The day a papal funeral went badly wrong

In the voluminous annals of papal history, few tales are as grotesquely fascinating as the posthumous misadventures of Pope Pius XII, the Pope who led the Catholic Church through the tumultuous years of World War II and beyond. The reclusive and enigmatic Pius found that even in death, controversy and disaster would dog his heels.

As he was known before donning the papal tiara, Eugenio Pacelli had shepherded his flock through some of the darkest days of the war-torn 20th century. His illustrious reign saw the rise and fall of fascism, the horrors of the Holocaust, and the dawn of the Cold War. Yet, it was the spectacle of his death and its lurid aftermath that would provide a tragic footnote to his papacy.

On October 9, 1958, after an extended decline, Pope Pius XII breathed his last at Castel Gandolfo, the papal summer residence. The Washington Daily News, ever eager for a scoop, rushed to report the details of his passing and reflect on his 19-year tenure as the Supreme Pontiff.

Pius XII had been a figure of dignified solemnity, his ascetic features and piercing eyes a constant presence in the minds of the faithful. Pius's ambiguous stance during WWII, marked by silence on fascism and the Holocaust, led to controversy and criticism, yet the Catholic Church's efforts saved many Jews from persecution. In death, however, he was about to become the unwitting star of a macabre spectacle that would have made even the most decadent Roman emperor blush with mortification.

The trouble began with the Pope's personal physician, Dr Riccardo Galeazzi-Lisi. Despite wanting solitude and distance from the physician, Pius suffered unspeakable indignities. Dr Galeazzi-Lisi, due to his questionable associations, was able to avoid the presence of others during the Pope's final moments. In a swift sleight of hand that would make modern-day paparazzi seem positively restrained, the corrupt doctor decided that the best way to honour his venerable patient was to secretly photograph his final moments and sell the images to the highest bidder. The spirit of an opportunistic Judas hovered over the illustrious remains, accompanied by the ghostly rattling of thirty pieces of silver.

But Galeazzi-Lisi's outrageous betrayal didn't end there. Through a bizarre blend of arrogance and incompetence, he fancied himself an innovator in the field of embalming and decided to try out a new preservation technique on the papal corpse. This 'cutting-edge' method involved a liberal application of oils and resins wrapped in cellophane. I can only imagine Ballina's famed undertaker David McGowan shrieking in horror at this festering concoction. As can be imagined, things got a tad 'ripe'.

As any first-year embalming student could have predicted, circumstances and bodily juices flowed downhill rapidly. The Pope's body, far from being miraculously preserved, began to decompose at an alarming rate. The impromptu concoction accelerated the decomposition rather than halting the decay process; the oils and resins acted as some unholy marinade. No earthly incense could purify the air as cadaverine seeped into every nostril. Many papal guards fainted in proximity, the faithful filing past the papal body, briefly on display at Castel Gandolfo, retching and staggering from the stench.

Decomposition is the natural enemy of anatomy, and artful embalmers have been fighting this battle since ancient Egypt. But in this case, the battle was already lost and resembled more of a rout. The Pope's body was liquified faster than the wax candles surrounding the catafalque.

The Vatican, that bastion of tradition and decorum, now found itself in an unprecedented pickle. The customary nine days of mourning in the Vatican, during which the faithful would pay their respects to the deceased pontiff, loomed ominously ahead. But how can you display a body that was, to put it delicately, past its best-before date and in urgent need of burial?

In an audacious move that would have made Weekend at Bernie's look like an exercise in restraint, the Vatican decided to proceed with the public viewing. A wax mask was manufactured to cover the face, covering the sunken eyes, the detached nose, and the mouth stretched into a hideous Rictor grin.

But the worst was yet to come. As the Pope's body was being transported to St Peter's Basilica for burial, the heat and gases produced by the rapid decomposition reached what can only be described as a critical juncture. In a moment that again occasioned fits of fainting and retching in those unfortunate to be in proximity, the papal corpse... exploded.

The solemn procession of ages, all pomp and mournful glory, with incense wafting through the air, was punctured by a sound like a champagne cork popping at a New Year's Eve celebration. Pop went the Pope and down went several pallbearers.

The Vatican, displaying the kind of crisis management skills that would make a modern PR firm weep with envy, undertook urgent treatment to rescue the putrid remains before publicly displaying them. The Pope was then hurriedly interred in the grotto beneath St Peter's Basilica, ending one of the most bizarre and explosive funerals in papal history.

The fallout, however, was just beginning for Dr Galeazzi-Lisi, the architect of this fiasco, who found himself persona non grata in Vatican City. The scandal surrounding the "corrupt first doctor", who not only botched the embalming but also faced exile and disgrace for selling photos of the Pope after his death, highlighted the lack of accountability surrounding the pontiff's care.

This whole affair, as grotesque as it was, serves as a stark reminder of the humanity that lies beneath even the most exalted offices. Pope Pius XII, a man who had guided the Church through unprecedented world wars and societal change, grappling with questions of faith and morality on a global scale, was, in the end, subject to the same indignities as any ordinary mortal.

But it is also a testament to the papacy's power and the faithful Catholic's collective will to honour the Church that this incident didn't indelibly tarnish Pius XII's legacy. Indeed, in the intervening 66 years since his death, his legacy has been reassessed, and he is remembered for his saving of the Jews in Rome from the horrors of the Holocaust.

The papacy has changed much since Pius XII's days. The pomp and circumstance greatly diminished after Vatican II, with a new emphasis on transparency and accessibility. One can't help but wonder what the regal Pius would make of Pope Francis's Twitter account.

Ultimately, the tale of Pius XII's explosive exit reminds us that popes are mere flesh and blood beneath the robes and rings, the tiaras and titles. They live, die, and sometimes, embarrassingly, remind us of the absurdity of trying to cling to earthly glory through excessively ornate funeral rites.

We can only hope that the opportunistic Dr Galeazzi-Lisi found a new calling, as embalming was clearly not his forte. I have a whole new appreciation for the skills of David McGowan, our celebrated embalmer. When Ballina residents pop their clogs, they have popped their last.

In the grand scheme of things, the marvellous exploding pope incident is but a footnote in the long and storied history of the Catholic Church. But a footnote reminds us that human folly finds a way even in the highest echelons of spiritual power. And sometimes, that folly comes with a malodourous bang.

This unprecedented funereal mess, this potpourri of incompetence and avarice, speaks volumes about the culture of secrecy and deception that permeated the Vatican. This culture allowed a charlatan like Galeazzi-Lisi to operate with impunity, prioritise appearance over substance, and ultimately fail to uphold the dignity of the office he was charged to protect.

Of course, the papacy has evolved since 1960. The days of worldly papal states and temporal power are long gone, replaced by jet-setting pontiffs and impromptu interviews.

In recent years, the Vatican has moved towards simplifying papal funeral rites, with Pope Francis arranging for a more modest ceremony for himself. This shift reflects a broader trend towards humility and accessibility in the modern papacy, a far cry from the pomp, trapped gas and theatrics that characterised Pius XII's era.