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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.

ItwashisownrooTherewasnodoubtaboutthat.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,thatmadethechamberdimwiththeirdelicioussteaIneasystateuponthiscouch,theresatajollygiant,glorioustosee;whoboreaglowingtorch,inshapenotunlikePlenty’shorn,andhelditup,highup,tosheditslightonScrooge,ashecamepeepingroundthedoor.

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

Scroogeenteredtimidly,andhunghisheadbeforethisspirit.HewasnotthedoggedScroogehehadbeen;andthoughthespirit’seyeswereclearandkind,hedidnotliketomeetthe

“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?”pursuedthephanto

“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.

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