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.
Yesterday the handsome Mexican set came for bridge, and in the evening we went to dine at Señor Pardo’s house. He is the clever attorney for the “Mexican” railways. Federico Gamboa and his wife were there. Gamboa is most amusing, with one of those minds that answer to the point in conversation, what the French callle don de la réplique. He was Minister for Foreign Affairs last summer, and resigned to run for President, as choice of the Clerical party. Huerta said, quite frankly, of him to N. a few days ago, “I told him I liked him and wished him well, but if he had been elected President I should have had him shot.”
Gamboa’s answer to Mr. L. last August, though not satisfactory touswhen laid by Mr. Wilson before Congress, remains a dignified, clever, and unimpeachableexposéof the Mexican situation fromtheirpoint of view, which is that the United States, by every international law, is unwarranted in interfering in their interior affairs, as these, however unfortunate, are those of a sovereign state. They never got over the fact that the communications Mr. Lind brought with him were tactfully addressed to no one in particular, and referred to the government as “the persons who at the present time have authority or exercise influence in Mexico.” Theyconsider that if they even once allowed such counsel from the United States they would compromise indefinitely their destinies as a sovereign state.
As for the phrase “the United States will not hesitate to consummate matters, especially in times of domestic trouble, in the way that they, the United States, consider best for Mexico”—it is graven on the mind of every Mexican who can read and write. Concerning our professions of friendship, which left them decidedly cold, Gamboa neatly said that never could there be a more propitious time for displaying it, that we had “only to watch that no material or military assistance of any kind be given to the rebels who find refuge, conspire, and provide themselves with arms and food on the other side of the border.” He further quietly states that he is greatly surprised that Mr. Lind’s mission should be termed a “mission of peace,” as, fortunately, neither then nor to-day had there existed any state of war between Mexico and the United States. The whole document is the tragic and bootless appeal of a weak nation to a strong.
Gamboa has had numerous diplomatic posts. He was minister to Brussels and to The Hague, and special ambassador to Spain to thank the King for participation in the Centenary of 1910....
After the Pardo dinner, two bright-eyed, clear-voiced Mexican girls, one of them Pardo’s daughter, sang Mexican songs with the true beat and lilt to them. Hanihara was also there, listening to the music in the usual detached, Oriental manner. The Japanese officers are being tremendouslyfêted, fed by each and every department of the government, till I should think their abstemious “little Marys” would rebel.
After dinner we walked home, a short distance, in the mild night, under a strangely low and starry sky. Itseemed to me that by reaching out I could have had a planet for my own. The streets were deserted, save for an occasional Mexican, hurrying home, with his scarf across his mouth. There is a tradition here about not inhaling the night air. Here and there aguardiashivered in the shadows, as he watched his lantern, which he always places in the middle of the four crossings. One can walk with jewels gleaming, and without fear, under the Dictator.
Dr. Ryan left last night for Washington. I don’t like to interfere with any one’spremier mouvement, but I know it for an expensive, bootless trip. No one will care what he thinks about the certain consequences of the raising of the embargo.
The rebels have just destroyed twenty-two huge tanks of oil near Tampico, destined for the running of the railroad between San Luis Potosí and the coast. I think I told you Mr. Brown said that the gross receipts had never been so big on his lines as last month, in spite of the danger in traveling, but that they could not keep pace with the immense damage going on all the time. Mr. Brown is the self-made man of story. He began at the foot of the ladder and is now the president of the “National Railways”; quiet, poised, shrewd, and agreeable. Mexico owes him much.
The Mexican papers come out with the statement that President Wilson can’t raise the embargo on arms and ammunition without the consent of Congress, which, if true, removes it as an immediate calamity.
This morning they rang up from the American grocery to say that the stores ordered yesterday had not arrived, as the man who was delivering them was taken by the press-gang, with all the provisions. A nice way to popularize a government!
Nelson has been requested by the powers that be to use his influence about the release of a certain American, the suggestion being added that he should not be too cordial with Huerta in public, as the United States was on official,notfriendly terms with Mexico. The old man would shut up like a clam and never raise a finger for N., or any American, or any American interests, if N. did not treat him withbothpublic and private courtesy. In these difficult days the position here is almost entirely a personal equation. N. has danced the tight-rope, up to now, to the satisfaction of almost everybody, in spite of the inevitable jealousies and enmities. It is entirely due to N.’s personal efforts that the Pius Fund of $43,000, has just been paid; due to him that many prisoners have been released, and that many material ends have been gained for the United States.
I think history will testify that Huerta showed much tact in dealing with us. His latest remark is, “If our great and important neighbor to the north chooses to withhold her friendship, we can but deplore it—and try to perform our task without her.”
Elim asked me, yesterday, “Where is our Uncle Sam, that everybody talks about?” He thought he was on the track of a new relative.
A military revolt is brewing here—Felicista. N. got wind of it. If it comes, they must give us Huerta, and have so promised. We have had comparative, very comparative, quiet for a few weeks, and now things are seething again.
There is a room here always ready, which we callnacht asyl, and various uneasy heads have rested there in the famous “bed of the murderess.” Yesterday I bought a lot of lovely dull blue-and-whiteserapesfor the floor and couch.
On returning from bridge at Madame Lefaivre’s, where I left de Soto losing with more than his usual melancholy distinction, I found the Japanese minister with the captain of theIdzuma, in full regimentals, come to call—but N. was out. The captain said he wanted to express especially and officially to N. his appreciation of all the courtesies he had received from Admiral Cowles, and the other officers of our ships at Manzanillo. He spoke French and English only fairly well, as they do. I was very cordial, of course, and said that in these difficult moments all must be friends, must stand by one another, and show mutual understanding of difficulties. As I looked at him I thought, for some reason, of the horrors suffered and the deeds of valor performed by his race in the Russo-Japanese War, without question or thought of individuals. He espied Iswolsky’s photograph and Adatchi showed him Demidoff’s picture, saying that Elim was his namesake. They never forgetanything.
The officers had all been out to the celebrated pyramid of San Juan Teotihuacan to-day, with the Minister of Public Instruction. It is a fatiguing trip, but an excursion always arranged for strangers of distinction. (I made it with Madero, mounting those last great steps, exhausted and dripping, on his arm.) They, the Japanese, were going to the Jockey Club, where Moheno, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, is to give them a dinner. The government is so in debt to the various restaurants here that they couldn’t get credit for the dinner at Silvain’s, as first planned.
I met Lady Carden at bridge this afternoon. She feels badly at the way things have developed for her husband. He has been called to London “to report”;à laHenry Lane Wilson to Washington, I suppose. Hohler, who waschargéwhen we first came to Mexico,is alreadyen routefrom England to take over the Legation during Sir Lionel’s absence—but I suppose Sir L. will never return. I told Lady Carden to give Sir Lionel my best regards, and added that it wasn’t, by any means,allbeer and skittles at the Embassy.
Sir L. shouldn’t have tried, however, to “buck” the United States. All the representatives have become a bit more cautious as to how they approach “the policy,” since the unpleasant newspaper notoriety Sir Lionel and Paul May received. Lady Carden is not going, I am glad to say, and we are all making plans to console her for Sir L.’s absence.
Your cable “Love” received yesterday. I sent a cable, “Bene,” in answer. I have been thinking all day of those hours, many years ago, when my precious mother was lying with me, her first-born, in her arms.
N. is in receipt of a proclamation from revolutionary agents in Mexico City. The part referring to foreigners states that any protection given by them to Huerta or to his intimates will result in their immediate execution, and thatnoflag will be respected in such cases. It is one of those nice, little, confidence-inspiring documents which induce one to ponder on the Mexican situation, not as it might be or ought to be, but as itis. Its caption, “La revolución es revolución,” is completely expressive.
A few lines while waiting for tea and callers. This morning we made a wonderful run out the Toluca road with Seeger and Mr. and Madame Graux, our Belgian friends,Chemins de fer secondaires, as we call them. After Tacubaya the road rises high above the city, and for miles we motored along the heights, through stretches of dazzling whitetepetateand pinktezontle, the buildingstonesof the city from immemorial days. The road was fairly alive with Indians bringing in their wares, this Sunday morning. They came from Toluca, seventy kilometers distant, moving tirelessly over their roads with the quick, short Aztec trot, and bearing such loads of pottery, baskets, and wood, that nothing can be seen of them but their feet. This is also a Zapatista country, and we had provided ourselves with three pistols. High in the hills could be seen the smoke of camp-fires, Zapatistasorcharcoal-burners. It was on this road that the son of the Minister of War, Blanquet, was held up about three weeks ago. His party was stripped and its members sent home as they were born, even that last possible covering, the floor-rug of the motor, being removed.
However, beyond being stopped at intervals bygendarmes, who tried, unsuccessfully, to make us leave our pistols at thejefeturaof their little village, we were not interfered with. Our cry ofEmbajada Americana, though not over-popular now, had not lost all its potency. In spite of the dazzling sun it is very cold on the heights, and in the little village where we stopped to “water” our car a coughing, sneezing, sniffling crowd of half-naked, shivering Indians gathered around us, evidently suffering from one of those bronchial epidemics so prevalent in these thin, high atmospheres. I fear that our coppers, though acceptable, were not therapeutic, as, doubtless, they all rounded up at the nearestpulqueríaafter our departure. We could not decide to turn lunch-ward, but kept on and on, until we had dipped into the Toluca Valley as far as the statue of Hidalgo, commemorating the spot where he met the viceregal forces in 1821. It always seems to me a sad spot, for when the Spaniards fell, with the exception of Diaz’s thirty years, the last stable government of Mexico also fell.
THE GUARD THAT STOPPED US
THE GUARD THAT STOPPED US
THE GUARD THAT STOPPED US
At the base of the statue three Indian women were sitting—enredadas. Each had a baby slung over her back and a burden by her side, giving the scene the mysterious, changeless, lonely Indian note. In Mexico, nothing is ever missing from any picture to make it beautiful and peculiarly itself.
A very gratifying letter came to-day from Mr. John Bassett Moore, counselor of the State Department. There are so many difficulties, so many enmities ready to lift their poisoned heads, so many delicate transactions, so much hanging in the balance, that it is gratifying to have, sometimes, an appreciative word from headquarters. Also a very nice letter came from General Crozier. I am so glad of that Mexican visit of his two years ago. He will understand just what the situation is—and many things besides.
Nelson spent all Saturday morning getting the 1914 instalment of the Pius Fund, the twelfth payment since the Hague decision in 1902. Diaz intended to pay off the principal, but now, of course, the country is in no condition to do so. We went down to Hacienda (Treasury Department). I sat in the auto in the sun, in the historicZocalo, from immemorial days the focus of Mexican events. The officials had only $37,000 of the $43,000, but told N. to return at half past twelve, and they would have the other six for him. I couldn’t help wondering where they got it. Finally it was all safely deposited in the bank. We then picked up the Graux at the Hotel Sanz and motored out for luncheon and golf at the Country Club.
To-night has come the long-feared cable from Washington stating that the President intends to raise the embargo on arms and ammunition. The note was for Nelson’s special information, not for delivery to theForeign Office yet, but the hour will come when he will have to gird himself to do the deed. It has been sent to every chancery in Europe, where it will raise a storm, to blow hard or not, according to the amount of material investments in Mexico. We scarcely know what to think; we are dazed and aghast. I am glad that a few hours, at least, must elapse before the facts will get out. I shall hardly dare to venture forth unveiled. Courteous as the Mexicans have been to Nelson and myself, some day, in face of the terrible catastrophes we have brought upon them, their patience must fail. This act will not establish the rebels in Mexico City or anywhere else, but will indefinitely prolong this terrible civil war and swell the tide of the blood of men and women, “and thechildren—oh, my brothers.”
I think Wilhelmstrasse, Downing Street, Quai d’Orsay, Ballplatz, and all the otherMinistèreswill pick many a flaw in the President’s document; but what can they do except anathematize us behind our backs?
My first thought, on awaking this morning, was of the irremediable catastrophe threatening this beautiful land. Nelson says he thinks Huerta will disregard it, as he has disregarded all other moves of Mr. Wilson; but it can be nothing but a further source of terrible embarrassment.
The second telegram has just come, saying that the President intends, within a few hours, to raise the embargo, and that N. is to inform all Americans and foreigners. I keep repeating to myself: “God! God! God!” A generation of rich and poor alike will be at the mercy of the hordes that will have new strength and means to fight, and eat, and pillage, and rape their way through the country. There will be a stampede ofpeople leaving town to-night and to-morrow, but those in the interior, what of them? There is sure to be violent anti-American demonstration, especially in out-of-the-way places.
The news previously leaked out from Vera Cruz last night. Nothing gets out from the Embassy, as our staff all happen to know how to keep their counsel. It is what Mr. Lind has wanted for months, and I suppose the news was too satisfactory to keep. You will read it in to-morrow’s ParisHeraldand theJournal de Genève. Don’t worry about us. We will have first-class safeguardifHuerta declares war. He may not. It is his policy, and a strong one it has been, to ignore Washington’s proclamations. On the other hand, he will have no intention of being caught by Villa, like a rat in a hole; and war with us may seem to him a glorious solution of his problems. Villa and Carranza will not arrive in the city together. No street is broad enough to permit the double entry of their contrary passions, violence, and greed.
It is “to laugh” when Villa is thanked publicly and officially for his kind promises in regard to life and property in the north.
A busy day—as you can well imagine. N. had to inform the various legations. I went down-town with him for luncheon, a thing I never do. We met the Spanish minister driving up thePaseoin his victoria—a pathetic figure. He has had so much worry and heartbreak over the situation and has been so helpless in the face of the disasters which have befallen his nationals that he is beyond surprise. Upon hearing the news he merely made a tired gesture of acquiescence. To him the raising of the embargo was, doubtless, only one moreinexplicable thing. Von Hintze was out, and we next stopped at the French Legation, just opposite the German. Ayguesparsse, the secretary, possessed of one of the most elegant silhouettes in the world, was more than polite, but quite impassive, as he came out with Nelson to speak a word to me. He is married to a handsome young Mexican—the sister of Rincon Gaillardo, Marqués de Guadalupe—whose time, strength, money, and life, if need be, are at the disposition of his country.
When we got to the restaurant in Plateros, the most public and alarm-allaying spot we could think of, the newspaper men assailed N. with questions. The “story” that they are after is what the relations of Huerta would be to N. and the Embassy, and they announce that they were not going to let thechargéout of their sight.
After lunch, at which Mr. S. joined us, we went to the British Legation. N. gave Sir L. the news, while I walked in the garden with Lady C., both of us wilted, with nerves on edge. I came home, rested for a few minutes, and then dressed, and went out to fulfil my afternoon program of calls, turning up late for bridge at Madame Simon’s. She asked me squarely, though in the politest of French, “What is your government doing?” I saw many people during the afternoon, but, apart from her greeting, there was no word of politics. I think the matter is too distasteful to the public to be discussed with any one like myself, where care in the expression of feeling is necessary.
I drove home with Lady C., who was quietly aghast at the situation, just in time to get into a tea-gown and down-stairs for dinner. In thesalonSeeger and the Graux (who leave to-morrow for Vera Cruz and New York) were waiting. N. telephoned that he was at the Palace, just going in to see Huerta. You can imagine thatwe had a lively dinner of surmises. He returned barely in time to say good-by to the Graux, and after they left we sat up late to talk over the appalling situation.
Sir Lionel was with the President when N. got there. From the violent sounds coming through the half-opened door, N. thought that the old man was at last losing patience and control, and prepared himself for the worst. However, when N. finally went in Huerta was perfectly calm and had never been more friendly. He never mentioned President Wilson’s name, and concerning the raising of the embargo quietly remarked that it would not change matters much, but would merely give a recognized name to the smuggling over the border that had been going on for three years. He kept repeating that the future would justify him; that he had had nothing to do with the killing of Madero; that the attitude of the administration toward him was simply “a persecution.” N. said he never flinched. He terminated the interview by saying that he greatly appreciated N.’s public as well as private courtesies, and that he was “very necessary to the situation,” whereupon he orderedcopitas, and the embargo question was dismissed.
Apropos ofcopitas, while we were talking N. was rung up to hear that an English woman reporter and Wallace, the cine man, sent us from the State Department, had been put in prison for trying to take a photograph of Huerta at the Café Colon, while he was taking hiscopita. They were both released at a late, or rather an early hour, and I think they richly deserved their experience. Huerta’s reputation for drinking is very much exaggerated.
The hall, stairway, and chancery were black with reporters all the evening, until one o’clock. It has been a long day of responsibility, excitement, and fatigue.
The newspapers have appalling head-lines about President Wilson.El Puritano, with his mask off, the avowed friend of bandits and assassins, is about the mildest sample.
Another full day. I had errands all the morning. In the afternoon, after being undecided as to whether I would shine by my absence or turn the full light of my American countenance on my Mexican friends, I decided to make calls. I found everybody in. I went first to Señora Gamboa, where I had to talk Spanish. Fortunately, they have a few very good antiques on which to hang conversation. Then I went to see the Evanses. They have bought a handsome old Mexican house which we are all interested in seeing them modernize without spoiling. After that I drove out to Tacubaya, and on the way out the broadcalzadasaw thelevaat work. There were about twenty men hedged in by lines of soldiers, and two or three disconsolate-looking women.
Señora Escandon’s house is situated in the midst of one of the beautiful gardens for which Tacubaya is celebrated, inclosed by high walls over which run a riot of vines and flowers. I found her and her daughter, Señora Soriano, at home. The Spanish son-in-law is a mechanical genius and spends this revolutionary period peacefully constructing small, perfect models of war-ships and locomotives. I shall take Elim there when “the fleet” is on the little lake in the garden. The Escandons are people of immense wealth, agreeable and cultivated, but, like all their kind, aloof from politics. Their perfect and friendly courtesy made me more than a little sad.
Going home for a moment, I found Clarence Hay with Nelson at the gate, and drove him down-town. I enjoyed talking English and hearing it instead of speakingbroken Spanish or listening to broken French. We browsed about in an antique-shop and did a little refreshing haggling. I stopped at Madame Simon’s on my way back, where I found Rincon Gaillardo, who is, among other things, chief of therurales.
He had many interesting things to say about hunting for Zapatistas, which seems to be the biggest kind of “big-game” shooting. After descending unexpectedly upon sleeping villages the Zapatistas retreat to their mountain fastnesses. By the time word reaches the point whereruralesare stationed, the worst has been done. The next day innocent-looking persons are begging for a centavo or working in the fields. They were the bandits of the night before! It needs a Hercules to clear this mountainous country of “the plague of brigandage.” A gun, a horse, and full power are naturally more attractive than a plow and a corn-field.
There are rumors of a student demonstration to-morrow—it is Constitution Day—when they propose to march the streets crying, “Death to Wilson!” Everybody was not only polite, but even affectionate in their greetings to me. Whatever they thought of yesterday’s raising of the embargo they kept to themselves or expressed when I was absent. Even Rincon Gaillardo, who is giving hisall—time, money, brain—to the pacifying of the countryunderHuerta, maintained his exquisite calm.