I’m unsure which edition of Poe’s collected stories I first read this in, as I borrowed it from a friend, but I do remember that the word used in the title was “masque”, as in a type of masked ball, and not “mask”, what one would wear to such a dance. Apparently the first version published used mask.
During the pandemic, when I got sick and my neighbour texted me to say her app had likely picked me up through the walls as a ‘close contact’, this story popped into my head again. Was there no escape from this dreaded plague?
The story’s protagonist, Prince Prospero, hearing of a terrifying “red death” sweeping the land, causing people to bleed to death through their very pores, retreats to his suitably gothic castellated abbey. He invites a thousand wealthy nobles to wait out the disease’s passing through the populace with him. Ensconced behind the walls of the abbey, they think they are safe! They indulge in luxurious parties. For these, Prospero has had each room in the abbey decorated in a different colour, the last of which is black, illuminated in red light, which creeps his guests out so they don’t go in there.
Then a mysterious figure is seen at the party, in a shroud-like robe, looking like they are wearing the costume of a victim of the red death. The sight of this angers Prospero. The figure passes through each room, and Prospero follows them into the last room to confront the figure before dropping dead. The figure is not a human, but death itself, who was not invited but who came anyway.
With all the emphasis on blood and the sickly colours, the abbey never feels like a sanctuary. It’s claustrophobic and oppressive. The story feels like it should be an allegory, full of heavy symbolism, but what might it mean? That is not so clear. Perhaps that wealth cannot protect you from plague. Perhaps the inevitability of death. It’s also one of the few stories I like that only has thin archetypes rather than rounded characters, but it doesn’t need anything more. These characters come from a dark age, and speak to us with the clarity of long-dead ghosts.
First published in Broadway Journal, 1845, revised from a version in Graham’s Lady’s and Gentleman’s Magazine, 1842. Widely available, including online, here
A Personal Anthology 