History Of Madame Tussaud's
( Originally Published 1920 )
A miscellany of humour—Our policeman—The mysterious lantern—The danger of old Catalogues—Stories of children—Sir Ernest Shackleton's model.
MANY of our visitors will remember the model of the policeman which stands at the entrance to the main gallery in the Exhibition. Hundreds—I might say thousands—of visitors have been "taken in" by this lifelike officer, who is the embodiment of a genial bobby prepared at any moment to show the way or tell the time.
The fame of this nameless policeman has extended to practically all the grown-ups who bring their children to see the figures, and many times in the day we see laughing parents watching the nonplussed _expression on the faces of their offspring whom they have prevailed upon to go and ask where a certain model is to be found.
Immediately opposite is the figure of the programme-seller in somnolent mood, who is frequently offered six-pence for a Catalogue she cannot sell. It is the would-be customer that is sold.
It is most amusing to observe how many adults are deceived who seem to pride themselves on their discernment. For example, on Bank Holidays it is customary to have a number of real live constables on duty to regulate the crowd and give directions.
Bobby has a keen sense of humour, and some of them, entering into the spirit of the situation, now and again stand stock-still in the most natural attitude they can command. Not once, but frequently, a visitor, in passing with his friends, has, with an air of superior knowledge, pushed the ferrule of his stick or umbrella into the supposed figure's side, to be startled by the model's ejaculating, "Now then, young man, enough of that."
There is a mystery which has never been cleared up, and that is whether it was a policeman or a burglar who left a bull's-eye lantern in the Exhibition studio; but it is quite clear that the intruder, whoever he was, fled from the place in fright.
A portrait of the Marquis of Hartington had just been finished, and left fully clothed and ready to be transferred to the Exhibition. By an oversight the door of the studio was left unfastened, and on. our return in the morning it was found to have been opened.
On the floor, at the feet of the model of the Mar-quis, lay a bull's-eye lantern that evidently had been dropped by its owner as he rushed from the place. The probability is that the policeman, or the burglar, had flashed his lamp on the figure and had been scared to find, as he thought, a man—or a spectre---confronting him. No claim was ever made for the lamp.
It is not an unusual thing that visitors who wish to save expense should bring with them an old Catalogue which they have treasured up at home for a future visit. This is not a safe plan, for with the addition of new figures the older ones have to be renumbered. As a result the visitors in question are sometimes misled, as was the lady in the following story told by a Londoner.
He related that he had occasion to take a country cousin to the Exhibition, and she took with her an old Catalogue.
He paid little attention to her describing King Ed-ward IV as King Henry VIII, and exclaiming that she did not know Queen Mary of Scots dressed like a man. But when she said, "Well, I never ! I always thought Gladstone was a man, though my brothers call him an old woman," then he felt interested, and proceeded to investigate. There it was, sure enough; the model No. 63 was the figure of an old lady, but in the out-of-date Catalogue No. 63 was "William Ewart Gladstone.
Sometimes we get a rough old country farmer who has got it into his head that everyone in our Exhibition has committed some crime or other.
Visitors, when audibly perusing their Catalogue, are sometimes a source of entertainment to others who overhear them, owing to the curious mistakes they make. One day a jolly-looking countryman came to a standstill before the figure of Henry IV of France, described in our Catalogue as "Henri Quatre." "'Enry Carter," said he; "'oo did 'e kill?" and, finding the gentleman in question innocent 