Dr. Burney all his life had been a zealous Tory, but the Tories never showed their zeal for him. In 1806, when the Whigs came into office, the united efforts of Mr. Windham and Mr. Fox procured for the historian of music a pension of £300—a grant which, it is not saying much when we assert, was more justly obtained in this instance, than in nine cases out of ten in which the royal prerogative has been exercised.
Not only was the latter part of Dr. Burney’s life rendered comfortable through the instrumentality of that party for which he, and still more his daughter, entertained so great a horror, but he was destined to have an honour of the highest kind conferred on him by Jacobinism itself; for about this time the Institut National de France elected him a member of the Classe des Beaux Arts; and we have reason to know that he considered this as one of the most flattering events of his life; though his daughter, governed by prejudice rather than that exactness which ought to be the chief aim of a biographer, would lead us to believe that the distinction thus conferred was not only embarrassing, but somewhat disagreeable to him.
We now are fast approaching the close of Dr. Burney’s life, and the termination of this Memoir. One of the best remarks that have, in the progress of these three volumes, fallen from Madame d’Arblay’s pen, is the following, introducing the last entry made by her father in his journal. The date is 1813.
Sir Joshua Reynolds desired that the last name he should pronounce in public should be that of Michael Angelo; and Dr. Burney seems to purpose that the last name he should transmit—if so allowed—through his annals to posterity, should be that of Haydn.
“Finding a blank leaf at the end of my journal, it may be used in the way of postscriptum, in speaking of the prelude or opening of Haydn’s Creation, to observe, that though the generality of the subscribers were unable to disentangle the studied confusion in delineating chaos, yet, when dissonance was tuned, when order was established, and God said,
‘Let there be light!—and there was light!’
‘Que la lumière soit!—et la lumière fut!’
the composer’s meaning was felt by the whole audience, who instantly broke in upon the performers with rapturous applause before the musical period was closed.”
The winter of 1814 was remarkable for its severity, and made its impression on the feeble frame of Dr. Burney. Spring, however, had arrived, and he flattered himself, or rather flattered his numerous and affectionate family, that he had triumphed over the effects of so inclement a season. But he was deceived: the exertion to resist its influence had cost all his remaining strength, and more genial weather found him utterly exhausted.
On the 12th of April he almost suddenly exhibited symptoms which showed that nature could make no further effort, and he remained in a state nearly approaching insensibility, till the 15th, in the evening of which day he tranquilly breathed his last. A detailed account of this event is given in a letter written at the time by Madame d’Arblay to her husband, General d’Arblay, then in Paris, and this narrative may be mentioned as one of the best parts of the whole work; though it evidently has received recent touches that have not improved what we can imagine to have been the more natural tone and style of the original.