The National Register. — London, England, 1816-05-13 00:00:00

MAY 13. D11,1.11.1T1C REGIsIER. DIM( Y-L 1.7%; E. On Thursday night a new Tra,tr,edY was produced at tbil 'Theatre, under the title of " Bertram; or, the Castle of Si. .1141ohralui." The following are the Dramatia. l'ersunte: Cattnt Bert rain Mr. KEAN (*moat Aidobrand qtr. PoPF; l'rior of S. A1M:11...N Monks—Pirates under the command of Baum's—Knights— Peasants, 'N.C. , . Iniogen By a YOUNG LADY, ( Iler first appearance en any stage.) Clotilili (her friend) .Miss Bove": The Child The Scene is laid on the cuast of Sicily. Itertrain, a popular and powerfal Nobleman, was expelled the kingdom tor disloyal practices ; and Count 41dobrand was the principal aniline of his exile. Bertram then became the leader of a band of pirates. The play opens with a violent storm, which destroys his vessel, and casts him ashore, almost deprived of life, close under the walls of a monastery, conti guous to his enemy's eits;le. lie is sheltered by the Monks, who acquaint him with the approaela of afete given by the Lady of tat which all strangers were freely invited. The man whom Bertra% hates is absent in the wars; he resolves, therthre, to enter the defeoceless castle, muttering some in distinct threats of vengeance against the family of its owner. In the man time we are brought sequainted with Lunge,,, the beautiful but wretched wife of 4/dobrand. She had given way to an ardent passion for one (IPriram) who had long been numbered with the dead ; and had subsequently been united in marriage with a husband forced upon her by parental autho rity. She performs her ditties, but bewails her miseries ; and during the influx of strangers to her castle she mots with Bertram in a solitary walk. This scene, the finest in the play, is wrought or with surprising force of genius, and intensify of passion. 'l he unfortunate Bertram recognises the object °lbis earliest tendernes-, when bit life was giorious and his heart was pure.—/mogen, though she dreams not of Ber t:woes being alive, associates some unknown terror with the outlaw. He breathes her name, which dissolves the mystery, and lays her insensible at his feet. Not till she avows it, dates he discover that she is the wife (Otis enemy : not till then does he visit her with the dreadful curse, which, in the fin: concep tion and solemn language of the poet, converts all bee blessings into sources or deep and incurable remorse. :rite child of knogin a ppeltring, Bcrtrant, in a phrenry . , seizes it, to revenge all his wrongs by its destructiou ; but. intently gazing on the Infant features, he tints every where the traces of her whom ha has the moment before so fiercely r xecrated, and breaks out into this affecting prayer—" God bless thy child!"—[This we conceive to be a master- piece both of dramatic painting and of in human nature] —Miaow returns to his hospitable namiks—/mairt it soon follows, to seek consolation front the holy Prior, and chances to meet again with Be rtram. Her hue. band's retina is announced : the lover, notwithstanding hi s deep despair and misanthropy,seems toted,in some respects, like commit lovers, and obtains from his mistress a promise to see hint once more within the castle-walls, crc he departs for ever. Conan ,1 hlobrantl arrives--Bertrant goes to his appoint ment: while waiting for the expected interview, some of his baud inform him, that his rival, having heard of his return to that caast, had set engines in motion to pursue and destroy him : this new banishes all farther scropleftoma mind hither to balancing between shame and vengeance. He forces his way to the Count's apartment, attacks, and kills him. /owl a Is driven to tn.otue,s—B, rt runs surrenders without resistance-- his nahappy mistress expires on again beholding Liar—he stabs himself, and dies beside her. The Author seems not to have employed so much of his power in strengthening the action of his plot, as in developing. the passions, meditating the sentiments, and perfecting to the highest degree of which, perhaps, an English poem is susceptible, the imagery and language • assigned to the characters in this drama. Nor is very striking novelty of characters so much the attribute of the tragedy of Bertram, as matchless force and ele ganoe of expression. The heroine is of a class fran which dramatic heroines have been most liberally and most advantageously chosen—with enough of sensibility to make her miserable, and enough of virtue to make us compassionate her woe: robed in the richness of his own imagination, the poet, perhaps, has left his heroine too .closely shrouded within its draperies. She is (we sin cerely deprecate the charge of being uncandid) rather too often and too long in the act of seeing invisible, and addressing herself to absent, objects. Her reception of her husband, in the 4th act, ought to have awakened some suspicion on his part that all was not right ; and her madness in the sth is too much protracted, and pain fully obtruded upon the audience ; but these are partial imperfections. Them is a deep interest excited through- out : there is a display of vigorous intellect—of im pressive sentiments—of refined taste—of profuse imagi nation—and of pathos the most exquisite and profound, which we presume to say will render this tragedy a pre cious acquisition to the fund of our dramatic literature. It; moreover, a man of worth and genius should, to the dishonour of an enlightened community, feel, as we are afraid too ninny have &It, a want more pressing than that of the fume which infallibly awaits him, we rejoice in the prospects we with confidence anticipate for the author of such a production. The whole of the acting of this tragedy is admirable. ; We never saw Mr. HeA.txsin in a more impressive part: the moral and eloquent sentiments of the Prior receive additional force from the manner in which he delivers • them. The music also is pure and appropriate ; the scents?" , picturesque ; and altiigether, as a spectacle as well as a drama, it is roost en:dim:de to the Theatre. We lave hardly room to say more of Miss SOMER.. VILLE, the debutante of the night, than that she seems a very lovely woman; and that, under ninny obvious ("Lis eivantages, she showed no ordinary talents. Her voice in its natural key is mellow and musical, filling the Theatre apparently without an effort. She has not yet ME NATIONAL REGISTER. acquired, however, what a few ifpu,dits will probably teach—the art of modulating it with precision. She pitches it too high ; and, us frequently happens when Nature is departed from, the higher tones are the least articulate of all. This young Lady is never theless a sobjeet of great promise. KE.tN's character gave him several opportunities for the exertion of his powers with great effect. At one time, when in idea he was grappling with his enemy, both upon a single plank, and determined that Wei shall sink together, his look and action were terrific. It was the struggle of the tiger and the crocodile, stated to have taken place in the Indian Seas same few years ago. He received great applause throughout. This tragedy is the production of the Rev. Mr. MA.. TURIN, a curate, of Dublin, the author of two or three Novels and Romances of considerable merit. It was amidst unanimous acclamations that the Piece was given out for repetition. We sincerely congratulate the Public on the appearance of such a Play. The history of its production is curious. It was sent by the Author, at the recommendation of Mr. Walter Scott, to Lord Byron, with an earnest entreaty that its fate might be spNdily determined on ; as the com fort of his family for the winter deneaded on its sucless ; and he offered it to Drury-lane, wholly, for a very trifling sum. The Noble Poet read it with such admiration, that he sent it, before he slept, to the other Members of the Committee; requesting that, if they did not agree with him in considering it a most extra: , rdinary work, they would forthwith transmit it to the Managers of Covent garden, that the deseriing Author might have the chance of both Theatres for its acceptance. It was cheerfully received, and the Noble Lord the same day sent the Author a handsome present. The Committee have already sold the copy-right of the Tragedy for the Author, at 12 times the price which he asked for it, besides what he will obtain by its performance. Thisis, indeed, liberal manage ment. PROLOGUE TO BERTRAM. WRITTEN nY JOHN lIOnHOUSE, ESQ.—SPOKEN BY MR. RAt. Taught by your judgment, by your favour The grateful stage restord her mighty dead. But slot, when wits of ages past revive, Shall living genius therenae cease to thrive? No !—the some liberal zeal that fondly tries To save the poet though the mortal dies, Impartial welcomes each illustrious birth, And justly crowns cotemporary worth. This night a Bard, who, yet, alas! has known 01 conscious merit but the pangs alone; Through dark misfortune's gloom condoun'd to cope With battled effort, and with blighted hope, Still dares to think one friendly - voice shall cheer Has sinking soul, and thinks to hail it here; Fann'd by the breath of praise, his spark offe Still, still may glow and burst into a same Nor yet with British candour mock the toil That rutted a laurel on our sister 50i1...- That soil to farcy's gay luxuriance kind That soil which teems wills each aspiring mind, Rich iu the traits of glory's ripening silo, Nurse of the brave—the laud of W ELLI NGTON, Here, too, this night another candidate Aspires to please, auil trembles for her fate— • And, as the dower n lose ever constant gaze Turns to her sun au 1 wooes the genial blaze, To vour kind eyes our blushing suppliant h rusks, Aud courts the light that beams from smiling friends; ! calm the condict of her hopes and fears, Nor stain her cheek with more than mimic tears. Simi., then, alike each bold adventurer sue The v otary and the handmaid of the Muse— Tiiink that the URIC neglect, the siuue regard, Mast ►ink, or save, the actress and the bard. EPILOGUE. WZITTEN BY THE lIONOUILIIILE GEORGB By MISS KELLY. Say, for our Anthor whose proud hopes aspire To sound the Tragie ;lard's neglected Iv re. Say, for our novice, who at once the weight Bears of her own and of the Poet's Cite. Oh say, whet hope! ' . 1 . 14 mine a ith doubt and fear In this dread hour to ask soar judgMent here; Yet, for my sake, before your seatenee, stay, And here me draw one inurel from the play. Enough for Imecrs the tears ye gave her, I come to say One word in BERTH.SM's favour. Il m ! cry, a ruthless blood-stain'd rover! Ile was—but also was he truest lover. And, faith! like eases that we daily view, All might have prosper'il, has the Mir bet-ft true. Mau, while he loves, is never (Ole derray'd; Awl woman's triumph, is a lover sav'd. The brawled wretch, whose callous feelings court Cries for his glory, and disgrace fur spoil ; Ifiu his breast hive claims the smallest part, It still he values one fond female heart, From that one seed, that ling'ring 'pm k may crow, Pride's noisiest doves., and virtue's pure,t glow : Let but that heart—dear feinalc—k ail with eara To honour's path, end cheer his prod 055 flu rr : And proud, though haply sad regret occurs At all his guilt, think all his virtue hers. The fair Nut always v iew with fav•riag eyes The very virtuous or extremely wise; Rut odd it seems, will sometimes rather take Want with tie spendthrift, riot with the rake. 6 ' Nam., liowe'er vimuns tint ..II women froward, " None—did I say! --none sate the sot and eowari." The reason's Waite, the good need nought to warn them, And we lutist love the wicket/ to Iselin thmo. " l'vt we some wives, some sweethea is omy disco% et, " Alitio•t no better than the sponse or long; " Nought can to race the tansy female charm, " And ifshe can't do good slit. must do harm-- " Can chill Sturm Itb. et COS to warm chill aze, M.1k1 . ,N sage; fools, but tardy makes boils sage , " S one women, like all men, hat e taste for et il, " And where they should he imgels, play the devil." pry . Still woman dra.• • new pr.wer, i:ew ettipte still, From ev er y awl from e l'ice on hci bosom lulls remorseful care, And virtue hopes emigenial virtue there. Still sle• most hides the strength that most subdues, To gain each end, its opposite pursues ; laires by neglect, ad saris by delay, And gains command by sWt a ring to obey. 'Women have powr too. in these gallant days, (So Author, think I of reelminending The Prologue proses, ere the play is known, Rugged and dull as the male speaker's tone ; When the scene's done, and many a fault piovokc; yoa, Woman and Epilogue come forth to coax you. Yet dare I plead, who, in this wonifroii, age, Can wily speak and walk upon the stage, Who know not carte, nor tierce, nor fencing odds, Nor by a rope's assistance seek the gods. Yes, I will dare; for if ye're pleas'd tomight, The genuine drama reasserts its right. BERTRAM iu erotic chile, of murder proud, Ruthless to man, to woman's accents how'd ; Be naov'd like him, your sterner thoughts resign At 11/0111:111 . 3 voice, and let that voice be mine. Lines between the "inverted commas" are omitted in speaking. COVENT-GARDEN. On Monday, in the Tragedy of Julius Cesar, the audience est eHenced a severe disappointment in the hoarseness of Mr. KEMBLE, Arho performed the part of Brutus. In many passages, indeed, he was almost in.. audible. This circumstance drew forth cries of "Speak up P' from the galleries, at the beginning of the second scene of the second act; when Mr. KEMBLE apologised to the house ; saying, that his hoarseness had come upcn him too late fir a change in the piece or the characters ; but that he would proceed, in reliance on its indulgence if the part were not spoken so plainly as it ought to be. This address w,is warmly applauded, and the piece pro. ccedcd without interruption. It was followed by a new musical entertainment, in honour of the marriage of the Princess CuAnt.orm entitled Tice Royal Nuptials : or, the Masque of Hymen. As a piece produced on the spur of the occasion, it would be unfair to view it with the rigid eye of criticism. Suf fice it therefore to say, that it is a showy production, en ' titled to every indulgence front the consideration of the purpose tier which it is intended. The scene commences . with a view of the sea-mast in the back ground, and a double line of female characters in front. Various em. s . blematic allusions to the high Saxon origin of the Prince were exhibited ; and in the progress of the Masque an abundance of magnificent scenery and appropriate deco ration was displayed. Mrs. RENAUD was the majestic re presentative of Britannia, Miss S. BOOTH personified gymen,, and Mass STEPHENS and Miss MATHEWS were Attendant Nyntyhs. Miss HuGnes is also introduced, but in a manner which reflects no credit on the taste of those .by whom the piece has been produced. She was exhibited to the public in a part altogether unworthy so accomplished a person, and in which she was offered no opportunity whatever for the display of her talents. In many parts of the piece, a considerable portion of spirit was evinced ; and on the whole, it went off successfully. .The house was well filled in all parts. • On Saturday sc'nnight, Miss O'Neill took her be nefit, and appeared as the representative of Mrs. Oakley, in the Comedy of The Jerdoits Wife. She was .very successful; and, though her comedy does not excite thole extacies of mirth, which her tragedy awakes of sot.. row, her performance gave unmixed pleasure throughout, and would have been sufficient to rive her fame us this votary of The/in, had she not previously so greatly distinguished herself in the service of Melpomene. In other hands, we have seen the character of Mrs. Oakky provoke more laughter; but this has generally been nt the expense of that dignity and interest which, with all her failing, ought still to attach to The Jealons to account fin the hold which she retains to the last on the affections of her husband. These Miss O'Neill appeared careful not to compromise; and in her must boisterous scenes there were still some fascinating touches, which might well be supposed to captivate hint who had most reasont to complain of her ground less suspicion. In the scene where she visits Lady Freeloce, her anxiety to conceal the real object of solid. code ; her embarrassment at filling. she lets ineautionsly revealed the secret, and the air with which she endea voured to correct this mistake, where she says---" Not my husband, of course," were admirable; and her subse quent ineffectual effltrts to conceal her distri. , ss were not less entitled to 'intik% The strong aver4on with w h ich she a void ed Harriet in the last scene, was finely contrasted with the tenderness and penitence which marked her deportment when she was finally convineed of hererror; awl thunders of applause when the curtain descended, announced the high interest the audience had taken in the business of the play, and the exquisite gratification which they had derived front the eflints of the heroine. The play was, generally, well cast. 'roux° seas very good in some parts of Mr. ()ally, but occasionally wits a little finvical. Mr. C. KEMBLE playa Char/es withgrcat spirit, humour, and propriety. Tenn v gave a fine cool, natural pertreit of the Major ; FAWCETT was irresistibly laughable in .Sir Marcel. Tokm.v's Captain O'Cutter was touch tso coarse. Mrs. Glans was admirable in the part of Lady Fret-lave; and Miss Foirre obtained and merited consi derable applause as //orrice. The House was well as. tended, but not crowded.