“Most people would consider such a marriage as that of Soames and Irene [Forsyte] quite fairly successful; he had money, she had beauty; it was a case for compromise. There was no reason why they should not jog along, even if they hated each other. It would not matter if they went their own ways a little so long as the decencies were observed — the sanctity of the marriage tie, of the common home, respected. Half the marriages of the upper classes were conducted on these lines: Do not offend the susceptibilities of Society; do not offend the susceptibilities of the Church. To avoid offending these is worth the sacrifice of any private feelings. The advantages of the stable home are visible, tangible, so many pieces of property; there is no risk in the status quo. To break up a home is at the best a dangerous experiment, and selfish into the bargain.” —Nobel Prize-winning English novelist and playwright John Galsworthy (1867-1933), The Man of Property (1906), Part I of The Forsyte Saga (1922)
With June being the month
for weddings, I felt the urge to write about marriage—but somehow, couldn’t
resist writing about the unsuccessful kind.
In literature, few are as
calamitous as the one between “man of property” Soames Forsyte and the alluring,
aloof young woman who, despite her overwhelming misgivings about their
difference in temperament, yields to his marriage proposal, Irene Heron. Their
misalliance leads to adultery, scandal, death, and even complications in the following
generation.
Every generation or so, it seems,
has to rediscover John Galsworthy and his magnum
opus about upper middle class
Britain and its conventional (and continually violated) pieties.
Even by the time of his
death, Galsworthy—who himself defied convention by conducting an affair with (and
subsequently marrying) the wife of a cousin—was coming to be regarded as out of
step with literary modernism.
That
Forsyte Woman, the 1949 MGM
adaptation of The
Man of Property with Greer
Garson as Irene and a cast-against-type Errol Flynn as the emotionally
constricted Soames, reminded a mass audience of his work.
But the 26-episode 1967 BBC
adaptation spurred sales that even exceeded what Galsworthy enjoyed in his
lifetime.
Another miniseries, from
2002, starring Damien Lewis and Gina McKee as the mismatched couple, brought
Galsworthy’s work to a wide audience yet again.
I find fascinating not only
the debates about the relative merits of the latter two adaptations, but also
in viewers’ perceptions of Irene’s responsibility for the collapse of the
marriage. Even 20 years ago, to my astonishment, many were unsympathetic to her
situation (even Soames’ assault on her when she declines his advances).
Evidently, certain notions
about keeping up appearances did not go out the late Victorian Era.
(The image accompanying this
post comes from the 1967 adaptation, with Eric Porter and Soames and Nyree Dawn
Porter as Irene. Physically, Nyree Dawn Porter—no relation, incidentally, to
Eric—is a closer fit to what Galsworthy had in mind for her character than
McKee: “The gods had given Irene dark brown eyes and golden hair, that strange
combination, provocative of men's glances. The full soft pallor of her neck and
shoulders, above a gold-colored frock, gave to her personality an alluring
strangeness.")
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