The Devil's picture-booksVan Rensselaer, John King, Mrs.
History
The Devil's picture-books
Van Rensselaer, John King, Mrs.
Playing cards -- History
On the 29th of February, 1392, a grand fête was held in the palace
of Queen Blanche, given in honour of the marriage of the Chevalier
Vermandois to one of her Majesty’s maids of honour. The King, Charles
the Sixth, who had been for some time in a melancholy state of mind
which sometimes amounted to madness, was for the time being enjoying
a lucid interval, and was induced to enter into a frolic which was
proposed by one of his favourite courtiers by the name of Hugonin de
Janzay. It was arranged that in this masquerade the King and five of
his lords should take part. “It was,” says Juvenal des Ursins, “a
_momerie_ of savage men, heavily chained and dressed in _justes au
corps_ made of linen which had been greased and covered with hairs,
and which was made to fit close to the body.” Froissart, who was an
eyewitness of this fête, says that “the six actors in the dance rushed
into the ball-room howling and shaking their clattering chains.” As
no one was able to recognize the hairy monsters, so well were they
disguised, the Duc d’Orleans, the King’s brother, seized a lighted
torch from the hands of an attendant, and pressed it so closely against
one of these strange people that the light set fire to the linen coat,
which blazed up immediately. By great good fortune the King had become
separated from his companions, all of whom with only one exception were
roasted alive. This lucky chevalier rushed from the room, and flung
himself head first into a vat full of water and thus saved his life.
Charles indeed escaped; but the horrors of the situation, combined with
the terror, fatigue, and grief to which it gave rise, so impressed his
already enfeebled mind that he became hopelessly insane.
The Ballet des Ardents left such a vivid impression on the public
mind that sixty years later a German engraver made it the subject of
a print, so that it is not hazarding an inadmissible guess to fancy
that a card-maker of the day should seize upon it for a subject,
particularly as the cards of the period were sometimes decorated like
the horrible Dance of Death, as if they were intended to awaken in
the mind of the roystering player some thoughts which might lead him
to dwell on more serious subjects, and by means of the cards to reach
persons who might otherwise never be drawn to think of them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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