The Man Who Invented Christmas

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1

[people chattering]

[young woman]

Oh, hurry up, Mr. Dickens!

[man]

Hey, I paid 50 cents for this!

- Come on, Dickens!

- [man 2] Come on, Charley!

[chattering continues]

[man 3]

We want Charles!

[man 4]

I want to see Charles!

[man 5]

Where is Dickens?

- [chattering continues]

- [crowd clapping impatiently]

[Charles's voice]

My dear Forster,

how can I give you

the faintest notion

of my reception

here in America?

- [knocking]

- [man] Five minutes. Five minutes.

Of the crowds that pour

in and out the whole day,

of the people that line the

streets when I go out.

[crowd chanting,

indistinct]

[man]

Places, please. Places!

Hello, Charley.

Of the balls, dinners,

speeches, parties,

assemblies without end.

There never was a king or emperor

upon the earth so cheered.

[orchestra playing fanfare]

[man]

Tonight, live on stage...

Ready?

- [man] the great magician of our time...

- Ready.

[man]

whose wand is a book!

The Shakespeare

of the novel.

The people's author.

- The great and marvelous Boz!

- [audience cheering]

Ladies and gentlemen,

Mr. Charles Dickens!

- [orchestra continues playing]

- Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

Thank you! Thank you!

[man] Look, it's him!

It's really him!

[laughing]

- [man] Hey there, Boz!

- [woman] Whoo!

Dear friends! Dear friends!

You have welcomed me to your country

with such open arms that I fear I...

Ohh!

- [orchestra continues playing]

- [cheering continues]

[orchestra fades]

[Charles's voice]

Americans are friendly,

earnest, hospitable,

kind, frank, accomplished,

warm-hearted, fervent,

and... enthusiastic.

I can't wait to get home.

- [bell tolling]

- [dog barking]

[hoofbeats

on cobblestone]

[horse whinnies]

- [bird wings fluttering]

- [exhales]

[sighs]

[discordant notes]

- [single chord]

- [knocking on door]

- [exhales]

- [discordant notes]

Mrs. Fisk,

I have told you repeatedly

not to disturb me

when I am working.

[discordant notes]

Oh, I beg your pardon, sir.

Only, Mr. Forster is here.

Forster.

Yes, of course.

As you can see,

Mr. Forster,

we're having all-new

wallpaper put in, French,

new doors,

new door knocker,

new roller blinds

for the windows,

new bookcases in the

library, a new chandelier,

all chosen by Charles,

of course.

And the staircase is

to be painted green.

- Though not too dull a green, Signor Mazzini.

- Ma certo. S, capisce.

- [chuckles]

- You know how Charles is.

- Only the best for Mr. Dickens.

- Yes. [chuckles]

Mr. Forster,

if you'll allow me,

how do things stand between

you and Miss Wigmore?

Oh, splendid,

Mrs. Dickens.

In fact, I intend

to ask her to bestow upon me

the greatest happiness

a man can ever know.

- [clears throat]

- Well, to marry me.

Oh!

Oh, I'm very glad

to hear that.

Forster! Forster, Forster, Forster.

So sorry!

I completely lost track

of the time.

- Shall we?

- Charles.

- You need to pay Signor Mazzini.

- Hmm?

For the parlor mantle.

- How much?

- Seventy-five pounds.

Seventy-five?

What's it made of, gold?

Carrara marble, Signor.

Finest quality.

No gentleman

would accept less.

No? Well, quite.

[clears throat]

Well, I will have the money for you

when I return, Signor Mazzini.

Good day, Mrs. Dickens.

Good day, Mr. Forster.

[Mazzini chattering

in Italian]

Ah! Come in!

[laughs]

Good-bye,

little strangers!

[children] Bye!

- Say good-bye to Mr. Forster, children!

- Bye!

- I'll hail us a cab.

- What? No, it's a waste of money. We'll walk.

It's damned expensive

being a gentleman.

Forster,

this meeting...

- Aye! I know my job.

- Good.

- And the money?

- Leave the publishers to me.

Good.

Slow down!

What's the hurry?

[Forster] Charles

Bloody Dickens, huh?

The best-selling bloody author in the

history of English bloody literature.

Three of his books you have published

in the last year and a half. Three!

So where's the money?

Mr. Forster, like you, we are as

puzzled as the Egyptians in their fog.

- [Forster] How's that?

- Martin Chuzzlewit.

A masterpiece of the

picaresque genre, and yet...

Barnaby Rudge. A fine book.

An important subject.

But, alas...

And the travel book,

American Notes.

Perhaps a little too candid

for our American cousins.

No joke. I heard they were burning

copies of it in the streets.

[object slams

on table]

Well, they're mad as snakes,

the Yanks.

But what about this 50 pound a month

you're withholding from his royalties?

What is the explanation

for that?

You may remember that when Mr. Dickens

approached us about the tour to America,

we were pleased to provide him

with an interest-free loan.

With the provision that, in

the unlikely case of profits

being inadequate

to certain repayments...

What? So he's had a couple of flops?

Well, who hasn't? Huh?

Your publishing house

wouldn't exist without this man.

What about an advance?

- On?

- A new book.

You have a new book

in mind?

Yes.

Of course he does.

Well, in that case, I mean we'd

obviously love to consider it.

- Consider?

- That is to say, if we like it.

- If?

- I'm sure that we will.

Gentlemen,

I bid you good day.

Mr. Forster, please, we had no

intention of causing offense.

Well,

he's in a fettle now.

I'll give him a day

to calm down.

And then...

It's most awkward.

He was in last week,

in some difficulty.

Again.

No, that's not possible.

He's in the countryside.

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