Of Bethune’s line of Picardie:
He learned the art that none may name,
In Padua, far beyond the sea.
Men said, he changed his mortal frame
By feat of magic mystery;
For when, in studious mood, he paced
St Andrew’s cloistered hall,
His form no darkening shadow traced
Upon the sunny wall!
And of his skill, as bards avow,
He taught that Ladye fair,
Till to her bidding she could bow
The viewless forms of air.
In order the more effectually to accomplish her purposes, she dispatches
her staunch henchman, William of Deloraine, to Melrose Abbey, where lies
buried the wizard, Michael Scot, and buried with him, the Book of Might,
which contains those potent spells whereby the great wizard had achieved
his world-wide celebrity. “The Monk of St Mary’s Aisle,” now an
ecclesiastical veteran of some hundred summers, had in earlier days
fought the Moslem on the fields of Spain, and had there met and become
an intimate friend of the much dreaded wizard. He had attended him at
his death-bed, and had himself buried him in Melrose Abbey, receiving
injunctions from him in his last hours never to allow the Book of Might
to be disinterred “save at his chief of Branksome’s need.” For Michael
Scot himself was a native of Teviot Dale, though his life had been spent
in Italy, in Spain, and at Palermo in Sicily in attendance at the court
of the Emperor Frederick II., whose fame became in a curious way linked
with his own. The date of Michael Scot’s departure from Sicily for Spain
was approximately 1210 A.D., and coincided with the turning-point of
that long war of centuries which ended in the ejection of the Moorish
conquerors from the Spanish peninsula. 1212 A.D. was the date of the
decisive battle of Las Navas, which resulted in a crushing defeat for
the Moorish forces, and led within fifty years to their retirement from
all parts of Spain with the exception of the province of Granada. Scot
was at this time in Spain pursuing his studies in Alchemy, Astrology,
and the forbidden arts generally, and translating the works of the
learned Arabians, Avicenna, Averroes, and Geber, and rewriting their
paraphrases of Aristotle in the Latin tongue, which was then the
universal medium for the dissemination of all scientific and philosophic
knowledge throughout Europe.
We may imagine the monk of St Mary’s Aisle in his early days fighting
the Moorish hosts in Spain and engaged, perhaps, in the great battle of
Las Navas, which sealed their doom. Here he is represented by the poet
as striking up a firm friendship with the student and philosopher,
Michael Scot, and learning from him the secret of his magical practices.
The monk is represented as telling William of Deloraine:
“In those far climes it was my lot
To meet the wondrous Michael Scot,
A wizard, of such dreaded fame,
That when, in Salamanca’s cave,
Him listed his magic wand to wave,
The bells would ring in Notre Dame!
Some of his skill he taught to me;
And, Warrior, I could say to thee
The words that cleft Eildon hills in three,
And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone:
But to speak them were a deadly sin;
And for having but thought them my heart within,
A treble penance must be done.”
These achievements, according to the legend, were attributed to Michael
Scot’s “familiar,” to whom he entrusted first one task and then another,
but finding his energies too tireless, and fearing he might engage in
some mischief which would react detrimentally on himself, finally sent
him to spin ropes of sand at the mouth of the Tweed. This operation
being an unending one, is said to be still in progress, and as his
biographer relates, the successive attempts and failures of the spirit
are pointed out as every tide casts up or, receding, uncovers the
ever-shifting sands of Berwick bar. The reference to bridling the Tweed
with a curb of stone, is an allusion to the basaltic dyke which crosses
the bed of the river near Ednam. Michael, according to the tale, enjoyed
that complete mastery of words of power which in the traditions of
ancient magic is so potent a force in the working of wonders. As the
monk records in his conversation with the knight of Branksome:
“The words may not again be said
That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid;
They would rend this Abbaye’s massy nave
And pile it in heaps above his grave.”
The monk was not unnaturally alarmed at the power that this archworker
of spells might have given to the fiends of darkness, and took
precaution to bury him
... On St Michael’s night,
When the bell tolled one, and the moon was bright,
so that the cross of his patron saint reflected by the light of the moon
from the emblazoned window pane might fall on the spot which was chosen
for his grave. Once again on this fateful night the Red Cross was
reflected on the sepulchral stone, and the opportunity which this
offered to take possession of the Book of Might undisturbed by the hosts
of darkness, must be taken without delay. Within the grave was one of
those ever-burning lamps, for the existence of which there seems to be
some historical evidence, and which was to serve in the present instance
as a further protection for the wizard against the fiends of night.
Deloraine’s task achieved “by dint of passing strength” with the aid of
a bar of iron handed him by the monk, the light
Streamed upward to the chancel roof
And through the galleries far aloof.
No earthly flame blazed e’er so bright;
It shone like Heaven’s own blessed light.
Before their eyes the Wizard lay
As if he had not been dead a day,
His hoary beard in silver roll’d,
He seem’d some seventy winters old;
A palmer’s amice wrapp’d him round,
With a wrought Spanish baldric bound,
Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea:
His left hand held his Book of Might;
A silver cross was in his right;
The lamp was placed beside his knee.
High and majestic was his look,
At which the fellest fiends had shook,
And all unruffled was his face;
They trusted his soul had gotten grace.
William of Deloraine hesitated to perform what seemed very like an act
of sacrilege. He was used to battlefields, but panic seized him in this
strange scene, and the monk was eventually compelled to warn him that
delay in such circumstances was dangerous.
“Now speed thee what thou hast to do,
Or, warrior, we may dearly rue;
For those thou may’st not look upon
Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!”
Then Deloraine, in terror, took
From the cold hand the Mighty Book,
With iron clasped and with iron bound:
He thought, as he took it, the dead man frowned;
But the glare of the sepulchral light,
Perchance, had dazzled the warrior’s sight.
How the knight and priest withdrew from the chapel after the tombstone
had been replaced, in the redoubled gloom of the night, “with wavering
steps and with dizzy brain,” imagining the walls of the chapel echoing
with fiendish laughter as they retreated, is recounted dramatically
enough by the bard of the Scottish border. We are, perhaps, more
interested to know what manner of man this Michael Scot was, and how far
these records of his magical powers are based on anything more than
unauthenticated tradition. The facts we possess with regard to Michael
Scot’s career convince us indeed that he was a man of the greatest
erudition and learning, and far in advance of his contemporaries in
these respects. He was a noted mathematician, and not content with
gaining the highest honours in the schools of Paris of that day, he
subsequently pursued his studies at the fountain-head of mathematical
and alchemical research at Toledo in Spain. For it must be remembered
that we owe the basis of our mathematical knowledge primarily to the
Arabs who introduced to Europe not only the Arabic numerals in place of
the cumbrous Roman figures, but also the study of Algebra, itself an
Arabic word. To the Arabs, too, we owe the basis of our Chemistry—a word
that is, of course, synonymous with Alchemy, which again bears the stamp
of its Arabian origin. It is curious indeed to note how far the
civilisation of the Arab was in advance of that of the greater part of
Europe in those days. Five hundred years before Michael Scot took ship
from Sicily for Spain, the Arabs had advanced across the whole of
Northern Africa, conquering Egypt, Tripoli, Algeria, and Morocco in
turn, and finally crossing to Spain and there establishing a separate
kaliphate in the eighth century of the Christian era. The invasion of
Spain by the Arabs introduced into the Iberian peninsula a literary
culture of a kind till then quite unknown. Under the sway of the Moorish
sovereigns the arts and architecture flourished, and science found a
welcome which it met with nowhere else in Christianised Europe.
It was to the Moorish capital that students of the medical art repaired
who desired to master the latest discoveries and most modern methods in
the treatment of the human body. Irrigation with the Moors had become an
applied science, and was employed extensively throughout the Iberian
peninsula with the most advantageous results in enhancing the fertility
of the soil. Nowhere else in Europe did the land yield such rich
harvests, and nowhere else was the science of agriculture so fully
understood. The fertile fields of those days are in many cases replaced
by barren deserts and the towns with teeming populations by ruins and
uninhabited wastes. The ignorant peasantry that has taken the place of
the cultivated sons of Arabia are still in the matter of civilisation
and commercial activity hundreds of years behind the busy and
intelligent population whom in the latter part of the fifteenth century
they finally drove over the seas after subjecting them to the most cruel
persecution for adhering to the faith of their fathers. Three million
Moors are said to have been ejected from Spanish soil at the bidding of
the civil power, instigated by ecclesiastical tyranny. Civilisation has
not yet rallied from the so-called “triumph of the Cross” in Spain. This
ejection of the Moors from the west of Europe coincided, as it happened,
with the advent of the Turk at Constantinople; but here, by a curious
contradiction, the Turk as the champion of Mohammedanism represented not
progress but the triumph of the sword. The case was inverted, but in
each instance it represented the victory of barbarism over civilisation,
whether the Mohammedan made headway in the east or the Christian in the
west. In the east the effete remnant of the Eastern Empire was swept
away before the advancing hosts of Islam. In the west a far more highly
developed and industrial population was wiped out at the bidding of the
myrmidons of the Papal See.
For five hundred years the Moors had ruled all but the northernmost
portion of Spain, and for another 250 they retained the province of
Granada. Countless examples of their ornate and characteristic
semi-oriental architecture remain behind as a record of their artistic
culture, and much also of their language intermingled with that of the
race which they at first conquered and which in the days of their luxury
and decadence reconquered them in turn. But the intellectual life of
Moorish Spain, which was for so long like a beacon light in the darkness
of Mediæval Europe, has passed, never to return. The Inquisition marked
the high-water mark of the reaction of Christian bigotry against the
tolerant and broad-minded intellectuality which had flourished under the
fostering dominion of a race whose glories to-day are but a memory of
the far-distant past.
Scot as a mathematician, alchemist, and astrologer, had this been his
sole life’s work, would have merited no insignificant niche in the
temple of Science; but in addition to this, he exercised, though in an
entirely indirect manner, a marked influence on the history of Europe.
His talents and learning commended him for the position of tutor to
Frederick II., at that time king only of Sicily, but afterwards “Emperor
of the Romans.” Frederick was an orphan, having lost both his parents in
early childhood, and the receptive mind of the ardent boy responded
sympathetically to the instructions of his broad-minded and accomplished
tutor, who was destined subsequently to become his confidant and friend.
Michael Scot’s first efforts as an author had for their aim the
education of his royal pupil. For this purpose he first wrote the _Liber
Introductorius_, and afterwards the _Liber Particularis_ and the
_Physionomia_. The first two of these books dealt with astronomy and
astrology, and the latter with physiognomy and the reading of character
from the physical appearance.
Marriages were arranged early in those days, and Frederick, when a boy
of but fourteen, was united in wedlock, at the Pope’s desire, with
Constance, daughter of the King of Aragon, and widow of the King of
Hungary, who was some ten years his senior. This brought the attendance
of Michael Scot at the court at Palermo, temporarily at least, to an
end, and led to his setting sail, as already narrated, for the coasts of
Spain. It appears that the _Physionomia_ was his parting gift on his
marriage to his illustrious pupil. On his arrival in Spain, Scot betook
himself to the headquarters of the scientific activities of those days,
the renowned city of Toledo. Here, towards the middle of the twelfth
century, a regular school for translations from the Arabic had been
established, and it was work of this kind on which Scot himself
embarked. Here he translated the _Abbreviatio Avicennæ_ with a
dedication to the Emperor Frederick in the following terms: “O!
Frederick, Lord of the World, and Emperor, receive with devotion this
book of Michael Scot, that it may be a grace unto thy head and a chain
about thy neck”—no empty compliment as such phrases generally are, nor
one unappreciated by its distinguished recipient. Here, too, he pursued
his studies in alchemy, chemistry, medicine, and astrology. Alchemy in
those days was a special bone of contention, one school maintaining its
feasibility, and the other denouncing it, after the manner of nineteenth
century scientists, as a mere will-o’-the-wisp. The belief in it which
later on took hold of Mediæval Europe had not yet met with any general
sort of acceptance, though the Arabian school in the main adopted it,
and there seems little doubt that it was held by Michael Scot himself.
One book indeed on this particular subject, _De Alchimia_, is attributed
to his pen. The book is contained in a manuscript in possession of
Corpus Christi College, Oxford. If, however, the main part of the work
is genuine, which is somewhat uncertain, the dedication to Theophilus,
King of the Scots, is certainly not so. We have in this book a curious
formula for turning lead into gold, which runs as follows:
Medibibaz, the Saracen of Africa, used it to change lead into gold
in the following manner:—Take lead and melt it thrice with caustic
(comburenti), red arsenic, sublimate of vitriol, sugar of alum, and
with that red tuchia of India which is found on the shore of the Red
Sea, and let the whole be again and again quenched in the juice of
the Portulaca marina, the wild cucumber, a solution of sal ammoniac,
and the urine of a young badger. Let all these ingredients then,
when well mixed, be set on the fire, with the addition of some
common salt, and well boiled until they be reduced to one-third of
their original bulk, when you must proceed to distil them with care.
Then take the marchasite of gold, prepared talc, roots of coral,
some carcharoot, which is an herb very like the Portulaca marina;
alum of Cumæ, something red and saltish, Roman alum and vitriol, and
let the latter be made red; sugar of alum, Cyprus earth, some of the
red Barbary earth, for that gives a good colour; Cumæan earth of the
red sort, African tuchia, which is a stone of variegated colours and
being melted with copper changeth it into gold; Cumæan salt which is
pure red arsenic, the blood of a ruddy man, red tartar, gumma of
Barbary, which is red and worketh wonders in this art; salt of
Sardinia which is like.... Let all these be beaten together in a
brazen mortar, then sifted finely and made into a paste with the
above water. Dry this paste, and again rub it fine on the marble
slab. Then take the lead you have prepared as directed above, and
melt it together with the powder, adding some red alum, and some
more of the various salts. This alum is found about Aleppo (Alapia),
and in Armenia, and will give your metal a good colour. When you
have so done you shall see the lead changed into the finest gold, as
good as what comes from Arabia. This have I, Michael Scot, often put
to the proof and ever found it to be true.
Whether the statement appearing in the manuscript under his name, that
Michael Scot worked on this recipe, be true or not, one would not envy
the task of the modern chemist who was called upon to compound the
prescription. The basic idea of alchemy which, since the discovery of
radium, is looked upon with some favour by certain advanced scientists,
that all metals are reducible to a single substance, and therefore
theoretically interchangeable, does not seem to find much place in this
curious prescription, which suggests the idea of what we should call
to-day a gold-substitute, rather than the genuine metal itself, in spite
of the fact that we are told that the gold in question would prove “as
good as what comes from Arabia.”
The greatest work of Scot as translator was his reproduction in Latin of
the commentary of Averroes on the _De Anima_ of Aristotle. This book,
which expounded views on theological problems which were the reverse of
orthodox, was long held back from publication by Scot’s patron, the
Emperor Frederick, who hesitated to incur obloquy, and in especial the
hostility of the Pope by reason of its publication. Friction, however,
between the Papal See and the Emperor became so acute in the end that it
appeared useless to attempt to placate papal bigotry further, and the
publication in question was thus finally given to the world.
The study of the writings of Averroes had indeed taken very strong hold
on Scot’s imagination, and if the story may be accepted as authentic, he
even went so far as to attempt to evoke the spirit of the great Arabian,
presumably with a view to securing his assistance in the work which he
had in hand. There is nothing intrinsically improbable in the
supposition that Scott practised or experimented in such methods of
evocation. Averroes had only been dead some twenty years when Scot was
in Spain, and holding the views he did, he may well have thought that
the philosopher’s spirit had not passed so far from the physical plane
that some form of necromantic conjuration of his conscious personality
would be ineffectual. Here, as elsewhere, it seems impossible to draw
the line between record of fact and that fabric of legend and tradition
which has been woven round the story of his life.
A number of the tales told of Scot’s magical achievements reduce
themselves in the light of modern knowledge to the results of highly
developed hypnotic powers. It is familiar knowledge that such
achievements are not unknown in India at the present day. A Florentine
authority gives us one of these anecdotes. Scot’s guests at dinner, we
are told, once asked him to show them a new marvel. The month was
January. Yet in spite of the season he caused vines with fresh shoots
and ripe grapes to appear on the table. The company were bidden each of
them to choose a bunch, but their host warned them not to put forth
their hands till he should give the sign. At the word “Cut!” lo, the
grapes disappeared, and the guests found themselves each with a knife in
the one hand and in the other his neighbour’s sleeve. Another story of a
more or less similar character is told of a feast given by the Emperor
to celebrate his coronation at Rome, which took place on November 22,
1220.
The pages were still on foot with ewers and basins of perfumed water
and embroidered towels, when suddenly Michael Scot appeared with a
companion, both of them dressed in Eastern robes, and offered to
show the guests a marvel. The weather was oppressively warm, so
Frederick asked him to procure them a shower of rain which might
bring coolness. This the magician did accordingly, raising a great
storm, which as suddenly vanished again at their pleasure. Being
required by the Emperor to name his reward, Scot asked leave to
choose one of the company to be the champion of himself and his
friend against certain enemies of theirs. This being freely granted,
their choice fell on Ulfo, a German baron. As it seemed to Ulfo,
they set off at once on their expedition, leaving the coasts of
Sicily in two great galleys, and with a mighty following of armed
men. They sailed through the Gulf of Lyons, and passed by the
Pillars of Hercules, into the unknown and western sea. Here they
found smiling coasts, received a welcome from the strange people,
and joined themselves to the army of the place; Ulfo taking the
supreme command. Two pitched battles and a successful siege formed
the incidents of the campaign. Ulfo killed the hostile king, married
his lovely daughter, and reigned in his stead; Michael and his
companion having left to seek other adventures. Of this marriage
sons and daughters were begotten, and twenty years passed like a
dream ere the magicians returned, and invited their champion to
revisit the Sicilian court. Ulfo went back with them, but what was
his amazement, on entering the palace of Palermo, to find everything
just as it had been at the moment of their departure so long before;
even the pages were still holding rounds with water for the hands of
the Emperor’s guests. This prodigy performed, Michael and the other
withdrew and were seen no more; but Ulfo, it is said, remained ever
inconsolable for the lost land of loveliness, and the joys of wedded
life he had left behind for ever, in a dream not to be repeated.
On Scot’s return to the court of Frederick II., after his sojourn in
Sicily, he added the study and practice of the medical art to his other
activities. Lesley states that he “gained much praise as a philosopher,
astronomer, and physician,” and Dempster speaks of him as “one of the
first physicians for learning.” He appears to have treated cases which
would not yield to the ordinary medical pharmacopœia, and in particular
he specialised in leprosy, gout, and dropsy. Acting apparently under his
advice, Frederick II. instituted various reforms in the practice of
medicine. It was stipulated that the course preliminary to qualification
should consist of three years in arts, and five in medicine and surgery.
Laws were passed forbidding the adulteration of drugs, while physicians
were prohibited from demanding a greater fee than half a _taren_ of gold
per day, and this gave the patient the right to be visited three times
in the course of the twenty-four hours. It was stipulated that the poor
should be attended free of charge. Certain recipes of Michael Scot’s are
still extant, and can be studied in Latin in the British Museum. One of
these bears the name of the _Pillulæ Magistri Michaelis Scoti_. They
seem to be something in the nature of a universal panacea, and perhaps
if the prescription were taken up by some enterprising modern chemist,
they might rival the fame of the celebrated Beecham’s Pills!