Punch: Punch (17.1849)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

213

THE MANNINGS AT HOME.

These was a good old notion about to die, but in a manner preserved
by Madame Tussaud, that much mischief might be done by wax. In
this fashion. An elderly woman—if with a beak nose, and a haired
wart upon her chin, all the better—took a bit of wax, and warming
it by a fire fed with fat from murderers' gibbet, and certain unrighteous
unguents, moulded it into the small similitude of a living man or
woman. This bit of was, warmed by flame, wasted—and as it
wasted, it was supposed that its great prototype, by diabolic sym-
pathy, wasted too. Well, later wisdom turns topsy-turvy early know-
ledge. We do not imitate the living in wax, to kill the giving; but
we make a similitude of the dead, to do an injury to those in no way
like them in the flesh.

Madame Tussaud, cunning in the witchcraft of the nineteenth
century, takes so much wax. and makes of it the likeness of Maria
Manning and George Manning—(the last Murder Dummies)—and
does a grievous injury to her generation by the handiwork. The witch
works in wax, and helps to destroy the living decencies.

Mada-htf. Tussaud is the artistic continuation of Mr. Calcrapt.
When the hangman has done his work, the wax witch takes it up and
beautifies it. There was a horrid crowd to see the Mannings hanged
—and where the wonder? Ignorance, barbarism, vice, cruelty, all
attended the invitation. For how long had a Sunday press invited
them ? And the wicked ones did not weep, or smite then- pensive
breasts, but laughed and drank the daylight in, and mustered their
best spirits to assist at the show. But these were the forlorn, the
wretched outcasts of decent life. People, comfortable to do, and
with handsome clothes upon their backs, behave better.

We witnessed the crowd that—prompt to Madame Tussaud's card
of invitation, that, like a blotch of blood, stands filthily out from the
columns of the papers — gathered in Baker Street, to see Maria
Manning and George Manning, in wax, at home. The crowd
behaved remarkably well. But then, several of the curious spectators
came in their own vehicles—many in cabs; and those who came on
foot were all decently habited. We were delighted to remark that not
one of them squeaked like Punch—(the low fellow in the street)—
or committed any other unseemly breach of etiquette. On the con-
trary, very genteel people mounted the steps of the show, mincingly;
some of them running the tips of their tongue round their lips, as
anticipating a " sweet bonne bouche."

We are bound—conscientiously critical—to give Madame Tussaud
the very highest praise for her artistic ability. Age cannot wither her, nor
the custom she continues to receive at the hands of a generous public,
stale her infinite variety. Maria Manning, as done in wax, is really a
chefoVceuvre. Dear thing ! she would be a treasure as a lady's-maid at
a hundred a-year, with all the cast dresses. Never did assassination look
so amiable—so like a quality to bs introduced to the bosom of families.
We confess the weakness; under the waxen wand of the enchantress, we
felt for a moment towards Maria Manning, as in earlier, whiter days,
we felt towards the Maria of Sterne. She only wanted a lamb to be
quite a duck. Beautifully has Madame Tussaud elevated the cha-
racter of the fair destroyer of the mercenary Patrick O'Connor. A
lively rose-blush pervades her full-blown face, and her large, ripe lip
seems pouting with the first syllable of " mur-der." And then her head
is so tastefully, so toucliingly enveloped—as though drest at the jury
—covered with old point lace, made classic by Mrs. Siddons in Lady
Macbeth, and continued by Mrs. Warner. We think the artist should
have placed just a sprig of rue between the fingers of Maria—the now
historic rue she pitched so strong at the lawyers. _ However, if the rue
be wanting, the black satin gown is unexceptionable. There she stands
in silk attire, a beauteous thing, to be daily rained upon by a shower of
sixpences.

George Manning is greatly improved in his appearance under the
hands of Madame Tussaud. He has the look of a very clean under-
taker, a little above his business.

Perhaps, the huge satisfaction that possessed us, was a little lessened
when we thought of the transitoriness of wax-work glory. Where was
Greenacre? Pushed back for George. Where Good? Set aside
for Maria. But such is fame.

We have no doubt, to the honour of public taste, that this murder
in wax-work will be very popular. Fortunately, the low brutes who
behaved so ill at Horsemonger Lane will not be able to disgust a
thinking public by their licence in Baker Street. They can't afford
it. People who can pay their money, respect at once decency and their
testers.

Might we be allowed to give a hint to such a worldly-wise establish-
ment as that of the Tussaud, we would suggest, that as a band attends
in the evening, a sort of musical pasticcio might be put together, that
should describe the Bermondsey horror from the course of O'Connor's
first wooing, until the final appearance of Mr. and Mrs. Manning on
the roof of Horsemonger. We think this would have a great attraction
for families.

Any way, we beg that Sir George Grey will drop in and judge the

exhibition for himself. As the political Conservator of public de-
cency, he will then know the exact amount of Government notice that
such a show demands of his authority. Possibly, the magistrates of
the district might likewise be induced to attend. Plays must be
licensed, not so murder in wax-work. We perceive that a hard-
working manager, by name Campbell, at Stockton-upon-Tees, has been
prosecuted for representing Rush upon the stage. Poor man ! Should
the worst come to the worst, we hope Madame Tussaud will give
the manager a post—if only as money-taker—to Rush in wax.

The Mannings will no doubt form'a great attraction in the approach-
ing season. They cannot be made too lamiliar to families. Christmas,
with all its delights, will soon be upon us. As we have the Mannings
in wax, why should we not have them in sugar for Twelfth-cakes ?
" Sweets to the sweet! "

A STRONG GALE.

A Lieutenant Gale proposes to go in a balloon to look for Sir
John Franklin. Jack Frost, we fear, would soon say to Gale,
" Cease, loud Boreasand we cannot but think that Gale, if he
made the attempt, would only be the ill wind " that blows nobody any
good."

Imagination forms icicles on the tips of our nose, as we figure to
ourselves the daring Gale " blow high, blow low," with the thermo-
nieter 15 degrees below zero, his gas contracted, his balloon congealed
into a flying iceberg, or like the head of an airy giant with his night-
cap on, while the poor frozen out aeronaut surveys his brandy-bottle
solidified into a mass of ice a la Cognac, and his cold fowls too cold for
his knife to penetrate them.

The mere picture throws us into a chilly pickle; and we trust Gale,
for his own sake, will not be able to raise the wind for so absurd a
purpose.

BALLOON IN WINTER QUARTERS.

KITCHEN STUFF AT GUILDHALL.

The Commissioners of the City Police have been complaining to the
Court of Aldermen, that at the Guildhall banquet their Chief had no
appointed place, but was subjected to the indignity of coming in contact
with waiters, and the refuse of the kitchen. This is too bad; but we
suppose the City Magistrates will find their excuse in the well-known
lact of the Police never being so much at home as when they are down
in the kitchen. We have no doubt the arrangement was generously
made in order to bring the Police all the nearer to the great divinity
they worship—the cook. We admit the indignity was rather severe
upon a talented man like Daniel Whittle Harvey, but probably the
Stewards were of opinion that the kitchen, after all, was the best place
in the world for Whittles. {We are perfectly aware that this joke hai
been made before, so we beg no one will take the trouble to inform us of th#
fact. -Ed.)