EGIDIO OF COIMBRA—1597 A.D.

By Thomas Walsh

The rumor came to Frei EgidioIn cloistered Santa Cruz, that out of SpainKing Philips secret courier had faredWith orders under seal suspending allThe statutes of Coimbra that controlledThe contests for the prefessorial chairs,And ordering the Faculty to grantPadre Francisco Suarez primacyAmong the masters theological.And Frei Egidio, whose ancient nameFonseca was relinquished when at courtIt shone its brightest, who had ceaseless toiledHis score of years in cloister and in schools,Unravelling knotty texts, disputing longWith monk and doctor of the Carmelites,Dominicans and Trinitarians,Consulting with the students, visiting,Fawning and banqueting—himself and allHis faction in the University—Now in the iron mandate from MadridSaw failure blight his hopes, and Santa CruzEclipsed, through imposition unforeseenOf Suarez de Toledo—only halfA monk!—a fledgling doctor in the Schools!—And Frei Egidio unsleeping schemedTo check the rising of this Spanish starWithin Coimbra,—and his henchmen wentStealthy and sure to sow malignant seedTo choke the Hapsburg’s new autocracy.Stately was Frei Egidio, robust,Swarthy and smooth his cheek; his raven locksPiling about his tonsure in a crown.Dark flashed his eye whene’er he rose to castHis syllogistic spear across the lists,Where many a mighty crest Minerva-crownedWas forced to yield, or learnt the rapier thrustOf hisdistinguoandnon-sequiter.Still more he shone when in procession movedThe 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 footHolding his robe or stirrup through the town—TheCatedratico da Vespera.But now this little shrivelled man sent outFrom Salamanca,—Philip’s paragon!—To rule Coimbra in theology!—One of Loyola’s strange and restless bandIn the Collegio de Jesus,—reproachTo 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 presidenceO’er Frei Egidio—in craft or scorn,It mattered not—for Frei EgidioWould pluck him forth; no signet of the KingCould serve him here; the doctors of the SchoolsShould learn how he, Fonseca, had been wronged.With formal placards soon they smeared the wallsOf shrine and college, telling day and hourAnd place, where Doutor Frei EgidioDa Presentacao, of the EremitesOf Sao Agostinho, titularDa Vespera, would his conclusions hold“De Voluntario et Involuntario”Against all-comers, and imprimis there,The Doutor Padre Suarez, titularDa Primaof Coimbra, theologueOf theCollegiaandCompaniaDe Jesus. From near and far they came,And took their stated rank, and filedInto the Hall of Acts; the ChancellorAnd 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; CanonistsIn 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, garbedIn white and brown of Carmel; titularsIn Peter Lombard and Durandus,—sonsOf Bernard, Francis and Saint Benedict.When each in order of his ancientryWas seated in the tribune, and belowRanged the licentiates, and bachelors,And, out beyond, the thousand students,—gayIn plumes and ruffs, or rags and disrepair,—There entered Bacharel Frei ConstantinoCiting theobligations; whereuponEgidio began his argumentWith exposition and arrangement clear,And summary abrupt and crushing, asHis old experience in the courts had taught,—So free in tone and doctrine that the throngSwayed on their benches, beating noisilyGreat tomes together like the roll of drums.Then silence for Suarez’squodlibet;As half-reluctant, without emphasis,His cold unwavering voice proposed the planOf his objection,—When uproariousUpon the instant, Frei EgidioIn tones of thunder shouted o’er the hall,—“Nego majorem!”—the scholastic world’sUnmitigated insult! How would he,Spain’s boasted theologian, replyTo Portugal’s? The Jesuits aroundSuarez’s rostrum marvelled, whispered, turned,And hid their faces, when they saw him bowedSilent a moment, ere descending, calm,He led them home across the jeering town.Then the mad acclamations; bells of shrineAnd monastery on the hills; the sweepOf robes prelatical, the cavalcadeOf gorgeous nobles into Santa Cruz;The blare of trumpets, and the lanterns strungYellow beneath the moon; the beggar throngs;The maskers down the lanes; the nightingalesAnd river-songs of students wafted farAcross Mondego’s Hills of LonelinessAnd Meditation where Coimbra slept.Thus triumphed Frei Egidio. But highIn the Collegio de Jesus the blowWas red on every cheek; the Rector roseIn the community and said: “PadreFrancisco, not in fifty years have weIn our Coimbra known such sore defeat;Tell me, I pray, had you no thought to saveYour honor and the honor of our schools—You, boast of Rome and Salamanca’s halls.—You, to whom all the dialectic artsHave been as play—could you not parry, feint,Or bait Egidio until some chanceOr newer turn might save your argument?”Suarez bowed and answered: “Better farThat we be humbled than a great man fallTo utter shame and ruin! Had I toldEgidio there that in denying thusMy proposition he was challengingA solemn canon, word for word, prescribedAt Constance by the Universal Church—Fetch me the Book of Councils—he was lost.”Scarce was the secret spoken, ere it stoleIn rumor through the novice-court, and thenceBelow to Santa Cruz,—stole, like a cloud,Black, ominous, across the starlit domeAbove the blackmosteiro, where the moonRevelled amid the sculptured lattices,—The marble ropes and palms memorialOf old Da Gama and his caravels,—Upon the rose-paths and the trickling poolsAlong the Cloister do Silencio.There paced Fonseca, solitary guestTo catch the final crumbs, the laughter, farAdown the stream, of lutes that mourned his feast,When lo! a billet in his path!—“Awake,—”He read,—“at Constance ’twas decreed. Thy voiceHath mocked the very words of Holy Church.”—No more,—yet in foreboding he made hasteTo find his taper,—fumbled through the stacksIn dust and chill,—unclasped the folioLiber Conciliorum,—saw his doom—Perchance the rack and Secret Prisons—writUpon the parchment!—Silence, mocking lutes!Come, rain! come, whirlwind, blot the lanterns out:Now knew he their insidious subterfuge—The slippery Pharisees—to undermineCoimbra’s last bright paragon,—they claimedAnother victim!—But his rage gave wayTo grief; his scorn was all to blame; no schemeWas theirs; Suarez spoke the Council’s wordsAs duty bound him,—With the break of dayCame self-renouncement to Egidio;And in amaze to greet his ashen faceThe sacristan laid out for him the albAnd 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 naveCrept forth unto his mystic Calvary.

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 hisdistinguoandnon-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—

TheCatedratico 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 Primaof Coimbra, theologue

Of theCollegiaandCompania

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 theobligations; 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’squodlibet;

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 blackmosteiro, 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.

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