October 12th, Evening.
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 recognition at 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 for the 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 had their revolution 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 the chargé d’affaires caught 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 the chargé, 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 famous coup. 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 and reappearing 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 the supremo 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 of his Mexico, bag and baggage, 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 being persona grata with 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.