All language subtitles for A-Christmas-Carol_2020_English-ELSUBTITLE.COM-ST_63701568

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Is he the bad one?

Very bad.

And are there ghosts?

What are the people
in the picture?

They're in prison.

They look sad.

Say we're nearly ready.

Ghosts, you say?

Are you quite certain
you won't be too...

frightened!

No, Father.

Don't be silly.

It's a nice story.

It's only Marley
who's slightly unpleasant...

and he's soon gone.

Oh, Marley was dead
to begin with.

There is no doubt
whatever about that.

Old Marley was dead
as a door-nail.

Did Scrooge know Marley
was dead?

Of course he did!

Scrooge and Marley had been
partners for...

I don't know how long.

He was his sole executor,
his sole mourner.

And even Scrooge was not so
desperately cut up

about the sad event.

There is no doubt about that.

This must be clearly understood

or nothing good
can come of this story

that I am about to relate.

Oh, but Scrooge
was a tight-fisted hand

at the grindstone.

Scrooge!

A squeezing, wrenching, grasping

scraping, clutching,
covetous old sinner!

Hard and sharp as flint

from which no steel had ever
struck out generous fire.

Secret, and self-contained

and solitary as an oyster.

Once upon a time

of all the good days
in the year, on Christmas Eve

old Scrooge sat busy
in his counting house.

It was cold, bleak,
biting weather.

The door of Scrooge's
counting house was open

that he might
keep his eye upon his clerk

who, in a dismal little
cell beyond

was copying letters.

Scrooge had a very small fire.

The clerk tried to warm himself
at the candle

in which effort, not being a man
of strong imagination

he failed.

A merry Christmas, Uncle!

Cried a cheerful voice.

God save you!

It was the voice
of his nephew, Fred

who came upon him so quickly

that this was the first
intimation he had

of his approach.

Bah, humbug!

Christmas a humbug, Uncle?

You don't mean that, I'm sure.

I do.
What right have you to be merry?

You're poor enough.

Come then, what right
have you to be dismal?

What reason have you
to be morose?

You're rich enough.

Bah, humbug!

Don't be cross, Uncle!

What else can I be when I live

in such a world of fools
as this?

What's Christmas time to you
but a time

for paying bills without money?

A time for finding yourself
a year older

but not an hour richer.

If I could work my will

every idiot who goes about
with "Merry Christmas"

on his lips should be boiled
with his own pudding

and buried with a stake
of holly through his heart.

Uncle!

I have always thought of
Christmas time as a good time.

A kind, forgiving,
charitable, pleasant time.

The only time I know of
in the long calendar of the year

when men and women
seem by one consent

to open their shut-up
hearts freely

and to think of people
below them

as if they really were
fellow passengers to the grave

and not another race
of creatures

bound on other journeys.

And therefore, Uncle

though it has never put a scrap
of gold or silver in my pocket

I believe that it has
done me good

and will do me good

and I say, God bless it!

The clerk
involuntarily applauded

becoming immediately
sensible of the impropriety.

Let me hear
another sound from you

and you'll keep your Christmas
by losing your situation.

Don't be angry, Uncle.

Come! Dine with us tomorrow.

Thank you, but no.

But why? Why?

Why did you get married?

Because I fell in love.

Because you fell in love!

Good afternoon.

I want nothing from you,
I ask nothing of you.

Why cannot we be friends?

Good afternoon.

I am sorry, with all my heart

to find you so resolute.

We have never had any quarrel
to which I have been a party.

But I have made the trial
in homage to Christmas

and I'll keep my Christmas
honour to the last.

So a merry Christmas, Uncle!

- Happy New Year!
- Good afternoon.

Good afternoon.

His nephew left

without an angry word,
notwithstanding.

He stopped at the outer door
to bestow the greetings

of the season on the clerk,
who, cold as he was

was warmer than Scrooge

for he returned them cordially.

There's another fellow, my clerk

with 15 shillings a week,
and a wife and family

talking about a merry Christmas.

I'll retire to a madhouse.

He'll want all day tomorrow,
I suppose.

If quite convenient, sir.

It's not convenient,
and it's not fair.

If I was to
stop half-a-crown for it

you'd think yourself ill-used,
I'll be bound?

You don't think me ill-used,
when I pay a day's wages

for no work.

It is only once a year, sir.

A poor excuse
for picking a man's pocket

every 25th of December!

But I suppose
you must have the whole day.

Be here all the earlier
next morning.

The clerk promised that he would

and Scrooge walked out
with a growl.

The office was closed
in a twinkling

and the clerk ran home
to Camden Town

as hard as he could pelt,
to play at blind man's-buff.

As Scrooge left
his counting house

he was approached
by two gentlemen

who had been on their way
to visit him.

Scrooge and Marley's, I believe.

Have I the pleasure of
addressing Mr Scrooge

- or Mr Marley?
- Mr Marley has been dead

these seven years.

He died seven years ago,
this very night.

We have no doubt his
liberality is well represented

by his surviving partner.

Good afternoon.

At this festive season
of the year

it is more than usually
desirable that we should

make some slight provision
for the poor and destitute

who suffer greatly
at the present time.

Take pity on us, sir.

We've got no lodgings.

Many thousands are
in want of common necessaries

hundreds of thousands are in
want of common comforts, sir.

Are there no prisons?

Plenty of prisons.

And the Union workhouses?

Are they still in operation?

They are. I wish
I could say they were not.

The Treadmill and the Poor Law

are in full vigour then?

Both very busy, sir.

Oh. I was afraid,
from what you said at first

that something had occurred
to stop them

in their useful course.
I'm very glad to hear it.

Under the impression
that they scarcely furnish

Christian cheer of mind or body
to the multitude

a few of us are endeavouring
to raise a fund

to buy the poor some meat
and drink and means of warmth.

We choose this time,
because it is a time

of all others,
when want is keenly felt

and abundance rejoices.

What shall I put you down for?

Nothing!

You wish to be anonymous?

I wish to be left alone

since you ask me what I wish,
gentlemen, that is my answer.

I don't make merry myself
at Christmas

and I can't afford
to make idle people merry.

I help to support the
establishments I have mentioned

they cost enough, and those
who are badly off must go there.

Many can't go there

and many would rather die.

The missus goes
that way, you that way.

No argument, mind.

If they would rather die

they had better do it

and decrease
the surplus population.

Besides, it's not my business.

It's enough for a man
to understand his own business

and not to interfere
with other people's.

Mine occupies me constantly.

Good afternoon, gentlemen.

Hurry along, there!

No talking.

Eyes to the front!

Another gin, waiter!

Finished with the paper?

Scrooge took
his melancholy dinner

in his usual melancholy tavern

and having read
all the newspapers

went home to bed.

Charity?

It's Christmas, guv.

Let any man
explain to me if he can

how it happened that Scrooge

having his key
in the lock of the door

saw in the knocker

Marley's face.

Marley's face...

It had a dismal light about it

like a bad lobster
in a dark cellar.

That, and its livid colour

made it horrible.

As Scrooge looked fixedly
at this phenomenon

it was a knocker again.

The bells ceased
as they had begun, together.

They were succeeded by
a clanking noise from the attic

as if some person were dragging
a heavy chain over the beams.

Then he heard the noise
much louder

coming straight towards
his door.

What do you want with me?

Much.

In life, I was your partner

Jacob Marley.

You don't believe in me?

Why do you doubt your senses?

Because
a little thing affects them.

A slight disorder of the stomach
makes them cheats.

You might be an undigested bit
of beef, a crumb of cheese

a fragment of underdone potato.

There's more of gravy
than of grave about you.

Why do spirits walk the earth?

And why do they come to me?

It is required...

...of every man

that the sprit within him

should walk among
his fellow man

and travel far and wide

and if that spirit
goes not forth in life

it is condemned to do so
after death.

Oh, woe is me!

You are fettered.

I wear the chains

I forged in life.

I made it link by link

and yard by yard.

I girded it on

and of my own free will

I wore it.

Is its pattern strange to you?

Or would you know
the weight and length

of the strong coil
you wear yourself?

It was full as heavy
and as long as this

seven Christmases ago...

and you have
laboured on it since.

Jacob, tell me more.
Speak comfort to me!

I have none to give.

But you were always
a good man of business, Jacob.

Business!

Mankind was my business.

The common welfare
was my business.

Charity, mercy and benevolence

were all my business.

At this time of year,
I suffer most.

She's a ripe one.

Ripe for the picking!

Why did I walk through crowds

of fellow beings
with my eyes turned down

and never raise them
to that blessed star

which led the Wise Men
to a poor abode!

Hear me!

My time is nearly gone.

I am here tonight to warn you

that you have yet a hope

of escaping my fate.

You were always
a good friend to me. Thank ye!

You will...

be haunted by three spirits.

Expect the first
when the bell tolls midnight.

Look to see me no more

and remember

what has passed between us.

The air was filled with phantoms

wandering hither and thither
in restless haste

and moaning as they went.

Every one of them wore chains
like Marley's Ghost

some few, they might be guilty
governments

were linked together.

None were free.

Many had been personally known
to Scrooge in their lives.

He had been quite familiar
with one old ghost

who cried piteously

at being unable to assist
a wretched housekeeper

with an infant whom it saw
below, upon a doorstep.

Whether these creatures
faded into mist

or mist enshrouded them

he could not tell.

But they and their
spirit voices faded together

and the night
became as it had been.

♪ Hark the herald... ♪

The Ghost of Christmas Past.

When Scrooge awoke

the neighbouring church
struck the four quarters

so he listened for the hour.

Twelve.

Marley's Ghost
bothered him exceedingly.

Was it a dream, or not?

Are you the spirit
whose coming was foretold me?

I am
the Ghost of Christmas Past.

Your past.

What business brought you here?

Your welfare.

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.

Your reclamation, then.

Take heed.

It put out
its strong hand as it spoke

and clasped him gently
by the arm.

It would have been in vain
for Scrooge to plead

that the bed was warm

and the thermometer
a long way below freezing

and 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,
was not to be resisted.

He rose, and somehow knew

that the spirit would take him
into the air.

I am mortal, and liable to fall.

Bear but
a touch of my hand there

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.

Woohoo!

Happy Christmas, Will, Charlie!

Good Heaven!

I was bred in this place.
I was a boy here.

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.

You recollect the way?

Remember it!
I could walk it blindfold.

Strange you have forgotten it

for so many years.

They walked along the road

Scrooge recognising every gate

and post and tree

until a little market town
appeared in the distance.

These are but the shadows

of the things that have been.

See you next year!

Next year...
How funny that sounds!

The school
is not quite deserted.

A solitary child...

...neglected by his friends

is left there still.

The spirit
touched him on the arm

and pointed to his young self

a lonely boy
reading by a feeble fire.

Scrooge wept

to see his poor forgotten self
as he used to be.

Why, it's old Tom!

It's dear old, honest Tom.

Yes, yes, I know...

One Christmas time,
when yonder solitary child

was left here all alone

he did come to cheer me.

Poor boy.

Scrooge thought he was dreaming

but he wasn't.

Then,
with a rapidity of transition

very foreign
to his usual character

he said,
in pity for his former self

"Poor boy!"

and cried again.

I wish...

But it's too late now.

What is the matter?

Nothing.

There was a boy singing
a Christmas Carol last night.

I should like to have
given him something, that's all.

Let us see another Christmas.

He was not reading now

but walking up and down
despairingly.

Scrooge looked at the ghost

and with a mournful
shaking of his head

glanced anxiously
towards the door.

Oh, dear, dear brother!

I have come to bring you home,
dear brother!

To bring you home, home, home!

Home, little Fan?

Yes! Home, for good and all.

Home, for ever and ever.

Father is so much kinder
than he used to be.

He spoke so gently to me
one night

when I was going to bed

that I was not afraid to ask him
once more if you might come home

and he said, "Yes, you should!"

and sent me in a coach
to bring you.

And you are never
to come back here.

But first...

we're to be together
all Christmas long

and have the merriest time
in all the world!

You are quite
a housekeeper, little Fan.

You must come with me now.

Do you know this place?

Know it! Of course I know it.

Was I not apprenticed here?

Scrooge's former
self, now grown a young man

came briskly in, accompanied
by his fellow prentice.

Dick Wilkins, to be sure!

Bless me, yes, there he is!

He was very much attached to me,
was Dick.

Poor Dick.

Why, it's old Fezziwig!

Bless his heart, it's Fezziwig,
alive again!

Old Fezziwig laid down his pen

and looked at his watch.

He rubbed his hands,
adjusted his capacious waistcoat

and called out
in a comfortable, oily

rich, fat, jovial voice...

Yo-ho, there, Ebenezer!

Yo-ho, my boys!

No more work tonight!

Christmas, Ebenezer.

Hilly-ho!

Clear away, my lads

and let's have
lots of room here.

Clear away!

It was done in a minute.

The floor was swept and watered,
and the lamps were trimmed

and the warehouse
was as snug and warm

and dry and bright a ballroom

as you would desire to see
upon a winter's night.

In came a fiddler
with a music book

and went up to the lofty desk,
and made an orchestra of it

and tuned like 50 stomach aches.

In came Mrs Fezziwig,
one vast substantial smile.

In came the three Miss Fezziwigs

beaming and lovable.

In came the six young followers
whose hearts they broke.

In came all the young men and
women employed in the business.

In came the housemaid,
with her cousin, the baker.

In came the cook, with her
brother's particular friend

the milkman.

In came the boy
from over the way

who was suspected of not
having board enough

from his master.

In they all came,
anyhow and everyhow.

There were dances
and more dances

and there were forfeits,
and more dances

and there was cake,
and there was negus

and there was a great piece
of cold roast

and there was a great piece
of cold boiled

and there were mince pies,
and plenty of beer.

During the whole of this time

Scrooge had acted like
a man out of his wits.

His heart and soul
were in the scene

and with his former self.

It was not until now

when the bright face
of his former self

was turned from them

that he remembered the ghost

and became conscious that
it was looking full upon him.

A small matter

to make these silly folk
so full of gratitude.

Small!

Why? Is it not small?

He has spent but a few pounds.

Is that so much
that he deserves this praise?

Scrooge, heated by the remark

and speaking unconsciously
like his former

not his latter self, said...

It isn't that, Spirit!

He has the power to render us
happy or unhappy.

To make our service
light or burdensome

a pleasure or a toil.

The happiness he gives

is quite as great
as if it cost a fortune.

He felt the
spirit's glance, and stopped.

What is the matter?

Nothing in particular.

Something, I think?

I should like to be
able to say a word or two

to my clerk just now.
That's all.

We must away, to your sister.

Always a delicate creature

whom a breath
might have withered

but she had a large heart.

So she had. You're right.

I'll not deny it for a second.

God forbid.

She died a woman

and had, I think, children.

One child.

True, your nephew.

My time grows short. Quick.

He was older now.

His face had begun
to wear the signs

of care and avarice.

There was an eager, greedy,
restless motion in the eye

which showed the passion
that had taken root

and where the shadow
of the growing tree would fall.

He was sat by the side
of a fair young girl

in whose eyes there were tears.

It matters little.

To you, very little.

Another idol has displaced me

and if it can cheer and
comfort you in time to come

as I would have tried to do

I have no just cause to grieve.

What idol has displaced you?

A golden one.

This is the even-handed
dealing of the world.

There is nothing on which
it is so hard as poverty

and there is nothing
it professes to condemn

with such severity
as the pursuit of wealth!

You fear the world too much.

All your other hopes have merged
into the hope of wealth.

I have seen your nobler
aspirations fall off one by one

until the master passion, gain,
engrosses you. Have I not?

What then?

Even if I have grown
so much wiser, what then?

I am not changed towards you.

Am I?

Our contract is an old one.

It was made when we were both
poor and content to be so

until, in good season,
we could improve

our worldly fortune
by our patient industry.

You are changed.

When it was made,
you were another man.

I was a boy.

Your own feeling tells you
that you were not then

what you are now.

That which promised happiness
when we were one in heart

is fraught with misery
now that we are two.

It is enough
that I have thought of it

- and can release you.
- Have I ever sought release?

In words?

- No. Never.
- In what, then?

In everything that made
my love of any worth

or value in your sight.

If this had never been
between us, tell me

would you seek me out
and try to win me now?

He seemed to yield
to the justice

of this supposition,
in spite of himself.

But he said, with a struggle...

You think not?

I would gladly
think otherwise, if I could.

But if you were free today,
tomorrow, yesterday

can I believe that you would
choose a poor girl?

You, who now
weigh everything by gain.

If, for a moment,
you were false enough

to your one guiding principle

I know that your repentance
and regret would surely follow.

He was about to speak

but with her head
turned from him

she walked away.

He did not follow.

Spirit! Show me no more!

Conduct me home. Why do you
delight to torture me?

One shadow more.

No more, I don't wish to see it!

Show me no more!

But the relentless
ghost pinioned him

in both his arms

and forced him to observe
what happened next.

They were now years hence.

A room,
not very large or handsome

but full of comfort.

Near to the fire
sat a beautiful young girl

so like that last

that Scrooge believed
it was the same

until he saw her

now a comely matron,
sitting opposite her daughter.

And now Scrooge looked on

more attentively than ever

when the master of the house

having his eldest daughter
leaning fondly on him

sat down with her and her mother
at his own fireside.

And when he thought
that such another creature

quite as graceful
and as full of promise

might have called him father

and been a springtime in
the haggard winter of his life

his sight grew very dim indeed.

Spirit!
Remove me from this place.

I told you these were shadows

of the things that have been.

They are what they are.
Do not blame me.

Remove me! I cannot bear it!

He turned upon the ghost

and seeing that it looked
upon him with a face

in which, in some strange way

there were fragments of
all the faces it had shown him

wrestled with it.

He was conscious
of being exhausted

and overcome
by an irresistible drowsiness...

and further...

of being in his own bedroom.

The Ghost of Christmas Present.

He woke in the middle
of a prodigiously tough snore

and sat up in bed
to get his thoughts together.

♪ Go, go tell it ♪

♪ Go, go tell it ♪

♪ On the mountain... ♪

It was his own room.

There was no doubt about that.

But it had undergone
a surprising transformation.

A mighty blaze went roaring up
the chimney

as that dull petrifaction
of a hearth

had never known
in Scrooge's time, or Marley's

or for many and many
a winter season gone.

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! 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.

Look upon me.

Scrooge reverently did so.

It was clothed
in one simple green robe

bordered with white fur.

This garment hung loosely
on the figure.

Its feet, observable beneath
the ample folds of the garment

were bare, and on its head

it wore no other covering
than a holly wreath.

Girded round its middle
was an antique scabbard

but no sword was in it

and the ancient sheath
was eaten up with rust.

You've never seen

- the like of me before.
- Never, sir.

Have never walked forth

with the younger members
of my family?

I'm afraid I have not.

Have you had many brothers,
Spirit?

More than 1,800.

Spirit, conduct me
where you will.

I went forth last night
on compulsion

and I learnt a lesson
which is working now.

Tonight,
if you have aught to teach me

let me profit by it.

Touch my robe.

Scrooge did as
he was told, and held it fast.

♪ On the mountain ♪

♪ Go tell it on the mountain ♪

♪ Go tell ♪

Go to sleep,
or he won't come.

Will we leave a carrot?

Thank you, Your Majesty.

The size, we'll still
be serving it at Easter!

They stood in the city streets

on Christmas morning.

There was nothing very cheerful
in the climate or the town

and yet there was an air
of cheerfulness abroad

that the clearest summer air

and brightest summer sun

might have endeavoured
to diffuse in vain.

Fresh oysters! Fresh oysters!

The people were,
by this time, pouring forth.

Buy any milk today?

The grocers, oh, the grocers!

The blended scents
of tea and coffee

were so grateful to the nose.

The sticks of cinnamon
so long and straight

the candied fruits so caked

and spotted with molten sugar.

The customers were all
so hurried and so eager

in the hopeful promise
of the day

that they tumbled up
against each other at the door

clashing their
wicker baskets wildly.

But soon, the steeples

called good people all to church

flocking through the streets
in their best clothes

and with their gayest faces.

And at the same time,
there emerged

from scores of by-streets,
lanes and nameless turnings

innumerable people

carrying their dinners
to the bakers' shops.

The sight of these
poor revellers

appeared to interest
the spirit very much

for he stood with Scrooge
beside him in a baker's doorway

and sprinkled incense
on their dinners from his torch.

Mrs Johnson's got beef?

She must've been
at the old man's wages

before he got to the pub!

Is there a peculiar
flavour in what you sprinkle

- from your torch?
- There is.

My own.

Would it apply to any
kind of dinner on this day?

To any kindly given.

To a poor one most.

Why to a poor one most?

Because it needs it most.

Spirit, I wonder you,
of all the beings

in the many worlds about us,
should desire to cramp

these people's opportunities
of innocent enjoyment.

I?

You would deprive
those that have no hearths

of their own, the means of
cooking every seventh day

often the only day on which
they can be said to dine at all

- wouldn't you?
- I...

You seek to close
these bakeries on the Sabbath.

- It comes to the same thing.
- I seek...

Forgive me if I am wrong.

It has been done in your name

or at least
in that of your family.

There are some
upon this earth of yours

who lay claim to know us

and who do their deeds
of passion, pride

ill will, hatred, envy

bigotry and selfishness
in our name

who are as strange to us
and all our kith and kin

as if they had never lived.

Remember that...

and charge their doings
on themselves...

not us.

I hope Martha
doesn't lose the pennies

she saved for the train!

She mustn't! I'll miss her.

Let's wish she's not too tired

from making all those hats.

All aboard!

Bob had but 15 bob a week.

He pocketed on Saturdays

but 15 copies
of his Christian name

and yet the
Ghost of Christmas Present

blessed his four-roomed house.

Up rose Mrs Cratchit

dressed out but poorly
in a twice-turned gown

but brave in ribbons.

What has ever
got your precious father then?

And your brother, Tiny Tim?

And Martha weren't as late
last Christmas by half an hour.

Here's Martha, Mother!

- Hello, Martha!
- Hello Martha!

Why!
Bless your heart alive, my dear.

How late you are!

We'd a deal of work
to finish up last night

and had to clear away
this morning, Mother.

Don't wake me in the morning.

I hope to lay abed tomorrow,
as it is a holiday!

Well, never mind.

Sit ye down before the fire,
Lord bless ye.

No, no. There's Father coming!

Hide, Martha, hide!

So Martha hid herself

and in came Bob

his threadbare clothes
darned up and brushed

to look seasonable

and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder.

Alas, for Tiny Tim,
he bore a little crutch

and had his limbs
supported by an iron frame.

Why, where's our Martha?

- Not coming.
- Not coming?

Not coming upon Christmas Day?

Martha didn't like
to see him disappointed

if it were only in joke,
so she ran into his arms.

Happy Christmas, Father!

The two young
Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim

and bore him off
into the washhouse...

You come with us, Tim!

...that he might hear the
pudding singing in the copper.

And how did little Tim behave?

Oh! As good as gold.

As good as gold and better.

Somehow, he gets thoughtful
sitting by himself so much

and thinks the strangest things.

He told me, coming home,
that he hoped the people

saw him in the church,
because he was a cripple

and it might be pleasant to them
to remember upon Christmas Day

who made lame beggars walk,
and blind men see.

Bob's voice was
tremulous when he told them this

and trembled uncertainly
when he said

that Tiny Tim was growing
strong and hearty.

His active little crutch
was heard upon the floor

and back came Tiny Tim

escorted by his
brother and sister

to his stool before the fire.

Master Peter, and the two
ubiquitous young Cratchits

went to fetch the goose

with which they soon returned
in high procession.

Such a bustle ensued

that you might have thought
a goose the rarest of all birds

a feathered phenomenon.

And in truth, it was something
very like it in that house.

I don't believe there was ever

such a goose cooked, my dear!
Wonderful!

Scrum-diddlyumptious!

Its tenderness and flavour

size and cheapness

were the themes
of universal admiration.

Hope there's gravy!

Eked out by apple sauce
and mashed potatoes

it was a sufficient dinner
for the whole family.

Indeed, as Mrs Cratchit said
with great delight

surveying one small atom
of a bone upon the dish

they hadn't ate it all at last.

But now,
the plates being changed

Mrs Cratchit left the room alone

too nervous to bear witnesses

to take the pudding up
and bring it in.

A great deal of steam!

The pudding was out
of the copper.

A smell like a washing day.

That was the cloth.

A smell like an eating house
and a pastry cook's

next door to each other

with a laundry
next door to that.

Mrs Cratchit entered

flushed but smiling proudly

with the pudding
like a speckled cannon ball.

Everybody had something
to say about it

but nobody said or thought

it was a small pudding
for a large family.

Any Cratchit would have blushed
to hint at such a thing.

Then all the Cratchit family
drew round the hearth.

A merry Christmas
to us all, my dears.

God bless us.

God bless us, every one!

Said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

He sat very close
to his father's side

upon his little stool.

Bob held his withered
little hand in his

as if he loved the child

and wished to keep him
by his side

and dreaded that he might
be taken from him.

Spirit,
tell me if Tiny Tim will live.

I see a vacant seat

and a crutch without an owner,
carefully preserved.

If these shadows remain
unaltered by the future

the child will die.

No, no, kind spirit.

- Say he will be spared.
- If these shadows remain

unaltered by the future,
no other of my race

will find him here.
Well, what then?

If he be like to die,
he had better do it

and decrease
the surplus population.

Scrooge hung his head

to hear his own words
quoted by the spirit.

Man, if man you be in heart

not stone,
forbear that wicked cant

until you have discovered
what the surplus is

and where it is.

Will you decide what men shall
live and what men shall die?

It may be,
that in the sight of Heaven

you are more worthless
and less fit to live

than millions like this
poor man's child. Oh, God!

To hear the insect on the leaf
pronouncing on the too-much-life

among his hungry brothers
in the dust!

Scrooge bent
before the ghost's rebuke

and trembling, cast his eyes
upon the ground.

But he raised them speedily,
on hearing his own name.

To Scrooge!

I'll give you Mr Scrooge,
the founder of the feast!

The founder of the feast indeed!

I wish I had him here.

I'd give him a piece of my mind
to feast upon

and I hope he'd have
a good appetite for it!

My dear, the children.

Christmas Day!

I'll drink
his health for your sake

and the day's, not for his!

Tiny Tim drank it last of all

but he didn't care
two pence for it.

Scrooge was the ogre
of the family.

They were not a handsome family.

They were not well dressed.

Their shoes were far from
being waterproof

their clothes were scanty

and Bob's might have known,
and very likely did

the inside of a pawnbroker's.

But they were happy, grateful

pleased with one another

and contented all the time.

Scrooge had his eye upon them

and especially on Tiny Tim,
until the last.

It was a long night

if it were only a night.

Not to sea?

To sea!

To Scrooge's horror,
looking back

he saw the last of the land

and his ears were deafened
by the thundering of water

as it rolled and roared.

Mind yourself, Harry!
Don't drop the turkey!

Built upon
a dismal reef of sunken rocks

on which the waters
chafed and dashed

there stood
a solitary lighthouse...

There's Christmas for you!

...but even here,
every man among them

hummed a Christmas tune!

Again the ghost sped on

above the black
and heaving sea...

...until a light shone
from the window of a house

and swiftly,
they advanced towards it.

It was a great surprise to
Scrooge to hear a hearty laugh.

It was a much greater surprise
to Scrooge

to recognise it
as his own nephew's

and to find himself in a bright,
dry, gleaming room.

Clara, my dear,
what a lovely lunch!

"Ha-ha-ha!"

laughed Fred.
"Ha-ha-ha-ho!"

It is a fair, even-handed,
noble adjustment of things

that while there is infection
in disease and sorrow

there is nothing in the world
so irresistibly contagious

as laughter and good humour.

He said that Christmas
was a humbug!

And he believed it too.

More shame for him, Fred.

He's a comical
old fellow, that's the truth

and not so pleasant
as he might be.

However, his offenses
carry their own punishment

and I have nothing to say
against him.

I'm sure he is very rich.

At least, you always tell me so.

His wealth is of no use to him.

He doesn't make
any good with it.

He doesn't make himself
comfortable with it.

He hasn't the satisfaction
of thinking...

...that he is ever

going to benefit us with it.

Oh...
I have no patience with him.

Oh, I have.

I'm sorry for him!

Couldn't be angry with him
if I tried.

Who suffers by his ill whims?

Himself, always.

Here, he takes it into his head
to dislike us

and he won't come
and dine with us.

What's the consequence?

He doesn't lose
much of a dinner.

Indeed?

I think he loses
a very good dinner.

Well, I'm very glad to hear it!

Because I haven't great faith
in these young housekeepers.

What do you say, Topper?

Topper had clearly
got his eye on

one of the ladies

for he answered that a bachelor
was a wretched outcast

who had no right to express
an opinion on the subject.

Fred revelled in another laugh

and as it was impossible
to keep the infection off...

A merry Christmas and
a happy New Year to the old man.

He wouldn't take it from me,
but he may have it.

Let us make a toast
to Uncle Scrooge!

Who's for blind man's buff?

Here's a new game!

One half hour, Spirit, only one!

Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly

become so gay and light of heart

that he would have pledged the
unconscious company in return

and thanked them
in an inaudible speech

if the ghost had given him time.

But the whole scene passed off
in the breath of the last word.

Hark.

My life upon this globe
is very brief.

The chimes
were ringing the three quarters

past 11 at that moment.

Please leave me alone.

- Give it here.
- What are you doing?

You want a good time?

You're hurting me!

Come here, my darling.

Go on, hit him!

And again!

Pull your razor, Jim.

Forgive me if I am
not justified in what I ask

but I see something strange,
and not belonging to yourself

protruding from your skirts.

- Is it a foot or a claw?
- It might be a claw

for the flesh there is upon it.

Look here.

From the foldings of its robe

it brought two children.

Wretched, abject, frightful

hideous, miserable.

They knelt down at its feet

and clung upon the outside
of its garment.

Oh, man, look here!

Look!

Look, down here!

They were a boy and a girl.

Yellow, meagre, ragged

scowling, wolfish...

but prostrate, too,
in their humility.

Where angels might have
sat enthroned

devils lurked,
and glared out menacing.

No change, no degradation,
no perversion of humanity

has monsters half so horrible
and dread.

Scrooge started back, appalled.

Having them shown to him
in this way

he tried to say
they were fine children

but the words choked themselves

rather than be parties to a lie
of such enormous magnitude.

Spirit, are they yours?

They are man's.

And they cling to me,
appealing from their fathers.

This boy is Ignorance.

This girl is Want.

Beware them both,
and all of their degree

but most of all,
beware this boy...

...for on his brow I see that
written which is doom

unless the writing be erased.

Have they no refuge or resource?

Are there no workhouses?

Are there no prisons?

The Ghost
of Christmas Yet to Come.

Scrooge looked about him
for the ghost

and saw it not.

As the last stroke
ceased to vibrate

he remembered the prediction
of old Jacob Marley

and lifting up his eyes,
beheld a solemn phantom

draped and hooded

coming like a mist
along the ground towards him.

The phantom slowly,
gravely, silently approached.

When it came,
Scrooge bent down upon his knee.

It was shrouded
in a deep black garment

which concealed its head,
its face, its form

and left nothing of it visible
save one outstretched hand.

I am in the presence

of the Ghost of Christmas
Yet To Come?

The Spirit answered not

but pointed downward
with its hand.

You are about
to show me shadows

of the things
that have not happened

but will happen
in the time before us.

Is that so, Spirit?

Although well used
to ghostly company by this time

Scrooge feared the silent shape
so much

that his legs trembled
beneath him

and he found
that he could hardly stand

when he prepared to follow it.

I fear you...

more than any spectre
I have seen.

But as I know your purpose
is to do me good

and as I hope to live to be
another man from what I was

I am prepared
to bear your company

and do it with a thankful heart.

Lead on.

Lead on.

The night is waning fast...

and it is precious time to me,
I know.

They scarcely seemed
to enter the city

but there they were,
in the heart of it

amongst the merchants,
who hurried up and down

and chinked the money
in their pockets

and conversed in groups,
as Scrooge had seen them often.

The spirit stopped beside one
little knot of businessmen.

Observing that the hand
was pointed to them

Scrooge advanced
to listen to their talk.

I don't know much
about it, either way.

I only know he's dead!

When did he die?

Ooh. Last night, I believe.

Why?
What was the matter with him?

I thought he'd never die.

God knows!

What has he done with his money?

Well, I haven't heard.

Left it to his company, perhaps.

He hasn't left it to me.
That's all I know.

Well, it's likely to be
a very cheap funeral

for upon my life, I don't know
of anybody to go to it.

Suppose we make up a party
and volunteer?

I don't mind going

if a lunch is provided

but I must be fed.

Scrooge was at first
inclined to be surprised

that the spirit should attach
importance to conversations

apparently so trivial

but feeling assured that they
must have some hidden purpose

he set himself to consider
what it was likely to be.

But nothing doubting that
to whomsoever they applied

they had some latent moral
for his own improvement.

They left the busy scene

and went into an obscure
part of the town

where Scrooge had never
penetrated before.

You've had the pipe long enough.

Pass it on.

The ways were foul...

Cut your liver out!

...the shops and houses wretched

the people half-naked, drunken

slipshod, ugly.

Alleys and archways,
like so many cesspools

disgorged their offenses
of smell and dirt and life

upon the straggling streets.

We don't talk to you lot.

The whole quarter
reeked with crime

with filth, and misery.

Far in this den
of infamous resort

there was a low-browed,
beetling shop

below a penthouse roof

where iron, old rags, bottles

bones and greasy offal
were bought.

Sitting in among the wares
he dealt in, by a stove

was a grey-haired rascal

nearly 70 years of age.

Scrooge and the phantom came
into the presence of this man

just as a housekeeper
with a heavy bundle

slunk into the shop.

Every person has a right
to take care of themselves.

He always did.

Who's the worse for the loss
of a few things like these?

If he wanted to keep 'em
after he was dead

a wicked old screw

why wasn't it natural
in his lifetime?

If it had been,
he's have had somebody

to look after him
when he was struck with death

instead of lying gasping
out his last, alone by himself.

It's the truest ever word
that was spoke.

It's a judgment on him.

Open the bundle,
old Joe, and let me know

the value of it.

What... what do you call this?

- Bed-curtains?
- Bed-curtains.

You don't mean to say
you took 'em down

rings and all,
with him lying there?

Yes, I do. Why not?

You were born
to make your fortune

and you'll certainly do it.

Ooh...

You may look through
that shirt till your eyes ache

but you won't find a hole in it,
nor a threadbare place.

It's the best he had,
and a fine one too.

They'd have wasted it,
if it hadn't been for me.

W...
What do you mean, wasting of it?

Putting it on him
to be buried in, to be sure!

Somebody was fool enough to
do it, but I took it off again.

Oh, this is the end of it,
you see.

He frightened everyone away
from him when he was alive

to profit us when he was dead!

If there is
any person in the town

who feels emotion
caused by this man's death

show that person to me, Spirit,
I beseech you.

♪ Good people, all ♪

♪ This Christmas time ♪

She's worried
to death by it all.

But they had to borrow,
for the kiddies.

The phantom
spread its dark robe before him

for a moment, like a wing

and withdrawing it,
revealed a room by daylight

where a mother
and her children were.

She was expecting someone,
and with anxious eagerness

for she walked
up and down the room

started at every sound,
looked out from the window

glanced at the clock.

At length, the long-expected
knock was heard.

She hurried to the door,
and met her husband

a man whose face
was careworn and depressed

though he was young.

There was a remarkable
expression in it now

a kind of serious delight,
of which he felt ashamed

and which he struggled
to repress.

Is it good or bad?

Bad.

We are quite ruined.

No.

There is hope yet, Caroline.

If he relents, there is.

Nothing is past hope

if such a miracle has happened.

He is past relenting.

He is dead.

She was a mild
and patient creature

if her face spoke truth

but she was thankful in her soul
to hear it

and she said so,
with clasped hands.

She prayed forgiveness
the next moment

and was sorry.

To whom shall
our debt be transferred?

I don't know.

But before that time,
we shall be ready with the money

and even though we were not,
it would be bad fortune indeed

to find so merciless a creditor
in his successor.

We shall sleep tonight
with light hearts, Caroline.

Let me see some tenderness

connected with the death.

They entered poor
Bob Cratchit's house

and found the mother and the
children seated round the fire.

Quiet. Very quiet.

The noisy little Cratchits
were as still as statues

in one corner.

The mother laid her work
upon the table

and put her hand up to her face.

Colour hurts my eyes.

It makes them weak
by candlelight

and I wouldn't show weak eyes
to your father

when he comes home,
for the world.

It must be near his time.

Past it, rather.

But I think he's walked
a little slower than he used

these few last evenings, Mother.

I have known him
walk with Tiny Tim

upon his shoulder,
very fast indeed.

And so have I. Often.

His father loved him so

that it was no trouble...

Ah! And there is your father
at the door!

Two young Cratchits
got upon his knees

and laid each child
a little cheek

against his face.

Don't mind it, Father.

Don't be grieved.

Bob was very cheerful with them

and spoke pleasantly
to all the family.

He looked at the work
upon the table

the shroud that would
clothe his son

and praised the industry
and speed

of Mrs Cratchit and the girls.

"They would be done
long before Sunday," he said.

You went today then, Robert?

Yes, my dear.

I wish you could have gone.

It would've done you good
to see how green a place it is

where he will lay.

But you'll see it often.

I promised him...

that I would walk there
on a Sunday.

He broke down all at once.

He couldn't help it.

He left the room, and went
upstairs to the room above

which was lighted cheerfully,
and hung with Christmas.

There was a chair set close
beside the child

and there were signs of someone
having been there lately.

Poor Bob sat down in it

and when he had thought a little
and composed himself

he kissed the little face.

My little, little child...

My little child.

They drew
about the fire, and talked

the girls and mother
working still.

Bob told them
of the extraordinary kindness

of Mr Fred, whom he had
scarcely seen but once

and who, meeting him
in the street that day

and seeing that he looked
a little subdued

asked after him.

Just a little down, you know.

On which, for he is the
pleasantest-spoken gentleman

you ever heard...

What has happened
to distress you?

I told him.

"I am heartily sorry for it,
Mr Cratchit

and heartily sorry
for your good wife.

If I can be of service
to you in any way," he said

giving me his card,
"That's where I live.

Pray, come to me."

Now, it really seemed as if
he had known our Tiny Tim

and felt with us.

I shouldn't be at all surprised,
mark what I say

if he got Peter
a better situation.

Oh! Only hear that, Peter!

But however and whenever

we part from one another

I am sure, we shall none of us
forget poor Tiny Tim, shall we?

Or this first parting
that there was among us.

No, Father.

And I know, my dears

that when we recollect how
patient and how mild he was

although he was a little...

little child...

we shall not quarrel
easily among ourselves

and forget poor Tiny Tim
in doing it.

No, never, Father.

I am very happy.

I am very happy.

Spectre, something informs me

that our parting moment
is at hand.

I know it, but I know not how.

Tell me what man that was

whom we saw lying dead.

The spirit
stood among the graves

and pointed down to one.

Scrooge advanced towards it,
trembling.

Before I draw nearer
to that stone

to which you point,
answer me one question.

Are these the shadows
of the things that will be

or are they shadows of things
that may be, only?

Still the ghost
pointed downward to the grave

by which it stood.

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 it is thus
with what you show me.

The spirit
was immovable as ever.

Scrooge crept towards it,
trembling as he went.

Am I that man
who lay upon the bed?

Following the finger

read upon the stone
of the neglected grave

his own name...

Ebenezer Scrooge.

I hope he didn't die
of anything catching!

We are quite ruined.

The finger pointed
from the grave

to him and back again.

No, Spirit! No...

No!

Spirit, hear me.
I am not the man I was.

Why show me this,
if I am past all hope?

Good Spirit, assure me that
I yet may change these shadows

that you have shown me,
by an altered life.

I will honour Christmas
in my heart

and try to keep it all year.

I will live in 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 clasped the spectral body.

It sought to free itself

but he was strong in
his entreaty, and detained it.

The spirit, stronger yet,
repulsed him.

Holding up his hands in a last
prayer to have his fate reversed

he saw an alteration
in the phantom's hood.

It shrank, and collapsed

down into a bedpost.

Live in 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, Jacob Marley!

Heaven, and the Christmastime
be praised for this.

I shall kneel, old Jacob,
on my knees.

Ah!

They are not torn down.

They are not torn down!

Rings and all. They are here...

I am here!

The shadows of the things
that would have been

may be dispelled.

They will be!

I know they will.

I don't know what to do!

I am as... light as a feather!

I am as happy as an angel!

I am as merry as a schoolboy,
I am as giddy as a drunken man!

A merry Christmas to everyone!

A happy New Year
to all the world!

Hello there!

Woo!

There's the saucepan
that the gruel was in!

There's the corner the Ghost
of Christmas Present sat.

There's the window where
I saw the wandering spirits!

It's all right, it's all true.
It all happened!

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!

Hello, whoop!

Hello there!

Running
to the window, he opened it

and put out his head.

No fog, no mist.

Clear, bright, sweet, fresh air!

Merry bells. Oh, glorious!

Glorious!

What's today, my fine fellow?

Today? Why, Christmas Day.

It's Christmas Day!
I haven't missed it.

The spirits have done it
all in one night!

They can do anything they like,
of course they can.

Of course they can...
Hello, my fine fellow!

Do you know the poulterer's,
in the next street but one?

I should hope I did.

An intelligent boy!
A remarkable boy!

Do you know whether
they've sold the prize turkey

that was hanging up there?

Not the little prize turkey.
The big one?

What...

- The one as big as me?
- What a delightful boy!

It's a pleasure to talk to him.

Yes, my buck!

- It's hanging there now.
- Is it?

Go and buy it.

Walker!

No, no, I am in earnest.

Go and buy it,
and tell them to bring it here

that I may give them
the direction where to take it.

Come back with the man,
and I'll give you a shilling.

Come back with him
in less than five minutes

and I'll give you half a crown.

I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's!

He shan't know who sends it.

It's twice the size of Tiny Tim.

He dressed himself
all in his best

and at last,
got out into the streets.

He had not gone far,
when coming on towards him

he beheld the gentlemen

who had accosted him
the day before, and said

"Scrooge and Marley's,
I believe."

Dear sir, how do you do?

I hope you succeeded yesterday?

Mr Scrooge?

That is my name

and I fear it may not be
pleasant to you.

Allow me to ask your pardon.

And will you have
the goodness...

Lord bless me!

My dear Mr Scrooge,
are you serious?

If you please,
not a farthing less.

A great many back-payments are
included in it, I assure you.

Will you do me that favour?

I don't know what to say
to such munificence!

Don't say anything.
Please, come and see me.

Will you come and see me?

We will!

Thank you.
I am much obliged to you.

I thank you 50 times. Bless you!

The people were,
by this time, pouring forth

as he had seen them with
the Ghost of Christmas Present.

He walked about the streets

and watched the people
hurrying to and fro

and patted children on the head,
and questioned beggars

and looked down
into the kitchens of houses

and up to the windows

and found that everything
could yield him pleasure.

He had never dreamed
that any walk

that anything...

could give him
so much happiness.

In the afternoon,
he turned his steps

towards his nephew's house.

He passed the door
a dozen times

before he had the courage
to go up and knock.

But he made a dash, and did it.

He opened the door gently,
and sidled his face in.

They were looking at the table

which was spread out
in great array

for these young housekeepers are
always nervous on such points

and like to see
that everything is right.

Why, bless my soul!

Who's that?

It's I.

Uncle Scrooge.

I've come to dinner.

Will you let me in, Fred?

Let him in?

It is a mercy
he didn't shake his arm off!

He was at home in five minutes.

Nothing could be heartier.

Fred's wife
looked just the same.

So did Topper when he came.

So did the plump lady when
she came.

So did everyone when they came!

Wonderful party,
wonderful games

wonderful unanimity

wonderful happiness!

But he was early at the office
next morning.

Oh, he was early there.

If he could only be there first

and catch Bob Cratchit
coming late!

That was the thing
he'd set his heart upon.

And he did it! Yes, he did.

The clock struck nine...

No Bob.

A quarter past...

No Bob.

He was a full 18 minutes
and a half

behind his time.

Scrooge sat with his door
wide open

that he might see him enter.

His hat was off
before he opened the door

his comforter too.

He was on his stool in a jiffy,
driving away with his pen

as if he were trying
to overtake nine o'clock.

Hello.

What do you mean by coming here
at this time of day?

I'm very sorry, sir.
I am behind my time.

You are. Yes, I think you are.

Step this way, if you please.

I-It's only once a year, sir.

It shall not be repeated.

I was making rather merry
yesterday, sir.

Now,
I'll tell you what, my friend

I'm not going to stand
this sort of thing any longer

and therefore...

And therefore,
I am about to raise your salary.

Bob trembled

and got a little nearer
to the poker.

He had a momentary idea of
knocking Scrooge down with it

holding him, and calling to
the people in the court for help

and a strait-waistcoat.

A merry Christmas, Bob.

A merrier Christmas, Bob,
my good fellow

than I have given you
for many a year.

I'll raise your salary

and endeavour to assist
your struggling family

and we will discuss your affairs
this very afternoon

over a Christmas bowl
of smoking bishop, Bob!

Make up the fires,
buy another coalscuttle

before you dot another "i",
Bob Cratchit!

Scrooge was as good as his word.

He did it all,
and infinitely more.

And to Tiny Tim,
who did not die

he was a second father.

He became as good a friend

as good a master

and as good a man

as the good old city knew

or any other good old city,
town or borough

in the good old world.

Some people laughed to see
the transformation in him

but he let them laugh,
and heeded them little

for he was wise enough to know

that nothing ever happened
on the globe, for good

at which some people

had not had their fill
of laughter at the outset

and since he knew
such as these were blind anyway

he thought it just as well that
their eyes should wrinkle up

in laughter, as have the malady
in less attractive forms.

He had no further intercourse
with spirits

but lived life according to
the Total Abstinence Principle

ever after.

And it was said of him

that he knew how to keep
Christmas well

if any man in the world
had such knowledge.

Let that be truly said of us

and all of us.

And, as Tiny Tim observed...

"God bless us, every one."

Provided by explosiveskull
https://twitter.com/kaboomskull