The Ghost of Christmas Present shows Scrooge how Christmas should be celebrated – with joy and giving, even when you are poor, like Scrooge’s own kindly clerk Bob Cratchit.
Full Episode
I'm Keith Morrison, and this is episode three of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. Ebenezer Scrooge is back in bed, weighed down by blankets and regret. He's reeling from all the ghosts of Christmas past has shown him. Memories of his boyhood and who he once was. Visions of who he has become. Sour, greedy, unlovable, alone. He falls into a troubled sleep.
And yes, Charles Dickens writes, he's snoring. But for how long? And what terrifying specter waits to confront him now? Awakening in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, and sitting up in bed to get his thoughts together, Scrooge had no occasion to be told that the bell was again upon the stroke of one.
He felt that he was restored to consciousness in the right nick of time, for the especial purpose of holding a conference with the second messenger dispatched to him through Jacob Marley's intervention.
But finding that he turned uncomfortably cold when he began to wonder which of his curtains his new spectre would draw back, he put every one of them aside with his own hands, and lying down again established a sharp lookout all around the bed, for he wished to challenge the spirit on the moment of its appearance, and did not wish to be taken by surprise and made nervous.
Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means prepared for nothing. And consequently, when the bell struck one and no shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, and yet nothing came.
All this time he lay upon his bed, the very core and center of a blaze of ruddy light which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour, and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as he was powerless to make out what it meant, or would be at, and was sometimes apprehensive that he might be at that very moment an interesting case of spontaneous combustion, without ever having the consolation of knowing it.
At last, however, he began to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining room. From whence, on further tracing, it seemed to shine. This idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly and shuffled in his slippers to the door. The moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him by his name and bade him enter. He obeyed.
It was his own room. There was no doubt about that, but it had undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green that it looked a perfect grove, from every part of which bright gleaming berries glistened, the crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy. reflected back the light as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there.
And such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney as that dull petrification of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time, or Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry,
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