Ball of burning Men

'the sun goes with his face uncovered,

his face is veiled by the excess of his light' - Rumi

The desire to dress up and become someone else is one of the oldest human impulses. Which is why we crawl on the floor swishing our tails, and sail mighty oceans with feathers in our hair. Which is why we also wear heels, and hide behind expensive suits and fancy handbags. There are parades, parties and curated Instagram lives. We polish our profiles and slip behind fancy designations. If you think about it, so much of it is role play. No wonder it’s fun.

Hare and Hedgehog at Jung-München Maskenfest, Joseph Albert, 1862

A true story, embellished a little.

The King of France liked to play silly games. But as it often happens in life, sometimes it didn’t go too well.

Imagine 1393, Paris. A cold January evening. Impatient horses stamping in the mud, and tallow candles dripping off glass chandeliers. A party at the palace. Drunk dancers are swirling in long skirts, and chattering nobles crowd around tables loaded with food. Roasted meats, sweet pastries, and goblets of spiced wine. The mood is heady and decadent. Suddenly, drums begin to roll.

A hush descends on the hall. Shadows flicker and the enormous doors swing open. Six men shuffle in, grotesque and wild. People gasp. It is the king and his friends, masked and chained together like animals. They’re dressed in carefully stitched costumes. Linen soaked in resin and covered in flax, turns them into hairy beasts. Wide eyed courtiers watch in awe and horror as the men begin to stamp their feet and growl. A harpist plucks his strings. Jugglers and jesters, tumble and tease, as the masked men spin around the room in tandem, faster and faster. The hall quivers with nervous energy, surging to a crescendo, until alas...a torch leans in, too close.

Bal des Ardents - Chronicles of Jean Froissart, 15th century

King’s brother, a little drunk and very curious, shoved the flame into the masked faces to see who they were. A spark flew. The inflammable hair stuck to their skin burst into flames. The hall descended into chaos. In an instant the men were wrapped in a blazing fire. Tied together, they thrashed wildly, trying to break free. Four died. One jumped into a vat of wine and survived. The King lived because a quick thinking Duchess threw the voluminous train of her gown over him. It was a macabre end to a night of revelry, marked as one of the most infamous scandals of the Middle Ages.

Centuries pass, but we're still playing the same games. It is hard to resist a chance to abandon who we are and become what we want. There are many reasons to slip on a mask, and borrow a face or a voice. We are drawn to disguise because of curiosity, tradition, fear, play, rebellion, desire, the thrill of transformation and lure of untold stories. But can it really set us free.

I'm not sure what the King Charles VI was doing on the floor that night. It might have been a fleeting escape from the humdrum of royal life or a small act of survival. But it does make me think - can there be freedom in pretence, or are we truly free only when we dare to be utterly, unflinchingly ourselves?

I want to read more like this