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A DIPLOMAT’S WIFE INMEXICOI

A DIPLOMAT’S WIFE INMEXICO

Arrival at Vera Cruz—Mr. Lind—Visits to the battle-ships—We reach Mexico City—Huerta’s secondcoup d’état—A six-hour Reception at the Chinese Legation. An all-afternoon hunt for the Dictator.

Precious Mother,—You will have seen by the cable flashes in your ParisHeraldthat 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 passedbetween 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 theEspagne. 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 theaduana(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 ofHuachinango,pollo y arroz, alligator pears and tepid ice-cream, consumed to the accompaniment of suppositions regardingMexican 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-shipLouisiana, and we asked Hohler, the Britishchargéwho 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 playingthebeloved 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 theNew Hampshireto 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.

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 onemaîtresse 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 uncomfortableFrench 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 hisraison d’être—perhaps, also, his head.

MRS. ELLIOTT COUES(Mother of Mrs. O’Shaughnessy)

ELIM

Last night Huerta accomplished his secondcoup 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 famousPenitenciaría, 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 thePenitenciaría, where they were shown a list ofeighty-four, and given assurances that they would not suffer. It looked a bit black for the remainingtwenty-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 mychaise-longue, and theglowis 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 thecoup d’étatwith 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 ratheren 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 psychologyis somewhat mysterious, even to his friends; but he is immensely clever and charming, of the world, and very sympathetic—really achercolleague!

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 thecoup 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 ofmy“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 Europeanmaître d’hôtelto 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 twogendarmesto 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 thecoup d’état.

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 recognitionat 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 forthe 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 hadtheirrevolution 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 thechargé d’affairescaught 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 thechargé, 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 famouscoup. 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 andreappearing 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 thesupremo 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 ofhisMexico, bag andbaggage, 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 beingpersona gratawith 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.

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