He then further, and confidentially, opened to Dr. Burney upon his past life and situation: “Every thing that I possess,” he cried, “I have earned by the most elaborate industry, except this last six thousand pounds! I had no education, and no advantage but such as I sedulously worked to obtain for myself; but I preserved my reputation and my character as unblemished as my principles — till this last year!”
Rallying a little then, from a depression which he saw was becoming contagious, he generously changed the subject to the History of Music; and begged to be acquainted with its progress; and to learn something of its method, manner, and meaning; frankly avowing an utter ignorance of the capabilities, or materials, that such a work demanded.
Dr. Burney read to him the dissertation, — then but roughly sketched, — on the Music of the Ancients, by which the History opens: and Dr. Hawkesworth, confessing its subject to be wholly new to him, warmly declared that he found its treatment extremely entertaining, as well as instructive.
After a visit, long, and deeply interesting, he left his friend very anxious about his health, and very impatient for his promised pamphlet: but, while still waiting, with strong solicitude, the appearance of a vindication that might tranquillize the author’s offended sensibility, the melancholy tidings arrived, that a slow fever had robbed the invalid of sleep and of appetite; and had so fastened upon his shattered nerves, that, after lingering a week or two, he fell a prey to incurable atrophy; and sunk to his last earthly rest exactly a month after the visit to Dr. Burney, the account of which has been related.
Had the health of Dr. Hawkesworth been more sound, he might have turned with cold disdain from the outrages of mortified slanderers; or have scoffed the impotent rage of combatants whom he had had the ability to distance: — but, who shall venture to say where begins, and where ends, the complicate reciprocity of influence which involves the corporeal with the intellectual part of our being? Dr. Hawkesworth foresaw not the danger, to a constitution already, and perhaps natively, fragile, of yielding to the agitating effects of resentful vexation. He brooded, therefore, unresistingly, over the injustice of which he was the victim; instead of struggling to master it by the only means through which it is conquerable, namely, a calm and determined silence, that would have committed his justification to personal character; — a still, but intrepid champion, against which falsehood never ultimately prevails.
KIT SMART.
If thus untimely fell he who, of all the literary associates of Dr. Burney, had attained the most prosperous lot, who shall marvel that untimely should be the fate of the most unfortunate of his Parnassian friends, Christopher Smart? who, high in literary genius, though in that alone, had a short time previously, through turns of fortune, and concurrences of events, wholly different in their course from those which had undermined the vital powers of Dr. Hawkesworth, paid as prematurely the solemn debt relentlessly claimed by that dread accomptant-general, Death I — of all alike the awful creditor! — and paid it as helplessly the victim of substantial, as Dr. Hawkesworth was that of shadowy, disappointment. —
With failure at the root of every undertaking, and abortion for the fruit of every hope, Kit Smart finished his suffering existence in the King’s Bench prison; where he owed to a small subscription, of which Dr. Burney was at the head, a miserable little pittance beyond the prison allowance; and where he consumed away the blighted remnant of his days, under the alternate pressure of partial aberration of intellect, and bacchanalian forgetfulness of misfortune.
His learning and talents, which frequently, in his youth, had been crowned with classical laurels at the University of Cambridge, had seemed to prognosticate a far different result: but, through whatever errors or irregularities such fair promises may have been set aside, he, surely, must always call for commiseration rather than censure, who has been exposed, though but at intervals, to the unknown disorders of wavering senses.
Nevertheless, whenever he was master of his faculties, his piety, though rather fanatical than rational, was truly sincere; and survived all his calamities, whether mental or mundane.
He left behind him none to whom he was more attached than Dr. Burney, who had been one of his first favourite companions, and who remained his last and most generous friend.
Alike through his malady and his distresses, the goodness of his heart, and his feeling for others, were constantly predominant. In his latest letter to Dr. Burney, which was written from the King’s Bench prison, he passionately pleaded for a fellow-sufferer, “whom I myself,” he impressively says, “have already assisted according to my willing poverty.”
Kit Smart is occasionally mentioned in Boswell’s Life of Dr. Johnson, and with anecdotes given to Mr. Boswell by Dr. Burney.
Mrs. Le Noir, the ingenious daughter of Mr. Smart, is authoress of a pleasing production entitled Village — Manners, which she dedicated to Dr.
Burney.
QUEEN SQUARE.
Dr. Burney now, in the intervals of his varied, but never-ceasing occupations, gently, yet gaily, enjoyed their fruits. All classes of authors offered to him their services, or opened to him their stores. The first musical performers then in vogue, Millico, Giardini, Fischer, Cervetto, Crosdill, Barthelemon, Dupont, Celestini, Parke, Corri, the blind Mr. Stanley, La Baccelli, and that composer for the heart in all its feelings, Sacchini; with various others, were always eager to accept his invitations, whether for concerts, which occasionally he gave to his friends and acquaintance; or to private meetings for the regale of himself and family.
OMIAH.
But his most serious gratification of this period, was that of receiving in safety and honour, James, his eldest son, the lieutenant of Captain Cooke, on the return from his second voyage round the world, of that super-eminent navigator.
The Admiralty immediately confirmed the nomination of Captain Cooke; and further, in consideration of the character and services of the young naval officer, promoted him to the rank of master and commander.
The voyagers were accompanied back by Omiah, a native of Ulitea, one of the Otaheitean islands. Captain Burney, who had studied the language of this stranger during the voyage home, and had become his particular favourite, was anxious to introduce the young South-Sea islander to his father and family; who were at least equally eager to behold a native of a country so remote, and of such recent discovery.
A time was quickly fixed for his dining and spending the day in Queen-square; whither he was brought by Mr., afterwards Sir Joseph, Bankes, and Dr. Solander; who presented him to Dr. Burney.
The behaviour of this young Otaheitean, whom it would be an abuse of all the meaning annexed to the word, to call a savage, was gentle, courteous, easy, and natural; and shewed so much desire to please, and so much willingness to be pleased himself, that he astonished the whole party assembled to receive him; particularly Sir Robert Strange and Mr. Hayes; for he rather appeared capable to bestow, than requiring to want, lessons of conduct and etiquette in civilized life.
He had a good figure, was tall and well-made; and though his complexion was swarthy and dingy, it was by no means black; and though his features partook far more of the African than of the European cast, his eyes were lively and agreeable, and the general expression of his face was good-humoured and pleasing.
He was full dressed on this day, in the English costume, having just come from the House of Lords, whither he had been taken by Sir Joseph Bankes, to see, rather than to hear, for he could not understand it, the King deliver his speech from the throne. He had also been admitted to a private audience of his Majesty, whom he had much entertained.
A bright Manchester velvet suit of clothes, lined with white satin, in which he was attired, sat upon him with as much negligence of his finery, as if it had been his customary dress from adolescence.
But the perfect ease with which he wore and managed a sword, which he had had the honour to receive from the king, and which he had that day put on for the first time, in order to go to the House
of Lords, had very much struck, Sir Joseph said, every man by whom it had been observed; since, by almost every one, the first essay of that accoutrement had been accompanied with an awkwardness and inconvenience ludicrously risible; which this adroit Otaheitean had marvellously escaped.
Captain Burney had acquired enough of the Otaheitean language to be the ready interpreter of Omiah with others, and to keep him alive and in spirits himself, by conversing with him in his own dialect. Omiah understood a little English, when addressed in it slowly and distinctly; but could speak it as yet very ill; and with the peculiarity, whether adopted from the idiom of his own tongue, or from the apprehension of not being clearly comprehended, of uttering first affirmatively, and next negatively, all the little sentences that he attempted to pronounce.
Thus, when asked how he did, he answered “ Ver well; not ver ill.” Or how he liked any thing, “Ver nice; not ver nasty.” Or what he thought of such a one, “Ver dood; not ver bad.”
On being presented by Captain Burney to the several branches of the family, when he came to this memorialist, who, from a bad cold, was enveloped in muslin wrappings, he inquired into the cause of her peculiar attire; and, upon hearing that she was indisposed, he looked at her for a moment with concern, and then, recovering to a cheering nod, said, “Ver well to-morrow morrow?”
There had been much variation, though no serious dissension, among the circumnavigators during the voyage, upon the manner of naming this stranger. Captain Burney joined those officers who called him Omai; but Omiah was more general; and Omy was more common still. The sailors, however, who brought him over, disdaining to scan the nicety of these three modes of pronunciation, all, to a man, left each of them unattempted and undiscussed, and, by universal, though ridiculous agreement, gave him no other appellation than that of Jack.
His after visits to the house of Dr. Burney were frequent, and evidently very agreeable to him. He was sure of a kind reception from all the family, and he was sincerely attached to Captain Burney; who was glad to continue with him the study of the Otaheitean language, preparatory to accompanying Captain Cooke in his third circumnavigation, when Omiah was to he restored to his own island and friends.
In the currency of this intercourse, remarks were incessantly excited, upon the powers of nature unassisted by art, compared with those of art unassisted by nature; and of the equal necessity of some species of innate aptness, in civilized as well as in savage life, for obtaining success in personal acquirements.
The disserters on the instruction of youth were just then peculiarly occupied by the letters of Lord Chesterfield; and Mr. Stanhope, their object, was placed continually in a parallel line with Omiah; the first, beginning his education at a great public school; taught from an infant all attainable improvements; introduced, while yet a youth, at foreign courts; and brought forward into high life with all the favour that care, expense, information, and refinement could furnish; proved, with all these benefits, a heavy, ungainly, unpleasing character: while the second, with neither rank nor wealth, even in his own remote island; and with no tutor but nature; changing, in full manhood, his way of life, his dress, his country, and his friends; appeared, through a natural facility of observation, not alone unlike a savage, but with the air of a person who had devoted his youth to the practice of those graces, which the most elaborately accomplished of noblemen had vainly endeavoured to make the ornament of his son.
MR. CRISP.
Another severe illness broke into the ease, the prosperity, and the muse of Dr. Burney, and drove him, perforce, to sojourn for some weeks at Chesington, with his friend, Mr. Crisp; whose character, in the biographical and chronological series of events, is thus forcibly, though briefly, sketched.
“To Crisp I repair’d — that best guide of my youth,
Whose decisions all flow from the fountain of truth;
Whose oracular counsels seem always excited
By genius, experience, and wisdom united.
Then his taste in the arts — happy he who can follow!
’Tis the breath of the muses when led by Apollo.
His knowledge instructs, and his converse beguiles.”
To this inestimable Mentor, and to Chesington, that sanctuary of literature and of friendship, Dr. Burney, even in his highest health, would uncompelled have resorted, had Fortune, as kind to him in her free gifts as Nature, left his residence to his choice.
But choice has little to do with deciding the abode of the man who has no patrimony, yet who wishes to save his progeny from the same hereditary dearth: the Doctor, therefore, though it was to the spot of his preference that he was chased, could not, now, make it that of his enjoyment: he could only, and hardly, work at the recovery of his strength; and, that regained, tear himself away from this invaluable friend, and loved retreat, to the stationary post of his toils, the metropolis.
ST. MARTIN’S STREET.
His house in Queen-square had been relinquished from difficulties respecting its title; and Mrs.
Burney, assiduously and skilfully, purchased and prepared another, during his confinement, that was situated in St. Martin’s-street, Leicester-fields.
If the house in Queen-square had owed a fanciful part of its value to the belief that, formerly, in his visits to Alderman Barber, it had been inhabited occasionally by Dean Swift, how much higher a local claim, was vested in imagination, for a mansion that had decidedly been the dwelling of the immortal Sir Isaac Newton I Dr. Burney entered it with reverence, as may be gathered from the following lines in his doggrel chronology.
“This house, where great Newton once deign’d to reside,
Who of England, and all Human Nature the pride,
Sparks of light, like Prometheus, from Heaven purloin’d,
Which in bright emanations flash’d full on mankind.”
This change of position from Queen-square to St. Martin’s-street, required all that it could bestow of convenience to business, of facilitating fashionable and literary intercourse, of approximation to travelling foreigners of distinction, and of vicinity to the Opera House; to somewhat counter-balance its unpleasant site, its confined air, and its shabby immediate neighbourhood; after the beautiful prospect which the Doctor had quitted of the hills, ever verdant and smiling, of Hampstead and Highgate; which, at that period, in unobstructed view, had faced his dwelling in Queen-square.
St. Martin’s-street, though not narrow, except at its entrance from Leicester-square, was dirty, ill built, and vulgarly peopled.
The house itself was well-constructed, sufficiently large for the family, and, which now began to demand nearly equal accommodation, for the books of the Doctor. The observatory of Sir Isaac Newton, which surmounted its roof, over-looked all London and its environs. It still remained in the same simple state in which it had been left by Sir Isaac; namely, encompassed completely by windows of small old-fashioned panes of glass, so crowded as to leave no exclusion of the glazier, save what was seized for a small chimney and fire-place, and a cupboard, probably for instruments. Another cupboard was borrowed from the little landing-place for coals.
The first act of Dr. Burney, after taking possession of this house, was to repair, at a considerable expense, the observatory of the astronomical chief of nations: and he had the enthusiasm, soon afterwards, of nearly reconstructing it a second time, in consequence of the fearful hurricane of 1778, by which its glass sides were utterly demolished; and its leaden roof, in a whirl of fighting winds, was swept wholly away.
* * * * *
Dr. Burney, who was as elevated in spirit as he was limited in means, for being to all the arts, and all the artists, a patron, preferred any self-denial to suffering such a demolition. He would have thought himself a ruthless Goth, had he permitted the sanctum sanctorum of the developer of the skies in their embodied movements, to have been scattered to nonentity through his neglect or parsimony; and sought for, thenceforward, in vain, by posterity.
Amongst the earliest hailers of this removal
, stood forth the worthy and original Mr. Hutton, who was charmed to visit his enthusiastically esteemed new friend in the house of the great Newton; in which he flattered himself with retaining a faint remembrance that he had been noticed, when a boy, by the niece of that most stupendous of human geniuses.
In shaking hands around with the family upon this occasion, Mr. Hutton related that he had just come from the apartment of M. de Solgas, sub-preceptor to his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales; in which he had had the high honour of being permitted to discourse with his Majesty; whom he had found the best of men, as well as the best of Kings; for, in talking over the letters of Lord Chesterfield, and his Lordship’s doctrines, and subtle definitions of simulation and dissimulation, his Majesty said, It is very deep, and may be it is very clever; but for me, I like more straight-forward work.”
This tribute to the honour of simple truth excited a general plaudit. Mr. Hutton then, with a smile of benevolent pleasure, said that the subject had been changed, by Mr. Smelt, from Lord Chesterfield’s letters to Dr. Burney’s Tours, which had been highly commended: “And then I,” added the good old man, “could speak my notions, and my knowledge, too, of my excellent friend the tourist, as well as of his writings; and so, openly and plainly, as one honest man should talk to another, I said it outright to my sovereign lord the King — who is as honest a man himself as any in his own three kingdoms. God bless him!”
All the party, greatly pleased, smiled concurrence; and Mrs. Burney said that the Doctor was very happy to have had a friend to speak of him so favourably before the King.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 390