We discussed the difference between proletariat and democracy, he quoted Lenin, who believes in the one, but he believes in the other. He rather deplored the fact that the Third Internationale had broken away from democracy. I cannot quote the discussion, it was too long and too intricate, and I would risk to misquote. But he spoke with an earnestness and a keenness that even interpretation did not spoil. He said that he did all he could, and all he dared to do, to further the cause of the laboring masses, but he was handicapped, out of loyalty to his President and a desire not to compromise his country, by going too far in the world movement. But he insisted several times upon the fact that there would be no real amelioration of suffering in the world, until people had generally realized their duty towards their fellows, of helping and sharing. I said I did not know why I interested myself in the destiny of the “proletaire” but that I could not help it, and that it was a subject that always roused me.
The Minister, with visionary eyes, said almost passionately, “Sometimes I feel like a woman with a great love in her heart, that she longs to tell but has to suppress because of the conventions of the world that surround her, and which force her, almost nun-like, to preserve in silence,” and it sounded beautiful in Spanish.
Malbran, whom he had referred to as “our conservative friend!” had become interested, and towards the end he ceased to be interpreter and joined in the discussion.
I thought of all the people in all the rooms who were patiently and impatiently waiting to see their Minister of Finance, who was engaged in Socialist arguments with this strange party! At the end, I said I felt I had drunk deep of clear pure water! and he said chivalrously that it had been a great pleasure to him to have opportunity of once in awhile “letting himself go....”
He repeated his promise about fetching me Thursday, to see.... He did not precisely define what.
We got down into the street, and found the car, and drove away with a strange sense of excitement and stimulation, at least I did, and as for Malbran, who had been rather silent on our way there, he was now quite expansive. We talked animatedly all the way back to the Geneva Hotel, where he dropped me. We discussed the psychology of de la Huerta, I said I would hate to be disillusioned, but that my instinct told me the man had all the passion and the sincerity of the Russians I had known in Moscow. We agreed that if de la Huerta had been imprisoned for years by a Czarist regime, he would be as fanatical and as ready to give his life for the cause, as volcanic and ruthless as any of the Russian Revolutionaries. Of the few people I have met so far in Mexico, de la Huerta is by far the most interesting.
Wednesday, July 27, 1921. Mexico City.
When I returned from riding at midday, it was to find Pani’s car waiting for me, and the information that four times people had called to take me to the “Haripeyo” that was taking place at the bull ring since 11 o’clock. I hurriedly changed my clothes, cursing fate, that I had not been told of this in time. Arrived there I was welcomed by Pani, and Malbran. There were quite a lot of people, but I didn’t know who they were. I regretted not having had the chance of asking my friends. In the ring there were about a dozen men on horseback, and one of them I recognized as my friend Guadalupe. He looked extremely picturesque in his leather clothes and huge brimmed white hat embroidered in gold. The game seemed to be to chase a wild horse and lassoo it. Dick was wildly excited. He shouted: “That’s good!” at the top of his voice when the pony was violently thrown to the ground. It may have been a wild horse, but a tame horse fed on oats is wilder. This animal looked unkempt, moth-eaten, and dazed, I suppose from fright. It must be a rotten game for the horse, to be tripped up when he’s galloping full speed. They would lassoo his front legs together and then his back legs so that the animal lay on the ground helpless, then a man would straddle it, and the horse would rise to his feet with the man on his back. They did the same with a bull, having previously pursued it, caught it by the tail, given the tail a twist round the man’s leg, which just threw the galloping bull with a thud to the ground. Almost the best feat was performed by a rider who pursued the wild horse, caught it by the mane and jumped from his own horse on the back of the wild one, as they galloped side by side. They are wonderful riders these Mexicans. They can sit anything and cannot be shaken off! But I would like to see them on a powerful big horse with an English saddle.
Dick and I spent the afternoon in the garden of the American Embassy. There is a little round clear blue-tiled pond full of goldfish, and Dick paddled and played and was completely happy. I asked Mr. Summerlin for news, as I get nothing to read but the Mexican Post. But he was full of mystery and told me nothing about anything. When people get a suspicion that one may be writing, they became terribly secretive. I remember a time when I used to hear state secrets, and people used to talk about things in front of me as if I were perfectly idiotic and negligible.
Today I asked Mr. Summerlin: “Is recognition any nearer...?” He shrugged his shoulders in true diplomatic fashion—it told me nothing. That he was very busy and finally called away on urgent matters, was all I learnt. We might be on the eve of war for all I know! The people one meets are supremely indifferent to everything. The newspapers record certain rebellions in various parts, no one even reads them. Even the Tampico Oil ‘hold up’ is now a thing of the past, the papers hardly mention it at all, nor the oil wells that are on fire; it is as if the Mexican nation was so blasé with excitements that nothing any longer can stir their interest.