The first attempt of Mr. Burney, after his recent marriage, to vary,
though not to quit his professional occupations, was seeking to set
to music the Ode written in the year 1769, by that most delicately
perfect, perhaps, of British poets, Gray, for the installation of the
Duke of Grafton as Chancellor of the University of Cambridge.
The application to the Duke for this purpose met with no opposition
from his Grace; and the earnest wish of Mr. Burney was to learn, and to
gratify, the taste of the exquisite poet whose verses he was musically
to harmonize, with regard to the mode of composition that would best
accord with the poet’s own lyrical ideas.
To this effect, he addressed himself both for counsel and assistance
to his early friend, Mr. Mason; from whom he received a trusting and
obliging, but not very comfortable answer.[36]
Not a second did Mr. Burney lose in forwarding every preparation for
obviating any disgrace to his melodious muse, Terpsichore, when the
poetry of the enchanting bard should come in contact with her lyre. He
formed upon a large scale a well chosen band, vocal and instrumental,
for the performance; and he engaged, as leader of the orchestra, the
celebrated Giardini, who was the acknowledged first violinist of Europe.
But, in the midst of these preliminary measures, he was called upon, by
an agent of the Duke, to draw up an estimate of the expense.
This he did, and delivered, with the cheerfulest confidence that his
selection fully deserved its appointed retribution, and was elegantly
appropriate to the dignity of its purpose.
Such, however, was not the opinion of the advisers of the Duke; and Mr.
Burney had the astonished chagrin of a note to inform him, that the
estimate was so extravagant that it must be reduced to at least one
half.
Cruelly disappointed, and, indeed, offended, the charge of every
performer being merely what was customary for professors of eminence,
Mr. Burney was wholly overset. His own musical fame might be
endangered, if his composition should be sung and played by such a
band as would accept of terms so disadvantageous; and his sense of his
reputation, whether professional or moral, always took place of his
interest. He could not, therefore, hesitate to resist so humiliating
a proposition; and he wrote, almost on the instant, a cold, though
respectful resignation of the office of composer of the Installation
Ode.
Not without extreme vexation did he take this decided measure; and he
was the more annoyed, as it had been his intention to make use of so
favourable an opportunity for taking his degree of Doctor of Music,
at the University of Cambridge, for which purpose he had composed an
exercise. And, when his disturbance at so unlooked for an extinction of
his original project was abated, he still resolved to fulfil that part
of his design.
He could not, however, while under the infliction of so recent a
rebuff, visit, in this secondary manner, the spot he had thought
destined for his greatest professional elevation. He repaired,
therefore, to Oxford, where his academic exercise was performed with
singular applause, and where he took his degree as Doctor in Music, in
the year 1769.
And he then formed many connexions amongst the professors and the
learned belonging to that University, that led him to revisit it with
pleasure, from new views and pursuits, in after-times.
So warmly was this academic exercise approved, that it was called for
at three successive annual choral meetings at Oxford; at the second of
which the principal soprano part was sung by the celebrated and most
lovely Miss Linley, afterwards the St. Cecilia of Sir Joshua Reynolds,
and the wife of the famous Mr. Sheridan; and sung with a sweetness and
pathos of voice and expression that, joined to the beauty of her nearly
celestial face, almost maddened with admiring enthusiasm, not only the
susceptible young students, then in the first glow of the dominion of
the passions, but even the gravest and most profound among the learned
professors of the University, in whom the “hey-day of the blood” might
be presumed, long since, to have been cooled.
From this period, in which the composer and the songstress, in
reflecting new credit, raised new plaudits for each other, there arose
between them a reciprocation of goodwill and favour, that lasted
unbroken, till the retirement of that fairest of syrens from the world.
The Oxonian new lay-dignitary, recruited in health and spirits, from
the flattering personal consideration with which his academical degree
had been taken, gaily returned to town with his new title of Doctor.
The following little paragraph is copied from a memorandum book of that
year.
“I did not, for some time after the honour that had been
conferred on me at Oxford, display my title by altering the
plate on my street door; for which omission I was attacked
by Mr. Steel, author of an essay on the melody of speech.
‘Burney,’ says he, ‘why don’t you tip us the Doctor upon
your door?’ I replied, in provincial dialect, ‘I wants
dacity!—’ ‘I’m ashaeemed!’ ‘Pho, pho,’ says he, ‘you had
better brazen it.’”