Madame Tussaud and Mrs. Wright

1904

This is the centennial year of Madame Tussaud's waxworks, and what faithful tourist in London has not visited that famous show?

The London newspapers duly commemorate its founder, whose life was indeed of singular interest. Born Marie Curtius, the daughter of a Swiss clergyman, she was left a widow while yet in her teens, and went to Paris to assist her uncle in his studio, where he modeled in wax the celebrities of the day, among them Rousseau, Diderot, Voltaire, Mirabeau, and our own Doctor Franklin and Paul Jones. With all these great men she became well acquainted, and some she modeled, for she soon developed marvelous skill. She gave lessons in her art to the king's sister, who soon became so fond of her that she removed her to court, and formally engaged her as a companion.

Then suddenly came the outbreak of the French Revolution. King, queen and nobles were mowed down by the guillotine, and the young artist passed from directing the dainty fingers of Madame Elizabeth to the dreadful task, not to be declined without peril, of modeling the severed heads of the courtiers and great ladies she had known in happier times, as well as those of the fallen chiefs of the Terror — Danton, Marat and Robespierre.

Once she herself fell under suspicion, and was thrown into prison, where she was a fellow captive of the future Empress Josephine. This comradeship secured her many favors when freedom and security came with the rise of Napoleon; but her memories of Paris were too terrible and she removed to London, where she established her waxworks and at once achieved a brilliant success. She lived to the age of ninety, alert, interesting and full of reminiscence to the last.

She was by no means the first woman to succeed as a modeler in wax, and her most notable predecessor in London was an American, Patience Wright, about whom, indeed, Madame Tussaud must have heard many stories from Doctor Franklin, who had been her good friend for many years. Mrs. Wright was a Quakeress, but her peace principles could not restrain a combative tongue when she heard her native land abused, and she roundly lectured her noble and royal customers on their treatment of her "dear America." She did not even spare the king and queen, who had been her frequent and most friendly patrons, good-naturedly accepting the Quaker plainness with which she addressed them simply as "George" and "Charlotte." But scolding was another matter. She lost custom, and planned a removal to Paris. Franklin, whose son was then his secretary, wrote her a letter in which he humorously embodied the young man's fanciful picture of her coming transit with her figures:

"He supposes that you must put them into post-chaises, two and two, which will make a long train upon the road and will be a very expensive conveyance; but as they will eat nothing at the inns, you may the better afford it. When they come to Dover, he is sure they are so like life and nature that the master of the packet will not receive them on board without passes, which you will do well, therefore, to take out, before you leave London, from the secretary's office, where they will cost you only the modest price of two guineas and sixpence each, which you will pay without grumbling, because you are sure the money will never be employed against your country."