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, 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 windows being previously closed; but, in the public street! in a
loud military voice! alleging his poverty as a reason for not taking a
particular house. The ladies of Cranford were already rather moaning
over the invasion of their territories by a man and a gentleman. He was
a half-pay captain, and had obtained some situation on a neighbouring
railroad, which had been vehemently petitioned against by the little
town; 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. 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; and so on, till we blinded ourselves to
the vulgar fact that we were, all of us, people of very moderate means.