the finest I have ever heard--playing the waltz time of “Bachimba,”
composed in honor of Huerta’s great victory when fighting for Madero
against Orozco. Huerta gave me his arm and we went in to an elaborate
collation--champagne, cold _patés_, and sweets--I sitting on the
President’s right. Huerta then made a speech that seemed as if it
might have come from the lips of Emperor William, on the necessity of
discipline, and the great results therefrom to the country. He said
that when the country was pacified the almost countless thousands
of the army would, he hoped, return to the fields, the mines, the
factories, stronger and better able to fight the battle of life for
having been trained to obedience, concentration, and understanding.
When the speech was over, and all the healths had been drunk (mine
coming first!), the President gave the sign and I turned to leave. We
were standing in the middle of the flower-laden horseshoe table, and I
moved to go out by the side I had come in. He stopped me.
“No, señora,” he said, “never take the road back--always onward.
_Adelante._”
Repeating, “_Adelante_,” I took the indicated way. As we went down
the steps and into the _patio_ we found _four_ cameras ready, about
three yards in front of us! I felt that Huerta was rather surprised,
and I myself stiffened up a bit, but--what could “a perfect lady” do?
It was not the moment for me to flinch, so we stood there and let
them do their worst. I could not show him the discourtesy of refusing
to be photographed--but here, on the edge of war, it was a curious
situation for us both. Well, the _censura_ can sometimes be a friend;
the photograph won’t be in every newspaper in the States to-morrow. If,
in a few days, diplomatic relations are broken off, that will be an
historic photograph.
The Old Man is always delightful in his courtesy and tact. As for his
international attitude, it has been flawless. On all occasions where
there has been any mistake made it has been made by others, not by him.
His national political attitude has perhaps left “much to be desired,”
though I scarcely feel like criticizing him in any way. He has held
up, desperately and determinedly, the tattered fabric of this state
and stands before the world without a single international obligation.
Who has done anything for him? Betrayed at home and neglected or
handicapped abroad, he bears this whole republic on his shoulders.
_5.30_ P.M.
I am trembling with excitement. On getting out of the motor, I met
Hyde, of the _Herald_. He has just had a telegram (the real sense made
clear by reading every other word--thus outwitting the censor) that
the whole North Atlantic fleet was being rushed to the Gulf, and that
a thousand marines were being shipped from Pensacola. Hyde says that
Huerta said to-day, “Is it a calamity? No, it is the best thing that
could happen to us!”
I hear Hohler’s voice in the anteroom....
_April 14th. 6.30_ P.M.
Burnside and Courts came in just after Hohler, and the inevitable
powwow on the situation followed. Burnside says we all have the Mexico
City point of view, and perhaps we have. Hohler was very much annoyed
at a hasty pencil scrawl just received from the north, informing him
that Villa had confiscated many car-loads of British cotton and that
many cruelties to Spaniards had been committed in connection with it.
Certainly there is not much “mine and thine,” in the Constitutionalist
territory, and not much protection. Here property and life are
respected.
There is a report that Huerta wants to send the “Tampico incident” to
The Hague for settlement. He insists that he was in the right about the
matter, and that any impartial tribunal would give him justice. Be that
as it may, we know he must give the salutes. It only remains for him
to find the way. _Cherchez la formule_, if not _la femme_.
_April 15th._
Another day, full to exhaustion, and winding up with the reception at
Chapultepec. There, while the President and N. were conferring, we, the
sixty or seventy guests--Mexicans, plenipotentiaries, officials, civil
and military--waited from six o’clock until long after seven to go in
to tea, or “lunch,” as they call it here. Beyond occasional glances at
the closed doors, no impatience was manifested. All know these are the
gravest and most delicate negotiations. We whiled away the time on the
palm-banked terrace, listening to the music of a band of _rurales_, who
made a picturesque mass in their orange-colored clothes embroidered in
silver, with neckties so scarlet that they were almost vermilion, and
great, peaked, white felt hats, with a heavy cord around the crown of
the same color as the flaming cravats. They sat in one corner of the
great terrace, playing their national music most beautifully--dances
full of swing, or melancholy and sensuous airs of the people, on
zithers, mandolins, guitars, harps, and some strange, small, gourd-like
instruments played as one would play on a mandolin.
At last the President and N. came in, looking inscrutable. No time to
ask results now. The President gave his arm to me, and he then wanted
N. to take in Madame Huerta; but the _chef du protocol_ headed off this
rather too-close co-operation, saying that was the place of the Russian
minister. I talked to Huerta to the limit of my Spanish, with pacific
intent, but he kept glancing about in a restless way. I even quoted
him that line of Santa Teresa, “_La paciencia todo lo alcanza_.” He
asked me, abruptly, what I thought of his international attitude, and
before I could reply to this somewhat difficult question he fortunately
answered it himself. “Up to now,” he said, “I have committed no
faults, I think, in my foreign policy; and as for patience, I am made
of it.” He added, “I keep my mouth shut.” I changed the subject, too
near home for comfort, by telling him that his speech of yesterday,
to the troops, might have been made by the Emperor of Germany. I
thought that would send his mind somewhat afield; you know he loves
Napoleon, and would be willing to include the Kaiser. He brightened
up and thanked me for the compliment, in the way any man of the world
might have done.... It is a curious situation. I have all the time a
sickening sensation that we are destroying these people and that there
is no way out. We seem to have taken advantage of their every distress.
We hurried away at eight o’clock, so that N. might see Courts at the
station, and give him the summary of his conversation, to be repeated
to Admiral Fletcher. It was that Huerta would be willing to give
the salutes if he could _trust_ us to keep our word about returning
them. As he certainly has no special reason for any faith in our
benevolence, he finally stipulated that the twenty-one salutes be
fired simultaneously. N. said he was very earnest and positive during
the first part of the conversation, but that toward the end he seemed
more amenable. Heaven alone knows how it will all end. One thing is
certain--it is on the lap of the gods and of Huerta, and the issue is
unknown to the rest of us.
I got home from the station to find Mrs. Burnside in the drawing-room,
ready to spend the evening. The captain was down-stairs, with what he
afterward characterized as “blankety blanks” (willing, but unmechanical
civilians), who were helping him to set up the rapid-firing guns,
otherwise known as the “doves of peace.” Mrs. Burnside tried to
persuade me to go to Vera Cruz to-morrow, when she departs, but I
couldn’t, in conscience, cause a probably unnecessary stampede of
people from their comfortable homes. If I had taken advantage of the
various opportunities held out to flee, I would have had, in common
with many others, an uncomfortable winter _à cheval_ between Mexico
City and the “Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz.”
I don’t know what answer has been made to the Hague proposition, if
any, by Washington; but it must have staggered Mr. Bryan and caused
him to blink. The Hague is one of the dearest children of his heart,
and universal peace has ever been a beloved and fruitful source of
eloquence. When it confronts him at this special moment, can he do
otherwise than take it to his bosom?
_April 16th._
This morning things seemed very bad. A curious telegram came from Mr.
Bryan, to be given to the press for its private information, not yet
for publication, saying that the Tampico incident was quite in the
background, but reciting two recent and heinous crimes of Mexico.
First, a cable for the Embassy was held over by a too-zealous partisan
of the _censura_ at the cable-office. N. arranged that matter in two
minutes, over the telephone, when it was brought to the attention of
the cable authorities. Hohler happened, for Mexico’s good, to be with
N. at the time. The incident was less than nothing, until mentioned
in the open cable from Washington. The other incident, also well
enough known, happened a short time ago in Vera Cruz, where another
too-zealous official arrested an orderly in uniform, carrying the
mails between the ships and the Vera Cruz post-office. That matter
was dismissed after an apology, a nominal punishment of the offending
official, and the immediate release of the carrier. Admiral Fletcher
attached no importance to the affair.
I have not cited the incidents in order. The telegram for the press,
in referring to the cable incident, begins, “far more serious is
the withholding by the censor of a cable addressed to the _chargé
d’affaires_ of the United States.” It also points out that no like
incidents have happened to the representatives of other nations in
Mexico, and that we must protect our national dignity--to which I
respond with all my heart. But when we do intervene here--which I know
we must--let it be for some vital case of blood and destruction. The
day Huerta has a stroke of apoplexy, gets a knife in his back, or is
killed by a firing-squad, we must come in, for anarchy will reign. He
may not be the best man in the world, and clever and even profound
thoughts of one day are counterbalanced by ineptitudes of the next;
but he does seem to be the only man in Mexico who can and will keep
order in the provinces under his control, especially now that the best
and most conservative elements are associated with the task--Rincon
Gaillardo, Iturbide, Garcia Pimentel, and many others.
Not a word of all the happenings of the past few days has appeared in
any newspaper in Mexico. The great potentialities are hidden, like a
smoldering, unsuspected fire. There _is_ a throbbing, an unrest--but
the great public doesn’t yet know whence it comes. I think if N.
has any luck in his pacific endeavors he ought to have the Nobel
prize--though I understand his _chef direct_ has an eye on that.
_April 17th._
Last night N. was with the Minister for Foreign Affairs for several
hours. They finally tracked Huerta to his house. The orderly said he
had gone to bed, but the Minister sent in his card. After a wait of
half an hour he sent in another. Huerta had forgotten that he was
waiting. He received him in bed, and in the midst of the conversation
asked him, as he afterward told N., what he thought about his pajamas,
adding, with a grin, that they were _Japanese_. Nelson did not go in.
He had spent several hours with the President at various times during
the day, and did not want to see him about painful and irritating
matters at such a late hour, when he and the President were worn out.
In thinking over Huerta’s remark, a few days ago, about the
demonstrations of our fleet not being a calamity, I believe he means
that this is, after all, the best way of consolidating the Federal
troops. We may stiffen them to service of their country against a
common enemy--but, oh, the graft! Oh, the dishonesty and self-seeking
that animate many of the hearts beating under those uniforms! They
sell anything and everything to the highest bidder, from automobile
tires and munitions of war, to their own persons. As for punishing
the various officers that are guilty, it seems very difficult;
court-martials would mean the decamping to the rebels of many officers,
high and low. So when _we_ demand punishment of this or that official,
the “Old Man” is placed between the devil and the deep sea. It is a
position he should now be accustomed to, however. On spies or on those
conspiring against the government he is relentless. That all political
colors recognize, and they do not hold it against him. Apropos of going
over to the rebels, the Mazatlan incident of last Christmas (or January
first) is a case in point. The officers on the gunboat _Tampico_ in
the harbor had a scandalous debauch, with stabbings, etc. They were to
be court-martialed, but they got out of that difficulty by going over,
boat and all, to the Constitutionalists at Topolobampo!
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.
_April 17th._
Washington will not take The Hague into consideration, and will not
fire simultaneous salutes, which, of course, it would be childish for
us to do, so the question is narrowed down to one point:--the Mexicans
must salute our flag, and we engage ourselves to answer it. Many
precedents for this are being cited by foreigners here. For instance,
the celebrated case of the French consul in San Francisco, who was
jailed for a few hours through a mistake. We made all reparation and
engaged ourselves to fire twenty-one salutes to the first French
ship that came into the harbor. Kanya tells me of an incident that
transpired when he was _chargé d’affaires_ at Cettinje, that was
regulated by an exchange of salutes between the contending parties, in
Antivari harbor.
I have had calls all afternoon--German, Belgian, Austrian, and Italian
colleagues, Marie Simon, de Soto (looking more like a handsome
contemporary of Velasquez than ever)--all, of course, talking about
_la situación_. Now I am waiting dinner for Nelson, who has been out
since four o’clock, trying to communicate the very courteous, but firm,
answer of Washington cited above.
_Later._
N. came in for dinner as the Burnsides, d’Antin, and McKenna were
sitting with me at table. One of the numerous telephone calls proved to
be from the Minister for Foreign Affairs, saying that he was leaving
the Ministerio, and would be immediately at the Embassy. I had cognac
and cigarettes placed in the drawing-room, and then everybody got out
of the way. They are both in there now--9.45--and the fate of Mexico
hangs in the balance, in that pleasant, high-ceilinged _salon_ of
mine, with the big vases of long-stemmed pink geraniums, and books,
and photographs, and bibelots, and its deep, comfortable green leather
chairs and sofa. I am writing this in one of the smaller rooms, with
newspaper men running in and out, and the telephone ringing. To the
journalistic demands Nelson has told the clerks to say “there is no
change,” which, in spite of my excitement, or perhaps because of it,
reminds me of the story recounted of a Russian Ambassador to London.
His wife had the bad taste to die at the time of the great visit of
the Czar to Queen Victoria. The Ambassador, who was above everything a
diplomat, had the body put on ice in the cellar of the Embassy, and to
all inquiries as to his wife’s health he replied, suavely: “Thank you;
madame is in the same condition.”
_11.30._
Back in the drawing-room, with the historic cognac, the equally
historic cigarette ash, and the drawn-up chairs as mute witnesses that
something has taken place. What will come of it all? Rocking the ship
of state is an exciting business. I don’t understand Huerta’s attitude,
unless he is whipped by the rebels, and _knows_ it, and prefers defeat
at the hands of a nobler foe.
Portillo y Rojas said the President felt that he had done all that he
was called on to do as chief of the nation to expiate the Tampico
incidents; that the sailors were put at liberty immediately, with an
apology given by the _jefe de la plaza_--General Moreles Zaragoza--to
Admiral Mayo; that since then the President himself had manifested
regret and had ordered an investigation to punish the guilty party;
that any nation in the world would have been satisfied by these
proceedings, and that furthermore he agreed that the Mexican cannon
might salute simultaneously with those of the Americans, which would
fully show the good-will on both sides, and also let the neighboring
peoples witness the happy termination of a difficulty that had never
been serious. There is a Spanish proverb about having more fins than
a fish, which certainly applies to this sauve and clever old Indian.
He further sent expressions of great friendship for Nelson by the
Minister, but said he _couldn’t_ do this thing even for him, much as he
desired to.
A moment ago a little blond-headed, blue-robed, sleepy angel appeared
on the scene to ask when I was coming up-stairs. Perhaps, like the
rest of us, Elim feels the disturbing electric currents in the air.
He is now lying on the sofa, wrestling with sleep. He had been put to
bed some hours before, rather unhappily. He kept pressing close to
my dressing-table as I was getting ready for dinner, fingered every
article on it, and asked me countless questions. These ranged from,
“What does God eat?” to, “Why don’t women wear suspenders?” until I was
frantic and had him removed in tears.
There are fears that the Zapatistas will arrive in the city; but they
are nothing compared to other fears that stalk the town to-night.
During the French intervention many people remained in Mexico City,
reached a ripe old age, and died in their beds; which every one seems
anxious to do, though I have never felt that dying in one’s bed is all
it is cracked up to be. “Bury me where I fall. Everywhere will be heard
the judgment call.” I don’t much care when or where or how it comes.
_April 18th. 4:30_ P.M.
No news as yet from Washington. I have just returned after lunching
at the Russian minister’s. Everything was very _soigné_, as it always
is, with _blinis_ and delicious caviar and all sorts of good things. I
feel as if I had eaten the Legation instead of at it. One has so little
appetite at eight thousand feet above sea-level. There were von Hintze,
Kanya, Marie Simon, in one of her smart Drecoll dresses, and myself.
They all think the situation in the south is very bad, but I am no more
to be scared by the cry of Zapatistas, having heard it ever since I
first put foot in Mexico.
The _Mexican Herald_ remarks this morning (dealing with the situation
in glittering generalities) that “When each party to an agreement gets
the idea that the other side is going to back down, it is certainly
trying to the patience of an _Irish_ peacemaker.”
One of the great dust-storms of the end of the dry season is on us
to-day; all the color is gone out of the air, which has become opaque,
gritty, non-refracting.
_6.30._
Callers all the afternoon. Now McKenna comes in to say that the final
word, _en clair_, from Washington has been received. It was given
out at the White House at noon. “General Huerta is still insisting
upon doing something less than has been demanded, and something less
than could constitute an acknowledgment that his representatives were
entirely in the wrong in the indignities they have put upon the United
States. The President has determined that if General Huerta has not
yielded by six o’clock on Sunday afternoon, he will take the matter to
Congress on Monday.”
...
It makes me sick with dread to think of the probable fate of Americans
in the desert spaces and the mountain fastnesses of Mexico. Some one
has blundered, somewhere, somehow, that _we_ should come in to give the
_coup de grâce_ to this distracted nation, who yet clings, and rightly,
to those tattered shreds of sovereignty we have left her. The foreign
Powers think we are playing the most cold-blooded, most cruel game of
“grab” in all history.
_April 18th. 10_ P.M.
Things _do_ move. I came down from Aunt Laura’s room to find Lieutenant
Rowan in the hall, just off the train from Vera Cruz, after a delayed,
dusty trip. You can imagine he got a warm welcome. Nelson came in just
then, and a few minutes later, as we were still standing in the front
hall, Portillo y Rojas appeared at the door, looking, we instantly
thought, much happier. He was wearing his green, gold-embroidered
sash, the insignia of military rank that Huerta has imposed rather
than bestowed on all Cabinet officers, who are thus under military
discipline and obedience to him as _generalissimo_. They objected to
wearing full military uniform, compromising on the sash. Rojas also
wore a smile--I don’t know whether it was for me or for the situation.
He had come to tell Nelson that the salutes would be given on his,
N.’s, written word of honor that they would be returned. He has been
an hour and a half in Nelson’s private room drawing up a document--a
protocol (_il y va de sa propre tête_)--and he is doing it with the
painstaking care of a man who has everything at stake. Nelson himself
is pretty foxy, and has to look out for _his_ skin. Well, “all’s well
that ends well.” If we get through this the next incident _will_ mean
war. I hope at Washington they will appreciate some of the difficulties
N. has to meet, and act accordingly. However, “call no man happy until
his death.” I hear the click of the big iron gate swinging to after the
exit of Lopez Portillo y Rojas.
I am fairly tired out and shall now proceed to draw the drapery of my
couch about me and lie down--I hope to pleasanter dreams than those of
last night. How glad I am that I haven’t confided my son or my jewels
to various terror-stricken acquaintances who have levanted two hundred
and fifty miles _east_ and eight thousand feet down. It hasn’t come
yet; all, after everything is said and done, hangs on the life of
that astute and patient old Cori Indian, whose years of our Lord are
fifty-nine, and who, whatever his sins, were they blacker than night,
is legally President of Mexico. Chase legality out of Latin America and
where are you? After him anarchy, chaos, and finally intervention--the
biggest police job ever undertaken in the Western Hemisphere, however
one may feel like belittling it from a military standpoint. I have
thought all these days of the probable head-lines of the newspapers and
hoped my precious mother was not worrying about her distant ones. Good
night, and then again good night. “God’s in His heaven; all’s well with
_us_.”
_April 19th. 11.30_ P.M.
The last of the continuous line of plenipotentiaries, _chargés
d’affaires_, railroad men, laymen of all kinds, have gone. Washington
refused Nelson’s signature to the protocol drawn up by Portillo y
Rojas and sent for approval. Huerta then refused categorically to give
the salutes. So it is intervention. At 4.30 I went down-stairs for
tea, as usual, to find Adatchi and Eyguesparsse there. Eyguesparsse,
as you know, married the sister of General Rincon Gaillardo. He
says that Huerta will resist to the end; his _esprit militaire_ is
entirely opposed to the _esprit universitaire_ of Wilson. “_Ils ne
pourront jamais se comprendre._” Huerta said to Rincon Gaillardo that
intervention would be a work of five years, and productive of the
greatest trouble to the United States. Huerta’s stand is _incroyable_,
_unglaublich_ unbelievable, _incredibile_--what you will. Each
representative who called exclaimed the same thing in his special
tongue as he greeted me. Hohler was very quiet, and really very sad
at the happenings. He has been a faithful friend through everything.
Sir Lionel gets here to-morrow or the next day. Kanya, Letellier,
and Clarence Hay stayed for dinner. Hohler came back again in the
evening, also von Hintze, who does not think the war vote will go
with a rush through Congress to-morrow, and quotes the case of Polk.
He said it took three months for him to persuade Congress to vote
the money and men for the 1846 war. I can’t verify this. He and von
Papen left at eleven. Nelson, Rowan, and I came up-stairs, all a bit
fagged. To-morrow will be a full day. I long ago promised the American
women here that if and when I thought the break was impending I would
let them know. I think it has steadied their situation here that I
haven’t “lit out” from time to time. But what of the hundreds--no,
thousands--all over this fair land whose possible fate is scarcely to
be looked in the face? The “Old Man” has some idea other than despair
and fatigue or impatience. He is working on a plan, probably hoping for
a chance to play his trump card--the unification of all Mexicans to
repel the invaders,--which would take the trick anywhere but in Mexico.
We are going to get some more _gendarmes_ for the Embassy. I feel very
calm and deeply interested. It is a big moment, and Nelson has been
unremitting in his endeavors.