+Maugis, Ye Sorcerer.+
+FROM Ye ANCIENT FRENCH.+
A Wonderful Tale from ye Writings of ye Mad
Savant of ye Maison Maugis in ye Olde
Citie of Mouzon, France.
By LORD GILHOOLEY, D.C.,
_Author of “Yutzo.”_
F. TENNYSON NEELY,
PUBLISHER,
LONDON. NEW YORK.
Copyright, 1898,
by
+F. Tennyson Neely+,
in
United States
and
Great Britain.
All Rights Reserved.
+-----------------------------------------+
| DEDICATION. |
| TO THE FOOLS WHO COMPOSE THE “SOCIETE |
| D’ETHNOGRAPHIE” OF NANCY, FRANCE, |
| THIS WORK IS HEREBY DEDICATED. |
+-----------------------------------------+
APOLOGY.
_To the Honorable Gentlemen composing the Société d’Ethnographie,
Nancy, France._
+Gentlemen+: In the above dedication I have the sincerest regret in
committing, what under other circumstances would be an unpardonable
insult upon the gentlemen of a learned body, none of whom I have ever
had the honor of meeting, but whose position in the world of science
and letters I know to be perfectly unassailable. Let me explain.
An oath, made to the late Charles Voudran, a former member of your
Honorable Society, has compelled this regrettable action, which,
otherwise, would have resulted in the loss of a vast amount of rare
historical information to the world, as, I trust, a perusal of the
following pages, will satisfactorily explain.
With the most profound respect,
+Frederick O’Hoolihan.+
(LORD GILHOOLEY.)
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE.
The Mysterious Door, _Frontispiece_
Interior Cathedral, Mouzon, 12
The Haunted Battlefield, 32
Ancient Gate of Mouzon, 52
Château Montfort, 70
Surprise of the Castle, 76
Old Spanish Houses, 100
Maugis, 120
Charlemagne at the head of his Army, 124
Ye Olde City of Mouzon, 164
Cathedral of Mouzon, 216
Cathedral Door, Mouzon, 244
MAUGIS, YE SORCERER.
CHAPTER I.
(A CABLEGRAM.)
SEDAN,
PROVINCE D’ARDENNES,
FRANCE.
“_To Lord Gilhooley,_
“_Albemarle Hotel,_
“_New York. U. S. A._
“The hermit of the Maison Maugis, Monzon, committed suicide to-day.
+Albert.+”
Apropos of the above, about ten days later I received a letter from
which the following is an extract:
“He was found lying, entirely stripped, upon the floor. He had
strangled himself with a cord, having previously broken up every
article of furniture, gathered and burned in the huge fireplace
every object of wearing apparel, all papers and everything
movable, until the house was made absolutely bare. His death
created a profound sensation, as it was rumored that he had in his
possession some very old and curious manuscripts relating to the
time of Charlemagne. An elaborate search of the premises failed
to disclose anything, except some burned fragments of parchment in
the ashes of the fireplace. He had jealously guarded his discovery
during his life and was supposed to be somewhat demented, which may
account for the lamentable destruction of these precious records.
Now you are freed from your oath, give the world what you have.”
The past then came back to me, as plainly as if it had only occurred
yesterday.
I could see in my mind that merry breakfast party, three months agone,
in the great dining hall of the Château Baudelot at Haraucourt, in the
valley of the Emmene, Ardennes, France. I could remember, as if it
happened only this morning, when Albert said:
“It is very strange how things happen in this world. Life presents some
threads so fearfully tangled that it often seems as if matters were
hopeless; when lo, some little eddy in the tide of fortune swirls the
knotted kinks apart and all is well once more.”
“Very good, Albert,” said I, “and this is apropos of what?”
“Oh, nothing,” answered he, “only the thought just came into my mind.”
“Perhaps,” said his sister Mathilde, “his omelette is not agreeing with
him.”
“No,” exclaimed Louise, “that is not it—he is going to take cousin
Frederick to Mouzon to-day, and it is there that some episode is to
occur to put some new wrinkles in his existence.”
Said with smiles and laughter, these words were pathetic.
I shall never forget that day in Mouzon.
I recall how, just two hours later, we crossed the bridge over the
river Meuse, and rolled through the old gateway into the ancient
city, and how, shortly after, we were chatting with Professor Victor
d’Alembert, the head schoolmaster.
“I have brought my cousin to see the city,” said Albert.
“Ah! Mouzon is a quaint place,” responded the professor, his face
lighting up with interest. “It is a small city, but a very old one, and
so very romantic. Come with me. I will show it to you.”
Then he took us up and down crooked streets, lined with mediæval
buildings, heavily walled, with projecting stories, possessing all the
quaintness of former ages, and it was while passing through a narrow
street to a square in the heart of the city, where the houses seemed
the oldest, the oddest and the grayest, that he pointed to a heavy
oaken door set in a wall of unusual thickness.
“Look!” he said.
“At what?” inquired Albert.
“That is said to have been the home of Maugis, the famous warrior
sorcerer.”
“Very interesting,” exclaimed I, “cannot we see the interior?”
“No, no!” replied the professor somewhat emphatically, “that would
never do, its occupant resents intrusion bitterly.”
I can remember now, how a strange and unaccountable desire possessed
me to see behind that door, but it was almost forgotten, when, a few
minutes later, we were seated in the dim interior of the ancient
cathedral with its lofty gothic arches floating over us in the
obscurity, while the schoolmaster eloquently unrolled a story of
vicissitude and romance rarely equaled, for he was a master of his
subject.
Said he: “Begun by barbarians, built, beset, beleaguered, burned,
built, beset, burned, and rebuilt, again and again; such is the
alliterative history of this old city of Mouzon; the theater of wars
barbarous, of wars religious, of wars civil, and wars international;
besides of plague, pest, and famine.
“Mouzon has a history commencing far back into the shadows of the past
and terminating the day before the battle of Sedan, when Colonel de
Contrenson, at the head of the Fifth Regiment of French Cuirassiers,
charged the entire German army on these heights nearby; charged time
and again in the very teeth of their cannon, in the vain attempt to
stop their resistless onward course to Sedan, five miles away, and only
desisted when the gallant Fifth were literally reduced to a few shreds
of shattered humanity; but that was only thirty years ago.”
“Oh! rare, old Mouzon!” exclaimed he, “do you not claim the highest
regard of the lover of romance? the home of Maugis, the great warrior
sorcerer, and the scene of the rebellious warfares of those gallant
sons d’Aymon, those immortal knights Renaud, Alard, Guichard and
Richard, and of their redoubtable enemy, the princely Roland, all of
them men whose names are now a byword in history!”
“Mouzon,” continued the professor, apostrophizing, “the resort for
centuries of the high and mighty of the earth, your ancient streets
have witnessed the pageants of popes and kings, cardinals and princes,
have echoed with merry shout at carnival time, with solemn chant of
cowled monk, with cry of battle and shriek of the dying. They have
resounded with the tread of the barbarian, have known plague and
famine, and have often been illumined by the ruddy glare of fire. All
this, as time passed, has been added to the panorama of which you have
been the stage. A city situated in a battlefield, or in a spot that has
been a battlefield of Europe, through all the centuries from the time
of the Romans to the battle of Sedan.”
I can now remember, as we sat there, listening, that the voice of
the professor grew dramatic and echoed in the vast interior of the
cathedral with a solemn effect.
“Mouzon,” continued he, “the historic, the romantic has no mention
in guide books, it has no visitors or tourists, because it is out of
the traveled route. Even children in the streets gaze with curiosity
on the stranger. It has neither gained nor lost in population, as the
centuries rolled on and the events of history have thundered over it,
even from the time when this magnificent cathedral was commenced,
which, though often ruined in the wars, is, as now restored, one of the
finest specimens of Norman architecture in the world.
“Mouzon was a fortress in 247 B.C., then on the borders of France, and
was the scene of many a battle of the Visigoths and other barbarians
with the French kings. In 486 A.D. the great King Clovis wrested it
from the Visigoths and gave it, and the beautiful surrounding country,
which included the historic battlefield of Sedan, into the possession
of the good monk, St. Remy, who built and maintained a great abbey
here. For centuries thereafter it was controlled by the Catholic
Church and became a great ecclesiastical center. Prior to this time
the Romans had penetrated throughout this region, bringing their rare
civilization, building magnificent roads, fortresses and temples,
remains of which exist to-day.
“This beautiful province in northern France has been the theater of
the most tremendous events in the history of France and the history of
Europe.
“Ah! Those were terrible centuries, when the good monks lived with the
prayer book in one hand and the sword in the other.
“Then there were the great lords, or seigneurs, who divided the country
around among themselves and were always quarreling and fighting. It
was hereabouts that Charlemagne waged war against the great sorcerer,
Maugis, and his brave companions, about whom so much has come down to
us in romance and song. Nearby is the plain of Marcel, where three
young noblemen, brothers, and their retainers, fought a fratricidal
duel with each other to the death, until the ground was red with blood,