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
air and rejoined Albert, who was sauntering leisurely down the street,
enjoying a cigarette.
We directed our steps onward across the small square in front of the
cathedral; passed down the ancient main street and stood upon the old
bridge. It was sunset; a parting ray of sunshine escaping through the
clouds shot across the top of the hills over field and valley and
tenderly caressed the dingy front of the grand old church towering far
above its surroundings, glorifying it for a moment and then fading,
leaving it and the hoary-roofed houses nestling at its feet, as if for
protection, almost ghostlike in the coming twilight.
I leaned over the parapet of the bridge and looking down listened to
the gurgling of the river through its ancient arches. The charm of the
hour was upon me and it seemed to me as if I could hear voices calling
to me out of the past. I stood there, dreaming and musing upon the
strange events of the day, until aroused by my companion, who put his
hand on my shoulder and said:
“Come! we must go!”
The twilight had fallen into dusk and as I looked backward, while
turning away, at rare old Mouzon, poor old Mouzon—grand old Mouzon—it
stood out to my view with its great old cathedral looming up more
ghostlike than ever.
So, gentle reader, poor Charles Voudran is dead, and here I present
you, according to my promise, the story of Maugis, the warrior
sorcerer, and the four knightly sons of Aymon, and I pray that it may
please you well.
In presenting the exciting episodes of this story which poor Voudran,
through me, now presents to your favor, it is perhaps proper for
me to call your attention to the curious revelations it makes of
the civilization of those ancient times, where a strange mixture of
religious fervor, high chivalry, magnanimity, and keen sense of
honor, are intermingled with superstition, barbaric splendor, cruelty,
treachery, and disregard of life, altogether affording a remarkable
insight into the human nature and the manners and customs of the eighth
century.
This story deals of a period when Christianity had become widespread
throughout the then civilized world, and the prevailing conception of
God was that of an austere and awful nemesis, a deity enraged against
humanity. The element of mercy seemed to be entirely left out of God’s
dealings with mankind. The most trivial offense met an eternity of
torture in hell, the violation of an oath was eternal damnation, and
only the most ascetic means could in any event secure salvation. To
retire from the world into monasteries or solitudes was thought to be
the most successful atonement possible.
It is history how the shadow of this awful fear hung over the world
like a pall for centuries, and how in the middle ages man became fairly
mad with fright.
In relation to this story, I have made the attempt to preserve the
style of the unfortunate scholar who intrusted it to me, preserving its
simplicity, which is that as a minstrel of old going about singing of
the deeds of men.
I have carefully omitted, in the interest of the reader, the learned
disquisitions of poor Voudran on psychic phenomena as related to the
history of Maugis, which would attract those only who are studying the
subject, and which, doubtless, involved on the part of the unfortunate
scholar a vast amount of labor. Perhaps the result of his labors is
best summed up in his own words in the concluding sentences of his
manuscript now before me:
“This concludes the story of Maugis which I have laboriously gleaned
from ancient documents found in his house; I trust I have proved from
the study of the ancient Sanskrit writings among these papers that
the manifestations of Maugis were due to nothing more or less than a
knowledge of psychic phenomena that would be remarkable even in this
enlightened age, and the fear and consternation their exercise must
have produced in the age of superstition of the time of Charlemagne can
hardly be conceived.
“The secret of the whole matter I have unearthed. It seems that the
Duke d’Aymon, the father of Maugis, did heroic service in the holy
wars. He happened one time to make a prisoner of a very venerable man
who was held in captivity by the Saracens. The Duke d’Aymon, attracted
by his profound learning and great gentleness of demeanor, treated him
with the utmost consideration. His new-found friend was none other than
a renowned Hindu, a man who was not only a pundit and Mahatma, but was
also a Bodhisatva.
“This noted scholar was named Sahadeva Vyasa Pandu, who afterward
returned to France with the Duke d’Aymon and remained with him until
his death. It was under his tuition that Maugis, the eldest son of
the Duke d’Aymon, became accomplished in occult things and learned to
develop and control psychic forces; who became the possessor of the
wonderful powers of telepathy and hypnosis, and it was due to this
occult knowledge that Maugis was enabled to accomplish the marvelous
things which in that age must have appeared truly awful.”
These final words of the manuscript of poor Voudran are almost pathetic:
“I know not while I write this by whom it may be read, and I care not
so long as it is kept from that Society of Fools at Nancy, who scorned
me, who ostracised me, and who wrecked my life. I know only that my
eyes will be closed and my lips will be dumb when this protest goes out
to the great and unfeeling and cruel world.”
CHAPTER II.
Afar down the centuries in the good year 779 A.D., on a certain
afternoon in the golden month of August, the greatest excitement was
visible about the palace of the great Emperor Charlemagne at Paris. The
royal armies, headed by that great warrior, had been victorious over
the Saracens, in which battle “Guesdelin, the Sluggard,” their general,
had been killed, and he, surrounded by his victorious legions, had
returned to Paris in triumph to celebrate the _fêtes_ of the Pentecost
in company of his brilliant court. Although in that sanguinary battle
he had met with the deplorable loss of several of his bravest knights,
Noel, Count of Mans, Arnoue de Froulon, Albert de Bouillon, Solomon de
Bretagne and a number of others; nevertheless the _fêtes_ were not made
less brilliant by the absence of these brave men. There had assembled
at Paris for his great occasion, all the dukes and peers of France with
their glittering retinues, and with them also came many princes and
noblemen from other courts of Europe to assist in the festivities.
Among all that brilliant assemblage the most remarked were the brave
Duke d’Aymon, Lord of Dordogne, and his four gigantic sons, Maugis,
Allard, Guichard and Richard, all handsome and courageous young men.
Maugis, above the others, commanded the admiration of the entire
court, his height, for he was seven feet tall, his valor and his great
learning, for he was the pupil of a pundit whose life had been saved by
his father during the Saracenic wars, and who had enriched his young
charge from his vast store of occult knowledge, had made him renowned
already, and it was generally conceded that he was destined for a great
career.
The great audience chamber was packed with this brilliant assemblage
on that August afternoon, and the babble of voices that filled the air
fell into a profound hush upon the entry of the emperor.
Unbefitting the joy of the occasion, his brow was clouded by a deep
frown, and gazing upon the sea of upturned faces before him for awhile,
he arose from his throne and amid a great silence addressed them in
these words:
“Brave knights, your valor has aided me in the highest degree to
overcome the enemy, to conquer many cities, and obtain the submission
of their people. But alas! to secure these grand results we have the
sorrow to lose many of our noblest born. Bad enough as this is there
is yet another matter that deeply incenses me and of this I now speak.
Because Gerard de Roussillon, the Duke of Nantueil, and the Duke de
Beuves d’Aigremont, all three of them our brothers and our subjects,
refused me their aid, I now make complaint against them. Believing in
their oaths of allegiance to me I surely counted upon their aid, and
without their force or aid was compelled to engage superior numbers.
It is to Solomon, who came to our succor with thirty thousand troops,
and Lambert, and Galeron de Bordeille, and Berruger, to whom is due our
victories.”
At this point the emperor rose to his full height, and with eyes
flashing, continued: “I now declare to you that I shall once more
appeal to the Duke Beuves d’Aigremont to fulfill his allegiance and
if he still resists I shall lay siege to his dominions; if I become
aroused I will not stop at taking life. I will flay him alive, send
his wife and his son Renaud to the stake, and give their country up to
pillage.”
At these savage words, uttered with the utmost anger, the Duke de
Naimes, who was considered to be the wisest man of the court, arose and
responded to the king:
“Sire, employ all possible means to avoid war, which is always cruel
to the people whom you govern. Therefore send to the Duke d’Aigremont
a man who is capable, sure and faithful and one in whom you can place
your entire confidence, one who combines all the qualities of _finesse_
and prudence required by the importance of this mission. Let him go to
the duke and present to him his forgetfulness of his oath to you in
such terms of consideration and without pride of manner as will have
the most effect and then let the answer your majesty receives govern
the determination as to what course your majesty will take.”
The king, strongly impressed by this sensible advice, adopted it, but
was much embarrassed to make a selection of a man sufficiently discreet
and courageous to fulfill such a perilous mission—one who had neither
fear of the menaces of the famous duke, or the tried warriors of his
family. He finally chose his own son Lothaire, who accepted with all
the submission of a son and loyal subject, not without having demanded
the benediction of his royal father, the blessing of heaven, and at the
same time prayed God to care for his family.
Charlemagne had no sooner made this decision when he was assailed with
the most dire presentiments, and his depression was only increased when
the following morning he saw the departure of his son and his suite,
composed of one hundred brave knights, well armed and equipped. It
seemed to the unhappy king as if he was gazing for the last time on
the face of his well-beloved son, and the while regretted keenly that
etiquette would not allow a monarch to go himself as ambassador and
demand an account of a disloyal subject of his rebellion.
News traveled very quickly even in those olden days, and it was not
long before the Duke d’Aigremont was informed of the departure of the
cavalcade at the head of which gayly rode the young prince, and thanks
to the activity of his spies, the news came to D’Aigremont the moment
of the reunion of his barons at his castle to celebrate the _fêtes_ of
Pentecost and to participate in the tournaments and games which were
customary at that epoch. Enraged at the fact of an embassy approaching
him on such a mission, and desiring to hasten his expression of
insubordination, he at once announced to his barons his intention of
giving offense to the king, and addressed them in these words:
“What now, sirs! the king not only makes the mistake of pretending to
make me and my people serve him, but he sends his oldest son to me to
make me menaces. What would you do under such circumstances were you in
my place?”
He had among his knights some men who were very true and sincere in
their counsel and who did not hesitate to speak plainly. One Sir Simon
was called upon and expressed himself thus: