EGIDIO OF COIMBRA—1597 A.D.

The rumor came to Frei Egidio In cloistered Santa Cruz, that out of Spain King Philips secret courier had fared With orders under seal suspending all The statutes of Coimbra that controlled The contests for the prefessorial chairs, And ordering the Faculty to grant Padre Francisco Suarez primacy Among the masters theological. And Frei Egidio, whose ancient name Fonseca was relinquished when at court It shone its brightest, who had ceaseless toiled His score of years in cloister and in schools, Unravelling knotty texts, disputing long With monk and doctor of the Carmelites, Dominicans and Trinitarians, Consulting with the students, visiting, Fawning and banqueting—himself and all His faction in the University— Now in the iron mandate from Madrid Saw failure blight his hopes, and Santa Cruz Eclipsed, through imposition unforeseen Of Suarez de Toledo—only half A monk!—a fledgling doctor in the Schools!— And Frei Egidio unsleeping schemed To check the rising of this Spanish star Within Coimbra,—and his henchmen went Stealthy and sure to sow malignant seed To choke the Hapsburg’s new autocracy. Stately was Frei Egidio, robust, Swarthy and smooth his cheek; his raven locks Piling about his tonsure in a crown. Dark flashed his eye whene’er he rose to cast His syllogistic spear across the lists, Where many a mighty crest Minerva-crowned Was forced to yield, or learnt the rapier thrust Of his distinguo and non-sequiter. Still more he shone when in procession moved The doctors, masters, and licentiates, With tufted caps, and rainbow gowns, and stoles, And ring, and book across the steeps and squares, While gallant youths pressed round on horse or foot Holding his robe or stirrup through the town— The Catedratico da Vespera. But now this little shrivelled man sent out From Salamanca,—Philip’s paragon!— To rule Coimbra in theology!— One of Loyola’s strange and restless band In the Collegio de Jesus,—reproach To every gorgeous doctor in the halls. ’Twas true he hid away within his house, Came seldom to the festival or Acts, Nor oft asserted his high presidence O’er Frei Egidio—in craft or scorn, It mattered not—for Frei Egidio Would pluck him forth; no signet of the King Could serve him here; the doctors of the Schools Should learn how he, Fonseca, had been wronged. With formal placards soon they smeared the walls Of shrine and college, telling day and hour And place, where Doutor Frei Egidio Da Presentacao, of the Eremites Of Sao Agostinho, titular Da Vespera, would his conclusions hold “De Voluntario et Involuntario” Against all-comers, and imprimis there, The Doutor Padre Suarez, titular Da Prima of Coimbra, theologue Of the Collegia and Compania De Jesus. From near and far they came, And took their stated rank, and filed Into the Hall of Acts; the Chancellor And Rector in their robes of silk, and fur, And velvet, and great chains and seals of state; The Bishop, and Inquisitor, and Dean, And Chapter, in their purple; Canonists In green; and Jurists in their scarlet gowns; Frei Luiz of the Chair of Holy Writ, In black and white of the Dominicans; Frei Manoel of the Chair of Scotus, garbed In white and brown of Carmel; titulars In Peter Lombard and Durandus,—sons Of Bernard, Francis and Saint Benedict. When each in order of his ancientry Was seated in the tribune, and below Ranged the licentiates, and bachelors, And, out beyond, the thousand students,—gay In plumes and ruffs, or rags and disrepair,— There entered Bacharel Frei Constantino Citing the obligations; whereupon Egidio began his argument With exposition and arrangement clear, And summary abrupt and crushing, as His old experience in the courts had taught,— So free in tone and doctrine that the throng Swayed on their benches, beating noisily Great tomes together like the roll of drums. Then silence for Suarez’s quodlibet; As half-reluctant, without emphasis, His cold unwavering voice proposed the plan Of his objection,—When uproarious Upon the instant, Frei Egidio In tones of thunder shouted o’er the hall,— “Nego majorem!”—the scholastic world’s Unmitigated insult! How would he, Spain’s boasted theologian, reply To Portugal’s? The Jesuits around Suarez’s rostrum marvelled, whispered, turned, And hid their faces, when they saw him bowed Silent a moment, ere descending, calm, He led them home across the jeering town. Then the mad acclamations; bells of shrine And monastery on the hills; the sweep Of robes prelatical, the cavalcade Of gorgeous nobles into Santa Cruz; The blare of trumpets, and the lanterns strung Yellow beneath the moon; the beggar throngs; The maskers down the lanes; the nightingales And river-songs of students wafted far Across Mondego’s Hills of Loneliness And Meditation where Coimbra slept. Thus triumphed Frei Egidio. But high In the Collegio de Jesus the blow Was red on every cheek; the Rector rose In the community and said: “Padre Francisco, not in fifty years have we In our Coimbra known such sore defeat; Tell me, I pray, had you no thought to save Your honor and the honor of our schools— You, boast of Rome and Salamanca’s halls.— You, to whom all the dialectic arts Have been as play—could you not parry, feint, Or bait Egidio until some chance Or newer turn might save your argument?” Suarez bowed and answered: “Better far That we be humbled than a great man fall To utter shame and ruin! Had I told Egidio there that in denying thus My proposition he was challenging A solemn canon, word for word, prescribed At Constance by the Universal Church— Fetch me the Book of Councils—he was lost.” Scarce was the secret spoken, ere it stole In rumor through the novice-court, and thence Below to Santa Cruz,—stole, like a cloud, Black, ominous, across the starlit dome Above the black mosteiro, where the moon Revelled amid the sculptured lattices,— The marble ropes and palms memorial Of old Da Gama and his caravels,— Upon the rose-paths and the trickling pools Along the Cloister do Silencio. There paced Fonseca, solitary guest To catch the final crumbs, the laughter, far Adown the stream, of lutes that mourned his feast, When lo! a billet in his path!—“Awake,—” He read,—“at Constance ’twas decreed. Thy voice Hath mocked the very words of Holy Church.”— No more,—yet in foreboding he made haste To find his taper,—fumbled through the stacks In dust and chill,—unclasped the folio Liber Conciliorum,—saw his doom— Perchance the rack and Secret Prisons—writ Upon the parchment!—Silence, mocking lutes! Come, rain! come, whirlwind, blot the lanterns out: Now knew he their insidious subterfuge— The slippery Pharisees—to undermine Coimbra’s last bright paragon,—they claimed Another victim!—But his rage gave way To grief; his scorn was all to blame; no scheme Was theirs; Suarez spoke the Council’s words As duty bound him,—With the break of day Came self-renouncement to Egidio; And in amaze to greet his ashen face The sacristan laid out for him the alb And chasuble of Requiem; resigned, Like some bowed reed the storm has swept by night, He took the chalice, veiled it ’gainst his breast, And ’mid the first faint glimmer down the nave Crept forth unto his mystic Calvary.