It is also a fact, that Scrooge had seen it night and morning during his
whole residence in that place; also that Scrooge had as little of what is called
fancy about him as any man in the City of London, even including — which is a
bold word — the corporation, aldermen, and livery. Let it also be borne in
mind that Scrooge had not bestowed one thought on Marley, since his last mention of
his seven-years’ dead partner that afternoon. And then let any man explain to
me, if he can, how it happened that Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door,
saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change: not a
knocker, but Marley’s face.
Marley’s face. It was not in
impenetrable shadow as the other objects in the yard were, but had a dismal light
about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar. It was not angry or ferocious, but
looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look: with ghostly spectacles
turned up upon its ghostly forehead. The hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath
or hot-air; and though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless.
That, and its livid colour, made it horrible; but its horror seemed to be, in spite
of the face and beyond its control, rather than a part of its own expression.
As Scrooge looked fixedly at this
phenomenon, it was a knocker again.
To say that he was not startled, or that
his blood was not conscious of a terrible sensation to which it had been a stranger
from infancy, would be untrue. But he put his hand upon the key he had relinquished,
turned it sturdily, walked in, and lighted his candle.
He didpause, with a
moment’s irresolution, before he shut the door; and he didlook
cautiously behind it first, as if he half-expected to be terrified with the sight of
Marley’s pig-tail sticking out into the hall. But there was nothing on the
back of the door, except the screws and nuts that held the knocker on; so he said,
‘Pooh, pooh!’ and closed it with a bang.
The sound resounded through the house
like thunder. Every room above, and every cask in the wine-merchant’s cellars
below, appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a man
to be frightened by echoes. He fastened the door, and walked across the hall, and up
the stairs: slowly too: trimming his candle as he went.
You may talk vaguely
about driving a coach-and-six up a good old flight of stairs, or through a bad young
Act of Parliament; but I mean to say you might have got a hearse up that staircase,
and taken it broadwise, with the splinter-bar towards the wall, and the door towards
the balustrades: and done it easy. There was plenty of width for that, and room to
spare; which is perhaps the reason why Scrooge thought he saw a locomotive hearse
going on before him in the gloom. Half a dozen gas-lamps out of the street
wouldn’t have lighted the entry too well, so you may suppose that it was
pretty dark with Scrooge’s dip.
Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for
that: darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it. But before he shut his heavy door, he
walked through his rooms to see that all was right. He had just enough recollection
of the face to desire to do that.
Sitting-room, bed-room, lumber-room. All
as they should be. Nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa; a small fire in
the grate; spoon and basin ready; and the little saucepan of gruel (Scrooge had a
cold in his head) upon the hob. Nobody under the bed; nobody in the closet; nobody
in his dressing-gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against the
wall. Lumber-room as usual. Old fire-guard, old shoes, two fish-baskets,
washing-stand on three legs, and a poker.
Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and
locked himself in; double-locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus secured against surprise, he took off his cravat; put on his
dressing-gown and slippers, and his nightcap; and sat down before the fire to take
his gruel.
It was a very low fire indeed; nothing
on such a bitter night. He was obliged to sit close to it, and brood over it, before
he could extract the least sensation of warmth from such a handful of fuel. The
fireplace was an old one, built by some Dutch merchant long ago, and paved all round
with quaint Dutch tiles, designed to illustrate the Scriptures.