Charles Dickens - A Christmas Carol. A Yuletide Ghost Tale (1843)

Current page: 1 (book has 34 pages in total)

Charles Dickens

Christmas stories

CHRISTMAS HYMN IN PROSE
(=A CHRISTMAS CAROL IN PROSE)
Yule story haunted

To begin with, Marley was dead. There was no doubt about it. The certificate of his burial was signed by the priest, the clergyman, and the owner funeral home and senior gravedigger. It was signed by Scrooge. And if Scrooge put his hand to any document, this paper had weight on the stock exchange.

So old Marley was dead as a nail in the lintel.

Please note: I am not at all claiming that own experience I became convinced that the nail driven into the ceiling was somehow especially dead, more dead than all the other nails. No, I personally would rather prefer a nail driven into a coffin lid as the most dead object of all hardware. But this saying reflects the wisdom of our ancestors, and if my wicked tongue dared to change it, you would have the right to say that our country is sliding into the abyss. Therefore, may I be allowed to repeat again and again: Marley was dead as a nail in the lintel.

Did Scrooge know about this? Of course. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and Marley have been companions since time immemorial. Scrooge was Marley's only confidant, his only authority in all matters, his only executor, his only legal heir, his only friend, and the only person who accompanied him to the graveyard. And yet Scrooge was not so depressed by this sad event that his business acumen could fail him, and he celebrated the day of his friend’s funeral by concluding a very profitable deal.

Now I mentioned Marley's funeral, and that brings me back to where I started. There could not be the slightest doubt that Marley was dead. This must be clearly understood, otherwise there will be nothing extraordinary in the story that I intend to tell you. After all, if we did not know for certain that Hamlet’s father died long before the start of the performance, then his walk on a windy night along the ramparts around his castle would hardly seem to us something supernatural. In any case, no more supernatural than the behavior of any elderly gentleman who had the whim of taking a walk at midnight in some place not protected from the wind, well, say, in the cemetery of St. Pavel, pursuing the only goal - to amaze the already frustrated imagination of his son.

Scrooge did not blot out Marley's name on the sign. It was there, above the office door, years later: SCROOGE and MARLEY. The firm was well known by this name. And some newbie in business, addressing Scrooge, sometimes called him Scrooge, and sometimes Marley. Scrooge responded no matter how he was called. He didn't care.

What a badass he was, that Scrooge! This is someone who knew how to squeeze out juices, pull out veins, hammer into a coffin, rake, seize, grab, extort... The old sinner knew how, he knew how! It was not a man, but a flint. Yes, he was cold and hard, like flint, and no one had ever managed to carve even a spark of compassion from his stone heart. Secretive, withdrawn, lonely - he hid like an oyster in his shell. Mental cold froze the senile features of his face from the inside, sharpened his hooked nose, wrinkled the skin on his cheeks, constrained his gait, made his lips turn blue and his eyes red, and made his creaky voice icy. And even his stubbled chin, sparse hair and eyebrows seemed frosted with frost. He brought this chilling atmosphere with him everywhere. Scrooge's presence froze his office in the summer heat, and he did not allow it to thaw even half a degree even on merry Christmastide.

Heat or cold in the yard - Scrooge was little concerned about this. No heat could warm him, and no frost could penetrate him. The fiercest wind could not be more evil than Scrooge, the fiercest blizzard could not be as cruel as him, the heaviest rain could not be so merciless. The bad weather could do nothing to get through it. Rain, hail, and snow could boast only one advantage over Scrooge - they often descended on the earth in generous abundance, and Scrooge was unknown to generosity.

No one ever stopped him on the street with a joyful exclamation: “Dear Scrooge! How are you? When will you come to see me?” Not a single beggar dared to reach out to him for alms, not a single child dared to ask him what time it was, and not a single soul ever asked him to show him the way. It seemed that even the dogs, guides to the blind, understood what kind of person he was, and, seeing him, they hurried to drag their owner into the first entrance or gateway they came across, and then wagged their tail for a long time, as if saying: “Yes, for me, a man without eyes, like you, master, much better than with the evil eye.”

Do you think this upset Scrooge? Not at all. He made his way through life, avoiding everyone, and those who knew him well believed that it was somehow sweet for him to scare away the slightest manifestation of sympathy.

And then one day - and not just sometime, but on Christmas Eve itself - old Scrooge was poring over account books in his office. It was cold, dreary weather, and still foggy, and Scrooge could hear passers-by outside the window scurrying back and forth, stamping loudly along the sidewalk, puffing and beating their sides to keep warm. The city clock in the bell tower had just struck three, but it was already getting dark, and that day and in the morning everything, and the lights of the candles that glowed in the windows of the offices lay like crimson strokes on the dark curtain of fog - so dense that it seemed you could touch it hand. The fog crawled into every crack, seeped into every keyhole, and even in this cramped courtyard, the houses opposite, barely visible behind a thick dirty gray veil, looked like ghosts. Looking at the clouds of fog that descended lower and lower, hiding all objects from view, one might think that Nature herself had opened a brewery somewhere in the neighborhood and was brewing beer for the holiday.

Scrooge kept the office door ajar so that he could keep an eye on his clerk, who was copying papers in a dark little closet, or rather a closet. If Scrooge had not enough coal in the fireplace, then the clerk had even less - it seemed that there was only one coal smoldering there. But the clerk could not add coal, since Scrooge kept a box of coal in his room, and as soon as the clerk appeared there with a fireplace scoop, the owner began to express fear that he would have to part with his assistant. Therefore, the clerk wrapped a white woolen scarf tightly around his neck and tried to warm himself by a candle, however, not having a particularly ardent imagination, and here he failed.

– Happy holiday, uncle! I hope you have a lot of fun this Christmas! – there was a cheerful exclamation. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew. The young man burst into the office so quickly that Scrooge did not have time to raise his head from his papers before his nephew was already standing near his desk.

- Nonsense! - Scrooge grumbled. - Nonsense!

Scrooge's nephew was so warmed up, walking briskly through the frost that he seemed to be radiating with heat, like from a stove. His cheeks were flushed - it was simply delightful to look at, his eyes sparkled, and steam poured out of his mouth.

- Is Christmas time nonsense, uncle? – asked the nephew. - That's right, I didn't understand you!

- We heard! - said Scrooge. – Have fun at Christmas time! By what right do you want to have fun? What reason do you have for fun? Or do you feel like you're not poor enough yet?

“In that case,” the nephew responded cheerfully, “by what right are you so gloomy, uncle?” What reason do you have for being gloomy? Or do you feel like you're not rich enough yet?

To this Scrooge, not having time to prepare a more intelligible answer, repeated his “nonsense” and added “nonsense!”

“Don’t grumble, uncle,” said the nephew.

-What do you want me to do? - objected Scrooge, - what if I live among such dunces as you? Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! Fuck off with your Christmastide! What is Christmas time for people like you? This means that it’s time to pay the bills, and the money is going to roll in the air. It's time to draw up the annual balance sheet, but month after month you have no profits, only losses, and although one has been added to your age, not a single penny has been added to your capital. “If it were up to me,” Scrooge continued indignantly, “I would be such a blockhead who runs around and shouts: “Merry Christmastide! Merry Christmastide!” - would be boiled alive along with the filling for Yule pudding, and a holly stake driven into his grave*.

- Uncle! – the nephew begged.

- Nephew! - Uncle snapped. - Celebrate your Christmastide as you wish, and leave it to me to celebrate them in my own way.

- Manage! - exclaimed the nephew. - So you can’t handle them in any way!

“Then don’t stop me from forgetting about them.” These Christmastides were of much use to you! They will do you a lot of good!

“You never know there are good things in the world that were of no use to me,” answered the nephew. – At least it’s the Christmas holidays. But all the same, besides the reverence that one feels before this sacred word, and the pious memories that are inseparable from it, I always looked forward to these days as the best of the year. These are joyful days - days of mercy, kindness, forgiveness. These are the only days in the entire calendar when people, as if by tacit agreement, freely open their hearts to each other and see in their neighbors, even the poor and disadvantaged, the same people as themselves, wandering the same road to the grave with them, and not some beings of a different breed who should take a different path. And therefore, uncle, although it is true that at Christmas time I have never had a single coin added to my pocket, I believe that Christmas brings me good and will continue to bring good, and long live Christmas!

The clerk in his nook involuntarily clapped his hands, but immediately, realizing the indecency of such behavior, rushed to stir the coals with a poker and extinguished the last meager spark...

- Hey you! - said Scrooge. “One more sound and you’ll be celebrating your Christmastide somewhere else.” And you, sir,” he turned to his nephew, “you, I see, are a talker. I wonder why you are not in parliament.

- You will be angry, uncle! Come see us tomorrow and have lunch with us.

Scrooge replied that he would rather visit... Yes, he said so, without any embarrassment, and in conclusion added a few more strong words.

- Yes, why? - the nephew cried. - Why?

- Why did you get married? - asked Scrooge.

- Fell in love, that's why.

- Fell in love! - Scrooge grumbled in such a tone as if he had heard yet another desperate absurdity like “merry Christmastide.” - Well, I have the honor!

“But listen, uncle, you haven’t favored me with your visits before, why now blame everything on my marriage?”

- I have the honor! - repeated Scrooge.

“But I’m not asking you for anything, I don’t need anything from you.” Why can't we be friends?

“It’s a pity that you are so adamant.” I’ve never quarreled with you, and I don’t understand why you’re angry with me. And yet, I made this attempt at rapprochement for the sake of the holiday. Well, I won’t change my festive mood. So, I wish you a Merry Christmas, Uncle.

- I have the honor! - said Scrooge.

– And Happy New Year!

- I have the honor! - repeated Scrooge. And yet the nephew, leaving the office, did not express his annoyance in any way. At the door he paused to bring his congratulations to the clerk, who, although numb from the cold, nevertheless turned out to be warmer than Scrooge and returned the greeting cordially.

- Here's another crazy one! - muttered Scrooge, who overheard the clerk's answer. - Some pathetic scribe, with a salary of fifteen shillings, burdened with a wife and children, and there he talks about merry Christmastide! It’s time to run away from such people into Bedlam!

Meanwhile, the poor madman, having released Scrooge’s nephew, let in new visitors. They were two portly, pleasant-looking gentlemen; they were holding some folders and papers in their hands. Taking off their hats, they entered the office and bowed to Scrooge.

- Scrooge and Marley, if I'm not mistaken? – asked one of them, checking with some list. - Do I have the pleasure of talking with Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?

“Mr. Marley has been buried in the cemetery for seven years,” answered Scrooge. “He died on Christmas Eve, exactly seven years ago.”

“In that case, we have no doubt that the generosity and breadth of nature of the deceased are equally characteristic of his surviving companion,” said one of the gentlemen, presenting his documents.

And he was not mistaken, for they were worth each other, these worthy companions, these kindred souls. Hearing the ominous word “generosity,” Scrooge frowned, shook his head, and returned the visitor’s papers.

- In these holidays“, Mr. Scrooge,” continued the visitor, taking a pen from the desk, “more than ever it behooves us to show, to the best of our ability, concern for the orphans and the disadvantaged, who especially suffer at such a harsh time of year. Thousands of poor people suffer from lack of basic necessities. Hundreds of thousands are homeless.

– Don’t we have forts? - asked Scrooge.

- Ostrogov? “As much as you like,” the visitor answered, putting the pen back.

- A workhouses? - continued Scrooge. – Do they still work?

- Unfortunately, still. Although,” the visitor noted, “I would be glad to report that they were covered.”

– So, forced labor exists and the poor law remains in force?

– Neither one nor the other has been cancelled.

- And you scared me, gentlemen. From your words, I was ready to conclude that all this good activity for some reason came to naught. Glad to hear I was wrong.

“Convinced that all these laws and institutions give nothing to either soul or body,” the visitor objected, “we decided to hold a collection of donations for the benefit of the poor in order to buy them a certain amount of food, drink and warm clothes. We chose Christmas Eve for this purpose precisely because on these days the need is felt especially acutely, and abundance gives especially much joy. What amount will you allow me to write on your behalf?

- None.

– Do you want to donate without revealing your name?

“I want to be left alone,” Scrooge snapped. “Since you gentlemen wanted to know what I want, here is my answer.” I don’t pamper myself on holidays and I don’t have the means to pamper idle people. I support the institutions mentioned, and it costs me a lot. Those in need can go there.

“Not everyone can do this, and some don’t even want to—they’d rather die.”

“If they prefer to die, so much the better,” said Scrooge. – This will reduce the population surplus. And besides, I'm sorry, I'm not interested.

- This should interest you.

“None of this concerns me at all,” said Scrooge. – Let everyone mind their own business. In any case, I have my fill of things to do. Goodbye gentlemen!

Seeing that it was useless to insist, the gentlemen left, and Scrooge, very pleased with himself, returned to his interrupted studies in an unusually cheerful mood for him.

Meanwhile, outside the window, the fog and darkness thickened so much that torchbearers appeared on the streets, offering their services to run ahead of the carriages and illuminate the road. The ancient church bell tower, whose ancient hoarse bell spent days ironically leering at Scrooge from the lancet window, was completely hidden from view, and the bell was ringing the hours and quarters somewhere in the clouds, accompanying each blow with such a plaintive rattling tremolo, as if it had no teeth. got caught from the cold. And the frost kept getting stronger. In the corner of the courtyard adjacent to the main street, workers were repairing gas pipes and lit a large fire in a brazier, around which a crowd of ragged boys and boys had gathered. They warmed their hands over the brazier and did not take their enchanted gaze off the burning coals. Water oozed from the tap on the street, and it, forgotten by everyone, gradually grew overgrown with ice in dreary solitude until it turned into a dull, slippery block. Gas lamps burned brightly in store windows, casting a reddish glow on the pale faces of passers-by, and the sprigs and berries of holly that decorated the windows crackled in the heat. The green and chicken shops were decorated so elegantly and magnificently that they turned into something outlandish, fabulous, and it was impossible to believe that they had anything to do with such ordinary things as buying and selling. The Lord Mayor, in his majestic residence, had already ordered five dozen cooks and butlers not to lose face so that he could celebrate the holiday as it should be, and even the little tailor, whom he had fined the day before for appearing on the street while drunk and having bloodthirsty intentions, had already stirred his holiday pudding in his attic, while his skinny wife and skinny son ran to buy beef.

The fog is getting thicker, the frost is getting stronger! Fierce, piercing cold! If Saint Dunstan*, instead of red-hot tongs, had grabbed Satan by the nose with this kind of frost, he would have howled from such a thorough pinch!

A certain young owner of a rather insignificant nose, moreover already bitten by the voracious frost, which clung to him like a hungry dog ​​to a bone, clung to the keyhole of Scrooge’s office, wanting to glorify Christmas, but at the very first sounds of the Christmas hymn:

May God send you joy.

Let nothing sadden you...

Scrooge grabbed the ruler so decisively that the singer fled in fear, leaving the keyhole at the mercy of Scrooge’s kind fog and even more congenial frost.

Finally the time has come to close the office. Scrooge reluctantly climbed down from his high stool, giving a silent sign to the clerk who was languishing in the closet, and he instantly blew out the candle and put on his hat.

– You probably don’t intend to come to work tomorrow at all? - asked Scrooge.

“If only it is quite convenient, sir.”

“This is completely inconvenient,” said Scrooge, “and unconscionable.” But if I withhold half a crown from you for this, you will consider yourself offended, won’t you?

The clerk managed some semblance of a smile.

“However,” continued Scrooge, “it doesn’t occur to you that I can consider myself offended when I pay you a salary for nothing.”

The clerk noted that this happens once a year.

“That’s a pretty weak excuse for putting your hand in my pocket every year on the twenty-fifth of December,” said Scrooge, buttoning up his coat. “But, as you can see, you want to walk the whole day tomorrow no matter what.” So please show up the day after tomorrow as early as possible.

The clerk promised to appear as early as possible, and Scrooge, still grumbling, stepped over the threshold. In the blink of an eye the office was locked, and the clerk, having rolled twenty times - to pay tribute to Christmas Eve - down the icy slope of Cornhill with a horde of boys (the ends of his white scarf fluttering behind him, because he could not afford the luxury of having a coat) , ran as fast as he could home to Camden Town to play blind man's buff with his kids.

Scrooge ate his dull dinner in the dull tavern where he was in the habit of dining, looked through all the newspapers there, and, having whiled away the rest of the evening over the receipts and expenses book, went home to bed. He lived in an apartment that once belonged to his late partner. It was a gloomy suite of rooms, occupying part of a low, gloomy building in the depths of the courtyard. This house was clearly not built on the spot, and it involuntarily came to mind that once at the dawn of his youth he accidentally ran here, playing hide and seek with other houses, and got stuck, unable to find his way back. Now it was very an old house and very gloomy, and, except for Scrooge, no one lived in it, and all the other premises were rented out as offices. It was so dark in the yard that even Scrooge, who knew every cobblestone there, was forced to grope his way, and in the black gateway of the house such a thick fog swirled and there lay such a thick layer of frost, as if evil spirit bad weather sat there, immersed in heavy thought.

And so. It is reliably known that there was nothing remarkable about the door knocker hanging at the entrance doors, except for its exorbitant large sizes. The fact remains undeniable that Scrooge saw this hammer every morning and every evening from the very day he settled in this house. There is no doubt that Scrooge could not boast of a particularly lively imagination. It worked no better for him, and perhaps even worse, than for any Londoner, not even excluding (and this is a strong word!) city councilors, aldermen and guild members. It should also be noted that Scrooge, having mentioned during the day about his companion, who died seven years ago, never again remembered the deceased. Now let someone explain to me how it could happen that Scrooge, having inserted the key into the keyhole, suddenly saw in front of him not a mallet, which, by the way, had not undergone any changes during this time, but Marley’s face.

Marley’s face, it was not buried in impenetrable darkness, like all the other objects in the yard, but on the contrary, it radiated a ghostly light, just like a rotten lobster in a dark cellar. It did not express either rage or anger, but looked at Scrooge in exactly the same way as the late Marley looked at him during life, pushing his colorless glasses onto his pale, like a dead forehead. Only the hair moved somehow strangely, as if heat from a hot oven was blowing on it, and the wide-open eyes looked completely motionless, and this, combined with the corpse-like complexion, inspired horror. And yet it was not so much the very appearance or expression of this face that was terrible, but something else that seemed to be outside of it.

Scrooge stared wide-eyed at this marvel, and Marley's face immediately turned into a door knocker.

We would be lying if we said that Scrooge was not amazed and that chill that he had not felt since childhood did not run through his veins. But after a moment's hesitation, he resolutely took the key again, turned it in the lock, entered the house and lit a candle.

True, he hesitated a little before slamming the door behind him, and even looked behind it cautiously, as if afraid to see Marley’s braid sticking out through the door onto the stairs. But there was nothing on the door except the screws and nuts on which the hammer was held, and, muttering: “Ugh, hell!” Scrooge slammed the door with a crash.

The sound of the door echoed through the house like a clap of thunder, and every room top floor and every barrel below, in the wine merchant’s cellar, responded to him with a discordant echo. But Scrooge was not one to be intimidated by this. He bolted the door and began to slowly climb the stairs, straightening the candle along the way.

Are you familiar with those spacious old staircases? It seems that you can ride on them in a carriage with gears and drag anything through. And don't they, in this respect, slightly resemble our new parliament? Well, a whole funeral procession could have passed along those stairs, and even if someone had decided to place the hearse across, with the shafts against the wall, and the doors against the railing, then there would still be enough free space on the stairs.

Was this the reason why Scrooge felt as if a funeral horn was moving of its own accord in the semi-darkness ahead of him on the stairs? Half a dozen gas lamps would not have sufficed to light such a staircase properly, so you can easily imagine to what extent Scrooge's solitary candle could dispel the darkness.

But Scrooge didn’t care about that and moved further up the stairs. There is no money to be paid for darkness, and therefore Scrooge had nothing against darkness. Still, before slamming the heavy door of his apartment behind him, Scrooge walked through the rooms to make sure that everything was in order. And not surprisingly, the face of the late Marley was still before his eyes.

Living room, bedroom, storage room. Everywhere everything is as it should be. There is no one under the table, no one under the sofa, a meager fire smolders in the fireplace, a bowl and spoon are waiting on the table, a saucepan with liquid oatmeal (which Scrooge used to treat himself at night for a cold) is on the shelf in the hearth. There was no one under the bed, no one in the closet, no one in the robe hanging on the wall and looking kind of suspicious. In the pantry everything is in place: rusty fireplace grates, a pair of old shoes, two fish baskets, a three-legged washbasin and a poker.

Satisfied with the inspection, Scrooge locked the door to the apartment - locked, mind you, with two turns of the key, which was not at all part of his habit. Having thus protected himself from any surprises, he took off his tie, put on his robe, nightcap and slippers and sat down by the fireplace to sip some oatmeal.

The fire in the hearth was barely smoldering—it was of little use on such a cold night. Scrooge had to move close to the grate and bend low over the fire in order to feel the faint breath of warmth from this miserable handful of coals. The fireplace was old, old, built in time immemorial by some Dutch merchant and lined with outlandish Dutch tiles, depicting scenes from scripture. Here were Cains and Abels, the daughters of Pharaoh and the Queen of Sheba, Abrahams and Belshazzars, angels descending to earth on clouds like featherbeds, and apostles setting off on sea voyages on vessels resembling gravy boats - in a word, hundreds of figures that could occupy Scrooge's thoughts. However, no - the face of Marley, who had died seven years ago, suddenly appeared in front of him, coming to life again, like the prophet’s staff had once done *, and obscured everything else. And no matter which tile Scrooge looked at, Marley’s head immediately appeared clearly on each one - as if there were no images at all on the smooth surface of the tiles, but she had the ability to recreate images from scraps of thoughts randomly flashing through his brain.

- Nonsense! - Scrooge grumbled and began to pace around the room. After walking several times from corner to corner, he sat down on the chair again and threw his head back. Then his gaze accidentally fell on the bell. This old bell, which had long ago become unnecessary, was, for some unknown purpose, once hung in the room and connected to one of the rooms on the upper floor. With boundless amazement and a feeling of inexplicable fear, Scrooge suddenly noticed that the bell began to swing. At first it swayed noticeably, and the ringing was almost inaudible, but soon it began to ring loudly, and all the bells in the house began to echo it.

The ringing probably lasted no more than a minute, but to Scrooge that minute seemed like an eternity. Then the bells stopped just as suddenly as they had started ringing - all at once. And immediately from somewhere below came the clanking of iron, as if in the cellar someone was dragging a heavy chain along the barrels. Scrooge involuntarily recalled stories that when ghosts appear in houses, they usually drag chains behind them.

Then the cellar door swung open with such a roar, as if a cannon had been fired, and the ringing of chains began to be heard even more clearly. Now he was heard on the stairs and began to approach Scrooge’s apartment.

- It’s still nonsense! - said Scrooge. – I don’t believe in ghosts.

However, his face changed when he saw one of them right in front of him. Without the slightest delay, the ghost entered the room through the locked door and stopped in front of Scrooge. And at that same second the flame, which had completely died out in the hearth, suddenly flared up brightly, as if it wanted to exclaim: “I recognize him! This is the Spirit of Marley!” – and it went dark again.

Yes, it was his face. Marley's face. Yes, it was Marley, with his braid, in his constant vest, tight trousers and boots. The tassels on the boots were sticking out, the hair on the head was sticking out, the braid was sticking out, the tails of the coat were sticking out. A long chain encircled him and trailed behind him along the floor like a tail. It was composed (Scrooge had a good look at it) of keys, padlocks, locks, piggy banks, documents, ledgers, and heavy purses with iron clasps. The ghost's body was completely transparent, and Scrooge, looking at it from the front, clearly saw two buttons on the back of his coat through the vest.

Scrooge had heard more than once that Marley had no heart, but until that moment he had never believed it.

Yes, even now he could not believe it, although again and again he glared at the ghost and clearly saw that it was standing in front of him, and clearly felt its deathly gaze on him. He even saw what kind of fabric the scarf was made from, which covered the head and neck of the ghost, and thought that he had never seen such a scarf on the late Marley. And yet he did not want to believe his eyes.

- What does it mean? - Scrooge said sarcastically and coldly, as always. What do you need from me?

- A lot of things. “There could not be the slightest doubt that it was Marley’s voice.”

- Who are you?

- Better ask, who was I?

- Who were you in that case? - asked Scrooge, raising his voice. - For a ghost, you are too priv... picky. – He wanted to say picky, but was afraid that it would look like a pun.

“I was your companion in life, Jacob Marley.”

– Would you like... Could you sit down? - asked Scrooge, peering doubtfully at the spirit.

- So sit down.

In asking his question, Scrooge was not sure that such a disembodied being was capable of occupying a chair, and feared that rather delicate explanations might become necessary. But the ghost, as if nothing had happened, sat down in the chair on the other side of the fireplace. It seemed that this was the most familiar thing for him.

“You don’t believe in me,” the ghost remarked.

“No, I don’t believe it,” said Scrooge.

“What, besides the evidence of your own feelings, could convince you that I exist?”

- Don't know.

- Why don’t you want to believe your eyes and ears?

“Because every little thing affects them,” said Scrooge. “There’s a slight problem with digestion, and they can no longer be trusted.” Maybe you are not you at all, but an undigested piece of beef, or an extra drop of mustard, or a slice of cheese, or an undercooked potato. Perhaps you did not come from the realm of spirits, but from the oven, for all I know!

Scrooge was not a very great wit by nature, and now he certainly had no time for jokes, but he tried to make jokes in order to at least dispel his fear a little and direct his thoughts to something else, because, to tell the truth, the voice of a ghost made him the blood ran cold in my veins.

To sit silently, staring into those motionless, glazed eyes - no, damn it, Scrooge felt that he could not stand this torture! And besides everything else, there was something inexpressibly creepy in the afterlife atmosphere that surrounded the ghost. It’s not that Scrooge himself didn’t feel it, but he clearly saw that the ghost had brought it with him, for, although he sat completely motionless, his hair, the skirts of his coat and the tassels on his boots were constantly moving, as if the heat was breathing on them from some something like a hellish fiery furnace.

Charles Dickens is my favorite writer. Therefore, the assessment of this book will certainly be positive. I’ll start with this publication, which, unfortunately, I don’t have on my shelf. But let's hope that someday it will appear in the Labyrinth warehouses. I borrowed the book from friends, but the time the publication was in my house was enough to study the book inside and out. In my opinion, this is best edition"Christmas Stories". The wonderful dust jacket hides an equally wonderful book cover, despite the fact that it is not made in color, I like it even more. The print quality is perfect (let me make such a loud statement). The eyes do not get tired of reading at all, and the font size is exactly what is needed in order to completely immerse yourself in the book, without taking your eyes off the lines when the text begins to simply merge. The illustrations, of which there are few, fully correspond to the reader’s imagination, that is, after reading certain moment and when you see the illustration for it, you understand that it was impossible to imagine otherwise. In general, finishing this section, I can say with confidence that the book is pleasant to hold in your hands, which, in my opinion, is an important point.
As for the content, retelling Dickens is a most useless exercise. His language is a kind of wind that transports the reader to the already distant 19th century, and a retelling can disrupt this unique moment, and besides, in my opinion, imposing one’s own understanding of a separate story is not right. Speaking in general about the book, we can say with confidence that reading it is absolutely necessary before the New Year or Christmas. This is a time of miracles, fun, an unsurpassed atmosphere that transports anyone to great world children's fairy tales and wishes. However, it is naive to believe that " Christmas stories"are a children's book. Of course, this is not so. This is a book for all generations. Everyone will find something of their own. Perhaps someone will recognize themselves in one of the stories, someone will want to take the place of the main character, someone will watch behind everything from the outside. But I think no one will remain indifferent. Having arrived in England in the 19th century, during a period of complex social problems, unstable world relations, one cannot help but want to see nothing that is very reminiscent of the current situation. Dickens ensures this. In his in the stories England still remains in early Middle Ages with narrow streets, beautiful houses, Christmas markets with their indescribable atmosphere of comfort and fun, and most importantly - the indescribable smells of Christmas treats, which penetrates into the cold 21st century. You hear it, you feel it, but you try not to lose it. And all this in the context of friendly family, human relationships, where even the poorest are ready to sacrifice their last in order to forget about their problems at least for a moment and celebrate Christmas in a cozy small, albeit dilapidated house.... However, such a description can be confusing the reader is confused and it may seem that the book is too simple and does not carry an emotional load. However, this is absolutely not true. The richness of this book lies in the fact that after almost two centuries, you understand that much is too familiar, stuffed with askomina, etc. Throwing a bridge to modernity allows you to discern the same poignancy social problem, the same problem society-authority.. But you may not notice all this, carried away by carefree reading with a smile on your face and ask yourself main question: Is it worth throwing over this very bridge and looking for some problems? or should you just immerse yourself in the world of fairy tales and again feel like a child who believed in a miracle? Everyone will answer the question themselves, but remembering famous phrase that “having believed in a miracle, we are transported to another world, a world of our own, where we are really us, without embellished masks and unnecessary irony, and it is in this world that there live unfulfilled dreams and hopes that are waiting for the main moment when a person believes in a miracle."

Charles Dickens

Miser Scrooge

Christmas song in prose

(translated by Lev May)

First stanza. Marley's Ghost

Let's start from the beginning: Marley died. There can be no shadow of doubt about this. The register of births is signed by the parish priest, the clergyman and the undertaker. Scrooge also signed it, and Scrooge’s name was loud on the stock exchange, wherever and whatever it pleased him to sign.

The fact is that old Marley was driven into his grave like an aspen stake.

Let me! Don’t think that I am personally convinced of the deadness of an aspen stake: I think, on the contrary, that there is nothing deadlier in the trade of a nail driven into the lid of a coffin...

But... the mind of our ancestors was formed on similarities and proverbs, and it is not appropriate for my wicked hand to touch the sacred ark of centuries - otherwise my homeland will perish...

So, you will allow me to repeat with due emphasis that Marley was driven into the grave like an aspen stake...

The question is: did Scrooge know that Marley was dead? Of course he knew, but how could he not know? He and Marley personified the trading company.

For God knows how many years Scrooge had been the executor, the only trustee, the only friend, and the only attendant of Merle's coffin. In truth, the death of his friend did not upset him so much that on the very day of the funeral he did not find himself business person and thrifty steward of the sad procession.

It is this word that leads me to my first thought, namely, that Marley undoubtedly died, and that, therefore, if he had not died, there would be nothing surprising in my story.

If we were not convinced that Hamlet’s father had died before the play began, none of us would have even paid attention to the fact that a gentleman of venerable years was strolling inopportunely, in the darkness and in the fresh breeze, along the city ramparts, between the graves, with the only The goal is to completely upset the damaged mental capacity his beloved son. As for Scrooge himself, it never occurred to him to cross out the name of his fellow trader from the account books: for many years after Marley’s death, there was still a sign above the entrance to their common store with the inscription: “Scrooge and Marley.” The company of the trading house was still the same: “Scrooge and Marley”. It sometimes happened that some gentlemen, new to trade turnover, called this house: Scrooge-Scrooge, and sometimes simply: Merley; but the company was always ready to respond equally to one name or another.

ABOUT! Scrooge fully studied his hand millstone and held it tightly in his fist, a dear man - and an old sinner: a miser for show, he knew how to press, and squeeze, and scrape, and most importantly, not let go of his hands. He was unyielding and strong, like a gun flint - you can’t even knock a spark out of him without flint; he was silent, secretive and reclusive, like an oyster. Mental cold froze his face, pinched his pointed nose, wrinkled his cheeks, stiffened his gait and soured his voice. The constant frost whitened his head, eyebrows and convulsively sly chin. Always and everywhere he brought his own temperature with him - below zero, he froze his office even during the holidays and, for the sake of Christmas itself, did not raise the heart thermometer by a single degree.

External heat and cold did not have the slightest influence on Scrooge: the summer heat did not warm him, he did not feel cold in the cruelest winter; and yet the autumn wind has never been sharper than it; Neither snow nor rain had ever fallen on anyone's head as mercilessly as he did; he did not allow rain, sleet, or frost - in all their abundance: Scrooge did not understand this word.

No one has ever met him on the street with a friendly smile and the words: “How are you, most honorable Mr. Scrooge? When will you visit us? Not a single beggar dared to stretch out their hands to him for a half-size; not a single boy asked him: “What time is it?” No one, neither man nor woman, during Scrooge's entire life, asked him: “how to get there?” Even the dog - the counselor of the street blind man, it seems - knew Scrooge: as soon as he saw him, he would lead his owner either under the gate or into some nook and cranny, and begin wagging his tail, as if he were saying: “My poor master! Do you know that it’s better to go blind than to put the evil eye on good people?”

What does it matter to Scrooge? This is exactly what he craved. He longed to go life's path alone, apart from the crowd, with a sign on his forehead: “Pa-adi-beware!” And then - “don’t feed him gingerbread!” as they say, gourmands are children.

One day, on the best day of the year, Christmas Eve, old Scrooge was sitting in his office and was very busy. It was freezing; the fog was falling; Scrooge could hear the passers-by in the alley whistling into their fists, puffing, clapping their hands, and dancing on the trepak panel to keep warm.

It had only struck three o'clock in the afternoon at the City Tower, and it was already completely dark outside. However, it had not been light since morning, and the lights in the neighboring windows of the offices turned red as oil stains against the blackish background of the thick, almost tactile air. The fog penetrated into the houses through all the cracks and keyholes; in the open air he became so united that, despite the narrowness of the lane, the opposite houses seemed like some kind of ghosts. Looking at the dark clouds, one would think that they were descending closer and closer to the ground with the intention of smoking the huge brewery.

The door to Scrooge's office was open, so that he could constantly keep an eye on his clerk, who was busy copying out several papers in a dark closet - something like a well. Scrooge's fire was barely smoldering in his fireplace, and the clerk's was even smaller: just one coal. He could not add anything to it, because the basket of coals stood in Scrooge’s room, and every time the clerk timidly entered with a shovel, Scrooge warned him that he would be forced to part with him. As a result, the clerk wrapped a white “nose-hide” around his neck and tried to warm up by the candle; but, with such a visible lack of ingenuity, of course he did not achieve his goal.

Happy holiday, uncle, and may God bless you! - a cheerful voice rang out.

What kind of nonsense is this? - asked Scrooge. His nephew walked towards him so quickly and became so flushed in the frosty fog that his cheeks were ablaze, his face was as red as a cherry, his eyes sparkled and steam poured out of his mouth in a column.

Like uncle: Christmas time is nothing? - Scrooge's nephew remarked. - Is that what you're saying?

So what? - answered Scrooge. - Merry Christmastide. What right do you have to have fun? What right do you have to go broke on fun?.. After all, he’s already poor...

That's enough, that's enough! - the nephew objected. - Better tell me: what right do you have to frown and fuss over numbers?.. After all, you’re already rich.

Bah! - continued Scrooge, not prepared for the answer, and for his “Bah!” added: “All this is nonsense!”

Stop moping, uncle.

You will inevitably become depressed with such crazy people. Merry Christmas! Well, your fun!.. And what are your Christmastide? Urgent time - to pay bills; and you probably don’t even have any money... But with every Christmastide you grow older whole year and you remember that you lived another twelve months without profit. No! If it were up to me, I would order each such crazy person, for congratulatory errands, to be boiled in a cauldron - with his own pudding, buried, and at the same time, so that he would not run away from the grave, pierce his chest with a branch of holly... That's it!

Uncle! - the nephew began to speak, - as a lawyer for Christmastide.

What, nephew? - his uncle interrupted him sternly. - Celebrate Christmastide as you want, and I’ll celebrate them in my own way.

Will you celebrate? - his nephew repeated after him.

Is that really how they celebrate?

Well, don’t!.. I wish you New Year new happiness if the old is not enough.

It’s true: I’m missing something... Yes, there’s no need that the New Year has never filled my pocket yet, but still, Christmas time is Christmas time for me.

Scrooge's clerk involuntarily applauded this speech from the well known to us; but, realizing the indecency of his act, he rushed to adjust the fire in the fireplace and extinguished the last spark.

If you put it out any longer, Scrooge told him, you will have to celebrate Christmastide in another place. And to you, sir,” he added, turning to his nephew, “I must give complete justice: you are an excellent leader and it is in vain that you do not enter parliament.

Don't be angry, uncle: it will happen! Come and have lunch with us tomorrow.

Scrooge answered him to go to... Really: that’s what he said, he said the whole word, and so he said: let’s go... (The reader can, if he pleases, finish the word).

“Why not,” cried the nephew. - Why?

Why did you get married?

Because I fell in love.

The given topic “Charles Dickens: A Christmas Carol” is so vast and fascinating that you will have to look into all its aspects. But first, it should be noted that under this name in 2009, the talented director Robert Zemeckis shot an unusually beautiful three-dimensional Disney cartoon. What attracted the director to Charles Dickens? "A Christmas Carol" is, first of all, a magnificent animated fairy tale, based on the work of the great, its original title is "A Christmas Carol: A Christmas Ghost Tale."

Strange visions

The story was written in 1843, a little later it became one of the most popular stories about Christmas that Charles Dickens ever wrote. The Christmas story that happened to the main character is simply amazing and makes each of us think about our behavior and actions.

However, one very surprising thing should be noted about the author of this work, who sometimes during work could spontaneously fall into a kind of trance, and at these moments he was subject to various visions, and therefore experienced a frequent state of deja vu. There was another oddity about the writer, which was mentioned by the editor-in-chief of the Fortnightly Review publishing house. It turns out that the writer, before writing anything on paper, first heard the voices of his characters who came to him and talked to him. In any case, Charles Dickens himself told him about this. The Christmas story was probably also whispered into his ear by its main character, old man Scrooge.

It’s impossible not to note the fascinating fairy-tale inclinations English writer, his wisdom and penetration into the soul of every reader, young and old.

"A Christmas Carol": book, Charles Dickens

By the way, he was born in 1812 in Landport (Great Britain). The family had many children, his father was in prison for debts, and Charles himself worked in a factory that produced wax, then he learned shorthand and became a free reporter, and then literature became his main business. In this field, he very quickly reached the zenith of fame and was her favorite. During his lifetime, he became a wealthy man; fate did not skimp on gifts for him.

On June 9, 1870, at the age of 58, he died of a stroke. After his death, his fame eclipsed that of Byron, and his name was placed next to Shakespeare. Dickens has become a real cult for English literature. For all his life's troubles and peculiar martyrdom, he became widely known throughout the world, and above all, as a cheerful writer of good old England. His works almost always had a good ending, since he did not like to stir the hearts of vulnerable readers.

Charles Dickens "A Christmas Carol": summary

The decrepit and gloomy old man Ebenezer Scrooge was very greedy. He had no other interests other than accumulation. And now Christmas is coming soon, but Ebenezer does not feel any joy about this, so he refuses his nephew’s invitation to come visit him and celebrate his favorite holiday with his family. The old man believes that on holidays, first of all, one should strive to get benefits, and not to have fun. He also never gave donations to poor children.

Christmas Eve

On Christmas Eve evening, with a creaky heart, he dismisses his clerk from work, closes the office and leisurely goes home. But suddenly the ghost of Jacob Marley appears before him - his late companion, who died just before Christmas seven years ago. Marley's spirit is exhausted, he complains to Scrooge and says that he is punished for not trying to do good and help people during his life. And now Marley doesn’t want his partner to suffer the same fate. Therefore, he warns that at night, for three days after midnight, three spirits will appear to Scrooge who will help him change his worthless and useless life. After this, the ghost says goodbye and disappears.

Tests

It must be said that Charles Dickens’s cartoon “A Christmas Carol” goes very closely next to the true plot of his book and looks, as they say, in one breath.

So, at midnight, the first Yule Spirit from past childhood years appears to Scrooge. And they set off on a journey to where he was born and raised, where he spent his youth and adolescence, where he was cheerful and happy and could share his good mood with people close to him. Then he sees himself already matured and in love, but greed and greed even then began to manifest themselves in him, and therefore his beloved girl was forced to break up with him and build family happiness with another. Scrooge at these moments softened, was moved and no longer wanted to look into the past. He asks the spirits to stop these unpleasant visions. The spirit disappears and Scrooge falls asleep.

Time travel

On the second night, the second Yuletide Spirit appears to him, who takes him to the present time, and Scrooge sees how the city is preparing for the holiday. And then the Spirit leads him to the house of clerk Bob Cratchit, although he is poor and has many children, but the house is peaceful and everyone is having fun. His whole family was at the table, and Bob raised the first toast to his master Scrooge, but his wife noted that this old man was too nasty and an insensitive miser. At this time, the Spirit warns Scrooge that if he does not correct his behavior in the future, then Bob's son Tim faces death, since the boy is very sick. Then, together with the Spirit, they went to see their nephew, who is the only one in this city who does not hate his evil uncle. Time passed quickly, and Scrooge returned to his bed again.

Death

On the third night, the Spirit came to show the old man the future Christmastide, but he does not see himself either at the stock exchange or in other places and involuntarily begins to hear that people on the street are talking about the death of some obnoxious, grumpy and stingy old man. And suddenly Scrooge saw the dead man, but did not recognize his face, and soon realized that it was him, and there would be no next Christmas for him.

The spirit disappears, and Scrooge finds himself back at home. In the morning he decides to change himself into better side, he began to rejoice like a child and remembered about tomorrow's Christmas. He sends the most expensive goose to Bob and his family, donates money charitable organization and goes to celebrate the holiday with his dear nephew, who was sincerely happy about this event.

The next day of Christmas, Scrooge raises Bob's salary, and for his son, Tim, he becomes a second father and helps him cope with fatal disease. This is how the evil, grumpy and stingy Ebenezer Scrooge became the kindest and most generous person in the city, whom the whole city respected and loved. He managed to change his destiny and the destiny of the people who surrounded him for the better.

Cartoon

And now, if we talk about the topic “Charles Dickens: “A Christmas Carol”: review, reviews and impressions”, here, most likely, we can talk about a cartoon that certainly deserves special attention, because it is amazing, family-friendly and instructive. Viewers left the best reviews about him.

The director of the film, Robert Zemeckis, is simply a genius in special effects, he used innovative “digital capture” technology, which means that special sensors were installed on the actors, which provide unique technical capabilities: they accurately repeat facial expressions and movements, so the characters look very realistic . The 3D effect and first-class picture are simply amazing. And if you haven’t seen it yet, be sure to check it out, you won’t regret it!

A Christmas Carol became a sensation when it was first published, influencing our Christmas traditions. This is a story-parable about the rebirth of the miser and misanthrope Scrooge, in which the writer, with the help of fantastic images of Christmas Spirits, shows his hero the only way to salvation - to do good to people. The book is superbly illustrated.

The story of Scrooge - a man who loved no one, hated everyone, and legends circulated around the city about his stinginess and callousness. He was treated accordingly. One day, the spirit of Marley's late companion appeared to Scrooge. The author skillfully describes the appearance of this spirit in such a way that the blood in the veins of not only the protagonist, but also the reader, runs cold. Scrooge spent his entire life hoarding, didn’t help anyone, and didn’t respond to requests. And then he completely loses peace. We are witnessing a complete rebirth of man. Cynicism is replaced by bitter regret and repentance. Marley asks the Higher Powers to help his friend change. They send three more spirits to help him. The appearance of everyone is a real test for Scrooge. However, he succeeded. It turns out how wonderful life is when you live for others! Empty and barren, it is filled with quality content. If this had not happened, then within a year the hero would have died. This is what the spirit of Christmas predicted for him. The gloom and hopelessness of the plot gradually dissolve, giving way to light, love, and joy.

Quotes from the book A Christmas Carol:

“At least the Christmas holidays. But all the same, besides the reverence that one feels before this sacred word, and the pious memories that are inseparable from it, I always looked forward to these days as the best of the year. These are joyful days - days of mercy, kindness, forgiveness. These are the only days in the entire calendar when people, as if by tacit agreement, freely open their hearts to each other and see in their neighbors, even the poor and disadvantaged, the same people as themselves, wandering the same road to the grave with them, and not some beings of a different breed who should take a different path. And therefore, uncle, although it is true that at Christmas time I have never had a single coin added to my pocket, I believe that Christmas brings me good and will continue to bring good, and long live Christmas!

“The fog is getting thicker, the frost is getting stronger! Fierce, piercing cold! If Saint Dunstan, instead of red-hot tongs, had grabbed Satan by the nose with this kind of frost, he would have howled from such a thorough pinch!”

“In the black gateway of the house such a thick fog swirled and there was such a thick layer of frost, as if the evil spirit of bad weather itself was sitting there, immersed in heavy thought.”

“The soul contained in every person,” the ghost objected, “must communicate with people and, following them everywhere, participate in their fate. And those who did not fulfill this during life are doomed to hang around after death. He is condemned to travel around the world and - oh, woe is me! - to look at the joys and sorrows of people, which he no longer has the power to share, but once he could - for the joy of himself and others.”

“I wear a chain that I forged myself during my life,” answered the ghost. “I forged it link by link and yard by yard.” I girded myself with it of my own free will, and of my own free will I wear it. Isn’t the sight of this chain familiar to you?”

"- Affairs! - cried the ghost, wringing his hands again. - Caring for my neighbor was what should have become my business. The public good is what I should have strived for. Mercy, compassion, generosity, this is what I had to direct my activities towards. And engaging in commerce is just a drop of water in the vast ocean of affairs destined for us.”

“And all these spirits clearly wanted to intervene in the affairs of mortals and bring good, but they had already lost this opportunity forever, and this was precisely the reason for their torment.”

“The spirit turned a gentle glance towards Scrooge. His light touch, fleeting and weightless as it was, awakened some feelings in the chest of old Scrooge. It seemed to him that a thousand smells wafted over him, and each smell awakened thousands of memories of long-forgotten thoughts, aspirations, joys, hopes.”

“And then there was dancing again, and then forfeits and dancing again, and then there was sweet pie, and mulled wine, and a large piece of cold roast beef, and a large piece of cold boiled beef, and in the end there were fried pies with raisins and cinnamon and plenty beer"

“Oh, all this means so little to you now,” she said quietly. “You now worship another deity, and it has driven me out of your heart.” Well, if it can support and comfort you, as I would like to support and comfort, then, of course, I should not be sad.
-What is this deity that displaced you? - asked Scrooge.
- Money.
- There is no justice on earth! - said Scrooge. - The world most mercilessly punishes poverty, and no less severely - in words, at least - condemns the pursuit of wealth.
“You tremble too much before the opinion of the world,” she meekly reproached him. “You changed all your previous hopes and dreams for the sake of one thing - to become invulnerable to his pin pricks. Didn’t I see how all your noble aspirations died one after another and a new all-conquering passion, the passion for profit, little by little took possession of you completely!

“However, I admit, I would immensely like to touch her lips, turn to her with a question, see how she opens her lips, answering me! Admire her lowered eyelashes without bringing color to her cheeks! Let down her silky hair, each strand of which is a priceless treasure! In a word, I won’t hide the fact that I would like to enjoy all the rights of a playful child, but at the same time be an old enough man to know their value.”

“Scrooge involuntarily thought that the same graceful, full of life creature could call him father and warm the harsh winter of his old age with the breath of her spring!”

“Stacked on the floor in a huge pile resembling a throne were roasted turkeys, geese, chickens, game, pork hams, large pieces of beef, suckling pigs, garlands of sausages, fried pies, plumpuddings, barrels of oysters, hot chestnuts, ruddy apples, juicy oranges. , fragrant pears, huge liver pies and steaming bowls of punch, the fragrant vapors of which hung in the air like fog.”

“It was morning, Christmas morning and a good strong frost, and a kind of music was sounding on the street, a little harsh, but pleasant - they were clearing snow from the sidewalks and raking it from the roofs, to the insane delight of the boys, who watched how, crumbling into the smallest dust, they collapsed on snow avalanches on the ground.
Against the background of the dazzling white cover that lay on the roofs, and even the not so snow-white one that lay on the ground, the walls of the houses seemed gloomy, and the windows even gloomier and darker. The heavy wheels of carriages and wagons left deep ruts in the snow, and at the intersections of large streets these ruts, crossing hundreds of times, formed a complex network of channels filled with icy water in the thick yellow crumble of melted snow. The sky was gloomy, and the streets were drowned in an ashen-dirty haze, similar either to frost or steam and settling on the ground with a dark dew like soot, as if all the chimneys of England had conspired with each other - and well, whoever would smoke what a lot! In a word, neither the city itself nor the climate were particularly conducive to fun, and yet there was fun on the streets - as fun as it doesn’t happen, perhaps, even on the nicest summer day, when the sun shines so brightly and the air is so fresh and clean."

“The counters of the fruit stalls shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. There were huge round baskets of chestnuts, like the vested bellies of jolly old gentlemen. They stood leaning against the ceiling, and sometimes even rolled out of the threshold, as if they were afraid to suffocate from plethora and satiety. There were also ruddy, dark-skinned, fat-bellied Spanish onions, smooth and shiny, like the fat-slick cheeks of Spanish monks. Slyly and impudently, they winked from the shelves at the girls running past, who with feigned shyness glanced furtively at the mistletoe sprig suspended from the ceiling. There were apples and pears stacked in tall, colorful pyramids. There were bunches of grapes, hung by the shop owner in the most prominent places, so that passers-by could, while admiring them, salivate for free. There were piles of nuts - brown, slightly fluffy - whose fresh aroma brought back memories of past walks through the forest, when it was so pleasant to wander, drowning ankle-deep in fallen leaves, and hear them rustle under your feet. There were baked apples, plump, glossy brown, complementing the bright yellow of the lemons and oranges and with all their delicious appearance persistently and passionately convincing you to take them home in a paper bag and eat them for dessert.

“The mixed aroma of coffee and tea tickled the nostrils so pleasantly, and there were so many raisins and such rare varieties, and the almonds were so dazzlingly white, and the cinnamon sticks were so straight and long, and all the other spices smelled so delicious, and the candied fruits shone through so seductively covering them with sugar icing, which even the most indifferent buyers began to suck in the pit of their stomach! And not only were the figs so fleshy and juicy, and the dried plums blushed so bashfully and smiled so sweet and sour from their sumptuously decorated boxes, and everything, absolutely everything looked so tasty and so elegant in its Christmas decoration...”

“Here, on your sinful land,” said the Spirit, “there are many people who boast of their closeness to us and, prompted by hatred, envy, anger, pride, bigotry and selfishness, do their bad deeds, hiding behind our name. But these people are as alien to us as if they had never been born. Remember this and blame only themselves for their actions, not us.”

“Illness and sorrow are easily transmitted from person to person, but still there is nothing more contagious on earth than laughter and a cheerful mood, and I see in this the expedient, noble and fair arrangement of things in nature.”

“It’s so gratifying sometimes to become children again, at least for a while! And this is especially good at Christmas time, when we celebrate the birth of the divine baby.”

“The spirit stood at the bedside of the sick man, and the sick man was encouraged and cheerful; he approached the wanderers, yearning for a foreign land, and it seemed to them that their homeland was close; to those exhausted in everyday struggle - and they were inspired by new hope; to the poor - and they found wealth in themselves. In prisons, hospitals and almshouses, in wretched shelters of poverty - wherever vanity and pathetic earthly pride do not close a person’s heart to the gracious spirit of the holiday - everywhere he gave people his blessing and taught Scrooge the commandments of mercy.”

“The boy's name is Ignorance. The girl's name is Poverty. Beware of both and everything that is related to them, but most of all, beware of the boy, for “Destruction” is inscribed on his forehead and he brings death with him if this inscription is not erased. Well, deny it! - the Spirit cried, turning towards the city and stretching out his hand towards it.
Blame those who tell you this! Use ignorance and poverty for your unclean, selfish purposes! Increase them, multiply them! And wait for the end!”

“And the best and most remarkable thing was that the Future belonged to him and he could still change his fate.”

“I don’t know what’s happening to me! - he cried, crying and laughing and with the help of the stockings wrapped around him, turning into a kind of Laocoon. - It’s so easy for me, as if I were a piece of fluff, so joyful, as if I were an angel, so fun, as if I were a schoolboy! And my head is spinning like a drunk! Merry Christmas, happy holidays to everyone, everyone! I wish a happy New Year to everyone, everyone in the world! Gop-la-la! Gop-la-la! Hooray! Hooray! Oh-la-la!

“Running to the window, Scrooge lifted the frame and leaned out. No darkness, no fog! Clear, fine day. Stinging, invigorating frost. He whistles into his icy pipe and makes the blood dance through his veins. Golden sun! Azure sky! Transparent Fresh air! Merry ringing of bells! Oh, how wonderful! How wonderful, wonderful!”

“Some people laughed at this transformation, but Scrooge did not pay attention to them - laugh your heart out! He was smart enough and knew that this is how the world works - there will always be people ready to ridicule a good deed. He understood that those who laugh are blind, and thought: let them laugh, as long as they don’t cry! His heart was cheerful and light, and that was quite enough for him.”

“And now all we have to do is repeat after Little Tim: may God overshadow us all with his mercy!”

Excellent edition:

Literature of the world: Literature of England

First edition of the book (1843):

In cinema and animation:

• The story has been filmed several times. The earliest film version was the 1901 silent film Scrooge, or Marley's Ghost. In November 2009, another film adaptation was released.


• The famous Disney cartoon character Scrooge McDuck was named after the main character of A Christmas Carol. In fact, he first appeared in a Disney cartoon based on this story, where all the characters were played by Disney characters, for example, Mickey Mouse as Bob Cratchit, Pete as the Spirit of Christmas Future, etc.


• The New Christmas Tale (English: Scrooged) is a modern satirical adaptation of A Christmas Carol made by director Richard Donner in 1988.


• 1992 feature film The Muppet Christmas Carol.


• One of the episodes of the animated series "101 Dalmatians". The plot of this series has both similarities and differences.


• In one of the episodes of the animated series "Ghostbusters", the heroes accidentally find themselves in the reality of the story and catch the Spirits of Christmas when they attack Scrooge. Returning to their reality, they discover that the Christmas holiday has ceased to exist. And then they return to Scrooge’s reality and themselves replace the Spirits of Christmas (the Spirit of Christmas Past is portrayed by Peter, the present by Winston, and the future by Ray). Meanwhile, Egon manages to return the real Spirits.


• A slightly changed meaning of the story is present in the cartoon “All Dogs Celebrate Christmas.”


• In the "A Christmas Carol" episode of "A Time to Repent," Nicole Julian's character encounters the ghosts of Christmas Present, Christmas Past, and Future Christmas.


• IN special issue the television series Doctor Who, which was released on December 25, 2010, the events take place according to the plot of the story.


• The script for the comedy melodrama “Ghosts of Girlfriends Past” was written based on “A Christmas Carol.” In this version, the emphasis falls mainly on the topic of sex and the main character’s relationships with both many random women and his childhood friend and first love.


• The Beavis and Butt-head Extended Episode "Beavis and Butt-head Do Cristmas" also parodies A Christmas Carol by having Beavis dream that he is a cruel diner owner. Principal McVicker turns into his downtrodden employee as Bob Cratchit; hippie teacher David portrays the good spirit of the current Christmastide, and the evil physical education teacher becomes the sinister spirit of future Christmastide.


• "Barbie: A Christmas Story." A story based on the work of Charles Dickens. In the cartoon, everything is depicted much kinder than in the original.


• In one episode, "Naughty Animations," the plot is based on a Christmas carol. Mr. Blots plays the role of Scrooge, and the Warners appear as ghosts.


• In one of the episodes of the animated series "Tutenstein" the plot depicts a similar time travel, although it has nothing to do with Christmas.

In economics

Philosophy professor at the University of Arizona Gerald Gaus published an article in 1997, “The Importance of Minding Your Own Business,” dedicated to the political rehabilitation of Ebenezer Scrooge. The author states that Scrooge is the embodiment of an important and rare virtue: the ability to not interfere in other people's affairs without asking. It is this feature that underlies a libertarian society, the professor believes.