Read The Nuns of Sant'Ambrogio: The True Story of a Convent in Scandal Online
Authors: Hubert Wolf
Then Kleutgen came to the point that lay at the heart of his frequent visits to the enclosed part of the convent: his relationship with Maria Luisa. He had never sought the company of this young nun of his own accord, he said; the requests for special pastoral assistance had always come from the convent and those in charge. He had only helped Maria Luisa through her supernatural travails because the abbess had asked him to. And in fact, he had often succeeded in healing her with his blessings. He saw this as conclusive proof of the “reality of the sickness.” Several times, Maria Luisa had had no pulse. She had been unconscious, and it seemed to him that she was being visited by heavenly beings. “There were a few occasions during these episodes when I remained in the convent not just overnight, but also the
following morning; in 1859 I stayed for several days at a time. This was not only to keep watch over her, but also because the nuns had begged me to, saying that the sister was only able to rise from her bed again thanks to my blessings. Even so, after the malady had vanished, it would sometimes return.”
Still, it was possible—the Jesuit slyly conceded—that he had given in to Maria Luisa and the abbess on too many occasions, when they requested his pastoral care and extraordinary blessing. Perhaps he had entered the enclosure too often for that reason. He should have found out more about what “the experts” had written on this topic: another of the learned theologian’s typical arguments. He claimed that in all the time he was there providing pastoral support, he had never knowingly violated the convent’s enclosure—though because “extraordinary things” were happening there, he should have been more careful.
Then the Jesuit turned to his relationship with Maria Luisa:
I come now to the main point of my confession, a testimony I cannot give without great embarrassment and bitter pain. I admit, to my shame, that in summer 1857 I kissed Sister Maria Luisa’s hands, her feet, face, mouth and heart—from the outside, through her habit—thinking that she was out of her senses. And while she was in that state, which to me seemed ecstatic, I also embraced her. In saying this, I am repeating the confession of guilt I have already made at the feet of the Savior. Before Him, I confess: 1. that I did not do these things with the intent to commit further acts obscene in nature; 2. that it was not impure passion which induced me to do this; 3. that I felt no immoral love and no affection for this person that would tend to be any kind of greatr confidentiality; 4. that these things I performed were acts of veneration, always done on my knees and with great reluctance; 5. that I honestly and firmly believed the sister was out of her senses, and that she was aware of nothing; 6. as a result, I never spoke about this with her; 7. finally, during the year in which these events took place, and in the two years following, my behavior when in the presence of, or speaking to, this or any other sister was never too free or overly familiar. I always conducted myself with due religious dignity and modesty.
As Kleutgen mentioned in the fifth point of his dossier, he performed these actions several times in Maria Luisa’s cell, as she was lying in bed, seemingly oblivious to them. But she had certainly not been naked: not only was she “modestly dressed,” she was also covered. The letters from the Virgin gave a “very clear” description of the exact form of “pastoral” assistance Maria Luisa required, and of the special “blessings.” Kleutgen believed he was simply fulfilling the will of heaven. It had of course been clear to him that the actions prescribed by the heavenly letters should “not usually be carried out because of the great danger” attached to them. “God would never normally have willed these things; but this was not only a special case, it was a unique case. The matter could be concluded within a short space of time, when the sister would enter a state of deep peace. And when this happened, these things did in fact cease.”
According to Kleutgen, this was the whole of the “sad story.” What he’d done might look erotic and sexual, but it was actually a special, unique form of pastoral care expressly willed by God. He had never experienced any sort of desire or lust: what he felt was more like “reluctance.” And now, as he added by way of conclusion, it was no longer for him to judge whether his had been an excusable error.
In the sixth point of his declaration, Kleutgen touched on Peter Kreuzburg.
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He admitted they had known each other for around twenty years. Kreuzburg had come to Rome in 1857 against Kleutgen’s will, even though he had written to the Americano saying he wasn’t able to care for him there. Before Kreuzburg even arrived on the Tiber, Kleutgen had asked Sister Maria Luisa to pray for him. And later, the Americano took it upon himself to go to Sant’Ambrogio and meet Maria Luisa there—which seemed to have a very good effect on his spiritual well-being.
Then the Jesuit brought up the letter that Kreuzburg had written in German, and which Katharina had translated for Maria Luisa. Kleutgen claimed he first learned of this letter’s existence from Cardinal Reisach in the fall of 1858. He denied that Katharina had informed him of its “indecent expressions, rudeness and deceit.” Maria Luisa had given him the letter, which he glanced over before burning it. This was Kleutgen’s attempt to stop the Inquisition accusing him of breaking the seal of the confessional. He was also denying the chronological—and therefore potentially causal—connection
between the obscene letter, Katharina’s outrage, and the start of Maria Luisa’s attempts to poison her.
Kleutgen concluded with the seventh point in his dossier, which concerned the character of the plaintiff. He said Reisach had informed him of Katharina von Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen’s plans for a cloistered life shortly after her arrival in Rome. She was adamant that she wanted to enter a Roman convent but, in view of her poor health, Kleutgen had been extremely skeptical from the beginning. Reluctantly, however, he had eventually suggested various convents in Rome: Torre di Specchio,
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the Salesian Sisters of the Ordo Visitationis, the Teresians,
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and Sant’Ambrogio. Kleutgen painted himself as the voice of reason, having always had his doubts about Katharina’s vocation and her determination to enter a convent. He had been against the princess’s acceptance into Sant’Ambrogio to the very last, but she enjoyed the highest level of protection in Rome, and he had finally had to accept the wisdom of his superiors’ decision.
The princess complained because I alone spoke out against it, while Their Eminences Patrizi and Reisach, and even her friends and relatives supported her, against expectations. I was reluctant to agree, for I could imagine the difficulties a person of her standing, her age and
nation
might encounter in that convent. I was also mindful of what some people had told me, and what I had observed myself: namely that, perhaps not by nature, but because of the many illnesses she had suffered, she had a vivid imagination and was highly sensitive. She was also not given to perseverance. Although Sister Maria Luisa claimed the princess had a true and firm vocation, I was worried for the princess because of Maria Luisa. I had no specific reason for this, but I knew that for such a lady as the princess, extraordinary occurrences—no matter how she interpreted them—could easily be problematic.
Kleutgen’s words exposed his defense strategy: he was suggesting that the princess’s testimonies and complaints were not to be taken seriously. Katharina was sick and hysterical; her mind was playing tricks on her. The next stage of his argumentation followed on from this: the poisoning attempts, too, were nothing but a figment of the ailing princess’s imagination. The Jesuit rejected any connection between
the administration of poisoned medicine and the start of Katharina’s serious illness on December 9, 1858. “Although the princess fell ill and suffered a congestion of the heart after she had taken some medicine, her illness should in no way be attributed to this medicine.” Her family had a history of weak hearts: the princess’s father had died of one, and many symptoms of the same illness had been diagnosed in her.
In his dossier, Kleutgen also named Maria Giuseppa, Giuseppa Maria, Maria Giacinta, and Maria Ignazia as witnesses who had raised accusations of poisoning.
And so, if everything seems to point to the fact that no poison was administered, there are also grounds for believing that the nuns I have mentioned were mistaken about this. The princess had expressed her suspicions
before
her illness, and those sisters knew it. In addition, these nuns have made various other claims which have proved to be untrue.… If I had not found that everything had been resolved two or three days later, I too would have been unsettled. But it seemed as though a storm had taken place, after which the community had returned to its usual state of perfect calm.
Eventually, he said, Katharina herself had also calmed down. However, the skirmishes taking place in Italy in the spring and summer of 1859 had sent her over the edge again. When she finally expressed her wish to leave the convent, nobody stood in her way. And as for the discussions in the convent about whether the devil had had a hand in the whole affair: well, Kleutgen had never taken an active part in them.
Kleutgen’s spontaneous statement addressed seven of the charges brought against him at the end of the informative process, down to the last detail. Only two charges remained: breaking the seal of the confessional, and
Sollicitatio
. There is no way the Jesuit could have composed his text without precise knowledge of what had taken place in the trial up to that point, including the testimonies of individual witnesses, and the charges being brought against him.
Of course, there was the theoretical possibility that, as the former confessor of Sant’Ambrogio, Kleutgen could have spoken to the witnesses during the informative process, which had lasted for more
than a year. There was evidence that he had done this in the case of the lawyer Franceschetti. It was, however, out of the question that he could have been in contact with any of the nuns. Since he had been stripped of his role as confessor, he was forbidden from ever entering Sant’Ambrogio again. But the fact that the Jesuit seems to have been familiar with every detail of the witness statements, and the charges the investigating tribunal were planning to bring against him, suggests he had read Sallua’s
Relazione informativa
of January 1861. This document contained a summary of the investigation’s findings—but it was top secret, meant only for the eyes of the Inquisition’s cardinals and consultors, and the pope. How had Kleutgen come by his information? Who had broken the
secretum sancti Officii
?
A CARDINAL BREAKS THE SECRET OF THE HOLY OFFICE
Theoretically, this could have been any one of around four dozen people: Pope Pius IX, the twelve cardinal members of the Inquisition, the thirty consultors and qualifiers, the commissary, his two deputies, the assessor, the fiscal, and the notary. They were the only people who had received a copy of the secretly printed
Relazione
. But as breaking the secret of the Holy Office would incur severe sanctions from the Church, up to and including excommunication, the document must have been leaked by somebody who was particularly indebted to Kleutgen.
The first people to spring to mind are the members of the Society of Jesus, who were known for their strong sense of solidarity during this period. And in fact there were two Jesuits in the 1860–1861 cohort of consultors: Cornelis van Everbroeck
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and Camillo Tarquini.
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Van Everbroeck had been a professor at the Collegio Romano since 1825, and a consultor of the Holy Office since 1836; Tarquini had also gained a professorship at the Collegio Romano in 1852, and had been a consultor since 1856. Both knew Kleutgen through his work in the Jesuits’ generalate.
Among the highest tribunal’s twelve cardinals, one is particularly suspicious: August, Count Reisach, whom Pius IX had made a cardinal member of the Inquisition specifically for this trial. It was Reisach
who had enlisted Kleutgen, under the name of Peters, as a confessor for Katharina von Hohenzollern, and had seen to it that the princess was placed in Sant’Ambrogio. It was Reisach whom Kleutgen had informed about the soup poisoned with alum. It was Reisach who, for this very reason, must have had an interest in his associate Kleutgen mounting the best possible defense, so that Reisach wouldn’t find himself in the firing line as well. Everything points to the German cardinal being Kleutgen’s informant, and possibly even letting him see a copy of the secret
Relazione
.
Sant’Ambrogio and Katharina von Hohenzollern weren’t Kleutgen’s only connections with Reisach. The Jesuit padre was, in fact, the German cardinal’s closest theological advisor. Reisach’s behavior as archbishop of Munich and Freising in Bavaria had made his position untenable, and in 1855, at the request of the Bavarian king, Pius IX promoted him away from Germany, making him a cardinal of the Curia. Reisach’s inflexible attitude to a pragmatic solution for the relationship between Church and state had brought him into conflict with the Bavarian government. He had also personally annoyed King Ludwig I
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with his anti-ecumenical attitude to the funeral ceremonies for the protestant Queen Karoline,
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Ludwig’s father’s second wife. On top of this, he was at odds with many of his fellow bishops. Reisach, who had been educated by the Jesuits in Rome, rejected the formation of a German conference of bishops in 1848, calling it an antipapal association. He saw this as a renewal of the German bishops’ self-confidence, and a move toward a new German national church.
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His fondness for mystical phenomena, in particular his dependence on the stigmatized seer Louise Beck, also met with opposition from the German episcopate.
But Reisach placed a large part of the blame for his deportation to Rome on the Munich church historian Ignaz von Döllinger and his theological friends. Döllinger was a former Ultramontanist who had become a liberal. Once in Rome, Reisach tried to exact revenge on them, doing his best to expose and silence their whole movement through indexing and other papal censures.