Part 2

Since the imprisonment of the Deputies there has been a constant stream of their mothers and wives and daughters coming to the Embassy for help, though, of course, we can do nothing; little, plain, black-dressed, black-eyed women or high-chested, thick-lipped, diamond-ear-ringed ones, inclining to magenta or old gold; mostly, as far as I can see, Maderista in their tendencies. Two of the little, plain, black type who were here late last night, said they went every day to visit Madero’s grave! They fear the Deputies will be shot, but I hardly think shrewd old Huerta will go to any unnecessary lengths with the very cold eye of the world upon him. Keeping them locked up, where they can’t vote, or disqualifying them, is all that he wants. It is true that they have never missed an opportunity in the Chamber to put a spoke in his wheel, and he got bored with the continual “block.” He didn’t arrest members of the Catholic party who, for the most part, had been trying to sustain order through him; they are, after all is said and done, the conservative, peace-wishing element in Mexico.

The Senate he simply dissolved. They have not been giving him so much trouble. One of the heads of the Catholic party came to see N. yesterday, to talk over the opportuneness of their putting up any one as candidate for President--a tentative conversation, on his part. Men of his class, unfortunately for Mexico, rarely identify themselves with political life, and were entirely invisible during the Madero régime. The Clerical party has very little money, and feels the battle unequal and the outcome most uncertain. N. was, of course, non-committal in the matter, which he said was not in his province; but he added that there was no reason for the party to neglect to make some kind of representation, any more than for the others to do so. Huerta is, of course, thoroughly anti-Clerical.

Yesterday was the first anniversary of the independence of China; it may be because it is so far away, but they seem to have had _their_ revolution with very little sound of breakage. There was a reception at the Chinese Legation during the generous hours of 4 to 10. I went at about 5. I got up to go four times, and each time the _chargé d’affaires_ caught me at the door and said, “You have been absent eight years--no, I mean eight months--and I can’t let you go.” I finally ran the blockade at 7.30, promising some insistent Oriental near the outer door that I would return. All the diplomats were there. I found von Hintze, like a visitant from another world, sitting, inscrutable, by the handsome, buxom wife of the Guatemalan minister. She was in black lace over orange silk, making my white tailor suit seem very severe. Stalewski, the Russian minister, was standing near, waiting for his tea. Sir L. and Lady C. came in at 6 o’clock only, then Madame Lefaivre--the Occidental diplomats naturally gravitating toward one another. Finally, at 7, when the rooms down-stairs were packed like sardine-boxes, we were directed up-stairs, where a handsome “champagne lunch” was served. It was after this that I made my escape. The wife of the _chargé_, and some other Oriental ladies, in appalling Western costumes, stood in close formation near the door from start to finish, wearing an unfading Oriental smile.

N. spent the afternoon hunting for the Dictator, having been unable to track him down since the famous _coup_. He hopes to induce him to clemency regarding the Deputies. Huerta has a very effective way of dropping out of a situation--just subtracting himself and reappearing when events have moved on. He preserves, according to his edict of the 11th, the full powers vested in the executive, adding generously the powers of Gobernación (Interior), Hacienda (Treasury), and War, though only for the time absolutely necessary for the re-establishment of the legislative power. By the powers of Gobernación he has declared invalid the exemption of Deputies from arrest and makes them subject to the jurisdiction of the tribunals if found guilty of any offense or crime; most of the Deputies are only getting what they deserve. There is certainly reason to complain of their lack of public spirit; there seems little or no available material here from which to build a self-governing state, and a dictator (or intervention) is what they need. Juarez took the fear of hell away from them some fifty years ago; Madero took the respect for the _supremo gobierno_ (supreme power) as typified by the strong hand of Diaz. There seems nothing left to hold them--those fifteen millions, with their sixty-three dialects and their thousand idiosyncrasies of race and climate.

Huerta has a handsome, quiet-faced wife and eleven children. These and a rented house (he has never lived at Chapultepec or at the Palace) are, up to now, his only apparent worldly possessions. I doubt whether he has the inclination or takes the time for an undue amount of grafting. He is, from what I hear, very canny in the matter of human equations and seems full of vitality and a sort of tireless, Indian perseverance. They say that the more he drinks the clearer his brain becomes.

Nine Spaniards that were killed in Torreon the other day, on refusing to give up their goods and money, had their execution preceded by such gentle rites as digging their own graves. Villa has declared no quarter to Spaniards; they must get out of _his_ Mexico, bag and baggage, and he intends to see that the Church leaves with them.

On all sides are praises of N.’s handling of the many complicated questions coming up, and his being _persona grata_ with all parties. It is known that though in the carrying out of difficult orders from Washington there is an absolute point-blankness, in their own affairs the Mexicans can count on tact, courtesy, and any service compatible with his position.

I imagine that Mr. Lind will soon be realizing the futility of an indefinite stay on Mexican soil. There are no results--and I rate him a man used to results.

FOOTNOTE:

[1] The German minister.

II

Sanctuary to Bonilla--Sir Lionel and Lady Carden--Carranza--Mexican servants--First reception at the American Embassy--Huerta receives the Diplomatic Corps--Election Day and a few surprises.

_October 13th._

Manuel Bonilla, a former Maderista, Minister of Ways and Communications (known sometimes as “Highways and Buyways”), now Senator from Sinaloa, has just come, begging asylum. They are out to kill him. He greatly resembles the people who are after him. Of course we have had a room made ready for him, and he can stay quietly in it until a chance offers for getting out of the country. His room, by the way, contains the bed that Mrs. ---- refused when she was shown over the Embassy, saying, “What! Sleep in the bed of a murderess?” The murderess being dear, gentle, pretty Mrs. Wilson, my late _chefesse_, and the murdered ones, I _suppose_, being Madero and Pino Suarez!

President Wilson has now sent a message to the provisional government, entirely disapproving of the act of dissolving Congress, saying that any violence offered any Deputy will be looked on as an offense against the United States, and that, furthermore, the United States will not recognize any President elected after any such proceedings. N. has just gone to the Foreign Office to deliver himself of the news. Moheno is a large, stout, curly-haired Indian from Chiapas, with a bit of something dark thrown in. He suggests a general effect of Italian tenor, but he is clever--perhaps “cute” is a better word. These unfortunate people are between the devil and the deep sea--_i. e._, between their own lawlessness and us.

The Cardens had their first reception to-day. The Legation is a new, artistic, most comfortable house just off the Paseo--the sort of thing English diplomats find awaiting them everywhere. Sir L. was here for sixteen years as consul. He was the British government’s first representative after the Maximilian affair; so, though he has been absent many years, he finds himself _en pays de connaissance_. He is the handsome, perfectly groomed, tall, fresh-complexioned, white-mustached, unmistakable Briton. She is an agreeable American woman; but they both look pale and bloodless after many years of Habana and Guatemala. We are none of us at our rosiest under the palm and cactus. Sir L. has had thirty years of Latin-American diplomatic experience.

_October 14th._

Proofs multiply of direct conspiracy of the Deputies against the provisional government. If you scratch a Maderista Deputy you are sure to find a revolutionary of some sort. The task of establishing peace seems well-nigh hopeless. Everywhere are treachery and venality. The note N. handed yesterday to the Foreign Office has not yet been answered, though Moheno refers to it in a press interview, saying that it had been presented to him by _Chargé d’affaires_ O’Shaughnessy, “A gentleman of the most exquisite culture,” and that he must not be held responsible for the “intemperate language of his government,”--rather cocky! Though N. is handling the officials with all possible care, everybody thinks they are preparing a fiery answer for to-morrow. They are capable, at any moment, of sending an ultimatum to Washington themselves, and then the fat would be in the fire!

A heavenly warm sun is streaming in. These October mornings, after the rains have ceased, are the brightest jewels in Mexico’s crown of loveliness.

N. is so sick of the murder and destruction he sees at first hand that he refuses to read anything about Mexico. He is, in fact, living a book of his own. But I take an interest in outside comment. I have just read an article in the _North American Review_, by Sydney Brooks, giving the English view of the situation, which seems to be that if we had recognized Huerta he would, by now, have been far on the road toward the establishment of peace. Also a quotation from _Le Temps_, in to-day’s _Imparcial_, to the same effect. N., however, is beginning to think that nothing but intervention can bring about order. The elements of peace seem no longer in the republic itself. Intervention _is_ a big word, but it needn’t mean the extermination of Americans or their interests in Mexico. Many French people stayed on through the French intervention and reached a green old age; Americans could do the same. Any one who really knows how easily peace is frightened out of a Latin-American republic, and how wary she is about coming back, would think twice about alarming her.

Elim has just presented me with a large bunch of pink geraniums from the vases at our front entrance. I wish he would choose a more remote spot for depredations. He is drawn, as if by a magnet, to the _gendarmes_ and the untasted joys of the pavement. The Mexicans are always nice with children. There isn’t as much difference between the little ones and the grown-ups as in more sophisticated countries.

Bonilla, our minister-in-hiding, keeps very quiet. From what I hear, just to feel safe appears to be a great luxury. I have had no intercourse with him, beyond an exchange of polite messages and putting one of the men-servants at his disposition. They tell me he is very

## particular about keeping his windows shut and his blinds well drawn at

night, and is a bit jumpy if any one knocks at the door.

Huerta has very little natural regard for human life. This isn’t a specialty of successful dictators, anyway. Only by the hand of iron can this passionate, tenacious, mysterious, gifted, undisciplined race, composed of countless unlike elements, be held in order. In the States, where, of course, as we all know, everybody and everything are just as they ought to be, this isn’t quite understood.

_October 14th._

There is a very persistent rumor to-night that the answer to President Wilson’s message delivered by N. yesterday will be met by Mexico with the breaking off of diplomatic relations, in which case we will have to clear out immediately for Vera Cruz. The private citizens in town can take their time in leaving; _we_ must go quickly. I am not even unpacked; the linen of the voyage still hangs on the roof. It all quite takes my breath away; I scarcely feel as if I had returned, and can’t take in the idea of leaving. The full cup from the lip. We shall be a nine days’ wonder on reaching New York, and then what? The American diplomatic service is the most uncertain quantity in the world.

_Later._

Much expectant coming and going in the house, as I write. N., who is admirable at soothing these people, has seen Moheno, and, after long argument, has persuaded the Foreign Office to modify the belligerent tone of the answer to Washington. There were three Cabinet meetings held since last night, to discuss the answer, with a majority in favor of extreme measures. It is, however, only putting off the day of rupture a few weeks or months, though N. feels each victory is so much gained for the United States. But the day will come when we will find ourselves trekking north.

_October 16th._

Yesterday, at dark, we got Bonilla off, grateful but nervous. The motor took him to a station about twenty kilometers from the town, where he boarded the train for Vera Cruz, to get the German boat of to-day. Along a certain trend of legal reasoning he is some sixth in line for President, after Madero, Pino Suarez, Lascurain, and others who have been killed, or have disappeared from the uncertain glories of office. He goes to Washington to join the Maderistas, I _suppose_, in spite of the fact that he has given his word of honor not to ally himself with the revolutionists. It was only on such a promise that we could give asylum to an enemy of the government to which N. is accredited.

The legal (if not the moral) genealogical tree of Huerta’s Presidency is the following: Madero, Constitutional President; Pino Suarez, Constitutional Vice-President (their resignations were accepted previous to their imprisonment, by Pedro Lascurain, Minister for Foreign Affairs, and a God-fearing, honorable gentleman, by the way); Lascurain became President by operation of law in regard to the vacant executive power; he was President some twenty minutes it appears (a bit short, even for Latin-America), giving him time to appoint Huerta to the post of Minister of Gobernación (Interior). After Lascurain’s resignation, given, I understand, with alacrity, automatically, by operation of law, the executive power fell to Huerta with its provisional character, and under the Constitutional promise to call especial elections. This is the technical way by which Huerta became President, and, according to the Mexican constitution, there are no doubts about the complete legality of the operation.

_October 17th._

A quiet day; many rumors, but no events. All the time the Carranzistas are gathering strength as a party; strength apparently coming to them from “above”--a higher _latitude_, I mean. Seen at close range they are, unfortunately, no better than “the others.” Carranza is not a bloodthirsty villain, but the physically timid, greedy, quiet, conscienceless, book-reading kind, and “constitucionalista” is a word to conjure with. It can move a good Anglo-Saxon to tears, though I must say that all revolutionary leaders in Mexico get hold of excellent banner devices. Madero’s were above criticism--“_Sufragio efectivo y no Re-elección_” (“Effective Suffrage and No Re-election”). This last shows you that they can go much farther in the expression of pure, distilled patriotism and democracy than we, as those of us called to the dignity of office are not entirely able to rid ourselves of a wish for a second term.

Also Carranza, who has none of the ability of Huerta and none of his force, has had the luck to strike a convincing note with his long whiskers and generally venerable aspect, imitated by all his followers as far as nature allows. They tell me New York and Washington are full of respectable, thin, long-whiskered, elderly Mexicans. Those who have watched Carranza’s long career, however, say that a quiet, tireless, sleepless greed has been his motive force through life, and his strange lack of friendliness to Washington is accounted for by the fact that he really hates foreigners, any and all, who prosper in Mexico. It seems to me one can scent trouble here. Lack of any special political color and principles, and general mediocrity, have kept him obscure, but he now finds himself at last accidentally clothed and most acceptable to the _Gran Nación del Norte_ in the fashionable and exclusive garb of constitutionalism. I wonder if he doesn’t sometimes wonder why on earth he is so popular in Washington.

I am told that Señora Madero, poor, pitiful, little, black-robed figure, saw President Wilson soon after the murders, and her tragic tale may perhaps have determined his policy.

The fact remains, however, that Huerta is in control of the army and the visible machinery of government which represents to the conservative elements (badly enough or well is a detail), their constitution, the only form around which the affairs of the nation can group themselves with any definiteness.

I had a long talk the other day with the ---- minister.

He seems to think (all, of course, politely veiled) that the policy of the United States is to weaken these people by non-recognition, and, when they are agonizing, to come in cheaply and easily, thus avoiding armed intervention now, which would be much better for the Mexicans, though more expensive for us. All the _chers collègues_ veil behind unassailably discreet remarks their not very flattering idea of what they doubtless call among themselves our “little game.”

I am enjoying the spaces in this huge house, free to the sun and air on all sides. Its lack of furniture is amply compensated for by flooding luxuries of light and air. I am going to receive on Tuesday, and I suppose many people will come.

_October 22nd._

Yesterday I had my first reception. About fifty people came--the _chers collègues_ and some of the colony, mostly only those whose orbit sometimes crosses the diplomatic orbit. There were flowers in every available receptacle. I made a delicious punch myself, if I do say it, and Mrs. Burnside poured tea; but I miss so many of the familiar and friendly faces of our first sojourn--Mr. James Brown Potter and the Riedls, Mr. Butler, and many others.

Monday I am giving a “bridge” for Lady C. I cannot yet have any one for lunch or dinner, but I want to give some little sign on her arrival. The Cardens are a very great addition to an ever-narrowing circle.

Great Britain stands pat on its recognition of Huerta, which adds greatly to his prestige in the eyes of his own people, and is most welcome in view of the approaching elections. We understand the ticket will be Huerta and Blanquet, in spite of Washington’s frowns.

I do not know the real qualities of Blanquet, up to now faithful supporter of Huerta and his Minister of War. The dramatic fact that, in the firing-squad at Querétaro, it was he who gave the _coup de grâce_ to Maximilian, has always overtopped everything else. The pictures of Maximilian in the National Museum, poor, blond, blue-eyed gentleman, show him utterly unfitted to grapple with the situation, though filled with the best intentions. He was like some rabbit, or other helpless animal, caught in a trap. When one has seen archdukes on their native heaths, one realizes that they are not of the material to wrestle with the descendants of Montezuma; though I don’t know that we, in spite of all our “efficiency,” are being any more successful!

Great Britain will be very polite, but will not depart one hair’s-breadth from what it has decided on as its Mexican policy, involving big questions, not alone of prestige, but oil, railways, mines, etc. In fact, the British reply to Mr. Bryan in to-day’s newspaper quite clearly says that England will be delighted to follow any policy from Washington as long as it does not interfere with what the British Foreign Office has decided to do. They simply can’t understand our not protecting American lives and interests. Their policy here is purely commercial, while ours, alas! has come to be political.

Great excitement is predicted for Sunday, the day of the election, but all the timid have to do is to stay at home, _if_ their curiosity permits.

The import duties are raised 50 per cent. from the twenty-eighth of October. But it will, fortunately, bear less heavily on the _frijoles_-and banana-eating part of the population than on those who want breakfast-foods and _pâté de foie gras_.

A cook comes to-day, highly recommended, but I can see just the sort of things she will turn out, if left to herself--fried bananas, goat stew, etc. She comes accompanied by her little girl of three. One of the washerwomen also has a child with her, and there are tentative remarks from other quarters regarding offspring. But the house is so big that a few indwellers, more or less, make no difference; and I am not sorry, in these uncertain times, to harbor a few bright-eyed, soft-skinned, silent brown babies under my roof. The handsome Indian maid who came to the city from her _pueblo_, because her stepfather was too attentive, has gone. She simply vanished; but as the other servants, on inquiry, don’t seem worried, I suppose it is all right. They have a way of leaving after they get their month’s wages, though their departure is generally preceded by some such formality as declaring that their grandmother is dead, or their aunt ill. Where they go is a mystery.

To-morrow we lunch at the Simon’s. He is the clever French _Inspecteur des Finances_ of the Banco Nacional. They have a handsome house in the Paseo, an excellent French _chef_, and are most hospitable. She is witty and cultivated; we sometimes call her “_la belle cuisinière_.” In the evening we dine with Rieloff, the musical German consul-general, who will serve Beethoven and Bach very beautifully, after dinner. I am very little disposed to go out in the evening here, and N. is nearly always busy with despatches until a late hour. There is something in the air, nearly 8,000 feet in the tropics, which discourages night life, even in normal times, and _tertulias_[2] of any kind are infrequent. At ten the streets are deserted and the Mexicans all under some sort of cover. Even in the big houses they take the most abstemious of evening meals, and go to bed early, to be ready for the exceeding beauty of the early morning.

All the foreigners here have nerves. What would be peaceful, dove-like households at sea-level, become scenes of breakage of all description at this altitude, and all sorts of studies might be made on the subject of “air pressure” on the life of man and woman. There is not the accustomed amount of oxygen in the air and, with all the burning-up processes of the body lessened, there is an appalling strain on the nerves. Hence many tears!

I wonder if you ever got the book and letter I sent you from the boat from Santander. I gave them, with ample postage and a fat tip, to an attractive, barefooted, proud-looking Spaniard, who had brought a letter on board for some one. I told him they were for _mi madre_. With a most courtly bow, hat in one hand, the other on his heart, he assured me that he would attend to the matter as if it were for his _own_ mother! _Pues quién sabe?_

_October 24th._