Authors: David Yallop
Emerging from his cell at 4.00 p.m. Luciani was warmly embraced by Cardinal Joseph Malula from Zaire. Full of joy Malula offered his congratulations.
Luciani shook his head sadly. ‘A great storm is troubling me,’ he said as the two men made their way back for the third ballot.
Luciani 68 votes
Siri 15 votes
Pignedoli 10 votes
The remaining 18 votes on the ballot were scattered. Albino Luciani was now within seven votes of the Papacy. With a hand to his forehead he was heard to murmur, ‘No. Please no.’
It was Cardinals Willebrands and Riberio, seated either side of Luciani, who heard the entreaty. Both men instinctively reached out and gripped Luciani. Willebrands spoke quietly. ‘Courage. If the Lord gives the burden, he also gives the strength to carry it.’
Riberio nodded and then added, ‘The whole world prays for the new Pope.’
There was no doubt whatsoever in the minds of many present that the Holy Spirit was manifest on that hot afternoon. Others took a more cynical view of what was inspiring the Conclave. Taofina’y of Samoa was heard to murmur, ‘Power in the form of man, or rather a cardinal of the Curia.’ His eyes were fastened on Felici when he made this observation.
Felici, who had spent the morning voting for Siri, now approached Albino Luciani. He handed him an envelope with the remark, ‘A message for the new Pope’. The piece of paper within contained the words ‘Via Crucia’, a symbol of the way of the Cross.
There was great excitement in the Conclave. Many were now convinced that they were acting by Divine inspiration. Dispensing with the late Pope’s instructions that each cardinal should swear a solemn oath each time before voting, the fourth ballot began.
Luciani 99 votes
Siri 11 votes
Lorscheider 1 vote (that of Albino Luciani)
As the final vote was announced there was a tremendous burst of applause from the gathering. The time was 6.05 p.m. A clique of Siri supporters, members of the intransigent right, had held out to the end. The doors of the Chapel opened and various Masters of Ceremonies came, accompanying the Camerlengo Villot, to where Albino Luciani sat. Villot spoke.
‘Do you accept your canonical election as Supreme Pontiff?’
All eyes were upon Luciani. Cardinal Ciappi described for me that moment. ‘He was sitting three rows behind me. Even at the moment of his election he was hesitating, Cardinal Villot put the question to him and he continued to hesitate. Cardinals Willebrands and Ribeno were clearly encouraging him.’
Luciani eventually responded. ‘May God forgive you for what you have done in my regard.’ Then he added, ‘I accept.’
‘By what name do you wish to be called?’ asked Villot.
Luciani hesitated again. Then for the first time he smiled: ‘John Paul the First’.
There were murmurs of delight from some of the listening cardinals. The name was an innovation, the first double name in the history of the Papacy. Tradition holds that by the choice of name a Pope gives an
indication of the direction his reign may take. Hence the choice of Pius would have delighted the right wing, indicating perhaps a return to a pre-conciliar Church. What message Luciani was sending out with his choice of name depended on what message his listeners wanted to receive.
Why had Luciani, a man without ambition, accepted this position that for a number of other cardinals present would have been the realization of their life’s ambition?
The answer, like much about this simple man, is complex. Research indicates that he was overwhelmed by the speed and size of the vote. Many spoke to me of this aspect. It is perhaps best summarized by a member of the Curia who had a close, twenty-year friendship with Albino Luciani.
He was distressed by it. If he had not been so overwhelmed by the sheer quantity, if events had moved more slowly, taken the Conclave into a second day, he would have had time to gather himself and refuse; and yet, if he had decided in that Conclave that he was not the man to become Pope he would have refused. He was one of the strongest men I have known in thirty years in the Curia.
There is also the vital element of Luciani’s personal humility. Describing the acceptance of the Papacy as an act of humility may appear to be contradictory. To equate the taking of supreme power with meekness is, in fact, entirely consistent if the last thing you want on earth is supreme power.
Inside the Conclave, as the new Pope was led to the Sacristy, all was joy. Outside all was confusion. While the Gammarelli brothers, tailors to the Vatican, tried to find a Papal white cassock that fitted, the cardinals were merrily burning their voting papers with the special chemical that was designed to ensure white smoke for the watching world. The watching world saw first white smoke, then a short while later, puffs of black (indicating that the Church was still without a Pope) emerge from the small chimney. The smoke had begun to emerge at 6.24 p.m. As it continued to belch out in a variety of hues, the Gammarelli brothers inside were not having any better luck with the white cassocks. Normally before a Conclave they made three: small, medium and large. This time, working from a list of twelve
papabili,
they had produced four, including an extra large one. The slightly-built Luciani had obviously not featured on their short-list of
fancied cardinals. Eventually, nearly drowning in his new cassock, he emerged from the Sacristy and, sitting on a chair in front of the altar, received each cardinal who, having kissed Luciani’s hand, was then warmly embraced by the new Pope.
Suenens, one of the cardinals largely responsible for this election, observed ‘Holy Father, thank you for saying “yes”.
Luciani smiled broadly at him. ‘Perhaps it would have been better if I had said “no”.’
Thc cardinals in charge of the stove were still happily throwing on voting papers and a large bundle of chemical candles which were supposed to produce the elusive white smoke. Vatican Radio manifestly knew less about what was going on than anyone else and uttered the remarkable statement: ‘We can now say with total certainty that the smoke is either black or white.’ In fact at that moment it was grey.
Vatican Radio telephoned the home and office of the Gammarelli brothers and obtained no answer. The brothers meanwhile were in the Sacristy attempting to fasten the blame on someone else over the fiasco of the white cassocks. It was rapidly becoming one of those operas that only Italians can stage.
Meanwhile, inside the Sistine Chapel, the cardinals had started to sing the Te Deum, the Hymn of Thanksgiving.
Outside, Father Roberto Tucci, the Jesuit director of Vatican Radio, was observed hurtling towards the bronze door of the Papal Palace across the Piazza. The Captain of the Swiss Guard, who was obliged to greet the new Pope with a loyal salute of his men, was interrogating the guard who said there had been a burst of clapping when, to his astonishment, he heard the Te Deum. That meant but one thing – whoever he was, they had a Pope. The problem was he did not have a retinue of guards ready.
Assuming the multi-coloured smoke indicated a deadlocked Conclave, the crowds in the Square had largely dispersed, when a voice boomed out on the massive loudspeaker address.
‘Attenzione.’
People began to hurry back into the Square. The large door behind the balcony of St Peter’s swung open. Figures could be seen emerging on the balcony itself . . . It was now 7.18 p.m., over an hour since the election. Senior Cardinal Deacon Felici appeared on the balcony and suddenly the crowd below was still.
Among that crowd was Luciani’s secretary, Don Diego Lorenzi. He was standing next to a family from Sweden who had asked him what work he did. Young Lorenzi remarked, ‘I am in Rome for a few days.
I work in Venice.’ Then he turned his gaze to the figure of Felici on the balcony.
‘Annuncio vobis gaudium magnum: Habemus Papam’ – ‘I bring you news of great joy! We have a Pope’ – ‘Cardinalem Albinum Luciani.’
At the mention of the name ‘Albinum’ Lorenzi turned back to the Swedish family. Tears were running down his face. He smiled then said proudly, ‘I am the secretary of the newly-elected Pope.’
The roar from the crowd had almost drowned the ‘Luciani’. When Felici continued, ‘who has chosen the name John Paul the First,’ there was a bedlam of noise. Many, indeed most, had never heard of Luciani but what mattered was that they had a Pope. The personal reaction came a short while later when Albino Luciani stepped on to the balcony. The enduring memory is of that smile. It touched the very soul. The man exuded delight and joy. Whatever else this Papacy was going to be it was going to be fun. After the gloom and agonizing of Paul the contrast was an extraordinary shock. As the new Pope intoned the blessing ‘Urbi et Orbi’, to the city and the world, the effect was similar to a burst of bright dazzling sun after an eternity of dark days.
In a moment he was gone, only to return. The Captain of the Swiss Guard had finally assembled a battalion. Albino Luciani waved and smiled. That smile reached out to everyone. The man from the mountains of northern Italy, who as a small boy had wanted more than anything to be a parish priest, stood on St Peter’s balcony on the evening of Saturday, August 26th, 1978 as Pope John Paul I.
Luciani kept the Conclave in session that night. Having sat down to dinner in his previously assigned place, one of his first thoughts was for the over-age excluded cardinals. They had already been given the election result by telephone. Now Luciani invited them into the Conclave for the following morning’s Mass.
The Secretariat of State had already prepared a speech which in theory was intended to indicate the direction of the new Papacy, any new Papacy. Luciani took the speech and, retiring to cell 60, altered and amended what had initially been vague statements about love, peace and war to a number of specifics.
The speech was delivered at the end of the Mass of Thanksgiving celebrated the following morning. Luciani pledged his pontificate to the teachings of the Second Vatican Council. He placed a high value on collegiality, the sharing of power with his bishops. He declared that he intended to bring back into force the great discipline of the Church and to this end he gave high priority to the revision of the two codes of Canon
Law. Union with other denominations would be pursued without compromise to the Church’s teachings but equally without hesitation.
The central thrust of the speech revealed that this man who described himself in Venice as ‘a poor man accustomed to small things, and silence’ had a dream: a revolutionary dream. He gave notice of his intention to pursue the pastoralization of the entire Church, indeed of the entire world.
The world awaits this today; it knows well that the sublime perfection it has attained by research and technology has already reached a peak, beyond which yawns the abyss, blinding the eyes with darkness. It is the temptation of substituting for God one’s own decisions, decisions that would prescind from moral laws. The danger for modern man is that he would reduce the earth to a desert, the person to an automaton, brotherly love to planned collectivization, often introducing death where God wishes life.
With the text of
Lumen gentium
(the Light of Nations), Vatican Council’s Dogmatic Constitution of the Church, in his hand, Albino Luciani gave notice that he intended to put the Church back where it belonged: back to the world and the words of Christ; back to the simplicity and honesty of its origins. If Christ returned to earth, Luciani wanted him to find a Church he would recognize – one free of political interests, free of the big business mentality which had corroded the original vision.
At noon the new Pope appeared on the central balcony of the Basilica. The square below was packed tight with some 200,000 people. Millions more around the world watched on television as Luciani’s smile broadened in response to the thunderous applause. He had come out to say the Angelus but before giving the mid-day prayer he had decided to give his listeners a glimpse into the secret Conclave. When the applause and cheering had died down he promptly broke two Papal rules, the paranoiac secrecy that Paul had sternly insisted upon concerning the Conclave, and the use of the majestic ‘we’ that for nearly two thousand years had demonstrated Papal aspirations to territory. He smiled at the crowd and then began.
‘Yesterday,’ the word was followed by an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders, as if to say, ‘a funny thing happened to me on my way to the Conclave.’ The crowd roared with laughter. Luciani joined in the merriment, then began again.
‘Yesterday morning I went to the Sistine Chapel to vote peacefully.
Never could I have imagined what was about to take place. As soon as it began to be a danger for me, two of my colleagues who were sitting near me whispered words of encouragement.’ Simply and without trace of pomposity he recalled the words of Willebrands and Ribeno. He told the crowd why he had chosen his particular name.
My thoughts were like this. Pope John had wanted to consecrate me with his own hands here in the Basilica of St Peter’s. Then, though unworthy, I succeeded him in the Cathedral of St Mark, in that Venice which is still filled with the spirit of Pope John. The gondoliers remember him, the sisters, everyone. On the other hand Pope Paul not only made me a cardinal, but some months before that, on the wide footbridge in St Mark’s Square, he made me blush to the roots of my hair in front of twenty thousand people, because he took off his stole and placed it on my shoulders. I was never so red-faced. Furthermore, in the fifteen years of his pontificate, this Pope showed not only me but the whole world how he loved the Church, how he served it, worked for it, and suffered for this Church of Christ. And so I took the name John Paul.