“‘Thereat the fiend his gnashing teeth did grate,
And grieved so long to lack his greedy prey;
For well he weened, that so glorious bait
Would tempt his guest to take thereof assay;
Had he so done, he had him snatched away,
More light than Culver in the falcon’s fist.’”
“Pope Sylvester, I presume,” said Thompson, “was a clever mechanician, and a good astronomer, as far as knowledge extended in his day.”
“Precisely so, and hence all the wondrous tales of his magic,” rejoined Lathom. “Born in France, and naturally of an acquisitive mind, he proceeded to Spain, to gain in the Saracenic university of Seville some little of the Eastern sciences. Arithmetic and astronomy, or, as Malmesbury calls the last, astrology, were then flourishing in Spain, and when introduced by him into his native country, soon gained for him the reputation of a magician.”
“Friar Bacon experienced in this country,” remarked Herbert, “that a knowledge of mechanics sufficient to create automatons, of acoustics to regulate the transmission of sounds through long, concealed pipes, and of astronomy to attempt some predictions of the weather from planetary movements, was quite enough to ensure him the name of magician among our rude ancestors.”
“One of the magic arts attributed to Gerbert,” remarked Lathom, “clearly indicates, that a knowledge of mechanism was the source of this reputation in his case. Malmesbury tells us that Gerbert framed a bridge, beyond which were golden horses of gigantic size, with riders of gold, richly glittering with jewels and embroidery. A party attempted to pass the bridge, in order to steal the treasures on the further side. As the first stept on the bridge, it rose gradually in the air, and stood perpendicularly on one end. A brazen man rose from beneath, and as he struck the water with a mace of brass, the sky was overshadowed, and all was thick darkness.”