While connexions thus various, literary, classical, noble, and
professional, incidentally occurred, combatting the deadening toil of
the copyist, and keeping his mind in tune for intellectual pursuits and
attainments, new scenes, most unexpectedly, opened to him the world at
large, and suddenly brought him to a familiar acquaintance with high
life.
Fulk Greville, a descendant of _The Friend of Sir Philip Sydney_,
and afterwards author of Characters, Maxims, and Reflections, was
then generally looked up to as the finest gentleman about town. His
person, tall and well-proportioned, was commanding; his face, features,
and complexion, were striking for masculine beauty; and his air and
carriage were noble with conscious dignity.
He was then in the towering pride of healthy manhood and athletic
strength. He excelled in all the fashionable exercises, riding,
fencing, hunting, shooting at a mark, dancing, tennis, &c.; and worked
at every one of them with a fury for pre-eminence, not equalled,
perhaps, in ardour for superiority in personal accomplishments, since
the days of the chivalrous Lord Herbert of Cherbury.
His high birth, and higher expectation—for a coronet at that time,
from some uncertain right of heritage, hung almost suspended over his
head—with a splendid fortune, wholly unfettered, already in his hands,
gave to him a consequence in the circles of modish dissipation that, at
the clubs of St. James’s-street, and on the race ground at Newmarket,
nearly crowned him as chief. For though there were many competitors of
more titled importance, and more powerful wealth, neither the blaze
of their heraldry, nor the weight of their gold, could preponderate,
in the buckish scales of the day, over the elegance of equipment, the
grandeur, yet attraction of demeanour, the supercilious brow, and the
resplendent smile, that marked the lofty yet graceful descendant of Sir
Philip Sydney.
This gentleman one morning, while trying a new instrument at the
house of Kirkman, the first harpsichord maker of the times, expressed
a wish to receive musical instruction from some one who had mind
and cultivation, as well as finger and ear; lamenting, with strong
contempt, that, in the musical tribe, the two latter were generally
dislocated from the two former; and gravely asking Kirkman whether he
knew any young musician who was fit company for a gentleman.
Kirkman, with honest zeal to stand up for the credit of the art by
which he prospered, and which he held to be insulted by this question,
warmly answered that he knew many; but, very particularly, one member
of the harmonic corps, who had as much music in his tongue as in his
hands, and who was as fit company for a prince as for an orchestra.
Mr. Greville, with much surprise, made sundry and formal inquiries
into the existence, situation, and character of what he called so great
a phenomenon; protesting there was nothing he so much desired as the
extraordinary circumstance of finding any union of sense with sound.
The replies of the good German were so exciting, as well as
satisfactory, that Mr. Greville became eager to see the youth thus
extolled; but charged Mr. Kirkman not to betray a word of what had
passed, that the interview might be free from restraint, and seem to be
arranged merely for shewing off the several instruments that were ready
for sale, to a gentleman who was disposed to purchase one of the most
costly.
To this injunction Mr. Kirkman agreed, and conscientiously adhered.
A day was appointed, and the meeting took place.
Young Burney, with no other idea than that of serving Kirkman,
immediately seated himself at an instrument, and played various pieces
of Geminiani, Corelli, and Tartini, whose compositions were then most
in fashion. But Mr. Greville, secretly suspicious of some connivance,
coldly and proudly walked about the room; took snuff from a finely
enamelled snuff-box, and looked at some prints, as if wholly without
noticing the performance.
He had, however, too much penetration not to perceive his mistake, when
he remarked the incautious carelessness with which his inattention was
returned; for soon, conceiving himself to be playing to very obtuse
ears, young Burney left off all attempt at soliciting their favour;
and only sought his own amusement by trying favourite passages, or
practising difficult ones, with a vivacity which shewed that his
passion for his art rewarded him in itself for his exertions. But
coming, at length, to keys of which the touch, light and springing,
invited his stay, he fired away in a sonata of Scarlatti’s, with an
alternate excellence of execution and expression, so perfectly in
accord with the fanciful flights of that wild but masterly composer,
that Mr. Greville, satisfied no scheme was at work to surprise or to
win him; but, on the contrary, that the energy of genius was let loose
upon itself, and enjoying, without premeditation, its own lively sports
and vagaries; softly drew a chair to the harpsichord, and listened,
with unaffected earnestness, to every note.
Nor were his ears alone curiously awakened; his eyes were equally
occupied to mark the peculiar performance of intricate difficulties;
for the young musician had invented a mode of adding neatness to
brilliancy, by curving the fingers, and rounding the hand, in a manner
that gave them a grace upon the keys quite new at that time, and
entirely of his own devising.
To be easily pleased, however, or to make acknowledgment of being
pleased at all, seems derogatory to strong self-importance; Mr.
Greville, therefore, merely said, “You are fond, Sir, it seems, of
Italian music?”
The reply to this was striking up, with all the varying undulations
of the crescendo, the diminuendo, the pealing swell, and the “dying,
dying fall,” belonging to the powers of the pedal, that most popular
masterpiece of Handel’s, the Coronation Anthem.
This quickness of comprehension, in turning from Italian to German,
joined to the grandeur of the composition, and the talents of the
performer, now irresistibly vanquished Mr. Greville; who, convinced
of Kirkman’s truth with regard to the harmonic powers of this son of
Apollo, desired next to sift it with regard to the wit.
Casting off, therefore, his high reserve, with his jealous surmises,
he ceased to listen to the music, and started some theme that was meant
to lead to conversation.
But as this essay, from not knowing to what the youth might be equal,
consisted of such inquiries as, “Have you been in town long, Sir?” or,
“Does your taste call you back to the country, Sir?” &c. &c., his young
hearer, by no means preferring this inquisitorial style to the fancy of
Scarlatti, or the skill and depth of Handel, slightly answered, “Yes,
Sir,” or “No, Sir;” and, perceiving an instrument not yet tried, darted
to it precipitately, and seated himself to play a voluntary.
The charm of genuine simplicity is nowhere more powerful than with the
practised and hackneyed man of the world; for it induces what, of all
things, he most rarely experiences, a belief in sincerity.
Mr. Greville, therefore, though thwarted, was not displeased; for in a
votary of the art he was pursuing, he saw a character full of talents,
yet without guile; and conceived, from that moment, an idea that it was
one he might personally attach. He remitted, therefore, to some other
opportunity, a further internal investigation.
Mr. Kirkman now came forward to announce, that in the following week
he should have a new harpsichord, with double keys, and a deepened
bass, ready for examination.
They then parted, without any explanation on the side of Mr. Greville;
or any idea on that of the subject of these memoirs, that he and his
acquirements were objects of so peculiar a speculation.
At the second interview, young Burney innocently and eagerly flew at
once to the harpsichord, and tried it with various recollections from
his favourite composers.
Mr. Greville listened complacently and approvingly; but, at the end
of every strain, made a speech that he intended should lead to some
discussion.
Young Burney, however, more alive to the graces of melody than to
the subtleties of argument, gave answers that always finished with
full-toned chords, which as constantly modulated into another movement;
till Mr. Greville, tired and impatient, suddenly proposed changing
places, and trying the instrument himself.
He could not have devised a more infallible expedient to provoke
conversation; for he thrummed his own chosen bits by memory with so
little skill or taste, yet with a pertinacity so wearisome, that young
Burney, who could neither hearken to such playing, nor turn aside from
such a player, caught with alacrity at every opening to discourse, as
an acquittal from the fatigue of mock attention.
This eagerness gave a piquancy to what he said, that stole from him the
diffidence that might otherwise have hung upon his inexperience; and
endued him with a courage for uttering his opinions, that might else
have faded away under the trammels of distant respect.
Mr. Greville, however, was really superior to the mawkish parade
of unnecessary etiquette in private circles, where no dignity can
be offended, and no grandeur be let down by suffering nature, wit,
or accident to take their bent, and run their race, unfettered by
punctilio.
Yet was he the last of men to have borne any designed infringement upon
the long established claims of birth, rank, or situation; which, in
fact, is rarely practised but to lead to a succession of changes, that
circulate, like the names written in a round robin, to end just where
they began;—
“Such chaos, where degree is suffocate,
Follows the choaking.”[8]
In the subject of these memoirs, this effervescence of freedom was
clearly that of juvenile artlessness and overflowing vivacity; and
Mr. Greville desired too sincerely to gather the youth’s notions and
fathom his understanding, for permitting himself to check such amusing
spirits, by proudly wrapping himself up, as at less favourable moments
he was wont to do, in his own consequence. He grew, therefore, so
lively and entertaining, that young Burney became as much charmed with
his company as he had been wearied by his music; and an interchange
of ideas took place, as frankly rapid, equal, and undaunted, as if
the descendant of _the friend of Sir Philip Sydney_ had encountered a
descendant of Sir Philip Sydney himself.
This meeting concluded the investigation; music, singing her gay
triumph, took her stand at the helm; and a similar victory for capacity
and information awaited but a few intellectual skirmishes, on poetry,
politics, morals, and literature,—in the midst of which Mr. Greville,
suddenly and gracefully holding out his hand, fairly acknowledged his
scheme, proclaimed its success, and invited the unconscious victor to
accompany him to Wilbury House.
The amazement of young Burney was boundless; but his modesty, or
rather his ignorance that not to think highly of his own abilities
merited that epithet, was most agreeably surprised by so complicate a
flattery to his character, his endowments, and his genius.
But his articles with Dr. Arne were in full force; and it was not
without a sigh that he made known his confined position.
Unaccustomed to control his inclinations himself, or to submit to
their control from circumstances, expense, or difficulty, Mr. Greville
mocked this puny obstacle; and, instantly visiting Dr. Arne in person,
demanded his own terms for liberating his Cheshire pupil.
Dr. Arne, at first, would listen to no proposition; protesting that a
youth of such promise was beyond all equivalent. But no sooner was a
round sum mentioned, than the Doctor, who, in common with all the dupes
of extravagance, was evermore needy, could not disguise from himself
that he was dolorously out of cash; and the dazzling glare of three
hundred pounds could not but play most temptingly in his sight, for one
of those immediate, though imaginary wants, that the man of pleasure is
always sure to see waving, with decoying allurement, before his longing
eyes.
The articles, therefore, were cancelled: and young Burney was received
in the house of Mr. Greville as a desired inmate, a talented professor,
and a youth of genius: to which appellations, from his pleasantry,
gaiety, reading, and readiness, was soon superadded the title—not of a
humble, but of a chosen and confidential companion.
* * * * *
Young Burney now moved in a completely new sphere, and led a completely
new life. All his leisure nevertheless was still devoted to improvement
in his own art, by practice and by composition. But the hours for such
sage pursuits were soon curtailed from half the day to its quarter;
and again from that to merely the early morning that preceded any
communication with his gay host: for so partial grew Mr. Greville to
his new favourite, that, speedily, there was no remission of claim upon
his time or his talents, whether for music or discourse.
Nor even here ended the requisition for his presence; his company
had a charm that gave a zest to whatever went forward: his opinions
were so ingenious, his truth was so inviolate, his spirits were so
entertaining, that, shortly, to make him a part of whatever was said
or done, seemed necessary to Mr. Greville for either speech or action.