The domes of the building were specially darkened to give effect to the internal illuminations, which were very beautiful. None enjoyed the function more than the Shah himself, who laughed heartily as he pointed at models he was able to recognise, and several times turned from a figure to a person present, indicating by a gesture and a chuckle his pride at discerning the likeness. The merry monarch even went so far as to pose among the figures as a real, live royal model.
Before leaving the Exhibition the Shah called for pen and paper, and, surrounded by the distinguished company, wrote in Persian the following: “Whilst staying in London I visited Madame Tussaud’s Exhibition, and wrote these words here by way of memorial to my visit.—Nasserdin Chah Kadjar, 1290 Haegira (1873).”
The above free translation was there and then made by one of His Solar Highness’s secretaries, and it possesses the charm of its own defects.
The “king of kings” was in his most humorously autocratic vein among the unhallowed figures of the Chamber of Horrors. He seemed to gloat over the collection of criminals and notorieties, examining with unaffected delight the guillotine which cut off so many heads during the French Revolution.
The lunette in which the necks of the victims were held in position greatly fascinated the Shah, who hinted that a condemned prisoner should be brought from one of the English gaols to be decapitated on the spot for the edification of himself and his attendants.
It was pointed out, as an evasive measure, that no condemned man was available at that moment, whereupon His Majesty turned to the members of his suite and called for volunteers.
Such a thing, however, as an execution at Madame Tussaud’s was out of the question, even to gratify the whim of so illustrious a personage; and the Shah’s retainers looked genuinely relieved when they gathered that their royal master was not to have his way.
This period seemed to inaugurate a series of little wars, which, nevertheless, then excited the interest of the people, whose descendants may well remark how comparatively small these wars were. The Ashantee campaign ended in the fall of Coomassie on the 4th of February, 1874, and Sir Garnet Wolseley added fresh laurels to his fame. It was with real regret that the public looked in vain for the portrait of King Koffee at Madame Tussaud’s. As the dusky potentate had evidently never had his photograph taken, and as “sittings” were out of the question, we could not very well gratify the public curiosity for lack of the necessary data.
Not only did people expect to discover King Koffee’s portrait, but they also clamoured to see his famous umbrella, which Wolseley “borrowed” from His Majesty’s mud-palace at Coomassie, and obviously failed to return, for the umbrella was accepted as a gift by Queen Victoria from the gallant Commander of this brief and brilliant expedition. We confessed then to a twinge of envy that the celebrated gamp had not found its way to Madame Tussaud’s. We were, however, amply compensated by the public favour with which the portrait of Sir Garnet was received.
