One large helping of Longfellow coming right up…
You shall hear how Scrooge the miser,
How black-hearted Ebenezer,
He the grasping moneylender,
He, sharp-witted man of business,
Learned to keep his Christmas rightly,
Learned to please its mighty Spirits,
Learned the meaning of compassion
And for fellow-men the caring.
Dead was Marley, to begin with,
Dead as iron nail of coffin,
Laid below in his own coffin
And in grave for seven years.
Scrooge, his sole surviving partner,
Owned the business yet, and prospered,
Mounding high the golden coinage
Though enjoying not a penny;
For to get and keep was money
In the mind of Scrooge the miser,
Not for frittering on comforts,
Not for luxuries enjoying.
Not a coin gave he to beggars,
Not though they were cold and starving
And in want of common comforts:
Not indeed if they were dying -
There were prisons and poorhouses,
And for those who would not go there
Would they die, then better do it
And decrease the population,
E’en the surplus population.
Not a penny Ebenezer
Gave unto the carol-singers,
Those who sing the Christmas carols
At the doorways in December;
Not a penny to his nephew
Who alone was his relation -
Nor would even dine at table
With young Frederick his nephew
But in Hell would see him sooner,
Calling Christmas but a humbug -
And to Cratchit, his employee,
Bob, his clerk - pen-pusher, filer -
Paid but fifteen shillings weekly
With the which to feed his children,
Feed and house his wife and children,
For his tireless hours of labour
In his chilly fireless office,
And then grudgingly allowed him
But the single day at Christmas
Thinking it a grave injustice
That he could not stop his wages.
So upon the eve of Christmas
On a foggy, frosty even,
Sending Cratchit to his home-hearth
To his loving wife and children,
Scrooge his little dinner taking
In an inexpensive tavern
Hurried home, the dark not minding
(Dark was cheap), and turned the doorknob
Seeing - or was it a humbug,
Or the face of Jacob Marley
On the door’s own iron knocker?
Grousing “Humbug!”, Ebenezer
Took himself up stairs - ghost-haunted? -
And within his chilly chamber
Straight composed himself for slumber
In his nightshirt and his bed-cap
With a meagre bowl of supper;
When upon the dreadful instant
Came a fearsome clash and clangour
And within the mean apartment
There stood Marley’s ghost translucent
Death’s own carrion-stench exuding
Wound around with chains and coffers.
Scrooge’s “Humbug!” died a-borning,
On his lips and tongue a-borning:
Marley’s horror quite forbade it
And would give no leave denial;
Scrooge, though no whit superstitious
Could not but admit that Marley
Stood in shadish form before him,
Nor could he his ear deny him.
Jacob Marley - once his partner,
And at very least his equal,
Quite as greedy, quite as grasping,
Quite as sound a head for business -
Now condemned to doom eternal,
Doomed to walk the world for ever
With the chains of his own forging,
Chains of greed and chains of grasping
Burdensome a-clank behind him
For his fellow-man neglecting
And his want of kind compassion
Told his friend, old Ebenezer
That the same fate was awaiting;
But this one chance Scrooge was granted,
To be visited by Spirits,
Christmas Present, Past and Future
And attending to their lessons;
Or would Marley’s fate attend him
And, condemned to walk for ever
In a world of want and sorrow
Powerless to help or comfort,
Scrooge would reap as he had sowed.
Thus, to his own place reverting,
Jacob Marley’s shade departed
And poor Scrooge was left to ponder
And await the Christmas Spirits.
Christmas Past burned like a candle
And he bore a candle-snuffer;
And he took the cringing miser,
By the very hand he took him,
Back to when he was a schoolboy
And in schoolhouse sat neglected
While his schoolmates all a-homewards
Went their Christmas carols singing;
With his own imagination
And the characters from stories -
Stories all of brave adventure,
Robin Hood and Ali Baba,
Robin Crusoe and Man Friday -
As his only boon-companions;
Till upon a later Christmas
Scrooge’s sister, little Fanny,
Came to bring him home to Father,
Father grown again congenial
Until Fanny dared to wheedle
And implore that Ebenezer
Should come home again for Christmas;
Never more to school returning
But to man’s estate attaining -
O, a gentle heart had Fanny;
Gentle heart and sickly body
Though she died a married woman,
Died a wife and died a mother,
And her child… now Ebenezer
Bowed his head and thought in sorrow
Of the nephew he rejected
And consigned unto Perdition.
- Then in counting-house apprenticed,
Scrooge, to Fezziweg apprenticed,
Made a Christmas party joyous
With his friend and kindly master;
Though it cost but little money
Making joy and making merry,
Scrooge informed the Spirit crossly
That the question was not money
But the master’s gen’rous spirit
Which to all his poor employees
Made their working days more joyful,
Made their daily burden lighter…
And again his brow was darkened,
Scrooge, his thought to Cratchit turning,
Wished a word or two in private,
Wished his clerk were there to hear it.
Still a youth, with his fiancee,
Now to Scrooge his ring returning,
For, though he his word had given
And had never sought to break it,
Yet she knew 'twas Gold he loved now
And would keep his word for duty
Not for love; and joyless marriage
Was a thing that she desired not,
So she freed him from his promise
And to his new mistress left him.
“No more, Spirit!” Scrooge demanded,
But there yet was one more Christmas,
Christmas Past, but still more recent;
Belle, his love, a wife and mother
Loving, and loved by, her children
As might have been his own children…
This was all beyond enduring;
Maddened, seizing on the snuffer,
Scrooge applied it to the Spirit,
Christmas Past, who, unresisting,
Let his flame be quite extinguished
Leaving Scrooge to Christmas Present.
Light and sound soon Scrooge alerted
To the presence of the Spirit:
Christmas Present, like a giant
Robed in green, and open-handed,
Spilling Christmas feasts uncounted,
Fruit and nuts and every sweetmeat,
Goose and turkey, beef and pork meat,
Pies and puddings, wine and brandy,
All that cheers the Christmas table;
And he bade poor Ebenezer
(Willing, now, his lesson learning,
Humbly to the Spirit listing)
Come and see the Christmas season,
Come and see it in its glory.
All about the streets were shoppers,
Christmas treats and presents buying;
Toys and trinkets, gay and sparkly,
Wrapped in rustling crimson paper,
Tied with string and waxy-sealed;
And their Christmas fare preparing,
Bringing roasts home from the bakers’,
Roasted goose and roasted turkey,
Roasted beef and roasted mutton;
Thus to set the board for Christmas,
Mayor and parson, judge and tailor,
All prepared for merry making
And upon each Christmas dinner
From his torch a Christmas blessing
Cast the Ghost of Christmas Present
Sending joy on rich and poor man,
But on poor the richer blessing
Where it was most keenly needed.
Here indeed was poor Bob Crachit,
With his wife, his daughter Martha
(On her day off from the hat-shop),
And his several other children -
Least of all was Tim the tiny,
On his leg a cast of iron,
On his little crutch a-hobble
Yet of heart and spirit mighty.
Does he ail? and will he live?
So old Scrooge implored the Spirit.
I the last, if Fate unaltered,
Of my kind to see him here.
What of it? rejoined the Spirit.
Will he die? Then better do it,
And reduce the population…
Scrooge in shame, his own words quoted,
Heard the Spirit thus rebuke him:
O, the surplus population?
Man, that wicked cant propounding,
Think yourself not full of wisdom
Who should die and who should die not;
Thou art dust unto the Spirits
And may be of less deserving
Than thou thinkest… but the Cratchits
Were prepared to sit at table
And they dined on goose and stuffing
And on mounds of mashed potato
And on gravy hot and tasty
And on Mrs Cratchit’s pudding
Until all were filled and sated
And on punch of gin and lemon,
Hot, with sugar well compounded,
Drank their Christmas toasts; Bob, loyal,
Drank the first to his employer,
Though his wife’s kind face was scornful
And - only but that it was Christmas -
Would have little speech of kindness
For the man who used her husband,
Used him long and used him cruelly
Paying him starvation wages!
Doing this unpleasant duty
Chilled the cheer for five full minutes;
Yet the Christmas cheer recovered,
And the merry Cratchit family
Thought themselves of happier subjects,
Toasted those they loved more kindly
Wishing Christmas joy and fortune.
As for Scrooge, the Spirit led him
To another Christmas dinner,
And another, and another;
On a ship or on a lighthouse,
In a little mining village,
In a prison or a workhouse,
Christmas dinners mean and lowly
Where the Spirit gave his blessing
And each man turned to his neighbour
In a kinder, better spirit.
Then to Scrooge’s nephew, Frederick,
Where the company was hearty;
Where the absence of the uncle
Could the nephew not dishearten
And around the dinner-table
“Humbug” was a cause for jesting;
All the guests a grand joke thought it,
Thought of Scrooge with kindly pity,
For their Christmas-time was merry
And he had no power to hurt it;
Only he that was the poorer,
Only he that lost his dinner,
Only he that missed the gaming
And the music and the laughter.
Scrooge well marked it - marked the gaming -
E’en began to guess the riddles:
Guessed them well and guessed them often
(Stubborn Scrooge was, but no lackwit),
Watched the jolly game of blindmen,
Swore amain that Topper cheated,
Watched him with the plumptious sister,
Watched him press a ring upon her.
Then at length the Spirit faded;
One alone his day of glory,
Waned at last his final hour:
And he gave old Scrooge a warning.
'Neath his cloak two starveling children,
Want and Ignorance he named them,
Spelled for Man a dreadful future
Were they tended not all timely
And, his final warning hanging,
Vanished Christmas Present’s Spirit
Leaving Scrooge alone and waiting
For the Ghost of Christmas Future.
Last it came, a brooding spectre.
Robed in black it was, and hooded;
Naught to see but hand and finger;
Naught it spoke to Scrooge, but beckoned.
Scrooge, three parts repentant, heeded;
Followed close the Spirit’s leading;
Heard a grimly conversation
'Mongst some men of business, touching
On the death of one known to them,
Gone, they said, straight to the Devil
(Said it heedless of respecting;
Said it griefless and urbanely).
Him they mourned not much together;
Barely cared for his interring,
Swiftly onto other matters
Moved, and went their way uncaring.
Then, where streets grew close and narrow,
Where the filth was and corruption
Was a rag and bone purveyor
Gleeful, wicked - quite amoral -
Three his clients were a-calling,
From the same place lately coming:
Char and nurse and undertaker
Their late charge’s corpse all plundered,
Stole his smallest precious trinket
Stole his funereal vestment
Stole his curtains and his bedding
Sold it all unto the rag-man
For a petty tale of shillings.
Ebenezer Scrooge well saw it:
How a man might well be treated,
Little caring - little cared for -
Held contemptuous in passing;
Earning love of friend nor neighbour,
Mourned by none, by none respected.
Beckoned once more by the Spirit
Scrooge now saw the death-bed,
But he could not bear to see it -
Not the face of the departed!
Did some instinct eldritch warn him?
Begging mercy of the Spirit
Ebenezer asked if no-one
Felt one kindly thought about him,
This poor corpse beneath the blanket
And the Spirit took him straightway
To the home of two poor debtors
Where the husband told his helpmate
That their troubles were abated:
Had their creditor relented?
- He was dead, and past relenting.
And the woman blessed her Maker
(Though repenting, on the instant)
For that death had saved their fortunes
And they would not now be ruined.
But this gave to Scrooge no comfort,
And he begged afresh the Spirit
To a better vision grant him
Where some death was marked by sorrow,
Tenderness for the departed!
So to Cratchit’s home the Spirit
Bore the fainting Ebenezer:
Tiny Tim lay cold and lifeless,
Bob and family were mourning
Yet their grief was not untempered
For by love of Tim united
They’d be ever after better
Thus his memory to honour.
Too late for the child grieving
Scrooge was taken to a graveyard
Where the Spirit showed him lastly
There his dreadful grave-inscription.
Scrooge was dead, for all his money,
All his scrimping and his saving,
All his thrift and all his getting;
Dead, unmourned, unblessed, and friendless,
Quite unmissed by any mortal.
Then in tears fell Scrooge a-kneeling,
Shamelessly implored the Spirit
That this Future was not “Shall be”;
That it might be “May be” only;
That his fate might be averted
By a hearty, true repentance;
That, his Christmas lessons learning
From the wise and mighty Spirits
Scrooge might live all year in Christmas
And the whole year round be Christmas
Keeping, of all men, such Christmas
As would make him ever better,
Ever kinder to his neighbour,
Treating all as friend and neighbour
If one chance be only granted
And these dreams be not a torment.
Then, the Spirit’s knees a-clutching,
On his own knees bowing begging,
Scrooge beheld the Spirit vanish,
Ghost of Christmas Future vanish…
Dwindle down into a bedpost
Which poor Scrooge awoke still clutching
On a bright and sunny morning!
Gone the fog, and clear and frosty
Was the sunny blue-skied morning;
All outside was clash and clangour
Of the morning bells in chorus.
Then Scrooge scurried to the window,
Flung it wide, and in the courtyard
There espied a scruffy boy-child
And the day from him demanded.
“Why, 'tis CHRISTMAS DAY!” the boy-child
All incredulous responded,
And, rejoicing, Ebenezer
Realized he had not missed it.
Straightaway demands a Turkey -
Fat, enormous Christmas Turkey,
Prizes winning, big as boy-child -
Sends to Bob as Christmas present,
Laughing pays the poultry-seller,
Laughing pays the boy for fetching,
Laughing pays the cab to Camden,
To the home of Robert Cratchit
With no word of who had sent it
Thus to feast the Cratchit family
As they never had been feasted.
Dressed, abroad goes Scrooge that morning,
Giving coin to needy beggars,
Goes to church to sing his carols,
Laughs for joy of Christmas morning,
Then to Frederick’s home wending,
Meek of face, apologising
For his rudeness and his crassness,
Asks if he might stay for dinner.
Joyous nephew seats his Uncle -
Late, but not too late, repenting -
In the favoured seat of honour,
Serves old Scrooge the choicest portion,
Makes him welcome at the table,
In the music and the jesting,
In the games and entertainment,
In the bosom of his family.
Full of mischief, Ebenezer
Goes next day unto his office
Plays a prank upon Bob Cratchit
Catches him arriving tardy,
Late by fully eighteen minutes
(Gorged, no doubt, on too much Turkey,
Making merry with his neighbours,
Far and wide dispensing Turkey,
Drinking deep and none too wisely).
Scrooge pretends that he will fire him,
Or at least reduce his wages,
But the bluff is too much for him
And the laughter is his master;
Tells poor Bob, through tears of laughter,
How his meaner days are over;
How he will reward Bob Cratchit
As his clerk deserves so richly,
And his family help moreover -
This, when morning’s work is over,
They’ll discuss with Christmas toasting
And with ale all warmed and spicy -
Christmas bowl of smoking Bishop.
Meanwhile, ere he dip his quill-pen,
Bob shall build the fires higher
And a new coal-bucket purchase
Straightway in the market purchase
That their Boxing Day be merry.
Thus the grasping Ebenezer,
Thus the greedy moneygrubber,
Thus flint-hearted Scrooge the broker
Learned at last his Christmas lesson,
Learned it from the Christmas Spirits,
Christmas Present, Past and Future,
And for all his life he kept it,
Lived his Christmas as he promised.
And to Tiny Tim a father -
Yes, in truth, a second father -
Scrooge became his very saviour,
For by better care and doctors,
Better food and better physic,
Tiny Tim was kept from dying,
Grew in stature and in vigour.
Nor, in all the town of London,
Nor, in all the bustling city
Kept there any man his Christmas
Half so well as Scrooge could keep it.
Thus his name became a byword
And a jest among the people,
And if Scrooge were cause for laughter
Little heeded he the jesting
- None could laugh as well as he could;
Late the laugh, but twice abundant!
Thus our Christmas Carol ending,
Tiny Tim our prayers a-leading
Bids our Maker bless us richly,
And God bless us each and every!