小说园

tave three（第1页）

THESECONDOFTHETHREESPIRITS

Awakinginthemiddleofaprodigiouslytoughsnore，andsittingupinbedtogethisthoughtstogether，Scroogehadnooccasiontobetoldthatthebellwasagainuponthestrokeofone。Hefeltthathewasrestoredtoconsciousnessintherightnickoftime，fortheespecialpurposeofholdingaconferencewiththesecondmessengerdespatchedtohimthroughJacobMarley’sintervention。But，findingthatheturneduncomfortablycoldwhenhebegantowonderwhichofhiscurtainsthisnewspectrewoulddrawback，heputthemeveryoneasidewithhisownhands，andlyingdownagain，establishedagoodlook-outallroundthebed；forhewishedtochallengethespiritonthemomentofitsappearance，anddidnotwishtobetakenbysurprise，andmadenervous。

Gentlemenofthefree-and-easysort，whoplumethemselvesonbeingacquaintedwithamoveortwo，andbeingusuallyequaltothetime-of-day，expressthewiderangeoftheircapacityforadventurebyobservingthattheyaregoodforanythingfrompitch-and-tosstomanslaughter；betweenwhichoppositeextremes，nodoubt，thereliesatolerablywideandcomprehensiverangeofsubjects。WithoutventuringforScroogequiteashardilyasthis，Idon’tmindcallingonyoutobelievethathewasreadyforagoodbroadfieldofstrangeappearances，andthatnothingbetweenababyandrhinoceroswouldhaveastonishedhimverymuch。

Now，beingpreparedforalmostanything，hewasnotbyanymeanspreparedfornothing；and，consequently，whenthebellstruckone，andnoshapeappeared，hewastakenwithaviolentfitoftrembling。Fiveminutes，tenminutes，aquarterofanhourwentby，yetnothingcame。Allthistime，helayuponhisbed，theverycoreandcentreofablazeofruddylight，whichstreameduponitwhentheclockproclaimedthehour；andwhich，beingonlylight，wasmorealarmingthanadozenghosts，ashewaspowerlesstomakeoutwhatitmeant，orwouldbeat；andwassometimesapprehensivethathemightbeatthatverymomentaninterestingcaseofspontaneouscombustion，withouthavingtheconsolationofknowingit。Atlast，however，hebegantothink—asyouorIwouldhavethoughtatfirst；foritisalwaysthepersonnotinthepredicamentwhoknowswhatoughttohavebeendoneinit，andwouldunquestionablyhavedoneittoo—atlastIsay，hebegantothinkthatthesourceandsecretofthisghostlylightmightbeintheadjoiningroom，fromwhence，onfurthertracingit，itseemedtoshine。Thisideatakingfullpossessionofhismind，hegotupsoftlyandshuffledinhisslipperstothedoor。

ThemomentScroogeshandwasonthelock，astrangevoicecalledhimbyhisname，andbadehimenter。Heobeyed。

Itwashisownroom。Therewasnodoubtaboutthat。Butithadundergoneasurprisingtransformation。Thewallsandceilingweresohungwithlivinggreen，thatitlookedaperfectgrove；fromeverypartofwhich，brightgleamingberriesglistened。Thecrispleavesofholly，mistletoe，andivyreflectedbackthelight，asifsomanylittlemirrorshadbeenscatteredthere；andsuchamightyblazewentroaringupthechimney，asthatdullpetrifactionofahearthhadneverknowninScrooge’stime，orMarley’s，orformanyandmanyawinterseasongone。Heapeduponthefloor，toformakindofthrone，wereturkeys，geese，game，poultry，brawn，greatjointsofmeat，sucking-pigs，longwreathsofsausages，mince-pies，plum-pud-dings，barrelsofoysters，red-hotchestnuts，cherry-cheekedapples，juicyoranges，lusciouspears，immensetwelfth-cakes，andseethingbowlsofpunch，thatmadethechamberdimwiththeirdelicioussteam。Ineasystateuponthiscouch，theresatajollygiant，glorioustosee；whoboreaglowingtorch，inshapenotunlikePlenty’shorn，andhelditup，highup，tosheditslightonScrooge，ashecamepeepingroundthedoor。

“Comein！”exclaimedtheghost。“Comein！andknowmebetter，man！”

Scroogeenteredtimidly，andhunghisheadbeforethisspirit。HewasnotthedoggedScroogehehadbeen；andthoughthespirit’seyeswereclearandkind，hedidnotliketomeetthem。

“IamtheGhostofChristmasPresent，”saidthespirit。“Lookuponme！”

Scroogereverentlydidso。Itwasclothedinonesimple，deep-greenrobe，ormantle，borderedwithwhitefur。Thisgarmenthungsolooselyonthefigure，thatitscapaciousbreastwasbare，asifdisdainingtobewardedorconcealedbyanyartifice。Itsfeet，observablebeneaththeamplefoldsofthegarment，werealsobare；andonitsheaditworenoothercoveringthanahollywreath，sethereandtherewithshiningicicles。Itsdark-browncurlswerelongandfree；freeasitsgenialface，itssparklingeye，itsopenhand，itscheeryvoice，itsunconstraineddemeanour，anditsjoyfulair。Girdedrounditsmiddlewasanantiquescabbard；butnoswordwasinit，andtheancientsheathwaseatenupwithrust。

“Youhaveneverseenthelikeofmebefore！”exclaimedthespirit。

“Never，Scroogemadeanswertoit。

“Haveneverwalkedforthwiththeyoungermembersofmyfamily；meaning（forIamveryyoung）myelderbrothersbornintheselateryears？”pursuedthephantom。

“Idon’tthinkIhave，”saidScrooge。“IamafraidIhavenot。Haveyouhadmanybrothers，spirit？”

“Morethaneighteenhundred，”saidtheghost。

“Atremendousfamilytoprovidefor！”mutteredScrooge。

TheGhostofChristmasPresentrose。

“Spirit，”saidScroogesubmissively，“conductmewhereyouwill。Iwentforthlastnightoncompulsion，andIlearnedalessonwhichisworkingnow。To-night，ifyouhaveaughttoteachme，letmeprofitbyit。”

“Touchmyrobe！”

Scroogedidashewastold，andhelditfast。

Holly，mistletoe，redberries，ivy，turkeys，geese，game，poultry，brawn，meat，pigs，sausages，oysters，pies，puddings，fruit，andpunch，allvanishedinstantly。Sodidtheroom，thefire，theruddyglow，thehourofnight，andtheystoodinthecitystreetsonChristmasmorning，where（fortheweatherwassevere）thepeoplemadearough，butbriskandnotunpleasant，kindofmusic，inscrapingthesnowfromthepavementinfrontoftheirdwellings，andfromthetopsoftheirhouses，whenceitwasmaddelighttotheboystoseeitcomeplumpingdownintotheroadbelow，andsplittingintoartificiallittlesnow-storms。

Thehousefrontslookedblackenough，andthewindowsblacker，contrastingwiththesmoothwhitesheetofsnowupontheroofs，andwiththedirtiersnowupontheground；whichlastdeposithadbeenploughedupindeepfurrowsbytheheavywheelsofcartsandwagons；furrowsthatcrossedandrecrossedeachotherhundredsoftimeswherethegreatstreetsbranehedoff；andmadeintricatechannels，hardtotrace，inthethickyellowmudandicywater。Theskywasgloomy，andtheshorteststreetswerechokedupwithadingymist，halfthawed，halffrozen，whoseheavierparticlesdescendedinashowerofsootyatoms，asifallthechimneysinGreatBritainhad，byoneconsent，caughtfire，andwereblazingawaytotheirdearhearts，content。Therewasnothingverycheerfulintheclimateorthetown，andyettherewasanairofcheerfulnessabroadthattheclearestsummerairandbrightestsummersunmighthaveendeavouredtodiffuseinvain。

Forthepeoplewhowereshovellingawayonthehousetopswerejovialandfullofglee；callingouttooneanotherfromtheparapets，andnowandthenexchangingafacetioussnow-ball—better-naturedmissilefarthanmanyawordyjest—laughingheartilyifitwentright，andnotlessheartilyifitwentwrong。Thepoulterers’shopswerestillhalfopen，andthefruiterers’wereradiantintheirglory。Thereweregreat，round，potbelliedbasketsofchestnuts，shapedlikethewaistcoatsofjollyoldgentlemen，lollingatthedoors，andtumblingoutintothestreetintheirapoplecticopulence。Therewereruddy，brown-faced，broad-girthedSpanishonions，shininginthefatnessoftheirgrowthlikeSpanishfriars，andwinkingfromtheirshelvesinwantonslynessatthegirlsastheywentby，andglanceddemurelyatthehung-upmistletoe。Therewerepearsandapples，clusteredhighinbloomingpyramids；therewerebunchesofgrapes，made，intheshopkeepers，benevolence，todanglefromconspicuoushooks，thatpeople’smouthsmightwatergratisastheypassed；therewerepilesoffilberts，mossyandbrown，recalling，intheirfragrance，ancientwalksamongthewoods，andpleasantshufflingsankle-deepthroughwitheredleaves；therewereNorfolkbiffins，squabandswarthy，settingofftheyellowoftheorangesandlemons，and，inthegreatcompactnessoftheirjuicypersons，urgentlyentreatingandbeseechingtobecarriedhomeinpaper-bagsandeatenafterdinner。Theverygoldandsilverfish，setforthamongthesechoicefruitsinabowl，thoughmembersofadullandstagnant-bloodedrace，appearedtoknowthattherewassomethinggoingon；and，toafish，wentgaspingroundandroundtheirlittleworldinslowandpassionlessexcitement。

Thegrocers’！oh，thegrocers’！nearlyclosed，withperhapstwoshuttersdown，orone；butthroughthosegapssuchglimpses！Itwasnotalonethatthescalesdescendingonthecountermadeamerrysound，orthatthetwineandrollerpartedcompanysobriskly，orthatthecanisterswererattledupanddownlikejugglingtricks，oreventhattheblendedscentsofteaandcoffeeweresogratefultothenose，oreventhattheraisinsweresoplentifulandrare，thealmondssoextremelywhite，thesticksofcinnamonsolongandstraight，theotherspicessodelicious，thecandiedfruitssocakedandspottedwithmoltensugarastomakethecoldestlookers-onfeelfaintandsubsequentlybilious。Norwasitthatthefigsweremoistandpulpy，orthattheFrenchplumsblushedinmodesttartnessfromtheirhighlydecoratedboxes，orthateverythingwasgoodtoeatandinitsChristmasdress。Butthecustomerswereallsohurriedandsoeagerinthehopefulpromiseoftheday，thattheytumbledupagainsteachotheratthedoor，crashingtheirwickerbasketswildly，andlefttheirpurchasesuponthecounter，andcamerunningbacktofetchthem，andcommittedhundredsofthelikemistakes，inthebesthumourpossible；whilethegrocerandhispeopleweresofrankandfreshthatthepolishedheartswithwhichtheyfastenedtheirapronsbehindmighthavebeentheirown，wornoutsideforgeneralinspection，andforChristmasdawstopeckatiftheychose。