It is astonishing how great a hold must be taken of the public mind by candidates for inclusion in Madame Tussaud’s Exhibition before their election to our house would be welcomed by our patrons.
Of course, we are now associating our minds only with reputable society. As regards the Chamber of Horrors—of which I shall have something to say when the time comes—I may here remark that it is the notorious characters solely who seem to have a prescriptive right to enter that abode of gloom, which used to be called in the old days the “Dead Room,” hardly so telling a title as the “Chamber of Horrors,” for which, by the way, we are indebted to our dear old friend “Mr. Punch.”
As to those people who retain a permanent place in the Exhibition, I suppose the secret is that, either by the example of their lives or through the medium of their works, they have deeply touched the heart or stirred the imagination of the people.
I suppose the British public never looked on two such political gladiators as Beaconsfield and Gladstone, and while these two statesmen dominated people’s minds it was natural that they should both have a pedestal at Madame Tussaud’s. I can neither say who was first to appear in the Exhibition, nor prophesy who will be the last to go. They are both there now, and still attract much notice from persons of all shades of political opinion.
So often had these figures to be remodelled, to keep pace with the changes worked by time and the strenuous nature of their public service, that there must now repose, carefully stowed away in our “catacombs,” impressions of their features sufficient to cover the whole gamut of their political careers.
For more than a generation the Beaconsfield curl and the Gladstone collar exercised a subtle influence in the political world, mainly through the cartoons and caricatures of John Tenniel and Harry Furniss.
One has to be meticulously careful with regard to important details such as these; and when Mr. Gladstone’s figure had to be remodelled in later years, it was thought advisable, in order to be quite correct, that a collar actually belonging to the “G. O. M.” should be inspected.
Mr. Gladstone was living at Carlton House Terrace at the time the new portrait was in progress; and our “Master of the Robes,” who was responsible for the accuracy of detail respecting all Exhibition costumes, called there, and, on examining the statesman’s collars, was surprised to find that they were of quite normal size, and not so high as the caricaturist represented them to be.
As a matter of fact, the collars were made to fit loosely round the neck, and thus allowed the wearer’s chin to sink behind their upstanding ends. It is gratifying to record that permission to view her husband’s collars was graciously given to our representative by Mrs. Gladstone herself.
On a certain occasion when Mr. Gladstone had been notified that Mr. Harry Furniss, the originator of the big collar, would be at a dinner to which he himself was invited, the Liberal leader purposely wore a collar of more than usually modest dimensions, possibly as a gentle rebuke to his caricaturist.