Le profezie ch’ei fece, troverai
Vere venire dove sono sparte.’
Here the reader will observe that the prophetical writings of Scot are distinctly mentioned, and we are not left, as by Dante, to infer, merely from the company in which we find him, the view that was taken by the poet of his character and fame.
It was to reinforce this unfavourable judgment based on other grounds that Dante adopted the legend already popular regarding Scot’s magical studies. In doing so he gave the matter a turn which widely separated his version of the tale from the prevailing Ghibelline stories, told no doubt with bated breath, but told on the whole to Scot’s credit. In thus dealing with the legend Dante made use of a distinction well known to the Arabs, and now becoming familiar also in the West: that, namely, which divided the art of magic into the real and the illusory; called by Eastern magicians Er Roóhhánee and Es Seémiya.[299] The former was noble magic, and acted in power upon high spirits, subduing them to the magician’s will; being either white or black according to the purpose that was sought by their aid. The latter, on the other hand, produced no real effects whatever on material things, but moved altogether in the sphere of mind. At its highest it gave a mastery, which was perhaps hypnotic, over the senses of those whom the magician sought to delude. At its lowest it was the art of the juggler and his apes, cheating eye and ear by tricks like those which have survived to form our modern conjuring entertainments.[300] Here the apparatus of the higher magic was still used, but so as to be degraded and distorted from its original purpose. The circle now served to secure the mage, not from the assaults of supernatural beings, but from the indiscreet approach of too curious spectators. The brazier with its cloud of dense and stupifying smoke served to affect the senses of the subject; the strange sound of recited spells to impress his imagination; the magic mirror to fix his attention, till he became the wizard’s captive and obedient to his every suggestion. This was the art of glamour, as it used to be called, which, in one sphere, seemed to change a ruinous and cobweb-hung hall into a bower of delight; in another, made visions of distant places and future times appear in mirrors or crystals; in yet another, provided the philtres which provoked love, the ligatures which restrained it, and even dealt in that accursed spell of envoutement which promised to procure for jealousy and hatred all their wicked will.
Such then were the magiche frode of which Dante accuses Scot, and it is easy to see that the sting of the verse lies just here; in the unreality it attributes to this magician’s art, much as if the poet had called him in plain prose, ‘no mage, but a common juggler.’ Resenting Scot’s pose as a prophet, and persuaded of the futility of such dreams in comparison with the splendid and enduring certainties of his own art, Dante used that gift with cruel force to convey a similar accusation regarding the romantic fame of the philosopher, holding him up to the world as no mighty master of mysterious power, but, in this too, a mere impostor.
The anonymous Florentine, in his comment on the Divine Comedy, softens the matter a little, and at the same time imports into it a confusion of thought very difficult to unravel, when he says: ‘This art of magic may be employed in two ways; for either magicians compose by cunning certain bodies, all compact of air, which yet appear substantial, or else they show things having the appearance of reality but not in truth real, and in both these ways of working was Michael a great master.’ There is an attempt here to vindicate for Scot a higher place than that of the mere charlatan, but the commentator’s distinction is one not readily or clearly to be apprehended, and we may greatly doubt if it ever entered his author’s mind.
The hint thus given was speedily acted upon. For to it, no doubt, we owe the numerous tales regarding Michael Scot of which Benvenuto da Imola and the anonymous Florentine speak. Landino gives a specimen, as follows. During the philosopher’s residence in Bologna he used to invite his friends to dinner, but without making any preparation for their entertainment. When the hour struck, and the guests were seated at table, they found it nevertheless covered with the choicest viands. Their host would then explain that one dish came from the royal kitchen at Paris, another from that of the English king, and so on with the rest. Jacopo della Lana repeats the same story, but with certain variations.[301] According to this commentator, Michael Scot always kept the best company, living in all respects as a gentleman and cavalier. In his tricks of the table he did not spare even his own master, but, while choosing his boiled meat from Paris, and his roasts from London, would always procure his entrées from the King of Sicily’s provision. The anonymous Florentine adds another tale to the same purpose, saying that his guests once asked Scot to show them a new marvel. The month was January, yet, in spite of the season, he caused vines with fresh shoots and ripe clusters of 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 one hand, and in the other his neighbours sleeve. Francesco da Buti adds the significant note, ‘all this was nothing but a cheat; for they only seemed to feast, and either did not really do so, or else took the dishes for something quite other than they really were.’ This is enough to show that the sense we have given to Dante’s words is one which found favour in early times.
Boccaccio, commencing his lectures on Dante in the Church of San Stefano at Florence in October 1373, proceeded in them no further, unfortunately, than the seventeenth canto of the Inferno, so that we are deprived of his notes on the passage which refers to Michael Scot. In the Decamerone, however, he treats the subject in a passing way; making a citizen of Bologna speak of the magician’s residence in that town.[302] Scot, he said, had performed many prodigies there, to the delight of sundry gentlemen his friends, and at their request had, on his departure, left behind him two scholars, who kept up fairly the traditions of his art. This seems to indicate that Boccaccio had in mind the stories told by the other commentators on Dante, and the tone of his novel supports the conjecture that he agreed with the great poet and with Da Buti, in regarding these prodigies as pertaining to the department of fictitious magic.
More interesting, perhaps, are the tales which involve Michael the magician with the fates of his great master, Frederick II. In the Paradiso degli Alberti,[303] for example, we read how, at the feast given by the Emperor to celebrate his coronation at Rome, which had taken place on November 22, 1220, the company were entertained by a strange event. They were just in the act of washing their hands before sitting down to table in the great hall at Palermo. 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 magicians accordingly did, 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 at Palermo, to find everything just as it had been at the moment of their departure so long before; even the pages were still going the 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. This tale appears also in the Cento Novelle Antiche,[304] but in that collection the place of Michael Scot and his companion is taken by ‘three masters of necromancy.’
In the Pseudo Boccaccio[305] we find another tale, referring to the later and less happy period of the imperial fortunes. The scene is laid in Vittoria, the armed camp which Frederick pitched so long before the walls of rebellious Parma. The Parmigiani had made a successful sally, forced the defences of Vittoria, and were plundering the place. A poor shoemaker of Parma, who made one of this expedition, was lucky enough to come upon the imperial tent itself. Entering, he found a small barrel, which he caught up and carried back to his home. On trial it proved to contain excellent wine, which the shoemaker and his wife drank from day to day, till at last it occurred to them to wonder why the supply never came to an end. They opened the barrel to see, and found within it a small silver figure of an angel with his foot planted on a grape, also of silver, from which flowed constantly the delicious wine they had so long enjoyed. ‘Now, this was made by magic art,’ continues the commentator, ‘and by necromancy, and it was Thales, otherwise called Michael Scot, who contrived it by his skill and power.’ Needless to add that, by this indiscreet curiosity, the charm was broken, and the generous wine flowed no longer to gladden the hearts of the shoemaker and his wife.