Read Online A Royal Likeness by Christine Trent - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christine Trent
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Lady Greycliffe was your
mamans
friend in France. And this is Mrs. Ashby, Lady Greycliffe’s former ward. She’s to be our new apprentice. You like that, eh, Joseph?”
The boy frowned, unsure. “What will the new apprentice do?”
“She’ll learn wax modeling. She’ll help your
maman
with the exhibition.”
“But that’s what I do.”
“Yes, son, but
maman
needs another adult to help, too.”
“Oh.” Joseph cut his eyes over to Marguerite. “As you wish, Maman.”
Before a threatening cloud of silence could envelop them, Claudette changed the subject.
“Marie, my friend, you have quite a collection of marble busts here. Show them to us.”
“Marble! No, not stone. Wax. All wax. Come, look.” She led them to a column near the center of the gallery. “See?” She tapped the figure on the shoulder. “Voltaire in wax.”
They crowded in to examine the French philosopher’s figure. His wax portrait was of him near the end of his life.
“Madame Tussaud, did you sculpt him from life?” Marguerite asked.
“Yes, I do life mask of him before he died.”
“Life mask?”
“Yes, I will teach you.”
They wandered through the gallery looking at other wax portraits such as that of the American Benjamin Franklin, a favorite of both the French and the English. Marguerite and Claudette were impressed by the casting of the figures, which was much sharper and better defined than what they had been able to do with their wood molds, and they said so to Madame Tussaud.
“Yes, my process has improved. I will teach Mrs. Ashby everything. Now, do you wish to see my secret figures?”
She led them through the rear door of the gallery, which opened into a space that was a jumbled combination of storage, art studio, and exhibit space. It reminded Marguerite of the doll shop’s workroom, except it was larger and contained piles of wax bricks.
“I don’t let visitors back here because it will scare them, but I show you, Claudette.”
She drew them to the rear of the space, where several large crates were stored. Lifting the hinged lid on one of the crates, she motioned for them to look inside. Nestled in the crate was a figure of a woman that lay on a reclining couch, her arm across her forehead in repose. Upon closer examination, they could see that the woman appeared to be breathing. Claudette uttered a spontaneous “Oh my!” and Marie laughed in her sharp, birdlike way.
“Do you like it? This is Madame du Barry, favorite of King Louis XV. She may have met her end at the blade like so many others—oh, sorry, my dear—but she lives on here in wax. My mentor, Curtius, made this about thirty years ago for his salon in Paris. I plan to put up a separate curtained area to display it. For a separate charge.”
William, Claudette, and Marguerite nodded in agreement.
“I have more to display with her. Look over here.” She led them to another crate, opened it and removed one cloth-covered object from several. It was a replica of the guillotined head of Louis XVI. She held it by a wood post inserted through the base of the neck. Made in wax, it had stringy hair sewn into its scalp, andred paint had been applied around the neckline to give the impression of blood. It was quite theatrical, but the resemblance to the late king was unmistakable.
“Marie!” Claudette shrieked.
“Hah! Too much for your dollmaker sensibilities.”
“Too much for anyone’s sensibilities! Please, put it away.”
“Wait,” Marguerite commanded. “I would like to see it.”
Nodding her approval, Marie handed it over to her new apprentice.
Marguerite held the head at arm’s length, scrutinizing it, then bringing it close to sniff it. She wrinkled her nose.
“It smells dreadful. Is that part of its realism?”
Marie looked confused, so Joseph jumped in to serve as translator for his mother. Marie laughed, or rather barked, in return. “No, it’s just remnants of glues and paints and plaster sitting together for so long
mamans
friend in France. And this is Mrs. Ashby, Lady Greycliffe’s former ward. She’s to be our new apprentice. You like that, eh, Joseph?”
The boy frowned, unsure. “What will the new apprentice do?”
“She’ll learn wax modeling. She’ll help your
maman
with the exhibition.”
“But that’s what I do.”
“Yes, son, but
maman
needs another adult to help, too.”
“Oh.” Joseph cut his eyes over to Marguerite. “As you wish, Maman.”
Before a threatening cloud of silence could envelop them, Claudette changed the subject.
“Marie, my friend, you have quite a collection of marble busts here. Show them to us.”
“Marble! No, not stone. Wax. All wax. Come, look.” She led them to a column near the center of the gallery. “See?” She tapped the figure on the shoulder. “Voltaire in wax.”
They crowded in to examine the French philosopher’s figure. His wax portrait was of him near the end of his life.
“Madame Tussaud, did you sculpt him from life?” Marguerite asked.
“Yes, I do life mask of him before he died.”
“Life mask?”
“Yes, I will teach you.”
They wandered through the gallery looking at other wax portraits such as that of the American Benjamin Franklin, a favorite of both the French and the English. Marguerite and Claudette were impressed by the casting of the figures, which was much sharper and better defined than what they had been able to do with their wood molds, and they said so to Madame Tussaud.
“Yes, my process has improved. I will teach Mrs. Ashby everything. Now, do you wish to see my secret figures?”
She led them through the rear door of the gallery, which opened into a space that was a jumbled combination of storage, art studio, and exhibit space. It reminded Marguerite of the doll shop’s workroom, except it was larger and contained piles of wax bricks.
“I don’t let visitors back here because it will scare them, but I show you, Claudette.”
She drew them to the rear of the space, where several large crates were stored. Lifting the hinged lid on one of the crates, she motioned for them to look inside. Nestled in the crate was a figure of a woman that lay on a reclining couch, her arm across her forehead in repose. Upon closer examination, they could see that the woman appeared to be breathing. Claudette uttered a spontaneous “Oh my!” and Marie laughed in her sharp, birdlike way.
“Do you like it? This is Madame du Barry, favorite of King Louis XV. She may have met her end at the blade like so many others—oh, sorry, my dear—but she lives on here in wax. My mentor, Curtius, made this about thirty years ago for his salon in Paris. I plan to put up a separate curtained area to display it. For a separate charge.”
William, Claudette, and Marguerite nodded in agreement.
“I have more to display with her. Look over here.” She led them to another crate, opened it and removed one cloth-covered object from several. It was a replica of the guillotined head of Louis XVI. She held it by a wood post inserted through the base of the neck. Made in wax, it had stringy hair sewn into its scalp, andred paint had been applied around the neckline to give the impression of blood. It was quite theatrical, but the resemblance to the late king was unmistakable.
“Marie!” Claudette shrieked.
“Hah! Too much for your dollmaker sensibilities.”
“Too much for anyone’s sensibilities! Please, put it away.”
“Wait,” Marguerite commanded. “I would like to see it.”
Nodding her approval, Marie handed it over to her new apprentice.
Marguerite held the head at arm’s length, scrutinizing it, then bringing it close to sniff it. She wrinkled her nose.
“It smells dreadful. Is that part of its realism?”
Marie looked confused, so Joseph jumped in to serve as translator for his mother. Marie laughed, or rather barked, in return. “No, it’s just remnants of glues and paints and plaster sitting together for so long
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