Behold the glory that is the Dowager Countess
That's "Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham" on the BBC drama "Downton Abbey," as played to perfection by Dame Maggie Smith. Or "Lady Grantham," to the likes of you.
"Downton Abbey" takes place in a great English house between 1912 and 1914. All the female characters on this series are excellent -- whether it's Cora, the wealthy American wife of Lady Grantham's son, who has to balance the needs of her children and the modern age versus the traditions she married into; Gwen, a housemaid with aspirations of breaking out of service, as proved by her ownership of a contraband typewriter; Mary, the eldest daughter, who both yearns to break free of the restrictions of her social world and yet to revel in the privilege that world gives her; Anna, the head housemaid, who never surrenders her dignity and her forthright nature no matter how perilous the intrigues or how dirty the work; Mrs. Crawley, the middle-class woman whose son is suddenly next in line to inherit the estate, and who must gracefully adjust to a whole new status; or Sybil, the middle daughter, who passionately argues that women should have the vote and once daringly showed up for dinner in modestly draped trousers.
But the greatest of them all is Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham. None of the others would argue this point. They would be afraid to. They are right to be afraid.
The Dowager Countess is not adjusting to the modern world. The modern world will adjust to her, or she will eradicate it. She rules over her family with a potent combination of snobbery, sly wit, and sometimes, when we least expect it, wisdom. And thanks to brilliant lines written by Julian Fellowes and the masterful performance of Dame Maggie Smith, the Dowager Countess rules over the show, too; even if she only appears in two scenes of an episode, they're the two scenes you can't forget.
Some people say the twentieth century truly began with World War I. I suspect it truly began when the Dowager Countess died. It was too intimidated to start any earlier. She wouldn't have stood for it.
Pity the poor creature who finds herself at the mercy of one of the Dowager Countess' innumerable zingers:
Cora: “Are we to be friends then?”
Lady Grantham: “We are allies, my dear, which can be a good deal more effective.”
Lady Grantham: “I couldn’t have electricity in the house, I wouldn’t sleep a wink. All those vapors floating about.”
Cora: “I hope I don’t hear sounds of a disagreement.”
Lady Grantham: “Is that what they call discussion in New York?”
Lady Grantham, after being told by the young Mr. Crawley - the first person she has ever spoken to socially who had a job - that he has time on his weekends: “What is a ... weekend?”
Lady Grantham, after learning that a visiting Turkish diplomat has passed away overnight: “Last night! He looked so well. Of course it would happen to a foreigner. No Englishman would dream of dying in someone else’s house.”
Cora: “I might send her over to visit my aunt. She could get to know New York.”
Lady Grantham: “Oh, I don’t think things are quite that desperate.”
Lady Grantham: “One can’t go to pieces at the death of every foreigner. We’d all be in a constant state of collapse whenever we opened a newspaper.”
Cora: “I hate to go behind Robert’s back.”
Lady Grantham: “That is a scruple no successful wife can afford.”
Lady Grantham: “Why would you want to go to a real school? You’re not a doctor’s daughter.”
Sybil: “Nobody learns anything from a governess, apart from French and how to curtsy.”
Lady Grantham: “What else do you need? Are you thinking of a career in banking?”
Cora: “Things are different in America.”
Lady Grantham: “I know. They live in wigwams.”
Lady Grantham: “You are quite wonderful the way you see room for improvement wherever you look. I never knew such reforming zeal.”
Mrs. Crawley: “I take that as a compliment.”
Lady Grantham: “I must’ve said it wrong.”
And finally, just so you can appreciate the glory for yourselves, her consternation upon visiting young Mr. Crawley's office for the first time:
"Downton Abbey" takes place in a great English house between 1912 and 1914. All the female characters on this series are excellent -- whether it's Cora, the wealthy American wife of Lady Grantham's son, who has to balance the needs of her children and the modern age versus the traditions she married into; Gwen, a housemaid with aspirations of breaking out of service, as proved by her ownership of a contraband typewriter; Mary, the eldest daughter, who both yearns to break free of the restrictions of her social world and yet to revel in the privilege that world gives her; Anna, the head housemaid, who never surrenders her dignity and her forthright nature no matter how perilous the intrigues or how dirty the work; Mrs. Crawley, the middle-class woman whose son is suddenly next in line to inherit the estate, and who must gracefully adjust to a whole new status; or Sybil, the middle daughter, who passionately argues that women should have the vote and once daringly showed up for dinner in modestly draped trousers.
But the greatest of them all is Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham. None of the others would argue this point. They would be afraid to. They are right to be afraid.
The Dowager Countess is not adjusting to the modern world. The modern world will adjust to her, or she will eradicate it. She rules over her family with a potent combination of snobbery, sly wit, and sometimes, when we least expect it, wisdom. And thanks to brilliant lines written by Julian Fellowes and the masterful performance of Dame Maggie Smith, the Dowager Countess rules over the show, too; even if she only appears in two scenes of an episode, they're the two scenes you can't forget.
Some people say the twentieth century truly began with World War I. I suspect it truly began when the Dowager Countess died. It was too intimidated to start any earlier. She wouldn't have stood for it.
Pity the poor creature who finds herself at the mercy of one of the Dowager Countess' innumerable zingers:
Cora: “Are we to be friends then?”
Lady Grantham: “We are allies, my dear, which can be a good deal more effective.”
Lady Grantham: “I couldn’t have electricity in the house, I wouldn’t sleep a wink. All those vapors floating about.”
Cora: “I hope I don’t hear sounds of a disagreement.”
Lady Grantham: “Is that what they call discussion in New York?”
Lady Grantham, after being told by the young Mr. Crawley - the first person she has ever spoken to socially who had a job - that he has time on his weekends: “What is a ... weekend?”
Lady Grantham, after learning that a visiting Turkish diplomat has passed away overnight: “Last night! He looked so well. Of course it would happen to a foreigner. No Englishman would dream of dying in someone else’s house.”
Cora: “I might send her over to visit my aunt. She could get to know New York.”
Lady Grantham: “Oh, I don’t think things are quite that desperate.”
Lady Grantham: “One can’t go to pieces at the death of every foreigner. We’d all be in a constant state of collapse whenever we opened a newspaper.”
Cora: “I hate to go behind Robert’s back.”
Lady Grantham: “That is a scruple no successful wife can afford.”
Lady Grantham: “Why would you want to go to a real school? You’re not a doctor’s daughter.”
Sybil: “Nobody learns anything from a governess, apart from French and how to curtsy.”
Lady Grantham: “What else do you need? Are you thinking of a career in banking?”
Cora: “Things are different in America.”
Lady Grantham: “I know. They live in wigwams.”
Lady Grantham: “You are quite wonderful the way you see room for improvement wherever you look. I never knew such reforming zeal.”
Mrs. Crawley: “I take that as a compliment.”
Lady Grantham: “I must’ve said it wrong.”
And finally, just so you can appreciate the glory for yourselves, her consternation upon visiting young Mr. Crawley's office for the first time:
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