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After the blessing, with the bells of St. Peter's ringing loudly, the new Pope met the rising applause with a wave and a wide, yet almost shy smile. He withdrew, but three minutes later, at the insistence of the continuing applause, the new Pope appeared again. The 110 Cardinals, crowded together on the lateral loggias flanking the central balcony on the basilica façade, smiled happily. John Paul lifted his hands slowly in the papal gesture and smiled once again, this time more radiantly, less shyly.
As the news circled the world, most Catholics admitted knowing little about their new leader. London's Sunday Times headlined him as THE UNKNOWN POPE. "We have never heard of him here," said James Reuter, a leading Jesuit in the Philippines. But he added, "At least we are thankful it is not some of the others." In Little Rock, Ark., Bishop Andrew J. McDonald heard the news from a priest and was forced to look up Luciani in a church directory. The rapid decision, quipped the bishop, "just shows that the Holy Spirit is quicker than the speed of light."
The swiftness of the vote also caught the Vatican bureaucracy by surprise. Some of the Swiss Guards had to be rounded up from neighborhood cafes, and they finally mustered for an honor march across the square during John Paul's appearance on the balcony, but not—as is customary—before it. Vatican officials on the list of those who make the act of obedience to the Pope after the appearance were scattered, some at the beach. Such notables as Substitute Secretary of State Giuseppe Caprio scurried back just in time for Felici's announcement. They were not summoned into the Sistine Chapel for the obedience ritual, however. Like John XXIII, John Paul decreed that the Cardinals remain in sealed conclave overnight, presumably to hear the Pope's views or convey their own. The new Pope also announced that his coronation would be held on Sept. 3.
With the Cardinals still behind locked doors, Vaticanologists could only guess at how a long shot like Luciani had been thrust so suddenly into the most power ful position in Christendom, the leadership of the world's 700 million Roman Catholics. When Paul died at his summer villa in Castel Gandolfo three weeks ago, there seemed to be a front rank of about half a dozen contending Cardinals, a second echelon of another six or so, and a dozen or more dark horses. Not until about a week before the conclave convened did the Patriarch of Venice begin to emerge as a genuine possibility.
Then how did the required majority coalesce so swiftly? One observer explained it succinctly: "The foreigners," the 85 non-Italians, did not want a bureaucrat from the Curia but a man who, like John XXIII, had the warmth of a good pastor. In addition, almost all the Cardinals seemed to want a man who emblemized faith as well as hope and charity, one who, like Paul VI, had a deep concern for doctrine. Luciani fitted both bills. He was also ideal in another respect. The Cardinals are always uneasy at the prospect of a lengthy papacy—15 or more years—and the Patriarch of Venice is a 65-year-old who was sickly as a child and suffered a two-year siege of tuberculosis as a young man.