Scr. Spectre, something informs me that our parting moment is at hand—tell me, ere you quit me, what man that was whom we saw lying dead? (The Spirit points onward slowly traverses the stage.) Still he beckons me onward—there seems no order in these latter visions, save they are in the future. Through yonder gloom I can see my own dwelling—let me behold what I shall be in days to come—the house is yonder—why do you point away? Ah! that house is no longer mine—another occupies it. Ah! why is this? (The medium is worked off, and discovers.)
SCENE VII.—A Churchyard. On slab centre, is engraved "Ebenezer Scrooge."
Scr. A churchyard! Here, then, the wretched man who's name I have now to learn, lays underneath the ground! (The Spirit points to centre slab. Scrooge advances, trembling, towards it.) Before I draw nearer to the stone to which you point, answer me one question. Are these the things of the shadows that will be, or are they the shadows of the things that may be only? (The Spirit still points downward to the grave.) Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in they must lead—but if the courses be departed from the ends will change—say is it thus with what you show me? Still as immovable as ever! (Draws nearer to grave.) "Ebenezer Scrooge!" My own name! (Sinks on his knees.) Am I that man who lay upon the bed? (The Spirit points from the grave to him, and back again.) No, Spirit! Oh, no, no! (See Plate, page 150. The Figure remains immovable.) Spirit! (Clutching 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? (The hand trembles. Scrooge sinks on his knees.) Good Spirit, your nature intercedes for me—assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life! (The hand trembles still.) I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year—I will live 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 catches the Spectre's hand—it seeks to free itself—his struggles become stronger in his despair—the Spirit repulses him—he sinks prostrate to the earth—the Spirit disappears, as the medium is worked on. Clouds roll over the stage—they are worked off, and discovers.)
SCENE VIII.—Scrooge's Chamber. Same as Scene I, Act I. It is broad day—the fire is nearly extinguished—the candle nearly burnt down to the socket. The stage arrangement in other respects, precisely the same as at end of Scene I, Act I.
Scrooge discovered, sleeping in his chair. He appears restless and uneasy, then starts up, exclaiming.
Scr. Pity me! I will not be the man I have been! Oh, no, no! (Pauses, and looks around him.) Ah! here! Could it all have been a dream! A dream—ha, ha, ha! A dream! Yes! this table's my own—this chair's my own—this room's my own—and happier still, the time before me is my own to make amends in! I will live the past, the present, and the future! Heaven and the Christmas time be praised for this! I say it on my knees—on my knees! My cheek is wet with tears, but they are tears of penitence! (Busies himself in pulling on his coat, throwing off his cap, etc., and speaking all the time.) I don't know what to do—I'm as light as a feather—I'm as happy as an angel—I'm as merry as a school-boy—I'm as giddy as a drunken man! A merry Christmas to every body—a happy new year to all the world! Hallo, there! Whoop! Hallo! there's the jug that my gruel was in—there's the door where the ghost of Jacob Marley entered. It's all right—it's all true—it all happened—ha, ha, ha! I don't know what day of the month it is—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! (Runs to window—opens it.) Here, you boy! what's to-day?
Boy. (Without.) Why, Christmas Day!
Scr. Ah! I haven't missed it! Glorious! I say—go to the poulterer's round the corner, and buy the prize turkey for me!
Boy. (Without.) Wal-ker!
Scr. Tell 'em to send it, and I'll give you half a crown. He's off like a shot! I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's. How astonished he'll be. (Coming down.) I'll write a cheque for that society that they called on me about yesterday. Oh, I'll make every one happy, and myself, too! (Knocks heard without.) That must be the turkey! (Opens door.) As I live, it's Bob Cratchit!