Read Christmas stories by foreign writers online. Tatyana Strygina - Christmas stories by foreign writers

Approved for distribution by the Publishing Council of the Russian Orthodox Church IS 13-315-2238

Dear reader!

We express our deep gratitude to you for purchasing a legal copy of the e-book from Nikeya Publishing House.

If you notice any inaccuracies, unreadable fonts or other serious errors in the e-book, please write to us at [email protected]

Thank you!

Charles Dickens (1812–1870)

A Christmas Carol
Translation from English by S. Dolgov

Stanza one
Shadow of Marley

Marley died - let's start with that. There is not the slightest reason to doubt the reality of this event. His death certificate was signed by the priest, the cleric, the undertaker and the funeral director. It was also signed by Scrooge; and Scrooge's name, like any paper bearing his signature, was respected on the stock exchange.

Did Scrooge know that Marley was dead? Of course I did. It couldn't be otherwise. After all, they had been partners with him for God knows how many years. Scrooge was also his sole executor, sole heir, friend and mourner. However, he was not particularly depressed by this sad event and, like a true business man, honored the day of his friend’s funeral with a successful operation on the stock exchange.

Having mentioned Marley's funeral, I must inevitably return once again to where I began, that is, that Marley undoubtedly died. This must be categorically admitted once and for all, otherwise there will be nothing miraculous in my upcoming story. After all, if we were not firmly convinced that Hamlet’s father died before the play began, then there would be nothing particularly remarkable in his night walk not far from his own home. Otherwise, any middle-aged father had to go out in the evening to get some fresh air to scare his cowardly son.

Scrooge did not destroy the name of old Marley on his sign: several years passed, and above the office there was still the inscription: “Scrooge and Marley.” Under this double name their company was known, so Scrooge was sometimes called Scrooge, sometimes, unknowingly, Marley; he responded to both; it made no difference to him.

But what a notorious miser this Scrooge was! Squeezing, tearing out, raking into your greedy hands was the favorite thing of this old sinner! He was hard and sharp, like flint, from which no steel could extract a spark of noble fire; secretive, reserved, he hid from people like an oyster. His inner coldness was reflected in his senile features, reflected in the pointedness of his nose, the wrinkles of his cheeks, the stiffness of his gait, the redness of his eyes, the blue of his thin lips, and especially in the harshness of his rough voice.

Frosty frost covered his head, eyebrows and unshaven chin. He brought his own low temperature with him everywhere: he froze his office on holidays, non-working days, and even on Christmas did not allow it to warm up even one degree.

Neither the heat nor the cold from outside affected Scrooge. No heat could warm him, no cold could make him chill. There was no wind sharper than it, no snow that, falling to the ground, would have pursued its goals more stubbornly. The pouring rain seemed to be more accessible to requests. The rotten weather could not get to him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail could only boast of one thing in front of him: they often descended to the ground beautifully, but Scrooge never condescended.

No one on the street stopped him with a cheerful greeting: “How are you, dear Scrooge? When are you planning to visit me? Beggars did not turn to him for alms, children did not ask him what time it was; Not once in his entire life had anyone asked him for directions. Even the dogs that lead the blind seemed to know what kind of person he was: as soon as they saw him, they hastily dragged their owner to the side, somewhere through a gate or into the yard, where, wagging their tail, as if they wanted to tell their to the blind owner: without an eye is better than with an evil eye!

But what did Scrooge care about all this! On the contrary, he was very pleased with this attitude of people towards him. Making his way away from the beaten path of life, away from all human attachments - that’s what he loved.

One day - it was one of the best days of the year, namely on the eve of the Nativity of Christ - old Scrooge was working in his office. The weather was harsh, cold and very foggy. The heavy breathing of passers-by could be heard outside; you could hear them stamping their feet vigorously on the sidewalk, beating hand in hand, trying to somehow warm their numb fingers. The day had been cloudy since the morning, and when the city clock struck three, it became so dark that the flames of candles lit in neighboring offices seemed through the windows like some kind of reddish spot on the opaque brown air. The fog made its way through every crack, through every keyhole, and was so thick outside that the houses standing on the other side of the narrow courtyard where the office was located were some kind of vague ghosts. Looking at the thick, hanging clouds that shrouded everything around in darkness, one would think that nature itself was here, among people, and was engaged in brewing on a wide scale.

The door from the room where Scrooge was working was open so that it would be more convenient for him to observe his clerk, who, sitting in a tiny darkened closet, was copying letters. A very weak fire was lit in Scrooge’s own fireplace, and what the clerk used to warm himself could not be called fire: it was just a barely smoldering coal. The poor fellow did not dare to make it hotter, because Scrooge kept a box of coal in his room and every time the clerk entered there with a shovel, the owner warned him that they would have to part. Involuntarily, the clerk had to put on his white scarf and try to warm himself by the candle, which, due to a lack of ardent imagination, he, of course, failed to do.

- Happy holiday, uncle! God help you! – suddenly a cheerful voice was heard.

- Nonsense! - said Scrooge.

The young man was so warm from walking quickly in the cold that his handsome face seemed to be on fire; his eyes sparkled brightly, and his breath could be seen in the air.

- How? Christmas is nothing, uncle?! - said the nephew. - Really, you're joking.

“No, I’m not joking,” Scrooge objected. – What a joyful holiday it is! By what right do you rejoice and why? You are so poor.

“Well,” the nephew answered cheerfully, “by what right are you gloomy, what makes you be so gloomy?” You are so rich.

Scrooge could not find an answer to this and only said again:

- Nonsense!

“You’ll be angry, uncle,” the nephew began again.

“What do you want me to do,” my uncle objected, “when you live in a world of such fools?” Fun party! A happy holiday is good when you need to pay bills, but there is no money; Having lived for a year and not gotten a penny richer, the time comes to count the books in which for all twelve months there is no profit on a single item. “Oh, if it were up to me,” continued Scrooge angrily, “every idiot who is running around with this merry holiday, I would boil him with his pudding and bury him, first piercing his chest with a stake of holly.” 1
Pudding- a necessary Christmas dish for the British, as holly- obligatory decoration of their rooms on Christmas evenings.

That's what I would do!

- Uncle! Uncle! – said the nephew, as if defending himself.

- Nephew! - Scrooge objected sternly. - Celebrate Christmas as you wish and leave it to me to celebrate it my way.

- Do it! - repeated the nephew. - Is this how they celebrate it?

“Leave me,” said Scrooge. - Do what you want! Has much benefit come out of your celebration so far?

- True, I did not take advantage of many things that could have had good consequences for me, for example Christmas. But I assure you, always with the approach of this holiday, I thought of it as a good, joyful time, when, unlike the long series of other days of the year, everyone, both men and women, is imbued with a Christian sense of humanity, thinking about the lesser brethren as real their companions to the grave, and not as about a lower kind of beings, walking a completely different path. I am no longer talking here about the reverence due to this holiday due to its sacred name and origin, if anything connected with it can be separated from it. That’s why, uncle, although this did not result in any more gold or silver in my pocket, I still believe that such an attitude toward the great holiday was and will be beneficial for me, and I bless it from the bottom of my heart!

The clerk in his closet could not stand it and clapped his hands approvingly, but at that very moment, feeling the inappropriateness of his action, he hastily grabbed the fire and extinguished the last weak spark.

“If I hear anything more of this kind from you,” said Scrooge, “then you will have to celebrate your Christmas by losing your place.” However, you are a fair speaker, dear sir,” he added, turning to his nephew, “it’s surprising that you are not a member of parliament.”

- Don't be angry, uncle. Please come and have lunch with us tomorrow.

Here Scrooge, without hesitation, invited him to get away.

- Why? - exclaimed the nephew. - Why?

- Why did you get married? - said Scrooge.

- Because I fell in love.

- Because I fell in love! - Scrooge grumbled, as if it were the only thing in the world even funnier than the joy of the holiday. - Goodbye!

“But, uncle, you had never been to see me before this event.” Why cite him as an excuse not to come to me now?

- Goodbye! - Scrooge repeated instead of answering.

– I don’t need anything from you; I don’t ask anything from you: why shouldn’t we be friends?

- Goodbye!

“I sincerely regret that you are so adamant.” We never quarreled because of me. But for the sake of the holiday, I made this attempt and will remain true to my festive mood to the end. So, uncle, may God grant you to celebrate and celebrate the holiday in joy!

- Goodbye! - the old man repeated.

– And Happy New Year!

- Goodbye!

Despite such a harsh reception, the nephew left the room without uttering an angry word. At the outer door he stopped to wish Happy Holidays to the clerk, who, cold as he was, turned out to be warmer than Scrooge, since he responded cordially to the greeting addressed to him.

“Here’s another one just like him,” muttered Scrooge, who heard the conversation from the closet. “My clerk, who has fifteen shillings a week and also a wife and children, is talking about a merry holiday. Even to a madhouse!

After seeing Scrooge's nephew out, the clerk let in two other people. These were respectable gentlemen of pleasant appearance. Taking off their hats, they stopped in the office. They had books and papers in their hands. They bowed.

– This is the office of Scrooge and Marley, if I’m not mistaken? - said one of the gentlemen, checking with his sheet. – Do I have the honor to speak with Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?

“Mr. Marley died seven years ago,” answered Scrooge. “Tonight marks exactly seven years since his death.”

“We have no doubt that his generosity has a worthy representative in the person of his surviving colleague in the firm,” said the gentleman, handing over his papers.

He told the truth: they were brothers in spirit. At the terrible word “generosity,” Scrooge frowned, shook his head, and pushed the papers away from him.

“At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge,” said the gentleman, taking up his pen, “it is more than usual desirable that we should take a little care of the poor and needy, who are in very bad circumstances at the present time.” Many thousands are in need of basic necessities; hundreds of thousands are deprived of the most ordinary amenities, dear sir.

-Are there no prisons? - asked Scrooge.

“There are a lot of prisons,” said the gentleman, putting the pen back in place.

– What about the workers’ houses? - inquired Scrooge. – Do they exist?

“Yes, still,” replied the gentleman. - I wish there were no more of them.

- So, correctional institutions and the poor law are in full swing? - asked Scrooge.

“Both are in full swing, dear sir.”

- Yeah! Otherwise, I was scared when I heard your first words; “I wondered if something had happened to these institutions to make them cease to exist,” said Scrooge. – I’m very glad to hear this.

“Realizing that these harsh methods are unlikely to deliver Christian help to the spirit and body of the people,” objected the gentleman, “some of us took upon ourselves the task of collecting a sum to buy food and fuel for the poor.” We have chosen this time as one when need is especially felt and abundance is enjoyed. What do you want me to write down?

“Nothing,” replied Scrooge.

– Do you want to remain anonymous?

“I want to be left alone,” said Scrooge. – If you ask me what I want, here is my answer. I myself do not have fun at a holiday and cannot provide opportunities for idle people to have fun. I give for the maintenance of the institutions I mentioned; A lot of money is spent on them, and those who have bad circumstances should go there!

– Many cannot go there; many would prefer to die.

“If it is easier for them to die,” said Scrooge, “let them do so; There will be fewer extra people. However, excuse me, I don’t know that.

“But you might know,” one of the visitors remarked.

“It’s none of my business,” replied Scrooge. “It’s enough for a person if he understands his own business and doesn’t interfere with other people’s.” My business is enough for me. Farewell, gentlemen!

Clearly seeing that they could not achieve their goal here, the gentlemen left. Scrooge set to work with a better opinion of himself and in a better frame of mind than usual.

Meanwhile, the fog and darkness thickened to such an extent that people with lighted torches appeared on the street, offering their services to walk in front of the horses and show the carriages the way. The ancient belfry, whose sullen old bell always looked down slyly at Scrooge from the Gothic window in the wall, became invisible and struck its hours and quarters somewhere in the clouds; the sounds of her bell trembled so much in the air that it seemed as if in her frozen head her teeth were chattering against each other from the cold. On the main street, near the corner of the courtyard, several workers were straightening gas pipes: a group of ragged people, adults and boys, gathered around a large fire they had built in a brazier, who, squinting their eyes in front of the flame, warmed their hands with pleasure. The water tap, left alone, was soon covered with sadly hanging icicles of ice. The bright lighting of shops and shops, where holly branches and berries crackled from the heat of window lamps, reflected a reddish glow on the faces of passers-by. Even the shops selling livestock and vegetables took on a kind of festive, solemn appearance, so little characteristic of the business of selling and making money.

The Lord Mayor, in his huge fortress-like palace, gave orders to his countless cooks and butlers so that everything was prepared for the holiday, as befits a Lord Mayor's household. Even the shabby tailor, fined by him last Monday five shillings for appearing drunk on the street, sat in his attic stirring tomorrow's pudding while his thin wife went out with her child to buy meat.

Meanwhile, the frost grew stronger, causing the fog to become even thicker. Exhausted by cold and hunger, the boy stopped at Scrooge’s door to praise Christ and, bending down to the keyhole, began to sing a song:

God send you health,
good master!
May it be joyful for you
great holiday!

Finally it was time to lock up the office. Scrooge reluctantly climbed down from his stool and thereby silently acknowledged the onset of this unpleasant necessity for him. The clerk was just waiting for this; he immediately blew out his candle and put on his hat.

“I suppose you’ll want to take advantage of the whole day tomorrow?” – Scrooge asked dryly.

- Yes, if it's convenient, sir.

“This is quite inconvenient,” said Scrooge, “and dishonest.” If I withheld half a crown from your salary, you would probably consider yourself offended.

The clerk smiled faintly.

“However,” continued Scrooge, “you do not consider me offended when I pay a day’s wages for nothing.”

The clerk noted that this only happens once a year.

– A bad excuse for picking someone else’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December! said Scrooge, buttoning his coat up to his chin. “But I guess you need the whole day.” But be here as early as possible the next morning!

The clerk promised to carry out the order, and Scrooge went out, muttering something to himself. The office was locked in the blink of an eye, and the clerk, with the ends of his white scarf dangling below his jacket (he had no outer dress), rolled on the ice of the frozen ditch twenty times behind a whole line of children - he was so glad to celebrate Christmas night - and then ran home at full speed to Camden Town to play blind man's buff.

Scrooge ate his dull dinner at his usual dull inn; then, having read all the newspapers and spent the rest of the evening looking at his banker's notebook, he went home.

He occupied premises that had once belonged to his late partner. It was a series of unsightly rooms in a large gloomy house, at the back of the courtyard; this house was so out of place that someone might think that, when he was still a young house, he ran here, playing hide and seek with other houses, but, having lost his way back, stayed here. Now it was a rather old building, gloomy in appearance, because no one but Scrooge lived in it, and the other rooms were all given over to offices. It was so dark in the yard that even Scrooge, who knew every stone here, had to feel his way. The frosty fog hung so thickly over the old dark door of the house that it seemed as if the genius of the weather was sitting in gloomy meditation on its threshold.

There is no doubt that, apart from its large size, there was absolutely nothing special about the knocker hanging by the door. It is equally true that Scrooge, during his entire stay in this house, saw this mallet both morning and evening. In addition, Scrooge lacked what is called imagination, like any inhabitant of the City of London 2
City– the historical district of London, formed on the basis of the ancient Roman city of Londinium; in the 19th century The City was the world's premier business and financial center and continues to be one of the world's business capitals to this day.

Do not forget that Scrooge has never thought about Marley since, during a conversation in the office, he mentioned his death seven years ago. And now let someone explain to me, if he can, how it could happen that Scrooge, putting the key into the door lock, saw in the mallet, which had not undergone any immediate transformation, not the mallet, but the face of Marley.

This face was not covered in the impenetrable darkness that shrouded other objects in the yard - no, it glowed slightly, like rotten crayfish glow in a dark cellar. There was no expression of anger or malice in it, it looked at Scrooge the way Marley always used to look - with his glasses raised on his forehead. My hair stood on end, as if from a breath of air; the eyes, although completely open, were motionless. This appearance, with the blue-purple color of the skin, was terrible, but this horror was somehow in itself, and not in the face.

When Scrooge looked more closely at this phenomenon, it disappeared, and the beater became a beater again.

To say that he was not frightened and that his blood did not experience a terrible sensation to which he had been alien since childhood would be a lie. But he again took hold of the key, which he had already released, turned it decisively, entered the door and lit a candle.

But he stopped for a minute V hesitation before he closed the door and first cautiously looked behind it, as if partly expecting to be frightened at the sight of, if not Marley’s face, then his braid sticking out towards the entryway. But there was nothing behind the door except the screws and nuts that held the knocker. He just said: “Ugh! ugh!" – and slammed the door noisily.

This sound, like thunder, rang throughout the house. Every room above, every barrel in the wine merchant's cellar below, seemed to have its own special selection of echoes. Scrooge was not one of those who are afraid of echoes. He locked the door, walked through the hallway and began to climb the stairs, but slowly, adjusting the candle.

They talk about ancient staircases, as if you could drive up them with six people; and about this staircase it can truly be said that an entire funeral chariot could easily be lifted along it, and even placed across it, so that the drawbar would be against the railing, and the rear wheels against the wall. There would be plenty of space for this, and there would still be some left. For this reason, perhaps, Scrooge imagined that a funeral bier was moving in front of him in the dark. Half a dozen gas lamps from the street would not have illuminated the entrance sufficiently, it was so vast; from here you will understand how little light Scrooge’s candle gave.

Scrooge went on his way, not worrying about it at all; darkness is inexpensive, and Scrooge loved cheap things. However, before locking his heavy door, he walked through all the rooms to make sure that everything was in order. Remembering Marley's face, he wished to carry out this precaution.

Living room, bedroom, storage room - everything is as it should be. There was no one under the table or under the sofa; there is a small fire in the fireplace; on the fireplace shelf there was a prepared spoon and bowl and a small saucepan of gruel (Scrooge had a slight head cold). Nothing was found either under the bed, or in the closet, or in his robe, which was hanging in a somewhat suspicious position on the wall. The pantry contains the same usual items: an old fireplace grate, old boots, two fish baskets, a three-legged washbasin and a poker.

Approved for distribution by the Publishing Council of the Russian Orthodox Church IS 13-315-2238

Dear reader!

We express our deep gratitude to you for purchasing a legal copy of the e-book from Nikeya Publishing House.

If you notice any inaccuracies, unreadable fonts or other serious errors in the e-book, please write to us at [email protected]

Thank you!

Charles Dickens (1812–1870)

A Christmas Carol
Translation from English by S. Dolgov

Stanza one
Shadow of Marley

- Happy holiday, uncle! God help you! – suddenly a cheerful voice was heard.

- Nonsense! - said Scrooge.

The young man was so warm from walking quickly in the cold that his handsome face seemed to be on fire; his eyes sparkled brightly, and his breath could be seen in the air.

- How? Christmas is nothing, uncle?! - said the nephew. - Really, you're joking.

“No, I’m not joking,” Scrooge objected. – What a joyful holiday it is! By what right do you rejoice and why? You are so poor.

“Well,” the nephew answered cheerfully, “by what right are you gloomy, what makes you be so gloomy?” You are so rich.

Scrooge could not find an answer to this and only said again:

- Nonsense!

“You’ll be angry, uncle,” the nephew began again.

- Uncle! Uncle! – said the nephew, as if defending himself.

- Nephew! - Scrooge objected sternly. - Celebrate Christmas as you wish and leave it to me to celebrate it my way.

- Do it! - repeated the nephew. - Is this how they celebrate it?

“Leave me,” said Scrooge. - Do what you want! Has much benefit come out of your celebration so far?

- Don't be angry, uncle. Please come and have lunch with us tomorrow.

- Why? - exclaimed the nephew. - Why?

- Why did you get married? - said Scrooge.

- Because I fell in love.

- Because I fell in love! - Scrooge grumbled, as if it were the only thing in the world even funnier than the joy of the holiday. - Goodbye!

“But, uncle, you had never been to see me before this event.” Why cite him as an excuse not to come to me now?

- Goodbye! - Scrooge repeated instead of answering.

– I don’t need anything from you; I don’t ask anything from you: why shouldn’t we be friends?

- Goodbye!

- Goodbye! - the old man repeated.

– And Happy New Year!

- Goodbye!

– This is the office of Scrooge and Marley, if I’m not mistaken? - said one of the gentlemen, checking with his sheet. – Do I have the honor to speak with Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?

“Mr. Marley died seven years ago,” answered Scrooge. “Tonight marks exactly seven years since his death.”

“We have no doubt that his generosity has a worthy representative in the person of his surviving colleague in the firm,” said the gentleman, handing over his papers.

He told the truth: they were brothers in spirit. At the terrible word “generosity,” Scrooge frowned, shook his head, and pushed the papers away from him.

-Are there no prisons? - asked Scrooge.

“There are a lot of prisons,” said the gentleman, putting the pen back in place.

– What about the workers’ houses? - inquired Scrooge. – Do they exist?

“Yes, still,” replied the gentleman. - I wish there were no more of them.

- So, correctional institutions and the poor law are in full swing? - asked Scrooge.

“Both are in full swing, dear sir.”

“Nothing,” replied Scrooge.

– Do you want to remain anonymous?

– Many cannot go there; many would prefer to die.

“If it is easier for them to die,” said Scrooge, “let them do so; There will be fewer extra people. However, excuse me, I don’t know that.

“But you might know,” one of the visitors remarked.

God send you health,
good master!
May it be joyful for you
great holiday!

Vladimir Nabokov, Alexander Green, Alexander Kuprin, Ivan Bunin, Ivan Shmelev, Nikolai Gogol, Nikolai Leskov, O. Henry, Pavel Bazhov, Sasha Cherny, Charles Dickens, Konstantin Stanyukovich, Lydia Charskaya, Anton Chekhov, Vasily Nikiforov-Volgin, Klavdiya Lukashevich

Pavel Petrovich Bazhov. Blue snake

Two boys grew up in our factory, in close proximity: Lanko Puzhanko and Leiko Shapochka.

I can’t say who came up with such nicknames for them and why. These guys lived amicably among themselves. They matched it. The same intelligence, the same strength, the same height and years. And there was no big difference in life. Lank's father was a miner, Lake's was grieving on the golden sands, and mothers, as you know, toiled around the house. The guys had nothing to be proud of in front of each other.

One thing they didn't agree on. Lanko considered his nickname to be an insult, but Lake thought it was flattering that he was so affectionately called – Cap. I asked my mother more than once.

- Mama, you should sew me a new hat! Do you hear, people call me Cap, but I have a malachai, and he’s old.

This did not interfere with children's friendship. Leiko was the first to get into a fight if anyone called Lanka Puzhank.

– What is he like to you Puzhanko? Who was scared?

So the boys grew up side by side. Quarrels, of course, did happen, but not for long. They won’t have time to blink, they’ll be together again.

And then the guys were on equal terms, since both of them were the last to grow up in their families. Take it easy on someone like that. Don't hang around with little ones. From snow to snow, they’ll just come running home to eat and sleep....

You never know at that time the kids had all sorts of things to do: play grandma, gorodki, ball, go fishing, swim, run for berries, run for mushrooms, climb all the hills, jump over stumps on one leg. If they sneak out of the house in the morning - look for them! Only they didn’t search hard for these guys. As soon as they came running home in the evening, they grumbled at them:

- Our stagger has arrived! Feed him!

In winter it was different. Winter, it is known, will tuck its tail between its legs and will not bypass people. Winter drove Lanka and Lake into the huts. You see, the clothes are weak, the shoes are thin, you won’t be able to run far in them. It was just enough warmth to run from hut to hut.

So as not to get in the way of the big one, they both huddle together on the floor and sit there. It’s still more fun for the two of them. When they play, when they remember about summer, when they just listen to what the big ones are talking about.

One day they were sitting like this, and Leykova’s sister Maryushka’s girlfriends came running. The time for the New Year was moving forward, and according to the maiden ritual at that time, they told fortunes about the grooms. The girls started such a fortune-telling. The guys are curious to see if you can approach it. They didn’t let me get close, but Maryushka, in her own way, still slapped me on the head.

- Go to your place!

You see, this Maryushka, she was one of the angry ones. For many years there have been brides, but there have been no grooms. The girl seems to be quite good, but a little short. The flaw seems to be small, but the guys still rejected her because of this. Well, she was angry.

The guys are huddled on the floor, puffing and keeping quiet, but the girls are having fun. Ash is sown, flour is rolled out on the tabletop, coals are thrown over, and splashed in water. Everyone is smeared, laughing shriekingly at one another, only Maryushka is not happy. She, apparently, has given up on any kind of divination, and says: “This is a trifle.” Just fun.

Approved for distribution by the Publishing Council of the Russian Orthodox Church IS 13-315-2238

Dear reader!

We express our deep gratitude to you for purchasing a legal copy of the e-book from Nikeya Publishing House.

If you notice any inaccuracies, unreadable fonts or other serious errors in the e-book, please write to us at [email protected]

Thank you!

Charles Dickens (1812–1870)

A Christmas Carol
Translation from English by S. Dolgov

Stanza one
Shadow of Marley

- Happy holiday, uncle! God help you! – suddenly a cheerful voice was heard.

- Nonsense! - said Scrooge.

The young man was so warm from walking quickly in the cold that his handsome face seemed to be on fire; his eyes sparkled brightly, and his breath could be seen in the air.

- How? Christmas is nothing, uncle?! - said the nephew. - Really, you're joking.

“No, I’m not joking,” Scrooge objected. – What a joyful holiday it is! By what right do you rejoice and why? You are so poor.

“Well,” the nephew answered cheerfully, “by what right are you gloomy, what makes you be so gloomy?” You are so rich.

Scrooge could not find an answer to this and only said again:

- Nonsense!

“You’ll be angry, uncle,” the nephew began again.

- Uncle! Uncle! – said the nephew, as if defending himself.

- Nephew! - Scrooge objected sternly. - Celebrate Christmas as you wish and leave it to me to celebrate it my way.

- Do it! - repeated the nephew. - Is this how they celebrate it?

“Leave me,” said Scrooge. - Do what you want! Has much benefit come out of your celebration so far?

- Don't be angry, uncle. Please come and have lunch with us tomorrow.

Here Scrooge, without hesitation, invited him to get away.

- Why? - exclaimed the nephew. - Why?

- Why did you get married? - said Scrooge.

- Because I fell in love.

- Because I fell in love! - Scrooge grumbled, as if it were the only thing in the world even funnier than the joy of the holiday. - Goodbye!

“But, uncle, you had never been to see me before this event.” Why cite him as an excuse not to come to me now?

- Goodbye! - Scrooge repeated instead of answering.

– I don’t need anything from you; I don’t ask anything from you: why shouldn’t we be friends?

- Goodbye!

- Goodbye! - the old man repeated.

– And Happy New Year!

- Goodbye!

– This is the office of Scrooge and Marley, if I’m not mistaken? - said one of the gentlemen, checking with his sheet. – Do I have the honor to speak with Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?

“Mr. Marley died seven years ago,” answered Scrooge. “Tonight marks exactly seven years since his death.”

“We have no doubt that his generosity has a worthy representative in the person of his surviving colleague in the firm,” said the gentleman, handing over his papers.

He told the truth: they were brothers in spirit. At the terrible word “generosity,” Scrooge frowned, shook his head, and pushed the papers away from him.

-Are there no prisons? - asked Scrooge.

“There are a lot of prisons,” said the gentleman, putting the pen back in place.

– What about the workers’ houses? - inquired Scrooge. – Do they exist?

“Yes, still,” replied the gentleman. - I wish there were no more of them.

- So, correctional institutions and the poor law are in full swing? - asked Scrooge.

“Both are in full swing, dear sir.”

“Nothing,” replied Scrooge.

– Do you want to remain anonymous?

– Many cannot go there; many would prefer to die.

“If it is easier for them to die,” said Scrooge, “let them do so; There will be fewer extra people. However, excuse me, I don’t know that.

“But you might know,” one of the visitors remarked.

Clearly seeing that they could not achieve their goal here, the gentlemen left. Scrooge set to work with a better opinion of himself and in a better frame of mind than usual.

God send you health,
good master!
May it be joyful for you
great holiday!

“I suppose you’ll want to take advantage of the whole day tomorrow?” – Scrooge asked dryly.

- Yes, if it's convenient, sir.

“This is quite inconvenient,” said Scrooge, “and dishonest.” If I withheld half a crown from your salary, you would probably consider yourself offended.

The clerk smiled faintly.

“However,” continued Scrooge, “you do not consider me offended when I pay a day’s wages for nothing.”

The clerk noted that this only happens once a year.

Scrooge ate his dull dinner at his usual dull inn; then, having read all the newspapers and spent the rest of the evening looking at his banker's notebook, he went home.

There is no doubt that, apart from its large size, there was absolutely nothing special about the knocker hanging by the door. It is equally true that Scrooge, during his entire stay in this house, saw this mallet both morning and evening. Moreover, Scrooge lacked what is called imagination, like any inhabitant of the City of London. Do not forget that Scrooge has never thought about Marley since, during a conversation in the office, he mentioned his death seven years ago. And now let someone explain to me, if he can, how it could happen that Scrooge, putting the key into the door lock, saw in the mallet, which had not undergone any immediate transformation, not the mallet, but the face of Marley.

When Scrooge looked more closely at this phenomenon, it disappeared, and the beater became a beater again.

Having completely calmed down, he locked the door and at the same time turned the key twice, which was not his custom. Having thus protected himself from accidents, he took off his tie, put on his robe, shoes and nightcap and sat down in front of the fire to eat his gruel.

It was not a hot fire, not at all for such a cold night. He had to sit close to the fireplace and bend over further before he could feel even a little warmth from such a small amount of fuel. The fireplace was ancient, built God knows when by some Dutch merchants and lined with fancy Dutch tiles that were supposed to depict biblical scenes. There were Cains and Abels, daughters of Pharaoh, Queens of Sheba, heavenly messengers descending through the air on clouds like feather beds, Abrahams, Balthasars, apostles sailing into the sea in oil dishes; hundreds of other figures who might attract Scrooge's thoughts. Nevertheless, the face of Marley, who had died seven years ago, appeared like a prophet's rod and absorbed everything else. If each tile were smooth and capable of imprinting on its surface some image from the incoherent fragments of his thoughts, on each of them the head of old Marley would be depicted.

- Nonsense! - said Scrooge and began to walk around the room.

After walking several times, he sat down again. As he threw his head back in his chair, his gaze chanced to fall on a bell, long abandoned, which hung in the room and, for some now forgotten purpose, had been brought out of a room located on the very top floor of the house. To Scrooge's great amazement and strange, inexplicable horror, as he looked at the bell, it began to swing. It swayed so weakly that it barely made a sound; but soon it rang loudly, and every bell in the house began to echo it.

It might have lasted half a minute or a minute, but to Scrooge it seemed like an hour. The bells fell silent just as they began—at once. Then a clanking sound was heard deep below, as if someone was dragging a heavy chain over barrels into a wine merchant's cellar. Then Scrooge remembered the stories he had once heard, that in houses where there are brownies, the latter are described as dragging chains.

Suddenly the cellar door opened with a noise, the sound became much louder; here it comes from the floor of the lower floor, then is heard on the stairs and, finally, goes straight to the door.

- Still, this is nothing! - said Scrooge. – I don’t believe it.

However, his complexion changed when, without stopping, the sound passed through the heavy door and stopped in front of him in the room. At that moment, the flame that was dying in the fireplace flared up, as if saying: “I know him! This is the spirit of Marley! And - it fell again.

Yes, it was that same face. Marley with her braid, in her vest, tight tight trousers and boots; the tassels on them stood on end, as did the braid, the skirts of the caftan and the hair on the head. The chain that he carried with him covered his lower back and from here hung from behind like a tail. It was a long chain, made up—Scrooge looked at it closely—of iron chests, keys, padlocks, ledgers, business papers, and heavy purses lined with steel. His body was transparent, so that Scrooge, watching him and looking through his vest, could see the two back buttons of his coat.

Scrooge had often heard from people that Marley had nothing inside him, but he had never believed it until now.

And even now he didn’t believe it. No matter how he looked at the ghost, no matter how well he saw him standing in front of him, no matter how he felt the chilling gaze of his deathly cold eyes, no matter how he even distinguished the very fabric of the folded scarf with which his head and chin was tied and which he did not notice at first, – he still remained an unbeliever and struggled with his own feelings.

- Well, what then? - said Scrooge caustically and coldly, as always. - What do you need from me?

- A lot! – came the undoubted voice of Marley in response.

- Who are you?

-Ask me who I was.

-Who were you? - said Scrooge, raising his voice.

- During my life I was your companion, Jacob Marley.

“Can you... can you sit down?” - asked Scrooge, looking at him doubtfully.

- So sit down.

Scrooge made this question, not knowing whether a spirit, being so transparent, could sit on a chair, and immediately realized that if this were impossible, it would necessitate rather unpleasant explanations. But the ghost sat down on the other side of the fireplace, as if it was completely accustomed to this.

-You don't believe in me? - the spirit noticed.

“No, I don’t believe it,” said Scrooge.

– What proof would you like of my reality, beyond your feelings?

“I don’t know,” replied Scrooge.

– Why do you doubt your feelings?

“Because,” said Scrooge, “every little thing affects them.” The stomach is not in order - and they begin to deceive. Maybe you are nothing more than an undigested piece of meat, a lump of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a particle of undercooked potato. Whatever it is, there is very little of the grave in you.

It was not Scrooge’s habit to make jokes, especially at that moment he had no time for jokes. In fact, if he now tried to make jokes, it was only with the aim of diverting his own attention and suppressing his fear, since the voice of the ghost disturbed him to the marrow of his bones.

To sit for one minute, looking straight into those motionless glass eyes, was beyond his strength. What was also especially terrifying was the kind of supernatural atmosphere surrounding the ghost. Scrooge himself could not feel her, nevertheless, her presence was undeniable, since, despite the complete immobility of the spirit, his hair, coattails and tassels were all in motion, as if they were being moved by hot steam from the stove.

- Do you see this toothpick? - asked Scrooge, trying to distract the glassy gaze of his afterlife visitor from himself at least for a second.

“I see,” answered the spirit.

“You don’t look at her,” said Scrooge.

“I don’t look, but still I see,” answered the Spirit.

“Yes,” replied Scrooge. “I only have to swallow it to be haunted by a whole legion of ghosts for the rest of my life; and all this will be the work of one’s own hands. Nonsense, I repeat to you, nonsense!

At these words, the spirit raised a terrible cry and shook his chain with such a terrifying sound that Scrooge grabbed the chair tightly, fearing to faint. But what was his horror when the ghost took off his bandage from his head, as if he felt hot from it in the room, and his lower jaw fell on his chest.

Scrooge threw himself on his knees and covered his face with his hands.

- Have mercy, terrible vision! - he said. - Why are you torturing me?

- A man of earthly thoughts! - the spirit exclaimed. – Do you believe in me or not?

“I believe,” said Scrooge. - I have to believe. But why do spirits walk the earth and why do they come to me?

“It is required of every person,” answered the vision, “that the spirit living in him visit his neighbors and go everywhere for this; and if this spirit does not wander in this way during a person’s life, then it is condemned to wander after death. He is doomed to wander around the world - oh, alas for me! - and must be a witness to something in which he can no longer take part, but he could while he lived on earth, and thus he would achieve happiness!

The spirit screamed again, shaking his chain and wringing his hands.

“You are in chains,” said Scrooge, trembling. - Tell me why?

“I wear the chain that I forged during my life,” answered the spirit. “I worked it link by link, yard by yard; I girded myself with it of my own free will, and of my own free will I wear it. Isn't her drawing familiar to you?

Scrooge trembled more and more.

“And if you only knew,” the spirit continued, “how heavy and long the chain that you yourself wear is!” Just seven years ago it was as heavy and long as this one. And since then you've worked hard on it. Oh, that's a heavy chain!

Scrooge looked at the floor near him, expecting to see himself surrounded by a fifty-foot iron rope, but he saw nothing.

- Yakov! – he said in a pleading tone. - My old Jacob Marley, tell me more. Tell me something comforting, Yakov.

“I have no consolation,” answered the spirit. “It comes from other realms, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is communicated through other media to other kinds of people. And I can’t tell you what I would like to. Only a little is still allowed to me. For me there is no stop, no rest. My spirit never left the walls of our office - mind you! - during my life, my spirit never left the cramped confines of our money changer’s shop, but now I have an endless, painful path ahead of me!

Scrooge had a habit of putting his hands in his trouser pockets when he was thoughtful. So he did now, thinking about the words of the spirit, but still without raising his eyes and without getting up from his knees.

“You must be making your journey very slowly, Jacob,” remarked Scrooge in a businesslike, though respectfully modest, tone.

Pudding is a necessary Christmas dish for the British, just as holly is a mandatory decoration for their rooms on Christmas Eve.

The City is a historical district of London, formed on the basis of the ancient Roman city of Londinium; in the 19th century The City was the world's premier business and financial center and continues to be one of the world's business capitals to this day.

Compiled by Tatyana Strygina

Christmas stories by foreign writers

Approved for distribution by the Publishing Council of the Russian Orthodox Church IS 13-315-2238

Dear reader!

We express our deep gratitude to you for purchasing a legal copy of the e-book from Nikeya Publishing House.

If for some reason you happen to have a pirated copy of the book, then we kindly ask you to purchase a legal one. Find out how to do this on our website. www.nikeabooks.ru

If you notice any inaccuracies, unreadable fonts or other serious errors in the e-book, please write to us at

Thank you!

Charles Dickens (1812–1870)

A Christmas Carol

Translation from English by S. Dolgov

Stanza one

Shadow of Marley

- Happy holiday, uncle! God help you! – suddenly a cheerful voice was heard.

- Nonsense! - said Scrooge.

The young man was so warm from walking quickly in the cold that his handsome face seemed to be on fire; his eyes sparkled brightly, and his breath could be seen in the air.

- How? Christmas is nothing, uncle?! - said the nephew. - Really, you're joking.

“No, I’m not joking,” Scrooge objected. – What a joyful holiday it is! By what right do you rejoice and why? You are so poor.

“Well,” the nephew answered cheerfully, “by what right are you gloomy, what makes you be so gloomy?” You are so rich.

Scrooge could not find an answer to this and only said again:

- Nonsense!

“You’ll be angry, uncle,” the nephew began again.

- Uncle! Uncle! – said the nephew, as if defending himself.

- Nephew! - Scrooge objected sternly. - Celebrate Christmas as you wish and leave it to me to celebrate it my way.

- Do it! - repeated the nephew. - Is this how they celebrate it?

“Leave me,” said Scrooge. - Do what you want! Has much benefit come out of your celebration so far?