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 neighboring 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 into
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, spurted
out in a few peppery words and angry jerks of the heads; 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.
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."