April 14, 2002

The Constant Wife

The Edwardian era was a time for examining social and filial relationships, particularly through drama. I always look forward to a play by Oscar Wilde, Noel Coward, J.B. Priestley, or Somerset Maugham. Last night I attended Maugham's "The Constant Wife," and as its title suggests, it examines the role of constancy and fidelity in a marriage.

The premise is this: Constance's husband, John, is having an affair with her best friend, and everyone in town knows it except Constance. Meanwhile, an old beau of Constance comes into town after 15 years absence, declares that he has never stopped loving her, and then accepts the platonic friendship she offers him. He declares this undying love no less than three times in fact, much like a puppy-dog hopping at its mistress's feet, hoping to be let up for a hug and a kiss, but just as content to wag its tail in the corner after a pat on the head. I love men like this. I've always wanted to have a Sidney Carton in my life.

In the Edwardian age, this was not only acceptable, it was almost demanded. A woman expected to be flirted with at dinner, worshipped by unmarried men of her husband's acquaintance, and put upon a pedestal from which there was no question that she would not step down. While a woman might look the other
way when her husband strayed, and forgive him when he returned, (Constance in fact gives wonderfully sage and witty advice on how get the most out of a penitent husband) a woman simply did not have an affair. So it was safe to flirt, to have a friend who adored you from afar. In fact, that's where the term "innocent flirtation" originated.

But I would ask whether this is true constancy. Is a man (or woman) being true and faithful simply by keeping their pants on? Is it only the physical manifestation of lust that constitutes infidelity? I would say no. There is an emotional constancy which to me is even more important than physical constancy. It is the everyday sharing of thoughts, dreams, laughter, tragedy, and hope that comprise the whole of a relationship. And if those dreams are shared with another, the integrity of the marriage is compromised.

Moreover, today those flirtations aren't so innocent. Workplace romances and casual affairs are as common as--well, as common as divorce. And I don't know of many men, or any men, who can be devoted to a woman without lusting after her too. Friendly, yes. But devoted, no. I think many women would like to believe it is possible, and crave the friendship and flattery of a platonic devotion. But the chemistry thing just gets in the way. My advice: don't believe it. Somehow the puppy dog eventually ends up in the lap, no matter how many times you point to the corner.

But Maugham never questioned the propriety of a platonic relationship, and indeed no one in the play seems to see anything wrong with Constance going to dinner, theater, and polo games with Bernard while her husband is working. Maugham's focus was to explore the fundamental nature of marriage. Is it a bond of love, or merely a financial contract? And what happens when the chemistry fizzles? According to Maugham, the marriage keeps going. But not for love. Constance says to her husband John, "Our marriage has been successful because we both fell out of love at precisely the same time." She makes a distinction between devotion, which they both claim to have for each other, and love, which she says they have not. Indeed, when she toys with
the idea of an affair, she says to her husband, "I'm only giving away that which you no longer want."

But it is not devotion, or even public opinion, that keeps Constance from having an affair with her devoted puppy dog. After admitting to her friend Bernard (St. Bernard?) that she has strong feelings of attraction to him as well, she rejects his advances by reminding him nobly, "John has purchased my fidelity." In other words, she feels no emotional duty but merely a financial one. They have a contract, and as long as he is paying the bills, she will be honorable in keeping that contract.

Presumably, her husband is under no such bond of fidelity, because he pays his own bills.

Later feminists took up this same argument, writing for most of the 20th century that a woman would never have true freedom, equality, or self-respect in a marriage unless she is providing half the income and paying half the bills. And now wives do, mostly. But the divorce rate has skyrocketed. I'm glad we live in an era where women do not have to stay in a marriage merely because they have no other options, but I like to hope that marriage is more than a contract, and that when the chemistry fizzles, as it naturally does, devotion not only fills the void, it overflows it. After 29 years of marriage, I can honestly say that my cup runneth over. Who needs a Sidney Carton?

-- Jo Ann Skousen

email: jaskousen@mskousen.com

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