Well, the Diplomatic Corps, in uniform, was received at the _A diplomat's wife in Mexico

Transcriber’s Notes:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.

* * * * *

[Illustration: MRS. NELSON O’SHAUGHNESSY]

A DIPLOMAT’S WIFE IN MEXICO

EDITH O’SHAUGHNESSY

[MRS. NELSON O’SHAUGHNESSY]

_Letters from the American Embassy at Mexico

City, covering the dramatic period between

October 8th, 1913, and the breaking off of diplomatic

relations on April 23rd, 1914, together

with an account of the occupation of Vera Cruz_

ILLUSTRATED

[Illustration]

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS

NEW YORK AND LONDON

* * * * *

A DIPLOMAT’S WIFE IN MEXICO

Printed in the United States of America

Published June, 1916

H-Q

CONTENTS

FOREWORD ix

Arrival at Vera Cruz--Mr. Lind--Visits to the battle-ships--We

reach Mexico City--Huerta’s second _coup d’état_--A six-hour

Reception at the Chinese Legation. An all-afternoon hunt for

the Dictator. Page 1

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. Page 14

III

Federal and Rebel excesses in the north--Some aspects

of social life--Mexico’s inner circle--Huerta’s growing

difficulties--Rabago--The “Feast of the Dead.”--Indian booths

at the Alameda--The Latin-American’s future. Page 28

The “Abrazo”--Arrival of Mr. Lind--Delicate negotiations in

progress--Luncheon at the German Legation--Excitement about the

bull-fight--Junk-hunting--Americans in prison--Another “big

game” hunt. Page 40

Uncertain days--The friendly offices of diplomats--A

side-light on executions--Mexican street cries--Garza Aldape

resigns--First official Reception at Chapultepec Castle--The

jewels of Cortés. Page 50

“Decisive word” from Washington--A passing

scare--Conscription’s terrors--Thanksgiving--The rebel

advance--Sir Christopher Cradock--Huerta’s hospitable

waste-paper basket. Page 66

VII

Huerta visits the Jockey Club--Chihuahua falls--“The tragic ten

days”--Exhibition of gunnery in the public streets--Mexico’s

“potential Presidents”--“The Tiger of the North.” Page 77

VIII

The sad exodus from Chihuahua--Archbishop Mendoza--Fiat

money--Villa’s growing activities--Indian stoicism--Another

Chapultepec Reception--A day of “Mexican Magic” in the country.

Page 92

Christmas--The strangling of a country--de la Barra--The

“_mañana_ game”--Spanish in five phrases--Señora Huerta’s great

diamond--The peon’s desperate situation in a land torn by

revolutions. Page 110

New-Year’s receptions--Churubusco--Memories of Carlota--Rape

of the Morelos women--Mexico’s excuse for the murder of

an American citizen--A visit to the floating gardens of

Xochimilco. Page 120

Dramatic values at Vera Cruz--Visits to the battle-ships--Our

superb hospital-ship, the _Solace_--Admiral Cradock’s

flag-ship--An American sailor’s menu--Three “square meals” a

day--Travel in revolutionary Mexico. Page 132

XII

Ojinaga evacuated--Tepozotlan’s beautiful old church and

convent--Azcapotzalco--A Mexican christening--The release of

Vera Estañol--Necaxa--The friars--The wonderful Garcia Pimentel

library. Page 148

XIII

Gamboa--Fêtes for the Japanese officers--The Pius Fund--The

Toluca road--Brown, of the National Railways--President

Wilson raises the embargo on arms and ammunition--Hunting for

Zapatistas. Page 167

XIV

A “neat little haul” for brigands--Tea at San Angel--A

picnic and a burning village--The lesson of “Two

Fools”--Austria-Hungary’s new minister--Cigarettes in the

making--Zapata’s message. Page 181

Departure of the British minister--Guns and marines from

Vera Cruz--Review at the Condesa--_Mister Lind_--The Benton

case--Huerta predicts intervention--Villa at Chihuahua. Page 189

XVI

Huerta’s impressive review for the special correspondents--The

_Grito de Dolores_--Tons of “stationery” for the Embassy--Villa

and Carranza disagree--The Embassy guard finds itself occupied.

Page 203

XVII

The torture of Terrazas--Mexico’s banking

eccentricities--Departure of the Lefaivres--Zapatista

methods--Gustavo Madero’s death--First experience of

Latin-American revolutions--Huerta’s witty speech. Page 211

XVIII

Back to Vera Cruz--Luncheon on the _Chester_--San Juan’s prison

horrors--Tea on the _Mayflower_--The ministry of war and the

commissary methods--Torreon falls again?--Don Eduardo Iturbide.

Page 229

XIX

Congress meets without the United States representative--Huerta

makes his “profession of faith”--Exit Mr. Lind--Ryan leaves for

the front--French and German military _attachés_--The Jockey

Club. Page 247

Good Friday--Mexican toys with symbolic sounds--“The Tampico

incident”--Sabado de Gloria and Easter--An international

photograph--The last reception at Chapultepec. Page 257

XXI

Mr. Bryan declines the kindly offices of The Hague--More

Americans leave Mexico City--Lieutenant Rowan arrives--Guarding

the Embassy--Elim keeps within call. Page 272

XXII

Vera Cruz taken--Anti-American demonstrations--Refugees at

the Embassy--A long line of visitors--A dramatic incident in

the cable-office--Huerta makes his first and last call at the

Embassy. Page 285

XXIII

The wedding of President Huerta’s son--Departure from the

Embassy--Huerta’s royal accommodations--The journey down to

Vera Cruz--The white flag of truce--We reach the American

lines. Page 298

XXIV

Dinner on the _Essex_--The last fight of Mexico’s naval

cadets--American heroes--End of the Tampico incident--Relief

for the starving at San Juan Ulua--Admiral Fletcher’s greatest

work. Page 318

XXV

Our recall from Mexican soil--A historic dinner with General

Funston--The navy turns over the town of Vera Cruz to the

army--The march of the six thousand blue-jackets--Evening on

the _Minnesota_. Page 338

XXVI

Homeward bound--Dead to the world in Sarah Bernhardt’s

luxurious cabin--Admiral Badger’s farewell--“The Father

of Waters”--Mr. Bryan’s earnest message--Arrival at

Washington--_Adelante!_ Page 348

ILLUSTRATIONS

MRS. NELSON O’SHAUGHNESSY _Frontispiece_

A VIEW OF POPOCATEPETL AND IZTACCIHUATL _Facing p._ 6

MRS. ELLIOTT COUES “ 16

ELIM “ 16

V. HUERTA “ 60

VILLA DE GUADALUPE “ 86

THE FLOATING GARDENS OF XOCHIMILCO “ 126

ADMIRAL SIR CHRISTOPHER CRADOCK “ 136

ADMIRAL F. F. FLETCHER “ 136

HUERTA’S SOLDIERS WATCHING THE REBEL ADVANCE “ 150

A GROUP OF OJINAGA REFUGEES “ 150

THE GUARD THAT STOPPED US “ 172

“THE WOMAN IN WHITE”--FROM SAN JUAN HILL “ 182

THE “DIGGINGS” (AZCAPOTZALCO) “ 206

THE PYRAMID OF SAN JUAN TEOTIHUACAN “ 206

THE SIESTA “ 258

FOREWORD

Though the events recorded in these letters are known to all the world,

they may, perhaps, take on another significance seen through the eyes

of one who has loved Mexico for her beauty and wept for the disasters

that have overtaken her.

The time has not yet come for a full history of the events leading to

the breaking off of diplomatic relations, but after much pondering I

have decided to publish these letters. They were written to my mother,

day by day, after a habit of long years, to console both her and me

for separation, and without any thought of publication. In spite of

necessary omissions they may throw some light on the difficulties of

the Mexican situation, which we have made our own, and which every

American wishes to see solved in a way that will testify to the

persistence of those qualities that made us great.

Victoriano Huerta, the central figure of these letters, is dead, and

many with him; but the tragedy of the nation still goes on. So above

all thought of party or personal expediency, and because of vital

issues yet to be decided, I offer this simple chronicle. The Mexican

book is still open, the pages just turned are crumpled and ensanguined.

New and momentous chapters for us and for Mexico are being written and

I should be forever regretful had courage failed me to write my little

share.

It is two years ago to-day that diplomatic relations were broken

off between the two republics. It is more than two years since the

Constitutionalists under Villa and Carranza have had our full moral

and material support. The results have been a punitive expedition sent

into Mexico to capture Villa, and very uncertain and unsatisfactory

relations with the hostile _de facto_ government under Carranza. As for

beautiful Mexico--her industries are dead, her lands laid waste, her

sons and daughters are in exile, or starving in the “treasure-house of

the world.” What I here give forth--and the giving is not easy--I offer

only with a trembling hope of service.

EDITH COUES O’SHAUGHNESSY.

THE PLAZA,

NEW YORK, _April 23, 1916_.

* * * * *

A DIPLOMAT’S WIFE IN MEXICO

* * * * *

A DIPLOMAT’S WIFE IN MEXICO

Arrival at Vera Cruz--Mr. Lind--Visits to the battle-ships--We reach

Mexico City--Huerta’s second _coup d’état_--A six-hour Reception at

the Chinese Legation. An all-afternoon hunt for the Dictator.

MEXICO CITY, _October 8, 1913_.

Precious Mother,--You will have seen by the cable flashes in your

Paris _Herald_ that Elim and I arrived at Vera Cruz yesterday, safe

and sound, and departed the same evening for the heights in the

presidential car, put at N.’s disposal the night before, for the trip

from Mexico City and back.

It was a long day. Everybody was up at dawn, walking about the deck or

hanging over the sides of the ship, all a bit restless at the thought

of the Mexican uncertainties which we were so soon to share. About six

o’clock we began to distinguish the spires of Vera Cruz--the peak of

Orizaba, rivaling the loveliest pictures of Fujiyama, showing its opal

head above a bank of dark, sultry clouds. A hot, gray sea was breaking

over the reefs at the mouth of the harbor, and the same lonely palms

stood on the Isla de los Sacrificios. As we passed between the two

gray battle-ships just outside the harbor, I could not help a little

shudder at the note of warning they struck. The dock was crowded with

the well-remembered, picturesque, white-clad Indians, with high-peaked

hats, who suggested immediately the changeless mystery of Mexico.

Fortunately, the weather being overcast, the intense heat was a little

modified, though it was no day to set off looks or clothes; every

one’s face and garments were gray and limp. N. arrived just as we were

getting up to the docks, his train having been late. His face was the

last we discovered among various officials coming and going during

the irksome pulling in of the _Espagne_. As you know, we had been

separated for eight months. I was the first passenger to leave the

ship, and as we had no customs formalities we passed quickly through

the damp, boiler-like shed where the little tricks of the _aduana_ (the

customs) were about to be performed on hot and excited voyagers. Then

we got into a rickety cab, its back flap flying to the breeze, and

drove across the sandy, scrubby stretch to the Hotel Terminus, where

the Linds are living. The fascinating little pink houses with their

coquettish green balconies were as of yore, but the tropical glint and

glitter seemed gone from everything under the hot, gray sky.

The Hotel Terminus is the same old horror of flies, fleas, and general

shiftlessness, though the broad, high corridor up-stairs, giving on

to the sleeping-rooms, was fairly clean. We were finally shown into a

large room, where Mrs. Lind was waiting. After our greetings I sank

into a rocking-chair, and a big electric fan, in conjunction with the

breeze from the window looking toward the sea, somewhat restored my

energy.

In a few minutes Mr. Lind appeared, in shirt-sleeves and a panama fan.

(I suppose he wore other articles, but these are what I remember.)

I was greatly struck by him. He is evidently a man of many natural

abilities and much magnetism--tall, gaunt, sandy-haired, unmistakably

Scandinavian, with the blue, blue eyes of the Norsemen set under level

brows. I imagine fire behind that northern façade. The conversation

opened with conciliatory and smiling remarks, after the manner of

experts in any situation, meeting for the first time. I found him

very agreeable. There was even something Lincolnesque in his look and

bearing, but his entry on the Mexican stage was certainly abrupt, and

the setting completely unfamiliar, so some very natural barking of the

shins has been the result. Looking at him, I couldn’t help thinking

of “the pouring of new wine into old bottles” and all the rest of the

scriptural text.

The Linds, who have a handsome house in Minneapolis and another “on the

lake,” are accepting things as they find them, with an air of “all for

the good of the United States and the chastising of Mexico.” But all

the same, it is a hardship to inhabit the Terminus and then to tramp

three times a day through the broiling streets to another hotel for

very questionable food.

The Hotel Diligencias, where we lunched, is deeper in the town, has

fewer flies, is a little cleaner, and is very much hotter. Once away

from the sea breeze you might as well be in Hades as in Vera Cruz on a

day like yesterday. The Diligencias is the hotel whereon De Chambrun

hangs the famous story of his wife’s maid going back for something

that had been forgotten, and finding that the servants had whisked the

sheets off the beds and were ironing them out on the floor for the next

comers--_sans autre forme de procès_! We had a pleasant lunch, with

the familiar menu of _Huachinango_, _pollo y arroz_, alligator pears

and tepid ice-cream, consumed to the accompaniment of suppositions

regarding Mexican politics. Then we plunged into the deserted, burning

street (all decent folk were at the business of the siesta) and back to

the Hotel Terminus, feeling much the worse for wear.

At four o’clock Lieutenant Courts came to conduct us to the flag-ship

_Louisiana_, and we asked Hohler, the British _chargé_ who was in Vera

Cruz awaiting the arrival of Sir Lionel and Lady Carden, to go with

us. Admiral Fletcher and his officers were waiting for Nelson at the

gangway and the band was playing _the_ beloved air as we went up. We

were there about an hour, which seemed all too short, sitting on the

spotless deck, where a delightful breeze was blowing. The time passed

in eager conversation about the situation with Admiral Fletcher,

a charming and clever man, with dark, earnest eyes and serious,

intent expression, all set off by the most immaculate white attire.

Champagne was poured, healths were drunk, and Elim was taken over

the ship, departing with one of the junior officers, after a glance

at me betokening the magnitude of the adventure. We left, after warm

handshakings and good wishes, N. receiving his eleven salutes as we

went away. The tears came to my eyes. “Oh, land of mine!” I thought.

“Oh, brotherhood!” But Elim asked, in a frightened tone, “Why are they

shooting at papa?”

We then went over to the _New Hampshire_ to call on Captain Oliver.

More health-drinking and stirring of friendly feelings. Pictures of the

Holy Father and prelates I have known gave a familiar note to Captain

Oliver’s quarters. Then, in the wondrous tropical dusk, the little

launch steamed quickly back to town, where we had just time to gather

up our belongings and maid at the Terminus and descend to the station

beneath. Mr. Lind stood waving farewell as we steamed out, and I must

say I am quite taken by him!

Our train, preceded by a military train, was most luxurious. None of

“the comforts of home” was lacking, from the full American bill of fare

to the white-coated colored porters--all at poor, bankrupt Huerta’s

expense. It made me eat abstemiously and sit lightly!

We had a quiet night, rising swiftly up those enchanting slopes, a

warm, perfumed, exotic air coming in at the window. At dawn, with a

catching of the breath, I looked out and saw once again those two

matchless, rose-colored peaks--Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl, looking

tranquilly down on the beauteous plateau, indifferent to man’s

disorders.

[Illustration: A VIEW OF POPOCATEPETL AND IZTACCIHUATL]

At Mexico City Captain Burnside and the Embassy staff were at the

station to meet us, and in a moment I found myself once again driving

through the familiar, vivid streets, the changeless, silent Indians

coming and going about their simple affairs. The Embassy is a huge

house--a gray-stone, battlemented, castle-on-the-Rhine effect--which,

fortunately, had been put on a possible living basis for the Linds by

a kindly administration. It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good. The

Linds were here only ten days, and I think it very improbable that

they will ever return. He is a man of good sense, and there is, as in

most establishments, room for many men but only for one _maîtresse de

maison_.

Now I must be up and doing. I want to pull the furniture about,

down-stairs, and make myself a setting of some sort. There are

several packing-boxes containing the accumulation of our first

Mexican bout--books, vases, cushions, and the like. Fortunately,

the comfortable green leather library set of Mr. Henry Lane Wilson,

together with handsome rugs and bookcases, were also bought for the

“confidential agent”; and I shall use them in my drawing-room, instead

of a rather uncomfortable French set upholstered in pink. The bedrooms

are already fully and handsomely furnished with the Wilsons’ things.

Dear Mme. Lefaivre came last night, and we had lunch at the Legation

to-day. Such an affectionate welcome from her warmest of hearts! Many

persons have called and cards and flowers were coming in all day.

_P. S._ Yesterday, Torreon fell into the hands of the rebels, and

many atrocities were committed against Spanish subjects. The Spanish

minister is in a great state of excitement. This is a severe blow to

Huerta. He is supposed to suppress the revolution. If he doesn’t, he

loses his _raison d’être_--perhaps, also, his head.

[Illustration: MRS. ELLIOTT COUES

(Mother of Mrs. O’Shaughnessy)]

[Illustration: ELIM]

_October 11th._

Last night Huerta accomplished his second _coup d’état_; he is getting

very skilful. He surrounded the Chamber of Deputies while the honorable

gentlemen were in session, conspiring against their constitution. He

had them arrested as they came out into the hall, and I understand

there was quite a stampede from the Chamber itself when they got wind

of the fact that something was wrong. He accuses them of obstructing

his policy of pacification by every low and unpatriotic means at their

command, and these are numerous.

Now one hundred and ten of them are lodged in the famous

_Penitenciaría_, whither Madero was going on his last journey. N.

was out until two o’clock in the morning, with the Spanish minister

(dean of the diplomatic corps), going first to the Foreign Office to

try to obtain guarantees for the lives of the imprisoned Deputies,

and afterward to the _Penitenciaría_, where they were shown a list of

_eighty-four_, and given assurances that they would not suffer. It

looked a bit black for the remaining twenty-six. The clerks spent

the rest of the night here, getting the despatches off to Washington.

Huerta appears to care very little whom he shoots. He has small

sentiment about human life (his own, or anybody’s else), but he is a

strong and astute man; and if he could get a few white blackbirds, in

the shape of patriots, to work with him, and if the United States were

not on his back, he might eventually bring peace to his country.

I am not yet reaccustomed to the extreme beauty of the Mexican morning;

a dazzling, many-colored light that would dim the spectrum is filtering

into my room, as I write, glorifying every object and corner. I have

had the covers taken off the pink furniture; a rose-colored coverlet

and cushions are on my _chaise-longue_, and the _glow_ is indescribable.

You will have seen that the Chambers are convened for the fifteenth

of November, but in spite of preparations for legislation, a warlike

something is in the air. Squads of soldiers are passing the Embassy,

with much playing of the beautiful national hymn. They handle their

brass very well, and their military music would be good anywhere.

In Washington they are taking the news of the _coup d’état_ with their

coffee....

I have not yet seen von Hintze,[1] though he came early yesterday,

bringing a gift of fortifying liqueur, “for the altitude,” and some

flowers; and I went with Elim to the Legation, later on. I understand

that he looks at the situation rather _en noir_. But he is somewhat of

a bear on Mexican matters, anyway, his first experience, on arriving

three years ago, being the horrid Covadonga murders.... A certain

natural exclusiveness and aloofness are among his special attributes,

and his psychology is somewhat mysterious, even to his friends;

but he is immensely clever and charming, of the world, and very

sympathetic--really a _cher_ colleague!

N. has just left the house in frock-coat and top-hat, the chiefs

of mission having been summoned to the Foreign Office, where they

will hear the official reason of the _coup d’état_. I shall be most

interested in the explanation, which will probably be some adroit

Latin-American arrangement of facts. One has a feeling of being at

school, here, and constantly learning something new to the Anglo-Saxon

mentality.

Now I must hie me down-stairs and tackle a few of _my_ “affairs of

the interior.” The house is so big that, even with the many servants

now in it, it doesn’t seem “manned,” and bells are answered very

intermittently. One or more of the servants can always be found at the

gates of the garden, greeting the passers-by--a little Indian habit,

and incurable. What I need is a European _maître d’hôtel_ to thunder

at them from his Aryan heights as the Wilsons had. There are some good

Aztec specimens left over from their administration, whom I shall keep

on--Aurora, a big, very handsome Indian maid, from the Apam valley;

Maria, the head washerwoman, with fine, delicate hands, like a queen;

and a few others. Neither cook nor butler. Berthe is busy unpacking and

pressing; everything was wrinkled by the damp, penetrating heat of the

sea-trip.

The Embassy has two _gendarmes_ to watch the gate, instead of the

usual one given to legations--nice, old Francisco, who has been in

the service of the United States for twelve years, and a handsome new

one--Manuel. The auto stands before the gate all day long. Jesus, the

chauffeur, seems very good--a fine-featured, lithe-bodied, quick-witted

young Indian. Though married, he is, I hear, much sought after by

the other sex. Elim always goes out with me, and loves sitting on

the front seat with his dog, a melancholy Irish terrier sent by Mr.

Armstead from Guanajuato.

Exchange is now very low. One hundred dollars equals two hundred and

eighty Mexican dollars. Very nice for those supplied from abroad, but

killing to these people, and with the sure prospect of getting worse.

The price of articles has gone up by leaps and bounds--not native foods

so much, but all articles of import. I hear the auto-horn and must

stop. Will be very much interested to hear the official wherefor of the

_coup d’état_.

_October 12th, Evening._

Well, the Diplomatic Corps, in uniform, was received at the Foreign

Office with much unction, by the large, stout Moheno, Minister of

Foreign Affairs, of whom more another time. He insisted principally

on the great efforts General Huerta was making to restore peace, and

the equally great obstructions placed in his way, saying that since

the opening of Congress these obstructions had been particularly in

evidence, handicapping him at every step. He added that, though the act

of dissolving Congress was unconstitutional, Mexico must be compared to

an ill man needing an immediate operation; and that the government was

confronted by the dilemma formulated by Gambetta (they do love to find

a European simile for their situation)--“Yield or resign!” which, in

this case, would have been tantamount to national dissolution. The crux

of the speech is, however, that the elections are to be held this month.

Sir Lionel presented his letters of credence yesterday, thus putting

the hall-mark of his government upon Huerta. It appears there was quite

a love-feast; Huerta, of course, was immensely pleased at the proof of

recognition at the delicate moment of his birth and first struggling

cry as a dictator.

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.

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._