“To Conceal Is to Reveal.” The Paradox of Masquerades
“To Conceal Is to Reveal.” The Paradox of Masquerades
Hello, everyone!
I did my master’s thesis on Edgar Allan Poe’s stories, and during the pandemic, re-read his all-too-prescient “Masque of the Red Death” (1842). This was the story of an Italian prince who, while his subjects lay dying of the plague, partied like there were many tomorrows for his own type of people (that is, rich). Poe being Poe, no surprise that the plague came to the party too:
The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood — and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror.
I was reminded as I read this how common some form of mask and masquerade is in stories. There’s something tricky and compelling about a person wearing a literal or figurative mask—pretending to be what they’re not… and perhaps, in the process of masking, revealing what they really are.
So I’ve done some research on the history of masquerades, and I’d like to share some of that with you all!
The Original Burning Man Masquerade
In Europe after the Middle Ages, masquerades of various sorts were popular events, often connected to religious or public occasions. A famous early masquerade was held in celebration of the wedding of the French queen’s lady-in-waiting. Several men, costumed like “savages” in flax cloth and pitch, got into close contact with the torches and caught on fire. This masquerade was memorialized as the “Burning Men” festival, and a distant descendant of it is held still every summer in the Nevada desert. (I’m sure it’s great fun, but really, summer festival in the desert?)
In England, masquerades were sometimes held at village festivals (especially those based on pagan ceremonies), but the events came into societal importance in the early 18th century. That was when a Swiss count named Heidegger figured out a way to make some money on this entertainment. He sold subscriptions and tickets to public masked balls at the indoor venue of the Haymarket Opera House, and outdoors at Ranelagh and Vauxhall gardens. T’hese were, of necessity, rather public affairs, and became notorious as places where the high-born and the low-born could interact, often violently.
Later, masquerades flourished less formally in urban areas, where anonymity was possible and the masqueraders had reason to hide their identities and activities. Masquerade is almost always connected to societal instability and interaction between people who shouldn’t interact (like illicit lovers).
Generally, the masquerade required certain ingredients:
- A party or ball. In London, in the 18th and 19th Centuries, these were often held in the open air, at public gardens like Ranelagh.
- It was more glamorous, of course, if these were naughty aristocrats, but in truth, masquerates in the public gardens admitted anyone with a domino and mask.
- A mask. This hid the partier’s identity, and increased the surreptitious atmosphere. The mask let the masked person commit indiscretions among others also being indiscreet. It wasn’t quite “what goes on in Vegas stays in Vegas,” but it was very close to that.
- Costumes were generally expected, but in England, especially into the 19th Century, they became less than obligatory. This signified the trend away from public playfulness towards private use of the masquerade to commit indiscretions (and sometimes crimes). A nefarious harasser needed only to wear a “domino” (an anonymous cloak) and a face-concealing mask to engage in his abuse.
Masquerades in Literature
Over the centuries, the idea of the masquerade has inspired much literature, including of course the famous Capulet ball scene where Romeo meets Juliet. (Here is a clip from the Prokofiev ballet. Notice that Romeo and his friends are masked – they are in the enemy camp—but Juliet’s innocence is signaled by her lack of disguise.) Edgar Allan Poe used the masked ball as a symbol of aristocratic corruption—but death comes in disguise. (Here’s a link to the trailer of the Vincent Price film.)
Prof. Terry Castle pointed out that fiction and masquerade were natural partners as masquerades allowed participants a way to engage in stories and take on the personas of other characters: “Just as the actual masquerade gave people a way of acting out memories of the traditional world of magic and folk belief– as witches, conjurers, devils, and the like—so the masquerade set-piece (had a) second life in realistic fiction.”
In Verity’s Truth, the novella I am revising, I am exploring different aspects of masquerade, focusing especially on how disguise allows lovers to “reveal what they conceal”—their true selves. The mask or disguise they wear is a clue to their real identities, and that paradox is a clue to why the masquerade remains one of the most enduring motifs in fiction.
What stories have you read that have masks and masquerades? Why is that theme perpetually popular?
3 thoughts on ““To Conceal Is to Reveal.” The Paradox of Masquerades”
Robert W. Chambers plays upon these ideas in his King in Yellow stories. In “The Mask,” there’s a quote from the fictional play The King in Yellow:
Camilla: You, sir, should unmask.
Stranger: Indeed?
Cassilda: Indeed it’s time. We have all laid aside disguise but you.
Stranger: I wear no mask.
Camilla: (Terrified, aside to Cassilda) No mask? No mask!
That’s a great example. I have been reading Mary Renault’s historical fiction, and she makes use of masks, especially in The Mask of Apollo. That’s about an actor in classical Athenian theater where masks were used to define the characters, but the mask takes on symbolic importance too.
Eugene O’Neill also used masks to conceal/reveal. He was from an acting family– his father was a major actor in 19th C American theater, who played the Count of Monte Cristo 6000 times. The “mask” of that character kind of got stuck on him… he became typecast as the count and felt, though it made him rich, it destroyed his career. Eugene wrote about this in Long Day’s Journey into Night.
The mask kind of seems like a clumsy symbol now, because it’s so often used to “conceal/reveal”. Think of all the Marvel super-heroes!
All Superman needs is to put on glasses to hide his identity, of course. 🙂
The Mask movie with Jim Carey where the character is allowed to cast off his meek and nerdy real life to become the flamboyant prankster. Magic is involved. Or is it?