(See Cover)
By midmorning a crowd had filtered into St. Peter's Square and clustered beneath the windows of the Apostolic Palace. It was only the second day of voting by the 80 cardinals who had gathered there to name Pope John XXIII's successor.* But no one anticipated a long conclave—and the expectations were not wrong. At 11:22, smoke began billowing from the rickety metal chimney that led upward from the Sistine Chapel, where in a ceremonial stove the used ballots were burned. Twice the day before, a few puffs of white had first appeared, but then the smoke had turned a disappointing black—the signal that no Pope had been chosen. This time there was no mistake: the smoke was white—bella bianca. Moments later, the Vatican Radio, which during the 1958 conclave had twice broadcast premature election bulletins, joyfully confirmed the news.
Only six ballots had been needed; all Rome knew then that the election could only have gone to one man. Within an hour, the crowd in the square had swollen to more than 100,000, and every Roman street west of the Tiber was hopelessly snarled with traffic. When Alfredo Ottaviani, Secretary of the Holy Office and senior Cardinal-Deacon of the Sacred College, at last appeared on the central balcony of St. Peter's Basilica with a retinue of clerics, a vast roar came up from the crowd. "I announce to you tidings of great joy," he intoned hoarsely in Latin. "Habemus papam—we have a Pope. He is the most eminent and most Reverend Lord Cardinal Giovanni Battista . . ."
Ottaviani did not have to finish; with one voice the crowd shouted back the last name: "Montini! Montini!" Smiling broadly, Ottaviani completed his traditional announcement: ". . . who has taken the name of Paul VI." There were gasps and applause. Then, as the slight (5 ft. 10 in., 154 Ibs.), erect new Pope, his white-cassocked figure almost engulfed beneath a broad red stole, stepped out to give his first blessing to the city and to the world, he was greeted by a thunderous shout that welled up from the sea of waving handkerchiefs. His graceful, austere gestures reminded many of Pius XII. One reporter commented: "He looks like he's been Pope all his life."
"A Very Long Lead." Giovanni Montini, Cardinal-Archbishop of Milan, had entered the conclave a Pope—and defied tradition by coming out of it a Pope. He had been the odds-on favorite of journalists, clerics, and the betting population of Rome's cafés. He was, at 65, the right age. He was that all-but-impossible combination, a "liberal" Italian who was basically acceptable to both Curia traditionalists and non-Italian progressives. He had a desirable blend of ecclesiastical experience behind him: eight years in charge of Italy's largest diocese, following three decades of efficient, unobtrusive service in the Vatican's Secretariat of State.