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.
"I am 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."