“Joseph Mezzofanti,” he writes, “is at present[457] in his sixty-fifth year. He is of a slight figure, pale complexion, black hair which is beginning to turn gray, a piercing eye, quick utterance, and an air full of good humour, but not very intellectual, so that one would hardly expect to discover faculties so extraordinary under such an exterior. The first time I saw him was in the Vatican library, in the large hall which is furnished with tables, for the accommodation of those who wish to read or to take notes. He was busy distributing books, and at the same time was talking to an English lady accompanied by some English gentlemen. I afterwards spent an hour or two with this family, and learned that Mezzofanti had written in the lady’s album four very graceful English lines, regarding America, whence she had come, and Vienna, where she was going to reside. As soon as the librarian noticed any foreigner, he at once began a conversation with him, and carried it on, no matter what might be the stranger’s idiom. Prince Michael of Russia was amazed at the ease and volubility with which Mezzofanti spoke the Polish language. He accosted me in English, which has in some measure become indigenous to Rome: but, finding I was from Holland, he at once continued the conversation in the Brussels dialect (as he called it,) and told me how scanty the means were of which he had been able to avail himself in the study of Flemish. These were: a Flemish grammar; two authors, (Bolhuis and Ten Kate,) with whom he was acquainted; and finally, Vondel and Cats, whom he had carefully read. He had never seen any of Bilderdyk’s works, and he inquired whether this scholar had not introduced a dialect into the Dutch language. When I had given him the necessary information, and told him that Bilderdyk, besides a hundred other works, had written a book on the characters of the Alphabet, another on the Gender of Substantives, and three volumes on their roots, his delight was extreme, and he expressed a great desire to possess these works. I undertook to send them to him, and I took care to redeem my promise, as soon as I returned home.[458] After this interview, I did not presume to manifest my earnest desire for any further interviews with him: but Mezzofanti anticipated my wishes, and invited me to come and see him at the Propaganda, as often as I liked. There it is that he spends some hours, every evening, among the students, talking with each in his own tongue. I took advantage of his kind proposal, and had thus an opportunity of getting a nearer view of this college of the Propaganda....
Nowhere will one find so many resources for amassing treasures of knowledge united together, as in the vast college of the Propaganda....
Here are assembled a hundred and fourteen students from forty-one different countries. At my request, the Rector caused the Pater Noster to be written by sixteen foreign students in their respective languages. Here, in the evening, in the midst of these various nations, I met Mezzofanti, who seemed to belong to each of them. He spoke Chinese with Leang of Canton, as easily as he spoke Dutch with Mr. Steenhof[459] of Utrecht. I will never forget the instructive hours which I spent there. The natural frankness of Mezzofanti, his free and communicative conversation, his easy tone, his gay disposition, all rendered my farewell visit, which I twice repeated, very painful to me.
Amidst so many grave employments, Mezzofanti goes twice each week to the house of the orphans, to teach them the catechism, and to the barracks of the Swiss soldiers to instruct them in the principles of religion. The library requires his care twice in the week, for several hours in the morning; in the afternoon he gives lessons to the pupils of the Propaganda, whose studies he superintends; to his care are confided the public discourses delivered on the Epiphany: almost all foreigners come to visit him; in fine, he pays his visits in his humble equipage, and attends at the Pope’s court when pressing affairs requires his presence; and, notwithstanding many duties and occupations, he still finds time to assist at the divine offices. Who will not feel profound respect and sincere admiration for such a man?
I will here subjoin some lines which I wrote extempore in Mezzofanti’s album, together with his immediate reply.
‘Wie ooit de Pinkstergaaf in twijfel durfde trekken.
Sta hier beschaamd, verplet voor Mezzofanti’s geest,
Hij eere in hem den man, die de aard ten tolk kan strekken.
Wiens brien in ’t taalgeheim van alle volken leest.
Aanvaard, ô Telg van’t Zuid, den eerbiedgroet van’t Noorden,