Congress meets without the United States representative—Huerta makes his “profession of faith”—Exit Mr. Lind—Ryan leaves for the front—French and German military attachés—The Jockey Club.
April 1st. Morning.
Yesterday Lieutenant Courts (one of Admiral Fletcher’s flag lieutenants) arrived for an indefinite time. He is a shrewd and capable young officer, ready to study the situation intelligently and dispassionately. The big house is again full.
Yesterday we lunched at the German Legation. The luncheon was given for the French military attaché, Count de Bertier de Sauvigny, and the German, Herr von Papen, both from Washington for a few weeks. The Simons were there, the von Hillers, and various others, everybody trying to enlighten the two new arrivals as to la situación. Both find themselves in a position requiring some tact and agility to keep their seats—à cheval as they are between Washington and Mexico City. Von Hintze has never cared for Huerta. Occasionally, very occasionally, he has given him grudging praise; but a man of von Hintze’s fastidiousness would always find himself fluide contraire to a man of just Huerta’s defects—defects which, I have sometimes argued with von Hintze, become qualities in Mexico. All came to tea with me later. De Bertier is a very handsome man, of the tall, distinguished, fine-featured Gallic type; von Papen, with a pleasant and inquiring smile, is the quintessence of the Teuton, his square head and every face bone in relief against the Mexican amalgam type my eyes are accustomed to.
The story about the loan, Simon says, is true. Huerta remarked to the banking magnates that he had, outside the door, two soldiers apiece for each gentleman; that there were plenty of trees in Chapultepec; that he would give them ten minutes to decide what they would do. He got the loan.
In the evening Hay and Courts and H. Walker and Ryan dined with us, all staying late. Dr. Ryan fears he can’t get up to Torreon. The road between Monterey and Saltillo was blown up the night before last, and it is useless to try to get through that desert afoot or on horseback.
Later.
I went out to Chapultepec with N. and Courts. I wanted to show Courts the administrative tableau set in the morning beauty of the park, and N. had urgent business with the President. There was the usual array of autos there, the President in his own, talking with de la Lama, Minister of Finance. Afterward Hohler, Manuel del Campo, and the two García Pimentel men, black-clad, came up, having been to the honras of Ignacio Algara, brother of the Mexican chargé in Washington. They were going to have a sandwich, and asked Courts and me to go into the restaurant, which we did. N. appeared a few minutes later, the President with him. The much-advertised copitas were immediately served, the President scarcely touching his glass. After much badinage between Huerta and N. the jeunesse dorée looking on rather embarrassed, Huerta departed, with an obeisance to me, and a large, circular gesture to the others. He had a telegram from Ciudad Porfirio Diaz, telling of immense losses of the rebels and of the Federals still holding their ground—which may or may not be true. The little story I paste here is indicative of Mexicans in general, and of the situation in particular:
The safest bet regarding the many stories about Torreon yesterday, was the answer of a Mexican mozo to his master’s query as to whether it would rain. After a careful survey of the heavens Juan replied: “Puede que si, o puede que no, pero lo mas probable es, quién sabe?” (Perhaps it will—perhaps it won’t; but the most probable is “who knows?”)