It might have been seven o’clock in the evening, and it was growing dark in the narrow streets near Golden Square, when Mr. Kenwigs sent out for a pair of the cheapest white kid gloves—those at fourteen-pence—and selecting the strongest, which happened to be the right-hand one, walked downstairs with an air of pomp and much excitement, and proceeded to muffle3 the knob of the street-door knocker therein. Having executed this task with great nicety, Mr. Kenwigs pulled the door to, after him, and just stepped across the road to try the effect from the opposite side of the street. Satisfied that nothing could possibly look better in its way, Mr Kenwigs then stepped back again, and calling through the keyhole to Morleena to open the door, vanished into the house, and was seen no longer.
Now, considered as an abstract circumstance, there was no more obvious cause or reason why Mr. Kenwigs should take the trouble of muffling4 this particular knocker, than there would have been for his muffling the knocker of any nobleman or gentleman resident ten miles off; because, for the greater convenience of the numerous lodgers5, the street-door always stood wide open, and the knocker was never used at all. The first floor, the second floor, and the third floor, had each a bell of its own. As to the attics6, no one ever called on them; if anybody wanted the parlours, they were close at hand, and all he had to do was to walk straight into them; while the kitchen had a separate entrance down the area steps. As a question of mere7 necessity and usefulness, therefore, this muffling of the knocker was thoroughly8 incomprehensible.
But knockers may be muffled9 for other purposes than those of mere utilitarianism, as, in the present instance, was clearly shown. There are certain polite forms and ceremonies which must be observed in civilised life, or mankind relapse into their original barbarism. No genteel lady was ever yet confined—indeed, no genteel confinement10 can possibly take place—without the accompanying symbol of a muffled knocker. Mrs Kenwigs was a lady of some pretensions11 to gentility; Mrs. Kenwigs was confined. And, therefore, Mr. Kenwigs tied up the silent knocker on the premises12 in a white kid glove.
‘I’m not quite certain neither,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, arranging his shirt-collar, and walking slowly upstairs, ‘whether, as it’s a boy, I won’t have it in the papers.’
Pondering upon the advisability of this step, and the sensation it was likely to create in the neighbourhood, Mr. Kenwigs betook himself to the sitting-room13, where various extremely diminutive14 articles of clothing were airing on a horse before the fire, and Mr. Lumbey, the doctor, was dandling the baby—that is, the old baby—not the new one.
‘It’s a fine boy, Mr. Kenwigs,’ said Mr. Lumbey, the doctor.
‘You consider him a fine boy, do you, sir?’ returned Mr. Kenwigs.
‘It’s the finest boy I ever saw in all my life,’ said the doctor. ‘I never saw such a baby.’
It is a pleasant thing to reflect upon, and furnishes a complete answer to those who contend for the gradual degeneration of the human species, that every baby born into the world is a finer one than the last.
‘I ne—ver saw such a baby,’ said Mr. Lumbey, the doctor.
‘Morleena was a fine baby,’ remarked Mr. Kenwigs; as if this were rather an attack, by implication, upon the family.
‘They were all fine babies,’ said Mr. Lumbey. And Mr. Lumbey went on nursing the baby with a thoughtful look. Whether he was considering under what head he could best charge the nursing in the bill, was best known to himself.
During this short conversation, Miss Morleena, as the eldest15 of the family, and natural representative of her mother during her indisposition, had been hustling16 and slapping the three younger Miss Kenwigses, without intermission; which considerate and affectionate conduct brought tears into the eyes of Mr. Kenwigs, and caused him to declare that, in understanding and behaviour, that child was a woman.
‘She will be a treasure to the man she marries, sir,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, half aside; ‘I think she’ll marry above her station, Mr. Lumbey.’
‘I shouldn’t wonder at all,’ replied the doctor.
‘You never see her dance, sir, did you?’ asked Mr. Kenwigs.
The doctor shook his head.
‘Ay!’ said Mr. Kenwigs, as though he pitied him from his heart, ‘then you don’t know what she’s capable of.’
All this time there had been a great whisking in and out of the other room; the door had been opened and shut very softly about twenty times a minute (for it was necessary to keep Mrs. Kenwigs quiet); and the baby had been exhibited to a score or two of deputations from a select body of female friends, who had assembled in the passage, and about the street-door, to discuss the event in all its bearings. Indeed, the excitement extended itself over the whole street, and groups of ladies might be seen standing17 at the doors, (some in the interesting condition in which Mrs. Kenwigs had last appeared in public,) relating their experiences of similar occurrences. Some few acquired great credit from having prophesied19, the day before yesterday, exactly when it would come to pass; others, again, related, how that they guessed what it was, directly they saw Mr. Kenwigs turn pale and run up the street as hard as ever he could go. Some said one thing, and some another; but all talked together, and all agreed upon two points: first, that it was very meritorious20 and highly praiseworthy in Mrs. Kenwigs to do as she had done: and secondly21, that there never was such a skilful22 and scientific doctor as that Dr Lumbey.
In the midst of this general hubbub23, Dr Lumbey sat in the first-floor front, as before related, nursing the deposed24 baby, and talking to Mr Kenwigs. He was a stout25 bluff-looking gentleman, with no shirt-collar to speak of, and a beard that had been growing since yesterday morning; for Dr Lumbey was popular, and the neighbourhood was prolific26; and there had been no less than three other knockers muffled, one after the other within the last forty-eight hours.
‘Well, Mr. Kenwigs,’ said Dr Lumbey, ‘this makes six. You’ll have a fine family in time, sir.’
‘I think six is almost enough, sir,’ returned Mr. Kenwigs.
‘Pooh! pooh!’ said the doctor. ‘Nonsense! not half enough.’
With this, the doctor laughed; but he didn’t laugh half as much as a married friend of Mrs. Kenwigs’s, who had just come in from the sick chamber27 to report progress, and take a small sip28 of brandy-and-water: and who seemed to consider it one of the best jokes ever launched upon society.
‘They’re not altogether dependent upon good fortune, neither,’ said Mr Kenwigs, taking his second daughter on his knee; ‘they have expectations.’
‘Oh, indeed!’ said Mr. Lumbey, the doctor.
‘And very good ones too, I believe, haven’t they?’ asked the married lady.
‘Why, ma’am,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, ‘it’s not exactly for me to say what they may be, or what they may not be. It’s not for me to boast of any family with which I have the honour to be connected; at the same time, Mrs Kenwigs’s is—I should say,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, abruptly29, and raising his voice as he spoke30, ‘that my children might come into a matter of a hundred pound apiece, perhaps. Perhaps more, but certainly that.’
‘And a very pretty little fortune,’ said the married lady.
‘There are some relations of Mrs. Kenwigs’s,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, taking a pinch of snuff from the doctor’s box, and then sneezing very hard, for he wasn’t used to it, ‘that might leave their hundred pound apiece to ten people, and yet not go begging when they had done it.’
‘Ah! I know who you mean,’ observed the married lady, nodding her head.
‘I made mention of no names, and I wish to make mention of no names,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, with a portentous31 look. ‘Many of my friends have met a relation of Mrs. Kenwigs’s in this very room, as would do honour to any company; that’s all.’
‘I’ve met him,’ said the married lady, with a glance towards Dr Lumbey.
‘It’s naterally very gratifying to my feelings as a father, to see such a man as that, a kissing and taking notice of my children,’ pursued Mr Kenwigs. ‘It’s naterally very gratifying to my feelings as a man, to know that man. It will be naterally very gratifying to my feelings as a husband, to make that man acquainted with this ewent.’
Having delivered his sentiments in this form of words, Mr. Kenwigs arranged his second daughter’s flaxen tail, and bade her be a good girl and mind what her sister, Morleena, said.
‘That girl grows more like her mother every day,’ said Mr. Lumbey, suddenly stricken with an enthusiastic admiration32 of Morleena.
‘There!’ rejoined the married lady. ‘What I always say; what I always did say! She’s the very picter of her.’ Having thus directed the general attention to the young lady in question, the married lady embraced the opportunity of taking another sip of the brandy-and-water—and a pretty long sip too.
‘Yes! there is a likeness,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, after some reflection. ‘But such a woman as Mrs. Kenwigs was, afore she was married! Good gracious, such a woman!’
Mr. Lumbey shook his head with great solemnity, as though to imply that he supposed she must have been rather a dazzler.
‘Talk of fairies!’ cried Mr. Kenwigs ‘I never see anybody so light to be alive, never. Such manners too; so playful, and yet so sewerely proper! As for her figure! It isn’t generally known,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, dropping his voice; ‘but her figure was such, at that time, that the sign of the Britannia, over in the Holloway Road, was painted from it!’
‘But only see what it is now,’ urged the married lady. ‘Does she look like the mother of six?’
‘Quite ridiculous,’ cried the doctor.
‘She looks a deal more like her own daughter,’ said the married lady.
Mr. Kenwigs was about to make some further observations, most probably in confirmation34 of this opinion, when another married lady, who had looked in to keep up Mrs. Kenwigs’s spirits, and help to clear off anything in the eating and drinking way that might be going about, put in her head to announce that she had just been down to answer the bell, and that there was a gentleman at the door who wanted to see Mr. Kenwigs ‘most particular.’
Shadowy visions of his distinguished35 relation flitted through the brain of Mr. Kenwigs, as this message was delivered; and under their influence, he dispatched Morleena to show the gentleman up straightway.
‘Why, I do declare,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, standing opposite the door so as to get the earliest glimpse of the visitor, as he came upstairs, ‘it’s Mr Johnson! How do you find yourself, sir?’
Nicholas shook hands, kissed his old pupils all round, intrusted a large parcel of toys to the guardianship36 of Morleena, bowed to the doctor and the married ladies, and inquired after Mrs. Kenwigs in a tone of interest, which went to the very heart and soul of the nurse, who had come in to warm some mysterious compound, in a little saucepan over the fire.
‘I ought to make a hundred apologies to you for calling at such a season,’ said Nicholas, ‘but I was not aware of it until I had rung the bell, and my time is so fully37 occupied now, that I feared it might be some days before I could possibly come again.’
‘No time like the present, sir,’ said Mr. Kenwigs. ‘The sitiwation of Mrs Kenwigs, sir, is no obstacle to a little conversation between you and me, I hope?’
‘You are very good,’ said Nicholas.
At this juncture38, proclamation was made by another married lady, that the baby had begun to eat like anything; whereupon the two married ladies, already mentioned, rushed tumultuously into the bedroom to behold39 him in the act.
‘The fact is,’ resumed Nicholas, ‘that before I left the country, where I have been for some time past, I undertook to deliver a message to you.’
‘Ay, ay?’ said Mr. Kenwigs.
‘And I have been,’ added Nicholas, ‘already in town for some days, without having had an opportunity of doing so.’
‘It’s no matter, sir,’ said Mr. Kenwigs. ‘I dare say it’s none the worse for keeping cold. Message from the country!’ said Mr. Kenwigs, ruminating40; ‘that’s curious. I don’t know anybody in the country.’
‘Miss Petowker,’ suggested Nicholas.
‘Oh! from her, is it?’ said Mr. Kenwigs. ‘Oh dear, yes. Ah! Mrs. Kenwigs will be glad to hear from her. Henrietta Petowker, eh? How odd things come about, now! That you should have met her in the country! Well!’
Hearing this mention of their old friend’s name, the four Miss Kenwigses gathered round Nicholas, open eyed and mouthed, to hear more. Mr. Kenwigs looked a little curious too, but quite comfortable and unsuspecting.
‘The message relates to family matters,’ said Nicholas, hesitating.
‘Oh, never mind,’ said Kenwigs, glancing at Mr. Lumbey, who, having rashly taken charge of little Lillyvick, found nobody disposed to relieve him of his precious burden. ‘All friends here.’
‘At Portsmouth, Henrietta Petowker is,’ observed Mr. Kenwigs.
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘Mr. Lillyvick is there.’
Mr. Kenwigs turned pale, but he recovered, and said, that was an odd coincidence also.
‘The message is from him,’ said Nicholas.
Mr. Kenwigs appeared to revive. He knew that his niece was in a delicate state, and had, no doubt, sent word that they were to forward full particulars. Yes. That was very kind of him; so like him too!
‘He desired me to give his kindest love,’ said Nicholas.
‘Very much obliged to him, I’m sure. Your great-uncle, Lillyvick, my dears!’ interposed Mr. Kenwigs, condescendingly explaining it to the children.
‘His kindest love,’ resumed Nicholas; ‘and to say that he had no time to write, but that he was married to Miss Petowker.’
Mr. Kenwigs started from his seat with a petrified43 stare, caught his second daughter by her flaxen tail, and covered his face with his pocket-handkerchief. Morleena fell, all stiff and rigid44, into the baby’s chair, as she had seen her mother fall when she fainted away, and the two remaining little Kenwigses shrieked45 in affright.
‘My children, my defrauded46, swindled infants!’ cried Mr. Kenwigs, pulling so hard, in his vehemence47, at the flaxen tail of his second daughter, that he lifted her up on tiptoe, and kept her, for some seconds, in that attitude. ‘Villain, ass18, traitor48!’
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‘Drat the man!’ cried the nurse, looking angrily around. ‘What does he mean by making that noise here?’
‘Silence, woman!’ said Mr. Kenwigs, fiercely.
‘I won’t be silent,’ returned the nurse. ‘Be silent yourself, you wretch49. Have you no regard for your baby?’
‘No!’ returned Mr. Kenwigs.
‘Let him die,’ cried Mr. Kenwigs, in the torrent51 of his wrath52. ‘Let him die! He has no expectations, no property to come into. We want no babies here,’ said Mr. Kenwigs recklessly. ‘Take ‘em away, take ‘em away to the Fondling!’
With these awful remarks, Mr. Kenwigs sat himself down in a chair, and defied the nurse, who made the best of her way into the adjoining room, and returned with a stream of matrons: declaring that Mr. Kenwigs had spoken blasphemy53 against his family, and must be raving54 mad.
Appearances were certainly not in Mr. Kenwigs’s favour, for the exertion55 of speaking with so much vehemence, and yet in such a tone as should prevent his lamentations reaching the ears of Mrs. Kenwigs, had made him very black in the face; besides which, the excitement of the occasion, and an unwonted indulgence in various strong cordials to celebrate it, had swollen56 and dilated57 his features to a most unusual extent. But, Nicholas and the doctor—who had been passive at first, doubting very much whether Mr. Kenwigs could be in earnest—interfering to explain the immediate58 cause of his condition, the indignation of the matrons was changed to pity, and they implored59 him, with much feeling, to go quietly to bed.
‘The attention,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, looking around with a plaintive60 air, ‘the attention that I’ve shown to that man! The hyseters he has eat, and the pints61 of ale he has drank, in this house—!’
‘It’s very trying, and very hard to bear, we know,’ said one of the married ladies; ‘but think of your dear darling wife.’
‘Oh yes, and what she’s been a undergoing of, only this day,’ cried a great many voices. ‘There’s a good man, do.’
‘The presents that have been made to him,’ said Mr. Kenwigs, reverting62 to his calamity63, ‘the pipes, the snuff-boxes—a pair of india-rubber goloshes, that cost six-and-six—’
‘Ah! it won’t bear thinking of, indeed,’ cried the matrons generally; ‘but it’ll all come home to him, never fear.’
Mr. Kenwigs looked darkly upon the ladies, as if he would prefer its all coming home to him, as there was nothing to be got by it; but he said nothing, and resting his head upon his hand, subsided64 into a kind of doze65.
Then, the matrons again expatiated66 on the expediency67 of taking the good gentleman to bed; observing that he would be better tomorrow, and that they knew what was the wear and tear of some men’s minds when their wives were taken as Mrs. Kenwigs had been that day, and that it did him great credit, and there was nothing to be ashamed of in it; far from it; they liked to see it, they did, for it showed a good heart. And one lady observed, as a case bearing upon the present, that her husband was often quite light-headed from anxiety on similar occasions, and that once, when her little Johnny was born, it was nearly a week before he came to himself again, during the whole of which time he did nothing but cry ‘Is it a boy, is it a boy?’ in a manner which went to the hearts of all his hearers.
At length, Morleena (who quite forgot she had fainted, when she found she was not noticed) announced that a chamber was ready for her afflicted68 parent; and Mr. Kenwigs, having partially69 smothered70 his four daughters in the closeness of his embrace, accepted the doctor’s arm on one side, and the support of Nicholas on the other, and was conducted upstairs to a bedroom which been secured for the occasion.
Having seen him sound asleep, and heard him snore most satisfactorily, and having further presided over the distribution of the toys, to the perfect contentment of all the little Kenwigses, Nicholas took his leave. The matrons dropped off one by one, with the exception of six or eight particular friends, who had determined71 to stop all night; the lights in the houses gradually disappeared; the last bulletin was issued that Mrs Kenwigs was as well as could be expected; and the whole family were left to their repose72.
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1
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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muffle
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| v.围裹；抑制；发低沉的声音 | |
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muffling
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| v.压抑，捂住( muffle的现在分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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lodgers
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| n.房客，租住者( lodger的名词复数 ) | |
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attics
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| n. 阁楼 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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8
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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9
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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10
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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meritorious
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| adj.值得赞赏的 | |
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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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deposed
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| v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 )；（在法庭上）宣誓作证 | |
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prolific
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| adj.丰富的，大量的；多产的，富有创造力的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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guardianship
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| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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40
ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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41
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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43
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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44
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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45
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
defrauded
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| v.诈取，骗取( defraud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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48
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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49
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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50
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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51
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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52
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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53
blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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54
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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55
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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56
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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61
pints
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| n.品脱( pint的名词复数 )；一品脱啤酒 | |
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reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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63
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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64
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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65
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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66
expatiated
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| v.详述，细说( expatiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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70
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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71
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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72
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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