There was an enchanting sense of adventure in the thing. Yet a thousand years of unbroken tradition stood between me and the august head of the Christian world, whose predecessors had turned sceptres to dust and blotted out kingdoms.

The pavements and walls of the venerable city seemed to mock me. The stately cardinals listened and shook their heads. There was no precedent. The bare thought of a newspaper correspondent interviewing the Pope violated every sentiment of Papal history, from St. Peter to Leo XIII. The Apostolic Secretary of State, Cardinal Rampolla, advised me to abandon the idea. The Vicar General of Rome, Cardinal Parocchi, smiled at my enthusiasm and urged me not to waste any time on an impossible mission. Still I went from one prince of the Church to another, from palace to palace, from cathedral to cathedral.

The persistent spirit developed in an American newspaper office is not easily daunted. As the difficulties gathered, my ambition to interview the Pope grew more intense. It became an absorbing passion. It was with me when I wandered in the crumbling palaces of the Cæsars or walked among the ruins of the Roman forum. It haunted me among the tombs of the popes in St. Peter's. I dreamed of it at night.

And when every Cardinal and Bishop in Rome seemed to stand in the way, I went to Turin and entreated Cardinal Allimonde, King Humbert's friend, to help me. Alas! no; the Cardinal assured me that my quest was bound to end in failure. There were some things that American journalism could not accomplish.

Then to see Cardinal San Felice, the venerable "Saint of Naples." The gentle old man listened to the story of my efforts to see the Pope and shook his snowy head discouragingly.

At this time kind fortune brought into my anxious life in Rome the friendship of an American sculptor, Chevalier Ezekiel, who lived and worked in a studio in the vine-grown ruins of the Baths of Diocletian. And to this friend I confided the tale of my attempts to penetrate the innermost door of the Vatican. As he sat there in his white sculptor's blouse and slanting velvet cap, beside a marble figure of the dead Christ, his face suddenly became radiant.

"I have it!" he said, throwing his cap on the table. "Cardinal Hohenlohe will help you."

So straight to the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore we went, and found the Cardinal in his palace, a stout, rosy, witty, German prince, once the bosom friend of Pius IX. Within an hour the Cardinal promised to lay the matter before the Pope. Three days later he sent for me and announced that His Holiness had consented to be interviewed.

"When?" I asked.

"Ah!" said the Cardinal, "no one can tell that. Perhaps after a week; perhaps after six months. The Vatican moves slowly. It has the affairs of the whole world, civilized and uncivilized, to consider. You must wait. Rome will teach you how to be patient."

I left the palace drunken with joy. How my old comrades in New York would stare when they learned that I had reached the unreachable! How my newspaper would herald the feat to the ends of the earth! I could hardly keep my feet from dancing on the hot pavement. Rome, Rome, how I loved you that day!

The next day a message from Paris sent me to Brindisi to meet Henry M. Stanley, the explorer, who was on his way back from Africa, after rescuing Emin Pasha from the perils of the Equatorial Province. I was in the service of the newspaper that first sent Stanley into the "dark continent," and he gave me the materials for an exclusive despatch that, in other days, would have made me dizzy with pride. But as I walked along the stone quay of Brindisi with the weather-beaten man whose deeds had once inspired me with visions of the possibilities of my profession, and heard him talk of the riches of Africa, my mind turned always to Rome. There was a terrible fear upon me. What if the Pope should send for me while I was away? The thought filled me with agony.

Stanley had picked me out of a score of newspaper correspondents, who stood enviously watching us as we strolled along the shore of the sparkling Adriatic Sea. And yet I wished myself in another place.

Two days later I was in Rome again, and early the next morning a Papal chamberlain came to the hotel with a summons to the presence of the Pope. The invitation included Monsignor Frederick Z. Rooker, the scholarly Vice Rector of the American college, who was to act as interpreter.

No man can make that journey from the famous bronze portal of the Vatican into the presence of the imprisoned monarch, whom two hundred million human beings hail as the vice regent of Heaven and earth, without being thrilled from head to foot. I care not whether he be Protestant, Catholic, Jew, or pagan; whether he adores the Pope as the infallible Vicar of Christ, or regards him simply as the supreme teacher in a universal school -- he will be profoundly moved by the solemnity and suggestiveness of that place.

To reach this sovereign of a ghostly empire we passed through the palace door that looks out upon the wide space in front of St. Peter's -- once lighted by the burning bodies of Christian martyrs. Here stood a squad of the stalwart Swiss Guard, in brilliant costumes of red, yellow, and black, designed by Michael Angelo more than three hundred years ago. Ascending the royal stairway of marble that leads to the immortal Sistine Chapel, and turning to the right, up a flight of ancient steps, we were saluted by the Gendarmes of St. Peter at the entrance of the open courtyard of St. Damasus, which is half surrounded by corridors and halls glorified by the genius of Raphael, the tender colors glowing here and there through open windows.

This spot once echoed the steel-shod feet of Charlemagne. Here Napoleon stood among fawning cowards.

In one corner of the sunny courtyard was a cardinal's carriage and long-tailed horses; a tall, thin Monsignor in purple silk rustled by, and a white pigeon wheeled in alarm through the air as the great chimes began to strike the hour. A picturesque sentry, leaning on an antique halberd, guarded the door of a great marble stairway leading from the opposite side of the court. Passing through the door and mounting the stairs, we came to the vast hall of St. Clement. Here figures of Justice, Mercy, and Faith looked down upon a jolly company of the Pope's soldiers sprawled comfortably on a wooden bench in a corner, their glittering halberds leaning against the brilliant wall. There was a ringing command uttered by some invisible officer, and the next instant the row of red, black, and yellow guards was saluting a stately, scarlet cardinal who passed without raising his eyes.

Imagine the feelings of a young American writer moving through that palace of eleven thousand rooms to interview a king without territory -- trying to preserve his heathen news instincts in such surroundings!

A burly, white-haired servitor in crimson silk and knee-breeches met us at the outer door of the Pope's apartments, and to him I delivered the document which called me to the Vatican. Through one splendid chamber after another he led us, among historic tapestries and princely trappings of bygone pontiffs, until we reached the throne room.

After a while, a smiling chamberlain in purple silk, with a resplendent gold chain hung about his neck, came from the inner chamber. He chatted with Monsignor Rooker and myself for a few moments and then, opening the door, preceded us into the presence of the august head of the Christian world.

There, behind all the pomp and ceremony, sat a gentle old man, with a sweet face and the saddest eyes that ever looked out of a human head -- the quiet shepherd of Christendom. He sat in a chair of crimson and gold, set close to a table. Behind him was a carved figure of the Virgin, and near it a smaller throne. He wore a skull cap of white watered silk, and a snowy cassock flowed gracefully about his frail figure, a plain cross of gold hanging upon the sunken breast. It was a presence at once appealing and majestic.

That moment I forgot my newspaper and the news-thirsty multitudes of New York.

As we advanced to salute the Pope, he held out his thin, white hand, on which gleamed a great emerald. It was the Fisherman's Ring, the sign of Apostolic authority throughout the world. We knelt and kissed the outstretched hand, and Monsignor Rooker -- being a Catholic -- reverently pressed his lips to the gold-embroidered cross on the Pope's crimson velvet slipper.

His Holiness bade us be seated beside him. There was surprising vigor in his gestures, and his voice was clear, deep, and unwavering.

"You are very young," he remarked. "I expected to see an older man. But your nation is also young."

It is hard to describe the delicate courtesy and benignity of Leo XIII.'s manner.

"I have a claim upon Americans for their respect," he said with kindling eyes, "because I love them and their country. I have a great tenderness for those who live in that land -- Protestants and all. Under the Constitution of the United States religion has perfect liberty and is a growing power for good. The Church thrives in the air of freedom. I love and bless Americans for their frank, unaffected character and for the respect which they have for Christian morals and the Christian religion.

"The press -- ah, what a power it is getting to be! -- the press and the Church should be together in the work of elevating mankind. And the American press should especially be amiable and benevolent toward me, because my only desire is to use my power for the good of the whole people, Protestants and Catholics alike."

The Pope looked at me intently for a moment.

"You are not one of the Faithful?" he said.

"I am what journalism has made of me."

"You are all my children," said the Pope, patting my hand like a father. "Protestants, Catholics -- all, all, -- God has placed me here to watch over and care for you. I have no other aim on earth than to labor for the good of the human race.

There was an indescribable ring of pathos in the Pope's voice. His lips trembled.

"Here we have in temporal control men who feel nothing but hatred for the representative of Jesus Christ and offer constant insults to the Holy See. Enemies of God armed with governmental power seek not only to grieve and humble the Holy See in my person, but to utterly break down the influence of religion, to disorganize and obliterate the Church, and to overthrow the whole system of morality upon which civilization rests. The power of paganism is at work in Europe again.

"These are times of social unrest and impending disorder. I recognize the good impulse that persuaded the German Emperor to assemble the Great Powers at Berlin and seek a cure for the disease that afflicts capital and labor. But there is no power that can deal with anarchy and social discontent, but organized religion. It alone can restore the moral balance to the human race. The result of the efforts which have been made by nations to live without Christian guidance can be seen in the present state of civilized society -- discontent, hatred, and profound unhappiness.

"I have watched the growing helplessness of the suffering working classes throughout the world with anxiety and grief. I have studied how to relieve society of this terrible confusion. While I live I will labor to bring about a change. The troubles of the poor and heavy laden are largely due to enemies of Christian morality who want to see Christian history ended and mankind return to pagan ways.

"Human law cannot reach the real seat of the conflict between capital and labor. Governments and legislatures are helpless to restore harmony. The various nations must do their work, and I must do mine. Their work is local and particular, such as the maintenance of order, and the enforcement of ameliorative laws. But my work as the head of Christendom must be universal and on a different plane.

"The world must be re-Christianized. The moral condition of the workingman and his employer must be improved. Each must look at the other through Christian eyes. That is the only way. How vain are the efforts of nations which seek to bring contentment to man and master by legislation, forgetting that the Christian religion alone can draw men together in love and peace. As the wealth of the world increases, the gulf between the laborer and his employer will widen and deepen unless it be bridged over by Christian charity and the mutual forbearance which is inspired by Christian morals. But if the foes of Jesus Christ and His Church continue to attack and revile the holy religion which inspires and teaches sound morals and has civilized the world, these social disorders, which are but signs on the horizon to-day, will overwhelm and destroy them.

"The continued existence of human slavery in pagan lands is another source of sorrow to me. As a means of abolishing slavery I have established missionary colleges and am sending devoted missionaries into Africa and wherever men are held in bondage. The true way to free them is to educate and Christianize them. An enlightened man cannot be enslaved. For that reason I shall devote the energies of the church to spreading knowledge among the poor savages. Humanity must aid me to teach these unfortunates and save them from slavery. We must work without ceasing until there is not a slave anywhere on earth."

His Holiness spoke with visible emotion about his desire for the disarmament of Europe.

"These great military establishments have another deplorable effect. They set one people against another and intensify national jealousies. The inevitable result is the growth of a spirit of anger and vengefulness. I long to see a return of peace and charity among the nations. Mighty armies confronting each other on every frontier are not consistent with the teachings of Jesus Christ."

I reminded His Holiness that the principle of arbitration rather than war had become a part of the national policy of the United States.

"Yes," said the Pope, "that is a true and wise principle, but most of the men who control the affairs of Europe are not governed by a desire for truth. See how they exalt godlessness! Look at the men whose names are selected here in Italy for honor after death! -- men who died opposing and reviling Christianity -- men like Mazzini."

That was the end of the first newspaper interview with the Pope. I knelt beside Monsignor Rooker and received the Apostolic benediction. Then His Holiness arose.

"I hope that you will omit the petty personal details which are so offensive in newspaper articles," he said. "They are trivialities and beneath the dignity of the press."

As we moved out of the room the Pope called me back to him, and placing his frail hands upon my head, his eyes brimming with emotion, he said in a voice of great tenderness: --

"Son, you are young and you may be useful to the world. May the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit go with you. Farewell!"

And as we retired we looked back at the slender white figure standing alone in the shadowy room -- and I knew that I had been face to face with the most exalted personality of modern history. Of all the famous men I have met in my world-wanderings since that day, -- statesmen, monarchs, philosophers, philanthropists, -- I have seen no other man who seemed to have such a universal point of view.

* * * * *

Once more I saw the Pope, borne aloft on the shoulders of the Swiss Guard into the Sistine Chapel in a scene of supreme splendor -- the triple crown upon his head, jewels flashing on his bosom, the Sistine choir chanting Palestrina's deathless music, and clouds of incense floating over the heads of a procession headed by the Knights of Malta, and followed by a long train of cardinals, archbishops, bishops, and monsignori.

The sunlight fell upon lines of shining steel, nodding plumes, golden chains, shimmering robes of silk, and all the glittering symbolry of pontifical power and glory.

And gathered within the walls immortalized by Raphael and Michael Angelo, before the eyes of the assembled aristocracy of Rome, was a horde of American savages in paint, feathers, and blankets, carrying tomahawks and knives. At the entrance of the chapel stood Buffalo Bill, Buck Taylor, and Broncho Bill, while a troop of cowboys, splashed with mud, and picturesque beyond description, lined the human aisle beyond.

When the Pope appeared, swaying in his resplendent seat, high above the assembled host, the cowboys bowed their heads, the Indians knelt down, and Rocky Bear, the surly old chief, made the sign of the cross.

The Pontiff leaned yearningly toward the rude groups and blessed them again and again.

* * * * *

A few days afterward I was permitted to walk in the ancient garden of the Vatican. It was a day of surpassing loveliness. Every wandering breath of air came laden with the perfumes of distant fields of flowers. Here Pius IX. used to ride on his white mule among the venerable groves, interspersed with fountains and statues; and here the poets of an elder time declaimed in the open air to the assembled gallants of the Papal courts.

I saw the herd of shaggy goats from Africa which were driven every day to the door of the Pope's apartments and freshly milked. I ate grapes in the vineyard that furnished wine for the Pope's table. I saw the Pope's summer retreat, and the little tea pavilion on the roadside, with the scarlet velvet chair, and the caged parrots screaming the Pope's name.

I saw the snow-white deer, and the snow-white peacock -- emblem of immortality.