UN CANTA DE NATAL
Prefasa · Strofe 1 · Strofe 2 · Strofe 3 · Strofe 4 · Strofe 5

Strofe 2: La prima de la tre spiritos

Stave II: The First of the Three Spirits

Cuando Scrooge velia, lo es tan oscur ce, regardante de sua leto, el pote apena distingui la fenetra transparente de la mures solida de sua cambra. El atenta perfora la oscuria con sua oios furonin, cuando la tintinas de un eglesa visina sona la cuatro cuatris. Donce el escuta per descovre la ora.

When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that looking out of bed, he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber. He was endeavouring to pierce the darkness with his ferret eyes, when the chimes of a neighbouring church struck the four quarters. So he listened for the hour.

A sua stona grande, la campana pesosa continua de ses a sete, e de sete a oto, e en un modo coerente asta des-du; alora el para. Des-du! Lo ia es pos la ora du cuando el ia vade a leto. La orolojo era, clar. Cisa un spina de jela ia entra sua macina. Des-du!

To his great astonishment the heavy bell went on from six to seven, and from seven to eight, and regularly up to twelve; then stopped. Twelve! It was past two when he went to bed. The clock was wrong. An icicle must have got into the works. Twelve!

El toca la mola de sua orolojeta de pox, per coreti esta orolojo vera asurda. Lo fa des-du pulsas peti e rapida, e para.

He touched the spring of his repeater, to correct this most preposterous clock. Its rapid little pulse beat twelve: and stopped.

“Ma lo no es posible” – Scrooge dise – “ce me ia dormi tra un dia intera e a profonda en la note seguente. Lo no es posible ce la sol ia sufri alga cambia, e ce esta es la ora des-du de mediadia!”

“Why, it isn’t possible,” said Scrooge, “that I can have slept through a whole day and far into another night. It isn’t possible that anything has happened to the sun, and this is twelve at noon!”

Car esta es un idea alarmante, el trepa de sua leto e palpa sua via a la fenetra. El es obligada de frica la jela de sur lo con la manga de sua roba de bani ante pote vide cualce cosa – e, an alora, el pote vide vera poca. El pote deteta sola ce lo es ancora multe neblosa e estrema fria, e ce on ave no ruido de persones ci core de asi a ala, creante multe ajita, como lo ta aveni nondutada si la note ta vinse la dia briliante e ta saisi la controla de la mundo. Esta es un lejeri grande, car la parolas “paia a Senior Ebenezer Scrooge o sua encargada a tre dias pos vide esta bileta de intercambia” ta deveni nonvaluada como un garantia finansial de la Statos Unida si on no ta ave dias par cual on ta pote conta.

The idea being an alarming one, he scrambled out of bed, and groped his way to the window. He was obliged to rub the frost off with the sleeve of his dressing-gown before he could see anything; and could see very little then. All he could make out was, that it was still very foggy and extremely cold, and that there was no noise of people running to and fro, and making a great stir, as there unquestionably would have been if night had beaten off bright day, and taken possession of the world. This was a great relief, because “three days after sight of this First of Exchange pay to Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge or his order,” and so forth, would have become a mere United States’ security if there were no days to count by.

Scrooge vade denova a leto, e pensa, e pensa, e pensa sur esta, denova, denova, denova, e pote comprende lo en no modo. Plu el pensa, plu el es confondeda; e plu el atenta no pensa, plu el pensa.

Scrooge went to bed again, and thought, and thought, and thought it over and over and over, and could make nothing of it. The more he thought, the more perplexed he was; and the more he endeavoured not to think, the more he thought.

La fantasma de Marley preocupa el estrema multe. Sempre cuando el deside a se, pos un esamina developada, ce la cosa intera ia es un sonia, sua mente vola denova a sua posa prima, como cuando on libri un mola forte, e presenta la mesma problem per studia laborosa – “Esce lo ia es un sonia o no?”

Marley’s Ghost bothered him exceedingly. Every time he resolved within himself, after mature inquiry, that it was all a dream, his mind flew back again, like a strong spring released, to its first position, and presented the same problem to be worked all through, “Was it a dream or not?”

Scrooge resta reclinada en esta state asta la tintina de tre plu cuatris, cuando el recorda subita ce la fantasma ia avisa el de un visita cuando la campana sona la ora prima. El deside reposa veliada asta cuando la ora ia pasa; e, si on considera ce la adormi es no plu posible per el ca la vade en la sielo, esta es cisa la deside la plu saja de cual el es capas.

Scrooge lay in this state until the chime had gone three quarters more, when he remembered, on a sudden, that the Ghost had warned him of a visitation when the bell tolled one. He resolved to lie awake until the hour was passed; and, considering that he could no more go to sleep than go to Heaven, this was perhaps the wisest resolution in his power.

La cuatri es tan longa ce, a plu ca un ves, el es convinseda ce el ia afonda ja sin persepi en un dormeta, e no ia oia la orolojo. Final el percute sua oio escutante.

The quarter was so long, that he was more than once convinced he must have sunk into a doze unconsciously, and missed the clock. At length it broke upon his listening ear.

“Tin, tan!”

“Ding, dong!”

“Un cuatri.” – Scrooge dise, contante.

“A quarter past,” said Scrooge, counting.

“Tin, tan!”

“Ding, dong!”

“Un di!” – Scrooge dise.

“Half-past!” said Scrooge.

“Tin, tan!”

“Ding, dong!”

“Tre cuatris.” – Scrooge dise.

“A quarter to it,” said Scrooge.

“Tin, tan!”

“Ding, dong!”

“La ora mesma” – Scrooge dise vinsosa – “e no otra cosa!”

“The hour itself,” said Scrooge, triumphantly, “and nothing else!”

El parla ante cuando la campana de la ora sona, cual aveni aora en un modo basa, sombre, vacua, triste: UN. A la mesma momento, lus brilia en la sala, e la cortinas de sua leto es tirada a lado.

He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy ONE. Light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn.

La cortinas de sua leto es tirada a lado, me dise a tu, par un mano. No la cortinas a sua pedes, e no la cortinas a sua dorso, ma los a cual sua fas es dirijeda. La cortinas de sua leto es tirada a lado; e Scrooge, saltante a un posa partal reclinante, trova ce el fronti direta la visitor nonteral ci tira los – tan prosima a lo como me es aora a tu, e me sta en mea mente a tua codo.

The curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I tell you, by a hand. Not the curtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his back, but those to which his face was addressed. The curtains of his bed were drawn aside; and Scrooge, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them: as close to it as I am now to you, and I am standing in the spirit at your elbow.

Lo es un figur strana – simil a un enfante: ma no tan simil a un enfante como simil a un om vea, regardada tra alga media supranatural, cual dona la ilude ce lo ia retrosede de la vista e ia es diminuida a la grandia de un enfante. Sua capeles, cual pende sirca sua colo e desende longo sua dorso, es blanca como si par eda; e, an tal, la fas conteni an no un plieta, e la pel brilieta en la modo la plu tenera. La brasos es multe longa e musculosa; la manos es ance tal, como si lo es capas de teni con fortia noncomun. Sua gamas e pedes, multe delicata formida, es nuda como acel membros alta.

It was a strange figure – like a child: yet not so like a child as like an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him the appearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to a child’s proportions. Its hair, which hung about its neck and down its back, was white as if with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle in it, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. The arms were very long and muscular; the hands the same, as if its hold were of uncommon strength. Its legs and feet, most delicately formed, were, like those upper members, bare.

Lo porta un camison de blanca la plu pur; e sirca sua taie un sintur refletante, de cual sua brilieta es bela. Lo teni un ramo de ilex fresca e verde en sua mano; e, en un contradise bizara de acel sinia invernal, sua veste es decorada con flores de estate. Ma sua cualia la plu strana es ce, de la culmina de sua testa, un jeta clar briliante de lus es saltante, par cual tota de esta es vidable, e cual es sin duta la razona per cual lo usa como un xapeta, en sua momentos plu sombre, un estinguicandela grande cual lo porta aora su sua braso.

It wore a tunic of the purest white; and round its waist was bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful. It held a branch of fresh green holly in its hand; and, in singular contradiction of that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. But the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head there sprung a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible; and which was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, a great extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm.

Ma an esta, cuando Scrooge regarda lo con atende cresente, no es sua cualia la plu strana. Car, simil a la modo en cual sua sintur sintili e brilia aora en un parte, e aora en un otra, e la luminada a un momento deveni oscur a un otra, en la mesma modo la figur mesma flutua en sua claria. Lo es aora un esente con un braso, aora con un gama, aora con dudes gamas, aora un duple de gamas sin testa, aora un testa sin corpo, e no trasa de la membros disolvente es vidable en la oscuria densa en cual los fonde desaparente. E de tempo a tempo entre esta mervelias, lo deveni denova se, tan clar e persepable como sempre.

Even this, though, when Scrooge looked at it with increasing steadiness, was not its strangest quality. For as its belt sparkled and glittered now in one part and now in another, and what was light one instant, at another time was dark, so the figure itself fluctuated in its distinctness: being now a thing with one arm, now with one leg, now with twenty legs, now a pair of legs without a head, now a head without a body: of which dissolving parts, no outline would be visible in the dense gloom wherein they melted away. And in the very wonder of this, it would be itself again; distinct and clear as ever.

“Senior, esce tu es la spirito de cual sua veni ia es prediseda a me?” – Scrooge demanda.

“Are you the Spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold to me?” asked Scrooge.

“Me es!”

“I am!”

La vose es mol e jentil, e strana basa, como si, en loca de es tan prosima a sua lado, lo ta es a un distantia.

The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being so close beside him, it were at a distance.

“Ci tu es, e cua tu es?” – Scrooge demanda.

“Who, and what are you?” Scrooge demanded.

“Me es la Fantasma de Natal Pasada.”

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“De multe anios pasada?” – Scrooge demanda, oservante sua altia nanin.

“Long Past?” inquired Scrooge: observant of its dwarfish stature.

“No. De tua pasada.”

“No. Your past.”

Cisa Scrooge no ta pote esplica a cualcun sua razona, si cualcun ta pote fa la demanda; ma el ave un desira spesial de vide la spirito en sua xapeta, e el prea lo de covre se.

Perhaps, Scrooge could not have told anybody why, if anybody could have asked him; but he had a special desire to see the Spirit in his cap; and begged him to be covered.

“Cua?” – la fantasma esclama – “Tu ta estingui tan rapida, con manos mundal, la lus cual me dona? Esce lo no sufisi ce tu es un de los de cual sua pasiones ia crea esta xapeta, e obliga ce me porta lo basa sur mea fronte tra series longa de anios?”

“What!” exclaimed the Ghost, “would you so soon put out, with worldly hands, the light I give? Is it not enough that you are one of those whose passions made this cap, and force me through whole trains of years to wear it low upon my brow!”

Scrooge nega respetosa tota intendes de ofende e cualce sabes ce el ia “xapi” volente la spirito en cualce periodo de sua vive. El osa alora demanda cual razona ia veni la fantasma asi.

Scrooge reverently disclaimed all intention to offend or any knowledge of having wilfully “bonneted” the Spirit at any period of his life. He then made bold to inquire what business brought him there.

“Tua bon destina!” – la fantasma dise.

“Your welfare!” said the Ghost.

Scrooge espresa ce el es multe grasiosa, ma el no pote evita pensa ce un note de reposa nondisturbada ta gida plu bon a acel gol. Lo es clar ce la spirito ia oia sua pensa, car lo dise sin pausa:

Scrooge expressed himself much obliged, but could not help thinking that a night of unbroken rest would have been more conducive to that end. The Spirit must have heard him thinking, for it said immediately:

“Tal, tua converti. Atende!”

“Your reclamation, then. Take heed!”

Lo estende sua mano forte cuando lo parla, e teni jentil sua braso.

It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently by the arm.

“Leva! E pasea con me!”

“Rise! and walk with me!”

Lo ta es futil si Scrooge ta cexa ce la clima e la ora no conveni per la pasatempo de pasea; ce la leto es calda, e la termometre mostra un temperatur multe su acel de jela; ce el es sola lejera vestida en sua pantoflas, roba de bani, e xapo de note; e ce el ave cataro a esta tempo. La teni, an si jentil como la mano de un fem, no pote es resisteda. El leva, ma pos trova ce la spirito vade en dirije a la fenetra, el saisi la veste de la spirito en prea.

It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the weather and the hour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; that bed was warm, and the thermometer a long way below freezing; that he was clad but lightly in his slippers, dressing-gown, and nightcap; and that he had a cold upon him at that time. The grasp, though gentle as a woman’s hand, was not to be resisted. He rose: but finding that the Spirit made towards the window, clasped his robe in supplication.

“Me es un mortal” – Scrooge protesta – “e capas de cade.”

“I am a mortal,” Scrooge remonstrated, “and liable to fall.”

“Aseta sola un toca de mea mano ala” – la spirito dise, ponente lo sur sua cor – “e tu va es suportada en plu situas ca esta!”

“Bear but a touch of my hand there,” said the Spirit, laying it upon his heart, “and you shall be upheld in more than this!”

En cuando la parolas es parlada, los pasa tra la mur, e sta sur un rua de campania sin construidas, con campos a cada lado. La site ia desapare intera. No trasa de lo es vidable. La oscuria e la nebla ia desapare ance, car la dia es clar, fria e invernal, con neva sur la tera.

As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand. The city had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon the ground.

“Mea bon Dio!” – Scrooge dise, teninte sua manos en junta cuando el regarda sirca se – “Me ia es elevada en esta loca. Me ia es un xico asi!”

“Good Heaven!” said Scrooge, clasping his hands together, as he looked about him. “I was bred in this place. I was a boy here!”

La spirito contempla el en un modo dulse. Sua toca jentil, an si lo ia es lejera e pronto, pare ancora presente a la sensa de senti de la om vea. El es consensa de mil odores cual flota en la aira, e cada de los es liada con mil pensas, e esperas, e joias, e consernas ja oblidada ante multe multe tempo!

The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle touch, though it had been light and instantaneous, appeared still present to the old man’s sense of feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odours floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long, forgotten!

“Tua labio trema.” – la fantasma dise – “E cua es acel sur tua jena?”

“Your lip is trembling,” said the Ghost. “And what is that upon your cheek?”

Scrooge murmura, en un vose nonusual emosiada, ce lo es un papula, e prea ce la fantasma prende el longo sua via desirada.

Scrooge muttered, with an unusual catching in his voice, that it was a pimple; and begged the Ghost to lead him where he would.

“Tu recorda la via?” – la spirito demanda.

“You recollect the way?” inquired the Spirit.

“Recorda lo?” – Scrooge esclama zelosa – “Me ta pote segue lo con oios bandida.”

“Remember it!” cried Scrooge with fervour; “I could walk it blindfold.”

“Lo es strana ce tu ia oblida lo tra tan multe anios!” – la fantasma comenta – “Ta ce nos continua.”

“Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!” observed the Ghost. “Let us go on.”

Los pasea longo la rua, e Scrooge reconose cada porteta, e palo, e arbor, asta cuando un vila peti de mercato apare en la distantia, con sua ponte, sua eglesa, e sua rio serpente. Aora los vide alga cavalos peti e pelosa ci trota en dirije a los, con xicos sur sua dorsos, ci clama a otra xicos en vagonetas e caros campanial, gidada par cultivores. Tota esta xicos ave umores festosa, e los cria a lunlotra asta cuando la campos vasta es tan plen de musica joiosa ce la aira fresca rie oiante lo!

They walked along the road, Scrooge recognising every gate, and post, and tree; until a little market-town appeared in the distance, with its bridge, its church, and winding river. Some shaggy ponies now were seen trotting towards them with boys upon their backs, who called to other boys in country gigs and carts, driven by farmers. All these boys were in great spirits, and shouted to each other, until the broad fields were so full of merry music, that the crisp air laughed to hear it!

“Estas es no plu ca ombras de la cosas cual ia es” – la fantasma dise – “Los no es consensa de nos.”

“These are but shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “They have no consciousness of us.”

La viajores felis prosimi, e, en cuando los veni, Scrooge conose e nomi cadun de los. Perce el joia ultra tota limitas, vidente los? Perce sua oio fria sintili e sua cor salta en asende cuando los pasa? Perce el es plenida con contentia par oia ce los desira un bon natal a lunlotra, cuando los parti a crusas e ruetas en dirije a sua casas diversa? Cua es per Scrooge la valua de un bon natal? Vergonia de bon natal! En cual modo el ia benefica de lo a ante?

The jocund travellers came on; and as they came, Scrooge knew and named them every one. Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see them! Why did his cold eye glisten, and his heart leap up as they went past! Why was he filled with gladness when he heard them give each other Merry Christmas, as they parted at cross-roads and bye-ways, for their several homes! What was merry Christmas to Scrooge? Out upon merry Christmas! What good had it ever done to him?

“La scola no es completa abandonada” – la fantasma dise – “Un enfante solitar, iniorada par sua amis, resta ancora ala.”

“The school is not quite deserted,” said the Ghost. “A solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still.”

Scrooge dise ce el sabe lo. E el sanglota.

Scrooge said he knew it. And he sobbed.

Los parti de la rua xef, seguente un rueta bon recordada, e prosimi pronto a un cason de brices oscur roja, con un cupola peti sur la teto, cual ave un gala de venta a sua culmina e un campana pendente en lo. La casa es grande, ma lo ia sufri mal fortunas, car la apartes spasiosa es poca usada, sua mures es umida e mososa, sua fenetras es rompeda, e sua portetas ia putri. Avias pasea con coc-coc-coc grandiosa en la stalas, e la vagonerias e cabanas es ocupada par erba.

They left the high-road, by a well-remembered lane, and soon approached a mansion of dull red brick, with a little weathercock-surmounted cupola, on the roof, and a bell hanging in it. It was a large house, but one of broken fortunes; for the spacious offices were little used, their walls were damp and mossy, their windows broken, and their gates decayed. Fowls clucked and strutted in the stables; and the coach-houses and sheds were over-run with grass.

Ance a la interna, lo no ia reteni plu de sua state antica, car, pos entra a la atrio sombre, los regardeta tra la portes abrida de multe salas e trova ce los es povre furnida, fria, e vasta. On ave un sabor terin en la aira, un nudia frinte en la loca, cual sujesta en alga modo ce la abitores ia leva se en lus de candela a tro multe matinas, e no ia ave tro multe per come.

Nor was it more retentive of its ancient state, within; for entering the dreary hall, and glancing through the open doors of many rooms, they found them poorly furnished, cold, and vast. There was an earthy savour in the air, a chilly bareness in the place, which associated itself somehow with too much getting up by candle-light, and not too much to eat.

Los, la fantasma e Scrooge, traversa la atrio a un porte a la retro de la casa. Lo abri ante los e revela un sala longa, nuda e depresante, cual pare an plu nuda par causa de linias de bancas e scriverias de pino simple. A un de estas, un xico solitar leje asta un foco debil; e Scrooge senta se sur un banca, e plora, vidente se, povre e oblidada, como el ia es en la pasada.

They went, the Ghost and Scrooge, across the hall, to a door at the back of the house. It opened before them, and disclosed a long, bare, melancholy room, made barer still by lines of plain deal forms and desks. At one of these a lonely boy was reading near a feeble fire; and Scrooge sat down upon a form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self as he used to be.

No eco ascondeda en la casa, no pia e rasca de la muses pos la paneles, no gota de la jeta de acua partal dejelada en la sombria de la patio retro, no suspira de venta entre la ramos nonfoliosa de un poplo triste, no la bates acaso de la porte de un reteneria vacua, no, an no un clica en la foco ia fa otra ca cade sur la cor de Scrooge con un influe molinte, e dona un pasaje plu libre a sua larmas.

Not a latent echo in the house, not a squeak and scuffle from the mice behind the panelling, not a drip from the half-thawed water-spout in the dull yard behind, not a sigh among the leafless boughs of one despondent poplar, not the idle swinging of an empty store-house door, no, not a clicking in the fire, but fell upon the heart of Scrooge with a softening influence, and gave a freer passage to his tears.

La spirito toca la braso de Scrooge, e indica la plu joven de el ci atende sua leje. Subita, un om en vestes stranjer – merveliosa real e clar per vide – sta ultra la fenetra, con un axa fisada a sua sintur, e gidante par la brida un asino cargada par lenio.

The Spirit touched him on the arm, and pointed to his younger self, intent upon his reading. Suddenly a man, in foreign garments: wonderfully real and distinct to look at: stood outside the window, with an axe stuck in his belt, and leading by the bridle an ass laden with wood.

“Vide, el es Ali Baba!” – Scrooge esclama en estasia – “El es Ali Baba, la cara vea onesta! Si, si, me sabe! A un natal, cuando acel enfante solitar ia es lasada asi tota sin acompania, el ia veni, a la ves prima, en esata acel modo. La xico povre! E Valentin,” – Scrooge dise – “e sua frate savaje, Orson; los es ance ala! E cua-es-sua-nom, ci on ia pone dorminte, en sua vestetas, a la Porton de Dimashq; tu no vide el? E la sposo futur de la Sultan, ci la Djinis ia pende inversada; el es ala, sur sua testa! El merita lo. Me es felis de lo. El ia ave no direto de sposi la Prinsesa!”

“Why, it’s Ali Baba!” Scrooge exclaimed in ecstasy. “It’s dear old honest Ali Baba! Yes, yes, I know! One Christmas time, when yonder solitary child was left here all alone, he did come, for the first time, just like that. Poor boy! And Valentine,” said Scrooge, “and his wild brother, Orson; there they go! And what’s his name, who was put down in his drawers, asleep, at the Gate of Damascus; don’t you see him! And the Sultan’s Groom turned upside down by the Genii; there he is upon his head! Serve him right. I’m glad of it. What business had he to be married to the Princess!”

Si sua amis de comersia en la site ta pote oia Scrooge aplicante tota la seria de sua natur a tal temas, en un vose entre un rie e un plora, e si los ta pote vide sua fas animada e stimulada, los ta es serta surprendeda.

To hear Scrooge expending all the earnestness of his nature on such subjects, in a most extraordinary voice between laughing and crying; and to see his heightened and excited face; would have been a surprise to his business friends in the city, indeed.

“On ave ala la Papagaio!” – Scrooge esclama – “Corpo verde e coda jala, con un cosa simil a un letuga cresente de la culmina de sua testa; el es ala! Robin Crusoe Povre, el ia nomi el, cuando el ia reveni a casa pos naviga sirca la isola. ‘Robin Crusoe Povre, do tu ia es, Robin Crusoe?’ La om ia pensa ce el sonia, ma el no ia es soniante. Lo ia es la Papagaio, tu sabe. On ave ala Venerdi, ci core per sua vive a la rieta peti! Vade! Ui! Alo!”

“There’s the Parrot!” cried Scrooge. “Green body and yellow tail, with a thing like a lettuce growing out of the top of his head; there he is! Poor Robin Crusoe, he called him, when he came home again after sailing round the island. ‘Poor Robin Crusoe, where have you been, Robin Crusoe?’ The man thought he was dreaming, but he wasn’t. It was the Parrot, you know. There goes Friday, running for his life to the little creek! Halloa! Hoop! Halloo!”

Alora, cambiante con un rapidia multe stranjer de sua carater usual, el dise, en compatia per se pasada, “La xico povre!” e plora denova.

Then, with a rapidity of transition very foreign to his usual character, he said, in pity for his former self, “Poor boy!” and cried again.

“Me desira…” – Scrooge murmura, ponente sua mano en sua pox e regardante sirca se, pos seci sua oios con sua polso de manga – “Ma lo es aora tro tarda.”

“I wish,” Scrooge muttered, putting his hand in his pocket, and looking about him, after drying his eyes with his cuff: “but it’s too late now.”

“Cua disturba tu?” – la Spirito dise.

“What is the matter?” asked the Spirit.

“No cosa.” – Scrooge dise – “No cosa. Un xico ia fa un canta de natal a mea porte, a la sera pasada. Me ta gusta si me ia dona alga cosa a el – sola acel.”

“Nothing,” said Scrooge. “Nothing. There was a boy singing a Christmas Carol at my door last night. I should like to have given him something: that’s all.”

La fantasma surie pensosa, e brandi sua mano, disente a la mesma tempo – “Ta ce nos vide un otra natal!”

The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its hand: saying as it did so, “Let us see another Christmas!”

A esta parolas, la corpo pasada de Scrooge grandi, e la sala deveni alga plu oscur e plu susia. La paneles diminui, la fenetras fesuri; fratos de jeso cade de la sofito, e la bandas de lenio apare en loca; ma Scrooge sabe no plu ca tu como tota esta es fada. El sabe sola ce lo es plen coreta; ce tota ia aveni en acel modo; ce on ave ala el, denova solitar, cuando tota la otra xicos ia vade ja a sua casas per la festas felis.

Scrooge’s former self grew larger at the words, and the room became a little darker and more dirty. The panels shrunk, the windows cracked; fragments of plaster fell out of the ceiling, and the naked laths were shown instead; but how all this was brought about, Scrooge knew no more than you do. He only knew that it was quite correct; that everything had happened so; that there he was, alone again, when all the other boys had gone home for the jolly holidays.

El no leje aora, ma el pasea de asi a ala en un modo desperante. Scrooge regarda la fantasma, e, negante triste con sua testa, el regardeta ansiosa en dirije a la porte.

He was not reading now, but walking up and down despairingly. Scrooge looked at the Ghost, and with a mournful shaking of his head, glanced anxiously towards the door.

Lo abri; e un xica peti, multe plu joven ca la xico, entra corente, e pone sua brasos sirca sua colo, e besa el a multe veses, parlante a el como sua “frate cara, cara”.

It opened; and a little girl, much younger than the boy, came darting in, and putting her arms about his neck, and often kissing him, addressed him as her “Dear, dear brother.”

“Me ia veni per retrae tu a casa, frate cara!” – la enfante dise, batente sua manos peti la un contra la otra, e pliada par rie – “Per retrae tu a casa, casa, casa!”

“I have come to bring you home, dear brother!” said the child, clapping her tiny hands, and bending down to laugh. “To bring you home, home, home!”

“A casa, Fran peti?” – la xico responde.

“Home, little Fan?” returned the boy.

“Si!” – la enfante dise, con deleta suprafluente – “A casa, per tota tempo. A casa, per sempre plu. Padre es tan multe plu amante ca a ante, ce la casa sembla la paradiso! A un note cara, cuando me ia es vadente a leto, el ia parla a me en un modo tan jentil ce me no ia teme demanda a el a un ves nova si tu ta veni cisa a casa; e el ia dise ce si, tu debe; e el ia envia me en un vagon per retrae tu. E tu va es un om!” – la enfante dise, abrinte sua oios – “e tu va reveni nunca asi. Ma prima, nos va es la un con la otra tra la natal intera, e va pasa la tempo la plu joiosa en tota la mundo.”

“Yes!” said the child, brimful of glee. “Home, for good and all. Home, for ever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to be, that home’s like Heaven! He spoke so gently to me one dear night when I was going to bed, that I was not afraid to ask him once more if you might come home; and he said Yes, you should; and sent me in a coach to bring you. And you’re to be a man!” said the child, opening her eyes, “and are never to come back here; but first, we’re to be together all the Christmas long, and have the merriest time in all the world.”

“Tu es un fem notable, Fran peti!” – la xico esclama.

“You are quite a woman, little Fan!” exclaimed the boy.

La xica bate sua manos e rie, e atenta toca la testa de la xico; ma car el es tro peti, el rie denova, e sta sur la ditos de sua pedes per abrasa el. Alora el comensa tira la xico, en sua zelo enfantin, en dirije a la porte; e la xico acompania el, resistente a no grado ce los vade.

She clapped her hands and laughed, and tried to touch his head; but being too little, laughed again, and stood on tiptoe to embrace him. Then she began to drag him, in her childish eagerness, towards the door; and he, nothing loth to go, accompanied her.

Un vose terorosa en la atrio cria – “Vade trae la valison de Senioreto Scrooge a su!” – e la mestre de scola mesma apare en la atrio. El fisa Senioreto Scrooge con un regarda coler de superioria ferose, e puxa el en un state de mente asustada par presa manos con el. Alora el gida la xico e sua sore a un salon vea cual es, de tota tal salas en la mundo, vera la plu simil a un caveta fria, do la mapas sur la mur, e la globos de sielo e tera en la fenetras, es sirin par fria.

A terrible voice in the hall cried, “Bring down Master Scrooge’s box, there!” and in the hall appeared the schoolmaster himself, who glared on Master Scrooge with a ferocious condescension, and threw him into a dreadful state of mind by shaking hands with him. He then conveyed him and his sister into the veriest old well of a shivering best-parlour that ever was seen, where the maps upon the wall, and the celestial and terrestrial globes in the windows, were waxy with cold.

Asi el estrae un carafa de vino strana lejera, e un bloco de torta strana pesosa, e furni partes de esta deletas a la jovenes. A la mesma tempo, el envia un servor magra per ofre un vitro de “alga cosa” a la gidor de vagon, ci responde ce el grasia la senior, ma, si la vino es de la mesma spesie como el ia proba a ante, el ta prefere no bevi lo.

Here he produced a decanter of curiously light wine, and a block of curiously heavy cake, and administered instalments of those dainties to the young people: at the same time, sending out a meagre servant to offer a glass of “something” to the postboy, who answered that he thanked the gentleman, but if it was the same tap as he had tasted before, he had rather not.

Car a esta tempo la valison de Senioreto Scrooge es ja liada a la culmina de la vagon, la enfantes dise a la mestre un adio vera desirada, e, pos entra a la vagon, los vade felis longo la stradeta de jardin. La rotas rapida colpa la jela e neva de sur la folias oscur de la arbores perene, como un jeta.

Master Scrooge’s trunk being by this time tied on to the top of the chaise, the children bade the schoolmaster good-bye right willingly; and getting into it, drove gaily down the garden-sweep: the quick wheels dashing the hoar-frost and snow from off the dark leaves of the evergreens like spray.

“Tua sore ia es sempre un creada delicata, ci ta pote colasa a un respira.” – la fantasma dise – “Ma el ia ave un cor grande!”

“Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered,” said the Ghost. “But she had a large heart!”

“Si, vera.” – Scrooge esclama – “Tu razona bon. Me no va nega lo, spirito. Ta ce Dio proteje me!”

“So she had,” cried Scrooge. “You’re right. I will not gainsay it, Spirit. God forbid!”

“El ia mori como un fem” – la fantasma dise – “e ia lasa enfantes, me crede.”

“She died a woman,” said the Ghost, “and had, as I think, children.”

“Un enfante.” – Scrooge replica.

“One child,” Scrooge returned.

“Vera.” – la fantasma dise – “Tua sobrino!”

“True,” said the Ghost. “Your nephew!”

Scrooge pare noncuieta en sua mente, e responde corta – “Si.”

Scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered briefly, “Yes.”

An si los ia parti de la scola ante sola un momento, los es aora en la stradas ocupada de un site, do pasajores ombrin pasa e repasa, do caros e vagones ombrin batalia per la via, e do on ave tota la disputa e caos de un site real. Lo es vera clar, par la decoras de la botecas, ce ance asi lo es denova la tempo de natal; ma lo es la sera, e la stradas es luminada.

Although they had but that moment left the school behind them, they were now in the busy thoroughfares of a city, where shadowy passengers passed and repassed; where shadowy carts and coaches battled for the way, and all the strife and tumult of a real city were. It was made plain enough, by the dressing of the shops, that here too it was Christmas time again; but it was evening, and the streets were lighted up.

La fantasma para a la porte de un boteca elejeda, e demanda a Scrooge esce el conose lo.

The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Scrooge if he knew it.

“Conose el?” – Scrooge dise – “Me ia es asi un aprendor!”

“Know it!” said Scrooge. “Was I apprenticed here!”

Los entra. Vidente un senior vea en un xapeta de lana, ci senta pos un scriveria tan alta ce, si el ta ave sinco plu sentimetres de altia, el ta nesesa colpa sua testa contra la sofito, Scrooge esclama en stimula grande:

They went in. At sight of an old gentleman in a Welsh wig, sitting behind such a high desk, that if he had been two inches taller he must have knocked his head against the ceiling, Scrooge cried in great excitement:

“O, el es Vea Fezziwig! Ta ce Dio bondise sua cor! El es Fezziwig, denova vivente!”

“Why, it’s old Fezziwig! Bless his heart; it’s Fezziwig alive again!”

Vea Fezziwig reposa sua pen, e leva sua regarda a la orolojo, cual indica la ora sete. El frota sua manos, ajusta sua jaceta spasiosa; rie tra tota sua corpo, de sua sapatos a sua organo de bonvole; e esclama en un vose amable, lisa, rica, abundante e amin:

Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice:

“He, alo! Ebenezer! Dick!”

“Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!”

La varia pasada de Scrooge, aora un om joven adultinte, entra enerjiosa, acompaniada par sua coaprendor.

Scrooge’s former self, now grown a young man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-’prentice.

“Dick Wilkins, serta!” – Scrooge dise a la fantasma – “Mea bon Dio, si. On ave el ala. El ia es vera multe amin a me, acel Dick. La povre Dick! Ai, ai!

“Dick Wilkins, to be sure!” said Scrooge to the Ghost. “Bless me, yes. There he is. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear, dear!”

“Alo, mea xicos!” – Fezziwig dise – “No plu de labora a esta note. La sera de natal, Dick. Natal, Ebenezer! Ta ce nos covre la fenetras” – Vea Fezziwig cria, con un bate subita de sua manos – “ante cuando me pote conta a dudes!”

“Yo ho, my boys!” said Fezziwig. “No more work to-night. Christmas Eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let’s have the shutters up,” cried old Fezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands, “before a man can say Jack Robinson!”

Tu no ta crede como acel du omes ia emprende la taxe! Los freta en la strada con la covrefenetras – un, du, tre – pone los en sua locas – cuatro, sinco, ses – fisa los con baretas e spinos – sete, oto, nove – e reveni ante cuando on ta pote ateni des-du, respirante como cavalos pos un corsa.

You wouldn’t believe how those two fellows went at it! They charged into the street with the shutters – one, two, three – had ‘em up in their places – four, five, six – barred ‘em and pinned ‘em – seven, eight, nine – and came back before you could have got to twelve, panting like race-horses.

“Hi ha ho!” – Vea Fezziwig esclama, brincante de la scriveria alta con ajilia merveliosa – “Posa la sala, mea xicos: nos ta ave asi multe spasio! Hi ha ho, Dick! Vade bon, Ebenezer!”

“Hilli-ho!” cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk, with wonderful agility. “Clear away, my lads, and let’s have lots of room here! Hilli-ho, Dick! Chirrup, Ebenezer!”

Posa la sala! Los ave no cosa cual los no ta move, o no ta pote move, su la regarda de Vea Fezziwig. Los fa tota en un minuto. Los paci cada mobila a via, como si los despedi los de la vive publica per sempre; los scopi e duxi la solo, los sisori la lampas, los pila combustables sur la foco; e la boteca deveni un salon de balo tan comfortosa e calda e seca e luminada como on ta desira vide a un note de inverno.

Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn’t have cleared away, or couldn’t have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life for evermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug, and warm, and dry, and bright a ball-room, as you would desire to see upon a winter’s night.

Un violiniste entra con un libro de musica, e vade a la scriveria alta, e condui como un orcestra, ajustante sua strumento con un ruido simil a sincodes doles de ventre. Seniora Fezziwig entra, vera no plu ca un surie vasta. La tre senioretas Fezziwig entra, radiante e amable. La ses seguores joven entra, de cual la senioretas va rompe sua cores. Tota la jovenes empleada en la comersia entra. La cameror fema entra, con sua cusin, la panor. La cosinor entra, con la ami spesial de sua frate, la letor. La xico de ultra la strada entra, de ci on suspeta ce el no ia reseta comedas sufisinte de sua mestre; el atenta asconde se pos la xica de la boteca cuasi visina, de ci on ia descovre ce sua mestresa ia tira sua oreas.

In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin, the baker. In came the cook, with her brother’s particular friend, the milkman. In came the boy from over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from his master; trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one, who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress.

Tota de los entra, la un pos la otra; algas es timida, algas es corajosa, algas es refinada, algas es torpe, algas puia, algas tira; tota de los entra, en cualce modo e cada modo. Tota de los comensa dansa, dudes duples a la mesma tempo; los teni la manos, fa un dui de un sirculo, e reveni en la otra dirije; sirca sirculos en grados diversa de grupos amante; la du gidores presedente verje sempre a la mal momento; la du gidores seguente recomensa direta cuando los ariva ala; final, tota duples deveni la gidores, e on ave no nongidores per aida los!

In they all came, one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other way; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong place; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them!

Pos la ateni de esta resulta, Vea Fezziwig, batente sua manos per para la dansa, cria – “Bon fada!” – e la violiniste puxa sua fas calda en un vaso de bir brun, spesial furnida per esta usa. Ma despetante reposa, cuando el reapare, el comensa direta denova, an si on ave no plu dansores, como si on ia porta la violiniste presedente a casa, completa fatigada, sur un covrefenetra, e como si el es un musiciste nova, determinada de suprapasa la otra, su risca de mori.

When this result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to stop the dance, cried out, “Well done!” and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter, especially provided for that purpose. But scorning rest, upon his reappearance, he instantly began again, though there were no dancers yet, as if the other fiddler had been carried home, exhausted, on a shutter, and he were a bran-new man resolved to beat him out of sight, or perish.

On ave plu dansas, e on ave un jua de multas, e plu dansas, e on ave torta, e on ave vino spisida, e on ave un peso grande de carne rostada fria, e on ave un peso grande de carne bolida fria, e on ave tartetas de fruta secida, e un abunda de bir. Ma la efeto grande de la sera veni pos la rostada e la bolida, cuando la violiniste (un tipo destrosa, nota! – un om de la spesie ci comprende eselente sua labora, plu bon ca tu o me ta pote esplica a el!) inisia la melodia “Sir Roger de Coverley”.

There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince-pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler (an artful dog, mind! The sort of man who knew his business better than you or I could have told it him!) struck up “Sir Roger de Coverley.”

Alora, Vea Fezziwig avansa per dansa con Seniora Fezziwig. Los es an la gidores, frontinte un bon taxe vera difisil; dudes-tre o dudes-cuatro duples de dansores; persones ci on trata usual en un modo seria; persones ci insiste dansa, e ave no intende de pasea.

Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty pair of partners; people who were not to be trifled with; people who would dance, and had no notion of walking.

Ma si la cuantia de esta persones ta es plu grande an a du veses – ha, cuatro veses – Vea Fezziwig ta es egal de los, e Seniora Fezziwig ance. Regardante el, el merita es la acompanior de sua sposo en cada sinifia de la parola. Si acel no es un loda alta, dona un plu alta, e me va usa lo. La suras de Fezziwig pare emete vera un lus. Los brilia como lunas en cada parte de la dansa. On no ta pote predise, a cualce momento elejeda, cua los va fa a la momento seguente. E cuando Vea Fezziwig e Seniora Fezziwig ia pasa tra tota la dansa – avansa e retira, ambos manos a sua acompanior, inclina e plia la jenos, tiratapo, fili la ago, e reveni denova a sua loca – Fezziwig salta batente sua pedes, tan ajil ce el pare ginia con sua gamas, e recade sur sua pedes sin bambola.

But if they had been twice as many – ah, four times – old Fezziwig would have been a match for them, and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. If that’s not high praise, tell me higher, and I’ll use it. A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig’s calves. They shone in every part of the dance like moons. You couldn’t have predicted, at any given time, what would have become of them next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance; advance and retire, both hands to your partner, bow and curtsey, corkscrew, thread-the-needle, and back again to your place; Fezziwig “cut” – cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon his feet again without a stagger.

Cuando la orolojo sona la ora des-un, esta balo de casa fini. Senior e Seniora Fezziwig sta a sua postos, un a cada lado de la porte, e, presante manos con cada person individua cuando el sorti, desira a el un bon natal. Pos cuando cadun ia sorti, estra la du aprendores, los fa la mesma a estas; e en esta modo la voses felis desapare lenta, e la xicos es lasada a sua letos, cual es su un table en la sala retro de la boteca.

When the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two ‘prentices, they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to their beds; which were under a counter in the back-shop.

Tra tota de esta tempo, Scrooge ia condui como un om loco. Sua cor e spirito ia es en la sena, e con la plu joven de el. El ia confirma tota, ia recorda tota, ia gusta tota, e ia sufri un ajita la plu strana. Lo es sola aora, cuando la fases joiosa de sua pasada e Dick es torseda a via de los, ce el recorda la fantasma, e deveni consensa ce lo regarda el en un modo intensa, con ce la lus sur sua testa arde multe clar.

During the whole of this time, Scrooge had acted like a man out of his wits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self. He corroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, and underwent the strangest agitation. It was not until now, when the bright faces of his former self and Dick were turned from them, that he remembered the Ghost, and became conscious that it was looking full upon him, while the light upon its head burnt very clear.

“Un ata peti” – la fantasma dise – “ia fa ce esta persones bobo deveni tan plen de grasia.”

“A small matter,” said the Ghost, “to make these silly folks so full of gratitude.”

“Peti?” – Scrooge repete.

“Small!” echoed Scrooge.

La spirito jesti ce el ta escuta la du aprendores, ci parla sur Fezziwig, lodante el con tota sua cores; e a pos, la spirito dise:

The Spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who were pouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig: and when he had done so, said,

“Perce? Esce la ata no ia es peti? El ia spende no plu ca alga paundes de tua mone mortal: cisa tre o cuatro. Esce esta es tan multe ce el merita esta loda?”

“Why! Is it not? He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money: three or four perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves this praise?”

“Lo no es tal.” – Scrooge dise, stimulada par la comenta, e parlante sin intende como la plu joven de se, no la plu vea – “Lo no es tal, Spirito. El ave la capasia de fa ce nos deveni felis o nonfelis; de fa ce nosa labora es lejera o cargosa; un plaser o un luta. Si nos dise ce sua capasia ave la forma de parolas e regardas, en cosas tan minor e nonimportante ce on no pote soma e conta los, alora – como? La felisia cual el dona es egal grande como si lo ta custa un monton de mone.”

“It isn’t that,” said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and speaking unconsciously like his former, not his latter, self. “It isn’t that, Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make our service light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his power lies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to add and count ‘em up: what then? The happiness he gives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.”

El senti la regarda de la spirito, e para.

He felt the Spirit’s glance, and stopped.

“Cua disturba tu?” – la fantasma demanda.

“What is the matter?” asked the Ghost.

“No cosa spesial.” – Scrooge dise.

“Nothing particular,” said Scrooge.

“Alga cosa, me crede?” – la fantasma insiste.

“Something, I think?” the Ghost insisted.

“No.” – Scrooge dise – “No. Me ta gusta si me ta pote dise un parola o du a mea secretor a esta momento. Sola acel.”

“No,” said Scrooge, “No. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now. That’s all.”

La pasada de el redui la lampas en cuando el vosi la desira – e Scrooge e la fantasma sta denova asta lunlotra su la sielo.

His former self turned down the lamps as he gave utterance to the wish; and Scrooge and the Ghost again stood side by side in the open air.

“Mea tempo es cuasi usada.” – la spirito nota – “Rapida!”

“My time grows short,” observed the Spirit. “Quick!”

Esta no es dirijeda a Scrooge, o a cualcun ci el pote vide, ma lo produi direta un resulta – car Scrooge vide denova se. El es aora plu vea: un om en la tempo florinte de sua vive. Sua fas no ave la linias sever e rijida de la anios plu tarda, ma el ia comensa ja porta la sinias de ansia e avaria. El ave un move zelosa, egosa, ajitada en la oio, cual mostra la pasion cual ia radisi, e do la ombra de la arbor cresente va cade.

This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any one whom he could see, but it produced an immediate effect. For again Scrooge saw himself. He was older now; a man in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later years; but it had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice. There was an eager, greedy, restless motion in the eye, which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow of the growing tree would fall.

El no es solitar, ma el senta a la lado de un xica bela joven en vestes de lamenta; en la oios de la xica on ave larmas, cual sintili en la lus cual brilia de la Fantasma de Natal Pasada.

He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a mourning-dress: in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.

“Lo importa poca.” – la xica dise, cuieta – “A tu, vera poca. Un otra idol ia desloca me; e si lo pote felisi e comforta tu en la tempo futur, como me ta atenta fa, me ave no razona justa per lamenta.”

“It matters little,” she said, softly. “To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve.”

“Cual idol ia desloca tu?” – el responde.

“What Idol has displaced you?” he rejoined.

“Un idol de oro.”

“A golden one.”

“Regarda la justia con cual la mundo trata se!” – el dise – “On ave no cosa contra cual lo es plu dur ca contra la povria; e on ave no cosa cual sua declaras condena con plu severia ca la xasa de ricia!”

“This is the even-handed dealing of the world!” he said. “There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty; and there is nothing it professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!”

“Tu teme tro multe la mundo.” – el responde, jentil – “Tota tua otra esperas ia fusa se en la espera de evade la posible de sua reproxas vil. Me ia vide ce tua aspiras plu nobil cade a via, la un pos la otra, asta cuando tu es preocupada par la pasion dominante, la profita.”

“You fear the world too much,” she answered, gently. “All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not?”

“E donce – como?” – el replica – “An si me ia deveni tan multe plu saja, alora como? Me no ia cambia en mea relata a tu.”

“What then?” he retorted. “Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? I am not changed towards you.”

La xica nega con sua testa.

She shook her head.

“Me ia cambia?”

“Am I?”

“Nos ave un contrata vea. Nos ia fa lo cuando ambos de nos ia es povre e contente de resta tal asta cuando, a la bon momento, nos va pote boni nosa fortuna mundal par nosa labora pasiente. Si, tu es cambiada. A la tempo de nosa contrata, tu ia es un otra om.”

“Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were both poor and content to be so, until, in good season, we could improve our worldly fortune by our patient industry. You are changed. When it was made, you were another man.”

“Me ia es un xico.” – el dise nonpasiente.

“I was a boy,” he said impatiently.

“Tua propre senti informa tu ce tu no ia es lo cual tu es aora.” – el replica – “Me ia resta la mesma. La cosa cual ia promete felisia cuando nos ia es unida de cor es plen de miseria per nos ci es aora du. Me no va dise como frecuente e intensa me ia pensa sur esta. Lo sufisi ce me ia pensa sur lo, e pote libri tu.”

“Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are,” she returned. “I am. That which promised happiness when we were one in heart, is fraught with misery now that we are two. How often and how keenly I have thought of this, I will not say. It is enough that I have thought of it, and can release you.”

“Esce me ia xerca es librida a ante?”

“Have I ever sought release?”

“Par parolas, no. Nunca.”

“In words. No. Never.”

“Donce en cual manera?”

“In what, then?”

“Par un natur cambiada; par un spirito alterada; par un otra atmosfera de vive, con un otra espera como sua gol grande. Par tota cual ia dona alga merita o valua a mea ama, en tua opina. Si esta ia aveni nunca entre nos,” – la xica dise, regardante el en un modo jentil ma firma – “dise a me: esce tu ta xerca me e atenta aora gania me? A, no!”

“In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of life; another Hope as its great end. In everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight. If this had never been between us,” said the girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him; “tell me, would you seek me out and try to win me now? Ah, no!”

La om pare sede a la justia de esta suposa, an contra sua desiras. Ma el dise con luta – “Tu crede ce no.”

He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition, in spite of himself. But he said with a struggle, “You think not.”

“Me ta es felis de crede diferente si me ta pote.” – el responde – “Dio sabe! Cuando me ia aprende un vera de esta spesie, me sabe ce lo es multe forte e nonresistable. Ma si tu ta es libre, oji, doman, ier, esce an me pote crede ce tu ta eleje un xica sin dote – tu, ci judi tota cosas per profita an en tua confidas con esta xica? O, si, elejente el, tu ta iniora tan multe per un momento tua prinsipe gidante per fa esta, esce me no sabe ce tua repenti e regrete ta segue serta? Me sabe esta; e me libri tu, con cor plen, per la ama de la person ci tu ia es a un ves pasada.”

“I would gladly think otherwise if I could,” she answered, “Heaven knows! When I have learned a Truth like this, I know how strong and irresistible it must be. But if you were free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl – you who, in your very confidence with her, weigh everything by Gain: or, choosing her, if for a moment you were false enough to your one guiding principle to do so, do I not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and I release you. With a full heart, for the love of him you once were.”

La om ia es a punto de parla; ma, con sua testa torseda a via de el, la xica recomensa.

He was about to speak; but with her head turned from him, she resumed.

“Lo es posible – la memoria de la pasada fa partal ce me espera ce lo es probable – ce tu va sufri de esta. Un tempo multe multe corta va pasa, e tu va refusa felis la recorda de lo como un sonia nonprofitosa, pos cual tua velia ia es un bon aveni. Ta ce tu es contente en la vive cual tu ia eleje!”

“You may – the memory of what is past half makes me hope you will – have pain in this. A very, very brief time, and you will dismiss the recollection of it, gladly, as an unprofitable dream, from which it happened well that you awoke. May you be happy in the life you have chosen!”

La xica sorti, e los parti.

She left him, and they parted.

“Spirito!” – Scrooge dise – “Mostra no plu! Gida me a mea casa. Perce tu deleta en tortura me?”

“Spirit!” said Scrooge, “show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you delight to torture me?”

“Ancora un plu ombra!” – la fantasma esclama.

“One shadow more!” exclaimed the Ghost.

“No plu!” – Scrooge cria – “No plu. Me no vole vide lo. Mostra no plu!”

“No more!” cried Scrooge. “No more. I don’t wish to see it. Show me no more!”

Ma la fantasma nonsedente saisi el par ambos de sua brasos, e obliga ce el oserva la aveni cual segue.

But the relentless Ghost pinioned him in both his arms, and forced him to observe what happened next.

Los es en un otra sena e loca: un sala, no multe grande o bela, ma plen de comforta. Prosima a la foco de inverno, un xica bela joven senta, tan simil a la presedente ce Scrooge crede ce el es la mesma – asta cuando el vide el, aora un sposa atraosa e diniosa, ci senta fasante sua fia. La ruido en esta sala es intera caososa, car on ave ala plu enfantes ca Scrooge pote conta en sua state de mente ajitada; e, no como la manada de boves selebrada en la poesia, los no es cuatrodes enfantes conduinte como un, ma cada enfante condui como cuatrodes.

They were in another scene and place; a room, not very large or handsome, but full of comfort. Near to the winter fire sat a beautiful young girl, so like that last that Scrooge believed it was the same, until he saw her, now a comely matron, sitting opposite her daughter. The noise in this room was perfectly tumultuous, for there were more children there, than Scrooge in his agitated state of mind could count; and, unlike the celebrated herd in the poem, they were not forty children conducting themselves like one, but every child was conducting itself like forty.

La resultas es noncredable tumultosa; ma nun pare disturbada; par contrasta, la madre e fia rie zelosa, e gusta multe la ruido; e la fia, ci comensa pronto misca se en la sportes, es sacada par la atacores joven en un modo vera sin repenti. Cua me no ta dona per es un de los! Ma me ta pote nunca es tan noncortes, no, no! Me no ta crase acel capeles trensada e destrui sua posa, an per tota la mundo; e consernante la sapato peti e valuosa, me no ta pinsi lo a via – ta ce Dio bondise me! – an per salva la mea vive.

The consequences were uproarious beyond belief; but no one seemed to care; on the contrary, the mother and daughter laughed heartily, and enjoyed it very much; and the latter, soon beginning to mingle in the sports, got pillaged by the young brigands most ruthlessly. What would I not have given to be one of them! Though I never could have been so rude, no, no! I wouldn’t for the wealth of all the world have crushed that braided hair, and torn it down; and for the precious little shoe, I wouldn’t have plucked it off, God bless my soul! to save my life.

Regardante como los mesura la taie de la fia en diverti – e los fa esta, la projenia joven e corajosa – me no ta pote fa esta; me ta espeta ce mea braso va estende sirca lo per un puni, e va deveni nunca denova reta. E, an tal, me ta gusta cara, me confesa, toca sua labios; fa demandas a el, afin el ta abri los; regarda la siles de sua oios dirijeda a su, e roji nunca; libri ondas de capeles, de cual an un sentimetre ta es un recordante de preso noncalculable: en resoma, me ta gusta, me confesa an, ave la libria la plu lejera de un enfante, ma es ancora un om sufisinte capas de reconose la valua de esta.

As to measuring her waist in sport, as they did, bold young brood, I couldn’t have done it; I should have expected my arm to have grown round it for a punishment, and never come straight again. And yet I should have dearly liked, I own, to have touched her lips; to have questioned her, that she might have opened them; to have looked upon the lashes of her downcast eyes, and never raised a blush; to have let loose waves of hair, an inch of which would be a keepsake beyond price: in short, I should have liked, I do confess, to have had the lightest licence of a child, and yet to have been man enough to know its value.

Ma aora, on oia un bateta a la porte, e un tal freta segue direta ce la fia, con fas riente e vestes sacada, es portada en acel dirije como la sentro de un grupo roja e ruidosa, arivante a tempo per saluta la padre, ci reveni a casa, acompaniada par un om cargada par juetas e donadas de natal.

But now a knocking at the door was heard, and such a rush immediately ensued that she with laughing face and plundered dress was borne towards it the centre of a flushed and boisterous group, just in time to greet the father, who came home attended by a man laden with Christmas toys and presents.

Alora, la crias e la lutas, e la ataca cual on fa contra la portor noncapas de defende se! La trepa sur el par sejas en loca de scalas per esplora sua poxes, saca el per sua pacetas de paper brun, teni se a el par sua cravata, abrasa sua colo, bate sua dorso, e colpa sua gamas en un espresa de ama nonrepresable! La crias de stona e deleta con cual on esperia la desenvolve de cada paceta! La anunsia asustante ce on ia catura la bebe en la ata de pone un padela de pupa en sua boca, e ce on ave plu ca un suspeta ce el ia engoli un pavo imajinal, colida sur un plato de lenio! La lejeri enorme de trova ce esta es un alarma falsa!

Then the shouting and the struggling, and the onslaught that was made on the defenceless porter! The scaling him with chairs for ladders to dive into his pockets, despoil him of brown-paper parcels, hold on tight by his cravat, hug him round his neck, pommel his back, and kick his legs in irrepressible affection! The shouts of wonder and delight with which the development of every package was received! The terrible announcement that the baby had been taken in the act of putting a doll’s frying-pan into his mouth, and was more than suspected of having swallowed a fictitious turkey, glued on a wooden platter! The immense relief of finding this a false alarm!

La joia, e grasia, e estasia! Tota de los es egal nondescrivable. Sufisi dise ce, en un progresa lenta, la enfantes e sua emosias susede sorti de la salon e asende, par un grado pos la otra, asta la nivel la plu alta de la casa, do los vade a leto e donce deveni calma.

The joy, and gratitude, and ecstasy! They are all indescribable alike. It is enough that by degrees the children and their emotions got out of the parlour, and by one stair at a time, up to the top of the house; where they went to bed, and so subsided.

E aora Scrooge regarda an plu atendosa ca a ante, cuando la mestre de la casa, sur cual sua fia apoia se en un modo amante, senta se con el e sua madre ante sua propre ximineria; e cuando Scrooge pensa ce un tal otra creada, esata tan jentil e prometente, ta pote nomi el sua padre, como un primavera en la inverno fatigada de sua vive, sua oios deveni vera multe larmosa.

And now Scrooge looked on more attentively than ever, when the master of the house, having his daughter leaning fondly on him, sat down with her and her mother at his own fireside; and when he thought that such another creature, quite as graceful and as full of promise, might have called him father, and been a spring-time in the haggard winter of his life, his sight grew very dim indeed.

“Bela” – la sposo dise, dirijente se a sua sposa con un surie – “me ia vide un ami vea de tu a esta posmedia.”

“Belle,” said the husband, turning to his wife with a smile, “I saw an old friend of yours this afternoon.”

“Ci el ia es?”

“Who was it?”

“Divina!”

“Guess!”

“Como me pote? Ma, esce me no sabe?” – el ajunta en la mesma respira, riente con sua sposo – “Senior Scrooge.”

“How can I? Tut, don’t I know?” she added in the same breath, laughing as he laughed. “Mr. Scrooge.”

“Si, Senior Scrooge. Me ia pasa la fenetra de sua ofisia; e, car lo no ia es covreda, e el ia ave un candela a interna, me ia pote apena evita vide el. Sua asosior es a punto de mori, on dise; e ala el senta, solitar. Intera solitar en la mundo, me crede.”

“Mr. Scrooge it was. I passed his office window; and as it was not shut up, and he had a candle inside, I could scarcely help seeing him. His partner lies upon the point of death, I hear; and there he sat alone. Quite alone in the world, I do believe.”

“Spirito!” – Scrooge dise en un vose emosiada – “prende me a via de esta loca.”

“Spirit!” said Scrooge in a broken voice, “remove me from this place.”

“Me ia dise ce estas es ombras de la cosas cual ia es.” – la fantasma dise – “Si los es como los es, no culpa me!”

“I told you these were shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “That they are what they are, do not blame me!”

“Prende me a via!” – Scrooge esclama – “Me no pote tolera!”

“Remove me!” Scrooge exclaimed, “I cannot bear it!”

El torse se a la fantasma, e, vidente ce lo regarda el con un fas cual conteni, en alga modo strana, fratos de tota la fases cual lo ia mostra a el, el lansa se sur lo.

He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it looked upon him with a face, in which in some strange way there were fragments of all the faces it had shown him, wrestled with it.

“Lasa me! Retrae me. No visita plu me!”

“Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!”

En la luta – si on pote nomi un tal ata un luta, en cual la fantasma, sin propre resiste vidable, es nonturbada par cualce atenta de sua oposor – Scrooge persepi ce sua lus arde alta e briliante; e, liante neblosa esta con sua influe supra el, el saisi la xapeta, la estinguicandela, e, en un ata subita, el pone lo sur sua testa e presa lo a su.

In the struggle, if that can be called a struggle in which the Ghost with no visible resistance on its own part was undisturbed by any effort of its adversary, Scrooge observed that its light was burning high and bright; and dimly connecting that with its influence over him, he seized the extinguisher-cap, and by a sudden action pressed it down upon its head.

La spirito cade su la xapeta, tal ce esta covre sua forma intera; ma, en cuando Scrooge presa lo con tota sua fortia, el no pote asconde la lus, cual flue de su lo, en un deluvia continuante sur la tera.

The Spirit dropped beneath it, so that the extinguisher covered its whole form; but though Scrooge pressed it down with all his force, he could not hide the light: which streamed from under it, in an unbroken flood upon the ground.

El es consensa ce el es completa fatigada e vinseda par un dormosia nonresistable – e, plu, ce el es en sua propre sala de dormi. El fa un presa final a la xapeta, pos cual sua mano destensa; e el ave apena la tempo per bambola a sua leto ante afonda en un dormi profonda.

He was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further, of being in his own bedroom. He gave the cap a parting squeeze, in which his hand relaxed; and had barely time to reel to bed, before he sank into a heavy sleep.