Latin-American typified by this middle stratum, generally _mestizo_.
He always forms the active part of the population, and in his hands
seems to lie the future of the country. The Spaniard as typified by
the aristocratic classes is apt to hold himself aloof and will always
do so. The Indian, except in the isolated case of some individual
possessing genius, sure to present himself from time to time, has not
the qualities to form the dominant element. It is, therefore, reserved
for this crossing of Spaniard and native to finally embody and present
the real national characteristics.
A rumor is out to-night that, as the present banking act relative to
certain reserves of gold and silver doesn’t suit Huerta, he has decided
to do away with it, and we are to stand firmly (?) on paper. Shades of
Limantour!
This afternoon I bought several beautiful old inlaid frames. These
last words tell of one of the greatest pleasures in Mexico--prowling
around for antiques. Almost every one coming down here gets the fever
and spends hours turning over junk, in an almost delirious way, in the
hope of unearthing treasure. In spite of the fact that for almost fifty
years Mexico has been drained by the traveler, and again and again
devastated by civil strife, there still remain endless lovely things,
testifying to the wealth and taste of the old Spanish days.
_November 6th._
The statement in the _Mexican Herald_ that Mr. Lind had confirmed the
report of an ultimatum and the probable failure of negotiations is
simply astounding. Turn the light of publicity on Huerta and he is
as wary as some wild animal who comes into contact with man for the
_second_ time. Whatever he may have been contemplating, these special
negotiations are now dead and buried.
There was a big dinner at the Belgian Legation to-night; everything
beautifully done, as usual. I sat opposite my host, between von H. and
Sir L. Wore the flowered black velvet chiffon, and that black aigrette
with the Pocahontas effect in my hair; von H. wanted to know why this
delicate Indian tribute. There was no political conversation, as,
with the exception of the C.’s, von H., and ourselves, only handsome,
well-dressed, and bejeweled members of the Mexican smart set were
present. May is nothing if not exclusive, with a perfect _flair_ for
the _chicheria_. His handsome wife is in Paris.
My drawing-room is filled with the beautiful pink geraniums that grow
thick on the walls of the Embassy gardens and balconies. Juan, the
gardener, who, like all Aztecs, understands flowers, brings them in
every other morning, cutting them most effectively with very long stems
and many leaves.
“Ship ahoy!” in the harbor of Vera Cruz no longer excites attention.
Counting the French and German ships, there are about a dozen in all.
Seven belong to us. There were only two--the _New Hampshire_ and the
_Louisiana_--guarding the entrance to the channel when we arrived a
month ago. Is the plot thickening?
IV
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.
_November 7th._
The newspaper with the announcement that Mr. Lind had left Vera Cruz
last night for Mexico City was brought up on my breakfast tray. I have
had two rooms made ready for him, moving rugs and desks and furniture
about, robbing Peter to pay Paul, as one does in an incompletely
furnished house. He will be welcome, and I hope comfortable, as long as
he sees fit to stay. I bear the memory of something magnetic, something
disarming of criticism, in his clear, straight gaze, blue viking eye,
his kindly smile, and his tall, spare figure, clothed, not dressed. He
won’t find it easy here and I don’t think any Mexican official sporting
the oak of the protocol will receive him unless he is accompanied by
N.--a sort of political, Siamese-twin effect, and of a superfluity.
_Later._
When I got down-stairs Mr. Lind was in N.’s study. To greet him I had
to get through a swarm of newspaper men clustering like bees around the
honey-pot of “copy.” I presented him, so to speak, with the keys of the
borough, and retreated to my own bailiwick to order luncheon for one
o’clock. The whole town is whispering and wondering what it all will
mean. Huerta remains silent. It appears that he and his generals are
now _willing_ to make headway against the rebels. Why not before? A
hundred years ago “dips” were sent to Constantinople to learn a thing
or two they hadn’t known before. Now, I think, Mexico is as good a
school for the study of other points of view.
Mr. Lind makes no secret of his conviction of the hostile intentions
of England in the Mexican situation; but I have difficulty in thinking
that to save her interests here, big though they be, England would ever
do anything to jeopardize our friendship. In last week’s _Multicolor_
there was a picture of the White House, with England, Germany, and
France in the act of painting it green. _Poner verde_ is to insult.
Huerta feels that he has the support of many foreign powers, especially
of England. Sir L., by presenting his credentials the morning after the
_coup d’état_, stiffened him up considerably.
_November 8th._
We have been busy these past two days. Mr. L. is a delightful guest,
easy and simple. He goes to-morrow, but I am pressing him to return
for Thanksgiving--_if_ we are here. People smile when I speak of a
Thanksgiving reception. Three weeks is a long cry in Mexico City, in
these days.
N. finally ran Huerta down yesterday in the _El Globo_ café. He
received the usual affectionate _abrazo_,[4] and they had a _copita_
together, but Huerta never mentioned Lind any more than if he were
non-existent, and shied off at the remotest hint of “business.”
Instead, he asked N., “How about the girls?” (“_Y las muchachas?_”)
a phrase often used for opening or closing a conversation, in these
climes, much as we would ask about the weather. It has no bearing on
whatever subject may be in hand.
The new elections are to be held on the 23d of this month. Huerta
plays with the government in Washington in a truly Machiavellian way.
They want his resignation, but for the moment there is no recognized
government in whose hands to place such a resignation. After the 23d,
if the elections bear fruit, he will find some other reasons for
remaining. If it were not for the fact that might is always right, the
Administration would be as the kindergarten class, in regard to this
clever, involved, astute old Indian. “They say” he is getting rich, but
there are no apparent signs. I don’t think his mentality is that of the
money-loving order, though possibly his principles would not prevent
his making himself comfortable if he put his mind to it. He is now,
however, so under the domination of his _idée fixe_--pacification--in
spite of the difficulties within and without, that I doubt if he is
taking an undue interest in personal enrichment.
_November 9th._
This morning I began the day by telephoning von Hintze to come for
lunch, as Mr. Lind wanted to see him informally. Then I went to the
house of the Chilian _chargé_, who died yesterday. He was laid out
in the center of the little dining-room, the electric bell from the
hanging lamp, which he must often have pressed while eating, dangling
over his poor, dead face. There is a quite particular sadness about the
passing away of diplomats in lands distant from their own, their little
span spun among the polite, but the unrelated and uncaring. I stayed
for a rosary and litany, the priest, his pretty, childless wife, and
myself, alone in the room. Great hangings of purple bougainvillæa, the
glory of Mexico, darkened the window. May he rest in peace.
There was interesting conversation at lunch, only we four being
present. Mr. Lind repeated to von Hintze what he has, curiously
enough, said to many people here--his opinion that the crux of the
matter was the Anglo-American relations, and that the United States
would never allow the dominance of British interests to the injury of
American or Mexican ones; von Hintze, though he listened attentively,
was non-committal and most diplomatic in his answers. It is always of
absorbing interest to Germans to hear of possible difficulties between
England and other nations, and _vice versa_, too, for that matter. A
light springs into the eye; and I dare say von Hintze made a report to
his home government on returning to the Legation. He told Mr. Lind he
thought we had not sufficiently respected the _amour propre_ of the
Mexicans; that we were wrong in trying threats when what they needed
was skilful coaxing. Mr. Lind volunteered the surprising statement
that it didn’t suit us to have the elections held, anyway, as there
would be concessions granted and laws passed that would render the
Mexican situation difficult for us for fifty years. I really felt quite
embarrassed.
The Vera Cruz elections amused Mr. Lind considerably, the “urn” being a
common pasteboard shoe-box with a slit in it. This _objet de vertu_ he
had actually seen with his own eyes.
The town is wild over the bull-fight this Sunday afternoon. Belmonte,
_el fenomeno_, just arrived from Spain, twenty-one years old, is the
object of all affections. Political matters are quite in abeyance.
There was a scarcely subdued excitement among the servants as the gay
throng passed the Embassy _en route_ for the Ring, and considerable
dejection this evening because all hadn’t been able to stampede
the house and hie them to the fray. They are like children; any
disappointment seems the end of everything. A continual cloud of
dust wrapped us about, stirred up by the thousands passing in motor,
carriage, or on foot. During my first Mexican sojourn I went to two
bull-fights, but didn’t acquire the taste. De Chambrun told me one had
to go six times running, after which one couldn’t be kept away!
I saw Belmonte driving yesterday, the crowds cheering wildly. His
expression of pride, yet condescension, distinguished him as much
as his clothes. He wore the usual flat black hat, showing his tiny
pigtail, a wide-frilled shirt under a tight jacket which didn’t
pretend to meet the still tighter trousers, and he was covered with
jewelry--doubtless votive offerings from adoring friends. And to-night
he may be dead!
Burnside and Ensign H., of the _Louisiana_, who accompanied Lind as
body-guard, return with him to Vera Cruz. The Embassy is to engage a
compartment for him in the evening, but he will go in the morning. Just
as well to be prepared against “accidents.”
_November 11th._
We lunch at the German Legation to-day, with Mr. Lind. He hasn’t any
clothes, but as he doesn’t work along those lines I suppose it doesn’t
matter. There is no question of the tailor making this man.
A heavenly, transforming sun, for which I am giving thanks, shines
in at my windows. I am going out to do some “junking” with Lady C.
With exchange three for one, every now and then some one does unearth
something for nothing. The Belgian minister, who has money and _flair_,
makes the most astounding finds. He got for a song what seems to be an
authentic enamel of Diane de Poitiers, in its original frame--a relic
of the glories of the viceroys.
Something that developed in a conversation with Mr. Lind has been
making me a bit thoughtful, and more than a little uneasy. He has the
idea, perhaps the plan, of facilitating the rebel advance by raising
the embargo, and I am afraid he will be recommending it to Washington.
We had been sitting, talking, after dinner, shivering in the big room
over a diminutive electric stove, when he first tentatively suggested
such action. I exclaimed: “Oh, Mr. Lind! You can’t mean that! It would
be opening a Pandora box of troubles here.” Seeing how aghast I was, he
changed the subject. But I cannot get it out of my head. The Mexican
book is rolled out like a scroll before him; can it be that he is
not going to read it? Any measures tending to undermine the central
authority here, imperfect though it be, can only bring calamity. I
witnessed that at first hand in the disastrous overturning of the
Diaz rule and the installation of the ineffective Madero régime. I
think Madero was more surprised than any one that, after having taken
so much trouble to help him in, we took so little to _keep_ him in.
The diplomats are forever insisting that Diaz’s situation in 1877
was analogous to Huerta’s now, and that after a decently permissible
delay of ten months, or whatever it was, we recognized him. So why not
Huerta? He, at least, is in possession of the very delicate machinery
of Mexican government, and has shown some understanding of how to keep
it going.
_Later._
The lunch at the German Legation was most interesting. Lind, Rabago,
the Belgian minister, and ourselves were the guests. Rabago doesn’t
speak a word of English, and Mr. Lind not a word of Spanish, so there
was a rather scattered conversation. Everybody smiled with exceeding
amiability--all to show how safe we felt on the thin ice. The
colleagues are always very polite, but none of them is really with us
as regards our policy. Standing with von Hintze by the window for a
few minutes after lunch, I used the word intervention, and von Hintze
said something about the unpreparedness of the United States for war.
This, though true, I could not accept unchallenged from a foreigner. I
answered that if war were declared, we would have a million men at the
recruiting offices between sunrise and sunset. It sounded patriotic
and terrifying, but it was rendered rather ineffective by his reply,
“Men, yes, but not soldiers. Soldiers are not made between sunrise and
sunset.” He added something about the apparent divergence in public
opinion in the States, and threw a bit of Milton at me in the shape of
“not everybody thinks they serve who only stand and wait.” Ignoring
this quotation from the blind bard, I said that whatever the divergence
of public opinion might be _before_ war, the nation would be as one
man with the President _after_ any declaration. I also told him we did
not regard the Mexican situation so much as a military situation as a
police and administrative job, which we were unwilling to undertake.
I then made my adieux, leaving the “junta” in full swing, the Belgian
minister’s agile tongue doing wonders of interpretation between Lind
and Rabago. The result of the palaver, however, as I heard afterward
from the various persons who took part, was _nil_.
Mr. Lind keeps me on the _qui vive_ by predictions of a rupture in the
next few days. He is naturally becoming impatient and would like things
to come to a head. I have not drawn a peaceful breath since landing.
Runs on the banks to draw out silver in exchange for paper have
complicated matters. When I went this morning to the Banco
Internacional I saw people standing at the paying-teller’s desk, with
big canvas bags in which to carry off silver. Since the law to coin
more silver has been passed, I should say that each patriot intends to
do his best to line his own cloud with that material.
_November 12th._
A telegram came from Washington last night. Rupture of diplomatic
relations unless Huerta accedes to our demands. N. has taken it to
the Foreign Office, to Rabago and to Garza Aldape, to prove to them
that, though they may not believe it, we are ready to take strenuous
measures. It is all more like being on a volcano than near one. Neither
the Mexican nation, nor any other, for that matter, believes we are
ready and able to go to war; which, of course, isn’t true, as we may be
called upon to show. War is not, to my mind, anyway, the greatest of
evils in the life of a nation. Too much prosperity is a thousand times
worse; and certainly anarchy, as exemplified here, is infinitely more
disastrous. We ourselves were “conceived in wars, born in battle, and
sustained in blood.”
We hope the _Louisiana_ went to Tuxpan last night, and that she will
shell out the rebels there who are in full enjoyment of destruction
of life and property. It would give them all a salutary scare. There
are huge English oil interests there. The owners are all worried about
their property and generally a bit fretful at the uncertainty. Will
we protect their interests or will we allow them to? _Our_ government
gave warning that it would not consider concessions granted during the
Huerta régime as binding on the _Mexicans_. It makes one rub one’s eyes.
_Later._
Things Mexican seem approaching their inevitable end. At three o’clock
to-day N. showed Rabago the telegram from Washington about the probable
breaking off of diplomatic relations. He turned pale and said he would
arrange an interview with the President for six o’clock. At six o’clock
N., accompanied by Mr. Lind, presented himself at the Palace. Neither
President nor secretary was there. Rabago finally telephoned from some
unknown place that he was looking for Huerta, but could not find him.
Some one suggested that he might at that time be closeted with the only
“foreigners” he considered really worth knowing--Hennessy and Martell.
Mr. Lind came for a moment to the drawing-room to tell me that he
leaves to-night at 8.15. He thinks we will be following him before
Saturday--this being Wednesday. The continual sparring for time on the
part of the government and a persistently invisible President have got
on his nerves. He hopes, by his sudden departure, to bring things to
a climax, but climaxes, as we of the north understand them, are hard
to bring about in Latin America. The one thing not wanted is definite
action. Mr. Lind said, in a convincing manner, as he departed, that he
would arrange for rooms for us in Vera Cruz. He knows it is N.’s right
to conduct any business connected with the breaking off of relations,
which he seems sure will be decided on at Washington, and he realizes
that N. has borne the heat and burden of the Mexican day. He seems more
understanding of us than of the situation, alas! I said Godspeed to him
with tears in my eyes. Vague fears of impending calamity press upon
me. How is this mysterious and extraordinary people fitted to meet the
impending catastrophe--this burning of the forest to get the tiger?
An American citizen, Krauss, has been put without trial in the Prison
of Santiago, where he has come down with pneumonia. N. has sent a
doctor to him with d’Antin, who has been for years legal adviser
and translator to the Embassy, and is almost, if not _quite_, a
Mexican. They found the American in a long, narrow corridor, with
eighty or ninety persons lying or sitting about; there was scarcely
stepping-room, and the air was horrible; there were few peons among the
prisoners, who were mostly men of education--political suspects. One
aspect of a dictatorship!
Garza de la Cadena, the man I wrote you about (who seized the priest
at the altar and threw him into the street in Gomez Palacio), was shot
yesterday, by his own rebels, for some treachery--a well-deserved fate.
He was taken out at dawn near Parral, placed against an adobe wall, and
riddled with bullets.
This morning I was reading of the breaking off of our relations with
Spain in 1898. Most interesting, and possibly to the point. History
has a way of repeating itself with changes of names only. I wonder
will the day come when N.’s name and Algara’s figure as did General
Woodford’s and Polo de Bernabé’s? Various horrors take place here, but
no one fact, it seems to me, can equal the dwindling of the population
of the “green isle of Cuba” (indescribably beautiful as one steams
along its shores), which dropped from 1,600,000 to 1,000,000 in ten
months--mostly through hunger. Mothers died with babes at their
breasts; weak, tottering children dug the graves of their parents. Good
God! How could it ever have happened so near to us? However, _they_ are
all safe--“_con Dios_.”
Now we take a hurried dinner, at which Mr. Lind, Captain B., and Ensign
H. had been expected, and then N. goes “big-game hunting” again. It
bids fair to be a busy night.
FOOTNOTE:
[4] The _abrazo_ has been described by some one as the “Oriental and
scriptural embrace, whereby men hold one another for a moment and,
bending, look over one another’s shoulder.” It is both dignified and
expressive.
V
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.
_November 13th._
The President was not trackable last night, though N. kept up the
search until a late or, rather, an early hour. It certainly is an
efficient, if not satisfactory, way of giving answer--just to subtract
yourself from the situation.
N. will not present himself at the convening of Congress on Saturday,
the 15th. His absence will make a big hole in the _Corps Diplomatique_.
Several reporters were here early this morning to say they had positive
information that Huerta had fled the country. But Mexico City as a
rumor factory is unexcelled, and one no longer gets excited over the
_on dits_. Moreover, nothing, probably, is further from Huerta’s mind
than flight. From it all emerged one kernel of truth: Mr. Lind had left
for Vera Cruz without satisfaction of any kind.
The Belgian minister came in yesterday just as Mr. Lind was leaving. He
begged him not to go, to refrain from any brusque action calculated to
precipitate a rupture that might be avoided. But I can’t see that any
one’s coming or going makes any difference. The abyss is calling the
Mexicans and they will fall into it when and how they please.
I have gone so far as to tell Berthe to pack my clothes. The things in
the drawing-rooms I will leave--and lose if necessary. It would create
a panic if any one came in and saw the rooms dismantled. No one can
tell what is really impending. The American editor who remarked that
what we take for an Aztec Swan Song is generally only another yelp of
defiance is about right.
The five days’ siege of Chihuahua was ended yesterday by a Federal
victory. The rebels lost about nine hundred men. The corpses of the
latter were very well dressed, many wearing silk underclothing, the
result of the looting of Torreon, which the rebels took several weeks
ago. The Chihuahua victory will probably strengthen the provisional
government if anything can. The generals, including Orozco, who fought
against Madero, have been promoted.
Night before last the train on the Inter-oceanic between Mexico City
and Vera Cruz was held up by rebel bandits for two hours. Everybody
was robbed and terrorized. The rebels had in some way got news of the
large export of bullion on the train. There was so much that they could
not have carried it off, even if they hadn’t been frightened in the
midst of their raid by a hastily summoned detachment of Federals. If we
depart I don’t care to chaperon silver bars to the port. And N. says he
would like Huerta to sit on the seat with him all the way down.
I wonder if the government will be so huffed at the non-appearance of
the American representative on Saturday that the Sabbath will see us
on the way, with our passports? Probably men may come and men may go
(_vide_ Mr. Lind), coldness and threats may be tried on them, and they
will continue to let everything go till the United States is actually
debarking troops at the ports and pouring them over the frontier.
Masterly inaction with a vengeance.
I have an idea that Washington is not in accord with Mr. Lind’s
impatience to end the situation by a rupture of diplomatic
relationship. Once broken off, we would be faced by an urgent
situation, demanding immediate action. Perhaps it _is_ true that we are
not efficiently ready for intervention, besides not wanting it. As long
as N. stays the wheels will be oiled.
_November 14th._
Last night the atmosphere cleared--for a while, at least. Congress
will not be convened to-morrow, which puts quite a different aspect on
things. If it had been held, Mexico would have been the only country,
by the way, able to display a triplicate set of Congressmen, _i. e._,
those in jail, those elected since the _coup d’état_, and the last new
ones.