It could be said that King Charles VI of France was not your most mentally stable of monarchs. Given to such bizarre behavior such as roaming around, howling like a wolf; not bathing for months and believing he was made from glass; at times he would forget his own name or that he was king, fleeing from his wife in terror. He once killed one of his own knights in a fit of psychosis, believing the man was an enemy sent to assassinate him.

Yeah…crazy dude who lived a privileged, weird, French existence. Anyway, one thing about his life that grabbed my attention was something I remembered reading about as a kid called the “Bal des Sauvages” (later known as the “Bal des Ardents”) or the “Ball of the Wild (or Burning) Men”.

The King’s wife, Isabeau of Bavaria threw a party to celebrate the marriage of one of her ladies-in-waiting. For giggles (or perhaps because he was shit-slappin’ crazy), Charles and five other lords dressed up as Woodwose (mythical, hairy-covered, wild men of the forests), “in costumes of linen cloth sewn onto their bodies and soaked in resinous wax or pitch to hold a covering of frazzled hemp, ’so that they appeared shaggy and hairy from head to foot’”. This concoction of a costume was seriously flammable, so all torches were banned from the room. Much ribaldry ensued.

However, the Duke of Orleans (who died after having both his arms amputated in an assassination, incidentally), being kind of a dick, took a torch into the room and under the auspices of trying to locate his brother Charles (others say he was teasing the dancers), one of the Woodwose dancers caught aflame. The men, being chained together and covered with extremely flammable gunk, all lit up like a bonfire. Hilarity and panic galore.

Charles barely escaped with his life, being saved by the Duchess of Berry, (whom he had been flirting with prior to becoming human kindling) who covered him with her skirts, keeping him from burning alive. Four of the other men died.

This morning, I read about a fascinating (and kind of really disgusting) dish once served in France. The Ortolan is a bird in the bunting family and is native to Europe and some parts of western Asia. It is prepared and eaten as such:

You catch the ortolan with a net spread up in the forest canopy. Take it alive. Take it home. Poke out its eyes and put it in a small cage. Force-feed it oats and millet and figs until it has swollen to four times its normal size. Drown it in brandy. Roast it whole, in an oven at high heat, for six to eight minutes. Bring it to the table. Place a cloth—a napkin will do—over your head to hide your cruelty from the sight of God. Put the whole bird into your mouth, with only the beak protruding from your lips. Bite. Put the beak on your plate and begin chewing, gently. You will taste three things: First, the sweetness of the flesh and fat. This is God. Then, the bitterness of the guts will begin to overwhelm you. This is the suffering of Jesus. Finally, as your teeth break the small, delicate bones and they begin to lacerate your gums, you will taste the salt of your own blood, mingling with the richness of the fat and the bitterness of the organs. This is the Holy Spirit, the mystery of the Trinity—three united as one. It is cruel. And beautiful. According to Claude Souvenir, chewing the ortolan takes approximately 15 minutes.

The napkin and references to the Catholic Trinity might be one interpretation. I’ve also read that the napkin’s purpose over the head is to retain the aromas released from the bird as it is chewed, so that the nose can fully appreciate them.

Since the bird is endangered, eating ortolan is illegal. Supposedly, former French president François Mitterrand was secretly served one in 1996 as part of his dying wish. I’ll pass.