Hiding horses, cows, Badoglio's sedan--and Jews: Basilica SS. Quattro Coronati and the Strange Career of Pius XII

SS. Quattro Coronati sits perched on a narrow road.

In Rome's "overlooked churches" category, we offer the lovely Basilica Santi Quattro Coronati, perched on a narrow street between San Giovanni in Laterano and the Coliseum. Overlooked perhaps because it's too near both of those as well as the much more popular (with tourists) Basilica San Clemente, and because the public can see only a fraction of the Augustinian convent complex that encompasses the church. I've always felt a tie to it because it was on one of my routes to the hospital where my broken shoulder was repaired in 2009.

The small courtyard beyond the public entrance doesn't
give one a feel for the beauty of the complex.

A few years ago I found a rather dated article (2008) describing how the nuns of the convent hid Jews from the Fascists and Nazis in World War II, under - according to the article - orders from Pope Pius XII. Knowing a bit about the controversy surrounding Pius XII's road to sainthood, I checked the article more and noticed (for the first time) that its venue was "30 giorni" ("30 Days") and, per my trusted source, Wikipedia, that 30 giorni was an Italian  monthly magazine of ecclesiastical geopolitics that [was] widely read in the Roman Curia. It existed between 1988 and 2012..." and "fully reflected the politics of Vatican diplomacy." 

Recently, we reviewed the documentary, "Syndrome K," about Jews hidden in the Ospedale Fatebenefratelli on Isola Tiburina in Rome during the Fascist/Nazi era. We questioned, in that review, the statements of a representative of the US Holocaust Museum defending the pope's (in)actions during the rounding up of the Roman Jews as attributable to realpolitik. That is, the Vatican viewed itself as  incapable of helping the Jews in any significant way by its fear that the Germans would bomb, raid, or even occupy Vatican City. [We also published in RST, earlier in 2020, an excerpt from one of the brave hospital doctor's books, here.]

I was skeptical of the 30 giorni article's claim of the Pope's order, for several reasons, including the clearly biased source. I was also influenced by an excellent talk we heard in Los Angeles, by the Italian historian Guri Schwartz, then visiting at UCLA, titled, "The ‘Myth of the Good Italian’: Origins and Evolution," which we wrote about on RST in 2014, here.

In addition, I had read in the past several books by David I. Kertzer,  a renowned historian of 20th-century Italy. We wrote a post, in 2016 here, on his Pulitzer Prize winning book, "The Pope and Mussolini," [about the predecessor Pius XI]. Another of his works is "The Popes Against the Jews: The Vatican’s Role in the Rise of Modern Anti-Semitism" (2001). [More below about Kertzer's work in the newly - 2020 - opened Vatican archives.]

Pius XII - photo from The Times of Israel with
the caption: "Documentary confronts cost of
Pope Pius XII's 'Holy Silence'
during Holocaust."

In response to my query about the claim in the 30 giorni article, Kertzer recommended Susan Zuccotti's 2002 book: "Beneath His Very Windows: The Vatican and the Holocaust in Italy." Zuccotti's critical analysis of documents from the Vatican archives, which were expurgated before being opened somewhat in those years (in what looks like an attempt to defend Pius XII), is unrelenting in drawing the conclusion that Pius XII and the Vatican were sorely lacking in words, actions, and moral authority. According to Zuccotti, had the Pope exercised moral leadership, thousands of lives could have been saved. 

Photo from 30 giorni article,
captioned "Two nuns in the cloister
of  the Santi Quattro Coronati in a photo
 from the early ’forties."
[They are small figures in
the back right, visible
with their white bib collars.]

At the same time, Zuccotti concludes in the last sentence of her book, "In Italy, at least, large numbers of priests, nuns, monks, and Catholic laypersons risked their lives to save Jews with little guidance from the pope." Those "large numbers" include, clearly, the Augustinian nuns of Santi Quattro Coronati. The 30 giorni article cites the number of 17 Jews being harbored in Santi Quattro Coronati, based on a 1961compilation by noted Italian historian Renzo De Felice. Zuccotti, while offering respect to De Felice, deconstructs his statistics, pointing out convents he missed, and the fact that some of the grand totals may be duplicates: Jews who moved from one hiding place to another (as did the Jews in Ospedale Fatebenefratelli). 

De Felice, she points out, "published an impressive list of 100 female convents" (and other male-operated monasteries, schools, etc.). These, she notes, were out of 1,120 religious institutions for women in Rome. "Given that surprisingly large number, the statistics of 100 female convents….that sheltered Jews become less impressive….What is certain is that we will never really know [the number]."

Despite its suspect history, the 30 giorni piece provides other insights into SS. Quattro Coronati. "In a large area next to the garden the nuns hid no less than eleven cars, including that of Marshal Pietro Badoglio, the head of the Italian military government, who had fled from Rome the day after 8 September [1943, when the post-Mussolini Italian government signed an armistice with the Allies and the Germans moved in to occupy Rome]. And then seven mares, four cows as well…" An aerial view of the complex shows how it had room for all these vehicles, animals, and people.

The Mother Superior at the time, whose words are paraphrased by another nun to comprise the "facts" of the article, "was in constant contact with Antonello Trombadori, a Communist party leader and head of the Armed Partisan Groups in Rome, and with many other opponents of Nazi Fascism." This detail is interesting because the popes were virulently anti-Communist. They preferred Nazism and Fascism (with which they felt they could negotiate) to anti-religious Communism. It's hard to believe Pope Pius XII ever approved of contact with Communists.

I will look differently at lovely, peaceful, seemingly small Santi Quattro Coronati when I return to Rome, thinking about all that went on behind its walls, and the raging controversy to which it is still contributing.

Dianne

A note on David I. Kertzer's work: the Vatican opened more of its archives in early 2020, just before Covid shut down or severely limited research everywhere. [Interesting Washington Post article headline: "Pope Pius XII was silent during the Holocaust. Now Vatican records may reveal whether he collaborated with the Nazis."] With the help of an Italian researcher, Kertzer was able to publish a lengthy article in The Atlantic, based on the newly opened archival material. The article tells the story of two French Jewish boys, hidden by Catholics and baptized, and the struggle to return them to their Jewish relatives. The story bears many similarities to Kerzer's superb book, "The Kidnapping of Edgardo Mortara," which we found so riveting, and so helpful in understanding Italian politics in the 19th century (as the country was being liberated from the popes), that we've given it to many people.

The 1943 Rome epidemic, that wasn't

Isola Tiburina, location of the Fatebenefratelli hospital

The "partisan card" for Giacomo Cesaro,
father, Giuseppe, who shared this story.
Issued by the "Ministry of Occupied Italy,"
it shows the older Cesaro was a
member of the "Justice Freedom" brigade.

The story that follows appears in Pietro Borromeo's book, Il giusto che invento' il morbo di k. (Fermento Editori, 2007). Pietro is the son of Giovanni Borromeo, a protagonist in the events described. Giuseppe Cesaro, chief of the press office of ACI (the Italian AAA), and a writer, shared the story with family on April 25, a day celebrating the 1945 liberation of Italy from the German occupation.  It is reprinted here--in English translation, followed by the Italian version--with permission.

[Update 4 May 2021 - this invented disease also is known as "Syndrome K" in English, and is the subject of a new documentary of the same name, with a release date of 1 June 2021 in the US.]

During the Second World War in [occupied] Rome, there was a terrible epidemic of an unknown and dangerous illness.

Isola Tiberina with its Fatebenefratelli Hospital.

It was known as "disease of K," it had very serious symptoms, and was extremely contagious, but thanks to the intuition of three exceptional doctors (Giovanni Borromeo, Adriano Ossicini and Vittorio Sacerdoti), there was not a single fatality. All those who were sick, put in isolation in a pavilion of the Fatebenefratelli Hospital, were miraculously saved, as were the doctors and nurses, notwithstanding that the "disease of K" was extraordinarily contagious.

It all began on the 16th of October, 1943, the "black Saturday" of the Roman ghetto, when the [Nazi] SS conducted a horrendous roundup, forcing 1024 people, among them hundreds of children, to board the trains of horror headed for the death camps at Auschwitz.

Dott. Giovanni Borromeo

However, some succeeded in avoiding the Nazis and saving themselves [from the trains], seeking refuge on Tiberina Island, where the courageous doctor Borromeo, head of the hospital, decided to shelter them all--almost one hundred. It was obviously necessary to compile medical records for these special patients.  And so the three physicians, in particular Vittorio Sacerdoti (who, because he was a Jew, had already been victimized by the [1938] racial laws and was working at the hospital under a false name, protected by his supervisor, Borromeo), imagined a horrendous illness, devastating and highly contagious, the "disease of K," with the "K" referring to Kesselring, the ruthless Nazi official--or, according to other sources, Kappler, the inhuman Rome persecutor.

Those taken in--the fake sick--were put in a special ward, in isolation.

On the evening of October 16, 1943, when the Nazis arrived to search the hospital, they found the three doctors--Borromeo, Ossicini and Sacerdoti--with masks covering their faces, extremely worried about the scope of this unexpected and dangerous epidemic.  The Nazis--there was a doctor among them--demanded to see all medical records, but, when asked by Doctor Borromeo to visit the sick in person, were fearful of this terrible "disease of K" and preferred, instead, to leave. 

And so all the sheltered, pretend patients were saved from the Nazi horror.

But the story does not end there.

Borromeo, Ossicini and Sacerdoti continued to help Jews  and partisans on a daily basis. They installed a hidden radio transmitter in the basement of the hospital in order to stay in contact with other partisans and with Radio London. They declared the pretend patients deceased from the "disease of K" and procured false documents to allow them to flee, exposing themselves to great risk in a sad historical moment in which denouncements to the Germans were the order of the day and the hospital was swarming with spies.  

These three courageous physicians did not retreat before the horror and the fear, because, as Adriano Ossicini continued to assert in interviews after the war,  "One must seek to be on the side of what is right, always."  

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Durante la seconda Guerra Mondiale a Roma ci fu una terribile epidemia di una malattia sconosciuta e pericolosa. 

Si chiamava morbo di K., aveva sintomi molto gravi ed era estremamente contagiosa, ma grazie all’intuizione di tre medici eccezionali (Giovanni Borromeo, Adriano Ossicini e Vittorio Sacerdoti) non ci fu nessuna vittima. Tutti i malati, messi in isolamento in un padiglione dell’Ospedale Fatebenefratelli, si salvarono miracolosamente e così anche i medici e infermieri, nonostante il morbo di K. fosse molto contagioso.

Iniziò tutto il 16 ottobre 1943, il “sabato nero” del ghetto di Roma, quando le SS fecero un orrendo rastrellamento costringendo 1024 persone, tra cui centinaia di bambini, a salire sui treni dell’orrore per andare a morire ad Auschwitz. 

Qualcuno però riuscì a evitare i nazisti e a salvarsi, cercando rifugio proprio sull’isola Tiberina dove il coraggioso dottor Borromeo, primario dell’ospedale, decise di ricoverarli tutti, quasi un centinaio. 

Ovviamente bisognava compilare una cartella clinica per questi pazienti speciali. E così i tre medici, in particolare Vittorio Sacerdoti (che in quanto ebreo era già stato vittima delle leggi razziali e lavorava sotto falso nome all’ospedale, protetto dal primario Borromeo), immaginarono una malattia orrenda, devastante e contagiosa, il Morbo di K., dove la K. indicava in realtà Kesselring, lo spietato ufficiale nazista, o secondo altre fonti, Kappler, il disumano persecutore di Roma. 

I finti ricoverati furono messi tutti in un reparto speciale, in isolamento.

La sera del 16 ottobre 1943, quando i nazisti arrivarono a perlustrare l’ospedale, trovarono i tre medici, Borromeo, Ossicini e Sacerdoti con delle mascherine sul volto, preoccupatissimi per lo scoppio di questa improvvisa e pericolosa epidemia. I nazisti allora pretesero di vedere tutte le cartelle cliniche, dato che c’era anche un medico tra loro, ma alla richiesta del dott. Borromeo di andare a visitare personalmente i malati, ebbero paura di questo terribile morbo di K. e preferirono andarsene. 

E così tutti i finti malati ricoverati in isolamento si salvarono dall’orrore nazista.

Ma la storia non finisce qui. 

Borromeo, Ossicini e Sacerdoti continuarono quotidianamente ad aiutare ebrei e partigiani. Installarono una radio ricetrasmittente clandestina negli scantinati dell’ospedale per restare in contatto con gli altri partigiani e con Radio Londra, dichiararono morti proprio per il morbo di K. i finti pazienti e procurarono loro documenti falsi per farli fuggire, esponendosi così a grandi rischi, in un triste momento storico in cui le delazioni ai tedeschi erano all’ordine del giorno e l’ospedale pullulava di spie.

Questi tre medici coraggiosi non arretrarono davanti all’orrore e alla paura perché, come non smetteva di raccontare nelle interviste dopo la guerra Adriano Ossicini: “Bisogna cercare di essere dalla parte giusta, sempre”.

(Pietro Borromeo, figlio di Giovanni Borromeo ha raccontato questa storia nel libro: Il giusto che inventò il morbo di k. Fermento Editori, 2007)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 During the Second World War in [occupied] Rome, there was a terrible epidemic of an unknown and dangerous illness.

It was known as "disease of K," it had very serious symptoms, and was extremely contagious, but thanks to the intuition of three exceptional doctors (Giovanni Borromeo, Adriano Ossicini and Vittorio Sacerdoti), there was not a single fatality.  All those who were sick, put in isolation in a pavilion  of the Fatebenefratelli Hospital, were miraculously saved, as were the doctors and nurses, notwithstanding that the "disease of K" was extraordinarily contagious.

It all began on the 16th of October, 1943, the "black Saturday" of the Roman ghetto, when the [Nazi] SS conducted a horrendous roundup, forcing 1024 people, among them hundreds of children, to board the trains of horror headed for the death camps at Auschwitz.

However, some succeeded in avoiding the Nazis and saving themselves, seeking refuge on Tiberina Island, where the courageous doctor Borromeo, head of the hospital, decided to shelter them all--almost one hundred.  It was obviously necessary to compile a medical record for these special patients.  And so the three physicians, in partuclar Vittorio Sacerdoti (who, because he was a Jew, had already been victimized by the [1938] racial laws and was working at the hospital under a false name, protected by his supervisor, Borromeo), imagined a horrendous illness, devastating and highly contagious, the "disease of K," with the "K" referring to Kesselring, the ruthless Nazi official--or, according to other sources, Kappler, the inhuman Rome persecutor.  

Those taken in--the fake sick--were put in a special war, in isolation. 

On the evening of October 16, 1943, when the Nazis arrived to search the hospital, they found the three doctors--Borromeo, Ossicini and Sacerdoti--with masks covering their faces, preoccupied by the scope of this unexpected and dangerous epidemic.  The Nazis--there was a doctor among demanded to see all medical records, but, when asked by Doctor Borromeo to visit the sick in person, were fearful of this terrible "disease of K" and preferred, instead, to leave. 

And so all the sheltered, fake patients were saved from the Nazi horror.

But the story does not end there.

Borromeo, Ossicini and Sacerdoti continued to help Jews  and partisans on a daily basis.  They installed a hidden radio transmitter in the basement of the hospital in order to stay in contact with other partisans and with Radio London.  They declared the pretend patients deceased from the "disease of K" and procured false documents to allow them to flee, exposing themselves to great risk in a sad historical moment in which the accusations of the Germans were the order of the day and the hospital swarming with spies.  

These three courageous physicians did not retreat before the horror and the fear because, as Adriano Ossicini reccalled in an interview after the war,  "One must seek to be on the side of what is right, always."