Prisoner of the Vatican (25 page)

The day after Pius's death, the French ambassador to the Holy See sent a telegram to Paris, asking that the French cardinals be told to come to his embassy on their arrival so that they could agree on a strategy. Two days later, the French foreign minister, the Protestant William Waddington, sent the ambassador copies of a long message to give to each of the French cardinals on their arrival in Rome.
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The true interests of the Church and of France, Waddington told them, are one and the same. Pius's successor must be a man of prudence and moderation, able to calm things down. He should also be an Italian, for electing a pope from one of Europe's other Catholic powers could lead to unforeseen and unfortunate consequences at a time of great international rivalry.

Although Waddington did not mention it, the French government had decided that there was one person it would definitely veto if it looked as though he were about to be elected. The target of their concern was Cardinal Luigi Bilio, one of the architects of the Syllabus of Errors and one of the preeminent champions of infallibility at the First Vatican Council. Bilio, a Barnabite monk, was the man whom Pius had at one point indicated was his own favorite to succeed him. So notorious was Bilio—one of the intransigents' leaders—and so great were his prospects that both Austria and Spain also arranged to have his candidacy vetoed if his election appeared likely. The French foreign minister, knowing that the archbishop of Paris was a friend of Bilio's, did not trust him with the task and so asked the archbishop of Rouen to cast the veto should it prove necessary. Meanwhile, the archbishop of Toledo carried the Spanish veto and the archbishop of Vienna was given Austria's veto. Because a veto could only be exercised before a candidate won a majority of the vote, the timing of its announcement was crucial. No state wanted to squander its veto, nor create the ill will that one would inevitably cause, unless it had to, yet the danger of waiting until it was too late made it a nerve-racking affair.
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Within three days of Pius's death, five hundred workmen were busy preparing places for all of the cardinals to stay and readying the Sistine Chapel, where the conclave would be held. By tradition, once entered into conclave, the cardinals could not leave the premises until a new pope was elected. Because no one could predict how long the conclave might last—some in the past had gone on for months—the task of making the arrangements was complex.

The rules specified that the cardinals were to enter into conclave ten days after the pope's death, and on Sunday, February 17, the nine days of devotional services for Pius IX were concluded. On Monday morning the mass of the Holy Ghost was sung, allowing the conclave to begin. Sixty-one of the sixty-four cardinals were present. One absentee was on his deathbed. The other two—including the only American, Cardinal John McCloskey, the archbishop of New York—arrived after the election was over. All thirty-eight Italian cardinals were present, and so had a clear majority.

Sixty-four screens were placed along the two sides of the Sistine Chapel, with a numbered canopied seat and desk in front of each. Four of the canopies and seats were draped with green cloth, marking the cardinals appointed by Gregory XVI, the only ones who had previously taken part in a conclave. Each cardinal was given a ballot divided into three parts. At the top the cardinal wrote his name, in the middle his selection, and at the bottom a biblical text of his own choosing. The top and bottom were folded over and sealed so that the only visible part of the ballot was that bearing the name of his candidate. The other portions were to be used only in the case of a challenge to verify that the vote had been properly cast.
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As the cardinals prepared for the first ballot, speculation abounded. Would they dig in and, following Pius's wishes, elect an intransigent, committed to rejecting modern doctrines and any reconciliation with the Italian state? Or would they seek out a moderate, someone who might alter the Church's path?

Despite all of the French government's attempts to encourage the latter, two days before the conclave began the French ambassador to Italy sent a long telegram to Waddington with news of a disturbing development. The foreign cardinals, contrary to hopes, were apparently having an unfortunate influence on the Italian cardinals, who, after initial moments of recklessness, had finally been calming down. Especially alarming, he reported, were rumors that the French cardinals were most vociferously championing the intransigent cause. "I have no doubt that you feel as I do how serious it would be if the foreign cardinals, and especially the French cardinals, could be suspected of having turned the Sacred College away from the voices of moderation."
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Two days later, on the eve of the conclave, the ambassador to Italy sent a second telegram to Waddington. "I continue to have doubts about the disposition of the French cardinals and the influence that they are having in the Sacred College. They are trying to influence the foreign cardinals by convincing them of the danger of a pope who, by accepting conciliation with Italy, would betray the interests of Catholicism." That same day, an increasingly agitated Waddington telegraphed his ambassador to the Holy See, telling him of the news coming to him from the ambassador to Italy. Should the French cardinals help engineer the election of an intransigent pope, the French foreign minister told him, it would be a disaster. "Please hasten to clarify for me their attitude and, if the rumors that have been reported to me actually do have some foundation, appeal to their patriotism before the Conclave opens."

The ambassador to the Holy See telegraphed back immediately, presenting a very different picture from the one that his fellow ambassador was painting. "In the many conversations I have had with the French cardinals," he reported, "I have not noticed any trace of the sentiments that seem to so alarm my colleague." He went on to explain: "The foreign cardinals certainly want an Italian to be pope, but not an Italian pope. That is to say, they judge that a pope who allowed the papacy to be absorbed by and confused with Italy would be a greater danger than any other for the Church and for religious peace in Europe." The ambassador, who was well connected in high Vatican circles, also offered the first prognostication of a likely successor. "The first ballots will open with the names of Cardinal Pecci and Cardinal Bilio. If no agreement is reached on one or the other, they will look for a third."

In a telegram sent at ten o'clock that night, just hours before the conclave would open, the ambassador sent further news, attributing his colleague's alarming reports to the scheming of the Italian government. "Without revealing any details and the secrets of their deliberations, which are protected by religious oath, various Italian cardinals have assured me that the foreign members of the Sacred College, and the French cardinals in particular, have never departed from a position of the greatest moderation." Rather, he charged, "the Italian Government has been carrying out a maneuver—and hardly a new one—of denouncing the attitudes of the Austrian and Spanish cardinals to Vienna and Madrid, just as they denounce those of the French cardinals to Paris."
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Two factions dominated the conclave. The first, centered around some of the older Italian cardinals of the Curia, believed it critical to reinforce the policies that the saintly Pius IX had so forcefully espoused. The Church must place itself in God's hands, they believed. Some hoped for a miracle. Others thought that the worse things got in Italy, the better it would be for the Church, for it would increase the chances that the Italian state would collapse and temporal power be restored. Far from calling for a worldly man sophisticated in diplomacy, they were convinced, the times required a pope devoted to prayer and to defending sacred doctrine.

Cardinal Lorenzo Randi, who was of this view, urged his colleagues to vote for Cardinal Tommaso Martinelli, an Augustinian monk, whom he portrayed as just the saintly sort of person they needed. Yet Martinelli's candidacy did not get far, for reasons that are reflected in Bishop Soderini's portrait of the conclave: "Not that Martinelli was not a holy man, of upright intentions and pure life, but, besides a want of physical gifts, he had no experience at all of the world, lived a most retired existence, was excessively shy in speaking, fled from any conversation, and came into touch with as few persons as possible." Randi's lobbying for Martinelli was motivated in part by his dislike of Pecci, whose election he wanted to avoid at all costs. Randi and Pecci had quarreled two decades earlier, when Randi had the top government position in Perugia while Pecci was archbishop there.

The intransigents' greatest hope was Cardinal Bilio, but to their chagrin he insisted that he was not up to the job and urged his colleagues to vote for Martinelli. "These melancholy times," said Bilio, "demand that we should choose a man humble in men's eyes, so that God should directly cooperate in the work of salvation with His grace. You saw what happened at the death of Pius VI: it was the good Chiaramonti, a humble monk, known to no one, not very learned, created cardinal more because he was related to Pius VI than for any other reason, who was the one to become pope, and he governed well." Meanwhile, Cardinal Sacconi, another of this persuasion, attacked the other faction's favorite, Cardinal Pecci. Bishop Soderini, close to the man who would become Leo XIII, painted Sacconi's efforts in an unflattering light: "Not ill-favored but indeed majestic in countenance and courteous in manner, he was anything but happy in speech, even with his intimates, while he was stubborn with a stubbornness in inverse ratio to his mental level, which was certainly not above the ordinary. He went about repeating that the bishop of Perugia was too modern, too averse to the policy followed up till then, and, in addition, of sickly health."
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Although moderate by comparison, the other faction was also committed to the return of the Papal States, at least in some form. Yet they were convinced that Pius IX's stance had proved a dead end, that a new approach had to be tried. A pope who better understood this world was needed. If the Holy See was ever going to be able to attract diplomatic support abroad, the papacy could not continue to be seen as a vestige of the Middle Ages, opposed to all that was modern. This position was especially popular among the foreign cardinals, who were well aware that their governments strongly opposed the election of an intransigent.
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The moderates' choice, Gioacchino Pecci, was in fact politically astute and eager to win favor among the world's rulers. For years he had been kept far from the center of Vatican power, for Antonelli disliked him—possibly fearing him as a potential rival—and fed Pius stories that painted him as a secret liberal. It was only after Antonelli's death that the road to Rome opened up. The pope summoned Pecci to the Vatican just after the secretary of state died and then, in September 1877, named him chamberlain, giving him a new visibility.
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Pecci was born in 1810 in a small town near Rome, the sixth child of the only noble family living there. One of his older brothers became a Jesuit, but he decided to attend the Pontifical Academy of Ecclesiastical Nobles in Rome and enter the Vatican diplomatic service. In early 1843, Gregory XVI gave Pecci the title of archbishop and sent him to Belgium to serve as papal nuncio. But disaster struck. As nuncio he became embroiled in a dispute between the Belgian Catholic Church and the Protestant king of Belgium, who called on the pope to relieve Pecci of his duties. Worse, the episode led to Prince Metternich's view that Pecci was incompetent, in effect ending what had up to that time been a promising diplomatic career. Pecci was sent to Perugia as archbishop and, though raised to the cardinalate a few years later, remained isolated in the small Umbrian city for many years.
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The Perugians viewed Pecci as a rather remote and haughty figure, although the more perceptive among them saw a well-read man of sharp intelligence and prodigious memory. He was nothing if not methodical, seeking out all the information he could get his hands on and studying each question thoroughly before coming to a decision, in marked contrast to Pius. Yet, like his papal predecessor he had supreme self-confidence. Neither man would tolerate criticism.

On the morning of Tuesday, February 19, the cardinals filed into the Sistine Chapel, where they each received Holy Communion. At 10
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they were at their desks and the first ballot was passed around. The three cardinals selected by their peers to verify the vote read out each form: Cardinal Pecci received the most, with 18. Cardinal Bilio, the intransigents' favorite, despite his protests that he was not suitable, was second, but far behind, with 6 votes. Fourteen other candidates received at least 1. By the second ballot, later in the day, Pecci had reached 26. His momentum could not be stopped, and the following morning the cardinal from Perugia was formally elected. Shaking uncontrollably, the new pope was led into the robing room, where he was given a glass of wine and some little cakes to help him settle down. Observing his pale complexion and frail movements, many predicted that he would not last very long. They would be proven wrong. In the robing room were three chests filled with temporary vestments for new popes until their own could be tailored. One contained robes for a tall man, one for someone of average size, and one for a small man.
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The cardinals drew out the vestments, replacing Pecci's purple cardinal's robes with the traditional papal vesture and skullcap. Only his shoes—scarlet with a golden cross embroidered on them—were not white. Now sitting on the papal throne, Leo XIII was approached by one of the cardinals, who removed the cardinal's ring from his hand and replaced it with the ring of the fisherman. For the first time, Leo XIII would have his feet kissed by a cardinal, mirroring the act ascribed to Jesus at the Last Supper, kissing the feet of his apostles. Each of the other cardinals then followed, repeating the rite.
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