One of my most
highly-esteemed visitors was the _canonico priore_ of the cathedral,
whose father had been an officer in the guard of the First Napoleon. A
pious and dignified elderly man, this prelate is not too grave to be
sometimes amusing as well as instructive. In his youth he had the
privilege of being intimate with Cardinal Mezzofanti, who apparently
took a fancy to the young Locatelli--"Tommassino" he called him, which
is a musical way of saying Tommy. At length he offered to give him
lessons in Greek. Full of proud delight at such a privilege, the
student went with his books for the first lesson, and was most kindly
received.
"Listen, Tommassino!" the cardinal said, turning over the leaves of a
great folio. "Here is a magnificent passage of St. Chrysostom's;" and
he read it out enthusiastically in fine, sonorous Greek.
"But I do not understand what it means," said the pupil.
"To be sure;" and the savant at once translated the passage into
musical Italian, and pointed out its beauties of thought and
expression. And so on, passage after passage, but never a word of
grammar.
Another time it was another of the Fathers or a heathen poet or a
chapter from the Bible read, translated and commented upon; but never
from first to last did Tommassino learn to conjugate a verb or form a
sentence from his learned professor.
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