Such an appreciative letter has come from Archbishop Riordan, thanking Nelson for his Pius Fund achievement.
Mexico has declined, upon good international law, to take upon herself the board bill (now amounting to hundreds of thousands in gold) for the interned refugees at Fort Bliss. We wonder how long Uncle Sam will feel like playing host? This situation, among many tragic ones growing out of our policy, is the only thing that calls an unrestrained grin to the face—a grin at Uncle Sam’s expense.
March 27th. Morning.
I am sitting in the motor in Chapultepec Park, under the shade of a great cypress, while N. converses with the Dictator in his motor down the avenue. All sorts of birds are singing, and a wonderful little humming-bird (chupamirtos, the Indians call them) is so near I can hear it “hum.” Elim is running over the green grass with his butterfly-net. I am thinking, “Sweet day, so soft, so cool, so bright.” This seems the city of peace. In the north the great combat continues. The rebels use almost exclusively expansive bullets, which give no chance to the wounded. Huerta, whom Nelson saw last night, is calm and imperturbable. His loan of 50,000,000 pesos is an accomplished fact. This won’t suit Washington.
Nelson was speaking this morning of the famous interview between Lind, Gamboa (then Minister for Foreign Affairs), and himself—that interview which has now become part of history. Lind has a characteristic gesture—that of tapping with his right hand on his left wrist. With this gesture to emphasize his words he said to Gamboa, “Three things we can do if Huerta does not resign: First, use the financial boycott.” (This has been done.) “Second, recognize the rebels.” (This has been done to the fullest extent by raising the embargo, giving them full moral support and being ready to give them financial aid with the slightest co-operation and decency on their part). “Third, intervene.”
These propositions were set forth nearly eight months ago, and to-day Huerta’s position is better, by far, than at that time. He has kept law and order in his provinces. The big third thing—intervention—yet remains, but on what decent grounds can we intervene?
If, by any remote chance, the rebels should get here, what desecrations, what violations of Mexico City—the peaceful, the beautiful!
At Home. Afternoon.
I waited a long time for Nelson this morning. Gen. Rincon Gaillardo came up to speak to me, looking very smart in his khaki riding-clothes with a touch of gold braid. He is an erect, light-haired, straight-featured Anglo-Saxon-looking man. He had just returned from a tour of inspection in Hidalgo; had ridden through the state with a couple of aides, and had found everything most peaceful. I asked, of course, if there was any news from the north; but everywhere wire and communication of any kind is cut, and no one knows. Eduardo Iturbide (he is spoken of as governor of the Federal district to succeed Corona), also came up to speak to me. A lot of people were waiting to see Huerta, but he never hurries. After he had seen Rincon Gaillardo and Nelson, he went away, ignoring discomfited occupants of half a dozen motors.
Iturbide always says he has no political talents, but it was inevitable that he be drawn into events here. He would give prestige and dignity to any office. There is a description of the Emperor Augustin Iturbide, “brave, active, handsome, in the prime of life,” that entirely applies to him. I wonder, sometimes, if Don Eduardo’s fate may not be as tragic as that of the man whose name he bears. The ingredients of tragedy are never missing from any Mexican political situation. The only variation lies in the way they are mixed. What I call Mexican magic has a way of arresting judgment. One never thinks a thing will happen here until it has happened—not though a thousand analogous situations have worked themselves out to their inevitable, tragic end. It was Don Eduardo who made to me the profound and tragedy-pointing remark, “We understand you better than you understand us.”[12]