I just watched the season finale of Downton Abbey. (It is brilliant!) The most touching of the layered, interweaving story lines is, for me, the doomed love story between the kind-hearted housemaid, Anna, and the noble valet, Mr Bates. Laden with shame, past indiscretion, misunderstanding and the repression of the Edwardian era, the bittersweetness of their star-crossed love story warms and breaks my heart.
"It's always sad, when you love someone who doesn't love you back," Anna says. "No matter who you are."
"Perhaps," Mr Bates responds, as she leaves the room, "Mr Patrick did love her back, he just couldn't say."
"Why ever not?"
"Sometimes, we're not at liberty to speak. Sometimes, it wouldn't be right."
We know about successful attempts at love, as well as the painful break-ups that sometimes follow. And we often hear about the hurtfulness of loving somebody who doesn't love you back.
But there is another kind of love, one that doesn't get quite as much attention. The love that never was, and never will be, but it is longingly reciprocated. (Think Josephine Alibrandi and John Barton, Toru Wantanabe and Naoko, Nina Proudman and Chris Havel.)
The sadness lies in its potential... that (thanks to misfortune, bad timing, shyness, fear) exists only in our dreams and our broken hearts.
The sadness lies in its potential... that (thanks to misfortune, bad timing, shyness, fear) exists only in our dreams and our broken hearts.
Upon being asked by a potential suitor whether Anna has anybody special in her life, Mr Bates replies: "I'd like to say she hasn't. I would truly. But I'm afraid there is someone... He keeps himself to himself. He's very hard to read at times. I'd say he's keen. I'd say he's very keen indeed."
1 comments:
I LOVE Downton Abbey! That's all.
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