The Phœnix Park murders--We secure the jaunting-car and
pony--Charles Bradlaugh--General Boulanger--Lord Roberts
inspects the model of himself.
The requirements of the business have often necessitated our sending
fairly far afield in quest of exhibits, and this has seldom been done
without success, as people with desirable relics to dispose of appear to
have recognised the claims of Madame Tussaud’s.
Between seven and eight o’clock on Saturday evening, the 6th of May,
1882, Lord Frederick Cavendish, the newly appointed Chief Secretary for
Ireland, and Mr. Thomas Burke, the Permanent Irish Under-Secretary, were
stabbed to death in Phœnix Park, Dublin, and twenty “Invincibles” were
subsequently tried for the murder, five being hanged, three sentenced to
penal servitude for life, and nine to various terms of imprisonment.
[Illustration: LORD FREDERICK CAVENDISH
Chief Secretary for Ireland, who met his death by assassination in Phœnix
Park, Dublin, May 6th, 1882. One of the most noted of the many victims of
Irish political agitators.]
James Carey, who turned Queen’s evidence and was acquitted, paid for the
betrayal of his associates with his life, for he was shot by Patrick
O’Donnell on board the _Melrose Castle_, near Port Elizabeth, South
Africa, on the 24th of July, 1883. The Government, in their efforts to
get Carey safely into another part of the world under an assumed name,
were thus outwitted by the “Invincible” avengers.
It had been intimated to the management of the Exhibition that there
was a chance of Madame Tussaud’s obtaining from Michael Kavanagh
the jaunting-car in which the assassins drove to and from the scene
of the crime. Kavanagh was a typical Dublin jarvey, with an almost
unintelligible brogue, from whom the car was hired. The assassins drove
several miles circuitously about the scene of the tragedy with the object
of escaping detection.
Our representative was forthwith sent to Dublin, and soon found himself
in possession of Kavanagh’s car. The good-humoured jarvey seemed glad to
be rid of the vehicle; anyhow, the price he asked was not a prohibitive
one.
One thing was particularly noticeable, namely, that the number on the
car differed from the number quoted in the newspaper accounts describing
it when taken by the police. It was discovered, however, that the
“Invincibles” had changed the number before the fateful journey. A
condition was made by Kavanagh that the pony which drew the car should
also be purchased, as he wished to have done with them both.
It took only a few hours to complete the transaction, and thereafter
Kavanagh drove the purchaser over the ground traversed by the assassins
in their endeavours to throw the police off the scent. This was a
voluntary act on the part of Kavanagh, and our representative was
curiously exercised at the time to understand why he imagined the trip
should interest him.
To facilitate transit the car was taken to pieces by a coach-builder
at Kingstown and wrapped in sacking, in the hope that it would not be
observed. It was then put on the night boat for Holyhead.
The pony found a home in stables belonging to the Exhibition, and soon
afterwards came to an untimely end from too little exercise and a too
liberal allowance of provender. Why we did not sell the pony for what it
might fetch is more than can be told to-day; it may be surmised that such
an expedient did not occur to our minds.
On the voyage across passengers whispered to each other that the Phœnix
Park car was on board, and on its arrival in London there appeared among
the latest telegrams in an evening paper: “Kavanagh’s car goes to Madame
Tussaud’s.” Evidently the Irish correspondents had wired the news of
which we ourselves had hoped to make a special announcement.
The car was soon put together, and placed on view at the Exhibition in
one of the rooms adjacent to the Chamber of Horrors, and in another part
of the Exhibition were shown the portraits of Lord Frederick Cavendish
and Mr. Burke.
After being exhibited many years the car was given to a gentleman who
manifested an interest in it. Its new owner had it renovated for his own
use as a private conveyance, and he might often have been seen driving it
in the streets of London, no one suspecting its notorious history.
[Illustration: CHARLES BRADLAUGH
English radical politician and advocate of secularism.]
Charles Bradlaugh sat many times to my father, and proved an entertaining
and patient subject, sincerely desirous that his portrait should be a
true representation of himself. He discussed the troubles he was then
passing through in the political arena over the oath, for which, after
much contention, he was permitted to substitute an affirmation.
I remember him in his comings and goings, wearing a frock-coat and silk
hat, tall and of commanding appearance, always affable and chatty.
A humorous writer of the day made fun of Mr. Bradlaugh’s advent at Madame
Tussaud’s as follows:
Tremendous excitement on the admission of Mr. Bradlaugh in wax
into Madame Tussaud’s establishment. Cobbett’s figure gave an
extra kick of delight, and as he offered his snuff-box to the
unwelcome guest he assured him that he was a friend at a pinch.
Oliver Cromwell, Cranmer, and Charles I were indignant. The
Russian giant is annoyed, and Tom Thumb threatens to make the
place too hot for him. Figures waxing wrath!
Latest telegram from Baker Street: “Bradlaugh cool; great heat.
Cromwell showing signs of melting; all melting. Sleeping Beauty
undisturbed.”
The latest latest: “Threatened with the guillotine in the
Chamber of Horrors if they are not quiet. Tranquillity
restored.”
On many occasions it has been my office to accompany round the Exhibition
visitors whose likenesses were at the time on view--always a trying
ordeal.
I call to mind the visit paid by General Boulanger shortly after that
Meteoric ex-Minister of War quitted Paris for London to avoid arrest. It
will be remembered that Boulanger was wounded in a duel with Floquet, his
political antagonist, and that he dramatically ended his chequered life
by shooting himself on the grave, in Brussels, of the woman to whom he
was fondly attached.
[Illustration: GENERAL BOULANGER
Meteoric Minister of War for France, who ended his life in Brussels by
shooting himself on the grave of the woman to whom he was devoted.]
As we stood before his facsimile, which had been only recently modelled,
and, as it happened, represented him as considerably younger than his
years, the General smiled and said, when I invited him to grant me a
special sitting, “It is very, very good; do not touch it.” I fancied
that, like most people, Boulanger had no objection to a flattering
youthful reproduction of himself.
Boulanger’s inclusion at Madame Tussaud’s was the subject of a full-page
cartoon by Tenniel in _Punch_, showing the be-medalled General standing
in his stirrups on horseback and waving his hand as though in the act of
delivering an important command. The cartoon was entitled “_Chez_ Madame
Tussaud’s.” An Exhibition employé was represented as saying to the little
black-bonneted Madame--with a covert allusion to the General’s political
reverses--“Where is he to be put _now_, ma’am?”
It was with a certain amount of surprise that I realised a short time
ago, when the question was put to me by a prominent member of the Press,
that during the thirty years I have been exclusively responsible for the
modelling here, together with the fifteen or sixteen years in which I was
working under my father, I must have produced, with studies, close upon
a thousand models.
It is, of course, quite natural that many celebrities who pay a visit to
the Exhibition, well knowing that their likenesses, have a place within
it, are not escorted round the galleries. For the most part, coyly and
shyly they seek out their own models, and, more often than not, approach
them with a concern born of a too-studied indifference that is sometimes
extremely amusing.
“Bobs” was not of that order; he was a notable exception to the general
rule.
“Where’s my figure?” he asked plump and plain, and around it he
stepped, quizzically examining it from various points of view. When
he had satisfied himself that it was a fairly true representation, he
ejaculated, “Not at all bad! Not at all bad!” and walked off to inspect
the relics of the great Napoleon.
Lord Roberts’s figure had been installed soon after his famous march from
Kabul to Khandahar in the Afghan War.