So great was my veneration for the Vicar of Christ, so intense my admiration for the personal character of the new Pope, that I had determined never to confess to his Holiness the part which I had played in his election, lest his wrath should fall upon me in consequence.
As I knelt before Pius X. in the small and simply furnished room in which he had chosen to install himself, I saw his eye fall on me with an expression of pity and curiosity.
‘You do well to kneel, my son,’ the Holy Father said, in a low, gentle voice. ‘You have erred very grievously.’
I looked up in astonishment. Pius X. pointed to a small table which stood beside his chair.
‘What do you see there?’ he asked, preserving the same tone of mild reproof.
I glanced at the table, and beheld a portion of a railway ticket.
‘When I left Venice a fortnight ago, I took a return ticket,’ the Pope continued. ‘What you see is the half which I am never going to use. Take it. It will be a souvenir for you, and may remind you to beware of the vanity of meddling in spiritual concerns.’
Amazed by this form of address, I rose from my knees, and respectfully possessed myself of the precious keepsake, which I thrust into my inmost pocket.
‘I came to Rome,’ the Holy Father pursued calmly, ‘without other hope or ambition than to record my vote for the most worthy member of the Sacred College. Even had I wished to be Pope I should not have been presumptuous enough to put myself forward as a candidate for the Chair of Saint Peter.
