MADAME TUSSEAU’S MUSEUM.
This museum consists of a celebrated collection of wax figures, which “enjoys a high and deserved reputation,” says Silliman; and which, he adds, “is the only one of the kind from which I have ever received any pleasure.” “There are three successive rooms,” he continues, “in which are seen a great number of personages in costume, and in natural and characteristic positions in relation to each other. In the vestibule the visitor passes through groups of marble statues, such as may be seen in many other places. On entering the first room of the museum, exactly at the door, and sitting in a chair, a pleasant looking young Chinese, a door-keeper, as I supposed, almost spoke to me, and I did quite speak to him, so lifelike was he; but as he seemed not to understand English, we passed on. The next personage, in the right corner of the room, was a well dressed gentleman, whom I for the moment mistook for a living Englishman; he looked so very affable, that I took him for an official, and was about to make an inquiry of him, when I perceived that he too belonged to the deaf mutes. Next came those to whom I must not speak, the queen with Prince Albert, and four of their sweet children, mounted on an elevated platform. The likenesses are so striking, judging from pictures, statues and information, (for I have not seen them,) that the royal personages might be readily recognized by one who knew them; for, as seen here, they are all but speaking, and moving, and breathing.
“Although no figures in these rooms spoke, three gave signs of life. One, a Chinese lady in a rich oriental dress, was standing on her little feet, by her husband, while he, a Hong merchant, in splendid attire, was listening to some communication from her; and although we could not hear what she said, she gave effect to her address by an earnest look and by a gentle movement of her head. Another lady, Madame —--, afterward a victim of Robespierre’s cruelty, because she indignantly refused to become the victim of his lust, lies asleep on her couch in her day dress, probably in prison prior to her execution. She breathes, and her bust, with her dress, rises and falls so naturally with the respiration, that you instinctively move softly, lest she should be disturbed in her slumber. In these rooms are seen imposing occasions of state. The queen, in another scene than which has been named, with her family, is surrounded by her ministers, bishops, and lords and ladies, and by courtiers, and generals, and foreign embassadors; (I blend two of these scenes into one;) all are in full court-dress, in magnificent robes, and sparkling with factitious diamonds. The illusion is so complete, that were an observer introduced suddenly into the scene, without an intimation of the deception, he would be startled at finding himself in such company.
“Hundreds of the most eminent persons, both of the living and the dead, are here, and the likenesses are so good that I readily recognized several, either of those whom I had seen when living, (e. g., George III., Pitt, and Fox,) or whose pictures or busts were familiar, (Voltaire, Sir. W. Scott, and Washington.) Calvin, Luther and John Knox are in one group, and the latter is addressing Queen Mary of Scotland, on whom he seems not likely to make any more impression now than he did of yore. I might multiply these instances. Napoleon and his marshals; Louis XVI. and his children and sister; Louis Philippe and his family; Queen Elizabeth and her courtiers; Anne Boleyn and her bloody husband; Charles I. and II., the former listening to a talk from Cromwell; James I. and II.; the royal dukes, sons of George III.; Lord Wellington; Lord John Russell; Admiral Napier, of Acre memory; and many, many more. Pictures of eminent persons and of interesting scenes are hung all around the lofty rooms, which are gilded and adorned in the manner of a palace. A throng of visitors were in the apartments, but from their dress and appearance, it was obvious that they belonged not to the upper ten thousand, but to the lower million, and most of them were probably of that class, who, having been drawn to London by the great exhibition, take the opportunity to see other wonders of the great metropolis, and we were pleased that they could be thus gratified.
“Passing the room of horrors, (that is of murders and executions,) where an additional sixpence is demanded for the pleasure of seeing what all should desire to avoid, we entered a room called the hall of Napoleon, occupied chiefly by relics of that great captain and emperor, who made such an impression on the age in which he lived, that his name and his deeds—the deeds of more than twenty years of sanguinary conflict, with only short interludes of repose—are now enrolled in history, and will go down to the end of time. The relics here preserved are personal articles, which once belonged to him. His own hair is inclosed in the same locket with that of his son, the Duke of Reichstadt. There is the sword of the Egyptian campaign, which was waved in many a bloody battle. Here are the more harmless utensils of his table; but the most conspicuous things are his carriages, three in number. In one of these he made his excursions from Longwood, in St. Helena, to the boundaries of that small island, rough with volcanic rocks. This carriage is a plain yellow barouche, with nothing peculiar in its appearance. His common or usual traveling carriage was in the post-chaise form, with inside seats for only two persons, and there is a low division between them. His iron bedstead was folded like the legs of a grasshopper, packed in a case, and hung beneath the coachman’s seat. Inside of the carriage is a writing-desk, which can be drawn out at pleasure, to accommodate the traveler; and it still retained its connection with the front of the carriage. There is a movable board, which answered for a table; and a door opens in front, beneath the writing-desk, to afford room for the limbs when the traveler wishes to sleep. The bedstead might perhaps admit of a partial contraction, so as to be placed in the carriage, in front of the seat, as a support, or there might have been some other contrivance for this purpose. This carriage is said to be lined with concealed iron plates, to afford protection against the bullets of assassins. That found on the field of Waterloo is yellow, and the paint and varnish, have come off in certain places, so that it is defaced in appearance. This latter carriage is a common coach with two seats, the front seat, as usual, reversed; but there is nothing peculiar in its appearance or conveniences, and it was probably taken in haste after the return from Elba; for the hundred days included Napoleon’s hegira, his brief sway in Paris, and his downfall at Waterloo, and to that fatal field he rode in this carriage. But the most interesting relic is the bed on which the fallen emperor died. We were assured that it was the very bed and bedstead of St. Helena, and that it was the camp establishment of his campaigns.”