"Some men are born to greatness, some men achieve greatness, and
some have greatness thrust upon them."--SHAKSPEARE.
Reader, should you doubt the above assertion, in the true showman
phraseology, just "Walk up! walk up!" to Madame Tussaud's, the real Temple
of Fame, and let such doubts vanish for ever; convince yourselves that the
mighty attribute not more survives from good than evil deeds, though, like
poverty, it makes its votaries acquainted with the strangest of strange
bedfellows! The regal ermine and the murderer's fustian alike obtain their
enviable niche.
The likeness of departed majesty, robed in the matchless splendour of a
ruler's state, redolent with all the mimic glories of a king's insignia,
the modelled puppet from the senseless clay, that wore in life the
imperial purple, and moved a breathing thing, chief actor in its childish
mummeries, may here be seen shining in tinselled pomp, in glittering
contrast to the blood-stained shirt through which the dagger of Ravaillac
reached the bosom of the murdered Henry.
The "Real Robes" of the dead George give value to his waxen image! The
heart's-blood of the slaughtered Henry immortalises the linen bearing its
hideous stain. The daring leader of France's countless hosts--the
wholesale slaughterer of unnumbered thousands--ambition's mightiest
son--now ruling kingdoms and now ruled by one--once more than king--in
death the captive of his hated foes--"the great Napoleon!" shares the
small space with the enshrined Fieschi!
The glorious triumphs of the mighty Wellington are here no better
passports than the foul murders of the atrocious Burke; the subtle
Talleyrand, the deep deviser of political schemes, ruler of rulers, and
master mover of the earth's great puppets, is not one jot superior to the
Italian mountebank, whose well-skilled hand drew tones from catgut
rivalling even the ideal trumpet of great Fame herself!
By some strange anomaly, _success_ and _failure_ alike render the
candidates admissible--no matter the littleness of the source from whence
they sprung. Lord Melbourne's "premiership" gave shape to the all but
Promethean wax. The failure of John Frost, his humble follower, secured
his right to Fame's posthumous honours. All partiality is _here_
forgotten. The titled premier, in the haunts of men, may boast his
monarch's palace as his home. The suffering felon, though _iron_ binds his
limbs, and eats into his heart--though slow approaching, but sure-coming
death, makes the broad world for him a living grave, _here_ he stands, as
one among the great ones of the _show_! The amiability of Albert, that
"excellent Prince," and therefore "_most_ excellent young man," is
ingeniously contrasted with the vices of a Greenacre, and the villany of a
_Hare_. The stern endurance and unflinching perseverance of the zealous
and single-hearted Calvin is deprived of its exclusiveness by the more
exciting and equally famous Sir William Courtenay (_alias_ Thom).
The thrilling recollection of the "poet peer," and "peerless poet," the
highly-imaginative and unrivalled Byron, whose flood of song, poured out
in one continuous stream of varied passion-breathing fancy, is calmed by
gazing on "dull life's antipodes," the bandaged remnant of a dried-up
mummy!
Poor Mary Stuart! the beautiful, the murdered Queen of Scots, is only
parted from the "Maiden Queen," who sealed her doom, by the interposition
of the blood-stained ruthless wretch (England's Eighth Harry), to whom
"Bess" owed her birth!
Pitt, Fox, and Canning are matched with Courvoisier, Gould, and Collins.
Liston is _vis à vis_ to Joe Hume, while Louis Philippe but shares
attention with the rivalling models of the Bastille and Guillotine!