He had
read about Emerson in a French magazine, and was enthusiastic over him.
In strange contrast to him was a handsome young man from the Italian
Tyrol, who was, like the Pole and myself, full of literary longings, but
who was still quite a Roman Catholic. He knew about as much, or as
little, of the world as I did, and was "gentle and bland." When we bade
farewell, he wept, and kissed me. Andrekovitch was eccentric, wild, and
Slavonian-odd to look at at any time. One evening he came into my room
clad in scarlet dressing-gown, and having altogether the appearance of a
sorcerer just out of a Sabbat. The conversation took a theological turn.
Andrekovitch was the ragged remnant of a Catholic, but a very small one.
He sailed close to the wind, and neared Rationalism.

"But the Pope! . . ." exclaimed the Tyrolese.

Andrekovitch rose, looking more sorcerer or Zamiel-like than ever, and
exclaiming, "The Pope be--!" left the room. The last word was lost in
the slam of the door. It was a melodramatic departure, and as such has
ever been impressed on my memory.

My father, while a merchant, and also my uncle, had done a very large
business in Florentine straw goods, and I had received letters to several
English houses who had corresponded with them. I heard, long after, that
my arrival had caused a small panic in Florence in business circles, it
being apprehended that I had come out to establish a rival branch, or to
buy at head-quarters for the American "straw-market." I believe that
their fears were appeased when I interviewed them. One of these worthy
men had been so long in Italy that he had caught a little of its
superstition. He wished to invest in lottery tickets, and asked me for
lucky numbers, which I gave him.

As I write these lines in Florence, I have within half-an-hour called for
the first time on an old witch or _strega_, whom I found surrounded by
herbs and bottles, and a magnificent cat, who fixed his eyes on me all
the time, as if he recognised a friend. I found, however, that she only
knew the common vulgar sorceries, and was unable to give me any of the
higher _scongiurazioni_ or conjurations; and as I left, the old sorceress
said respectfully and admiringly, "You come to _me_ to learn, O Maestro,
but it is fitter that I take lessons from you!" Then she asked me for
"the wizard blessing," which I gave her in Romany. So my first and last
experiences in the deep and dark art come together!