Letter to Miss Swire - part eight (epi 2.08 continued + epilogue)
CONTINUED FROM PART SEVEN
Episode 2.08 (deathbed speech continued)
On the surface, your dying words to Matthew consist of the following magnanimous assertions: You are grateful to him for being by your side, all you want is for him is to be happy, and you want to release him from his obligation to you so he can be with the right woman (i.e. Mary). If this is how your speech had come across to Matthew, he might have felt redeemed and would have sworn to become a better man in the future, would have been able to remember you fondly, and would have been able to move on without guilt. It is the subtext which is undermining this magnanimity, and you are playing on Matthew's growing guilt complex instead. By bringing up the topic of the «hard decision», you invite him to see your last message in the context of your earlier conversation. And there you have effectively been reinforcing and reframing his sense of obligation - which he had already distanced himself from emotionally when he was dancing with Mary («Howevermuch I might want to») - into a quality he can and should be proud of («I think it's noble of you to want to keep your word when things have changed»). This contradiction is interesting: Matthew has said to Mary that he wants to give you the brush-off now that he is well again - you claim that he wants to keep his word when things have changed. You praise Matthew for being too noble and honourable to make it easy on himself. You want him to be proud of himself for wanting to keep his word. You reinforce the idea in his mind that being duty-bound is good! You even suggest that you have a moral obligation to him («I'm not sure it'd be right for me to hold you to it»), because you love him very much, and that this is why you should call off the wedding («I do have some self-worth. Just not enough to make you marry the wrong person»). Thus, you insinuate that if the wedding will not take place, it will not be because Matthew wants to get out of it but because you will call it off for his sake!
And before Matthew has time to wrap his head around what you have been suggesting, and remind both you and himself that you are indeed mistaken when you claim that he wants to keep his word even if he doesn't have to, that you give both his honorability and your attractiveness too much credit - you die, and your claim will forever remain uncontested. Of all the reasons why you might not have wanted the marriage to go through (like the fact that you never wanted to be a countess), only the bit about his and your honourable moral commitment make it into your deathbed speech: «Isn't this better, really? ... You won't have to make a hard decision. Be happy, for my sake. Promise me. That's all I want for you. Remember that. That's all I want». Thus, you are presenting your death as a way for you to demonstrate your moral commitment to his happiness, as a sacrifice on your part to prevent Matthew from doing a noble thing and actually want to keep his word. The ultimate self-promotion. In other words - if he really would have wanted to keep his word because he felt committed to you (as you suggested that he did) - then your death would have left him without blame, and he could agree with you that it is «better» without having to feel guilty of being released from his engagement. It should then be possible for him to go on living and be happy - with another woman? To whom he is not as committed as you claim that he is to you?
After bringing up this open question - as a parting gift, so to speak - you draw your last breath, and you expire. The kiss - Lavinia - selfless - dying - sacrifice - «love you very much» - honour is good - commitment is noble - Lavinia is honourable, too - «be happy, for my sake» - «I'm glad you're here» - you want to keep your word - «remember that» - «that's all I want» - «isn't this better» - all of these impressions melt together in Matthew's mind, into a great ball of fire. As a result, he is completely messed up! How good you were! Did he love you? Didn't he? Is he honourable? Isn't he? Seemingly the only way to relieve himself of feeling responsible for your death is to embrace the idea that you may have known him better than he knows himself, and to believe that he wanted to be with you. If he cannot redeem himself while you are alive, at least he can honour your memory, which is precisely what he "promises" to do: «But I can't be happy. Not without you. How could I be happy?» Never before has Matthew been more in love with you than the very moment you die. You have made it impossible for him to transfer his feelings onto someone else, and you are gone. Magnanimity, Miss Swire, magnanimity. You have shown that you are willing to sacrifice Matthew's need for absolution and redemption on your deathbed for some ridiculous display of self-deceit, namely that dumping you would have been harder for him than wishing you dead!
Epilogue
Much has been said about Matthew being inconsiderate of your feelings when he had long found out for himself that he would prefer to be with Mary and that it was only a sense of duty which forced him to stick to his word. I have had my rounds with Matthew, but I also have to admit that your character would have made it very difficult for him to be honest with you and end your relationship unilaterally. You would have fallen apart anyway, and spoiled his happiness with guilt. If Mary had told him in 2.02 that she loved him, and he would have given you the brush-off then, you would have decided to die as you threatened to do, Mary would have known why and they would have been devastated by guilt. If Matthew had accepted Mary's offer to be with him on any terms in 2.05 and you had found out that he picked her when he refused your identical offer, you probably would have died because you could not be with him, as you had promised - and they would have been devastated. As soon as your threat of dying was out, there was no way Matthew and Mary could ever win against you, regardless how soon they might have resolved their feelings for one another. You were unwilling to let go off this relationship, no matter how high the cost for others.
My quarrel is not with you right now, Miss Swire. You may not believe me but it's true. I am not even sure if you are aware of what you are doing. My quarrel is with Matthew, with the uncommitted person he has become during the time you have been engaged, and with his inability upon your death to protect his own integrity as a lover, and the integrity of the woman he has just claimed that he would prefer to marry, from the legacy of your emotional blackmail. That he elevates the value of your self-sacrifice by slighting Mary's contribution to his well-being, and that this is how he will remember you both. That he permits himself to tell her how she should remember the kiss, just because he chooses to feel a certain way about it. My quarrel is with Matthew; he will have me to answer to in the Christmas Special. But I would like to point out that the source of his accusations is your two last speeches, because you have been that emotional blackmailer until your last breath.
Of everything you say to Matthew before you fall really ill, the parts that he remembers are the guilt-provoking bits: that you caught him and Mary in the act, that you feel that he belongs with Mary, and that you give up because of them. Of your dying words, too, it is the provocative blackmail bit («Isn't this better, really?») that has stuck in Matthew's head, as well as his own pledge to you which he made under considerable emotional duress - albeit against your orders: «But I can't be happy. Not without you. How could I be happy?» This says a lot about the effectiveness of emotional manipulation in general and Matthew's susceptibility to it.
When he tells Mary at your grave that «We could never be happy now, don't you see?», one gets the impression that he has once again entrapped himself in an obligation, silly as it may sound. You have reinforced the idea in his mind that his sense of moral duty is a good and noble quality, and the least he can do to redeem himself is to become even more dutiful and honourable in the future, by admitting that he has made a mistake, and by punishing himself dutifully for his breech of conduct. He promised you on your deathbed that he could never be happy without you, in front of several witnesses, so he can hardly be expected to back out on his promise later on and be happy with Mary after all. Seen from this angle, it should come as no surprise if Matthew feels unable and unwilling to defy this new moral obligation («And there's nothing to be done about it») when we know that he has reacted to previous obligations in the same fatalistic way. Again, he has to conspire with Mary to make this work: «Let's be strong, Mary. And let's accept...that this is the end.» He does not say that he wouldn't want for them to be happy still, only that they couldn't.
mysticgypsy1 has drawn attention to the obvious parallels between the Matthew's reaction to your death and the chapter «Fanny's Revenge» in Thomas Hardy's Far from the Madding Crowd:
When his “innocent” and “wronged” lover Fanny Robin dies a tragic death, Frank Troy is wrought with guilt. He had previously neglected Fanny and claimed he did not love her, choosing to marry the headstrong Bathsheba Everdene instead.
A crucial scene in the chapter titled “Fanny’s Revenge” ... encapsulates Troy’s relationship with the two women. I was struck by its similarity to the end of Series 2 of Downton Abbey. The scene takes place in Bathsheba’s house, where Fanny’s coffin is brought to rest for a while, en route to the burial ground.
“What have you to say as your reason?” [Bathsheba] asked, her bitter voice being strangely low-quite that of another woman now.
“I have to say that I have been a bad, black-hearted man,” he answered.
“And that this woman is your victim; and I not less than she.”
“Ah! don’t taunt me, madam. This woman is more to me, dead as she is, than ever you were, or are, or can be. If Satan had not tempted me with that face of yours, and those cursed coquetries, I should have married her. I never had another thought till you came in my way. Would to God that I had; but it is all too late!” He turned to Fanny then. “But never mind, darling,” he said; “in the sight of Heaven you are my very, very wife!”
At these words there arose from Bathsheba’s lips a long, low cry of measureless despair and indignation, such a wail of anguish as had never before been heard within those old-inhabited walls. It was the the end of her union with Troy.
“If she’s-that,-what-am I?” she added, as a continuation of the same cry, and sobbing pitifully: and the rarity with her of such abandonment only made the condition more dire.
“You are nothing to me-nothing,” said Troy, heartlessly. “A ceremony before a priest doesn’t make a marriage. I am not morally yours.”
A vehement impulse to flee from him, to run from this place, hide, and escape his words at any price, not stopping short of death itself, mastered Bathsheba now. She waited not an instant, but turned to the door and ran out.
As is typical for Hardy, no event is an accident. Everything is double-layered, any joy is shadowed by tragedy. So Fanny’s death did more than steal Bathsheba’s joy; it severed her from her husband. Because death is that powerful and nothing can compete with it. Hardy explains:
The one feat alone-that of dying-by which a mean condition could be resolved into a grand one, Fanny had achieved. And to that had destiny subjoined this reencounter to-night, which had, in Bathsheba’s wild imagining, turned her companion’s failure to success, her humiliation to triumph, her lucklessness to ascendency; it had thrown over herself a garish light of mockery, and set upon all things about her an ironical smile.
Reading this analysis, I am certain that the parallel between Downton Abbey and Thomas Hardy is intentional. This being said, however, I am glad to say that Julian Fellowes does not seem to go down the Hardy-route by styling your death as Lavinia's Revenge. He does not let you win over Mary, because he does not let Matthew succumb to your suggestion that he wanted to be with you instead of her. You tried to persuade him that he did, but you fail in the end. He didn't when he kissed Mary, he doesn't now. He may have been able to be faithful to your memory the short while he insisted on not wanting to see her, but as soon as he is in Mary's physical presence at your grave, he just knows that he prefers her to you, and it upsets him, as eolivet has pointed out. It is nothing but «us», «we», «you and I» all the way through, however much they are cursed. What Matthew brings himself to say about you is more or less that you would have been too good for him, but not that he has permanently transferred his affection to you. He is sorry that you died because he kissed Mary, but he does not suggest that misses you. «The truth is, I am not as sad as I should be, and that makes me sad» - Mary's line from episode 1.01 could almost be given to Matthew here.
Eventually, Miss Swire, Downton Abbey will prove that blackmail is not to be rewarded, neither emotional nor other. Vera Bates is gone already, falling victim to her own plotting. Your ghost will have been exercised by New Year's Eve. Carlisle will be the next to go.
Postscript:
After the Christmas Special, I no longer think the abovementioned comment is true. I actually believe now that Julian Fellowes is the emotional manipulator, not you, Miss Swire. He used you. He made you say those things. What did Daisy say when she apologized to William in episode 1.07? "I was under an evil spell." So were you, Miss Swire, Mr. Fellowes' evil spell. I'm sorry that I made your character responsible for Fellowes shady motives.
When he wants to make Mary sabotage herself and give up Matthew, he uses your character to force Mary into submission. So he makes you say that you'd die without Matthew. When he wants Matthew to restrain himself with respect to Mary, he makes you be the sweet girl, the nice girl, who "never caused a moment's sorrow in her whole life". He uses several other characters to praise your virtues when it suits him, when he wants Matthew to hold on to his guilt complex. When he feels that it's time for Matthew to move on from his relationship with you, he lets your ghost come back via a Ouija board and give your blessing. That's the new heights of plot development in 2011.
I now believe Downton Abbey does prove that emotional manipulation is rewarded. Because it's the scriptwriter's manipulation, and the reward is the plotline itself. Vera Bates is neither gone yet, nor did she fall victim of her own plotting. If she should fall victim, it will have been Fellowes' plotting. Your ghost was not exercised in the Christmas Special. It was present until the last moment, when it decided to leave us alone on its own volition. Carlisle? Will he be gone? Will he be Perseus after all? What will season 3 have in store, except the total lack of any distinct moral backbone in any of the characters be it good or bad? There is no out-of-character behaviour in Downton Abbey, I'm afraid to say. There is no in-character behaviour to begin with. Fellowes could throw anything at you.
As an apology, Miss Swire, please give me credit for having at least tried to invest you with a "personality" throughout your time in S2, and be it as the "woman who can smile and smile and be a villain", silently scheming in the background. God knows, Fellowes didn't even feel that you deserved that much prominence. If I've made your character more interesting and engaging to the readers of this piece, if they enjoy your scenes more during their next rewatch, I'm glad. For your sake.
Episode 2.08 (deathbed speech continued)
On the surface, your dying words to Matthew consist of the following magnanimous assertions: You are grateful to him for being by your side, all you want is for him is to be happy, and you want to release him from his obligation to you so he can be with the right woman (i.e. Mary). If this is how your speech had come across to Matthew, he might have felt redeemed and would have sworn to become a better man in the future, would have been able to remember you fondly, and would have been able to move on without guilt. It is the subtext which is undermining this magnanimity, and you are playing on Matthew's growing guilt complex instead. By bringing up the topic of the «hard decision», you invite him to see your last message in the context of your earlier conversation. And there you have effectively been reinforcing and reframing his sense of obligation - which he had already distanced himself from emotionally when he was dancing with Mary («Howevermuch I might want to») - into a quality he can and should be proud of («I think it's noble of you to want to keep your word when things have changed»). This contradiction is interesting: Matthew has said to Mary that he wants to give you the brush-off now that he is well again - you claim that he wants to keep his word when things have changed. You praise Matthew for being too noble and honourable to make it easy on himself. You want him to be proud of himself for wanting to keep his word. You reinforce the idea in his mind that being duty-bound is good! You even suggest that you have a moral obligation to him («I'm not sure it'd be right for me to hold you to it»), because you love him very much, and that this is why you should call off the wedding («I do have some self-worth. Just not enough to make you marry the wrong person»). Thus, you insinuate that if the wedding will not take place, it will not be because Matthew wants to get out of it but because you will call it off for his sake!
And before Matthew has time to wrap his head around what you have been suggesting, and remind both you and himself that you are indeed mistaken when you claim that he wants to keep his word even if he doesn't have to, that you give both his honorability and your attractiveness too much credit - you die, and your claim will forever remain uncontested. Of all the reasons why you might not have wanted the marriage to go through (like the fact that you never wanted to be a countess), only the bit about his and your honourable moral commitment make it into your deathbed speech: «Isn't this better, really? ... You won't have to make a hard decision. Be happy, for my sake. Promise me. That's all I want for you. Remember that. That's all I want». Thus, you are presenting your death as a way for you to demonstrate your moral commitment to his happiness, as a sacrifice on your part to prevent Matthew from doing a noble thing and actually want to keep his word. The ultimate self-promotion. In other words - if he really would have wanted to keep his word because he felt committed to you (as you suggested that he did) - then your death would have left him without blame, and he could agree with you that it is «better» without having to feel guilty of being released from his engagement. It should then be possible for him to go on living and be happy - with another woman? To whom he is not as committed as you claim that he is to you?
After bringing up this open question - as a parting gift, so to speak - you draw your last breath, and you expire. The kiss - Lavinia - selfless - dying - sacrifice - «love you very much» - honour is good - commitment is noble - Lavinia is honourable, too - «be happy, for my sake» - «I'm glad you're here» - you want to keep your word - «remember that» - «that's all I want» - «isn't this better» - all of these impressions melt together in Matthew's mind, into a great ball of fire. As a result, he is completely messed up! How good you were! Did he love you? Didn't he? Is he honourable? Isn't he? Seemingly the only way to relieve himself of feeling responsible for your death is to embrace the idea that you may have known him better than he knows himself, and to believe that he wanted to be with you. If he cannot redeem himself while you are alive, at least he can honour your memory, which is precisely what he "promises" to do: «But I can't be happy. Not without you. How could I be happy?» Never before has Matthew been more in love with you than the very moment you die. You have made it impossible for him to transfer his feelings onto someone else, and you are gone. Magnanimity, Miss Swire, magnanimity. You have shown that you are willing to sacrifice Matthew's need for absolution and redemption on your deathbed for some ridiculous display of self-deceit, namely that dumping you would have been harder for him than wishing you dead!
Epilogue
Much has been said about Matthew being inconsiderate of your feelings when he had long found out for himself that he would prefer to be with Mary and that it was only a sense of duty which forced him to stick to his word. I have had my rounds with Matthew, but I also have to admit that your character would have made it very difficult for him to be honest with you and end your relationship unilaterally. You would have fallen apart anyway, and spoiled his happiness with guilt. If Mary had told him in 2.02 that she loved him, and he would have given you the brush-off then, you would have decided to die as you threatened to do, Mary would have known why and they would have been devastated by guilt. If Matthew had accepted Mary's offer to be with him on any terms in 2.05 and you had found out that he picked her when he refused your identical offer, you probably would have died because you could not be with him, as you had promised - and they would have been devastated. As soon as your threat of dying was out, there was no way Matthew and Mary could ever win against you, regardless how soon they might have resolved their feelings for one another. You were unwilling to let go off this relationship, no matter how high the cost for others.
My quarrel is not with you right now, Miss Swire. You may not believe me but it's true. I am not even sure if you are aware of what you are doing. My quarrel is with Matthew, with the uncommitted person he has become during the time you have been engaged, and with his inability upon your death to protect his own integrity as a lover, and the integrity of the woman he has just claimed that he would prefer to marry, from the legacy of your emotional blackmail. That he elevates the value of your self-sacrifice by slighting Mary's contribution to his well-being, and that this is how he will remember you both. That he permits himself to tell her how she should remember the kiss, just because he chooses to feel a certain way about it. My quarrel is with Matthew; he will have me to answer to in the Christmas Special. But I would like to point out that the source of his accusations is your two last speeches, because you have been that emotional blackmailer until your last breath.
Of everything you say to Matthew before you fall really ill, the parts that he remembers are the guilt-provoking bits: that you caught him and Mary in the act, that you feel that he belongs with Mary, and that you give up because of them. Of your dying words, too, it is the provocative blackmail bit («Isn't this better, really?») that has stuck in Matthew's head, as well as his own pledge to you which he made under considerable emotional duress - albeit against your orders: «But I can't be happy. Not without you. How could I be happy?» This says a lot about the effectiveness of emotional manipulation in general and Matthew's susceptibility to it.
When he tells Mary at your grave that «We could never be happy now, don't you see?», one gets the impression that he has once again entrapped himself in an obligation, silly as it may sound. You have reinforced the idea in his mind that his sense of moral duty is a good and noble quality, and the least he can do to redeem himself is to become even more dutiful and honourable in the future, by admitting that he has made a mistake, and by punishing himself dutifully for his breech of conduct. He promised you on your deathbed that he could never be happy without you, in front of several witnesses, so he can hardly be expected to back out on his promise later on and be happy with Mary after all. Seen from this angle, it should come as no surprise if Matthew feels unable and unwilling to defy this new moral obligation («And there's nothing to be done about it») when we know that he has reacted to previous obligations in the same fatalistic way. Again, he has to conspire with Mary to make this work: «Let's be strong, Mary. And let's accept...that this is the end.» He does not say that he wouldn't want for them to be happy still, only that they couldn't.
mysticgypsy1 has drawn attention to the obvious parallels between the Matthew's reaction to your death and the chapter «Fanny's Revenge» in Thomas Hardy's Far from the Madding Crowd:
When his “innocent” and “wronged” lover Fanny Robin dies a tragic death, Frank Troy is wrought with guilt. He had previously neglected Fanny and claimed he did not love her, choosing to marry the headstrong Bathsheba Everdene instead.
A crucial scene in the chapter titled “Fanny’s Revenge” ... encapsulates Troy’s relationship with the two women. I was struck by its similarity to the end of Series 2 of Downton Abbey. The scene takes place in Bathsheba’s house, where Fanny’s coffin is brought to rest for a while, en route to the burial ground.
“What have you to say as your reason?” [Bathsheba] asked, her bitter voice being strangely low-quite that of another woman now.
“I have to say that I have been a bad, black-hearted man,” he answered.
“And that this woman is your victim; and I not less than she.”
“Ah! don’t taunt me, madam. This woman is more to me, dead as she is, than ever you were, or are, or can be. If Satan had not tempted me with that face of yours, and those cursed coquetries, I should have married her. I never had another thought till you came in my way. Would to God that I had; but it is all too late!” He turned to Fanny then. “But never mind, darling,” he said; “in the sight of Heaven you are my very, very wife!”
At these words there arose from Bathsheba’s lips a long, low cry of measureless despair and indignation, such a wail of anguish as had never before been heard within those old-inhabited walls. It was the the end of her union with Troy.
“If she’s-that,-what-am I?” she added, as a continuation of the same cry, and sobbing pitifully: and the rarity with her of such abandonment only made the condition more dire.
“You are nothing to me-nothing,” said Troy, heartlessly. “A ceremony before a priest doesn’t make a marriage. I am not morally yours.”
A vehement impulse to flee from him, to run from this place, hide, and escape his words at any price, not stopping short of death itself, mastered Bathsheba now. She waited not an instant, but turned to the door and ran out.
As is typical for Hardy, no event is an accident. Everything is double-layered, any joy is shadowed by tragedy. So Fanny’s death did more than steal Bathsheba’s joy; it severed her from her husband. Because death is that powerful and nothing can compete with it. Hardy explains:
The one feat alone-that of dying-by which a mean condition could be resolved into a grand one, Fanny had achieved. And to that had destiny subjoined this reencounter to-night, which had, in Bathsheba’s wild imagining, turned her companion’s failure to success, her humiliation to triumph, her lucklessness to ascendency; it had thrown over herself a garish light of mockery, and set upon all things about her an ironical smile.
Reading this analysis, I am certain that the parallel between Downton Abbey and Thomas Hardy is intentional. This being said, however, I am glad to say that Julian Fellowes does not seem to go down the Hardy-route by styling your death as Lavinia's Revenge. He does not let you win over Mary, because he does not let Matthew succumb to your suggestion that he wanted to be with you instead of her. You tried to persuade him that he did, but you fail in the end. He didn't when he kissed Mary, he doesn't now. He may have been able to be faithful to your memory the short while he insisted on not wanting to see her, but as soon as he is in Mary's physical presence at your grave, he just knows that he prefers her to you, and it upsets him, as eolivet has pointed out. It is nothing but «us», «we», «you and I» all the way through, however much they are cursed. What Matthew brings himself to say about you is more or less that you would have been too good for him, but not that he has permanently transferred his affection to you. He is sorry that you died because he kissed Mary, but he does not suggest that misses you. «The truth is, I am not as sad as I should be, and that makes me sad» - Mary's line from episode 1.01 could almost be given to Matthew here.
Eventually, Miss Swire, Downton Abbey will prove that blackmail is not to be rewarded, neither emotional nor other. Vera Bates is gone already, falling victim to her own plotting. Your ghost will have been exercised by New Year's Eve. Carlisle will be the next to go.
Postscript:
After the Christmas Special, I no longer think the abovementioned comment is true. I actually believe now that Julian Fellowes is the emotional manipulator, not you, Miss Swire. He used you. He made you say those things. What did Daisy say when she apologized to William in episode 1.07? "I was under an evil spell." So were you, Miss Swire, Mr. Fellowes' evil spell. I'm sorry that I made your character responsible for Fellowes shady motives.
When he wants to make Mary sabotage herself and give up Matthew, he uses your character to force Mary into submission. So he makes you say that you'd die without Matthew. When he wants Matthew to restrain himself with respect to Mary, he makes you be the sweet girl, the nice girl, who "never caused a moment's sorrow in her whole life". He uses several other characters to praise your virtues when it suits him, when he wants Matthew to hold on to his guilt complex. When he feels that it's time for Matthew to move on from his relationship with you, he lets your ghost come back via a Ouija board and give your blessing. That's the new heights of plot development in 2011.
I now believe Downton Abbey does prove that emotional manipulation is rewarded. Because it's the scriptwriter's manipulation, and the reward is the plotline itself. Vera Bates is neither gone yet, nor did she fall victim of her own plotting. If she should fall victim, it will have been Fellowes' plotting. Your ghost was not exercised in the Christmas Special. It was present until the last moment, when it decided to leave us alone on its own volition. Carlisle? Will he be gone? Will he be Perseus after all? What will season 3 have in store, except the total lack of any distinct moral backbone in any of the characters be it good or bad? There is no out-of-character behaviour in Downton Abbey, I'm afraid to say. There is no in-character behaviour to begin with. Fellowes could throw anything at you.
As an apology, Miss Swire, please give me credit for having at least tried to invest you with a "personality" throughout your time in S2, and be it as the "woman who can smile and smile and be a villain", silently scheming in the background. God knows, Fellowes didn't even feel that you deserved that much prominence. If I've made your character more interesting and engaging to the readers of this piece, if they enjoy your scenes more during their next rewatch, I'm glad. For your sake.