position, about the possibility of which he was not in the smallest
doubt, knowing as he did his own agility and readiness with
expedients, he set to work to accomplish his undertaking. With
composure Stubenrauch now struck a light and kindled the candle.
When he had done this, he examined the interior of the vault, and
the coffins he found there, so as to select the right one. Those of
the Duchess Augusta and her husband the late Duke were very much
alike, so much so that the ruffian had some difficulty in deciding
which was the right one. He chose, however, correctly that which
seemed freshest, and he tore off it the black cover. Under this
he found the coffin very solid, fastened by two locks, which were
so rusted that his tools would not turn in them. He had not his
iron bar and other implements with him now; they were above on the
floor of the upper chamber. With great difficulty he succeeded at
length in breaking one of the hinges, and he was then able to snap
the lower lock, whereas that at the top resisted all his efforts.
However, the broken hinge and lock enabled him to lift the lid
sufficiently for him to look inside. Now he hoped to be able to
insert his hand, and remove all the jewellery he supposed was laid
there with the dead lady. To his grievous disappointment he saw
nothing save the fading remains of the Duchess, covered with a
glimmering white mould, that seemed to him to be phosphorescent. The
body was in black velvet, the white luminous hands crossed over the
breast. Stubenrauch was not the man to feel either respect for the
dead or fear of aught supernatural. With both hands he sustained the
heavy lid of the coffin as he peered in, and the necessity for using
both to support the weight prevented his profane hand from being
laid on the remains of an august and pious princess. Stubenrauch did
indeed try more than once to sustain the lid with one hand, that
he might grope with the other for the treasures he fancied must be
concealed there, but the moment he removed one hand the lid crashed
down.
Disappointed in his expectations, Stubenrauch now replaced the
cover, and began to consider how he might escape. But now--and now
only--did he discover that it was not possible for him to get out of
the vault into which he had fallen. The pole on which he had placed
his confidence was too short to reach to the opening above. Every
effort made by Stubenrauch to scramble out failed. He was caught in
a trap--and what a trap! Nemesis had fallen on the ruffian at once,
on the scene of his crime, and condemned him to betray himself.
Although now for the first time deadly fear came over him, as he
afterward asserted, it was fear because he anticipated punishment
from men, not any dread of the wrath of the spirits of those into
whose domain he had entered. When he had convinced himself that
escape was quite impossible, he submitted to the inevitable, lay
down between the two coffins and tried to go to sleep; but, as he
himself admitted, he was not able to sleep soundly.
Morning broke--it was Sunday, and a special festival at Coburg, for
it was the twenty-fifth anniversary of the accession of the Duke, so
that the town was in lively commotion, and park and palace were also
in a stir.
Stubenrauch sat up and waited in hopes of hearing someone draw near
who could release him. About 9 o'clock in the morning he heard steps
on the gravel, and at once began to shout for assistance.
The person who had approached ran away in alarm, declaring that
strange and unearthly noises issued from the Ducal mausoleum. The
guard was apprised, but would not at first believe the report. At
length one of the sentinels was despatched to the spot, and he
returned speedily with the tidings that there certainly was a man
in the vault. He had peered through the grating at the entrance and
had seen the door broken open and a crowbar and other articles lying
about.
The gate was now opened, and Stubenrauch removed in the midst of an
assembled crowd of angry and dismayed spectators. He was removed to
prison, tried, and condemned to eighteen months with hard labour.
That is not the end of the story. After his discharge, Stubenrauch
never settled into regular work. In 1836 he was taken up for theft,
and again on the same charge in 1844. In the year 1854 he was
discovered dead in a little wood near his home; between the fingers
of his right hand was a pinch of snuff, and in his left hand a
pistol with which he had blown out his own brains. In his pockets
were found a purse and a brandy bottle, both empty.
Jean Aymon.
Jean Aymon was born in Dauphiné, in 1661, of Catholic parents.
He studied in the college of Grenoble. His family, loving him,
neglected nothing which might contribute to the improvement of his
mind, and the professors of Grenoble laboured to perfect their
intelligent pupil in mathematics, languages, and history.
From Grenoble, Aymon betook himself to Turin, where he studied
theology and philosophy. But there was one thing neither parents nor
professors were able to implant in the young man--a conscience. He
was thoroughly well versed in all the intricacies of moral theology
and the subtleties of the school-men; he regarded crime and sin as
something deadly indeed, but deadly only to other persons. Theft
was a mortal sin to every one but himself. Truth was a virtue to be
strictly inculcated, but not to be practised in his own case.
His parents, thinking he would grow out of this obliquity of moral
vision, persisted in their scheme of education for the lad--probably
the very worst which, with his peculiar bent of mind, they could
have chosen for him. Having finished his studies at Turin, his evil
star led him to Rome, where his talents soon drew attention to him,
and Hercules de Berzet, Bishop of Saint Jean de Maurienne, in Savoy,
named him chaplain, and had him ordained, by brief of Innocent
XI., before the age fixed by the Council of Trent, "because of the
probity of his life, his virtues and other merits!"--such were the
reasons.
Shortly after his installation as chaplain to the bishop, his patron
entrusted him with a delicate case. De Berzet had lately been deep
in an intrigue to obtain a cardinal's hat. He had been disappointed,
and he was either bent on revenge, or, perhaps, hoped to frighten
the Pope into giving him that which he had solicited in vain. He
set to work, raking up all the scandal of the Papal household, and
acting the spy upon all the movements of the familiars of the court.
After a very little while, this worthy prelate had succeeded in
gathering together enough material to make all the ears in Europe
tingle, and this was put into the hands of the young priest to work
into form for publication.
As Aymon looked through these scandalous memoirs, he made his
own reflections. "The publication of this will raise a storm,
undoubtedly; but the first who will perish in it will be my patron,
and all who sail in his boat." Aymon noticed that M. de Camus,
Bishop of Grenoble, was most compromised by the papers in his hands,
and would be most interested in their suppression. Aymon, without
hesitation, tied up the bundle, put it in his pocket, and presented
himself before the bishop, ready to make them over to him for a
consideration. He was well received, as may be supposed, and in
return for the papers was given a living in the diocese. But this
did not satisfy the restless spirit of Aymon; he had imbibed a
taste for intrigue, and there was no place like the Eternal City
for indulging this taste. He was, moreover, dissatisfied with his
benefice, and expected greater rewards for the service he had done
to the Church. Innocent XI. received him well, and in 1687 appointed
him his protonotary. Further he did not advance. At the Papal Court
he made his observations, and whether it was that he was felt to be
somewhat of a spy, or through some intrigue, his star began to set,
when Aymon, too well aware that a falling man may sink very low,
suddenly fled from Rome, crossed the border into Switzerland, and in
a few days was a convert to the straitest sect of the Calvinists.
But the Swiss are poor, and their ministers are in comfortable,
though not lucrative positions. Holland was the paradise of
Calvinism, and to Holland Aymon repaired. Here he obtained a cure of
importance, and married a lady of rank.
But even now, Aymon was not satisfied. Among the Protestants of
the Low Countries there are no bishops, and no man can soar higher
than the pulpit of a parish church. Aymon was convinced that he had
climbed as high as he could in the Church of Calvin, and that he had
a soul for something higher still. His next step was extraordinary
enough. He wrote in December, 1705, to M. Clement, of the
Bibliothèque du Roi, at Paris, stating that he had in his possession
the "Herbal" of the celebrated Paul Hermann, in forty folio volumes,
and that he offered it to the King for 3200 livres, a trifle over
what it had cost him. He added that he was a renegade priest, who
had sought rest in Protestantism, but had found none--nay! he had
discovered it to be a hot-bed of every kind of vice, and that he
yearned for the Church of his baptism. He hinted that he had made
some discoveries of the utmost political importance, and that he
would communicate them to the King if he could be provided with a
passport.
Clement made inquiries of the superintendent of the Jardin-Royal as
to the expediency of purchasing the "Herbal," and received a reply
in the negative.
Aymon wrote again, saying little more of the "Herbal," and
developing his schemes. He said that he had State secrets to confide
to the Ministers of the Crown, besides which, he volunteered to
compose a large and important work on the state of Protestantism,
"full of proofs so authentic, and so numerous, that, if given to the
light of day, as I purpose, it would probably not only restrain all
those who meditate seceding from the Roman Church, but also would
persuade all those, who are not blinded by their passions, to return
to the Catholic faith."
Clement, uncertain what to answer, showed these letters to some
clergy of his acquaintance, and, acting on their advice, he
presented them to M. de Pontchartrain, who communicated the proposal
of Aymon to the King.
A passport was immediately granted, and Aymon left Holland,
assuring his congregation that he was going for a little while to
Constantinople on important matters of religion.
On his arrival in Paris, he presented himself before M. Clement,
to assure him of the fervour of his zeal and the earnestness of
his conversion. Clement received him cordially, and took him to
Versailles to see M. de Pontchartrain. In this interview Aymon made
great promises of being serviceable to the Church and to the State,
by the revelations he was about to make; but M. de Pontchartrain
treated his protestations very lightly, and handed him over to the
Cardinal de Noailles, Archbishop of Paris.
The conference with the cardinal was long. The archbishop addressed
a homily to the repentant sinner, who listened with hands crossed
on his breast, his eyes bent to earth, and his cheeks suffused
with tears. Aymon sighed forth that he had quitted the camp of the
Amalekites for ever, and that he was determined to turn against them
their own weapons. Clement, who was present, now stepped forward
and reminded the prelate that Aymon had abandoned a lucrative
situation, at the dictates of conscience, and that though he might,
of course, expect to be rewarded hereafter, still that remuneration
in this life would not interfere with these future prospects. The
cardinal quite approved of this sentiment, and promised to see what
he could do for the convert. In the meantime, he wished Aymon to
spend a retreat in some religious house, where he could meditate on
the error of his past life, and expiate, as far as in him lay, his
late delinquencies by rigorous penances. Aymon thanked the cardinal
for thus, unasked, granting him the request which was uppermost in
his thoughts, and then begged to be allowed the use of the Royal
Library, in which to pursue his theological researches, and to
examine the documents which were necessary for the execution of his
design of writing a triumphant vindication of the Catholic faith,
and a complete exposure of the abominations of Protestantism. M.
Clement readily accorded this, at the request of the archbishop, and
Jean Aymon was sent to the seminary of the Missions Etrangères.
Aymon now appeared as a model penitent. He spent a considerable
part of the night in prayer before the altar, he was punctual in
his attendance on all the public exercises of religion, and his
conversation, morning, noon, and night, was on the errors and
disorders of the Calvinist Church. When not engaged in devotions, he
was at the library, where he was indefatigable in his research among
manuscripts which could throw light on the subject upon which he was
engaged. Indeed, his enthusiasm and his zeal for discoveries wearied
the assistants. Clement himself was occupied upon the catalogues,
and was unable to dance attendance on Aymon; and the assistants soon
learned to regard him as a bookworm who would keep them on the run,
supplying him with fresh materials, if they did not leave him to do
pretty much what he liked.
Time passed, and Aymon heard no more of the reward promised by the
cardinal. He began to murmur, and to pour his complaints into the
reluctant ear of Clement, who soon became so tired of hearing them,
that the appearance of Aymon's discontented face in the library was
a signal for him to plead business and hurry into another apartment.
Aymon declared that he should most positively publish nothing till
the king or the cardinal made up to him the losses he had endured
by resigning his post in Holland.
All of a sudden, to Clement's great relief, Aymon disappeared from
the library. At first he was satisfied to be freed from him, and
made no inquiries; but after a while, hearing that he had also left
the Missions Etrangères, he made search for the missing man. He was
nowhere to be found.
About this time Aymon's congregation at the Hague were gratified by
the return of their pastor, not much bronzed by exposure to the sun
of Constantinople, certainly, but with his trunks well-stocked with
valuable MSS.
A little while after, M. Clement received the following note from a
French agent resident at the Hague:--
"Information is required relative to a certain Aymon, who says
that he was chaplain to M. le Cardinal de Camus, and apostolic
protonotary. After having lived some while at the Hague, whither
he had come from Switzerland, where he had embraced the so-called
Reformed religion, he disappeared, and it was ascertained that he
was at Paris, whither he had taken an Arabic Koran in MS., which
he had stolen from a bookseller at the Hague. He has only lately
returned, laden with spoils--thefts, one would rather say, which
he must have made at Paris, where he has been spending five or
six months in some publicity.... He has with him the Acts of the
last Council of Jerusalem held by the Greeks on the subject of
Transubstantiation, and some other documents supposed to be stolen
from the Bibliothèque du Roi. The man has powerful supporters in
this country.--March 10, 1707."
The "Council of Jerusalem" was one of the most valuable MSS. of
the library--and it was in the hands of Aymon! Clement flew to the
cabinet where this inestimable treasure was preserved under lock and
key. The cabinet was safely enough locked--but alas! the MS. was no
longer there.
A few days after, Clement heard that Aymon had crossed the frontier
with several heavy boxes, which, on inquiry, proved to be full of
books. What volumes were they? The collections in the Royal Library
consisted of 12,500 MSS. The whole had to be gone through. It was
soon ascertained that another missing book was the original Italian
despatches and letters of Carlo Visconti, Apostolic Nuncio at the
Council of Trent.
There was no time to be lost. Clement wrote to the Hague to
claim the stolen volumes, and to institute legal proceedings for
their recovery, before the collection could be dispersed, and he
appointed, with full powers, William de Voys, bookseller at the
Hague, to seize the two volumes said to be in the possession of
Aymon.
A little while after some more MSS. volumes were missed; they were
"The Italian Letters of Prospero S Croce, Nuncio of Pius IV," "The
Embassy of the Bishop of Angoulême to Rome in 1560-4," "Le Registre
des taxes de la Chancellerie Romaine," "Dialogo politico sopra i
tumulti di Francia," nine Chinese MSS., a copy of the Gospels of
high antiquity in uncial characters, another copy of the Gospels,
no less valuable, and the Epistles of S. Paul, also very ancient.
Shortly after this, two Swiss, passing through the Hague, were
shown by Aymon some MSS. which agreed with those mentioned as lost
from the Royal Library; but besides these, they saw numerous loose
sheets, inscribed with letters of gold, and apparently belonging to
a MS. of the Bible. Clement had now to go through each MS. in the
library and find what had been subtracted from them. Fourteen sheets
were gone from the celebrated Bible of S. Denys. From the Pauline
Epistles and Apocalypse, a MS. of the seventh century, and one of
the most valuable treasures of the library, thirty-five sheets had
been cut. There were other losses of less importance.
Whilst Clement was making these discoveries, De Voys brought an
action against Aymon for the recovery of the "Council of Jerusalem"
and the "Letters of Visconti."
Jean Aymon was not, however, a man to be despoiled of what he had
once got. He knew his position perfectly, and he knew the temper
of those around him. He was well aware that in order to gain his
cause he had only to excite popular passion. His judges were enemies
to both France and Catholicism, he had but to make them believe
that a plot was formed against him by French Papists for obtaining
possession of certain MSS. which he had, and which contained a
harvest of scandals and revelations overwhelming to Catholics, and
he knew that his cause was safe.
He accordingly published a defence, bearing the following
title:--"Letter of the Sieur Aymon, Minister of the Holy Gospel, to
M. N., Professor of Theology, to inform people of honour and savants
of the extraordinary frauds of certain Papistical doctors and of
the vast efforts they are now making, along with some perverted
Protestants, who are striving together to ruin, by their impostures,
the Sieur Aymon, and to deprive him of several MSS., &c."--La Haye,
dated 1707. Aymon in his pamphlet took high moral ground. He was
not pleading his own cause. Persecuted, hunted down by Papists, by
enemies of the Republic and of the religion of Christ, he scorned
their calumnies and despised their rage. He would bow under the
storm, he would endure the persecution cheerfully--for "Blessed
are those that are persecuted for righteousness' sake;" but higher
interests were at stake than his own fair fame. For himself he cared
little; for the Protestant faith he cared everything. If the Papists
obtained their suit, they would wrest from his grasp documents most
compromising to themselves. They would leave no stone unturned to
secure them--they _dare not_ leave them in the hands of a Protestant
pastor. Their story of the "Acts of the Council of Jerusalem" was
false. They said that it had been obtained by Olier de Nanteuil,
Ambassador of France at Constantinople, in 1672, and had been
transmitted to Paris, where Arnauld had seen and made use of it in
preparing his great work on the "Perpetuity of the Faith." They
further said that the Bibliothèque du Roi had obtained it in 1696.
On the other hand, Aymon asserted that Arnauld had falsified the
text in his treatise on the "Perpetuity of the Faith," and that,
not daring to let his fraud appear, he had never given the MS. to
the Royal Library, but had committed it to a Benedictine monk of S.
Maur, who had assisted him in falsifying it and making an incorrect
translation. This monk would never have surrendered the MS. but
that conscience had given him no rest till he had transmitted it to
one who would know how to use it aright. He, Aymon, had solemnly
promised never to divulge the name of this monk, and even though he
and the Protestant cause were to suffer for it, that promise should
be held sacred. He challenged the library of the King to prove its
claim to the "Council of Jerusalem!" All books in the Bibliothèque
du Roi have the seal of the library on them. This volume had three
seals--that of the Sultan, that of the Patriarch of Jerusalem, and
that of Olier de Nanteuil; but he defied any one to see the library
mark on its cover, or on any of its sheets. Aymon wound up his
audacious pamphlet by prophesying that the Papists of France would
not be satisfied with this claim, but would advance many others, for
they knew that in his hands were documents of the utmost importance
to them to conceal. Aymon was too clever for Clement: he had mixed
up truth with fiction in such a way that the points which Clement
had to admit tended to make even those who were not bigoted hesitate
about condemning Aymon.
Clement replied to this letter by stating the whole story of Aymon's
deception of the Cardinal de Noailles and others. With regard to
the "Council of Jerusalem," it was false that it had ever been
in a Benedicient monastery. "It is true," he said, "that in the
Monastery of S. Germain-des-Prés there are documents relating to
the controversies between the Catholics and Greek schismatics, but
they are all in French." He produced an attestation, signed by
the prior, to the effect that the MS. in question had never been
within the walls of his monastery. Clement was obliged to allow
that a Benedictine monk had been employed by Arnauld to translate
the text of the Council; he even found him out, his name was Michel
Foucquère; he was still alive, and the librarian made him affirm
in writing that he had restored the volume, on the completion of
his translation, to Dom Luc d'Achery. Clement sent a copy of the
register in the library, which related how and when the volume had
come into the possession of the King. It was true that it bore no
library seal, but that was through an oversight.
Aymon wrote a second pamphlet, exposing Clement more completely,
pointing out the concessions he was obliged to make, and finally,
in indignant terms, hurling back on him the base assertion made to
injure him in the eyes of an enlightened Protestant public, that he
had ever treated with the government or clergy of Paris relative to
a secession to the ranks of Popery. But that he had been to Paris;
that he had met the Cardinal Archbishop, he admitted; but on what
ground? He had met him and twenty-four prelates besides, gathered in
solemn conclave, and had lifted up his voice in testimony against
them; had disputed with them, and, with the Word of God in his
mouth, had put them all to silence! No idea of his ever leaving
the reformed faith had ever entered his head. No! he had been on a
mission to the Papists of France, to open their eyes and to convert
them.
The news of the robbery had, however, reached the ears of the King,
Louis XIV., and he instructed M. de Torcy to demand on the part of
Government the restitution of the stolen MSS. M. de Torcy first
wrote to a M. Hennequin at Rotterdam, who replied that Aymon had
justified himself before the Council of State from the imputations
cast upon him. He had been interrogated, not upon the theft
committed in Paris, but on his journey to France. Aymon had proved
that this expedition had been undertaken with excellent intentions,
and had been attended with supreme success, since he had returned
laden with manuscripts the publication of which would cause the
greatest confusion in the Catholic camp. Hennequin added, that after
having been deprived of his stipend, as suspected, on it having been
ascertained that he had visited Paris instead of Constantinople,
Aymon, having cleared his character, had recovered it. Such was the
first result of the intervention of Louis XIV. in this affair.
"The stamp of the Royal Library is on all the MSS., except the
'Council of Jerusalem,'" said Clement. "Let the judges insist on
examining the books in the possession of Aymon, and all doubt as to
the theft will be removed."
But this the judges refused to do.
It was pretended that Aymon was persecuted; it was the duty of the
Netherland Government to protect a subject from persecution. He had
made discovries, and the Catholics dreaded the publication of his
discoveries, therefore a deep plot had been laid to ruin him.
Aymon had now formed around him a powerful party, and the Calvinist
preachers took his side unanimously. It was enough to read the
titles of the books stolen to be certain that they contained curious
details on the affairs which agitated Catholics and Protestants from
the sixteenth century.