ELIZABETH BARRY.
The "great Mrs. Barry," the _Handbook of London_ tells us, lies
buried in Westminster Cloisters. I did not there look for her tomb.
To come at the grave of the great actress, I passed through Acton
Vale and into the ugliest of village churches, and, after service,
asked to be shown the tablet which recorded the death and burial
of Elizabeth Barry. The pew-opener directed me to a mural monument
which, I found, bore the name of one of the family of Smith!
I remonstrated. The good woman could not account for it. She had
always taken that for Elizabeth Barry's monument. It was in the
church somewhere. "There is no stone to any such person in this
church," said the clerk, "and I know 'em all!" We walked down the
aisle discussing the matter, and paused at the staircase at the west
end; and as I looked at the wall, while still conversing, I saw in
the shade the tablet which Curll says is outside, in God's Acre, and
thereon I read aloud these words:--"Near this place lies the body of
Elizabeth Barry, of the parish of St. Mary-le-Savoy, who departed
this life the 7th of November, 1713, aged 55 years." "That is she!"
said I.
The two officials looked puzzled and inquiring. At length the
pew-opener ventured to ask: "And who was she, sir?"
"The original Monimia, Belvidera, Isabella, Calista"----
"Lor!" said the good woman, "only a player!"
"_Only a player!_" This of the daughter of an old Cavalier!
The seventeenth century gave many ladies to the stage, and Elizabeth
Barry was certainly the most famous of them. She was the daughter
of a barrister, who raised a regiment for the King, and thereby was
himself raised to the rank of colonel. The effort did not help his
Majesty, and it ruined the Colonel, whose daughter was born in the
year 1658.
Davenant[39] took the fatherless girl into his house, and trained
her for the stage, while the flash of her light eyes beneath her
dark hair and brows was as yet mere girlish spirit; it was not
intelligence. _That_ was given her by Rochester. Davenant was in
despair at her dulness; but he acknowledged the dignity of her
manners. At three separate periods managers rejected her. "She will
never be an actress!" they exclaimed. Rochester protested that he
would make her one in six months.
The wicked young Earl, who lived in Lincoln's Inn Fields, near the
theatre, became her master, and, of course, fell in love with his
pupil. The pains he bestowed upon his young mistress were infinite.
Sentence by sentence he made her understand her author; and the
intelligence of the girl leaped into life and splendour under such
instruction. To familiarise her with the stage, he superintended
thirty rehearsals thereon, of each character in which she was to
appear. Of these rehearsals twelve were in full costume; and when
she was about to enact Isabella, the Hungarian Queen, in "Mustapha,"
the page who bore her train was tutored so to move as to aid in the
display of grace and majesty which was to charm the town.
For some time, however, the town refused to recognise any magic in
the charmer; and managers despaired of the success of a young actress
who could not decently thread the mazes of a country dance. Hamilton
owned her beauty, but denied her talent. Nevertheless, she one night
burst forth in all her grandeur, and Mustapha and Zanger were not
more ardently in love with the brilliant queen than the audience
were. At the head of the latter were Charles II. and the Duke and
Duchess of York. Rochester had asked for their presence, and they
came to add to the triumph of Colonel Barry's daughter.
Crabbed old Anthony Aston, the actor and prompter, spoke
disparagingly of the young lady. According to him, she was no
colonel's daughter, but "woman to Lady Shelton, my godmother." The
two conditions were not incompatible. It was no unusual thing to find
a lady in straitened circumstances fulfilling the office of "woman,"
or "maid," to the wives of peers and baronets. We have an instance
in the _Memoirs of Mrs. Delaney_, and another in the person of Mrs.
Siddons.
Successful as Elizabeth Barry was in parts which she had studied
under her preceptor, Lord Rochester, she cannot be said to have
established herself as the greatest actress of her time till the
year 1680. Up to this period she appeared in few characters suited
to her abilities. In tragedies, she enacted the confidants to the
great theatrical queens, Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Betterton; in comedies,
the rattling, reckless, and audacious women, at whose sallies the pit
roared approbation, and the box ladies were not much startled. But,
in the year just named, Otway produced his tragedy of "The Orphan,
or the Unhappy Marriage," in which Mrs. Barry was the Monimia to the
Castalio of Betterton. On the same night the part of the Page was
charmingly played by a future great actress, Mrs. Bracegirdle, then
not six years old. In Monimia, Mrs. Barry exercised some of those
attributes which she possessed above all actresses Cibber had ever
seen, and which those who had not seen her were unable to conceive.
"In characters of greatness," says Cibber, in his _Apology_, "she
had a presence of elevated dignity; her mien and motion superb, and
gracefully majestic; her voice full, clear, and strong, so that no
violence of passion could be too much for her; and when distress or
tenderness possessed her, she subsided into the most affecting melody
and softness."
From the position which she took by acting Monimia, Mrs. Barry was
never shaken by any rival, however eminent. Her industry was as
indefatigable as that of Betterton. During the thirty-seven years
she was on the stage, beginning at Dorset Gardens, in 1673, and
ending at the Haymarket, in 1710, she originated one hundred and
twelve characters! Monimia was the nineteenth of the characters of
which she was the original representative; the first of those which
mark the "stations" of her glory. In 1682, she added another leaf
to the chaplet of her own and Otway's renown, by her performance
of Belvidera. In the softer passions of this part she manifested
herself the "mistress of tears," and night after night the town
flocked to weep at her bidding, and to enjoy the luxury of woe.
The triumph endured for years. Her Monimia and Belvidera were not
even put aside by her Cassandra, in the "Cleomenes" of Dryden,
first acted at the Theatre Royal, in 1692. "Mrs. Barry," says the
author, "always excellent, has, in this tragedy, excelled herself,
and gained a reputation, beyond any woman whom I have ever seen on
the theatre." The praise is not unduly applied; for Mrs. Barry
could give expression to the rant of Dryden, and even to that of
Lee, without ever verging towards bombast. "In scenes of anger,
defiance, or resentment," writes Cibber, "while she was impetuous and
terrible, she poured out the sentiment with an enchanting harmony."
Anthony Aston describes her in tragedy as "solemn and august;"
and she, perhaps, was never more so than in Isabella, the heroine
of the tragic drama rather than tragedy, by Southerne, "The Fatal
Marriage." Aston remarks, that "her face ever expressed the passions;
it somewhat preceded her action, as her action did her words." Her
versatility was marvellous, and it is not ill illustrated by the fact
that in the same season she created two such opposite characters as
Lady Brute, in Vanbrugh's "Provoked Wife," and Zara, in Congreve's
"Mourning Bride." The last of her great tragic triumphs, in a part
of which she was the original representative, occurred in 1703,
when, in her forty-fifth year, she played Calista, in "The Fair
Penitent," that wholesale felony of Rowe from Massinger! Though the
piece did not answer the expectations of the public, Mrs. Barry did
not fall short of them in the heroine; and she perhaps surpassed
expectation, when, in 1705, she elicited the admiration of the town
by her creation of the sparkling character of Clarissa, in "The
Confederacy." By this time she was growing rich in wealth as well
as in glory. In former days, when the play was over, the attendant
boy used to call for "Mrs. Barry's clogs!" or "Mrs. Bracegirdle's
pattens!" but _now_, "Mrs. Barry's chair" was as familiar a sound as
"Mrs. Oldfield's." If she was not invariably wise in the stewardship
of her money, some portions were expended in a judicious manner
creditable to her taste. At the sale of Betterton's effects, she
purchased the picture of Shakspeare which Betterton bought from
Davenant, who had purchased it from some of the players after the
theatres had been closed by authority. Subsequently, Mrs. Barry sold
this relic, for forty guineas, to a Mr. Keck, whose daughter carried
it with her as part of her dowry, when she married Mr. Nicoll, of
Colney Hatch. _Their_ daughter and heiress, in her turn, took the
portrait and a large fortune with her to her husband, the third
Duke of Chandos; and, finally, Mrs. Barry's effigy of Shakspeare
passed with another bride into another house, Lady Anne Brydges, the
daughter of the Duke and Duchess, carrying it with her to Stowe on
her marriage with the Marquis of Buckingham, subsequently Duke of
Buckingham and Chandos. The Chandos portrait of the great dramatist
is thus descended.
Mrs. Barry, like many other eminent members of her profession, was
famous for the way in which she uttered some single expression in the
play. The "Look there!" of Spranger Barry, as he passed the body of
Rutland, always moved the house to tears. So, the "Remember twelve!"
of Mrs. Siddon's Belvidera; the "Well, as you guess!" of Edmund
Kean's Richard; the "Qu'en dis-tu?" of Talma's Auguste; the "Je
crois!" of Rachel's Pauline; the "Je vois!" of Mademoiselle Mars's
Valerie, were "points" which never failed to excite an audience to
enthusiasm. But there were two phrases with which Mrs. Barry could
still more deeply move an audience. When, in "The Orphan," she
pronounced the words, "Ah, poor Castalio!" not only did the audience
weep, but the actress herself shed tears abundantly. The other phrase
was in a scene of Banks's puling tragedy, "The Unhappy Favourite,
or the Earl of Essex." In that play, Mrs. Barry represented Queen
Elizabeth, and _that_ with such effect that it was currently
said, the people of her day knew more of Queen Elizabeth from her
impersonation of the character than they did from history. The
apparently commonplace remark, "What mean my grieving subjects?" was
invested by her with such emphatic grace and dignity, as to call up
murmurs of approbation which swelled into thunders of applause. Mary
of Modena testified her admiration by bestowing on the mimic queen
the wedding-dress Mary herself had worn when she was united to James
II., and the mantle borne by her at her coronation. Thus attired, the
queen of the hour represented the Elizabeth, with which enthusiastic
crowds became so much more familiar than they were with the Elizabeth
of history. But this "solemn and august" tragedian could also command
laughter, and make a whole house joyous by the exercise of another
branch of her vocation. "In free comedy," says Aston, "she was alert,
easy, and genteel, pleasant in her face and action, filling the stage
with variety of gesture." So entirely did she surrender herself
to the influences of the characters she represented, that in stage
dialogues she often turned pale or flushed red, as varying passions
prompted.
With the audience she was never for a moment out of favour after
she had made her merit apparent. They acknowledged no greater
actress,--with the single exception of Mrs. Betterton in the
character of Lady Macbeth. Nevertheless, on and behind the stage
Mrs. Barry's supremacy was sometimes questioned and her commands
disobeyed. When she was about to play Roxana to the Statira of Mrs.
Boutell, in Nat. Lee's "Rival Queens, or the Death of Alexander
the Great," she selected from the wardrobe a certain veil which
was claimed by Mrs. Boutell as of right belonging to her. The
property-man thought so too, and handed the veil to the last-named
lady. His award was reasonable, for she was the original Statira,
having played the part to the matchless Alexander of Hart, and to
the glowing Roxana of the fascinating Marshall. I fear, however,
that the lady was not moderate in her victory, and that by flaunting
the trophy too frequently before the eyes of the rival queen, the
daughter of Darius exasperated too fiercely her Persian rival in
the heart of Alexander. The rage and dissension set down for them
in the play were, at all events, not simulated. The quarrel went on
increasing in intensity from the first, and culminated in the gardens
of Semiramis. When Roxana seized on her detested enemy there, and
the supreme struggle took place, Mrs. Barry, with the exclamation
of "Die, sorceress, die! and all my wrongs die with thee!" sent her
polished dagger right through the stiff armour of Mrs. Boutell's
stays. The consequences were a scratch and a shriek, but there was no
great harm done. An investigation followed, and some mention was made
of a real jealousy existing in Mrs. Barry's breast in reference to
an admirer of lower rank than Alexander, lured from her feet by the
little, flute-voiced Boutell. The deed itself was, however, mildly
construed, and Mrs. Barry was believed when she declared that she
had been carried away by the illusion and excitement of the scene.
We shall see the same scene repeated, with similar stage effects, by
Mrs. Woffington and Mrs. Bellamy.
If there were a lover to add bitterness to the quarrel engendered
by the veil, Mrs. Barry might have well spared one of whom she
possessed so many. Without being positively a transcendent beauty,
her attractions were confessed by many an Antony from the country,
who thought their world of acres well lost for the sake of a little
sunshine from the eyes of this vanquishing, imperious, banquetting,
heart and purse destroying Cleopatra. There were two classes of
men who made epigrams, or caused others to make them against her,
namely, the adorers on whom she ceased to smile, and those on
whom she refused to smile at all. The coffee-house poetry which
these perpetrated against her is the reverse of pleasant to read;
but, under the protection of such a wit as Etherege, or such a
fine gentleman as Rochester, Mrs. Barry cared little for her puny
assailants.
Tom Brown taxed her with mercenary feelings; but against that and
the humour of writers who affected intimate acquaintance with her
affairs of the heart and purse, and as intimate a knowledge of the
amount which Sir George Etherege and Lord Rochester bequeathed to
their respective daughters, of whom Mrs. Barry was the mother, she
was armed. Neither of these children survived the "famous actress."
She herself hardly survived Betterton--at least on the stage. The
day after the great tragedian's final appearance, Mrs. Barry trod
the stage for the last time. The place was the old Haymarket, the
play the "Spanish Friar," in which she enacted the Queen. And I can
picture to myself the effect of the famous passage, when the Queen
impetuously betrays her overwhelming love. "Haste, my Teresa, haste;
and call him back!" "Prince Bertram?" asks the confidant; and then
came the full burst, breaking through all restraint, and revealing a
woman who seemed bathed in love. "_Torrismond!_ There is no other HE!"
Mrs. Barry took no formal leave of the stage, but quietly withdrew
from St. Mary-le-Savoy, in the Strand, to the pleasant village of
Acton. Mrs. Porter, Mrs. Rogers, Mrs. Knight, and Mrs. Bradshaw,
succeeded to her theatrical dominion, by partition of her characters.
If tragedy lost its queen, Acton gained a wealthy lady. Her
professional salary had not been large, but her "benefits" were very
productive; they who admired the actress or who loved the woman,
alike pouring out gold and jewels in her lap. It was especially
for her that performers' benefits were first devised. Authors alone
had hitherto profited by such occasions, but, in recognition of her
merit, King James commanded one to be given on her behalf, and what
was commenced as a compliment soon passed into a custom.
In a little more than three years from the date when the curtain
fell before her for the last time, Elizabeth Barry died. Brief
resting season after such years of toil; but, perhaps, sufficient for
better ends after a career, too, of unbridled pleasure! "This great
actress," says Cibber, "dy'd of a fever, towards the latter years of
Queen Anne; the year I have forgot, but perhaps you will recollect
it, by an expression that fell from her in blank verse, in her last
hours, when she was delirious, viz.--
"Ha! ha! and so they make us lords, by dozens!"
This, however, does not settle the year so easily as Colley thought.
In December 1711, Queen Anne, by an unprecedented act, created twelve
new peers, to enable the measures of her Tory ministers to be carried
in the Upper House. Mrs. Barry died two years later, on the 7th of
November 1713, and the utterance of the words quoted above only
indicates that her wandering memory was then dealing with incidents
full two years old.
[Illustration: (Elizabeth Barry.)]
They who would see how Mrs. Barry looked living, have only to consult
Kneller's grand picture, in which she is represented with her fine
hair drawn back from her forehead, the face full, fair, and
rippling with intellect. The eyes are inexpressibly beautiful. Of all
her living beauty, living frailty, and living intelligence, there
remains but this presentment.
It was customary to compare Mrs. Barry with French actresses; but
it seems to me that the only French actress with whom Mrs. Barry
may be safely compared is Mademoiselle, or, as she was called with
glorious distinction, "the Champmeslé." This French lady was the
original Hermione, Berenice, Monimia, and Phædra. These were written
expressly for her by Racine, who trained her exactly as Rochester did
Elizabeth Barry,--to some glory on the stage, and to some infamy off
it. La Champmeslé, however, was more tenderly treated by society at
large than the less fortunate daughter of an old royalist colonel.
The latter actress was satirised; the former was eulogised by the
wits, and she was not even anathematised by French mothers. When La
Champmeslé was ruining the young Marquis de Sevigné, his mother wrote
proudly of the actress as her "daughter-in-law!" as if to have a son
hurried to perdition by so resplendent and destructive a genius, was
a matter of exultation!
* * * * *
Having sketched the outline of Mrs. Barry's career, I proceed to
notice some of her able, though less illustrious, colleagues.
FOOTNOTE:
[39] Curll, in his History of the Stage (1741), says it was Lady
Davenant, a particular friend of Sir William Davenant.
[Illustration: CONTEST FOR DOGGET'S COAT AND BADGE.]