces judgment on its hungry brothers for the fact that so many of them have multiplied and are swarming in the dust!” (Almost a hundred years later, Gandalf would say almost the same words in Tolkien’s great epic). Being invisibly present in the house of his subordinate, and then in the house of his nephew, Scrooge hears impartial reviews about himself, and these harsh, although fair, words resonate in his heart with resentment and pain.
The third spirit is the spirit of future Christmastide- shows Scrooge the day of his death and himself on his deathbed - forgotten by everyone, robbed. And there is not a single person who would remember him with a kind word, because during his lifetime he himself did not do a single good deed unselfishly and sincerely. But Dickens would not be Dickens if he left the reader, along with the main character, in despair and hopelessness.
Man has free will. This great truth, which gives hope and strength to the human heart, has found a magnificent artistic form in A Christmas Carol. The future is in our hands. Both in “Song” and “Bells”, in the dreams of the heroes, they are shown a terrible future - for them and their loved ones. But how our life turns out largely depends on us. Dickens is not a fatalist. “The path of a person’s life, if followed steadily, leads to a predetermined end... But if a person leaves this path, then the end will be different.” Which is what Scrooge ultimately does, and the ending of the story is so bright, so happy that the reader involuntarily rejoices along with the characters, and this is the happiness that Dickens gives us.
The Christian Spirit of Dickens's Works
Dickens's Christianity is not that the words "God bless us all!" often heard in his books. And it’s not even that the great gospel lines are quoted here and there. The very spirit of his works is deeply Christian. Only a person enlightened by the truths of the Gospel could write: “In prisons, hospitals and almshouses, in wretched shelters of poverty - wherever vanity and pathetic earthly pride do not close the heart of a person before the gracious spirit of the holiday - everywhere He gave his blessing to people and taught Scrooge the commandments of mercy.”
“Hurry to do good” - these words of Dickens’s contemporary, Dr. Haase, directly correlate with the lines from the same “Christmas Carol” that there are so many opportunities for good, but in reality there is so little time. “Every Christian soul, doing good, even in the most humble field, will find its earthly life too fleeting for the limitless possibilities of good!.. Even centuries of repentance cannot compensate for the opportunity lost on earth to do a good deed.”
Dickens was incredibly popular during his lifetime. But to end of the 19th century century "went out of fashion." The civic pathos of his works, his piercing sincerity, aching “childhood” against the backdrop of the growing modernists, led by Oscar Wilde, and then Virginia Woolf began to look old-fashioned and naive. His work moved into the category of “children’s literature,” and the image of the writer itself was painted in sugary and virtuous tones. However, in the 1950s, Dickens found himself in demand again, and his role in the development English literature recognized as no less significant than the role of Shakespeare. Dickens's novels turned out to be especially in demand among students, young intellectual people searching for the meaning of life.
Do not believe those who say that Dickens is outdated, that, they say, his books are drawn out and boring - this is said by lazy people with a consciousness atrophied from watching TV series and entries in Odnoklassniki. Dickens is modern. Dickens is witty. We need Dickens. We need his books, full of incredible charm and the powerful power of kindness. And we’ll end with the final words of “The Christmas Carol”: “May the Lord God overshadow us all with His mercy!”
The illustrations were frames from the Robert Zemeckis cartoon “A Christmas Story”, studio Walt Disney, 2009