At first glance, the life story of Matthias Defregger would seem to be a German version of The Cardinal, that durable novel about clerical success. Born in Munich, he was a bright boy, the grandson of a successful 19th century Bavarian painter, the son of a well-known sculptor. Before World War II he studied philosophy at a Jesuit college. Drafted into the Wehrmacht, he was released from service in 1945 as a major, wearing the coveted Ritterkreuz (Knight's Cross). Then, at 31, Defregger decided to become a priest. He was or dained in 1949 and assigned to a small church in the Munich suburbs.
The young priest was a comer. In 1962, Julius Cardinal Döpfner appointed him vicar-general of the Munich and Freising archdiocese. Defregger proved to be a master administrator. During Döpfner's protracted visits to Rome for the Second Vatican Council, the stocky priest with the high intellectual forehead, the cool blue eyes and the gold-rimmed glasses began to seem the cardinal's alter ego. In 1968, the Vatican agreed that Defregger should be made a bishop. "With the gift of your heart and your intelligence," wrote Pope Paul VI in his accreditation, "you appear to us especially suited for your office."
Servant of All. For his motto, the new bishop chose Omnium servus (Servant of All). He worked as hard as ever, but carried his duties with a light bonhomie. In the evening he was frequently seen at the theater or concerts, and occasionally he indulged in a bit of mountain climbing. About the only excess that some Müncheners objected to in Defregger was the fondness he bore for his former military connections. He celebrated Mass for the annual reunions of his old army outfit, the 114th Jäger (Sharpshooter) division, and regaled them with rousing, nostalgic sermons. "What the dust of the Russian steppes, the fields of the Caucasus, what the bursting of the grenades have wrought," he once told them proudly, "will withstand the pragmatic materialism of our time." Last week, though, Defregger was rudely reminded of quite a different aspect of his military career. The German newsweekly Der Spiegel broke the story that shortly before his consecration, the Frankfurt Crimes Department had investigated Defregger on suspicion of wartime murder.
The case involved the little Apennine mountain village of Filetto di Camarda, 100 miles northeast of Rome. In 1944, Defregger was a captain in command of an intelligence company in the area. On June 7 of that year, Italian partisans had shot at least one German soldier in a radio transmitter unit of his company. According to Defregger's own account in Der Spiegel, there had been four victims, not one; the division commander retaliated by ordering the captain to "pick up 20 to 22 local men in the 20-to-50 age group and execute them." Eventually, 17 men, ranging from 17 to 65, were shot, and much of the village was burned.