Such was the end of Spranger Barry, an actor as little known in the present day (allowing for his extraordinary abilities) as any, perhaps, in the annals of the Stage. There are two causes assign able for this: the first, his long absence from London, where the quick succession of novelty scarcely leaves any thing to be long remembered; and the second, still more prevalent, his extreme carelessness of temper, arising almost to a total neglect of keeping up his fame with the public. He was so insensible to this last particular, that even in the meridian of his reputation, courted by the great, and followed by the crowd, there did not appear, nor does appear to this day, in any of the print shops, a tolerable likeness of him, nor scarcely any recorded eulogium to be found, but in the voluntary effusions of the journalists of those times, or in a few clumsy periodical publications. This is certainly one of the strong marks of original genius, but fatal to the lasting reputation of an actor, who can unhappily leave no memorial of his art behind him, save what, at best, can be but faintly described by the poets or historians of his own times. To rescue a character of this eminence from such oblivion, shall be our attempt in the following sketch, which we do as much from a general principle of justice, as some little remuneration for the many exquisite hours of delight which his fine exhibitions afforded us-periods that are still turned N turned back to as one of the pleasing resources of literary reflection; and still remind us, that, however the Stage may be under a temporary depression, from the predominancy of a false taste, its character, when supported with sufficient abilities, will always render it a public school of manners, and moral improvement. 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 erits and his entrances had peculiar graces, from their characteristic ease and simplicity.* 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. "So when a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage, -All eyes are idly bent on him who follows next." To 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' family. This was done at the Prince's request, after he had seen him play Lord Townly in the Provoked Husband. To this figure he added a voice so peculiarly mu sical, 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 parts of his audience, each seemed to say, in the language of Desdemona, "Would that Heaven had made me such a man!" 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. &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 shell." 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 phrenzy that of 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. N 2 * See Goldsmith's Dedication to the Traveller. But, 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 inclinations prompted him to attemptand 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 shew "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 very first speech, "Its better as it is," bespoke such a pre-eminence 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 1 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, "In faith 'twas strange-'twas passing strange! 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, O! my soul's joy! If after every tempest come such calms," &c. was the voice of love itself; describing that passion in so extatic a manner, as seemingly justified his fears, "That not another comfort like to this Through the whole of the third act, where Iago is working him up to jealousy, his breaks of love and rage were master-pieces of Nature, and communicated its first sympathies; but in his conference N 3 |