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.