One of the most striking incidents which marked the long funeral procession of Frederick II. through the southern provinces of Italy was furnished by the grief of a faithful band of Saracens, who, with dishevelled hair and cries of sorrow, accompanied the body of their great benefactor to its last resting-place. It is probable indeed that these people, of whom Frederick had not a few both in Sicily and in various colonies on the mainland, may have joined very heartily with their Christian neighbours in giving currency to the latest application of the Arthurian legend. In all essential features it must already have been familiar to them as a form of myth long known in the East. Even the romance of Nectanebus already noticed had a certain historical basis. In the fourth century before Christ a king called Nekhtneb reigned in Egypt. He was defeated by the Persians, and fled into a distant province of Ethiopia. Thus the ancient national dynasty of the Pharaohs came to an end, but the people long refused to believe that their king was dead. They consulted an oracle, which told them he would return, as a young man, to conquer the enemies of his country. This prophecy was engraved on the base of the royal statue and served long to sustain the national hope. The same dreams appeared in connection with the much more recent Mohammedan power. The Shi’ah and Sunnee sects of Islam held firmly to the idea that the twelfth Imam was not really dead, but would return to earth. This mysterious person was El Mohdy, the last incarnation of the Deity, as they supposed. He was said to dwell in a cave near Bagdad, whence he would one day reappear to oppose Ed Dejal, the Moslem Antichrist, in a time of great trouble, when he would overthrow him and his ally the earth-beast in final conflict near Aleppo. Mohammed himself was said to have retreated with Abu Bekr to a cave, where they lay concealed behind a spider’s web, as the Scottish tale says Bruce did before his decisive appearance and victory. The influence of these myths may be seen even during the lifetime of Frederick II., when the extravagant hopes of his followers led them to use language regarding the Emperor which was applicable only to the Deity. We may see in this an anticipation by hyperbole of the apotheosis granted him by the Ghibellines after his death.[289]
As for Michael Scot himself, it was a very natural progress of the popular imagination which made him play Merlin to the Emperor’s Arthur. That this place in the growing legend was actually his, seems probable from the fact that, in the romance of Maugis (or Merlin) and Vivien,[290] the hero is made to study his art in Toledo, where Scot had notoriously been. Mysterious caves, the refuge of slumbering heroes, were spoken of as existing both near that city and Salamanca. It may be that we here touch on the origin of Scot’s legendary connection with the Eildon Hills in his own borderland. That the Scottish Avalon lay beneath these there can be little doubt. Sir Walter Scott repeats a traditional tale which reminds us unmistakably of those given by Gervase of Tilbury and Caesar von Heisterbach. A countryman of Roxburghshire had sold a horse to an old man of the hills. Payment was appointed to be made at midnight, on Eildon, at a place called the Lucken Howe. When the coin, which was of ancient and forgotten mintage, had been duly handed over, the old man invited the other to view his dwelling. They passed within the hill, where the stranger was surprised to see ranks of steeds ready caparisoned: a silent cavalier in armour standing by the side of each. ‘These will wake for Shirramuir,’ said his guide. In the cave hung a sword and a horn. ‘The sound of this horn,’ the old man told him, ‘will break the spell of their slumber.’ The countryman caught it to his lips and blew a blast. The horses neighed, pawed the ground, and shook their trappings, while the knights stirred, and the place rang again with the sound of their arms. He dropped the horn in fear, and heard a voice which said: ‘Woe to him who does not unsheathe the sword ere he has blown the horn.’ He was then carried back again to the hillside, and could never more discover the entrance to that subterranean realm.[291]
An English form of the same tale has been preserved, and is worth notice as containing what may possibly be a reference to Michael Scot’s prediction regarding Frederick’s death ‘at the iron gates.’ The story says that ‘in the neighbourhood of Macclesfield, on Monk’s Heath, is a small inn known by the designation of ‘The Iron Gates,’ the sign representing a pair of ponderous gates of that metal opening at the bidding of a figure enveloped in a cowl, before whom kneels another, more resembling a modern yeoman than one of the twelfth or thirteenth century, to which period this legend is attributed. Behind this person is a white horse rearing, and in the background a view of Alderley Edge. The story is thus told of the tradition to which the sign relates:
‘A farmer from Mobberly was riding on a white horse over the heath which skirts Alderley Edge. Of the good qualities of his steed he was justly proud, and while stooping down to adjust its mane previously to his offering it for sale at Macclesfield, he was surprised by the sudden starting of the animal. On looking up he perceived a figure of more than common height, enveloped in a cowl, and extending a staff of black wood across his path. The figure addressed him in a commanding voice: told him that he would seek in vain to dispose of his steed for whom a nobler destiny was in store, and bade him meet him when the sun was set, with his horse, at the same place. The farmer, resolving to put the truth of this prediction to the test, hastened on to Macclesfield fair, but no purchaser could be obtained for his horse. In vain he reduced his price to half; many admired, but no one was willing to be the possessor of so promising a steed. Summoning, therefore, all his courage, he determined to brave the worst, and at sunset reached the appointed place. The monk was punctual to his appointment. “Follow me,” said he, and led the way by the Golden Stone, Stormy Point to Saddle Bole. On their arrival at this last-named spot, the neigh of horses seemed to arise from beneath their feet. The stranger waved his wand, the earth opened and disclosed a pair of ponderous iron gates. Terrified at this, the horse plunged and threw his rider, who, kneeling at the feet of his fearful companion, prayed earnestly for mercy. The monk bade him fear nothing, but enter the cavern, on each side of which were horses resembling his own in size and colour. Near these lay soldiers accoutred in ancient armour, and in the chasms of the rock were arms and piles of gold and silver. From one of these the enchanter took the price of the horse in ancient coin, and on the farmer asking the meaning of these subterranean armies, exclaimed: “These are caverned warriors preserved by the good genius of England, until that eventful day when, distracted by intestine broils, England shall be thrice won and lost between sunrise and sunset. Then we, awakening from our sleep, shall rise to turn the fate of Britain. This shall be when George, the son of George, shall reign. When the forests of Delamare shall wave their arms over the slaughtered sons of Albion. Then shall the eagle drink the blood of princes from the headless cross (query, corse?). Now haste thee home, for it is not in thy time these things shall be. A Cestrian shall speak it and be believed.” The farmer left the cavern, the iron gates closed, and though often sought for, the place has never again been found.’[292]
Arthur, the King of Faery, has dropped out of these legends in the course of their transmission to modern times, but in another story, told of the Eildon Hills, his sister, the Fata Morgana, still lives and reigns; for she is no doubt the Faery Queen with whom Thomas Rhymer spent so many years underground ere he returned with the gift of prophetic truth. In the Scottish legend, which makes Michael Scot have much to do in forming these hills to their present shape, we seem to see him occupying his natural place in the myth as that Merlin whose art composed and maintained the magic kingdom of Avalon, where Arthur sleeps with Morgana till the hour of his return.
The fertile fancy of these ages ran to the formation of other points of likeness. Merlin had his Vivien, who betrayed him to his loss of life and power by a spell of his own composing. So Michael was said to have loved a beautiful woman, who, Delilah-like, left him no peace till he told her the poison which alone had power over his charmed life: the broth of a breme sow, of which accordingly he died, taking it confidently from his false leman’s hand.[293] Michael too, like Merlin, had his Book of Might; for the same fancy which materialised Frederick’s heretical tendencies, and made them objective in the supposed work De Tribus Impostoribus, soon did the like by those diabolical arts in which Scot was said to have excelled. It is possible that some reference to this may have been intended in the book which is held by the magician in the S. Maria Novella fresco. The plan of these paintings in the Spanish chapel at Florence was drawn out with great care by Fra Jacopo Passavanti, a learned monk of that convent. He has left a series of Lenten sermons, collected and enlarged by himself, and published under the title of Lo Specchio di vera Penitenza.[294] The last two chapters of this work are devoted to the reproof of magical arts; a subject which the author would seem to have studied closely. He may have been influenced in this direction by S. Augustine’s De Civitate Dei, which he translated into Italian. More than one passage of the Specchio may be cited as illustrating the frescoes of the Spanish Chapel. He tells us, for example, that the devil is said to be able to teach science to his disciples in an incredibly short space of time, however rude and ignorant they may be. For this purpose he has given them a book called the Ars Notoria,[295] the same which is so severely condemned by Aquinas. Now, as Aquinas, with open book of heavenly doctrine, is figured in the chief position on the opposite (north) wall of the chapel, it is no unreasonable conjecture which finds in the magician’s book on the south wall a pictorial representation of the Ars Notoria as it was conceived by Passavanti. Elsewhere in the volume he again returns to the subject of magical works.[296] Zoroaster, he says, first learned the art from demons, and caused it to be written on two columns, one of marble to survive the floods, and one of terra-cotta to resist the fire. This diabolic teaching, thus preserved, flourished among the Egyptians, Chaldeans, Persians, Indians, and other Oriental nations who remained its chief exponents, ‘though perchance,’ adds Passavanti, ‘it may be more studied among ourselves than we are ready to believe.’[297] This passage may serve to show why the artist of the Spanish Chapel was directed to draw his Magus in the fashion of the East, and helps us to understand the prejudice which Michael Scot’s outlandish costume must have raised against him. It is in any case certain that the stories of his supernatural power became both memorable in substance and rich in details by association with the tales of Arthur.