Considering this desert-like state of the then English drama, the éclat roused by Bertram is not surprising. Still it was less due to any of its dramatical qualities than to its closeness to the poetical standard in vogue just at the time of its performance; the point was made by the admirers as well as by the slanderers of the play, that it was conceived quite ‘in the taste of Lord Byron.’ If Maturin’s first romance had appeared a little too late, with regard to the style in which it was written, his first drama thus appeared at the right moment and met with the right interpretation. Whatever the opinion of Kean may have been of the play, he certainly realized the intentions of the poet with a skill that left nothing more to be desired. In an account of the first night we read:[71]
— — — it will be observed that the part of Bertram is peculiarly adapted to the powers of Mr. Kean, by whom it is represented with extraordinary energy and effect. He is a mixture of ambition, pride and revenge; a character ashamed of the feelings of ordinary men, who has little in common with them, but his passion for a lovely woman, and in whose sorrows ordinary men of course cannot sympathize—in short, a character who like Milton’s Satan is “himself alone.”
Such is count Bertram when presented to the spectator. Once he has been of wholly different character, while living in the kingdom of Sicily as
The darling of his liege and of his land,
The army’s idol, and the counsil’s head—
Whose smile was fortune, and whose will was law—
When his power, however, has become too great, and his plans turned out to be too ambitious for the safety of the state, Lord Aldobrand has contrived to overthrow him. Deprived of name and fortune he has only saved his life by flight; and the admired and accomplished courtier has subsequently been changed into a captain of a gang of robbers, of uncommon ferocity. In the meantime his betrothed bride, Imogine, a lady of comparatively humble birth, has been induced to give her hand to the selfsame Aldobrand, for the (not very original) purpose of saving an aged parent from ruin.—
By the coast of Sicily, then, in the vicinity of the castle of St. Aldobrand, the brotherhood of a convent are, at the opening of the play, roused from their sleep by a violent storm. At a short distance a vessel, to which they are unable to render assistance, is seen to go to pieces. One wild-looking and incoherently-speaking man alone is rescued and conducted to the prior in a state of utter exhaustion.—At the castle, too, the inmates are disturbed by the rage of the elements. Lord Aldobrand himself appears to be absent, and his lady is sitting in her apartment, contemplating a miniature picture of Bertram. She is joined by one of her maidens, to whom she now discloses the story of her life, assuring her that her heart still belongs to Bertram. The conversation is interrupted by the entrance of a monk, coming to request that the shipwrecked of whom, contrary to all expectation, many have been saved, might have, according to the wonted hospitality of Lord Aldobrand, free access to the castle. Upon Imogine answering that they are welcome, the whole band take up their residence at the castle; before that, however, Bertram—the stranger who was first saved—reveals his identity to the prior and vows vengeance on Aldobrand, the originator of his misfortunes. At the castle the majestic form and stern demeanour of Bertram attract the notice of Imogine, and she summons him to her presence. A scene of recognition takes place. Imogine explains her reasons for becoming the wife of Aldobrand; Bertram breaks out into furious accusations, but at last, when Imogine’s little boy runs in, he relents and kisses the child.
These are the contents of the first two acts. In the third Imogine arrives to the convent to confess to the prior that she has yielded to the temptation offered by the unexpected appearance of Bertram, and clandestinely met him several times. The prior—who, in the foregoing scene, has been exhorting Bertram to give up his companions and leave the country—is much horrified and recommends the most severe penances. While still at the convent, Imogine encounters Bertram and is made to promise him one further interview, after which he is to disappear from her life. The act is again closed by the entrance of the child, who comes to inform his mother that Lord Aldobrand has returned.
At the meeting intended to be their last, Bertram then appears to have taken advantage of Imogine’s weakness in a manner which even he is ashamed to recollect. Before he has time to execute his design of departing, he is informed by one of his gang that his being in Sicily has become known and that Lord Aldobrand holds a commission from the king to seek his life throughout the country. Bertram is again filled with inexorable rage towards his enemy, and remembers his determination to have revenge upon him.—In the meantime Aldobrand arrives at his castle where Imogine receives him in an agitated manner which he in vain endeavours to fathom. On her declaring that she has some penance to do, he leaves her alone; after a while Bertram enters, and she understands, with horror, that he is resolved to destroy her husband. Aldobrand has, indeed, just been summoned to the convent to share a feast in celebration of St. Anselm, but, owing to a flood which obstructs his way, he is compelled to turn back. On his return he is attacked by Bertram, and dies at the feet of Imogine.