As an historian of nineteenth and twentieth century Britain and Ireland, I resisted watching Downton Abbey for a long time. I’ve been immersed in the 1920s and the 1930s for over a decade, and I was afraid it would be like seeing all of my favorite books made into one terrible movie, every single week. I also didn’t want to be that cranky person in the corner pointing out anachronisms that don’t really matter to anyone. Finally, my friends lured me over one Sunday night with offers of whiskey cocktails and sticky toffee pudding. And I realized I’d been wrong. It doesn’t matter a bit that this is a confection of the early twentieth century—it’s gorgeous and fun, and even if it doesn’t always fully answer them, the show raises interesting questions about the social history of the period. Warning: there will be spoilers—I’m going to write as though you’ve either watched the episode or never plan to.
Widowhood was the emotional center of Sunday night’s double episode, as Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery) grappled with the aftermath of the untimely death of her husband, Matthew Crawley (Dan Stevens). The escapades of her younger sister, Lady Edith (Laura Carmichael), were meant to lighten the mood and show off some of the glamour of 1920s London. Lady Edith, of course, has been terribly unlucky in love, and is now involved with a married newspaper editor, Michael Gregson (Charles Edwards). Gregson, we learned last season, is not really the cad he appears to be: he can’t get a divorce because his wife is legally insane and thus unable to consent to divorce proceedings.
Between the two of them, Lady Mary and Lady Edith herald the huge shift that occurred in the twentieth century, from death to divorce as a major cause for the end of a marriage for younger people. As average life expectancies increased, it became less common for men and women to lose a spouse to death after only a short marriage rather than at the end of a long life together. Meanwhile, the slow liberalization of divorce laws saw an increasing number of marriages ended in the courts. According to one study, women born between 1900-4 had a life expectancy at birth of 56.8; of those who survived to 15, 83 percent would marry, and 64.3 percent of those marriages would end in widowhood. Divorce accounted for the end of just 3.9 percent. By contrast, women born in 1975 could expect to live to 75.9; 95 percent of those who survived to 15 would likely marry. Though widowhood was still forecast to be more common, ultimately, than divorce, the numbers were much closer: 49.4 percent of these marriages would end in widowhood, and 28.3 percent in divorce. For young women, of course, divorce would be much more common.
The relatively young, beautiful, tragic widow was a mainstay of Victorian British culture. After Prince Albert’s death from typhoid fever in 1861, Queen Victoria entered a state of permanent mourning, wearing black for the rest of her life (she died in 1901). Her extravagant devotion to Albert’s memory helped to nurture a larger culture of mourning, one that featured strict rules about color, clothing, and other accoutrements such as black-edged stationery and special jewelry. When Lady Mary appears at the luncheon table in purple rather than black, she is broadcasting her intention to enter the next stage of mourning and to leave the more intense, all-black phase behind. The massive loss of life caused by World War I fundamentally altered the landscape of mourning. Lady Mary remarks, somewhat caustically, that Gregson is not so bad: “He’s not bad-looking and he’s still alive which puts him two points ahead of most men of our generation.” Although, demographically, the gender balance in Britain was not drastically altered by World War I (because many young men who would otherwise have emigrated stayed home), her comment captures the reality of her social position: many young women of her age and class were premature widows or bereaved of their sweethearts because of the war.
At the same time, however, divorce was slowly becoming an option for an increasing number of English people. Under the 1857 Matrimonial Causes Act, ordinary men and women could try to get divorced (previously marriages could only be ended by church courts or special Acts of Parliament). While men had only to prove adultery, women were required to prove an additional factor such as cruelty, rape, or incest. In 1923, it became easier for women to petition solely on the basis of adultery. The Divorce Court operated on the logic of shaming spouses publicly for their bad behavior in order to encourage better marital conduct among those still married.
When this failed to keep the number of divorce petitions to a minimum, the Court began insisting that couples prove that they were not colluding, or agreeing to a convenient lie about adultery in order to end their marriage by choice. This led to a minor cottage industry that aimed to helped spouses provide the necessary proofs. Dorothy Sayers has a character refer to this farcical situation in Busman’s Honeymoon, the last of the Lord Peter Wimsey/Harriet Vane mysteries: “Which reminds me that my idiot great-nephew, Hughie, has bungled matters as usual. Having undertaken to do the thing like a gentleman, he sneaked off to Brighton with a hired nobody, and the Judge wouldn’t believe either the hotel bills or the chambermaid—knowing them all too well by sight.” In other words, the gallant but inept Hughie had hired witnesses to a faked adultery, but the judge recognized them from previous cases and refused to believe that any real adultery had happened.
In spite of the hassle and humiliation, the number of divorces grew steadily, from the low hundreds each year in the late nineteenth century to the mid-thousands in the interwar decades—2,588 in 1922, the year in which season four begins. If only Lady Edith and her wayward editor can hold out for another fifteen years, a solution is on the horizon for them (one that does not involve becoming a German citizen—or rat poison, Mr. Bates): in 1937, the divorce law was revised, and insanity became one of the grounds for divorce. It would not be until 1969, though, that couples could divorce without having to prove one or the other of them at fault. In 2013, the Office for National Statistics estimated that 42 percent of marriages in England and Wales end in divorce.
It’s tempting to wonder about the causal relationship between these two trends: did we need easier divorce because early death no longer provided a safety valve, in demographic if not individual terms, from dull or desperate marriages? What is certain, though, is that, in focusing on Lady Mary and treating Lady Edith as a sideshow, Downton Abbey is so far looking backward rather than forward; by 1922, the homewrecker and the divorcée were quickly replacing the widow in the pantheon of cultural stereotypes about women.
Tags: downton abbey, history, mo moulton, watching downton abbey with an historian
*A* historian, please. Unless you’re speaking Cockney?
The soft-but-present h is really throwing me off here. A short, unemphesized “a” makes more sense than an “an”, but a loud, long “a” sounds worst of all. Which is definitely not true when speaking of horses or hours.
The “a/an historian” is one of those twitchy things that always gets at me as someone who is trained as a historian, but apparently “an historian” is favored in British English, and “a historian” in American, due to the different ways we pronounce the H in historian. I had to learn to write with both as I studied here AND in the UK as an undergrad. Super jarring. I definitely prefer “a historian,” though.
I almost always, as a Canadian, use Commonwealth English on pieces I write or edit, since the site is half-Canadian, and this is our convention.
You have now angered a Canadian.
(immediately shares a Facebook article by someone you do not like)
(Oh, btw, I am not actually angered: it’s a weird convention that doesn’t make any real SENSE, like so many regional things. I just literally cannot type “a historian,” and am too old to change, but I acknowledge it seems super crazy if you didn’t grow up with it!)
“A Hour and an Half” is the title and length of my diatribe about this infuriating topic.
This is both incorrect and rude! Congratulations!
I’m a Yank…and it’s AN historian. Unless you’re a silly copy editor who cannot understand that the H is pronounced like the H in hour and not like the H in horse.
Since when is the H in “history” and “historian” silent and why are you messing with me? How hard has it been to pronounce a hard H this entire time?
The H in “history” is pronounced. The H in “historian” is not–at least according to historians.
If that were true, my respect for historians would diminish, but the H is pronounced in both so historians are alright in my book.
I love this! I am also the annoying friend that can’t sit through period pieces without critiquing everything. Luckily for me American schools teach you almost nothing about ancient history, because I sat through Rome just fine. Well, with my hands over my eyes, but not because of the history.
And I also like Lady Edith best!
I LOVE THIS. THANK YOU.
ALSO, EDITH RULES.
I really and truly do not get tired of looking at this. 15 minutes and running now.
Did you know there’s a whole entire Tumblr devoted to Edith with Googly Eyes?? I wish I could meet the person responsible and buy him/her a drink/cupcake/my heart because it is my second-favorite thing on the entire internet.
YESSSS! I knew I had seen this somewhere (invariably linked sometime either here or on the ‘Pin). This one just…sends me.
*Gasp* Are you suggesting that Mr. Bates actually did poison Vera? I mean, I don’t trust the guy, but I think self-inflicted, Anna or Sir Richard more likely.
I would love it if they actually did make Bates a murdering psychopath. It would be more interesting than he is now!
I have decided to pretend he definitely did it to make watching the show more interesting. Trying to figure out if/when he’s going to snap is the only thing that makes him bearable.
I think that is brilliant. I find him so utterly tiresome, everything is a problem for him (and Anna, for that matter). I will adopt the belief that he is a psychopath, just lurking, waiting for his next victim…
Jury’s still out on whether Gregson is a cad. I know he had the sensitive River Runs Through It conversation with Matthew and all, but I don’t ever trust a man who claims he has an insane wife until said wife actually makes an onscreen appearance.
Right? I don’t trust him at all. Was he a sleeze in something else? Oh he was a tiny bit sleezy in Mansfield Park.
My ex was CRAZY, is classic bad boyfriend explanation to new girlfriend. Husbands getting troublesome wives put in the mental hospital was not uncommon then or even later on in history. See Mad men, where the shrink reports to Don Draper about what Betty tells him.
It’s totally going to be a Dimitri and Angelique thing. 😉
I don’t even believe Mr Rochester about Bertha. Something real shifty about that whole setup.
(goes off to reread Wide Sargasso Sea)
i’m a believer in the guilt of mr. bates…if not by deed, then by intention.
Fascinated by the aside about demographics: I didn’t realize emigration was still such a big factor this far into the 20th century. Your comment spurred me to do some desultory googling on the subject.
I wonder why Britons are so eager to emigrate, as compared to, say, the French? I’ve lived there, it’s not THAT bad.
The food. To escape the food. And the dreary.
Great article – I love it almost as much as I love the worldly, grand, oh-so-mindnumblingly repetitive Viking River Cruises commercials before each and *every* episode. Nah, I LOVE THIS ARTICLE SO MUCH MORE. Excited to read future week’s installments!
I have adapted to the Viking River Cruises thing, but the Ralph Lauren thing is fingernails on chalkboard to me.
I basically gave up on this whole show after they killed off my two of my three favourite characters, and “Lady Mary’s Eyebrows” were not enough of a character to keep watching.
Yeah, I’m done after this week. My wife and I generally try to have a couple of shows to watch together, but the season opener was the final nail in the coffin. Frees up time for me to do laundry and ironing for the week, I guess.
Downton is absolutely painful to watch lately and deteriorates with every episode. That said, I think the loss of Matthew was a wash because now they only have the second-worst couple in the history of television instead of both of them at the same time. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a JJ Abrams deal where the producers have lost interest yet again and have moved on to the next thing, leaving the series to implode.
Isn’t the whole point of Downton Abbey that it’s backward-looking? I stopped watching when I realized the real protagonists of the show weren’t going to be the forward-looking modern people ready to bound into the 20th century (for instance the chambermaid who wants to become a secretary), but the hidebound characters stuck in an obsolete Jane Austen mindset. That said, if Lady Edith is cavorting in London with married men, I might start watching again. That sounds a lot more interesting than “Who should we marry our daughter off to so as to avoid becoming paupers”.
There’s also a scandalous new cousin at Downton, who is really into jazz and 20s fashion and trying to pretend class doesn’t exist.
also, can we have a moment for dorothy sayers?? peter wimsey and harriet vane are the perfect counterpoint to Downton. surprisingly modern, interesting, and hilarious…yet set in almost the same time period.
Love this article! In general I love to talk about television, but adding the historian’s perspective is a really interesting twist.
This is the perfect companion to Downton. I think an historian should accompany all period piece viewings (much like they accompany Viking cruises, you should look into it as a side gig, Mo). I echo the earlier comment about the awesomeness of Dorothy L. Sayers. Do you think you can pull in a Lord Peter reference in all future reviews? Or Jill Patton Walsh extensions, if necessary.
I loved this! Can it be a series, please? Puh-leaze? I promise Ill click on it 50 times.
When Lady Mary appears at the luncheon table in purple rather than black, she is broadcasting her intention to enter the next stage of mourning and to leave the more intense, all-black phase behind.
I saved this article until after I finally got a chance to watch the season premiere tonight. I’m not remarkably invested in the show’s characters, so I was doubly startled when I suddenly burst into hopeful sobs when Lady Mary appeared in that lilac dress.
When Lady Mary appears at the luncheon table in purple rather than black, she is broadcasting her intention to enter the next stage of mourning and to leave the more intense, all-black phase behind.
I saved this article until after I finally got a chance to watch the season premiere tonight. I'm not remarkably invested in the show's characters, so I was doubly startled when I suddenly burst into hopeful sobs when Lady Mary appeared in that lilac dress.
The H in "history" is pronounced. The H in "historian" is not–at least according to historians.
I’m American and I often say “an historian.” I first encountered it in my history books as a freshman at Harvard (a very anglophilic institution). It’s easier to say, sounds better and is similar to the treatment of the unaspirated “h” in “herbal.” I would say, “an herbal remedy.” Interestingly, I’ve met Brits who pronounce the “h” in herbal.