Stave IV: The Last of the Spirits
La fantasma veni lenta, seria, silente. Cuando lo es prosima a el, Scrooge plia se sur sua jeno, car esta spirito pare sperde tristia e misterio en la aira mesma tra cual lo move.
The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently, approached. When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery.
Lo es velida en un veste de negra profonda, cual asconde sua testa, sua fas, sua forma, e lasa vidable no parte de lo estra un mano estendeda. Sin esta, on ta distingui difisil sua figur de la note e separa lo de la oscuria par cual lo es ensircada.
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. But for this it would have been difficult to detach its figure from the night, and separate it from the darkness by which it was surrounded.
El senti ce la fantasma es alta e diniosa cuando lo veni a sua lado, e ce sua presentia misteriosa pleni el con un teme seria. El sabe no plu, car la spirito no parla, no move.
He felt that it was tall and stately when it came beside him, and that its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. He knew no more, for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved.
“Me es en la presentia de la Fantasma de Natal Ancora Futur?” – Scrooge dise.
“I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?” said Scrooge.
La spirito no responde, ma indica a ante con sua mano.
The Spirit answered not, but pointed onward with its hand.
“Tu es a punto de mostra ombras a me de la cosas cual no ia aveni ja, ma cual va aveni en la tempo ante nos.” – Scrooge continua – “Lo es tal, spirito?”
“You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,” Scrooge pursued. “Is that so, Spirit?”
La parte alta de la veste es contraeda per un momento en sua plias, como si la spirito ia inclina sua testa. Scrooge reseta no responde plu ca acel.
The upper portion of the garment was contracted for an instant in its folds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head. That was the only answer he received.
An si el ia deveni ja bon abituada a la acompania de fantasmas a esta tempo, Scrooge teme tan multe la forma silente ce sua gamas trema su el, e el trova ce el pote apena sta cuando el prepara segue lo. La spirito pausa per un momento, oservante sua state, e donante a el la tempo per recovre.
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. The Spirit paused a moment, as observing his condition, and giving him time to recover.
Ma Scrooge sufri an plu en resulta. El es stimulada par un teror neblosa e nonserta de sabe ce, pos la velo oscur, oios supranatural es intensa fisada sur el, an cuando el, esersente masima sua propre oios, pote vide sola un mano fantasmin e un monton grande de negra.
But Scrooge was all the worse for this. It thrilled him with a vague uncertain horror, to know that behind the dusky shroud, there were ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he, though he stretched his own to the utmost, could see nothing but a spectral hand and one great heap of black.
“Fantasma de la Futur!” – el esclama – “me teme tu, plu ca cualce fantasma cual me ia vide. Ma, car me sabe ce tu intende benefica me, e car me espera vive e deveni un om diferente de lo cual me ia es, me es preparada per tolera tua acompania, e me fa esta con un cor grasiosa. Tu no va parla a me?”
“Ghost of the Future!” he exclaimed, “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 you company, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?”
Lo dona a el no responde. La mano indica direta ante los.
It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them.
“Gida!” – Scrooge dise – “Gida! La note diminui rapida, e esta es un tempo valuosa a me, me sabe. Gida, spirito!”
“Lead on!” said Scrooge. “Lead on! The night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit!”
La fantasma move a via como lo ia prosimi a el. Scrooge segue en la ombra de sua veste, e pare es levada par esta, e portada a longo.
The Phantom moved away as it had come towards him. Scrooge followed in the shadow of its dress, which bore him up, he thought, and carried him along.
Los pare apena entra a la site, car en loca la site pare apare sirca los, e ensirca los par sua propre ata. Ma los es ala, en la cor de la site, en la mercato comersial, entre la mercatores, ci freta de asi a ala, e tintina la mone en sua poxes, e conversa en grupos, e regarda sua orolojetas, e jueta pensosa con sua selos grande de oro, e tal plu, como Scrooge ia vide ja los a multe veses.
They scarcely seemed to enter the city; for the city rather seemed to spring up about them, and encompass them of its own act. But there they were, in the heart of it; on ‘Change, amongst the merchants; who hurried up and down, and chinked the money in their pockets, and conversed in groups, and looked at their watches, and trifled thoughtfully with their great gold seals; and so forth, as Scrooge had seen them often.
La spirito para a lado de un colie peti de comersiores. Persepinte ce la mano indica los, Scrooge avansa per escuta sua parla.
The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. Observing that the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to their talk.
“No,” – un om grande e obesa dise, ci ave un mento monstrin – “me no sabe multe sur esta, an tal. Me sabe sola ce el es mor.”
“No,” said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, “I don’t know much about it, either way. I only know he’s dead.”
“Cuando el ia mori?” – un otra demanda.
“When did he die?” inquired another.
“A la note pasada, me crede.”
“Last night, I believe.”
“Perce? De cual el ia sufri?” – un om tre demanda, prendente un cuantia vasta de ensoflable de un caxa multe grande de tabaco – “Me ia crede ce el va mori nunca.”
“Why, what was the matter with him?” asked a third, taking a vast quantity of snuff out of a very large snuff-box. “I thought he’d never die.”
“Dio sabe.” – la prima dise, con balia.
“God knows,” said the first, with a yawn.
“Cual el ia fa con sua mone?” – un senior de fas roja demanda, ci ave un veruca pendente a la fini de sua nas, cual secute se como la caruncula de un pavo.
“What has he done with his money?” asked a red-faced gentleman with a pendulous excrescence on the end of his nose, that shook like the gills of a turkey-cock.
“Me no ia oia.” – la om con la menton grande dise, denova baliante – “Ia lega lo a sua compania, cisa. El no ia lega lo a me. Me sabe sola tota.”
“I haven’t heard,” said the man with the large chin, yawning again. “Left it to his company, perhaps. He hasn’t left it to me. That’s all I know.”
On reseta esta broma con un rie jeneral.
This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.
“Probable la funera va es multe barata,” – la mesma parlor dise – “car, par mea vive, me conose nun ci va vade a lo. Cisa nos ta vade como un grupo de bonvolores?”
“It’s likely to be a very cheap funeral,” said the same speaker; “for upon my life I don’t know of anybody to go to it. Suppose we make up a party and volunteer?”
“Me no oposa vade si on va furni un come media.” – la senior con la veruca nasal comenta – “Ma on debe nuri me, si me partisipa.”
“I don’t mind going if a lunch is provided,” observed the gentleman with the excrescence on his nose. “But I must be fed, if I make one.”
Denova un rie.
“Bon, me es ultima la plu desinteresada entre vos,” – la parlor prima dise – “car me porta nunca gantos negra, e me come nunca a mediadia. Ma me va ofre vade a la funera, si un otra va acompania. Cuando me pensa aora, me no es plen serta ce me no ia es sua ami la plu spesial, car nos ia es abituada de pausa e parla sempre cuando nos ia encontra lunlotra. Adio!”
“Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all,” said the first speaker, “for I never wear black gloves, and I never eat lunch. But I’ll offer to go, if anybody else will. When I come to think of it, I’m not at all sure that I wasn’t his most particular friend; for we used to stop and speak whenever we met. Bye, bye!”
Parlores e escutores pasea a via e misca se en otra grupos. Scrooge conose la omes, e regarda en dirije a la spirito per un esplica.
Speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed with other groups. Scrooge knew the men, and looked towards the Spirit for an explanation.
La fantasma lisca plu, a un strada. Sua dito indica du persones encontrante. Scrooge escuta denova, pensante ce cisa la esplica es asi trovable.
The Phantom glided on into a street. Its finger pointed to two persons meeting. Scrooge listened again, thinking that the explanation might lie here.
El conose ance perfeta esta omes. Los es omes de negosia: multe rica, e de importa grande. El ia atenta spesial ocupa sempre un loca respetada en sua judi – de un punto de vista comersial, comprende, nunca estra un punto de vista comersial.
He knew these men, also, perfectly. They were men of business: very wealthy, and of great importance. He had made a point always of standing well in their esteem: in a business point of view, that is; strictly in a business point of view.
“Como lo vade?” – un dise.
“How are you?” said one.
“Como lo vade?” – la otra responde.
“How are you?” returned the other.
“Bon!” – la prima dise – “La Diablo ia prende final sua propre, si?”
“Well!” said the first. “Old Scratch has got his own at last, hey?”
“Tal on informa me.” – la otra responde – “Lo es fria, no?”
“So I am told,” returned the second. “Cold, isn’t it?”
“Normal a la tempo de natal. Tu no es un patinor, me suposa?”
“Seasonable for Christmas time. You’re not a skater, I suppose?”
“No, no. Acel es un otra cosa per considera. Bon matina!”
“No. No. Something else to think of. Good morning!”
E no plu parolas. Acel ia es sua encontra, sua conversa, e sua parti.
Not another word. That was their meeting, their conversation, and their parting.
Scrooge es prima inclinada a surprende ce la spirito opina ce conversas parente tan trivial es tan importante; ma, sentinte sertida ce los debe conteni alga razona ascondeda, el dona a se la taxe de considera lo cual probable esta es. El pote apena suposa ce los ave alga relata a la mori de Jacob, sua asosior vea, car acel ia es pasada, e la provinse de esta fantasma es la futur. Plu, el no pote pensa a cualcun direta liada a el, a ci el pote aplica la conversas. Ma, con no duta ce, an si el no sabe lo a cual los aplica, los conteni alga leson moral ascondeda per sua propre boni, el deside recolie cada parola cual el oia, e cada cosa cual el vide, e oserva spesial se propre ombra cuando acel apare – car el ave un espeta ce la condui de sua personalia futur va dona a el la indica mancante, e va fasili la solve de esta rompetestas.
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. They could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing on the death of Jacob, his old partner, for that was Past, and this Ghost’s province was the Future. Nor could he think of any one immediately connected with himself, to whom he could apply them. But nothing doubting that to whomsoever they applied they had some latent moral for his own improvement, he resolved to treasure up every word he heard, and everything he saw; and especially to observe the shadow of himself when it appeared. For he had an expectation that the conduct of his future self would give him the clue he missed, and would render the solution of these riddles easy.
El regarda sirca se en acel loca per sua propre imaje; ma un otra om sta en sua angulo abituada e, an si la orolojo indica sua ora usual de ariva ala, el vide no simili de se entre la folas cual entra versante tra la portico. Esta dona poca surprende a el, an tal, car el ia es considerante en sua mente un cambia de vive, e el crede e espera ce esta situa mostra ce sua desides nova naseda es ja esecutada.
He looked about in that very place for his own image; but another man stood in his accustomed corner, and though the clock pointed to his usual time of day for being there, he saw no likeness of himself among the multitudes that poured in through the Porch. It gave him little surprise, however; for he had been revolving in his mind a change of life, and thought and hoped he saw his new-born resolutions carried out in this.
Cuieta e oscur, la fantasma sta a sua lado, con sua mano estendeda. Cuando el velia se de sua esplora pensosa, el imajina, par la torse de la mano, e sua posa en relata a el, ce la Oios Nonvideda regarda el en un modo agu. Esta fa ce el trema e senti multe fria.
Quiet and dark, beside him stood the Phantom, with its outstretched hand. When he roused himself from his thoughtful quest, he fancied from the turn of the hand, and its situation in reference to himself, that the Unseen Eyes were looking at him keenly. It made him shudder, and feel very cold.
Los parti de acel sena ativa, e vade a un parte oscur de la vila, do Scrooge ia penetra nunca a ante, an si el reconose sua situa e sua mal reputa. La vias es streta e repulsante; la botecas e casas es misera; la persones es partal nuda, enebriada, gastada, fea. Stradetas e arcos, como un cuantia egal de posos de cloaca, emete a la vias desordinada sua ofendes de odor e susia e vive; e la area intera apesta de crimin, de mugre, e de miseria.
They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of the town, where Scrooge had never penetrated before, although he recognised its situation, and its bad repute. The ways were foul and narrow; the shops and houses wretched; the people half-naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly. Alleys and archways, like so many cesspools, disgorged their offences of smell, and dirt, and life, upon the straggling streets; and the whole quarter reeked with crime, with filth, and misery.
Profonda en esta nido de recurso malfamosa, ave un boteca protendente con fronte basa, su un teto apoiante, do on pote compra fero, trapos vea, botelas, osos, e organos grasosa. Sur la solo a interna, on ia pila montones de claves osidinte, clos, cadenas, xarnieres, limas, balansas, pesas, e dejeto de fero de tota spesies. Secretas cual poca persones ta vole esamina es nurida e ascondeda en montanias de trapos nonplasente, masas de gras putrida, e tombas de osos. Sentante ala entre la benes cual el comersia, a lado de un stufa de carbon de lenio, construida de brices vea, on ave un om turbosa de capeles gris, con cuasi setedes anios, ci ia scermi se de la aira fria esterna par un cortina mofosa de trapos variosa, pendeda sur un linia; e el fumi sua pipa en la luso plen de sua solitaria calma.
Far in this den of infamous resort, there was a low-browed, beetling shop, below a pent-house roof, where iron, old rags, bottles, bones, and greasy offal, were bought. Upon the floor within, were piled up heaps of rusty keys, nails, chains, hinges, files, scales, weights, and refuse iron of all kinds. Secrets that few would like to scrutinise were bred and hidden in mountains of unseemly rags, masses of corrupted fat, and sepulchres of bones. Sitting in among the wares he dealt in, by a charcoal stove, made of old bricks, was a grey-haired rascal, nearly seventy years of age; who had screened himself from the cold air without, by a frousy curtaining of miscellaneous tatters, hung upon a line; and smoked his pipe in all the luxury of calm retirement.
Scrooge e la fantasma ariva a la presentia de esta om a la mesma momento cuando un fem con un faxo pesosa veni secretosa en la boteca. Ma esta ia entra apena cuando un otra fem, simil cargada, entra ance; e esta es pronto segueda par un om en vestes negra palida, ci es no min surprendeda par vide los ce los ia es ja par reconose la un la otra. Pos un periodo corta de stona sin espresa, a cual la om vea con la pipa junta se, tota de la tre esplode en un rie.
Scrooge and the Phantom came into the presence of this man, just as a woman with a heavy bundle slunk into the shop. But she had scarcely entered, when another woman, similarly laden, came in too; and she was closely followed by a man in faded black, who was no less startled by the sight of them, than they had been upon the recognition of each other. After a short period of blank astonishment, in which the old man with the pipe had joined them, they all three burst into a laugh.
“La limpor ta veni solitar como la prima!” – la fem ci ia entra prima esclama – “La lavor de vestes ta veni solitar como numero du; e la om de la funeror ta veni solitar como numero tre. Vide, Joe Vea, nos ave asi un acaso! Lo pare ce tota tre de nos ia encontra asi sin intende!”
“Let the charwoman alone to be the first!” cried she who had entered first. “Let the laundress alone to be the second; and let the undertaker’s man alone to be the third. Look here, old Joe, here’s a chance! If we haven’t all three met here without meaning it!”
“Vos no ta pote encontra en un loca plu bon.” – Joe Vea dise, prendente sua pipa de sua boca – “Veni en la salon. Me ia dispone lo a tu ante multe tempo, tu sabe; e la du otras no es stranjeres. Pausa en cuando me clui la porte de la boteca. A! Lo grinse tan! On ave asi no peso de metal tan osidinte como sua propre xarnieres, me crede; e me es serta ce on ave asi no osos tan vea como los de me. Ha ha! Tota de nos conveni a nos ativias, nos conforma bon. Veni en la salon. Veni en la salon.”
“You couldn’t have met in a better place,” said old Joe, removing his pipe from his mouth. “Come into the parlour. You were made free of it long ago, you know; and the other two an’t strangers. Stop till I shut the door of the shop. Ah! How it skreeks! There an’t such a rusty bit of metal in the place as its own hinges, I believe; and I’m sure there’s no such old bones here, as mine. Ha, ha! We’re all suitable to our calling, we’re well matched. Come into the parlour. Come into the parlour.”
La salon es la spasio pos la scermo de trapos. La om vea tisa la foco, rastinte lo con un bara de scalera e, pos revive sua lampa fumosa (car lo es la note) par la tubo de sua pipa, repone lo en sua boca.
The parlour was the space behind the screen of rags. The old man raked the fire together with an old stair-rod, and having trimmed his smoky lamp (for it was night), with the stem of his pipe, put it in his mouth again.
En cuando el fa esta, la fem ci ia parla ja lansa sua faxo sur la solo, e senta se en un modo ostentosa sur un sejeta, crusante sua codos sur sua jenos, e regardante la du otras con un defia corajosa.
While he did this, the woman who had already spoken threw her bundle on the floor, and sat down in a flaunting manner on a stool; crossing her elbows on her knees, and looking with a bold defiance at the other two.
“Alora, cual es la problem? Cual, Seniora Dilber?” – la fem dise – “Cada person ave la direto de atende se. El ia fa sempre lo.”
“What odds then! What odds, Mrs. Dilber?” said the woman. “Every person has a right to take care of themselves. He always did.”
“Acel es vera, serta!” – la lavor dise – “Plu ca tota otra persones.”
“That’s true, indeed!” said the laundress. “No man more so.”
“Alora, bon, no sta fisante tua regarda como si tu teme, fem; ci va sabe? Nos furores no va fura la bolsas la un de la otras, me suposa?”
“Why then, don’t stand staring as if you was afraid, woman; who’s the wiser? We’re not going to pick holes in each other’s coats, I suppose?”
“No, serta!” – Seniora Dilber e la om dise en junta – “Nos espera forte ce no.”
“No, indeed!” said Mrs. Dilber and the man together. “We should hope not.”
“Alora, en acel caso” – la fem esclama – “lo sufisi! Ci sufri par la perde de un cuantia peti de cosas como estas? No un mor, me suposa.”
“Very well, then!” cried the woman. “That’s enough. Who’s the worse for the loss of a few things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose.”
“No, serta.” – Seniora Dilber dise, riente.
“No, indeed,” said Mrs. Dilber, laughing.
“Si el ia vole reteni los pos sua mori, acel mal avar vea,” – la fem continua – “perce el no ia condui natural en sua vive? Si el ia condui natural, el ta ave algun per cura el cuando el es colpada par la moria, en loca de fa solitar sua respira final, reclinante ala, con sola sua propre acompania.”
“If he wanted to keep ‘em after he was dead, a wicked old screw,” pursued the woman, “why wasn’t he natural in his lifetime? If he had been, he’d have had somebody to look after him when he was struck with Death, instead of lying gasping out his last there, alone by himself.”
“On ia vosi nunca un parola plu vera.” – Seniora Dilber dise – “Nos ia judi el seguente sua merita.”
“It’s the truest word that ever was spoke,” said Mrs. Dilber. “It’s a judgment on him.”
“Me desira ce la judi ta es alga plu forte,” – la fem responde – “como lo ta es, si me ta pote trova cualce otra cosas per saisi – fida me. Abri acel faxo, Joe Vea, e informa me sur sua valua. Parla franca. Me no teme es la prima, e me no teme ce los vide lo. Nos sabe vera bon ce nos ia prende per nos mesma, ante nos encontra asi, me crede. Lo no es un peca. Abri la faxo, Joe.”
“I wish it was a little heavier judgment,” replied the woman; “and it should have been, you may depend upon it, if I could have laid my hands on anything else. Open that bundle, old Joe, and let me know the value of it. Speak out plain. I’m not afraid to be the first, nor afraid for them to see it. We know pretty well that we were helping ourselves, before we met here, I believe. It’s no sin. Open the bundle, Joe.”
Ma la bravia de sua amis no permete esta; e la om en vestes negra palida, montante prima la osa, produi sua furadas. Los no es multe. Un o du selos, un caxa de penetas, un duple de botones de manga, e un brox de no valua grande – no plu ca estas. Los es individua esaminada e judida par Joe Vea, ci creti sur la mur la preso cual el es disponada a dona per cada, e ajunta los a un soma cuando el trova ce no plu cosas va veni.
But the gallantry of her friends would not allow of this; and the man in faded black, mounting the breach first, produced his plunder. It was not extensive. A seal or two, a pencil-case, a pair of sleeve-buttons, and a brooch of no great value, were all. They were severally examined and appraised by old Joe, who chalked the sums he was disposed to give for each, upon the wall, and added them up into a total when he found there was nothing more to come.
“Tu ave ala tua conta,” – Joe dise – “e me no ta dona ses plu sentimes, an si on ta boli me per los. Ci segue?”
“That’s your account,” said Joe, “and I wouldn’t give another sixpence, if I was to be boiled for not doing it. Who’s next?”
Seniora Dilber segue. Telones e telas, alga vestes, du culieres de te – de arjento, de moda pasada – un pinse de zucar, e alga botas. Sua conta es declarada sur la mur en la mesma manera.
Mrs. Dilber was next. Sheets and towels, a little wearing apparel, two old-fashioned silver teaspoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a few boots. Her account was stated on the wall in the same manner.
“Me dona sempre tro multe a la femes. Acel es mea debilia, e mea modo de ruina me.” – Joe Vea dise – “Tu ave ala tua conta. Si tu ta demanda per un plu sentim, e ta permete negosia, me ta repenti de es tan libriste, e me ta sutrae du xilinges e un dui.”
“I always give too much to ladies. It’s a weakness of mine, and that’s the way I ruin myself,” said old Joe. “That’s your account. If you asked me for another penny, and made it an open question, I’d repent of being so liberal and knock off half-a-crown.”
“E deslia aora mea faxo, Joe.” – la fem prima dise.
“And now undo my bundle, Joe,” said the first woman.
Joe cade sur sua jenos per pote abri lo en un modo plu fasil e, pos desfisa un cuantia grande de nodas, el tira a estra un rola grande e pesosa de alga stofa oscur.
Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience of opening it, and having unfastened a great many knots, dragged out a large and heavy roll of some dark stuff.
“Cual es esta?” – Joe dise – “Cortinas de leto?”
“What do you call this?” said Joe. “Bed-curtains!”
“Si!” – la fem replica, riente e apoiante se a ante sur sua brasos crusada – “Cortinas de leto!”
“Ah!” returned the woman, laughing and leaning forward on her crossed arms. “Bed-curtains!”
“Tu no vole dise ce tu ia prende los, an la anelos, cuando el ia reclina ala?” – Joe dise.
“You don’t mean to say you took ‘em down, rings and all, with him lying there?” said Joe.
“Si, me dise.” – la fem responde – “Perce no?”
“Yes I do,” replied the woman. “Why not?”
“Tu ia nase per oteni un monton de mone,” – Joe dise – “e tu va susede serta.”
“You were born to make your fortune,” said Joe, “and you’ll certainly do it.”
“Me no va freni mea mano, serta no, cuando me pote pone cualce cosa en lo par estende lo, per benefica un tal om como el, me promete a tu, Joe.” – la fem replica pratical – “Ma no cade acel olio sur la covreletos.”
“I certainly shan’t hold my hand, when I can get anything in it by reaching it out, for the sake of such a man as He was, I promise you, Joe,” returned the woman coolly. “Don’t drop that oil upon the blankets, now.”
“Sua covreletos?” – Joe demanda.
“His blankets?” asked Joe.
“A ci otra tu imajina ce los ia parteni?” – la fem responde – “Me osa dise ce el no va risca cataro sin los, vera.”
“Whose else’s do you think?” replied the woman. “He isn’t likely to take cold without ‘em, I dare say.”
“Me espera ce el no ia mori de un maladia comunicable, si?” – Joe Vea dise, pausante en sua labora, e levante sua regarda.
“I hope he didn’t die of anything catching? Eh?” said old Joe, stopping in his work, and looking up.
“No teme acel.” – la fem replica – “Me no gusta tan multe sua acompania ce me ta permane en sua visinia per esta cosas, si on ta ave peril. A, tu pote esamina acel camisa asta cuando tua oios dole tu, ma tu va trova no buco en lo, e no loca gastada. Lo es la plu bon cual el ia ave, e un bela. On ia ta peri lo, si me no ia ta trova lo.”
“Don’t you be afraid of that,” returned the woman. “I an’t so fond of his company that I’d loiter about him for such things, if he did. Ah! 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.”
“En cual modo on ia ta peri lo?” – Joe Vea demanda.
“What do you call wasting of it?” asked old Joe.
“On ta vesti el en la camisa per sua entera, serta.” – la fem responde con un rie – “Algun ia es ja tan stupida ce el ia fa acel, ma me ia despone lo denova. Si calico no sufisi per un tal usa, lo sufisi per no cosa. Lo aspeta egal tan refinada sur la corpo. El no pote aspeta plu fea como el ia aspeta en acel camisa.”
“Putting it on him to be buried in, to be sure,” replied the woman with a laugh. “Somebody was fool enough to do it, but I took it off again. If calico an’t good enough for such a purpose, it isn’t good enough for anything. It’s quite as becoming to the body. He can’t look uglier than he did in that one.”
Scrooge escuta esta conversa con xoca. An cuando los senta grupida sirca sua furadas, en la lus magra furnida par la lampa de la om vea, el oserva los con un odia e repulsa cual ta es apena plu grande si los ta es demones vil, vendente la corpo mor mesma.
Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. As they sat grouped about their spoil, in the scanty light afforded by the old man’s lamp, he viewed them with a detestation and disgust, which could hardly have been greater, though they had been obscene demons, marketing the corpse itself.
“Ha ha!” – la mesma fem rie, cuando Joe Vea, produinte un saco de flanela con mone en lo, conta a los sua ganias separada sur la solo – “On ave asi la resulta, vos vide! El ia asusta cadun a via de sua cuando el ia vive, afin nos profita cuando el es mor! Ha ha ha!”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the same woman, when old Joe, producing a flannel bag with money in it, told out their several gains upon the ground. “This is the end of it, you see! He frightened every one away from him when he was alive, to profit us when he was dead! Ha, ha, ha!”
“Spirito!” – Scrooge dise, tremante de testa a pedes – “Me comprende, me comprende. Me ta pote trova me en la situa de esta om nonfelis. Mea vive tende aora en acel dirije. Mea Dio pardonosa, cual es esta?”
“Spirit!” said Scrooge, shuddering from head to foot. “I see, I see. The case of this unhappy man might be my own. My life tends that way, now. Merciful Heaven, what is this!”
El retira se en teror, car la sena ia cambia, e aora el toca cuasi un leto: un leto nuda e sin cortinas, sur cual, covreda par un telon laserada, alga cosa reclina, cual, an si muda, anunsia se en linguaje asustante.
He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almost touched a bed: a bare, uncurtained bed: on which, beneath a ragged sheet, there lay a something covered up, which, though it was dumb, announced itself in awful language.
La sala es multe oscur, tan oscur ce on no pote oserva lo con esatia, ma Scrooge regardeta sirca lo en obedi de un impulsa secreta, ansiosa per sabe cual spesie de sala lo es. Un lus pal, levante en la aira esterna, cade direta sur la leto; e sur la leto, sacada e furada, nonvijilada, nonlamentada, noncurada, es la corpo de esta om.
The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy, though Scrooge glanced round it in obedience to a secret impulse, anxious to know what kind of room it was. A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon the bed; and on it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was the body of this man.
Scrooge regardeta en dirije a la fantasma. Sua mano firma indica la testa. La covrente es tan nonatendente ajustada ce un leva la plu pico de lo – la move de un dito par Scrooge – ta revela la fas. El considera esta, sentinte como fasil la ata ta es, e anela fa lo; ma el es no plu capas de retira la velo ca de envia a via la fantasma a sua lado.
Scrooge glanced towards the Phantom. Its steady hand was pointed to the head. The cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising of it, the motion of a finger upon Scrooge’s part, would have disclosed the face. He thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed to do it; but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss the spectre at his side.
O, Moria fria, fria, rijida, xocosa: erije asi tua altar, e vesti lo con tal terores como tu pote comanda – car esta es tua domina! Ma de la testa amada, adorada e onorada, tu no pote ajusta an un capel per tua intendes asustante, o fa ce an un cualia deveni odiable. Esta no es car la mano es pesosa e va cade a su cuando on relasa lo, e no car la cor e pulsa no opera; ma car la mano ia es abrida, jenerosa e vera, la cor ia es corajosa, zelosa e tenera, e la pulsa ia parteni a un om. Colpa, Ombra, colpa! E vide sua bon atas jetante de la feri, per semi la mundo con vive nonmortal!
Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up thine altar here, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy command: for this is thy dominion! But of the loved, revered, and honoured head, thou canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious. It is not that the hand is heavy and will fall down when released; it is not that the heart and pulse are still; but that the hand was open, generous, and true; the heart brave, warm, and tender; and the pulse a man’s. Strike, Shadow, strike! And see his good deeds springing from the wound, to sow the world with life immortal!
No vose pronunsia esta parolas en la oreas de Scrooge, e an tal el oia los cuando el regarda la leto. El pensa, si on ta pote velia aora esta om, cual ta es sua pensas xef? Consernas avar, dur, cexante? Los ia trae el a un fini rica, vera!
No voice pronounced these words in Scrooge’s ears, and yet he heard them when he looked upon the bed. He thought, if this man could be raised up now, what would be his foremost thoughts? Avarice, hard-dealing, griping cares? They have brought him to a rich end, truly!
El reposa, en la casa oscur e vacua, con no om, fem o enfante ci pote dise: “El ia es jenerosa a me en esta o acel, e, recordante un parola jenerosa, me va es jenerosa a el. Un gato rasca forte a la porte, e on ave un sona de ratas rodente su la petra de la ximineria. Scrooge no osa pensa cual cosa los desira en la sala de moria, e perce los es tan ajitada e turbada.
He lay, in the dark empty house, with not a man, a woman, or a child, to say that he was kind to me in this or that, and for the memory of one kind word I will be kind to him. A cat was tearing at the door, and there was a sound of gnawing rats beneath the hearth-stone. What they wanted in the room of death, and why they were so restless and disturbed, Scrooge did not dare to think.
“Spirito!” – el dise – “esta es un loca asustante. Cuando me parti de lo, me no va parti de sua leson, fida me. Ta ce nos vade!”
“Spirit!” he said, “this is a fearful place. In leaving it, I shall not leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!”
Ancora la fantasma indica la testa, par un dito nonmoveda.
Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the head.
“Me comprende tu,” – Scrooge responde – “e me ta fa lo, si me ta pote. Ma me no es capas, spirito! Me no es capas.”
“I understand you,” Scrooge returned, “and I would do it, if I could. But I have not the power, Spirit. I have not the power.”
Denova la fantasma pare regarda el.
Again it seemed to look upon him.
“Si on ave cualce person en la vila ci senti emosias causada par la mori de esta om,” – Scrooge dise, multe angusada – “mostra acel person a me, spirito, me prea a tu!”
“If there is any person in the town, who feels emotion caused by this man’s death,” said Scrooge quite agonised, “show that person to me, Spirit, I beseech you!”
La fantasma estende sua roba oscur ante el per un momento, como un ala, e, retirante lo, revela un sala en lus de dia, do on ave un madre e sua enfantes.
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.
La madre espeta algun, e con zelo ansiosa – car el pasea de asi a ala en la sala; salta a cada sona; oserva a estra de la fenetra; regardeta la orolojo; atenta, ma futil, labora con sua ago; e pote apena tolera la voses de la enfantes en sua juas.
She was expecting some one, 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; tried, but in vain, to work with her needle; and could hardly bear the voices of the children in their play.
Final, la bateta longa espetada es oiada. El freta a la porte, e encontra sua sposo: un om de cual sua fas es preocupada e depresada, an si el es joven. Lo conteni aora un espresa notable, un spesie de deleta seria cual vergonia el, e cual el luta per represa.
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.
El senta se per la come cual es reservada per el a lado de la foco; e cuando la madre demanda debil per sua novas (cual no aveni asta pos un silentia longa), el pare embarasada, no sabente como responde.
He sat down to the dinner that had been hoarding for him by the fire; and when she asked him faintly what news (which was not until after a long silence), he appeared embarrassed how to answer.
“Bon novas?” – la madre dise – “o mal?” – per aida el.
“Is it good?” she said, “or bad?” – to help him.
“Mal.” – el responde.
“Bad,” he answered.
“Nos es intera ruinada?”
“We are quite ruined?”
“No. Nos ave ancora espera, Caroline.”
“No. There is hope yet, Caroline.”
“Si el sede,” – el dise, stonada – “ave espera! No cosa es ultra espera, si un tal miracle ia aveni.”
“If he relents,” she said, amazed, “there is! Nothing is past hope, if such a miracle has happened.”
“El no pote sede aora.” – sua sposo dise – “El es mor.”
“He is past relenting,” said her husband. “He is dead.”
Caroline es un creada jentil e pasiente, si on crede sua fas; ma el es grasiosa en sua spirito de oia esta, e el dise tal, con manos juntada. El prea per pardona en la momento seguente, e regrete; ma la emosia prima ia es en sua cor.
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; but the first was the emotion of her heart.
“La fem partal enebriada, cual me ia descrive a tu a la note pasada, ia dise a me, cuando me ia atenta parla a acel om per pospone par un semana, un cosa cual me ia regarda como sola un escusa per evita me, ma final lo mostra se como la vera plen. El no ia es multe malada, ma morinte, alora.”
“What the half-drunken woman whom I told you of last night, said to me, when I tried to see him and obtain a week’s delay; and what I thought was a mere excuse to avoid me; turns out to have been quite true. He was not only very ill, but dying, then.”
“A ci on va move nosa deta?”
“To whom will our debt be transferred?”
“Me no sabe. Ma ante acel tempo, nos va dispone la mone; e an si nos no va dispone lo, nosa fortuna ta es vera mal si nos ta trova un creditor tan noncompatiosa en sua seguor. A esta note, nos pote dormi con cores lejera, Caroline!”
“I don’t know. But before that time we shall be ready with the money; and even though we were not, it would be a bad fortune indeed to find so merciless a creditor in his successor. We may sleep to-night with light hearts, Caroline!”
Si. An si los supresa la senti, sua cores es plu lejera. La fases de la enfantes, silente e grupida a sirca per oia lo cual los comprende tan poca, es plu joiosa; e la casa es plu felis par causa de la mori de acel om! La un emosia causada par la aveni, cual la fantasma pote mostra a Scrooge, es de plaser.
Yes. Soften it as they would, their hearts were lighter. The children’s faces, hushed and clustered round to hear what they so little understood, were brighter; and it was a happier house for this man’s death! The only emotion that the Ghost could show him, caused by the event, was one of pleasure.
“Ta ce me vide alga teneria liada a un mori,” – Scrooge dise – “o acel cambra oscur, spirito, de cual nos veni de parti, va es sempre presente a me.”
“Let me see some tenderness connected with a death,” said Scrooge; “or that dark chamber, Spirit, which we left just now, will be for ever present to me.”
La fantasma gida el tra stradas diversa cual sua pedes conose ja; e, en cuando los vade a longo, Scrooge xerca asi e ala per trova se, ma el es vidable en no loca. Los entra a la casa de Bob Cratchit, la povre – la abitada cual el ia visita a ante – e trova la madre e la enfantes sentante sirca la foco.
The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiar to his feet; and as they went along, Scrooge looked here and there to find himself, but nowhere was he to be seen. They entered poor Bob Cratchit’s house; the dwelling he had visited before; and found the mother and the children seated round the fire.
Silente. Multe silente. La Cratchites peti e ruidosa es tan nonmovente como scultas en un angulo, e los senta con sua regardas levada a Peter, ci ave un libro ante se. La madre e sua fias es ocupada en cose. Ma serta los es multe silente!
Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as still as statues in one corner, and sat looking up at Peter, who had a book before him. The mother and her daughters were engaged in sewing. But surely they were very quiet!
“‘E El ia prende un enfante, e pone el a media de los.’”
“‘And He took a child, and set him in the midst of them.’”
Do Scrooge ia oia acel parolas? El no ia sonia los. Lo debe es ce la xico ia leje los a vose, cuando el e la spirito ia traversa en la casa. Perce el no continua?
Where had Scrooge heard those words? He had not dreamed them. The boy must have read them out, as he and the Spirit crossed the threshold. Why did he not go on?
La madre reposa sua labora sur la table, e leva sua mano a sua fas.
The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her hand up to her face.
“La color dole mea oios.” – el dise.
“The colour hurts my eyes,” she said.
La color? A, Pico Tim, la povre!
The colour? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!
“Aora, los es denova bon.” – la sposa de Cratchit dise – “La lus de candela debili los, e me no vole mostra oios debil a tu padre cuando el veni a casa, an per la mundo. La ora es probable prosima.”
“They’re better now again,” said Cratchit’s wife. “It makes them weak by candle-light; and I wouldn’t show weak eyes to your father when he comes home, for the world. It must be near his time.”
“An pasada.” – Peter responde, cluinte sua libro. – “Ma me crede ce el ia pasea alga plu lenta a esta seras resente, plu ca a ante, madre.”
“Past it rather,” Peter answered, shutting up his book. “But I think he has walked a little slower than he used, these few last evenings, mother.”
Los es denova multe silente. Final la madre dise, e en un vose firma e felis, cual vasila a sola un ves:
They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in a steady, cheerful voice, that only faltered once:
“Me ia vide el pasea con – me ia vide el pasea con Pico Tim sur sua spala, vera multe rapida.”
“I have known him walk with – I have known him walk with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed.”
“E me ance.” – Peter cria – “A multe veses.”
“And so have I,” cried Peter. “Often.”
“E me ance.” – un otra esclama. E tota ance.
“And so have I,” exclaimed another. So had all.
“Ma el ia es multe lejera per porta,” – el recomensa, fisada a sua labora – “e sua padre ia ama el tan multe ce lo no ia es difisil: no difisil. E nos ave ala tua padre a la porte!”
“But he was very light to carry,” she resumed, intent upon her work, “and his father loved him so, that it was no trouble: no trouble. And there is your father at the door!”
El freta a estra per encontra el; e Bob peti entra, vestida en sua scarfa – cual el nesesa, la compatable. Sua come es preparada per el sur la cornisa, e tota de los compete en servi el tan multe como posible. Alora la du Cratchites joven trepa sur la jenos de Bob, e cada enfante pone un jena peti contra sua fas, como si los dise – “No es turbada, padre. No lamenta!”
She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his comforter – he had need of it, poor fellow – came in. His tea was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who should help him to it most. Then the two young Cratchits got upon his knees and laid, each child a little cheek, against his face, as if they said, “Don’t mind it, father. Don’t be grieved!”
Bob condui multe joiosa con los, e parla plasente a tota la familia. El regarda la labora sur la table, e loda la asiduia e rapidia de Seniora Cratchit e la xicas. Los va completi ja fasil la taxe ante soldi, el dise.
Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all the family. He looked at the work upon the table, and praised the industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls. They would be done long before Sunday, he said.
“Soldi! Donce tu ia vade ala oji, Robert?” – sua sposa dise.
“Sunday! You went to-day, then, Robert?” said his wife.
“Si, mea cara.” – Bob responde – “Me desira ce tu ta pote veni ance. Tu ta benefica de vide como verde la loca es. Ma tu va vide lo a multe veses. Me ia promete a el ce me va pasea ala a la soldis. Mea enfante peti, tan peti!” – Bob cria – “Mea enfante peti!”
“Yes, my dear,” returned Bob. “I wish you could have gone. It would have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you’ll see it often. I promised him that I would walk there on a Sunday. My little, little child!” cried Bob. “My little child!”
El deveni subita emosiosa. El no pote evita. Si el ta pote evita, el e sua enfante ta es cisa min prosima ca como los es en veria.
He broke down all at once. He couldn’t help it. If he could have helped it, he and his child would have been farther apart perhaps than they were.
El sorti de la sala e asende la scalera a la sala a supra, cual es luminada en un modo joiosa, e decorada per natal. Ave un seja poneda prosima a la enfante, e ave indicas ce algun ia es ala, resente. Bob, la compatable, senta se sur lo, e, pos pensa alga e calmi se, el besa la fas peti. El ia aseta la aveni, e el desende denova, intera felis.
He left the room, and went up-stairs into 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 some one 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. He was reconciled to what had happened, and went down again quite happy.
Los colie se sirca la foco, e parla, ancora cuando la xicas e madre labora. Bob raconta a los la jenerosia estracomun de la sobrino de Senior Scrooge, ci el ia encontra a apena plu ca un ves, e ci, encontrante el en la strada a acel dia, e vidente ce el aspeta pico… “sola pico triste, vos sabe” – Bob dise… demanda cual cosa ia aveni per angusa el. “A esta,” – Bob dise – “car el es un senior la plu amable a cual on ta pote parla, me ia esplica a el. ‘Me compatia sinsera tu, Senior Cratchit,’ – el ia dise – ‘e me compatia sinsera tu bon sposa.’ En pasa, par cual metodo el ia pote sabe acel, me no sabe.”
They drew about the fire, and talked; the girls and mother working still. Bob told them of the extraordinary kindness of Mr. Scrooge’s nephew, whom he had scarcely seen but once, and who, meeting him in the street that day, and seeing that he looked a little – “just a little down you know,” said Bob, inquired what had happened to distress him. “On which,” said Bob, “for he is the pleasantest-spoken gentleman you ever heard, I told him. ‘I am heartily sorry for it, Mr. Cratchit,’ he said, ‘and heartily sorry for your good wife.’ By the bye, how he ever knew that, I don’t know.”
“Cual el ia sabe, mea cara?”
“Knew what, my dear?”
“Vera, ce tu es un bon sposa.” – Bob responde.
“Why, that you were a good wife,” replied Bob.
“Cadun sabe acel!” – Peter dise.
“Everybody knows that!” said Peter.
“Un comenta multe bon, mea xico!” – Bob esclama – “Me espera ce lo es vera. ‘Me compatia sinsera’ – el ia dise – ‘tua bon sposa. Si me pote aida tu en cualce modo,’ – el ia dise, donante sua carta a me – ‘tu ave asi mea adirije. Veni a me, si plase.’ Aora,” – Bob esclama – “esta ia es plen deletosa, no tan multe par causa de cualce cosa cual el ta pote cisa fa per aida nos, como par sua manera jenerosa. Lo ia pare vera ce el ia conose nosa enfante Pico Tim, e simpati con nos.”
“Very well observed, my boy!” cried Bob. “I hope they do. ‘Heartily sorry,’ he said, ‘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 wasn’t,” cried Bob, “for the sake of anything he might be able to do for us, so much as for his kind way, that this was quite delightful. It really seemed as if he had known our Tiny Tim, and felt with us.”
“Me es serta ce el ave un bon cor!” – Seniora Cratchit dise.
“I’m sure he’s a good soul!” said Mrs. Cratchit.
“Tu ta es an plu serta, mea cara,” – Bob responde – “si tu ta vide el e parla a el. Me no ta es an poca surprendeda – nota lo cual me dise! – si el ta trova un posto plu bon per Peter.”
“You would be surer of it, my dear,” returned Bob, “if you saw and spoke to him. I shouldn’t be at all surprised – mark what I say! – if he got Peter a better situation.”
“Escuta acel, Peter.” – Seniora Cratchit dise.
“Only hear that, Peter,” said Mrs. Cratchit.
“E alora,” – un de la xicas esclama – “Peter va deveni la acompanior de algun, e va fundi sua propre vive.”
“And then,” cried one of the girls, “Peter will be keeping company with some one, and setting up for himself.”
“Vade a via!” – Peter replica, con surie larga.
“Get along with you!” retorted Peter, grinning.
“Acel pote aveni, si probable o no,” – Bob dise – “a un de esta dias; ma nos ave multe tempo per acel, mea cara. An tal, la modo e tempo de nosa parti mutua no importa: me es serta ce nun de nos va oblida Pico Tim, la compatable, o esta parti cual ia aveni prima entre nos – no?”
“It’s just as likely as not,” said Bob, “one of these days; though there’s plenty of time for that, my dear. 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?”
“Nunca, padre!” – los esclama unida.
“Never, father!” cried they all.
“E me sabe,” – Bob dise – “me sabe, mea caras, ce, cuando nos recorda como pasiente e jentil el ia es, an si el ia es un enfante peti, tan peti, nos no va cade fasil en disputas entre nos, e oblida Pico Tim, la povre, en acel momento.”
“And I know,” said Bob, “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, nunca, padre!” – tota esclama denova.
“No, never, father!” they all cried again.
“Me es multe felis,” – Bob dise, la peti – “me es multe felis!”
“I am very happy,” said little Bob, “I am very happy!”
Seniora Cratchit besa el, sua fias besa el, la du Cratchites joven besa el, e Peter e el presa sua manos. Spirito de Pico Tim, tua esense enfantin ia veni de Dio!
Mrs. Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, the two young Cratchits kissed him, and Peter and himself shook hands. Spirit of Tiny Tim, thy childish essence was from God!
“Fantasma,” – Scrooge dise – “alga cosa informa me ce nosa momento de parti es prosima. Me sabe esta, ma me no sabe como. Dise a me: ci ia es acel om ci nos ia vide en sua reposa mor?”
“Spectre,” said Scrooge, “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?”
La Fantasma de Natal Ancora Futur gida el, como a ante – an si a un tempo diferente, el pensa: vera, lo pare ce esta revelas plu resente ave no ordina, estra ce los aveni en la futur – en la encontras de negosiores, ma el no vide se. Vera, la spirito no para per alga cosa, ma continua direta, como en dirije a la gol resente desirada, asta cuando Scrooge prea ce el permane per un momento.
The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him, as before – though at a different time, he thought: indeed, there seemed no order in these latter visions, save that they were in the Future – into the resorts of business men, but showed him not himself. Indeed, the Spirit did not stay for anything, but went straight on, as to the end just now desired, until besought by Scrooge to tarry for a moment.
“Esta stradeta” – Scrooge dise – “tra cual nos freta aora, conteni mea loca de ocupa, e conteni ja lo per un tempo longa. Me vide la casa. Me ta oserva como me va es, en la dias futur!”
“This court,” said Scrooge, “through which we hurry now, is where my place of occupation is, and has been for a length of time. I see the house. Let me behold what I shall be, in days to come!”
La spirito para; la mano indica un otra dirije.
The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.
“La casa es asi.” – Scrooge esclama – “Perce tu dirije me a via?”
“The house is yonder,” Scrooge exclaimed. “Why do you point away?”
La dito nonsedente esperia no cambia.
The inexorable finger underwent no change.
Scrooge freta a la fenetra de sua ofisia, e regarda la interna. Lo es ancora un ofisia, ma no lo de el. La mobilas no es la mesmas, e la figur en la seja no es el. La fantasma jesti como a ante.
Scrooge hastened to the window of his office, and looked in. It was an office still, but not his. The furniture was not the same, and the figure in the chair was not himself. The Phantom pointed as before.
El vade denova con lo, e, demandante a se perce – e a do – el ia parti, el acompania la fantasma asta ariva a un porteta de fero. El pausa per regarda sirca se ante entra.
He joined it once again, and wondering why and whither he had gone, accompanied it until they reached an iron gate. He paused to look round before entering.
Un semetero. Donce, asi: la om misera, de cual el debe aora aprende la nom, reposa ja su la tera. La loca aspeta diniosa. Ensircada par la mures de casas; invadeda par erba e malerbas, la moria de la crese de plantas, no la vive; sofocada par tro multe enteras; obesa par apetito sasiada. Un loca diniosa!
A churchyard. Here, then; the wretched man whose name he had now to learn, lay underneath the ground. It was a worthy place. Walled in by houses; overrun by grass and weeds, the growth of vegetation’s death, not life; choked up with too much burying; fat with repleted appetite. A worthy place!
La spirito sta entre la tombas, e indica un a sua lado. Scrooge avansa en acel dirije, tremante. La fantasma es esata como el ia es, ma el teme forte ce el vide un sinifia nova en sua forma seria.
The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to One. He advanced towards it trembling. The Phantom was exactly as it had been, but he dreaded that he saw new meaning in its solemn shape.
“Ante cuando me prosimi plu a acel petra cual tu indica,” – Scrooge dise – “responde un demanda de me. Esce estas es la ombras de la avenis serta, o sola la ombras de avenis posible?”
“Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point,” said Scrooge, “answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be, only?”
Ancora la fantasma jesti a su a la tomba asta cual el sta.
Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.
“La curso de la vive de un person va premostra alga fini a cual, si el persiste en sua curso, el va es serta gidada.” – Scrooge dise. – “Ma si el parti de la curso, la fini va cambia. Dise ce tal es lo cual tu mostra a me!”
“Men’s courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead,” said Scrooge. “But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!”
La spirito es tan nonmovente como sempre.
The Spirit was immovable as ever.
Scrooge tira se a el, tremante sur sua via, e, seguente la dito, el leje sur la petra de la tomba descurada sua propre nom, EBENEZER SCROOGE.
Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and following the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, EBENEZER SCROOGE.
“Esce me es acel om ci ia reposa sur la leto?” – el cria, sur sua jenos.
“Am I that man who lay upon the bed?” he cried, upon his knees.
La dito jesti de la tomba a el, e denova a la tomba.
The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.
“No, spirito! O, no, no!”
“No, Spirit! Oh no, no!”
La dito es ancora ala.
The finger still was there.
“Spirito!” – el cria, saisinte forte sua roba – “Oia me! Me no es la om ci me ia es. Me no va es la om ci me ta deveni si la esta encontra no ia aveni. Perce tu mostra esta a me, si me es ultra tota espera?”
“Spirit!” he cried, tight clutching at its robe, “hear me! I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope!”
A la ves prima, la mano pare secute.
For the first time the hand appeared to shake.
“Bon spirito,” – el continua, cadente a su sur la tera ante la fantasma – “tua natur interveni per me e compatia me. Serti me ce me pote ancora cambia esta ombras cual tu ia mostra a me, par cambia mea vive!”
“Good Spirit,” he pursued, as down upon the ground he fell before it: “Your nature intercedes for me, and pities me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life!”
La mano beneficante trema.
The kind hand trembled.
“Me va onora natal en mea cor, e va atenta onora lo tra tota la anio. Me va vive en la pasada, la presente e la futur. La spiritos de tota la tre va labora en me. Me no va esclui la lesones cual los ensenia. O, dise ce me pote frota a via la scrive sur esta petra!”
“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the 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!”
En sua angusa, el saisi la mano fantasmal. La fantasma atenta libri se, ma Scrooge es forte en sua prea, e el teni ancora lo. La spirito, an plu forte, forsa el a via.
In his agony, he caught the spectral hand. It sought to free itself, but he was strong in his entreaty, and detained it. The Spirit, stronger yet, repulsed him.
Levante sua manos en un prea ultima per reversa sua fortuna, el vide un altera en la capeta e roba de la fantasma. Esta diminui, colasa, e redui se a un palo de leto.
Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom’s hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost.