For nearly two thousand years the Roman Catholic Church has waged an unending spiritual war. Against heathendom, against heresy, the Church has not ceased from moral strife. Last week, when its Princes met in Rome to choose a new Pope, the Church's war against heresy—the totalitarian heresies of Left and Right —had reached a critical point.
Watching the Roman scene with eyes of concern was many a non-Catholic libertarian and democrat the world over. For the first time since the 18th Century's Enlightenment, believers in individual liberty found themselves taking the same side as the Roman Catholic Church, the champion of the individual soul—and facing a common enemy. So, while the Cardinals elected a Pope, the whole world watched.
In San Damaso Court, near dusk, a bell clanged. Swiss Guards with flickering torches bustled through the corridors of the Vatican, looking for unauthorized intruders. "Extra Omnes!" cried a dozen masters of ceremonies—"Everybody out!" The heavy bronze door of San Damaso creaked shut. Six keys clicked in its locks, three on the inside turned by the Camerlengo of the Holy Roman Church, three on the outside by Prince-Marshal Ludovico Chigi Albani della Rovere. The papal flag was hauled down, the silken banner of the Chigi family hoisted in its stead. The conclave of 62 Princes of the Church, immured in the Sistine Chapel to elect the 262nd Pope, had begun.
For 18 hours, no sign from the conclave. Then, at noon, the first sfumata—a curl of smoke from the Sistine Chapel chimney —was seen. By the black smoke the watchers knew that no Pope had been elected during the two morning ballots.
About 5:30 p.m. a noisy, excited throng churned into St. Peter's Square in front of the Vatican. What brought the crowd running now was news of a second sfumata. This one, through some mischance, had been first white, then black. But the white smoke meant that there had been an election. The crowd heaved forward as an enormous cloth, bearing the arms of the papacy, was suspended from St. Peter's balcony. Above it appeared a violet-clad form—Cardinal Caccia-Dominioni. Dean of Cardinal Deacons. Into a microphone which carried his words to loudspeakers in the Square, and through Vatican Station HVJ to radio networks throughout the world, the Cardinal said slowly and deeply:
"Nuntio vobis gaudium magnum: habemus Papam. . . ." ("I announce to you a great joy: we have a Pope.") There was a cheer. He continued, spacing his words dramatically: "Eminentissimum ac reverendissimum dominum meum. . . ." ("My most eminent and most reverend lord. . . .") "Dominum Cardinalem Eugenium. ..." A roar rose from the Square, before the Cardinal could conclude: . . . "Pacelli, qui sibi nomen imposuit Pium Duodecimum." At this news that the new Pope, Eugenic Pacelli, Secretary of State and Cardinal Camerlengo, had taken the name of his predecessor and mentor, the crowd set up a hum and buzz. Then, as excitement gave way to pious fervor, the throng, with apparent spontaneity, burst into a hymn, Christus Vincit.