He accused Rudbeck of falsification.
At the sound of this serious allegation, both Jacob and Claes Arrhenius promptly removed their names from the approval. Outraged, Rudbeck demanded to be allowed to defend himself. Schutz, however, did everything he could to prevent Rudbeck from having this opportunity. He obtained, in fact, an official summons from the King’s Judicial Board for Public Lands and Funds, ordering Rudbeck to return every library receipt, bill, and document in his possession. Count Magnus Gabriel de la Gardie tried to protest, emphasizing that Rudbeck should at least be allowed access to the records to defend himself against the irresponsible charges of falsification. Nobody listened to the count.
Stormy sessions followed in the university council during the entire spring of 1684. Strong words were heard from both sides, shouting being perhaps a more accurate description. Each party presented its own version of the story, outlining the problems that had plagued the library over the last thirty years. This tense dispute culminated one year later, when Schutz sent two men over with orders to confiscate all of Rudbeck’s account books, and with permission to use force, if necessary. Undisturbed by their threats, Rudbeck tried to stall further, while one of his friends furiously made copies of everything for the defense. After a three-day standoff, Rudbeck finally handed over the books.
The whole complicated affair is perhaps best summed up by the Swedish historian who wrote its authoritative account: “It is completely impossible now to arrive at any certainty in the matter, but Schutz’s information did contain many mistakes, which Rudbeck had already pointed out.”
One thing is sure: had any information been found in the disputed accounts incriminating Rudbeck, official censure and punishment would have been the result.
But Rudbeck had been put on the defensive again, forced to answer many questions about his actions. He was, moreover, appalled by Schutz’s behavior. So was the chancellor, who was moved to write a letter to one of the king’s trusted advisers to complain about the problematic professor. As Count de la Gardie put it, Schutz had formed an alliance and basically usurped power on the council, pushing through policies at will. God, he said, had punished Uppsala with this theologian. Schutz regularly acted without the knowledge or approval of the council, not to mention bypassing the chancellor of the university.
De la Gardie’s comments probably reflect just as much his own frustration and anger, and bitter memories of Schutz’s disregard of the count’s nominal authority, as they do Schutz’s personality. Yet they were stuck with the difficult professor, and unfortunately it was this Professor Schutz who was actually next in line to take the rotating position of rector, one of the most powerful posts in the university. Give Schutz six months, De la Gardie feared, and he would bring the entire university of Uppsala into chaos.
Sure enough, as rector of the university, Schutz would have even more power when he joined Rudbeck’s old enemies Claes and Jacob Arrhenius. Zealous and articulate, Claes, now an aristocrat under the name Ornhielm, was enjoying greater clout and influence. His younger brother, Jacob, had been named treasurer of Uppsala University. He was an austere, ambitious official with an almost fanatical desire to trace problems back to Olof Rudbeck. What they decided to do about the library accounts came as a shock, a “thunderbolt to the unprepared council” and to a university clueless about their secretive planning.
The new rector and his treasurer had managed to secure royal authority to create an “Inquisition Commission” and launch a full-scale investigation of the university. Rudbeck and De la Gardie were bewildered at the king’s announcement, wondering along with the rest of Uppsala about the eerie sense of deja vu. Would this commission, led by its fiery “grand inquisitor” and meticulous number-cruncher out to reform the university, lead to a reenactment of the Liquidation Commission, with its hunger for scapegoats and its appetite for retribution?
SET TO BEGIN operation in the first month of 1685, the Inquisition was a three-man commission consisting of Rector Schutz, Treasurer Jacob Arrhenius, and a third figure in the background, Professor Wolf. Their expressed aims were to determine the causes of the distresses plaguing the university and to find some immediate solutions. Unofficially, insiders knew that their secret intention was to remove Olof Rudbeck from the scene. In establishing this powerful institution (and certainly without any idea of their intended target), the king had made it perfectly clear that full cooperation would be expected. Anyone who resisted the Inquisition’s authority would meet with a severe punishment that, according to the king’s letter, would serve as a warning to others.
With this enormous authority, largely without clear limits, and backed by the power of the absolute king, the Inquisition forced Olof Rudbeck to account for his early activities at Uppsala. No one else would be hounded like him. The commission demanded detailed accounts of events that, at the time, were almost thirty years in the past. Rudbeck answered with a long and considered testimony describing his earliest connections to the university, including his days as a student, his invitation to Queen Christina’s court, the royal scholarship to the Netherlands, and the circumstances surrounding the establishment of the botanical garden and anatomy theater. This defense was not the end but only the beginning of the ordeal.
Two weeks later the Inquisition Commission ordered an official explanation of Rudbeck’s work with the botanical garden: a full account of its budgets, its legal status, its benefits, and the use of its materials since its founding and association with the university. Drafted on February 14, the letter ordered Rudbeck to gather all the materials and deliver his defense to the commission no later than March 1.
This investigation of the botanical garden shows the emerging pattern. The Inquisition would issue a statement requiring Rudbeck to respond at great length to some very broad subject that took place many years in the past and sometimes stretched over a significant span of time. When Rudbeck’s defense arrived, almost invariably showing how much he had given of his time and services (and sometimes also materials), the Inquisition would pour over every sentence, and then, once again, issue another sweeping request, granting very little time to gather all the materials. Rudbeck’s many other activities at the university were also slated to be scrutinized:
Anatomy theater
March 3
Waterworks project
March 3
Exercise house
March 7
Community house
March 7
Factory and mill
March 9
New library
March 12
College of Antiquities building
March 19
As if the many demands and the early deadlines did not make the task hard enough, access to university records was denied. Access to the minutes of the council meetings was also forbidden. When Rudbeck asked for permission to use them between 7:00 p.m. and 6:00 a.m., when no official would need them, the commission refused this as well. Rudbeck declared, ironically, that if he could not vouch for the honor of the professors on the Inquisition, he would believe that they were trying to make him convict himself.
No matter how nonchalant he tried to be, the terrible stresses of the Inquisition took their toll on the aging professor. The work was grueling, and the threat, backed by royal decree, serious. Each of the thirteen investigations called for a long, detailed, and carefully written defense. To comply, Rudbeck had to spend almost every waking hour laboring at his desk. Moreover, an accident several months before, when a castle gate crashed down on his carriage, had triggered vertigo, causing him to suffer from periodic onslaughts of dizziness. For a man who had long seen enemies everywhere, real and imagined, his worst fears had come to life. He started to see his health fail, and sense that he was, again, in his last days, “every hour nearer to sickness and the grave.”
AS THE INQUISITION looked into every conceivable aspect of Rudbeck’s long relationship with the university, the front lines of the conflict were unexpectedly reopened elsewhere. Along with his elevation to the leadership of the university library, Professor Schutz was given another influential post:
