Cloud-built towers by ghostly masons wrought,On shadowy thoroughfares of thought—
Cloud-built towers by ghostly masons wrought,On shadowy thoroughfares of thought—
Cloud-built towers by ghostly masons wrought,On shadowy thoroughfares of thought—
Cloud-built towers by ghostly masons wrought,
On shadowy thoroughfares of thought—
he was fully sensible of the true use of the science, and had not neglected the study, especially in its most important aspect—its bearing upon religious history. He was not a professed archæologist. Hemay have failed in the interpretation of the particular Greek inscription, to which Baron Bunsen refers; nor did he pursue Greek criticism as a special study. But his friends Cavedoni and Laureani, themselves accomplished archæologists, entertained the highest respect for his judgment in that study. The Abate Matranga bore ample witness to the depth and accuracy of his Greek scholarship; and I myself, in the few observations which I heard him offer on the Eugubian inscriptions, was struck by the sagacity, the precision, and the suggestive spirit which they evinced.
Far more unjust, however, are Mr. Hare’s remark about the keys, and the still more disparaging saying, quoted by Baron Bunsen, which describes Mezzofanti as, “with all his forty-two languages, never saying anything.” The numberless reports of visitors at every period of his life, from Mr. Stewart Rose, in 1817, downwards, which are detailed in this volume, put entirely beyond question both his capacity and his actual attainments in general literature. Each visitor, for the most part, found him well acquainted with the literature of his own country. Very many of them (as Baron Glucky de Stenitzer for Hungary[574]) bear witness to his familiarity with their national histories. His conversation with M. Libri, “on the most difficult points in the history of India,” evinced a mind of a very different calibre from what these supercilious criticisms suppose: and, from the historian of the Mathematical Sciences, it is no ordinary compliment towards one with whom these can have beenbut a subordinate study, that, without a moment’s preparation, (the subject having been only casually introduced by M. Libri,) he “spoke for half-an-hour on the astronomy and mathematics of the Indian races, in a manner which would have done honour to a man whose chief occupation had been tracing the history of the sciences.”[575]I must dissent strongly, also, from the disparaging opinion that M. Bunsen expresses as to the Cardinal’s capacity for the more strictly professional sciences of Biblical criticism and Theology. M. Bunsen, no doubt, when he speaks of Biblical criticism, speaks mainly of the German School of that science, and very probably of the last and most popular critic, Lachmann. Now, with all their merits, there is much in the spirit and the language of many of these writers, and, I may specially say, of Lachmann, against which Mezzofanti’s whole mind would have revolted; and I can well understand that, between his opinions and those of the Baron regarding them, there would have been but little sympathy. But it is most unjust to Mezzofanti to say that “he had no idea” of the subject. One of his earliest literary friends was the great Biblical scholar and critic, De Rossi. While he was still professor at Bologna, the Abate Cavedoni, of Modena, spoke with high praise of his ability as a biblical critic. The Abate Mellini, professor of Scripture in Bologna, gratefully acknowledges the assistance which he derived from him in reference to the versions of the Bible: and Cardinal Wiseman, who will not be suspected of undervaluing any branch of Biblical science, told me that, although it is quite true that Mezzofanti had no lovefor the German critics, and though he never was a professed critic himself, he was nevertheless quite conversant with the science, and understood its history and its principles, and the divisions of MMS., recensions, families, &c., perfectly well.
As to Theology, his reputation in Rome was not high. Yet his attainments, especially in moral theology, were considered respectable. The readers of Sir W. Hamilton will not look on the charge of “scholasticism” as any very grave disparagement; but I must add that neither did Mezzofanti neglect the modern divines, even those outside of Italy. With Guido Görres he spoke of Möhler’s well-knownSymbolik, although it was at that period but little known beyond the limits of Germany.
As a preacher, Mezzofanti, though earnest and impressive, never was in any way remarkable. He confined himself chiefly to the duty of catechetical instruction; and in Rome his only efforts as a preacher, were the short and simple exhortations addressed to children at the time of admitting them to their first Communion—a duty of the ministry which was especially dear to him.
The truth is, that all these criticisms of Mezzofanti, and the impressions as to the superficial character of his acquirements which they embody, have emanated for the most part from casual visitors, who saw him but for a brief space, and whose opportunity of testing his knowledge was probably limited to a few questions and answers, in a language not his own; the main object of the visit being, not to sound the depth or accuracy of his knowledge in itself, butmerely the fluency and correctness of his manner of speaking the language in which the visitor desired to try him. Whereas, on the contrary, those who bear witness to the solidity of his information and the vast range of his knowledge, are those who knew him long and intimately; who met him as a friend and companion, not as an object of curiosity, and of wonder; and whose estimate of him was founded upon the impressions of familiar and every-day intercourse—the only safe test of character or of acquirements.
There is more truth in the strictures upon Mezzofanti as a writer. In this respect, indeed, he is known very little; for his only published composition, the Panegyric of Father Aponte, and the fugitive poetical exercises in the appendix of this Memoir, can hardly be said to place him in the category of authors. Unhappily, indeed, the spirit of authorship is, with many, a question rather of temperament than of ability. In some it is the very breath of their life—an actual necessity of existence. To others it is a barren and ungrateful labour—undertaken with reluctance, and pursued without satisfaction. Southey used to say, that he never felt fully master of himself and of all his unclouded faculties, till he found himself seated at his desk. The current of his thoughts never flowed freely except through his pen. On the contrary, Magliabecchi—the living library—thehelluo librorum—never could prevail on himself to publish a single line! Unfortunately for science, Mezzofanti was of the latter class. Partly from constitutional delicacy, and especially from weakness of the chest,the effort of writing was to him irksome and even injurious. Partly too, no doubt, the same constitutional tendency of mind which rendered speaking easy and attractive, indisposed him for the more toilsome—to him positively distressing—mode of communicating his thoughts by writing. Except for the purposes of private study, therefore, he seldom wrote more than some fugitive piece; and, even when he was prevailed on to write at greater length, he was seldom sufficiently satisfied with his own performances to permit them to be made public. Several, even of these essays which were read by him in the learned societies of Bologna and Rome, are known to have been destroyed by himself before his death; including some which, from their title and subject, might naturally have been expected to afford some insight into the character of his mind, and his capacity for dealing with the philosophy of language.
Accordingly, the small figure which he made as a writer, and the little trace which he has left behind him of the vast stores of languages which he had laid up during life, have led to an undue depreciation of his career, as objectless and unprofitable, whether to himself or to his fellow-men. Whatever be the truth of this estimate, no one was more painfully sensible of it than the Cardinal himself. Many of his expressions of regret have been already recorded; but only those who knew him intimately, could know the depth and sincerity of his repinings. Still, although it is not possible to avoid sharing in this regret, he would be very exacting, indeed, and would set up for himself a very terrible standard wherebyto judge his own conduct, who could venture to pronounce such a career as Mezzofanti’s empty or unprofitable. Even if we put aside entirely the consideration of his literary life, and test him by the rules of personal duty alone, the life of Cardinal Mezzofanti was a model of every virtue of the Christian and of the priest. Devout almost to scrupulousness, sincerely humble, simple in his habits, modest and unexacting in his own person, but spending himself unhesitatingly in the service of others; courteous, amiable, affectionate, warm in his friendships, he was known only to be loved, and he never forfeited a friendship which he once had formed. His benevolence was of the true Christian stamp—not a mere unreflecting impulse, but a sustained and systematic love of his fellow creatures. Although his charity was of the tenderest and most melting kind—although in truth, like Goldsmith’s Vicar,
His pity gave, ere charity began—
His pity gave, ere charity began—
His pity gave, ere charity began—
His pity gave, ere charity began—
although his alms, limited as were his means, were so prodigal as to earn for him the sobriquet ofMonsignor Limosiniere, “My Lord Almoner;”—yet it would be a great mistake to measure his benevolence by the actual extent of poverty which it relieved, or of the assistance it administered. His active spirit grasped every detail of this work of God—the care of the sick, the instruction of the young, the edification and enlightenment of the stranger;—nay, the very courtesies of social intercourse had for him all the sacred significance of a duty; and, while he never offended the sensibility of his companions by unseasonably obtrudingover-serious conversation, yet he never lost sight, even in his lightest hours, of the obligation of good example and edification which his position and character imposed upon him.
And as regards the great pursuit of his literary life, which some have presumed to deny as “empty word-knowledge,” and unprofitable display, it must never be forgotten—even though we should be content to judge its value by the selfish standard of mere utility—that, for himself, one of its earliest and most attractive, as well as most endearing sources of interest, lay in the opportunity which it afforded him for the exercise of his sacred ministry and the only less sacred offices of charity and humanity; that many of its most precious acquisitions were gathered in these very exercises of religion and of benevolence; that his usual text books in each new language were the catechism and the Bible; and that his favourite theatre for the display of his gifts were the sick wards of the hospitals of Bologna, the Santo Spirito or the House of Catechumens at Rome, and the halls andcamerateof the great Missionary College of the Propaganda.
For myself, I cannot envy the moral and intellectual utilitarianism, which pauses to measure by so paltry a standard a great psychological phenomenon, such as Nature, in the most prodigal exercise of her powers, has never before given to man to see. As well might we shut our eyes to the glory of those splendid meteors which at intervals illumine the sky, because we are unable to see what cold and sordid purpose of human utility they may be made to subserve.
I prefer to look to him with grateful and affectionate admiration, as a great example of the successful cultivation of one of the noblest of God’s gifts to His creatures;—as the man who has approached nearest to the withdrawal of that barrier to intercommunion of speech which, in punishment of human pride, was set up at Babel; and of whom, more literally than of any other son of Adam, it may be said, that he could
Hold converse with all formsOf the many-sided mind.
Hold converse with all formsOf the many-sided mind.
Hold converse with all formsOf the many-sided mind.
Hold converse with all forms
Of the many-sided mind.