Downton Abbey Virtues
Wherein Lord Grantham does not take advantage of young housemaid Jane because, as he tells her, it is unfair to her, not to mention morally wrong, and he practices self-regulation.
Like millions, apparently, who are besotted with the rarified world of Robert and Cora Crawley, their family, their house staff, their relatives, and their acquaintances, I'm glued to the television set on Sunday nights to watch the PBS Masterpiece Classic "Downton Abbey." The sets are jaw-dropping, the clothes are exquisite, and the plot is pure high-brow soap opera. It's a palm-rubbing delight!
I was struck by the emotional subtext of last night's episode (the 6th in Season 2) surrounding Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, head of Downtown Abbey, and his attraction to a young war widow recently hired on as a maid. Lord Grantham is feeling disconnected, out of place and time, ignored, and useless, and his lovely wife is busy with other things. He's been finding Cora's opinions and ideas tedious. He's angry. He is lonely.
Impressed by Jane, whose husband perished on the killing fields of World War I, Robert is sympathetic to her sacrifice and finds himself drawn to her, and when she indicates her infatuation with him, he pulls her into his room and is nearly about to do the dirty deed when there's a knock at the door. It's just his valet, Mr. Bates, asking when he'd like to be awakened in the morning, but it's enough to break the spell of the British version of animal heat. Robert tells Jane that as much as he is attracted to her, as much as he wishes to give in to his desires, it would put her in an impossible position. "I wish everything were different," he tells her, and he makes her leave. For once—a scene in which the one with power did not exert said power over the helpless and less thoughtful servant.
I'm thrilled that the writer and producers of "Downton Abbey" do their best to portray the conventional mores of the period (unlike James Cameron's utter disregard for them in his 1997 blockbuster, "Titanic"). Yes, Robert's daughter Mary is quite the entitled little tart, flaunting propriety in her dalliance with that foreign man who died in her bed, but look at the lengths she's going to keep it under wraps! And poor, arrogant, dimwitted Ethel, the maid who flung caution to the wind for one night with a soldier and is paying for it dearly now—Mrs. Hughes dishes out real compassion with real truth in telling her, "You're not respectable now. That's the real world." One just didn't broadcast one's inability to control passions in that time and that culture.
We don't think today, or don't care, that our actions will have consequences; if not for us personally, certainly for others. The woman who has an affair with her married boss may unwittingly set into motion a nasty divorce that affects children who never get over it and ruin their own lives in sordid ways, in turn damaging their children. But she doesn't have to think about that, says conventional wisdom (wisdom?); consenting adults should do as they please. You've got to do what feels right for you, we're told, so men and women see no value in practicing self-control, in reminding themselves they are not driven by instinct like feral cats but can, in fact, decide to do what is right even when everything in them wants to do wrong. And we wonder why our lives are so out of control.
Hip, hip, Lord Grantham. Splendid, my man. You done right, Robert.
Like millions, apparently, who are besotted with the rarified world of Robert and Cora Crawley, their family, their house staff, their relatives, and their acquaintances, I'm glued to the television set on Sunday nights to watch the PBS Masterpiece Classic "Downton Abbey." The sets are jaw-dropping, the clothes are exquisite, and the plot is pure high-brow soap opera. It's a palm-rubbing delight!
I was struck by the emotional subtext of last night's episode (the 6th in Season 2) surrounding Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, head of Downtown Abbey, and his attraction to a young war widow recently hired on as a maid. Lord Grantham is feeling disconnected, out of place and time, ignored, and useless, and his lovely wife is busy with other things. He's been finding Cora's opinions and ideas tedious. He's angry. He is lonely.
Impressed by Jane, whose husband perished on the killing fields of World War I, Robert is sympathetic to her sacrifice and finds himself drawn to her, and when she indicates her infatuation with him, he pulls her into his room and is nearly about to do the dirty deed when there's a knock at the door. It's just his valet, Mr. Bates, asking when he'd like to be awakened in the morning, but it's enough to break the spell of the British version of animal heat. Robert tells Jane that as much as he is attracted to her, as much as he wishes to give in to his desires, it would put her in an impossible position. "I wish everything were different," he tells her, and he makes her leave. For once—a scene in which the one with power did not exert said power over the helpless and less thoughtful servant.
I'm thrilled that the writer and producers of "Downton Abbey" do their best to portray the conventional mores of the period (unlike James Cameron's utter disregard for them in his 1997 blockbuster, "Titanic"). Yes, Robert's daughter Mary is quite the entitled little tart, flaunting propriety in her dalliance with that foreign man who died in her bed, but look at the lengths she's going to keep it under wraps! And poor, arrogant, dimwitted Ethel, the maid who flung caution to the wind for one night with a soldier and is paying for it dearly now—Mrs. Hughes dishes out real compassion with real truth in telling her, "You're not respectable now. That's the real world." One just didn't broadcast one's inability to control passions in that time and that culture.
We don't think today, or don't care, that our actions will have consequences; if not for us personally, certainly for others. The woman who has an affair with her married boss may unwittingly set into motion a nasty divorce that affects children who never get over it and ruin their own lives in sordid ways, in turn damaging their children. But she doesn't have to think about that, says conventional wisdom (wisdom?); consenting adults should do as they please. You've got to do what feels right for you, we're told, so men and women see no value in practicing self-control, in reminding themselves they are not driven by instinct like feral cats but can, in fact, decide to do what is right even when everything in them wants to do wrong. And we wonder why our lives are so out of control.
Hip, hip, Lord Grantham. Splendid, my man. You done right, Robert.
Posted by Etiquette Dog at 2/13/2012 4:27 PM 
Categories: morals, integrity, emotions, behavior, character, ethics
Tags: PBS Downton Abbey Lord Grantham Masterpiece Classic
Categories: morals, integrity, emotions, behavior, character, ethics
Tags: PBS Downton Abbey Lord Grantham Masterpiece Classic
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