Letter to Miss Swire -- part six (epi 2.08)
CONTINUED FROM PART FIVE
Episode 2.08
Let us now return to your final episode. The wedding is now only three off and the opening scene sees both you and Matthew rather edgy, as if both of you were beginning to get cold feet without admitting it. When Isobel voices fears that the display of all your wedding gifts may appear rather greedy, you regret the decision to stage the wedding at Downton: «I can't bear the disruption we seem to have brought down on your heads.» Matthew feels irritated about not being fully restituted after his injury yet, and he expresses a desire to walk unaided. «I want to make it up and down that isle without assistance», he says, before giving Mary a quick but intense look. You counter by casting yourself in the continued role of Matthew's nurse: «Up, yes. You'll have me to lean on when you're coming down.» Matthew averts his eyes as you say that, putting on a polite smile. eolivetI wish I could get rid of this damn stick») while he feels the need to censor himself as soon as he addresses you («...Sorry»). We see compartmentalisation at work, with a clear preference.
Later on, you and Matthew are witnessing to the Sybil & Branson drama in the drawing room, you have a scene where you play a gramophone record in the hall, and you attend dinner, when you are beginning to feel unwell and lie down to rest. As you prepare to leave for home after your rest, you witness Matthew and Mary dancing in the hall and revealing the depth of their feelings to one another. From your later speech I must assume that you saw it all: Mary reminisces about their failed shot at happiness («We were a show that flopped»), which almost makes Matthew falter completely («Oh God Mary, I'm so so sorry. You know how sorry I am?»). Composing himself, he brings up the idea of marrying her («Cousin Violet came to me and told me to marry you ... when we knew I would walk again»), and when Mary presses him on his position on the matter, he tells her - with deep regret - that his sense of obligation to you is the only reason why he does not allow himself to marry her instead: «That I couldn't accept Lavinia's sacrifice of her life, her children, her future, and then give her the brush off when I was well again. Well, I couldn't, could I? .. Howevermuch I might want to.» They kiss. I have often wondered what would have happened if they had had more time? If the kiss would have deepened? If Matthew's resolve would have weakened? If Mary would have sensed that the reason for Matthew to ask her all these questions was for her to answer «Yes, you could» - to break his resolve, to offer herself, to face the scandal with him? If he would have realised the absurdity of his moral universe? That by disregarding the same moral principle he considered necessary for their happiness in 1914, he could ensure their happiness now? If only they had had more time alone, I always wondered...
Did you, Miss Swire? From what you will tell Matthew later, you see what they do and you hear what they say. An acknowledgment of the emotional tragedy you had every right and reason to anticipate when you decided to get married to Matthew that evening he leapt out of his wheelchair in episode 2.07. You are not in a rage, you say later, and Matthew's words about his obligation strike you as noble. You feel that you have no right to hold him to it. Do you feel the urge to linger? To retreat? To leave them for a bit? To see how things unfold down in the Hall? Do you start to reflect about how considerate you have really been of Matthew's needs as you began to plan his future with you? If you might have overlooked who he really is? Do you feel remorse about letting him to slip into this predicament, now that you realise the consequences of your renewed engagement? You say you love him very very much. Does a part of you, despite the heartbreak, nevertheless feel happy for a moment, feel at ease, seeing him the woman he loves, at ease for his sake?
When you see them dance, you feel - I quote you on this - «How fine, how right» they look together - so right indeed that you feel it necessary to walk right in on them («Hello»), spoiling the moment and making them feel embarrassed about being discovered. There is an air of magnanimity in the way you will later recapitulate your emotional reaction to Matthew's and Mary's intimate moment which totally fails to show itself in your actual reaction. In fact, the situation is rather awkward. Both Mary and Matthew look a bit sheepish as they are standing before you. Matthew addresses you as if you were five years old and you should have been in bed long time ago: «What are you doing up?» Mary informs you that you will spend the night at Downton and she excuses herself to prepare a room. As Matthew looks after her, he licks his lip as if to taste her one last time.
Maybe it was his patronising comment, maybe it was the «brush-off» bit earlier that caused a sting and made you want to retaliate, but you will not mention that to Matthew in your farewell speech. Here and now, you stick in the thorn of revenge a little deeper by claiming to feel like a «nuisance», and you pass the responsibility for your future happiness on to Matthew: «I mean it, Matthew. Don't ever let me be a nuisance. Don't ever let me get in the way, please.» How is he supposed to achieve this? Never to cross paths with Mary again so you don't feel threatened? What do you actually mean by «let you»? Not «let you» what? Is he to prevent your own attempts to become a nuisance and get in the way? Or do you expect him to bring up the subject of a possible break-up? As if you would ever back out of this relationship on your own accord... At least you make him feel guilty, well done.
I may give you the benefit of the doubt and try a second, more favourable interpretation. That when you see Mary and Matthew dance, you realise it's over. You realise that you are in over your head. That you cannot compete with Mary after Matthew recovery. That he will be emotionally committed to her come what may. You see the enormous proportions of the wedding preparations and it finally hits you that you do not even want this life. That your idea of happiness with Matthew is construed entirely on the fantasy of a life in where his is an ordinary solicitor, not an Earl. And you may be relieved to catch them in the act, because that incident gives you an excuse to bring up the subject of breaking it off. But - why don't you then? What is the point of confronting Matthew at all if you end up dropping the subject? You know that you want to break it off, so why don't you say so there and then? Why do you pass on the responsibility for even bringing up the subject of a possible break-up to Matthew, by posing as his nuisance?
As you have been installed in one of the guest bedrooms, there is a quick conversation between you, Isobel, and Matthew about postponing the wedding due to your illness. You are mostly worried about your dear father in this scene. From Matthew's reaction I gather that he seems to have preferred to get it over with. After all, he was determined to marry you despite his professed love for Mary, and she seemed to have accepted his decision - for your sake. A while later, you have your Big Conversation with Matthew, and if you will allow me, I would like to deconstruct it in order to really get to the bottom of what you say.
Matthew: I've been thinking about the date for the rematch, and ... what is it?
You: I wonder if we haven't been rather lucky.
Matthew: Well, I think we've both been very lucky.
You: That we've been given a second chance.
Matthew: Second chance at what?
You: To be quite, quite sure about what we're doing.
Matthew: Darling, what can you mean?
You: The thing is ... I might as well say it. When I came downstairs and you and Mary were dancing, I heard what you said ... and I saw what you did.
Matthew: But that was -
You: No, it's not that I'm in a rage and a fury. In fact, I think it's noble of you to want to keep your word when things have changed. But I'm not sure it'd be right for me to hold you to it.
Matthew: Lavinia, I can explain.
You: No, listen. I've had lots of time to think about it. I love you very, very much, and I've wanted to marry you from the first moment I saw you, all that is true. But I didn't really know what I was taking on. It's not in me to be Queen of the County. I'm a little person, an ordinary person, and when I saw you and Mary together, I thought,"How fine. How right you look together."
Matthew: I - I don't want to hear this.
You: But you must. Because it isn't a sudden thing. I was starting to worry, and then when you were wounded, I thought it was my calling to look after you and care for you. And I don't think Mary would've done that quite as well as me, really.
Matthew (laughs): No, no. No, not nearly as well.
You: I do have some self-worth. Just not enough to make you marry the wrong person.
Matthew: What you're saying is pointless! Mary's marrying somebody else.
You: Is she? We'll see.
Matthew: I won't let you do this.
You: You will. But we won't fight about it now. In fact, I'm tired. Can I rest for a bit? We'll talk later.
Matthew: Of course.
[Matthew gets up and he sees you start to cry just before he leaves.]
While Matthew wants to set a new date for the wedding to get it over with, you confront him with your doubts. For the first time in your relationship, you reflect on the question if you are really sure what you are doing, if marrying Matthew is indeed what you want. This is not the same, I would like to point out, as calling off the wedding entirely. You tell Matthew that you heard him say he would only marry you out of a sense of duty, and you complement him by considering this a noble gesture but that it feels morally wrong for you to demand such a gesture from him, for his sake. But when you suggest that you did not know what you were taking on, instead of suggesting that you cannot give Matthew what he needs to be happy, you revert to self-advertising («I love you very, very much, and I've wanted to marry you from the first moment I saw you, all that is true. ... I'm a little person, an ordinary person. ... I thought it was my calling to look after you and care for you. And I don't think Mary would've done that quite as well as me, really») and put the blame on external factors for your failure to make Matthew love you enough. As mentioned earlier, you also accuse Matthew of being on the look-out for a trophy wife and Mary of being a bad nurse.
But your next sentence is really strange: «I do have some self-worth. Just not enough to make you marry the wrong person.» What in the world do you mean by that? Obviously you mean to suggest that allowing a man to marry the wrong person requires a lot of self-worth, more than you can muster. But who is the wrong person? And what do you mean by self-worth? If you mean self-respect, would it be a gesture of more self-respect on your part to force Matthew to marry you (i.e. the wrong person)? Is this how you define self-worth, to be with the person you want no matter how he feels? You would have felt better about yourself if Matthew had forced himself to marry you, knowing that he loves someone else? Or do you define self-worth as a negative quality, as being full of yourself? Do you mean that you are not full enough of yourself to make Matthew marry you if he does not love you? That is alright, but is that what you think self-worth means, which is why you'd rather be without self-worth? Are you unable to see unselfish gestures as a sign of self-respect, or unable yourself to derive self-respect from unselfish gestures? It seems that selflessness and self-respect are mutually exclusive in your opinion. Are you unable to imagine people doing something unselfish and self-sabotaging and yet keep their head held high with dignity, without asking for pity or acknowledgment, because they may derive self-respect from their actions? Anything people do without sending out signs of self-pity can possibly attributed to selflessness, in your opinion? This would explain why you have never been able to acknowledge anything Mary has ever done for you and Matthew, because you never see her wallow in self-pity, so she cannot possibly have done anything unselfish. It would also explain why you have been unwilling to release Matthew from his commitment before now, because you could not derive self-respect from an unselfish gesture and you were afraid to sink so low. Only now that your self-esteem has been shattered by others anyway, you might as well give up on marrying him, the additional blow could not make matters much worse. And still, it would have to be Matthew who breaks off with you. At the same time, you accuse Mary of condoning Matthew's marriage to you not because she might be unselfish but because she is so full of herself that she could bear seeing him with the wrong person. Low shot, Miss Swire, low shot!
The wrong person... Let us once more look at the whole passage taken together because I fear that what you are eventually suggesting is even more terrible than this: «It isn’t a sudden thing. I was starting to worry, and when you were wounded I thought it was my calling to look after you, and care for you. And I don’t think Mary would have done that quite as well as me, really. This is when Matthew answers «No, no. No, not nearly as well», to appease you - but his eyes flicker as he says this. Did you notice? Is Matthew himself feeling that he wasn't in safe hands with Mary back then? His flickering eyes suggest otherwise. I think he is realizing at this very moment just how good Mary has taken care of him when he needed it. You continue: «I do have some self-worth. Just not enough to make you marry the wrong person»? Could it be that this passage in its entirety refers to the thinking that lay behind your decision to return to Downton? That you came back for Matthew's sake, to protect him, because you did not feel he was safe with Mary, who according to you did not nurse him quite as well as you could have done, really? Is that it? That you acknowledge having some self-worth, which obviously allowed you to get over your break-up with Matthew without dying, but not enough concern for your own well-being to prioritize it over Matthew's well-being (and implicitly your disregard for Mary's qualities) if non-intervention on your part would lead to Matthew's marrying the wrong person - Mary - and the possibility that he would be unhappy in the long run. Is your disdain for Mary that strong?
Whether you willingly bad-mouth Mary in this scene, or you are just ignorant of how good a person she actually is, is not for me to decide. The bottomline of your conversation with Matthew is that your words suggest one thing on the surface while the undercurrent of your speech conveys just the opposite. On the surface, you give your blessing to Matthew's union with Mary, while you implicitly undermine her at the same time. Although you know that Matthew's obligation to you is not genuinely felt, you flatter him by calling it noble that he intends to keep his word. More importantly, you say that you are «not sure» if it would «be right» for you to hold him to it. Not sure? In other words, you are in fact still considering holding him to it, despite just having witnessed how he almost broke down in the presence of «the one that got away» and despite having doubts that Mary will marry elsewhere. And you still insinuate that you may do so rightfully, that you have a claim to him, that you have earned this obligation he feels. Even more vaguely, you may imply that it may feel like the right thing to do to release him from his word, but you do not see this as a definite obligation on your part. There is nothing definite about your statement, no definite release from his engagement, no definite insistance on him keeping his word, only a catalogue of reasons why you are more deserving of him than Mary is. You take pride in loving Matthew very very much and having wanted to marry him from the first moment you saw him (unlike Mary in 1913). You take pride in being a little, ordinary person (by which you flatter your own and Matthew's middle class background), and you give yourself an air of magnimity by letting Mary have him on the grounds that she would be a more presentable Countess. You take pride in your willingness to nurse Matthew from the very moment you learned of his injuries, and you insist that Mary would not have done that as well. You credit yourself with being humble and not full enough of yourself to make him commit to an unsuitable marriage while you at the same time discredit Mary's decision to give up Matthew as an act of selfishness and lack of concern for him. And yet so pretend to say all these things in an attempt to make him break up with you and marry her instead? And feel good about it? And feel that he has your blessing? How can such an acclaimed and sentimental speech make so little sense? Or is it deliberately ambivalent with respect to your real feelings towards a Matthew-Mary union?
By the time Matthew leaves your bedroom, seeing you burst into tears as he leaves, you have messed with his head. Nothing is resolved. The marriage is not called off but only postponed indefinitely, as you end the conversation - which you, of course, perceive as hostile («But we won't fight about it now») - with the intention to «talk later». Once more you frame a possible break-up as Matthew's choice and responsibility («I won't let you do this» - «Yes, you will»), and you expect him to «let you do this» on the basis of the arguments you have just put forward - which, let us remind ourselves, portray you in quite a flattering light, at Mary's expense. At dinner, Matthew describes your state of mind as «rather...confused» to Isobel.
CONTINUE TO PART SEVEN
Episode 2.08
Let us now return to your final episode. The wedding is now only three off and the opening scene sees both you and Matthew rather edgy, as if both of you were beginning to get cold feet without admitting it. When Isobel voices fears that the display of all your wedding gifts may appear rather greedy, you regret the decision to stage the wedding at Downton: «I can't bear the disruption we seem to have brought down on your heads.» Matthew feels irritated about not being fully restituted after his injury yet, and he expresses a desire to walk unaided. «I want to make it up and down that isle without assistance», he says, before giving Mary a quick but intense look. You counter by casting yourself in the continued role of Matthew's nurse: «Up, yes. You'll have me to lean on when you're coming down.» Matthew averts his eyes as you say that, putting on a polite smile. eolivetI wish I could get rid of this damn stick») while he feels the need to censor himself as soon as he addresses you («...Sorry»). We see compartmentalisation at work, with a clear preference.
Later on, you and Matthew are witnessing to the Sybil & Branson drama in the drawing room, you have a scene where you play a gramophone record in the hall, and you attend dinner, when you are beginning to feel unwell and lie down to rest. As you prepare to leave for home after your rest, you witness Matthew and Mary dancing in the hall and revealing the depth of their feelings to one another. From your later speech I must assume that you saw it all: Mary reminisces about their failed shot at happiness («We were a show that flopped»), which almost makes Matthew falter completely («Oh God Mary, I'm so so sorry. You know how sorry I am?»). Composing himself, he brings up the idea of marrying her («Cousin Violet came to me and told me to marry you ... when we knew I would walk again»), and when Mary presses him on his position on the matter, he tells her - with deep regret - that his sense of obligation to you is the only reason why he does not allow himself to marry her instead: «That I couldn't accept Lavinia's sacrifice of her life, her children, her future, and then give her the brush off when I was well again. Well, I couldn't, could I? .. Howevermuch I might want to.» They kiss. I have often wondered what would have happened if they had had more time? If the kiss would have deepened? If Matthew's resolve would have weakened? If Mary would have sensed that the reason for Matthew to ask her all these questions was for her to answer «Yes, you could» - to break his resolve, to offer herself, to face the scandal with him? If he would have realised the absurdity of his moral universe? That by disregarding the same moral principle he considered necessary for their happiness in 1914, he could ensure their happiness now? If only they had had more time alone, I always wondered...
Did you, Miss Swire? From what you will tell Matthew later, you see what they do and you hear what they say. An acknowledgment of the emotional tragedy you had every right and reason to anticipate when you decided to get married to Matthew that evening he leapt out of his wheelchair in episode 2.07. You are not in a rage, you say later, and Matthew's words about his obligation strike you as noble. You feel that you have no right to hold him to it. Do you feel the urge to linger? To retreat? To leave them for a bit? To see how things unfold down in the Hall? Do you start to reflect about how considerate you have really been of Matthew's needs as you began to plan his future with you? If you might have overlooked who he really is? Do you feel remorse about letting him to slip into this predicament, now that you realise the consequences of your renewed engagement? You say you love him very very much. Does a part of you, despite the heartbreak, nevertheless feel happy for a moment, feel at ease, seeing him the woman he loves, at ease for his sake?
When you see them dance, you feel - I quote you on this - «How fine, how right» they look together - so right indeed that you feel it necessary to walk right in on them («Hello»), spoiling the moment and making them feel embarrassed about being discovered. There is an air of magnanimity in the way you will later recapitulate your emotional reaction to Matthew's and Mary's intimate moment which totally fails to show itself in your actual reaction. In fact, the situation is rather awkward. Both Mary and Matthew look a bit sheepish as they are standing before you. Matthew addresses you as if you were five years old and you should have been in bed long time ago: «What are you doing up?» Mary informs you that you will spend the night at Downton and she excuses herself to prepare a room. As Matthew looks after her, he licks his lip as if to taste her one last time.
Maybe it was his patronising comment, maybe it was the «brush-off» bit earlier that caused a sting and made you want to retaliate, but you will not mention that to Matthew in your farewell speech. Here and now, you stick in the thorn of revenge a little deeper by claiming to feel like a «nuisance», and you pass the responsibility for your future happiness on to Matthew: «I mean it, Matthew. Don't ever let me be a nuisance. Don't ever let me get in the way, please.» How is he supposed to achieve this? Never to cross paths with Mary again so you don't feel threatened? What do you actually mean by «let you»? Not «let you» what? Is he to prevent your own attempts to become a nuisance and get in the way? Or do you expect him to bring up the subject of a possible break-up? As if you would ever back out of this relationship on your own accord... At least you make him feel guilty, well done.
I may give you the benefit of the doubt and try a second, more favourable interpretation. That when you see Mary and Matthew dance, you realise it's over. You realise that you are in over your head. That you cannot compete with Mary after Matthew recovery. That he will be emotionally committed to her come what may. You see the enormous proportions of the wedding preparations and it finally hits you that you do not even want this life. That your idea of happiness with Matthew is construed entirely on the fantasy of a life in where his is an ordinary solicitor, not an Earl. And you may be relieved to catch them in the act, because that incident gives you an excuse to bring up the subject of breaking it off. But - why don't you then? What is the point of confronting Matthew at all if you end up dropping the subject? You know that you want to break it off, so why don't you say so there and then? Why do you pass on the responsibility for even bringing up the subject of a possible break-up to Matthew, by posing as his nuisance?
As you have been installed in one of the guest bedrooms, there is a quick conversation between you, Isobel, and Matthew about postponing the wedding due to your illness. You are mostly worried about your dear father in this scene. From Matthew's reaction I gather that he seems to have preferred to get it over with. After all, he was determined to marry you despite his professed love for Mary, and she seemed to have accepted his decision - for your sake. A while later, you have your Big Conversation with Matthew, and if you will allow me, I would like to deconstruct it in order to really get to the bottom of what you say.
Matthew: I've been thinking about the date for the rematch, and ... what is it?
You: I wonder if we haven't been rather lucky.
Matthew: Well, I think we've both been very lucky.
You: That we've been given a second chance.
Matthew: Second chance at what?
You: To be quite, quite sure about what we're doing.
Matthew: Darling, what can you mean?
You: The thing is ... I might as well say it. When I came downstairs and you and Mary were dancing, I heard what you said ... and I saw what you did.
Matthew: But that was -
You: No, it's not that I'm in a rage and a fury. In fact, I think it's noble of you to want to keep your word when things have changed. But I'm not sure it'd be right for me to hold you to it.
Matthew: Lavinia, I can explain.
You: No, listen. I've had lots of time to think about it. I love you very, very much, and I've wanted to marry you from the first moment I saw you, all that is true. But I didn't really know what I was taking on. It's not in me to be Queen of the County. I'm a little person, an ordinary person, and when I saw you and Mary together, I thought,"How fine. How right you look together."
Matthew: I - I don't want to hear this.
You: But you must. Because it isn't a sudden thing. I was starting to worry, and then when you were wounded, I thought it was my calling to look after you and care for you. And I don't think Mary would've done that quite as well as me, really.
Matthew (laughs): No, no. No, not nearly as well.
You: I do have some self-worth. Just not enough to make you marry the wrong person.
Matthew: What you're saying is pointless! Mary's marrying somebody else.
You: Is she? We'll see.
Matthew: I won't let you do this.
You: You will. But we won't fight about it now. In fact, I'm tired. Can I rest for a bit? We'll talk later.
Matthew: Of course.
[Matthew gets up and he sees you start to cry just before he leaves.]
While Matthew wants to set a new date for the wedding to get it over with, you confront him with your doubts. For the first time in your relationship, you reflect on the question if you are really sure what you are doing, if marrying Matthew is indeed what you want. This is not the same, I would like to point out, as calling off the wedding entirely. You tell Matthew that you heard him say he would only marry you out of a sense of duty, and you complement him by considering this a noble gesture but that it feels morally wrong for you to demand such a gesture from him, for his sake. But when you suggest that you did not know what you were taking on, instead of suggesting that you cannot give Matthew what he needs to be happy, you revert to self-advertising («I love you very, very much, and I've wanted to marry you from the first moment I saw you, all that is true. ... I'm a little person, an ordinary person. ... I thought it was my calling to look after you and care for you. And I don't think Mary would've done that quite as well as me, really») and put the blame on external factors for your failure to make Matthew love you enough. As mentioned earlier, you also accuse Matthew of being on the look-out for a trophy wife and Mary of being a bad nurse.
But your next sentence is really strange: «I do have some self-worth. Just not enough to make you marry the wrong person.» What in the world do you mean by that? Obviously you mean to suggest that allowing a man to marry the wrong person requires a lot of self-worth, more than you can muster. But who is the wrong person? And what do you mean by self-worth? If you mean self-respect, would it be a gesture of more self-respect on your part to force Matthew to marry you (i.e. the wrong person)? Is this how you define self-worth, to be with the person you want no matter how he feels? You would have felt better about yourself if Matthew had forced himself to marry you, knowing that he loves someone else? Or do you define self-worth as a negative quality, as being full of yourself? Do you mean that you are not full enough of yourself to make Matthew marry you if he does not love you? That is alright, but is that what you think self-worth means, which is why you'd rather be without self-worth? Are you unable to see unselfish gestures as a sign of self-respect, or unable yourself to derive self-respect from unselfish gestures? It seems that selflessness and self-respect are mutually exclusive in your opinion. Are you unable to imagine people doing something unselfish and self-sabotaging and yet keep their head held high with dignity, without asking for pity or acknowledgment, because they may derive self-respect from their actions? Anything people do without sending out signs of self-pity can possibly attributed to selflessness, in your opinion? This would explain why you have never been able to acknowledge anything Mary has ever done for you and Matthew, because you never see her wallow in self-pity, so she cannot possibly have done anything unselfish. It would also explain why you have been unwilling to release Matthew from his commitment before now, because you could not derive self-respect from an unselfish gesture and you were afraid to sink so low. Only now that your self-esteem has been shattered by others anyway, you might as well give up on marrying him, the additional blow could not make matters much worse. And still, it would have to be Matthew who breaks off with you. At the same time, you accuse Mary of condoning Matthew's marriage to you not because she might be unselfish but because she is so full of herself that she could bear seeing him with the wrong person. Low shot, Miss Swire, low shot!
The wrong person... Let us once more look at the whole passage taken together because I fear that what you are eventually suggesting is even more terrible than this: «It isn’t a sudden thing. I was starting to worry, and when you were wounded I thought it was my calling to look after you, and care for you. And I don’t think Mary would have done that quite as well as me, really. This is when Matthew answers «No, no. No, not nearly as well», to appease you - but his eyes flicker as he says this. Did you notice? Is Matthew himself feeling that he wasn't in safe hands with Mary back then? His flickering eyes suggest otherwise. I think he is realizing at this very moment just how good Mary has taken care of him when he needed it. You continue: «I do have some self-worth. Just not enough to make you marry the wrong person»? Could it be that this passage in its entirety refers to the thinking that lay behind your decision to return to Downton? That you came back for Matthew's sake, to protect him, because you did not feel he was safe with Mary, who according to you did not nurse him quite as well as you could have done, really? Is that it? That you acknowledge having some self-worth, which obviously allowed you to get over your break-up with Matthew without dying, but not enough concern for your own well-being to prioritize it over Matthew's well-being (and implicitly your disregard for Mary's qualities) if non-intervention on your part would lead to Matthew's marrying the wrong person - Mary - and the possibility that he would be unhappy in the long run. Is your disdain for Mary that strong?
Whether you willingly bad-mouth Mary in this scene, or you are just ignorant of how good a person she actually is, is not for me to decide. The bottomline of your conversation with Matthew is that your words suggest one thing on the surface while the undercurrent of your speech conveys just the opposite. On the surface, you give your blessing to Matthew's union with Mary, while you implicitly undermine her at the same time. Although you know that Matthew's obligation to you is not genuinely felt, you flatter him by calling it noble that he intends to keep his word. More importantly, you say that you are «not sure» if it would «be right» for you to hold him to it. Not sure? In other words, you are in fact still considering holding him to it, despite just having witnessed how he almost broke down in the presence of «the one that got away» and despite having doubts that Mary will marry elsewhere. And you still insinuate that you may do so rightfully, that you have a claim to him, that you have earned this obligation he feels. Even more vaguely, you may imply that it may feel like the right thing to do to release him from his word, but you do not see this as a definite obligation on your part. There is nothing definite about your statement, no definite release from his engagement, no definite insistance on him keeping his word, only a catalogue of reasons why you are more deserving of him than Mary is. You take pride in loving Matthew very very much and having wanted to marry him from the first moment you saw him (unlike Mary in 1913). You take pride in being a little, ordinary person (by which you flatter your own and Matthew's middle class background), and you give yourself an air of magnimity by letting Mary have him on the grounds that she would be a more presentable Countess. You take pride in your willingness to nurse Matthew from the very moment you learned of his injuries, and you insist that Mary would not have done that as well. You credit yourself with being humble and not full enough of yourself to make him commit to an unsuitable marriage while you at the same time discredit Mary's decision to give up Matthew as an act of selfishness and lack of concern for him. And yet so pretend to say all these things in an attempt to make him break up with you and marry her instead? And feel good about it? And feel that he has your blessing? How can such an acclaimed and sentimental speech make so little sense? Or is it deliberately ambivalent with respect to your real feelings towards a Matthew-Mary union?
By the time Matthew leaves your bedroom, seeing you burst into tears as he leaves, you have messed with his head. Nothing is resolved. The marriage is not called off but only postponed indefinitely, as you end the conversation - which you, of course, perceive as hostile («But we won't fight about it now») - with the intention to «talk later». Once more you frame a possible break-up as Matthew's choice and responsibility («I won't let you do this» - «Yes, you will»), and you expect him to «let you do this» on the basis of the arguments you have just put forward - which, let us remind ourselves, portray you in quite a flattering light, at Mary's expense. At dinner, Matthew describes your state of mind as «rather...confused» to Isobel.
CONTINUE TO PART SEVEN