It was not a mere fit of delirious fever; it was the beginning of a radical mental derangement, sometimes in abeyance, or at least for some time alleviated, but bursting out again without appreciable reason, and aggravated at every fresh explosion. Charles VI. had always had a taste for masquerading. When in 1389 the young queen, Isabel of Bavaria, came to Paris to be married, the king, on the morning of her entry, said to his chamberlain, Sire de Savoisy, “Prithee, take a good horse, and I will mount behind thee; and we will dress so as not to be known and go to see my wife cone in.” Savoisy did not like it, but the king insisted; and so they went in this guise through the crowd, and got many a blow from the officers’ staves when they attempted to approach too near the procession. In 1393, a year after his first outbreak of madness, the king, during an entertainment at court, conceived the idea of disguising as savages himself and five of his courtiers. They had been sewn up in a linen skin which defined their whole bodies; and this skin had been covered with a resinous pitch, so as to hold sticking upon it a covering of tow, which made them appear hairy from head to foot. Thus disguised these savages went dancing into the ball-room; one of those present took up a lighted torch and went up to them; and in a moment several of them were in flames. It was impossible to get off the fantastic dresses clinging to their bodies. “Save the king!” shouted one of the poor masquers; but it was not known which was the king. The Duchess de Berry, his aunt, recognized him, caught hold of him, and wrapped him in her robe, saying, “Do not move; you see your companions are burning.” And thus he was saved amidst the terror of all present. When he was conscious of his mad state, he was horrified; he asked pardon for the injury he had done, confessed and received the communion. Later, when he perceived his malady returning, he would allude to it with tears in his eyes, ask to have his hunting-knife taken away, and say to those about him, “If any of you, by I know not what witchcraft, be guilty of my sufferings, I adjure him, in the name of Jesus Christ, to torment me no more, and to put an end to me forthwith without making me linger so.” He conceived a horror of Queen Isabel, and, without recognizing her, would say when he saw her, “What woman is this? What does she want? Will she never cease her importunities? Save me from her persecution!” At first great care was taken of him. They sent for a skilful doctor from Laon, named William de Harsely, who put him on a regimen from which, for some time, good effects were experienced. But the doctor was uncomfortable at court; he preferred going back to his little place at Laon, where he soon afterwards died; and eleven years later, in 1405, nobody took any more trouble about the king. He was fed like a dog, and allowed to fall ravenously upon his food. For five whole months he had not a change of