Nicholas Nickleby. Чарльз Диккенс
marriage; and I cannot allow these remarks in my – ’ Mr. Kenwigs was going to say ‘house,’ but he rounded the sentence with ‘apartments’.
At the conclusion of these observations, which drew forth evidences of acute feeling from Mrs. Kenwigs, and had the intended effect of impressing the company with a deep sense of the collector’s dignity, a ring was heard at the bell.
‘That’s him,’ whispered Mr. Kenwigs, greatly excited. ‘Morleena, my dear, run down and let your uncle in, and kiss him directly you get the door open. Hem! Let’s be talking.’
Adopting Mr. Kenwigs’s suggestion, the company spoke very loudly, to look easy and unembarrassed; and almost as soon as they had begun to do so, a short old gentleman in drabs and gaiters, with a face that might have been carved out of Lignum Vitae, for anything that appeared to the contrary, was led playfully in by Miss Morleena Kenwigs, regarding whose uncommon Christian name it may be here remarked that it had been invented and composed by Mrs. Kenwigs previous to her first lying-in, for the special distinction of her eldest child, in case it should prove a daughter.
‘Oh, uncle, I am so glad to see you,’ said Mrs. Kenwigs, kissing the collector affectionately on both cheeks. ‘So glad!’
‘Many happy returns of the day, my dear,’ replied the collector, returning the compliment.
Now, this was an interesting thing. Here was a collector of water-rates, without his book, without his pen and ink, without his double knock, without his intimidation, kissing – actually kissing – an agreeable female, and leaving taxes, summonses, notices that he had called, or announcements that he would never call again, for two quarters’ due, wholly out of the question. It was pleasant to see how the company looked on, quite absorbed in the sight, and to behold the nods and winks with which they expressed their gratification at finding so much humanity in a tax-gatherer.
‘Where will you sit, uncle?’ said Mrs. Kenwigs, in the full glow of family pride, which the appearance of her distinguished relation occasioned.
‘Anywheres, my dear,’ said the collector, ‘I am not particular.’
Not particular! What a meek collector! If he had been an author, who knew his place, he couldn’t have been more humble.
‘Mr. Lillyvick,’ said Kenwigs, addressing the collector, ‘some friends here, sir, are very anxious for the honour of – thank you – Mr. and Mrs. Cutler, Mr. Lillyvick.’
‘Proud to know you, sir,’ said Mr. Cutler; ‘I’ve heerd of you very often.’ These were not mere words of ceremony; for, Mr. Cutler, having kept house in Mr. Lillyvick’s parish, had heard of him very often indeed. His attention in calling had been quite extraordinary.
‘George, you know, I think, Mr. Lillyvick,’ said Kenwigs; ‘lady from downstairs – Mr. Lillyvick. Mr. Snewkes – Mr. Lillyvick. Miss Green – Mr Lillyvick. Mr. Lillyvick – Miss Petowker of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Very glad to make two public characters acquainted! Mrs. Kenwigs, my dear, will you sort the counters?’
Mrs. Kenwigs, with the assistance of Newman Noggs, (who, as he performed sundry little acts of kindness for the children, at all times and seasons, was humoured in his request to be taken no notice of, and was merely spoken about, in a whisper, as the decayed gentleman), did as he was desired; and the greater part of the guests sat down to speculation, while Newman himself, Mrs. Kenwigs, and Miss Petowker of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane, looked after the supper-table.
While the ladies were thus busying themselves, Mr. Lillyvick was intent upon the game in progress, and as all should be fish that comes to a water-collector’s net, the dear old gentleman was by no means scrupulous in appropriating to himself the property of his neighbours, which, on the contrary, he abstracted whenever an opportunity presented itself, smiling good-humouredly all the while, and making so many condescending speeches to the owners, that they were delighted with his amiability, and thought in their hearts that he deserved to be Chancellor of the Exchequer at least.
After a great deal of trouble, and the administration of many slaps on the head to the infant Kenwigses, whereof two of the most rebellious were summarily banished, the cloth was laid with much elegance, and a pair of boiled fowls, a large piece of pork, apple-pie, potatoes and greens, were served; at sight of which, the worthy Mr. Lillyvick vented a great many witticisms, and plucked up amazingly: to the immense delight and satisfaction of the whole body of admirers.
Very well and very fast the supper went off; no more serious difficulties occurring, than those which arose from the incessant demand for clean knives and forks; which made poor Mrs. Kenwigs wish, more than once, that private society adopted the principle of schools, and required that every guest should bring his own knife, fork, and spoon; which doubtless would be a great accommodation in many cases, and to no one more so than to the lady and gentleman of the house, especially if the school principle were carried out to the full extent, and the articles were expected, as a matter of delicacy, not to be taken away again.
Everybody having eaten everything, the table was cleared in a most alarming hurry, and with great noise; and the spirits, whereat the eyes of Newman Noggs glistened, being arranged in order, with water both hot and cold, the party composed themselves for conviviality; Mr. Lillyvick being stationed in a large armchair by the fireside, and the four little Kenwigses disposed on a small form in front of the company with their flaxen tails towards them, and their faces to the fire; an arrangement which was no sooner perfected, than Mrs. Kenwigs was overpowered by the feelings of a mother, and fell upon the left shoulder of Mr. Kenwigs dissolved in tears.
‘They are so beautiful!’ said Mrs. Kenwigs, sobbing.
‘Oh, dear,’ said all the ladies, ‘so they are! it’s very natural you should feel proud of that; but don’t give way, don’t.’
‘I can – not help it, and it don’t signify,’ sobbed Mrs. Kenwigs; ‘oh! they’re too beautiful to live, much too beautiful!’
On hearing this alarming presentiment of their being doomed to an early death in the flower of their infancy, all four little girls raised a hideous cry, and burying their heads in their mother’s lap simultaneously, screamed until the eight flaxen tails vibrated again; Mrs. Kenwigs meanwhile clasping them alternately to her bosom, with attitudes expressive of distraction, which Miss Petowker herself might have copied.
At length, the anxious mother permitted herself to be soothed into a more tranquil state, and the little Kenwigses, being also composed, were distributed among the company, to prevent the possibility of Mrs. Kenwigs being again overcome by the blaze of their combined beauty. This done, the ladies and gentlemen united in prophesying that they would live for many, many years, and that there was no occasion at all for Mrs. Kenwigs to distress herself; which, in good truth, there did not appear to be; the loveliness of the children by no means justifying her apprehensions.
‘This day eight year,’ said Mr. Kenwigs after a pause. ‘Dear me – ah!’
This reflection was echoed by all present, who said ‘Ah!’ first, and ‘dear me,’ afterwards.
‘I was younger then,’ tittered Mrs. Kenwigs.
‘No,’ said the collector.
‘Certainly not,’ added everybody.
‘I remember my niece,’ said Mr. Lillyvick, surveying his audience with a grave air; ‘I remember her, on that very afternoon, when she first acknowledged to her mother a partiality for Kenwigs. “Mother,” she says, “I love him.”’
‘“Adore him,” I said, uncle,’ interposed Mrs. Kenwigs.
‘“Love him,” I think, my dear,’ said the collector, firmly.
‘Perhaps you are right, uncle,’ replied Mrs. Kenwigs, submissively. ‘I thought it was “adore.”’
‘“Love,” my dear,’ retorted Mr. Lillyvick. ‘“Mother,” she says, “I love him!” “What do I hear?” cries her mother; and instantly falls into strong conwulsions.’
A general exclamation of astonishment burst from the company.
‘Into