... a marriage took place between a young squire of Vermandois and a damsel of the queen, both of the royal household; the court was much pleased at it, and the king [Charles VI] resolved that the wedding feast should be kept at his expense. It was held at the hotel of St. Pol, and great crowds of nobility attended, among whom were the Dukes of Orleans, Berry, and Burgundy, with their duchesses. The wedding-day was passed in dancing and rejoicing; the king entertained the queen at supper in great state, and everyone exerted himself to add to the gaiety, seeing how much delighted the king appeared. There was in the king’s household a Norman squire [Hugonin de Guisay], a near relative of the bridegroom, who thought of the following piece of pleasantry to amuse the king and ladies. In the evening he provided six coats of linen covered in fine flax the colour of hair; in one of them he dressed the king, and the Count of Joigny, a young and gallant knight in another, Sir Charles of Poitiers had a third, Sir Yoain de Foix the fourth, the son of the Lord de Nantouillet, a young knight, had the fifth, and Hugonin dressed himself in the sixth. When thus dressed they appeared like savages, for they were covered with hair from head to foot. This masquerade pleased the king greatly, and he expressed his pleasure to his squire; it was so secretly contrived that no one knew anything of the matter but the servants who attended them. Word was sent to the room where the
Ladies were, commanding in the king’s name that all the torches should be placed on one side, and that no person come near the six savage men who were about to enter; the torchbearers, therefore, withdrew on one side, and no one approached the dancers so long as the savages stayed in the room. The apartment was now clear of all but the ladies, damsels, and knights and squires, who were dancing with them. Soon after the Duke of Orleans entered, attended by four knights and six torches, ignorant of the orders that had been given, and of the entrance of the savages; he first looked at the dancing, and then took part himself, just as the King of France made his appearance with five others dressed like savages, and covered from head to foot with flax to represent hair; not one person in the company knew them, and they were all fastened together, while the king led them dancing. Everyone was so occupied in examining them, that the order about the torches was forgotten; the king, who was their leader, fortunately for him, advanced to show himself to the ladies, and passing by the queen, placed himself near the Duchess of Berry, who, though his aunt, was the youngest of the company. The duchess amused herself in talking with him, and as the king rose up, not wishing to discover himself, the duchess said, “You shall not escape thus; I will know your name.”
At this moment a most unfortunate accident befell the others, through the youthful gaiety of the Duke of Orleans, who, could he have foreseen the mischief he was about to cause, would not on any consideration have acted so. Being very inquisitive to find out who they were, while the five were dancing he took one of the torches from his servants, and holding it too near, set their dresses on fire. Flax, you know, is instantly in a blaze, and the pitch with which the cloth had been covered to fasten the flax added to the impossibility of extinguishing it. They were likewise chained together, and their cries were dreadful; some knights did their utmost to disengage them, but the fire was so strong that they burnt their hands very severely. One of the five, Nantouillet, broke the chain, and rushing into the buttery, flung himself into a large tub of water, which was there for washing dishes and plates; this saved him, or he would have burnt to death like the rest, but he was, withal, very ill for some time. The queen was so much alarmed that she fainted, for she knew the king was one of the six; the Duchess of Berry, however, saved the king by throwing the train of her robe over him. This terrible accident happened about twelve o’clock at night, in the ball-room of the hotel de St. Pol, and it was a most melancholy spectacle—of the four that were on fire, two died on the spot; the other two, the bastard of Foix and the Count of Joigny, were carried to their hotels, and died two days afterwards in great agonies.
Source: Jean Froissart. The Chronicles of England, France, and Spain. Pp. 511-12.
World History
