Madame Tussauds

Listen for a moment. Over the traffic on Marylebone Road, you may hear a queue of people talking in a dozen languages. They are all waiting to meet strangers who will not speak back. Look up and you will see a green copper dome beside a long brick and stone frontage. Behind those walls, hundreds of people stand perfectly still, under warm, careful light. Some are kings. Some are pop stars. All of them are made of wax.

The story begins with one woman, and she was not British. Marie Tussaud was born Marie Grosholtz in Strasbourg, in eastern France, in 1761. As a girl she worked with a doctor and wax modeller named Philippe Curtius in Paris. He ran popular wax exhibitions there. Marie learned the craft at his side. She learned to shape a face, set an eye, and paint skin until it seemed warm. Those skills would carry her across the sea.

Here is the first surprise. Before celebrities, Marie modelled the dead. During the French Revolution, in the 1790s, she made wax masks of people executed by the guillotine. Her own memoirs describe this work, though some historians treat parts of her account with caution. Marie was a gifted storyteller as well as a sculptor. Still, the dark root of this cheerful attraction is real. Its first great draw was not fame. It was horror, and the public's appetite to see it up close.

In 1802, Marie brought her collection to Britain. She did not open a building straight away. Instead, she toured. For around three decades she carried her figures from town to town across Britain and Ireland. Think of the roads of that era, the carts, the rain. Every figure had to be packed, moved, and set up again. Only in 1835 did she settle in London, on Baker Street, just a short walk from where you stand now.

Marie died in London in 1850, but her family kept the business going. In the 1880s, her grandsons moved the exhibition to this site on Marylebone Road. So the building in front of you is not her original home. It is the next chapter. And the building has had a hard life. In 1925 a fire destroyed many figures. During the Blitz in 1940, German bombs damaged the site again. Each time, the family and their staff rebuilt.

Those disasters explain something important. Many of the oldest figures you might expect to see are not truly old. Some were lost entirely. Others were remade from surviving moulds. The museum keeps moulds for a reason. A wax face can melt or crack, but a good mould can bring it back. So when you look at a historical figure inside, you are often looking at a careful copy of a copy, carrying a long chain of craft.

Now look at that green dome beside the main building. For decades it housed the London Planetarium, where visitors watched stars projected across the curved ceiling. The planetarium has since closed, and the dome became part of the wax attraction. Many Londoners still call it the planetarium out of habit. It is a small reminder that this corner of the city has always sold wonder, whether from the night sky or from a famous face.

Inside, the real work is mostly invisible. A single modern figure takes a team of artists many months to finish. Sculptors take a great many measurements and photographs of the living subject. They first shape the head in clay, then cast it in wax. Then comes the slowest part. Artists insert real hair into the wax scalp strand by strand. Eyebrows, eyelashes, even fine hair on the arms are added by hand.

The colour of the skin is built up in thin layers of paint. Real skin is not one colour. It has veins, freckles, and patches of pink and blue. The painters copy all of this. Teeth and eyes are made separately and fitted carefully. Here is the second surprise for many visitors. The figures are cleaned and touched up often, because thousands of hands and faces come close every day. Make-up, hair, and clothes all need constant care.

The experience inside is designed for closeness. Unlike a classic museum, there are often no ropes between you and the figures. People lean in for photos, shake wax hands, and stand shoulder to shoulder with stars. The rooms move between themes, from film and music to royalty, sport, and world leaders. There is also a short ride that carries visitors through scenes from London's history in small cars shaped like black cabs.

The darker side of the collection has a long history too. Marie's revolution masks once formed part of a section that became known as the Chamber of Horrors. For generations it was famous for frightening visitors with criminals and grim scenes. The content and format of that area have changed over the years, so it may look different from older accounts. But the idea goes right back to Marie herself, working in candlelit Paris workshops.

When you step back outside, take a look around the neighbourhood. Baker Street station is right beside you, one of the oldest stations on the London Underground. Regent's Park lies a few minutes to the north, with its wide lawns and rose gardens. And of course Baker Street is the fictional home of Sherlock Holmes. On a busy day, fans of the detective and fans of wax film stars cross the same pavements, heading in different directions.

So stand here a moment longer. Watch the queue shuffle forward. Notice how people look at the doors with the same curiosity crowds once felt in Marie's travelling shows. The faces inside have changed with every generation, but the wish to see famous people up close has not. As you walk away along Marylebone Road, glance back at the green dome against the sky... and remember a young woman from Strasbourg who started it all with wax and nerve.