Papal interregnum

Pope Francis died in an elevator, Leo XIV elected twice?: The Backstory

The Santa Marta Version. With each death of a Pope, the backstories multiply: silences, cryptic hints, suggestions in purple. It is said of Holy Spirits descending to inspire conclaves, of cardinals gathered in prayer, while the Breath - as always - arrives from where no one expected it. But in the Vatican corridors, between the last breath and the white smoke, a gray interregnum often opens, made of waiting, maneuvers and omissions. That is where real power is played out. That is where even death, like the vote, is dressed in politics. There are Pontiffs who die among candles and psalms, in their own beds, surrounded by nuns, confessors and cardinals.

And then there are those who breathe their last elsewhere, in a vain race to the hospital. This is what seems to have happened to Pope Francis. An end without rituals, without official witnesses, incredibly without the Sacrament of Extreme Unction. And above all, sine veritate. At least until everything was diligently sorted out.

The official version reports that Francis passed away at 7:35 on April 21, 2025, in his room in Santa Marta. But from those rooms – now being dismantled and with Bergoglio's secretary already sent with suitcases in hand to the Domus Romana Sacerdotalis – in via Transpontina – different narratives are starting to filter through. The crisis would have manifested itself before dawn, with a rapid and irreversible worsening. Bergoglio’s personal nurse, Massimiliano Strappetti, allegedly tried in vain to take him to Gemelli. “The Pope must not die,” he apparently repeated like a litany. Then, nothing. Between the second floor and the ground floor, in a wheelchair in the elevator of Santa Marta, Francis dies. “The body with its face and hands wrinkled, perhaps from pain, discreetly brought back to the Papal room, was recomposed. Hands crossed, forehead serene. Or at least that’s how it was supposed to appear.

Thanatopraxy – the treatment for the temporary preservation of the body – did the rest. The official announcement will be made only two hours later, at 9:47, with the solemn voice of the Camerlengo, Cardinal Kevin Farrell, flanked by Parolin, Peña Parra and Monsignor Ravelli. But in those two hours, the “scene” had already been, as they say, “secured.”

Strappetti, from nurse to shadow master of ceremonies, finds himself the only filter between Francis and the world. The man who had slowly distanced the official doctors, now becomes the custodian of Francis's remains and the last secrets. Next to him, that morning, appears the ineffable Stefano De Santis, commissioner of the Vatican Gendarmerie, implacable accuser in the Becciu case. Shadow man of the pontifical rooms, manager of security and access. The two, in those hours, control everything and everyone.

And here begins the second act: that of the Holy Father's last wishes. In the previous months, while his health was visibly weakening, from the second floor of Santa Marta, surprising appointments, revocations and decisions continued to emerge. Cuban Bishop García Ibáñez, who seems to be very close to regimes of dubious orthodoxy, is promoted, to the disappointment of local communities.

Cardinal Kasujja is “elevated” in an almost honorific manner as a signal to African diplomacy. Entire Episcopates, such as the German one, are practically delegitimized. All this happened while Francis was less and less present in public, more fragile. And, finally, the dramatic turn of events.

We are on the third day of the General Congregations, before the Conclave: in the corridors, the only thing being discussed is the Becciu case. The cardinals are shown, by hand, a typewritten sheet, in pure lawyer style: three pages, without a heading, no protocol. Only a letter at the bottom: “F”. It states that Pope Francis, in a confidential manner, has excluded Cardinal Becciu from the Conclave. No canonical act, no handwritten signature. Becciu retires in silence and, perhaps, Prevost rewards him with one of his first audiences. As with John Paul II, so too with Francis, death was managed by a few and, probably in the time necessary to "reorganize" the dossiers.

Even Wojtyla, in his twilight, signed controversial appointments: he elevated his secretary Stanislaw Dziwisz to bishop, prepared the ascension of Marc Ouellet in the Curia, quickly canonized Josemaría Escrivá, shielding Opus Dei. The Saint of Wadowice was declared dead at 9:37 p.m. on April 2, 2005: that day, another series of episcopal appointments were attributed to him. But many say that he passed away at least an hour earlier. There too, the time of death was suspended to put things in order.

And finally, the last Conclave. Even for Leo XIV – with the Holy Spirit and the absolute secrecy of the Conclave excepted – fragments of truth are beginning to leak out regarding the results of the votes and the moment of the announcement. With the cardinals exhausted after the first appointment, a very long meditation on the Spirit and poverty of the Church, held by the Capuchin cardinal Raniero Cantalamessa, preacher emeritus of the Pontifical Household, created cardinal deacon without being a bishop, at his personal request, as he was already over eighty years old. The Sistine Chapel, without toilets, hosted more prostatic acrobatics than spiritual ascensions. From the first vote, however, everything seemed clear. Especially to the Secretary of State, Pietro Parolin, who stopped at about fifty votes: fifteen less than those promised. Prevost, a North American outsider, about twenty votes; followed by the conservatives' flagship candidate, the Hungarian archbishop Peter Erdo. The various Zuppi, Pizzaballa and the Filipino Tagle: not present.

For Prevost it was a heavenly walk with Parolin who immediately offered him his votes. There are those who imply that Prevost had already been elected Pope in the morning, but that he asked for a second, more choral vote in the afternoon. Before dressing in white, he returned to Santa Marta to write the speech on the "disarmed and disarming" peace that enchanted the world. A text read shortly after, already typed. Nothing improvised in the Sala del Pianto, once a temporary refuge after the election. Who knows if the one to deny these whispers will soon be the true probable new star of communication, Valentina Alazakty, a Mexican television journalist, who will soon take the place of that apocalyptic trio Bruni, Tornielli and Ruffini.

Only Heaven knows if all this is true. But in the Vatican, as we well know, the truth is rarely verifiable. And often, precisely for this reason, doubt is the only credible thing.

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