Cranford quotes

for keeping their neat maidservants 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;

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, goodwill reigns among them to a considerable degree.

… 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;

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;

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.

and if, in addition to his masculine gender, and his connection with the obnoxious railroad, he was so brazen as to talk of being poor—why, then, indeed, he must be sent to Coventry.

Death was as true and as common as poverty; yet people never spoke about that, loud out in the streets.

It was a word not to be mentioned to ears polite. We had tacitly agreed to ignore that any with whom we associated on terms of visiting equality could ever be prevented by poverty from doing anything that they wished.

Death was as true and as common as poverty; yet people never spoke about that, loud out in the streets. It was a word not to be mentioned to ears polite.

We had tacitly agreed to ignore that any with whom we associated on terms of visiting equality could ever be prevented by poverty from doing anything that they wished.

If we walked to or from a party, it was because the night was so fine, or the air so refreshing, not because sedan-chairs were expensive. If we wore prints, instead of summer silks, it was because we preferred a washing material;

“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 windows being previously closed, but in the public street!

Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and thanked the Captain heartily; she set to work, and by-and-by all the town turned out to see the Alderney meekly going to her pasture, clad in dark grey flannel. I have watched her myself many a time.

Do you ever see cows dressed in grey flannel in London?

Captain Brown had taken a small house on the outskirts of the town, where he lived with his two daughters.

Some of us laughed heartily. I did not dare, because I was staying in the house. Miss Jenkyns sat in patient gravity. When it was ended, she turned to me, and said with mild dignity—

“Fetch me Rasselas, my dear, out of the book-room.”

When I had brought it to her, she turned to Captain Brown—

and Dr. Johnson was, as she said, her model in these compositions. She drew herself up with dignity, and only replied to Captain Brown’s last remark by saying, with marked emphasis on every syllable,

“I prefer Dr. Johnson to Mr. Boz.”

It is said—I won’t vouch for the fact—that Captain Brown was heard to say, sotto voce, “D⸺n Dr. Johnson!”

Miss Jenkyns wore a cravat, and a little bonnet like a jockey-cap, and altogether had the appearance of a strong-minded woman; although she would have despised the modern idea of women being equal to men.

Equal, indeed! she knew they were superior.

But to return to her letters. Everything in them was stately and grand like herself. I have been looking them over (dear Miss Jenkyns, how I honoured her!) and I will give an extract, more especially because it relates to our friend Captain Brown:—

Miss Jenkyns snubbed her down in an instant.

“The most proper place in the world for his arm to be in. Go away, Matilda, and mind your own business.”

This from her sister, who had hitherto been a model of feminine decorum, was a blow for poor Miss Matty, and with a double shock she left the room.

“And mind you go first to the ladies,” put in Miss Matilda. “Always go to the ladies before gentlemen when you are waiting.”

“I’ll do it as you tell me, ma’am,” said Martha; “but I like lads best.”

We felt very uncomfortable and shocked at this speech of Martha’s, yet I don’t think she meant any harm;

“How old is he?” I asked, after a pause of castle-building.

“He must be about seventy, I think, my dear,” said Miss Pole, blowing up my castle, as if by gunpowder, into small fragments.

Very soon after—at least during my long visit to Miss Matilda—I had the opportunity of seeing Mr. Holbrook; seeing, too, his first encounter with his former love, after thirty or forty years’ separation.

I looked at my host: the peas were going wholesale into his capacious mouth, shovelled up by his large round-ended knife.

I saw, I imitated, I survived!

My friends, in spite of my precedent, could not muster up courage enough to do an ungenteel thing; and, if Mr. Holbrook had not been so heartily hungry, he would probably have seen that the good peas went away almost untouched.

But if it was a shock to her refinement, it was also a gratification to her feelings to be thus selected; so she daintily stuffed the strong tobacco into the pipe, and then we withdrew.

“It is very pleasant dining with a bachelor,” said Miss Matty softly, as we settled ourselves in the countinghouse. “I only hope it is not improper; so many pleasant things are!”

“What a number of books he has!” said Miss Pole, looking round the room. “And how dusty they are!”

“Yes!” said Miss Pole, “he’s a great reader; but I am afraid he has got into very uncouth habits with living alone.”

“Oh! uncouth is too hard a word. I should call him eccentric; very clever people always are!” replied Miss Matty.

When Mr. Holbrook returned, he proposed a walk in the fields; but the two elder ladies were afraid of damp, and dirt, and had only very unbecoming calashes to put on over their caps;

“I wish he would not go to Paris,” said Miss Matilda anxiously.

“I don’t believe frogs will agree with him; he used to have to be very careful what he ate, which was curious in so strong-looking a young man.”

Soon after this I took my leave, giving many an injunction to Martha to look after her mistress, and to let me know if she thought that Miss Matilda was not so well;

His housekeeper says he has hardly ever been round his fields since, but just sits with his hands on his knees in the countinghouse, not reading or anything, but only saying what a wonderful city Paris was!

Paris has much to answer for if it’s killed my cousin Thomas, for a better man never lived.

”

I am not above owning that I have this human weakness myself.

String is my foible. My pockets get full of little hanks of it, picked up and twisted together, ready for uses that never come.

I am seriously annoyed if anyone cuts the string of a parcel instead of patiently and faithfully undoing it fold by fold.

We agreed to look them over separately, each taking a different letter out of the same bundle and describing its contents to the other before destroying it.

I never knew what sad work the reading of old letters was before that evening, though I could hardly tell why.

The letters were as happy as letters could be—at least those early letters were.

… them a vivid and intense sense of the present time, which seemed so strong and full, as if it could never pass away, and as if the warm, living hearts that so expressed themselves could never die, and be as nothing to the sunny earth.

I should have felt less melancholy, I believe, if the letters had been more so.

I saw the tears stealing down the well-worn furrows of Miss Matty’s cheeks, and her spectacles often wanted wiping.

She would not let them be carelessly passed over with any quiet reading, and skipping, to myself. She took them from me, and even lighted the second candle in order to read them aloud with a proper emphasis, and without stumbling over the big words.

Oh dear! how I wanted facts instead of reflections, before those letters were concluded!

They lasted us two nights; and I won’t deny that I made use of the time to think of many other things, and yet I was always at my post at the end of each sentence.

Her soft eyes never were the same again after that; they had always a restless, craving look, as if seeking for what they could not find.

Oh! it was an awful time; coming down like a thunderbolt on the still sunny day when the lilacs were all in bloom.

”

“Oh, there was some great war in India—I forget what they call it—and we have never heard of Peter since then. I believe he is dead myself; and it sometimes fidgets me that we have never put on mourning for him.

And then again, when I sit by myself, and all the house is still, I think I hear his step coming up the street, and my heart begins to flutter and beat; but the sound always goes past⁠—and Peter never comes.

“That’s Martha back? No! I’ll go, my dear; I can always find my way in the dark, you know. And a blow of fresh air at the door will do my head good, and it’s rather got a trick of aching.”

The card-table was an animated scene to watch; four ladies’ heads, with niddle-noddling caps, all nearly meeting over the middle of the table in their eagerness to whisper quick enough and loud enough: and every now and then came Miss Barker’s

“Hush, ladies! if you please, hush! Mrs. Jamieson is asleep.”

It was very difficult to steer clear between Mrs. Forrester’s deafness and Mrs. Jamieson’s sleepiness. But Miss Barker managed her arduous task well. She repeated the whisper to Mrs.

The expenditure on dress in Cranford was principally in that one article referred to.

If the heads were buried in smart new caps, the ladies were like ostriches, and cared not what became of their bodies.

Old gowns, white and venerable collars, any number of brooches, up and down and everywhere (some with dogs’ eyes painted in them; some that were like small picture-frames with mausoleums and weeping-willows neatly executed in hair inside;

Jamieson’s. That lady lived in a large house just outside the town. A road which had known what it was to be a street ran right before the house, which opened out upon it without any intervening garden or court.

Whatever the sun was about, he never shone on the front of that house.

To be sure, the living-rooms were at the back, looking on to a pleasant garden; the front windows only belonged to kitchens and housekeepers’ rooms, and pantries, and in one of them Mr. Mulliner was reported to sit.

He seemed never to have forgotten his condescension in coming to live at Cranford. Miss Jenkyns, at times, had stood forth as the undaunted champion of her sex, and spoken to him on terms of equality; but even Miss Jenkyns could get no higher.

In his pleasantest and most gracious moods he looked like a sulky cockatoo.

He did not speak except in gruff monosyllables. He would wait in the hall when we begged him not to wait, and then look deeply offended because we had kept him there, while, with trembling, hasty hands we prepared ourselves for appearing in company.

… to astronomy, in a private and confidential conversation, she had told me she never could believe that the earth was moving constantly, and that she would not believe it if she could, it made her feel so tired and dizzy whenever she thought about it.

In our pattens we picked our way home with extra care that night, so refined and delicate were our perceptions after drinking tea with “my lady.”

“Had he a beard?” “Was he young, or old?” “Fair, or dark?” “Did he look”—(unable to shape my question prudently, I put it in another form)—“How did he look?” In short, Miss Pole was the heroine of the evening, owing to her morning’s encounter.

If she was not the rose (that is to say the conjuror) she had been near it.

Conjuration, sleight of hand, magic, witchcraft, were the subjects of the evening. Miss Pole was slightly sceptical, and inclined to think there might be a scientific solution found for even the proceedings of the Witch of Endor. Mrs. Forrester believed everything, from ghosts to deathwatches.

“Ah! I see; I comprehend perfectly. A represents the ball. Put A between B and D—no! between C and F, and turn the second joint of the third finger of your left hand over the wrist of your right H. Very clear indeed!

My dear Mrs. Forrester, conjuring and witchcraft is a mere affair of the alphabet.

Do let me read you this one passage?”

However, we all sat eyes right, square front, gazing at the tantalising curtain, and hardly speaking intelligibly, we were so afraid of being caught in the vulgarity of making any noise in a place of public amusement.

Mrs. Jamieson was the most fortunate, for she fell asleep.

At length the eyes disappeared—the curtain quivered—one side went up before the other, which stuck fast;

“Signor Brunoni had no beard—but perhaps he’ll come soon.” So she lulled herself into patience. Meanwhile, Miss Matty had reconnoitred through her eyeglass, wiped it, and looked again. Then she turned round, and said to me, in a kind, mild, sorrowful tone—

“You see, my dear, turbans are worn.”

But we had no time for more conversation. The Grand Turk, as Miss Pole chose to call him, arose and announced himself as Signor Brunoni.

Jamieson’s, and no one knew what might have happened if Carlo had not barked, like a good dog as he was!

Poor Carlo! his barking days were nearly over.

Whether the gang who infested the neighbourhood were afraid of him, or whether they were revengeful enough, for the way in which he had baffled them on the night in question, to poison him;

She, poor thing, felt it as she had felt no event since her husband’s death; indeed, Miss Pole said, that as the Honourable Mr. Jamieson drank a good deal, and occasioned her much uneasiness, it was possible that Carlo’s death might be the greater affliction.

But there was always a tinge of cynicism in Miss Pole’s remarks.

However, one thing was clear and certain—it was necessary for Mrs. Jamieson to have some change of scene; and Mr.

Be that as it might, Mrs. Jamieson went to Cheltenham, escorted by Mr. Mulliner; and Lady Glenmire remained in possession of the house, her ostensible office being to take care that the maidservants did not pick up followers.

She made a very pleasant-looking dragon

; and, as soon as it was arranged for her stay in Cranford, she found out that Mrs. Jamieson’s visit to Cheltenham was just the best thing in the world.

She looked at Miss Pole, as much as to say, she had declared it, and would stand by it. Such a look was a challenge in itself.

Miss Pole came down upon her with indigestion, spectral illusions, optical delusions, and a great deal out of Dr. Ferrier and Dr. Hibbert besides.

Miss Matty had rather a leaning to ghosts, as I have mentioned before, and what little she did say was all on Mrs. Forrester’s side, who, emboldened by sympathy, protested that ghosts were a part of her religion;

that surely she, the widow of a major in the army, knew what to be frightened at, and whatnot; in short, I never saw Mrs. Forrester so warm either before or since, for she was a gentle, meek, enduring old lady in most things.

Not all the elder-wine that ever was mulled could this night wash out the remembrance of this difference between Miss Pole and her hostess.

Indeed, when the elder-wine was brought in, it gave rise to a new burst of discussion;

And a mould of this admirable, digestible, unique bread-jelly was sent by Mrs. Forrester to our poor sick conjuror.

Who says that the aristocracy are proud?

Here was a lady by birth a Tyrrell, and descended from the great Sir Walter that shot King Rufus, and in whose veins ran the blood of him who murdered the little princes in the Tower, going every day to see what dainty dishes she …

… coming in his Turkish dress, melted away into thin air on his second coming—pale and feeble, and with his heavy, filmy eyes, that only brightened a very little when they fell upon the countenance of his faithful wife, or their pale and sorrowful little girl.

Somehow we all forgot to be afraid.

I daresay it was that finding out that he, who had first excited our love of the marvellous by his unprecedented arts, had not sufficient everyday gifts to manage a shying horse, made us feel as if we were ourselves again.

“Marry!” said Miss Pole, with the decision that belonged to her character. “I said marry! as you do; and I also said, ‘What a fool my lady is going to make of herself!’

I could have said ‘Madness!’ but I controlled myself, for it was in a public shop that I heard of it.

Where feminine delicacy is gone to, I don’t know! You and I, Miss Matty, would have been ashamed to have known that our marriage was spoken of in a grocer’s shop, in the hearing of shopmen!”

And now it turned out that a servant of Mrs. Jamieson’s had been ill, and Mr. Hoggins had been attending her for some weeks.

So the wolf had got into the fold, and now he was carrying off the shepherdess.

What would Mrs. Jamieson say? We looked into the darkness of futurity as a child gazes after a rocket up in the cloudy sky, full of wondering expectation of the rattle, the discharge, and the brilliant shower of sparks and light.

Had he ever been to see Lady Glenmire at Mrs. Jamieson’s?

Chloride of lime would not purify the house in its owner’s estimation if he had.

Or had their interviews been confined to the occasional meetings in the chamber of the poor sick conjuror, to whom, with all our sense of the mésalliance, we could not help allowing that they had both been exceedingly kind?

and, as she said, it gave her quite a shock, and made her feel as if she could not think what would happen next.

I don’t know whether it is a fancy of mine, or a real fact, but I have noticed that, just after the announcement of an engagement in any set, the unmarried ladies in that set flutter out in an unusual gaiety and newness of dress, as much as to say, in a tacit and unconscious manner, “We also are spinsters.”

Miss Matty and Miss Pole talked and thought more about bonnets, gowns, caps, and shawls, during the fortnight that succeeded this call, than I had known them do for years before.

I will just step and ask Mr. Johnson, sir; but I’m afraid I must trouble you for payment in cash, or in a note of a different bank.”

I never saw a man’s countenance fall so suddenly into dismay and bewilderment.

It was almost piteous to see the rapid change.

The church clock pealed out two before I had done.

The next morning news came, both official and otherwise, that the Town and County Bank had stopped payment. Miss Matty was ruined.

She tried to speak quietly to me; but when she came to the actual fact that she would have but about five shillings a week to live upon, she could not restrain a few tears.

But many a poor person has less, and I am not very extravagant, and, thank God, when the neck of mutton, and Martha’s wages, and the rent are paid, I have not a farthing owing. Poor Martha! I think she’ll be sorry to leave me.”

Miss Matty smiled at me through her tears, and she would fain have had me see only the smile, not the tears.

I dropped it in the post on my way home, and then for a minute I stood looking at the wooden pane with a gaping slit which divided me from the letter but a moment ago in my hand.

It was gone from me like life, never to be recalled.

It would get tossed about on the sea, and stained with sea-waves perhaps, and be carried among palm-trees, and scented with all tropical fragrance;

“I’ll not listen to reason,” she said, now in full possession of her voice, which had been rather choked with sobbing. “

Reason always means what someone else has got to say.

Now I think what I’ve got to say is good enough reason; but reason or not, I’ll say it, and I’ll stick to it. I’ve money in the Savings Bank, and I’ve a good stock of clothes, and I’m not going to leave Miss Matty.

“

I’m thankful you begin with ‘well!’ If you’d have begun with ‘but,’ as you did afore, I’d not ha’ listened to you.

Now you may go on.”

But I’ll be up to her. Never you tell, but I’ll make her a pudding, and a pudding she’ll like, too, and I’ll pay for it myself; so mind you see she eats it.

Many a one has been comforted in their sorrow by seeing a good dish come upon the table.

”

and words that she would spell quite correctly in her letters to me became perfect enigmas when she wrote to my father.

No! there was nothing she could teach to the rising generation of Cranford, unless they had been quick learners and ready imitators of her patience, her humility, her sweetness, her quiet contentment with all that she could not do.

I pondered and pondered until dinner was announced by Martha, with a face all blubbered and swollen with crying.

Martha burst out of the room, and Miss Matty had to clear her voice once or twice before she could speak. At last she said, “

I should like to keep this pudding under a glass shade, my dear!

” and the notion of the lion couchant, with his currant eyes, being hoisted up to the place of honour on a mantelpiece, tickled my hysterical fancy, and I began to laugh, which rather surprised Miss Matty.

Then he turned abruptly round, and said, “

See, Mary, how a good, innocent life makes friends all around.

Confound it! I could make a good lesson out of it if I were a parson; but, as it is, I can’t get a tail to my sentences—only I’m sure you feel what I want to say.

which was to this effect: that whereas a married woman takes her husband’s rank by the strict laws of precedence, an unmarried woman retains the station her father occupied.

So Cranford was allowed to visit Miss Matty; and, whether allowed or not, it intended to visit Lady Glenmire.

But what was our surprise—our dismay—when we learnt that Mr. and Mrs. Hoggins were returning on the following Tuesday! Mrs. Hoggins! Had she absolutely dropped her title, and so, in a spirit of bravado, cut the aristocracy to become a Hoggins!

But to return to Miss Matty. It was really very pleasant to see how her unselfishness and simple sense of justice called out the same good qualities in others.

She never seemed to think anyone would impose upon her, because she should be so grieved to do it to them.

I have heard her put a stop to the asseverations of the man who brought her coals by quietly saying, “I am sure you would be sorry to bring me wrong weight;”

and if the coals were short measure that time, I don’t believe they ever were again.

People would have felt as much ashamed of presuming on her good faith as they would have done on that of a child.

But my father says “such simplicity might be very well in Cranford, but would never do in the world.”

and when I remonstrated against this, her reply was, “

The little things like it so much!

” There was no use in telling her that the fifth comfit weighed a quarter of an ounce, and made every sale into a loss to her pocket.

As for Cranford in general, it was going on much as usual. The Jamieson and Hoggins feud still raged, if a feud it could be called, when only one side cared much about it.

Mr. and Mrs. Hoggins were very happy together, and, like most very happy people, quite ready to be friendly

; indeed, Mrs. Hoggins was really desirous to be restored to Mrs. Jamieson’s good graces, because of the former intimacy. But Mrs.

She was so much agitated that we both promised everything she wished. Peter sat down again and gave her his hand, which for better security she held in both of hers, and I left the room to accomplish my arrangements.

Long, long into the night, far, far into the morning, did Miss Matty and I talk.

She had much to tell me of her brother’s life and adventures, which he had communicated to her as they had sat alone. She said all was thoroughly clear to her; but I never quite understood the whole story;