Cranford

Cranford is an episodic novel by the English writer Elizabeth Gaskell. It first appeared in instalments in the magazine Household Words, then was published with minor revisions as a book with the title Cranford in 1853.

• Novel

								
CHAPTER I—OUR SOCIETY


In the first place, Cranford is in possession of the Amazons; all the
holders of houses above a certain rent are women.  If a married couple
come to settle in the town, somehow the gentleman disappears; he is
either fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the Cranford
evening parties, or he is accounted for by being with his regiment, his
ship, or closely engaged in business all the week in the great
neighbouring commercial town of Drumble, distant only twenty miles on a
railroad.  In short, whatever does become of the gentlemen, they are not
at Cranford.  What could they do if they were there?  The surgeon has his
round of thirty miles, and sleeps at Cranford; but every man cannot be a
surgeon.  For keeping the trim gardens full of choice flowers without a
weed to speck them; for frightening away little boys who look wistfully
at the said flowers through the railings; for rushing out at the geese
that occasionally venture in to the gardens if the gates are left open;
for deciding all questions of literature and politics without troubling
themselves with unnecessary reasons or arguments; for obtaining clear and
correct knowledge of everybody’s affairs in the parish; for keeping their
neat maid-servants in admirable order; for kindness (somewhat
dictatorial) to the poor, and real tender good offices to each other
whenever they are in distress, the ladies of Cranford are quite
sufficient.  “A man,” as one of them observed to me once, “is so in the
way in the house!”  Although the ladies of Cranford know all each other’s
proceedings, they are exceedingly indifferent to each other’s opinions.
Indeed, as each has her own individuality, not to say eccentricity,
pretty strongly developed, nothing is so easy as verbal retaliation; but,
somehow, good-will reigns among them to a considerable degree.

The Cranford ladies have only an occasional little quarrel, spirited out
in a few peppery words and angry jerks of the head; just enough to
prevent the even tenor of their lives from becoming too flat.  Their
dress is very independent of fashion; as they observe, “What does it
signify how we dress here at Cranford, where everybody knows us?”  And if
they go from home, their reason is equally cogent, “What does it signify
how we dress here, where nobody knows us?”  The materials of their
clothes are, in general, good and plain, and most of them are nearly as
scrupulous as Miss Tyler, of cleanly memory; but I will answer for it,
the last gigot, the last tight and scanty petticoat in wear in England,
was seen in Cranford—and seen without a smile.

            [Picture: A magnificent family red silk umbrella]

I can testify to a magnificent family red silk umbrella, under which a
gentle little spinster, left alone of many brothers and sisters, used to
patter to church on rainy days.  Have you any red silk umbrellas in
London?  We had a tradition of the first that had ever been seen in
Cranford; and the little boys mobbed it, and called it “a stick in
petticoats.”  It might have been the very red silk one I have described,
held by a strong father over a troop of little ones; the poor little
lady—the survivor of all—could scarcely carry it.

Then there were rules and regulations for visiting and calls; and they
were announced to any young people who might be staying in the town, with
all the solemnity with which the old Manx laws were read once a year on
the Tinwald Mount.

“Our friends have sent to inquire how you are after your journey
to-night, my dear” (fifteen miles in a gentleman’s carriage); “they will
give you some rest to-morrow, but the next day, I have no doubt, they
will call; so be at liberty after twelve—from twelve to three are our
calling hours.”

Then, after they had called—

“It is the third day; I dare say your mamma has told you, my dear, never
to let more than three days elapse between receiving a call and returning
it; and also, that you are never to stay longer than a quarter of an
hour.”

“But am I to look at my watch?  How am I to find out when a quarter of an
hour has passed?”

“You must keep thinking about the time, my dear, and not allow yourself
to forget it in conversation.”

As everybody had this rule in their minds, whether they received or paid
a call, of course no absorbing subject was ever spoken about.  We kept
ourselves to short sentences of small talk, and were punctual to our
time.

I imagine that a few of the gentlefolks of Cranford were poor, and had
some difficulty in making both ends meet; but they were like the
Spartans, and concealed their smart under a smiling face.  We none of us
spoke of money, because that subject savoured of commerce and trade, and
though some might be poor, we were all aristocratic.  The Cranfordians
had that kindly esprit de corps which made them overlook all
deficiencies in success when some among them tried to conceal their
poverty.  When Mrs Forrester, for instance, gave a party in her
baby-house of a dwelling, and the little maiden disturbed the ladies on
the sofa by a request that she might get the tea-tray out from
underneath, everyone took this novel proceeding as the most natural thing
in the world, and talked on about household forms and ceremonies as if we
all believed that our hostess had a regular servants’ hall, second table,
with housekeeper and steward, instead of the one little charity-school
maiden, whose short ruddy arms could never have been strong enough to
carry the tray upstairs, if she had not been assisted in private by her
mistress, who now sat in state, pretending not to know what cakes were
sent up, though she knew, and we knew, and she knew that we knew, and we
knew that she knew that we knew, she had been busy all the morning making
tea-bread and sponge-cakes.

There were one or two consequences arising from this general but
unacknowledged poverty, and this very much acknowledged gentility, which
were not amiss, and which might be introduced into many circles of
society to their great improvement.  For instance, the inhabitants of
Cranford kept early hours, and clattered home in their pattens, under the
guidance of a lantern-bearer, about nine o’clock at night; and the whole
town was abed and asleep by half-past ten.  Moreover, it was considered
“vulgar” (a tremendous word in Cranford) to give anything expensive, in
the way of eatable or drinkable, at the evening entertainments.  Wafer
bread-and-butter and sponge-biscuits were all that the Honourable Mrs
Jamieson gave; and she was sister-in-law to the late Earl of Glenmire,
although she did practise such “elegant economy.”

“Elegant economy!”  How naturally one falls back into the phraseology of
Cranford!  There, economy was always “elegant,” and money-spending always
“vulgar and ostentatious”; a sort of sour-grapeism which made us very
peaceful and satisfied.  I never shall forget the dismay felt when a
certain Captain Brown came to live at Cranford, and openly spoke about
his being poor—not in a whisper to an intimate friend, the doors and

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