The Election of Pope Pius XII

It's March 2nd, 1939, in the Vatican City. 63-year-old Eugenio Pachele stands in the narrow anti-chamber,

“leading to the balcony of St. Peter's Basilica. He straightens the cuffs of his new white”

Catholic smoothing the unfamiliar fabric at his wrists. The on-the-thick stone walls a vast crowd outside is growing restless. For two days, thousands of people have been watching a single chimney on top of the 16-chappel. They're waiting for the white smoke that will tell them that they have a new poof, but so far only black plumes have followed two inconclusive

rounds of voting. But now a third ballot has been counted. Majority has been reached and the

cardinals have chosen. The new poof will be Eugenio Pachele. And in the minute since, he has dawned his new frocks and chosen his new name. But as of yet, the world is still unaware

“of his election. From the anti-chamber, Pachele hears a crowd outside stir, but it's not”

a course of cheers, it's tentative, low swell of confusion spreading around the square. But Pachele remains calm. This has happened before. Sometimes the materials they use to produce the smoke

don't mix properly at first and it comes out darker than it should. But he knows all will

become clear soon enough. The sound changes and the uncertainty dissolves. The roar changes pitch. And Pachele smiles. The smoke is white. Footsteps pass behind him in the anti-chamber. The proto-deacon steps out onto the balcony and the noise outside surges again. But Pachele listens as the proto-deacon delivers the two anticipated words to the crowd. A Bemos Poppa,

“we have a poof. Pachele then smooths down the front of his Catholic one last time. In a few”

moments, he will become one of the most famous men in the world. After the proto-deacon finishes speaking, it will be a ogenio Pachele's turn to greet the crowd. He has chosen the name Pope Pius XII. But the decisions that will truly define his papacy lie head. As Europe moves closer to war, the Vatican will have to confront regimes determined to reshape the world. The choice Pius makes and the policies the church pursue will affect the lives of millions and be debated

for years to come. As one of the most significant papacies in the modern era begins on March 2, 1939.

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people and events that shaped our world. Today is March 2nd, 1939, the election of Pope Pius 12. It's June 1939 in Vatican City, three months after the election of Pope Pius 12. Pius sits at a broad desk inside the apostolic palace, reading through diplomatic cables. They arrive every day from Berlin, Rome, Paris, and Warsaw, and he reads them all carefully, but each carries the same

hostile powers. Italy is ruled by the fascist government of Benito Mussolini. In Nazi Germany,

thousands of priests and nuns have been arrested on trumped up charges, and the vast Soviet union is openly anti-religious. Vatican City is a tiny onclave of less than half a square mile in the heart of Rome with no army and no defenses. So Pius believes that if there is going to be war

“in Europe, then the only way to protect the church will be through neutrality and diplomacy.”

It's a conviction that has been shaped by years of experience. Ho-General Pachele was born into a Roman family with deep ties to the papacy. For generations, his family has worked as trusted lawyers and administrators for the Vatican. This upbringing,

shape Pachele's understanding of the church, and he came to think of it both as a spiritual authority

and a legal institution. So as a young man, he studied theology and law at the Pontifical University. His professor is marked him as disciplined, reserved, and intellectually formidable. He worked alone, he was careful, and precise, and these were strengths that would take him for. Pachele was ordained in 1899 at the age of 23. He rose quickly through the ranks at the Vatican, proving politically adept during periods of instability in the early 20th century.

He learned how the Vatican could best wield power in the modern world, not through force, but through negotiation. During World War I, Pachele worked behind the scenes on the Vatican's diplomatic efforts. The church refused to pick sides in the conflict. It declared itself officially neutral, and presented itself as a potential mediator between the warring nations. But it's still sometimes spoken out against indiscriminate violence, and from within the church, Pachele saw

how even mild public combinations could backfire. Statements meant to restrain violence sometimes hardened governments against the church, or even provoked retaliation. Catholic institutions were sometimes searched, clergy were harassed or detained. Efforts had moral clarity, often seemed only to close down opportunities for dialogue,

“to make a bad situation even worse. It was a lesson Pachele would never forget.”

1917, he was appointed as an ecclesiastical envoy in Germany. And during the 1920s,

he witnessed firsthand the country's recovery from the First World War, and then the beginning

of its descent into radicalism. As political authority fractured around him, he tried to negotiate agreements to protect the interests of the church, but he saw how quickly political instability could turn violent, and how easily old institutions could become targets if they spoke out unwisely. So by the time Pachele returned to Rome as Cardinal Secretary of State, his philosophy was well-established. Newtrality was not a retreat, it was a shield.

And now that he leads the entire Catholic church, this conviction continues to guide him. Only weeks after he became Pope, Nazi Germany annexed much of Czechoslovakia,

“and each day seems to bring Europe closer and closer to war. Catholics across the continent”

are looking to the Vatican for moral leadership, with many wanting the Pope to call out the perpetrators and forceful terms, and has remembers the past, and he hesitates. So instead of publicly pointing the finger at aggressors, or singling out leaders like Yadolf Hitler, he calls for peace, restraint, and dialogue. He appeals for all nations to respect treaties and human dignity. Even behind closed doors, he advises his bishops and officials

to manage relationships with secular authorities carefully. Consuliatory letters are sent to the fascist governments in Berlin and Rome, appeals are made to Catholic officials within Nazi territory. Polite requests are made to protect church institutions, prevent reprisals, and preserve channels of communication whenever possible. But if Pius hopes this will help avert war, he is mistaken. On September 1, 1939, Germany will invade Poland. Two days later,

Britain and France will declare war on Germany, and just six months into his papacy, Pope Pius' 12th will have to navigate a world increasingly consumed by violence. Many Catholics will implore him to speak out, and take action against the evil taking place in the world, but Pius will hold fast to his philosophy. He will put his faith in God and new reality.

It's just before dawn on October 16, 1943, in Rome, four years into World War II.

quarter. It's close to the Tiber River, and the air is damp with the smell of rod.

“Suddenly, the stillness of the city is disturbed by the low-rumble of engines,”

and a convoy of Nazi trucks grinds to a stop along the street ahead. The Vatican official ducks into a narrow doorway as soldiers fan out of the vehicles. Doors are struck by rifle butts, orders are shouted, house by house residents are forced into the street loaded onto the trucks and taken away. This isn't random, it's systematic, one building after another. The Vatican official doesn't state a want. It turns, moves quickly,

cutting through science streets, heading back toward Vatican territory. He's seen enough to grasp what's happening, and he knows where this information must go. Rome has been under German occupation for weeks after Italy tried to negotiate a separate piece with the Allies. Nazi forces seized control of the country, but the authority of eight off Hitler's troops stops at the border of the Vatican city. Within those walls, the Pope still rules.

“Within minutes, the Vatican official is back at the Atastalic Palace. He delivers his report”

directly to Pope Pius himself. The mass roundups have begun on their doorstep. By this stage of the war, whispers of Nazi atrocities have been reaching the Vatican for a long time. Diships have written from occupied territories, priests have described deportations and mass shootings. Reports from Eastern Europe have even spoken of camps designed for mass extermination. But Pope Pius has done little. In his Christmas message last year, he did decry the violence and

spoke of hundreds of thousands being killed because of their nationality or race, to some listeners the meaning was unmistakable, but to many others, it was still too evasive. What has changed now, though, is the proximity of the violence. It's not unfolding in the streets surrounding the Vatican walls, and Pius can no longer look away. He issues immediate instructions. Religious houses across Rome are to welcome anyone who arrives asking for protection.

No questions will be asked, and no records will be kept. The order is quietly spread across the city to churches, condiments, monasteries, and seminaries. And before nightfall, Italian Jews and refugees from elsewhere in Europe are quietly being welcomed through side doors, and ushered along hidden homeways. Every building, owned by the church has become a place of refuge, including the apostolic palace itself.

Some advisors press Pius to do even more, though. They argue that a public condemnation of the raid on the Jewish quarter might halt the deportations. It might force or strait. It might save lives. But others in the Vatican warn Pius that any public protest will only endanger the very institutions that are now sheltering Jewish families. In retaliation, German forces might storm the convents and monasteries. Clergy could be arrested. The network of hiding places Italy's

Jews now rely upon might collapse. And that's not the only threat. Pius believes his foremost studious pope is to safeguard the long-term survival of the Catholic church, a direct confrontation with the Nazi authorities could lead to the persecution of the church cross-occupied Europe,

and that's not a risk he's willing to take. So ultimately, Pius sticks to his old philosophy.

Publicly, he continues to speak only in general terms. He condemns the violence, mourn, civilian suffering, and repeats his appeals for peace. But yet again, he does not name Hitler directly, and he does not acknowledge that it is Jews who are being especially targeted by the Nazi regime. There is disappointment among Jewish leaders and allied governments. The Pius will not speak up more forceably. The Pius doesn't change his strategy.

“It's the only way he believes he can defend the church. But as the war goes on,”

and Germany's grip on Europe falters, attitudes toward Pius begin to harken. To a growing number of detractors, he is a moral authority who has withheld his voice at the very moment

it was needed the most, and when the war finally ends in 1945, those feelings will not fade away.

As the world begins to reckon, not only with what was done during the war, but what was not, the criticism will intensify. All the Vatican's wartime decisions will be examined, and Pope Pius 12 will stand at the center of the storm. The new church has been destroyed by the church's heart. The church has now been destroyed. The church has now been destroyed. The best way to test a church is to test a church.

The church has now been destroyed. The church has now been destroyed. The number of detractors, the Catholic and the Catholic Church have now been destroyed. But as long as the church has been destroyed, the church has been destroyed. It's Easter Sunday, 1946 in Vatican City, almost a year after the end of World War II. Pope Pius 12 stands at the high altar of St. Peter's Basilica, his hands raised and blessing.

Then he delivers his final blessing, Urbiet Orbi, to the city and to the world,

with this the mass draws to a close.

“In the months since Germany's surrender, the world has learned the horrifying truth about the scale”

of the Nazis' crimes, and Pope Pius' wartime decisions are now judged in a different light.

Only he will ever know how much he understood about the Holocaust while it was happening.

But without a doubt, he knew that millions of European Jews were being targeted by the Nazis, that mass violence against them was underway.

“Supporters argued that the Pope did as much as he could to help.”

They point to the thousands of lives, save through Vatican diplomacy, by the Catholic institutions that sheltered those in danger. They argue that silence was not in difference, but a necessary strategy in desperate circumstances. Critics remain unconvinced. They argue that moral authority carries its own obligation, and that allowing the Holocaust to proceed without challenge or criticism was a form of complicity.

The papacy of Pius XII will continue until his death in 1958.

But in the eyes of many, it will always be defined by his actions during the war.

They will become one of the most contested moral questions of the 20th century,

“with his public silence and secret diplomacy remaining controversial,”

in a way Pius could not possibly have imagined when he became Pope on March 2, 1939. Next, on history daily, March 3, 1934, the American bank robber John Dilinger makes a daring escape from prison. From Noisar and Airship, this is history daily, hosted edited and executive produced by Neil and Zigram, audio editing by Muhammad Shanti, sound designed by Molly Bond, music by Throne.

This episode is written and researched by Olivia Jordan, edited by William Simpson, managing producer Emily Burke, executive producers, are William Simpson for Airship, and has got huge for Noisar.