Stave I: Marley’s Ghost
Marley es mor, per comensa. On ave vera no duta de esta. La arcivo de sua entera es ja suscriveda par la eglesor, la arcivor, la funeror, e la lamentor xef. Scrooge ia suscrive lo, e la nom de Scrooge es bon en la mercato per tota cosas sur cual el eleje scrive lo. Marley Vea es tan mor como un clo de porte.
Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge’s name was good upon ‘Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Ma nota! Me no vole dise ce me sabe, par mea propre conoses, en cual modo un clo de porte es spesial mor. Personal, me ta es disposada de regarda un clo de caxon funeral como la ben la plu mor en la comersia de ferores. Ma la compara conteni la sajia de nosa asendentes, e ta ce mea manos nonsanta no disturba lo, o nosa pais va es ruinada. Donce tu va permete ce me repete, asentuante, ce Marley es tan mor como un clo de porte.
Mind! I don’t mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country’s done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Esce Scrooge sabe ce el es mor? Natural. Como lo ta pote es diferente? Scrooge e el ia es asosiores per me-no-sabe-cuanto anios. Scrooge es sua esecutor unica, sua dirijor unica, sua asiniada unica, la eritor unica de sua propria restante, sua ami unica, e lamentor unica. E an Scrooge no ia es tan estrema angusada par la aveni triste ce el no ia pote esele como comersior an en la dia de la funera, onorante esta en un modo seria par un profita nondutada.
Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for I don’t know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnised it with an undoubted bargain.
La refere a la funera de Marley reveni me a la punto de do me ia comensa. On ave no duta ce Marley es mor. On nesesa comprende clar esta, o no mervelia pote resulta de la nara cual me va raconta. Si nos no ta es completa convinseda ce la padre de Hamlet ia mori ante la comensa de la teatral, alora cuando el fa un pasea a note, en un venta este, sur sua propre murones, esta ta ave no cualia plu notable ca si cualce otra senior en sua anios media ta sorti noncauta pos noti en un loca ventosa – per esemplo, la Semetero de San Paulo – simple per stona la mente debil de sua fio.
The mention of Marley’s funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet’s Father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot – say Saint Paul’s Churchyard for instance – literally to astonish his son’s weak mind.
Scrooge ia despinti nunca la nom de Marley Vea. Lo sta ala, pos anios, supra la porte de la boteca: Scrooge e Marley. La compania es conoseda como Scrooge e Marley. Persones nova a la compania clama Scrooge a veses Scrooge, e a veses Marley, ma el responde a ambos nomes. Tota es egal a el.
Scrooge never painted out Old Marley’s name. There it stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse door: Scrooge and Marley. The firm was known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names. It was all the same to him.
O! Ma el es un comersior con manos selida, esta Scrooge! Un pecor vea ci crase, saisi, raspa, teni e anela! Dur e agu como petra focosa, de cual un aser ia colpa nunca un foco jenerosa; secreta, e autonom, e solitar como un ostra. La fria en el jela sua fas vea, pinsi sua nas puntida, plieta sua jena, rijidi sua pasea; roji sua oios, blui sua labios magra; e parla penetrante en sua vose grinsente. Un grisia jelin es sur sua testa, e sur sua suprasiles, e sua mento sever. El porta sempre sua propre temperatur con el; el jela sua ofisia a mediaestate, e no dejela lo par an un grado a natal.
Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grind-stone, 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. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dog-days; and didn’t thaw it one degree at Christmas.
Caldia e fria esterna ave poca influe a Scrooge. No caldia pote caldi el, no clima invernin pote fri el. No venta cual sofla es plu amarga ca el, no neva cadente es plu zelosa en sua intende, no pluve colpante es min abrida per mendicas. Climas mal no sabe trata el. La avenis la plu forte de pluve, e neva, e graniza, e neva dejelante pote vanta sur sua vantaje supra el en sola un relata: los ofre frecuente se en un manera jenerosa, e Scrooge fa nunca esta.
External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn’t know where to have him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect. They often “came down” handsomely, and Scrooge never did.
Nunca la persones para el en la strada per dise, con aspeta joiosa – “Scrooge, mea cara, como lo vade? Cuando tu va veni per vide me?” No mendicores prea ce el furni un moneta, no enfantes demanda a el la ora, no om o fem ia xerca de Scrooge la via a alga destina, a an un ves en tota sua vive. An la canes de la siecas pare conose el; e cuando los vide ce el prosimi, los tira sua posesores su arcos de portes e en stradetas; e alora los secute sua codas como si los dise – “Oios mancante es plu bon ca oios malvolente, mea padron sieca!”
Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, “My dear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me?” No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was o’clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to such and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the blind men’s dogs appeared to know him; and when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails as though they said, “No eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master!”
Ma acel no conserna Scrooge! Acel es la cosa cual el gusta vera. Sua pasos ladal longo la vias folida de la vive, e sua avertis ce tota simpatia umana ta resta distante – estas, per Scrooge, es de un spesie cual la sajas nomi “fresca”.
But what did Scrooge care! It was the very thing he liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance, was what the knowing ones call “nuts” to Scrooge.
A un ves – a la sera de natal, entre tota la bon dias en la anio – Scrooge Vea senta ocupada en sua sala de contas. La clima es fria, sombre, dolosa – neblosa, ance – e el oia la persones en la stradeta esterna ci vade con respira ruidosa de asi a ala, batente sua manos sur sua petos, e piafante sua pedes sur la petras de la paseria per caldi los. La orolojos de la urbe veni de sona la ora tre, ma lo es ja vera oscur – on ia ave lus clar a no parte de la dia – e on ensende candelas en la fenetras de la ofisias visina, como frotas sanguin roja sur la aira palpable brun. La nebla entra en deluvias a cada fesur e buco de clave, e es tan densa a estra ce, an si la stradeta es de la spesie la plu streta, la casas fasante es mera fantasmas. Cisa, vidente ce la nube sombre desende per oscuri tota cosas, on ta pensa ce la Natur abita multe prosima e fabrica bir en un cuantia grande.
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: foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the court outside, go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already – it had not been light all day – and candles were flaring in the windows of the neighbouring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable brown air. The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so dense without, that although the court was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms. To see the dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything, one might have thought that Nature lived hard by, and was brewing on a large scale.
La porte de la sala de contas de Scrooge es abrida afin el pote oserva sua secretor, ci copia leteras en un selula peti e depresante a ultra, un spesie de tance. Scrooge ave un foco multe peti, ma la foco de la secretor es tan multe plu peti ce lo aspeta como sola un carbon. Ma el no pote repleni lo, car Scrooge reteni la caxa de carbones en sua propre sala; e sempre cuando la secretor entra con la pala, la padron predise la nesesa de sua desemplea. Donce la secretor pone sua scarfa de lana blanca, e atenta tepidi se a la candela – e en esta taxe, car el no es un om forte imajinosa, el fali.
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, a sort of tank, was copying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerk’s fire was so very much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn’t replenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that it would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which effort, not being a man of a strong imagination, he failed.
“Bon natal, tio! Ta ce Dio salva tu!” – un vose felis cria. Lo es la vose de la sobrino de Scrooge, ci ia prosimi tan rapida a el ce esta es la indica prima persepable de sua ariva.
“A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!” cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge’s nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.
“Ba!” – Scrooge dise – “Babela!”
“Bah!” said Scrooge, “Humbug!”
Esta sobrino de Scrooge ia es ja tan multe caldida par pasea rapida en la nebla e jelada ce el brilieta como un foco. Sua fas es roja e bela; sua oios sintili, e sua respira fumi ancora.
He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew of Scrooge’s, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.
“La natal es babela, tio?” – la sobrino de Scrooge dise – “Tu no intende acel, me es serta?”
“Christmas a humbug, uncle!” said Scrooge’s nephew. “You don’t mean that, I am sure?”
“Me intende.” – Scrooge dise – “Bon natal? Con cual motiva tu joia a natal? Per cual razona tu es joiosa? Tu es bastante povre.”
“I do,” said Scrooge. “Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You’re poor enough.”
“Alora,” – la sobrino replica felis – “con cual motiva tu no joia? Per cual razona tu es malumorosa? Tu es bastante rica.”
“Come, then,” returned the nephew gaily. “What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You’re rich enough.”
Car a esta momento Scrooge no ia prepara un responde plu bon, el dise denova – “Ba!” – e segue lo con – “Babela.”
Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, “Bah!” again; and followed it up with “Humbug.”
“No es disputosa, tio!” – la sobrino dise.
“Don’t be cross, uncle!” said the nephew.
“Como me pote es otra,” – la tio replica – “cuando me abita en un tal mundo de foles como esta? Bon natal? Vergonia de bon natal! Cual es la natal per tu estra un tempo de paia faturas sin mone? Un tempo de trova ce tu es plu vea par un anio, ma no plu rica par an un ora? Un tempo per analise tua libros de contas e vide ce tu ia profita de an no un linia scriveda en un desduple plen de menses? Si me ta pote reali mea desira,” – Scrooge dise indiniada – “cada fol ci vaga con ‘Bon natal’ sur sua labios ta es bolida como un parte de sua deser festosa, e enterada con un palo de ilex tra sua cor. El merita!”
“What else can I be,” returned the uncle, “when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas! 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; a time for balancing your books and having every item in ‘em through a round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I could work my will,” said Scrooge indignantly, “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. He should!”
“Tio!” – la sobrino prea.
“Uncle!” pleaded the nephew.
“Sobrino!” – la tio replica sever – “Onora la natal en tua propre modo, e permete ce me onora lo en mea modo.”
“Nephew!” returned the uncle sternly, “keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.”
“Onora lo?” – la sobrino de Scrooge repete – “Ma tu no onora lo.”
“Keep it!” repeated Scrooge’s nephew. “But you don’t keep it.”
“Donce permete ce me iniora lo.” – Scrooge dise – “Ta ce tu benefica de lo! Tu ia benefica nunca de lo a ante!”
“Let me leave it alone, then,” said Scrooge. “Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you!”
“Ave multe cosas de cual me ta pote deriva ja un benefica, ma de cual me no ia profita, me risca dise.” – la sobrino replica – “La natal es un de estas. Ma me es serta ce, sempre cuando la natal ia aveni – en ajunta a la respeta debeda a sua nom e orijina santa, si cualce de sua cualias pote es un ajunta a esta – me ia considera lo como un bon tempo; un tempo amante, pardonante, carital, plasente; la sola tempo cual me conose en la calendario longa de la anio cuando, par acorda comun, lo pare ce omes e femes abri libre sua cores cluida e considera la persones inferior de los como vera ance pasajores a la tomba, e no como un otra raza de creadas ci ia emprende viajas diferente. E donce, tio, an si la natal ia pone nunca un pico de oro o arjento en mea pox, me crede ce me ia benefica de lo, e va benefica de lo; e me dise: Ta ce Dio bondise lo!”
“There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say,” returned the nephew. “Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round – apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that – 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!”
La secretor en la tance ia aplaudi spontan. Persepinte direta ce esta no conveni, el tisa la foco, e estingui per sempre la sintil frajil final.
The clerk in the Tank involuntarily applauded. Becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished the last frail spark for ever.
“Si me oia denova un sona de tu,” – Scrooge dise – “tu va onora tua natal par perde tua posto! Tu parla multe potiosa, senior.” – el ajunta, dirijente se a sua sobrino – “Me es surprendeda ce tu no deveni un membro de parlamento.”
“Let me hear another sound from you,” said Scrooge, “and you’ll keep your Christmas by losing your situation! You’re quite a powerful speaker, sir,” he added, turning to his nephew. “I wonder you don’t go into Parliament.”
“No es coler, tio. Veni! Come con nos, doman.”
“Don’t be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us to-morrow.”
Scrooge dise ce el ta prefere visita el en e… – si, vera el dise lo. El pronunsia la espresa intera, e dise ce el ta prefere visita sua sobrino en acel loca estrema.
Scrooge said that he would see him – yes, indeed he did. He went the whole length of the expression, and said that he would see him in that extremity first.
“Ma perce?” – la sobrino esclama – “Perce?”
“But why?” cried Scrooge’s nephew. “Why?”
“Perce tu ia sposi?” – Scrooge dise.
“Why did you get married?” said Scrooge.
“Car me ia es enamada.”
“Because I fell in love.”
“Car tu ia es enamada!” – Scrooge ronca, como si esta ta es la sola cosa plu riable en la mundo ca un bon natal – “Bon dia!”
“Because you fell in love!” growled Scrooge, as if that were the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. “Good afternoon!”
“Ma no, tio, tu ia veni nunca per visita me ance ante acel aveni. Perce tu dona lo como un razona per no veni aora?”
“Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now?”
“Bon dia.” – Scrooge dise.
“Good afternoon,” said Scrooge.
“Me desira no cosa de tu; me xerca no cosa de tu; perce nos no pote es amis?”
“I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be friends?”
“Bon dia.” – Scrooge dise.
“Good afternoon,” said Scrooge.
“Me es triste, con tota mea cor, trovante ce tu es tan ostinosa. Nos ia fa nunca un disputa en cual me ia es un partisipor. Ma me ia fa la atenta per onora la natal, e me va manteni mea bon umor de natal asta la fini. Donce: bon natal, tio!”
“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 humour to the last. So A Merry Christmas, uncle!”
“Bon dia!” – Scrooge dise.
“Good afternoon!” said Scrooge.
“E bon anio nova!”
“And A Happy New Year!”
“Bon dia!” – Scrooge dise.
“Good afternoon!” said Scrooge.
Sua sobrino sorti de la sala sin parola coler, an tal. El pausa a la porte esterna per dona la salutas de la saison a la secretor, ci, an si fria, es plu calda ca Scrooge, car el redona los en un modo cortes.
His nephew left the room 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.
“On ave ala un otra om,” – Scrooge murmura, ci oia el sin intende – “mea secretor, con des-sinco xilinges per semana, e un sposa e familia, ci parla sur un bon natal. Me va retira me a la casa de locos.”
“There’s another fellow,” muttered Scrooge; who overheard him: “my clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and family, talking about a merry Christmas. I’ll retire to Bedlam.”
Esta loco, en lasa ce la sobrino de Scrooge sorti, ia lasa ce du otra persones entra. Los es seniores alga obesa, de aspeta plasente, ci sta aora, con sua xapos desponeda, en la ofisia de Scrooge. Los ave libros e paperes en sua manos, e los inclina se ante el.
This lunatic, in letting Scrooge’s nephew out, had let two other people in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, with their hats off, in Scrooge’s office. They had books and papers in their hands, and bowed to him.
“La boteca de Scrooge e Marley, me crede.” – un de la seniores dise, consultante sua lista. – “Me ave la plaser de parla a senior Scrooge o senior Marley?”
“Scrooge and Marley’s, I believe,” said one of the gentlemen, referring to his list. “Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley?”
“Senior Marley es ja mor tra la sete anios pasada.” – Scrooge responde. – “El ia mori a sete anios a ante, a esta note mesma.”
“Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years,” Scrooge replied. “He died seven years ago, this very night.”
“Nos ave no duta ce sua jenerosia es bon representada par sua asosior survivente.” – la senior dise, presentante sua documentos de identia.
“We have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his surviving partner,” said the gentleman, presenting his credentials.
E serta lo es tal, car los ia es du spiritos simil. A la menasa de la parola “jenerosia”, Scrooge fronsi sua suprasiles, e secute sua testa, e redona la documentos.
It certainly was; for they had been two kindred spirits. At the ominous word “liberality,” Scrooge frowned, and shook his head, and handed the credentials back.
“A esta saison festosa de la anio, senior Scrooge,” – la senior dise, prendente un pen – “nos desira plu ca usual ce nos ta furni alga donadas peti a la povres e miseras, ci sufri vasta a la tempo presente. Multe miles no ave la nesesadas comun; sentos de miles no ave la comfortas comun, senior.”
“At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge,” said the gentleman, taking up a pen, “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. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir.”
“Esce on ave no prisones?” – Scrooge demanda.
“Are there no prisons?” asked Scrooge.
“Multe prisones.” – la senior dise, reposante denova la pen.
“Plenty of prisons,” said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.
“E la casas de labora parocial?” – Scrooge demanda. – “Los funsiona ancora?”
“And the Union workhouses?” demanded Scrooge. “Are they still in operation?”
“Si, los funsiona. An tal,” – la senior responde – “me desira ce me ta pote nega lo.”
“They are. Still,” returned the gentleman, “I wish I could say they were not.”
“E la paseadores de la prisonidas, e la lege de la povres – los es plen enerjiosa, si?” – Scrooge dise.
“The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigour, then?” said Scrooge.
“Ambos es multe ocupada, senior.”
“Both very busy, sir.”
“O! Me ia teme, pos tua informa prima, ce alga cosa ia aveni per para los sur sua curso usosa.” – Scrooge dise. – “Me es multe felis de oia la nega.”
“Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course,” said Scrooge. “I’m very glad to hear it.”
“Su la impresa ce los no dona vera un felisi cristian de mente o corpo a la popla,” – la senior responde – “alga de nos atenta cumula un reserva per compra per la povres alga carne e bevidas e modos de caldi. Nos ia eleje esta tempo car lo es un tempo, entre tota otras, cuando la Manca es agu sentida e la Abunda es joiosa. Per cuanto me ta enscrive tu?”
“Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude,” returned the gentleman, “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?”
“Zero!” – Scrooge responde.
“Nothing!” Scrooge replied.
“Tu desira es anonim?”
“You wish to be anonymous?”
“Me desira ce on lasa me en solitaria.” – Scrooge dise – “Car vos demanda lo me desira, seniores, acel es mea responde. Me mesma no regala me con joia a natal, e me no pote tolera la custa de regala persones pigra con joia. Me aida suporta la instituidas a cual me ia refere – los custa bastante – e los ci es povre debe vade ala.”
“I wish to be left alone,” said Scrooge. “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.”
“Multe no pote vade ala; e multe ta prefere mori.”
“Many can’t go there; and many would rather die.”
“Si los ta prefere mori,” – Scrooge dise – “ta ce los fa, e redui en esta modo la suprapasa de popla. Plu – pardona me – me no sabe acel.”
“If they would rather die,” said Scrooge, “they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population. Besides – excuse me – I don’t know that.”
“Ma cisa tu ta pote sabe lo.” – la senior comenta.
“But you might know it,” observed the gentleman.
“Lo no conserna me.” – Scrooge replica – “Lo sufisi ce un om comprende sua propre consernas, e no interfere con los de otra persones. Me es constante ocupada par mea consernas. Bon dia, seniores!”
“It’s not my business,” Scrooge returned. “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!”
Vidente clar ce un continua de la discute ta ave no valua, la seniores retira se. Scrooge recomensa sua laboras con un opina plu bon sur se, e en un umor plu bromosa ca sua moda abitual.
Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the gentlemen withdrew. Scrooge resumed his labours with an improved opinion of himself, and in a more facetious temper than was usual with him.
Entretempo, la nebla e oscuria deveni tan densa ce persones core de asi a ala con torxas flaminte, ofrente sua servis de vade ante la cavalos e vagones per gida los sur sua vias. La tore antica de un eglesa, de cual sua campana vea roncin regarda abitual Scrooge en un modo rusosa tra un fenetra gotica en la mur, deveni nonvidable, e sona la oras e cuatris en la nubes, segueda par vibras tremante como si sua dentes clica en sua testa jelada, ala a supra. La fria deveni intensa. En la strada xef, a la canto de la stradeta, alga laborores repara la tubos de gas, e ia ensende ja un foco grande en un brasero, sirca cual un grupo de omes e xicos vestida en trapos es colieda, caldinte sua manos e giniante sua oios en estasia ante la incandese. Car la idrante es lasada en solitaria, sua supraflues conjela malumorosa e deveni un jelo misantropial.
Meanwhile the fog and darkness thickened so, that people ran about with flaring links, proffering their services to go before horses in carriages, and conduct them on their way. The ancient tower of a church, whose gruff old bell was always peeping slily down at Scrooge out of a Gothic window in the wall, became invisible, and struck the hours and quarters in the clouds, with tremulous vibrations afterwards as if its teeth were chattering in its frozen head up there. The cold became intense. In the main street, at the corner of the court, some labourers were repairing the gas-pipes, and had lighted a great fire in a brazier, round which a party of ragged men and boys were gathered: warming their hands and winking their eyes before the blaze in rapture. The water-plug being left in solitude, its overflowings sullenly congealed, and turned to misanthropic ice.
La brilia de la botecas, do talos e bacas de ilex crepita en la caldia de la lampas de la fenetras, fa ce fases pal aspeta roja cuando los pasa. La comersia de carne de avia e otra comedas deveni un broma merveliosa: un estravagante gloriosa, en cual on ia pote apena persepi un relata con la prinsipes noiante de negosia e vende. La Maior de London, en la fortres potiosa de Mansion House, dona comandas a sua sincodes cosinores e servores ce los ta onora la natal como conveninte en la casa de un maior; e an la talior peti, a ci el ia multa sinco xilinges a la lundi presedente cuando el ia es enebriada e violente en la stradas, misca la deser festosa de doman en sua atico, an cuando sua sposa magra e la bebe sorti per compra la carne de bove.
The brightness of the shops where holly sprigs and berries crackled in the lamp heat of the windows, made pale faces ruddy as they passed. Poulterers’ and grocers’ trades became a splendid joke: a glorious pageant, with which it was next to impossible to believe that such dull principles as bargain and sale had anything to do. The Lord Mayor, in the stronghold of the mighty Mansion House, gave orders to his fifty cooks and butlers to keep Christmas as a Lord Mayor’s household should; and even the little tailor, whom he had fined five shillings on the previous Monday for being drunk and bloodthirsty in the streets, stirred up to-morrow’s pudding in his garret, while his lean wife and the baby sallied out to buy the beef.
Ancora plu neblosa, e plu fria. La fria penetra, fora, morde. Si sola la bon San Dunstan ta pinsi la nas de la Mal Spirito con un poca de tal aira como esta, en loca de usa sua arma conoseda, alora la Diablo ta ruji vera per un razona forte. La posesor de un nas joven e peti, rodeda e masticada par la fria fame como osos es rodeda par canes, basi se a la buco de clave de Scrooge per regala el con un canta de natal; ma a la sona prima de
Foggier yet, and colder. Piercing, searching, biting cold. If the good Saint Dunstan had but nipped the Evil Spirit’s nose with a touch of such weather as that, instead of using his familiar weapons, then indeed he would have roared to lusty purpose. The owner of one scant young nose, gnawed and mumbled by the hungry cold as bones are gnawed by dogs, stooped down at Scrooge’s keyhole to regale him with a Christmas carol: but at the first sound of
“Bondises a tu, bon senior!
Un vive sin angus’!”
“God bless you, merry gentleman!
May nothing you dismay!”
Scrooge saisi la regla en un ata tan enerjiosa ce la cantor fuji en teror, lasante la buco a la nebla, e a la jelada cual es an min bonveninte.
Scrooge seized the ruler with such energy of action, that the singer fled in terror, leaving the keyhole to the fog and even more congenial frost.
La ora de clui la sala de contas ariva final. Nonvolente, Scrooge desmonta sua sejeta e, sin parola, indica la fato a la secretor espetante en la tance, ci estingui direta sua candela e pone sua xapo.
At length the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived. With an ill-will Scrooge dismounted from his stool, and tacitly admitted the fact to the expectant clerk in the Tank, who instantly snuffed his candle out, and put on his hat.
“Tu va vole ave doman tota la dia, me suposa?” – Scrooge dise.
“You’ll want all day to-morrow, I suppose?” said Scrooge.
“Si esta conveni, senior.”
“If quite convenient, sir.”
“Lo no conveni,” – Scrooge dise – “e lo no es justa. Si me ta sutrae un dui de un corona per lo, tu ta opina ce me maltrata tu, me es serta?”
“It’s not convenient,” said Scrooge, “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?”
La secretor surie debil.
The clerk smiled faintly.
“E an tal,” – Scrooge dise – “tu no opina ce tu maltrata me cuando me paia la salario de un dia per no labora.”
“And yet,” said Scrooge, “you don’t think me ill-used, when I pay a day’s wages for no work.”
La secretor comenta ce la festa aveni a sola un ves anial.
The clerk observed that it was only once a year.
“Un escusa povre per fura la bolsa de un om a cada dudes-sinco de desembre!” – Scrooge dise, botoninte sua jacon pesosa asta sua mento. – “Ma me suposa ce tu debe ave la dia intera. Veni asi an plu temprana a la matina seguente.”
“A poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December!” said Scrooge, buttoning his great-coat to the chin. “But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next morning.”
La secretor promete ce el va obedi; e Scrooge sorti con un ronca. La ofisia es cluida pos un momento corta, e la secretor, de cual la finis longa de sua scarfa blanca pende su sua taie (car el posese no jacon), lisca longo la strada jelada de Cornhill a dudes veses, a la fini de un serie de xicos, per onora la sera de natal, e alora el core a sua casa en Camden Town, tan rapida como posible, per fa la jua de la sieca.
The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge walked out with a growl. The office was closed in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long ends of his white comforter dangling below his waist (for he boasted no great-coat), went down a slide on Cornhill, at the end of a lane of boys, twenty times, in honour of its being Christmas Eve, and then ran home to Camden Town as hard as he could pelt, to play at blindman’s-buff.
Scrooge fa sombre sua come de sera en sua restorante sombre abitual; e pos leje tota la jornales e pos pasa gustable la resta de la sera con sua libro de bancor, el vade a casa per dormi. El abita en cambras cual ia parteni a un ves pasada a sua asosior mor. Los es un suite depresante de salas en un construida grande e grimante en un stradeta, do lo aspeta tan nonarmoniosa ce on pote apena evita fantasia ce lo ia core ala cuando lo ia es un casa joven, a media de un jua de asconde con otra casas, e ia oblida la via de sorti. Lo es aora vera vea e vera triste, car sola Scrooge abita lo; tota la otra salas es luada como ofisias. La stradeta es tan oscur ce an Scrooge, ci conose cada de sua petras, es obligada de palpa con sua manos. Tan multe nebla e jelada pende sirca la porte vea e negra de la casa ce lo pare como si la Spirito de la Clima senta a la limita en medita lamentante.
Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy tavern; and having read all the newspapers, and beguiled the rest of the evening with his banker’s-book, went home to bed. He lived in chambers which had once belonged to his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms, in a lowering pile of building up a yard, where it had so little business to be, that one could scarcely help fancying it must have run there when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with other houses, and forgotten the way out again. It was old enough now, and dreary enough, for nobody lived in it but Scrooge, the other rooms being all let out as offices. The yard was so dark that even Scrooge, who knew its every stone, was fain to grope with his hands. The fog and frost so hung about the black old gateway of the house, that it seemed as if the Genius of the Weather sat in mournful meditation on the threshold.
Bon, lo es un fato ce la bateporte de la casa ave vera no cualia spesial, estra ce lo es multe grande. Lo es ance un fato ce Scrooge ia vide lo, a cada note e matina, tra tota sua abita en esta loca, e ance ce Scrooge posese la cualia nomida “imajina” en un grado tan pico como cualce om en la site de London, an si on inclui – en un ajunta noncortes – la corpora, conselores, e uniformadas. Ta ce on conserva ance en sua mente ce Scrooge ia dona an no un pensa a Marley pos sua refere ultima a sua asosior, mor tra sete anios, en esta posmedia. E alora, ta ce cualcun esplica a me, si el pote, como lo aveni ce Scrooge, teninte sua clave en la securador de la porte, vide en la bateporte – sin ce lo sufri entretempo cualce prosede de cambia – no un bateporte, ma la fas de Marley.
Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all particular about the knocker on the door, except that it was very large. It is also a fact, that Scrooge had seen it, night and morning, during his whole residence in that place; also that Scrooge had as little of what is called fancy about him as any man in the city of London, even including – which is a bold word – the corporation, aldermen, and livery. Let it also be borne in mind that Scrooge had not bestowed one thought on Marley, since his last mention of his seven years’ dead partner that afternoon. And then 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, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change – not a knocker, but Marley’s face.
La fas de Marley. Lo no sta en ombra nonpenetrable como la otra ojetos en la stradeta, ma lo ave un lus sombre sirca se, como un omaro putrida en un susolo oscur. Lo no es coler o ferose, ma lo regarda Scrooge como Marley ia regarda a ante: con un oculo fantasmin puiada a supra sur sua fronte fantasmin. La capeles es strana tisada, como si par respira o aira calda; e, an si la oios es plen abrida, los es intera nonmovente. Par esta, e sua color blu gris, lo es asustante; ma sua teror pare esiste separada de la fas, e estra sua controla, en loca de como un parte de sua propre espresa.
Marley’s face. It was not in impenetrable shadow as the other objects in the yard were, but had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar. It was not angry or ferocious, but looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look: with ghostly spectacles turned up on its ghostly forehead. The hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath or hot air; and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. That, and its livid colour, made it horrible; but its horror seemed to be in spite of the face and beyond its control, rather than a part of its own expression.
An cuando Scrooge fisa esta fenomeno con sua regarda, lo es denova un bateporte.
As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a knocker again.
Lo ta es nonvera si me ta dise ce Scrooge no es surprendeda, o ce sua sangue no es consensa de un senti asustante cual es stranjer a el de pos sua enfantia. Ma el pone sua mano sur la clave cual el ia sede, torse lo en un modo determinada, entra, e ensende sua candela.
To say that he was not startled, or that his blood was not conscious of a terrible sensation to which it had been a stranger from infancy, would be untrue. But he put his hand upon the key he had relinquished, turned it sturdily, walked in, and lighted his candle.
An tal, el pausa tra un momento de nonsertia ante clui la porte; e an tal, el comensa par regarda cauta pos la porte, como si el espeta partal es terorida par vide la coda de cavalo de Marley protendente a la atrio. Ma on ave no cosa sur la retro de la porte, estra la vises e torcas cual teni la bateporte, donce el dise “Ba, ba!” e clui lo con un pum.
He did pause, with a moment’s irresolution, before he shut the door; and he did look cautiously behind it first, as if he half expected to be terrified with the sight of Marley’s pigtail sticking out into the hall. But there was nothing on the back of the door, except the screws and nuts that held the knocker on, so he said “Pooh, pooh!” and closed it with a bang.
La ruido resona tra la casa como tona. Lo pare ce cada sala a supra, e cada baril en la susolos de la mercator de vino a su, ave un propre serie individua de ecos. Scrooge no es un om ci es asustada par ecos. El fisa la porte, e traversa la atrio, e asende la scalera – an lenta – sisorinte la mexa de sua candela sur sua via.
The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Every room above, and every cask in the wine-merchant’s cellars below, appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a man to be frightened by echoes. He fastened the door, and walked across the hall, and up the stairs; slowly too: trimming his candle as he went.
On pote parla idiomal de asende un bon scalera vea en un vagon de ses cavalos, o de gida un tal vagon tra un mal ata nova de parlamento, ma me vole dise ce on ta pote asende esta scalera en un veculo funeral, an ladal fasante, con la bara de molas asta la mur e con la porte asta la rel de mano – e asende fasil. La largia ta sufisi per esta, e no ta es an plen ocupada; e cisa esta es la razona per cual Scrooge pensa ce el vide un veculo funeral de motor cual presede el en la oscuria. An un sesuple de lampas de gas prendeda de la strada no ta lumina tro bon la atrio, donce tu pote suposa ce lo es vera oscur con la candela de sebo de Scrooge.
You may talk vaguely about driving a coach-and-six up a good old flight of stairs, or through a bad young Act of Parliament; but I mean to say you might have got a hearse up that staircase, and taken it broadwise, with the splinter-bar towards the wall and the door towards the balustrades: and done it easy. There was plenty of width for that, and room to spare; which is perhaps the reason why Scrooge thought he saw a locomotive hearse going on before him in the gloom. Half-a-dozen gas-lamps out of the street wouldn’t have lighted the entry too well, so you may suppose that it was pretty dark with Scrooge’s dip.
Scrooge asende, ajitada par esta a no grado. La oscuria es barata, e Scrooge gusta lo. Ma ante clui sua porte pesosa, el pasea tra sua salas per vide ce tota es en ordina. El ave un recorda minima ma sufisinte de la fas per desira fa esta.
Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for that. Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it. But before he shut his heavy door, he walked through his rooms to see that all was right. He had just enough recollection of the face to desire to do that.
Salon, sala de dormi, sala de caxas. Tota es como los debe es. Nun su la table, nun su la sofa; un foco peti en la ximineria; la culier e bol preparada; e la caserol de gaxa (Scrooge ave cataro en sua testa) sur la cornisa. Nun su la leto; nun en la saleta; nun en sua roba de bani, cual pende con un aspeta suspetosa contra la mur. Sala de caxas como usual. Gardafoco vea, sapatos vea, du sestos de pexa, lavabo sur tre pedes, e un tisador.
Sitting-room, bedroom, lumber-room. All as they should be. Nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa; a small fire in the grate; spoon and basin ready; and the little saucepan of gruel (Scrooge had a cold in his head) upon the hob. Nobody under the bed; nobody in the closet; nobody in his dressing-gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against the wall. Lumber-room as usual. Old fire-guard, old shoes, two fish-baskets, washing-stand on three legs, and a poker.
Plen sasiada, el clui sua porte e securi se en sua sala; el torse la clave a du veses, cual no es sua abitua. Securida en esta modo contra surprende, el despone sua tela de colo, pone sua roba de bani e pantoflas, e sua xapo de note, e senta se ante la foco per come sua gaxa.
Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in; double-locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus secured against surprise, he took off his cravat; put on his dressing-gown and slippers, and his nightcap; and sat down before the fire to take his gruel.
La foco es vera multe basa: apena un foco per un note tan fria. Scrooge es obligada de senta prosima a lo, e medita triste supra lo, per pote estrae un sensa de caldia la plu peti de un tal plenimano de combustable.
It was a very low fire indeed; nothing on such a bitter night. He was obliged to sit close to it, and brood over it, before he could extract the least sensation of warmth from such a handful of fuel.
La ximineria es un vea, construida par alga mercator nederlandes en la pasada distante, e paveda a tota lados con telias nederlandes anticin, desiniada per depinta la scrivedas santa. Ave Caines e Abeles, fias de Faraon, reas de Saba, mesajores anjelin desendente tra la aira sur nubes simil a letos de plumas, Abrahames, Baltasares, apostoles ci comensa viajas sur mar en boles de bur, sentos de figures per atrae sua pensas; e, an tal, acel fas de Marley, mor tra sete anios, veni como la basto de la profeta antica, e engoli tota. Si cada telia lisa ta comensa blanca, con la capasia de formi alga imaje sur sua surfas par la fratos nonliada de la pensas de Scrooge, on ta ave un copia de la testa de Marley Vea sur cada.
The fireplace was an old one, built by some Dutch merchant long ago, and paved all round with quaint Dutch tiles, designed to illustrate the Scriptures. There were Cains and Abels, Pharaoh’s daughters; Queens of Sheba, Angelic messengers descending through the air on clouds like feather-beds, Abrahams, Belshazzars, Apostles putting off to sea in butter-boats, hundreds of figures to attract his thoughts; and yet that face of Marley, seven years dead, came like the ancient Prophet’s rod, and swallowed up the whole. If each smooth tile had been a blank at first, with power to shape some picture on its surface from the disjointed fragments of his thoughts, there would have been a copy of old Marley’s head on every one.
“Babela!” – Scrooge dise, e traversa la sala.
“Humbug!” said Scrooge; and walked across the room.
Pos alga verjes, el senta denova se. Cuando el apoia sua testa a retro en la seja, sua regarda reposa acaso sur un campana, un campana desusada, cual pende en la sala e comunica, per alga razona aora oblidada, con un cambra en la nivel la plu alta de la construida. Lo es con stona grande, e con un teme strana e nonesplicable, ce, an cuando el regarda, el vide esta campana comensa penduli. Lo penduli tan jentil a la comensa ce lo fa apena un sona; ma pronto lo resona forte, e cada campana en la casa fa la mesma.
After several turns, he sat down again. As he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the room, and communicated for some purpose now forgotten with a chamber in the highest story of the building. It was with great astonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house.
Cisa esta dura tra un dui de un minuto, o un minuto, ma lo pare como un ora. La campanas sesa como los ia comensa, en junta. Los es segueda par un tintina basa e metal, profonda a su, como si algun tira un cadena pesosa sur la bariles en la susolo de la mercator de vino. Scrooge recorda alora ce el ia oia ce on descrive fantasmas en casas infestada como si los tira cadenas.
This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. They were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below; as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the wine-merchant’s cellar. Scrooge then remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as dragging chains.
La porte de la susolo abri rapida con un sona bumante, e alora el oia plu forte la ruido, sur la solos a su; alora lo asende la scalera; alora lo avansa direta a sua porte.
The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard the noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; then coming straight towards his door.
“Lo es babela an tal!” – Scrooge dise – “Me no va crede lo.”
“It’s humbug still!” said Scrooge. “I won’t believe it.”
Ma sua color cambia cuando, sin pausa, la movente continua tra la porte pesosa, e veni en la sala ante sua oios. A sua entra, la flama morinte salta, como silo cria – “Me conose el: la fantasma de Marley!” – e cade denova.
His colour changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through the heavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as though it cried, “I know him; Marley’s Ghost!” and fell again.
La mesma fas: esata la mesma. Marley con sua coda de cavalo, jaceta abitual, pantalon streta, e botas. La pompones sur la botas es ajitada, como sua coda de cavalo, e la faldones de sua jaca, e la capeles sur sua testa. La cadena cual el tira es fisada sirca sua taie. Lo es longa, e enrolada sirca el como un coda; e lo es composada (car Scrooge oserva prosima lo) de caxas de mone, claves, securadores, libros de contas, paperes legal, e bolsetas pesosa construida de aser. Sua corpo es diafana, tal ce Scrooge, ci oserva el e regarda tra sua jaceta, pote vide la du botones sur la retro de sua jaca.
The same face: the very same. Marley in his pigtail, usual waistcoat, tights and boots; the tassels on the latter bristling, like his pigtail, and his coat-skirts, and the hair upon his head. The chain he drew was clasped about his middle. It was long, and wound about him like a tail; and it was made (for Scrooge observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent; so that Scrooge, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind.
Scrooge ia oia comun ce on dise ce Marley ave no cor, ma ante aora el ia crede nunca lo.
Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, but he had never believed it until now.
No, e an aora el no crede lo. An si el regarda profonda tra la fantasma, e vide ce lo sta ante el, an si el senti la influe frinte de sua oios morin fria, e nota clar la trama de la tela pliada cual es liada sirca sua testa e mento – un envolvente cual el no ia oserva a ante – el es ancora noncredente, e batalia contra sua sensas.
No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he looked the phantom through and through, and saw it standing before him; though he felt the chilling influence of its death-cold eyes; and marked the very texture of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had not observed before; he was still incredulous, and fought against his senses.
“Como?” – Scrooge dise, amarga e fria como sempre – “Cual tu desira de me?”
“How now!” said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. “What do you want with me?”
“Multe!” – la vose de Marley, estra duta.
“Much!” – Marley’s voice, no doubt about it.
“Ci tu es?”
“Who are you?”
“Demanda a me ci me ia es.”
“Ask me who I was.”
“Alora, ci tu ia es?” – Scrooge dise, fortinte sua vose – “Tu es pedante, per un fantasma clar.” – El ia intende dise “clar pedante”, ma el sustitui la otra como plu conveninte.
“Who were you then?” said Scrooge, raising his voice. “You’re particular, for a shade.” He was going to say “to a shade,” but substituted this, as more appropriate.
“En vive, me ia es tua asosior, Jacob Marley.”
“In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley.”
“Esce – esce tu pote senta?” – Scrooge demanda, regardante el con duta.
“Can you – can you sit down?” asked Scrooge, looking doubtfully at him.
“Me pote.”
“I can.”
“Donce fa.”
“Do it, then.”
Scrooge fa la demanda car el no sabe esce un fantasma tan diafana trova se en un state capas de usa un seja, e senti ce, en la caso ce esta es nonposible, la situa pote envolve la nesesa de un esplica embarasante. Ma la fantasma senta se sur la lado fasante de la ximineria, como si el es plen abituada a esta.
Scrooge asked the question, because he didn’t know whether a ghost so transparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair; and felt that in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the necessity of an embarrassing explanation. But the ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it.
“Tu no crede ce me esiste.” – la fantasma comenta.
“You don’t believe in me,” observed the Ghost.
“Vera.” – Scrooge dise.
“I don’t,” said Scrooge.
“Cual indica de mea realia tu desira ultra lo de tua sensas?”
“What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses?”
“Me no sabe.” – Scrooge dise.
“I don’t know,” said Scrooge.
“Perce tu duta tua sensas?”
“Why do you doubt your senses?”
“Car” – Scrooge dise – “an un cosa peti afeta los. Un disturba minor de la stomaco cambia los a frodores. Cisa tu es un peso nondijestada de carne de bove, un goton de mostarda, un peseta de ceso, un frato de un patata malcoceda. Me no sabe como tu es, ma tu ia veni plu probable de la tomates ca de la tomba!”
“Because,” said Scrooge, “a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There’s more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!”
Scrooge no es multe abituada a fa bromas, e el no ave aora un senti a cualce grado bromosa en sua cor. La vera es ce el ia atenta es astuta, como un metodo per distrae sua propre atende e supresa sua teror, car la vose de la fantasma turba la medula mesma en sua osos.
Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did he feel, in his heart, by any means waggish then. The truth is, that he tried to be smart, as a means of distracting his own attention, and keeping down his terror; for the spectre’s voice disturbed the very marrow in his bones.
Si el ta senta en silentia per un momento e fisa sua regarda a acel oios intensa vitrin, esta ta es un esperia vera diablosa. On ave ance alga cosa asustante en la fato ce la fantasma posese sua propre atmosfera enfernal. Scrooge mesma no pote senti lo, ma esta es clar la situa – car, an si la fantasma senta intera sin move, sua capeles e faldones e pompones es ancora ajitada como si par la vapor calda de un forno.
To sit, staring at those fixed glazed eyes, in silence for a moment, would play, Scrooge felt, the very deuce with him. There was something very awful, too, in the spectre’s being provided with an infernal atmosphere of its own. Scrooge could not feel it himself, but this was clearly the case; for though the Ghost sat perfectly motionless, its hair, and skirts, and tassels, were still agitated as by the hot vapour from an oven.
“Tu vide esta basteta de dentes?” – Scrooge dise, ci reveni rapida a la ataca, per la razona ja furnida, e ci desira, an si sola per un secondo, diverje de se la regarda petrin de la alusina.
“You see this toothpick?” said Scrooge, returning quickly to the charge, for the reason just assigned; and wishing, though it were only for a second, to divert the vision’s stony gaze from himself.
“Me vide.” – la fantasma responde.
“I do,” replied the Ghost.
“Tu no regarda lo.” – Scrooge dise.
“You are not looking at it,” said Scrooge.
“Ma me vide lo,” – la fantasma dise – “an tal.”
“But I see it,” said the Ghost, “notwithstanding.”
“Alora!” – Scrooge replica – “Si me ta engoli an sola esta, me ta es persegueda per la resta de mea dias par un armada de orcetas, tota fantasiada par me mesma. Babela, me dise! Babela!”
“Well!” returned Scrooge, “I have but to swallow this, and be for the rest of my days persecuted by a legion of goblins, all of my own creation. Humbug, I tell you! humbug!”
A esta, la spirito emete un cria asustante, e secute sua cadena con un ruido tan triste e xocante ce Scrooge saisi tensada sua seja, per salva se de cade en desmaia. Ma sua teror es an multe plu grande cuando la fantasma despone la tela sirca sua testa, como si esta es tro caldinte per porta en casa, e sua mandibula basa cade sur sua peto!
At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook its chain with such a dismal and appalling noise, that Scrooge held on tight to his chair, to save himself from falling in a swoon. But how much greater was his horror, when the phantom taking off the bandage round its head, as if it were too warm to wear indoors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast!
Scrooge cade sur sua jenos e junta sua manos ante sua fas.
Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face.
“Compatia!” – el dise – “Fantasma asustante, perce tu disturba me?”
“Mercy!” he said. “Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?”
“Om de la mente mundal!” – la fantasma responde – “Tu crede ce me esiste, o no?”
“Man of the worldly mind!” replied the Ghost, “do you believe in me or not?”
“Me crede.” – Scrooge dise – “Me debe. Ma perce spiritos pasea sur la tera, e perce los veni a me?”
“I do,” said Scrooge. “I must. But why do spirits walk the earth, and why do they come to me?”
“On obliga a cada person” – la fantasma replica – “ce la spirito contenida en el ta pasea entre la otra umanas en la mundo, e ta viaja a multe locas. E si acel spirito no sorti en la vive, lo es condenada de fa esta pos mori. Lo es destinada de vaga tra la mundo – o, ai per me! – e oserva cosas cual lo no pote comparti ma cual, en sua vive sur la tera, lo ta debe comparti e cambia a felisia!”
“It is required of every man,” the Ghost returned, “that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellowmen, and travel far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world – oh, woe is me! – and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness!”
Denova la fantasma emete un cria, e secute sua cadena e torse sua manos ombrin.
Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain and wrung its shadowy hands.
“Tu es cadenida.” – Scrooge dise, tremante – “Tu ta dise perce?”
“You are fettered,” said Scrooge, trembling. “Tell me why?”
“Me porta la cadena cual me ia forja en mea vive.” – la fantasma responde – “Me ia crea gradal cada anelo e cada metre de lo. Me ia lia lo con volunta libre, e con volunta libre me ia porta lo. Sua forma pare strana a tu?
“I wear the chain I forged in life,” replied the Ghost. “I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you?”
Scrooge trema sempre plu.
Scrooge trembled more and more.
“O esce tu vole sabe” – la fantasma continua – “la pesa e longia de la cordon forte cual tu mesma porta? Lo ia es tan pesosa e tan longa como esta, a sete seras de natal ante aora. Tu ia labora a lo a pos. Lo es vera un cadena pesosa!”
“Or would you know,” pursued the Ghost, “the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself? It was full as heavy and as long as this, seven Christmas Eves ago. You have laboured on it, since. It is a ponderous chain!”
Scrooge regarda la solo sirca se, espetante trova ce el es ensircada par cisa novedes o sento metres de cordon de fero. Ma el vide no cosa.
Scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation of finding himself surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable: but he could see nothing.
“Jacob.” – el dise, preante – “Vea Jacob Marley, dise plu. Parla per comforta me, Jacob!”
“Jacob,” he said, imploringly. “Old Jacob Marley, tell me more. Speak comfort to me, Jacob!”
“Me ave no comforta per dona.” – la fantasma responde – “Acel veni de otra locas, Ebenezer Scrooge, e es furnida par otra ajentes, a otra spesies de person. Plu, me no pote dise a tu la cosas cual me vole. On permete ce me dise sola vera poca plu. Me no pote reposa, me no pote resta, me no pote permane en cualce loca. Mea spirito ia pasea nunca ultra nosa sala de contas – nota! – en vive, mea spirito ia vaga nunca ultra la limitas streta de nosa buco de cambia mone; e viajas fatigante es mea futur!”
“I have none to give,” the Ghost replied. “It comes from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of men. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more is all permitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond our counting-house – mark me! – in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!”
Lo es un abitua de Scrooge, sempre cuando el deveni pensosa, ce el pone sua manos en la poxes de sua pantalon. Aora, considerante la dises de la fantasma, el fa esta, ma sin alti sua regarda o leva se de sua jenos.
It was a habit with Scrooge, whenever he became thoughtful, to put his hands in his breeches pockets. Pondering on what the Ghost had said, he did so now, but without lifting up his eyes, or getting off his knees.
“Clar, tu ia fa esta en un modo multe lenta, Jacob.” – Scrooge comenta en un manera pratical, an si con umilia e respeta.
“You must have been very slow about it, Jacob,” Scrooge observed, in a business-like manner, though with humility and deference.
“Lenta!” – la fantasma repete.
“Slow!” the Ghost repeated.
“Mor tra sete anios” – Scrooge murmura pensosa – “e sempre viajante!”
“Seven years dead,” mused Scrooge. “And travelling all the time!”
“Sempre.” – la fantasma dise – “Sin reposa, sin pas. Un tortura nonsesante de regrete.”
“The whole time,” said the Ghost. “No rest, no peace. Incessant torture of remorse.”
“Tu viaja rapida?” – Scrooge dise.
“You travel fast?” said Scrooge.
“Sur la alas de la venta.” – la fantasma responde.
“On the wings of the wind,” replied the Ghost.
“Cisa tu ia pote traversa un cuantia grande de la tera en sete anios.” – Scrooge dise.
“You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years,” said Scrooge.
La fantasma, oiante esta, crea denova un cria, e tintina sua cadena en la silentia completa de la note en un modo tan xocante ce la polisiores ta ata justa si los ta aresta lo como un iritante.
The Ghost, on hearing this, set up another cry, and clanked its chain so hideously in the dead silence of the night, that the Ward would have been justified in indicting it for a nuisance.
“O! Tu es caturada, liada, e duple cadenida,” – la fantasma esclama – “car tu no sabe ce edas de labora nonsesante par esentes nonmortal per esta tera debe pasa a eternia ante la developa plen de la bonia de cual lo es capas. Tu no sabe ce cada spirito cristian ci labora jenerosa en sua area peti, an de cualce spesie, va trova ce sua vive mortal es tro corta per sua medias vasta usosa. Tu no sabe ce no cuantia de repenti pote compensa per la malusa de la capasias de un vive! Ma me ia es tal! O! Me ia es tal!”
“Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed,” cried the phantom, “not to know, that ages of incessant labour, by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!”
“Ma tu ia es sempre un bon om en consernas comersial, Jacob.” – Scrooge balbuta, ci comensa aora aplica esta a se.
“But you were always a good man of business, Jacob,” faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself.
“Consernas!” – la fantasma esclama, torsente denova sua manos. – “La umanas ia es mea consernas. La bon destinas comun ia es mea consernas. Carita, compatia, tolera, e bonvole – tota ia es mea consernas. La operas de mea comersia ia es no plu ca un gota de acua en la mar completa de mea consernas!”
“Business!” cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. “Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!”
El teni sua cadena a la longia de sua braso, como si esta es la causa de tota sua tristia futil, e lansa lo denova sur la tera en un modo pesosa.
It held up its chain at arm’s length, as if that were the cause of all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again.
“A esta tempo de la anio progresante,” – la fantasma dise – “me sufri la plu. Perce me ia pasea tra folas de otra umanas con mea oios basida, e ia leva los nunca a acel Stela santa cual ia gida la Res Saja a un abitada povre! Esce on ia ave no casas povre a cual sua lus ta gida me?”
“At this time of the rolling year,” – the spectre said – “I suffer most. 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! Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me!”
Scrooge es multe angusada par oia la fantasma continua en esta manera, e comensa trema estrema multe.
Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the spectre going on at this rate, and began to quake exceedingly.
“Oia me!” – la fantasma cria – “Mea tempo es cuasi pasada.”
“Hear me!” cried the Ghost. “My time is nearly gone.”
“Me va oia.” – Scrooge dise – “Ma no es dur a me! No parla florosa, Jacob! Per favore!”
“I will,” said Scrooge. “But don’t be hard upon me! Don’t be flowery, Jacob! Pray!”
“Como lo aveni ce me apare ante tu en un forma cual tu pote vide, me no pote dise. Me ia senta nonvidable asta tu a multe multe dias.”
“How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I may not tell. I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day.”
Esta no ia es un idea plasente. Scrooge trema, e frota la suo de sua fronte.
It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered, and wiped the perspiration from his brow.
“Acel es un parte nonlejera de mea espia.” – la fantasma continua – “Me es asi a esta note per avisa tu ce tu ave ancora un posible de espera evade mea fortuna. Un posible de espera cual me ia oteni per tu, Ebenezer.”
“That is no light part of my penance,” pursued the Ghost. “I am here to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer.”
“Tu ia es sempre un bon ami per me.” – Scrooge dise – “Grasias!”
“You were always a good friend to me,” said Scrooge. “Thank’ee!”
“Tu va es visitada” – la fantasma recomensa – “par tre Spiritos.”
“You will be haunted,” resumed the Ghost, “by Three Spirits.”
La fas de Scrooge cade cuasi tan basa como lo de la fantasma a ante.
Scrooge’s countenance fell almost as low as the Ghost’s had done.
“Esce acel es la posible de espera a cual tu ia refere, Jacob?” – el demanda, en un vose diminuinte.
“Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob?” he demanded, in a faltering voice.
“Si.”
“It is.”
“Me – me pensa ce me ta prefere no aseta.” – Scrooge dise.
“I – I think I’d rather not,” said Scrooge.
“Sin sua visitas,” – la fantasma dise – “tu no pote espera evita la via sur cual me vade. Espeta doman la prima, cuando la campana sona la ora un.
“Without their visits,” said the Ghost, “you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first to-morrow, when the bell tolls One.”
“Esce me no ta aseta tota de los a la mesma tempo, e fini rapida, Jacob?” – Scrooge sujesta.
“Couldn’t I take ‘em all at once, and have it over, Jacob?” hinted Scrooge.
“Espeta la spirito du a la note seguente a la mesma ora, e la spirito tre a la note seguente pos la sesa de vibra de la colpa ultima de la ora des-du. No espeta vide denova me – e atende, per tua benefica, ce tu recorda mea comunicas a tu!”
“Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third upon the next night when the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!”
Pos dise esta parolas, la fantasma prende sua envolvente de la table, e lia lo sirca sua testa como a ante. Scrooge sabe esta par la sona subita fada par sua dentes cuando la tela rejunta la mandibulas. El osa leva denova sua regarda, e trova ce sua visitor supranatural fronti el en un posa erijeda, con sua cadena enrolada sur e sirca sua braso.
When it had said these words, the spectre took its wrapper from the table, and bound it round its head, as before. Scrooge knew this, by the smart sound its teeth made, when the jaws were brought together by the bandage. He ventured to raise his eyes again, and found his supernatural visitor confronting him in an erect attitude, with its chain wound over and about its arm.
La alusina distanti se de el, paseante a retro, e a la fa de cada paso, la fenetra leva se a alga grado, tal ce, cuando la fantasma ateni lo, lo es plen abrida.
The apparition walked backward from him; and at every step it took, the window raised itself a little, so that when the spectre reached it, it was wide open.
El jesti ce Scrooge ta prosimi, e el obedi. Cuando los es a du pasos la un de la otra, la fantasma de Marley leva sua mano, avertinte el de prosimi plu. Scrooge para.
It beckoned Scrooge to approach, which he did. When they were within two paces of each other, Marley’s Ghost held up its hand, warning him to come no nearer. Scrooge stopped.
El para no tan multe en obedi como en surprende e teme, car, a la leva de la mano, el comensa persepi ruidos confusada en la aira: sonas noncoerente de plora e regrete; ululas autoacusante de un tristia nonespresable. La fantasma, pos escuta tra un momento, junta se a la coro lamentosa – e el flota a estra a la sombria e oscuria de la note.
Not so much in obedience, as in surprise and fear: for on the raising of the hand, he became sensible of confused noises in the air; incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret; wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory. The spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mournful dirge; and floated out upon the bleak, dark night.
Scrooge segue a la fenetra, con curiosia zelosa. El regarda a estra.
Scrooge followed to the window: desperate in his curiosity. He looked out.
La aira es plenida con fantasmas ci vaga de asi a ala en freta nonreposante, jeminte sur sua vias. Cadun de los porta cadenas como la fantasma de Marley; un cuantia peti (ci es cisa governas culpable) es liada en junta; nun de los es libre. Scrooge ia conose personal multe de los en sua vives. El ia conose vera bon un fantasma vea en jaceta blanca, de ci un caxa secur de fero monstrin es fisada a sua talo, e ci lamenta compatable a sua noncapasia de aida un fem misera con un enfante, ci el vide ante un porte a su. Clar, la miseria de tota de los es ce los vole atenta interveni en la esperias umana, per boni estas, e ia perde ja la capasia per sempre.
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, in a white waistcoat, with a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle, who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with an infant, whom it saw below, upon a door-step. The misery with them all was, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power for ever.
Esce esta creadas deveni la nebleta, o la nebleta veli los, Scrooge no pote distingui. Ma los e sua voses spirital pali en junta; e la note deveni como lo ia es cuando lo ia pasea a sua casa.
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 when he walked home.
Scrooge clui la fenetra, e esamina la porte tra cual la fantasma ia entra. Lo es duple securida, car lo ia torse la clave con sua propre manos, e la baretas no es disturbada. El atenta dise – “Babela!” – ma el para a la silaba prima. E car el nesesa multe reposa par causa de la emosia cual el ia sufri, o la fatigas de la dia, o sua videta de la Mundo Nonvidable, o la conversa depresante de la fantasma, o la tardia de la ora, el vade direta a leto, sin desvesti se, e adormi en un momento.
Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by which the Ghost had entered. It was double-locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say “Humbug!” but stopped at the first syllable. And being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the Invisible World, or the dull conversation of the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need of repose; went straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep upon the instant.
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Lo ia es automatada jenerada de la paje corespondente en la Vici de Elefen a 4 april 2024 (17:36 UTC).