COSTUMES.

Scrooge. Rusty suit of black; gray wig.

Marley. Blue coat with brass buttons; breeches; top-boots with tassels; chain about his waist, with padlocks and keys fastened upon it; at the end, a cash-box; very white face; white wig, with hair standing up.

Fred. Handsome modern costume; light overcoat; red scarf tied loosely about his neck; gloves; hat.

Bob Cratchit. Rusty blue coat; shabby pants; iron-gray wig; large white comforter about his neck.

Tiny Tim. Roundabout jacket; comforter about his neck; crutch; cap.

Boy. Jacket; large cap; very red nose; large mittens; comforter about his neck.

Christmas Past. A little girl; short white spangled dress; white stockings; shoes; a wig of long white hair.

Christmas Present. Purple robe reaching to the floor, trimmed with fur; long, brown, curly hair; full brown beard; on his head "a holly-wreath, set here and there with shining icicles;" a belt around his waist, to which is attached a scabbard.

Christmas to Come. Long black robe, with hood entirely concealing his features.

These costumes can be altered or improved by reference to Fields, Osgood, & Co.'s illustrated Christmas Carol.

Arrangement. This entertainment is arranged for a stage eighteen feet wide by fourteen feet deep. A curtain, to draw up, is required between the audience and the performers. Half way up the stage, another curtain, to separate in the centre, and draw aside; the front curtain should be green, the back dark fabric. The front of the stage represents Scrooge's office, where the dream (in this version) occurs. The back is used for the pictures. For home representation, the same arrangement can be easily carried out. The performer is directed as though standing upon the stage, facing audience.

Scene.—Scrooge's office. L., a low desk, at which sits Scrooge, in a large arm-chair. R., a high desk, with a tall stool; candle burning upon the desk. C., a low stool. Bob standing by the desk with a poker in his hand; one foot advanced, as though creeping off L., looking at Scrooge with an anxious expression.

Scrooge

(looking round). Here, you! don't you do it; don't you do it! Haven't I told you, that, if you venture to waste my coals, 'twill be necessary for us to part? Haven't I?

(Bob drops the poker, gets upon stool, and tries to

warm his hands at the candle.)

Fred

(outside, R.). A merry Christmas, uncle! Ha, ha, ha! (Enters R.) A merry Christmas! God save you!

Scrooge.

Bah! humbug!

Fred.

Christmas a humbug, uncle? You don't mean that, I'm sure.

Scrooge.

I do. Out upon merry Christmas! What's Christmas-time to you but a time for paying bills without money,—a time for finding yourself a year older, and not an hour richer? Bah! If I had my will, every idiot who goes about with "Merry Christmas" on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding, and burned with a stake of holly through his heart, he should.

Fred.

Uncle!

Scrooge.

Nephew, keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.

Fred.

Keep it! But you don't keep it.

Scrooge.

Let me leave it alone, then. Much good may it do you! Much good it has ever done you.

Fred.

There are many good things, from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas-time when it has come round, apart from the veneration due to its sacred origin (if any thing belonging to it can be apart from that), as a good time,—a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time,—the only time I know of in the long calendar of the year when men and women seem, by one consent, to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-travellers to the grave, and not another race of creatures, bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it! (Bob claps his hands heartily.)

Scrooge.

Let me hear another sound from you, and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation. (To Fred.) You're quite a powerful speaker, sir. I wonder you don't go into Parliament.

Fred.

Don't be angry, uncle. Come, dine with us to-morrow.

Scrooge.

I'll see you—(Bob sneezes violently.) What's the matter with you?

Fred.

Come, uncle; say "Yes."

Scrooge.

No.

Fred.

But why? why?

Scrooge.

Why did you get married?

Fred.

Because I fell in love.

Scrooge.

Because you fell in love! (Suddenly turns to his desk.) Good afternoon.

Fred.

Nay, uncle, you never came to see me before that happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now?

Scrooge.

Good afternoon.

Fred.

I want nothing from you: I ask nothing from you. Why cannot we be friends?

Scrooge.

Good afternoon.

Fred.

I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. But I have made the trial, in homage to Christmas; and I'll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So a merry Christmas, uncle!

Scrooge.

Good afternoon.

Fred.

And a happy new year!

Scrooge.

Good afternoon.

Fred

(turns to R.) Bob Cratchit, a merry Christmas!

Bob

(shakes Fred's hand). A merry Christmas, sir. God bless it!

Fred.

Ay, God bless it! and a happy new year.

Bob.

And a happy new year, sir; God bless that too!

Fred.

Ay, ay, Bob; God bless that too.

[Exit, R.

Scrooge.

Here, you!

Bob

(jumping off stool). Yes, sir.

Scrooge.

You'll want all day to-morrow, I suppose?

Bob.

If quite convenient, sir.

Scrooge.

It's not convenient, and it's not fair. If I was to stop half-a-crown for it, you'd think yourself mightily ill-used, I'll be bound.

Bob.

Yes, sir.

Scrooge.

And yet you don't think me ill-used, when I pay a day's wages for no work.

Bob.

It's only once a year, sir.

Scrooge.

A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth day of December. Well, you can't have it.

Bob.

But, sir—

Scrooge.

You can't have it. I shall expect you here earlier to-morrow.

Bob.

But, sir—

Scrooge.

No more. Go! (Bob, with a very rueful face, puts on his hat, looks at Scrooge, and goes slowly out R.)

Scrooge

(turns his chair round to face C.) There's another fellow, my clerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and family, talking about a "merry Christmas!" I'll retire to Bedlam. I don't make merry myself at Christmas, and I can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the prisons and the workhouses. They cost enough, and those who are badly off can go there. Merry Christmas! Pooh! bah! humbug, humbug! (Bell rings R., bell rings L., and then R. and L. together.) Mercy! what's that? (Music, piano, slow and solemn. Enter R., Marley, dragging his chain, moving slow. Stops C., looking at Scrooge; a bandage of white cloth, passing under his jaws, tied on top of his head.) How now? What do you want with me?

Marley.

Much.

Scrooge.

Who are you?

Marley.

Ask me who I was.

Scrooge.

Who were you, then?

Marley.

In life, I was your partner, Jacob Marley.

Scrooge.

Can—can you sit down?

Marley.

I can.

Scrooge.

Do it, then. (Marley sits on stool, C., facing Scrooge.)

Marley.

You don't believe in me.

Scrooge.

I don't.

Marley.

What evidence would you have of my reality, beyond that of your senses?

Scrooge.

I don't know.

Marley.

Why do you doubt your senses?

Scrooge.

Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested blot of beef, a bit of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than grave about you, whatever you are. (Marley takes the bandage from his head; his jaw drops.) Mercy! Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me? Why do spirits walk the earth? and why do they come to me?

Marley.

It is required of every man, that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide; and, if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. My spirit never walked beyond the counting-house. Mark me! in life my spirit never moved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me.

Scrooge.

Seven years dead, and travelling all the time! You travel fast.

Marley.

On the wings of the wind.

Scrooge.

You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years.

Marley.

Oh, blind man! blind man! not to know that ages of incessant labor by immortal creatures for this earth, must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed; not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunities misused. Yet I was like this man. I once was like this man.

Scrooge.

But you were always a good man of business, Jacob.

Marley.

Business! Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business. Charity, mercy, forbearance, benevolence, were all my business. Hear me; my time is nearly gone.

Scrooge.

I will; but don't be hard upon me. Don't be flowery, Jacob, pray.

Marley.

I am here to-night, to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate; a chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer.

Scrooge.

You were always a good friend to me. Thank'ee.

Marley

(rising). You will be haunted by three spirits.

Scrooge.

Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob? I—I think I'd rather not.

Marley.

Without their visits you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first to-night, when the bell tolls one. Expect the second to-morrow night at the same hour; the third upon the next night, when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us. (Music as before. Marley walks backward to R., followed by Scrooge, with the same slow step. Marley goes off R. As Scrooge reaches the R., bell tolls one: he turns. At the same moment, the Spirit of Christmas Past appears, C., entering at the opening in back curtain.)

Scrooge.

Are you the spirit whose coming was foretold to me?

Spirit.

I am.

Scrooge.

Who and what are you?

Spirit.

I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.

Scrooge.

Long past?

Spirit.

No: your past. The things that you will see with me are shadows of the things that have been. They will have no consciousness of us.

Scrooge.

What business brought you here?

Spirit.

Your welfare. Look! (Steps L., Scrooge R. Music. The back curtains are drawn, showing a boy sitting at a desk, R., with an open book before him.)

Scrooge.

It is myself. (A man dressed as Ali Baba, with an axe across his shoulder, passes slowly and noiselessly across stage back of desk, R. to L.) Why, it's Ali Baba! It's dear, old, honest Ali Baba. Yes, yes; I know. One day, Christmas-time, when yonder solitary child was left here all alone, he did come here the first time, just like that poor boy. (Robinson Crusoe, with a parrot perched upon his finger, crosses from R. to L. For costumes, the performers can consult the picture-books.) There's Robinson. There's the parrot,—green body and yellow tail, with a thing like a lettuce growing out of the top of his head; there he is. Poor Robin Crusoe, he called him, when he came home after sailing round the island. "Poor Robin Crusoe! Where have you been, Robin Crusoe?" Ah! poor boy, poor boy! (Curtain closes.) I wish (puts his hand in his pocket)—but it's too late now.

Spirit.

What is the matter?

Scrooge.

Nothing, nothing. There was a boy singing a Christmas carol at my door last night. I should like to have given him something. That's all.

Spirit.

Let us see another Christmas.

(Curtains are drawn, disclosing "Fezziwig's Dance." R., sits an old lady in cap and spectacles, her hands raised in admiration; C., is Fezziwig, in the act of "cutting." He is a large man; white stockings, knee-breeches, shoes with buckles, long white waistcoat, brown coat, large white cravat, and wig. He stands upon his toes, with feet crossed, his countenance radiant with enjoyment. Opposite him, Mrs. F., as though dancing, one hand on her waist, the other above her head; bright petticoat, dress tucked up, cap, and gray wig. R. and L. of this couple, three young women and three young men; costumes same as Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig, with the exception of the wig. They stand leaning forward, with their hands together, as though applauding. In front of Fezziwig, a little boy, imitating Fezziwig. Behind all, a musician, standing in a chair, in the act of fiddling; music (violin), "Sir Roger de Coverley." The characters should be all ready, and take their places, instantly the curtain falls on the previous picture, as the time is very short.)

Scrooge.

Why, it's Fezziwig,—bless his old heart!—my master Fezziwig alive again; and there's Dick Wilkins, to be sure. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear, dear! those were happy times. How grateful we were! (Curtains close on picture.)

Spirit.

A small matter, to make these silly people so full of gratitude.

Scrooge.

Small?

Spirit.

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

Scrooge.

It isn't that, Spirit. He has the power to make his people happy or unhappy,—to make their service light or burdensome, a pleasure or a toil. The happiness he gives is quite as great as though it cost a fortune.

Spirit.

What is the matter?

Scrooge.

Nothing particular.

Spirit.

Something, I think.

Scrooge.

No, no. I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now: that's all.

Spirit.

My time grows short. Quick!

(Curtains are drawn, disclosing a young girl sitting upon a lounge. Beside her a young man stands, with his arms folded. She is looking away, he looking down at her. Costumes same as in "Fezziwig's Dance.")

Scrooge.

Again myself.

Spirit.

Listen.

(The characters in the picture speak, with soft music while they are speaking.)

Girl.

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

Youth.

What idol has displaced you?

Girl.

A golden one. You fear the world too much. I have seen your noble aspirations fall off, one by one, until the master passion—gain—engrosses you; have I not?

Youth.

What then? Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? I am not changed towards you. Have I ever sought release from our engagement?

Girl.

In words, no. Never.

Youth.

In what, then?

Girl.

In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of life, another hope as its great end. If you were free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl? or, choosing her, do I not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and I release you, with a full heart, for the love of him you once were.

Scrooge.

Spirit, remove me from this place.

Spirit.

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

Scrooge.

Away, I say! I cannot bear it. Leave me. Away, away! Haunt me no longer! (Falls into chair, L., and covers his face with his hands. The Spirit stands at the side of his chair, pointing at the picture. The front curtain slowly descends.)

Lively music. Curtain rises, showing Scrooge's office, as before. Scrooge sitting in chair, looking at back stage, the curtains of which are drawn, disclosing the Ghost of Christmas Present, who sits upon a seat covered with red, his right arm leaning upon a barrel. In his lap is a bowl of steaming punch; in his left hand, a torch [red fire, such as is used in tableaux, placed in a hollow at the end of a stick, will produce the desired effect]; round him are strewn articles, such as are given for presents. After a few seconds, Christmas Present rises, and comes forward. The curtains close.

Spirit.

Look up, look up, and know me better, man. I am the Ghost of Christmas Present. Look upon me. (Scrooge slowly rises, and moves round him, looking closely at him. Music continues. This is to give an opportunity to set the stage for the next picture.) You have never seen the like of me before?

Scrooge.

Never.

Spirit.

Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family; meaning (for I am very young) my elders born in these later years?

Scrooge.

I don't think I have. I'm afraid I have not. Have you had many brothers, Spirit?

Spirit.

More than eighteen hundred.

Scrooge.

A tremendous family to provide for. Spirit, show me what you will. Last night I learnt a lesson which is working now. To-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it.

Spirit.

Look well upon the pictures I disclose.

[Spirit retires R., Scrooge, L.

(Curtains open, disclosing "Bob Cratchit's Christmas." Table, C., covered with white cloth; plates. L. of table sits Martha, a young lady about eighteen; brown dress, white collar and cuffs; hair neatly arranged. Beside her, a boy of ten; jacket, with an enormous dickey and black cravat; his hands raised and clasped. R. of table, a boy, with a large ruffled collar; his fork in his mouth. Next him, a girl of eight, with her spoon thrust into her mouth. At the farther corner of table, R., sits Bob Cratchit, with Tiny Tim sitting upon his knee. Mrs. Cratchit, dressed in plaid, stands at back of table, holding in both hands a plate bearing a plum-pudding, rather small, with a bunch of holly stuck in the top of it, and alcohol blazing around it. All eyes are fixed upon the pudding. Expression upon the faces joyful and expectant. Music lively.)

Scrooge.

It's my clerk, Bob Cratchit.

Spirit.

Ay, Bob Cratchit, who pockets on Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name; and yet the Ghost of Christmas Present blesses his four-roomed house with the sprinklings of his torch.

Bob Cratchit

(raising a cup). A merry Christmas to us all, my dears! God bless us!

All

(in picture). God bless us!

Tiny Tim.

God bless us, every one! (Curtain closes.)

Scrooge.

Spirit, tell me if Tiny Tim will live.

Spirit.

I see a vacant seat in the poor chimney-corner, and a crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the future, the child will die.

Scrooge.

No, no! Oh, no, kind Spirit; say he will be spared.

Spirit.

If these shadows remain unaltered by the future, none other of my race will find him here. What then? If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.

Scrooge.

My very words, when I was asked to give a trifle for the poor!

Spirit.

Man,—if man you be in heart, not adamant,—forbear that wretched cant until you have discovered what the surplus is, and where it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It may be, that, in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless, and less fit to live, than this poor man's child.

Scrooge.

He must live! he must live! Poor Bob! poor Bob!

Spirit.

Come; look upon another picture.

(Music lively. Curtain rises upon picture of "Blind Man's Buff at Nephew Fred's." Characters in full evening costume,—gentlemen, white vests and white ties, black clothes; ladies, rich and tasty. In the C. stands a gentleman, blindfolded, leaning forward, groping with his hands, the right hand just touching a young lady, who is half turned from him, but who is looking back with a smile upon her face. Beside her stands a gentleman with his finger upon his lip. Behind the blindfolded gentleman, Nephew Fred, with his head thrown back, his mouth open, as though laughing. On the L., a young lady, leaning forward, with her fan to her lips; next her, a gentleman, holding the blindfolded gentleman by the coat-tail, his other hand upon his side, his head thrown back, and mouth open, as though laughing. A boy in front of the party, on his knees, with finger pointing up to the blindfolded gentleman.)

Scrooge.

Fred's house!

Spirit.

Ay, your nephew, making merry. If you listen, you will hear him say of his Uncle Scrooge, "He may rail at Christmas till he dies; but he can't help thinking better of it—I defy him—if he finds me going there in good temper, year after year, and saying, 'Uncle Scrooge, how are you?'"

Scrooge.

And I refused his invitation,—I refused it! I couldn't do it again, if I had the chance. O Fred, Fred! A merry Christmas, and God bless you!

(Front curtain descends quickly.)

Scrooge's office, as before. Back curtains drawn. The Ghost of Christmas Future standing, R., pointing down; Scrooge beside him, L. Mournful music.

Scrooge.

Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, Ghost of the Future, I fear you more than any spectre I have seen; but as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I have borne you company, and did it with a thankful heart. Spectre, something informs me that our parting moment is at hand. I know it, but I know not how. Tell me who that man was with the covered face, whom we saw lying dead, of whom the merchants in the street spoke so carelessly, at whom the vultures of the dead sneered and jested. (The Spirit raises his hand, then points behind him.) Before I draw near to that stone to which you point, answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that will be? or are they shadows of things that may be, only? (The Spirit points as before.) Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead; but, if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me. (The Spirit moves to R., turns, and points to back, where a gravestone leans against the wall, lettered "Ebenezer Scrooge." The position of the Spirit should hide it till this. Scrooge staggers back till he reaches chair, L.) Am I that man who lay upon the bed? No, Spirit! Oh, no, no! Spirit, 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? Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life. (The Spirit slowly lets his hand drop by his side.) I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the past, the present, and the future. The spirits of all these shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone! (Sinks into chair. The curtains slowly close. Bells outside ringing a merry peal. Music lively. Scrooge starts from his chair.) What's this, my own office! (Runs across stage.) Hallo! what's to-day?

Boy

(outside, R.). Eh?

Scrooge.

What's to-day, my fine fellow?

Boy

(outside, R.). To-day? Why, Christmas Day.

Scrooge

(dancing about). It's Christmas Day. I haven't missed it. Hallo, my fine fellow!

Boy

(entering, R.). Hallo!

Scrooge.

Do you know the poulterer's, in the next street but one, at the corner?

Boy.

I should hope I did.

Scrooge.

An intelligent boy; a remarkable boy! Do you know whether they've sold the prize turkey that was hanging up there? Not the little prize turkey, the big one.

Boy.

What! the one as big as me?

Scrooge

(rubbing his hands). Ha, ha, ha! What a delightful boy! It's a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck.

Boy.

It's hanging there now.

Scrooge.

Is it? Go and buy it.

Boy

(with finger to his nose). Walk-er.

Scrooge.

No, no: I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell 'em to bring it here, that I may give them the directions. Come back with the man, and I'll give you a shilling. Come back with him in less than five minutes, and I'll give you half-a-crown. (Exit boy in a hurry, R.) What a delightful boy! See him run! I'll send him to Bob Cratchit's. He sha'n't know who sent it. It's twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller never made such a joke as sending it to Bob's will be. I forget he's to be here to-day. Oh, if he'd only come late! (Sits at desk, L.) Here he is, sure enough! (Enter Bob, R., looking very dejected. Takes off his hat and comforter, and gets upon stool.) (Gruffly.) Hallo! what do you mean by coming here at this time of day?

Bob.

I am very sorry, sir. I am behind my time.

Scrooge.

You are? Yes, I think you are. Step this way, if you please.

Bob

(getting down from stool). I'm very sorry—

Scrooge.

Are you? What do you mean by coming here at this time? Now, I'll tell you what, my man; I'm not going to stand this thing any longer; and therefore (jumps up, and gives Bob a dig in the ribs) I'm about to raise your salary. (Bob runs to his desk, and gets a ruler, looking frightened.) A merry Christmas, Bob! (Slaps him in the back.) A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year. I'll raise your salary, and endeavor to assist your struggling family; and we'll discuss your affairs to-morrow over a Christmas bowl of sparkling bishop, Bob. Home to your family, and have a merry Christmas, and in the morning make up the fires, and buy a second coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit.

Fred

(outside, R.). A merry Christmas! (Enters, R.) Here I am again, uncle.

Scrooge

(running to him, and shaking hands). A merry Christmas, Fred! I'm going to dine with you.

Fred.

That's right, uncle. You'll find a merry company.

Scrooge.

You can't tell me. I know 'em all. My niece, Plumper, the fat sister. Wonderful party! wonderful games! wonderful unanimity! wonderful happiness!

Fred.

We'll have a merry Christmas.

Scrooge.

Ay, that we will. Henceforth I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the past, the present, and the future. The spirits of all three shall strive within me. (Sinks to his knees.) God bless us all!

(Music: curtains at back are drawn, disclosing "A Christmas Picture." In the centre, the Ghost of Christmas Present, seated as before, with his torch raised, red fire blazing in it. At his L., the blindfolded gentleman, in the same position as before, with the lady getting away from him; on his L., the lady with the fan; R. of Christmas Present, Mrs. Cratchit, with the pudding in her hands; Martha at her R., with Tiny Tim in her arms. Two of the children opposite them, looking at the pudding. Tiny Tim speaks, when curtain is fairly drawn, "God bless us every one!" "The Christmas Carol" [see p. 64] is then sung by an invisible chorus; and the front curtain falls upon the whole picture.)