Constancy is considered to be first of its kind and helped launch American Modern Theatre. Relying on a realistic approach to dialogue, Boyce and her cronies penned thinly-veiled-tales about each other changing only the names to protect the guilty. In this particular case, it was Boyce's retelling of what she had witnessed between Mabel Dodge and Jack Reed while overseas.
CHARACTERS
MOIRA: Originally played by Neith Boyce.
REX: Originally played by Mary Heaton Vorse's husband, journalist and labor activist, Joe O'Brien, who would succumb to stomach cancer in October of 1915.
A room, luxurious and gay, in delicate, bright colors. Long arched windows at the back
open on a balcony flooded with moonlight, overlooking the sea. In the center of the room
a long sofa piled with bright cushions.
Moira, sitting at a desk under a shaded lamp, writing busily. She is dressed in a robe of
brocade with straight lines, brilliant in color.
A whistle sounds under the balcony. She looks up, glances at a tiny clock on the desk,
which delicately chimes twelve, smiles and finishes her phrase. A second whistle,
prolonged. She rises and goes out on the balcony, leans over the rail.
REX (Off): Moira.
MOIRA: Rex. There you are. Come ‘round, the door is open.
REX: The door. The door. Oh, very well . . .
(Moira comes back into room, laughing softly. She glances into mirror, touching the
circlet around her temples, takes cigarette, lights it, stands leaning against end of couch,
looking at Rex. . .
Enter Rex in cape and soft hat which he drops on floor as Moira lazily takes two steps to
meet him, with both hands held out.)
MOIRA: Well. Well. Here you are.
REX (Quickly): Yes. I’ve come back.
MOIRA (Lazily): You have come back. How well you’re looking.
REX: I’m not well. I’m confoundedly ill. I’m a wreck.
MOIRA: Oh, no. Come here, let me look at you. (Draws him nearer lamp) Well, you’re a
little thinner, but it’s becoming. And you do look tired. But then you’ve had a long
journey. Come, sit down and make yourself comfortable.
(She drops onto couch. and draws him down.)
REX: Comfortable.
MOIRA: Yes; why not there? (Tosses cushion behind his head.) Will you have something
to eat? A drink?
REX (Darkly): No, Moira.
MOIRA: Have a cigarette. I think I’ve some of your kind left. Look over there.
REX: Oh, never mind. (He is gazing intently at her; mutters) I don’t care what kind.
MOIRA: You don’t care. And I’ve kept them all this time. Well then, have one of mine.
(She leans to take one from desk, offers it to him, he lights it absently, looking at her
steadily as though perplexed.)
REX: Thanks. Moira, I must say you look well.
MOIRA: Yes, I am — very well.
REX: And — happy?
MOIRA: Oh, very busy, and—yes, pretty happy, I should say.
REX (Gloomily): I’m very glad.
(She smokes luxuriously, looking at him. He smokes nervously, looking at her.)
MOIRA: And now tell me all about yourself, my dear. It seems ages since you went away
and yet it’s only four months... but such a lot of things have happened.
REX: Yes. A lot indeed. (Abruptly) I wrote you.
MOIRA: Oh yes, but letters ... There’s a lot one doesn’t say in letters.
REX: Yes, there is. (Gets up, strides to railing, hurls cigarette out, comes back and
stands back of couch.) Moira, the last thing on earth I expected was that you should
receive me like this.
MOIRA: But why, Rex. How did you expect me to receive you? With a dagger in one
hand and a bottle of poison in the other?
REX: Well, I don’t know. But (bitterly) I didn’t expect this.
MOIRA: But what is this?
REX: You know well enough. You treat me as though I were an ordinary acquaintance,
just dropped in for a chat.
MOIRA: Oh, no, no. A dear friend, Rex. . . . Always dear to me.
(She leans over languidly, drops cigarette in tray, takes gray knitting from desk and
knits.)
REX: Friend. (Walks away to window) When we parted four months ago we weren’t
friends. We were lovers.
MOIRA (Sweetly): Yes, but you know a lot of things have happened since then.
(She knits with attention.)
REX: Well . . . (Stops for a moment then turns toward her with indignation) Well, even if
things have happened. I don’t see how you can have changed so completely.
MOIRA (Counting stitches): One, two, three . . . Well, my dear Rex, you’ve changed a
good deal yourself.
REX (Vehemently coming back.): I have not changed.
MOIRA (Dropping her knitting and looking around at him.): Well . . . Really.
REX (Hotly): Of course I know what you mean. Perhaps it’s natural enough for you to
think so.
MOIRA (Coolly): Yes, I should think it was.
REX: And yet I did think you were intelligent enough to understand. But even if I had
changed as completely as you thought, I still don’t understand why — why you are like
this.
MOIRA: This again. (Puts up hand to him) My dear Rex, I’m awfully glad to see you
again. Do come, sit down and let us talk about everything.
REX (Dolefully): Glad to see me. (He sits at end of sofa) I didn’t think you’d let me in
the door.
MOIRA: You didn’t? (Springs up suddenly, drops knitting.) Rex, you didn’t expect to
come by the ladder, did you?
REX: Well, no —
MOIRA: I believe you did. This romantic hour, your boat, your whistle — just the same —
I know you looked for the ladder.
REX: No, no, I didn’t. I tell you I didn’t think you’d see me at all. But what have you
done with it, Moira?
MOIRA: The ladder? (Walks across to table, opens drawer, drags out rope ladder, comes
back to couch.) Here it is.
REX: So—you’ve kept it.
MOIRA: Yes — as a remembrance.
REX: Only that?
MOIRA: Absolutely. If you like I’ll give it to you now.
REX: To me.
MOIRA: Yes. You might find use for it some time.
REX: Moira.
MOIRA (Laughing): Well, you know, my dear Rex, you are incurably romantic—and
then, you’re still young. As for me, my days of romance are over.
REX (Leaning towards her, violently): I don’t believe it. I believe you love some one
else. I’ve believed it ever since your telegram to me. Otherwise you couldn’t have
behaved so — so —
MOIRA: So well?
REX: If you call it that.
MOIRA: I do, of course. I think I behaved admirably. But you’re wrong about the reason.
I don’t love anyone else and I don’t intend to. I’ve done with all that.
REX (Softened, taking her hand.): No, Moira.
MOIRA: Yes, indeed. (Sits up, drawing her hand away, more coolly.) As to my telegram,
what else could I do? You had fallen in love with Ellen. You telegraphed me, “Let us part
friends”—
REX: But, Moira —
MOIRA (Quickly): Then came your letter telling me that you and Ellen loved one
another; that this was the real love at last, that you felt you never had loved me —
REX: Yes, but Moira —
MOIRA: You reminded me how unhappy you and I had been together—how we had
quarreled — how we had hurt one another —
REX: Yes, yes, I know, but listen —
MOIRA: And then you begged me to forgive you for leaving me — so — I did forgive you.
What else could I do if I couldn’t hold on to you when you loved and wanted to marry
another woman.
REX: Moira, if you won’t listen to a word from me, how can I explain to you?
MOIRA: Why, Rex, I’ll listen to you all night if you like... but I don’t see that you have
anything to explain.
REX: Well, I have, though. You’ve got an entirely wrong idea of this business...
MOIRA: I don’t see that. Your letters were quite explicit. You were tired of me —
REX: I was not.
MOIRA: You fell in love with another woman, younger, more beautiful —
REX: Moira —
MOIRA: That’s all natural enough. I know what men are. They‘re restless, changeable.
You wanted to marry this one — just as —
REX: I didn’t want to marry her.
MOIRA: You didn’t? You wrote me —
REX: Well, perhaps I did, or thought I did, just then... But really it was she that wanted
to marry me.
MOIRA: Oh, Rex, you wrote me —
REX: Oh, I admit I was in love with her. Yes, I was, for a while and I was willing to do
anything she wanted, then.
MOIRA: Well, then.
REX: But, Moira, what I can’t understand is your giving me up like that — like a shot,
without a struggle.
MOIRA: But, my dear Rex, what else —
REX: When I think what you were last year. What scenes you made if I even looked at
another woman. How you threatened to kill yourself when I had just a casual adventure.
MOIRA: Yes — that’s true — I did.
REX: Well, what can I think now except that you have absolutely ceased to love me.
MOIRA: But, my dear Rex, did you want me to go on loving you when you had left me
for another woman?
REX: I never left you.
MOIRA: Oh.
REX (Hastily): But, anyhow, it isn’t a question of what I wanted. It’s a question of fact.
You stopped loving me. The real truth is you never never loved me.
MOIRA: Oh, yes, I did, Rex.
REX: No, else you couldn’t have stopped. It’s true; it’s true. “Love is not love that alters
when it alteration finds or bends with the remover to remove.”
MOIRA: Oh, my dear Rex, you are really wonderful. How about you? You stopped
loving me.
REX: I never stopped loving you.
MOIRA: Oh, heavens. You wrote me that you never had loved me.
REX: Never mind what I wrote. I was in a very excited frame of mind—and wrote a lot
of things I didn’t mean. And you must remember Ellen was there at my elbow, and of
course her point of view influenced me a lot.
MOIRA (Coldly): Naturally. And what was her point of view?
REX: Why that we were fatally in love; had fallen in love at first sight and that we were
to marry and settle down together.
MOIRA: Well, that certainly seemed to be your point of view.
REX: I tell you, Ellen was right there, influencing me... And there’s no doubt I was in
love with her at the time. She’s lovely, you know. I was mad about her.
MOIRA: Why do you say was — was — was? You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?
REX: No, Moira, I don’t believe I am. Of course I have a feeling about her — she is
beautiful — But even if I were in love with her, Moira, this about marrying —
MOIRA: Well, what about it?
REX (Springing up and pacing the floor): Moira, I don’t want to marry. As to settling
down, I simply can’t.
MOIRA: But you promised her, didn’t you?
REX: I did. And of course if she insists, I suppose I’ll have to keep my promise. That is,
I’ll marry her, but I won’t settle down. That I cannot do. Why, Moira, listen — (Throws
himself in corner of couch, leans forward.) What do you think she expects? She expects
me to live with her in a little suburban house, and come back every night to dinner, and
have a yard with vegetables, and a sleeping porch facing the east. Oh, Moira. (Buries his
face in his hands.)
MOIRA: Well, my dear Rex, if you love her —
REX (Savagely): I couldn’t love anyone like that.
MOIRA: Well, how do you love her, then?
REX (Moodily): Why-I loved her as a beautiful, poetical creature, a bit of plastic
loveliness—Moira, you ought to see her; she is lovely - er - she was unhappy, too. She
needed to be made love to. I made love to her; I loved her in a way, but, oh, Moira, not as
I loved you.
MOIRA: What? My dear boy...
REX (Surprised): Surely you know Moira that I have loved you ever since we met; that I
never ceased loving you; that I could never love anyone else as I love you.
MOIRA: But, my dear Rex, you wrote me.
REX: Oh, I wrote you, I wrote you. . . . I’ve already explained to you that I wasn’t in a
state of mind to know what I meant then. You remember, too, that you and I parted with a
quarrel.
MOIRA: What of it? You wrote me right after that quarrel that you adored me more than
ever . . .
REX: Well, so I did... But don’t you see, the fact that we had quarreled so terribly, just
at parting — well, it made me feel desperate. And so —
MOIRA (Ironically): And so — you fell in love with Ellen.
REX: Well, yes, that’s only natural, just at first. But now, you see, I’ve had time to think
it over and I know — why, what did you think I meant when I wrote you that I was
coming back?
MOIRA: Meant? Meant? Why I supposed you meant you were coming to pay me a
friendly visit and make sure of my forgiveness.
REX: Forgiveness, yes, but real forgiveness, Moira.
MOIRA: Yes, yes, I do really forgive you. I don’t bear you any malice at all.
REX: Then you do really love me, Moira, after all.
MOIRA: I’m very fond of you, my dear, and always shall be.
REX: No, no, that isn’t what I mean and you know it. I love you just as I always did, only
more, I think. I’ve come back to you, Moira.
MOIRA: But — my dear Rex — Ellen.
REX: I’ve written Ellen that I can’t honestly promise to do what she wants... I’ve told
her that I will marry her if she still wants me to, but that I can’t settle dow... That I
must have my freedom — and that probably she wouldn’t be happy with me. I have been
as honest with her as I could be — Just as I was always honest with you.
MOIRA (Smiling pensively): Yes, you always told me that, too.
REX: You see, I haven’t deceived either of you. I may have deceived myself at times —
when I thought I didn’t love you, for instance. But I know now that I do and always shall.
And so, Moira, do you forgive me?
MOIRA: I’ve told you so.
REX: And love me?
MOIRA: In a way, yes — I always shall.
REX: No, not in a way. As you did before, Moira. Surely you haven’t altogether stopped
loving me.
MOIRA: No, not as I did before. That was a disease, a madness. I was mad with jealousy
of you... I was miserable. I tried to keep you faithful to me — and I couldn’t. I don’t
want to go back to that.
REX: You don’t want to go back?
MOIRA: No. To have you leave me again in a few months — or weeks — for another
woman? No.
REX: Moira, I was always faithful to you, really. I always shall be. I should always come
back.
MOIRA: That is your idea of fidelity. You would always come back.
REX: Yes, always. I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t stay away for long. I couldn’t forget
you.
MOIRA: You forgot me easily.
REX: I never forgot you. Didn’t I write you nearly every day? You were always on my
mind. I saw you suffering, wounded, desperate, perhaps even doing what you threatened
once — you know —
MOIRA: Kill myself?
REX: I thought everything. I was in despair about you. Even your letters, so calm and
generous, didn’t reassure me. I knew your pride.
MOIRA: So you thought I was wearing a mask of cheerfulness and resignation.
REX: Yes, and I thought it noble of you.
MOIRA: And at the same time you thought I must be in love with some one else. You
said so.
REX: Well, I didn’t know what to think. That’s the truth.
MOIRA: The one thing you couldn’t believe was that I had ceased to feel about you as a
lover.
REX: Yes, that was it; I admit it.
MOIRA: And yet you’ll admit, too, that it was the right and reasonable thing to do.
REX: Oh, right and reasonable.
MOIRA: If I had behaved like a jealous fury, showered reproaches on you, threatened
you, pursued you, tried to get you away from Ellen, that from your point of view would
have been the natural thing for me to do.
REX: Yes, if you loved me.
MOIRA: Well, Rex, I don’t think so. I knew that you would leave me some day. You’re
young, and as you say yourself, you must have your freedom. So when it came I took the
blow, for it was a blow. I adjusted myself to the change.
REX: Very easily.
MOIRA: Well, it is done, now.
REX: And you don’t want to undo it? You don’t want me back?
MOIRA: As a friend, yes; always. Love passes. Friendship endures.
REX: Love never ends—real love. But you know nothing about it. You never loved me.
MOIRA: I did, Rex. I lived only for you for a year and I wasn’t happy. Don’t you
remember how I absorbed myself in you, gave up all my other interests, gave up my
friends, could see nothing and nobody but you; was careless and indifferent to everyone
but you? And I wasn’t happy.
REX: That is exactly it. Did I want you to give up your interests and your friends? Did I
want you to see nothing and nobody but me? Didn’t I want you to be free of me and let
me be free of you — sometimes.
MOIRA: In love one cannot be free. I was constant to you every moment, while I loved
you.
REX: While you loved me. That’s not my idea of constancy.
MOIRA: No, your idea of constancy is to love a hundred other women and at intervals to
come back—to me.
REX: Moira, you drove it too hard. You tied yourself and me down hand and foot. And
now you say it is ended for you. Now because I’ve been what you call unfaithful you
throw me off. And that is your idea of constancy.
MOIRA: I can’t endure love without fidelity. It tortures me. I don’t want to be the head
of a harem. Yes, it is ended.
REX (Goes to balcony, stands looking out.): Look. How many times have I come to you;
come up over this balcony? And you were happy then. You didn’t want to push me away
then.
MOIRA: It was a fever. What is real is what I feel for you now; a warm affection, a—
REX: I don’t want that. I want you back as you were before.
MOIRA: You want to make me miserable again. No, Rex.
REX: (Kneels on couch, leans toward her and takes her in his arms. She does not resist.)
I can’t believe you mean it. Kiss me. (She kisses him. He draws back suddenly and lets
her go.) You do mean it. You don’t care any more. (He drops down on couch. She leans
over and caresses his hair.)
MOIRA: Now, Rex, you are just a boy, crying for the moon. As long as you haven’t got
it you are dying for it. When you get it you go on to something else. I understand you
very well and I think you are the most charming and amusing person I know, and I shall
always be really fonder of you than of anyone else.
REX: (Jumping to his feet.) The moon. You are the moon, I suppose, and you are
certainly as inconstant. How can you change like this? I come back to you loving you as I
always did, the same as ever, and I find you completely changed; your love for me gone
as thought it had never been. And you tell me it is no new love that has driven it out. I
could understand that, but this... It is true, as Weiniger said, women have no soul, no
memory. They are incapable of fidelity.
MOIRA: Fidelity.
REX: Yes, fidelity. Haven’t I been essentially faithful to you. I may have fancies for
other women but haven’t I come back to you?
MOIRA (Looking at him with admiration): Oh, Rex, you are perfect; you are a perfect
man.
REX: Well, I can say with sincerity that you are a complete woman.
MOIRA: After that I suppose there is no more to say. We have annihilated one another.
REX (Furiously snatching up cloak and hat): I shall leave you.
MOIRA: But you will come back.
REX: Come back. (He turns to her) You know I shall. I can’t help it. And we shall see.
MOIRA: Yes, shan’t we. Oh, by the way, I promised you this. (Holds up the ladder)
REX: You’d better keep it.
MOIRA: No, Rex. (Drops the ladder at his feet.)
REX: I am going. You never loved me.
MOIRA: Oh, yes I did, Rex. Have you forgotten?
REX: I have forgotten nothing. It is you who have forgotten. It is you who have been
unfaithful. I come back to you and you treat me like a stranger. You turn me out. You say
you no longer love me. (Regarding her with passionate reproach.) And you told me you had forgiven me.
MOIRA: So I have.
REX: You mean-by ceasing to love me. Do you think anyone wants that sort of
forgiveness?
MOIRA: That’s the only sort anyone ever gets.
REX: No. (with emotion) Forgiving means forgetting.
MOIRA (With a wide gesture): Well, I have forgotten - everything.
REX (With a violent movement toward her): You — (Stops and they stand looking at
another) And you have called me inconstant. (He backs toward the door with a savage
laugh) Constancy!
(Moira stands looking at him, motionless.)
CURTAIN.
