Music.
Good evening. This is Orson Welles. There are clearly a number of ways in which
a Christmas carol could be introduced.
Myself, I am most struck by the happy fortune that enables us on this Christmas Eve to present Mr.
Lionel Barrymore, the best-loved actor of our time in the world's best-loved
Christmas story, A Christmas Carol.
It is the American way, as we know, to establish traditions quickly where popular
instinct and sentiment pronounce them sound.
And so it is that today, actually, only the fifth anniversary of Mr.
Lionel Barrymore's first playing of the part of Ebenezer Scrooge for the Campbell Playhouse,
there is, I think, in all America nothing more eagerly awaited,
more firmly rooted in the hearts of the radio family that numbers millions at
this yearly performance of A Christmas Carol.
A Christmas Carol, as Charles Dickens wrote it, has, by common consent, long been a classic.
Mr. Lionel Barrymore's appearance in it is rapidly becoming one.
And now, just before A Christmas Carol, Ernest Chappell has a special Christmas
greeting from the makers of Campbell's suits.
Mr. Chappell. Thank you, Orson Welles. As the old year draws toward its close,
we of Campbell's feel a bond of warmth and gratitude toward each of you, our friends.
For you see, in homes everywhere throughout the land, Campbell's Soups have been welcome.
Day by day and week by week you have placed confidence in us and in the foods we make.
And there isn't anything we appreciate more deeply than the fact that so many
of you have elected to let Campbell's make your soups for you.
And so when Christmas comes we look about to find some way to show our appreciation.
Some Christmas present by which to say thank you.
The gift we chose five Christmases ago and have chosen each year since has become
a part of Christmas to many and many a family.
It has become a Christmas custom to gather round the radio to hear and to enjoy a Christmas carol.
And since it is Christmas Eve, we hope too that the younger members of the family
are permitted to stay up and listen before dreams and visit of Santa.
We get a great deal of pleasure planning and preparing this Christmas gift, and now it's ready.
Off come the wrappings. Off come the tags that say, please do not open till Christmas.
Music.
Marley was dead to begin with. There's no doubt whatever about that.
The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk,
the undertaker, and the chief mourner.
Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon change for anything he chose to put his hand to.
Old Marley was as dead as a doornail.
Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. Scrooge and Marley were partners
for I don't know how many years.
Oh, but he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone with Scrooge.
A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner.
Once upon a time, of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve.
Old Scrooge sat busy in his counting house, a grim, cheerless place if ever there was one.
The door of Scrooge's counting house was open. that he might keep his eye upon
his clerk, Bob Cratchit, who, in a cold and dismal little cell beyond,
worked at his ledgers. 19, 20, 21, 22.
Merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay. 23, 26, 29.
My fall on Christmas Day. 11, 13, 17, 7, and Carua.
Fire and sea. Bob Cratchit. Yes, Mr. Scrooge. Stop that infernal battle-walling. Yes, sir.
15, 17, 20, and I've got a limpidness of singing their idiotic Christmas carols at my very door.
Go somewhere else and fellow your blasted carols, or I'll give you in charge.
Sorry, Governor. It's an old custom at Christmas time, you know.
Yes, and I don't want any of your old customs.
Take your fellow fools and go away. Christmas.
Right, sir. Merry Christmas anyway, sir. Merry Christmas, Uncle.
Merry Christmas, Bob. Merry Christmas, Mr. Press. God save you, Uncle.
Ah, humbug. Christmas a humbug, Uncle. Now, I'm sure you don't mean that. I mean just that.
Exactly that. Merry Christmas. What right of you to be merry? What reason have you?
You're bored enough. Well, what right of you to be dismal about Christmas,
Uncle? You're rich enough.
Now, Uncle, don't be cross. Well, what else can I be when I live in such a world of fools?
What's Christmas to you but a time for paying bings without money?
Merry Christmas, a time for finding yourself a year older and not an hour richer.
If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with Merry Christmas on
his lips would be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.
He should. Uncle, nephew, keep your Christmas in your own way and let me keep it in mine.
Keep it? But you don't keep it, Uncle. Well, let me leave it alone then.
What do you want? A Christmas gift, I've no doubt. I came to wish you a Merry
Christmas, Uncle. Merry Christmas.
Much good may Christmas do you. Much good it ever has done you.
There are many things from which I derive good, by which I have not profited
materially, I dare say, Uncle.
Christmas among the rest. But I have always thought of Christmas time as a good
time. A kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time.
And therefore, Uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my
pocket, I believe it has done me good and will do me good.
And I say, God bless it. God bless Christmas.
Hurrah. Let me hear another sound out of you there, Bob Tratchett,
and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation.
As to you, nephew, they wonder you don't go into Parliament.
You talk enough nonsense. Don't be angry, Uncle. I want nothing from you.
I ask nothing of you. Why can't we be friends? Good afternoon.
Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. I've tried.
A Merry Christmas to you, Uncle. Good afternoon. And a Happy New Year, too.
Ah, humbled. And a Merry Christmas to you, Bob and the missus.
And to Tiny Tim. Thank you, Mr. Pratt. Same to you, sir. Good day, sir. Good day to Bob.
Nonsense. What, little lumbery. Talking of Christmas and not two sixpences to
jingle together in his trousers' pocket.
You there, Bob Cratchit. Come here. What are you doing there?
I was only putting a bit more coal on the fire, Mr. Scrooge,
seeing it's so cold in there, sir.
Why, you put that coal back into the scuttle. A fire! A fire, indeed!
I can tell you, if you use coal at that rate, you and I will soon be parting
company, Bob Tratchett. You understand that?
There's many a young fellow like your situation, you know.
I'm sorry, sir. My fingers were getting a little stiff with the coal.
Then put on your mittens.
There's someone at the door. See what it is. Yes, sir.
Good afternoon, sir. Good afternoon. This is a firm of Scrooge and Marlene.
Yes, sir. I should like to see the head of the firm, if I may. Oh, very good, sir.
What is it? A gentleman to see you, Mr. Scrooge. Huh? Have I had the pleasure
of addressing Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley?
Marley's been dead these seven years tonight.
I'm through. Well, now, Mr. Scrooge, at this season of the year,
it's only fitting that we who are more fortunate should raise a fund to buy
the poor some meat and drink and means of warmth.
You may not believe it, sir, but many thousands are now in water of common necessities,
and hundreds of thousands are in water of the simplest comforts, sir.
Are there no prisoners? There are plenty of prisons, sir.
And the workhouses, they're still in operation, I trust. I wish I could say
they are not, but they are, sir.
The treadmill and the pool all are in full vigor, then?
Both very busy, sir. Oh, well, I'm very glad to hear that. I was afraid from
what you said at first that something had occurred to stop them in their useful calm.
No, sir, all these institutions that you mention are flourishing.
But it's nevertheless true that
some additional provision for the poor and the destitute must be made.
A few of us upon change are endeavoring to raise such a fund,
you see. And what shall I put you down for? Nothing.
Oh, I see. You wish to be anonymous, sir. I wish to be let alone.
I don't make mad myself at Christmas time and I can't afford to keep a lot of
idle people and make them merry.
I help support the establishments that take care of the poor.
They cost enough. Let those who are badly off go there. Many can't go there, sir.
And many would rather die. Well, then, my advice to them is to do so and decrease
the surplus population.
Besides, I've only your word for it that all this is so. Truth,
Mr. Scrooge. So be it, then. It's not my business.
It's enough for a man to understand his own business and not to interfere with other people's.
Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, sir. I quite understand, Mr. Scrooge.
Cratchit, show this gentleman out. Yes, sir. This way, please.
Sir, I couldn't help overhearing. I should like to contribute, Trubbins.
Cratchit! Yes, sir. It isn't much, but it's all I can afford.
There are others in worse situations than I. You're a generous fellow.
I wish I might say so of your employer. Magic. Yes, sir. Good afternoon, sir. Good afternoon.
Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas. Yes, sir. Merry Christmas.
Close the door. Yes, sir, I have closed it, sir.
24, 31, 1 and carry 3. A new scarlet tippet for Tiny Tim. The comb for Martha.
33, 3 and carry 3. Hair ribbon for Belinda. 4, 7, 12, 15.
I suppose you want the entire day tomorrow. If it's quite convenient,
sir. It's not convenient and it's not fair.
But I suppose I can't do anything about it. If I was to stop half a crown of
your wages, you'd think yourself very ill-used. I'd be bound.
Well, sir, I... And yet you don't think me ill-used when I pay a day's wages
for no work? It's only once a year, sir. Once a year.
Once a year, indeed. A fine excuse for picking a man's pocket every 25th of December.
But I suppose it's no good talking.
You must have the whole day. Well, see that you're here all the earlier the
next morning. You understand? Oh, I will, sir. I will, sir, indeed.
Good night, sir, and Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas!
Music.
The office was closed in a twinkling, and Bob Cratchit, with the long ends of
his white comforter, dangling below his waist, for he boasted no great coat,
went down a slide on Corn Hill 20 times in honor of its being Christmas Eve.
And then ran home to Camden Town as hard as he could pelt to play with his family at Blind Man's Buff.
Music.
Scrooge, on the other hand, took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy tavern.
Having read all the newspapers and spent the rest of the evening with his banker's.
Music.
Book, went to his dismal house.
Darkness is cheap and Scrooge likes it.
The yard was so dark that even Scrooge, who knew its every stone Had to grope
with his hands through the fog and the frost To find the door,
Scrooge walked through his rooms to see that all was right Sitting room, bedroom,
lumber room All as they should be Nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa
Nobody under the bed, nobody in the closet Closed the door, locked himself in,
double locked himself in,
and took off his cravat, put on his dressing gown and slippers and his nightcap,
and sat down before the fire to take his gruel.
Music.
Someone's in the plane, son. But the door's locked and double locked.
Something is... It's... It's coming. Something is... It's coming closer.
Outside my door. I won't believe it. It's humbug's door. Ebenezer Scrooge.
Ebenezer Scrooge. Oh, no. What do you want with me?
I want much of you, Ebenezer. Who are you?
Ask me who I was. You are very particular for a ghost.
All right. Who were you then? In life, I was your partner, Jacob Marley.
Jacob Marley? But you're dead.
You died seven years ago. Seven years ago this very night.
You are a ghost then?
Music.
What's wrong, Ebenezer? Don't you believe in me? I do not.
You doubt your senses, Ebenezer? Yes.
Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats.
You can't be a ghost. You may be an undigested bit of beef.
A block of mustard. A crumb of cheese.
A fragment of an underdone potato.
There may be more gravy than grave about you, whatever you are.
Humbug, I tell you. Humbug.
Music.
Excuse me, I do believe in you. You are the ghost, Jacob.
Thank you. But what? Why do you walk the earth, Jacob? Why do you come to me?
It is required of every man that the spirit within him should walk abroad among
his fellow men and travel far and wide to witness what it cannot share but might
have shared on earth and turn to happiness.
Oh, tell me, Jacob, what is that chain you wear around you?
I wear the chain I forged in life. I made it link by link and yard by yard by my own free will.
Is its pattern strange to you, Ebenezer?
Cash boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, perches?
Yours was as heavy and as long as this seven years ago. Oh, and you have labored on it since, Ebenezer.
Oh, Jacob, speak comfort to me.
Comfort I have none to give. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger.
Weary journeys lie before me. You travel fast? Yes, Ebenezer, on the wings of the wind.
Seven years dead and traveling all the time? Seven years, Ebenezer. Seven years of remorse.
Ebenezer, do you know.
Music.
You were always a good man of business, Jacob. Business.
Mankind was my business. Charity, mercy, benevolence. They were all my business.
The feelings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business.
Oh, Jacob, don't take on so.
Jacob. Listen to me, Ebenezer. I listen to you, Jacob.
Go on, Jacob. Speak to me. But don't be so flouty.
Ebenezer, I am here to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate.
Do you hear that, Ebenezer? Yes, Jacob.
You always were a good friend to me, Jacob. Thank you, Jacob. But go on. Go on. Go on.
How shall I escape? Oh, I'm afraid, Jacob. You will be haunted by free spirits.
Is that the only chance and hope, Jacob?
It is your only chance and hope. Then I think I'd rather not.
Without their visits, you cannot hope to shun the path I tread.
Expect the first tomorrow when the bell tolls one.
Couldn't I take them all at once and have it over, Jacob?
Ebenezer, look that for your own sake you remember what has passed between us.
And remember, when the bell tolls one, look for the first spirit.
Marlene. Jesus, Marlene.
Music.
He was lying on his bed fully dressed. Suddenly the curtains of his bed were drawn aside.
Scrooge found himself face to face with the unearthly visitor who drew them.
As close to it as I am now to you. And I am standing in the spirit at your elbow.
It was a strange figure. Like a child.
Yet not so like a child as like an old man. And he's a Scrooge.
Who was that? Ebenezer Scrooge, I have come for you.
You are the spirit, sir, whose coming was foretold me? I am that spirit.
What are you? I am the ghost of Christmas past.
Long past? No, your past. But what do you want of me?
What brings you here to haunt me? Your welfare, Ebenezer Scrooge.
Rise and walk with me. Oh, no, no, no, you're not out of the window.
I can't do that. I'll fall down.
I'm not a spirit. I'm mortal. I'll fall.
Bear but a touch of my hand upon your heart, and you shall be upheld in more than this.
Come, follow me.
Music.
What's become of the city? And there's snow upon the ground.
Where are we? These are the shadows of the things that have been.
You recognize this countryside?
Oh, I know every inch of it. Every rock.
Every tree. And that bleak building over there? Ah, that building.
I was a boy there. Yes. I went to school in that horrible place.
Do you recollect that path? I could walk it blindfold.
Strange you've forgotten so many years.
Come, let us go closer.
Look through the window into that cold, barren room.
What do you see, Ebenezer Scrooge? I see a boy.
A solitary child, neglected by his family, alone. Yes, yes, I see.
I know that boy.
Oh, I was so lonely. Poor boy.
Your lip is trembling, Scrooge. And what is that on your cheek?
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all.
I wish I... It's too late for that now. What's the matter?
Nothing. Nothing. The waits came to my door singing Christmas carols last night.
There was a boy like that among them. A poor, thin, pale boy in a ragged coat.
I'd like to give them something, that's all. Is that all?
Come, Ebeneezer Scrooge. Let us see another Christmas tree.
Music.
Do you know this place, Ebenezer Scrooge? Know it?
Know it? Why, this is the counting house where I was apprenticed.
Listen. Choose your partners.
Why, it's my old master. Bless his heart, old Fezziwig.
My master, alive again, and host at one of his Christmas parties.
Listen to it.
And back to your places. And there's Dick Wilkins.
Poor Dick. Dear, dear, dear, yes. And look, there's Mrs.
Fezziwig herself, looking younger than any of them.
And the table's all loaded with roast and cider and mince pie and beer.
Oh, what a jolly time we used to have. That carefree young man with the light heart and the gay smile.
Do you recognize him? Yes, yes, yes. Merciful heaven.
How happy I was then.
A small matter for old Fezziwig to make those silly folks so full of joy. Small matter?
Small indeed. Isn't it? He has spent only a few pounds of your mortal money.
Is that so much that he deserves praise?
Ah, it's not that. It's not that, spirit.
Old Fezziwig has the power to make us happy or unhappy, to make our service light or heavy.
His power lies in words and looks and things so tiny it's impossible to count muck.
The happiness he gives is quite as great as if it cost her birth.
What is the matter? Nothing.
Nothing at all, Spirit. Something, I think. No, no, no. No.
Only, it's just that I should like to be able to say a word or two to my car,
Bob Cratchit, just now, that's all.
Music.
My time grows short, and we have yet another journey to make. Where now? Come.
Music.
In this little room with a fair young girl by your side.
Do you recognize yourself, Ebenezer?
Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Spare me this. You're older now, a man in the prime of life.
Your face has begun to wear the signs of care and avarice.
Your eyes are greedy, the eager, restless eyes of a miser.
No, no, please. She knows it, too, That girl by your side.
There are tears in her eyes.
It matters little, Ebenezer, to you. Very little.
I know that. Belle, have I changed towards you?
When we were engaged, we were both poor. Was it better then?
Better to be poor? Better at least to be happy.
You're changed. You were another man then. I was a boy. Do you blame me because I've grown wiser?
Have I ever tried to break our engagement? In words, no.
Never. In what, then? In a changed nature. In an altered spirit.
In everything that made my love of any value in your sight.
So I release you from your promise. Belly! Oh, at first it may cause you pain
to lose me. A very brief pain.
But soon it will be dim, like a half-remembered dream. An unprofitable dream.
And you will be glad to be awake from such a dream.
May you be happy in the life you have chosen, Ebenezer. For the love of him you once were.
Spirit, it's enough. Show me no more.
Take me home. These were shadows of the things that have been.
That they are what they are. Do not blame me. No more. No more. One shadow more.
Music.
Scrooge. This man might have been you, and the woman beside him,
your wife, and that girl.
That girl might have been your daughter, Ebenezer Scrooge. She might have called you father.
She might have been a springtime and a haggard winter of your life. Please let me go.
Show me no more. Listen now, while they speak, Ebenezer.
Bill, I saw an old friend of yours today. Who was it? Yes. How can I?
It... Oh, I know.
Mr. Scrooge. Mr. Scrooge it was. I passed his office window. It wasn't shuttered.
And there was a candle inside, so I couldn't help seeing him.
His partner, Marley, lies at the point of death, I hear. And there Scrooge sat all alone.
Quite alone in the world, I do believe.
Spirit? Spirit, I can bear no more. Leave me.
Hold me no more. Take me back. Take me back.
Music.
Good King When that's last Looked out On the feast Of Stephen When the snow
Lay right about Deep and crisp And even Brightly shone The moon That night
You are listening to the Campbell Playhouse, Bringing you tonight the fifth
annual presentation of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, produced by Orson
Welles and starring Lionel Barrymore as Scrooge.
This is the Columbia Broadcasting System. When the
snow lay round above Deep and crisp I knew him Brightly shown the moon again
Though the frost was cruel When a poor man came in sight Gathered with a few.
Music.
And now back to the Campbell Playhouse And the fifth annual presentation of
A Christmas Carol. A Christmas present from the makers of Campbell Soups.
Music.
Scrooge awakened suddenly and sat him bowled upright in his own bed.
He remembered the words of Marley's ghost and wondered from which direction
the second specter would appear.
At that moment, nothing between a baby and a rhinoceros would have astonished him very much.
Now being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means prepared for nothing.
And consequently, when no shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling.
Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came.
Then as he sat in his bed, he became aware gradually of a great blaze of ruddy light.
It seemed to shine upon him from the adjoining room.
He got up softly and shuffled in his slippers to the door.
It was his own sitting 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.
And there sat a jolly giant, glorious to see, who bore a glowing torch in shape
not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light on Scrooge,
as he came peeping round the corner.
Come in, come in, Ebenezer Scrooge, and know me better, man.
You're... I am the ghost of Christmas present.
Spirit, take me where you will. Last time I went against my will and learned
a lesson which is working now.
If you have anything to teach me, let me profit by it. Touch my robe,
Ebenezer Scrooge. Touch my robe.
Music.
Where have you brought me, Spirit? To an humble dwelling in an humble street. It's miserable enough.
Yet there is happiness there.
Who are these people? Who's that woman and the children?
These are the family of your clerk, Bob Cratchit. See his wife,
dressed in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, laying the table for their Christmas dinner.
And there, assisting her, is her daughter, Belinda.
And the young man with the fork in the stuffing, that's Master Peter Cratchit.
And the two little cratchets, listen, screwed, and watch.
Here's Martha, Mother. Quiet, quiet.
Now sit you down before the fire, Martha, and have a warm, Lord bless you.
Where's Father? He's been to church with Tiny Tim.
They'll be along directly. How is Tiny Tim, Mother? Any better at all? Sometimes I think he is.
And sometimes I think, oh, dear God, if anything should happen to Tiny Tim.
Oh, Mother, you mustn't even think of such a thing. Oh, Mother, help me.
But, Father, look at him, my dear. Oh, Merry Christmas, Father, and Tim.
Merry Christmas, Martha. Oh, Tim, you darling.
Oh, Father, I'm so glad to be home. And we're glad to have you,
Martha. And how did little Tim behave in church, Bob? As good as gold and better.
I like church, Mother. Oh, they sang the nicest songs.
I hope people saw me there. Saw you there? And why, Tim? Well,
don't you see? Because I'm lame.
And if they saw my crutch, it might be pleasant for them to remember on Christmas.
Who it was made lame beggars walk and blind men see.
Bless you, my son. Are we ready to eat, Mother? Oh, yes, children,
we're all ready. Come, come, take your places and wait your turn.
Plenty of stuffing and dressing and plum pudding for all of you.
Martha, take care of tiny Tim and see that he eats plenty. He must get strong
and well. Now sit down, everyone.
And now, my dears, I see a vacant seat in the poor chimney corner and the crutch
without an owner carefully preserved.
No, no, no, kind spirit.
Say he'll be spared. Say he'll live.
If these shadows remain unaltered by the future Ebenezer, the child will die. And to praise thy name.
Amen. Amen. And now, my dears, with such a dinner, a toast, a merry Christmas to us all, and God bless.
God bless us, everyone. One. And now to Mr.
Scrooge. I'll give you a toast to Mr. Scrooge, the founder of the beast.
The founder of the feast, indeed, who pays you all of 15 shillings a week.
I wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast on,
and I hope he'd have good appetite for it.
Oh, my dear, the children, Christmas Day. It should be Christmas Day,
I'm sure, on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy,
unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge.
You know he is, Bob. Nobody knows it better than you, poor fellow.
My dear Christmas Day. I'll drink his health for your sake and the day's,
not for his. Long life to him.
A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. He'll be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt.
And I say God bless him too, Mother, and everyone. Yes, I do.
Music.
These cratchits. They were not well-dressed. Their shoes were far from being waterproof.
Their clothes were scanty and had known, very likely, the insides of a pawnbroker's.
But they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another and contented with the time.
And when at last they faded, Scrooge had his eye upon them. and especially on Tiny Tim until the last.
Music.
Many calls Scrooge made that night with a ghost of Christmas present.
Down among the miners they went who labor in the bowels of the earth and out
to sea among the sailors at their watch dark ghostly figures in their several stations.
Much they saw and far they went and many places they visited,
but always with a happy end.
The spirits stood beside sickbeds and they were cheerful, on foreign lands and
they were close at home, by poverty and it was rich,
in almshouse, hospital and jail, where vain man in his little brief authority
had not made fast the door and barred the spirit out, the spirit left his blessing.
Music.
It was a long night. It was only a night.
And it was strange, too, that while Scrooge remained unaltered in his outward
form, the ghost grew older.
Clearly older. My life upon this globe is very brief, Ebenezer.
It ends tonight. Tonight? Tonight at midnight.
The hour has come. Oh, not yet.
Not yet. There are still more things I wish to learn. These you will learn from still another spirit.
Still another spirit, Ebenezer.
Scrooge looked about him for the ghost. It had vanished. But he found himself
once more in his bed, in his dressing gown, in his nightcap.
He'd heard the clock strike.
And then he remembered the prediction of old Jacob Marley.
And lifting up his eyes, beheld the third spirit.
Music.
Draped and hooded, coming towards him slowly and silently, like a mist along the ground.
I know you.
You, you are the ghost of Christmas yet to come.
You'll show me the shadows of things that have not happened,
but will happen in the time before us.
Answer me, spirit, ghost of the future.
Oh, I fear you more than any specter I've seen.
Yet, as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another
man from what I was, lead on. Lead on!
The night is waning fast.
Time is precious.
Spirit, why have you brought me here again? Aunt Bob Cratchit's home?
It's not the same. Why is it so quiet? So very quiet here.
Mother, please. Oh, my son. My little...
Tony's dear. I loved him so. Mother dear, you mustn't. It's almost time for father to be home.
Don't let him see you crying.
Yes. Yes, Martha. He's late tonight. He walks slower than he used to.
Yet I've known him to walk very fast indeed with tiny Tim on his shoulder.
So have I, Mother. But he was light to carry.
And his father loved him so that it was no trouble. No trouble at all.
Bob. Good evening, my dear. You're late, Bob. I'm sorry, my dear.
I went to the churchyard today. I wish you could have gone with me.
It would have done your heart good to see how sweet and green a place it is.
You'll see it often. I promised him.
I promised Tiny Tim we'd walk there on Sunday. Oh, Father, dear. It's God's will, Bob.
I'm trying to understand it, my dear.
My son. My little son, Tiny Tim. And I loved him so.
Oh, that's cruel. Cruel. Spirit.
Give me one ray of hope that I may change all that, that tiny Tim may live.
Music.
Oh, merciful heaven, churchyard, overrun by grass and weeds,
choked with too much burying, desolate, lonely, crumbling gravestone.
Spirit, now before I draw nearer to that gravestone, answer me one question.
Are these the shadows of things that will be, or are they the shadows of things that may be only?
Will you not speak to me, Spirit? What is that grave to wish you point?
Oh, now I see. There's writing on that stone.
Music.
The name on the gravestone is Ebenezer Scrooge.
Ebenezer Scrooge. Oh,
Spirit. No, no, no. Spirit, hear me.
I'm not the man I was. Why show me this if I'm past all hope?
Tell me that I may change these grateful shadows that have come,
that you've shown me, by an altered life.
I'll honor Christmas in my heart and I'll try and keep it all the year.
I'll live in the past, the present, and the future.
I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Tell me. Do, spirit.
Please tell me that I can sponge away the writing on that stone, spirit.
I beg of you, spirit. Spirit.
Music.
Spirit.
Spirit. I promise, on my knees, I promise, I promise, I...
What's this? My bedroom.
And home. In my own bed. In my own room.
And the sun.
The sunshine. It's clear, it's bright, no fog. Oh, what a beautiful day.
Glorious, glorious.
Boy! Oh, boy! Yes, sir. What's today?
What day is it, my fine fellow? Today?
Why, it's Christmas Day. Christmas Day! Ha, ha, ha!
Then I haven't missed it. The spirits have done it all in one night.
All in one night. Heaven be praise.
How's that, sir? Listen, my lad.
Do you know where the poultry is in the next street? I should say I do.
Ha, ha! An intelligent boy. A remarkable boy.
Tell me, do you know if they've sold the prized turkey that was hanging in the
window? The one as big as me?
What a delightful boy. It's a pleasure to talk to you.
Yes, my Buck? It's hanging there now, sir. Oh, that's wonderful.
Now go around, will you? And tell him to send it to Bob Cratchit and his family on Broad Street.
And mind you, they're not to know who paid for it.
Hurry along, my lad, and here's half a crown for your trouble.
Yes, sir, yes, sir, and a merry Christmas.
And a merry Christmas to you too, my boy.
Oh, I don't know what to do. I'm as light as a feather, as happy as an angel.
I'm as merry as a schoolboy. A merry Christmas.
A merry Christmas to everybody. A happy New Year.
Music.
Next morning, Scrooge was early at his office. He went early for a reason.
If he could only be there first and catch Bob Cratchit coming late,
that was the thing he'd set his heart upon. And he did it.
Yes, he did. The clock had struck nine.
No Bob. A quarter passed. No Bob.
Scrooge sat with his door wide open that he might see him come in, and at last he came.
His hat was off before he opened the door. His comforter, too.
He was on his stool in a jiffy, driving away with his pen, as if he were trying
to overtake nine o'clock.
Eight and 17 and 15, carry the one, 24, carry the two, 31, carry the four,
eight and six and 14, carry the eight. Oh, you, Cradgett! Yes, sir.
Step this way, Cradgett, if you please.
Cradgett! What do you mean by coming in at this time of day?
Oh, I'm very sorry, sir. I'm behind my time. You are? You are?
Yes, I think you are. Oh, it's only once a year, Mr. Scrooge.
It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir.
I'll tell you what, my friend. I have not stand this sort of thing any longer.
And therefore, Bob Cratchit, I'm about to raise your salary.
Mr. Scrooge, are you quite yourself, sir? No. No, thank heaven I'm not quite myself.
Merry Christmas, Bob. Ha, ha.
Merry Christmas, my good fella, a merrier Christmas than I've given you in many a year.
I'll raise your salary and we'll see what we can do for Tiny Tim and the rest of your family.
We'll discuss it this very afternoon over a Christmas bowl of smoking bickham.
Bob, make up the fire.
Make it up and buy another cold scuttle before.
Music.
Scrooge was better than his words. He did it all, and infinitely more.
To Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father.
He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good
old city knew or any other good old city, town, or borough in the good old world.
Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh and little heeded them.
His own heart laughed, and that was quite enough for him.
He had no further intercourse with spirits, but lived upon the total abstinence
principle ever afterwards, and it was always said of him that he knew how to
keep Christmas well if any man alive possessed the knowledge.
May that be truly said of us, all of us.
And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, everyone. Joy through the world, the Lord is come.
Music.
Let the earth receive her King.
Let every heart prepare Him for.
And let nature live.
And let nature live. And let the earth and nature live.
You have just heard our annual presentation of Charles Dickens' A Christmas
Carol, starring Lionel Barrymore, brought to you by the makers of Campbell's suits.
And now here is Orson Welles. At this point in the program, ladies and gentlemen,
it is my custom, as you know, to present to you with a few words of introduction
our guest of the evening.
With your consent, I shall dispense with this tonight to introduce tonight's
guest to the Campbell Playhouse audience or to any other American audience is
an extravagant and superfluous procedure.
For if ever an actor has won for himself a lasting place in the hearts of his
fellow countrymen through years of unsparing and inspiring service,
that actor is Lionel Barrymore. Mr. Lionel Barrymore.
Thank you, Orson Welles. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.
This is the fourth year I've had the pleasure of appearing in the Christmas
Carol here on the Campbell Playhouse.
And I assure you all it's a pleasure that never tires.
As long as I can remember, this has been one of my favorite stories.
When we were children, it was read to us regularly at this time of year,
as it is to millions of children right now.
And like many of them, I'm sure, the three of us, Ethel, Jack,
and I, with the aid of a sheet and some old ironware, made a play of it.
As I remember, we had three Scrooges in that production.
Mr. Barrymore, who played Tiny Tim? I think we had three Tiny Tims, too.
But seriously, I can think of no part that I've enjoyed playing again and again
as much as I have the part of that squeezing, wrenching, grasping,
scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner, Ebenezer Scrooge.
And I can think of no happier or more suitable choice for the makers of Campbell's
Soups to offer the people of America as their Christmas present each year than
Charles Dickens' well-beloved story, Christmas Carol.
Good night, Dawson. Good night, everybody. and a merry, merry Christmas to you all.
Good night, Mr. Barrymore. Merry Christmas to you, sir.
Ladies and gentlemen, for next Sunday night, we're happy to announce our version,
of a great and truly American story by a great American novelist.
Come and Get It by Edna Ferber. Against a background of the mighty forests of
Miss Ferber's own Wisconsin, it tells a stirring tale of the men and women who
live and die in the woods in order that lumber may come down the rivers every
spring into the cities of the modern world.
Like so many of Miss Ferber's epic romances of American life,
it was made from a best-selling novel into a highly successful motion picture.
Now we bring it to you on the air. The story of a man and his son and the girl
they both loved, Lotta, played for us by one of the loveliest and most accomplished
of Hollywood's younger dramatic actresses, Miss Frances D.
And so until next week, until Come and Get It with Frances D.,
my sponsors, the makers of Campbell Soups, and all of us on the Campbell Playhouse
remain as always obediently yours.
Music.
The makers of Campbell's Soups join Orson Welles in inviting you to be with
us in the Campbell Playhouse again next Sunday evening when we bring you Edna
Ferber's Come and Get It with Miss Frances D as our guest.
Meanwhile, if you have enjoyed our fifth annual presentation of A Christmas
Carol, won't you tell your grocer so this week when you order Campbell's Soups?
This is Ernest Chappell saying thank you and a Merry Christmas to you all.
Music.