As we write this, the eyes of the world are turning to Vatican City, wondering who will be elected as the next pope. This also comes at a time when the movie Conclave has created fresh interest in the mysterious process used to choose the successor of St. Peter.

The papal conclave — that sacred, mysterious, and sometimes borderline sitcom-worthy ritual in which the College of Cardinals picks the next pope — is packed with more strange traditions, political intrigue, and culinary sabotage than a season of Game of Thrones. But unlike Westeros, this drama comes with incense, Latin, and a much stricter dress code.

Our Commonplace Fun Facts Research Department has risen to the challenge to bring you the quaint, curious, and sometimes-comical behind the scenes moments from the past few centuries of conclaves. So pull up a pew, grab your thurible, and don your scarlet robe as we dive into the most bizarre and delightful trivia about papal elections throughout history.

Let’s Start with the Basics: What Even Is a Conclave?

If you’ve ever been stuck in a group project that dragged on so long you started considering cannibalism as a productivity incentive, congratulations — you’ve had a tiny taste of what a papal conclave used to be like.

“Conclave” comes from the Latin cum clave, meaning “with a key.” It refers to the cardinals being locked up (literally) in a room until they pick a new pope. Nothing says, “Make a prayerful decision guided by the Holy Spirit” quite like being sealed in a room under threat of starvation and public embarrassment (more about that later). At least they still have access to the Vatican’s ATMs (assuming the cardinals are reasonably fluent in Latin, that is).

After the death (or resignation) of a pope, the College of Cardinals gathers in the Sistine Chapel. They vote in secret — and repeatedly — until someone gets a two-thirds majority. Then they break out the white smoke, the bells ring, and Vatican souvenir stands rejoice.

The Longest Conclave: 33 Months of Cardinal Camping

If you’ve ever thought modern office meetings were torturous, just be glad you’re not a 13th-century cardinal stuck in Viterbo. After Pope Clement IV died in 1268, the cardinals gathered to elect a new pope — and then collectively forgot how to make decisions. Days turned into months. Months turned into years. It took thirty-three months (1,006 days), for the cardinals to get the job done.

The residents of Viterbo, understandably miffed at the ongoing papal procrastination, decided to apply a little architectural motivation. They locked the cardinals in, then tore the roof off the building — a very literal way of saying, “You’re not leaving until you pick a pope, and we’re done supplying you with a ceiling.”

Still no pope? Fine. They slashed the food rations to bread and water. At this point, it was less conclave and more Survivor: Vatican Edition. The strategy worked. In 1271, Pope Gregory X was finally elected, and one of his first acts was to put some formal rules in place so future conclaves wouldn’t be at the mercy of the public.

He issued Ubi Periculum in 1274, the papal bull that established the formal rules of the conclave — including locking the cardinals up to restrict outside contact. It also decreed that future conclaves would get one meal a day after three days of voting, and nothing but bread, water, and wine after eight.

At least they got to keep the roof.

So the next time your group project runs long, you might consider ditching the roof and cutting back on the snacks. If it worked 750 years ago, it might work again.

The Shortest Conclave: Blink and You’ll Miss It

At the other end of the holy spectrum sits the 1503 conclave, which elected Pope Julius II. The cardinals had waited the required ten days after Pope Pius III’s death (who, by the way, reigned for a whopping 26 days), then convened… and elected Julius within hours. That’s faster than most people can get through airport security.

To be fair, Julius II had been campaigning for the job like it was American Idol. When your nickname is “The Warrior Pope” and you have Michelangelo on speed dial, you probably don’t need multiple rounds of voting.

Papal Conclaves Gone Wild: The “You Can’t Make This Stuff Up” Files

Do you think that everything that happens in the Vatican is always dignified, orderly, and filled with solemn prayer and sacred chants? If so, you obviously aren’t familiar with the Cadaver Synod, when one pope dug up the body of his predecessor and put him on trial. When it comes to papal conclaves, history has blessed us with a series of catastrophes, divine curveballs, and ecclesiastical entertainment that prove the Holy Spirit sometimes moves in mysterious — and delightfully dramatic — ways.

1378: One Pope, Two Popes, Red Pope, Blue Pope

The election of Pope Urban VI seemed like a good idea… until he actually started pope-ing. He was so aggressively reform-minded (read: infuriating) that many of the cardinals who elected him changed their minds and picked another pope, Clement VII. Thus began the Western Schism, a 39-year period where two (and at one point, three!) men all claimed to be the one true pope. It was basically the papal version of a bad group text that no one could leave.

1314: Welcome to Avignon, Where Nothing Happens

When Pope Clement V died, 23 cardinals gathered to elect his successor — and promptly got stuck in a deadlock that lasted two years. The French king finally got fed up and moved the whole papacy to Avignon, kicking off a 70-year stretch of popes living in France. It’s like moving the White House to Cleveland because Congress couldn’t decide on lunch.

1241: Storm the Fortress!

When Pope Gregory IX died, the Roman Senate — worried the Holy Roman Emperor might influence the conclave — locked the cardinals in an ancient Septizonium (No, that’s not an expensive prescription drug to prevent obnoxious snoring — it was drafty ruin with medieval plumbing). Food was lowered in buckets, and one cardinal died during the process. This was less “choose a pope” and more “survive the escape room.”

1799–1800: Napoleonic Nonstarter

Thanks to Napoleon’s tour of “Let’s Invade Everything,” the cardinals were forced to hold their conclave in Venice, not Rome. They elected Pope Pius VII, who then had to get the Emperor’s permission to return to the Vatican. Nothing screams “spiritual independence” like asking your captor for a ride home.

1903: The Emperor’s Veto

Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph wasn’t vibing with Cardinal Rampolla becoming pope, so he used the ancient — and soon abolished — jus exclusivae (right of exclusion) to block him. The cardinals were like, “Fine,” and elected Pius X instead. Although he personally benefitted from the emperor’s interference, Pius realized the veto probably wasn’t in the long-term best interests of an institution that claimed to be independent of worldly political power. He abolished the veto forever — or at least until a successor decides to bring it back.

Conclave or Culture War?

In 1644, the French and Spanish factions within the College of Cardinals nearly came to blows over the election. Spain wanted a friendly pope; France wanted literally anyone else. Tempers flared, alliances shifted, and in the end, Pope Innocent X emerged. After all, sometimes chaos can be a form of discernment.

If all of this has you wondering whether “papal conclave” is just Latin for “dysfunctional group chat,” rest assured — the Holy Spirit works in mysterious, and occasionally theatrical, ways.

The Birds and the Bees: Papal Elections Edition

When it comes to papal elections, divine signs have occasionally taken flight—literally. Let’s delve into two such instances where nature’s messengers played a pivotal role in the selection of the Holy See.

The Dove’s Descent: Pope Fabian’s Unexpected Elevation (236 AD)

In the year 236 AD, the Christian community of Rome was embroiled in deliberations to elect a new pope. Amidst the debates, a layman named Fabian, who had journeyed from the countryside, stood among the crowd. Suddenly, a white dove descended from above and perched upon his head. This unexpected event was reminiscent of the Holy Spirit’s descent upon Jesus during His baptism, as described in the Gospels. Interpreting this as a divine sign, the assembly unanimously acclaimed Fabian as the new Bishop of Rome. His election marked a period of relative peace for the Church, allowing for organizational reforms and the appointment of regional deacons. Fabian’s papacy lasted until 250 AD, when he was martyred during the Decian persecution.

The Buzz of Power: Pope Urban VIII and the Barberini Bees (1623 AD)

Fast forward to 1623 AD, the papal conclave faced the sweltering Roman summer as cardinals convened to elect a successor to Pope Gregory XV. Amidst the heat and political maneuvering, Cardinal Maffeo Barberini emerged as a compromise candidate, garnering support from various factions. According to legend, upon his election as Pope Urban VIII, a swarm of bees—emblematic of the Barberini family crest—was said to have entered the conclave, symbolizing divine approval. Urban VIII’s papacy was marked by significant patronage of the arts and sciences, with the Barberini bees adorning numerous architectural works across Rome, including the famed Baldachin in St. Peter’s Basilica.

Youngest and Oldest Popes: From Teen Pope to Senior Shepherd

John XII — What Could Go Wrong When You Give Unchecked Power to a Teenage Boy?

Pope John XII takes the prize for youngest pope, having been elected at the tender age of 18 in 955. Because what says “ready to lead the largest religion in the world” like still struggling with acne and out-of-control hormones?

John XII did not make a good name himself during his papacy. We suspect you will not be particularly shocked at learning that giving unchecked power to a teenage boy without any kind of accountability or restraints went about as well then as it would today.

Liudprand of Cremona gave the following account of John at the Synod of Rome in 963:

Then, rising up, the cardinal priest Peter testified that he himself had seen John XII celebrate Mass without taking communion. John, bishop of Narni, and John, a cardinal deacon, professed that they themselves saw that a deacon had been ordained in a horse stable, but were unsure of the time. Benedict, cardinal deacon, with other co-deacons and priests, said they knew that he had been paid for ordaining bishops, specifically that he had ordained a ten-year-old bishop in the city of Todi … They testified about his adultery, which they did not see with their own eyes, but nonetheless knew with certainty: he had fornicated with the widow of Rainier, with Stephana his father’s concubine, with the widow Anna, and with his own niece, and he made the sacred palace into a whorehouse. They said that he had gone hunting publicly; that he had blinded his confessor Benedict, and thereafter Benedict had died; that he had killed John, cardinal subdeacon, after castrating him; and that he had set fires, girded on a sword, and put on a helmet and cuirass. All, clerics as well as laymen, declared that he had toasted to the devil with wine. They said when playing at dice, he invoked Jupiter, Venus and other demons. They even said he did not celebrate Matins at the canonical hours nor did he make the sign of the cross.

Depending on the source, John XII’s papacy ended when he was deposed in December 963 or upon his death in May 964. Either way, the circumstances of his death seem to be a fitting end to the lifestyle he pursued throughout his papacy. He met his end when he was thrown from a window by a jealous husband.

Celestine III and Celestine V: When Metamucil Was Part of the Sacraments

On the opposite end of the cradle-to-crosier spectrum, we have the elderly Celestine III (1191-1198) and Celestine V, both pushing 85 at the time of their elections. While today’s popes tend to be more in the “retired college professor” age range, these guys were already eligible for their second miracle — just by getting out of bed in the morning.

Despite his advanced age, Celestine III managed to serve a respectable 7 years before dying. Celestine V, on the other hand, didn’t fare quite as well. He was installed as pope in July 1294 and died just five months later.

Papal Plot Twists: The Non-Cardinal Surprise

The last time someone snagged the papacy without first being a cardinal was Urban VI in 1378. He was just a humble archbishop of Bari — a modest background for a guy whose election would spark the Western Schism, a decades-long mess featuring rival popes and ecclesiastical drama that makes reality TV look tame.

Since then, the Church has stuck to cardinals. No offense to the rest of us, but if you’re not already wearing red robes and speaking fluent incense, your chances of getting the job are slightly less than being chosen for the next moon mission.

Papal Refusals and Divine Deferrals

Contrary to what you might think, getting elected pope isn’t like winning a golden ticket to the Vatican version of Willy Wonka’s factory. You don’t get showered with Swiss Guard confetti and retire to a jacuzzi in St. Peter’s Basilica. In fact, some of the most saintly and respected figures in Church history saw the papacy not as a prize, but as a burden—one they’d rather pass on like a hot thurible. Yes, it’s entirely possible to be elected pope and say, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Let’s take a look at a few of history’s most notable would-be popes who either declined the job outright or had to be practically dragged into the papal office like a teenager to a family reunion.

St. Charles Borromeo – The Cardinal Who Said “Nope” to the Miter

St. Charles Borromeo (1538–1584), a powerhouse of the Counter-Reformation, Archbishop of Milan, and general clerical overachiever, was one of the most frequently considered papal candidates of his time. But when talk of his potential election heated up, Borromeo didn’t break out the papal vestments. Instead, he begged the Holy Spirit to “take this cup away from me.” He preferred to shepherd his diocese rather than ascend to the papal throne, choosing pastoral care over pontifical power. Imagine a guy being offered the keys to the Vatican and saying, “Nah, I’m good with Milan.”

St. Philip Neri – The Apostle of Rome Who Preferred Paradise

Then there’s St. Philip Neri (1515–1595), the joyful, eccentric, and wildly beloved priest of Rome who responded to papal overtures by, quite literally, running away. Proposed multiple times as a candidate, Philip treated the prospect of becoming pope with the same enthusiasm most of us reserve for surprise dental surgery. His standard response to ecclesiastical promotions? “I prefer Paradise.” Honestly, same.

Cardinal Giuseppe Siri – The Papacy’s Greatest “What If”

And then we have Cardinal Giuseppe Siri (1906–1989), affectionately known in some circles as the “uncrowned pope.” Siri was the Archbishop of Genoa and a heavyweight in the 20th-century traditionalist movement. Rumors—and let’s be clear, they are just that—suggest he may have been elected pope twice but declined the honor due to outside pressure or a deep personal conviction that he wasn’t the man for the job. Whether myth or truth, Siri became a symbol of those who view the papacy not as a promotion, but as a profound act of self-sacrifice. Kind of like being nominated for Employee of the Month and quietly sweeping the certificate under the rug.

We can’t help but wonder if he had accepted the election, whether we’d be speaking into our phones, saying, “Hey, Siri,” or “Hey, Your Holiness”.

So, yes—it’s possible to say no to the papacy. And judging by these examples, sometimes the greatest sign of spiritual maturity is realizing you’re not called to sit in the big chair under the baldacchino. After all, even Jonah tried to run away from responsibility… and look how that turned out.

Fun Facts from the Holy Smoke Files

• The famous white smoke/black smoke signal? It wasn’t standardized until 1903. Before that, people often misread the signals and mistakenly announced new popes. Imagine CNN going live with “Habemus Papam!” only to backtrack minutes later because someone burned the wrong paper.
• Pope Pius XII, during WWII, left a note for the cardinals instructing them to hold a conclave and elect a new pope if he was taken prisoner.
• The papal conclave is one of the only institutions in the world where not only is voting compulsory, it’s done without campaigning, speeches, or public platforms. Well, no campaigning during the voting, that is. What happens in the hallways between votes is another story.
• The Sistine Chapel is swept for bugs (electronic, that is; they’re still open to another visitation by heaven-sent bees) before each conclave to ensure no leaks. The idea of a secretive group of elderly men outwitting international surveillance is both comforting and mildly hilarious.
• Until 1978, every pope for 455 years was Italian. That streak ended with the election of John Paul II, who was Polish. His election was such a surprise that bookmakers lost a lot of money and newspapers scrambled to find someone who spoke Polish in under an hour.

Conclave Cuisine: No More Bread and Water

While the cardinals today are still “locked in” during conclaves, they no longer need to worry about dining like medieval prisoners. They stay at the Vatican’s Santa Marta hotel and eat cafeteria food that, while no Michelin star contender, beats roofless fasting in Viterbo. Still, if you hear complaints about the coffee, blame Gregory X’s legacy.

Final Blessing

Papal conclaves are a rare blend of solemnity, secrecy, and spectacle. They combine centuries-old traditions, unexpected twists, and just a hint of divine drama. Whether it’s roofless hunger strikes, teen popes, or smoke-based announcements, conclaves have managed to stay as fascinating as they are sacred.

So the next time you see white smoke billowing from the Sistine Chapel, take a moment to reflect not just on the gravity of the moment — but also on the fact that somewhere, a group of cardinals is silently thanking God they got to keep the roof over their heads this time.

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