Volume 1 — BARRY, THE PLAYER.

The following description of the person and acting of the celebrated Barry the player is introduced here, to accompany the life of Hodgkinson, because a clear recollection of the former in a multitude of characters, a long and scrutinous investigation of the professional powers of the latter, and an intimate knowledge of both of them, has long established in our minds the unalterable opinion that of all the performers who make up the feeble crowd that have followed the men of Garrick's day in sad procession, not one so nearly trod in the footsteps of Barry (sed heu longo intervallo) as Hodgkinson. Whatever may have been said of his comedy, we never could contemplate it with half the satisfaction we received from some of his tragic performances. His Osmond, his De Moor, and his Romeo were infinitely superior to his Belcour, Ranger, and Ollapod. And his Jaffier unquestionably stood next to Barry's. We know nothing of Mr. Young, therefore do not mean to include him in this position, though seeing and hearing what we every day see and hear, of the present facility of pleasing in England, we receive the encomiums of the other side of the Atlantic on their passing favourites cum grano salis. In a word, we are persuaded that Hodgkinson came nearer to Barry in Barry's line, than any actor now living does to Garrick, Barry, or Mossop in theirs. In Faulconbridge, and in it alone he was perhaps equal to Barry.

Spranger Barry was in his person above five feet eleven inches high, finely formed, and possessing a countenance in which manliness and sweetness of feature were so happily blended, as formed one of the best imitations of the Apollo Belvidere. With this fine commanding figure, he was so much in the free and easy management of his limbs, as never to look encumbered, or present an ungraceful attitude, in all his various movements on the stage. Even his exits and entrances had peculiar graces, from their characteristic ease and simplicity. What must have greatly assisted Barry in the grace and ease of treading the stage, was his skill in dancing and fencing; the first of which he was early in life very fond of; and, on his coming to England, again instructed in, under the care of the celebrated Denoyer, dancing-master to Frederick Prince of Wales's family. This was done at the prince's request after he had seen him play in lord Townley, in the Provoked Husband. In short when he appeared in the scene, grouped with other actors of ordinary size, he appeared as much above them in his various qualifications as in the proud superiority of his figure.

To this figure he added a voice so peculiarly musical as very early in life obtained him the character of "the silver-toned Barry," which, in all his love scenes, lighted up by the smiles of such a countenance, was persuasion itself. Indeed, so strongly did he communicate his feelings on these occasions, that whoever observed the expressive countenances of most of the female part of his audience, each seemed to say, in the language of Desdemona,

Yet, with all this softness, it was capable of the fullest extent of rage, which he often most powerfully exemplified, in several passages of Alexander, Orestes, Othello, &c.

We are aware of Churchill's criticism in the Rosciad standing against us, where he says, "his voice comes forth like Echo from her cell." But however party might have cried up this writer as a poet and a satirist of the first order, Goldsmith had the sense and manliness to tell them what they called satires were but tawdry lampoons, whose turbulence aped the quality of force, whose frenzy that or fire. Beside, Churchill had a stronger motive than prejudice or whim: the great hero of his poem was Garrick; and as Barry was his most formidable rival, he had little scruple to sacrifice him on this occasion.

But to leave the criticisms of this literary drawcansir to that oblivion to which they seem to be rapidly hastening, let us examine the merits of Barry in some of those characters in which he was universally allowed to excel; and on this scale we must give the preference to Othello. This was the first character he ever appeared in, the first his inclination prompted him to attempt—and the first without question, that exhibited his genius in the full force and variety of its powers.

In the outset of Othello, when he speaks but a few short sentences, there appears a calmness and dignity in his nature, as evidently show "the noble qualities of the Moor." These sentences we have often heard spoken (and by actors too who have had considerable reputation) as if they had been almost totally overlooked; reserving themselves for the more shining passages with which this tragedy so much abounds: but Barry knew the value of these introductory traits of character, and in his first speech, "'Tis better as it is," bespoke such a preeminence of judgment, such a dignified and manly forbearance of temper, as roused the attention of his audience, and led them to expect the fullest gratification of their wishes.

His speech to the senate was a piece of oratory worthy the attention of the critic and the senator. In the recital of his "feats of broils and battles," the courage of the soldier was seen in all the charms of gallantry and heroism; but when he came to those tender ejaculations of Desdemona,

his voice was so melodiously harmonized to the expression, that the sigh of pity communicated itself to the whole house, and all were advocates for the sufferings of the fair heroine.

In the second act, when he meets Desdemona at Cyprus, after being separated in a storm, his rushing into her arms, and repeating that fine speech,

was the voice of love itself; describing that passion in so ecstatic a manner as seemingly to justify his fears

Through the whole of the third act, where Iago is working him to jealousy, his breaks of love and rage were masterpieces of nature, and communicated its first sympathies; but in his conference with Desdemona, in the fourth act, where he describes the agonizing state of his mind, and then, looking tenderly on her, exclaims,

the extremes of love and misery were so powerfully painted in his face, and so impressively given in his tones, that the audience seemed to lose the energies of their hands, and could only thank him with their tears.

We have to lament, that in many of the last acts of some of our best dramatic writers, there wants that degree of finish and grouping equal to the rest. Shakspeare sometimes has this want in common with others; but in this play he has lost none of his force and propriety of character—here all continue to speak the language of their conformation, and lose none of their original importance. Barry was an actor that, in this particular, kept pace with the great poet he represented—he supported Othello throughout with unabating splendor—his ravings over the dead body of the innocent Desdemona, his reconciliation with Cassio, and his dying soliloquy, were all in the full play of varied excellence, and forced from the severest critic the most unqualified applause.

That this our opinion is not exaggerated, we refer to that of Colley Cibber, an unquestionable good judge of his art, and who, with all his partialities to Betterton, yet gave Barry the preference in Othello. In short, it was from first to last a gem of the noblest kind, which can be no otherwise defined than leaving every one at liberty to attach as much excellence to it as he can conceive, and then suppose Barry to have reached that point of perfection.

His other favourite characters were, Jaffier, Orestes, Castalio, Phocias, Varanes, Essex, Alexander, Romeo, &c. In all characters of this stamp, where the lover or hero was to be exhibited, Barry was unique; insomuch, that when Mrs. Cibber (whose reputation for love and plaintive tenderness was well known) played with Garrick, she generally represented his daughter or sister—with Barry she was always his mistress.

He likewise excelled in many parts of genteel comedy; such as lord Townly, Young Belville, &c. &c. The Bastard in King John, was another fine character of his, which Garrick attempted in vain—having neither sufficiency of figure, or heroic jocularity. To that may be added Sir Callaghan O'Brallaghan, in Macklin's farce of Love-a-la-Mode; a part in which he gave such specimens of the gallant simplicity and integrity of the Irish gentleman, as were sufficient to establish an independent reputation.

Though his Hamlet, Richard, Lear, Macbeth, &c. were star height above what we see now, he lost by a comparison with Garrick. Here the latter showed the master in an uncommon degree; as he did in all the quick animated parts of tragedy. In the spritely, light kind of gentlemen, Garrick had likewise the advantage; and in the whole range of low comedy he blended such a knowledge of his art with the simplicity of nature as made all the minutiæ of the picture complete. Thus his Abel Drugger was as perfect in design and colouring as the miseries and distresses of Royal Lear.

In talking of these actors, it is impossible for the amateurs of the stage not to regret their loss with some degree of sensibility—not only as men who contributed to the entertainment and refinement of their youth, but whose death seem to threaten a decay of the profession itself. There are periods when the arts and sciences seem to mourn in sullen silence the departure of those original geniuses, who, for years, improved, exalted and refined them; and, like widows, whose hearts were sincerely pledged to their first lords, will not sacrifice on the altar of affectation to secondary wooers. Painting and statuary suffered such a loss in the deaths of Titian, Raphael, and Michael Angelo, that more than two centuries have not been able to supply it; and how long the present stage may want the aid of such powerful supporters as Garrick and Barry, the experience of near thirty years holds out but very little hopes of encouragement.

To this admirable description as true as it is eloquent, we subjoin the following extracts from the old Dramatic Censor of England.

Speaking of Castalio in The Orphan, he says, "His circumstances give great scope for the exertion of various capital powers, which were amazingly well supplied in the elegant figure, bewitching voice, and excellent acting of Mr. Barry; who, in this part, defied the severest criticism, and justly claimed what he always obtained, the warmest applause that enchanted feelings could bestow."

Antony in Julius Cæsar.

Mr. Barry beyond doubt stands foremost in our approbation for this part, as possessing an adequate figure, an harmonious voice, and all the plausibility of insinuation that Shakspeare meant; however, we think that critic an enthusiastic admirer, who, speaking of him in the Rostrum, exclaimed that Paul never preached so well at Athens.[C] It is certain, nature in this, as well as in all his dramatic undertakings, furnished him with irresistible recommendations.

Varanes in Theodosius, or the Force of Love.

Varanes, who was most the object of our author's attention, is an odd medley of love and pride; now he will, then will not; tender, impatient; in short a romantic madman; yet notwithstanding inconsistencies of a glaring nature, he is a dramatic personage highly interesting. Mr. Barry must, in imagination, to those who are at all acquainted with his performance, fill up every idea of excellence in this character: his love was enchanting, his rage alarming, his grief melting: even now, though overtaken by time, and impaired in constitution, he has not the shadow of a competitor. The rheumatic stiffness of his joints has been industriously trumpeted forth, and every mean art made use of to lower him in public opinion; yet true it is that if he hobbled upon stilts, he would be better than many persons, in his style, upon their best legs. A gentleman of acknowledged judgment lately made the following just and striking similitude: that Mr. Barry was like the time-worn ruins of Palmyra and Balbec, which even in a fallen state show more dignity and real beauty, than the most complete productions of modern architecture.[D]

In Altamont in The Fair Penitent.

After observing that this character lies a dead weight upon the play, this great critic says, "We remember Mr. Barry, by exertion of singular merit, making Altamont as respectable as any other character in the piece, though Mr. Garrick did Lothario and Mr. Sheridan Horatio on the same occasion. Indeed he so much outfigured all competitors and illustrated so beautifully a character scarce known before, that he appeared to great advantage."

Othello.

"If any performer ever was born for one part in particular it must have been Mr. Barry for the Moor: his figure was a good apology for Desdemona's attachment, and the harmony of his voice to tell such a tale as he describes, must have raised favourable prejudice in any one who had an ear, or a heart to feel. There is a length of periods and an extravagance of passion in this part, not to be found in any other for so many successive scenes, to which Mr. Barry appeared peculiarly suitable. He happily exhibited the hero, the lover, and the distracted husband; he rose through all the passions to the utmost extent of critical imagination, yet still appeared to leave an unexhausted fund of expression behind; his rage and tenderness were equally interesting, but when he uttered the words "rude am I in my speech," in tones as soft as feathered snow that melted as they fell, we could by no means allow the sound an echo to the sense."

To these extracts we will add one from the life of the celebrated John Palmer, already mentioned, in the Thespian dictionary.

"The following summer he (Palmer) was engaged at the Haymarket, when Mr. Barry was also engaged. The part of Iago was given to Mr. Palmer to study, but at rehearsal he was so awed at the presence of Mr. Barry, that in spite of all that gentleman's encouragement, he could not subdue his terrors, and was obliged to resign his part to Mr. Lee."

Yet there was a suavity and familiar frankness in his manner, particularly if he had a point of interest or pleasure to carry, which won young and old—man and woman. A British merchant having occasion to go to Dublin when Barry and Mossop headed the rival theatres, was commissioned to collect some debts, and among others two owing by those celebrated men. When he returned to London his constituent asked him, "Well, have you got the actors to pay you?" "Mossop has paid," he replied, "Barry, not." "How comes that?" "To tell you the truth," answered our merchant, "I called on Mr. Barry several times, but he delighted me so much with his talk, and his kindness, that I swear, I could not ask him for money, or do anything to hurt his feelings. When I went from him to Mossop, he looked so stern, that I was overawed and cowed, and so told him, that as I wished to oblige him, I would let the matter lie over; and what do you think was his answer? In a voice that made me tremble, he said, disdainfully, "You oblige me, sir!—and pray sir, who are you that presume to offer to oblige me?—call tomorrow, sir, on my treasurer, and the pelf shall be paid to you, sir." And as I went down stairs I could hear him say to himself several times, "Oblige me indeed, ha, ha, hah!—you oblige me!!" In a word I got the money from him, but never saw him after." "You saw Barry, though?" "Oh yes, he gave me a general order to the house, introduced me to Mrs. Barry,—and always smiled and spoke so kindly, squeezed my hand too whenever I saw him, that I never thought of money. It dont signify talking, but I verily believe, that he could wheedle the birds off the trees with that sweet voice of his, and his good-natured look. I would rather be put off by Barry, than paid by Mossop." In this simple anecdote, which is a fact, the private characters of Barry and Mossop are clearly and faithfully illustrated.

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