Blogsy Babbles

STAVE FIVE: The End Of It

     Yes!  And the bedpost was his own.  The bed was his own, the room was his own.  Best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own, to make amends in!

     “I shall live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!” Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed.  “The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me.  Oh Jacob Marley!  Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this!  O say it on y knees, old Jacob; on my knees!”

     He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions, that his broken voice would scarcely answer to his call.  He had been sobbing violently in his conflict with the Spirit, and his face was wet with tears.

     “They are not torn down,”” cried Scrooge, folding one of his bed-curtains in his arms.  “They are not torn down, rings and all.  They are here: I am here: the shadows of the things that would have been, may be dispelled.  They will be.  I know they will.”

     His hands were busy with his garments all this time: turning them inside out, putting them on upside down, tearing them, mislaying them, making them parties to every kind of extravagance.

     “I don’t know what to do!” cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoon of himself with his stockings.  “I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a school-boy.  I am as giddy as a drunken man.  A merry Christmas to everybody!  A happy New Year to all the world!  Hallo there!  Whoop!  Hallo!”

     He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there: perfectly winded.

     “There’s the saucepan that the gruel was in!” cried Scrooge, starting off again, and frisking around the fireplace.  “There’s the door, by which the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered!  There’s the corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present, sat!  There’s the window where I saw the wandering Spirits!  It’s all right, it’s all true, it all happened.  Ha ha ha!”

     Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrous laugh.  The father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs!

     “I don’t know what day of the month it is!” said Scrooge, “I don’t know how long I’ve been among the Spirits.  I don’t know anything.  I’m quite a baby.  Never mind.  I don’t care.  I’d rather be a baby.  Hallo!  Whoop!  Hallo there!”

     He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard.  Clash, clang, hammer, ding, dong, bell.  Bell, dong, ding, hammer, clang, clash!  Oh, glorious, glorious!

      Here’s a puzzle for the filmmaker.  Scrooge has been reasonably cold and sedate much of the time up to this, bar a bit of dancing here and some weeping there.  Now the hero has to bounce around, overcome by the fact that he is alive, and his bed curtains are NOT torn down, rings and all.  The scene cannot be skipped in the least, so the most surprising actors are now found bouncing on beds.  Often a character will be introduced to react to all this giddiness, acting on our behalf in befuddlement.

     Hicks takes longer to accept his deliverance than most Scrooges; he stares at his window in disbelief, swallowing hard, only gradually realizing that he is, in fact, alive.  Trembling, he wipes his face, covers it, and goes through the first speeches as his hands clutch each other, wash each other, and assume various positions of prayer.  “I will live in the past, the Present, and the Future.  Oh Jacob Marley!  Heaven and the Christmas Time be praised for this!  On my knees I thank you, Jacob: on my knees!”  At last taking it all in, he begins to laugh, tearing down the bed curtains himself in his glee.  He dances a bit in his slippers and hurries to admit the charlady with his breakfast.  “A merry Christmas!”  he chucks her under the chin.  “God bless ye!”  he declares he is as giddy as a drunken man, and so forth, and then points out the different landmarks od the room before tottering across the floor with a shaky “Hooray!”  This char is more [phlegmatic than others, but does appear dubious about these proceedings.

     Owen is speechless and delighted.  He bounces on the bed to assure himself of its reality, and pulls at the curtains for the same reason.  Thrusting them wide, he jumps out of bed.  To be sure he’s solid, he thumps and pinches himself; the sound of bells makes him giddier still.

     Sim I is wakened by a knock at the door.  He laughs to find himself alive and whole; his merriment increases as the scene goes on.  Timidly, he opens the door to allow Mrs. Dilber with his breakfast; she frightens him at first but he realizes that the scene that she saw of her in the ragpicker’s den has not, of course, happened yet.  He now swipes some of the dialogue from the next scene, asking her what day this is, and realizing that the Spirits have done It All in one night.  “Are you quite yourself, sir?” asks Mrs. Dilber, taken aback when he replies that he hopes not.  He turns to his bed and regards the curtains, exclaiming, “You didn’t tear them down and sell them!”  Mrs. Dilber grows all the more uneasy as he proceeds through the light as a feather speech, points out the door Jacob Marley entered by, and declares that he doesn’t know anything.  “But now I know that I don’t know.”  He sings about not knowing anything, and is moved to try to stand on his head on the bed.  As he is attired only in his nightshirt and dressing gown, Mrs. Dilber shrieks and runs, tossing her apron up over her face.  Catching up with her on the stairs, Scrooge clutches her to him and tries to convince her he has not gone mad.  This does not work.  He forces a guinea on her, and she assumes this is a bribe to keep quiet about his fit of insanity.  When she finally realizes he is not only just giving her a Christmas gift but also insisting on raising her salary four hundred percent, she still asks whether he wouldn’t like to see a doctor.  He denies any wish to see a doctor or, for that matter, an undertaker.  Finally convinced, she rushes off to spend the guinea.  Scrooge goes back upstairs to consider himself in the mirror.  He wishes his reflection a merry Christmas “as if you deserved it.”

     March simply cries, “It’s my own bed!  The whole thing was a dream!  And I’m alive!”

     Rathbone comes to on the floor of his bedroom, and rises to his knees, thrilled to see the bedcurtains still there, and to realize that he is still there.  He thanks heaven and the Christmas Time for this, standing up.  Glancing out the window, he throws off his dressing gown (he’s been wearing trousers and suspenders over a T-shirt this whole time.)

     Magoo squints.  “My bed!”  He observes that the bedcurtains are still there, rings and all.  “They are here and I am here!”  The shadows of things that would have been may be dispelled, he declares, praising Heaven and the Christmas Time as he bounces around the room.  He proclaims himself light as a feather and happy as an angel, and so on, and concludes by announcing that he doesn’t know anything, perfectly overjoyed about this.

     Haddrick is on his hands and knees next to the bed.  He remarks on the bedcurtains and then cries out the whole light as a feather speech.  He dresses, plops down in his chair and then, at the sound of his clock, has to jump up again, and run to the window.

     Sim II looks up in wonder at his bedcurtains.  “They are not torn down!  Look!  Rings and all!”  He announces that he will live in the past, the Present, and the Future, and praises Heaven and the Christmas Time on his knees.  Rapturously hugging another bedpost, he admits he doesn’t know anything.  He walks back and forth across the room, as id he doesn’t know where to go.  For the first time, he sounds exactly like Sim I.

      Finney wakes in a tangle of bedding.  “Where am I?  I’m in my own room!  I’m nor in Hell at all!  I haven’t got any chains!  Perhaps it didn’t happen after all!  Perhaps it did!”  He hugs the bedpost.  “But I’m alive!  I’m alive!  I’ve got a chance to change!  And I’ll not be the man I was!”  He breaks into a song called “Begin Again” as he races around the room opening curtains to let in the sunlight.  Dancing, laughing uncontrollably, he moves around the huge bare room, committing mayhem on rolls of documents and legal records.  He declares himself to be light as a feather and happy as an angel, and so on, through to “A merry Christas to everybody!”  Then he slides down the banister, (revealing long red woolen underwear) and dashes outdoors.

     Matthau wakes cowering in his bed, clutching his bedclothes.  B.A.H. Humbug shouts, “Hey!  Look!”  Scrooge will not open his eyes.  “No!  Go away or you’ll be burned with me!”  “Open your eyes and take a look!”  Scrooge does, and exclaims, “Why, bless my soul!  My very own room!  My very own house!”  He rushes to the window.  “How long was I gone?”  He throws up the sash.  “It’s morning!  I’m alive!  It’s a wonderful, beautiful, magnificent morning!”

     McDuck discovers, “I’m back in my own room!”  Throwing his window open somehow convinces him, “It’s Christmas morning!  I haven’t missed it!  The Spirits have given me another chance!”  He runs around getting dressed, becoming entangled with a hatrack.

     Scott, weeping, rises to find, “My own room!  I’m alive!”  He vows to live in the Past, the Present, and the Future, and praises heaven and the Christmas Time on his knees.  There is a blackout, during which he has apparently fallen asleep on his knees; he wakes again when a clock in a tower against a blue sky strikes nine.  “Nine o’clock!  And daylight!  But what day?”  he goes through the next speech and then, dressing, exclaims at the bedcurtains and declares himself as light as a feather and happy as an angel.  Kicking off his slippers, he bounces joyfully (if ponderously) on the bed.

     Caine exclaims, “I’m home!”  Dickens returns now to tell us the bedpost was his own, the bed was his own, and so on.  After convincing himself that he is really there, Scrooge vows to live in the Past, Present, and Future, and cries out to both Marleys that Heaven and the Christmas Time are to be praised, saying it on his knees.  He marvels at the bedcurtains and their lesson, is dismayed by a glance in the mirror, and declares himself to be light as a feather and happy as an angel.

     Curry is weeping, shaking his head on the bed.  “I’m home!  I’m home!”  He cuddles Debit, who is startled by this change in the old man.  “I’m home!  I’ve been given another chance!”  He praises heaven and the Christmas Time on his knees.  Laughing merrily, he checks under the bed and finds his spoons are still there.  He marvels at the bedcurtains, and sings a reprise of “A Christmas Carol”.  Dancing around with Debit, who is still recovering from being kissed, he cries, “Whoop!  Hallo!”

     Stewart cries, “My room!  My bed!”  In a fervent whisper he praises Jacob, Heaven, and the Christmas Time.  He marvels at the bedcurtains and stares in wonder at his hands.  “I’m here!” he announces, in desperate relief and joy.  “The shadows of things that may be CAN be dispelled!  They will.  I know they will!”  He seems to choke, but this finally comes out as a splendid and illustrious laugh.  He declares that he doesn’t know anything, and is quite a baby.

FUSS FUSS FUSS: Did It Happen?

      Okay, let’s get down to cases.  Scrooge spends a lot of time in bed in this narrative.  So he COULD have dreamed the whole business.  The March version, in fact, has him explain that everything was a dream, if a cautionary one he would do well to heed.

     But wait a minute.  When Scrooge returns to bed after each visit, he’s usually awak,e and sitting up.  Now and then he wonders if he is dreaming, or has someone else to comment on the matter (Marley informs Finney that this is no dream; B.A.H. Humbug sees Scrooge disappear and reappear in the bedroom.)  And that first visitation—Marley’s face in the doorknocker—comes when he isn’t even slightly drowsy.

     Now, I know something about people who like ingenious plot devices.  They would suggest that Scrooge, shocked by the visit of the charity solicitors, fell over in a faint, and dreamed everything from there on.  But no, even better: he died of the very shock of his clerk letting two men in on such a mission, went through a sort of Purgatory to test his fitness for the afterlife, visiting visions of Past, Present, and Future.  When these make him repent of his earlier ways, he is found worthy, and admitted to a Heaven in which he is ALLOWED to believe he saved Tiny Tim’s life and became a better man.  Yeah, some people would be happier with THAT version.

      If you’re more cheerful with baroque plot twists, you may have them.  Aside from March, and a number of the early silent movies, which saved on props by having Scrooge fall asleep in his office and have dream visions right there, leave the interpretation up to you.  If you want to believe Scrooge slept through the whole movie, you are at liberty to do so.  If you want to believe he was visited and went visiting, why, that’s fine as well.  Scrooge still acts on what he has seen and becomes a better man.  That was Dickens’s intent, and he would have thought it more important than whether you believe in Ghosts (Which he tells us, over and over, are real.  So there.)

      “Spirit,” said Scrooge, “Something informs me that our moment of parting is at hand.  I know it, but I know not how.  Tell me what man that was we saw lying dead?”

     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.

     “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.”

     The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere.

     “The house is yonder,” Scrooge exclaimed.  “Why do you point away?”

     The inexorable finger underwent no change.

     Scrooge hastened to the window h=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.

      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.

     A churchyard.  Here, then, the wretched man whose name he had yet 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!

     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.

     “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 the shadow of things that may be, only.”

     Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.

     “Men’s courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they will lead, said Scrooge.  “But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change.  Say it is thus with what you show me!”

     The Spirit was as immovable as ever.

     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.

     “Am I the man who lay upon the bed?” he cried, upon his knees.

     The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again.

     “No, Spirit!  Oh, no, no!”

     The finger still was there.

     “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?”

     For the first time the hand appeared to shake.

     “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!”

     The kind hand trembled.

     “I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.  I will live in the past, 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 that I may sponge away the writing on this stone!”

     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.

     Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom’s heed and dress.  It shook, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost.

     Scrooge, realizing how much the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come resembles the Grim Reaper, is struck with a new idea.  Marley lied to him!  This is not a chance at reclamation, but the beginning of his eternal punishment just a way of introducing him to the same fate as his old partner, to wander the earth and witness scenes he cannot take part in.  Scrooge begs for mercy NOT because he is horrified by death, but by the possibility that all the horrors he witnessed in the future will come to pass without his ever getting a chance to fix anything.

     Nobody, nobody, nobody leaves this out.  The shock of wandering through an ugly graveyard and stumbling upon your own tombstone can’t be wasted.  (Though no one much uses the bit about Scrooge running to look in at the place he worked so many years and finding it is now occupied by someone else.)

     Hicks asks, “Now, Spirit, tell me…what man was that whom we saw lying dead?”  He seems to suspect what the answer is.  We are suddenly among gravestones in the snow; it is dark.  Scrooge is shaking on his knees, his voice breaking as a particular stone is indicated.  His tone is desperate as he asks if these are the shadows of things that may be, only.  The finger points, and just after we see the name, there is a wail of “Ebenezer Scrooge!”  He drops to all fours.  “Am I the man who lay upon the bed?”  The finger moves from him to the grave.  “No, Spirit, no!”  The finger insists.  Scrooge cries that he is not the man he was, and so forth.  Catching at the hand, he is repulsed.  He drops, scratching at the writing on the stone, only to find he is mauling a pillow.

     “Spirit.”  Owen’s jaw juts; his will is hardened by suspicion.  “Tell me the name of the man we saw lying dead.”  He is fierce.  “Tell me!”  A gate opens, allowing us to enter a crowded necropolis, where mausolea, tombstones, and other statuary crowd each other.  He asks whether these are the shadows of things that may be, only, and receiving no answer, goes on “Men’s lives lead to certain ends” and so forth.  Still getting no response, he turns to look and sees the stone.  He buries his face in his hands.  “Then I was the man who lay upon the bed.”  The finger moves from him to the grave.  “No no.  Why show me this if I am past all hope?  I shall change my way of living.  I will try to keep Christmas all the year” and the rest of that plea.  “Tell me that this will change my future.  Tell me that this is not my end!  Please!”  He clutches at the Spirit’s sleeve, but the Spirit pulls back out of reach.  When he reaches for it again, he finds he is reaching to his own bedcurtain.

     Sim I is looking around for himself in the Exchange and finds it transformed into a spacious graveyard clogged with grotesque trees.  Clutching a tombstone, he asks if these are the Things That Must Be or Things That Might Be Only.  He hears singing, and covers his ears in despair.  “I know that men’s deeds foreshadow certain ends,” he says, and so on.  The Ghost insists and Scrooge staggers forward to find a large stone flat upon the ground; he falls, weeping, across the name we see on it.  “No, Spirit!  No no no no!  Tell me I’m not already dead!”  Repeating himself quite a lot, he says he is not the man he was, why show him this if he is past all hope, and ends with “Pity me!  Pity me and help me!  Help me sponge away the writing on this stone.”  He goes on and on with more of “I’m not the man I was”.  When he looks up again, he is kneeling before his bedpost, clutching the base.

      March is still standing before the display of plate and china and books in the Cratchit sideboard when he spots the raven that few from his own table, now sitting in a tree outside the window.  The camera lowers to show this tree stands in a fog-infested, ramshackle graveyard.  Scrooge is now wandering within this; the raven startles him, and Scrooge backs from the tree to a stone we read before he does.  Seeing it, he shrieks, raising his eyes.  Dropping to his knees in despair, he looks up to see a smaller stone marked ‘TINY TIM”.  He strikes at this crying “No no no”; soon he is punching the head of his own bed.

     The Spirit guides Rathbone into a graveyard that is as knee-deep in fog as any other scene Scrooge has visited.  He asks why they are here, and goes on to inquire about the things that Will Be and the Things That My Be, Only.  The Spirit points.  Scrooge kneels to read a horizontal stone and cries “No no no no!”  Looking up, he implores, “I am not the man I used to be!  I will change!  Why show me this if I am past all hope?  I will honor Christmas and try to keep it all the year.  Tell me—oh, tell me!—that I may sponge away the writing on this stone!”  He falls across the marker and vanishes.  The fog closes in to hide the stone as well.

     Magoo demands, “Spirit!  Show me my future self!”  Red gates open and they move into a lonely cemetery, with more trees than stones.  Scrooge, terrified, lifts the Spirit’s skirts in front of his face.  The Spirit points to a stone we cannot read.  “What…what is this?”  Scrooge bites his lower lip and asks whether these are the shadows of the Tings That Will Be or the Things That Might Be.  The Spirit points.  Scrooge crawls forward to read the writing on the stone: some lightning makes it easier.  “No no!” he cries, scuttling back the way he came.  “I will honor Christmas in my heart,” he pleads, “And try to keep it all the year. And I will not shut out the lessons that have been taught to me.  I promise!  Tell me that I may sponge away the writing on this stone!”  The Spirit’s hand shakes a bit, but continues to point.  “I beg of you: give me some sign that I may be saved from this!”  The Spirit dissipates, leaving Scrooge to weep at his own grave.  He reprises the song “All Alone In the World”.  Later, he will wake up in bed.

     Haddrick orders, “Return me to my own time.”  He pauses.  “But before you do…tell me what man that was whom we saw lying dead.”  They move into a dark and cluttered cemetery.  We spot the name on the stone, but he does not; he is wondering whether these are the shadows of the Thing That Will Be, or That Might Be.  Seeing the name on the stone, he asks, in honest surprise, “Am I the man who lay upon the bed?” going on, weakly, “Who was robbed?  And scorned?”  The finger points.  “No, Spirit!  No!  No!”  The finger continues to point.  “Spirit, hear e!  I am not the man I was!  I will not be the man I have been!  You and your companions have shown me my errors.  I shall change.  I will honour Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year.  Why show me this, if I am beyond all hope?”  The Spirit stands with arms folded.  “I shall not shut out the lessons you have taught.  And I shall sponge the writing from this tone.  Oh, tell me that I may!”  The Spirit raises its hands, calling forth lightning.  Scrooge finds himself on all fours in his bed.

     Sim Ii is transported quickly into the center of a bristling grove of tombstones, sticking up low rows of crooked teeth.  Scrooges asks if these are the shadows of the Things That Will Be or of Things That My Be, Only; the finger points.  We all read the name.  Scrooge asks, with sorrow, “Am I the man who lay upon the bed?”  His dialogue proceeds as written; he clutche the Spirit’s robes and finds himself hugging his own bedclothes.

     Finney, sobered by the visit of Bob Cratchit to Tiny Tim’s grave, says, “Spirit, you have shown me a Christmas which mixes great happiness with great sadness, but what is to become of me?”  The Ghost points to another part of the graveyard, where Scrooge reads a new stone.  “No, no!  Please!  I beg you!  I’ve seen the error of my ways!  I’ll repent!  Truly, I’ll repent!”  The stone is gone, and a Death’s Head us revealed beneath the Spirit’s hood.  Scrooge stumbles backward into a grave and, finding no bottom, falls and falls.

      Matthau finds himself in a cemetery, and complains about a shadowed tombstone, “I can’t read the name.”  The Ghost obliges with a flash of lightning.  “No!  It’s me!  It’s Ebenezer Scrooge!”  The suffering ghosts from earlier reappear around him, now singing “You Wear a Chain”.  The tombstone rises briefly into a demonic face, and the spirits blow away.  “I’m not the man I was!  I promise to honor Christas in my heart and keep it all the year!  Tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!  Please!”

     McDuck, realizing Tiny Tim is dead, cries “Spirit, I didn’t want this to happen!  Tell me these events can yet be changed!”  Just now, though, he notices two weasels digging a grave, laughing about the small, mean funeral that preceded this.  When they go off on a break, Scrooge creeps forward.  “Spirit, whose lonely grave is this?”  The Spirit scratches a match to light another cigar; the light from this reveals the name.  In case we failed to read this, the Spirit guffaws, “Why, yours, Ebenezer!  The richest man in the cemetery!”  He slaps Scrooge on the back, sending the miser tumbling into the grave.  Scrooge snatches at a root.  The casket within the grave shakes and burst open, belching forth flame.  As the flames leap toward him, Scrooge shouts, “No no no!  No!  Please!  I’ll change!  I’ll change!”  Scrooge finally falls into the flames, struggles to escape, and finds he is wrestling with his bedclothes.

     Scott orders, “Take me home.”  There is lightning and thunder; he is surprised to find himself in a graveyard.  “I thought we’d agreed that you would transport me home.”  The Spirit points.  “Spectre, something informs me that the moment of our parting is at hand.  Tell me what man that was we saw lying dead.”  More lightning: it reveals a flat stone spattered wth snow.  “No.  No.  Before I draw nearer to that stone, answer me this.  Are these the shadows of the Things That Will Be, or are they the shadows of Things That May Be, Only?”  His teeth are on edge; the Spirit points down.  He steps forward and kneels slowly to sweep snow from the stone.  He pauses to consider that men’s courses foreshadowing certain ends, and receives by way of answer only more thunder.  He reads the stone.  Now all but in tears, he exclaims that he is not the man he was; why show him this if he is beyond hope?  The Spirit’s hand trembles.  Smiling hopefully, Scrooge declares that the Spirit’s nature is interceding for him, and asks if he may yet change these shadows by an altered life.  The hand is definitely shaking.  Scrooge promises to honor Christmas in his heart, and live in the Past, Present, and Future.  “Tell me…tell me that I may sponge away the writing on this stone!”  He pleas, weeping openly now, “Spare me!  Spare me!”  He falls on the stone and wakes facedown on his bed.

     With Caine, we go straight to the graveyard, a dark, snowy, windy spot encumbered by thunder and lightning.  “Must we return to this pace?”  There is no answer; Scrooge deduces, “There is something else I must know.  Is that not true?”  Still no reply.  He turns to face the Spirit, “Spirit, I know what I must ask.  I fear tom but I must.  Who was that wretched man whose death brought so much glee and happiness to others?”  The Sopirit points to a tombstone.  Scrooge starts for it, but turns back and begs to know whether these are the shadows of Things That Will Be, or the shadows of Things That May Be, Only.  The Spirit points again.  Scrooge, slumping, steps stoneward again, only to turn back.  “These events can be changed!”  Coming to another stone entirely, he points as if to ask “This one?”  The Spirit insists on the one it pointed to first; Scrooge won’t look, sobbing, “A life can be made right!”  Snow has blown across the biographical data on the stone.  Scrooge brushes it away and reads “Ebenezer Scrooge!  Oh please, Spirit, no!  Hear me!  I am not the man I was; why would you show me this if I was past all hope?  I will honor Christmas, and try to keep it all the year.”  The speech goes on; he drops to his knees, clutching the Spirit’s robes.  “Oh, Spirit, please speak to me!”  He buries his face in the robes and falls forward.

     “Spirit, tell me,” says Curry, “Can this cruel future be changed?”  He walks into a foggy graveyard choked with trees.  “Is this where that wretched man now lies underground?”  The Spirit points.  Scrooge, his gaze averted, moves to the stone indicated.  He asks whether these are the shadows of the Things That Will Be, or only the Things That Might Be.  When there is no reply, he goes on, “All lives lead to certain ends.  But if our lives change, the ends must also change…right?  They must!”  The Spirit points.  Scrooge moves to a standing stone; he can’t look.  When his eyes finally do rise, he cries, “That lonely corpse was me?  Oh, no!  No!  Don’t let me die unmourned!”  He explains that he is not the man he was.  “I will honor Christmas in my heart, and keep it all the year.  I will learn from the past, I will live in the Present, and I shall hope for the Future!  I will keep the three Spirits in my soul and remember their lessons always!”  The Spirit points to the stone again.  He reprises the declaration that he is not that man any more; why show him this if he is beyond all hope?  “Tell me I can make a better future than this!”  The Spirit vanishes.  :All alone,  Stranded.”  He weeps.  A bright light passes in front of him, and he is weeping on his bed.

     After Stewart turns, he finds himself walking through a foggy and unpleasant graveyard.  He inquires whether these are the Shadows of Things That Will Be, or of Things That May Be, Only.  There is no answer.  “Men’s actions determine certain ends if they persist in them,” he explains, “But if their actions change, the ends change too.  Say it is so with what you show me.”  The Spirit doesn’t move, pointing at a stone.  Scrooge, guessing what he will find, doesn’t want to look, but finally turns his gaze down.  Somehow, he is surprised.  (Maybe he was expecting Tiny Tim’s gravestone.)  “Am I the man who lay upon that bed?”  The Ghost does not reply.  “No, Spirit!  Oh, no, no!”  He shakes his head with horror and then turns to debate with the unspeaking Spirit, declaring he is not the man he was.  “Why show me this, if I am past all hope?  Ha!”  The Ghost is not impressed.  “Good Spirit, pity me!  I will know Christas, in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.  The Spirits of all three Christmases shall thrive in me.  I shall not shut out the lesson that they teach.”  Desperate now, he pleads, “Oh, let me wash away the writing on this stone!”  The eyes of the Spirit have gone dark.  The tombstone breaks apart, revealing an open grave underneath; the casket is open, to show Scrooge the body of Scrooge.  The ground beneath his feet crumbles, and he falls face to face with his own corpse.    Now the casket trembles and falls away; he and the body tumble.  Hugging his own dead self, he goes into freefall, and then wakes, hugging his own bedpost.

FUSS FUSS FUSS #17: Tomb It May Concern

     In general, we are transported to a graveyard suited to Dickens’s description, which was based to some degree on Highgate, London’s great burying ground, but also on any number of badly kept overcrowded burial yards of the day.  The crucial stone is not especially described in the text, beyond the owner’s name.  John Leech’s illustration in the original edition shows a small horizontal stone, and Scrooge IS described as crawling to it.  That may have been from dread, of course: so a standing marker is not out of the question.

     The filmmakers have suited themselves here.  A horizontal stone is good for throwing oneself on, but Scrooge can cling hopelessly to a standing one.  Most of the movie markers are exceedingly plain.  Granted, no one would have paid a farthing extra to honor the late Ebenezer, but surely fashion in 1843 would have dictated a little scrollwork around the name, at least.

     Flat stones are possessed by Hicks (whose marker already has the snow neatly cleared from the name), Rathbone, Finney, Scott, Sim I (an especially stark stone), Owen, and Stewart.  Standing stones are bestowed on McDuck, Sim II, Caine, March, Magoo, Matthau, and Haddrick.  By comparison, Matthau and Haddrick also show us Marley’s tombstone.  In Haddrick, Jacob has a standing cross—surely more expensive than anything Scrooge would have sprung for—while in Matthau he has a standing stone with a rounded top (also an extra expense.)  McDuck, the cheapest of the Scrooges, of course had HIS partner buried at sea.

     Most stones show just the name: no epitaph, no date.  Those who speculate on the death date take it for granted that the unrepentant, unyielding, unvisited by Spirits Ebenezer would have died on Christmas, in fact, the very Christmas Marley appears to him.  This was to be his last chance, according to that theory.  Sim I is afraid he is already dead, while the Ghosts who appear to Finney and Stewart reveal themselves as grim Reapers.  But one or two versions give the miser extra time.  Haddrick’s stone gives a death date of 1844.  (His is also the only stone with a birth date, either 1765 or1785).  Owen’s tombstone gives Scrooge until 1845.  And since both these stories take place well before 1843, the date of publication, they seem to have intended Scrooge to go on as hardhearted as ever for a couple of Christmases.

INTERLUDE

     Finney takes a quick detour at this point.  It is dark.  Scrooge wakes, not in his bed but in a casket-shaped depression on a red floor.  He rises, not recognizing his surroundings and rather apprehensive.  Some unpleasant odor reaches him; he rises from the hole.  Following the aroma, he touches a red rock, which is burning hot.  A laughing voice booms, “Ah!  There you are!”

     Scrooge recognizes the voice.  He calls to the gloating Jacob Marley, “Where am I?”

     “I should have thought it was obvious.”  Marley explains he has come to escort Scrooge to Scrooge’s chambers.  No one else wanted to.

     They are running, for no apparent reason.  “That’s very civil of you, Marley,” says Scrooge.  “I am dead, aren’t I?”

     “As a coffin nail.”

     “I rather hoped I’d end up in Heaven.”

     “Did you?”  Marley, who is vastly amused, explains that Scrooge has been named Lucifer’s head clerk, to serve Lucifer as Bob Cratchit served Scrooge.

     “That’s not fair!” Scrooge cries.

     Marley admits to finding it “Not altogether unamusing”, and opens the door into a replica of the Scrooge & Marley counting house.  This one is more frigid than the earthly one, being hung with icicles.  Lucifer, Marley explains, has turned off the heat here, lest it make Scrooge drowsy.  Scrooge will be the only one in Hell who will find it too chilly.  He adds, as he is ready t leave, “Oh.  And watch out for the rats.  They…nibble things.”

     Scrooge begs for mercy, and Marley steps back inside.  He was forgetting something.  Scrooge’s chain is on its way; Marley conveys the apologies of the management that it wasn’t quite ready when Scrooge arrived.  Even Marley, it seems, underestimated its length and weight: extra devils had to be put on the job.  Sweating executioners now bear a chain worthy of mooring an ocean liner and bind Scrooge with it.  As he sinks under the weight, he begs Marley for help.  “Bah!” Marley replies.  “Humbug!” and adds, closing the door of the cell, “Merry Christmas!”

     Still calling for help, Scrooge wakes again, now on his bedroom floor.  His bedclothes have twisted around him, and he is choking.  Perhaps this is how he would have died, without the Spirits, “gasping out his last”.

     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 sat 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 was 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.

     “Sunday!  You went to-day, then, Robert?” said his wife.

     “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 I would walk there on a Sunday.  My little, little child!” cried Bob.  “My little child!”

     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.

     He left the room, and went upstairs to the little room above, which was lighted cheerfully, and hung with Christmas.  There was a chair set close beside the child, and there were signs of someone having been there lately.  Poor Bob sat down in it, and when he had thought a little and composed himself, he kissed the little face.  He was reconciled to what had happened, and went down again quite happy.

      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.”

     “Knew what, my dear?”

     “Why, that you were a good wife,” replied Bob.

     “Everybody knows that!” said Peter.

     “Very well observed, my boy!” cried Bob.  “I hope they do.  ‘Heartily sorry,’ he said, ‘for your good wife.  If I can be of any 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.”

     “I’m sure he’s a good soul!” said Mrs. Cratchit.

     “You would be surer of it, my dear,” returned Bob, “If you saw him and spoke to him.  I shouldn’t be at all surprised, mark what I say, if he got Peter a better situation.”

     “Only hear that, Peter,” said Mrs. Cratchit.

     “And then,” cried one of the girls, “Peter will be keeping company with some one, and setting up for himself.”

     “Get along with you!” retorted Peter, grinning.

     “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—and this first parting that there was among us?”

     “Never, Father!” cried they all.

     “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, never, Father!” they all cried again.

     “I am very happy,” said little Bob, “I am very happy.”

     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!

     Mrs. Cratchit’s surprise at Bob’s remark about them being ready long before Sunday suggests that Bob has in fact stopped to arrange a day and spot for the burial of Tiny Tim.  Most filmmakers refuse to believe little Bob is happy, and make this scene, at best, one of temporarily lifted gloom, consistent with the pessimistic future Scrooge is seeing.  But no one, if I may add some gloom for the NEXT version, points out that the Cratchits are facing impending doom.  Fred, presumably not included in his uncle’s will, cannot do much for the family, and if Bob had retained his position under new management (see next section) he would surely be at work today.  The family is likely to be living off the meagre earnings of Peter and Martha for a while.  Having considered this, we can now move on to slightly less gloomy versions of the scene.

     In Hicks, Bob enters and announces, “My, you’ve been quick.  You’ll be done long before Sunday.”  The dialogue proceeds through “How green a place it is.”  Bob pats his wife’s head and chuckles a bit to show all is well.  He sits, continuing the dialogue, but a little slower, and less enthusiastically, with every word.  Turning away from the family, he releases a broken “My little child!” and leaves the room.  As he moves up the stairs, he must pause to bury his face I his hands.  Pulling himself together, he goes into the little room and kneels next to the bed where Tiny Tim is laid out.  “My little child!” he cries again.  Scrooge looks on in sorrow.  Bob kisses the boy and leaves, not without looking back.  It is Scrooge who declares, “Tiny Tim, thy childish essence was from God!”  Bob is much more himself when he returns to the family.  He relates his meeting with Fred, omitting the lines about Peter.  Lifting Tim’s crutch and clutching it to him, he notes that whenever and however they part from one another, and so on through “I am very happy.”  The children do seem more cheerful, and so does Bob for a moment, though he starts to shake his head.

       Owen watches the children run to Bob.  They are subdued, compared to their last appearance, but rush to bring him his tea.  He does not mention visiting the cemetery, but goes straight to the meeting with Fred, also skipping the section about Peter, moving to recollections of how patient and mild Tim was.  He declares himself very happy.  Scrooge is NOT happy.  “Poor Tim,” he says.  “Poor Tiny Tim.  Everyone who knew him must feel sorrow; sorrow they’d never feel for ME.”  You see a certain suspicion rise in his mind.

     Sim I watches Bob enter.  “I’m a little late.  Forgive me.”  “You must be very cold and tired.  Come and sit by the fire.”  “No no.  I am content, my dear.  Very content.”  He describes his visit to “where he will rest”, and how while there he seemed to feel Tim’s hand in his, Tim’s own way of saying he’s happy now.  We must try to be happy too, Bob tells them, and then breaks down, crying “My Tim!”  His wife kneels at his side, putting her arms around him.  The girls start to cry.

     March skips this sequence.

     Rathbone watches Bob arrive; the family rush to greet Father, solemn, mournful, silent.  Mrs. Cratchit moves slowest of all.    Bob explains about meeting Fred, leaving out the little pleasantry about a good wife.  When he sits by the empty seat in the chimney corner, it is Martha who says “We shall never forget Tiny Tim, shall we, Peter?”  “Never, Martha,” he replies.  Bob sets his hand on his wife’s, to a tiny echo of Tim saying “God bless us, every one.”  Scrooge, crying a bit, wipes his nose and turns away.

     Magoo sees a hunched and depressed Cratchit walking home.  At the door, Bob wipes away a tear and pulls himself upright, obviously bracing himself to greet his diminished family.  “Sewing away, my dear?”  “So late, Robert?”  “I…I had something to see to on my way home.”  “You went there again?”  He tells her about his visit to the grave; here it is Peter who breaks down, crying on his mother’s knee.  “Tears cannot bring Tiny Tim back to us,” she tells him.  Scrooge exclaims, “Tiny Tim!  Oh, no!  No no, not Tiny Tim!”  The Ghost points to the empty stool and ownerless crutch.  Mrs. Cratchit murmurs, “Sleep quietly, my love.”  Scrooge asks, “Spirit, could I not have done something so that Tiny Tim might still live?”  He plunges his face into his hands.  “Have I truly been so heartless?”

     As Haddrick watches, Mrs. Cratchit rises and goes to the door.  Bob enters and sit in the chair she vacated.  The children actually say “Don’t grieve, Father!  Don’t mind it!”  “No, I’ll try.”  He admires their work—which is light brown—and says they will be done long before Sunday.  “Sunday!  You went there to-day,. Robert?”  “Yes.  It’s a beautiful place.  So green.  But you’ll see it often.  I promised Tim that I’d walk there on a Sunday.”  A sob escapes him.  “Try not to tink about it, Father.”  Bob mixes the speeches at the end, about not quarreling and not forgetting Tiny Tim, demanding, “Promise me.”  They promise.  He is still very dejected.  Scrooge declares, “Sprit, I hate your domain.  Everywhere is death and misery.”

     Sim II gets just a look at Bob Sobbing at the bedside.  Tim’s face is not visible.  Scrooge stares.

     Matthau omits the sequence.

     In Scott, the family wait for Bob to enter and greet him with “Hello, Father.”  Bob sits by the fire.  “You’re late,” says Mrs. Cratchit, her tone flat, “We were worried about you.”  “The reason I’m late is…because I walked there today.”  “Today?”  “I couldn’t keep away.  It’s so quiet and green.  You’ll see it on Sunday.  We shall all go on Sunday.  I promised him we should all go….”  Unable to go on, he hides his face in his daughter’s hair.  Scrooge looks on without comment.  “Father, please, don’t grieve so.”  “I have all of you,” he declares, “A blessing to be thankful for.”  Rallying, he goes on “Do you know who I saw?”  He tries to tell about his meeting with Fred, but keeps turning away, and finally can’t continue.  His wife says that Tim is a part of all of us, but we must go on.  “So long as we love each other, he will always be alive.”  Bob takes the speech about not forgetting Tim, his wife the lines about not quarreling easily.  The children reply, “No, never, father!”  Bob declares, “I am a happy man.  I am truly happy.”  Scrooge nods to the Ghost.  “I asked for tenderness and depth of feeling, and you’ve shown me that.  Nothing more I need see.  Take me home.”

     Caine watches Bob walk in.  “Hello, my dears!”  The children again rush to him, but without the glee of the earlier Christmas.  Mrs. Cratchit sends them to set the table, as before, and Bob describes his visit to the churchyard.  He picked a spot for Tim “where he can see….  It’s a spot on the hill.  You can see the ducks on the river.  Tiny Tim always….”  Mrs. Cratchit has to finish the sentence: “Tiny Tim always loved watching the ducks on the river.”  Scrooge turns.  “Oh, Spirit, must there be a Christmas which brings this awful scene?  How can we endure it?”  There follows aversion of the speech about not forgetting Tim, about how life is made up of meetings and partings.  “That is the way of things.”  (This line is also used by Yoda, another Muppet, to refer to his own impending demise in “Return of the Jedi”.)  The song “Bless Us All” plays in the background as we look at the empty stool and ownerless crutch.

     Curry sees Bob walk in.  “Sorry I’m late.”  “You went there today, Robert?”  He explains his visit to the churchyard and, sitting at the table, breaks down.  “My little boy!”  The family cluster around him; Scrooge is horrified.  “No, Spectre, no!  No!  Not Tiny Tim!”  The Ghost points to the empty stool and ownerless crutch.  Scrooge covers his face.

     Stewart finds Bob already at home; Mrs. Cratchit is saying, “The cemetery!  You went today?”  Bob describes the visit, breaks down, and goes upstairs to the room where Tim is laid out.  “There, Tim,” he murmurs, “Don’t be afraid.  We’ll always love you.”  Scrooge, looking on, is trying not to break down himself.  Returning to the family, Bob tells about the meeting with Fred.  He goes on to not forgetting Tim and not quarreling easily among ourselves, and his wife kisses him.  “I am very happy!” he declares, “very happy!”  Scrooge, bowing his head, turns away.

     Two versions take us to Tim’s gravesite for this part of the proceedings.  Finney goes to a graveyard where snow lies thick on all the graves (which seems odd for so green a place.)  Tim’s song plays in the background as Bob talks to the grave a bit, explaining how he has to go now and help with Christmas dinner.  He promises to be back tomorrow, sobs briefly, and walks away, turning his hat in his hands.  Scrooge looks from Bob to the grave, and murmurs, “Poor Tiny Tim.”

     McDuck turns to look where the Spirit points; the Cratchits stand by a grave.  Mrs. Cratchit bundles the children away, leaving a distraught Bob to lay the ownerless crutch against the headstone.  He backs up a step and then turns reluctantly to join his remaining family.