Fr. Nix Blog - Roma Today: "Bergoglio’s brainchild [Prevost]...was a landslide: 107 votes...poor Erdogan even asked not to be voted for again, but the hardline traditionalists had figured out the game and wanted to represent their dissent..only those who made a mistake didn’t vote for Prevost.”
Italian Papal News Translations...
... Italian Papal News Translations
The following two are Google Translations from the Italian to the English. The first comes from Archbishop Viganó and the second comes from a secular outlet called Roma Today. The bold emphasis found within each article below comes from me. I will reference both in an upcoming article...
...From Roma Today written in Italian in July 2025, translated to the English below.
Intra Conclavem (Between the Conclaves)
Rome still reverberated with the echoes of the celebrations for the inauguration of the first American Pope. The warm weather had opened the famous terraces, where Roman nobility—Catholic, Apostolic, and Papal—vied to welcome the powerful of the day. The cardinals, princes of the Church of Rome, were sought-after regular guests, fresh from the labors of the Conclave, always the center of attention of their hosts, never vulgar; tangible emblems of a silent, age-old power, and therefore accustomed to being unobtrusive. Their presence or absence alone was enough to define the reception.
The evening was warm and welcoming; from that terrace, Rome stretched out magnificent and imposing, millennia old and restless like an adolescent. A impertinent breeze did justice to a scorching day.
The dinner had been informal and pleasant; many of the guests had already returned home, bidding farewell to the hostess, lavish with compliments: about the house, the food, and the company. She had been as impeccable as a medieval lady of the castle.
He was sitting on a deckchair, his collar off, his crucifix in his shirt pocket, a glass in his hand, his legs crossed; the posture of complete relaxation. The week’s fatigue and the richness of the libations were taking their toll on his elderly but still athletic body. From his gaze fixed on the immortal panorama of the Imperial Forums, a satisfied smile seemed to be peeking out. Now or never, I thought. I grabbed my glass of cognac and approached him.
“Beautiful Rome, isn’t it?” I tried to break the ice, surprising him. “Especially when she’s sleeping!” he replied quickly, as if ready to ask: his legendary quick wit!
“Your Eminence, what were you thinking?” I insisted. “I was relaxing.” “If I bother you, I’ll leave,” I tried to say. “No! Stay,” he said with genuine good nature. So I took courage and pulled up a chair; I leaned back and crossed my legs too. I sipped a glass of that cognac and tried to give her a wide berth: “Great company tonight, truly a very pleasant evening.” “Yes,” he replied, without taking his eyes off the Roman Senate. “There’s nothing to say,” I tried to insist. “The ‘old guard’ always has its charm. The people here tonight represent that old ruling class, which expressed itself in refined Italian and didn’t limit itself to Facebook profiles. The world is changing, and I don’t know if it’s changing for the better!” “My dearest son,” he replied, “the world is changing, not just the ruling class; and it never changes for better or worse, it simply changes.”
“From this point of view, the Church of Rome doesn’t need to take lessons from anyone. It has an ability to read and respond to new times that no human structure has ever had. After all, it has two thousand years of experience,” I concluded, smiling. “Some say it’s the Holy Spirit,” he said. “Like in the Conclave. True, Your Eminence?” I tried to catch him off guard.
He started; he was settling into a banal discussion with easily discernible patterns; he hadn’t expected this digression. Following the start, he stiffened and looked at me for the first time, with a wary gaze. “Son, you’re not trying to get me excommunicated, are you? You know I can’t talk about the Conclave,” he scoffed, smiling. “Come on, Your Eminence! Since the Summi Pontificis Electio, only laypeople risk excommunication,” I said, spreading my arms and pulling back my chin with a smile.
He laughed heartily and slumped back in his chair.
I risked everything and pressed him: “Your Eminence, how did it go? Is it true that Parolin withdrew his candidacy? Is it true that the College of Cardinals wanted to find a more moderate candidate after Bergoglio?” “My dear son,” he said to me, “you just don’t understand: Prevost was Bergoglio’s only candidate. Even shortly before he died, that old Argentine stubborn man had called all the cardinals he could trust and told them: ‘Please remember: after me, it’s the American’s turn. A missionary, an Augustinian, he will be the best for the Universal Church.’”
“So why those votes for Parolin?” I tried to contradict him.
“On the first ballot, Prevost was already ahead of everyone, far ahead of everyone. The black smoke on the evening of May 7th arrived so late because that holy man, Monsignor Cantalamessa, had overindulged in his spiritual exercises. Prevost, as competitors, had to his left, led by the hyper-Bergoglians, those I call ‘Bergoglians despite Bergoglio and beyond Bergoglio,’ namely Parolin, and to his right, the traditionalists, led by Robert Sarah, rooted in Cardinal Erdo.”
“But why Prevost?” I asked.
“Because Bergoglio was very clear that after his pushback, a ‘normalizer’ was needed, someone who could reassure the Curia, even though he wasn’t a member of the Curia; someone who could reassure the progressives, even though he wasn’t a traditionalist; and finally, someone who could reassure the traditionalists, because he saw himself as a moderate. This last thing was what worried the old Pope most; he had a clear sense that, at a certain point in his pontificate, schism had actually come close. In short, someone was needed to unite, even a little gray, if you like, but after the fireworks, a little silence is good. Look,” he said, bringing his face closer to mine, “I’ll confess something to you, even the name, on that too I think the Argentine pampas had their say; they needed the name of a Pope of tradition, but also the first Pope who opened the Church to the modern world, the one of ‘Rerum Novarum’.”
“Who broke the deadlock?” I asked with intrusive curiosity.
“So you don’t understand! There was never an impasse! The other votes were only a few votes short. Only then, to put an end to the matter immediately, did Bergoglio’s most trusted man, Cardinal Jean-Claude Hollerich, coincidentally the Synod’s general rapporteur, Bergoglio’s brainchild, take action. Hollerich set things straight, and Parolin, at that point, declared his unwillingness to be elected. So it was a landslide: 107 votes. I believe poor Erdogan even asked not to be voted for again, but the hardline traditionalists had figured out the game and wanted to represent their dissent. In short, only those who made a mistake didn’t vote for Prevost.” And so he burst into a loud, liberating, and therefore also a little raucous, laugh. “And your position, Your Eminence, how were you positioned?”
I’ve been on Prevost’s side since the beginning. I know him and I share Bergoglio’s logic. He’s the best choice, certainly less flashy, but we need someone who can consolidate Francis’s ‘shoulders’, we need a Paul VI who can reassure and confirm. He, Prevost, is a worthy person, very serious, available, a missionary at heart. I have only one doubt about his physical condition; the Pope’s workload is terrible, but you’ll see, he’ll be able to organize himself around this too. Regarding John XXIII, a distinguished theologian, Hannah Arendt, wrote of him: ‘A Christian on the throne of Peter.’ I think this expression could also apply to Francis; while for Leo one could say: ‘A priest, on the throne of Peter.’ In short, that’s what’s needed in a historical period like this.”
“Well, of course, also as a geopolitical choice.” “Exactly, think about the relationship between an American and Trump. They were all ready to cry ‘Third World scandal’ with the election of an Asian, or worse, an African. The Argentine Jesuit had thought of that too and fooled them. Bergoglio was a genius!” “Yes, but now, if I understand correctly, everything is on ice. The whole dynamic set in motion by the Bergoglian revolution has come to a halt,” I objected.
“Quite the opposite, Bergoglio had realized he had reached the breaking point. In fact, he didn’t push any further on priestly celibacy, female priesthood, and other issues that have been the subject of doctrinal controversy for centuries. Now it’s a matter of consolidating the space he occupied, until the next pontiff, who will probably be an African and will take a further, decisive, final step forward. You’ll see that after Leo there will be a John XXIV,” he says smiling, “and then the Synod. That will be the spirit of Bergoglio who will remain in the Church to watch over Her.”
“I must say that this conversation paints a somewhat, shall we say, subdued profile of Prevost,” I added.
“It’s quite the opposite,” the cardinal became agitated. “He, Prevost, has the historic, almost mystical, task of keeping the Church of Christ united; Ut unum sint, non praevalebunt. Leo must represent the continuity of the mission. The Church’s mission works if it is in continuity with itself; it cannot depend on the characteristics of the Pope at hand; we must carry forward the mission assigned to us by Jesus, corresponding in our actions to a divine plan.”
I tried to ease the tension: “In short, on a mission on behalf of God, like the Blues Brothers, also from Chicago,” I said, laughing. “Exactly,” he concluded, laughing and relaxing again on the lounge chair.
“Your Eminence, shall we go?” a young priest, who had appeared from who knows where, almost whispered in his ear. “Yes, help me up, otherwise this young man will keep me here for another half hour,” he said with genuine good nature.
“Your Excellency, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I scoffed, mortified.
“Don’t worry, I only speak to whoever I want and only say what might leak out. I too am a humble worker in the Lord’s vineyard,” he said, winking at me as he leaned on his assistant.
Sollecita came up behind the hostess, who, offering him her arm, accompanied him to the door, asking for prayers and blessings, as well as thanking him for his presence, always precious and never banal. As he stood in the doorway, he turned and said to me: “Hey Helder, you write well, because you bear the name of one of the Fathers of the Church, someone who has been a source of reflection for all of us; someone whom Bergoglio considered one of his teachers.”
I smiled with satisfaction, and as he entered the elevator, I was struck by surprise: I was indeed certain that I had not introduced myself to him. My thoughts then returned to the role of the Holy Spirit, which evidently sometimes takes unexpected forms; probably some continue to believe that He really exists.
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