Eighty lead seals and the threat of excommunication for anyone who speaks out during the conclave

Voting takes place in the Sistine Chapel, and in Casa Santa Marta, people have breakfast, lunch, dinner, pray, and sleep. They even drink. A few days ago, it was revealed that a foreign cardinal — the anecdote was relayed by an Italian archbishop — believed the drinks in the minibar were free, and decided to invite other cardinals to his room. The next day, he checked the bill and found that, except for the sacred days of the conclave, which begins on May 7, the Santa Marta residence is what it is: a transit hotel for ecclesiastics visiting Rome and a sort of college for Vatican workers, although Jorge Mario Bergoglio decided to move there as soon as he was elected pope, to the surprise, scandal, and subsequent displeasure of the Roman Curia.

The decision to make Santa Marta the papal seat was never welcomed in the Vatican, and it is expected that Francis’ successor will return to the apartment in the Apostolic Palace, which has been empty since Benedict XVI — who lived there with a group of nuns and his personal secretary, the handsome Monsignor Georg Gänswein — decided to resign from the papacy. Bergoglio thought that by living in Santa Marta he would avoid feeling lonely and isolated, but in fact, it had the opposite effect: it isolated the Vatican from the pope.

In a few days, the question of Casa Santa Marta’s future will be resolved, but for now, some 70 Vatican workers are applying the finishing touches so that, starting Tuesday night and obligatorily on Wednesday, it will become the cardinals’ residence during the conclave, from where they will not be allowed to enter or leave until the smoke clears. It can be said that the building, managed by the Daughters of Charity of Saint Vincent de Paul, will be sealed off. To avoid suspicion among cardinals, the rooms have been drawn by lot from the outset, and some windows have been blacked out.

In addition to the physical protection provided by the 80 seals placed at all entrances to the conclave — as well as those on the two rooms on the first floor occupied by Francis, which will remain in place until a successor is appointed — is the oath of confidentiality that all those who will assist the cardinals or ensure the operation of the facilities have had to take, whether lay or religious. A clause that, beyond legal sanctions, could lead to excommunication, and which, on Monday afternoon, everyone swore to comply with in front of the Irish cardinal chamberlain, Kevin Joseph Farrell. No one was omitted, from those assisting at Mass to the doctors, cleaners, and kitchen staff.

Absolute secrecy

Secrecy must be absolute regarding everything that has to do “directly or indirectly” with the vote. Of course, cell phones are prohibited, and the only possibility of returning home will depend on whether the smoke is white. To achieve this, as Archbishop Ignazio Sanna, papal commissioner for the Abbey of Farfa (Rieti), said a few days ago, “the cardinals will have to reach an agreement sooner or later, because the Holy Spirit inspires, but does not vote.”

What is clear, if you walk around the Vatican — with special attention paid to bars and restaurants — is that mourning for Pope Francis has already passed and now what occupies conversations is who his successor could be, in addition to the confidences and jokes emerging from a vigil that would already be starting to drag on if it weren’t for some cardinals, especially Italian ones, adding spice to the matter.

The most celebrated anecdotes — to the point of being scenes from a Paolo Sorrentino film — are those of Archbishop Anselmo Guido Pecorari, who at 79 no longer aspires to enter the conclave, but does enjoy parading around Rome with cardinals from the four corners of the globe. And then, of course, recounting all. From the innocent anecdote of some artichokes shared with Cardinal Mario Zenari, apostolic nuncio to Syria — “you can’t find artichokes like that there” — to the one about the cardinal with the minibar, or, undoubtedly the best, the one starring Spanish Cardinal Santos Abril. “He’s passionate about tennis,” Archbishop Pecorari told journalist Fabrizio Caccia, “but he hates losing, so he came up with a trick: when the match is going badly, he signals to his assistant, who a few seconds later enters the court and interrupts him, telling him he has an urgent phone call, so the set is saved…”

The Italian cardinals, the Italian press, and Italians in general, are convinced that after three foreign popes — Karol Wojtyla (Poland), Joseph Ratzinger (Germany), and the Argentine Jorge Mario Bergoglio — it’s time for the next pontiff to be Italian. They don’t assume to add “a proper pope,” but it’s clear they think so.

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