In the summer of 1852 Coleridge Patteson stood for a fellowship of
Merton, obtained it, and moved into rooms there. Every college has a
distinctive character; and Merton, if not actually the eldest, is at
least one of the oldest foundations at Oxford, and is one of the most
unchanged in outward aspect. There is a peculiar charm in the beauty and
seclusion of the quadrangle, in the library, still mediaeval even to the
fittings; and the church is above all impressive in the extraordinary
loveliness of the early decorated architecture, and the space and
loftiness of the choir. The whole, pre-eminently among the colleges,
gives the sense of having been unaltered for five hundred years, yet
still full of life and vigour.
Coley attached himself to Merton, though he never looked to permanent
residence there. The Curacy in the immediate neighbourhood of his home
was awaiting him, as soon as he should be ordained; but though his
purpose was unchanged and he was of full age for Holy Orders, he wished
for another year of preparation, so as to be able to study both Hebrew
and theology more thoroughly than would be possible when pastoral labour
should have begun. What he had already seen of Dresden convinced him
that he could there learn Hebrew more thoroughly and more cheaply than
at home, and to this he intended to devote the Long Vacation of 1852,
without returning to Feniton. There the family were settling themselves,
having given up the house in Bedford Square, since James Patteson had
chambers in King's Bench Walk, where the ex-Judge could be with him when
needed in London. There had some notion of the whole family profiting
by Sir John's emancipation to take a journey on the Continent, and the
failure of the scheme elicited the following letter:--
'Merton: June 18.
'My dearest Fan,--I can, to a certain extent, sympathise with you
thoroughly upon this occasion; the mere disappointment at not seeing so
many interesting places and things is a sharp one, but in your instance
this is much increased by the real benefit you hoped to derive from
a warmer climate; and no wonder that the disappearance of your hopes
coupled with bodily illness makes you low and uncomfortable. The weather
too is trying to mind and body, and though you try as usual to shake off
the sense of depression which affects you, your letter is certainly sad,
and written like the letter of one in weak health. Well, we shall see
each other, please GOD, at Christmas now. That is better than passing
nearly or quite a year away from each other; and some other time I hope
you will be able to go to Italy, and enjoy all the wonders there, though
a tour for health's sake cannot be too soon. It is never too soon to get
rid of an ailment....
'I find that I am getting to know the undergraduates here, which is what
I wanted to do; it is my only chance of being of any use. True, that I
have to do it at the expense of two half-days' cricketing, which I have
quite ceased to care about, but I know that when I went up to Balliol,
I was glad when a Fellow played with us. It was a guarantee for orderly
conduct, and as I say, it gives me an opportunity of knowing men. I hope
to leave London for Dresden on Monday week; Arthur is gone thither, as I
find out from Jem, and I hope the scheme will answer. If I find I can't
work, from my eyes, or anything else, preventing me, I shall come home,
but I have no reason to expect any such thing. My best love to Joan and
all friends.
'Your loving Brother,
'J. C. PATTESON.'
The 'Arthur' here mentioned was the youngest son of Mr. Frank Coleridge,
and became Coley's companion at Dresden, where he was studying German.
He writes:--
'Patteson spoke German fluently, and wrote German correctly. He had
studied the language assiduously for about two years previously, and so
successfully that whilst we were at Dresden, he was enabled to dispense
with a teacher and make his assistance little more than nominal.
Occasionally he wrote a German exercise, but rather as an amusement
than a discipline, and merely with the view of enlarging his German
vocabulary. I remember his writing an elaborate description of Feniton
Court, and imagining the place to be surrounded with trees belonging
to all sorts of climates. The result was very amusing to ourselves, and
added to the writer's stock of words on particular subjects. When our
master Schier appeared, the conversation was led by a palpable ambuscade
to the topic which had been made the subject of Patteson's exercise, and
conversation helped to strengthen memory. After looking over a few of
Patteson's German exercises, Mr. Schier found so little to correct,
in the way of grammatical errors, that these studies were almost
relinquished, and gave way to Arabic and Hebrew. Before we left Dresden,
Patteson had read large portions of the Koran; and, with the aid
of Hurwitz's Grammar and Bernhard's Guide to Hebrew Students, books
familiar to Cambridge men, he was soon able to read the Psalms in the
original. I remember the admiration and despair I felt in witnessing
Patteson's progress, and the wonder expressed by his teacher in his
pupil's gift of rapid acquirement. We had some excellent introductions;
amongst others, to Dr. ----, a famous theologian, with whom Patteson was
fond of discussing the system and organisation of the Church in
Saxony. Up to the time of his leaving England he was constantly using
Olshausen's Commentary on the New Testament, a book he was as thoroughly
versed in as Archbishop Trench himself. I think that he consulted no
other books in his study of the Gospels, but Olshausen and Bengel's
Gnomon.
'In our pleasures at Dresden there was a mixture of the utile with the
dulce. Our constant visits to the theatre were strong incentives to a
preparatory study of the plays of Goethe, Schiller, and Lessing. What
noble acting we saw in that Dresden theatre!
'With regard to the opera, I have never seen Weber or Meyerbeer's works
given so perfectly and conscientiously as at Dresden. Patteson's chief
delight was the Midsummer Night's Dream, with Mendelssohn's music. He
had a tuneful baritone voice and a correct ear for music. We hired
a piano for our sitting-room; and, though I failed to induce him to
cultivate his voice, and join me in taking lessons, he sang some of
Mendelssohn's Lieder very pleasingly, and knew most of the bass music
from the Messiah by heart. He began to play a few scales on the piano,
and hoped to surprise his sisters on his return to England by playing
chants, but the Arabic and Hebrew studies proved too absorbing;
he grudged the time, and thought the result disproportioned to the
sacrifice.
'In our daily walks we talked constantly of Church matters. Some sharp
and sad experiences in the loss of more than one of his Eton and Oxford
friends, who had abandoned the Church of England, failed to shake his
confidence in the Church he was to serve so faithfully and to die for
so gloriously. His faith and daily practice seem to me a protest
and warning against the folly, if not the falsehood, of extremes.
Moderation, quiet consistency of life, and unswerving loyalty to a faith
which had been the joy and comfort of his dear mother, whose loveable
nature he inherited and reflected, a blameless life and unfailing
charity enabled him when the time came to live a life of incessant toil,
and face a martyr's death. I remember the present Bishop of Carlisle
inciting Cambridge undergraduates to become, by virtue of earnestness,
gentleness, and toleration, "guides not judges, lights not firebrands."
He drew a perfect description of Patteson, who came more completely up
to that ideal than anyone I ever knew. Here was a man capable of the
purest and most tender friendship, with an exquisite appreciation of all
that is noblest in life, and he was ready to give up all, and content to
lead the forlorn hope of Christianity, and perish in the front ranks
of the noble army. "And having been a little tried he shall be greatly
rewarded, for God proved him, and found him worthy for Himself."'
I have given this letter almost entire, because it shows the impression
Coley made on one, little his junior, in the intimate associations of
cousin, neighbour, and schoolfellow, as well as travelling companion.
This year seems to have been a marked stage of development. He was now
twenty-five, and the boyish distaste for mental exertion which had so
long rendered study an effort of duty had passed into full scholarly
enjoyment. The individuality and originality of his mind had begun to
awaken, and influenced probably by the German atmosphere of thought
in which he was working, were giving him that strong metaphysical bent
which characterised his tone through life, and became apparent in his
sermons when he addressed an educated audience.
Here is a letter to his eldest sister: 'The weather has been better
suited for work, and I feel pretty well satisfied with my Hebrew. What
makes it so difficult is principally this, that as it is an Oriental
language, it is entirely different in structure, and in its inflections,
&c., from any language I ever came across. I can't fall back upon
anything already learnt to help me; but I see my way pretty clear now,
and shall soon have little more than a knowledge of the meaning of the
words to learn, which is only a matter of patience, and can be learnt
with a good dictionary and practice. A real complete knowledge of the
grammar is of course the great thing.
'The great Dresden fair, called the Vogelschiesser, is going on; it
began last Sunday and ends next Sunday. About half a mile from the town
there is a very large meadow by the river, where a small town of booths,
tents, &c., is erected, and where shooting at targets with wooden darts,
sham railway-trains and riding-horses, confectionery of every kind,
beer of every name, strength, and colour, pipes, cigars, toys, gambling,
organ-grinding, fiddling, dancing, &c., goes on incessantly. The great
attraction, however, is the shooting at the bird, which occupies the
attention of every Saxon, and is looked upon as the consummation of
human invention and physical science. A great pole, nearly 80 feet high,
is erected with a wooden bird, about the size of a turkey, at the top;
to hit this with a crossbow from a regular stand, about 50 feet from
the foot of the pole, is the highest ambition of this great people. The
accompaniments are rich in the extreme: cannon firing, drums rolling,
for a successful shot, the shooting society, who exist only for the sole
honour and glory of hacking this bird to pieces, the presence of the
King, I think to-day, and the intense interest taken in the amusement by
the whole population; certainly the Germans are satisfied with less than
any people I ever saw (barring two things, smoke and beer, in which they
are insatiable). I went out to see it all, but it rather bored me after
an hour or so. Tom F---- and I threw some dice for a pair of braces for
Arthur, which we presented in due form; and we had some shots at the
targets--mine were eminently unsuccessful.
'Last night we had a great treat. Emil Devrient, who has been acting in
London, you know, came back, and acted Marquis Posa in "Don Carlos." The
play acts very much better than it reads. Schiller certainly has great
dramatic genius; only I agree with Goethe that there is always a longing
for exhibiting cruelty in its most monstrous form, and refinement of
cruelty and depravity overstepping almost the natural conditions of
humanity. I always thought Iago about the most awful character in
Shakspeare; but Schiller's Philip II. is something beyond even this,
without perhaps so much necessity for the exhibition of this absolute
delight in evil. It is long since I have been so excited in a theatre. I
was three rows from the stage, heard and understood everything, and
was so completely carried away by the grandeur and intense feeling of
Devrient (who was well supported by the Don Carlos), that I had some
difficulty to keep quiet, and feel to-day rather odd, shaken, as it
were, from such a strain upon the feelings.'
Here is a letter, enclosed within one to his sister Fanny on September
9, written on a scrap of paper. The apologetic tone of confession is
amusing:--
'My dearest Father,--I have not before told you that I have been at work
for just three weeks upon a new subject; reading, however, Hebrew every
day almost for three hours as well. Schier is not a great Hebraist; and
I found the language in one sense easier than I expected, so that with
good grammar and dictionary I can quite get on by myself, reading an
easy part of the Bible (historical books, e.g.) at the rate of about
twenty-five verses an hour. Well, I began to think that I ought to use
the opportunities that Dresden affords. I know that Hebrew is not a
rich language; that many words occur only once, and consequently have an
arbitrary meaning attached to them, unless they can be illustrated from
cognate languages. Now I have a taste for these things, and have in
three weeks progressed so far in my new study as to feel sure I shall
make it useful; and so I tell you without fear I am working at Arabic. I
hope you won't think it silly. It is very hard, and for ten days was as
hard work as I ever had in my life. I think I have learnt enough to
see my way now, and this morning read the first chapter of Genesis
in three-quarters of an hour. It is rich, beyond all comparison, in
inflexions; and the difficulty arises from the extreme multiplicity
of all its forms: e.g. each verb having not only active, middle,
and passive voices, but the primitive active having not less than
thirty-five derivative forms and the passive thirteen. The "noun of
action,"--infinitive with article (to akonein) of the Greek--is again
different for each voice or form; and the primitive can take any of
twenty-two forms, which are not compounded according to any rule.
Again, there are twenty-eight sets of irregular plurals, which are quite
arbitrary. No grammarian has ever given any explanation about them.
All mere matters of memory. The very alphabet shows the richness of the
language. There are twenty-nine letters, besides vowel points; and each
letter is written in four different ways, so that it is different when
isolated, when in the beginning, middle, or end of a word. It took me
some hours to learn them. In very many respects, it is closely allied
to the Hebrew, so that everybody who writes Hebrew grammars and lexicons
necessarily has much to do with Arabic; and a knowledge of it may be of
great use in clearing up difficulties in the Bible. My year in Oxford
will enable me to go on with it, for in three weeks more I hope to be
able to go on alone. To-morrow I begin the Koran. My lessons will not
in all exceed 31; and I really should have gone on, perhaps, not much
faster with Hebrew if I had worked it exclusively; and it is hard to
read so many hours at one thing: and I may say, now without doubt, that
I have laid the foundation for a study of Oriental languages, if I have
time and opportunity that may be fairly given to them. Think what one
hour a day is, and the pleasure to me is very great, and I feel that I
have a knack rather (if I may say so) of laying hold of these things.
Don't mention it to anyone.'
There the fragment breaks off; and in a letter of August 29 there occurs
this reply to a message from his eldest sister:--
'Thank dear Joan for her caution: I know I need it sadly, especially now
when I am at work upon somewhat out-of-the-way subjects, and feel the
danger of forgetting that if I mistake the means for the end, and feel
gratified with the mere intellectual amusement, I am doing very wrong,
even when I am working very hard at very difficult matters. I like these
things, I must confess, and the time is so well adapted to work here,
and now that the weather is cool I can secure every day a good long
time to myself.' In the enclosed letter he announces that he shall leave
Dresden in another three weeks. He says:--
'We have had a steady working time of it here; and as I know some
members of the family rather discourage these Continental flights, I
just sum up the advantages thereof. Being naturally endowed with a love
of music, the probability is, that when you, Clara, and Miss Horsley are
together in the house, as soon as a Lied or Sonata began, away would
go my books, or at all events my thoughts. You know well that the piano
goes at all hours, and always in the morning at home. Then riding,
walking with Father, long sitting after dinner, &c. do not improve the
chances for reading. In fact, you know that what with visitors from
without, friends within, parties, &c., I should have had very little
reading in the vacation, and that not through my own fault--not a
Stilbehen in the house could protect me from music. Here I make my own
time, and last week my eyes were troublesome. I walked twice every day,
exactly at the hour when I most wanted it; and without nonsense, I may
say that I have in two months done really a great deal more than I could
have done at home even with masters. This all applies to Arthur just as
much. He has read German exclusively most of the time, and knows as well
as I do that it is not possible to work at home. If I could go on just
as well as with Mendelssohn ringing in my ears, it would be different,
but I can't. You remember how pleasant, but how very idle, last vacation
was, and especially the last six weeks of it!'
Then, after much about family matters, commissions, and little gifts
which he was collecting for all at home--
I should like to get something for everybody, but that is not possible.
Luckily, my lessons are less expensive than I expected, and, considering
the work, wonderfully cheap. I make good progress, I can say; but the
difficulty is great enough to discourage any but a real "grinder" at
such work. I have written a scrap for Father, and you will see that I
am working away pretty well. I have finished my introductory book,
consisting of forty-one fables; and though difficulties present
themselves always to really good scholars from time to time, the Bible
is not one of the hardest books, not so hard, e.g. as the Koran. Now
I can at any future time, if the opportunity comes, go on with these
things, and I hope find them really useful. I know you like to hear what
I am doing; but be sure to keep it all quiet, let no one know but Father
and Joan. You might carelessly tell it to anyone in fun, and I don't
wish it to be known. Especially don't let any of the family know. Time
enough if I live out my Oxford year, and have really mastered the matter
pretty well. Remember this is taken up with a view to elucidate and
explain what is so very hard in Hebrew. Hebrew is to be the Hauptsache,
this the Hulfsmittel, or some day I hope one of several such helps. It
is very important to accustom one's mind to the Denk and Anschauungswerk
of the Orientals, which is so different from that of Europeans or their
language. How hard are the metaphors of the Bible for this reason!'
There is something in all these long apologies and strenuous desire for
secrecy about these Arabic studies that reminds one that the character
was a self-conscious introspective one, always striving for humility,
and dreading to be thought presumptuous. A simpler nature, if devoid of
craving for home sympathy, would never have mentioned the new study at
all; or if equally open-hearted, would have let the mention of it among
home friends take its chance, without troubling himself as to their
possible comments. Indeed, it is curious to observe how elaborate he
was at this period about all his concerns, meditating over the cause of
whatever affected him. It was a form of growth; and dropped off when the
time of action arrived, and his character had shaped itself. It must be
remembered, too, that his habit of pouring out all his reflections and
feelings to his sisters, and their preservation of his letters, have
left much more on record of these personal speculations than is common.
His father made a much simpler matter of the Arabic matter, in the
following characteristic letter:--
'Feniton Court: September 14, 1852,
'My dearest Coley,--So far from thinking you wrong in learning Arabic, I
feel sure that you are quite right. However, we shall keep your secret,
and not say anything about it. I am heartily glad that you should
acquire languages, modern as well as ancient. You know I have often
pressed the former on your and Jem's notice, from myself feeling my
deficiency and regret at it. I can well understand that Arabic, and I
should suppose Syriac also, must be of the greatest use towards a true
understanding of much of the Old Testament: a great deal of which is
doubtless not understood by those who understand only our translation,
or even the Septuagint, which I suspect to have many passages far from a
faithful vehicle of the meaning of the original. I was greatly delighted
with your theological letter, so to speak, as well as with the first,
and look to have some jolly conversations with you on such subjects.
'We have many more partridges than our neighbours, and Jem shoots
uncommonly well. Three double shots yesterday. I shoot worse than usual;
and cannot walk without much fatigue and frequent pain, so that I shall
not be able to work enough to get much sport. I got through the Mary
Church affair very well--that is, not making a fool of myself--and if
I did not do much good, I think I did no harm. The Bishop of Exeter
[Phillpotts] is mightily pleased, and wrote me a letter to that effect.
Of course I cannot tell you what I said, it would be too long, nor are
you likely to see it. It was fully inserted in "Woolmer," and from him
copied into the "Guardian."
'I live in hopes to see you well and hearty at Oxford on the 14th of
October, till when, adieu, God bless you.
'Your affectionate Father,
'J. PATTESON.'
The interview with the Bishop of Sydney never took place, for the
excellent Bishop Broughton arrived with health shattered by his
attendance on the sufferers from fever in the ship which brought him
from St. Thomas, and he did not long survive his landing.
The 'Mary Church affair' here referred to was the laying the
foundation-stone of the Church, built or restored, it is hard to say
which, on the lines of the former one, and preserving the old tower,
at St. Mary Church, near Torquay. Though the death of the Rev. Gr. M.
Coleridge had broken one tie with the place, it continued to be much
beloved by the Patteson family, and Sir John had taken so much share
in the church-building work as to be asked to be the layer of the
corner-stone. The speech he made at the ensuing luncheon excited much
attention and the sisters took care that their brother should not
miss reading it. The stay at Dresden was drawing to an end; and he was
preparing to return through Berlin, intending to go direct to Oxford and
reside there till the summer, when he meant to seek ordination and enter
on the Curacy at Alfington. He says to his sister Joanna:--
'It is a long time to pass without seeing you, but I hope, if it please
God that we all live on together, that it will be long before such
another interval occurs. I have not grown out of an occasional fit of
home sickness yet; and on these occasions Arthur and I talk incessantly
about domestic matters, and indulge our fancies in conjecturing what you
are all doing, and so forth. I followed Joan and Clara's trip, step
by step, from the Den at Teignmouth to St. Mary Church, Oddiscombe,
Rabbicombe, Anstey's Cave, Meadfoot, &c. How I remember every inch of
the dear old places! Better than the mud banks at Felixstowe, are they
not, Clara? I shall keep always the scrap from the "Guardian" with
Father's speech. I don't think I remember any speech on a similar
occasion so thoroughly good, and so likely to do good. Plain, sensible,
and manly, no question of words and unimportant differences of opinion;
no cant, high or low, just like himself. I pray I may have but a tenth
part of his honesty and freedom from prejudice and party spirit. It
may come, under God's blessing, if a man's mind is earnestly set on the
truth; but the danger is of setting up your own exclusive standard of
truth, moral and intellectual. Father certainly is more free from it
than any man we ever knew. He tells me in his letter that the Bishop
of Sydney is coming home to consult people in England about Synodical
Action, &c., and that he is going to meet him and explain to him certain
difficulties and mistakes into which he has fallen with regard to
administering the Oath of Abjuration and the like matters. How few
people, comparatively, know the influence Father exercises in this way
behind the scenes, as it were. His intimacy with so many of the Bishops,
too, makes his position really of very great importance. I don't want to
magnify, but the more I think of him, and know how very few men they are
that command such general respect, and bear such a character with all
men for uprightness and singleness of purpose, it is very difficult to
know how his place could be supplied when we throw his legal knowledge
over and above into the scale. I hope he will write: I am quite certain
that his opinion will exercise a great influence on very many people.
Such a speech as this at Mary Church embodies exactly the sense of
a considerable number of the most prudent and most able men of the
country, and his position and character give it extra weight, and that
would be so equally with his book as with his speech. How delightful it
will be to have him at Oxford. He means to come in time for dinner
on the 14th, and go away on the 16th; but if he likes it, he will, I
daresay, stop now and then on his way to town and back. Jem will not be
back in town when he goes up for the Judicial Committee work, so he will
be rather solitary there, won't he. I am not, however, sure about the
number of weeks Jem must reside to keep his term....'
The enjoyment of the last few days at Dresden 'was much marred by
a heavy cold, caught by going to see an admirable representation of
'Egmont,' the last of these theatrical treats so highly appreciated. The
journey to Berlin, before the cold was shaken off, resulted in an attack
of illness; and he was so heavy and uncomfortable as to be unable to
avail himself of his opportunities of interesting introductions.
He returned to his rooms at Merton direct from Germany. Like many men
who have come back to Oxford at a riper age than that of undergraduate
life, he now entered into the higher privileges and enjoyments of the
University, the studies, friendships, and influences, as early youth
sometimes fails to do. He was felt by his Oxford friends to have greatly
developed since his Balliol terms had been over and the Eton boy left
behind. Study was no longer a toil and conscientious effort. It
had become a prime pleasure; and men wondered to find the plodding,
accurate, but unenthusiastic student of three years back, a linguist and
philologist of no common power and attainment. Mr. Roundell says, 'He
had become quite another person. Self-cultivation had done much for him.
Literature and art had opened his mind and enlarged his interests and
sympathies. The moral and spiritual forces of the man were now vivified,
refined, and strengthened by the awakening of his intellectual and
esthetic nature.'
Ever reaching forward, however, he was on his guard against, as he said,
making the means the end. Languages were his pleasure, but a pleasure
held in check as only subservient to his preparation for the ministry.
He did not mean to use them to the acquirement of academical honour
nor promotion, nor did he even rest in the intellectual delight of
investigation; he intended them only as keys to the better appreciation
of the Scriptures and of the doctrines of the Church, unaware as yet
that the gift he was cultivating would be of inestimable value in far
distant regions.
In February, while Sir John Patteson was in London, his son James was
the cause of much alarm, owing to a mistake by which he swallowed an
embrocation containing a large amount of laudanum. Prompt measures,
however, prevented any ill effects; and all danger was over before the
letter was sent off which informed Coley of what had happened; but the
bare idea of the peril was a great shock to one of such warm affections,
and so deeply attached to his only brother. He wrote the two following
letters to his father and sisters on the first impulse on the receipt of
the intelligence:--
'Shrove Tuesday.
'My dearest Father,--I believe I speak truly when I say that I never in
my life felt so thoroughly thankful and grateful to God for His great
mercy as I did this morning, on reading of dear Jem's danger and safety.
He is less accustomed to talk about his feelings than I am, in which
I see his superiority, but partly because our tastes are in several
respects different, chiefly because of his exceeding amiability and
unselfishness. I am sure we love each other very dearly. Ever since
his illness at Geneva, I have from time to time contemplated the utter
blank, the real feeling of loss, which anything happening to him would
bring with it, and the having it brought home close to me in this way
quite upset me, as it well might. I pray God that no ill effects may
follow, and from what you say I apprehend none. I have often thought
that it is much better when two brothers propose to themselves different
objects in life, and pursue them with tastes dissimilar on unimportant
matters. They act better upon one another; just as I look to Jem, as I
have more than once told him, to give me a hint when he sees a want of
common sense in anything I take up, because I know I act a good deal
from impulse, and take an interest in many things which are perhaps not
worth the time I spend on them. It is a mercy that I hope I shall never
forget, never cease to be thankful for. Many and many a time, if it
please God, I shall look to him in difficulties, and remember how nearly
once he was lost to me. I can get away with the greatest ease for a few
days on Thursday if desirable, and perhaps old Jem will feel low after
this, when you have left him. I think this very likely, from what I know
of him, and if you think it too, without asking him if he would like it,
I will come up for some other reason. You will not go, I know, unless
he is perfectly well; but he might, and I think would, like to have some
one with him just at first. Let me know what you think.
'Good-bye, my dearest father.
'Ever your affectionate and dutiful son,
'J. C. PATTESON.'
'Merton, Shrove Tuesday.
'My dearest Joan and Fan,--How we must all have united this morning in
pouring out our thanks to God for His great mercy! You will not suspect
me of being wanting in love to you, if I say that the contemplation of
what might have happened presented such a scene of desolation, such a
void, that it would have required all the strength I possess to turn to
God in resignation and submission to His will. I have often, very often,
thought of that illness at Geneva, but this brought it home to me,
perhaps closer still; and I hope I shall never cease to be mindful of,
and thankful for, this special providence. Father seems pretty confident
that all mischief is prevented; and Jem wrote six hours after he took
the laudanum, and had then felt no drowsiness to speak of, and Dr.
Watson said there was no fear of anything happening after two hours had
elapsed.
'I should like to join with you in showing our gratitude by some deed
of charity, or whatever you think right. Something that without any show
might be a thank-offering to God for His signal act of mercy.
'Ever your loving Brother,
'J. C. PATTESON.
'5.30. I wrote this quite early this morning. I can hardly think
yet what it all means. Now, I feel only a sense of some very heavy
affliction removed. Poor dear Father, and all of us! what should we have
been without him!'
A letter to the brother himself was written under the same impulse,
even more tenderly affectionate, but so deep and intimate, that it would
almost be treason to give it to the world. The next letter was written
soon after the alarm had passed, but is undated:--
'My dear Fan,--Yesterday I was unluckily too seedy with headache to go
on the ice, and this morning I have been skating for half an hour, but
the ice is spoilt. Very jolly it is to be twisting and turning about
once more. I thought of writing to old Jem to come down for it, as
I should think the frost is not severe enough to freeze any but the
shallow water of the floods, but it was not good enough to reward him
for the trouble of coming so far.
'The constant sense of his preservation from that great danger really
prevents my feeling so acutely perhaps as I ought to do the distress of
others. I really think I ought to be less cheerful and happy than I feel
myself to be. I had a pleasant little talk with Dr. Pusey on Monday:
he was recommending me two or three books for Hebrew reading, but they
would be of no use to me yet; the language is difficult to advance far
into, and you know my shallow way of catching a thing at first rather
quickly perhaps, but only superficially. I find my interest increasing
greatly in philological studies. One language helps another very much;
and the beautiful way in which the words, ideas, and the whole structure
indeed, of language pervades whole families, and even the different
families, (e.g., the Indo-Germanic and Semitic races,) is not only
interesting, but very useful. I wish I had made myself a better Greek
and Latin scholar, but unfortunately I used to hate classics. What
desperate uphill work it was to read them, a regular exercise of
self-denial every morning! Now I like it beyond any study, except
Divinity proper, and I try to make up for lost time. There are admirable
books in my possession which facilitate the acquisition of critical
scholarship very much, and I work at these, principally applying it to
New Test. Greek, LXX, &c. But my real education began, I think, with my
first foreign trip. It seems as if there was not time for all this,
for I have Hebrew, Arabic, &c., to go on with (though this is a slow
process), Pearson, Hooker, Blunt on the Reformation (a mere sketch which
I read in a day or two at odd times), Commentaries, Trench's Books on
Parables and Miracles, which are in my room at home, and would in parts
interest you; he is a writer of good common sense, and a well-read man.
But I of course want to be reading history as well, and that involves
a good deal; physical geography, geology, &c., yet one things helps
another very much. I don't work quite as methodically as I ought; and
I much want some one to discuss matters with relating to what I read. I
don't say all this, I am sure you know, as if I wanted to make out that
I am working at grand subjects. I know exceeding little of any one
of them, so little history, e.g., that a school girl could expose
my ignorance directly, but I like to know what we are doing among
ourselves, and we all get to know each other better thereby. I felt
so much of late with regard to Jem, that a natural reserve prevents so
often members even of the same family from communicating freely to each
other their opinions, business, habits of life, experiences of sympathy,
approval, disapproval, and the like; and when one member is gone, then
it is felt how much more closely such a habit of dealing with each other
would have taught us to know him.... Nothing tests one's knowledge
so well as questions and answers upon what we have read, stating
difficulties, arguments which we can't understand, &c., to each other.
Ladies who have no profession to prepare for, in spite of a very large
correspondence and numerous household duties, may (in addition to their
parochial work as curates!) take up a real course of reading and go into
it thoroughly; and this gives girls not only employment for the time,
but gives the mind power to seize every other subject presented to it.
If you are quite alone, your reading is apt to become desultory. I find
it useful to take once or twice a week a walk with Riddell of Balliol,
and go through a certain period of Old Testament history; it makes me
get it up, and then between us we hammer out so many more explanations
of difficult passages than, at all events, I should do by myself. He is,
moreover, about the best Greek scholar here, which is a great help to
me. You have no idea of the light that such accurate scholarship as
his throws upon many disputed passages in the Bible, e.g., "Wisdom is
justified of her children," where the Greek preposition probably gives
the key to the whole meaning, and many such. So you see, dear old Fan,
that the want of some one to pour out this to, for it sounds fearfully
pedantic, I confess, has drawn upon you this grievous infliction.
'My kindest love to Father and dear Joan,
'Ever your loving
'J. C. P.'
Fanny Patteson answered with arguments on the other duties which
hindered her from entering on the course of deep study which he had been
recommending. He replies:--
'Feb. 25, 1853.
'My dearest Fan,--I must answer your very sensible well-written letter
at once, because on our system of mutual explanation, there are two or
three things I wish to notice in it. First, I never meant that anything
should supersede duties which I am well aware you practise with real use
to yourself and those about you, e.g., the kindness and sympathy shown
to friends, and generally due observance of all social relations.
Second, I quite believe that the practical application of what is
already known, teaching, going about among the poor, is of far more
consequence than the acquisition of knowledge, which, of course, for its
own sake is worth nothing. Third, I think you perfectly right in keeping
up music, singing, all the common amusements of a country life; of
course I do, for indeed what I said did not apply to Joan or you, except
so far as this, that we all know probably a great deal of which each
one is separately ignorant, and the free communication of this to one
another is desirable, I think.
'My own temptation consists perhaps chiefly in the love of reading for
its own sake. I do honestly think that for a considerable time past I
have read, I believe, nothing which I do not expect to be of real
use, for I have no taste naturally for novels, &c. (without, however,
wishing to deny that there may be novels which teach a real insight into
character). Barring "I Promessi Sposi" which I take up very seldom when
tired, I have not read one for ages: I must except "Old Mortality,"
read last Vacation at Feniton; but I can't deny that I like the study
of languages for its own sake, though I apply my little experience in
it wholly to the interpretation of the Bible. I like improving my
scholarship, it is true, but I can say honestly that it is used to read
the Greek Testament with greater accuracy: so of the Hebrew, Syriac,
Arabic. I feel, I confess, sometimes that it is nice, &c., to know
several languages, but I try to drive away any such thoughts, and it is
quite astonishing how, after a few weeks, a study which would suggest
ideas of an unusual course of reading becomes so familiar that I never
think of myself when pursuing it, e.g., I don't think that after
two hours' grind at Arabic the stupid wrong feeling of its being an
out-of-the-way study comes upon me now, it is getting quite natural. It
comes out though when I talk or write perhaps with another, but I must
try and get over it.
'I believe it to be a good thing to break off any work once or twice a
day in the middle of any reading, for meditating a little while and for
prayer. This is more easily done at College than elsewhere; and is, I
hope, a preventive against such thoughts. Then, as I jog on I see how
very little I know, what an immense deal I have to learn to become
ordinarily well acquainted with these things. I am in that state of
mind, perhaps, when Ecclesiastes (which I am now reading) puts my own
case exactly before me. I think, What's the good of it all? And the
answer comes, it may be very good properly used, or very mischievous
if abused. I do indeed look forward to active parochial work: I think I
shall be very happy so employed, and I often try to anticipate the time
in thought, and feel with perfect sincerity that nothing is so useful
or so full of comfort as the consciousness of trying to fulfil the daily
duties of my situation. Here of course I need do nothing; I mean there
is nothing to prevent my sitting all day in an arm-chair and reading
"Pickwick.".... One word about the way languages help me, that you may
not think what I am doing harder than it really is. These three bear the
same kind of relation to each other (or rather say these five, Arabic,
Syriac, Hebrew, Chaldee, Ethiopia; but of the last I know nothing
whatever, and of Chaldee only so much as that it is a dialect of Hebrew
in the same character, and consequently anyone who knows Hebrew knows
something about it), as German to English, e.g., Bahlom (Arab.), Beel
(Syr.), Baal (Heb.), are the same word, as you can see, only written
in different characters, and all mean "a lord," so Baal, Beelzebub, or
Baalzebeb. Baal Peor, which means, literally, "the Lord of the ravine,"
viz., the idol worshipped at the Pass in the wilderness. Consequently,
in reading any one of these languages, the same word keeps on occurring
in all; and the chief use is of course that often a word which occurs
only once or twice in Hebrew perhaps is in common use in the others, and
so its meaning is fixed. Add to all this, that the Syriac version of the
New Testament was made (as all agree) early in the second century, if
not at the end of the first, and thus is the very best exponent of the
New Testament where the Greek is doubtful; and the additional fact, that
though a mixture of Chaldee and Syriac was the language of Palestine in
our Lord's time, yet He certainly sometimes spoke what is now our Syriac
(e.g., Talitha cumi, &c.), and the importance of it is apparent. Surely
to read the language that our Blessed Lord himself used is no small
profit as well as delight.
'So I think we may each go on in our several pursuits, each helping
each, and each trying to do so without a foolish affectation of
learning.
'My best love to dear Father and Joan,
'Ever your affectionate Brother,
'J. C. P.'
Fenelon has said that in a certain stage of piety there is much of self,
and Coley was evidently in that stage. His own figure was the primary
object before his eyes, neither indulged, nor admired, but criticised,
repressed, and by his very best efforts thrust aside, whenever he was
conscious that his self-contemplation was self-complacency. Still it
was in his nature to behold it, and discuss it, and thus to conquer
and outgrow the study in time, while leaving many observations upon
self-culture and self-training, that will no doubt become deeply valued
as the result of the practical experience of one who so truly mastered
that obtrusive self.
Patteson was one of the most decided workers for the admission of
improvements and reduction of abuses within his own college, with
which each Oxford foundation was endeavouring to forestall compulsory
reformation by a University Commission. Mr. Roundell says:--
'His early years as Fellow of Merton coincided with the period of active
reform at Oxford which followed upon the Report of the Commission in
1852. What part did the future Missionary Bishop take in that great
movement? One who worked with him at that time--a time when University
reform was as unfashionable as it is now fashionable--well remembers. He
threw himself into the work with hearty zeal; he supported every liberal
proposal. To his loyal fidelity and solid common sense is largely due
the success with which the reform of Merton was carried out. And yet in
those first days of college reform the only sure and constant nucleus
of the floating-Liberal majority consisted of Patteson and one other.
Whatever others did, those two were always on the same side. And so,
somehow, owing no doubt to the general enlightenment which distinguished
the senior Fellows of Merton under the old regime--an enlightenment
unquestionably due to the predominance in that College of the lay
non-resident element--the new reforming spirit found itself in the
ascendency. It is to the honour of Patteson, and equally to the honour
of the older Fellows of the College at that time, that so great an
inroad upon old traditions should have been made with such an entire
absence of provocation on the one side, or of irritation on the
other. But Patteson, with all his reforming zeal, was also a high-bred
gentleman. He remembered what was due to others as well as to himself.
His bearing was one of respect for authority, of deference towards those
who were his superiors in age. He knew how to differ. He showed towards
others the considerate courtesy which others in return so abundantly
showed towards him. And this generous forbearance of the seniors had its
reward. It entailed upon the juniors a reciprocity of respect. It was
felt by them at the time to be an additional incentive to moderation, to
sobriety, to desistance from extreme views. The result was that the work
got done, and what was done left no heartburnings behind.
'Yet it would be delusive to pretend to claim Bishop Patteson as a
Liberal in the political sense of the word. He was no such thing. If
anything, his instincts, especially in Church matters, drew him the
other way. But those who knew the man, like those who have seen the
Ammergau Play, would as soon think of fastening upon that a sectarian
character, as of fixing him with party names. His was a catholic mind.
What distinguished him was his open-mindedness, his essential goodness,
his singleness and simplicity of aim. He was a just man, and singularly
free from perturbations of self, of temper, or of nerves. You did not
care to ask what he would call himself. You felt what he was, that
you were in the presence of a man too pure for party, of one in whose
presence ordinary party distinctions almost ceased to have a meaning.
Such a man could scarcely be on the wrong side. Both the purity of his
nature and the rectitude of his judgment would have kept him straight.'
Coley remained at Merton until the Long Vacation of 1853; when his
Oxford life terminated, though not his connection with the University,
for he retained his Fellowship until his death, and the friendships he
had formed both at Balliol and Merton remained unbroken.