SULTAN AT WAXWORKS

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 766, 12 September 1929, Page 14

SULTAN AT WAXWORKS

ZANZIBAR VISITS MADAME TUSSAUD’S LIKED CHAMBER OF HORRORS The Chamber of Horrors held no horrors for the Sultan of Zanzibar when he visited this cave of murderous deeds at Madame Tussaud’s. They are made of sterner stuff in Zanzibar, says a writer in a London exchange. The Sultan was told of the sights in store for him. It was not very pleasant, of course, they said. Perhaps he would rather “Lead me to it,” said the Sultan. Down to the cavernous depths he went, displaying no emotion whatever. His son smiled in pleasant anticipation, while his English retinue gave visibly at the knees. The procession stopped. “What is that?” said the Sultan. “That is a guillotine about to behead a French aristocrat. You notice tho blood?” “And that?” “That is Charles Peace standing on the scaffold. He was a particularly unpleasant person.” The Sultan nodded. His son nodded. His suite nodded. It all met with their entire approval. He saw the bath in which SmitJ, of the Brides in the Bath case, did his wives to death. He saw all the horrors perpetrated by the master murderers of the ages He then whispered some pungent w’ords in his own tongue. He had had enough. Up w T e all trooped into the purer and more real air of the Hall of Kings, where the Kings of England, from William the Conquerer to Edw'ard VII., were standing in martial array. The Saltan was enchanted. He admired their wonderful clothes, he touched the gleaming gold armour of Henry V., and pointed to the gold chain of precious stones which the warrior king wore round his neck. The little child Prince of Wales, the son of Edward 1., claimed his attention for some minutes. He seemed lost in thought. Maybe the pageantry and pomp of English history were passing before his mind. It was an impressive moment. The Sultan then passed into tthe other hall, where the group of the present Royal Family and many other people of our own time confronted him. He knew all their names. He knew their history. He was in his element. Round them all he w*ent. recalling a bit of history here, a gallant deed there. “There,” he was told, “is the boy Cornwell, the naval V.C. A tender smile passed across his face. “M’toto sana,” he said. “So young.” Suddenly he stopped. We all stopped. We looked and wondered. The Sultan was gazing with wide, bright eyes at the immortal Old Bill, in his dirty khaki, and tin hat, and his walrus moustache. He had no eyes for the brilliant generals, the gleaming admirals or the kingly company any more. Round he turned and caught his son by the arm. Never had he appeared more dignified, more impressive “The man who won the War,” he explained.