The Pope and Mussolini (60 page)

Pignatti also urged the German ambassador to do everything possible to get the four German cardinals to take a conciliatory attitude at the upcoming conclave. Should they preach a holy war against the Nazi regime, he warned, “all will be lost.” It was crucial they convince the other cardinals that an understanding with the Nazis was still in reach. Bergen said he would telegraph Berlin immediately to ask for an end to the polemics in the press. As for the German cardinals, he said, he was optimistic.
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For the Italian ambassador, the question of how the German cardinals would behave at the conclave was too important to leave entirely to Bergen. On February 21 he visited Ledóchowski to enlist his aid; the Jesuit general said he would do all he could to help.
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As the conclave neared, Pignatti checked back in with the German embassy, speaking to Bergen’s number two, Fritz Menshausen. The Nazi envoy, Pignatti reported, “repeatedly insisted on the candidacy of Pacelli as pope and Tedeschini”—former nuncio to Spain—“as secretary of state. This would represent the best solution for Germany and would make possible an easing in relations between the Holy See and the Reich.”
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Pignatti rushed from one Italian cardinal to another, trying to convince them of the wisdom of choosing a pope who was favorably disposed toward the Fascist regime and would not publicly criticize the Nazis. With the German cardinals supporting Pacelli, if the French cardinals fell in line, he believed the rest of the non-Italians would as well. The Italian cardinals were a different story. They faulted Pacelli “for a weakness of character, for being easily influenced, and sometimes stumbling, as happens to people who are weak.” Pignatti related all this to Ciano, adding, “These points are, in my opinion, quite well founded.”
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Cardinal Baudrillart’s train from Paris arrived in Rome on February 20. Deeply devoted to Pius XI, he was disturbed to hear many of his colleagues be so critical of him. “One quickly stops being a great man in this country,” the French cardinal observed. Two days after his arrival, he went to see Cardinal Pacelli, who, after a moment of hesitation, was willing to reflect on his chances at the upcoming conclave. “In the end,” Baudrillart predicted, “he will be a conciliator.”
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The main holdout among the French cardinals was Eugène Tisserant, who thought Pacelli too eager to please the Germans; he preferred the former nuncio to France, Luigi Maglione. The French cardinals discussed the matter and came up with a compromise: Pacelli as pope and Maglione as secretary of state. Tisserant went to see Pacelli, who, apparently unaware that Tisserant had reservations about him, confided his nervousness. The Italian cardinals of the Curia, he was convinced, did not like him and would not vote for him. “I may as well get my passport to go to Switzerland right after the conclave,” said Pacelli, referring to his regular vacation spot.

“The French cardinals will hold firm,” replied Tisserant reassuringly. “However, their decision will be unanimous and more solid if they learn that you plan to choose Cardinal Maglione as secretary of state.”

“You can give them my assurance,” Pacelli replied, and the deal was struck.
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“
THE GREAT DAY HAS ARRIVED.
” It was Wednesday, March 1, and the conclave was about to begin. Baudrillart was up at five-thirty
A.M.
and, after celebrating mass, left for the Vatican. He dressed with the other cardinals, and they then processed to the Pauline Chapel, where a mass was said, followed by a “glacial, monotonous” sermon in Latin that few of them could make any sense of. By evening the last three cardinals arrived—William O’Connell, archbishop of Boston; Sebastião Leme, archbishop of Rio de Janeiro; and Santiago Copello, archbishop of Buenos Aires—their ship having docked that morning in Naples.
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While the other cardinals were crammed into small rooms in the Apostolic Palace, Cardinal Pacelli, as chamberlain, was granted the special privilege of staying in his own apartment, technically within the conclave’s restricted area. The other cardinals dined together. Pacelli dined alone.
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The next morning the cardinals filed into the Sistine Chapel, some of the older ones walking only with difficulty. Each found his assigned seat with its little canopied table, forming two lines along the length of the chapel, facing each other. By now it was clear that either Pius XI’s heir apparent, Eugenio Pacelli, would win in an early vote, or if his detractors succeeded in blocking his election, the conclave would go on for many days.

The names of three cardinals were drawn by lot, to serve as the ballot counters. Silence then filled the chapel as each cardinal dipped his pen into ink and scrawled his choice on a paper slip. One by one they rose from their seats and formed a line. As each cardinal approached the altar, he got down on his knees, offered a prayer, and recited the required vow, in Latin, then deposited the folded piece of paper with his vote.

On the first ballot, Pacelli received thirty-two votes, a bare majority of the sixty-two cardinals present. Nine had voted for Dalla Costa, Florence’s archbishop, and seven for Maglione, the former papal nuncio to France. Pacelli needed ten more votes to reach the required two-thirds. Other favorites in the past had attained a majority but then faded when they failed to attract other support. “He who comes in the conclave as a pope leaves as a cardinal” went the old adage, not without some historical basis.

For a second time, the cardinals sat at their tables, wrote the name of their choice on the paper, and folded it. Again they formed a line and, following the old rite, brought their ballots to the altar. This time Pacelli picked up eight more votes, but still he fell short. Again, wet straw was added to the paper slips in the fireplace so that black smoke would bellow above the Apostolic Palace. The two morning ballots were now complete. No pope had been elected. The cardinals broke for lunch.

If some had been hoping Pacelli could be blocked, they were disappointed when the cardinals convened after lunch to hold their third ballot. Only fourteen cardinals held out against what seemed to many to be inevitable. Eugenio Pacelli, who for nine years had served Pius XI as secretary of state, received forty-eight votes. He had exceeded the required two-thirds with half a dozen votes to spare. It was his sixty-third birthday.
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Before they could announce the new pope to the world, he would need to formally state his acceptance. The tall, gaunt Pacelli—serious, dignified, and pious—was trembling, but, Baudrillart observed, “he was not able to pretend he would turn down the position that he had desired for such a long time.” The cardinal deacon, Camillo Caccia Dominioni, strode outside on the loggia of St. Peter’s to address the excited crowd, their eyes glued on its door ever since they had seen the white smoke rise. “
Habemus papam
,” he intoned. Fifteen minutes later the new pope appeared on the balcony to bless the enthusiastic throng. He took the name Pius XII, honoring not only the man at whose side he had stood for so long but both Pius IX and Pius X, heroes of Church traditionalists.
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The newly elected Pope Pius XII blesses throngs in St. Peter’s Square, March 1939. Cardinal Caccia Dominioni is in front, at the pope’s right side
.

(
photograph credit 28.2
)

That evening Pignatti sent the news to Ciano, attributing Pacelli’s success to his having made it clear to his colleagues that while, as secretary of state, he had faithfully executed the pope’s orders, he preferred a much more accommodating approach to Italy and Germany.
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Ciano received the good news while returning from a trip to Warsaw. In his diary, he recalled the conversation he had had with Pacelli the day of the pope’s death: “He was very conciliatory, and it seems also that in the meantime he has improved relations with Germany. In fact, Pignatti said only yesterday that he is the cardinal preferred by the Germans.” Back in Rome the following afternoon, Ciano went to see Mussolini, who was pleased by Pacelli’s election. He told Ciano he would help the new pope by sending him advice on how to effectively govern the Church. Mussolini ordered the press to praise the new pope: “Comment sympathetically on the election of the new pontiff,” the instructions read, “recalling his piety, his culture, and his vast political experience.”
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Barely forty-eight hours after his election, Pope Pacelli summoned the German ambassador, meeting with him the morning of March 5. Pius XII was eager to assure the Nazi government that he sought a new era of understanding. After telling Bergen how close he felt to the German people as a result of his many years in Munich and Berlin, he came to his main point. He understood that different countries adopted different forms of government, and it was not the pope’s role to judge what system other countries chose. He reminded Bergen that the two of them had had a good relationship for thirty years. He expressed his wish that this not change.
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Bergen was pleased, but found himself in the unusual position of warning the Nazi government about unrealistically rosy expectations. “The attitude of our press toward the new pope,” he wrote to the German Foreign Office three days later, “has been observed very closely, not only in Vatican but also in Italian circles, and has been received with satisfaction.” He had sent Pius XII copies of several positive articles from the German press on his election, hoping they would help persuade him to end the anti-Nazi tone of
L’Osservatore romano
. But
he added a caution: “The unmistakable relaxation of tensions which has set in here since the death of the pope has aroused very strong hopes in some quarters for the early removal of differences between Germany and the Vatican.” In order to prevent “over optimistic expectations” and “overcome the considerable difficulties,” he advised, “patience and time are required, besides good will.”
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A week later, on March 12, forty thousand people crowded into St. Peter’s to witness the new pope’s coronation. A procession of two thousand prelates in rich robes, and distinguished guests, many in diplomatic or military uniform, solemnly marched in. A platoon of Swiss Guards in full dress with glittering halberd at their side led the way, followed by a long line of representatives of all the religious orders, then hundreds of bishops, and cardinals in their scarlet robes, covered with white and gold vestments. Finally came the somber figure of the new pontiff, wearing a miter studded with radiant jewels, carried aloft on a throne by ushers in livery of red velvet. Behind him walked two prelates carrying huge ostrich-feather fans that they waved gently, followed by yet more Noble Guards and Swiss Guards, their commander wearing gleaming silver armor and a plumed helmet.
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The man who would have the honor of placing the papal tiara on Pacelli’s head was none other than Cardinal Caccia Dominioni. Somehow the Vatican and the Fascist police had been able to conceal the cardinal’s trail of pederasty accusations. The latest episode in the Italian police files had come only recently. While riding on a bus in Rome the previous August, a policeman had found his attention drawn to the cartons of foreign cigarettes that a young messenger boy was carrying. Suspicious, he discovered that they lacked the required Italian tax stamp. When he asked the lad where he had gotten the contraband cigarettes, the boy replied that someone high up in the Vatican had given them to him. Pressed further, the boy identified Cardinal Caccia. When the police phoned the cardinal to check the boy’s story, he confirmed the account and asked that the boy be left alone. “As Caccia Dominioni enjoys the reputation of pederasty,” the police informant
concluded, “they are saying that the reason for the offer of these cigarettes was easily explained.”
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Joseph Kennedy, President Roosevelt’s personal emissary to the coronation ceremony, had another kind of sexual interest in mind as he found himself walking down the aisle alongside the uniformed Galeazzo Ciano. “I have never met a more pompous ass in my life,” Kennedy remarked afterward. As Ciano processed through the basilica, he kept giving the Fascist salute, strutting in such a way as to make it seem he was “trying to share honors with the Pope.” At a tea in honor of the occasion, Ciano spent all his time trying to corner attractive women. And at the dinner, “he could not talk seriously for five minutes for fear that the two or three girls, who were invited in order to get him to come, might get out of sight.” Given what he had observed of Ciano and what he had heard about Mussolini, Kennedy “came away with the belief that we could accomplish much more by sending a dozen beautiful chorus girls to Rome than a flock of diplomats and a fleet of airplanes.”
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