Blogsy Babbles

      “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.

     The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiar to his feet; and as they went along, Scrooge looked here and there to find himself, but nowhere was he to be seen.  They entered poor Bob Cratchit’s house; the dwelling he had visited before; and found the mother and children seated around the fire.

     Quiet.  Very quiet.  The noisy little Cratchits were still as statues in one corner, and sat looking at Peter, who had a book before him.  The mother and her daughters were engaged in sewing.  But surely they were very quiet!

     “And he took a child, and set him in the midst of them.”

     Where had Scrooge heard those words?  He had not dreamed them.  The boy must have read them out, as he and the Spirit crossed the threshold.  Why did he not go on?

     The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her hand up to her face.

     “The colour hurts my eyes,” she said.

     The colour?  Ah, poor Tiny Tim!

     “They’re better now again,” said Cratchit’s wife.  “It makes them weak by candle-light; and I wouldn’t show weak eyes to your father when he comes home, for the world.  It must be near his time.”

     “Past it, rather,” Peter answered, shutting up his book.  “But I think he’s walked a little slower than he used, these few last evenings, Mother.”

     They were very quiet again.  At last she said, and in a steady, cheerful voice, that only faultered once.

     “I have known him walk with—I have known him walk with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed.”

     “And so have I,” cried Peter.  “Often.”

     “And so have I!” exclaimed another.  So had all.

     “But he was very light to carry,” she resumed, intent upon her work, “and his father loved him so, that it was no trouble—no trouble.  And here is your father at the door!”

     Some filmmakers are in a hurry to get to the BIG scenes, and skip past this, with Bob Cratchit already on the scene, or just arriving.  Those screenplays which do include it do most of it as written, but generally have Mrs. Cratchit’s eyes weakened not by the color, but by something else handy.  Those who know about such things have explained that the women are sewing funeral garments, which are naturally black: hence the line about “The colour?  Ah, poor Tiny Tim!”  The boom Peter is holding is likely a Bible, the line spoken is from Matthew 18, and, if continued, would have reached the admonition to turn and become like a child.  Dickens’s first generation of readers would have known this, and correctly applied the line to Tiny Tim.

     March. Magoo, Matthau, and McDuck skip the scene.  Sim II sweeps through the streets to the Cratchits’, but enters in the next sequence.  In Stewart, the Spirit raises the sleeve it did not raise in that previous transition, and we see Bob coming home.

     Hicks sees Mrs. Cratchit weeping as she leaves an upstairs room; She descends to where her daughters are definitely sewing away at black garments.  Peter reads as in the text.  Tucking away her handkerchief, Mom smiles encouragement to them all.  Sitting to sew, she has to turn away, saying “The colour hurts my eyes–makes them weak by candle-light” and so on, trying to smile throughout to show she’s all right, really.  The children are all very solemn.  We see a shot of Bonb trudging home, and she exclaims, “There’s your father at the door!”

     Owen peers through the window (the Cratchits ALWAYS have a large window just where it’s convenient for passing Spirits and misers) and finds Cratchits at work on black garments.  Peter himself is all in black.  The dialogue is performed as written.

     Sim I arrives as Peter is reading from Psalm 91, concerning the long life granted to those who know the name of the Lord.  At one point, apparently in her thoughts since her lips aren’t moving, Mrs. Cratchit takes over the reading; our eyes stray to the empty seat in the chimney corner.  Peter begins to feel the silence; he turns and asks “Shall I stop reading?”  “No, no.  It’s only the colour.  It hurts my eyes.”  The dialogue proceeds as written, Peter staring straight ahead throughout.  Mrs. Cratchit breaks down just after “no trouble—no trouble”, as we hear Bob’s footsteps at the door.

     This is Rathbone’s first stop with the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.  Martha and Mrs. Cratchit are sewing while Peter just stands and watches.  Most of the dialogue is here, except for the colour hurting Mrs. Cratchit’s eyes.

     Haddrick drops through a sky shot to the house in time to hear Mrs. Cratchit wondering where Bob is.  The dialogue proceeds from there, with one shot of the empty stool and the ownerless crutch.  “And there’s your father at the door!”

     The Spirit directs Finney away from the parade in his honor.  Pouting a bit, Scrooge walks over to the window indicated.  Mrs. Cratchit complains about her eyes and Bob’s lateness.  Peter notes that his father has walked a little more slowly the last few evenings.  She replies with the line about carrying Tiny Tim; they all look to the crutch.  “Where is Tiny Tim?” Scrooge pleads.  “Take me to him?”

     Scott recognizes the neighborhood.  “There must be some confusion.  Your fellow Spirit brought me here earlier.”  The Ghost points, and Scrooge moves on, grumbling, “Very well.”  He glances back at his companion.  “You’re devilish hard to have a conversation with.”  Peter reads as in the text; the women are sewing ordinary rags.  The children are solemn as Mrs. Cratchit complains about her eyes.  “This work makes my eyes red, and I wouldn’t show red eyes to your father when he comes home.  Not for the world.”  The rest of the sequence proceeds as written.

     Caine pleads, “Let me see some tenderness connected with this world, or I’ll be haunted by that terrible conversation forever.”  He is profoundly grateful to recognize the Cratchit house, and says so, calling it “A place of joy and laughter.”  Then he hesitates.  “It’s so quiet.  Why is it so quiet, Spirit?”  The Ghost merely points; after another pause, Scrooge looks through the window.  We discover Mrs. Cratchit in the same position as in our first sight of her, and, just as at that juncture, her daughters come up to accuse her of something.  This time, though, they say she is crying.  And once again, she denies it all immediately.  “Oh, it’s just the lamplight…it hurts my eyes.”  Scrooge guesses.  “Not Tiny Tim!”  Mrs. Cratchit explains about not wanting to show weak eyes to their father, and remarks how late he is.  Peter, turning the spit for Christmas dinner as before, haltingly notes that his father has walked a little slower these last few evenings.  Bob enters.

     Curry exclaims, “This is too harsh to bear.  Let me see some tenderness connected with a death, I beseech you.”  “The lamp is so bright it hurts my eyes,” Mrs. Cratchit explains to her family around the kitchen table.  “I must not show weak eyes to your father when he comes home.  It must be near his time.”  Martha answers that her father has walked more slowly these last few evenings.  The two speeches about Tim follow.

     Again it seemed to look upon him.

     “If there is any person in the town, who feels emotion caused by this man’s death,” said Scrooge quite agonized, “show that person to me, Spirit, I beseech you!”

     The Phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment, like a wing; and, withdrawing it, revealed a room by daylight, where a mother and two children were.

     She was expecting some one, and with anxious eagerness; for she walked up and down the room; started at every sound; looked out from the window’ glanced at the clock; tried, but in vain, to work with her needle; and could hardly bear the voices of the children at their play.

     At length the long-expected knock was heard.  She hurried to the door, and met her husband; a man whose face was care-worn and depressed, though he was young.  There was a remarkable expression on it now; a kind of serious delight of which he felt ashamed, and which he struggled to repress.

    He sat down to the dinner which had been hoarding for him by the fire; and when she asked him faintly what news (which was not until after a long silence), he appeared embarrassed how to answer.

     “Is it good?” she said, “or bad?”—to help him.

     “Bad,” he answered.

     “We are quite ruined?”

     “No.  There is hope yet, Caroline.”

     “If HE relents,” she said, amazed, “there is!  Nothing is past hope, if such a miracle has happened.”

     “He is past relenting,” said her husband.  “He is dead.”

     She was a mild and patient creature, if her face spoke truth; but she was thankful in her soul to hear it, and she said so, with clasped hands.  She prayed forgiveness the next moment, and was sorry; but the first was the emotion of her heart.

     “What the half-drunken woman whom I told you of last night, said to me, when I tried to see him and obtain a week’s delay, and what I thought was a mere excuse to avoid me; turns out to have been quite true.  He was not only very ill, but dying, then.”

     “To whom will our debt be transferred?”

     “I don’t know.  But before that time we shall be ready with the money; and even though we were not, it would be bad fortune indeed to find so merciless a creature in his successor.  We may sleep to-night with light hearts, Caroline!”

     Yes.  Soften it as they would, their hearts were lighter.  The children’s faces, hushed and clustered round to hear what they so little understood, were brighter, and it was a happier house for this man’s death!  The only emotion that the Ghost could show him, caused by the event, was one of pleasure.

     “Let me see some tenderness connected with a death,” said Scrooge, “or that dark chamber, Spirit, which we left just now, will be for ever present to me.”

     This scene always appealed to ME, but I guess it’s wrong to introduce new characters so late in the story.  In any case, only two versions bother with Caroline and her husband, and only Stewart does much about them.

     Haddrick demands, “But is there no one in this city who feels some emotion for this poor man?  If there is, show me that person, I beseech you!”  But the Spirit takes him to the Cratchit house.

     Stewart asks “Is there no one who feels emotion at this man’s death?”  The Ghost raises one arm; the scene comes out of his sleeve.  A thin woman carries a baby along a poor street and stops before a door.  Seeing a shabbily-dressed young man approach, she turns; they converse on the doorstep.  Their dialogue follows the text from “Is it good or bad?” to “He is dead.”  She then asks to whom their debt will be transferred, and he gives most of the textual reply.  Her face slowly brightens, and when he has finished, declares, with shaking voice, “I never thought a death could bring such happiness!”  All tears and smiles, she falls against the man’s shoulder.  Scrooge shakes his head.  “No no.  Show me some tenderness connected with a death!”