Byelinsky observed long ago that the secret of the success of
diplomatists lies in the fact that they treat us as though we were
diplomatists, while we treat diplomatists as though they were men.
Now you understand why our festive gathering and Garibaldi’s speech, his
words about Mazzini, would have had a different character had they come
one day later.
Next day I went to Stafford House and learnt that Garibaldi had moved to
Seeley’s, 26 Prince’s Gate, near Kensington Gardens. I went to Prince’s
Gate; there was no possibility of talking to Garibaldi, he was not
allowed out of sight; some twenty visitors were walking about, sitting
silent, or talking in the drawing-room and the study.
‘You are going?’ I said, and took him by the hand. Garibaldi pressed my
hand and answered in a mournful voice: ‘I bow to the necessities (_je me
plie aux nécessités_).’
He was going off somewhere. I left him and went downstairs; there I found
Saffi, Guerzoni, Mordini and Richardson; all were beside themselves
with anger at Garibaldi’s departure. Mrs. Seeley came in, followed by a
thin, elderly, lively Frenchwoman who addressed herself with excessive
eloquence to the lady of the house, speaking of her happiness in making
the acquaintance of such a _personne distinguée_. Mrs. Seeley turned to
Stansfeld, asking him to translate. The Frenchwoman went on: ‘Ah my God,
how delighted I am! Of course that is your son, allow me to introduce
myself.’ Stansfeld disabused the Frenchwoman, who had not observed that
Mrs. Seeley was about his age, and asked her to tell him what it was she
wanted. She flung a glance at me (Saffi and the others had gone out) and
said: ‘We are not alone.’ Stansfeld mentioned my name. She immediately
turned and harangued me, begging me to remain, but I preferred to
leave her to a _tête-à-tête_ with Stansfeld and went upstairs again.
A minute later Stansfeld came up with some sort of hook or rivet. The
Frenchwoman’s husband had invented it and she wanted Garibaldi’s approval.
The last two days were full of confusion and gloom. Garibaldi avoided
talking about his departure and said not a word about his health....
In all his friends he met a look of sorrowful reproach. He was sick at
heart, but he said nothing.
At two o’clock on the day before his departure I was sitting with
him when they came to tell him that there was already a crowd in the
reception-room. On that day the members of Parliament with their families
and all sorts of nobility and gentry, numbering two thousand people
according to _The Times_, were presented to him. It was a _grand lever_,
a regal reception, but such a one as no king of Würtemberg or even of
Prussia could ever have attracted without calling in professors and lower
ranks of officers.
Garibaldi got up and asked: ‘Is it really time?’ Stansfeld, who happened
to be there, looked at his watch and said: ‘There is still five minutes
before the time fixed.’ Garibaldi heaved a sigh of relief and sat down
cheerfully. But then a factotum ran in and began arranging where the sofa
was to stand, by which door people were to come in, by which to go out.
‘I am going,’ I said to Garibaldi.
‘Why? Do stay.’
‘What am I going to do?’
‘Surely,’ he said, smiling, ‘I can keep one man I know, since I am
receiving so many I don’t.’
The doors were opened; in the doorway stood an improvised master of the
ceremonies with a sheet of paper in his hand from which he began reading
aloud as from a directory: the Right Honourable So-and-so—the Honourable
So-and-so—Esquire—Lady—Esquire—Lordship—Mrs.—Esquire—M.P., M.P., without
end. At every name there burst in at the doorway and sailed into the room
old and young crinolines, grey heads and bald heads, tiny little old men
and stout sturdy little old men, and thin giraffes with no hind legs, who
drew themselves up to such a height that it looked as though the upper
part of their head was propped on huge yellow teeth, and tried to draw
themselves higher still. Each one of them had three, four or five ladies,
and this was very fortunate, since they occupied the space of fifty men,
and in that way saved us from a crush. They all came up to Garibaldi in
turn. The men shook his hand with the vigour with which a man shakes his
own when he has put his finger in boiling water; some said something
as they did so, the majority grunted, remained dumb and bowed as they
turned away. The ladies too were mute, but they gazed so long and so
passionately at Garibaldi that there will certainly be a crop of children
born this year in London with his features; and as the children even now
are going about in red shirts like his, there will be nothing left to
imitate but his cloak.
Those who had paid their respects sailed towards the opposite door, which
opened into the drawing-room, and descended the stairs; the bolder among
them were in no haste to go, but tried to remain in the room.
At first Garibaldi stood up, then he kept sitting down and getting up
again, finally he simply remained sitting; his leg did not allow him to
remain standing for long. The end of the reception was beyond hoping for:
carriages kept driving up, the master of the ceremonies kept reading out
titles.
The band of the Horse Guards struck up. I stood about and stood about,
and at last went out into the drawing-room, and there, with a stream of
surging crinolines, reached the cascade, and with it was carried to the
doors of the room where Saffi and Mordini usually sat. There was no one
in it. I had a feeling of confusion and disgust in my heart; what a farce
it all was, this gilded dismissal, and with it this comedy of a royal
reception! Tired out, I threw myself on the sofa; the band was playing
from ‘Lucrezia,’ and playing very well. I listened.—Yes, yes, ‘_Non
curiamo l’incerto domani_.’
From the window could be seen rows of carriages; these had not yet driven
up; here one moved up, after it a second and a third, again there was
a pause; and I fancied how Garibaldi with his bruised hand was sitting
tired and gloomy, how that dark cloud was coming over his face and no
one noticing it, while still the crinolines float up and still the Right
Honourables come—grey-headed, bald, broad-faced, giraffes....
The band played on, the carriages drove up. I don’t know how it happened,
but I fell asleep. Some one opened the door and woke me.... The music
was still playing, the carriages still driving up. There was no end in
sight.... They really will kill him!