Part 16

'Through shallow heads and voluble tongues, such a creed (or indeed any creed) filtrates so easily, that, of the multitudes who maintain it, comparatively few are aware of the conflict of their faith with the natural and unaided reason of mankind. Indeed, he who makes such an avowal will hardly escape the charge of affectation or of impiety. Yet if any truth be clearly revealed, it is, that the Apostolic doctrine was foolishness to the sages of this world. If any unrevealed truth be indisputable, it is, that such sages are at this day making, as they have ever made, ill-disguised efforts to escape the inferences with which their own admissions teem. Divine philosophy divorced from human science--celestial things stripped of the mitigating veils woven by man's wit and fancy to relieve them--form an abyss as impassable at Oxford now, as at Athens eighteen centuries ago. To Henry Martyn the gulf was visible, the self-renunciation painful, the victory complete. His understanding embraced, and his heart reposed in, the two comprehensive and ever-germinating tenets of the school in which he studied. Regarding his own heart as corrupt, and his own reason as delusive, he exercised an unlimited affiance in the holiness and the wisdom of Him, in whose person the divine nature had been allied to the human, that, in the persons of his followers, the human might be allied to the divine.

'Such was his religious theory--a theory which doctors may combat, or admit, or qualify, but in which the readers of Henry Martyn's Biography, Letters, and Journals, cannot but acknowledge that he found the resting-place of all the impetuous appetencies of his mind, the spring of all his strange powers of activity and endurance. Prostrating his soul before the real, though the hidden Presence he adored, his doubts were silenced, his anxieties soothed, and every meaner passion hushed into repose.'

On the 2nd of April, 1805, having previously been ordained priest at St. James's Chapel Royal, London, and having taken his degree as Bachelor of Divinity, he preached his last sermon at Cambridge, and came to London to prosecute his studies in Hindostanee, and to preach occasionally at St. John's Chapel, Bedford Row. It was about this time that he made the acquaintance of Wilberforce, dining with him and going afterwards to the House of Commons, where he was much struck with the eloquence, great seriousness, and energy of Pitt 'about that which is of no consequence at all.'

He at length, on the 24th April, 1805, obtained the long-wished-for chaplaincy, with a salary of £1,200 a year, and was fervently longing to enter upon his labours, exclaiming on one occasion, from the very depths of his soul: 'Gladly shall this base blood be shed, every drop of it, if India can be benefited in one of her children!'

This would seem to be the proper occasion to advert to a passage in Martyn's Life which must possess for any genial reader a most touching interest. The enthusiastic clergyman had become deeply smitten with the attractions of Miss Lydia Grenfell, of the parish of St. Hilary, three or four miles from Marazion. His affection for this lady appears to have been both profound and sincere; but he feared that its indulgence might prove a bar to the higher aims which he had set before him. His mental conflicts on this subject, as on all others, were most severe; and under such circumstances, and with his gloomy and excitable religious views, he may have appeared, what the lady herself (some few years his senior) undoubtedly was, a somewhat languid and vacillating lover. That the lady never married him--although her final refusal did not reach him till 1807, when he was in India--was perhaps fortunate for both parties; but, undoubtedly, Martyn continued to love her and to correspond with her to the last. The peculiar circumstances of this attachment gave rise to Holme Lee's (Harriet Parr's) story of 'Her Title of Honour;' that title consisting of the honour done to Eleanor Trevelyan by being beloved by so good and great a man as Francis Gwynne (Martyn). Miss Grenfell never married. Her sister Emma became the wife of the Rev. T. M. Hitchins,[108] of Devonport, Martyn's cousin; and some interesting letters to her from Martyn, mostly bearing upon the subject of his love for Lydia, will be found in a supplement to the 'Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall' edited by Mr. Henry Martyn Jeffery, F.R.S. (vol. vii. pt. 3, December, 1882, No. 26).

The ship in which he was to sail for India left London on the 8th of July, 1805. Martyn joined her at Portsmouth on the 17th, after having had 'a convulsion fit' on the road down. The _Union_ called (unexpectedly) at Falmouth, where she was detained for three weeks by unfavourable winds, and Martyn thus had opportunities of returning to St. Hilary, about twenty miles off, and again enduring the 'pleasing pain' which he found in his loved one's society. But whilst there the wind suddenly shifted, and Martyn had the narrowest possible escape from missing the ship. His self-reproaches on such an occasion as this may be imagined!

On the 10th of September the _Union_ at length sailed from Falmouth, and our devoted hero's dejection on contemplating the Cornish cliffs fading away in the distance was very deep. He longed to die, so he says, on the way out. A storm arose as they left Ireland behind them, and added to his sufferings. But at length, after touching at Madeira, and at San Salvador in Brazil, they safely reached Calcutta on the 14th of May, 1806, after a tedious and dangerous voyage of nine months.

On the passage Martyn's usual zeal, and, it might be added, want of tact, had ample opportunities of displaying themselves. Nothing could exceed his devotion to the men when sick, or whenever the slightest opportunity presented itself of speaking to any of them on the subject which was ever uppermost in his own soul. And his courage was admirably displayed in landing almost _with_ the troops when the successful attack was delivered by the British under Sir David Baird upon the French and Dutch troops at the Cape of Good Hope in January, 1806. Nor was he unmindful of the welfare of the cadets on board, to whom he imparted instruction in a variety of subjects, with all the force of his powerful intellect. But his religious ministrations were, for the most part, unappreciated, owing to the excessively gloomy tone with which they were pervaded, and to his tendency to 'scold his congregation,' a fault of which it may be remembered even Cowper complained in Mr. Scott, the curate of Olney. The captain dared not allow him to preach more than once on Sundays, and all the officers made a point of standing near the cabin-door, so as to make good their retreat whenever the sermon became too miserably painful. 'Mr. Martyn,' they once said, '_must_ not damn us to-day, or none will come again.'

After a stay of about four months in Calcutta, during which, notwithstanding a sharp attack of fever, he went on with his lingual studies, occasionally preached to somewhat unsympathetic audiences, and had opportunities of witnessing Suttee and the Juggernaut procession, he was, on the 13th September, at length appointed to Dinapore, and on the 15th October proceeded up the Ganges to his post, in a budgerow, passing most of his time in translating portions of the Scriptures into the native tongues. He reached Dinapore on 26th November, and met with but a very cold reception from the Europeans there, as well as from the natives; and, worst of all, there was no church or church furniture at his disposal. But he soon got to work, and gave his most special attention to the native children, who appeared to have been very apt and tractable, and for whom he is said to have built, at his own cost, whilst in India, five schools. He now obtained, for the purposes of his translations, the assistance (such as it was) of two natives--Mirza Fitrut, who is described as being guileful and hypocritical, and the vain and furious-tempered Nathanael Sabat, who seem to have entertained a very cordial jealousy and hatred of each other. Sabat had served both in the Turkish and Persian armies. He had a free and haughty manner, and a fierce look, and signed himself 'Nathanael Sabat, an Arab who was never in bondage.' He used to contend with Martyn so violently at times that Martyn had to order his palanquin and be off to his friends, the Sherwoods.

Part of the Prayer Book was, under conditions such as these, translated into Hindostanee; to this his 'dear friend and brother chaplain' Corrie added; but it was not completed until 1829, seventeen years after Martyn's death. In 1807 Martyn finished, in Hindostanee, his 'Commentary on the Parables;' and, by the end of 1809, a plain and idiomatic version of the four Gospels. The following year saw the New Testament completed. His translations into the Persian were not considered quite so successful; but about this time he appears to have first definitely conceived the desire of evangelizing Persia, and it was always with regret that he went on with his translations, dreading lest they might interfere with his strictly ministerial duties. He was at this time so strict a Sabbatarian that he thought he was doing wrong in translating even the Prayer Book into Hindostanee on a Sunday.

Signs of breaking health were now becoming too painfully apparent; in fact, he may be said to have been constantly ill. His friend Corrie (afterwards Bishop of Madras) paid Martyn two visits in 1808, and saw that 'there was small prospect of his long continuance in this vale of tears.' But the tone of Martyn's people towards him had somewhat improved; and in April, 1809, he was moved to Cawnpore, a distance of 240 miles--the journey being performed in a fierce heat. He was kindly received by Captain and Mrs. Sherwood; but here again he found no church. He first preached at Cawnpore in the native tongue, and remained at his post until the 30th September, 1810, when, notwithstanding his 'bright invincibility of spirit,' his health utterly gave way, and he went back to Calcutta, arriving there with pallid countenance and enfeebled frame. 'Fortia agere Romanum est, fortia pati Christianum,' wrote an old author; and, surely, if ever the courage of the Roman, and the calm brave endurance of the Christian met, they met in Henry Martyn.

But returning after a while to Cawnpore, he resumed his correspondence with Miss Grenfell, now _as a friend_; and tells her that this was his daily routine: 'We rise at daybreak, and breakfast at six. Immediately after breakfast we pray[109] together; after which I translate into Arabic with Sabat, who lives in a small bungalow on my ground. We dine at twelve, and sit recreating ourselves with talking about dear friends in England. In the afternoon I translate with Mirza Fitrut into Hindostanee; and Corrie employs himself in teaching some native Christian boys, whom he is educating with great care, in the hopes of their being fit for the office of catechists. I have also a school on my premises for natives; but it is not well attended. At sunset we ride or drive, and then meet at the church, where we often raise the song of praise with as much joy, through the grace and presence of our Lord, as you do in England. At ten we are all asleep.... My work at present is evidently to translate; hereafter I may itinerate.'

By the spring of 1810 his church, converted from its former use as a heathen temple, was ready,[110] and his friend Corrie came to visit and assist him; but he preached in it for the last time on 30th September, 1810, and shortly afterwards went back to Calcutta.

Persia now finally became the object of Martyn's pious yearnings; and, on the 9th January, in the following year, he set out on his memorable, but, it is much to be feared, slightly rewarded, journey--a journey accomplished with so much fatigue, and under such sudden and excessive changes of temperature, as to have been, doubtless, the proximate cause of the destruction of his frail body. He stopped at Goa on the route, and travelled _viâ_ Bombay, landing at Muscat, in Arabia Felix, on the 22nd April. On the 30th he set out for Shiraz, 'the City of the Rose'--the Athens of Persia, where he arrived on the 9th June, and met with a most insulting reception from the people. But Martyn thought that even such a reception as this was better than so unworthy a sinner as he merited! Referring to this episode in Martyn's career Dean Alford writes:

'The pale-faced Frank among them sits: what brought him from afar? Nor bears he bales of merchandise, nor teaches arts of war. One pearl alone he brings with him--the Book of life and death. One warfare only teaches he--to fight the fight of faith.'

Matters, however, improved after a while; the Armenian ladies came to kiss his hand, and the priest incensed him four times over at the altar. Here, on the 24th February, 1812, he completed, under most discouraging circumstances, his translation of the New Testament into Persian.[111] After labouring 'for six weary moons,' a similar version of the Psalms was finished in the following month; and on the 24th May, 'the meek missionary of the Cross' left Shiraz in order to present the precious documents himself to the Shah. Much difficulty and delay intervened on account of the diplomatic formalities considered necessary on such an occasion; and eventually, after visiting Ispahan and Teheran, Martyn was disappointed in the object he had in view, having been struck down by illness, increased by the hardships of travel and climate, before his desires were accomplished. For two months he was completely laid up--weeping many 'tears from the depths of a divine despair'--at the house of Sir Gore Ouseley, the British Ambassador at Tabriz, who afterwards had the gratification of showing Martyn's manuscript to the Shah, and it was sent to St. Petersburg to be printed.

This renewed illness caused Martyn to determine on returning to England, for his health's sake. But it was too late. On his homeward way (_viâ_ Constantinople), seeing Mount Ararat on the journey, and passing through Erivan, Kars, Erzeroum, and Tokat--'hardly knowing how to keep his life in him'--he succumbed near the latter place, to hunger, thirst, sunstroke, fever and ague, aggravated by his desperate gallop for life across the scorching plains, and beneath a rainless sky, untempered by a single cloud, on the 6th October, 1812, in the thirty-second year of his age. Here the last entry, commencing 'Oh! when shall Time give place to Eternity?' appears in his sad, self-searching diary. Ten days afterwards he was no more.

He was buried in the Armenian burial-ground at Tokat, with the honours usually accorded by Armenian Christians to an Archbishop; and a marble slab, which the Tokat Christians were wont to keep clear of weeds, covers his remains. Sir R. K. Porter, in his 'Travels in Persia' (vol. ii., p. 703), after eulogizing Martyn's self-devotion and zeal beyond the strength of a naturally delicate constitution, adds that 'exhausted nature sank under the apostolic labour, and in this place he was called to the rest of heaven. His remains sleep in a grave as humble as his own meekness.'

Would it be too much to say of him

'Heaven scarce believed the conquest it surveyed; And Saints with wonder heard the vows he made'?

Wordsworth's lines, at least, on another devoted son of the Church, are clearly appropriate to Martyn:

'He sought not praise, and praise did overlook His inobtrusive merit; but his life, Sweet to himself, was exercised in good That shall survive his name and memory.'

His tomb is still, I believe, piously regarded by the natives, and it has been adorned by Lord Macaulay with the following lines:

'Here Martyn lies! In manhood's early bloom The Christian hero finds a Pagan's tomb: Religion sorrowing o'er her favourite son, Points to the glorious trophies which he won. Eternal trophies, not with slaughter red, Not stained with tears by hapless captives shed; But trophies of the Cross! For that dear Name Through every form of danger, death, and shame, Onward he journeyed to a happier shore, Where danger, death, and shame assault no more.'

A Hall, dedicated to his memory, and designed to provide a place of meeting for the different Religious Societies in Cambridge, is about to be erected in Market Street; and on the centenary of Martyn's birth, viz., 18th February, 1881, special services in his memory were held at the pro-Cathedral at Truro. In the evening Bishop Benson delivered a lecture on Martyn at the Town Hall, at the close of which he proposed that subscriptions should be invited towards the construction of a portion of the new Cathedral, as for instance an aisle or transept, to be dedicated to the cause of Missions in honour of his name. A Baptistry was finally decided upon; and about £1,250 had been collected up to June, 1883. By the attainment of these objects, this distinguished Cornishman, whose motto was, 'To believe, to suffer, and to love,' will be provided with fitting memorials.

FOOTNOTES:

[102] Edited by Bishop Wilberforce, while Rector of Brighstone, Isle of Wight, 1839. It is truly wonderful how so sincerely good a man as Martyn should have entertained such desponding thoughts; and still more wonderful how he could have so long continued writing them down.

[103] Son of a John Martyn of Gwennap, alive in 1695.

[104] The Rev. Cornelius Cardew, D.D., Rector of St. Erme and Vicar of Uny Lelant, was one of the most distinguished masters of Truro Grammar School. He was born on 27th Feb., 1748, and died at St. Erme, 18th Sept., 1831, eighty-three years of age. He was buried in the chancel of that church, and his monument records that

'Per annos triginta quatuor Scholæ Grammaticæ apud Truronenses præsidebat Archididasculus.'

[105] An engraved portrait of him will be found in the Rev. Hy. Clissold's 'Lamps of the Church,' London, 1863. Mrs. Sherwood, in the _Christian Remembrancer_ for October, 1854, thus refers to Martyn's appearance when in India: 'He was dressed in white, and looked very pale; his hair, a light brown, was raised from his forehead, which was a remarkably fine one. His features were not regular, but the expression was so luminous, so intellectual, so affectionate, so beaming with divine charity, as to absorb the attention of every observer; there was a very decided air of the gentleman, too, about Mr. Martyn, and a perfection of manners arising from his extreme attention to all minute civilities. He had, moreover, a rich, deep voice and a fine taste for vocal music.'

[106] He used to say _of himself_, that his temper was satirical and arrogant, and that his heart was 'of adamant.'

[107] Though Exeter College, Oxford, was the usual Cornish College, yet many Cornish men have gone to Cambridge; where they have not failed to distinguish themselves. Besides the two Senior Wranglers named above, may be mentioned Mr. Adams, the eminent astronomer, born at Lidcott, Laneast, Senior Wrangler in 1843; and the late Bishop Colenso, 2nd Wrangler in 1836, who was born at St. Austell.

[108] His father, the Rev. Malachi Hitchins, Vicar of St. Hilary and Gwinear, was Assistant Astronomer at Greenwich, and first Computer of the Nautical Almanac.

[109] Martyn used finely to speak of prayer as 'a visit to the invisible world.'

[110] It was destroyed in the mutiny of 1857.

[111] The late lamented Professor Palmer, the well-known Oriental scholar, who perished in the attempt made during the recent Egyptian campaign to detach the native supporters of Arabi from their leader's cause, superintended, with Dr. Bruce, a new edition of Martyn's Persian Version of the New Testament.

_OPIE_,

THE PAINTER.

_OPIE_,

THE PAINTER.

'A wondrous Cornishman, who is carrying all before him! He is Caravaggio and Velasquez in one!'--_Sir Joshua Reynolds to Northcote. (Redgrave's 'Century of Painters.'_)

Cornwall--so far as I am aware--has contributed only two members to the Royal Academy of Arts, since its foundation on 10th December, 1768.[112] Henry Bone, of Truro, and John Opie,[113] born in May, 1761, at Harmony Cot (once known as Blowing House[114]), near the hamlet of Mithian, in the out-of-the-way parish of St. Agnes. The bleak desolate moors, saturated by frequent hissing rain-storms, and scarred with mine-heaps, the jagged cliff-coast, and the dark rolling Atlantic waves of the neighbouring sea, have a savage grandeur of their own which cannot have been without its effect on the youthful mind of the future professor of painting. For, though he rose to the high position of a Royal Academician when only about twenty-seven years of age, we shall seek, I think, in vain amongst his works for that delicate, airy grace of many of his more courtly contemporaries, which no one admired more than himself; and we shall find instead an original, broad, and manly, though somewhat grim and sombre style, which may well have been inspired by the wildness and gloom of his surroundings when a child on this remote 'bench of the world-school.' Allan Cunningham says well of him that he was not 'the servile _follower_ of any man, or of any school;' and, as a matter of fact, his self-reliance early showed itself. On seeing a butterfly painted by one Mark Oates, an officer of Marines, an amateur artist of some merit (whose portrait Opie afterwards painted),--Jan Oppie (as his name was sometimes pronounced) exclaimed: '_I_ can paint it as well as Mark Oates.'

Opie's father, Edward Opie, who died while John was quite young, and his grandfather were both of them carpenters and builders, though a writer in the _Fine Arts Magazine_ has striven to show that the family was really of old and gentle descent. _Tonkin_ (who, as a St. Agnes man, ought to have known) says the Opies came from Ennis, or De Insula, in St. Erme.

Jno. Opie, sr. (lived here temp. Eliz.). | Robt. Opie=Jane, daur. of Agnes Jago. | Robt. (sold the Barton to Jago). (? descended from the Opies of Pawton, in St. Breock.)

Arms: Sa. on a chev. between three garbs or, as many hurtleberries proper.

Other authorities also say the Opies originally came from St. Breock. One thing, at least, from the genealogical point of view, is clear: namely, that the genius for painting still remains in the family of Opie: for 'the great nephew of a great uncle'--as Mr. Edward Opie is pleasantly called in the recently published memoirs of Caroline Fox--has for many years past been a highly successful portrait and genre-painter in the West-country, and a constant exhibitor at the Royal Academy for more than a quarter of a century.

Whatever may have been the origin of the family, John's father was considered an unusually skilful craftsman; and his son was apprenticed to him. His mother, a woman of very high principle and singularly sweet disposition, was forty-eight when the son of her old age was born; and she lived till she was ninety-two, dying in May, 1805. Her maiden name was Mary Tonkin, of Trevaunance, near St. Agnes Porth; a family whom Polwhele classes amongst his 'little gentry' of Cornwall. While on this point, it may be well to state that Oppy, a Cornish artist with whom the subject of this memoir has frequently been confused, was a member of another and quite distinct family.