A Christmas Carol: Stave I - Marley's Ghost

In this episode of "Forward Into The Past," J.C. Rede continues his retelling of Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol." He starts with Stave I, where we learn about the death of Jacob Marley and the introduction of Ebenezer Scrooge. Scrooge is portrayed as a cold and miserly man who has no interest in the holiday season. However, his nephew tries to convince him to embrace the Christmas spirit, but Scrooge dismisses him. After his nephew leaves, two gentlemen visit Scrooge to ask for a donation to help the poor, but he refuses. Later that night, Scrooge is visited by the ghost of Jacob Marley, who warns him that he will be visited by three spirits. Scrooge is skeptical but agrees to listen to Marley's message. 

Theme written by Bernard Kyer for this podcast. Follow the link for more info. https://www.bardmediamusic.com/

Transcript

0:37

Hi friends, and welcome to another episode of Forward into the Past. I'm J. C. Rede, your host and narrator, and today I'm tackling a daunting holiday classic for the second time, Charles Dickens immortal story, A Christmas Carol. And hopefully I can stay healthy until the end of the story. Last year, I only got to stave two before I succumbed to an illness. So, stay with me, friends. It's sure to be a rollercoaster. Charles Dickens 1843 novella, A Christmas Carol, is a beloved holiday classic that has been enjoyed by generations of readers, listeners, and movie watchers alike. The story of Ebenezer Scrooge, a miserly old man who is visited by the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future has become synonymous with the Christmas spirit. But beyond its timeless message of redemption and goodwill, A Christmas Carol has also had a profound impact on our modern day Christmas celebrations. In the early 19th century, Christmas was not the widely celebrated holiday it is today. It was primarily a religious holiday and its focus was on church attendance and charitable giving. Dickens, however, wanted to create a more secular and family oriented Christmas, one that was filled with joy, generosity, and togetherness. A Christmas Carol helped to popularize many of the Christmas traditions that we still enjoy today, including the Christmas tree. The first mention of a Christmas tree in England appeared in Dickens novella, The Pickwick Papers, published in 1836. A Christmas Carol further cemented the popularity of the Christmas tree, and it is now a fixture in homes all over the world. Christmas carols. Charles Dickens was also a prolific songwriter, and many of his Christmas carols such as The Boar's Head Carol and Oh Come All Ye Faithful are still sung today. The Christmas Feast The Cratchit's Christmas dinner in A Christmas Carol is a classic example of the traditional Christmas feast. The meal typically includes a roast turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and gravy. A Christmas Carol has had a lasting impact on our culture, and its influence on Christmas celebrations is undeniable. The novella's message of compassion and goodwill is as relevant today as it was in Dickens time, and its heartwarming story continues to inspire people of all ages. In addition to popularizing many of the Christmas traditions that we enjoy today, A Christmas carol has also helped to shape our understanding of the holiday's true meaning. Dickens novella reminds us that Christmas is not about material possessions or superficial celebrations, but about love, generosity, and spending time with loved ones. And, speaking of spending time with loved ones, Why don't you make yourself comfortable, friends? Get yourself a nice warm beverage and share some time with me as I bring you Stave 1 of Charles Dickens classic ghost story, A Christmas Carol. Stave 1 Marley's Ghost Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it and Scrooge's name was good upon change for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a doornail. Mind! I don't mean to say that I know of my own knowledge what there is particularly dead about a doornail. I might have been inclined myself to regard a coffin nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade, but the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile, and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the country's done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat emphatically that Marley was as dead as a doornail. The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night in an easterly wind upon his own ramparts than there would be in any other middle aged gentleman. Rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot, say, St. Paul's Churchyard, for instance, literally to astonish his son's weak mind. Scrooge never painted out old Marley's name. There it stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse door: Scrooge and Marley. The firm was known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge, Scrooge, and sometimes Marley. But he answered to both names. It was all the same to him. Oh, but he was a tight fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge. A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner. Hard, and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire. Secret, and self contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shriveled his cheek, stiffened his gait, made his eyes red, his thin lips blue, and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rhyme was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature always about with him. He iced his office in the dog days, and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas. External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he. No falling snow was more intent upon its purpose. No pelting rain, less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to have him. The heaviest rain and snow and hail and sleet could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect. They often came down handsomely, and Scrooge never did. But what did Scrooge care? It was the very thing he liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance, was what the Knowing Ones called nuts to Scrooge. Once upon a time, of all the good days of the year, on Christmas Eve, old Scrooge sat busy in his counting house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather, foggy withal, and he could hear the people in the court outside go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The city clocks had only just gone three, but... It was quite dark already. It had not been light all day, and candles were flaring in the windows of the neighboring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable brown air. The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so dense without, that, Although the court was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms. To see the dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything, one might have thought that nature lived hard by, and was brewing on a large scale. The door of Scrooge's counting house was open, that he might keep his eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, was copying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire was so very much smaller, that it looked like one coal, but he couldn't replenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal box in his own room, and so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that it would be necessary for them to part, wherefore, the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle, in which effort, not being a man of strong imagination, he failed. A Merry Christmas, Uncle! God save you! cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly, that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.'Bah! said Scrooge.'Humbug! He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew of Scrooge's, that he was all in a glow. His face was ruddy and handsome, his eyes sparkled and his breath smoked again. Christmas, a humbug, uncle, said Scrooge's nephew. You don't mean that, I'm sure. I do, said Scrooge. Merry Christmas. What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough. Come, then, returned the nephew gaily, what right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough! Scrooge, having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said,'Ah! again, and followed it up with,'Humbug! Oh, don't be cross, uncle, said the nephew. What else can I be, returned the uncle, when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money, a time for finding yourself a year older and not an hour richer, a time for balancing your books And having every item in'em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you'If I could work my will, said Scrooge indignantly,'every idiot who goes about with Merry Christmas on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding,'and buried with a stake of holly through his heart!'Oh, uncle! pleaded the nephew. Nephew, returned the uncle sternly, keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine. Keep it, repeated Scrooge's nephew, but you don't keep it. Let me leave it alone, then, said Scrooge. Much good may it do you. Much good has it ever done you. There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say, returned the nephew. Christmas among the rest, but I am sure I have always thought of Christmastime, when it has come round, as a good time, a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time, the only time I know of in the long calendar of the year when men and women seem by one consent to open up their shut up hearts freely and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, Uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and it will do me good, and I say, God bless it! The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded. Becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the last frail spark forever. Let me hear another sound from you! said Scrooge. And you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation. Hmph. You're quite a powerful speaker, sir, he added, turning to his nephew. I wonder you don't go into Parliament. Don't be angry, Uncle. Come, dine with us tomorrow. Scrooge said that he would see him. Yes, indeed, he did. He went the whole length of the expression, and said that he would see him in that extremity first. But, but why? cried Scrooge's nephew. Why? Why? Why did you get married? said Scrooge. Well, because I fell in love. Because you fell in love! growled Scrooge, as if that were the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a Merry Christmas. Good afternoon. Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now? Good afternoon, said Scrooge. I want nothing from you. I ask nothing of you. Why cannot we be friends? Good afternoon, said Scrooge. Well, I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never had any quarrel, to which I have been a party. But, I have made the trial in homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So, a Merry Christmas, Uncle! Good afternoon, said Scrooge. And a Happy New Year! Good afternoon, said Scrooge. His nephew left the room without an angry word, notwithstanding. He stopped at the outer door to bestow the greetings of the season on the clerk, who, cold as he was, was warmer than Scrooge, for he returned them cordially. There's another fellow, muttered Scrooge, who overheard him. My clerk, with fifteen shillings a week and a wife and a family, talking about a merry Christmas. I'll retire to Bedlam. This lunatic, in letting Scrooge's nephew out, had let two other people in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood with their hats off in Scrooge's office. They had books and papers in their hands and bowed to him. Ah, yes. Uh, Scrooge and Marley's, I believe said one of the gentlemen referring to his list. Uh, ha have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley? Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years. Scrooge replied. He died seven years ago this very night. Oh, well, uh, we, we have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving partner, said the gentleman presenting his credentials. It certainly was, for they had been two kindred spirits. At the ominous word liberality, Scrooge frowned and shook his head and handed the credentials back. At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge, said the gentleman taking up a pen, it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries, hundreds of thousands are in want of Common comforts, sir. Are there no prisons? asked Scrooge. Oh, plenty of prisons, said the gentleman, laying down the pen again. And the union workhouses, demanded Scrooge. Are they still in operation? Oh, they are still, returned the gentleman. I wish I could say they were not. The treadmill and the poor law are in full vigour then, said Scrooge. Both very busy, sir. Oh. Huh. I was afraid from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course. Said Scrooge. I am very glad to hear it. Oh, I... Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude, returned the gentleman, a few of us are endeavouring to raise a fund to buy the poor some meat and drink and means of warmth. We chose this time because it is a time of all others when want is keenly felt and abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for? Nothing, Scrooge replied. You, you wish to be anonymous? I wish to be left alone, said Scrooge. Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas, and I can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned. They cost enough, and those who are badly off must go there. Uh, well, many can't go there, and many would rather die. If they would rather die, said Scrooge, they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population. Good afternoon, gentlemen. Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the gentleman withdrew. Scrooge resumed his labors with an improved opinion of himself, and in a more facetious temper than was usual with him. Meanwhile, the fog and darkness thickened so that people ran about with flaring links, proffering their services to go before horses and carriages and conduct them on their way. The ancient tower of a church, whose gruff old bell was always peeping slyly down at Scrooge out of a gothic window in the wall, became invisible, and struck the hours and quarters in the clouds, with tremulous vibrations afterwards, as if its teeth were chattering in its frozen head up there. The cold became intense, foggier yet and colder. Piercing, searching, biting cold. If the good St. Dunstan had but nipped the evil spirit's nose with a touch of such weather as that, instead of using his familiar weapons, then indeed, he would have roared to lusty purpose. The owner of one scant young nose, gnawed and mumbled by the hungry cold as bones are gnawed by dogs, stooped down at Scrooge's keyhole to regale him with a Christmas carol. But, at the first sound of god bless you merry, gentlemen. May nothing you dismay. Scrooge seized the ruler with such energy of action that the singer fled in terror, leaving the keyhole to the fog and even more congenial frost. At length, the hour of shutting up the Counting House had arrived. With an ill will, Scrooge dismounted from his stool and tacitly admitted the fact to his expectant clerk in the tank who instantly snuffed out his candle and put on his hat. You'll want all day tomorrow, I suppose, said Scrooge. Oh, if quite convenient, sir. It's not convenient, said Scrooge, and it's not fair. If I was to stop half a crown for it, you'd think yourself ill used, I'll be bound. The clerk smiled faintly. And yet, said Scrooge, you don't think me ill used when I pay a day's wages for no work. The clerk observed that it was only once a year. Huh, a poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every 25th of December, said Scrooge buttoning his greatcoat to the chin. But, I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next morning. The clerk promised that he would, and Scrooge walked out with a growl. The office was closed in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends of his white comforter dangling below his waist, for he boasted no great coat, went down a slide on Corn Hill at the end of a lane of boys twenty times in honor of its being Christmas Eve, and then ran home to Camden Town as hard as he could pelt to play at blind man's buff. Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy tavern, and having read all the newspapers and beguiled the rest of the evening with his banker's book, went home to bed. He lived in chambers which had once belonged to his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms in a lowering pile of building up a yard, Where it had so little business to be, That one could scarcely help fancying, And it must have run there when it was a young house, Playing at hide and seek with the other houses, And have forgotten the way out again. It was old enough now, and dreary enough, For nobody lived in it but Scrooge, The other rooms being all let out as offices. The yard was so dark that even Scrooge, who knew its every stone, was fain to grope with his hands. The fog and frost so hung about the black old gateway of the house that it seemed as if the genius of weather sat in mournful meditation on the threshold. Now, it is a fact that there was nothing at all particular about the knocker on the door, except that it was very large. It is also a fact that Scrooge had seen it night and morning during his whole residence in that place. Let it also be borne in mind that Scrooge had not bestowed one thought on Marley since his last mention of his seven years dead partner that afternoon and then. Let any man explain to me, if he can, how it happened that Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change, not a knocker, but Marley's face. Yes, Marley's face. It was not an impenetrable shadow, as the other objects in the yard were, but had a dismal light about it. It was not angry or ferocious, but looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look, with ghostly spectacles turned up on its ghostly forehead. The hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath of hot air, and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. That, and its livid color, made it horrible. But its horror seemed to be in spite of the face, and beyond its control, rather than a part of its own expression. As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a knocker again. To say that he was not startled or that his blood was not conscious of a terrible sensation to which it had been a stranger from infancy would be untrue. But he put his hand upon the key. He had relinquished, turned sternly, walked in and lighted his candle. He did pause, with a moment's irresolution, before he shut the door, and he did look cautiously behind it first, as if he half expected to be terrified with the sight of Marley's pigtail sticking out into the hall, but there was nothing on the back of the door except the screws and nuts that held the knocker on, so he closed it with a bang. The sound. Scrooge resounded through the house like thunder. Every room above and every cask in the wine merchant cellars below appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a man to be frightened by echoes. He fastened the door and walked across the hall and up the stairs, slowly, too, trimming his candle as he went. Half a dozen gas lamps out of the street would not have lighted the entry too well. So you may suppose that it was pretty dark with Scrooge's dip. Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for that. Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it. But before he shut his heavy door, he walked through his rooms to see that it was all right. He had just enough recollection of the face to desire to do that. Sitting room. Bedroom. Lumber room. All as they should be. Nobody under the table. Nobody under the sofa. Small fire in the grate, spoon and basin ready, and the little saucepan of gruel. Scrooge had a cold in his head, upon the hob. Nobody under the bed. Nobody in the closet. Nobody in his dressing gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against the wall. Lumber room, as usual. Old fire guard. Old shoes. Two fish baskets. Washing stand on three legs. And a poker. Quite satisfied. Quite satisfied, he closed his door and locked himself in. Double locked himself in, which was not his custom, thus secured against surprise, he took off his cravat, put on his dressing gown and slippers, and his nightcap, and sat down before the fire to take his gruel. It was a very low fire indeed, nothing on such a bitter night. He was obliged to sit close to it, and brood over it, before he could extract the least sensation of warmth from such a handful of fuel. The fireplace was an old one, built by some Dutch merchant long ago, and paved all round with quaint Dutch tiles, designed to illustrate the scriptures. There were canes and ables. Pharaoh's daughters, queens of Sheba, angelic messengers descending through the air on clouds like featherbeds, Abrahams, Belshazzars, apostles putting off to sea in butterboats, hundreds of figures to attract his thoughts, and yet that face of Marley, seven years dead, came like the ancient prophets rod and swallowed up the whole. If each smooth tile had been a blank at first with power to shape some picture on its surface from the disjointed Fragments of his thoughts there would have been a copy of Old Marley's head on every single one. Humbug! said Scrooge, and walked across the room. After several turns, he sat down again. As he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the room, and communicated, for some purpose now forgotten, with the chamber in the highest story of the building. It was with great astonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outset, that it Scarcely made a sound, but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house. This might have lasted half a minute or a full minute, but it seemed like an hour. Then the bells ceased, as they had begun together. They were succeeded. By clanking noise deep down below as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the wine merchant's cellar. Scrooge then remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as dragging chains the cellar door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the noise much louder on the floors below, then coming up the stairs, then coming straight towards his door. It's humbug still, said Scrooge. I won't believe it! His color changed, though, when, without a pause, It came on through the heavy door, And passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, As though it cried, I know him, Marley's ghost, And fell again. The same night. Face the very same, Marley, in his pigtail, his usual waistcoat, tights and boots, the tassels on the latter bristling like his pigtails, and his coat skirts and the hair upon his head. The chain he drew was clasped about his middle. It was long and wound about him like a tail, and it was made, for Scrooge observed it closely. Of cashboxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, And heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent, so that Scrooge, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind. Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, but he had never believed it until now. No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he looked the phantom through and through and saw it standing before him, though he felt the chilling influence of its death cold eyes, and marked the very texture of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before, he was still incredulous and fought against his senses. How now, said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever, what do you want with me? Much. Marley's voice, no doubt about it. Who are you? Ask me who I was. Oh, who were you then? Said Scrooge, raising his voice. You're particular for a shade. In life, I was your partner, Jacob Marley. Can you, can you sit down? Asked Scrooge, looking doubtfully at him. I can. Do it, then. Scrooge asked the question, because he didn't know whether a ghost so transparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair, and felt that, in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the necessity of an embarrassing explanation. But the ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it. You don't believe in me, observed the ghost. I don't, said Scrooge. What evidence would you have of my reality, beyond that of your own senses? I don't know, said Scrooge. Why do you doubt your senses? Because, said Scrooge, a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. No, there's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are. Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did he feel in his heart by any means waggish then. The truth is that he tried to be smart as a means of distracting his own attention and keeping down his terror, for the spectre's voice disturbed the very marrow in his bones. To sit staring at those fixed, glazed eyes in silence for a moment would play, Scrooge felt. The very deuce with him, there was something very awful, too, in the specters being provided with an infernal atmosphere of his own. Scrooge could not feel it himself, but this was clearly the case. For though the ghost sat perfectly motionless, its hair and skirts and tassels were still agitated as by the hot vapor from an oven. You see this toothpick? Said Scrooge, returning quickly to the charge for the reason just assigned, and wishing, though it were only for a second, to divert the vision's stony gaze from himself. I do, replied the Ghost. You are not looking at it, said Scrooge. But I see it, said the Ghost, notwithstanding. Well, returned Scrooge. I have but to swallow this and be for the rest of my days persecuted by a legion of goblins, all of my own creation. Humbug, I tell you, HUMBUG! At this, the spirit raised a frightful cry and shook its chain with such a dismal and appalling noise that Scrooge held on tight to his chair to save himself from falling in a swoon. But how much greater was his horror when the phantom taking off the bandage round its head as if it were too warm to wear indoors, its lower, jaw dropped down upon its breast. Scrooge fell upon his knees and clasped his hands before his face. Mercy, he said. Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me? Man of the worldly mind, replied the ghost, do you believe in me or not? I do, said Scrooge, I, I must. But why do spirits walk the earth, and why do they come to me? It is required of every man, the ghost returned, that the spirit within him should walk abroad among its fellow men, and travel far and wide, and, if that spirit goes not forth in life, It is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world, oh woe is me, and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness. Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chains, and wrung its shadowy hands. You are fettered, said Scrooge, trembling. Tell me why. I wear the chain I forged in life, replied the ghost. I made it link by link and yard by yard. I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you, Scrooge trembled more and more, or would you know the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself? It was as full, as heavy, and as long as this, seven Christmas eves ago. You have labored on it since. It is a ponderous chain. Scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation of finding himself surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable, but he could see nothing. Jacob, he said imploringly, old Jacob Marley, tell me more, speak comfort to me, Jacob. I have none to give, replied the ghost. But you were always a good man of business, Jacob, faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself. Business, cried the ghost, wringing its hands again. Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business. Charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business. It held up its chain at arm's length, as if that were the cause of its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again. At this time of the rolling year, the spectre said, I suffer the most. Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the spectre going on at this rate, and began to quake exceedingly. Hear me, cried the Ghost,'my time is nearly gone!'I will, said Scrooge,'but don't be hard upon me, don't be flowery, Jacob, pray!'How it is that I appear before you, in a shape you can see, I may not tell. I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day! It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered and wiped the perspiration from his brow. That is no light part of my penance, pursued the Ghost.'I am here to night to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate a chance and hope of my procuring Ebenezer! You were always a good friend to me, said Scrooge.'You will be haunted, resumed the Ghost,'by three spirits.'I Scrooge's countenance fell almost as low as the ghost's had done.'Is that the chance and hope you mention, Jacob? he demanded in a faltering voice.'It is I I think I'd rather not, said Scrooge.'Without their visits, said the ghost,'you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first to morrow, when the bell tolls one. Oh, couldn't I take them all at once and have it over Jacob, hinted Scrooge. Expect the second on the next night at the same hour, the third upon the following night, when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more, and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us. When it had said these words, the spectre took its wrapper from the table and bound it round its head as before. Scrooge knew this by the smart sound its teeth made when its jaws were brought together by the bandage. He ventured to raise his eyes again, and found his supernatural visitor confronting him in an erect attitude, with its chain wound over and about its arm. The apparition walked backward from him, and, at every step it took, the window raised itself a little, so that, when the spectre reached it, it was wide open. It beckoned Scrooge to approach, which he did. When they were within two paces of each other, Marley's ghost held up its hand, warning him to come no nearer. Scrooge stopped, not so much in obedience as in surprise and fear, for on the raising of the hand he became sensible of confused noises in the air, incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret, wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self accusatory. The spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mournful dirge and floated out upon the bleak, dark night. Scrooge followed to the window, desperate in his curiosity. He looked out. The air was filled with phantoms wandering hither and thither in restless haste and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chains like Marley's ghost. Some few. They might be guilty governments, were linked together, none were free. Many had been personally known to Scrooge in their lives. He had been quite familiar with one old ghost in a white waistcoat, with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle, who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an infant, whom it saw below upon a doorstep. The misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere for good in human matters, and had lost the power forever. Whether these creatures faded into the mist, or the mist enshrouded them, he could not tell. But they... And their spirit voices faded together and the night became as it had been when he walked home. Scrooge closed the window and examined the door by which the ghost had entered. It was double locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say humbug, but stopped at the first syllable. And being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the invisible world, or the dull conversation of the ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need of repose, and went straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep, upon the instant. Hey friends, thank you for listening to this holiday episode of Forward into the Past. I hope you enjoyed our retelling of Stave One of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. If you did, please consider supporting our show by making a monthly donation on our Buy Me A Coffee page. Your contributions help me to continue producing high quality audio content that you can enjoy absolutely free. You can also support the show by purchasing an item from the merchandise shop. We have a variety of items available, including t shirts, mugs, and tote bags. You can find all those links and more on the podcast website. That's forwardintothepastpodcast. com. Remember to add podcast in there, or it won't take you to the correct page. And so I thank you in advance for your support. Until next time, friends, thanks for listening, keep sharing the stories. and be a good human. Bye for now.