Behind His Mask

On a blustery day in December of 1888, Joseph Merrick, better known as “The Elephant Man,” sat reading beside the fire in his cozy room in the London Hospital. Unlike regular patients who were admitted, treated and released to home or death, Joseph was a permanent resident. His extreme disfigurement frightened people so much he had to wear a mask when he ventured into public. One of his managers in the circus had made it for him.

His custom-designed mask consisted of an enormous yachting cap, large enough to fit his head that measured a staggering thirty-six inches in circumference. All the way around the cap hung a brown burlap veil that covered his face. A single hole had been cut for his left eye to look out upon the world. The whole getup was bizarre and ghostly, but without it, he had been taunted, jeered, and even physically attacked.

Still, behind the mask he was a dreamer. He craved the love of a woman, yet knew how unattainable it would be. Most women tended to scream and even faint at the sight of him. That hurt his feelings even more than his physical disorder, causing him to weep bitter tears when he was alone. He was a young man in his twenties and couldn’t help longing for the warmth of another’s touch, a glowing smile meant just for him, and the pleasure of joining body and soul in the ultimate act of love.

For two years now he'd been living here at the hospital with every care and attention lavished on him, thanks to the generosity of the British public. Gifts from admirers arrived nearly every day, mostly books. Compelled to live in isolation, there was very little else he could do but read. His closest friends and benefactors did arrange for visits to their homes: Mr. Carr-Gomm, the hospital governor; Mrs. Leila Maturin, the first woman to smile at him and shake his hand; and Mr. Treves, his kind doctor who had rescued him from certain death at the hands of a mob at the Liverpool Street train station.

Joseph had even received personal visits from Her Royal Highness, Princess Alexandra, who gave him her signed portrait and three Christmas cards. Her husband, Edward, the Prince of Wales, was an avid hunter and sent fresh game to Joseph’s table. Quail was his favorite dish.

Yet there was one place he still longed to go—the theater, with all its dramatic stories and action. As he sat in his room reading Shakespeare's plays, he did his best to imagine the exciting swordplay and stirring speeches of the men, the passionate declamations of the women who sought love and freedom from their oppressive lives.

Joseph never forgot what it was like to stand on a stage in front of an audience. Desperate to escape the terrible conditions of the Leicester Union Workhouse, he had written to a local freak show manager, Mr. Sam Torr. With great hoopla, the showman worked up an act for Joseph as “The Elephant Man,” an apt description of the hanging folds of flesh all over his body and the great bulges of bone on his forehead that resembled an elephant’s head. There was no need to don a costume, or paint his unusual face with makeup. All he had to do was be himself.

The showman would intone, "Remember, folks, we do not make ourselves. Joseph's blood is as red as yours. He is here to enlighten you, not frighten you."

As he had stood before the swooning audience, turning like a music box figurine to display every lump, every bulge, and every inch of his twisted spine, Joseph had wondered what it would be like to sit in the audience and be a spectator. Would he be terrified by such a sight as himself?

A knock at the door startled him but he managed to call, “Come in.”

To his delight, it was his personal nurse, Emma Ireland. "Good day, Mr. Merrick. How are you this fine morning?"

"I'm quite well, thank you," he replied cheerfully. "I do hope they're not making you work too hard."

"Not today. It's surprisingly quiet."

"Goodness... the London is quiet today? I can hardly believe that."

Standing in the slums of Whitechapel, the large hospital admitted nearly 75,000 patients per year, most of them indigent.

"That it is," Emma chuckled. "Which means I can spend a little time with you and not dash off."

Joseph watched as the red-haired nurse plumped the pillows on his bed, smoothed down the coverlet, and straightened the guest chair at the table. He gestured with his shapely left hand.

"Please sit down, Nurse."

"Why thank you, Mr. Merrick. My feet could use a rest."

"They must get very tired."

"Oh yes. Between the patients, the doctors, and the Matron, we run like rabbits from dawn to dusk."

Joseph bowed his head. "I know these rooms are such a long walk from the wards."

"Yes...well, you mustn't feel bad, Mr. Merrick. We don't want anyone bothering you here." It was more the reverse. One time Joseph had ventured upstairs without his mask and nearly caused a riot.

Emma asked gently, "Are you comfortable?"

"Oh yes..."

She knew him well enough to catch the hesitation in his voice. "Is something amiss? Are you getting proper care?"

"I surely am," Joseph said. "Everyone has been very kind. It's just that...there's somewhere I have never been."

Nurse Emma's heart ached as she thought of all the places Joseph had never been. This warmhearted young man lived as a prisoner in these rooms, unable to even go out to the hospital garden except by night, heavily concealed in his robe and mask.

Joseph was saying, "I would love to go to the theater. I would so love to see 'Romeo and Juliet.'"

That was the last thing the nurse expected to hear, and yet it made sense. “Have you asked Mr. Treves if he could arrange it?"

"Not yet. He has been terribly busy. But I certainly shall."

"What about Mrs. Kendal? Maybe she could pull a few strings and smuggle you in."

"Do you think so?" Joseph looked up, hope dawning in his beautiful brown eyes.

"Well, she has been very charitable on your behalf," Nurse Ireland recalled.

Madge Kendal was the most distinguished actress of their time. She starred in many plays produced by her husband William. Oddly, she herself had never come to visit Joseph, but William, a friend of Mr. Treves, took a great interest in Joseph and often dropped in to see him bearing gifts from his wife. She had even arranged for him to learn basket weaving. He soon became adept and gave his completed baskets to friends.

The nurse remained with Joseph for nearly half an hour, helping him assemble a cardboard cathedral kit, also a gift from Mrs. Kendal. It was a very detailed model of Mainz Cathedral in Germany. In the beginning, all the fiddly little pieces had tested his patience, but Emma had done her best to assist him, and now it was coming along just swimmingly.

Another knock on the door caught their attention. Mr. Treves came in and remarked, "I see your fellow architect is aiding your latest project."

Nurse Ireland chuckled. “It’s coming along very well, don’t you think, Mr. Merrick?"

Joseph sighed. "Yes, but those spires will be difficult.”

Emma Ireland rose and smoothed down her apron. "Mr. Treves, I think Mr. Merrick has a question for you."

The tall bearded doctor leaned against the mantelpiece. "Really? What's on your mind, my man?"

Joseph gulped. His throat felt dry.

"Well?"

"Well... I've... I've been reading plays," Joseph stammered. "But... reading plays only takes one's imagination so far..."

Treves knew Joseph well, and deduced at once where he was headed. "And you would like to see one performed live, I take it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Joseph, how many times must I remind you you needn't call me 'sir?"

"Yes, Frederick."

Treves stroked his walrus mustache. "Well, that does pose some difficulties. I must be frank. If an audience were to catch a glimpse of you, all the action on the stage would stop, I fear."

Joseph nodded. How well he knew!

"Yet it would be downright uncomfortable for you to spend an evening out in that mask of yours. What fun would that be?"

The nurse saw a twinkle in the doctor's eye, and felt he was toying with Joseph. She spoke up boldly. "What if he were to sit somewhere hidden, sir? In the last row, perhaps."

"Behind a pillar? That would block his enjoyment of the play."

Nurse Ireland said thoughtfully, "Or even a private box."

Treves smiled. "A capital idea, Nurse!”

That night, Joseph was too excited to sleep. When he finally nodded off, he dreamed of all the color and pageantry of a glittering West End theatre. There would be actors in vibrant colors, beautifully painted sets, and perhaps dancing girls leaping and twirling in frilly costumes as he'd seen in books.

The next few days dragged by. Joseph's usual occupations held no interest for him, though he kept telling himself not to get his hopes up.

Though Mr. Treves visited faithfully every day and two hours on Sundays as usual, he didn't mention going to the theatre again, and Joseph wondered if he had forgotten.

Then a letter arrived. Hunched over his desk at his office in the medical college, Frederick mulled over the message that had finally come. The stationary was pleasing, with printed illustrations of exotic flowers. He didn't need to ask whom had sent it.

It was almost six in the evening by the time the surgeon had finished his hospital duties. He always made sure to see Joseph before he went home for the night. He had come to realize he was quite fond of the young man. When he’d first encountered the Elephant Man in an exhibit, he had regarded Merrick as merely as a specimen of great scientific interest. Then he had discovered the lonely heart and sharp mind beneath the grotesque exterior, and set out to win his trust. Joseph had eagerly responded, and would talk endlessly of his hopes and dreams.

Treves knocked on Joseph's door and found him reading, as usual. Joseph saw at once the sparkle in his eyes.

 "I've got good news for you, my lad." With a flourish, the doctor held out the letter. Joseph took it in trembling hands.

"Dear Mr. Merrick,

It would be my honor to arrange for you a visit to an upcoming Christmas pantomime at Drury Lane Theater.

Kind regards,

Madge Kendal"

"Thank you, Mr. Treves! How wonderful!” Joseph's face turned pink to his ears with delight.

 Treves went on. "I have even better news. You are to sit in the box of Baroness Coutts and we shall enter the theater at the royal entrance in complete anonymity."

Royal? Baroness? Joseph's head was spinning. Oh Mother, if you could see me now. He thought of the urchins in Leicester who used to spit at him and throw stones. How far he had come!

The great day arrived at last. The tickets were for a musical show about Puss in Boots, the day after Christmas, known as Boxing Day. The holiday had been full of excitement for the whole hospital, from the first Christmas caroling by the nurses to the puppet shows and turkey dinners put on by the doctors and students, ending with special dances and suppers for the ward maids, floor scrubbers, and porters.

At precisely half-past six Treves went to Joseph's rooms, looking dashing in evening clothes. Joseph himself had been measured for a formal suit, though his disfigurement made it look loose and oddly-shaped. He didn’t mind, as long as it was elegant.

They rode in a private carriage to Drury Lane Theater and swept past the main entrance with its blazing lights. Draped in his concealing mask, Joseph and his guests were taken to the private entrance for the Royal family. They made their way into the grand theater and up to the Baroness's box.

Joseph was finally allowed to remove his mask. For once, he could gaze freely about him and feel the fresh air on his face. He tipped back his heavy head and gasped, dazzled by the crystal chandeliers and magnificent pillars around him.

Soon the red velvet curtains parted and the show began. Joseph’s senses were overwhelmed by the colors and sounds, glittering light and soaring melodies. "Puss in Boots" was presented as a true English pantomime, complete with crashing cymbals, popular ditties and magic tricks. The audience screamed with laughter at the antics of clowns running around dressed as policemen. Joseph winced. He and his managers had been run out of town by the police many times on grounds of indecency. Seeing them again, even as actors, brought back unpleasant memories.

He brightened at the sight of the most beautiful dancing ladies he had ever seen, with long lithe limbs daringly exposed. Their dances were interwoven with the story of clever Puss, who guided his master to win fortune and the hand of the princess he loved.

There were simply no words for their impact on Joseph Merrick, who had had to create such beauty from his imagination.

He never wanted it to end, but alas, end it did. Slowly Joseph awoke as if from a dream. On the ride back to the hospital, he barely spoke, unable to find words for the miracle he had experienced. Not then.

In the weeks to come, however, he talked endlessly of that evening, reliving its glories. He was sure the dishes were of real gold. The royal couple were real, as was the evil ogre who had been turned into a mouse

"What do you suppose the Prince did after we went home?" he asked Treves one day.

The surgeon's mustache twitched. "I'm - sure he put on his nightcap and went to bed. It was very late."

"Oh, do princes wear nightcaps?"

"Well, I don't suppose they wear their crowns to bed."

"You're right."

 And so on it went.

As winter passed, Joseph sat dreaming before the fire, hearing again the rush of applause like wind and voices raised in harmonious choruses. For one magic night he had been granted freedom from his mask. He would treasure it forever.