THE NEW TRAGEDY.
Acrons, and especially actors who are managers, 'are decidedly the very worst judges of dramatic merit. We sc'.:rcely ever heard of a play, much praised in the green-room , that we did not wit- ness a failure when it was produced befo!-e. the public. It is diffi- cult to account for this, except by 'supposing that managers of theatres, like managers in more important stations, look at things piecemeal ; and if they find their own part and the parts of their immediate favourites to their liking, they conclude that the whole is good. Hence, among other causes, the trash with which our stage has recently been disgraced. Splendid scenery, fine dresses, the pertinacity of the manager, the apathy of the public, and favour transferred from the actor to the author, have saved many a worthless production from direct condemnation. Not so, how- ever, with the Jew of Arragon, a tragedy, written after the man- ner of Tom Thumb (except as to the wit), which was produced at Covent Garden on Wednesday last, and is already withdrawn. We have seldom seen a plot of less interest, characters of less strength, or heard language so carefully avoiding the imputation of poetry. Alphonso, King of Arragon, being, as kings are apt to be, in want of money to defray the costs of a gaudy pageant, intended to celebrate the memory of a former conquest over the Moors, and to complete another (matrimonially) over the Princess Isa- bella, issues an edict commanding the Jews to lend him the mo- derate sum of five hundred thousand crowns. All people instinc- tively shrink from the tax-gatherer; and we really sympathized with Xavier, King of the Jews, in his earlier efforts to get rid of the obnoxious imposition. In this, however, he at first failed. The head of a treasury may have a penchant for female influence; his Highness suggested as much; and the Jew, taking him at his word, instructs his daughter Rachael to waylay the sovereign on his march to the cathedral. This is done; but the pleadings of the fair Jewess are light when weighed against the exigencies of the state. One hope remains—the child of Israel casts off her mantle, and discovers a wonderfully fine petticoat ! " Am I a beef-eater now ?"—" Will you hear me now ?" Alphonso, like King Arthur, falls incontinently into violent love.—Exeunt Isa- bella in a rage, and Rachael to mass. But two of the Spanish nobles, who had been previously malecontent, and had resigned their places, take part with the injured princess. Xavier becomes prime minister; and very naturally, having eased his own shoul- ders, shifts the burden of providing the ways and means upon the Christians. The crown too is within his grasp; Rachael shall be a Hebrew Queen, and Saragossa New Jerusalem. But the King's guards are absent on an excursion against the Moors, and his people are impatient of taxation ; a revolt is threatened ; the monarch in turn revokes his edict for Christian taxation, and banishes all the Jews. Rachael is made prisoner by the malecon- tents, and the Princess Isabella by the son of Israel ; the former escapes quickly, the latter ultimately jumps out of a window into a boat provided by her partisans. The Jew then determines on another effort; he despatches a messenger for the troops, and sends his daughter back to the palace. She, well acquainted with the back-stairs, as favourites should be, makes her appearance in the verynick of time—the edict for the banishment of her countrymen is in the King's hands, ready for signature ; the lords, who are to carry it into execution, are expected every instant. The royal wea- thercock veers again—the modern Est her is placed uponthe throne —the guards arrive—the new ministry is turned out, and the charter trampled under foot. But troops sometimes take part with their real instead of their nominal paymasters ; and those of King Alphonso, being probably short of pay, refuse to act against the citizens. Another revolt takes place ; and the Jew, having lost his hostage, gives way to despair. Xavier and his daughter repair to the synagogue ; he urges her to suicide ; she consents, but not in blu-r-r-d (as Miss FANNY KEMBLE drawls out " blood "); our Jephtha therefore presents her with a very small bottle of "death's wine "—which we take to be a highly-concentrated noyau, equiva- lent to diluted prussic acid ; the young lady, happy to save another very fine dress, drinks and dies ; while her father, after some delay, stabs himself. The people, who have been singularly quiet in the mean time, rush in; the King follows, throws himself down beside his love, and we suppose dies too—how many more would have fallen had the piece continued, we know not; the curtain and the tragedy then fell together, in a tumult which did not allow of our hearing any explanation, if any was offered. We have said that the dresses were splendid and generally hand some: that, however, in which CHARLES KEMBLE appeared in the last scene, was neither graceful nor appropriate—how did the pontifical vestments of Levi descend on the son of Judah ? The sky-blue satin made its wearer more like the old woman of Brent- ford in her Sunday petticoat. The scenery too was magnificent : the palace garden, a golden chamber, and the synagogue, were deservedly applauded. On the arch of the latter we discerned two graven images, somewhat too Grecian for a Jewish temple. Only one character struck us as well drawn—the faith, truth, courage, and consistency of the King, were truly legitimate : the culled beauties of CHARLES, FERDINAND, and MIGUEL, must S flora served as models ; and the heart of the Licenser must have I rejoiced at so perfect a portrait, Where so little had beets done by the author, much could not be expected from the actors : none rose above their parts. We are anxious to see Miss KEMBLE in an original character—her failure in Rachael would not afford a fair criterion. One passage in the play excited much and undeserved applause Tut ! she's a wanton !"
is uttered by one of the lords ; which Xavier overhearing, exclaims, " It is a lie—an odious, damned lie !" and this odious word is reiterated some seven times in as many sentences. If this was written before Sunday last, it was in exe- crably bad taste—if since, (and it bears no direct connexion with the context,) it was in bad feeling. There is as much indelicacy in such recurrence to an insult on a woman's virtue, as there was baseness in the original offence—supposing such offence to have been committed. We have not, however, been able to ascertain, whether the sensitiveness of the father did not mislead his 'judg- ment. The daughter is not in question, and ought not to be dragged again before the public.
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