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 quater 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 chesnuts,
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.
"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.