by Tom Murphy
Porphyry, also known as Iudushka (little Judas), dominates the book; as such the one to follow one would, and should, think. He is a married man whose wife is dead, he has two sons, one of whom commits suicide, the other, convicted of embezzlement, perishes on his way to Siberia: all down to Porphyry’s meanness of character; he is a civil servant of no distinction; he is a consummate hypocrite – but an unconscious one – his hypocrisy innate. (When he first appeared in print he was considered to be a Russian Tartuffe. The author said, no, he isn’t, and, in a later edition of the book, Saltykov-Shchedrin wrote that Tartuffe knew what he was doing and why, he was a conscious hypocrite; in France, hypocrisy could be regarded as a ‘social habit’, he wrote, it could be considered as forming a part of ‘good manners, so to speak’. Whereas Porphyry was a hypocrite ‘of a purely Russian sort . . .’ of the kind that live their lives as naturally ‘as nettles grow by a fence’.)
Porphyry dominates the book and in early drafts of the play I made attempts to uphold his precedence, without success. I couldn’t make it work. (I’d been down that hypocrites’ road before – notably with a character called Tom in The Wake, ‘who believes utterly everything he himself says’ – and maybe I didn’t want to go there again so pronouncedly.) Also I had trouble with his final end, as the book gave it, where he is transformed from monster to penitent. Despite the commentaries that I read, supporting and explaining this sudden conversion, I couldn’t believe it. And a play, I knew, wouldn’t accept such reversal of character. (In a contrary commentary to the supporting ones the opinion was offered that, as Saltykov-Shchedrin and Dostoyevsky were known to be enemies, the conferring at last of redemption on Porphyry was a satire on Dostoyevsky’s bestowing deliverance on his characters!) In The Last Days of a Reluctant Tyrant he is an unmarried man, an ex-seminarian, a civil servant, a hypocrite and, to make it easy, is called Peter; he is prominent, but his is not the principal role.
I turned to Arina, the character second in importance in the book. I think she was waiting for me. She gave me the title. She is the autocratic matriarch of the family. She is the active one, she is a doer. She has a directness and an earthiness. I recognised her type. She is not gentry, I felt, but marries into it; of severe, hardened, tough, peasant stock. Her acquisitive nature, ruthless energy and unyielding defiance bring great material rewards; yet also emasculate the others. She has a weak husband, three no-good sons, and a daughter who has died, leaving in her care two grand-daughters.
Going into old age she begins to question herself, wonder what she has given her life for. For what, for whom? For something that doesn’t exist? She resigns her control, loses her authority and suffers the consequences.
She dies half way through the book. Elected to lead, the play needs her to stay the distance, and she does – to a final defiant apologia. She lives to see the others dead, except one – one of her grand-daughters, who survives it all.
Tom Murphy
The Vicar of Wakefield
Previously published under the title
She Stoops to Folly
To the memory of my friend Noel O’Donoghue
The Vicar of Wakefield, under the title She Stoops to Folly, was first presented at South Coast Repertory, Costa Mesa, California, on 1 September 1995. The cast was as follows:
Vicar
Jim Norton
Mrs Primrose
Jane Carr
George
Scott Denny
Olivia
Devon Raymond
Sophy
Jennifer Parsons
Moses
Christopher DuVal
Dick
Aaron Cohen / Anthony Petrozzi
Bill
Andrew Wood / Jason Lau
Mr Burchill
Richard Doyle
Mr Thornhill
Douglas Sills
Reverend Jenks
Ron Boussom
Maid/Landlady/Lady Blarney
Lynne Griffin
Miss Wilmot/Miss Skeggs
Emily Chase
Wilmot/Flamborough/Gaoler
Don Took
Landlord/Butler
Art Koustik
Timothy Baster
Todd Fuessel
Directed by Barbara Damashek
Designed by Ralph Funicello
Lighting by Peter Maradudin
Music and sound by Nathan Birnbaum
The Vicar of Wakefield, under the title She Stoops to Folly, was subsequently presented at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, on 4 October 1996. The cast was as follows:
Vicar
Jim Norton
Mrs Primrose
Dierdre Donnelly
George
Michael Devaney
Olivia
Alison McKenna
Sophy
Dawn Bradfield
Moses
Rory Keenan
Dick
Simon Jewell/ Sean O’Flanagain
Bill
Darren McCormack/ Daniel O’Connor
Reverend Wilmot
Clive Geraghty
Miss Wilmot
Dierdre O’Kane
Landlord
Des Cave
Landlady
Fedelma Cullen
Maid
Derdriu Ring
Mr Burchill
David Herlihy
Mr Thornhill
Frank McCusker
Reverend Jeuks
John Olohan
Butler
Derry Power
Lady Blarney
Barbara Brennan
Miss Skeggs
Fionnuala Murphy
Flamborough
Stephen Blount
Gaoler
Niall O’Brien
Ephraim Jenkinson
Brendan Morrisey
Directed by Patrick Mason
Designed by Francis O’Connor
Lighting by Nick Chelton
Music by Shaun Davey
Choreography by David Bolger
Characters
Vicar
Mrs Primrose
George
Olivia
Sophy
Moses
Dick
Bill
Reverend Wilmot
Miss Wilmot
Landlord
Landlady
Maid
Mr Burchill
Mr Thornhill
Reverend Jenks
Butler
Lady Blarney
Miss Skeggs
Flamborough
Gaoler
Ephraim Jenkinson
The play derives from The Vicar of Wakefield by Oliver Goldsmith.
Act One
Scene One
Jail – Wakefield
Hollow clanging of an iron door. A spot comes up on Vicar, Dr Primrose, in abject state in the lower depths of prison. (There is another prisoner beside him – later, Jenks – his back to us, who appears to be writing something.) Gaoler has arrived to stand on the top step above them.
Gaoler Vicar! Your fellow-prisoners be assembled for their daily sermon.
Vicar does not move.
Gaoler But, considering the woeful news you had today, I can disassemble them again. Yea, let them do without.
Vicar Thank you, Mr Gaoler, but I’ll continue to do my duty. Sir, a moment, please.
He needs a moment to think. The lights are changing: we are going into flashback. And he begins his story.
I was ever of the opinion that the honest man who married and brought up a family did more for his country than he who continued single and only talked of population. I chose my wife as she did her wedding gown, not for a fine glossy surface but for such qualities as would wear well. To do her justice, she was a good-natured woman, could read any English book without much spelling, and prided herself upon being an excellent contriver in housekeeping, though I could never find that we grew any the richer for all her contrivances. However, we loved each other tend
erly, and our fondness increased as we grew old . . . It would be fruitless to deny exultation when I saw my little ones around me, and the vanity and satisfaction of my wife were even greater than mine.
Lights have come up to show the Primrose family in the former happiness and elegance of their Wakefield home. Centre of attention in this happy scene is George, the eldest, nervous and eager, who is being groomed and dressed for an event. Olivia, about nineteen, very beautiful and romantic, is trimming his hair; Sophy, the practical one, is sewing an adornment to his jacket; Dick and Bill, of an age, say about eight – why not, say, twins? – polishing the buckles on his shoes. And the precocious one, Moses, about sixteen, is reading a book. A Maid enters and exits later on. And the whole is being supervised by Mrs Primrose who is entering, who is – fifty?
Mrs Primrose Haste, haste, haste! Hasten, boys! Laws, Sophia! Is it necessary to sit so, huddled like a creature over your needle? Hasten, Olivia! What would they have said of Venus if she had developed the stoops? (Demonstrating her deportment as she exits.) Heads up, so, my dears!
Moses Venus, said to be the daughter of Jupiter and Dione, the wife of Vulcan and the mother of Cupid, Harmonia, Hymen and the Graces. (And he returns to his book as abruptly.)
Vicar And that was Moses, who had received a sort of miscellaneous education at home . . . Matrimony was one of my favourite topics. It was probably from hearing it so often recommended that George, our eldest – called after his uncle who left us ten thousand pounds – had fixed his affections on Miss Arabella Wilmot, the daughter of a wealthy clergyman.
Olivia Sister Sophy, could you bear to marry anyone so unbeautiful, so badly made as our brother here? I know I could never endure such a thing. And how can Arabella Wilmot do it?
Sophy Likes attract, I expect.
Olivia Here she comes with her father – Whoa, boy! – to put signature on a document, giving control of all her fortune to her husband-to-be – Steady, George! or there’ll be a gap in this thatch for your canary-bird to nest in when she arrives.
Sophy What a goose!
Olivia What a goose! I vow it! Because before I should take that step, I’d like to know the audibility of my fiancé’s snore. For – declare to heavens – did you hear it last night? I was sure we were invaded by a breed of brontosaurus who was – fortunately for us – at napping time.
Sophy Perhaps our sister-in-law-to-be has a taste in brontosauruses.
Olivia I shouldn’t be surprised.
Moses Brontosauri!
George (pulls away) Goose! Geese! Mama!
Sophy Mama has no time to spare just now, George.
Olivia Come, George, I’ll be good, I promise. (He resubmits himself to her.) No, the man that I shall marry shall be – all fiery. But if I tell him to kneel, he shall do so. And if I frown, his heart will ache. And, of course, he shall love me. (She has completed her work and tied a ribbon in his hair.) There! (Then, dreamily.) Yes, I must be loved.
Vicar (broken-hearted sigh) Livy!
George completes his costume – jacket, shoes.
Vicar But there was a particular tenet of marriage that I made a point of supporting: for I maintained with William Whiston that it was unlawful for a priest of the Church of England, after the death of his first wife, to take a second. And my monogamous principles were displayed over our chimneypiece for all to see.
Mrs Primrose, who has returned, is now taking down the framed principles in question.
Mrs Primrose Come, Moses, and deposit this – object – in a stable for the duration of the Wilmots’ visit. It always demands comment and provides the cue for your father’s lengthy discourses. Moses, you lump, haste! – The Wilmots are upon us. The subject of monogamy must be avoided on this occasion at all costs.
Moses is taking the frame away as the Vicar, now, joins the scene.
Vicar Hold, my son! Where to so fast with your mother’s epitaph?
Mrs Primrose It wants dusting, my dear.
Vicar (examining it) Nothing in extreme. Conscientious child! (Dusts it.) Hey presto cockalorum!
Maid (entering, announcing) The Reverend Wilmot and Miss Wilmot.
Rev Wilmot is in his seventies, Miss Wilmot is about twenty.
Vicar Reverend Sir! My most charming girl!
George Miss Wilmot!
Miss Wilmot Mr Primrose!
She and George do not speak further, they continue formal.
Vicar Dear friends! Oh! (The framed ‘epitaph’ in his hands.) You are familiar with the works of William Whiston and his monogamous principles for reverend gentlemen? Well, I’m glad to say I have gone a step beyond him –
Mrs Primrose Come nearer the fire, Reverend Wilmot –
Vicar As Whiston had engraved on his wife’s tomb that she was his only wife, I have written a similar epitaph for my Deborah –
Mrs Primrose Pray be seated, Reverend Wilmot
Vicar See, here, I extol her virtues. And the last line: ‘Here, lies Deborah, the only wife of Charles Primrose.’
Mrs Primrose A chair, sir –
Vicar ‘Mourned by her loving and faithful husband.’ It wanted dusting.
Wilmot Sir, I have been prevailed upon to give signature to this document: now it only requires yours to make final the marriage contract and settlement I bequeath with my daughter.
Vicar Where’s my quill?
Maid Beg pardon, a messenger from town’s arrived and wishes to see someone.
Mrs Primrose goes out with Maid. Vicar forgets his purpose to sign the contract.
Vicar Are you familiar with Templar’s principles on the same subject?
Wilmot No, sir, I am not familiar with anyone’s principles on the subject.
Vicar You are in jest.
Wilmot I assure you I am not.
Vicar And not Whiston’s?
Wilmot Not Whiston’s, Wilson’s, Templar’s, Paget’s nor yours, sir. I do not accept such monogamous extremes.
Vicar Extremes?
Wilmot They are not orthodox.
Vicar No-no. You confuse what the laity might do with what we, the clergy, must never do. The reverend gentleman that would marry a second wife after the death of a first commits a bigamy. I am at this moment writing a tract on the matter. Pray excuse while I fetch it from my study.
Wilmot Dr Primrose –
Vicar No trouble.
Mrs Primrose, returning, meets Vicar and takes him aside.
Mrs Primrose Oh laws!
Vicar What is it, my dear?
Mrs Primrose You must give up the dispute at once.
Vicar How – to give up the dispute?
Mrs Primrose At least till your son’s wedding is over.
Vicar Do you ask me to relinquish truth?
Mrs Primrose I ask you to sign the contract at once and secure Miss Wilmot’s fortune.
Vicar As to signing the contract, we shall come to it anon; as to my argument, you might as well advise me to give up my fortune. Why, what is it, Deborah?
Mrs Primrose Your fortune, sir, is gone!
Vicar What foolishness –
Mrs Primrose Somebody’s foolishness! We are ruined. The news has just arrived. The merchant in town, into whose hands you lodged everything we have, has gone off.
Vicar D’you mean dear old honest Cribbins?
Mrs Primrose Gone, flown, to avoid a statute of bankruptcy and has not left a shilling in the pound. Now, let that news serve to moderate the warmth of your argument on monogamy with someone that is courting a fourth wife.
Vicar Old Wilmot!
Mrs Primrose And I’m sure that your prudence will enforce the necessity of secrecy in the matter of our new financial position, at least till after the wedding.
Vicar If what you tell me is true and I am to be a beggar, then it shall never make me a rascal.
Mrs Primrose Your son’s happiness!
Vicar It shall never make me disavow my principles, Deborah.
Mrs Primrose He do love the girl!
Vic
ar No, child.
Mrs Primrose I implore, my dear!
Vicar No! I must go this moment and inform the company of our new circumstances. And as to my argument: I own I had a tendency towards concession on account of the old gentleman’s years, but a fourth wife! He has driven the matter beyond the verge of absurdity! (To his family and the Wilmots.) We are ruined.
Vicar returns to prison. The others react, suitably shocked. Wilmot stumps out.
Wilmot Daughter, come!
Miss Wilmot (tearfully) Goodbye, Mr Primrose!
George (tearfully) Goodbye, Miss Wilmot!
Now ensues some elegant weeping by the Primrose family as they carry out their furniture and belongings for transportation. (Note: this and the following narration covers the transition to Scene Two. And such is the convention throughout – using narration, songs, openings/closings of scenes – to effect transitions.)
Vicar The only hope was that the report of our misfortune was malicious, or premature. (Shakes his head: no such luck.) My thoughts now had to be employed on some future means of supporting my family because, careless of the temporalities, I’d made over my living to the widows and orphans of the diocese. And the Bishop did not like me: a certain theological issue between us. At last, I was offered a small cure [curacy] in a distant neighbourhood that nobody else wanted. But one, I thought, where I could enjoy my monogamous principles without molestation. (Walking off.) So, it was goodbye to Wakefield. And to George.
Scene Two
