图书在版编目（CIP）数据

圣诞颂歌：汉英对照/（英）狄更斯（Dickens，C.）著；（法）多雷绘；吴钧陶译．—南京：译林出版社，2013.2

（字里行间图文馆）

书名原文：A Christmas Carol

ISBN 978-7-5447-3543-8

Ⅰ．①圣…　Ⅱ．①狄… ②多… ③吴…　Ⅲ．①长篇小说—英国—近代—汉、英　Ⅳ．①I561.44

中国版本图书馆CIP数据核字（2012）第312233号

书　　名　圣诞颂歌

作　　者　〔英国〕查尔斯·狄更斯

插　　图　〔法国〕古斯塔夫·多雷

译　　者　吴钧陶

责任编辑　陆元昶

特约编辑　谢晗曦

原文出版　MCE Publishing Co.，1996

出版发行　凤凰出版传媒股份有限公司

译林出版社

出版社地址　南京市湖南路1号A楼，邮编：210009

电子邮箱　yilin@yilin.com

出版社网址　http://www.yilin.com

印　　刷　山东临沂新华印刷物流集团有限责任公司

开　　本　787×1092毫米　1/16

印　　张　13.5

字　　数　216千字

版　　次　2013年2月第1版　2013年2月第1次印刷

书　　号　ISBN 978-7-5447-3543-8

定　　价　32.80元

译林版图书若有印装错误可向承印厂调换

PREFACE

I HAVE endeavoured in this Ghostly little book, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my readers out of humour with themselves, with each other, with the season, or with me. May it haunt their houses pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it.

Their faithful Friend and Servant,
C. D.
December, 1843.

序

在这本活见鬼的小书中，我竭力招来表达一种思想的鬼魂，这鬼魂绝不会使我的读者们感到不快，不论是对于他们自己，是对于他们彼此之间，是对于这节令，或是对于我。但愿它到他们的住宅中去讨人喜欢地作祟，而没有一个人想要祓除它吧。

他们忠诚的朋友和仆人
查尔斯·狄更斯
一八四三年十二月

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change， for anything he chose to put his hand to.
私刻鲁挤的名声在交易所里很响，凡是他愿意插手的事情，全都没有问题。

STAVE ONE
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 door-nail.

Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. 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 door-nail.

Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnised it with an undoubted bargain.

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 Saint 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, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime 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.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him.
没有温暖能够使他温暖起来，也没有寒冷的天气能够使他觉得寒冷。

Even the blind men's dogs appeared to know him; and when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts…
即使瞎子们的狗都似乎认识他，一看见他来了，就把主人拖进大门，拖进院子……

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.

Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, “My dear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me?” No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was o'clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to such and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the blind men's dogs appeared to know him; and when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails as though they said, “No eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master!”

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 call “nuts” to Scrooge.

Once upon a time—of all the good days in 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 neighbouring 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 a strong imagination, he failed.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

Once upon a time—of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve—old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house.
从前，有一天——就在一年之中好日子里最好的一天，即圣诞节前夜——老私刻鲁挤坐在他的账房间里，忙碌着。

Wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which effort, not being a man of a strong imagination, he failed.
因而，办事员只得围上他的白羊毛围巾，试着靠蜡烛火取暖。但由于他不是一个想象力丰富的人，想这样取暖可没取成。

“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 am 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 “Bah!” again; and followed it up with “Humbug.”

“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! Out upon merry Christmas! What's Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but 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. He should!”

“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 it has 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 Christmas time, when it has come round—apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that—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 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 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 for ever.

“Let me hear another sound from you,” said Scrooge, “and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation! 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 to-morrow.”

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 why?” cried Scrooge's nephew. “Why?”

“Why did you get married?” said Scrooge.

“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.

“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 humour 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 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.

“Scrooge and Marley's, I believe,” said one of the gentlemen, referring to his list. “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.”

“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.

“Plenty of prisons,” said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.

“And the Union workhouses?” demanded Scrooge. “Are they still in operation?”

“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! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course,” said Scrooge. “I'm very glad to hear it.”

“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 choose 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 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.”

“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. Besides—excuse me—I don't know that.”

“But you might know it,” observed the gentleman.

“It's not my business,” Scrooge returned. “It's enough for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people's. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen!”

Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the gentlemen withdrew. Scrooge resumed his labours 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 in carriages, and conduct them on their way. The ancient tower of a church, whose gruff old bell was always peeping slily 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. In the main street at the corner of the court, some labourers were repairing the gas-pipes, and had lighted a great fire in a brazier, round which a party of ragged men and boys were gathered: warming their hands and winking their eyes before the blaze in rapture. The water-plug being left in solitude, its overflowings sullenly congealed, and turned to misanthropic ice. The brightness of the shops where holly sprigs and berries crackled in the lamp heat of the windows, made pale faces ruddy as they passed. Poulterers' and grocers' trades became a splendid joke: a glorious pageant, with which it was next to impossible to believe that such dull principles as bargain and sale had anything to do. The Lord Mayor, in the stronghold of the mighty Mansion House, gave orders to his fifty cooks and butlers to keep Christmas as a Lord Mayor's household should; and even the little tailor, whom he had fined five shillings on the previous Monday for being drunk and bloodthirsty in the streets, stirred up to-morrow's pudding in his garret, while his lean wife and the baby sallied out to buy the beef.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

Meanwhile the fog and darkness thickened so, that people ran about with flaring links, proffering their services to go before horses in carriages, and conduct them on their way.
这时，迷雾更浓了，天色更暗了，只见引路人手执熊熊燃烧的火炬跑来跑去，招揽生意，他们走在马车前面，给马匹带路。

The Lord Mayor, in the stronghold of the mighty Mansion House, gave orders to his fifty cooks and butlers to keep Christmas as a Lord Mayor's household should…
那位市长大人待在雄伟的市长官邸据点里，命令他的五十名厨师和男仆，要使得圣诞节过得像市长家中应该过的样子。

Foggier yet, and colder! Piercing, searching, biting cold. If the good Saint 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 gentleman!
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.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

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.
私刻鲁挤就气势汹汹地抓起一把尺子，吓得那位歌手马上逃走，把钥匙孔让给了迷雾，以及和私刻鲁挤性质更相同的寒气。

At length the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived. With an ill-will Scrooge dismounted from his stool, and tacitly admitted the fact to the expectant clerk in the Tank, who instantly snuffed his candle out, and put on his hat.

“You'll want all day to-morrow, I suppose?” said Scrooge.

“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.

“A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth of December!” said Scrooge, buttoning his great-coat 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 Cornhill, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times, in honour of its being Christmas Eve, and then ran home to Camden Town as hard as he could pelt, to play at blindman'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 it must have run there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and 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 the Weather sat in mournful meditation on the threshold.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

“A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth of December!” said Scrooge, buttoning his great-coat to the chin.
“每年十二月二十五日扒人家的口袋的无聊借口而已！”私刻鲁挤一面说，一面扣着大衣纽扣，直扣到下巴底下……

Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy tavern…
私刻鲁挤在他经常去的阴沉沉的酒菜馆里，吃着他阴沉沉的晚饭。

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; also that Scrooge had as little of what is called fancy about him as any man in the city of London, even including—which is a bold word—the corporation, aldermen, and livery. 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.

Marley's face. It was not in impenetrable shadow as the other objects in the yard were, but had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar. 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 or hot air; and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. That, and its livid colour, 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 it sturdily, walked in, and lighted his candle.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

… 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.
……私刻鲁挤把钥匙插进了门锁以后，看到那个门环，没有经过任何中间的变化过程，却已经不是门环，而是马莱的脸。

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 said “Pooh, pooh!” and closed it with a bang.

The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Every room above, and every cask in the wine-merchant's 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.

You may talk vaguely about driving a coach-and-six up a good old flight of stairs, or through a bad young Act of Parliament; but I mean to say you might have got a hearse up that staircase, and taken it broadwise, with the splinter-bar towards the wall and the door towards the balustrades: and done it easy. There was plenty of width for that, and room to spare; which is perhaps the reason why Scrooge thought he saw a locomotive hearse going on before him in the gloom. Half a dozen gas-lamps out of the street wouldn't 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 all was 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; a 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, 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 Cains and Abels, Pharaoh's daughters, Queens of Sheba, Angelic messengers descending through the air on clouds like feather-beds, Abrahams, Belshazzars, Apostles putting off to sea in butter-boats, hundreds of figures to attract his thoughts; and yet that face of Marley, seven years dead, came like the ancient Prophet's 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 one.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

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.
如此采取安全措施以防不测之后，他终于解下了围巾，穿上了晨衣和拖鞋，戴上了睡帽，在炉火前坐下来吃燕麦粥。

“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 a 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 minute, but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. They were succeeded by a 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.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

It was with great astonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing.
他感到大吃一惊，感到一种奇怪的、不可名状的恐怖：他瞧着那只铃铛的时候，铃铛晃荡起来。

“It's humbug still!” said Scrooge. “I won't believe it.”

His colour 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 face: the very same. Marley in his pigtail, usual waistcoat, tights and boots; the tassels on the latter bristling, like his pigtail, 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 cash-boxes, 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.”

“Who were you then?” said Scrooge, raising his voice. “You're particular, for a shade.” He was going to say “to a shade,” but substituted this, as more appropriate.

“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 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. 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 spectre's being provided with an infernal atmosphere of its 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 vapour 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 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 his fellowmen, 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!”

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face.
私刻鲁挤双膝下跪，十指交叉地在脸前紧握着。

Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain 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,” pursued the Ghost, “the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself? It was full as heavy and as long as this, seven Christmas Eves ago. You have laboured 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,” the Ghost replied. “It comes from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more, is all permitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond our counting-house—mark me!—in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!”

It was a habit with Scrooge, whenever he became thoughtful, to put his hands in his breeches pockets. Pondering on what the Ghost had said, he did so now, but without lifting up his eyes, or getting off his knees.

“You must have been very slow about it, Jacob,” Scrooge observed, in a business-like manner, though with humility and deference.

“Slow!” the Ghost repeated.

“Seven years dead,” mused Scrooge. “And travelling all the time!”

“The whole time,” said the Ghost. “No rest, no peace. Incessant torture of remorse.”

“You travel fast?” said Scrooge.

“On the wings of the wind,” replied the Ghost.

“You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years,” said Scrooge.

The Ghost, on hearing this, set up another cry, and clanked its chain so hideously in the dead silence of the night, that the Ward would have been justified in indicting it for a nuisance.

“Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed,” cried the phantom, “not to know, that ages of incessant labour by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!”

“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 all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again.

“At this time of the rolling year,” the spectre said, “I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode! Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me!”

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 that 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. “Thank ’ee!”

“You will be haunted,” resumed the Ghost, “by Three Spirits.”

Scrooge's countenance fell almost as low as the Ghost's had done.

“Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, 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.”

“Couldn't I take 'em 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 next 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 the 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.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

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.
幽灵从他面前往后退走；它每退一步，窗子就自动升起一点，因此，等这幽灵退到窗口，窗子已经大开。

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 door-step. The misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power for ever.

Whether these creatures faded into mist, or 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; went straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep upon the instant.

第一节[1]
马莱的鬼魂

首先要说的是，马莱死掉了。他的死是毫无疑问的。在登记册上，他的丧葬是由牧师、办事员、殡仪员，以及主要送葬者签名的。那是私刻鲁挤[2]签的。私刻鲁挤的名声在交易所[3]里很响，凡是他愿意插手的事情，全都没有问题。

老马莱是像钉死的门钉一样死了[4]。

注意！我并不是说，就我的知识范围，我知道一根门钉有什么特别的死。我自己倒可能认为棺材钉才是五金行业中钉得最死的东西。不过在这一比喻中有着我们祖先的智慧；我的亵渎神明的双手决不能随意改动，否则国家就完了。因此，你一定会允许我强调性地重复一遍说：马莱是像钉死的门钉一样死了。

私刻鲁挤知道他死了吗？他当然知道。他怎么会不知道呢？私刻鲁挤和他是合伙人，我说不上这有多少年了。私刻鲁挤是他指定的唯一遗嘱执行人，是他唯一的遗产管理人，是他唯一的财产受让人，是他唯一的剩余遗产的继承人，是他唯一的朋友和唯一的送葬者。可是即使这位私刻鲁挤，对于这桩伤心事，也并不那么难受得不得了，而就在举行葬礼那天，他还是一个出色的生意人，用道道地地的生意经举行了那次葬礼。

提到马莱的葬礼，把我带回到我刚才开头的地方来。马莱死掉了，这是毫无疑问的。这一点必须清楚地了解，否则我正要讲述的故事中，就不能发生什么奇妙的事情了。要是我们不完完全全地相信，哈姆雷特[5]的父亲是在那出戏剧开幕以前就死掉了，那么，他在东风吹拂的夜晚，在他自己的城堡的壁垒上蹀躞，比起随便哪一位中年绅士在天黑之后，猝然出现在一个凉风瑟瑟的地方——譬如说圣保罗大教堂墓地[6]——简直是在吓唬他儿子的脆弱的心灵，没有什么更引人注意之处了。

私刻鲁挤一直没有把老马莱的名字涂掉，好多年以后，在货栈的门上还是这样写着：“私刻鲁挤和马莱”。这家商号就称作“私刻鲁挤和马莱”。有时候，不熟识这行生意的人称私刻鲁挤为私刻鲁挤，有时候，却又称他为马莱，不过他两个名字都答应：对他说来，这完全是一回事。

哦！他可是一个要从石头里榨出油来的人[7]，这个私刻鲁挤！他真是一个善于压榨、拧绞、掠取、搜刮、抓住不放，而又贪得无厌的老恶棍哪！又硬又锐利，好像一块打火石似的，可是钢棒从来没有在那上面打出慷慨的火花来；而且隐秘自守，默不作声，孤单乖僻，好像一只牡蛎。他内心的冷酷使他苍老的面貌蒙上了一层严霜，冻坏了他的尖鼻子，冻皱了他的面颊，冻得他脚步直僵僵的，冻得他眼睛发红，薄嘴唇发紫，冻得他用叽叽嘎嘎的声音说尖酸刻薄的话。他的头上是一层皑皑的白霜，两撇眉毛和坚硬的下巴也是这样。他走到哪里，就把自己身上的低温带到哪里；在大热天[8]里，他把他的事务所弄得冷冰冰；到了圣诞节这天，他也不上升一度去使那儿解冻。

外界的热和冷影响不了私刻鲁挤。没有温暖能够使他温暖起来，也没有寒冷的天气能够使他觉得寒冷。没有哪一阵风刮得像他那样冰凉刺骨，没有哪一场雪下得像他那样锲而不舍，刻意求成，也没有哪一次倾盆大雨落得像他那样从来不听从恳求。恶劣的天气不知道怎样才能打败他。最大的雨、雪、冰雹和雨夹雪，也只有在某一点上可以夸口说胜过他。那就是它们常常很大方地“布施”，而私刻鲁挤却从来也不干。

从来也没有谁在街上和颜悦色地叫住他，说一声：“我亲爱的私刻鲁挤，你好吗？你什么时候来看我呀？”也没有叫花子来求他赏一个小钱，也没有小孩子来问他现在是几点钟了，在私刻鲁挤的一生之中，也没有男人或妇女曾经问过他一次到某处某处去的路怎么走。即使瞎子们的狗都似乎认识他，一看见他来了，就把主人拖进大门，拖进院子，然后摇着尾巴，好像在说：“黑暗中的主人啊，完全看不见比生有一双凶眼[9]来得好！”

可是私刻鲁挤才不在乎什么呢！这正是他所乐意的事情呢。在熙熙攘攘的人生道路上，侧着身子悄悄走着，警告一切有同情心的人远着点儿，对私刻鲁挤来说就是知道内情的人所谓的“好运气”。

从前，有一天——就在一年之中好日子里最好的一天，即圣诞节前夜——老私刻鲁挤坐在他的账房间里，忙碌着。那天天气昏沉阴暗，寒冷彻骨，而且大雾弥漫，他能够听见外面院子里人们鼻息咻咻地踱来踱去，双手拍打着前胸，双脚在铺道石板上蹬着，好叫身上暖和。市中心的时钟刚刚敲过三点，但是天已经很暗了。这一整天都没有明亮过，烛光在附近一些事务所的窗户里闪烁，好像是那可以捉摸得到的褐色雾气里的斑斑红晕。雾气正从每一条缝隙和钥匙孔里流进来，屋外的雾很浓，虽然院子再狭小也没有，对面的房屋看去却只不过是幢幢黑影了。看着那彤云低罩下来，把一切东西都弄得朦朦胧胧的，人们会觉得大自然近在咫尺，正在大规模地呼风唤雨。

私刻鲁挤账房的门开着，这样他就可以监视他的办事员，那人待在外面那间阴暗的、像是一种箱子的小房间里，正在抄写信件。私刻鲁挤生着非常小的炉火，但是办事员的炉火还要小得多，看来好像只烧了一块煤炭。然而他不能添加燃料，因为私刻鲁挤把煤箱放在自己的房间里，这样一来，要是这个办事员拿着煤铲走进来，老板肯定要预告说，他们两人有必要从此分手。因而，办事员只得围上他的白羊毛围巾，试着靠蜡烛火取暖。但由于他不是一个想象力丰富的人，想这样取暖可没取成。

“圣诞节快乐，舅舅！上帝保佑你！”一个兴高采烈的声音传来。这是私刻鲁挤的外甥的声音，他来得太快，以至这声喊叫成了私刻鲁挤得知他的到来的最初的通知。

“呸！”私刻鲁挤说，“胡闹！”

私刻鲁挤的这个外甥在大雾和严寒中急速赶路，把自己弄得热起来，整个儿热气腾腾的。他的脸又红润又漂亮，他的眼睛闪着光，他的呼吸中又冒着热气。

“圣诞节是胡闹吗，舅舅！”私刻鲁挤的外甥说，“我确信，你并不是这个意思。”

“我就是这个意思。”私刻鲁挤说，“什么圣诞节快乐！你有什么权利快乐？你有什么理由快乐？你是够穷的啦。”

“好啊，那么，”外甥兴奋地回答说，“你有什么权利不乐意？你有什么理由不开心？你是够富的啦。”

私刻鲁挤当时找不出更好的答话，只得又说了一声“呸！”跟着加上一声“胡闹”。

“不要生气呀，舅舅。”外甥说。

“不生气怎么行？”舅舅反问，“我生活在这样一个充满像这样的呆子的世界上！什么圣诞节快乐！滚它的圣诞节快乐！圣诞节对你有什么好处？这不过是这样的时候：你得付欠账却没有钱；你发现自己长大了一岁，却不是更能多活一个小时；你得结清各项账目，可是整整一打的月份里的每一项都表明你无利可图。要是我能够照我的心意办，”私刻鲁挤愤慨地说，“每一个嘴上挂着‘圣诞节快乐’到处乱跑的白痴，我一定要把他和他自己的布丁一起煮，然后拿一枝冬青插穿他的心脏，把他埋葬。[10]一定要这么办！”

“舅舅！”外甥求情说。

“外甥！”舅舅严厉地回答，“你去过你的圣诞节吧，让我过我的。”

“过圣诞节！”私刻鲁挤的外甥重复他的话，“可是你不肯过呀！”

“那么，让我不过好啦。”私刻鲁挤说，“但愿它会给你许多好处！它一向给过你许多好处了吧！”

“也许，有许多事情，虽然我没有从它们那儿得到过进款，可是我也许已经从它们那儿得到了好处。”外甥回答说，“圣诞节就是这类事情中的一种。可是我肯定，每当圣诞节期来临的时候，我一直认为这是一个好时候。即使撇开它神圣的名称和来源所引起的崇敬之心——如果任何属于它的东西可以撇开的话——这也是一个好时候。一个仁爱、宽恕、慈善、快乐的节期。在长长一年的光阴里，据我所知，唯有这个时候男男女女似乎不约而同地把他们紧闭的心扉无拘无束地打开，并且想到比他们低微的人们，就好像那些人的确是一同向坟墓走去的旅伴，而不是在另外的行程上的另外一种生物。因此，舅舅啊，虽然圣诞节从来没有把一小块金子或银子放在我的口袋里，我还是相信它给过我好处，而且还要给我好处。所以我要说，上帝祝福它！”

待在“大箱子”里的办事员情不自禁地喝起彩来，但是马上觉得这样做不合适，便拨弄着火，把最后的微弱的火星永远熄灭掉。

“你再喊一声试试看，”私刻鲁挤说，“那你就另谋高就去过你的圣诞节吧。你倒真是一个了不起的演说家。”他又转向他的外甥，添上一句，“我不明白你怎么不进国会。”

“不要生气，舅舅。来吧！明天到我们家里来吃饭。”

私刻鲁挤说，他宁愿看见他——[11]不错，他的确说了，他把这句话完全说了出来，说宁愿看见他那副死样子，他也不去。

“那为什么呢？”私刻鲁挤的外甥嚷道，“为什么呢？”

“你为什么结婚？”私刻鲁挤问。

“因为我恋爱。”

“因为你恋爱！”私刻鲁挤吼着说，好像天底下比圣诞节快乐更荒谬可笑的事唯有这一桩，“再见！”

“别这样，舅舅，可是你在这桩事情之前就从来没有来看过我。为什么却作为现在不来的理由呢？”

“再见。”私刻鲁挤说。

“我什么也不要你的；我什么也不求你；为什么我们不能友好呢？”

“再见。”私刻鲁挤说。

“看到你态度这样坚决，我衷心地感到遗憾。我们之间从来没有过以我作为一方的争吵。不过我曾经作过努力要对圣诞节表示敬意，因此我要把我过圣诞的好心情维持到底。所以，祝你圣诞节快乐，舅舅！”

“再见！”私刻鲁挤说。

“祝你新年快乐！”

“再见！”私刻鲁挤说。

虽然如此，他的外甥还是毫无怨言地离开了那个房间，他在外边那扇门口站住，向办事员致以节日的问候。办事员尽管身上很冷，也比私刻鲁挤来得温暖，因为他热诚地回应了祝贺。

“竟然又有一个家伙，”私刻鲁挤听见了他的话，咕噜着说，“我的办事员，一星期只挣十五个先令，还有老婆、孩子，也高谈什么圣诞节快乐。我真要隐退到白德兰[12]去了。”

这个疯子一边让私刻鲁挤的外甥出去，一边让另外两个人进来。他们是两个魁梧肥胖的绅士，看上去和蔼可亲，这会儿脱下了帽子，站在私刻鲁挤的事务所里。他们手中拿着簿子和纸张，对他鞠躬。

“我想，这儿是私刻鲁挤和马莱商号吧。”其中一个绅士查着名单说，“我可以荣幸地称呼私刻鲁挤先生，或者马莱先生吗？”

“马莱先生死去整整七年了。”私刻鲁挤回答说，“他正是在七年前的今儿个晚上死的。”

“我们毫不怀疑他的慷慨之心是由他的健在的合伙人很好地代表着。”绅士拿出他的身份证明书来，说道。

果然不错，因为这两个人的性格很相似。私刻鲁挤一听到那个不祥的字眼“慷慨之心”就皱眉摇头，把那份证明书递回去。

“私刻鲁挤先生，值此一年之中最为欢乐的圣诞节期，”绅士拿起一支笔，说道，“比平常就更为需要我们准备一点东西，去周济贫穷困苦的人们，他们此刻正在遭受巨大的痛苦。先生，成千上万的人缺少生活必需品；还有上十万的人缺少生活上的安慰。”

“难道没有监狱吗？”私刻鲁挤问。

“监狱多得很。”绅士又放下那支笔，说道。

“还有联合贫民习艺所呢[13]？”私刻鲁挤追问，“那些地方还开工吗？”

“还开工。不过，”绅士回答说，“我倒是希望我能说没有开工。”

“那么，踏车[14]和《贫民法》[15]都在充分发挥效力吧？”私刻鲁挤说。

“都忙着发挥效力，先生。”

“哦！听到你一开头讲的话，我倒是害怕发生了什么事情，使它们有用的工作停下来。”私刻鲁挤说，“我很高兴听到你那样说。”

“我们几个人，有鉴于它们差不多没有向群众提供符合基督教义的身心上的愉快，”绅士回答说，“致力于募集一笔款项，来为贫民购买一些肉、酒和御寒的东西。我们所以选择这样一个时候，是因为和其他一切时候比较起来，现在更是穷人迫切需要，而富人寻欢作乐的时候。我该替你写下多少？”

“别写！”私刻鲁挤回答。

“你希望匿名吗？”

“我希望不被人打扰。”私刻鲁挤说，“绅士们，既然你们问我希望什么，这就是我的回答。我不打算在圣诞节找快乐，我也不能出钱去让懒惰的人们快乐。我帮着支持我刚才提到的那些机构，它们要的钱够多了；那些穷光蛋必须到那儿去。”

“许多人进不去；还有许多人死也不愿去。”

“要是他们情愿死，”私刻鲁挤说，“那么还是去死，也好减少过剩的人口。此外——请原谅——我不懂这一套。”

“可是你也许懂得。”绅士说。

“这不是我的事。”私刻鲁挤回答，“一个人懂得他自己的事，不去干涉别人的事，就很够了。我的事务叫我忙个不停了。再见，绅士们！”

两个绅士清楚地看到再钉下去也没用，便告辞了。私刻鲁挤继续手头的工作，心里扬扬自得，比起平常来，情绪轻松愉快得多。

这时，迷雾更浓了，天色更暗了，只见引路人手执熊熊燃烧的火炬跑来跑去，招揽生意，他们走在马车前面，给马匹带路。[16]一座教堂的古老的塔楼已经看不见了；塔楼里有一只粗声粗气的老钟，总是透过墙上哥特式[17]窗孔往下瞧，痴呆地窥视着私刻鲁挤；这会儿它在云雾里每时每刻地敲响，敲过之后，拖着颤抖的余音，好像它的牙齿正在冻得冰冷的头顶下面打着寒战。寒冷来得更厉害了。在大街上那所法院的转角处，一些工人正在修理煤气管，他们在一只火盆里生了旺盛的火，衣衫褴褛的成年男人和孩子们团团围绕在那儿，兴高采烈地烘着手，对着火焰眨眼睛。消防龙头因为被人们遗弃在孤独之中，它溢出来的水闷闷不乐地凝结起来，变成愤世嫉俗的冰块。冬青的树枝和小红果在商店橱窗的炙热的灯火中毕剥作响，店铺子的一片明亮把过路人苍白的脸照得绯红。家禽店和食品杂货店的生意已经变成了一种精彩的笑话：那是场面盛大的展览，简直不能叫人相信论价和出售这类没意思的原则和它有什么关系。那位市长大人待在雄伟的市长官邸据点里，命令他的五十名厨师和男仆，要使得圣诞节过得像市长家中应该过的样子。即使那位小裁缝，他在上星期一还因为在街上喝醉酒和凶殴而被市长罚款五先令，这时也在他的阁楼里搅拌着明天的布丁，他的瘦骨嶙峋的老婆则带着婴孩出去买牛肉了。

迷雾更浓了，天气更冷了！冷得刺脸，切肤，彻骨。如果高明的圣邓斯坦是用了一点这种天气，而不是用他熟悉的武器，去钳魔鬼的鼻子的话，那么魔鬼确实会有强烈的理由大声吼叫。[18]这时，一个几乎不怎么年轻的鼻子的所有者，他被饥饿的严寒咬噬着，咀嚼着，好像肉骨头被饿狗咬噬着一样；他弯下身子对着私刻鲁挤的钥匙孔，奉献一曲圣诞颂歌。可是刚唱了两句——

上帝祝福你这位快乐的绅士！
愿你无忧无虑，赏心乐事！

私刻鲁挤就气势汹汹地抓起一把尺子，吓得那位歌手马上逃走，把钥匙孔让给了迷雾，以及和私刻鲁挤性质更相同的寒气。

终于到了账房间该打烊的时候。私刻鲁挤不乐意地从凳子上下来，对待在“大箱子”里指望下班的办事员默认这一事实。办事员立刻灭掉蜡烛火，戴上帽子。

“我想，你明天要用一整天吧？”私刻鲁挤说。

“是的，先生，如果对您方便的话。”

“不方便，”私刻鲁挤说，“也不公道。要是我因此扣掉你半个克朗[19]，我敢肯定，你会觉得吃亏了吧？”

办事员苦笑着。

“然而，”私刻鲁挤说，“一天不做事，我白给工钱，你却不认为我吃亏。”

办事员说这不过是一年一次的事情。

“每年十二月二十五日扒人家的口袋的无聊借口而已！”私刻鲁挤一面说，一面扣着大衣纽扣，直扣到下巴底下，“不过我想你是非要一整天不可的啰。后天早上可要来得更早一些！”

办事员答应照办，私刻鲁挤便咕噜一声，走了出去。一眨眼工夫这事务所便关了门，办事员围着他长长的、两头挂到腰下的白羊毛围巾（因为他没有大衣可以炫耀），跟在一长行孩子们的后面，沿着科恩希尔大街[20]一路上滑了二十次，用以庆祝这一圣诞节前夜，然后用最快的速度冲刺，跑到在卡姆登镇[21]的家中，玩捉迷藏游戏[22]去了。

私刻鲁挤在他经常去的阴沉沉的酒菜馆里，吃着他阴沉沉的晚饭。他看完了所有的报纸，然后欣赏一下他的银行存折，以消磨余下的夜晚，就回家去睡觉了。他住在原来属于死去的合伙人的屋子里。那是建造在一个院子上端的一幢愁眉苦脸的房屋里的一套阴暗的房间，那幢房屋竖在那儿真不像样，使人不能不猜想，它一定在还是个年轻的房屋的时候，和别的房屋玩躲猫儿游戏，跑到这里来以后，就忘了再跑出去的路。它现在真够老的，真够寒碜的，除了私刻鲁挤，谁也不愿去住。其他的房间则都已出租为事务所。这时，院子里暗得很，即使是知道这儿每一块石头的私刻鲁挤，也不得不双手摸索着前进。迷雾和寒气弥漫在漆黑的、破旧的房屋正门口，看来好像掌管天气的神灵就坐在门槛上哀伤地沉思。

这会儿，那个门环实实在在没有一点特殊的地方，只不过大得很。自从私刻鲁挤住到这地方以来，他每天早晚都看到门环，这也是实实在在的事。还有一个事实：私刻鲁挤很少有那种叫作想象力的东西，正像伦敦城[23]里的任何人一样，甚至包括——这是一句斗胆的话——市政当局、高级市政官和同业公会会员。这一点也要让大家记住，就是私刻鲁挤自从那天下午提到他的死了七年的合伙人以后，他再也没有想到过马莱。好，现在请随便哪一位，要是他能够的话，给我解释一下，那是怎么发生的：私刻鲁挤把钥匙插进了门锁以后，看到那个门环，没有经过任何中间的变化过程，却已经不是门环，而是马莱的脸。

马莱的脸。它不像院子里其他的东西那样是看不透的阴影，却有一圈黯淡的光晕萦绕着，好像黑暗的地窖里一只坏掉的龙虾。它并不怒气冲冲，或狰狞凶恶，而是用像马莱经常看私刻鲁挤的样子看着他：那副鬼样子眼镜推到鬼样子的额头上。它的头发奇怪地飘动，好像被微风或热气吹着似的。那双眼睛虽然睁得大大的，可是一眨也不眨。这副神情，加上它青灰的脸色，叫人害怕。不过这种可怕似乎是这张脸做不了主，也控制不住的，不像是它自己的表情的一部分。

正当私刻鲁挤盯着这个幻影看的时候，它又变成了一个门环。

要是说他没有吓了一跳，或者说他的血脉里没有感觉到从婴儿时代起他从未感到过的一种恐怖的刺激，那是不真实的。然而他还是把刚才缩回去的手伸到钥匙上，坚定不移地一旋，并且走进去，点亮了蜡烛。

在关上屋门之前，他的确犹豫不决地站立片刻，的确小心翼翼地先对门背后打量一番，好像有些儿料到自己要心惊胆战地看见马莱的辫子[24]翘着伸进穿堂里来。然而，门背后除了钉住那只门环的螺丝钉和螺丝帽以外，什么也没有。因此他嘴里嚷着“呸，呸！”同时把门砰的一声关上。

这声音像打雷一样在整幢房屋里回响。楼上的每间屋子，以及楼下酒商的地窖里的每一只酒桶，都似乎各有它们自己的一阵回声。私刻鲁挤可不是会被回声吓住的那号人。他把门闩上，经过穿堂，走上楼梯：也还是慢慢地走，一边走一边修剪蜡烛芯。

你尽管不着边际地闲扯什么把一辆六匹马拉的大马车赶上一道相当陈旧的楼梯，或者穿过一道新制订的糟糕的国会法案吧[25]；可是我打算说，你可以弄一辆柩车驶上那道楼梯，并且横着上去：车前横木朝着墙壁，车后的门朝着楼梯栏杆；你做起来毫不费事。有足够的宽度，绰绰有余；也许这就是为什么私刻鲁挤觉得他看见一辆机动柩车于冥冥之中在他面前往前开。外面街上五六盏煤气灯不可能把这条过道照得很亮，因此你可想而知，单靠私刻鲁挤一支残烛，那儿是相当黑暗的。

私刻鲁挤往楼上走，对此毫不介意：黑暗很便宜，私刻鲁挤喜欢它。不过他在关上自己的厚重的房门之前，还是先巡视了各个房间，看看是否一切都安然无恙。那张脸给他的印象尽够促使他这样做了。

起居室、卧室、堆房[26]，一如既往。没有人躲在桌子底下，也没有人躲在沙发底下；壁炉里生着文火；汤匙和餐盆搁得好好的；一小锅燕麦粥（私刻鲁挤在淌清鼻涕）也放在炉旁铁架[27]上。没有人躲在床底下；没有人躲在厕所里；也没有人躲在那件挂在墙上、形迹可疑的晨衣里。堆房依然如故。旧的火炉栏，旧的鞋子，两只鱼筐，一个三脚脸盆架，还有一根拨火棒。

他心满意足，便关上房门，把自己锁在里边；用两道锁锁在里边，他往常可不是这样做的。如此采取安全措施以防不测之后，他终于解下了围巾，穿上了晨衣和拖鞋，戴上了睡帽，在炉火前坐下来吃燕麦粥。

炉火的确非常小；在如此寒夜里等于没有生。他不得不挨近炉火坐着，身子弯在那上面，这样才能从如此一小把燃料上取得一丝暖意。这个壁炉很古旧，是很久以前某个荷兰商人造的，壁炉周围铺着别出心裁的荷兰花砖，拼成《圣经》故事的图案。有该隐和亚伯[28]、法老的几个女儿[29]、示巴女王[30]、驾着羽毛褥垫般的云朵从空中下降的小天使、亚伯拉罕[31]、伯沙撒[32]、乘着船形奶油碟起航出海的使徒们[33]，千姿百态，牵引着他的思想活动。然而，死了七年的马莱的那张脸，却像那位古代先知的法杖一样，跑来把这一切都吞没了[34]。如果每一块光滑的砖块本来都是空白的，而有一种力量能够把他思想中不相连贯的意识在砖块的表面上印成某种图样，那么每一块砖上保管都是一幅老马莱的头像。

“胡闹！”私刻鲁挤说，一面往房间那一头走去。

走了几个来回以后，他才又坐下来。他把头往后仰靠在椅背上，这时候，他的视线忽然接触到一只铃铛，一只已经不用的铃铛。这只铃铛挂在屋子里，是为了现在已经忘掉的什么目的和这屋子最高一层楼上的一个房间取得联系。他感到大吃一惊，感到一种奇怪的、不可名状的恐怖：他瞧着那只铃铛的时候，铃铛晃荡起来。开头还是荡得很轻微，简直没有一点声音；可是不久就响亮地敲起来，连得整幢屋子里所有的铃铛都这样敲起来。

铃声可能响了半分钟，也可能一分钟，然而恰似一小时之久。铃铛又像刚才响起来那样，一同静了下来。接着从深深的底下传来当啷当啷的噪声，好像有谁在酒商的地窖里把一根沉重的链条，在那些酒桶上拖过去。私刻鲁挤于是想起听人说过鬼屋里的鬼怪是拖着链条的。

地窖的门被砰的一声撞开来了，于是他听见楼底下的声音更响了；于是爬上楼梯来了；于是径直朝他的房门这里来了。

“依然是胡闹！”私刻鲁挤说，“我才不相信呢。”

可是他的脸色却变了，这时候，毫不停留，那东西一直穿过厚重的房门，走进屋子里来，到了他眼睛前面。它一走进屋子，那奄奄一息的火苗就蹿了上来，好像在喊着说： “我认识他！马莱的鬼魂啊！”接着就萎了下去。

还是那张脸，一模一样。马莱还是扎着辫子，穿着经常穿的背心、紧身衣裤和皮靴。皮靴上的流苏像他的辫子、他的上衣的下摆和他的头发那样，是翘起来的。他拖着的链条缠绕着他的腰部，很长，像一条尾巴盘绕在身上；构成那条链条的东西（因为私刻鲁挤看得很仔细）是银箱、钥匙、挂锁、账簿、契据，以及沉重的钢制钱袋。他的躯体是透明的，因此，私刻鲁挤打量着他，看穿他的背心的时候，能够看到他的上衣后面的两颗纽扣。

私刻鲁挤过去常常听见人家说马莱没有内脏，然而直到现在他才相信这句话。

不对，即使现在他也不相信。虽然他把那个幻象看得透了又透，看见他正站在眼前；虽然他感觉到它的死人的冰冷的眼睛寒光飕飕；并且注意到那条从头包到下巴的折拢来的方头巾的质地，他先前可没有看到这块包布；虽然如此，他还是不相信，并且和自己的知觉作斗争。

“喂，怎么啦！”私刻鲁挤说，声调像往常一样刻薄而冷酷，“你找我干吗？”

“许多事！”——是马莱的声音，毫无疑问。

“你是谁？”

“该问我过去是谁？”

“那么你过去是谁？”私刻鲁挤提高了嗓子问，“你真爱挑字眼儿——就一个阴魂而论。”他本来打算说“从某种程度来说”[35]，但是为了更为确切起见，他用了那句话来代替。

“我在生前是你的合伙人雅各·马莱。”

“你能——你能坐下来吗？”私刻鲁挤问，同时怀疑地看着他。

“我能。”

“那么，坐吧。”

私刻鲁挤所以问这个问题，是因为他不知道一位这样透明的鬼魂到底能不能使自己在椅子上坐下来，并且觉得假使结果是不可能的话，那就有必要作一番尴尬的解释。然而这位鬼魂竟然坐在壁炉旁对面的椅子上了，好像它习以为常似的。

“你不相信我。”鬼魂判断说。

“我不相信。”私刻鲁挤说。

“除了凭你的知觉以外，你还要凭什么才能相信我的真实性呢？”

“我不知道。”私刻鲁挤说。

“你为什么怀疑你的知觉呢？”

“因为，”私刻鲁挤说，“有一点点事情就会影响我的知觉。胃里稍微有些不舒服，我的知觉就会靠不住了。你可能就是一小口没有消化掉的牛肉、一抹芥末酱、一小片干乳酪，或者一小片半生不熟的土豆。不管你是什么东西吧，你是油荤的成分总比游魂的成分多！”

私刻鲁挤并没有多少讲讲笑话的习惯，这种时候，他心里也实在没有一丝一毫打趣逗乐的感觉。事实上，他是故意说得漂亮，作为一种方法来分散自己的注意力，并且镇住自己的恐怖感，因为这位精怪的声音已经搅得他骨髓里都惶惶不安了。

像这样坐着，不声不响地对那一双直愣愣的玻璃球似的眼睛注视片刻，私刻鲁挤觉得真是太糟糕了。而且，这位精怪身上产生一种地狱般阴森的气氛，也是非常可怕的。私刻鲁挤本人感觉不到这一点，然而这是很显然的事，因为，虽然鬼魂文风不动地坐在那儿，它的头发、下摆和流苏却依然在飘拂，好像被炉灶上的热气吹着似的。

“你看得见这根牙签吗？”私刻鲁挤说，由于刚才指出的理由，他迅速重新转入攻势，同时也为了把这个幻影的木然无情的凝视从自己身上移开，哪怕移开一秒钟也好。

“我看得见。”鬼魂回答。

“你并没有朝它看。”私刻鲁挤说。

“可是我看得见，”鬼魂说，“尽管没有朝它看。”

“好吧！”私刻鲁挤回答，“只消把这个吞到肚子里去，我这后半辈子，就会受到自己制造的一大群妖魔鬼怪的困扰。胡闹，我跟你说吧——胡闹！”

精怪一听到这句话，便发出一声可怕的喊叫，同时摇动它的链条，声响是那样阴森恐怖，直教私刻鲁挤紧紧地抓住座椅，以免晕厥倒地。然而还有教他更害怕的事情呢，只见这个幽灵解下绕在它头上的绷带，似乎在室内绑着太热，它的下巴颏儿便垂到胸前来了！

私刻鲁挤双膝下跪，十指交叉地在脸前紧握着。

“天哪！”他说，“可怕的幽灵啊，你为什么和我过不去？”

“世俗之见的人！”鬼魂回答说，“你倒是相信不相信我？”

“我相信，”私刻鲁挤说，“非相信不可。不过为什么精灵们到世上来走动，它们又为什么来找我？”

“对于每一个人来说，”鬼魂回答，“他躯体里的灵魂都必须出去在他的同类之间到处行走，要游遍四面八方；要是生前他的灵魂没有走动，那么死后就要罚他这样做。他的灵魂注定要浪迹天涯——哦，我真不幸啊！——并且要眼睁睁地瞧着那些分享不到的事物，那些事物本来可以在世上分享，而且成为幸福！”

这个精怪又发出一声叫喊，摇动着链条，搓着黑影朦胧的双手。

“你上着脚镣手铐，”私刻鲁挤颤抖着说，“告诉我，这是为什么？”

“我戴上生前自己锻造的链条，”鬼魂回答说，“我一环又一环、一码又一码地锻造了它；我心甘情愿地把它缠绕在身上，心甘情愿地佩戴着它。这式样难道你感到陌生吗？”

私刻鲁挤颤抖得更厉害了。

“你是否愿意知道，”鬼魂追问说，“你自己身上缠绕着的那根东西有多么重又多么长吗？七个圣诞节前夜的时候，它就足足有我这根这样重这样长了。打那时候起，你又在那上面花了不少精力。现在它是一根极其沉重的链条了！”

私刻鲁挤看看他周围的地板，要想发现自己是否被五六十英寻[36]长的铁索围绕着：但是他什么也没有看到。

“雅各，”他哀求着说，“老雅各·马莱，再跟我说些什么吧。说些安慰我的话吧，雅各。”

“我没有这种话好讲。”鬼魂回答，“爱本利者[37]·私刻鲁挤，安慰要从另外一个世界，由另外一些使者，传送给另外一类人。我也不能把我想告诉你的话都告诉你。允许我说的，只剩下很少的了。我不能休息，我不能耽搁，我也不能在任何地方逗留。过去，我的灵魂从来没有走出我们的账房间之外——注意我的话！——生前，我的灵魂从来没有越过我们那银钱兑换窗口的狭窄的范围而外出游荡；现在，那令人厌倦的行程展示在我的面前！”

私刻鲁挤有一个习惯，每当他考虑问题的时候，总要把双手插在裤子口袋里。这会儿他又这样做，思索着鬼魂刚才说的话，不过没有抬起眼睛，也还是跪着没有站起来。

“你的行程一定很慢，雅各。”私刻鲁挤指出，他带着一种一本正经的神情，虽然也带着谦卑而恭敬的样子。

“慢！”鬼魂重复他的话。

“死了七年。”私刻鲁挤忖度着，“又是整个时间在旅行？”

“全部时间。”鬼魂说，“没有休息，没有安宁。受到永无休止的悔恨的折磨。”

“你走得快吗？”私刻鲁挤问。

“驾着风的翅膀。”鬼魂回答说。

“七年之中，你大概已经走过很多地方了。”私刻鲁挤说。

鬼魂听到这句话，又发出一声叫喊，同时把它的链条在这黑夜的死一般的静寂之中弄得当啷作响，骇人听闻，监护人[38]可以有理由控告它扰乱安宁。

“哦！给拴着，绑着，上着双重脚镣手铐，”这个幻象说，“不懂得那些不朽的人物千百年来为这个世界所做的无休止的劳动，在其可以感觉到的好处完全发扬光大以前，就必定会消失到永恒之中。不懂得任何一个基督教的灵魂善良地工作在它的小小的范围内，不管那是什么范围，都会发现它的有限的生命太短，不够发挥它的巨大的有益的作用。不懂得一生中的机会错过以后，就没有余地能够让后悔来弥补损失！然而我过去就是那样！哦！就是那样！”

“不过你过去一直是一位很好的生意人啊，雅各。”私刻鲁挤结结巴巴地说，他现在开始把这句话应用到他自己身上来。

“生意！”鬼魂叫喊着，又搓起双手来，“人类才是我的生意，公众福利才是我的生意，慈善、怜悯、宽厚和仁爱这一切才是我的生意。我在行业中的交易在我的生意的汪洋大海中只不过是一滴水而已！”

它伸直手臂，举起链条，好像这就是它的一切徒劳无益的悲伤的根源，然后又把链条重重地扔在地上。

“在流逝的一年的这个时候，”这个幽灵说，“我受苦最深。为什么我从前要眼睛朝下看着走过的我的同胞们，却从来不抬起来看看引导那几位博士到卑微的处所去的神圣的星呢？[39]难道那星光不也会引导我到穷人的家里去吗？”

私刻鲁挤听见幽灵照这样子往下说，感到不胜惶恐，不由得剧烈地战栗起来。

“听我说！”鬼魂喊道，“我的时间快要完了。”

“我听着呢，”私刻鲁挤说，“不过不要对我太严厉！不要说得花里胡哨的，雅各！我求求你！”

“我怎么会用一种你看得见的形象出现在你面前，我不打算告诉你。我曾经无影无踪地坐在你的身旁达许多许多天。”

这可不是叫人好受的花样。私刻鲁挤打着寒噤，抹去额头上的汗珠。

“在我的赎罪苦行中，那不是一个轻松的部分。”鬼魂接着说，“我今天晚上到这儿来是警告你，你还有机会和希望来避免我的命运。是我设法给你带来的机会和希望，爱本利者。”

“你一直是我的好朋友嘛。”私刻鲁挤说，“谢谢你啦！”

“你将要被鬼缠着，”鬼魂继续说，“被三位精灵。”

私刻鲁挤拉长着脸，拉得像鬼魂刚才拉的那样长。

“难道这就是你说的机会和希望吗，雅各？”他用结结巴巴的声音追问。

“是的。”

“我——我想我宁可不要。”私刻鲁挤说。

“要是没有它们来访问，”鬼魂说，“你就不能希望避免我正在走的道路。明天钟声敲一点钟的时候，你等着头一位来访问吧。”

“我不能让它们一起马上来，让这事情就此了结吧，雅各？”

“后天夜晚同一个钟点等着第二位，大后天夜晚十二点的最后一响停止震荡的时候，是第三位。别想再看见我；为了你自己的缘故，你要记住我们之间的这段交往！”

幽灵说完了这段话，就从桌子上拿起它的包布，像原来那样裹着头。私刻鲁挤知道这一点，是因为听到它的上下颚给扎在一起的时候，牙齿发出刺耳的响声。他鼓起勇气再抬起眼睛来，只见他的超自然的客人直挺挺地站在他面前，把链条一圈圈地绕到一只手臂上。

幽灵从他面前往后退走；它每退一步，窗子就自动升起一点，因此，等这幽灵退到窗口，窗子已经大开。幽灵招呼私刻鲁挤走过去，他听从了。走到彼此相隔不到两步的时候，马莱的鬼魂举起手来，指示他不要再靠近。私刻鲁挤站住了。

这与其说是服从，还不如说是因为惊讶和恐惧，因为在那只手举起来的时候，他听到了天空中嘈杂的闹声。那是断断续续的哀悼和悔恨的声音；那是无法形容的悲伤和自怨自艾的哭泣，幽灵静听了一会儿之后，也参加了这阕悲悼的挽歌，并且飘到窗外那凄凉而又黑暗的夜空之中。

私刻鲁挤跟到窗口；好奇心使他不顾一切。他向外望去。

空中布满了幻象，遑遑不安，匆匆忙忙地飘来荡去，一面走，一面呻吟。每一个幻象都像马莱的鬼魂那样戴着链条；有几个（可能是犯了罪的官吏）被锁在一起；没有一个是自由的。有不少在世时是私刻鲁挤本人认识的。他和一个老鬼魂相当熟悉，它穿着一件白背心，脚踝上缚着一个巨大的铁保险箱，由于看见下边一个门前石阶上坐着一个怀抱婴儿的女人，它无法帮助她，因而伤心地哭泣着。很明显，它们一致的痛苦在于全都想善意地干涉人间的事务，可是已经永远丧失了这种能力。

究竟是这些东西渐渐消逝在迷雾之中，还是迷雾吞没了它们，他闹不清。然而它们连同它们灵魂的声音一起消失了；黑夜变得和他刚才回家的时候一样。

私刻鲁挤关上窗子，然后察看鬼魂打那儿进来的门。门还是像他亲手锁上的那样是两道锁锁的，门闩也都没有动过。他正想说一声“胡闹！”可是刚说了头一个字就顿住了。由于他刚才经受的情绪激动，或者由于白天的疲劳，或者由于他瞥见了那个冥冥的世界，或者由于和那个鬼魂的乏味的谈话，或者由于时间太晚，他现在十分需要休息；他便径直走到床边，衣服也没有脱掉，一倒下去便睡着了。

[1]节，原文为Stave，是诗或歌曲的一节的意思。作者故意用这个词代替Chapter（章），以表明这是一本“用散文写的圣诞颂歌”。

[2]私刻鲁挤，原文为Scrooge，英语通俗口语中原是“挤榨”的意思。作者选用这个词作为人物姓名，带有讽刺的意味。后来英语中即作“吝啬鬼”解。

[3]交易所，指伦敦交易所（the Royal Exchange），是英国金融中心。

[4]原文as dead as a door-nail，出于英国古代民谣。莎士比亚在他的历史剧《亨利四世》和《亨利六世》中也有这种比喻。

[5]哈姆雷特，莎士比亚著名悲剧《哈姆雷特》中的主角名。他是丹麦王子，其父被叔父毒死。剧中第一幕第一场就是故王鬼魂出现在城堡上。

[6]圣保罗大教堂，英国著名教堂，在伦敦中区拉德盖特山顶上，教堂高达三百六十五英尺，始建于十七世纪。墓地早已拆除，并已形成一条围绕这一教堂的不规则的街道。

[7]原文为a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone（在磨石上握得紧紧的手）。tight-fisted又有“吝啬的”之意。

[8]大热天，原文为dog-days，指从七月三日至八月十一日，一般来说是英国每年最热的时候。此时天狼星（dog star）与太阳同起同落。

[9]凶眼，原文为evil eye，按照外国迷信的说法，有一种人，比如女巫，生有一种超自然的凶眼，凶眼一瞧就能带来巨大的灾害。

[10]欧洲中世纪风俗，把杀人犯埋葬在十字路口以后，用一根柱子刺穿其心脏，插在那儿。冬青在圣诞节常作为室内装饰，并在进餐时插在葡萄干布丁上。参见本书第113页。

[11]他宁愿看见他——，原文为he would see him——。破折号是“damned（被诅咒）first”或“dead（死掉）first”的省略。这句意思是宁愿别人死，他也不去。

[12]白德兰（Bedlam）是伯利恒（Bethlehem）的讹误，指英国伦敦的伯利恒圣马利亚医院，是一所精神病医院。

[13]联合贫民习艺所（Union Workhouse），英国根据一八三四年的《贫民法》所设立的救济贫民的场所。由两个以上的教区联合设恤贫局，办理救济贫民等事务，贫民习艺所是其工作的一部分。习艺所中工作及生活条件都很艰苦，贫民多不愿进入。

[14]踏车（Treadmill），起源并形同于中国的水车。英国于一八一七年起在监狱中设置，令囚犯踩踏，作为刑罚。后来已废止。

[15]《贫民法》（Poor Law），英国议会中通过的所谓救济贫民的法案。初次施行于一六〇一年，嗣后迭经修正。

[16]过去在夜雾笼罩伦敦时，街上常有手执火炬的引路人为车辆引路。火炬用粗麻蘸沥青或柏油制成。

[17]哥特式（gothic），一种建筑式样的名称，始创于法国北部，以尖拱形结构为其特征。

[18]圣邓斯坦（Saint Dunstan，924—988），英国修道士，也是宝石匠、铁匠、画家和政治家，曾担任国王埃德莱德和埃德加的首席顾问。后者曾任命他为坎特伯雷大主教。狄更斯在其所著《儿童英国史》（Child's History of England）（1852—1854）一书中说，邓斯坦“是一个能工巧匠，他在一间小屋子里的锻炉前工作，惯于扯淡最离奇的妖魔鬼怪的谎话，说妖魔鬼怪来折磨他。比如他说，有一天自己正在工作，一个魔鬼从小窗户里望进来，想引诱他过享乐放荡的生活。他于是拿起在炉火中烧得通红的火钳，钳住魔鬼的鼻子，使它痛得大喊大叫，声闻许多英里之外”。狄更斯接着说：“我认为这是要使无知的人相信他是个神圣的人。”

[19]克朗（crown），英国货币，值五先令，现已不用。货币上铸有皇冠（crown），故名。

[20]伦敦一条著名的大街。原文（Cornhill）是“谷山”的意思。十四世纪时，这里原是谷物市场。

[21]卡姆登镇（Camden Town），原在伦敦郊区，居民多为贫民。狄更斯幼年时曾住在此处。现已属伦敦市区。

[22]一种室内游戏。由一人蒙眼去捉周围的人，如能捉住并猜出是何人，则由被捉的人代替其位置。

[23]指旧伦敦市区，面积约一平方英里。伦敦交易所、市长官邸、科恩希尔大街以及圣保罗大教堂均在这一区域内。

[24]十九世纪初叶西欧国家的男子还有扎单根短辫子的习俗。

[25]由于英国国会法案中常有措辞不严密之处，有许多空子好钻，当时的爱尔兰民族主义者、政治家丹尼尔·奥康奈尔（Daniel O'Connell，1775—1847）曾经宣称，他能够赶着一辆六匹马拉的马车穿过任何此种法律。此处，狄更斯借用了这句话。

[26]堆房，原文为lumber-room，常用来堆放弃置不用的家用品，有时也堆放木柴等物。

[27]炉旁铁架，原文为hob，一种老式壁炉的炉栅。是用铁或石在壁炉两边做成的架子，上面可以烘烤食物。

[28]该隐和亚伯是亚当和夏娃所生的两个儿子。该隐嫉妒其弟亚伯得到上帝宠爱，杀死了亚伯。事见《圣经·旧约全书·创世记》第四章。

[29]“法老”是古埃及国王的称谓，原意为“大厦”。有一个法老的女儿曾在尼罗河边收养了一个被抛弃的希伯来婴儿，取名摩西。事见《圣经·旧约全书·出埃及记》第二章。

[30]示巴为古代住在阿拉伯西南的也门国内的一个民族。示巴女王曾经因为听说以色列王所罗门聪敏过人，专门前去拜访他。事见《圣经·旧约全书·历代志下》第九章。

[31]亚伯拉罕，犹太民族的祖先之一。他曾经受到上帝的考验，而愿意把亲生子以撒作为牺牲，献给上帝。事见《圣经·旧约全书·创世记》第二十二章。

[32]伯沙撒，古代巴比伦的末代国王。有一天，他宴请一千个大臣时，忽见墙上出现神秘的手指，写着预言巴比伦覆灭的字。当夜巴比伦即被玛代人大利乌征服。事见《圣经·旧约全书·但以理书》第五章。

[33]使徒们，指耶稣的十二个门徒：彼得、约翰、雅各（西庇太之子）、安德烈、腓力、多马、巴多罗买、马太、雅各（亚勒腓之子）、西门、达太和马提亚。后来一些信奉耶稣、传扬福音的人，亦称使徒，比如保罗、提摩太等。他们曾航海到小亚细亚各地传道。此处“奶油碟”是形容花砖上拼出的船只之小。

[34]据《圣经》记载，摩西和亚伦二人遵奉耶和华晓谕往见法老行奇事以显神迹。亚伦将杖掷地变成了蛇。法老召了术士们来，也都将杖掷地，变成了蛇，然而，亚伦的杖把术士们的杖全部吞了下去。事见《圣经·旧约全书·出埃及记》第七章。

[35]原文for a shade（就一个阴魂而论）和to a shade（从某种程度来说）只一字之差。

[36]英寻（fathom），长度单位，合六英尺或1.829米。

[37]“爱本利者”是私刻鲁挤的名字Ebenezer的音译。

[38]伦敦曾划分为二十六个区域，选派监护人（Ward）担任区域内的保卫工作。一八二九年建立警察制度以后，保卫工作由警察担任。

[39]据《圣经·新约全书·马太福音》第二章记载，耶稣降生以后，有几个东方的博士（Wise Men）依照一颗星的指引，找到耶稣降生的贫穷的家庭。“神圣的星”（Blessed Star）亦称“伯利恒的星”（the star of Bethlehem）。

STAVE TWO
THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS

WHEN Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that looking out of bed, he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber. He was endeavouring to pierce the darkness with his ferret eyes, when the chimes of a neighbouring church struck the four quarters. So he listened for the hour.

To his great astonishment the heavy bell went on from six to seven, and from seven to eight, and regularly up to twelve; then stopped. Twelve! It was past two when he went to bed. The clock was wrong. An icicle must have got into the works. Twelve!

He touched the spring of his repeater, to correct this most preposterous clock. Its rapid little pulse beat twelve; and stopped.

“Why, it isn't possible,” said Scrooge, “that I can have slept through a whole day and far into another night. It isn't possible that anything has happened to the sun, and this is twelve at noon!”

The idea being an alarming one, he scrambled out of bed, and groped his way to the window. He was obliged to rub the frost off with the sleeve of his dressing-gown before he could see anything; and could see very little then. All he could make out was, that it was still very foggy and extremely cold, and that there was no noise of people running to and fro, and making a great stir, as there unquestionably would have been if night had beaten off bright day, and taken possession of the world. This was a great relief, because “three days after sight of this First of Exchange pay to Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge or his order,” and so forth, would have become a mere United States’ security if there were no days to count by.

Scrooge went to bed again, and thought, and thought, and thought it over and over and over, and could make nothing of it. The more he thought, the more perplexed he was; and the more he endeavoured not to think, the more he thought.

Marley's Ghost bothered him exceedingly. Every time he resolved within himself, after mature inquiry, that it was all a dream, his mind flew back again, like a strong spring released, to its first position, and presented the same problem to be worked all through, “Was it a dream or not?”

Scrooge lay in this state until the chime had gone three quarters more, when he remembered, on a sudden, that the Ghost had warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled one. He resolved to lie awake until the hour was passed; and, considering that he could no more go to sleep than go to Heaven, this was perhaps the wisest resolution in his power.

The quarter was so long, that he was more than once convinced he must have sunk into a doze unconsciously, and missed the clock. At length it broke upon his listening ear.

“Ding, dong!”

“A quarter past,” said Scrooge, counting.

“Ding, dong!”

“Half-past!” said Scrooge.

“Ding, dong!”

“A quarter to it,” said Scrooge.

“Ding, dong!”

“The hour itself,” said Scrooge, triumphantly, “and nothing else!”

He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy ONE. Light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn.

The curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I tell you, by a hand. Not the curtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his back, but those to which his face was addressed. The curtains of his bed were drawn aside; and Scrooge, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them: as close to it as I am now to you, and I am standing in the spirit at your elbow.

It was a strange figure—like a child: yet not so like a child as like an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the appearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to a child's proportions. Its hair, which hung about its neck and down its back, was white as if with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle in it, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. The arms were very long and muscular; the hands the same, as if its hold were of uncommon strength. Its legs and feet, most delicately formed, were, like those upper members, bare. It wore a tunic of the purest white; and round its waist was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful. It held a branch of fresh green holly in its hand; and, in singular contradiction of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. But the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible; and which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

The curtains of his bed were drawn aside; and Scrooge, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them…
他床上的帐子被拉到一边去了；私刻鲁挤吓得撑起半个身子来，却发现自己面对面地看着那位拉开帐子的世外来客……

Even this, though, when Scrooge looked at it with increasing steadiness, was not its strangest quality. For as its belt sparkled and glittered now in one part and now in another, and what was light one instant, at another time was dark, so the figure itself fluctuated in its distinctness: being now a thing with one arm, now with one leg, now with twenty legs, now a pair of legs without a head, now a head without a body: of which dissolving parts, no outline would be visible in the dense gloom wherein they melted away. And in the very wonder of this, it would be itself again; distinct and clear as ever.

“Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?” asked Scrooge.

“I am!”

The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance.

“Who, and what are you?” Scrooge demanded.

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“Long Past?” inquired Scrooge: observant of its dwarfish stature.

“No. Your past.”

Perhaps, Scrooge could not have told anybody why, if anybody could have asked him; but he had a special desire to see the Spirit in his cap; and begged him to be covered.

“What!” exclaimed the Ghost, “would you so soon put out, with worldly hands, the light I give? Is it not enough that you are one of those whose passions made this cap, and force me through whole trains of years to wear it low upon my brow!”

Scrooge reverently disclaimed all intention to offend or any knowledge of having wilfully “bonneted” the Spirit at any period of his life. He then made bold to inquire what business brought him there.

“Your welfare!” said the Ghost.

Scrooge expressed himself much obliged, but could not help thinking that a night of unbroken rest would have been more conducive to that end. The Spirit must have heard him thinking, for it said immediately:

“Your reclamation, then. Take heed!”

It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently by the arm.

“Rise! and walk with me!”

It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the weather and the hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; that bed was warm, and the thermometer a long way below freezing; that he was clad but lightly in his slippers, dressing-gown, and nightcap; and that he had a cold upon him at that time. The grasp, though gentle as a woman's hand, was not to be resisted. He rose: but finding that the Spirit made towards the window, clasped his robe in supplication.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand.
刚说了这句话，他们就穿过了墙壁，站在一条开阔的乡村道路上，两边都是田野。

“I am a mortal,” Scrooge remonstrated, “and liable to fall.”

“Bear but a touch of my hand there,” said the Spirit, laying it upon his heart, “and you shall be upheld in more than this!”

As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand. The city had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon the ground.

“Good Heaven!” said Scrooge, clasping his hands together, as he looked about him. “I was bred in this place. I was a boy here!”

The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle touch, though it had been light and instantaneous, appeared still present to the old man's sense of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long, forgotten!

“Your lip is trembling,” said the Ghost. “And what is that upon your cheek?”

Scrooge muttered, with an unusual catching in his voice, that it was a pimple; and begged the Ghost to lead him where he would.

“You recollect the way?” inquired the Spirit.

“Remember it?” cried Scrooge with fervour; “I could walk it blindfold.”

“Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!” observed the Ghost. “Let us go on.”

They walked along the road, Scrooge recognising every gate, and post, and tree; until a little market-town appeared in the distance, with its bridge, its church, and winding river. Some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting towards them with boys upon their backs, who called to other boys in country gigs and carts, driven by farmers. All these boys were in great spirits, and shouted to each other, until the broad fields were so full of merry music, that the crisp air laughed to hear it.

“These are but shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “They have no consciousness of us.”

The jocund travellers came on; and as they came, Scrooge knew and named them every one. Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see them! Why did his cold eye glisten, and his heart leap up as they went past! Why was he filled with gladness when he heard them give each other Merry Christmas, as they parted at cross-roads and bye-ways, for their several homes! What was merry Christmas to Scrooge? Out upon merry Christmas! What good had it ever done to him?

“The school is not quite deserted,” said the Ghost. “A solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still.”

Scrooge said he knew it. And he sobbed.

They left the high-road, by a well-remembered lane, and soon approached a mansion of dull red brick, with a little weathercock-surmounted cupola, on the roof, and a bell hanging in it. It was a large house, but one of broken fortunes; for the spacious offices were little used, their walls were damp and mossy, their windows broken, and their gates decayed. Fowls clucked and strutted in the stables; and the coach-houses and sheds were over-run with grass. Nor was it more retentive of its ancient state, within; for entering the dreary hall, and glancing through the open doors of many rooms, they found them poorly furnished, cold, and vast. There was an earthy savour in the air, a chilly bareness in the place, which associated itself somehow with too much getting up by candle-light, and not too much to eat.

They went, the Ghost and Scrooge, across the hall, to a door at the back of the house. It opened before them, and disclosed a long, bare, melancholy room, made barer still by lines of plain deal forms and desks. At one of these a lonely boy was reading near a feeble fire; and Scrooge sat down upon a form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self as he used to be.

Not a latent echo in the house, not a squeak and scuffle from the mice behind the panelling, not a drip from the half-thawed water-spout in the dull yard behind, not a sigh among the leafless boughs of one despondent poplar, not the idle swinging of an empty store-house door, no, not a clicking in the fire, but fell upon the heart of Scrooge with a softening influence, and gave a freer passage to his tears.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

At one of these a lonely boy was reading near a feeble fire; and Scrooge sat down upon a form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self as he used to be.
在一张书桌前，一个孤零零的男孩正凑近微弱的炉火在念书。私刻鲁挤在一张长板凳上坐下来，泪眼昏花地望着那已经被遗忘的可怜的自己，他过去就是这个样子。

Suddenly a man, in foreign garments: wonderfully real and distinct to look at: stood outside the window, with an axe stuck in his belt, and leading by the bridle an ass laden with wood.
蓦然间，出现一个穿着外国衣服的人，形象十分逼真而又清晰地站在窗外，腰带里插着一把斧子，手执缰绳，牵着一匹驮负木柴的驴子。

The Spirit touched him on the arm, and pointed to his younger self, intent upon his reading. Suddenly a man, in foreign garments: wonderfully real and distinct to look at: stood outside the window, with an axe stuck in his belt, and leading by the bridle an ass laden with wood.

“Why, it's Ali Baba!” Scrooge exclaimed in ecstasy. “It's dear old honest Ali Baba! Yes, yes, I know! One Christmas time, when yonder solitary child was left here all alone, he did come, for the first time, just like that. Poor boy! And Valentine,” said Scrooge, “and his wild brother, Orson; there they go! And what's his name, who was put down in his drawers, asleep, at the Gate of Damascus; don't you see him! And the Sultan's Groom turned upside down by the Genii; there he is upon his head! Serve him right. I'm glad of it. What business had he to be married to the Princess!”

To hear Scrooge expending all the earnestness of his nature on such subjects, in a most extraordinary voice between laughing and crying; and to see his heightened and excited face; would have been a surprise to his business friends in the city, indeed.

“There's the Parrot!” cried Scrooge. “Green body and yellow tail, with a thing like a lettuce growing out of the top of his head; there he is! Poor Robin Crusoe, he called him, when he came home again after sailing round the island. ‘Poor Robin Crusoe, where have you been, Robin Crusoe?’ The man thought he was dreaming, but he wasn't. It was the Parrot, you know. There goes Friday, running for his life to the little creek! Halloa! Hoop! Halloo!”

Then, with a rapidity of transition very foreign to his usual character, he said, in pity for his former self, “Poor boy!” and cried again.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

“There's the Parrot!” cried Scrooge.
“看那只鹦鹉！”私刻鲁挤叫起来……

“I wish,” Scrooge muttered, putting his hand in his pocket, and looking about him, after drying his eyes with his cuff: “but it's too late now.”

“What is the matter?” asked the Spirit.

“Nothing,” said Scrooge. “Nothing. There was a boy singing a Christmas Carol at my door last night. I should like to have given him something: that's all.”

The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its hand: saying as it did so, “Let us see another Christmas!”

Scrooge's former self grew larger at the words, and the room became a little darker and more dirty. The panels shrunk, the windows cracked; fragments of plaster fell out of the ceiling, and the naked laths were shown instead; but how all this was brought about, Scrooge knew no more than you do. He only knew that it was quite correct; that everything had happened so; that there he was, alone again, when all the other boys had gone home for the jolly holidays.

He was not reading now, but walking up and down despairingly. Scrooge looked at the Ghost, and with a mournful shaking of his head, glanced anxiously towards the door.

It opened; and a little girl, much younger than the boy, came darting in, and putting her arms about his neck, and often kissing him, addressed him as her “Dear, dear brother.”

“I have come to bring you home, dear brother!” said the child, clapping her tiny hands, and bending down to laugh. “To bring you home, home, home!”

“Home, little Fan?” returned the boy.

“Yes!” said the child, brimful of glee. “Home, for good and all. Home, for ever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to be, that home's like Heaven! He spoke so gently to me one dear night when I was going to bed, that I was not afraid to ask him once more if you might come home; and he said Yes, you should; and sent me in a coach to bring you. And you're to be a man!” said the child, opening her eyes, “and are never to come back here; but first, we're to be together all the Christmas long, and have the merriest time in all the world.”

“You are quite a woman, little Fan!” exclaimed the boy.

She clapped her hands and laughed, and tried to touch his head; but being too little, laughed again, and stood on tiptoe to embrace him. Then she began to drag him, in her childish eagerness, towards the door; and he, nothing loth to go, accompanied her.

A terrible voice in the hall cried, “Bring down Master Scrooge's box, there!” and in the hall appeared the schoolmaster himself, who glared on Master Scrooge with a ferocious condescension, and threw him into a dreadful state of mind by shaking hands with him. He then conveyed him and his sister into the veriest old well of a shivering best-parlour that ever was seen, where the maps upon the wall, and the celestial and terrestrial globes in the windows, were waxy with cold. Here he produced a decanter of curiously light wine, and a block of curiously heavy cake, and administered instalments of those dainties to the young people: at the same time, sending out a meagre servant to offer a glass of “something” to the postboy, who answered that he thanked the gentleman, but if it was the same tap as he had tasted before, he had rather not. Master Scrooge's trunk being by this time tied on to the top of the chaise, the children bade the schoolmaster good-bye right willingly; and getting into it, drove gaily down the garden-sweep: the quick wheels dashing the hoar-frost and snow from off the dark leaves of the evergreens like spray.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

Here he produced a decanter of curiously light wine, and a block of curiously heavy cake, and administered instalments of those dainties to the young people…
他在这儿拿出一个盛着淡得出奇的酒的细颈瓶，一大块重得出奇的糕饼，把这佳酿美点的份额分派给两个孩子。

“Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered,” said the Ghost. “But she had a large heart!”

“So she had,” cried Scrooge. “You're right. I will not gainsay it, Spirit. God forbid!”

“She died a woman,” said the Ghost, “and had, as I think, children.”

“One child,” Scrooge returned.

“True,” said the Ghost. “Your nephew!”

Scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered briefly, “Yes.”

Although they had but that moment left the school behind them, they were now in the busy thoroughfares of a city, where shadowy passengers passed and repassed; where shadowy carts and coaches battled for the way, and all the strife and tumult of a real city were. It was made plain enough, by the dressing of the shops, that here too it was Christmas time again; but it was evening, and the streets were lighted up.

The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Scrooge if he knew it.

“Know it!” said Scrooge. “Was I apprenticed here!”

They went in. At sight of an old gentleman in a Welsh wig, sitting behind such a high desk, that if he had been two inches taller he must have knocked his head against the ceiling, Scrooge cried in great excitement:

“Why, it's old Fezziwig! Bless his heart; it's Fezziwig alive again!”

Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice:

“Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!”

Scrooge's former self, now grown a young man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-'prentice.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

… an old gentleman in a Welsh wig, sitting behind such a high desk, that if he had been two inches taller he must have knocked his head against the ceiling…
一个老绅士头戴一顶“威尔士假发”，坐在一张高高的写字台后面，坐得那么高，要是他再高两英寸的话，他的头一定要碰到天花板了。

They charged into the street with the shutters—one, two, three—had 'em up in their places…
他们扛起窗板就冲到街上——一，二，三——就把它们上在适当的地方了……

“Dick Wilkins, to be sure!” said Scrooge to the Ghost. “Bless me, yes. There he is. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear, dear!”

“Yo ho, my boys!” said Fezziwig. “No more work to-night. Christmas Eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up,” cried old Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands, “before a man can say Jack Robinson!”

You wouldn't believe how those two fellows went at it! They charged into the street with the shutters—one, two, three—had 'em up in their places—four, five, six—barred 'em and pinned 'em—seven, eight, nine—and came back before you could have got to twelve, panting like racehorses.

“Hilli-ho!” cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk, with wonderful agility. “Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Chirrup, Ebenezer!”

Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life for evermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a ball-room, as you would desire to see upon a winter's night.

In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin, the baker. In came the cook, with her brother's particular friend, the milkman. In came the boy from over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from his master; trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one, who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress. In they all came, one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other way; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong place; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them! When this result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to stop the dance, cried out, “Well done!” and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter, especially provided for that purpose. But scorning rest, upon his reappearance, he instantly began again, though there were no dancers yet, as if the other fiddler had been carried home, exhausted, on a shutter, and he were a bran-new man resolved to beat him out of sight, or perish.

There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince-pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler (an artful dog, mind! The sort of man who knew his business better than you or I could have told it him!) struck up “Sir Roger de Coverley.” Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty pair of partners; people who were not to be trifled with; people who would dance, and had no notion of walking.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

… and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter, especially provided for that purpose.
于是小提琴手把他热烘烘的脸浸到一大罐黑啤酒里去，这是特为此目的而准备的。

But if they had been twice as many—ah, four times—old Fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. If that's not high praise, tell me higher, and I'll use it. A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the dance like moons. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would have become of them next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance; advance and retire, both hands to your partner, bow and curtsey, corkscrew, thread-the-needle, and back again to your place; Fezziwig “cut”—cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon his feet again without a stagger.

When the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two ’prentices, they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to their beds; which were under a counter in the back-shop.

During the whole of this time, Scrooge had acted like a man out of his wits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self. He corroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and underwent the strangest agitation. It was not until now, when the bright faces of his former self and Dick were turned from them, that he remembered the Ghost, and became conscious that it was looking full upon him, while the light upon its head burnt very clear.

“A small matter,” said the Ghost, “to make these silly folks so full of gratitude.”

“Small!” echoed Scrooge.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

…Fezziwig “cut”—cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon his feet again without a stagger.
……费兹威格就“空踢”起来——踢得那么灵巧，就像用两条腿眨眼睛似的，然后再双脚着地，一晃也不晃。

The Spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who were pouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig: and when he had done so, said,

“Why! Is it not? He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money: three or four perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves this praise?”

“It isn't that,” said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter, self. “It isn't that, Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count 'em up: what then? The happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.”

He felt the Spirit's glance, and stopped.

“What is the matter?” asked the Ghost.

“Nothing particular,” said Scrooge.

“Something, I think?” the Ghost insisted.

“No,” said Scrooge. “No. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now. That's all.”

His former self turned down the lamps as he gave utterance to the wish; and Scrooge and the Ghost again stood side by side in the open air.

“My time grows short,” observed the Spirit. “Quick!”

This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any one whom he could see, but it produced an immediate effect. For again Scrooge saw himself. He was older now; a man in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later years; but it had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice. There was an eager, greedy, restless motion in the eye, which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow of the growing tree would fall.

He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a mourning-dress: in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.

“It matters little,” she said, softly. “To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve.”

“What Idol has displaced you?” he rejoined.

“A golden one.”

“This is the even-handed dealing of the world!” he said. “There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty; and there is nothing it professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!”

“You fear the world too much,” she answered, gently. “All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not?”

“What then?” he retorted. “Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? I am not changed towards you.”

She shook her head.

“Am I?”

“Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were both poor and content to be so, until, in good season, we could improve our worldly fortune by our patient industry. You are changed. When it was made, you were another man.”

“I was a boy,” he said impatiently.

“Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are,” she returned. “I am. That which promised happiness when we were one in heart, is fraught with misery now that we are two. How often and how keenly I have thought of this, I will not say. It is enough that I have thought of it, and can release you.”

“Have I ever sought release?”

“In words. No. Never.”

“In what, then?”

“In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of life; another Hope as its great end. In everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight. If this had never been between us,” said the girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him; “tell me, would you seek me out and try to win me now? Ah, no!”

He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition, in spite of himself. But he said with a struggle, “You think not.”

“I would gladly think otherwise if I could,” she answered, “Heaven knows! When I have learned a Truth like this, I know how strong and irresistible it must be. But if you were free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl—you who, in your very confidence with her, weigh everything by Gain: or, choosing her, if for a moment you were false enough to your one guiding principle to do so, do I not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and I release you. With a full heart, for the love of him you once were.”

He was about to speak; but with her head turned from him, she resumed.

“You may—the memory of what is past half makes me hope you will—have pain in this. A very, very brief time, and you will dismiss the recollection of it, gladly, as an unprofitable dream, from which it happened well that you awoke. May you be happy in the life you have chosen!”

She left him, and they parted.

“Spirit!” said Scrooge, “show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you delight to torture me?”

“One shadow more!” exclaimed the Ghost.

“No more!” cried Scrooge. “No more. I don't wish to see it. Show me no more!”

But the relentless Ghost pinioned him in both his arms, and forced him to observe what happened next.

They were in another scene and place; a room, not very large or handsome, but full of comfort. Near to the winter fire sat a beautiful young girl, so like that last that Scrooge believed it was the same, until he saw her, now a comely matron, sitting opposite her daughter. The noise in this room was perfectly tumultuous, for there were more children there, than Scrooge in his agitated state of mind could count; and, unlike the celebrated herd in the poem, they were not forty children conducting themselves like one, but every child was conducting itself like forty. The consequences were uproarious beyond belief; but no one seemed to care; on the contrary, the mother and daughter laughed heartily, and enjoyed it very much; and the latter, soon beginning to mingle in the sports, got pillaged by the young brigands most ruthlessly. What would I not have given to be one of them! Though I never could have been so rude, no, no! I wouldn't for the wealth of all the world have crushed that braided hair, and torn it down; and for the precious little shoe, I wouldn't have plucked it off, God bless my soul! to save my life. As to measuring her waist in sport, as they did, bold young brood, I couldn't have done it; I should have expected my arm to have grown round it for a punishment, and never come straight again. And yet I should have dearly liked, I own, to have touched her lips; to have questioned her, that she might have opened them; to have looked upon the lashes of her downcast eyes, and never raised a blush; to have let loose waves of hair, an inch of which would be a keepsake beyond price: in short, I should have liked, I do confess, to have had the lightest license of a child, and yet to have been man enough to know its value.

But now a knocking at the door was heard, and such a rush immediately ensued that she with laughing face and plundered dress was borne towards it the centre of a flushed and boisterous group, just in time to greet the father, who came home attended by a man laden with Christmas toys and presents. Then the shouting and the struggling, and the onslaught that was made on the defenceless porter! The scaling him with chairs for ladders to dive into his pockets, despoil him of brown-paper parcels, hold on tight by his cravat, hug him round his neck, pommel his back, and kick his legs in irrepressible affection! The shouts of wonder and delight with which the development of every package was received! The terrible announcement that the baby had been taken in the act of putting a doll's frying-pan into his mouth, and was more than suspected of having swallowed a fictitious turkey, glued on a wooden platter! The immense relief of finding this a false alarm! The joy, and gratitude, and ecstasy! They are all indescribable alike. It is enough that by degrees the children and their emotions got out of the parlour and by one stair at a time, up to the top of the house; where they went to bed, and so subsided.

And now Scrooge looked on more attentively than ever, when the master of the house, having his daughter leaning fondly on him, sat down with her and her mother at his own fireside; and when he thought that such another creature, quite as graceful and as full of promise, might have called him father, and been a spring-time in the haggard winter of his life, his sight grew very dim indeed.

“Belle,” said the husband, turning to his wife with a smile, “I saw an old friend of yours this afternoon.”

“Who was it?”

“Guess!”

“How can I? Tut, don't I know?” she added in the same breath, laughing as he laughed. “Mr. Scrooge.”

“Mr. Scrooge it was. I passed his office window; and as it was not shut up, and he had a candle inside, I could scarcely help seeing him. His partner lies upon the point of death, I hear; and there he sat alone. Quite alone in the world, I do believe.”

“Spirit!” said Scrooge in a broken voice, “remove me from this place.”

“I told you these were shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “That they are what they are, do not blame me!”

“Remove me!” Scrooge exclaimed, “I cannot bear it!”

He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it looked upon him with a face, in which in some strange way there were fragments of all the faces it had shown him, wrestled with it.

“Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!”

In the struggle, if that can be called a struggle in which the Ghost with no visible resistance on its own part was undisturbed by any effort of its adversary, Scrooge observed that its light was burning high and bright; and dimly connecting that with its influence over him, he seized the extinguisher-cap, and by a sudden action pressed it down upon its head.

The Spirit dropped beneath it, so that the extinguisher covered its whole form; but though Scrooge pressed it down with all his force, he could not hide the light, which streamed from under it, in an unbroken flood upon the ground.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

…and dimly connecting that with its influence over him, he seized the extinguisher-cap, and by a sudden action pressed it down upon its head.
……他迷迷糊糊地把这光和它对他的影响联系在一起，便抓过熄灯器帽子，猛不丁地压在鬼魂的头上。

He was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further, of being in his own bedroom. He gave the cap a parting squeeze, in which his hand relaxed; and had barely time to reel to bed, before he sank into a heavy sleep.

第二节
三个精灵中的第一个

私刻鲁挤醒来的时候，天色还是很黑。他从床上望出去，简直难以分辨哪儿是透光的窗户，哪儿是他的房间的四堵不透光的墙。他竭力用他的雪貂似的眼睛[1]在黑暗中刺探，这时，附近一座教堂里的钟声正敲四刻钟。他便侧耳倾听这是几点了。

使他不胜惊讶的是，那只沉重的钟不停地从六点[2]敲到七点，从七点敲到八点，这样有条不紊地一直敲到十二点；这就停住了。十二点！他睡到床上去的时候已经两点多钟嘛。那只钟不对头了。一定有根冰锥子搞到机器里边去了。十二点！

他摁下打簧表[3]的弹簧，来核对一下这只再荒谬也没有的钟。可是打簧表的急速的小脉搏打了十二下，就停住了。

“怎么啦，这是不可能的。”私刻鲁挤说，“我不可能已经睡过了一整天，而又睡到了第二天深夜。要是说太阳出了什么毛病，现在是中午十二点，这也是不可能的！”

他想到这里，不禁毛骨悚然，他手忙脚乱地爬下床来，摸索着走到窗口。他不得不先用晨衣的袖子把窗子上的冰霜揩去才看得见什么，可是这样也只能看见一点点。他能分辨得出的是外面仍然大雾迷漫，天气酷寒，没有人声鼎沸、往来奔跑的巨大骚动，要是黑夜果真赶走了白昼，占领了世界，肯定会发生这种情况。这样一来倒叫人不胜宽慰，因为要是没有日子可以计算的话，那么“见此第一联汇票三日后祈付爱本利者·私刻鲁挤先生或来人”，以及诸如此类的东西，就会变成不过是一张美国债券[4]了。

私刻鲁挤再回到床上去，一遍，一遍，又一遍，想着，想着，又想着这桩事情，然而想不出什么道理来。他越想越糊涂；他越是竭力不要想，却越是想下去。马莱的鬼魂使他烦恼透顶。每当他作了深思熟虑，心中断定那完全是一场梦的时候，他的思想却又像一根放开来的强劲的弹簧那样，弹回到原来的地方，把同样的问题提出来，从头到尾想一遍：“到底是不是一场梦呢？”

私刻鲁挤在这种情况下躺着，直到钟声又敲过三个一刻钟，他忽然记起来，那个鬼魂警告过他，在钟敲一点的时候，有客来访。他决定睁着眼睛躺着，直到那个时刻过去；而且，有鉴于他正像不能进入天堂那样不能进入睡乡，这或许是他能力范围内最聪明的决定了。

这一刻钟好长啊，他不止一次地以为自己一定已经不知不觉地陷入瞌睡之中，错过了钟点。终于钟声传到他静听的耳中来了。

“叮，当！”

“过去四分之一了。”私刻鲁挤计着数，说。

“叮，当！”

“过去一半了！”私刻鲁挤说。

“叮，当！”

“还剩四分之一了。”私刻鲁挤说。

“叮，当！”

“时间到了，”私刻鲁挤得意扬扬地说，“却什么也没有发生！”

这句话他是在报时那一下敲响之前说的，眼下它用一种低沉的、郁闷的、空洞的、凄凉的声音敲了一点钟。刹那间，这屋子里亮光一闪，他床上的帐子被拉了开来。

他床上的帐子，我能肯定地说，是被一只手拉到一边的。不是他脚那边的帐子，也不是他背后的帐子，而是他的脸朝着的那面的帐子。他床上的帐子被拉到一边去了；私刻鲁挤吓得撑起半个身子来，却发现自己面对面地看着那位拉开帐子的世外来客：他跟它那么近，就像我现在跟你那么近，而我在精神上现在正站在你的胳膊肘子旁呢。

它是一个奇怪的形象——好像一个孩子：然而，与其说它像个孩子，倒又不如说它像个老人，因为透过一种不可思议的媒介来看，这种媒介使它现出一种从眼前退缩回去的外貌，并且缩小到孩子般大小。它的头发披散在脑后，一直拖到背上，仿佛因为上了年纪而变白了；可是那张脸却没有一丝皱纹，皮肤也泛出最最娇嫩的红晕。它的两臂很长，而且肌肉发达；双手也如此，好像它紧握起来有异乎寻常的力气。它的双腿和双脚的外形是再纤巧也没有了，像上面那双胳膊一样也是赤裸着。它穿着一件极其洁白的束腰外衣[5]，腰间束着一根闪闪发光的带子，光彩夺目。它手中拿着一根新摘下来的绿色冬青树枝；然而，同这一冬天的标记极端矛盾的是，它的衣服却用夏天的花朵装饰着。不过，最最奇怪的事情是，它的头顶上竟然发射出一道清晰明亮的光，把这一切照得能看见。毫无疑问，这道光也就是它为什么在其较为幽暗的时候要用一个巨大的熄灯器[6]作为帽子，这东西现在正夹在它的胳肢窝下。

然而，在私刻鲁挤越来越凝神地看着它的时候，就看出这还不是它的最奇怪的地方。因为它的腰带一会儿这一部分闪闪发光，一会儿另一部分闪闪发光，在这一刹那间亮一下的，在另一刹那间又暗下去，那个形象本身便在它的闪现中变幻着：一会儿是个只有一只胳臂的东西，一会儿是个只有一条腿的东西，一会儿又长着二十条腿，一会儿有一双腿却没有头，一会儿有头没有身子；那些消失的部分，融入漆黑的幽暗中，连一点轮廓也看不出来。然而在这怪事发生的时候，它却又会变成原来的样子，像原来一样清清楚楚。

“您就是那位精灵吧，先生，我事先知道要来的那位？”私刻鲁挤问。

“正是！”

那声音柔和而又亲切，说得特别低，好像不是近在他身旁，而是离得远远的。

“您是谁，是干什么的？”私刻鲁挤接着问。

“我是过去的圣诞节鬼魂。”

“很久的过去吗？”私刻鲁挤寻根究底，打量着它的矮矮的身材。

“不。是你的过去。”

假如有人能问私刻鲁挤，也许他不能告诉那人什么理由，可是他有一种奇特的欲望，要看看这位精灵戴上帽子；他便请求它罩上去。

“什么话！”鬼魂嚷起来，“难道你这么快就要用世俗的双手把我发出的光明熄灭掉吗？人们用情欲制成了这顶帽子，强迫我在一长串的岁月里，一年到头把它压低到我的眉毛上戴着，你就是这些人中间的一个，难道这还不够吗？”

私刻鲁挤恭恭敬敬地否认在自己一生中的任何时期里，有一丝冒犯的意图，或者有意识地要叫这位精灵“以帽遮目”。然后他鼓起勇气问它到这儿来有何贵干。

“为了你的幸福！”鬼魂说。

私刻鲁挤嘴上说他非常感谢，但是心中却不禁想着，要是让他能不被打扰地休息一夜，那会更有助于达到这个目的。这位精灵一定已经听见了他的想法，因为它立刻就说：

“那么，就为了你的改过自新吧。留神哪！”

它一面说，一面伸出它的强壮的手，轻轻地抓住他的胳臂。

“站起来！跟我走！”

要是私刻鲁挤求情，说这个天气和时间都不适于作一次步行；说床上很暖和，而温度表上已经降到零下好多度；说他穿得很少，只穿了拖鞋、浴衣和睡帽；说这时候他正患着感冒呢，这都是没有用的。那只手虽然柔软得像是女人的手，但是给它抓住就别想犟得了。他只好站起来；但是一发现精灵朝着窗口走去，他便一把抓住它的长袍，恳求它。

“我是一个凡人，”私刻鲁挤提出异议，“要掉下去的。”

“只要让我的手在这里碰一下，”精灵说着把手搁在他的心口那儿，“你就不止会得到这一种支持！”

刚说了这句话，他们就穿过了墙壁，站在一条开阔的乡村道路上，两边都是田野。城市完全消失了，连一点影子都看不见了。黑暗和迷雾也跟着消失不见，因为面前是一个晴朗、寒冷的冬日，白雪覆盖着大地。

“天啊！”私刻鲁挤说，他十指交叉握在一起，向四面看看，“我就是在这个地方长大的。我是个孩子的时候就待在这儿！”

精灵温和地盯着他瞧。刚才它的温柔的接触，虽然又轻又短促，似乎仍然保存在这个老头儿的感觉之中。他觉得有千百种气息飘浮在空气中，每一种气息又牵连着千百种已经淡忘了很久很久的思虑、希望、快乐和忧愁！

“你的嘴唇在颤抖着啊。”鬼魂说，“你的腮帮子上又是什么？”

私刻鲁挤带着一种异常的哽咽的音调，含含糊糊地说，那是一粒粉刺。他请求鬼魂带他到他想去的场所。

“你记得这条路吗？”精灵问。

“记得吗？”私刻鲁挤热烈地高声说——“我蒙着眼睛都能走！”

“奇怪的是你竟然把它遗忘了这么许多年！”鬼魂说，“咱们往前走吧。”

他们顺着那条路走去，私刻鲁挤认出了每一扇门，每一根柱子，每一棵树。后来，远处出现了一座小集镇，那儿有桥，有教堂，还有一条弯弯曲曲的河流。他们看见孩子们骑着几匹鬣毛蓬松的小马朝他们奔驰而来，孩子们招呼着坐在农夫们赶着的轻便马车和运货马车上的其他孩子们。这些孩子全都兴高采烈，彼此嚷来嚷去，嚷得这广阔的田野里充满了欢快的音乐，甚至清新的空气都听得笑起来。

“这些都不过是过去的事物的影子。”鬼魂说，“他们不会感觉到我们在这儿。”

这欢蹦乱跳的一群旅客来了；他们来到跟前的时候，私刻鲁挤认识他们，并且喊出每一个人的名字。为什么他看见了他们，是那样无限地欢喜呢？为什么他们跑过去的时候，他那双冷酷的眼睛发着光，他的心怦怦地跳呢？为什么他们在十字路口和偏僻小路上分手，各自回家去的时候，他听见他们彼此祝贺圣诞快乐，他心中是那么充满着欢喜呢？对私刻鲁挤来说，什么叫作圣诞快乐？去他的圣诞快乐！这东西对他有过什么好处？

“那所学校里的人还没有全部走掉。”鬼魂说，“有一个孤单的孩子还待在那儿，他的朋友们都不睬他。”

私刻鲁挤说他知道他。他呜咽地哭起来。

他们离开了那条大路，踅入一条很熟悉的小道，不久就来到一幢大厦跟前，暗红色的砖墙，屋顶上有一个钟形小阁，上面装着一个风标，里面吊着一口钟。这是一幢很大的房子，但却是破落倒败的样子；因为一间间宽敞的下层很少被使用，墙壁上很潮湿，生着青苔，窗户都坏了，房门都烂了。家禽在马厩里咯咯地叫唤，大摇大摆地走着；马车房和木棚里都长满了杂草。即使屋子里边也并不更多地保持昔日的状态。因为他们一走进那间凄惨的门厅，从那许多房间的打开的门望进去，就发现房间里布置简陋，阴冷空旷。空气里散布着一种泥土的气息，这地方透露出一种阴寒的荒凉，不知怎么，它使人联想起太多次点着蜡烛起床而又没有太多的东西充饥。

鬼魂和私刻鲁挤穿过门厅，走到屋后的一扇门前。门在他们面前开了，展露出一间长而空的阴森森的屋子，几排未经油漆的松木长板凳和书桌，使得屋子更见空无所有。在一张书桌前，一个孤零零的男孩正凑近微弱的炉火在念书。私刻鲁挤在一张长板凳上坐下来，泪眼昏花地望着那已经被遗忘的可怜的自己，他过去就是这个样子。

这所房间里潜藏着的回声，墙壁镶板后面老鼠的尖叫声和吵架声，杂乱的后院里半冻的水落管的滴水声，一株无精打采的白杨树落尽叶子的枝丫间发出的叹息声，一间空堆房的门单调的轧轧声，还有，壁炉里炉火的毕剥声，没有哪一种声音不落在私刻鲁挤的心里，使他的心软化，使他的眼泪有一个比较流畅的通道。

精灵碰碰他的胳臂，指着他小时候专心读书的样子。蓦然间，出现一个穿着外国衣服的人，形象十分逼真而又清晰地站在窗外，腰带里插着一把斧子，手执缰绳，牵着一匹驮负木柴的驴子。

“啊呀，那是阿里巴巴[7]！”私刻鲁挤兴奋地叫嚷起来，“那是亲爱的、诚实的老阿里巴巴！不错，不错，我认识！有一年的圣诞节，那边那个孤独的孩子，只剩下他一个人给撂在这儿的时候，阿里巴巴曾经头一次来，就像这回一样。可怜的孩子啊！还有瓦伦丁，”私刻鲁挤说，“跟他的那个粗野的弟弟奥森。[8]他们也走来了！还有那个人叫什么名字，他穿着衬裤，睡着了，让人放在大马士革的城门外。你看见他没有！还有那个苏丹的马夫，妖怪使他倒立，他正头朝下挂在那儿呢！活该。我真高兴。他有什么权利和公主结婚！[9]”

要是伦敦城里私刻鲁挤的商业界的朋友们，听见他用这种再特别也没有的啼笑皆非的声音，在这类事情上，倾注了他天性中全部的真诚，并且看见他涨得红红的兴奋的脸，他们的确会大吃一惊。

“看那只鹦鹉！”私刻鲁挤叫起来，“绿身体，黄尾巴，头顶上长出好像莴苣一样的东西。它就在那儿！鲁滨逊·克鲁索环绕海岛航行一周以后，又回到家中的时候，鹦鹉叫他可怜的鲁滨·克鲁索。‘可怜的鲁滨·克鲁索，你到哪儿去了，鲁滨·克鲁索？’那人以为自己在做梦，可是他不是做梦。那是鹦鹉在叫他，你知道的。星期五跑来了，他在朝小河这边逃命！[10]哈啰啊！呼噗！哈啰！”

这时，他一反平时的习性，迅速转变过来，怜悯他从前的自己，说道：“可怜的孩子啊！”便又哭了起来。

“我希望，”私刻鲁挤用袖口揩揩眼睛，把手插到衣袋里，四面看看，吞吞吐吐地说道，“可是现在太晚了。”

“怎么啦？”精灵问道。

“没有什么。”私刻鲁挤说，“没有什么。昨天晚上有一个孩子在我的门口唱一首圣诞颂歌，我很想那时候给了他一点什么东西：就是这么回事。”

鬼魂若有所思地微笑着，一面挥手，一面说：“让我们看看另一个圣诞节吧！”

鬼魂刚说了这句话，私刻鲁挤的过去的自我就变得大起来，这间屋子就变得更暗一些，更脏一些。墙壁镶板在缩小，窗户在裂开；灰泥一片一片地从天花板上掉下来，露出了里面一根一根的板条；但是这一切是怎么搞的，私刻鲁挤并不比你知道得多。他只知道这一点也不错；这一切都是过去发生过的；他又是孤零零的一个人待在那儿，这时其他的孩子们都已经回家去过快乐的节日去了。

他现在不看书了，而是绝望地踱来踱去。私刻鲁挤瞧着鬼魂，伤感地摇摇头，焦急地朝门口望着。

门开了，一个小女孩，比那男孩子小得多，飞快地跑进来，双臂抱着他的头颈，一再吻他，称他是她的“亲而又亲的哥哥”。

“我是来接你回家的，亲爱的哥哥！”那孩子拍着小手，弯腰欢笑着说，“接你回家，回家，回家！”

“回家吗，小芳？”男孩子回问。

“对啦！”那孩子满心欢喜地说，“回家，一去不再来了。回家，永远永远不离开了。爸爸比他从前慈爱得多，因此家里像天堂一样了！在一个可爱的晚上，我要上床去睡觉的时候，他是那样温和地对我说话，因此我不害怕再一次问他，是不是可以让你回家。他就说是的，你当然要回家，就叫我乘一辆公共马车来接你。而且你就要长大成人了！”这个孩子睁大眼睛说，“你再也不用回到这儿来啦。但是首先，我们要在一起度过整个圣诞节假期[11]了，要过一个全世界最最快乐的时日。”

“小芳啊，你真是长大成人了！”那个男孩子喊着说。

女孩拍手笑着，要想摸摸他的头，但是个儿太小，便又笑起来，踮起脚尖来拥抱他。然后，她带着稚气的性急的神情拉着他朝门口走去；而他呢，一点也没有不愿意的样子，跟着她走了。

一阵可怕的喊声在门厅里响了起来：“喂，把私刻鲁挤少爷的箱子搬下来！”同时在这门厅里出现了校长本人，他以一种凶狠的屈尊降贵的架势瞪视着私刻鲁挤少爷，和他握手，把他弄得胆战心惊。于是，他把他和他的妹妹运送到像最古老的井一样令人寒战不已的，从未见过的最好的客厅里来。那儿墙壁上挂的地图，窗台上搁的天球仪和地球仪都冻得像蜡一样苍白。他在这儿拿出一个盛着淡得出奇的酒的细颈瓶，一大块重得出奇的糕饼，把这佳酿美点的份额分派给两个孩子。[12]与此同时，他又吩咐一个瘦骨棱棱的仆人把一杯“那个东西”送给马车夫，那人回答说，他谢谢这位老爷，不过，要是这东西跟他先前尝过的饮料是一样的话，他宁愿不喝了。私刻鲁挤少爷的皮箱这时候已经给捆在马车顶上，两个孩子很高兴地向这个校长道别，钻进了车子，他们就沿着校园的曲径欢欢喜喜地驱车而去；飞转的车轮擦过常青树的黑黝黝的树叶，把树叶上的白霜和积雪打落下来，像浪花一样四溅。

“她永远是一个娇嫩的人儿，一口气都可以把她吹得凋谢。”鬼魂说，“然而她却有一颗伟大的心啊！”

“她的确是这样。”私刻鲁挤大声说，“你说得不错。我决不能反驳这句话，精灵啊。上帝不容！”

“她死的时候是个妇人，”鬼魂说，“而且，据我所知，生了孩子。”

“生了一个。”私刻鲁挤回答说。

“不错。”鬼魂说，“那就是你的外甥！”

私刻鲁挤看样子心中很是不安；他简单地回答说：“是的。”

虽然他们不过刚刚离开那所学校，这会儿却已经身在城市里热闹的大街上了，那儿有许多影影绰绰的行人来来往往；那儿有许多影影绰绰的货车和客车争途夺路；凡是一个真正的城市所有的你争我夺、杂乱纷繁的景象，这儿都有。从各家商店的布置看来，够清楚的是，这儿也是又到了圣诞节期了；不过现在是黄昏时分，街道上都亮着灯。

鬼魂在某一家货栈门口站住，问私刻鲁挤可认识这个地方。

“认识吗！”私刻鲁挤说，“我不是在这儿做过学徒的吗？”

他们走了进去。一个老绅士头戴一顶“威尔士假发”[13]，坐在一张高高的写字台后面，坐得那么高，要是他再高两英寸的话，他的头一定要碰到天花板了。私刻鲁挤一看见他，就万分激动地喊起来：

“啊呀，原来是老费兹威格！上帝保佑他；费兹威格又活起来了！”

老费兹威格放下手中的笔，抬头看看时钟，时钟指着七点[14]。他搓搓手，理一理他的宽大的背心；从他的鞋子直到他的管仁慈的部位[15]，全身上下都在笑；并且用他那舒畅的、滑润的、丰满的、肥厚的、快活的声音高声喊道：

“哟呵，喂！爱本利者！狄克！”

私刻鲁挤过去的自己，这时候已经成长为一个青年人，敏捷地走进来，由他的师兄弟陪同着。

“错不了，是狄克·威尔金斯！”私刻鲁挤对鬼魂说，“天哪，不错，就是他。是狄克，他过去跟我非常好。可怜的狄克！亲爱的，亲爱的！”

“哟呵，我的孩子们！”费兹威格说，“今儿晚上不干活了。圣诞节前夕快乐，狄克。圣诞节快乐，爱本利者！让我们把窗板上起来。”老费兹威格喊着，双手拍了一下，拍得很响，“说干就干，杰克·鲁滨逊都来不及喊！[16]”

你一定不会相信那两个伙计怎么干这活儿的！他们扛起窗板就冲到街上——一，二，三——就把它们上在适当的地方了——四，五，六——就上好了闩杆，扣上了——七，八，九——在你还来不及喊到十二的时候，就跑了回来，气喘吁吁像参加比赛的马。

“嘿哩——呵！”老费兹威格喊着，从高高的写字台那儿灵敏异常地跳下来，“把东西搬开，孩子们，让我腾出一大块地方来！嘿哩——呵，狄克！啧，啧，啧，爱本利者！”

把东西搬开吗！在老费兹威格的监视之下，没有什么东西他们不肯搬开，或者不能搬开。一分钟之内都做好了。每一件搬得了的东西都捆扎搁置起来，好像要从社会生活中被永远开除出去一样；地板扫干净了，洒了水，灯芯都修剪了，燃料堆在炉火上了；于是，这家货栈变成了一所又舒服又暖和，又干燥又明亮的跳舞厅，正像在一个冬天的夜晚你很想亲眼看到的一样。

进来了一位小提琴手，夹着一本乐谱，登上那张高高的写字台，把它变成一个演奏台，他调着音，好像发了五十阵胃痛病。进来了费兹威格太太，是一个庞大结实的笑面人。进来了三位费兹威格小姐，笑逐颜开，煞是可爱。进来了为她们心碎的六位年轻的追求者。进来了这行业中雇用的全体男青年和女青年。进来了那位女仆，带着她的做面包师的表哥。进来了那位女厨师，带着她哥哥的不是一般的朋友：一位送牛奶的。进来了一位住在对面的男孩子，人们猜想他的主人是否没有让他吃饱；他正想藏在住在隔壁一家的女孩子的背后，这女孩子被人发现她的耳朵被她的女主人揪过。他们全都进来了，一个接一个；有些人羞答答，有些人雄赳赳，有些人优雅大方，有些人笨手笨脚，有些人向前推，有些人向后退；无论如何，不管怎样，他们全都进来了。他们又全都走开了，立刻组成二十对，手拉手绕了半圈，又从另一面转过来；跳到中间，又跳回来；在带着各个阶段的情感的组合中转着，转着；原来领头的一对老是出现在不该出现的地方；新的领头的一对跳到那儿的时候，就立刻重又开始；最后全都是领头的一对，而没有后面的一对来帮他们的忙了。等到产生了这种结果的时候，老费兹威格就拍手叫跳舞停下来，喊道：“跳得好啊！”于是小提琴手把他热烘烘的脸浸到一大罐黑啤酒里去，这是特为此目的而准备的。然而一等到他重新露脸，尽管这时还没有人跳舞，他就藐视休息，立刻重新演奏起来，好像另一位小提琴手已经筋疲力尽，被人用窗板抬回家去；而他是一位崭新的人，下决心要胜过前人，使其望尘莫及，否则宁可死。

接着是一次次的跳舞，接着是玩罚物游戏[17]，以及一次次的跳舞，接着是蛋糕，接着是尼格斯酒[18]，接着是老大一块烤牛肉，接着是老大一块冷的炖牛肉，接着是碎肉馅饼，以及许多许多啤酒。然而，这天晚上的最高潮是在烤牛肉和炖牛肉之后到来的。当时，那位小提琴手（注意，他是一只机灵的狗啊！他是那种人，对于自己的业务比你或者我能够教他的更精通！）他奏起了那首《罗杰·德·柯弗利爵士》[19]。于是，老费兹威格走出来跟费兹威格太太跳起舞来。而且是领头的一对呢；这真是摆在他们面前的相当艰巨的任务；共有二十三四对舞伴，他们可是绝不能小看的人；他们是来跳舞，而一点都不打算散步的人哪。

不过，即使是增加一倍的人数，啊，就说四倍吧，老费兹威格也会是他们的对手，费兹威格太太也是。说到她呀，在舞伴这个字眼的一切意义上，她都适合做他的舞伴。如果说这不是一句高级的赞语，那么请告诉我更高级的吧，我立刻采用。费兹威格的小腿似乎发出真正的光辉来了，在舞蹈的每一个段落都像月亮那样照耀着。在任何时刻，你绝不能预言那两条小腿下一步会变成什么花样。等到老费兹威格和费兹威格太太跳完了整个舞曲的时候，你跟你的舞伴手拉着手，一进一退，一个鞠躬，一个行屈膝礼，来一个“螺旋钻孔”[20]，来一个“穿针引线”[21]，再回到你的位置上去，费兹威格就“空踢”[22]起来——踢得那么灵巧，就像用两条腿眨眼睛似的，然后再双脚着地，一晃也不晃。

时钟敲了十一点的时候，这场家庭舞会宣告结束。费兹威格先生和太太各就各位，在门口一边站一个，每一个人走出去的时候，他们就跟他或者她握手，祝愿他或者她圣诞快乐。等到大家都已告辞，只剩下那两位伙计的时候，他们也向那两位这样做了。悦耳的声音就这样消逝了，两个小伙子就给留在那儿，爬上床去；床是在店堂后部一个柜台下面。

在这整个时间里，私刻鲁挤的样子像是一个失魂落魄的人。他整个心灵都进入场景，和他从前的自己融合在一起。他证实了每一件事情，回忆起每一件事情，欣赏着每一件事情，并且经受了最最奇怪的激动。直到此刻，他看见从前的自己和狄克两人容光焕发的脸转了过去，才记起鬼魂，才感觉到鬼魂正在眼睁睁地瞧着他，而它头顶上的光燃烧得非常清晰。

“小事一桩，”鬼魂说，“就叫这些傻子感谢不尽。”

“小事吗！”私刻鲁挤应声说。

精灵向他示意，要他倾听两个伙计的谈话，他们正在倾心吐腑地称赞费兹威格。他听了之后，精灵说：

“怎么！难道不是吗？他不过花了几镑你们那种庸俗的钱：也许是三四镑吧。这就能使他当得起这种称赞了吗？”

“话不能这么说。”私刻鲁挤说，他被它的话激恼了，不知不觉像他从前的自己，而不是后来的自己那样说起话来，“话不能这么说，精灵啊。他有权力来给我们快乐或者不幸，来使我们的工作轻松或者繁重，成为一种娱乐或者一种苦役。要是说他的权力存在于语言和神色之间，存在于十分细小而微不足道的事情之中，连加都加不起来，算都算不清楚，那又怎么样呢？他给予别人的幸福，差不多像是一笔财产那样贵重。”

他感到了精灵的眼光，便住了口。

“怎么啦？”鬼魂问。

“没什么大不了的事。”私刻鲁挤说，

“有什么吧，我想？”鬼魂追问。

“没有，”私刻鲁挤说，“没有。我真想现在能够跟我的办事员说一两句话！就是这么回事。”

他在吐露出这个愿望的时候，他从前的自己把灯火旋小了；于是私刻鲁挤和鬼魂又肩并肩站在露天里了。

“我的时间不多了，”精灵指出，“快些吧！”

这句话不是对私刻鲁挤说的，也不是对任何它看得见的人说的，然而却立刻产生了效果。因为私刻鲁挤又看见了他自己。他现在长大一些了，是一个生机勃勃的青年。他的脸上还没有以后的年岁中出现的又粗又硬的纹路，然而已经开始蒙上了忧虑和贪婪的迹象，眼睛中有一种急切的贪得无厌的神色，一刻不停地转动，显示出一种已经生了根的欲望，而那棵越长越大的树将要把阴影投在何处。

他不是独自一个人，而是坐在一位穿着丧服的金发姑娘的身边。她的眼睛中噙着泪水，从“过去的圣诞节鬼魂”身上发出的光把那泪水照得亮晶晶的。

“那是关系很小的，”她柔声说，“对你来说，非常小。另外一个偶像已经代替了我。假如那个偶像在将来能够使你得到快乐和安慰，正像我所想做到的那样，那么我就没有正当的理由去悲伤了。”

“什么偶像代替了你呢？”他反问道。

“一个金的偶像。”

“这是世界上的公平交易！”他说，“这个世界上没有什么东西像贫穷那样苦；这个世界宣称要谴责的东西，也没有什么像追求财富那样受到如此苛刻的对待！”

“你太害怕这个世界了。”她温和地回答说，“你一切其他的希望都并入了一个希望，就是避免遭到这个世界的肮脏的责备。我已经看见你原来比较高尚的志向都一个接一个地消失了，只剩下那个主要的欲望，即唯利是图，来独占你。是不是呢？”

“那又怎么样？”他反驳着说，“即使我变得聪明得多了，那又怎么样？我对你可没有变心。”

她摇摇头。

“不是吗？”

“我们的婚约历时很久了。订约的时候，我们两人都贫穷，并且安于贫穷，愿意等到吉时良机，能够靠自己坚韧的勤劳，来改善我们在世上的处境。然而，你是变了。我们订婚的时候，你可不是这样的人哩。”

“我那时是个孩子。”他不耐烦地说。

“你自己的感觉能告诉你那时可不是现在这样子，”她回答说，“我才是一个样。我们是一条心的时候使我们能展望幸福的那种情况，在现在我们是两条心的时候，已经充满了惨状。我曾经多么经常而多么深切地想到这一点，我不打算说了。我曾经想到这一点，并且能够跟你分手，跟你这样说就足够了。”

“我可曾要求过分手？”

“在语言中，没有；从来没有。”

“那么，在什么方面有？”

“在改变了的性情上，在变化了的精神里，在生活的另一种气氛中。你把另一种‘希望’作为生活的伟大的目标。也在一切事物之中，那些事物曾经使我的爱情在你的目光里有一点价值。要是这事情从来没有在我们之间发生，”姑娘说着，温和但是坚定地看着他，“告诉我，你现在可会追求我，并且想得到我呢？啊，不会的！”

他似乎要不由自主地承认这一推测的公正。然而，他内心挣扎着说：“你认为不会。”

“要是我能够不这样想，我会很高兴。”她回答说，“天知道！等我了解到这样的一种‘事实’，我就知道它必然是多么强烈而不可抗拒。然而，要是你在今天，明天，或者昨天解除了婚约的话，即使是我，可能够相信你会选择一个没有嫁妆的姑娘呢？——你呀，即使跟她亲密无间的时候，也要用‘唯利是图’来衡量一切，或者，假定你一时失错，竟然违背了自己的主要原则而选择了她，难道我不知道，你的悔恨和懊恼必然会跟踪而来的吗？我知道，因此我跟你分手。我带着充满感情的心，为了对他，即过去的你的爱情而分手。”

他正要张口说话，但是她转过头去，避开他，继续她的话。

“你也许——对于过去的回忆使我半带着希望你必定——对此感到痛苦。这是一个非常非常短暂的时刻，而你会愉快地把这段回忆忘掉，好像那是一场无利可图的梦，而你从梦中醒来真是求之不得。愿你在你已经选择好的生活中过得幸福！”

她离开了他；他们就此分手了。

“精灵啊！”私刻鲁挤说，“别再给我看什么了！带我回家吧。你为什么喜欢折磨我啊？”

“再看一个影子！”鬼魂大声喊着。

“不要再看了！”私刻鲁挤嚷着，“不要再看了。我不想看了。不要再给我看了！”

但是这位无情的鬼魂用双臂把他挟住，硬要他看下一幕。

他们这时在另一个场景，另一个地方了：一间屋子，不十分大，也不怎么漂亮，然而充满舒适的情调。靠近那冬天的炉火坐着一位美丽的姑娘，太像刚才那一位了，私刻鲁挤以为是同一个人，直到后来才看见了她，这时她已是一位清秀的家庭主妇，正坐在她的女儿的对面。这房间里的声音真是喧闹透顶了，因为还有更多的孩子，心情激动的私刻鲁挤数都数不过来有多少。而且，不像那首诗[23]里所写的著名的一群牛，他们不是四十个孩子行动起来像一个，而是每一个孩子正在像四十个孩子那样行动。结果，那种吵闹简直令人难以置信；可是似乎谁都不在乎；相反，母亲和女儿正开怀大笑，十分欣赏。而且女儿不久也开始卷入这场游戏之中，被那帮小强盗极其无情地抢劫。要是能成为他们当中的一个，有什么代价我不肯出！不过我决不能那么粗暴，决不，决不！给我全世界的财富我也不会把她编成辫子的头发弄坏，并且扯下来；至于那只可爱的小鞋子，即使要我的命，上帝保佑！我也不会把它硬脱下来。说到量她的腰围来闹着玩儿，像他们那些胆大妄为的小捣蛋所做的，我也决不能干；我必然会遭到惩罚：手臂围绕着她的腰便再也伸不直了。可是我承认，我会十分喜欢去亲亲她的嘴；去问问她的话，那么她就会张口回答；去瞧瞧她低垂的眼睛上的睫毛而决不至于使她脸红；去放开那卷发，它每一英寸都是不能用价钱来计算的纪念品。总而言之，我承认，我愿意有一种孩子般的最轻微的放纵，然而又像成人那样，能够知道它的价值。

可是这时候却响起了一阵敲门声，接着立刻发生了猛烈的冲击，姑娘也带着笑脸和劫后的衣服被卷入那涨红着脸、扯直了嗓子嚷嚷的一群人的中心，正好及时去迎候他们的父亲。他们的父亲回家来了，带着一个背着许多圣诞节玩具和礼物的人。于是，那一阵子大喊大叫，大吵大闹，大抢大夺那手无寸铁的脚夫啊！那一阵子用椅子当作梯子，爬到他的身上，深入他的口袋，搜刮他的棕色纸包，紧紧抓住他的领巾[24]，搂住他的脖子，用拳头擂他的背，以抑制不住的热情踢他的腿啊！每一个包裹打开来的时候所引起的惊喜的呼声啊！那骇人听闻的宣告，说是小毛头竟然动手把洋娃娃的煎锅放到嘴巴里去了，而且不止是令人怀疑，他已经吞下了一只粘在木盘子上的假火鸡啦！结果发现这不过是一场虚惊，那天大的快慰啊！那欢乐，那感激，以及那狂喜啊！他们全都是难以形容的相似呢。于是孩子们带着兴奋的情绪一个个走出了客厅，并且一步跨一级楼梯，一直登到房屋的顶层，爬上了床，就此安静下来，这就够了。

这时，私刻鲁挤比以往更注意地瞧着，那所房屋的主人在他常坐的壁炉边，和女儿及她的母亲坐了下来，女儿亲热地偎依着他。私刻鲁挤想到另一个这样的人儿，同样优雅动人，同样充满希望，可能称他作爸爸，在他的生命的凄凉的冬天里，可能是一段春光明媚的日子，这时候，他的目光真的变得非常模糊了。

“蓓尔，”丈夫微笑着转向他的妻子说，“今天下午我看见你的一个老朋友了。”

“那是谁？”

“你猜！”

“我怎么猜得着？去，难道我不知道，”她说，一口气接连不断。他笑，她也笑。“是私刻鲁挤先生呗。”

“正是私刻鲁挤先生。我走过他的事务所的窗口，因为窗户没有关上，屋里点了一支蜡烛，所以我几乎没有办法不去看他一眼。我听说，他的合伙人病倒了，快要死了。他只是一个人坐在那儿。孤孤单单一个人活在世界上，我相信就是这样。”

“精灵啊！”私刻鲁挤声音哽咽着说，“带我离开这地方吧。”

“我跟你说过，这些是往事的影子。”鬼魂说，“而他们也正是现在这样子，可别责怪我！”

“带我走吧！”私刻鲁挤大声嚷着，“我受不了啦！”

他转身对着鬼魂，只见它瞧着他的那张脸好生奇怪，那是它让他看到的许多的脸的片段合在一起，他便和它扭斗起来。

“放开我！把我带回去。别再缠住我！”

如果这可以称作一场斗争，那么，在这场斗争中，鬼魂这方面没有一点看得见的抵抗，任凭它的对手如何挣扎，也不为所动。私刻鲁挤看到它的光燃烧得高起来，亮起来；他迷迷糊糊地把这光和它对他的影响联系在一起，便抓过熄灯器帽子，猛不丁地压在鬼魂的头上。

精灵在熄灯器下瘫下来，因此熄灯器罩住它整个躯体；可是，私刻鲁挤用尽全力把它压下去，却无法遮住那光线：光线从熄灯器下面流出来，泻在地上，像是一片连绵不断的洪流。

他感到自己筋疲力尽，被一阵不可抗拒的睡意所压倒；此外，他还感到是在自己的卧室里。他对那帽子作了临别的一捏，手就撒开了。他刚刚来得及跌跌撞撞地来到床前，便跌进了酣睡的深渊。

[1]雪貂，鼬鼠类动物，生有一双敏锐的红眼睛。英国农村利用雪貂驱逐地洞中的野兔和田鼠。

[2]过去伦敦居民一般在早晨六点钟起床。

[3]打簧表，约在一六七六年发明的一种钟表，摁动弹簧可敲响时刻。

[4]十九世纪三十年代，美国一些州在没有联邦政府担保的情况下，向外国特别是英国资本家大量借款，投资于公共工程。一八三七年美国发生经济危机，许多州拒付债款，因而信誉下降。

[5]束腰外衣，原文为tunic，原指古罗马人穿的一种外衣。通常是短袖束腰，男式长及膝部，女式长及脚背。

[6]熄灯器，一种用以熄灭灯烛的圆锥形器具。

[7]阿里巴巴（Ali Baba），《天方夜谭》中的故事《阿里巴巴与四十大盗》中的主角。他是一个樵夫，发现了四十个大盗在山洞中的藏金窟，得到了钱财。他的哥哥高西睦逼他说出开启洞门的暗号，也去搬取财宝，却被强盗杀死。后来阿里巴巴的女仆马尔基娜设计杀死了四十个大盗，为他报了杀兄之仇，并且帮他得到了宝藏。

[8]瓦伦丁（Valentine）和奥森（Orson），是法国中世纪传奇小说《瓦利昂特两兄弟瓦伦丁和奥森的历史》（1495）中的人物。他们是君士坦丁堡的皇帝的双生子，诞生在森林中。奥森被一只熊带走，成为一个野人。瓦伦丁则在其叔父国王丕平的教养下长大，成为法国宫廷中的骑士。

[9]见《天方夜谭》中的故事《开罗的诺莱定·阿里和他的儿子白莱定·哈桑》。埃及苏丹欲娶某大臣之女，大臣以女业已许人，不允。苏丹怒，命其将女嫁给驼背马夫。结婚之夜，妖怪将马夫倒立门外，将新娘的情人白莱定·哈桑送来完婚。黎明前，妖怪又把睡梦中的白莱定·哈桑送往叙利亚首都大马士革的城门外。

[10]鲁滨逊·克鲁索是英国作家丹尼尔·笛福（Daniel Defoe，1660—1731）所作小说《鲁滨逊漂流记》中的主角。他漂流到荒岛上，饲养了一只鹦鹉，取名“波儿”（Poll）。他还收留了一个土人。土人是在被别的土人欲加杀害的时候，逃向他的住处的。那天正是星期五，他就为土人取名“星期五”。

[11]圣诞节假期，在狄更斯的时代，英国圣诞节假期历时十二天，从十二月二十五日到第二年的一月五日。

[12]按当时英国寄宿学校中的习惯，学生离别时，师长用酒和糕饼款待他们。

[13]原文为Welsh wig，是一种羊毛或者绒线织成的帽子，原来主要生产于英国威尔士的蒙哥马利城（Montgomery）。

[14]当时英国一般商号在晚上九点钟打烊。这里表明费兹威格打算提前下班。

[15]十九世纪欧洲曾经流行一种“颅相学”，认为人的道德和智慧是由头颅的大约四十个不同部位分别决定的。“管仁慈的部位”被认为在前额的上面。

[16]这是一句过去流行的口头语。源出一首著名的滑稽歌曲，歌曲最后一句是：“他还没来得及说，杰克·鲁滨逊，他已经走了。”据说，鲁滨逊是一个老头儿，他访问朋友的时候，人家还来不及叫他的名字，他已经走了，他以这一习惯而出名。

[17]罚物游戏，原文为forfeits，任何一种游戏，输者须受处罚，如罚钱，罚唱，罚吻，罚模仿动物动作或叫声等，过去常常于圣诞节时在室内举行。

[18]尼格斯酒，一种用葡萄酒、热水、糖、肉豆蔻和柠檬汁调制的酒，是英国法兰西士·尼格斯上校（Colonel Francis Negus，？—1732）创制的，因而得名。

[19]《罗杰·德·柯弗利爵士》（Sir Roger de Coverley），是一种舞蹈的名称。来源于英国作家理查德·斯蒂尔（Richard Steele，1672—1729）在《旁观者》（The Spectator）杂志上创造，并由约瑟夫·艾迪生（Joseph Addison，1672—1719）合写的同名人物。不过，这一舞蹈本身是很早以前由诺曼底人传入英国的，是一种乡村集体舞蹈。

[20]原文为corkscrew，一种瑞典舞蹈动作。由男女舞蹈者各排成一行，面对面，双手高举与对方相握。领头的一对，女先男后，钻过这条通道，直到最末端站好，同样举手与对方相握。其余各对紧跟领头的一对，循环下去。

[21]原文为thread-the-needle，一种舞蹈动作。跳舞的一对互相握住一只手并高举，女方从男方的一只手臂下穿过去。

[22]原文为cut，一种花式舞蹈动作。舞者腾空而起，在落地前双脚急速前后踢动。

[23]指英国诗人威廉·华兹华斯（William Wordsworth，1770—1850）的诗《三月试笔》（“Written in March”）（1802）。其中几句是：

最年长的和最年幼的
同最强壮的一起操劳；
牛群在吃草，
低头静悄悄；
四十条，却像是一条！

[24]领巾，原文为cravat，一种老式领带。

STAVE THREE
THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS

AWAKING in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, and sitting up in bed to get his thoughts together, Scrooge had no occasion to be told that the bell was again upon the stroke of One. He felt that he was restored to consciousness in the right nick of time, for the especial purpose of holding a conference with the second messenger despatched to him through Jacob Marley's intervention. But finding that he turned uncomfortably cold when he began to wonder which of his curtains this new spectre would draw back, he put them every one aside with his own hands, and lying down again, established a sharp look-out all round the bed. For he wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its appearance, and did not wish to be taken by surprise, and made nervous.

Gentlemen of the free-and-easy sort, who plume themselves on being acquainted with a move or two, and being usually equal to the time-of-day, express the wide range of their capacity for adventure by observing that they are good for anything from pitch-and-toss to manslaughter; between which opposite extremes, no doubt, there lies a tolerably wide and comprehensive range of subjects. Without venturing for Scrooge quite as hardily as this, I don't mind calling on you to believe that he was ready for a good broad field of strange appearances, and that nothing between a baby and rhinoceros would have astonished him very much.

Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means prepared for nothing; and, consequently, when the Bell struck One, and no shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time, he lay upon his bed, the very core and centre of a blaze of ruddy light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour; and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as he was powerless to make out what it meant, or would be at; and was sometimes apprehensive that he might be at that very moment an interesting case of spontaneous combustion, without having the consolation of knowing it. At last, however, he began to think—as you or I would have thought at first; for it is always the person not in the predicament who knows what ought to have been done in it, and would unquestionably have done it too—at last, I say, he began to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly and shuffled in his slippers to the door.

The moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him by his name, and bade him enter. He obeyed.

It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which, bright gleaming berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, as that dull petrification of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time, or Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see; who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the door.

“Come in!” exclaimed the Ghost. “Come in! and know me better, man!”

Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before this Spirit. He was not the dogged Scrooge he had been; and though the Spirit's eyes were clear and kind, he did not like to meet them.

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” said the Spirit. “Look upon me!”

Scrooge reverently did so. It was clothed in one simple green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur. This garment hung so loosely on the figure, that its capacious breast was bare, as if disdaining to be warded or concealed by any artifice. Its feet, observable beneath the ample folds of the garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles. Its dark brown curls were long and free; free as its genial face, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice, its unconstrained demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle was an antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly Giant, glorious to see…
在这个软榻上，气派大方地坐着一位乐陶陶的巨人，看上去光彩夺目……

“You have never seen the like of me before!” exclaimed the Spirit.

“Never,” Scrooge made answer to it.

“Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family; meaning (for I am very young) my elder brothers born in these later years?” pursued the Phantom.

“I don't think I have,” said Scrooge. “I am afraid I have not. Have you had many brothers, Spirit?”

“More than eighteen hundred,” said the Ghost.

“A tremendous family to provide for!” muttered Scrooge.

The Ghost of Christmas Present rose.

“Spirit,” said Scrooge submissively, “conduct me where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson which is working now. To-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it.”

“Touch my robe!”

Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast.

Holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, meat, pigs sausages, oysters, pies, puddings, fruit, and punch, all vanished instantly. So did the room, the fire, the ruddy glow, the hour of night, and they stood in the city streets on Christmas morning where (for the weather was severe) the people made a rough, but brisk and not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow from the pavement in front of their dwellings, and from the tops of their houses, whence it was mad delight to the boys to see it come plumping down into the road below, and splitting into artificial little snow-storms.

The house fronts looked black enough, and the windows blacker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs, and with the dirtier snow upon the ground; which last deposit had been ploughed up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and waggons; furrows that crossed and re-crossed each other hundreds of times where the great streets branched off; and made intricate channels, hard to trace in the thick yellow mud and icy water. The sky was gloomy, and the shortest streets were choked up with a dingy mist, half thawed, half frozen, whose heavier particles descended in a shower of sooty atoms, as if all the chimneys in Great Britain had, by one consent, caught fire, and were blazing away to their dear hearts' content. There was nothing very cheerful in the climate or the town, and yet was there an air of cheerfulness abroad that the clearest summer air and brightest summer sun might have endeavoured to diffuse in vain.

For, the people who were shovelling away on the housetops were jovial and full of glee; calling out to one another from the parapets, and now and then exchanging a facetious snowball—better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest—laughing heartily if it went right and not less heartily if it went wrong. The poulterers' shops were still half open, and the fruiterers' were radiant in their glory. There were great, round, pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy, brown-faced, broad-girthed Spanish Onions, shining in the fatness of their growth like Spanish Friars, and winking from their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls as they went by, and glanced demurely at the hung-up mistletoe. There were pears and apples, clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers' benevolence, to dangle from conspicuous hooks, that people's mouths might water gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered leaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squab and swarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching to be carried home in paper bags and eaten after dinner. The very gold and silver fish, set forth among these choice fruits in a bowl, though members of a dull and stagnant-blooded race, appeared to know that there was something going on; and, to a fish, went gasping round and round their little world in slow and passionless excitement.

The Grocers'! oh the Grocers'! nearly closed, with perhaps two shutters down, or one; but through those gaps such glimpses! It was not alone that the scales descending on the counter made a merry sound, or that the twine and roller parted company so briskly, or that the canisters were rattled up and down like juggling tricks, or even that the blended scents of tea and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that the raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious, the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as to make the coldest lookers-on feel faint and subsequently bilious. Nor was it that the figs were moist and pulpy, or that the French plums blushed in modest tartness from their highly-decorated boxes, or that everything was good to eat and in its Christmas dress; but the customers were all so hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled up against each other at the door, crashing their wicker baskets wildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came running back to fetch them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes, in the best humour possible; while the Grocer and his people were so frank and fresh that the polished hearts with which they fastened their aprons behind might have been their own, worn outside for general inspection, and for Christmas daws to peck at if they chose.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

… but the customers were all so hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled up against each other at the door, crashing their wicker baskets wildly…
不单单是这些原因，而是因为顾客们在这充满希望的日子里，都是如此匆忙，如此性急，所以他们才在门口互相撞个满怀，他们的柳条篮子也互相碰撞……

But soon the steeples called good people all, to church and chapel, and away they came, flocking through the streets in their best clothes, and with their gayest faces. And at the same time there emerged from scores of by-streets, lanes, and nameless turnings, innumerable people, carrying their dinners to the bakers' shops. The sight of these poor revellers appeared to interest the Spirit very much, for he stood with Scrooge beside him in a baker's doorway, and taking off the covers as their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from his torch. And it was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, he shed a few drops of water on them from it, and their good humour was restored directly. For they said, it was a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day. And so it was! God love it, so it was!

In time the bells ceased, and the bakers were shut up; and yet there was a genial shadowing forth of all these dinners and the progress of their cooking, in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker's oven; where the pavement smoked as if its stones were cooking too.

“Is there a peculiar flavour in what you sprinkle from your torch?” asked Scrooge.

“There is. My own.”

“Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?” asked Scrooge.

“To any kindly given. To a poor one most.”

“Why to a poor one most?” asked Scrooge.

“Because it needs it most.”

“Spirit,” said Scrooge, after a moment's thought, “I wonder you, of all the beings in the many worlds about us, should desire to cramp these people's opportunities of innocent enjoyment.”

“I!” cried the Spirit.

“You would deprive them of their means of dining every seventh day, often the only day on which they can be said to dine at all,” said Scrooge. “Wouldn't you?”

“I!” cried the Spirit.

“You seek to close these places on the Seventh Day?” said Scrooge. “And it comes to the same thing.”

“I seek!” exclaimed the Spirit.

“Forgive me if I am wrong. It has been done in your name, or at least in that of your family,” said Scrooge.

“There are some upon this earth of yours,” returned the Spirit, “who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us.”

Scrooge promised that he would; and they went on, invisible, as they had been before, into the suburbs of the town. It was a remarkable quality of the Ghost (which Scrooge had observed at the baker's), that notwithstanding his gigantic size, he could accommodate himself to any place with ease; and that he stood beneath a low roof quite as gracefully and like a supernatural creature, as it was possible he could have done in any lofty hall.

And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing off this power of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge's clerk's; for there he went, and took Scrooge with him, holding to his robe; and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinklings of his torch. Think of that! Bob had but fifteen “Bob” a week himself; he pocketed on Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name; and yet the Ghost of Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed house!

Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and getting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar (Bob's private property, conferred upon his son and heir in honour of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the fashionable Parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (not proud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.

“What has ever got your precious father then?” said Mrs. Cratchit. “And your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by half an hour?”

“Here's Martha, mother!” said a girl, appearing as she spoke.

“Here's Martha, mother!” cried the two young Cratchits. “Hurrah! There's such a goose, Martha!”

“Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!” said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet for her with officious zeal.

“We'd a deal of work to finish up last night,” replied the girl, “and had to clear away this morning, mother!”

“Well! Never mind so long as you are come,” said Mrs. Cratchit. “Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!”

“No, no! There's father coming,” cried the two young Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. “Hide, Martha, hide!”

So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at least three feet of comforter exclusive of the fringe, hanging down before him; and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame!

“Why, where's our Martha?” cried Bob Cratchit, looking round.

“Not coming,” said Mrs. Cratchit.

“Not coming!” said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits; for he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church, and had come home rampant. “Not coming upon Christmas Day!”

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

… and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder.
……小小铁姆坐在他的肩膀上。

Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into his arms…
玛莎不愿意眼见他那么失望，尽管这不过是开开玩笑而已，因此她提早从小堆房的门背后跑了出来，投入他的怀抱中……

Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper.

“And how did little Tim behave?” asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's content.

“As good as gold,” said Bob, “and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see.”

Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister to his stool before the fire; and while Bob, turning up his cuffs—as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby—compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round and put it on the hob to simmer; Master Peter, and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession.

Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course—and in truth it was something very like it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

… Master Peter, and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession.
……小主人彼得和那两位到处乱窜的年幼的克拉契跑去拿烤鹅，他们立刻就拿着它趾高气扬地列队而回。

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone—too nervous to bear witnesses—to take the pudding up and bring it in.

Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back-yard, and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose—a supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of horrors were supposed.

Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered—flushed, but smiling proudly—with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle.

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed:

“A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!”

Which all the family re-echoed.

“God bless us every one!” said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

He sat very close to his father's side upon his little stool. Bob held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, and wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him.

“Spirit,” said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before, “tell me if Tiny Tim will live.”

“I see a vacant seat,” replied the Ghost, “in the poor chimney-corner, and a crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, the child will die.”

“No, no,” said Scrooge. “Oh, no, kind Spirit! say he will be spared.”

“If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, none other of my race,” returned the Ghost, “will find him here. What then? If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.”

Scrooge hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the Spirit, and was overcome with penitence and grief.

“Man,” said the Ghost, “if man you be in heart, not adamant, forbear that wicked cant until you have discovered What the surplus is, and Where it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It may be, that in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions like this poor man's child. Oh God! to hear the Insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry brothers in the dust!”

Scrooge bent before the Ghost's rebuke, and trembling cast his eyes upon the ground. But he raised them speedily, on hearing his own name.

“Mr. Scrooge!” said Bob; “I'll give you Mr. Scrooge, the Founder of the Feast!”

“The Founder of the Feast indeed!” cried Mrs. Cratchit, reddening. “I wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for it.”

“My dear,” said Bob, “the children! Christmas Day.”

“It should be Christmas Day, I am sure,” said she, “on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert! Nobody knows it better than you do, poor fellow!”

“My dear,” was Bob's mild answer, “Christmas Day.”

“I'll drink his health for your sake and the Day's,” said Mrs. Cratchit, “not for his. Long life to him! A merry Christmas and a happy new year! He'll be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt!”

The children drank the toast after her. It was the first of their proceedings which had no heartiness. Tiny Tim drank it last of all, but he didn't care twopence for it. Scrooge was the Ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes.

After it had passed away, they were ten times merrier than before, from the mere relief of Scrooge the Baleful being done with. Bob Cratchit told them how he had a situation in his eye for Master Peter, which would bring in, if obtained, full five-and-sixpence weekly. The two young Cratchits laughed tremendously at the idea of Peter's being a man of business; and Peter himself looked thoughtfully at the fire from between his collars, as if he were deliberating what particular investments he should favour when he came into the receipt of that bewildering income. Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a milliner's, then told them what kind of work she had to do, and how many hours she worked at a stretch, and how she meant to lie abed to-morrow morning for a good long rest; to-morrow being a holiday she passed at home. Also how she had seen a countess and a lord some days before, and how the lord “was much about as tall as Peter;” at which Peter pulled up his collars so high that you couldn't have seen his head if you had been there. All this time the chestnuts and the jug went round and round; and by and by they had a song, about a lost child travelling in the snow, from Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very well indeed.

There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a handsome family; they were not well dressed; their shoes were far from being water-proof; their clothes were scanty; and Peter might have known, and very likely did, the inside of a pawnbroker's. But, they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when they faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit's torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny Tim, until the last.

By this time it was getting dark, and snowing pretty heavily; and as Scrooge and the Spirit went along the streets, the brightness of the roaring fires in kitchens, parlours, and all sorts of rooms, was wonderful. Here, the flickering of the blaze showed preparations for a cosy dinner, with hot plates baking through and through before the fire, and deep red curtains, ready to be drawn to shut out cold and darkness. There all the children of the house were running out into the snow to meet their married sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, and be the first to greet them. Here, again, were shadows on the window-blind of guests assembling; and there a group of handsome girls, all hooded and fur-booted, and all chattering at once, tripped lightly off to some near neighbour's house; where, woe upon the single man who saw them enter—artful witches, well they knew it—in a glow!

But, if you had judged from the numbers of people on their way to friendly gatherings, you might have thought that no one was at home to give them welcome when they got there, instead of every house expecting company, and piling up its fires half-chimney high. Blessings on it, how the Ghost exulted! How it bared its breadth of breast, and opened its capacious palm, and floated on, outpouring, with a generous hand, its bright and harmless mirth on everything within its reach! The very lamplighter, who ran on before, dotting the dusky street with specks of light, and who was dressed to spend the evening somewhere, laughed out loudly as the Spirit passed, though little kenned the lamplighter that he had any company but Christmas!

And now, without a word of warning from the Ghost, they stood upon a bleak and desert moor, where monstrous masses of rude stone were cast about, as though it were the burial-place of giants; and water spread itself wheresoever it listed, or would have done so, but for the frost that held it prisoner; and nothing grew but moss and furze, and coarse rank grass. Down in the west the setting sun had left a streak of fiery red, which glared upon the desolation for an instant, like a sullen eye, and frowning lower, lower, lower yet, was lost in the thick gloom of darkest night.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

The very lamplighter… laughed out loudly as the Spirit passed, though little kenned the lamplighter that he had any company but Christmas!
……在精灵经过他身旁的时候，这位点灯夫哈哈大笑，虽然他一点也不知道，除了圣诞节以外，他还有任何同伴呢！

… they stood upon a bleak and desert moor, where monstrous masses of rude stone were cast about, as though it were the burial-place of giants…
……他们已经站在一片凄惨而又荒凉的旷野上了，只见怪石嶙峋，顶天立地，乱七八糟地堆在那里，仿佛是巨怪们的坟场……

“What place is this?” asked Scrooge.

“A place where Miners live, who labour in the bowels of the earth,” returned the Spirit. “But they know me. See!”

A light shone from the window of a hut, and swiftly they advanced towards it. Passing through the wall of mud and stone, they found a cheerful company assembled round a glowing fire. An old, old man and woman, with their children and their children's children, and another generation beyond that, all decked out gaily in their holiday attire. The old man, in a voice that seldom rose above the howling of the wind upon the barren waste, was singing them a Christmas song—it had been a very old song when he was a boy—and from time to time they all joined in the chorus. So surely as they raised their voices, the old man got quite blithe and loud; and so surely as they stopped, his vigour sank again.

The Spirit did not tarry here, but bade Scrooge hold his robe, and passing on above the moor, sped—whither? Not to sea? To sea. To Scrooge's horror, looking back, he saw the last of the land, a frightful range of rocks, behind them; and his ears were deafened by the thundering of water, as it rolled and roared, and raged among the dreadful caverns it had worn, and fiercely tried to undermine the earth.

Built upon a dismal reef of sunken rocks, some league or so from shore, on which the waters chafed and dashed, the wild year through, there stood a solitary lighthouse. Great heaps of sea-weed clung to its base, and storm-birds—born of the wind one might suppose, as sea-weed of the water—rose and fell about it, like the waves they skimmed.

But even here, two men who watched the light had made a fire, that through the loophole in the thick stone wall shed out a ray of brightness on the awful sea. Joining their horny hands over the rough table at which they sat, they wished each other Merry Christmas in their can of grog; and one of them: the elder, too, with his face all damaged and scarred with hard weather, as the figure-head of an old ship might be: struck up a sturdy song that was like a Gale in itself.

Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and heaving sea—on, on—until, being far away, as he told Scrooge, from any shore, they lighted on a ship. They stood beside the helmsman at the wheel, the look-out in the bow, the officers who had the watch; dark, ghostly figures in their several stations; but every man among them hummed a Christmas tune, or had a Christmas thought, or spoke below his breath to his companion of some by-gone Christmas Day, with homeward hopes belonging to it. And every man on board, waking or sleeping, good or bad, had had a kinder word for another on that day than on any day in the year; and had shared to some extent in its festivities; and had remembered those he cared for at a distance, and had known that they delighted to remember him.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

Built upon a dismal reef of sunken rocks, some league or so from shore, on which the waters chafed and dashed, the wild year through, there stood a solitary lighthouse.
那边矗立着一个孤立的灯塔，建造在离海岸一里格左右，由沉没的岩石形成的阴惨的暗礁上，荒凉的岁月中，一年到头，海涛冲刷和撞击着这块暗礁。

It was a great surprise to Scrooge, while listening to the moaning of the wind, and thinking what a solemn thing it was to move on through the lonely darkness over an unknown abyss, whose depths were secrets as profound as Death: it was a great surprise to Scrooge, while thus engaged, to hear a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to Scrooge to recognise it as his own nephew's and to find himself in a bright, dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit standing smiling by his side, and looking at that same nephew with approving affability!

“Ha, ha!” laughed Scrooge's nephew. “Ha, ha, ha!”

If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a man more blest in a laugh than Scrooge's nephew, all I can say is, I should like to know him too. Introduce him to me, and I'll cultivate his acquaintance.

It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humour. When Scrooge's nephew laughed in this way: holding his sides, rolling his head, and twisting his face into the most extravagant contortions: Scrooge's niece, by marriage, laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled friends being not a bit behindhand, roared out lustily.

“Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!”

“He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live!” cried Scrooge's nephew. “He believed it too!”

“More shame for him, Fred!” said Scrooge's niece, indignantly. Bless those women; they never do anything by halves. They are always in earnest.

She was very pretty: exceedingly pretty. With a dimpled, surprised-looking, capital face; a ripe little mouth, that seemed made to be kissed—as no doubt it was; all kinds of good little dots about her chin, that melted into one another when she laughed; and the sunniest pair of eyes you ever saw in any little creature's head. Altogether she was what you would have called provoking, you know; but satisfactory, too. Oh, perfectly satisfactory.

“He's a comical old fellow,” said Scrooge's nephew, “that's the truth; and not so pleasant as he might be. However, his offences carry their own punishment, and I have nothing to say against him.”

“I'm sure he is very rich, Fred,” hinted Scrooge's niece. “At least you always tell me so.”

“What of that, my dear!” said Scrooge's nephew. “His wealth is of no use to him. He don't do any good with it. He don't make himself comfortable with it. He hasn't the satisfaction of thinking—ha, ha, ha!—that he is ever going to benefit Us with it.”

“I have no patience with him,” observed Scrooge's niece. Scrooge's niece's sisters, and all the other ladies, expressed the same opinion.

“Oh, I have!” said Scrooge's nephew. “I am sorry for him; I couldn't be angry with him if I tried. Who suffers by his ill whims! Himself, always. Here, he takes it into his head to dislike us, and he won't come and dine with us. What's the consequence? He don't lose much of a dinner.”

“Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner,” interrupted Scrooge's niece. Everybody else said the same, and they must be allowed to have been competent judges, because they had just had dinner; and, with the dessert upon the table, were clustered round the fire, by lamplight.

“Well! I'm very glad to hear it,” said Scrooge's nephew, “because I haven't great faith in these young housekeepers. What do you say, Topper?”

Topper had clearly got his eye upon one of Scrooge's niece's sisters, for he answered that a bachelor was a wretched outcast, who had no right to express an opinion on the subject. Whereat Scrooge's niece's sister—the plump one with the lace tucker: not the one with the roses—blushed.

“Do go on, Fred,” said Scrooge's niece, clapping her hands. “He never finishes what he begins to say! He is such a ridiculous fellow!”

Scrooge's nephew revelled in another laugh, and as it was impossible to keep the infection off; though the plump sister tried hard to do it with aromatic vinegar; his example was unanimously followed.

“I was only going to say,” said Scrooge's nephew, “that the consequence of his taking a dislike to us, and not making merry with us, is, as I think, that he loses some pleasant moments, which could do him no harm. I am sure he loses pleasanter companions than he can find in his own thoughts, either in his mouldy old office, or his dusty chambers. I mean to give him the same chance every year, whether he likes it or not, for I pity him. He may rail at Christmas till he dies, but he can't help thinking better of it—I defy him—if he finds me going there, in good temper, year after year, and saying ‘Uncle Scrooge, how are you?’ If it only puts him in the vein to leave his poor clerk fifty pounds, that's something; and I think I shook him yesterday.”

It was their turn to laugh now at the notion of his shaking Scrooge. But being thoroughly good-natured, and not much caring what they laughed at, so that they laughed at any rate, he encouraged them in their merriment, and passed the bottle joyously.

After tea, they had some music. For they were a musical family, and knew what they were about, when they sung a Glee or Catch, I can assure you: especially Topper, who could growl away in the bass like a good one, and never swell the large veins in his forehead, or get red in the face over it. Scrooge's niece played well upon the harp; and played among other tunes a simple little air (a mere nothing; you might learn to whistle it in two minutes), which had been familiar to the child who fetched Scrooge from the boarding-school, as he had been reminded by the Ghost of Christmas Past. When this strain of music sounded, all the things that Ghost had shown him, came upon his mind; he softened more and more; and thought that if he could have listened to it often, years ago, he might have cultivated the kindnesses of life for his own happiness with his own hands, without resorting to the sexton's spade that buried Jacob Marley.

But they didn't devote the whole evening to music. After a while they played at forfeits; for it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child himself. Stop! There was first a game at blind-man's buff. Of course there was. And I no more believe Topper was really blind than I believe he had eyes in his boots. My opinion is, that it was a done thing between him and Scrooge's nephew; and that the Ghost of Christmas Present knew it. The way he went after that plump sister in the lace tucker, was an outrage on the credulity of human nature. Knocking down the fire-irons, tumbling over the chairs, bumping against the piano, smothering himself among the curtains, wherever she went, there went he! He always knew where the plump sister was. He wouldn't catch anybody else. If you had fallen up against him (as some of them did), on purpose, he would have made a feint of endeavouring to seize you, which would have been an affront to your understanding, and would instantly have sidled off in the direction of the plump sister. She often cried out that it wasn't fair; and it really was not. But when at last, he caught her; when, in spite of all her silken rustlings, and her rapid flutterings past him, he got her into a corner, whence there was no escape; then his conduct was the most execrable. For his pretending not to know her; his pretending that it was necessary to touch her head-dress, and further to assure himself of her identity by pressing a certain ring upon her finger, and a certain chain about her neck; was vile, monstrous! No doubt she told him her opinion of it, when, another blind-man being in office, they were so very confidential together, behind the curtains.

Scrooge's niece was not one of the blind-man's buff party, but was made comfortable with a large chair and a footstool, in a snug corner, where the Ghost and Scrooge were close behind her. But she joined in the forfeits, and loved her love to admiration with all the letters of the alphabet. Likewise at the game of How, When, and Where, she was very great, and to the secret joy of Scrooge's nephew, beat her sisters hollow: though they were sharp girls too, as Topper could have told you. There might have been twenty people there, young and old, but they all played, and so did Scrooge; for wholly forgetting in the interest he had in what was going on, that his voice made no sound in their ears, he sometimes came out with his guess quite loud, and very often guessed quite right, too; for the sharpest needle, best Whitechapel, warranted not to cut in the eye, was not sharper than Scrooge; blunt as he took it in his head to be.

The Ghost was greatly pleased to find him in this mood, and looked upon him with such favour, that he begged like a boy to be allowed to stay until the guests departed. But this the Spirit said could not be done.

“Here is a new game,” said Scrooge. “One half-hour, Spirit, only one!”

It was a Game called Yes and No, where Scrooge's nephew had to think of something, and the rest must find out what; he only answering to their questions yes or no, as the case was. The brisk fire of questioning to which he was exposed, elicited from him that he was thinking of an animal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal, an animal that growled and grunted sometimes, and talked sometimes, and lived in London, and walked about the streets, and wasn't made a show of, and wasn't led by anybody, and didn't live in a menagerie, and was never killed in a market, and was not a horse, or an ass, or a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear. At every fresh question that was put to him, this nephew burst into a fresh roar of laughter; and was so inexpressibly tickled, that he was obliged to get up off the sofa and stamp. At last the plump sister, falling into a similar state, cried out:

“I have found it out! I know what it is, Fred! I know what it is!”

“What is it?” cried Fred.

“It's your Uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge!”

Which it certainly was. Admiration was the universal sentiment, though some objected that the reply to “Is it a bear?” ought to have been “Yes;” inasmuch as an answer in the negative was sufficient to have diverted their thoughts from Mr. Scrooge, supposing they had ever had any tendency that way.

“He has given us plenty of merriment, I am sure,” said Fred, “and it would be ungrateful not to drink his health. Here is a glass of mulled wine ready to our hand at the moment; and I say, ‘Uncle Scrooge!’”

“Well! Uncle Scrooge!” they cried.

“A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to the old man, whatever he is!” said Scrooge's nephew. “He wouldn't take it from me, but may he have it, nevertheless. Uncle Scrooge!”

Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly become so gay and light of heart, that he would have pledged the unconscious company in return, and thanked them in an inaudible speech, if the Ghost had given him time. But the whole scene passed off in the breath of the last word spoken by his nephew; and he and the Spirit were again upon their travels.

Much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they visited, but always with a happy end. The Spirit stood beside sick-beds, and they were cheerful; on foreign lands, and they were close at home; by struggling men, and they were patient in their greater hope; by poverty, and it was rich. In almshouse, hospital, and jail, in misery's every refuge, where vain man in his little brief authority had not made fast the door, and barred the Spirit out, he left his blessing, and taught Scrooge his precepts.

It was a long night, if it were only a night; but Scrooge had his doubts of this, because the Christmas Holidays appeared to be condensed into the space of time they passed together. It was strange, too, that while Scrooge remained unaltered in his outward form, the Ghost grew older, clearly older. Scrooge had observed this change, but never spoke of it, until they left a children's Twelfth Night party, when, looking at the Spirit as they stood together in an open place, he noticed that its hair was grey.

“Are spirits' lives so short?” asked Scrooge.

“My life upon this globe, is very brief,” replied the Ghost. “It ends to-night.”

“To-night!” cried Scrooge.

“To-night at midnight. Hark! The time is drawing near.”

The chimes were ringing the three quarters past eleven at that moment.

“Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask,” said Scrooge, looking intently at the Spirit's robe, “but I see something strange, and not belonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts. Is it a foot or a claw?”

“It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it,” was the Spirit's sorrowful reply. “Look here.”

From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment.

“Oh, Man! look here. Look, look, down here!” exclaimed the Ghost.

They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread.

Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.

“Spirit! are they yours?” Scrooge could say no more.

“They are Man's,” said the Spirit, looking down upon them. “And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it!” cried the Spirit, stretching out its hand towards the city. “Slander those who tell it ye! Admit it for your factious purposes, and make it worse. And abide the end!”

“Have they no refuge or resource?” cried Scrooge.

“Are there no prisons?” said the Spirit, turning on him for the last time with his own words. “Are there no workhouses?”

The bell struck twelve.

Scrooge looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it not. As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of old Jacob Marley, and lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming, like a mist along the ground, towards him.

第三节
三个精灵中的第二个

私刻鲁挤从一阵惊人的连绵不断的鼾声中醒来，坐在床上，集中自己的思想，没有必要让人告诉他，教堂钟声又快要敲一点钟了。他觉得自己正好在这紧要关头恢复知觉，是为了特定的原因，即跟第二位使者举行会议，这位使者是经过雅各·马莱的干预，派来看他的。但是他开始疑惑这位新鬼怪不知道会拉开他的哪一边床帐，他感到身上变得怪不舒服，冷得很，便自己动手把每一边的帐子都拉开来，再躺下身来，在床的四周建立起敏锐的瞭望哨来。因为他情愿在精灵出现的时候向它挑战，而不情愿被弄得大吃一惊，胆战心寒。

有一类逍遥自在[1]的先生们夸口自己有一两手，而且善于随机应变，他们大讲自己对于一切事情，从投掷铜币游戏[2]直到杀人勾当，样样在行，以此来表现他们冒险能力的范围之广。在投掷铜币游戏和杀人勾当这两个相反的极端之间，毫无疑问，还存在范围相当广泛的事情。我不敢说私刻鲁挤也像这样能吹善道，但是我可以请诸位相信，他已经作了准备，估计许许多多的可能，会看见奇怪的东西出现，从一个小毛孩直到一只大犀牛，没有一样东西能够叫他感到惊奇不已了。

这时候，他既然已经准备好面对几乎任何东西，那么他当然绝对没有准备好面对什么也没有；因此之故，教堂钟声打了一点钟，却不见形象出现的时候，他便被一阵猛烈的颤抖压倒了。五分钟过去了，十分钟过去了，一刻钟过去了，可是什么也没有到来。时钟报时的时候，一片红艳艳的光彩流到他的床上，他一分钟一分钟地等着，就躺在床上那一片红光的核心和中央。由于这只不过是一片光，这就比一打鬼魂更为可怕，因为他毫无办法去弄清楚那是怎么一回事，或者将会发生什么事；他有几次不免担心自己可能在那时刻变成一种自燃[3]的趣闻，而甚至连知道这一意外的安慰都得不到。不过无论如何，他最后开始想起来——正像你或者我会在一开始就想起来一样，这是因为往往并非身处困境的人才知道如何应付困境，而且会毫无疑问地见之于行动——我刚才说，他最后开始想起来，这一片鬼怪似的光线的来源和秘密，可能在隔壁房间里：跟着光源望过去，似乎就是从那边照进来的。这一想法占据了他整个内心，他便轻轻地爬起来，趿着拖鞋，走到门口。

就在私刻鲁挤的手刚刚碰到门锁上的时候，传来一个陌生的声音，唤着他的名字，叫他进去。他服从了。

那是他自己的房间。这一点毫无疑问。然而它已经经历了一番令人惊讶的变化。墙壁四周和天花板上都挂满了常绿植物，看起来完全像一座小树林，而它的每一个角落都闪耀着红灿灿、亮晶晶的浆果。冬青、槲寄生[4]和常春藤的鲜嫩的叶子反射着亮光，好像许许多多小小的镜子散布在四面八方；还有那么一大蓬旺火轰隆隆直向烟囱里蹿去，好像这个阴沉的化石般的壁炉里从未见过这一盛况，不论在私刻鲁挤的时代，或者马莱的时代，或者过去许多许多的冬季里都未有过。堆积在地板上，形成一种宝座的样子的是火鸡、烤鹅、野味、家禽、腌野猪肉、大块腿肉、整只乳猪、一长串一长串香肠、碎肉饼、葡萄干布丁、一桶又一桶牡蛎、热烘烘的栗子、脸颊红红的苹果、满含汁水的橘子、甘芳的梨子、极大的主显节蛋糕[5]，一碗碗热气腾腾的五味酒[6]，那香甜的蒸气弄得这间屋子朦朦胧胧的。在这个软榻上，气派大方地坐着一位乐陶陶的巨人，看上去光彩夺目；它手执一个火把，火把的样子不能说不像那只“丰饶的羊角”[7]，它举着，举得很高，好让光亮照到私刻鲁挤身上，他这时正来到门口东张西望。

“进来！”鬼魂大声喊着，“进来！把我认认清楚吧，老家伙！”

私刻鲁挤胆怯地走进去，在这位精灵面前低下头来。他现在可不是过去那个固执的私刻鲁挤了；不过虽然精灵的眼睛是明亮而仁慈的，他却不愿意遇到它的眼光。

“我是现在的圣诞节鬼魂，”这位精灵说，“瞧着我！”

私刻鲁挤恭恭敬敬地照办了。精灵穿着一件简朴的深绿色长袍，或者说披风，用白色的皮毛镶着边。这件长袍是那么宽松地披在它身上，露出了它那宽广赤裸的胸怀，好像不屑于用任何计谋来把它保护或者掩盖起来。它的长袍的宽大的褶裥下面，可以看见那双脚也是赤露的；它的头上戴的不是别的覆盖物，而是一圈用冬青枝叶编成的圆冠，到处闪射着冰锥子的光。它的深褐色的鬈发长长的，显得很自然，自然得好像它的亲切和蔼的脸，它的亮光闪闪的眼睛，它的伸展张开的手掌，它的轻松愉快的声音，它的毫不做作的举止，以及它的兴高采烈的风貌。它的腰间佩着一把古式的剑鞘；其中却没有宝剑，这古老的剑鞘已经生了锈。[8]

“你以前从来没有看见过像我一样的精灵吧！”这位精灵大声说。

“从来没有。”私刻鲁挤回答了它的话。

“你从来没有跟我的家庭当中比较年轻的它们一同向前走吗？我是说（因为我很年轻）跟这几年诞生的我的哥哥们一同向前走，是吗？”这位幻象钉着问一句。

“我想我没有这样做过。”私刻鲁挤说，“我恐怕我没有这样做过。您是不是有许多兄长呢，精灵啊？”

“不止一千八百个。[9]”鬼魂说。

“这是需要供养的极大的家庭啊！”私刻鲁挤嘟嘟哝哝地说。

现在的圣诞节鬼魂站了起来。

“精灵啊，”私刻鲁挤低首下心地说，“把我带到你要我去的地方去吧。昨天晚上我被迫跟着走，我得到了一个现在正在起作用的教训。今儿晚上，要是你有什么要教训我的话，就请让我从中得到益处吧。”

“摸着我的长袍子！”

私刻鲁挤遵照它的吩咐做了，并且抓得紧紧的。

冬青、槲寄生、红艳艳的浆果、常春藤、火鸡、烤鹅、野味、家禽、腌野猪肉、鲜肉、乳猪、香肠、牡蛎、馅饼、布丁、水果，以及五味酒，一下子全都无影无踪了。这间屋子、壁炉、红通通的炉火，以及这夜里的时间，也同样消失了。他们这时站在圣诞节早晨的市区的街道上，那儿（因为天气冷得很），人们弄出了一种聒噪刺耳然而却生动活泼而并非不令人高兴的音乐来，这是人们在住宅前的人行道上、在屋顶上铲着积雪。积雪轰隆一下从屋顶上崩落到下面的路上来，飞溅成人工的小小的暴风雪，孩子们瞧着真是欣喜若狂。

跟屋顶上那一片光洁的白雪，以及比较脏一些的地面上的白雪对照起来，一幢幢房屋的正面看来是够黑的；一扇扇窗户还要黑。二轮轻便马车和四轮运货马车的沉重的车轮已经把地面上最后的积雪犁成深深的沟畦；在几条大街分岔开去的地方，沟畦纵横交错，互相碾压了千百次，形成错综复杂的水渠，浸润在又黏又稠的黄泥浆和冰水中，叫人难以分得清道道来。天色是阴沉沉的，连最短的街道上全都充塞着邋遢的半融解半冻凝的迷雾，迷雾中较重的微粒变成一阵雨似的烟尘落下来，好像大不列颠国家内所有的烟囱，不约而同，全部着了火，并且随心所欲尽情地燃烧起来。这个气候里面，或者这个城区之中，确实没有什么令人高兴的事情，然而在这街道周围却有一种兴高采烈的气氛，即使是最明朗的夏日空气和最明亮的夏日阳光，也无法费尽心力来散布这种气氛。

这是因为在屋顶上铲除积雪的人们都兴致勃勃，欢天喜地，在护墙边上彼此大声叫唤，时不时地交换一个寻欢作乐的雪球——这是比许多语言上的玩笑和气得多的飞弹——要是打中了，就开心大笑，要是打不中，也并不开心得少一点。卖家禽的店铺仍然半开着门，卖水果的店铺则是琳琅满目。一只又一只鼓着又大又圆的肚子的篮子，装满了栗子，样子就像乐陶陶的老绅士穿的背心，他们懒洋洋地靠在门口，而由于易患中风的富态体型，摔倒在街上。还有那些西班牙洋葱，带着红扑扑的、黑赭赭的脸，围着宽宽的肚带，长得肥肥胖胖，亮得闪闪烁烁，就像是西班牙的修道士：在姑娘们走过去的时候，他们在木架上嬉皮笑脸、鬼鬼祟祟地眨着眼睛，又假装正经地望望挂在上面的槲寄生[10]。还有许多梨子和苹果，堆得高高的，简直像一座座金字塔；还有一大串一大串葡萄，出于店主东们的善心，使它们在引人注目的钩子上晃来晃去，惹得路过的人们嘴里可以免费地淌口水；还有一堆一堆的欧洲榛子，棕褐的颜色，生了青苔，散发出来的清香使人想起树林子里古老的小路，以及在深没脚踝的枯叶之中愉快地拖着脚走过去的情景；还有许多诺福克餐用苹果[11]，胖墩墩的，黑黝黝的，陪衬出橘子和柠檬的显眼的黄颜色，而由于它们本身的多汁水的结实身躯，迫切地恳请和乞求人家用纸袋把它们装回家去，吃完晚饭以后享用一番。金鱼和银鱼[12]养在一只鱼缸里，陈列在这些上等的果品之间，虽然它们是冥顽不灵、血脉不流的族类，好像也知道周围有什么事情正在进行着，而作为鱼来说，便以一种缓慢而无情的激动神态，在它们的小天地里喘着气，一圈又一圈地兜转着。

还有杂货铺呢！哦，杂货铺啊！差不多打烊了，或许已经下了两扇窗板，或者一扇；然而透过窗缝看看此情此景吧！不单单是秤盘落在柜台上碰出好听的叮当声，或者麻绳与滚轴那么轻松欢快地互相道别声，或者茶叶罐、咖啡罐好像玩杂耍的把戏似的，忽上忽下咯嗒咯嗒响，或者甚至是茶叶和咖啡的混合香气对于鼻子是如此好闻，或者甚至是葡萄干如此充分又如此稀罕，杏仁如此白得不得了，肉桂枝如此又长又直，其他的香料如此甘芳，蜜饯水果用糖浆如此渍成甜饼，沾上斑点，简直使最冷静的旁观者都要感到目晕头眩，并且因而大动肝火。也不单单是无花果水滋滋的，肉厚厚的，或者装在装潢精美的盒子里的法国梅脯，带着淡淡的酸味，羞红着脸，或者是一切东西都非常可口，而且穿着圣诞节盛装。不单单是这些原因，而是因为顾客们在这充满希望的日子里，都是如此匆忙，如此性急，所以他们才在门口互相撞个满怀，他们的柳条篮子也互相碰撞，并且把他们购买的东西遗忘在柜台上，再奔回来拿，还要以再好也不过的心情犯千百种诸如此类的错误。这时候，那位食品商和他的伙计们都是如此真诚坦白而精神饱满，他们用来把工作裙在背后扣好的那一颗颗光洁发亮的心，可能就是他们自己的心，佩戴在外面是为了让大家都来鉴定，并且好让圣诞节的穴乌都来啄取，如果它们要啄取的话。[13]

但是不久一座座教堂尖顶就把所有善良的人们都召唤到大教堂和小教堂[14]去，人们便穿着最漂亮的衣服，带着最愉快的笑脸，成群结队穿过街道来了。与此同时，不计其数的人，从许多许多偏街僻巷，从无名的拐角处涌现出来，带着饭食到各家面包房去。[15]精灵看到这些贫穷的欢宴者的样子，似乎感到非常有兴趣，因为它和身旁的私刻鲁挤站在一家面包房的门口，在带着饭食的人经过的时候，掀开盖子，从它的火把上将香料洒在饭食上。[16]这是一种非同寻常的火把，因为有一两次，某些带着饭食的人由于彼此相撞，便争吵起来，精灵便从火把上对他们洒了几滴水，他们的高兴的心情便立即恢复。因为他们说，在圣诞节这天竟然吵嘴，真正难为情。说得不错！上帝保佑，说得真不错！

到了时候，教堂钟声停止了；面包房打烊了；然而在每一个烤面包的炉灶上，在那潮气的融化开来的氤氲之中，还看得见这全部温暖的影影绰绰的饭食，以及在烹调的过程；炉灶上铺着的石块也在冒烟，好像也在被烹煮。

“你从火把上洒下来的东西当中，可有一种特别的好味道吗？”私刻鲁挤问。

“有。是我自己的味道。”

“今天它会赐给任何一种饭食吗？”私刻鲁挤问，

“对任何饭食都慷慨地赐给。对贫穷者给得最多。”

“为什么要对贫穷者给得最多呢？”私刻鲁挤问。

“因为穷人的饭食最需要。”

“精灵啊，”私刻鲁挤想了片刻以后，说，“我不懂，在我们四周的许多世界之中，在一切存在的物体里边，偏偏是你，想要约束这些人的清白无辜的享乐的机会。”

“是我吗！”精灵喊道。

“你要剥夺他们每隔七天好好吃一顿的手段，往往只有在那一天，他们才终于能算是好好吃一顿。”私刻鲁挤说，“你是不是这样呢？”

“是我吗！”精灵喊道。

“你要在第七日[17]使这些地方都打烊的吧？[18]”私刻鲁挤说，“结果是一回事。”

“是我要吗！”精灵大声说。

“要是我错了，请加以原谅。那是以你的名义，或者至少以你的家属的名义这样做的。”私刻鲁挤说。

“在你们这块大地上，”精灵回答说，“是有那么一些人，他们自认为了解我们，并且以我们的名义去干他们那些出于情欲、傲慢、恶意、憎恨、嫉妒、偏执和自私的种种勾当。其实对于我们和我们的亲戚朋友来说，他们陌生得好像从来没有存在过一样。记住这一点吧，并且叫他们干的事由他们自己负责，可不由我们负责。”

私刻鲁挤答应记住这一点：于是他们像原来那样无影无踪地向前走，来到了市郊。这位鬼魂有一个了不起的本领（私刻鲁挤在面包房里就已经看到了），就是尽管它的身躯硕大无朋，却能够悠然自得地使自己适应任何地方；因此，它站在一个矮屋顶之下，那种优雅大方正如一位超自然的人物的样子，就好像它如果站在任何大会堂里可能表现出来的神情一样。

也许是由于这位善良的精灵高兴显显自己的这种法力，否则是由于它自己的仁慈、慷慨、热诚的本性，以及它对于所有的穷人的同情心，使得它径直走到私刻鲁挤的办事员家门口来了。它走着，带着抓住它的长袍的私刻鲁挤。在门槛上，精灵微笑着，站在那儿用它的火炬浇洒，以祝福鲍伯·克拉契[19]的家宅平安。想想看吧！鲍伯自己每星期只挣到十五个“鲍伯”[20]，每个星期六，他口袋里藏着十五个他的教名复制品；然而这位“现在的圣诞节鬼魂”却来祝福他的四间房屋的家！

这时候，克拉契的妻子克拉契太太站了起来，她只寒碜地穿着翻制了两次的长外衣，但是扎着艳丽的缎带，缎带价钱便宜，六个便士就能打扮得很漂亮；她的第二个女儿贝琳达也扎着艳丽的缎带，正帮助妈妈铺桌布，小主人彼得·克拉契则正拿着一把叉子插进平底锅的土豆里去，同时把他那宽大得要命的衬衫领的尖角（这是鲍伯的私有财产，为了庆祝节日，把它给了他的儿子和继承人）塞到嘴巴里，他发现自己穿得如此有气派颇为得意，很想到时髦的公园里去炫耀这件亚麻布衬衫。现在两位小一些的克拉契，一男一女，飞奔而来，尖声嚷着说，他们在面包房外面闻到了烤鹅的香味，并且知道那是为他们烤的；这两位年幼的克拉契沉醉在洋苏叶[21]和洋葱的豪华的想望之中，便绕着桌子跳起舞来，还把小主人彼得·克拉契吹捧得上了天，彼得这时候（并不骄傲，虽然他的领子几乎使他透不过气来）正吹着炉火，直到那慢性子的土豆沸腾起来，响亮地敲着平底锅的盖子，要求把它们放出来剥皮。

“你们的宝贝爸爸究竟怎么啦？”克拉契太太说，“还有你们的弟弟小小铁姆；还有玛莎，去年圣诞节可没有迟到半个钟头啊！”

“玛莎来啦，妈妈！”一个女孩子一边说一边出现了。

“玛莎来啦，妈妈！”两位年幼的克拉契喊道，“呼啦！玛莎，那里有那么大的鹅！”

“啊，上天保佑你，我的亲亲，你来得多么晚！”克拉契太太吻了她十二次，替她解开了她的方披巾和帽子，殷勤得过分。

“昨天晚上，我们要干完许多事情，”这位女孩子回答说，“今儿个早晨又必得收拾干净，妈妈！”

“好啦！你既然来了就不用再提啦。”克拉契太太说，“在壁炉那儿坐下来烤烤火吧，我的亲亲，上帝祝福你！”

“别坐，别坐！爸爸来啦。”两位年幼的克拉契一齐喊道，他们无处不在，一刻不停，“躲起来，玛莎，躲起来！”

玛莎真的躲了起来，接着爸爸小鲍伯进了门，他围着一条至少有三英尺长的羊毛围巾，还不包括流苏在内，挂在胸前；他的绒毛磨光露出织纹的衣服补得好好的，刷得干干净净的，看起来很合时宜；小小铁姆坐在他的肩膀上。可怜的小小铁姆啊，他带着一根小拐杖，他的手脚都用铁架子支撑着！

“怎么啦，我们的玛莎在哪儿呀？”鲍伯·克拉契环顾四周，大声说。

“没有来。”克拉契太太说。

“没有来！”鲍伯说，他高兴的情绪陡然一落千丈，因为他刚才做了铁姆的纯种马，从教堂那儿一路赶着，连蹦带跳地奔回家，“连圣诞节这天都没有来！”

玛莎不愿意眼见他那么失望，尽管这不过是开开玩笑而已，因此她提早从小堆房的门背后跑了出来，投入他的怀抱中，同时两位年幼的克拉契一把夺过小小铁姆，把他抬到洗衣房里去，好叫他听见布丁在铜锅[22]里唱着歌。

“小小铁姆的表现怎么样？”克拉契太太问道，这时她已经取笑了鲍伯容易上当，而鲍伯也已经把他的女儿称心如意地拥抱了一番。

“好得像金子一样，”鲍伯说，“甚至比金子还好。不过，不知道是怎么回事，他变得喜欢沉思默想，老是一个人坐在那儿想一些你从来没有听到过的最最奇怪的事情。在回家的路上，他告诉我说，在教堂里的时候，他心里但愿大家都看见他，因为他是一个跛子，人们要是想起在这个圣诞节日谁曾经使得跛脚的乞丐能走路[23]，瞎眼的人们能看见[24]，他们会很欣慰的。”

鲍伯跟他们谈这件事的时候，他的声音发抖，他接着说小小铁姆身体正在长得强壮健康起来的时候，他的声音颤抖得更厉害。

能听见小小铁姆的灵活的小拐杖在地板上敲响着，话刚刚说完，他就走了回来，由他的哥哥和姐姐护送到壁炉边他的凳子上；这时候，鲍伯卷起袖口——可怜的人儿啊，好像那副袖口还有可能被弄得更为破旧似的——用杜松子酒[25]和柠檬在一只大水罐里调制一种混合热饮料，他一下又一下地搅拌，再把它放到壁炉旁的扶架上去煨热；小主人彼得和那两位到处乱窜的年幼的克拉契跑去拿烤鹅，他们立刻就拿着它趾高气扬地列队而回。

跟着而来的是如此一阵喧哗热闹，你可能认为鹅儿是所有禽鸟之中最最稀罕的一种东西了，是一种长着羽毛的珍宝，说它是一只黑天鹅[26]，可以当之无愧，事实上，在这幢房屋里，它是非常像那种东西。克拉契太太把卤汁（预先就在一只小平底锅里准备好了）烧得嘶嘶响着翻滚；小主人彼得用令人难以置信的精力把土豆捣烂；贝琳达小姐往苹果酱里加糖；玛莎在揩干净一个个热盘子；鲍伯把小小铁姆领到桌子的小小的一角，坐在他身边；两位年幼的克拉契替每一位安排了座椅，也没有忘掉他们自己，他们登上守卫的岗位，把汤匙塞进嘴巴里，以免还没有轮到给他们分食的时候就尖声嚷着要吃鹅。一盘盘菜肴终于都摆好了，饭前的祷告已经做过了。接下来是一阵屏息凝神的静默，这时，克拉契太太把那把切肉刀慢慢地从头到尾看了一遍，准备戳进那个胸膛里去；可是，她这样做的时候，那盼望了好久的填料迸涌出来的时候，一阵惊喜的喃喃声环绕着整个餐桌响了起来，即使小小铁姆也被两位年幼的克拉契带得激动起来，用他的刀柄敲着桌子，用微弱的声音喊着“呼啦”！

从来没有这样一只鹅。鲍伯说他不相信有谁烧过这样一只鹅。它的肥嫩和鲜美，庞大和便宜，成为普遍赞美的话题。再加上苹果酱和土豆泥，对于全家来说，这是一顿充足的餐食；的确，正像克拉契太太眉飞色舞地说的那样（她审视着餐碟上一小块碎骨头），他们到底没有把它全部吃光呢！然而每一个人都已经吃得饱饱的了，特别是那几位最幼小的克拉契，他们沉浸在洋苏叶和洋葱里，都弄到眉毛上啦！可是，现在，贝琳达小姐换过了餐盘，克拉契太太独自离开这间屋子——太激动了，不愿旁人看见——去把布丁拿起来，端进室内。

假定布丁没有蒸透可怎么办！假定把布丁翻出来的时候竟然裂开了可怎么办！假定他们正在吃鹅吃得乐呵呵的时候，竟然有那么一个人翻过后院的墙头，把布丁偷走了可怎么办！两位年幼的克拉契为此惴惴不安，脸色都发青了！各种各样的恐怖情况都被他们假定过了。

哈啰！一大团蒸汽来了！布丁从铜锅里端出来了。带着一股像是洗衣日[27]的气味！那是蒸布的气味。又带着一股像是并排开着一家饭馆和一家糕饼店加上再隔壁一家女工洗衣作坊的气味！那是布丁的气味。半分钟之内，克拉契太太进来了，脸色绯红，但是自豪地微笑着；她端着布丁，布丁好像一颗布满斑点的大炮弹，又硬又结实，在四分之一品脱的一半的一半的燃烧着的白兰地酒之中放着光彩，顶上插着圣诞节的冬青作为装饰。

哦，了不起的布丁啊！鲍伯·克拉契说，而且是不动声色地说，他认为这是自从他们结婚以来，克拉契太太所取得的最伟大的成功。克拉契太太则说，既然现在心上的一块石头落了地，她可以坦白说自己曾经怀疑过面粉的分量是否适当。关于这只布丁，每个人都有话要说，然而没有一个人说，或者认为对于一个大家庭来说，这终究是一只小布丁。谁要是这样说或想，那完全是异端邪说。克拉契家的任何一个人连暗示一下这类情况都会觉得脸红。

终于这餐饭全部结束了，桌布清除干净了，壁炉打扫过了，炉火生旺了。大水罐里的混合饮料大家尝过，并且认为没有话说，苹果和橘子都放在桌子上，满满一铲子的栗子放在炉火上烤。于是克拉契全家人围在壁炉旁，鲍伯·克拉契把这叫作圆圈，意思是半个圆圈；在鲍伯·克拉契的手肘边放置着玻璃器皿的家庭陈列品：一对平底大酒杯，一只无柄牛奶蛋糊杯。

不管怎么说，用这种东西盛放大水罐里倒出来的热饮料，并不下于用高脚纯金酒杯来盛。鲍伯喜笑颜开地倒出饮料，这时候，炉火上的栗子毕毕剥剥，喀啦喀啦爆个不停。于是鲍伯举杯祝酒说：

“我亲爱的家人，祝你们大家圣诞节快乐。上帝保佑我们！”

全家人都回应着这句话。

“上帝保佑我们每一位！”小小铁姆说。他是最后一个。

他紧挨着他的爸爸，坐在自己的小凳子上。鲍伯握住他憔悴的小手，好像钟爱这个孩子，希望一直把他带在身边，害怕被旁人夺走。

“精灵啊，”私刻鲁挤说，他怀着前所未有的兴趣，“请告诉我小小铁姆会不会活下去。”

“我看见一个空座位，”鬼魂回答说，“在那冷落的壁炉一角，还有一根无主的拐杖小心地保存在那儿。如果‘将来之神’把这一重重的黑影原封不动地留在那儿的话，这孩子是要死的。”

“不行，不行，”私刻鲁挤说，“哦，不行，仁慈的精灵啊！说你饶了他吧。”

“如果‘将来之神’把这一重重的黑影原封不动地保存在那儿的话，”鬼魂回答说，“凡我族类，没有其他一个还能在这儿看到他。那又怎么样呢？如果他喜欢去死，那还是死掉为好，也能减少过剩的人口了。”

私刻鲁挤低着头，聆听他自己说过的话被这位精灵引用，悔恨和悲痛充塞他的心臆。

“人，”鬼魂说，“如果你心里装的是人，而不是坚如铁石的东西的话，避免那种邪恶的论调吧，除非你发现了过剩究竟是什么，又究竟在哪儿。难道你可以决定什么人应该活，什么人应该死吗？在苍天的眼光里，比起千百万像这位穷人家的孩子来，也许你是更没有价值，更不配活下去的哩。哦，上帝啊！听听树叶上的毛毛虫，竟然宣称在他因饥饿而死去的兄弟之中，存在太多的生命！”

面对鬼魂的谴责，私刻鲁挤躬腰曲背，一边颤抖，一边用眼睛瞧着地上。不过一听见叫唤他的名字，他迅速抬起眼睛来。

“私刻鲁挤先生！”鲍伯说，“我要向你们提出私刻鲁挤先生，这位宴会主办者！”

“什么宴会的主办者！”克拉契太太嚷道，脸都涨红了，“我真希望他在这里。我要当面告诉他我对他的看法，让他享用享用，我但愿他有这样的好胃口。”

“我亲爱的，”鲍伯说，“孩子们都在这儿呢！今儿个是圣诞节。”

“我认为，正应该在圣诞节，”她说，“来对私刻鲁挤这样一位如此讨厌的、小气的、苛刻的、无情的人举杯祝他健康。你知道他是这样的人，罗伯特[28]！没有人比你知道得更清楚了，可怜的人儿啊！”

“我亲爱的，”是鲍伯的温和的回答，“今儿个是圣诞节。”

“我要为你和这节日的缘故而为他的健康祝酒，”克拉契太太说，“而不是为他本人的缘故。祝他长寿！圣诞节愉快，新年快乐！——毫无疑问，他一定非常愉快，非常快乐！”

她祝酒以后，孩子们都跟着做。他们的活动之中，这是头一件不起劲的事情。小小铁姆最后一个祝酒，然而他也心不在焉。私刻鲁挤是这个家庭的吃人妖魔。一提起他的名字，就在这个宴会上投下了一层黑暗的影子，整整五分钟都不消散。

等到这桩事情过去之后，他们比原来高兴十倍，仅仅是因为从那位不祥的私刻鲁挤解脱出来。鲍伯·克拉契告诉大家说，在他的心目中已经有了一个小主人彼得的位置，要是得到的话，一星期可以挣到五先令六便士。两位年幼的克拉契想到彼得竟然成了一位生意人，都笑得不可开交；彼得自己呢，从他的衣领之间若有所思地瞧着炉火，好像他正在审慎考虑，等到收到那一笔叫人眼花缭乱的进款的时候，他该当向哪一方面投资呢。接着，在一家女帽及头饰铺子里当一名穷学徒的玛莎跟大家说，她必须做的是什么样的工作，一口气要做多少个钟点，她怎么打算明儿个早晨在床上好好地、足足地睡个够；明天是假日，她可以待在家里。她还说，几天之前，她如何看见一位伯爵夫人和一位勋爵，那位勋爵如何“差不多跟彼得一般高”，听见这句话，彼得把衣领拉得那么高，要是你当时在那儿的话，都看不见他的头了。这整个时候，栗子和大水罐一次又一次地递到每个人的面前；后来小小铁姆给他们唱起一首歌来，唱的是一个迷路的孩子跋涉在雪地里；小小铁姆的嗓子哀伤而又轻微，这首歌他唱得的确是很好。

这景象里没有什么高水准的东西。他们不是一个富有的家庭；衣着并不考究；鞋子绝非不透水的；服装是很少的；彼得可能知道，十分可能知道，当铺子里边是什么样子的。然而他们全都快乐，感激，彼此友爱相处，心满意足地过着节日。他们渐渐淡退下去了，在精灵的临别的火炬的明亮的光点之中看来更为快乐，这时候，私刻鲁挤眼睁睁地盯着他们看，特别是看着小小铁姆，直到消失为止。

这时天色渐渐暗了下来，雪下得相当大；私刻鲁挤和精灵沿着街道一路走去，一家家厨房里、客厅里，以及各种各样的房间里透出熊熊的炉火的明亮的光，真是壮观。在这儿，光闪闪的火焰表明一顿暖和的晚餐正在准备之中，一只只烫手的盘子在炉火前烤着又烤着，深红色的窗帘正准备拉拢，要把寒冷和黑暗关在外面。在那儿，那幢屋子里的所有的儿童都冲出屋外，跑到雪地上去迎接他们的结了婚的姐姐们、哥哥们、表兄们、叔叔们、姑姑们，争先恐后地去欢迎他们。再看看这儿，是遮光帘上的宾客们欢聚的黑影；那儿，有一群美丽的姑娘，全都戴着风雪帽，穿着镶毛皮的靴子，同时都嘁嘁喳喳说个不停，悄悄地、轻盈地走向邻近一家人家；那个单身汉是多么苦恼啊，他眼看她们走进去了——一群伶俐的美人精，她们很明白这一点——光彩夺目啊！

不过，要是你从途中前去赴亲热的聚会的人数来判断，你可能会想到等到他们到达的时候，就没有一个人在家中欢迎他们，而不是每一家都有着等待的人，并且把壁炉里的火加到半个烟囱那么高。上帝保佑吧，鬼魂对此是多么高兴啊！它是如何袒开宽广的胸怀，张开阔大的手掌，一路飘浮过去，用它那慷慨的手，散布它的光辉而无害的欢乐，给它所接触到的每一样事物啊！那位街灯点灯夫[29]，他在前面跑着，用那一点微光点亮这昏暗的街道，他穿着打扮得准备在什么地方消磨这个夜晚，在精灵经过他身旁的时候，这位点灯夫哈哈大笑，虽然他一点也不知道，除了圣诞节以外，他还有任何同伴呢！

现在，鬼魂连一声招呼都不打，他们已经站在一片凄惨而又荒凉的旷野上了，只见怪石嶙峋，顶天立地，乱七八糟地堆在那里，仿佛是巨怪们的坟场；水随心所欲地向四面八方流淌——或者说，要不是被冰霜囚禁住了，水就是这样地流淌；光秃秃的，只长着苔藓、荆豆，以及丛生的杂草。西天的夕阳留下了一抹火红的晚霞，好像一只忧郁的眼睛，对这一片荒凉瞪视了片刻，然后颦眉蹙额，低下去，低下去，再低下去，终于消失在最黑暗的浓密深厚的夜幕中。

“这是什么地方？”私刻鲁挤问。

“这是矿工们生活的地方[30]，他们在地壳之下辛勤地劳动。”精灵回答说，“但是他们知道我。你看吧！”

一线亮光从一所茅屋的窗户里透出来，他们便急速地向那儿走去，穿过了一堵泥墁石垒的墙壁，只见一群快乐的人围聚在熊熊的炉火旁。那是一位老而又老的老头儿和一位老妇人，以及他们的孩子们和孩子们的孩子们，以及再下一代，全都穿着节日的盛装，打扮得漂漂亮亮。那位老头子正在为他们唱一首圣诞节的歌，他的歌声难得高于在荒野上呼啸而过的风声；在他还是一个孩子的时候，那就是一首非常老的歌了；每隔一段时候，他们全体加入合唱。他们提高嗓子的时候，这位老头子必然唱得又欢又响；他们停下来的时候，他的精力必然衰落下来。

精灵没有在这儿多作逗留，它吩咐私刻鲁挤抓住它的长袍，从这片旷野之上经过，匆匆奔到哪儿去呢？不是到海里去吧？正是到海里去。真叫私刻鲁挤胆战心惊，他回头一望，看到他们身后是一排可怕的岩石，那是陆地的尽头；他的耳朵被雷鸣般的海水震聋，海水翻滚着，吼叫着，在它自己侵蚀成的可怖的大洞穴之间汹涌澎湃，凶猛狂暴地要想冲塌大地的基础。

那边矗立着一个孤立的灯塔，建造在离海岸一里格[31]左右，由沉没的岩石形成的阴惨的暗礁上，荒凉的岁月中，一年到头，海涛冲刷和撞击着这块暗礁。大量大量的海草纠缠着它的底部，许多海燕——人们可能觉得它们是风暴诞生的，就像海草是海水诞生的一样——在灯塔周围忽起忽落，正像它们掠翅而过的波浪一样。

然而，即使在这里，两位看守灯塔的人也生了火，穿过厚厚的墙上的狭长小孔把一线光明射到令人畏惧的海上。他们坐在一张粗糙的桌子边，两只粗硬起老茧的手在桌面上碰在一起，用罐子里的掺水烈酒[32]互祝圣诞快乐；其中年长的那一位，他的脸完全被恶劣的天气损坏，伤痕处处，就像一艘古老的船上的船头雕饰[33]可能遭到的一样。他开始唱起一首雄壮的歌来，就像是一阵大风。

鬼魂重又迅速前进，在黑暗的、波浪起伏的海上——前进，前进——直到像它跟私刻鲁挤所说的那样，离任何海岸都很远，降落到一艘船上。他们站在操纵船舵的舵手身边，站在船头上的瞭望员身边，站在值班的高级船员的身边；他们在各自的岗位上，鬼怪似的黑影一般；可是他们之中的每一个人口中都哼着一段圣诞节的曲子，或者具有圣诞节的思想，或者轻声地对他的同伴讲一些过去的圣诞节日的事情，话中带着回家的想望。船上的每一个人，不论是醒着的还是睡着的，好的还是坏的，比起一年的任何日子来，这一天都对别人说过一句更亲切的话；并且在这一天的欢庆活动中多少分享过；同时想起过他所怀念的在遥远的地方的人们，也知道那些人也高兴想起他。

私刻鲁挤觉得非常惊讶的是，听到海风在呻吟，想到在一个未知的深渊之上，其深不可测就像死亡那样，飘过孤寂的黑暗，这是一桩多么庄严的事情。私鲁刻挤觉得非常惊讶的是，他正在这样想的时候，竟然听见了一阵开怀大笑的声音。私刻鲁挤更为觉得非常惊讶的是，他听出那是他自己的外甥的声音，并且发现自己已经在一间明亮的、干燥的、光彩晔晔的房间里，而精灵微笑着站在他的身边，带着赞赏的和蔼可亲的神态看着这一位外甥！

“哈，哈！”私刻鲁挤的外甥大笑着，“哈，哈，哈！”

要是你竟然在任何一种未必会有的机会里，碰巧知道有一个人比私刻鲁挤的外甥笑得更为开心，那么我所能说的只不过是，我也想认识他。请你把他介绍给我吧，我一定想方设法和他交个朋友。

这真是一个公平交易、不偏不倚而又十分高尚的合理安排：在疾病和烦恼能传染开来的时候，这个世界上再也没有什么东西像大笑和心情愉快那样有不可抗拒的感染力。私刻鲁挤的外甥这样大笑着：捧着肚子，摇头晃脑，脸庞歪曲成最最奇形怪状的样子，这时候，私刻鲁挤的外甥媳妇也笑得像他一样欢畅。他们邀请来聚会的朋友们自亦丝毫不甘落后，都哄然大笑，前仰后合。

“哈，哈！哈，哈，哈，哈！”

“千真万确，他说过圣诞节是胡闹！”私刻鲁挤的外甥嚷道，“他还真的相信呢！”

“弗莱德，那他更可耻！”私刻鲁挤的外甥媳妇愤慨地说。祝福那些女士，她们做事情从来不做到一半。她们一直是认认真真的。

她非常美丽，美丽极了。第一流的脸蛋，长着酒窝，有点惊奇的模样，一张红润的小嘴，似乎生来就是为了给人亲吻——毫无疑问是这样的；她笑起来的时候，下巴颏上各种各样好看的小圆点儿都彼此融化在一起了；还有那一双最灿烂的眼睛，你在任何小美人儿的脸上都未曾见过。你知道，她是那类你会叫作挑逗人的人，但也是令人满意的。哦，完全令人满意！

“他是一个可笑的老头子，”私刻鲁挤的外甥说，“这是事实；而且不像他可以做到的那样讨人喜欢。不过，他的种种讨厌的行为已经带来了应有的惩罚，因此，我没有什么对他不满的话要说。”

“弗莱德，我肯定他非常有钱。”私刻鲁挤的外甥媳妇说，“至少你一直对我这样说。”

“那又怎么样呢，我亲爱的！”私刻鲁挤的外甥说，“他的财富对他没有用处。他没有用财富做过任何好事。他没有用财富来使他自己过得舒服。他不会想到——哈，哈，哈！——自己将用财富来使我们得到好处而感到满意。”

“我不愿意再听见提到他了。”私刻鲁挤的外甥媳妇说，私刻鲁挤的外甥媳妇的姐妹们，以及其余全体女士，都表示了同样的意见。

“哦，我愿意！”私刻鲁挤的外甥说，“我为他感到难过；即使我想要生他的气我也生不起来。究竟是谁在为他的古怪的坏思想受罪呢？一直是他自己。你看，是他不喜欢我们，因此他就没有来和我们一起吃饭。结果怎么样呢？他并没有损失怎么了不起的一顿晚餐。”

“真的，我认为他损失了一顿极好的晚餐。”私刻鲁挤的外甥媳妇打断他的话。其余每一个人也都这样说，而他们一定会被认可为合格的法官，因为他们刚刚用过晚餐；餐后的水果甜点都还放在餐桌上，但是他们在灯光下团聚在壁炉周围。

“好啊！我很高兴听见这句话，”私刻鲁挤的外甥说，“因为我对这些年纪轻轻的女管家没有太大的信心。你怎么看呢，托泼儿？”

托泼儿显然早已看中了私刻鲁挤的外甥媳妇的姐妹中的一个，因为他回答说，一个单身汉是一个可怜的漂泊无依的人，他没有权利对这个问题发表意见。听到这句话，私刻鲁挤的外甥媳妇的妹妹——戴着领布[34]的胖胖的那一位，不是插着玫瑰花的那一位——脸儿红了起来。

“弗莱德，你说下去。”私刻鲁挤的外甥媳妇拍着手说，“他从来不把话说完！他真是个可笑的东西！”

私刻鲁挤的外甥扬扬得意地又一次高声大笑了，虽然那位胖胖的妹妹闻着香醋[35]，努力试图避免受到它的感染，那阵笑声还是不可能避免传染开来，于是他的例子被全体一致地仿效。

“我本来要说下去的只不过是，”私刻鲁挤的外甥说，“他不喜欢我们，也不跟我们一同作乐，其结果，照我看来，是损失了一些不可能对他有害处的欢乐的时刻。我敢说，他损失了愉快的朋友们，比他在自己的思想之中，或者他的发霉的老事务所里，或者他的灰尘遍布的房间里所能找到的更为愉快的朋友们。我打算每年都给他这样一个机会，不管他愿意与否，因为我可怜他。他可能到死都要责骂圣诞节，然而他不得不对它产生好感——我要向他挑战——假定他看到我年复一年客客气气地到他那儿去，说一声，私刻鲁挤舅舅，你好吗？假定这样竟然能使他有所触动，想到将来遗赠五十镑给他的贫穷的办事员，那就很不错了。我觉得昨天我已经打动了他。”

现在轮到他们来放声大笑了，他居然说打动了私刻鲁挤。然而因为他脾气好得不得了，不怎么在乎他们笑什么，因此无论他们怎么笑，他还是鼓励他们的兴致，高高兴兴地把酒瓶传递过去。

喝茶以后，他们来了些音乐节目。因为他们是一个音乐之家，我可以向你保证，他们唱一首无伴奏男声重唱曲或者一首轮唱曲的时候，是很有那么一套的；特别是托泼儿，他能在低音部分像一个行家那样呜噜呜噜地唱过去，而决不弄得额头上青筋暴露，或者为此把脸涨得通红。私刻鲁挤的外甥媳妇弹竖琴弹得很好，除了弹其他曲子之外，还弹了一首简单的小歌曲（再简单也没有了，你可以在两分钟之内学会用口哨吹出来），先前那位过去的圣诞节鬼魂使私刻鲁挤回想起他在寄宿学校里的时候，那个来接他的女孩子就熟悉这首小歌曲。这首乐曲在演奏的时候，鬼魂曾经使他看到的一切事物都涌到他心里来了；他越来越感动；想到要是许多年以前，他能够常常听到这首小歌曲，他可能已经用他自己的双手为他自己的幸福培植了各种人生的善行，而不需要用曾经埋葬雅各·马莱的那把教堂司事[36]的铁铲。

不过他们并没有把整个晚上都花在音乐上。过了一会儿，他们玩起罚物游戏来，因为有时候做小孩子是很好的事，更没有比在圣诞节做小孩子好，因为这节目的伟大的创造者本身就是一个孩子。停下来！先得玩玩捉迷藏游戏。当然要玩了。要叫我相信托泼儿真的蒙着眼睛，等于叫我相信他的靴子上长着眼睛一样。我的看法是，这是他和私刻鲁挤的外甥事先串通好的事情；而且这位现在的圣诞节鬼魂也心中有数。他那样跟着抓那位戴花边领布的胖胖的妹妹，简直是对于人类天性的信赖的一种蹂躏。他碰倒了火钳、通条、火铲，打翻了椅子，冲撞在钢琴上，钻在窗帘当中闷得透不过气来，不管她躲到哪儿，他总是跟到哪儿。他总是知道那位胖胖的妹妹的所在，决不会抓住任何旁人。要是你像他们之中的某些人那样，故意站住，挡着他的去路，他会假装费尽心机来捉你，这对于你的理解其实是一种愚弄，而他会马上侧身而过，直向那位胖胖的妹妹的方向奔去。她一再喊道，这不公平；也真是不公平。不过，他最后逮住她的时候，不顾她绸缎衣服的窸窸窣窣的声音，不顾她急迅扇动着翅膀似的闪过他身边，他把她逼到走投无路的角落里的时候，他的举动才是最恶劣不过的了。这是因为他假装不知道是她；他假装有必要摸摸她的头饰，并且为了使自己更能肯定没有认错人，硬把那么一只戒指套在她的手指上，那么一根链条挂在她的脖子上；真是坏透了，坏到顶了！毫无疑问，她把自己关于此事的意见告诉了他。这时候，另外一个蒙眼瞎子[37]已经上了场，而他们俩是如此亲密无间地躲在窗帘后面。

私刻鲁挤的外甥媳妇不是盲人爱捉的那一群中的一个，她在舒适的一隅舒舒服服地坐在一张大椅子里，双脚搁在脚凳上，鬼魂和私刻鲁挤就紧挨在她的身后。不过，她参加了罚物游戏，爱其所爱到极点，字母表里的字母全部讲出来了[38]。同样对于“如何、何时及何处”这个游戏[39]她也是非常精明，叫私刻鲁挤的外甥暗自心喜的是她把她的姐妹们都打败了，虽然她们也是很灵敏的姑娘，托泼儿会这样讲给你听的。那儿老老少少可能有二十位，但是都参加了游戏，连私刻鲁挤也参加了。因为沉浸在正在进行的事情之中，他已经全然忘记他的声音对于他们的耳朵来说是听不见的，有时候相当大声地发表他的猜想，还常常猜对了呢。这是因为最好的白教堂[40]的最尖锐的针，保证不会断针眼的，也没有私刻鲁挤来得尖锐：虽然他自己觉得是迟钝的。

鬼魂非常高兴地发现他有这样的兴致，并且十分赞赏地看待他，以至他像个孩子那样请求，准许他待到客人们都离开了为止。可是这一点，精灵说办不到。

“现在开始了新的游戏。”私刻鲁挤说，“再待半小时，精灵，只要半小时！”

这个游戏叫作“是与否”，私刻鲁挤的外甥必须想一样东西，其余的人必须猜出是什么；而他对于他们提出来的问题只按照实情回答是或者不是。他暴露在连珠炮似的问题之中，引得他交代说，他意想中的是一种动物，一种活的动物，一种相当可厌的动物，一种野蛮的动物，一种有时咆哮，有时哼哼，有时说人话的动物，住在伦敦，在大街小巷走动，没有用来展览，也没有被任何人牵着走，也不住在动物园里，从来没有在市场里宰杀过，既非马，也非驴，既非母牛，也非公牛，既非虎，也非犬，既非猪，也非猫，也不是狗熊。每一个新问题向他提出来，这位外甥就要爆发一阵新的哈哈大笑；他乐得简直无法形容，因此不得不从沙发上站起身来直跺脚。最后，那位胖胖的妹妹陷入同样的情况，嚷着说：

“我猜出来啦！弗莱德，我知道那是什么了！我知道那是什么了！”

“是什么呢？”弗莱德喊道。

“就是你的舅舅私刻鲁——鲁——鲁——鲁——鲁挤！”

这当然猜中了。感到钦佩是大家一致的想法，虽然有些人反对说，刚才对于“是不是一只狗熊[41]？”的回答应该是“是的”，因为假定他们有朝私刻鲁挤先生那方面去想的趋势，否定的回答会把他们的思路引开的。

“我深信，他已经给了我们很多的快乐。”弗莱德说，“要是不为他的健康干杯，那就是忘恩负义。这儿是一杯香甜的热酒，此刻正在我们手边，因此我说：‘为私刻鲁挤舅舅祝酒！’”

“好啊！为私刻鲁挤舅舅祝酒！”他们喊道。

“祝这位老人家圣诞节快乐，新年快乐，不管他是怎样！”私刻鲁挤的外甥说，“他不会接受我的祝愿，虽然如此，但愿他享受到。为私刻鲁挤舅舅祝酒！”

私刻鲁挤不知不觉心中变得如此轻松愉快，要是鬼魂给他时间的话，他可能已经对这些不知道他在场的人祝酒作答，并且用一种听不见的言语来感谢他们。然而他的外甥刚说完最后一个字，这整个景象就消失不见了；他和精灵又踏上他们的行程了。

他们看到了很多，走得很远，访问了很多家庭，但是总是有一个快乐的结局。精灵在一张又一张病床边站一站，病人们都愉快起来；来到异乡客地，他们就觉得接近家乡了；站在奋斗的人们身边，他们就耐心地盼望他们较好的前途；站在贫穷旁边，它就变成了富有。在济贫院里、医院里，以及监狱里，在苦难的每一个藏身之处，只要那儿妄自尊大的、掌握着暂时的小小的权力的人[42]，没有把门儿紧闭，把精灵拦在外面，它就都留下它的祝福，并且把它的格言教给了私刻鲁挤。

如果这只是一个夜晚的话，这是一个漫长的夜晚；然而私刻鲁挤对此表示怀疑，因为许多天圣诞节假期似乎被压缩到他们在一起度过的这一段时间里面了。此外，奇怪的是，私刻鲁挤的外表固然一如既往，没有改变，这位鬼魂却已经变得比原来老了，明显地老了。私刻鲁挤曾经看到这一变化，但是他一言不发，直到他们离开一个儿童们的第十二夜聚会[43]的时候，他们一同站在一个空旷的地方，私刻鲁挤对精灵瞧着，注意到它的头发都变白了，他才说话。

“精灵们是不是都活得如此短促呢？”私刻鲁挤问。

“我的生命在这个地球上是非常短暂的，”鬼魂回答说，“今天晚上就结束了。”

“今天晚上！”私刻鲁挤喊起来。

“今天晚上十二点正。听吧！时间近了。”

此时，教堂钟声正在敲着十一时三刻。

“要是我要问的一句话是不恰当的话，请你原谅。”私刻鲁挤紧盯着精灵的长袍，说道，“不过我看见一件奇怪的东西，那不是属于你本身的，正从你的长袍下摆那儿突出来了。那是一只脚呢，还是一只爪子？”

“可能是一只爪子，因为它上面有肉。”这是精灵的悲伤的回答，“你看吧。”

它从长袍的褶裥里，带出两个孩子，可怜、凄惨、可怕、丑陋、悲苦。他们跪在它的脚边，紧紧抓住它的长袍的外面。

“哦，人啊！你看吧。看吧，看看这儿吧！”鬼魂高声呼喊。

他们是一个男孩，一个女孩，面黄肌瘦，衣衫褴褛，愁眉苦脸，形如饿狼，然而又那样卑躬屈膝，匍匐在地。本来，优美的青春应该充溢在他们的身躯里，并且用最鲜艳的色彩来润饰他们，然而，却有一只干瘪皱缩的手，就像是老年人的手，拧他们，扭他们，把他们撕扯成破布条一般。本来天使应该登上宝座的地方，然而，却潜藏着魔鬼，睁大着威胁的眼睛。自从奇妙的天地万物被创造出以来，在所有的神秘事物之中，没有一种变化，没有一种堕落，没有一种反常的人性，在任何程度上，有这些怪物的一半那么令人惊恐而害怕。

私刻鲁挤心惊胆战，吓得往后退。看到他们这副样子，他想说他们是好孩子，可是话语却塞在喉咙口，而不愿成为如此重大事情的谎言的参与者。

“精灵啊！他们是你的吗？”私刻鲁挤不能再说别的话了。

“他们是人类的。”精灵低头瞧着他们说，“然而他们依附着我，从他们的父亲那儿来向我申诉。这个男孩叫作‘无知’。这个女孩叫作‘贫困’。提防着他们两个，以及所有他们那一阶层的人，但是最主要的是提防这个男孩，因为除非那个词被揩掉，我看见他的额头上写着的是‘灭亡’。可别让‘灭亡’进去！”精灵喊着说，它伸直手臂向城市指着，“谁要是对你说起它，你就骂谁！要是你们为了派别的目的而容纳它，那就更坏！那就等着看结果吧！”

“难道他们没有收容所或者其他办法吗？”私刻鲁挤嚷着说。

“难道没有监狱吗？”精灵说，最后一次用他自己的话来回敬他，“难道没有贫民习艺所吗？”

教堂钟声敲着十二点。

私刻鲁挤四面环顾，寻找鬼魂，可是看不见它了。等到最后一响的余音停歇了，他想起老雅各·马莱的预言，他抬起眼睛，看见了一个庄严肃穆的幻象，它披着衣服，戴着兜帽，像一阵迷雾似的，沿着地面朝他飘来。

[1]逍遥自在，原文为free-and-easy，原指一种轻松自如的放荡个性。作名词解的时候，又指一种不拘形式的聚会，其中可以吸烟，饮酒，唱歌和赌博。

[2]投掷铜币游戏，原文为pitch-and-toss，是一种街头赌博游戏。游戏者把便士投掷到一个记号处，然后向空中抛掷。凡是投掷得最接近记号的人，有权把余下的便士抛向空中，落地后正面朝上的便士即归他所有。

[3]自燃（spontaneous combustion），十九世纪初流行的一种医学方面的神话，说是人体的化学成分能够生来就产生在邪恶的躯体的腐烂的体液之中，而一个个体能够在一场自发的大火中突然焚毁。

[4]槲寄生，欧洲所产的一种寄生植物，叶厚，绿色，花色黄而小，结白色胶性浆果。西俗用作圣诞节的饰物。

[5]主显节（Twelfth day）是圣诞节后的第十二天，即庆祝这一节期的最后一天。主显节蛋糕常在这一节日的前夕食用，一般是用面粉、蜜糖、姜汁和胡椒制成的大糕点，上面洒满糖粉，并布满各种装饰。蛋糕中藏有一粒豆子或一个铜板，分切蛋糕的时候，凡是得到藏有这类东西的一块的人，即成为宴会上的“国王”或“王后”。

[6]五味酒（punch），用果汁、香料、茶、糖和葡萄酒等混合调制的饮料。

[7]“丰饶的羊角”（Plenty's horn），据希腊神话，宙斯神系由克里特王之女阿玛尔忒亚以羊乳哺育而生。及长，宙斯赠一羊角给阿玛尔忒亚，以报其恩惠。持有这一羊角，可以获得心中所欲的一切东西。古罗马庆祝农神节的时候，女神色拉斯的左手就擎着这种“丰饶的羊角”。

[8]根据十三世纪英格兰-诺曼底的有关传说，圣诞节之父常常被画成戴着头盔，穿着罩在铠甲上的外衣，手执当时的盾牌，佩着体育优胜的勋章，环绕着冬青和常绿植物，作为正在来临的基督战胜黑暗势力的胜利象征。作者狄更斯在这里暗示，在基督来临的时候，基督教的友善的情谊教育了军阀，征服了穷兵黩武的暴君。

[9]《圣诞颂歌》初版于一八四三年，写作于一八四二年。这里是说“圣诞节精灵”每年一个，这时共有一千八百四十二个。

[10]据美国作家华盛顿·欧文（Washington Irving，1783—1859）在《见闻录》（Sketch Book）中记载，圣诞节的时候，农舍和厨房中悬挂着槲寄生，青年小伙子可以去吻站在槲寄生下面的姑娘，并且每一次摘去一粒红浆果。等到红浆果全部摘完，就不可再去接吻。

[11]诺福克（Norfolk）是英格兰东部的一个郡，出产多种烹调用的苹果，果皮呈赤赭色。烹调时用煤火慢慢烘烤，然后用两块铁板把它压碎成圆饼，再用稻草包装。

[12]金鱼和银鱼，原文为gold and silver fish，其实就是原产于中国的金鱼，大约在一六九〇年从葡萄牙传至英国，成为英国家庭中的宠爱物。狄更斯写作本书的时候，单单在伦敦就至少有七十家店铺出售金鱼。

[13]这一句可能来源于莎士比亚戏剧《奥赛罗》第一幕第一景，原文第六十至第六十四句，剧中人物伊阿哥的话（据一九八年上海译文出版社方平所译该书的译文）：

要是我脸上的笑容竟会泄露了
我肚子里的念头，那么我接着就会
把我的心掏出来，钉在这袖口上
让乌鸦飞来乱啄了。

中世纪时，女子接受追求者的爱慕之意以后，会在她们的袖子上绣上心形作为情意的表征。不过，《奥赛罗》中的伊阿古是一个邪恶的人物，他的意思是不会让自己的坏心暴露出来。穴乌，原文为daws，是乌鸦的一种。

[14]小教堂，原文为chapel，一般指医院或学校内的附属教堂。

[15]当时在每个星期日或者圣诞节日，面包师按规定不可烤面包，于是穷苦的人们便带着饭食到面包房去烧，这样，他们至少每星期可以吃到一次热的饭食。

[16]洒香料原是东方三贤士作为给生于贫穷人家的基督儿童祝福的一种礼物。

[17]第七日，原文为the Seventh Day，基督教教友派和主张礼拜六为安息日的教派的礼拜六。即以星期日为一周的第一日，星期六为一周的第七日。

[18]一八三二年至一八三七年之间，英国议员安德鲁·阿格纽爵士（Sir Andrew Agnew）几次以教会的名义，在下议院提出《星期日守则法案》，规定中不但要求面包房打烊，而且限制其他“清白无辜的享乐”。狄更斯故意在这里加以讽刺。

[19]克拉契，原文为Cratchit，与scratch（用钢笔在纸上写字时的沙沙声）一词相近。狄更斯为这个人物取这个姓氏暗示这个办事员的工作。

[20]鲍伯（Bob）这个名字同时又是伦敦方言“先令”（值十二个便士）的意思，来源于苏格兰詹姆士六世时发行的值英国半便士的苏格兰铜板，叫作baubee。

[21]洋苏叶（sage），又译鼠尾草，叶芳香，带灰绿色，是烧烤肉食的调味品。

[22]铜锅，煮东西的容器。在平常的日子，一般平民可以用它来煮要洗的衣服。

[23]见《圣经·新约全书·约翰福音》第五章第一至第九节：“……犹太人的一个节期，耶稣就上耶路撒冷去。……旁边有五个廊子。里面躺着瞎眼的，瘸腿的，血气枯干的，许多病人。在那里有一个人，病了三十八年。……耶稣对他说，起来，拿你的褥子走吧。那人立刻痊愈，就拿起褥子走了。”

[24]见《圣经·新约全书·马可福音》第八章第二十二至第二十五节：“……有人带一个瞎子来，求耶稣摸他。耶稣……就吐唾沫在他眼睛上，按手在他身上，问他说，你看见什么了。他就抬头一看，说，我看见人了。……随后又按手在他的眼睛上，他定睛一看，就复了原，样样都看清楚了。”

[25]杜松子酒，一译荷兰酒，原为荷兰人用杜松子实酿成的酒。

[26]天鹅多为白色，黑色较为稀罕。拉丁诗人尤维纳利斯（Decimus Junius Juvenalis，出名于公元60—140年）有诗句云：“世上一只罕见的鸟，非常像一只黑天鹅。”狄更斯这句可能源出于此。

[27]洗衣日，原文为washing-day，是当时英国家庭中规定洗衣的日子，一般在星期一。葡萄干布丁用布包着蒸煮，此处又是放在平时洗衣用的铜锅里蒸煮的，所以说带着洗衣日的气味。

[28]罗伯特（Robert）是鲍伯（Bob）的正规的称谓。

[29]点灯夫，原文为lamplighter，英国当时使用煤气街灯，每天要由点灯夫点亮。

[30]此处实指英国西南部的半岛康沃尔（Cornwall）的兰兹角（Land's End）。该处有锡矿，深入海底。狄更斯在其所著《儿童英国史》中曾有描写。他曾于一八四二年与友人去该地待过十天左右。

[31]里格（league），长度名，在英美约为三英里，或三海里。

[32]掺水烈酒，原文为grog，是用朗姆酒或其他的酒掺水，一般给水手喝，作为纯酒的代用品。名称来源于爱好这种酒的海军上将伏侬（Edward Vernon，1684—1757），他的绰号为Old Grog。

[33]过去外国木船船头常雕饰人像或破浪神像。

[34]领布，原文为tucker，是欧洲十七、十八世纪妇女衣领部分的装饰，用花边或其他精致的料子制成。

[35]香醋，原文为aromatic vinegar，是用樟脑、丁香油、桂皮油、英国薰衣草油以及醋酸制成的药品，过去欧洲妇女常用作治头晕。

[36]教堂司事，担任管理教堂、敲钟、挖掘墓地等工作的教堂工作人员。

[37]狄更斯在这里指的不仅是这场游戏中另一个扮盲人的人，而且也是指希腊神话中盲目的爱神丘比特。

[38]英美都曾流行过一种客厅游戏，叫作“我爱我所爱的带一个A字母”（I love my love with an A）。由参加者依次说出他所爱的，后面必须带一个以A或B或C……为首字母的词来组成一个句子。狄更斯在其所著《我们共同的朋友》一书第二卷第一章中具体描写过：“我爱我所爱的带一个B字母，因为她是美丽的（Beautiful）；我恨我所爱的带一个B字母，因为她厚脸皮（Brazen）……”这也是一种罚物游戏。

[39]原文为How，When，and Where，参加游戏的人必须轮流问：“你如何喜欢这个？”“你何时喜欢的？”以及“你在何处喜欢的？”

[40]白教堂（Whitechapel），伦敦东面的一区，许多大型针厂设在此区内，一般即用这一名称指此处生产的针。

[41]狗熊，原文bear又作“粗鲁的人”或“笨拙的人”解。

[42]这句可能源出于莎士比亚戏剧《一报还一报》（Measure for Measure）第二幕第二场中依莎贝拉的台词：

“……可是人啊，骄傲的人啊！
装扮成一个小小的暂时的当权者，——”

[43]第十二夜，即一月五日，主显节（一月六日）的前夜。狄更斯的儿子查尔斯·鲍兹·狄更斯（Charles Boz Dickens）在这一天生日。狄更斯家中常常聚会欢庆。此处所述当和这事有关。

STAVE FOUR
THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS

THE Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery.

It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand. But for this it would have been difficult to detach its figure from the night, and separate it from the darkness by which it was surrounded.

He felt that it was tall and stately when it came beside him, and that its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. He knew no more, for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved.

“I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?” said Scrooge.

The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand.

“You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,” Scrooge pursued. “Is that so, Spirit?”

The upper portion of the garment was contracted for an instant in its folds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head. That was the only answer he received.

Although well used to ghostly company by this time, Scrooge feared the silent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath him, and he found that he could hardly stand when he prepared to follow it. The Spirit paused a moment, as observing his condition, and giving him time to recover.

But Scrooge was all the worse for this. It thrilled him with a vague uncertain horror, to know that behind the dusky shroud, there were ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he, though he stretched his own to the utmost, could see nothing but a spectral hand and one great heap of black.

“Ghost of the Future!” he exclaimed, “I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?”

It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them.

“Lead on!” said Scrooge. “Lead on! The night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit!”

The Phantom moved away as it had come towards him. Scrooge followed in the shadow of its dress, which bore him up, he thought, and carried him along.

They scarcely seemed to enter the city; for the city rather seemed to spring up about them, and encompass them of its own act. But there they were, in the heart of it; on 'Change, amongst the merchants; who hurried up and down, and chinked the money in their pockets, and conversed in groups, and looked at their watches, and trifled thoughtfully with their great gold seals; and so forth, as Scrooge had seen them often.

The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. Observing that the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to their talk.

“No,” said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, “I don't know much about it, either way. I only know he's dead.”

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

Scrooge followed in the shadow of its dress, which bore him up, he thought, and carried him along.
私刻鲁挤跟在它的衣服的黑影里，他觉得黑影把他承载了起来，把他带走。

“When did he die?” inquired another.

“Last night, I believe.”

“Why, what was the matter with him?” asked a third, taking a vast quantity of snuff out of a very large snuff-box. “I thought he'd never die.”

“God knows,” said the first, with a yawn.

“What has he done with his money?” asked a red-faced gentleman with a pendulous excrescence on the end of his nose, that shook like the gills of a turkey-cock.

“I haven't heard,” said the man with the large chin, yawning again. “Left it to his company, perhaps. He hasn't left it to me. That's all I know.”

This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.

“It's likely to be a very cheap funeral,” said the same speaker; “for upon my life I don't know of anybody to go to it. Suppose we make up a party and volunteer?”

“I don't mind going if a lunch is provided,” observed the gentleman with the excrescence on his nose. “But I must be fed, if I make one.”

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

“When did he die?” inquired another.
“Last night, I believe.”
“他什么时候死的？”另外一个人问。
“我想是昨天晚上吧。”

Another laugh.

“Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all,” said the first speaker, “for I never wear black gloves, and I never eat lunch. But I'll offer to go, if anybody else will. When I come to think of it, I'm not at all sure that I wasn't his most particular friend; for we used to stop and speak whenever we met. Bye, bye!”

Speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed with other groups. Scrooge knew the men, and looked towards the Spirit for an explanation.

The Phantom glided on into a street. Its finger pointed to two persons meeting. Scrooge listened again, thinking that the explanation might lie here.

He knew these men, also, perfectly. They were men of business: very wealthy, and of great importance. He had made a point always of standing well in their esteem: in a business point of view, that is; strictly in a business point of view.

“How are you?” said one.

“How are you?” returned the other.

“Well!” said the first. “Old Scratch has got his own at last, hey?”

“So I am told,” returned the second. “Cold, isn't it?”

“Seasonable for Christmas time. You're not a skater, I suppose?”

“No. No. Something else to think of. Good morning!”

Not another word. That was their meeting, their conversation, and their parting.

Scrooge was at first inclined to be surprised that the Spirit should attach importance to conversations apparently so trivial; but feeling assured that they must have some hidden purpose, he set himself to consider what it was likely to be. They could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing on the death of Jacob, his old partner, for that was Past, and this Ghost's province was the Future. Nor could he think of any one immediately connected with himself, to whom he could apply them. But nothing doubting that to whomsoever they applied they had some latent moral for his own improvement, he resolved to treasure up every word he heard, and everything he saw; and especially to observe the shadow of himself when it appeared. For he had an expectation that the conduct of his future self would give him the clue he missed, and would render the solution of these riddles easy.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

“Well!” said the first. “Old Scratch has got his own at last, hey?”
“好！”头一个说，“魔鬼终于得到应得的结果了，是不是？”

He looked about in that very place for his own image; but another man stood in his accustomed corner, and though the clock pointed to his usual time of day for being there, he saw no likeness of himself among the multitudes that poured in through the Porch. It gave him little surprise, however; for he had been revolving in his mind a change of life, and thought and hoped he saw his new-born resolutions carried out in this.

Quiet and dark, beside him stood the Phantom, with its outstretched hand. When he roused himself from his thoughtful quest, he fancied from the turn of the hand, and its situation in reference to himself, that the Unseen Eyes were looking at him keenly. It made him shudder, and feel very cold.

They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of the town, where Scrooge had never penetrated before, although he recognised its situation, and its bad repute. The ways were foul and narrow; the shops and houses wretched; the people half-naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly. Alleys and archways, like so many cesspools, disgorged their offences of smell, and dirt, and life, upon the straggling streets; and the whole quarter reeked with crime, with filth, and misery.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of the town, where Scrooge had never penetrated before, although he recognised its situation, and its bad repute.
他们离开了这一繁忙的场所，走到这城市的一个偏僻的地区，私刻鲁挤过去从来没有到这里来过，虽然他知道它的位置和它的坏名声。

Far in this den of infamous resort, there was a low-browed, beetling shop, below a pent-house roof, where iron, old rags, bottles, bones, and greasy offal, were bought. Upon the floor within, were piled up heaps of rusty keys, nails, chains, hinges, files, scales, weights, and refuse iron of all kinds. Secrets that few would like to scrutinise were bred and hidden in mountains of unseemly rags, masses of corrupted fat, and sepulchres of bones. Sitting in among the wares he dealt in, by a charcoal stove, made of old bricks, was a grey-haired rascal, nearly seventy years of age; who had screened himself from the cold air without, by a frousy curtaining of miscellaneous tatters, hung upon a line; and smoked his pipe in all the luxury of calm retirement.

Scrooge and the Phantom came into the presence of this man, just as a woman with a heavy bundle slunk into the shop. But she had scarcely entered, when another woman, similarly laden, came in too; and she was closely followed by a man in faded black, who was no less startled by the sight of them, than they had been upon the recognition of each other. After a short period of blank astonishment, in which the old man with the pipe had joined them, they all three burst into a laugh.

“Let the charwoman alone to be the first!” cried she who had entered first. “Let the laundress alone to be the second; and let the undertaker's man alone to be the third. Look here, old Joe, here's a chance! If we haven't all three met here without meaning it!”

“You couldn't have met in a better place,” said old Joe, removing his pipe from his mouth. “Come into the parlour. You were made free of it long ago, you know; and the other two an't strangers. Stop till I shut the door of the shop. Ah! How it skreeks! There an't such a rusty bit of metal in the place as its own hinges, I believe; and I'm sure there's no such old bones here, as mine. Ha, ha! We're all suitable to our calling, we're well matched. Come into the parlour. Come into the parlour.”

The parlour was the space behind the screen of rags. The old man raked the fire together with an old stair-rod, and having trimmed his smoky lamp (for it was night), with the stem of his pipe, put it in his mouth again.

While he did this, the woman who had already spoken threw her bundle on the floor, and sat down in a flaunting manner on a stool; crossing her elbows on her knees, and looking with a bold defiance at the other two.

“What odds then! What odds, Mrs. Dilber?” said the woman. “Every person has a right to take care of themselves. He always did.”

“That's true, indeed!” said the laundress. “No man more so.”

“Why then, don't stand staring as if you was afraid, woman; who's the wiser? We're not going to pick holes in each other's coats, I suppose?”

“No, indeed!” said Mrs. Dilber and the man together. “We should hope not.”

“Very well, then!” cried the woman. “That's enough. Who's the worse for the loss of a few things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose.”

“No, indeed,” said Mrs. Dilber, laughing.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

While he did this, the woman who had already spoken threw her bundle on the floor…
他这样做的时候，那个已经说过话的妇女把她那一包东西扔在地板上……

“If he wanted to keep 'em after he was dead, a wicked old screw,” pursued the woman, “why wasn't he natural in his lifetime? If he had been, he'd have had somebody to look after him when he was struck with Death, instead of lying gasping out his last there, alone by himself.”

“It's the truest word that ever was spoke,” said Mrs. Dilber. “It's a judgment on him.”

“I wish it was a little heavier judgment,” replied the woman; “and it should have been, you may depend upon it, if I could have laid my hands on anything else. Open that bundle, old Joe, and let me know the value of it. Speak out plain. I'm not afraid to be the first, nor afraid for them to see it. We know pretty well that we were helping ourselves, before we met here, I believe. It's no sin. Open the bundle, Joe.”

But the gallantry of her friends would not allow of this; and the man in faded black, mounting the breach first, produced his plunder. It was not extensive. A seal or two, a pencil-case, a pair of sleeve-buttons, and a brooch of no great value, were all. They were severally examined and appraised by old Joe, who chalked the sums he was disposed to give for each, upon the wall, and added them up into a total when he found there was nothing more to come.

“That's your account,” said Joe, “and I wouldn't give another sixpence, if I was to be boiled for not doing it. Who's next?”

Mrs. Dilber was next. Sheets and towels, a little wearing apparel, two old-fashioned silver teaspoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a few boots. Her account was stated on the wall in the same manner.

“I always give too much to ladies. It's a weakness of mine, and that's the way I ruin myself,” said old Joe. “That's your account. If you asked me for another penny, and made it an open question, I'd repent of being so liberal and knock off half-a-crown.”

“And now undo my bundle, Joe,” said the first woman.

Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience of opening it, and having unfastened a great many knots, dragged out a large and heavy roll of some dark stuff.

“What do you call this?” said Joe. “Bed-curtains!”

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

Her account was stated on the wall in the same manner.
她的账目也以同样的方式表明在墙壁上。

“Ah!” returned the woman, laughing and leaning forward on her crossed arms. “Bed-curtains!”

“You don't mean to say you took 'em down, rings and all, with him lying there?” said Joe.

“Yes I do,” replied the woman. “Why not?”

“You were born to make your fortune,” said Joe, “and you'll certainly do it.”

“I certainly shan't hold my hand, when I can get anything in it by reaching it out, for the sake of such a man as He was, I promise you, Joe,” returned the woman coolly. “Don't drop that oil upon the blankets, now.”

“His blankets?” asked Joe.

“Whose else's do you think?” replied the woman. “He isn't likely to take cold without 'em, I dare say.”

“I hope he didn't die of anything catching? Eh?” said old Joe, stopping in his work, and looking up.

“Don't you be afraid of that,” returned the woman. “I an't so fond of his company that I'd loiter about him for such things, if he did. Ah! you may look through that shirt till your eyes ache; but you won't find a hole in it, nor a threadbare place. It's the best he had, and a fine one too. They'd have wasted it, if it hadn't been for me.”

“What do you call wasting of it?” asked old Joe.

“Putting it on him to be buried in, to be sure,” replied the woman with a laugh. “Somebody was fool enough to do it, but I took it off again. If calico an't good enough for such a purpose, it isn't good enough for anything. It's quite as becoming to the body. He can't look uglier than he did in that one.”

Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. As they sat grouped about their spoil, in the scanty light afforded by the old man's lamp, he viewed them with a detestation and disgust, which could hardly have been greater, though they had been obscene demons, marketing the corpse itself.

“Ha, ha!” laughed the same woman, when old Joe, producing a flannel bag with money in it, told out their several gains upon the ground. “This is the end of it, you see! He frightened every one away from him when he was alive, to profit us when he was dead! Ha, ha, ha!”

“Spirit!” said Scrooge, shuddering from head to foot. “I see, I see. The case of this unhappy man might be my own. My life tends that way, now. Merciful Heaven, what is this!”

He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almost touched a bed: a bare, uncurtained bed: on which, beneath a ragged sheet, there lay a something covered up, which, though it was dumb, announced itself in awful language.

The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy, though Scrooge glanced round it in obedience to a secret impulse, anxious to know what kind of room it was. A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon the bed; and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this man.

Scrooge glanced towards the Phantom. Its steady hand was pointed to the head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger upon Scrooge's part, would have disclosed the face. He thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it; but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss the spectre at his side.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon the bed; and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this man.
这时，一道惨淡的光线在屋外的空中亮起来，直射到床上；床上，就是这个遭人洗劫、被人遗弃、无人守护、没人哭泣、缺人照料的人的尸体。

Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up thine altar here, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy command: for this is thy dominion! But of the loved, revered, and honoured head, thou canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious. It is not that the hand is heavy and will fall down when released; it is not that the heart and pulse are still; but that the hand WAS open, generous, and true; the heart brave, warm, and tender; and the pulse a man's. Strike, Shadow, strike! And see his good deeds springing from the wound, to sow the world with life immortal!

No voice pronounced these words in Scrooge's ears, and yet he heard them when he looked upon the bed. He thought, if this man could be raised up now, what would be his foremost thoughts? Avarice, hard-dealing, griping cares? They have brought him to a rich end, truly!

He lay, in the dark empty house, with not a man, a woman, or a child, to say that he was kind to me in this or that, and for the memory of one kind word I will be kind to him. A cat was tearing at the door, and there was a sound of gnawing rats beneath the hearth-stone. What they wanted in the room of death, and why they were so restless and disturbed, Scrooge did not dare to think.

“Spirit!” he said, “this is a fearful place. In leaving it, I shall not leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!”

Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the head.

“I understand you,” Scrooge returned, “and I would do it, if I could. But I have not the power, Spirit. I have not the power.”

Again it seemed to look upon him.

“If there is any person in the town, who feels emotion caused by this man's death,” said Scrooge quite agonised, “show that person to me, Spirit, I beseech you!”

The Phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment, like a wing; and withdrawing it, revealed a room by daylight, where a mother and her children were.

She was expecting some one, and with anxious eagerness; for she walked up and down the room; started at every sound; looked out from the window; glanced at the clock; tried, but in vain, to work with her needle; and could hardly bear the voices of the children in their play.

At length the long-expected knock was heard. She hurried to the door, and met her husband; a man whose face was careworn and depressed, though he was young. There was a remarkable expression in it now; a kind of serious delight of which he felt ashamed, and which he struggled to repress.

He sat down to the dinner that had been hoarding for him by the fire; and when she asked him faintly what news (which was not until after a long silence), he appeared embarrassed how to answer.

“Is it good, ” she said, “or bad?”—to help him.

“Bad,” he answered.

“We are quite ruined?”

“No. There is hope yet, Caroline.”

“If he relents,” she said, amazed, “there is! Nothing is past hope if such a miracle has happened.”

“He is past relenting,” said her husband. “He is dead.”

She was a mild and patient creature if her face spoke truth; but she was thankful in her soul to hear it, and she said so, with clasped hands. She prayed forgiveness the next moment, and was sorry; but the first was the emotion of her heart.

“What the half-drunken woman whom I told you of last night, said to me, when I tried to see him and obtain a week's delay; and what I thought was a mere excuse to avoid me; turns out to have been quite true. He was not only very ill, but dying, then.”

“To whom will our debt be transferred?”

“I don't know. But before that time we shall be ready with the money; and even though we were not, it would be a bad fortune indeed to find so merciless a creditor in his successor. We may sleep to-night with light hearts, Caroline!”

Yes. Soften it as they would, their hearts were lighter. The children's faces, hushed and clustered round to hear what they so little understood, were brighter; and it was a happier house for this man's death! The only emotion that the Ghost could show him, caused by the event, was one of pleasure.

“Let me see some tenderness connected with a death,” said Scrooge; “or that dark chamber, Spirit, which we left just now, will be for ever present to me.”

The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiar to his feet; and as they went along, Scrooge looked here and there to find himself, but nowhere was he to be seen. They entered poor Bob Cratchit's house; the dwelling he had visited before; and found the mother and the children seated round the fire.

Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as still as statues in one corner, and sat looking up at Peter, who had a book before him. The mother and her daughters were engaged in sewing. But surely they were very quiet!

“‘And He took a child and set him in the midst of them.’”

Where had Scrooge heard those words? He had not dreamed them. The boy must have read them out, as he and the Spirit crossed the threshold. Why did he not go on?

The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her hand up to her face.

“The colour hurts my eyes,” she said.

The colour? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!

“They're better now again,” said Cratchit's wife. “It makes them weak by candlelight; and I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father when he comes home, for the world. It must be near his time.”

“Past it rather,” Peter answered, shutting up his book. “But I think he has walked a little slower than he used, these few last evenings, mother.”

They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in a steady, cheerful voice, that only faltered once:

“I have known him walk with—I have known him walk with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed.”

“And so have I,” cried Peter. “Often.”

“And so have I,” exclaimed another. So had all.

“But he was very light to carry,” she resumed, intent upon her work, “and his father loved him so, that it was no trouble: no trouble. And there is your father at the door!”

She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his comforter—he had need of it, poor fellow—came in. His tea was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who should help him to it most. Then the two young Cratchits got upon his knees and laid, each child a little cheek, against his face, as if they said, “Don't mind it, father. Don't be grieved!”

Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all the family. He looked at the work upon the table, and praised the industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls. They would be done long before Sunday, he said.

“Sunday! You went to-day, then, Robert?” said his wife.

“Yes, my dear,” returned Bob. “I wish you could have gone. It would have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you'll see it often. I promised him that I would walk there on a Sunday. My little, little child!” cried Bob. “My little child!”

He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. If he could have helped it, he and his child would have been farther apart perhaps than they were.

Gustave Doré　Wood Engravings in French magazine Journal pour Tous (1861)

He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it.
他忽然失声痛哭，忍也忍不住。

He left the room, and went upstairs into the room above, which was lighted cheerfully, and hung with Christmas. There was a chair set close beside the child, and there were signs of some one having been there, lately. Poor Bob sat down in it, and when he had thought a little and composed himself, he kissed the little face. He was reconciled to what had happened, and went down again quite happy.

They drew about the fire, and talked; the girls and mother working still. Bob told them of the extraordinary kindness of Mr. Scrooge's nephew, whom he had scarcely seen but once, and who, meeting him in the street that day, and seeing that he looked a little—“just a little down you know,” said Bob, inquired what had happened to distress him. “On which,” said Bob, “for he is the pleasantest-spoken gentleman you ever heard, I told him. ‘I am heartily sorry for it, Mr. Cratchit,’ he said, ‘and heartily sorry for your good wife.’ By the bye, how he ever knew that, I don't know.”

“Knew what, my dear?”

“Why, that you were a good wife,” replied Bob.

“Everybody knows that!” said Peter.

“Very well observed, my boy!” cried Bob. “I hope they do. ‘Heartily sorry,’ he said, ‘for your good wife. If I can be of service to you in any way,’ he said, giving me his card, ‘that's where I live. Pray come to me.’ Now it wasn't,” cried Bob, “for the sake of anything he might be able to do for us, so much as for his kind way, that this was quite delightful. It really seemed as if he had known our Tiny Tim, and felt with us.”

“I'm sure he's a good soul!” said Mrs. Cratchit.

“You would be surer of it, my dear,” returned Bob, “if you saw and spoke to him. I shouldn't be at all surprised—mark what I say!—if he got Peter a better situation.”

“Only hear that, Peter,” said Mrs. Cratchit.

“And then,” cried one of the girls, “Peter will be keeping company with some one, and setting up for himself.”

“Get along with you!” retorted Peter, grinning.

“It's just as likely as not,” said Bob, “one of these days; though there's plenty of time for that, my dear. But however and whenever we part from one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim—shall we—or this first parting that there was among us?”

“Never, father!” cried they all.

“And I know,” said Bob, “I know, my dears, that when we recollect how patient and how mild he was; although he was a little, little child; we shall not quarrel easily among ourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim in doing it.”

“No, never, father!” they all cried again.

“I am very happy,” said little Bob, “I am very happy!”

Mrs. Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, the two young Cratchits kissed him, and Peter and himself shook hands. Spirit of Tiny Tim, thy childish essence was from God!

“Spectre,” said Scrooge, “something informs me that our parting moment is at hand. I know it, but I know not how. Tell me what man that was whom we saw lying dead?”

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him, as before—though at a different time, he thought: indeed, there seemed no order in these latter visions, save that they were in the Future—into the resorts of business men, but showed him not himself. Indeed, the Spirit did not stay for anything, but went straight on, as to the end just now desired, until besought by Scrooge to tarry for a moment.

“This court,” said Scrooge, “through which we hurry now, is where my place of occupation is, and has been for a length of time. I see the house. Let me behold what I shall be, in days to come!”

The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.

“The house is yonder,” Scrooge exclaimed. “Why do you point away?”

The inexorable finger underwent no change.

Scrooge hastened to the window of his office, and looked in. It was an office still, but not his. The furniture was not the same, and the figure in the chair was not himself. The Phantom pointed as before.

He joined it once again, and wondering why and whither he had gone, accompanied it until they reached an iron gate. He paused to look round before entering.

A churchyard. Here, then, the wretched man whose name he had now to learn, lay underneath the ground. It was a worthy place. Walled in by houses; overrun by grass and weeds, the growth of vegetation's death, not life; choked up with too much burying; fat with repleted appetite. A worthy place!

The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to One. He advanced towards it trembling. The Phantom was exactly as it had been, but he dreaded that he saw new meaning in its solemn shape.

“Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point,” said Scrooge, “answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be, only?”

Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.

“Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead,” said Scrooge. “But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me?”

The Spirit was immovable as ever.

Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, EBENEZER SCROOGE.

“Am I that man who lay upon the bed?” he cried, upon his knees.

The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.

“No, Spirit! Oh no, no!”

The finger still was there.

“Spirit!” he cried, tight clutching at its robe, “hear me! I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope!”

For the first time the hand appeared to shake.

“Good Spirit,” he pursued, as down upon the ground he fell before it: “Your nature intercedes for me, and pities me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life!”

The kind hand trembled.

“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!”

In his agony, he caught the spectral hand. It sought to free itself, but he was strong in his entreaty, and detained it. The Spirit, stronger yet, repulsed him.

Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost.

第四节
最后一个精灵

这个幻象慢慢地、阴沉地、无声无息地飘过来了。它一来到私刻鲁挤跟前，他就跪了下来，因为这位精灵一路飘过去的空气之中，似乎散布着阴森而神秘的气氛。

它全身包裹在一件深黑色的长外套里，外套把它没头没脑地遮盖起来，看不出形状。除了一只伸出来的手以外，什么也看不到。要不是这只手，当会难以把它的身子和这个夜晚分割开来，难以把它和包围它的黑暗区别开来。

它来到私刻鲁挤的身边的时候，他觉得它又高大又威严，觉得它的神秘的形象使他心里充满一种肃然起敬的恐惧。除此以外他就什么也不知道了，因为这位精灵既不说话，也不行动。

“我是在将来的圣诞节鬼魂的面前吧？”私刻鲁挤说。

精灵不回答，只是用手向前指着。

“你大概是要带我去看还没有发生，但是将要在将来的时间里发生的事情的影子吧？”私刻鲁挤紧钉着问，“是不是呢，精灵？”

那件长外套的上面部分在包拢的地方收缩了一下，似乎精灵点了点头。这是他所得到的唯一的回答了。

虽然这时候私刻鲁挤和鬼魂做伴已经很习惯了，他还是如此惧怕这位无声无息的幽灵，他的两条腿直打哆嗦，并且发现自己准备跟它走的时候，竟然站都站不稳了。精灵看到他这副样子，便停了片刻，给他恢复的时间。

但是这样一来，私刻鲁挤更为狼狈了。他知道在那件黑黝黝的寿衣的后面，有一双鬼魂的眼睛聚精会神地盯着他瞧。而他呢，虽然他把自己的眼睛瞪视到极限，也看不见什么，却只看见一只鬼怪的手，以及一堆高大的黑影。这可叫他战栗不已，心中怀着一种模糊不清的、不知所以然的恐惧。

“将来的鬼魂啊！”他大声喊道，“我怕你胜过我看到过的任何一位鬼怪。不过，我知道你的目的是为了使我好，我也希望成为和过去不同的另外一个人，因此，我准备容忍你做我的伴儿，并且是怀着感激之心准备的。难道你不打算跟我说话了吗？”

它不给他回话。那只手笔直地指着他们前面。

“带路吧！”私刻鲁挤说，“带路吧！这个夜晚正在迅速消逝，我知道，对我来说这是宝贵的时间。带路吧，精灵！”

这位幻象正如它刚才向他飘来那样飘去了。私刻鲁挤跟在它的衣服的黑影里，他觉得黑影把他承载了起来，把他带走。

他们不像是到城市里边去，因为倒像是城市在他们周围涌现出来，自动地包围了他们。他们来到城市的心脏地区，在伦敦交易所里，混在商人们中间；商人们匆匆忙忙地来来去去，把钱币在口袋里弄得叮叮当当响，东一群西一群地谈谈生意，看看怀表，一边盘算，一边捻弄着他们颇大的金图章，以及诸如此类的事，就像私刻鲁挤过去常常看见的那样。

精灵停在一小簇做生意的人旁边。私刻鲁挤看见那只手正在指着他们，他就走上前去听他们的谈话。

“不，”一位下巴极其肥大的大胖子说，“总而言之，这件事我不大清楚。我只知道他已经死了。”

“他什么时候死的？”另外一个人问。

“我想是昨天晚上吧。”

“怎么啦，他是出了什么事？”第三个人问，他从一只非常大的鼻烟盒里拈出一大撮鼻烟来，“我本来以为他永远不会死的嘛。”

“上帝才知道。”头一个打着哈欠说。

“他怎样处理他的钱财的呢？”一个面色红红的绅士问，他的鼻尖上垂挂着一个赘疣，好像一只雄火鸡脖子上的垂肉那样摆来摆去。

“我没有听说，”那个胖下巴的人说，他又打了一个哈欠，“也许留给了他的公司了吧。他没有留给我。我只晓得这一点。”

这句打趣的话引起了大家一阵笑声。

“葬仪可能是很便宜的。”同一个发言者说，“我敢打赌说，我不知道有任何人要参加。假定咱们几个凑在一起志愿去效劳，怎么样？”

“要是供应一顿午餐，我倒不在乎去一趟。”那位鼻尖上长个赘疣的绅士说，“不过要是我参加，那我非得饱吃一顿不可。”

又是一阵大笑。

“嗯，说到底，我是你们中间最不感到有利害关系的人，”头一个发言者说，“因为我从来不戴黑手套[1]，也从来不吃午餐。不过，要是有任何人愿意去的话，我也不妨去一趟。每当我回想起来的时候，我倒不完全肯定自己不是他最要好的朋友，因为我们每一次遇见，总要站住谈谈话呢。再见吧！”

说话的人和听话的人都走开了，和其他一群一群的人混在一起。私刻鲁挤认识这几个人。他朝精灵看着，想得到一个解释。

幻象向前飘到一条街道上。它的一根手指指着两位邂逅相遇的人。私刻鲁挤又去聆听，猜想有可能解释就藏在这儿了。

他也完全认识这两位。他们是做生意的人，非常富有，而且地位很高。他曾经一直想要做到使他们看得起；这是指从商业观点上来说；纯粹从商业观点上来说。

“您好吗？”一个人说。

“您好吗？”另一个人回答。

“好！”头一个说，“魔鬼[2]终于得到应得的结果了，是不是？”

“我是这样听说的。”第二个人回答，“天气很冷，对吗？”

“圣诞节期就是这样的天气。您不喜欢玩溜冰吧，我想？”

“不溜，不溜。还有别的事情要紧。再见吧！”

没有其他的话了。这就是他们的会面、他们的谈话，以及他们的分手。

私刻鲁挤开头有点儿觉得奇怪，怎么精灵竟然把显然十分琐碎的谈话看得很重要；但是他确实感到他们一定暗含着什么用意，便在心里琢磨，那可能是什么意思。他们的谈话不大可能使人想到跟他的老合伙人雅各的死有什么关系，因为那是“过去”的事，而这位鬼魂的领域则是“将来”。他也想不出任何跟自己直接有关系的人，能够把这个人和他们的谈话联系起来。然而，毫无疑问，不论它们能跟谁联系起来，这些话里面都包含着能使自己进步的教训，因此，他决心铭记他听到的每一个字，以及他看到的每一件事，特别是要在自己的影子出现的时候，看看清楚。因为他心中期望着，他将来的自己的行为，能够给他所缺少的线索，并且能够容易地解开这些谜。

他就在这地方四下里张望，要找出他自己的形象来；然而，在他惯常待着的一隅已经站着另外一个人了，而且虽然时钟指着他每天通常到那儿的时间，可是，在穿过大门廊涌进来的人潮之中，他找不到像是他自己的人。不过，他对此倒并不怎么吃惊，因为他在心中已经翻来覆去地想过，要改变自己的生活，他想着，盼望着看见他新产生的决定能够在这里落实。

那位幻象站在他的身边，伸着一只手，一言不发，一团漆黑。他从千思万虑的探索中惊醒过来，这时候，他仿佛从那只手的转动，以及从有关他自己的它的位置上看，觉得那两只“看不见的眼睛”正在锐利地看着他。这使他战栗不已，感到冷入骨髓。

他们离开了这一繁忙的场所，走到这城市的一个偏僻的地区，私刻鲁挤过去从来没有到这里来过，虽然他知道它的位置和它的坏名声。道路又脏又窄；店铺和房屋都是破破烂烂的；人们衣不蔽体，酒醉醺醺，拖拖沓沓，面目丑陋。一条条胡同和拱道，正像如此之多的污水池一样，把它们令人厌恶的气味、污垢和生物都呕吐到错综复杂的街道上来；这整个区域散发出罪恶、肮脏和苦难的臭味。

在这丢脸的热闹的渊薮的深处，有那么一家低矮的凸出的店铺[3]，开在披屋顶的下面，收购铁器、破布条、玻璃瓶、肉骨头，以及油腻的内脏。店堂里的地板上，放着一堆堆锈掉的钥匙、钉子、链条、铰链、锉刀、磅秤、砝码，以及各种各样的废铁。很少有人愿意去仔细发掘的秘密，都孕育和藏匿在那堆积如山的不像样的破布条之中，成团成块的烂肉脂之中，以及墓冢一般的白骨堆之中。一个年近古稀的白发苍苍的坏家伙坐在他经营的这些商品中间，靠近一只用旧砖块砌起来的木炭炉；他把一块用破布七拼八凑连缀起来的邋遢的帘幕挂在一根绳子上，替自己挡住外面的寒气；他在这幽静的隐居所悠然自得地吸着烟斗。

私刻鲁挤和幻象来到这家伙的面前，正好一个妇女拿着一个大包袱溜进店铺里来，她刚刚踏进门，接踵就来了另一个妇女，也那样带着东西；她的后面又紧跟着一个穿褪色的黑衣服的男人，他一眼瞧见她们，其惊讶的程度，丝毫不下于她们彼此认出来的时候所感到的。一时间，他们都惊得呆住了，连那个老头儿也手拿烟斗参加在内，然后，他们三人全体爆发了一阵大笑。

“就算打杂女工是头一个来的！”头一个进来的她嚷着说，“就算洗衣女工是第二个来的；就算承办丧葬的男人是第三个来的。你瞧，老纠，这是个好机会！我们三个人都在这儿碰在一起，难道不是有意给你这个机会！”

“你们不可能在更好的地方碰在一起了。”老纠把烟斗从嘴上拿开，说道，“到客厅里来吧。你知道，你早就在这里自由自便了；那另外两位也不是生客。等一等，让我先把店门关好。啊！门儿叽叽嘎嘎叫得多响！我相信，这地方没有一块金属像门上的铰链锈得这样厉害了；我也肯定，这里没有像我的骨头这样老的骨头。哈，哈！咱们大家都挺适合自己的行当，咱们很合得来。到客厅里来吧。到客厅里来吧。”

客厅是破布帘幕后面的一块地方。这老家伙用一根旧的楼梯毯梗[4]把炉火拨到一起，又用烟斗柄把冒烟的灯芯拨正（因为这是晚上），然后把烟斗再塞到嘴里去。

他这样做的时候，那个已经说过话的妇女把她那一包东西扔在地板上，带着扬扬得意的神情坐在一张凳子上；她两臂交叉，胳臂肘放在膝盖上，用无畏的挑战姿态对那另外两个望着。

“这有什么关系呢！狄尔伯太太，有什么关系呢？”这个妇女说，“每一个人都有权利照顾他自己，他就一直是这样做的嘛！”

“这话不假，真的！”那个洗衣女工说，“没有人比他更照顾自己。”

“呃，那么，女人，别站在那儿干瞪着眼睛，好像害怕似的，有谁知道呢？我们不会彼此挑眼儿找岔子的吧，我想？”

“不会，真的！”狄尔伯太太跟那个男人异口同声地说，“我们十分希望不会。”

“那么，很好！”那个女人大声说，“这就够了。丢了这样几件东西，有谁受到损失呢？不是一个死人吧，我想？”

“不是，真的。”狄尔伯太太大笑着说。

“一个缺德的老死刮皮，要是他想在死后还要保存这些东西，”这个妇女继续说，“那么在他一生当中为什么不通情达理呢？要是他通情达理，那么，他受到死神的折磨的时候，就会有人来照应他，而不是那样孤孤单单一个人躺在那儿，喘出最后一口气。”

“这是自古以来说得最正确的话了。”狄尔伯太太说，“这是对他的结论。”

“我但愿这个包袱再沉一点才好。”这个妇女说，“要是当时我的手能够碰到其他任何东西，它必然再沉一点了，你可以相信我的话。老纠，把那个包袱打开来，告诉我值多少钱。坦白地说吧。我不怕做第一个，也不怕让他们看见。我相信，在这儿碰见以前，我们就已经十分清楚我们是在自己帮助自己。这不是罪过。打开那个包袱，纠。”

可是她的两个朋友具有侠义精神，不答应这样办；那个穿褪色的黑衣服的男人身先士卒，把他的战利品[5]拿了出来。那并不是一大笔交易，只不过一两个图章、一个铅笔盒子、一副袖口纽扣，以及一个不大值钱的胸针[6]而已。老纠把东西一一仔细查看，作出鉴定，并且把他打算为每一件付出的价钱用粉笔写在墙上，等到发现再没有什么东西的时候，便把价钱加成一个总数。

“这是你的账，”老纠说，“我连六便士硬币也不加，即使因此叫我下油锅也罢。下面一个是谁？”

下面一个是狄尔伯太太。几条被单和毛巾，一件小衣服，两把老式的银茶匙，一把方糖钳子，还有几只靴子。她的账目也以同样的方式表明在墙壁上。

“对于女士们，我总是出得太多。这是我的弱点，我就是这样毁掉了自己。”老纠说，“这是你的账。你假使再问我要一个便士，并且公然提出这个问题，那么我就要后悔自己太大方，得扣掉你半个克朗。”

“现在打开我的包袱吧，纠。”头一个妇女说。

纠跪了下来，以便于打开包袱，他解开了许多许多结，拖出来一大卷又重又黑的什么东西。

“你把这个叫作什么？”纠说，“帐子吗！”

“啊！”这个妇人说，一边大笑，一边往前倾倚，双臂交叉着，“帐子！”

“你当真在他还躺在床上的时候，就把帐子，连带铜圈什么的，都拆下来的吗？”纠说。

“我正是这样干的。”那个妇女回答说，“干吗不？”

“你是生来要发财的。”纠说，“你一定会发财。”

“纠，我敢向你保证。为了一个像他这样的人的缘故，我伸手能够捞到任何东西的时候，我一定不会管住我的手。”这个妇女冷冷地回答，“喂，你可别把油滴到毯子上。”

“是他的毯子吗？”老纠问。

“你想还能有谁的呢？”这个妇女回答，“我敢说，没有毯子，他大概也不会着凉。”

“我希望他不是因为什么传染性的毛病死的吧？嗯？”老纠说，他停住了工作，朝上看着。

“你别怕这一点。”这个妇女回答说，“假如他是这样死的，我并不那么喜欢跟他做伴，以至于为了这些东西在他跟前逛来逛去。啊！你尽管查看那件衬衫，直看得眼睛发痛；但是你绝不会发现一个洞，也找不出磨光的地方。这是他最好的一件，而且质地也好。要不是我拿到手，他们可能已经把它浪费了。”

“你说把它浪费了是什么意思？”老纠问。

“当然是说把它穿在他身上，埋进去了。”这个妇女大笑着回答，“有人够笨的，要这样做，但是我又把它拿掉了。要是白布对于这种用途不够好的话，那么对于任何用途也不够好了。白布对于那具尸体倒也相称。盖上那个比起穿上这件，他不可能显得更难看。”

私刻鲁挤胆战心惊地听着这段对话。他们在这老头子提供的吝啬的灯光下，围坐在他们的战利品旁边，这时候，私刻鲁挤深恶痛绝地看着他们。纵使他们是下流的恶魔，正在买卖那具尸体本身，他的深恶痛绝也不会更厉害一些。

“哈，哈！”还是那个妇女大笑着，这时候，老纠拿出一个装着钱的法兰绒布袋，把各人应得的款项数出来放在地上。“你们看，这就是事情的结局！他活着的时候，把每一个人都从他身边吓跑了，他死了以后，却使我们得到好处！哈，哈，哈！”

“精灵啊！”私刻鲁挤从头到脚打着寒战，说道，“我明白了，我明白了。这个不幸的人的情况可能就是我的。现在，我的生活正朝着那个方向发展。仁慈的苍天啊，这是什么东西啊！”

他恐惧地往后直退，因为景象忽然改变了，他现在几乎碰到一张床：一张光光的、没有帐子的床；在床上，一条破旧的被单下面，躺着一个被遮盖了的东西，虽然这东西无声无息，却用一种可怕的语言宣告了它自己的情况。

这间屋子里非常黑暗，尽管私刻鲁挤受到一种秘密的冲动的驱使，环室四顾，急于知道这是怎样的房间，可是黑暗得什么也看不清楚。这时，一道惨淡的光线在屋外的空中亮起来，直射到床上；床上，就是这个遭人洗劫、被人遗弃、无人守护、没人哭泣、缺人照料的人的尸体。

私刻鲁挤朝幻象那边看看。它的坚定不移的手正指着尸体的头。那块盖布是如此马马虎虎铺上去的，只要私刻鲁挤这方面动一动手指，极其轻微地掀一掀，就能够露出那张脸来。他心里想到这一点，感到这样做是多么容易，也很想这样做；但是他没有力量去揭开这个面罩，正像他没有力量去摆脱他身边的这位鬼怪一样。

哦，冷酷的、冷酷的、严峻的、可怕的死神啊，您在这儿设立了您的祭坛，并且装饰得如此恐怖。因为您可以命令这样做：因为这是您的管辖领域啊！但是对于一个被人爱戴、受人崇敬，并且得到荣耀的人的头，您却不能按照您可怕的心意来动他一根头发，或者使哪一部分的相貌变得丑恶。这并不是因为那只手在松开的时候是沉重的，要往下垂落；这并不是因为那颗心和脉搏都已经静止；而是因为那只手曾经是大方、慷慨而忠实的；那颗心是勇敢、热烈而温柔的；并且脉搏是男子汉的脉搏。打击吧，阴影啊，打击吧！您瞧他的善行会从伤口里都涌现出来，把不朽的生命播种在世界上！

并没有声音把这些话送到私刻鲁挤的耳朵里去，然而他瞧着这张床的时候，却听见了这些话。他想，要是这个人现在能够死而复苏的话，他的头一个想法会是什么呢？是贪得无厌、重利盘剥、斤斤计较吗？说真的，这些想法曾经给他带来了多么丰富的结果啊！

他躺着，在那间黑暗的空空的屋子里，没有一个男人、一个女人或者一个孩子说他在这方面或者那方面待我好，并且为了记得他的一句好话，我也要待他好。只有一只猫在抓着门，还有壁炉砖石下面老鼠在咬啮的声音。它们要这间死亡的房间里的什么东西呢？它们为什么如此骚扰不安呢？私刻鲁挤不敢想下去了。

“精灵啊！”他说，“这是一个可怕的地方，在离开它的时候，我不会忘记它的教训，请你相信我吧。让我们走吧！”

可是鬼魂仍然用一根丝毫不动的手指指着那个头。

“我明白你的意思，”私刻鲁挤回应着，“要是我办得到，我会做的。可是我没有这个力量，精灵啊。我没有这个力量。”

又一次精灵似乎在望着他。

“假如城区里有谁因为这个人的死而动了感情的话，”私刻鲁挤很痛苦地说，“带我去看那个人吧，精灵啊，我恳求你！”

幻影把它的黑暗的长袍在他面前张开一会儿，好像翅膀一样；等到收拢的时候，展现出一间日光辉耀的房间，一个母亲和她的孩子们待在那儿。

她正在等待着什么人，显得焦急迫切的样子，因为她在屋子里踱来踱去，听到一个声音就要一惊，打窗户里往外瞧，看看时钟，要想干她的针线活，可是干不了，并且难以忍受孩子们玩儿闹着的声音。

终于听到那等了好久的敲门声了。她急急忙忙赶到门口，迎接她的丈夫；这个人虽然年轻，但是一脸饱经风霜、抑郁沮丧的样子，不过，现在脸上却有着一种奇怪的表情；那是一种严肃的高兴，他感到有这种表情可耻，因而竭力克制着。

他坐下来吃晚饭，这晚饭刚才搁在炉火旁替他热在那儿；他的妻子小心翼翼地问他有什么消息（这是在一段长期的沉默以后问的）。这时候，他显得为难，不知如何回答才好。

“是好呢，”她说，“还是不好？”——来帮他摆脱困境。

“不好。”他回答说。

“那么我们完了吗？”

“不是。还有希望，卡萝琳。”

“要是他大发慈悲，”她说，感到惊讶，“那才有希望！要是这样的奇迹竟然发生了，那就没有什么是没有希望的了。”

“他已经没有希望发慈悲了。”她的丈夫说，“他死了。”

如果她的面相反映真实的话，她是一位性情温和、耐心很好的人儿；不过她听到这句话，打心底里感激，她就交叉着十个手指，说了出来。接下来，她祈祷上帝恕罪，并且感到抱歉；不过头一种才是她内心的感情。

“昨天晚上我告诉你，在我想去看他，请求展缓一个星期的时候，那个喝得半醉的女人对我说的话，还有我本来以为那不过是避而不见的借口，结果证明都是实情。他那时候不仅仅是病得厉害，而且快要死了。”

“那么我们欠的债将来转给谁来讨呢？”

“我不知道。可是不到那时候，我们会把钱准备好；即使没有准备好，如果他的继承者也是像他那么冷酷无情的债权人，那才真是坏运气。今天晚上我们总可以安安稳稳地睡觉了，卡萝琳！”

不错。虽然他们要自己心软一些，可是他们的心确实比较轻松了。孩子们一声不响，围聚在一起听着他们很难理解的话，他们的脸蛋儿也都比较明亮了。由于这个人的死，这是一所比较欢乐的屋子了！鬼魂所能带他看到的这桩事情引起的唯一的感情，就是一种愉快的感情而已。

“让我看看跟一个死者有关的怜惜之情吧。”私刻鲁挤说，“否则，精灵啊，我们刚才离开的那间黑暗的屋子，将会永远出现在我的眼前了。”

鬼魂带领他穿过几条街道，他的脚熟悉这些地方；他们一路走去的时候，私刻鲁挤东看西看，要寻找他自己，但是没有一处找得到。他们走进了可怜的鲍伯·克拉契的屋子；这是他过去曾经到过的住所；他看见那位母亲和孩子们围在壁炉边坐着。

沉默。非常沉默。那几位爱吵闹的小克拉契沉默得好像一个角落里的雕像，他们坐在那儿抬头望着面前放了一本书的彼得。那位母亲和她的几位女儿正在专心地做针线活儿。然而他们确实都非常安静！

“‘他便叫一个小孩子来，使他站在他们当中。[7]’”

私刻鲁挤在哪儿听到过这句话的呢？他并不是在梦中听到的。刚才他和精灵跨过门槛的时候，那个男孩子一定朗读过这句话。为什么他不念下去呢？

母亲把她的针线活放在桌子上，一只手蒙住脸。

“这颜色[8]伤我的眼睛。”她说。

这颜色吗？啊，可怜的小小铁姆！

“现在又好些了。”克拉契的妻子说，“是蜡烛的光使我眼睛模糊的；等你们爸爸回家的时候，我无论如何也不能让他看见模糊的眼睛。他回家的时间一定快到了。”

“不如说已经过了。”彼得合上书，说，“不过，妈妈，我想最近几天傍晚他走得比平常慢一点。”

他们都又沉默起来。最后，她开口了，声音稳定而又愉快，只有一次顿了一顿：——

“我知道他曾经把——我知道他曾经把小小铁姆搁在肩膀上，走得可真是快啊。”

“我也知道是这样。”彼得大声说，“常常是这样。”

“我也知道是这样！”另一个喊着说。大家都说知道是这样。

“不过他背起来很轻，”她接着说，集中精力在她的针线活上，“他的爸爸又那么爱他，因此不觉得麻烦——不觉得麻烦。你们的爸爸到了门口了！”

她急忙赶出去迎接他；小鲍伯围着羊毛围巾——他很需要这东西[9]，可怜的人啊——走了进来。他的茶已经在炉旁铁架上准备好了，全家的人都争先恐后地去服侍他。然后两位年幼的克拉契爬到他的膝头上，一边一个把小脸腮贴在他的脸上，好像是说：“爸爸，别把这事情挂在心上。别难过！”

鲍伯跟他们在一起觉得非常开心，高高兴兴地和全家人说着话。他瞧瞧桌子上的活儿，称赞克拉契太太和女孩子们的勤劳和快速。他说，他们在礼拜日前几天就可以做好了。

“礼拜日！那么你今天去过了吗，罗伯特？”他的妻子说。

“是的，亲爱的。”鲍伯回答，“我希望你也去了才好。看看那地方多么青翠，会教你舒畅。不过你以后会常常看到那地方。我向他许愿每逢礼拜日我要走去看看。我的小小的孩子啊！”鲍伯哭起来，“我的小孩子啊！”

他忽然失声痛哭，忍也忍不住。要是他忍得住的话，那么他和他的孩子也许会比现在离得更远了。

他离开这间屋子，走到楼上那间屋子里去，那儿灯火辉煌，并且挂着圣诞节彩饰。一张椅子放在那个孩子的近旁，留有谁在不久前来过的迹象。可怜的鲍伯坐在椅子上，他想了片刻，使自己镇静下来，便吻着那小小的脸腮。他终于接受了已经发生的事实，带着相当愉快的心情再走下楼来。

他们移到炉火边，谈着话；女孩子们和妈妈仍然在干活。鲍伯和他们谈到私刻鲁挤先生的外甥异常厚道，他跟他仅仅见过一面，那天在街上碰到了，看见他的样子有一点——“你知道，只不过有一点闷闷不乐。”鲍伯说，他就问什么事情使他悲伤，“对于这一询问，”鲍伯说，“因为他是你所知道的说话最和蔼可亲的绅士，我就告诉了他。‘克拉契先生，我衷心为此事难过，’他说，‘也衷心为您的好妻子难过。’顺便说说，我不知道他怎么会知道那件事的。”

“知道什么事呢，我亲爱的？”

“嗯，说你是一个好妻子。”鲍伯回答说。

“大家都知道！”彼得说。

“你说得很对，我的孩子！”鲍伯喊着说，“我希望他们是这样。‘衷心难过，’他说，‘为您的好妻子。如果我在任何一方面能够为您效劳，’他说着递给我一张名片，‘这就是我住的地方。敬请光临。’嗯，并不是因为，”鲍伯大声说，“他可能为我们做任何事情，而是因为他的好心的态度，使人觉得此举令人十分高兴。看来他好像真的认识我们的小小铁姆，并且和我们有同样的感受。”

“我敢肯定他是一位好心肠的人！”克拉契太太说。

“你尽可以更为肯定一些，我亲爱的，”鲍伯回答，“要是你看见他并且和他谈过话。你听我说，要是他替彼得找一个比较好的位置，我一点也不会奇怪。”

“彼得，你听听这句话。”克拉契太太说。

“到了那时候，”一个女孩子嚷着说，“彼得就可以找个什么人做伴儿，开始自立门户了。”

“去你的！”彼得咧嘴笑着反击。

“这是说不定的，”鲍伯说，“会有那么一天；尽管还有许多时间来准备，我亲爱的。不过不管我们彼此怎样分散和什么时候分散，我确信，我们谁也不会忘记可怜的小小铁姆——我们不会——或者说我们之间发生的这头一次的分手，是不是呢？”

“决不会，爸爸！”他们一致喊着说。

“而且我知道，”鲍伯说，“我亲爱的一家人啊，我知道，我们一想起他虽然是一个小小的孩子，却是多么有耐心，又是多么温和，我们之间就不会容易地争吵起来，不会忘记了可怜的小小铁姆而争吵起来。”

“不会，决不会，爸爸！”他们又一致喊着说。

“我非常高兴，”小鲍伯说，“我非常高兴！”

克拉契太太吻他一下，他的女儿们各人吻他一下，两位年幼的克拉契各人吻他一下，彼得和他握握手。小小铁姆的精灵啊，您的孩子气的本质是从上帝那儿来的！

“鬼怪啊，”私刻鲁挤说，“有什么东西告诉我，我们分手的时刻就在眼前了。我知道这一点，但是我不知道我们将会怎么分手。请告诉我，我们刚才看见的那个躺着的死人是谁？”

未来的圣诞节鬼魂带着他，像先前那样——不过他觉得和先前的时间不同：的确，在后来的那些景象中似乎杂乱无章，只不过都是属于“未来”的——把他运送到做生意的人常去聚会的一些地方，但是没有给他看见他自己。的确，精灵没有为任何东西耽搁一下，而是一往直前，好像要到刚才私刻鲁挤所要求的终点去似的，直到私刻鲁挤恳求停留片刻才止。

“这个院子，”私刻鲁挤说，“我们现在匆忙经过的院子，就是我办公的地方，这已经有好长一段时间了。我看见了那幢房屋。让我看看在将来的日子里，我会是什么样子的吧。”

精灵停下来；那只手却指着别的地方。

“屋子在那边。”私刻鲁挤大声嚷着说，“你为什么指着别处呢！”

那只无动于衷的手指不肯改变。

私刻鲁挤急忙赶到他的事务所的窗口，往里瞧看。那还是一个事务所，然而已经不是他的了。家具不是原来的，坐在椅子上的人也不是他自己。幻影还是像先前那样指着。

于是他再一次跟着它，一面心中琢磨自己为什么并且往哪去，一面跟着它一路来到一扇铁门跟前。他停了一停，向四面看看，然后才进去。

那是一片教堂墓地。那么，他现在必须知道其姓名的那个不幸的人，就是在这儿，躺在黄土之下了。这可是个尊贵的地方。四面有房屋把它围住；蔓生着青草和杂草，这是植物的死亡，而不是植物的生命的生长[10]；埋葬了太多的人，塞满了；由于填饱了肚子而养得肥肥的。这真是个尊贵的地方！

精灵站在坟墓之间，往下指着其中一座。私刻鲁挤浑身哆嗦，向那儿走去。幻影的样子完全跟原来一样，但是私刻鲁挤害怕自己在它的严肃的形象中看到了新的含意。

“在我更走近你指出的那块墓石之前，”私刻鲁挤说，“请回答我一个问题。这些是‘必然’的事情的影子呢，还是‘可能’的事情的影子？”

鬼魂仍然朝下指着它站在旁边的那座坟墓。

“人们的道路必然预示着某种结果，这种结果，假如坚持不懈，人们必然会达到。”私刻鲁挤说，“不过，假如离开这种道路，结果也会改变。你说，你给我看到的事情就是如此这般的吧！”

精灵还是像原来那样一动也不动。

私刻鲁挤蹑手蹑脚地朝那座坟墓走去，边走边发抖；他顺着那只手指，在这遭到忽视的坟墓的墓石上，读到他自己的名字：爱本利者·私刻鲁挤。

“难道我就是那个躺在床上的人吗？”他跪着喊道。

那只手指从指向坟墓转到指向他，又回到原处。

“别这样，精灵啊！哦，别这样，别这样！”

那只手指仍然在那儿。

“精灵啊！”他喊道，紧紧地抓住它的长袍，“听我说！我已经不是过去那样的人了。要不是这次交往，我不会变成我应该变成的人。要是我已经一无希望了，你为什么还要给我看这个呢？”

那只手头一次似乎摇了一摇。

“好精灵啊，”他在它面前扑在地上，紧钉着说，“请你代我求情，并且可怜我。你向我保证吧，等我改变了生活道路以后，我还能改变你带我看过的这些阴影！”

那只仁慈的手颤抖着。

“我一定要在心里崇敬圣诞节，并且打算一年到头都过节。我一定要生活在‘过去’、‘现在’和‘未来’之中。这三位精灵一定全部会在我心里折腾。我一定不把它们给我的教训不放在心上。哦，请跟我说我还有可能把这块墓石上的字擦掉吧！”

他在痛苦中一把抓住鬼怪的手。它要想挣脱掉，可是他苦苦哀求，使劲不放。然而精灵的劲儿更大，把他打退了。

他举起双手作一次最后的祈祷，祈求自己的命运能够转变过来，这时候，他却看见幻影的兜帽和衣服发生了一种变化。它收缩起来，坍塌下去，逐渐缩小成一根床柱。

[1]按照英国葬仪的规矩，多数向参加吊唁的人赠送一副黑手套，这种手套在别种场合同样可以使用。

[2]原文Old Scratch是“魔鬼”的意思。Scratch又有“抓、扒”的意思，和Scrooge（私刻鲁挤）的读音相近。

[3]店铺，指当时在英国通常称作“破布旧瓶店”（rag-and-bottle shop）的店铺。店中收购并出售各种废旧物资，包括把油脂转售给蜡烛或肥皂制造商，把烧肉的油转售给穷人作为黄油的代用品。这种商店有时用显眼的颜色把门前漆成“红房子”或“蓝房子”。圣诞节时则挂出大布丁的广告画，以吸引穷人把废旧品换成过节的食品等的钱。

[4]楼梯毯梗（stair-rod），把楼梯上用的地毯固着在楼梯上的一种细铜棒。

[5]身先士卒，原文mounting the breach是军用语。战利品，原文plunder，是掠夺的物品的意思。

[6]胸针，原文为brooch，是别在领带上的饰针。小说中这个人物是承办丧葬的，因此可能作者有意写他拿出的东西是死者身上佩戴的用品。

[7]《圣经·新约全书·马太福音》第十八章第二至第四节为：“耶稣便叫一个小孩子来，使他站在他们当中，说，我实在告诉你们，你们若不回转，变成小孩子的样式，断不得进天国。所以凡自己谦卑像这小孩子的，他在天国里就是最大的。”

[8]狄更斯的手稿上原来写的是“黑颜色”，后来删去“黑”字。意指黑色的丧服。

[9]羊毛围巾的原文为comforter，也可以作“安慰者”解。

[10]这句意为繁茂的青草和杂草使其他植物死去了。

STAVE FIVE
THE END OF IT

YES! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make amends in!

“I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!” Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. “The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. Oh Jacob Marley! Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this! I say it on my knees, old Jacob, on my knees!”

He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions, that his broken voice would scarcely answer to his call. He had been sobbing violently in his conflict with the Spirit, and his face was wet with tears.

“They are not torn down,” cried Scrooge, folding one of his bed-curtains in his arms, “they are not torn down, rings and all. They are here—I am here—the shadows of the things that would have been, may be dispelled. They will be. I know they will!”

His hands were busy with his garments all this time; turning them inside out, putting them on upside down, tearing them, mislaying them, making them parties to every kind of extravagance.

“I don't know what to do!” cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoön of himself with his stockings. “I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world. Hallo here! Whoop! Hallo!”

He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there: perfectly winded.

“There's the saucepan that the gruel was in!” cried Scrooge, starting off again, and going round the fireplace. “There's the door, by which the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered! There's the corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present, sat! There's the window where I saw the wandering Spirits! It's all right, it's all true, it all happened. Ha, ha, ha!”

Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs!

“I don't know what day of the month it is!” said Scrooge. “I don't know how long I've been among the Spirits. I don't know anything. I'm quite a baby. Never mind. I don't care. I'd rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop! Hallo here!”

He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!

Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; Golden sunlight; Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious. Glorious!

“What's to-day?” cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.

“EH?” returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.

“What's to-day, my fine fellow?” said Scrooge.

“To-day!” replied the boy. “Why, CHRISTMAS DAY.”

“It's Christmas Day!” said Scrooge to himself. “I haven't missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can. Hallo, my fine fellow!”

“Hallo!” returned the boy.

“Do you know the Poulterer's, in the next street but one, at the corner?” Scrooge inquired.

“I should hope I did,” replied the lad.

“An intelligent boy!” said Scrooge. “A remarkable boy! Do you know whether they've sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there?—Not the little prize Turkey: the big one?”

“What, the one as big as me?” returned the boy.

“What a delightful boy!” said Scrooge. “It's a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck!”

“It's hanging there now,” replied the boy.

“Is it?” said Scrooge. “Go and buy it.”

“Walk-ER!” exclaimed the boy.

“No, no,” said Scrooge, “I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell 'em to bring it here, that I may give them the direction where to take it. Come back with the man, and I'll give you a shilling. Come back with him in less than five minutes and I'll give you half-a-crown!”

The boy was off like a shot. He must have had a steady hand at a trigger who could have got a shot off half so fast.

“I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's!” whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh. “He shan't know who sends it. It's twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller never made such a joke as sending it to Bob's will be!”

The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one, but write it he did, somehow, and went downstairs to open the street door, ready for the coming of the poulterer's man. As he stood there, waiting his arrival, the knocker caught his eye.

“I shall love it, as long as I live!” cried Scrooge, patting it with his hand. “I scarcely ever looked at it before. What an honest expression it has in its face! It's a wonderful knocker!—Here's the Turkey. Hallo! Whoop! How are you! Merry Christmas!”

It was a Turkey! He could never have stood upon his legs, that bird. He would have snapped 'em short off in a minute, like sticks of sealing-wax.

“Why, it's impossible to carry that to Camden Town,” said Scrooge. “You must have a cab.”

The chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with which he paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and chuckled till he cried.

Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very much; and shaving requires attention, even when you don't dance while you are at it. But if he had cut the end of his nose off, he would have put a piece of sticking-plaister over it, and been quite satisfied.

He dressed himself “all in his best,” and at last got out into the streets. The people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas Present; and walking with his hands behind him, Scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile. He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humoured fellows said, “Good morning, sir! A merry Christmas to you!” And Scrooge said often afterwards, that of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears.

He had not gone far, when coming on towards him he beheld the portly gentleman, who had walked into his counting-house the day before, and said, “Scrooge and Marley's, I believe?” It sent a pang across his heart to think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they met; but he knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it.

“My dear sir,” said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking the old gentleman by both his hands. “How do you do? I hope you succeeded yesterday. It was very kind of you. A merry Christmas to you, sir!”

“Mr. Scrooge?”

“Yes,” said Scrooge. “That is my name, and I fear it may not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the goodness”—here Scrooge whispered in his ear.

“Lord bless me!” cried the gentleman, as if his breath were taken away. “My dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?”

“If you please,” said Scrooge. “Not a farthing less. A great many back-payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do me that favour?”

“My dear sir,” said the other, shaking hands with him. “I don't know what to say to such munifi—”

“Don't say anything, please,” retorted Scrooge. “Come and see me. Will you come and see me?”

“I will!” cried the old gentleman. And it was clear he meant to do it.

“Thank 'ee,” said Scrooge. “I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty times. Bless you!”

He went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any walk—that anything—could give him so much happiness. In the afternoon he turned his steps towards his nephew's house.

He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and did it:

“Is your master at home, my dear?” said Scrooge to the girl. Nice girl! Very.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is he, my love?” said Scrooge.

“He's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I'll show you upstairs, if you please.”

“Thank 'ee. He knows me,” said Scrooge, with his hand already on the dining-room lock. “I'll go in here, my dear.”

He turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door. They were looking at the table (which was spread out in great array); for these young housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to see that everything is right.

“Fred!” said Scrooge.

Dear heart alive, how his niece by marriage started! Scrooge had forgotten, for the moment, about her sitting in the corner with the footstool, or he wouldn't have done it, on any account.

“Why bless my soul!” cried Fred, “who's that?”

“It's I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in, Fred?”

Let him in! It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. He was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the same. So did Topper when he came. So did the plump sister when she came. So did every one when they came. Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!

But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there. If he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That was the thing he had set his heart upon.

And he did it; yes, he did! The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the Tank.

His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o'clock.

“Hallo!” growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as near as he could feign it. “What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?”

“I am very sorry, sir,” said Bob. “I am behind my time.”

“You are?” repeated Scrooge. “Yes. I think you are. Step this way, sir, if you please.”

“It's only once a year, sir,” pleaded Bob, appearing from the Tank. “It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir.”

“Now, I'll tell you what, my friend,” said Scrooge, “I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore,” he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank again: “and therefore I am about to raise your salary!”

Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the people in the court for help and a strait-waistcoat.

“A merry Christmas, Bob!” said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. “A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I'll raise your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob! Make up the fires, and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!”

Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him.

He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!

第五节
尾声

不错！这根床柱是他自己的。这张床是他自己的，这间屋子是他自己的。所有的事物之中，最好且最幸福的事情是，在他前面、让他补过自新的时间也是他自己的！

“我一定要生活在‘过去’、‘现在’和‘未来’之中！”私刻鲁挤爬出床来，又这样说，“三位精灵一定全部会在我心中折腾。哦，雅各·马莱啊！为此而赞美苍天和圣诞节期吧！我跪着说这句话，老雅各啊，是跪着说的！”

他心中充满了善良的愿望，激动得不得了，兴奋得不得了，以至他的断断续续的声音难以表达他的呼唤。他刚才跟那位精灵相争的时候，曾经抽泣得好厉害，到现在还泪流满面呢。

“这些东西并没有被人家扯下来，”私刻鲁挤双手拥抱着一边帐子喊道，“这些东西并没有被人家扯下来，铜环等等都是好好的，都在这儿；我也在这儿；那些本来应该发生的事情的影子，可能会被驱散。一定会的。我知道一定会的！”

他一边说，一边两手不停地弄着自己的衣服：一会儿把衣里翻到外面来，一会儿上下颠倒穿上身，一会儿拉扯着，一会儿穿的不是地方，一会儿把它们组织成种种奇形怪状的样子。

“我不知道做什么好！”私刻鲁挤大声说，他又是笑又是哭，同时用长袜子把自己绕成一个十足的拉奥孔[1]，“我像羽毛一样轻，我像天使一样快乐，我又像学龄儿童一样开心。我真像一个醉汉那样昏昏沉沉。祝大家圣诞节快乐！祝全世界的人新年快乐！哈啰，喂呀！呵哦，哈啰！”

他这时已经跳跳蹦蹦地走进了起居室，正站在那儿，喘气喘得不行。

“那个盛粥的平底锅还在那儿！”私刻鲁挤喊道，又活动起来，在壁炉前跳跳蹦蹦地绕圈子，“雅各·马莱的鬼魂就是从这扇门进来的！现在圣诞鬼魂就是在这个角落里坐着的！我就是从这扇窗户看见那些漫游的精灵的！一切都没错，一切都是真的，一切都发生过。哈，哈，哈！”

说真的，对于一个那么多年一直没有笑过的人来说，这是一阵精彩的大笑，一阵最明亮的大笑，是长长的一连串的光辉灿烂的大笑之父！

“我不知道今天是这个月的几号！”私刻鲁挤说，“我不知道自己在几位精灵中间耽搁了多久。我什么也不知道。我真是个娃娃。没关系。我不在乎。我情愿是个娃娃。哈啰！呵哦！哈啰，喂呀！”

他正在手舞足蹈，忽然停顿了，因为一座座教堂都敲响了他从来没有听到过的最振奋精神的钟乐。克拉，克浪，钟锤声，叮，当，大钟声。大钟声，当，叮，钟锤声，克浪，克拉！哦，辉煌啊，辉煌啊！

他奔过去，打开窗户，把头伸出去。没有浓雾，没有淡霭，而是晴朗，明亮，欢快，热闹，寒冷；寒冷啊，刺激得血脉跟着它跳舞；金色的阳光；晴朗的天空；芳香新鲜的空气；悦耳的钟声。哦，辉煌啊。辉煌啊！

“今天是什么日子呀？”私刻鲁挤喊着，叫住下面一个穿着礼拜天服装[2]的男孩子，他或许是闲逛进来四面看看的。

“嗯？”孩子回应他，露出他最惊讶的神情。

“今天是什么日子，我的好朋友？”私刻鲁挤问。

“今天吗！”孩子回答，“怎么啦，是圣诞节嘛。”

“今天是圣诞节！”私刻鲁挤对自己说，“我还没有错过这日子。精灵们一个夜里做了所有的事情。它们能够做到想做的任何事情。它们当然能够。它们当然能够。哈啰，我的好朋友！”

“哈啰！”孩子回答他。

“你可知道打这儿过去第二条街的转角上，那一家家禽店吗？”私刻鲁挤问。

“我当然知道。”这孩子回答。

“真是个聪明的孩子！”私刻鲁挤说，“真是个了不起的孩子！你可知道挂在那儿的那只特级火鸡，他们是否卖掉了？不是那只小的特级火鸡，是那只大的。”

“什么，那只像我一样大的吗？”孩子回答。

“多么叫人喜欢的孩子啊！”私刻鲁挤说，“跟他说话真叫人高兴。是的，我的公子哥儿！”

“这会儿它还挂在那儿。”孩子回答说。

“是吗？”私刻鲁挤说，“你去把它买下来。”

“胡——扯！[3]”这孩子直嚷嚷。

“真的，真的，”私刻鲁挤说，“我是说真的。你去把它买下来，请他们拿到这儿来，然后我就能写给他们要送去的姓名地址。你带店里的人回来，我给你一个先令。你要是不到五分钟就带他回来，我给你半个克朗！”

那个孩子像枪弹一样跑去了。一个人必须用一只镇定自若的手扣动扳机，才能发射出去一半这样快的子弹。

“我要把它送给鲍伯·克拉契！”私刻鲁挤轻悄悄地说，他搓着双手，捧腹大笑起来，“不给他知道是谁送的。这只火鸡有小小铁姆两个那么大。乔·米勒[4]从来没有开过一个玩笑能比得上送火鸡到鲍伯家去这样的玩笑。”

他写姓名地址的那只手可不是一只镇定自若的手，不过，无论如何，他写了出来，走下楼去，打开通往街道的门，准备家禽店里的人的到来。他站在那儿，等待他来的时候，那只门环吸引了他的目光。

“只要我活着一天，我就要爱它！”私刻鲁挤喊道，用手拍拍它，“我过去几乎从来没有看一看它。它的脸上有着多么诚恳的表情啊！它是一个了不起的门环！——火鸡来啦。哈啰！呵哦！你好啊！圣诞节快乐！”

那才真是一只火鸡哩！它绝不能用两条腿站住的，那只大鸟。它一定会立刻把两条腿折断，好像折断两条封蜡[5]似的。

“喂，不可能提着这东西到卡姆登镇去。”私刻鲁挤说，“你必须叫一辆出租马车。”

他说这句话的时候，咯咯一笑；他付火鸡钱的时候，咯咯一笑；他付马车钱的时候，咯咯一笑；他酬劳那个男孩子的时候，咯咯一笑；这几次笑声只不过略逊于他重新坐在椅子上的时候，那咯咯一笑，只见他上气不接下气，咯咯笑得直到哭出来。

刮胡子可不是一件容易的事，因为他的手一直抖个不停；刮胡子需要集中注意力，即使你在刮的时候并没有手舞足蹈。不过，假如他把鼻子尖削掉了，他会贴上一块橡皮膏，并且感到相当满意。

他穿上“全套最好的”衣服，终于走到街上来了。这时候，人们像潮水似的涌出来，正如他跟现在的圣诞节鬼魂在一起所看到过的情形一样；私刻鲁挤反剪着双手，一路走去，带着乐滋滋的微笑看着所有的人。总而言之，他露出那么喜不自胜的样子，使得街上三四个心情舒畅的人对他说：“早上好，先生，祝你圣诞节快乐！”私刻鲁挤后来常常说，他耳朵里听到过的动听的声音当中，这是最动听的了。

他没有走多远就看到那位胖胖的绅士朝他走来，那个人昨天曾经走进他的账房间里来，问过“我想，这儿是私刻鲁挤和马莱商号吧？”私刻鲁挤想到，等他们俩碰面的时候，这位老绅士会怎样看待他，他心中掠过一阵隐痛；不过，他认识到哪一条道路是笔直地摆在面前，他便走了上去。

“我亲爱的先生，”私刻鲁挤说，他加快了脚步，握住这位老绅士的双手，“您好吗？我希望您昨天圆满成功了。感谢您昨天的好意。祝您圣诞节快乐，先生！”

“私刻鲁挤先生吧？”

“是的。”私刻鲁挤说，“这是我的姓氏，我怕您或许会觉得不大好听。请允许我请求您的原谅。您是否能够费心——”说到这里，私刻鲁挤对他耳语。

“上帝保佑我吧！”这位绅士喊道，好像要断气似的，“我亲爱的私刻鲁挤先生，您可是当真？”

“当然啰。”私刻鲁挤说，“一个子儿也不少。我向您保证，其中还包括一大笔已经到期的账。您愿意劳驾帮个忙吗？”

“我亲爱的先生，”对方握着他的手说，“我真不知道说什么好，您是这样慷——”

“请您什么也别提啦。”私刻鲁挤挡回他的话说，“请来看看我。您愿意来看看我吗？”

“我要来的！”这位老绅士喊道。很明显，他真要这样做。

“谢谢您哪！”私刻鲁挤说，“我非常感激您。我谢谢您五十次。祝福您！”

他走到教堂去，又在一条街一条街上闲逛，瞧瞧来去匆匆的行人，拍拍孩子们的头，问问叫花子们的情况，俯察一家家的厨房，仰视一个个的窗户；他发现每一样事物都能给他带来乐趣。他从来没有梦想到任何一回散步——任何一桩事情——竟然都能给予他这么多的快乐。这天下午，他转身朝他外甥的家走去。

他在门口来回走了十几次，才有勇气走过去敲门。但是他终于一鼓作气敲了。

“你家主人在家吗，我亲爱的？”私刻鲁挤对一位姑娘说。一位好姑娘！非常好。

“在家，先生。”

“他在哪儿，可爱的姑娘？”私刻鲁挤说。

“他在饭厅里，先生，跟女主人在一起。我可以领您上楼去，请吧。”

“谢谢您哪。他知道我。”私刻鲁挤说，他的手已经放在饭厅的锁上了，“我要到这里边去，我亲爱的。”

他轻轻地转着门锁，从门边侧着把头伸进去。里边的人都在对桌子瞧着（桌子上摆开的阵势已经如火如荼了），因为这些个年轻的家庭主妇对于这类问题总是神经紧张，喜欢看见一切都安排妥当才放心。

“弗莱德！”私刻鲁挤叫道。

哎呀呀我的天，他的外甥媳妇是多么吃惊啊！私刻鲁挤此刻忘记了她正坐在角落里，把脚搁在脚凳上，否则他无论如何也不会叫的。

“啊，上帝保佑！”弗莱德喊道，“那是谁呀！”

“是我，你的舅舅私刻鲁挤。我是来赴宴的。你让我进来吗，弗莱德？”

让他进来还用说！他没有把他的手摇断才真是幸运的事呢。五分钟之内他就觉得自由自在了。没有什么比这更热诚的了。他的外甥媳妇看来也正是这样。托泼儿，他走过来的时候，也是这样。那位胖胖的妹妹，她走过来的时候，也是这样。所有的人，他们走过来的时候，都是这样。了不起的聚会，了不起的娱乐，了不起的融洽无间，了——不——起的幸福啊！

不过第二天[6]早晨他很早就来到事务所。哦，他来得很早。要是他能够第一个到来，抓住鲍伯·克拉契迟到，那有多好啊！他就是存心要干这事。

他办到了；果真办到了！时钟敲了九点。不见鲍伯。过了一刻钟。不见鲍伯。他整整迟到了十八分钟又半分钟。私刻鲁挤把他那间屋子的门大开着，坐在那儿，以便看得见他钻到“大箱子”里去。

鲍伯打开事务所的门以前，先摘下了帽子；羊毛围巾也取下来了。一眨眼的工夫，他就坐上了凳子，奋笔疾书，好像要追上溜去的九点钟。

“哈啰！”私刻鲁挤尽可能装出他习以为常的声音吼着说，“你是什么意思，在今天这时候到这儿来？”

“我非常抱歉，先生。”鲍伯说，“我是迟到了。”

“你是吗？”私刻鲁挤学着说，“不错。我认为你是这样。到这儿来一下，劳驾。”

“这不过是一年只有一次的事，先生。”鲍伯恳求说，他从“大箱子”里露出来，“下次不会再犯了。昨天我玩得太兴奋了，先生。”

“好吧。让我来告诉你吧，我的朋友，”私刻鲁挤说，“我不打算忍受这种事情。因此，”他从凳子上跳起来，对准鲍伯身上的马甲戳了那么一下子，使他跌跌撞撞地又退到“大箱子”里去，便继续说，“因此我就要增加你的薪水！”

鲍伯全身发抖，稍稍挨近了一把尺子。他脑海中闪过一个念头：用这把尺子把私刻鲁挤打倒，抱住他，叫唤院子里的人都来帮忙，还要弄一件拘束衣[7]来。

“圣诞节快乐，鲍伯！”私刻鲁挤拍拍他的背说，带着不容置疑的真挚恳切的样子，“鲍伯，我的好朋友，祝你有一个比我这许多年来给过你的快乐得多的圣诞节！我要增加你的薪水，并且尽力帮助你的努力奋斗的家庭。就在今天下午，咱们俩要一边喝着大杯圣诞节的热气腾腾的香果子酒[8]，一边讨论你的事情，鲍伯！把炉火生得旺旺的，再去买一煤斗煤来，然后再去文不加点[9]吧，鲍伯·克拉契！”

私刻鲁挤所做的比他所说的还要好，他全都做到了，而且无限量地超过。小小铁姆并没有死，他做了他的干爸爸。他变成了一个好朋友、好东家、好男子汉，好到这好而老的城市从未有过，或者这好而老的世界上，任何别的好而老的城市、乡镇或自治城市[10]都从未有过。有些人看见他的转变觉得好笑，但是他让他们去笑，睬也不睬他们；因为他是够聪明的，知道在这个地球上，永远是这样，没有一样东西在开始出现的时候，不被一些人笑得死去活来；他也知道这些人总归是盲目的，因此他想，他们龇牙咧嘴地笑得眯起眼睛，跟他们得了更不好看的怪病比起来，不过是半斤八两。他自己在心里笑着：对他来说，这就尽够了。

他没有跟精灵们再打过交道，而是从此以往永远遵循“绝对戒酒主义”[11]生活着，并且经常听人们说起，要是世上有谁知道怎样好好地过圣诞节，那就是他了。但愿这句话对于我们，对于我们大家也是中肯之言。并且因此，就像小小铁姆所讲的那样：上帝保佑我们，保佑每一个人！

[1]拉奥孔（Laocoön），据希腊神话，是特洛伊地方阿波罗的祭司，曾由于劝阻市民，不让敌人用以陷城的木马进城，而触怒女神雅典娜，使两条巨蟒出自海中，将他和他的两个儿子缠死。至今梵蒂冈博物馆中仍然陈列一座五世纪时著名的罗马雕像，雕出巨蟒缠绕他和他的两个儿子的形状。

[2]礼拜天服装，指最好的衣服，常在星期日穿着到教堂去。

[3]“胡——扯！”原文为“Walk-ER！”，是伦敦方言，来源于一个长着鹰钩鼻子的姓沃克（Walker）的伦敦行政官员，他的话常使人惊异，并且令人难以置信。

[4]乔·米勒（Joe Miller），即约瑟夫·米勒（Joseph Miller，1684一1738），英国通俗滑稽演员。他的笑话由戏剧家约翰·莫特莱（John Mottley）编成一本集子，于一七三九年出版。

[5]封蜡，或称火漆，用松脂和石蜡加颜料制成，加热即化，一般作封信件或瓶口之用。

[6]圣诞节的第二天是圣斯蒂芬节（St. Stephen's Day），一般称作节礼日（Boxing Day）。按英国俗例，这天向邮递员等人赠送节礼，故名。英国直到一八七一年方始将这天定为公假日。

[7]拘束衣，原文为strait-waistcoat，是一种金属制成的紧身衣，用以拘束狂暴的疯人或犯人。

[8]香果子酒，原文为bishop，亦作“主教”解。酒为红色，接近主教法衣的颜色，故名。是英国十八世纪时酒馆中的大众化饮料。用酒、橙子、糖及香料调制并煮热而成。

[9]文不加点，原文为dot another i，有抄写得一丝不苟的意思。

[10]自治城市，原文为borough，是英国享有派议员到议会等特权的自治城市。

[11]精灵们，原文Spirits，亦作“烈酒”解。这里“绝对戒酒主义”（Total Abstinence Principle）是双关语，既可以照字面理解，也暗含和精灵们断绝关系的意思。

附记
画中颂歌

《圣诞颂歌》自1843年初版以来轰动一时，并不断以多种语言再版，多次被改编成电影、电视剧、舞台剧和动画片，历久不衰。先后有多位出色的插画家在不同版本中配图，更为这个史上最受喜爱的圣诞故事之一增色不少。本书除收入法国插画巨匠多雷的多幅版画插图外，还囊括四位画家的画作，他们以各自独特的视角再现了狄更斯笔下的精灵、圣诞节和伦敦城。

约翰·利奇（John Leech，1817—1864）是英国漫画家、插画家，主要创作蚀刻版画和木刻画，以其为英国幽默漫画周刊《笨拙》（Punch）所作的漫画而闻名。利奇出生于伦敦，他起初学习医学，但后来转向艺术领域。1835年，他以某漫画角色名为笔名，首次发表了自己的版画和素描作品。1840年起，利奇开始为杂志作画。1841年，他的作品在《笨拙》上初次发表。自此，他陆续为这一有名的杂志创作了约3000幅漫画及其他插图作品。此外，他的画作也出现在《笨拙》的年鉴和袖珍本、文学周刊《每周一读》（Once a Week）、《伦敦新闻画报》（The Illustrated London News）等杂志以及众多小说、书籍中。利奇致力于社会题材的滑稽漫画，他与英国插画家约翰·坦尼尔爵士共同创造了“约翰牛”的惯用形象——一位快活的英国人，老实、直爽又可靠，有时候穿一件米字旗图案的马甲，身后跟着一只牛头犬。他摒弃英国漫画中从十八世纪末到十九世纪初建立起的恐怖及讽刺的传统元素，发展出一种温和而文雅的中产阶级幽默，通过塑造与通常形象的反差来勾勒漫画角色。在他为《圣诞颂歌》1843年版（Chapman & Hall）所配的四幅版画插图中，这些特质尤为突出。

所罗门·艾汀格（Soloman Eytinge，Junr. 1833—1905）是美国插画家。他出生于美国费城，在布鲁克林开始自己作为插图作者的职业生涯，后为《哈珀周刊》（Harper's Weekly）、《弗兰克·莱斯利画报》（Frank Leslie's Illustrated Paper）等杂志长期供稿。他为路易莎·奥尔科特、罗伯特·勃朗宁、丁尼生、华盛顿·欧文、爱伦·坡等名家作品所作的插图大受好评，令他被当时的美国读者熟知。而他最著名的图画即他为狄更斯作品集钻石版（Diamond Edition，1867—1871，Ticknor-Fields）创作的95幅木刻画，包括为《圣诞颂歌》1869年版创作的25幅木刻画，如此大量且成系列的配图也是首次。其中鲍伯和小小铁姆这对父子的标志性形象流传甚广，被许多影片采用。狄更斯本人对他的插图评价很高：“它们全都异常精美，画中角色栩栩如生，且规规矩矩，分寸得当，没有令人反感的夸张，这些皆是我十分欣赏的。”

艾德文·奥斯汀·艾比（Edwin Austin Abbey，1852—1911）是崛起于美国插画“黄金时代”早期的插图画家、油画家，以描绘十七、十八世纪英国生活的钢笔画而闻名。艾比出生于美国费城，曾就读于宾夕法尼亚美术学院，后担任《哈珀周刊》等杂志的插画师。他还为不少畅销书籍绘制插图，其中就有狄更斯的《圣诞故事集》，莎士比亚戏剧作品的插图也是他著名的代表作。他于1878年移居英国，先后入选英国皇家学院和英国国家艺术院，并于1902年被选中为爱德华七世的加冕礼绘图，图画收藏于白金汉宫。在其创作生涯后期，艾比的重点转向历史题材的墙壁装饰画，在他创作的壁画中，存于波士顿公共图书馆的《追寻圣杯》（The Quest of the Holy Grail）最为有名。他注重细节，特别注意精准地还原历史，这影响了此后一代代的插画作者们。

弗雷德里克·巴纳德（Frederick Barnard，1846—1896）是英国插画家、漫画家。他曾在法国巴黎学习艺术，后在英国伦敦等地工作，为《笨拙》、《伦敦新闻画报》和《哈珀周刊》等杂志担任插画师。作为英国皇室和贵族的肖像画师，到十九世纪末，他也已享有令人羡慕的声望。1871年至1879年间，他为九部狄更斯小说家庭版（Household Edition，Chapman & Hall）创作了总共约450幅的插图，这些数量惊人的画作成就了他的插图事业巅峰，为他赢得了“狄更斯黑白画画家”之称。不同于从前的画家，巴纳德赋予自己画中的人物更多人情味，而非一味夸大、追求出位效果，准确地刻画出狄更斯小说角色的温情一面。

除了以上几位重要插图者外，本书还收入亚瑟·拉克姆（Arthur Rackham）等其他画家的插图作品，以飨读者。

John Leech　etchings and woodcut vignettes（1843）

John Leech（1852），Phiz（1859），Felix Darley（1863），Phiz（1865）.

Soloman Eytinge　Wood Engravings： Left（1867）-1st Tiny Tim Book illustration Right（1869）-Vignette Chapter Headings

Soloman Eytinge　Wood Engravings（1869）–1st major set of new book illustrations

Soloman Eytinge　Wood Engravings（1869）–1st major set of new book illustrations

Soloman Eytinge　Wood Engravings（1869）–1st major set of new book illustrations

Soloman Eytinge　Wood Engravings（1869）–1st major set of new book illustrations

Soloman Eytinge　Wood Engravings（1869）–1st major set of new book illustrations

E. A. Abbey　Wood Engravings（1876）–Frontispiece & Title-Page Vignette

E. A. Abbey　Wood Engravings（1876）–Horizontal Plates

E. A. Abbey　Wood Engravings（1876）–Horizontal Plates

Frederick Barnard　Wood Engravings（1877）–Frontispiece

Frederick Barnard　Wood Engravings（1877）–Vertical Plates

Frederick Barnard　Wood Engravings（1877）–Horizontal Plates

Frederick Barnard　Steel Engravings in Character Sketches from Dickens（1885）（this engraving became the 20th century's definitive symbol of the story ）

Reduced Samples of the 24 Illustrations by Chominski & Gaugengigl（1887）

Sample of the Color Plates by Arthur Rackham（1915）（minor embellishment）

Henry Kiefer　cover of Classics Illustrated # 53（1948）–1st comic-book adaption

Michael Cole　cover & panels（390 full-color illus.）© 1985 Michael Cole