CHAPTER VIII. The Last Days of Michael Scot

THE LAST DAYS OF MICHAEL SCOT

The various occupations in which Michael Scot engaged upon his return to court were not without their due and, as we believe, designed effect. The part he had taken in producing the Latin Averroës was soon forgotten when it appeared that no immediate publication of these proscribed works was intended by the Emperor. Scot now stood boldly before the world in no suspicious character; distinguished only by his great learning and the fidelity with which he discharged his offices of astrologer and physician about the Imperial person.

This rehabilitation of his fame opened the way to further honours and emoluments which Frederick soon began to seek on his servant’s behalf. Scot had never quite lost character as a churchman, and the member of a great religious Order, though his studies had carried him far from the somewhat narrow and beaten track of an ordinary ecclesiastical education. Like Philip of Tripoli, he was probably in holy orders, and even held a benefice, while, as we see from the dedication of his De Coelo et Mundo to Stephen of Provins, he was careful, even in the wildest heats of his work on Averroës, to keep in touch with those who held high positions in the Church. Soon after his return from Spain a resolute and repeated attempt was made to secure for him some ecclesiastical preferment.

Honorius III. then sat in the Chair of St. Peter. In 1223 a dispensation was granted by the Curia allowing Michael Scot to hold a plurality. At the same time the Pope wrote to Stephen Langton the Primate of England, desiring that Scot should be preferred to the first suitable place which might fall vacant in that country. Honorius was then at peace with the Emperor, and we may believe that it was in consequence of some strong representation made by Frederick that he took such an interest in the fortunes of this Imperial protégé.

The application to Canterbury was entirely in accordance with the habits of the time; for England was then the constant resource of the Popes when they wished to confer a favour on any of their clergy. Many and deep were the complaints which this practice awakened among the priesthood of the north. A like abuse of influence appeared in Scotland as well. Theiner reports the case of a clerk named Peter, the son of Count George of Cabaliaca, on whose behalf the Pope wrote in 1259 to the Canons of St. Andrews, desiring that he might be reinstated in his benefice of Chinachim (Kennoway in Fife) which he had forfeited as an adherent of the Empire. It is only fair, however, to notice that there were instances of the contrary practice. In 1218, for example, one Matthew, a Scot, was recommended by Honorius to the University of Paris for the degree of Doctor, that he might teach there in the faculty of Divinity.

It may seem remarkable that the Pope did not address his application in Scot’s favour to St. Andrews rather than to Canterbury. We are to recollect, however, that in 1223, the relations between Scotland and the See of Rome were still somewhat strained. The North had not yet forgotten what took place in 1217, when Gualo came thither as Legate to lay the Interdict upon Scotland. Churches were closed by this severe sentence; the sacraments forbidden; even that of extreme unction denied to the people; the dead were buried without service, and all marriages were celebrated in the churchyards. When the interdict was removed in the following year, the duty of proclaiming that remission was intrusted to the Prior of Durham and the Dean of York, who made a solemn progress in the Kingdom to announce the Pope’s clemency. We may feel sure that these events were not forgotten in five years by a proud and independent nation like the people of Scotland, and Honorius must be thought to have judged rightly in supposing his application on Scot’s account had a better chance of being effected by the English than by the Scottish Primate. Nothing indeed was overlooked that might give force to the recommendation. The Pope accompanied his request with a generous testimony to the scholar’s ability, saying that he was distinguished, even among learned men, for his remarkable gifts and knowledge. Thus everything seemed to promise that Michael Scot would soon enjoy a rich English living; the El dorado of the foreign clergy in those easy days of sinecures secured by dispensations of plurality and non-residence.

Meanwhile, however, a much more favourable occasion offered itself to the Pope for securing the interests of Frederick’s protégé, and one which dispensed with any concurrence of the English Primate in the matter. In the same year which witnessed his application to Stephen Langton a vacancy occurred in the Archbishopric of Cashel. The chapter of that see proposed a candidate of their own to Honorius, probably the Bishop of Cork, but the Pope saw his opportunity and named Michael Scot for the vacant benefice. The obedient Chapter at once proceeded to elect him. The consequence being to their apprehension a foregone conclusion, the Curia issued another dispensation permitting this favourite of fortune to hold the Archbishopric along with all his other benefices. So nearly did Scot come to the possession of a high place in the Church, and an office which would surely have altered his fame in the ages that were to come.

But those who thus took into their hands the shaping of the future for Michael Scot were soon to learn that the man they had to deal with was of another nature than their own; a very Scot in his scruples and the conscientiousness with which he gave effect to them. Incredible as it must then have seemed, remarkable as it would be even in our own day, Michael Scot refused Cashel, and this for a reason which showed how high was the conception he had formed of the pastoral office. His nolo episcopari proceeded on the ground that he was ignorant of the Irish language. He would not, it seems, be a chief pastor without the power to teach and feed the flock committed to his care. He would not consent to be intruded upon a people to whom he must have proved unacceptable, nor would he, in the too common fashion of the day, commit his duties in Ireland to a suffragan, while enjoying ample revenues and a lordly title in Italy.

It is somewhat startling to find a principle not unheard of in the Scotland of our own century so clearly grasped and so conscientiously followed by this non-intrusionist countryman of ours six hundred years ago. Yet Michael Scot did not stand alone in his sacrifice even in these slack times, as may be seen by the case of his namesake, John Scot, who was Bishop of Dunkeld during the pontificate of Clement III. This earlier Prelate ruled a vast diocese which included the country of Argyll as well as the more eastern parts of central Scotland. His conscience became uneasy under the responsibility, and, unwilling to continue the spiritual overseer of those whom from his ignorance of their language he could not edify, he wrote to the Pope, desiring that Argyll might be disjoined from Dunkeld, and that Ewaldus his chaplain, who knew Erse, might have charge of the new diocese as its Bishop. This was actually done in 1200, and the good Bishop died in great peace two years later. ‘How can I give a comfortable account to the Judge of the world at the last day,’ so he had written to Clement, ‘if I pretend to teach those who cannot understand me? The revenues suffice for two Bishops, if we are content with a competency, and are not prodigal of the patrimony of Christ. It is better to lessen the charge and increase the number of labourers in the Lord’s Vineyard.’ In some such terms must Michael Scot too have declined Cashel. His case, as well as that of Dunkeld, is enough to show that ecclesiastical corruption, though widespread, was not, even in those days, universal. May no Cervantes of the Church ever arise in Scotland to laugh such sacred chivalry away!

The disappointment he nevertheless felt on this occasion may probably have encouraged Scot in his attachment to the court and to his new duties there as astrologer and physician, in which, as we have seen, he rose to such acknowledged eminence. Frederick did not, however, lose sight of his purpose to procure him preferment. The first application to Canterbury having met with no response it was renewed four years later in 1227, by Gregory IX., who in that year succeeded Honorius in the Chair of St. Peter. This new Pontiff was destined to become the Emperor’s most bitter and relentless foe, but as yet he remained on good terms with Frederick and inclined to show him favour. He seems to have made no difficulty in taking up the case of Michael Scot, and even added on his own account a eulogy meant to forward the scholar’s claim; representing him as a distinguished student, not only in Latin letters, but also of the Hebrew and Arabic languages. So far as can be seen, however, the attempt of 1227 shared the fate of that which had been made in 1223. Canterbury gave no signs of acquiescence, and Michael Scot, for all his distinction, remained without the preferment which his friends so constantly sought to obtain for him.

There is reason to think that from this time a change took place in the spirit of the philosopher. The natural chagrin he must have felt as it became plain that no position he could accept would be offered to him in the Church affected deeply his fine and sensitive nature. He soon passed into a brooding and despondent mood, which remained unaffected by all the praise and fame paid by the learned world as a tribute to his remarkable talents and achievements. It is in this change of temper to a morbid depression that we are to find the occasion and inspiring spirit of those strange prophetical verses which bear his name and which differ so widely from all the other productions of his pen.

Such compositions were indeed far from being uncommon in Italy. The reputed prophecies of the Erythræan Sibyl were extant in the form of an epistle supposed to be addressed to the Greeks under the walls of Troy. This curious composition is said to have been rendered into the Greek language from the Syriac by a certain Doxopatros. His version was one of those volumes which had reached Sicily from the library of Manuel Comnenus Emperor of Constantinople, and was then translated into Latin during the twelfth century by Eugenio, admiral to King Roger. A series of poets from Giovacchino di Fiora to Jacopone da Todi then chose the prophetic lyre and made it resound with dark sayings and predictions of misfortune and ruin. Especially worthy of study in this connection are the verses ascribed to Merlin, which declare the fate of many Italian cities. That Michael Scot gave his talents to this kind of composition rests on evidence as convincing as any which establishes the other events of his life. Pipini the chronicler says that ‘he was reputed to have the gift of prophecy, for he published verses in which he foretold the ruin of certain Italian cities as well as other circumstances.’ An earlier, indeed a contemporary, authority, Henry Abrincensis, in a poem presented to Frederick II. in 1235 or the early months of the following year, speaks of Michael Scot as ‘another Apollo,’ ‘a prophet of truth’ possessed of ‘hidden secrets’ and the author of ‘certain predictions regarding thee, O Caesar.’

Quotations from the prophecies of Scot were made by Villani. The lines referring to Florence may still be read in a manuscript of the Riccardian Library in that city, and in another, preserved in Padua, we find the following title: ‘Here begin certain prophecies of Michael Scot, the most illustrious astrologer of Lord Frederick the Emperor, which declare somewhat of the future, to wit, of certain Italian cities.’ This shows that verses, bearing to have been composed by Scot, were current at an early date, though the scribe of the Paduan manuscript has forgotten to fulfil the promise he makes in his title, for that which follows it is not the poetry of Scot but only a dull treatise on Latin prosody.

It is to Salimbene that we owe the preservation of these verses in their most complete form. He must have taken much interest in them, as he is careful to give, not only the original Latin, but an Italian translation as well. From his pages then we shall borrow the text of these curious lines. According to Salimbene they are these:

‘Regis vexilla timens, fugiet velamina Brixa, Et suos non poterit filios, propriosque, tueri. Brixia stans fortis secundi certamine Regis, Post Mediolani sternentur moenia gryphi. Mediolanum territum cruore fervido necis, Resuscitabit viso cruore mortis. In numeris errantes erunt atque silvestres. Deinde Vercellus veniunt Novaria Laudum. Affuerit dies, quod aegra Papia erit, Vastata curabitur moesta dolore flendo. Munera quae meruit diu parata vicinis, Pavida mandatis parebit Placentia Regis. Oppressa resiliet, passa damnosa strage, Cum fuerit unita in firmitate manebit. Placentia patebit grave pondus sanguine mixtum. Parma parens viret, totisque frondibus uret Serpens in obliquo tumido, exitque draconi. Parma, Regi parens, tumida percutiet illum Vipera Draconem, Florumque virescet amoenum. Tu ipsa Cremona patieris flammae dolorem In fine praedito, conscia tanti mali, Et Regis partes insimul mala verba tenebunt. Paduae magnatum plorabunt filii necem Duram et horrendam, datam catuloque Veronae. Marchia succumbet, gravi servitute coacta Ob viam Antenoris quamque secuti erunt. Languida resurget, catulo moriente, Verona. Mantua, vae tibi, tanto dolore plena, Cur ne vacillas nam tui pars ruet? Ferraria fallax, fides falsa nil tibi prodiat, Subire te cunctis cum tua facta ruent Peregre missura quos tua mala parant Faventia iniet tecum, videns tentoria pacem Corruet in festem ducto velamine pacis. Bononia renuens ipsam vastabitur agmine circa Sed dabit immensum, purgato agmine, censum. Mutina fremescet sibi certando sub lima Quae dico tepescet tandem trahetur ad ima. Pergami deorsum excelsa moenia cadent Rursus, et amoris ascendet stimulus arcem. Trivisii duae partes offerent non signa salutis Gaudia fugantes vexilla praebenda ruinae. Roma diu titubans, longis terroribus acta Corruet, et mundi desinet esse caput. Fata monent, stellaeque docent, aviumque volatus, Quod Fridericus malleus orbis erit. Vivet Draco magnus cum immenso turbine mundi. Fata silent, stellaeque tacent, aviumque volatus Quod Petri navis desinet esse caput. Reviviscet Mater: malleabit caput Draconis. Non diu stolida florebit Florentia florum. Corruet in feudum dissimulando vivet. Venecia aperiet venas, percutiet undique Regem. Infra millenos ducenos sexque decennos Erunt sedata immensa turbina mundi Morietur Gripho, aufugient undique pennae.’

It would be difficult to determine how much of the original composition of Scot these verses preserve, and how much they owe to later hands. We cannot be mistaken, however, in remarking their uniform tone of melancholy and apprehension, with the burden of its constantly recurring ‘corruet,’ or in taking this as a true index to the state of the author’s mind.

Pipini records two other prophecies of Michael Scot which serve to confirm this observation in a high degree. The astrologer, he says, forecast the manner of the Emperor’s death, which was to take place ad portas ferreas, at certain gates of iron, in a town named after Flora. This prediction was generally understood of Florence; the rather perhaps that the church of Santo Stefano there was called ad portam ferream; and Frederick accordingly avoided coming to that city. During his last campaign in 1250, however, he fell sick at the town of Fiorentino or Firenzola in Apulia, and lay in a chamber of the castle. His bed stood against a wall recently built to fill up the ancient gateway of the tower, while within the wall there still remained the iron staples on which the gate had been hung. Uneasy at the progress of his disease, and hearing something of these particulars, the Emperor fell into deep thought and then exclaimed, ‘This is the place where I shall make an end, as it was told me. The will of God be done; for here I shall die,’ and soon afterwards he breathed his last.

The other prediction which the chronicler attributes to Scot relates to the occasion of his own death. This, he said, would take place by the blow of a stone falling on his head. His calculations were so exact as even to furnish him with the precise weight of this instrument of fate. Being in church one day, with head uncovered at the sacring of the Mass, a stone, agreeing in all particulars with his prediction, was shaken from the tower by the motion of the bellrope and wounded Scot to death.

There is much in these tales which lies apart from the course of a sober biography; belonging rather to that legendary and mystic fame of the philosopher which we shall immediately proceed to consider. Something, however, in which all these prophecies agree deserves our attention here, and that is their sombre and menacing character. ‘Ruinam predixit,’ says Pipini, referring to Scot’s verses on the Italian cities, and his thoughts, whether engaged with Frederick’s fate or his own, seem at this time to have followed the same dark and ominous course. Death and destruction now filled all his mind, much as if he had been a Highlander gifted with the fatal power of the Taisch: a seer to whom all things looked darkly, and all men wore a shroud, longer or shorter, to mark the time and the manner of their end.

With Michael Scot’s account of his own fate Pipini joins another curious matter, that of the cervilerium. This was a plate or cap of steel meant to be worn under the ordinary covering of the head as an additional defence, and the chronicle says that Scot invented and wore it that he might be safe from the danger he foresaw. Taking this together with the prophecies, both general and personal, we can find no better explanation than that which bids us see in the whole what indicates a case of ecstatic melancholy such as would seem to be the sad heritage of not a few finer natures sprung of the stock from which Michael Scot descended. We hear the same sad note in the strange jingle he wove so long before in the preface of his Physionomia: ‘Nos ibimus ibitis, ibunt. Omnia pereunt, praeter amare Deum,’ and one would fain hope that in his frequent fits of depression Scot may have indeed found rest in what he thus declares to be the only abiding portion of the soul. The wild account of his illness at Cordova, and of the dreams which then visited him is not to be neglected in this connection. Perhaps the cloud then first fell which in after-years returned upon him with such redoubled gloom. Thus the traits of Scot’s youth fit well the picture we are now constrained to form, and the whole gives promise that here at last we may have touched upon the man himself as he was, physically, mentally, and spiritually. A slight worn body spent with arduous study, like a sheath which the sword has almost broken through; a soul possessed with the sense of Divine things, yet sad, and subject to strange illusions; a conscience morbidly awake and painfully scrupulous; a mind to which almost every branch of knowledge was familiar, and not incapable of striking out here and there in a path of its own: if these be not Michael Scot, scholar in the court and courtier in the schools, then it may safely be said that no indications exist which can ever reveal to us this striking personality as he lived and moved in the world.

We seem to see in him a Pascal of the thirteenth century; and this all the more that Michael Scot resembled that great genius not only in the mystical and superstitious side of his nature but in his devotion to mathematical science. How piquant is the contrast between this mighty and gifted child of the mist and the northern hills and those sunny southern lands of grape and fig, of white cliff, marble column and laughing summer sea, where most of his life was spent. No wonder that those among whom Michael Scot lived found him somewhat of a mystery at all times, and, especially in these later days of his burdened spirit, took him for a Mage, weaving his dark sayings into regular prophecies. The Latin races have never been famous for their power to comprehend the northern character. How much less was it likely they should in the case of one who seems to have presented every feature of that racial type in its extremest form? In our own day this incapacity takes the way of accusing as madness all that it cannot fathom of Celtic or Teutonic ways. In the times of Scot the same impatience found a more modest expression. He was incomprehensible, therefore he must be inspired; gifted with the prophet’s divine and incommunicable fire.

We may take it for granted that much of Michael Scot’s dissatisfaction and depression upon his disappointment in seeking ecclesiastical preferment arose from the feeling that he had made a great sacrifice in vain. The best years of his life, and the most strenuous labours of his mind, had been given to his version of Averroës not without the hope that he was here laying the foundation of a great literary and philosophic fame. Moved by a prudence, which was not altogether selfish since it concerned the Emperor’s reputation and policy quite as much as his own, he had submitted to necessity, and saw his translation suppressed for the sake of avoiding offence. The sacrifice was great and doubtless keenly felt, and when in spite of this policy he found himself still without the position he had confidently hoped for, with what bitterness must the reawakening of his literary ambition have been attended. Near ten years had been lost since his return from Spain, and still Scot’s Averroës slept, unknown to the schools, in the honourable but unprofitable seclusion of the Imperial closet. With the death of these hopes of preferment, however, all reason for this unfortunate reserve came to an end so far as Scot was concerned. As soon as he had once made up his mind to think no more of a great ecclesiastical career he was free to urge his master with all insistence to carry out their long-cherished plan, and secure undying fame for both by publishing the new Aristotle in the Universities of Europe.

Nor was there anything in the policy of the time which made Frederick unwilling to further a project which he had all along designed. From the moment of his elevation to the See of Rome Gregory IX. had displayed a firm and unbending temper towards the Emperor. Frederick felt the first instances of his harshness in 1227, when, returning sick and feeble from the baths of Pozzuoli, he found himself excommunicated because he had not sailed to Palestine with the Crusade. This severe sentence was renewed in 1228. Frederick reached the Holy Land that year, but only to meet a mutinous spirit, encouraged among the Crusaders there by the Pope’s orders. On his return in 1229 the sharp edge of discipline was again drawn against him, and we need not wonder if such repeated severity at last convinced the Emperor that there was no hope of living at peace with Rome, nor any reason to study further accommodations with one who seemed determined to be his enemy. The moment had now come when restraints, long submitted to for the sake of policy, being removed, Frederick might well bethink him of his former plans so long held in reserve, and take measures to carry out his purpose of enriching the learned world with the prohibited books of Averroës.

This plan not only promised to fulfil a long cherished desire and mortify an implacable foe, it must also have presented itself in the light of a welcome concession made to a deserving servant of the Crown. Michael Scot had laboured long to form the works in question. His interest, as well as every other reason, now demanded that they should lie no longer concealed. The fame he was certain to gain by this publication would be the best consolation, perhaps the only one now possible, for his disappointments in the ecclesiastical career. To employ him actively in the matter may well have appeared not only just, considering his previous interest in it, but the best cure for a spirit sadly disordered and depressed. We need not wonder that Frederick at last fully formed his resolution, or that he chose Michael Scot as the means of carrying out a publication that was now definitely determined on.

An imperial circular announced to the learned the nature and origin of these new versions. This letter was designed to secure for them such general interest and attention as was due to works of the first importance. Opening with the avowal of his devotion to the cause of letters, a confession which he supported by quoting from the Metaphysica, Frederick touched upon the manifold cares of state which the conduct of his affairs in the Empire involved. He added that he had never allowed these to occupy his whole attention, but had still devoted part of his time to the pursuits of learning. His mind, he said, had been particularly attracted to the works of Aristotle with the commentaries of the Arabian philosophers, especially those concerning mathematics, and the books called Sermoniales. Finding that they were inaccessible to Latin scholars, owing to their obscurity and the foreign tongues in which they were written, he had commissioned learned men to translate these works, desiring them to preserve in their versions the exact style as well as sense of the original. The treasures thus procured he would not keep in obscurity, but designed to publish them for the general good. He addressed himself to the most famous schools of Christendom as the proper means of obtaining the diffusion of this wisdom among those who were able to profit by it.

Which then were the universities intended by the Emperor? That of Naples certainly in the first place, for it was his own creation. Bologna, also, we may believe, judging by the estimation in which we know him to have held that still more ancient seat of learning. Copies of Frederick’s letter are indeed extant, which actually bear the address, ‘To the Masters and Scholars of Bologna.’ Nor can we think that he forgot Paris, the great centre of European culture. At least one text has preserved this the most natural of all directions:—‘To the Doctors of the Quadrivium at Paris.’ Thus far then the course of Scot’s journey on this important business is plain. In it he but reversed the progress he had made in early years, revisiting in the contrary order the scenes of his former studies. His own remarkable fame, the widespread curiosity concerning the books he brought, and his official character as Frederick’s Ambassador of Letters, must have secured him everywhere a cordial and distinguished reception.

There is reason to think that his travels did not end when he had reached Paris. Tradition says he crossed the Channel and visited both England and Scotland, where his medical skill was highly appreciated. It is indeed to an English author that we owe the knowledge of this journey performed by Michael Scot. The words of Roger Bacon are of capital importance here, not only telling us of Scot’s travels, but showing the nature of the work he carried with him in that progress, and the enthusiasm with which these books were received. ‘In the days of Michael Scot,’ he says, ‘who, about the year 1230, made his appearance with certain books of Aristotle and commentaries of learned men concerning physics and mathematics, the Aristotelian philosophy became celebrated in the Latin Schools.’ At the time of which he speaks, Bacon, born in 1214, may probably have been at Oxford pursuing his studies. It is not necessary to dwell upon the support which this brings to the tradition of Scot’s visit to England. We may take it as almost certain that Oxford was one of the universities where he appeared and was made welcome.

The tradition that he thereafter pursued his journey to Scotland rests rather upon arguments derived from the probability of the case than from direct evidence. Scot had been a lifetime absent from his native land, and, finding himself so near it, a strong impulse must have urged him to revisit the scenes of his boyhood. Nor is it easy to account for the fact that his fame, though he spent so much of his time abroad, attained, and yet retains, such a currency in the North, except upon the supposition that he did actually yield to this attraction and thus once more made himself a familiar figure in the land of his birth.

One matter of great interest is at least certain. Scot’s death occurred just at this time, when he was in the very height of his fame and influence, and probably while he was still in the North. The account, so often repeated and reprinted, which makes him live almost to the close of the century need not occupy our attention more than a moment. Already incredible from the time when Jourdain discovered that Scot’s version of Alpetrongi had been produced in 1217, such a notion becomes more than ever impossible since we have been able to carry the time of his mature literary activity back to the year 1210. Vincent of Beauvais, writing about 1245, talks of ‘old Michael Scot’ in such a way as to suggest that he had by that time been long in his grave. But the convincing evidence, though hitherto little noticed, is to be found in the poem of Henry d’Avranches, from which we have already quoted some lines in another connection. This author remarks regarding Michael Scot:

‘Thus he who questioned fate, to fate himself submitted,’

which shows that the time of his death must have been earlier than 1235, the date when Abrincensis composed his poem.

The question is thus reduced to the narrow limit of five years; since Bacon says Scot was alive and busy in his great mission in 1230. Within this period he must have passed away, and probably his death happened nearer the earlier than the later date; considering the tone in which Henry d’Avranches speaks of the departed sage. He may well therefore have died while on the borders of Scotland. This idea agrees curiously with the fact that Italy has no tradition of his burial-place, while on the other hand northern story points to his tomb in Melrose Abbey, Glenluce, Holme Coltrame, or some other of the great Cistercian foundations of that country. Satchells, who visited Burgh-under-Bowness in 1629, found a guide named Lancelot Scot, who took him to the parish church, where he saw the great scholar’s tomb, and found it still the object of mysterious awe to the people there. The resting-place of Michael Scot will never now be accurately known, but there is every reason to suppose that it lies not far from that of his birth, in the sweet Borderland, amid the green hills and flowing streams of immemorial story.

Here then we leave the life that has been the subject of our study, and not without the tribute of a certain envy paid to so happy a fate as that of Michael Scot. Like another and far greater man, whose sepulchre also was not known among his people, Scot died in the fulness of his powers and fame, while yet his sight was not dim, nor his natural force abated. He was denied indeed the entry to those broad kingdoms of knowledge which later times enjoy, but we may truly think of him as one who stood in his own day upon a height from which something of that fair land of promise could at least be divined, and manfully did his part in leading the progress of the human mind onward to those more perfect attainments now within the reach of every patient scholar.

We may recollect in closing this inquiry that the Abbreviatio Avicennae was published in 1232 at Melfi. This treatise, though it came in the Latin version from the hand of Scot, did not fall within the scope of the publication made so widely in 1230; since the Emperor’s object at that time was to acquaint the world with the commentaries of Averroës. The manner in which the Abbreviatio saw the light was somewhat remarkable. Henry of Colonia was the scholar selected by Frederick for the work of transcribing it from the imperial copy. A regular diploma passed the seals authorising him to do this work, and from that writ we find that he completed it at Melfi, on the vigil of St. Laurence in the house of Master Volmar the imperial physician. We may surely see in these facts a further likelihood that by this time Scot was already dead. Another holds his place as court-physician, another wields his pen, or at least furnishes the copy from which the world at large first came to know one of his most important and characteristic works. May we not take it then, that in ordering this diploma to be drawn, Frederick desired to show his concern at hearing he had lost so faithful and able a servant, and his anxiety that no time should elapse before the publication of his remaining works? Thus regarded, the Abbreviatio was a wreath laid on the grave; a tribute to the translator’s memory, while in itself it was a seal set to the fame of Michael Scot as in his day the chief exponent of the mighty Aristotle, and one who by these labours succeeded in directing for many ages the course of study in the European Schools.