Monday, October 28, 2013

For the weekend mask prompt

Over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, one of the garden's newest toads is Michael, known as grapeling, and he has offered us a timely challenge now with Hallowe'en on the horizon.
He has asked us to write about masks.
One particular masked man (not the Lone Ranger, or even Batman) has been of interest to me since I was very young, and I don't know his name or anything about his ancestry. Although much has been written about him over several hundred years, nothing has ever been proven.
He is most often referred to as someone involved with the early Kings Louis of France, a son of one, an older brother to another, a twin brother to one, the illegitimate offspring of another. He was variously imprisoned in the Bastille, Pignerol, and Sainte-Marguerite.
Twentieth century research into prisoners of the 1600s has offered other possibilities, but the only name that has survived intact after all these ages has been this one:

the man
in the iron mask
could not remember
Wikipedia photo
how his own face looked,

nor his father’s, whom
he resembled so,
or so they said,
before they
him up,
him up,

in irons, to match his face

by Kay L. Davies, October, 2013

The only fact I can offer you, despite all the speculation over the centuries, is that none of the other Real Toads will be able to solve the mystery more readily than I, except for Hedgewitch O'TheWilds, who has some deep, dark, secret sources, or so I have heard, but don't let on I told you so.


Anonymous said...

Ah, Kay, a mystery - how perfectly apropos for the challenge. Many thanks, and certainly my sources run shallow. ~ M

Marian said...

gosh, what an observation: irons to match the mask. whew.

Loredana Donovan said...

Intriguing mystery!

Kay L. Davies said...

I seem to have lost some comments here. Got an error message. No idea what happened, but if your comment is missing, I apologize.

hedgewitch said...

Me know the answer? Not so much. I might ask the spirits, though. ;_)

I have read the Dumas, but that was fictional. Whoever he was, he had to bear an embarrassing resemblance to a father who wanted nothing to do with the fruits of his own foibles.

I hear the real mask was black velvet, which would at least make hygiene a bit less nasty. Love the cloudy nature of your poem, and I also like the end lines--gives a very appropriate claustrophobic feel to things.

Heaven said...

Fascinating story of that man ~

This last one nailed it for me Kay:

in irons, to match his face - wow ~

Margaret said...

Have always been fascinated by this story...