Now, in the first place, in the midst of this lady’s supercilious and depreciatory strictures, it may safely be inferred, that Mezzofanti’s Hungarian at least must have been unexceptionable, in order to draw from one so evidently prejudiced, the admission that he “spoke it well enough,” and that “his pronunciation was not bad.” Lest, however, any doubt should be created by these grudging acknowledgments, I shall quote the testimony of a Hungarian nobleman, Baron Glucky de Stenitzer, who met the Cardinal in Rome some years later, in 1845. The Baron not only testifies to the excellence of his Magyar, but affirms “that, in the course of the interview, his Eminence spoke no less than four different dialects of that tongue—the pure Magyar of Debreczeny, that of the environs of Eperies, that of Pesth, and that of Transylvania!” In like manner, though Madame Paget takes upon her to say, that “the Cardinal studies the words rather than the subject of what he reads,” Baron Glucky found him “profoundly versed in the laws and constitution of Hungary”; and when, in speaking of the extraordinary power enjoyed by the Primate of Hungary, the Baron chanced to allude to his privilege of coining money, his Eminence promptly reminded him that “this privilege had been withdrawn by the Emperor Ferdinand, and even quoted the year of the edict by which it was annulled!”[515] As regards the dashing style in which this lady sets aside the Cardinal’s Magyar reading, which _only_ embraced “the works of Kisfaludi and Czokonai, Pethe’s Natural History, and some other Hungarian books,” it may be enough for the reader to know that, without reckoning the “other Hungarian books,” the three works which she names thus slightingly, comprise no less than _seven volumes_ of poetry and miscellaneous literature. For what remains of her strictures upon the character of Mezzofanti—strictures be it observed, which she has the hardihood to offer, although her entire knowledge was derived from two interviews of a few minutes, among a crowd of other visitors—her charge of love of display, “empty word-knowledge,” “monkey-like” exhibition, and the other pettinesses of “small vanity,” the best commentary that can be offered is an account of the Cardinal published at this very period, by one who knew him intimately during a residence of many months in Rome, who was actually for a time his pupil or fellow student, and who, from his position, was thoroughly conversant, not only with the sentiments of the Cardinal’s friends and admirers, but with all the variety of criticisms to which, according to the diversity of tastes and opinions, his character and his gifts were subjected in the general society of the literary circles of Rome—I mean the amiable and learned Guido Görres. I may add that I myself was Herr Görres’s companion in one of his interviews with the Cardinal.