"King Arthur's Socks" was first produced by the Provincetown Players,
New York City, in 1916, with the following cast:
Guenevere Robinson...Edna James
Vivien Smith.........Jane Burr
Mary.................Augusta Gary
Lancelot Jones.......Max Eastman
_The living room of a summer cottage in Camelot, Maine. A pretty
woman of between twenty-five and thirty-five is sitting in a big chair
in the lamplight darning socks. She is Mrs. Arthur B. Robinson--or, to
give her her own name, Guenevere. She is dressed in a light summer
frock, and with her feet elevated on a settle there is revealed a
glimpse of slender silk-clad ankles. It is a pleasant summer evening,
and, one might wonder why so attractive a woman should be sitting at
home darning her husband's socks, there being so many other interesting
things to do in this world. The girl standing in the doorway, smiling
amusedly, seems to wonder at it too. The girl's name is Vivien
Smith_.
VIVIEN. Hello, Gwen!
GUENEVERE. Hello, Vivien! Come in.
VIVIEN. I'm just passing by.
GUENEVERE. Come in and console me for a minute or two, anyway. I'm a
widow at present.
VIVIEN. (_enters and lounges against the mantelpiece_) Arthur gone to
New York again?
GUENEVERE. Yes, for over Sunday. And I'm lonely.
VIVIEN. You don't seem to mind. Think of a woman being that happy
darning her husband's socks!
GUENEVERE. Stay here and talk to me--unless you've something else on.
It's been ages since I've seen you.
VIVIEN. I'm afraid I have got something else on, Gwen--I'll give you
one guess.
GUENEVERE. You can't pretend to be art-ing at this hour of the night.
VIVIEN. I could pretend, but I won't. No, Gwen dear, it's not the
pursuit of art, it's the pursuit of a man.
GUENEVERE. Don't try to talk like a woman in a Shaw play. I don't like
this rigmarole about "pursuit." Say you're in love, like a civilized
human being. And take a cigarette, and tell me about it.
VIVIEN. _(lighting a cigarette)_ I don't know whether I'm so civilized,
at that. You know me, Gwen. When I paint, do I paint like a lady?--or
like a savage! (_She does, in fact, appear to be a very headstrong and
reckless young woman_.)
GUENEVERE. (_mildly_) Oh, be a savage all you want to, Gwen. But don't
tell me you're going in for this modern free-love stuff, because I
won't believe it. You're not that kind of fool, Vivien. (_She darns
placidly away_.)
VIVIEN. No, I'm not. I'm not a fool at all, Gwen dear. I know exactly
what I want--and it doesn't include being disowned by my family and
having my picture in the morning papers. Free-love? Not at all. I want
to be married.
GUENEVERE. Well, for heaven's sake, who is it?
VIVIEN. Is it possible that it's not being gossiped about? You really
haven't heard?
GUENEVERE. Not a syllable.
VIVIEN. Then I shan't tell you.
GUENEVERE. But--why?
VIVIEN. Because you'll think I've a nerve to want him.
GUENEVERE. Nonsense. I don't know any male person in these parts who is
good enough for you, Vivien.
VIVIEN. Thanks, darling. That's just what I think in my calmer moments.
But mostly I'm so crazy about him that I'm almost humble. Can you
imagine it?
GUENEVERE. Well, what's the matter, then? Doesn't he reciprocate? You
don't look like the victim of a hopeless passion.
VIVIEN. Oh, he's in love with me all right. But he doesn't want to be.
He says being in love interferes with his work.
GUENEVERE. What nonsense!
VIVIEN. Oh, I don't know about that! I think being in love with me
would interfere with a man's work. I should hope so!
GUENEVERE. (_primly_) I don't interfere with Arthur's work.
VIVIEN. Arthur's a professor of philosophy. Besides, Arthur had
written a book and settled down before he fell in love with you. I'm
dealing with a man who has his work still to do. He thinks if he
had about three years of peace and quiet and hard work, he'd put
something big across. He put it up to me as a fellow-artist. I know
just how he feels. I suppose I am very distracting!
GUENEVERE. Well, why don't you give him his three years?
VIVIEN. Gwen! What do you think I am? An altruist? A benefactor of
humanity? Well, I'm not, I'm a woman. Three years? I've given him three
hours, and threatened to marry a man back at home if he doesn't make up
his mind before then.
GUENEVERE. Heavens, Vivien, you _are_ a savage! Well, did it work?
VIVIEN. I don't know. The three hours aren't up yet. I'm going around
to get my answer now. I must say the prospect isn't encouraging. He
started to pack up to go to Boston. He says he won't be bullied.
GUENEVERE. But Vivien!
VIVIEN. Oh, don't condole with me yet, Gwen dear. It's twelve hours
before that morning train, and I'm not through with him yet.
GUENEVERE. (_curiously_) What are you going to do?
VIVIEN. Nothing crude, Gwen dear. Oh, there's lots of things I can do.
Cry, for instance. He's never seen a woman cry. Maybe you think I can't
cry?
GUENEVERE. It's hard to imagine _you_ crying.
VIVIEN. I never wanted anything badly enough to cry for it before. But
I could cry my heart out for him. I've absolutely no pride left. Well--
I'm going to have him, that's all. (_She throws her cigarette into
the grate, and starts to go_.)