How Pope John Paul I Won

The Cardinals knew what they wanted: a warm and humble man

Seated at a table in front of the Sistine Chapel altar, the Cardinal solemnly intoned the name written on each ballot. "Luciani . . . Luciani . . . Luciani . . ." Beside him sat two other Cardinal scrutatores (vote counters) who carefully plucked the ballots from a silver chalice, unfolded them and passed them to their colleague. It was the fourth and final ballot of the astonishing one-day conclave that gave the Catholic world its 263rd Pope: Albino Cardinal Luciani, 65, Patriarch of Venice.

As the counting went on, two Cardinals who had entered the conclave as favorites listened attentively. Both are highly placed in the Vatican's powerful bureaucracy, the Curia: Sergio Pignedoli, who sat just to the right of the altar, and Sebastiano Baggio, who sat just to the left. But the name that kept resounding toward the shadowy ceiling of the chapel be longed to no seasoned veteran of the Curia. It belonged to a Cardinal who had never drafted documents from the dry heart of the Vatican at all, or served overseas in the papal diplomatic service. He had, in fact, only rarely been outside Italy in his life.

The waiting world was surprised, then pleased by the new Pope, a lifelong pastor and teacher who seemed to show a rare blend of strength and humility, a fine gift for words, a reassuring balance between kindness and worldly practicality. But how had he come to be chosen? And why? Had some kind of secret combine among the Princes of the Church brought Luciani to the fore? Or a compromise that, despite formal assertions of happiness, really left nobody happy?

Often the answers to such questions have remained locked in mystery, protected by the wall of secrecy that attends the conclave, the vows of silence taken by the Cardinals as they enter and are sealed from the outside world. But after this conclave--perhaps out of sheer exuberance over the results--a number of participants proved talkative, and TIME'S Jordan Bonfante and Roland Flamini have pieced together much of the story of the proceedings in the Sistine Chapel. It is clear that Luciani came to power through no accident, but as a result of a spontaneous consensus that evolved from three agreements reached during the lengthy pre-conclave period that followed the death of Pope Paul VI on Aug. 6.

Probably half of the 111 Cardinal-electors went into the conclave still undecided. But most were fairly convinced that the Pope would, once again, have to be an Italian. Even many Asians and Africans, whose numbers are growing and whose concerns often differ from their brother Cardinals in Europe and the New World, conceded that an Italian was needed to handle the delicate role the papacy still must play in Italy's uncertain politics. Beyond that some Cardinals feared that any non-Italian might give a threatening new tilt to the Vatican.

The second consensus, resisted to the end by some members of the Curia, was that the church, whatever its farflung political and administrative problems, needed a pastoral Pope. "It is one thing to interpret the faith and another to convey it to the people in the parishes," said one ranking Curia prelate. "That is something that the bishops--whatever their theology--understand better than the Curialists at their little desks."

Explained another Cardinal: "I think all of us had agreed in our own minds before the conclave that we needed to go back to a humble, pastoral man, although we did not really consult each other about it. And then, when we went in, it became clear to us that this was what we wanted." The third consensus, in the words of still another participant, was that the new Pope be "not obvious, and not controversial."

That left the field exceptionally wide open, and as the Cardinals chatted among themselves in the Apostolic Palace after they had been sealed in for the duration of the conclave on Aug. 25, nobody could guess how the vote would go.

But by Saturday morning, when the conclave opened in an atmosphere of high tension, the true contest already lay between two groups of Italians, the well-known Curialists Baggio, Pignedoli and Paolo Bertoli, and the "pastoral" archbishops. By process of elimination the pastoral choices soon narrowed down to Giuseppe Siri, 72, of Genoa, Corrado Ursi, 70, of Naples, and Luciani. Siri had the backing of the unequivocal right-wingers, and for that very reason failed to attract a broader base. Ursi lacked the stature and popularity of the other two. And there was Luciani, a man not actively disliked by anyone, and actively liked by everyone who really knew him.

On the first ballot the votes were hopelessly dispersed among a broad scattering of realistic as well as throwaway names. By the second, taken right the lines began to grow clear. No non-Italian figured prominently on the tally sheet that each Cardinal marked as the names were called out. No Italian had anywhere near the necessary 75 votes (two-thirds of the conclave plus one). Nor did any have a discernible lead. But the main competition seemed to be between the principal Curial and pastoral candidates.

At noon the two sets of ballots, skewered on a long needle and string like a kind of combined ecclesiastical shishkebab and necklace, were thrust into the chapel stove along with black chemical lares to send up a dark "no Pope" signal to the waiting crowds in St. Peter's Square. But the flue above the stove was broken, and black smoke seeped through the chapel, partially obscuring Michelangelo's famous frescoes. For a quarter of an hour, the assembled Cardinals coughed, covered their mouths and rubbed their eyes until two windows were opened to clear the air. As the Cardinals broke for lunch, walking to the Pontifical Hall in the palace's Borgia apartments, intense discussions were under way.

On the third ballot, at 4:30--after a traditional Roman siesta--Luciani burst to the fore, falling just short of a majority. "At that point," Luciani explained later with a smile, "it began to get dangerous for me." Cardinals Willebrands of The Netherlands and Ribeiro of Portugal, sitting on either side of him, leaned toward him. Whispered one: "Courage. If the Lord gives a burden, he also gives the strength to carry it." Whispered the other: "The whole world prays for the new Pope."

The main resistance came from a bloc of ultraconservatives who favored Siri, a fact that encouraged fence sitters to swing to Luciani. So the fourth and final vote was fast--and was speeded further by the Cardinals' decision to dispense with the ritual declarations that were required during the earlier sessions as each man deposited his ballot in the chalice. As the count went on, no other name but Luciani's was read out. There were a number of blank ballots cast by Curialist and conservative bitter-enders. But roughly 90 votes went to Luciani, and Vatican Radio described his election as "virtually by acclamation." When Luciani went over the 75 mark, such ringing applause echoed in the chapel that a Swiss Guard posted outside was startled. He looked at his watch: 6:05 p.m

The chapel door was opened and eight conclave aides entered to accompany Jean Cardinal Villot, the church's Camerlengo or chamberlain, to the flustered Luciani, who was still seated in his place under a fresco of the baptism of Christ. The Camerlengo, his face wreathed in smiles, asked the ritual question: "Do you accept your canonical election as Supreme Pontiff?" Luciani at first replied, "May God forgive you for what you have done in my regard." Then he gave his assent, "Accepto," and announced the name he had chosen for himself as the new Pope: loannes Paulus. The choice immediately stirred pleased comments among the Cardinals.

After the singing of the Te Deum of thanksgiving, the new Pope was escorted to the sacristy to don his temporary papal robes. He reappeared in a white cassock with a shoulder-length cape and a high white sash. Grinning happily, he took the throne that had been erected in front of the altar, and the joyful Cardinals approached one by one to embrace him and to kiss the papal ring. John Paul I had a word for many of them. "Holy Father, thank you for having said yes," said Belgium's Leo Jozef Suenens. Replied the Pope: "Perhaps it would have been better if I had said no."

A number of Cardinals were so exuberant at the election of the new Pontiff that they rushed up to the stove themselves and stuffed in their personal notes and tally sheets, igniting the paper with black flares. A white signal had already gone up, but now the Cardinalitial enthusiasm caused the chimney to belch bursts of black and gray smoke, keeping the crowd in St. Peter's Square guessing for the hour it took for John Paul to make his first appearance.

In the happy--and hot--atmosphere of the chapel, the Cardinals loosened their clerical collars and unbuttoned their mozzettas (episcopal capes). The Pope kept the Cardinals in conclave overnight, and the informal mood continued through dinner that evening as the new Pope took his previously assigned place at the table with the other Cardinals.

Rome did not get its first real look at this engagingly humble man until the next day, when 200,000 people filled St. Peter's Square for the weekly Sunday noon blessing. John Paul spoke for seven minutes, dispensing with the Papal "we," brimming with good nature, bringing forth an adoring roar. "Let us understand each other," he told the crowd. "I do not have the wisdom of heart of Pope John, nor the preparation and culture of Pope Paul. However, now I am in their place and must try to help the church. I hope you will help me with your prayers." A GREAT POPULAR PERSONALITY, headlined Milan's normally austere Corriere della Sera.

What manner of man was this new world celebrity? The week brought forth the first crop of Luciani stories: the schoolboy in the foothills of the Dolomite Alps playing hookey to catch birds, the farm boy doing chores barefoot to save shoe leather for his poor family, the young seminary professor devouring books during his two sojourns in a tuberculosis sanitorium.

The Pope's brother Edoardo, a retired schoolteacher, told how Albino grew up, "torn between the devil and holy water," his mother a devout Catholic, his father an itinerant laborer who spouted an old-fashioned anticlerical socialism. In one of the few sour comments on Luciani's election, an 80-year-old man in his native village of Canale d'Agordo grumbled: "It's a scandal, this election of this Pope. He's a very good man, but his father burned crucifixes in his stove."

Maybe, but the father also gave permission for Albino to enter minor seminary at eleven. After that he spent his entire career in the schools and rectories of northeastern Italy. So valuable was he to the faculty of the seminary at Belluno-- where he taught for ten years--that he won a Vatican dispensation to earn degrees (with honors) at Rome's Pontifical Gregorian University by taking exams without attending a single class.

The new Pope gave a glimpse of his personal style with the plans for his Sept. 3 open-air accession ceremonies. At his direction it was not called a "coronation" or even a scaled-down "enthronement," but simply a "solemn Mass to mark the start of his ministry as Supreme Pastor." John Paul asked not to be carried on the usual portable throne but to walk in procession. Most significant, he did not wish to be crowned with the triple-decked, bee hive-shaped tiara. Instead, a pallium, the white woolen stole symbolizing his title of Patriarch of the West, would be placed on his shoulders.

The record seemed to show a man of prudence and patience, a scholar with a certain sense of humor, a priest full of humility and candor. But how would the Cardinal's qualities prove out when tested by the intricacies of church policy? During his years in Venice, parish priests found him open-minded, but unwilling to budge a millimeter when doctrine was at stake. "He is a hardliner on orthodoxy," says the religion editor of Venice's leading daily. Luciani has been hostile to the worker-priest movement and to many workers' Communist attitudes, but has defended their economic rights.

The new Pope's position on doctrine is likely to please the Curia, which could use some cheering up. As a senior Vatican prelate conceded, John Paul's election "was like a report card with a flunking grade for the Curia." Seeking to salve bruised Curial egos, the Pope observed in a midweek speech to the Cardinals about the Curia and the Vatican: "It is not difficult to recognize our inexperience in so delicate a sector of church life. We promise to treasure the suggestions that will come to us from our worthy co-workers." One of his first acts was to reappoint the heads of all major Vatican offices, a standard practice. His own choices will be made later, gradually.

Though the Pope underscored "collegiality" (power-sharing in the church), he is no ecclesiastical democrat. After the third international Synod of Bishops in 1971 he scolded those who say that body is a parliament. "The fathers are not a legislative or decision-making assembly," he said, "but rather a consultative one for the Pope." Last year he said, "Christ himself-- and not the grass roots -- confers authority on the Pope and the bishops, also specifying in what way to exercise."

In his inaugural address to the Cardinals last week, John Paul pledged to carry forward the work of the Second Vatican Council, convened by Pope John XXIII in 1962 and concluded by Paul in 1965. He would, he said, put a "priority" on the ongoing revision of the canon law codes. Last year, however, the then Cardinal Luciani commented of this project: "With Montesquieu, we must say, 'The laws need to be touched with trembling hands.' "

The inaugural speech showed moments of eloquence: "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. The church, admiringly yet lovingly protesting against such 'achievements,' intends, rather, to safeguard the world that thirsts for a life of love from dangers that would attack it."

The speech also put a noteworthy emphasis on ecumenism, the search for unity between the world's 700 million Roman Catholics and 400 million other Christians. This could be one of the crucial symbolic issues of John Paul's pontificate, and it is an area on which his thinking is unknown. In the same speech he vowed that he would pursue unity "without diluting doctrine but, at the same time, without hesitation." Still, the new Pope's thinking on steps toward reunion is unknown.

The crucial decisions of John Paul on these and other issues defy easy prediction. Whatever his instincts, the Pope is in some sense still the "prisoner of the Vatican," where visions of change are so often circumscribed by tradition--and realism. On the day after the election, the Pope's choice of names was, as it always is, regarded as one of the few indications of the tone of his pontificate. Much has been made of John Paul's double choice. Last week in Rome still more was being said on the subject. Remarked Belgium's Cardinal Suenens: "People will ask, 'Is he John or is he Paul?' He will be both in his own way. His manner is more John's, but it is like mixing oxygen and hydrogen -- you get water, two different elements producing a third substance."

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