July 1st.
There are great speculations as to Diaz's wealth, and millions are put to his account with a light hand.[5] Some say he has twenty millions in Spain, in Paris, in Wall Street. I am sure I hope he has feathered his nest—both he and Limantour. As I remarked before, the Romans that made the roads probably did, but they made the roads. There is a not-negligible quantity in Mexico, in abeyance for the moment, which is very suspicious and uncertain, not of the honesty of Madero (all parties allow that), but of his ability to handle the situation, which demands civic talents of a high order.
President de la Barra has a pension plan which will doubtless give him much trouble, as it will have to include all of Mexico, or those left out will know why. As was observed by some one the other day, the more the Mexicans try to change Mexico the more it remains the same thing.
Practically new electoral methods are to be tried out, and how Madero, unless he has a secret flair for civic matters, is to solve them is what we are all waiting to see. The people's ears are full of promises. The government would promise the snow of Popo—anything; but there is a ditty being sung about town now that gives one food for thought:
| Poco trabajo, | Little work, |
| Mucho dinero, | Much money, |
| Pulque barato, | Cheap pulque, |
| Viva Madero! | Long live Madero! |
It's a bit wabbly for founding a government on, but doubtless represents very accurately the dreams of the pelados (skinned ones), as the peons are called.
You speak of the subscriptions for the earthquake relief here. It was not a national disaster. National disasters take other forms in this latitude. Scarcely a ripple is left, and as for the money to repair the city and close the splits in the streets, the municipality gives that and the contractors jump for joy.
I do not minimize the dangers here, but, of course, I don't draw highly colored pictures, being sure of your interest in any statement of facts, however plain they may be. I have rarely felt safer anywhere than in Mexico City; certainly never more comfortable and continually interested. We often walk home after dinners or bridge. The clean-washed air is so refreshing after being in rooms, however large, at this altitude. The gendarmes stand at every few crossings with their lanterns. The streets are deserted, dry, and clean. There is no Nachtleben. The program is here early to bed, early to rise, and the thrice-blessed siesta to renew the day.
I am sending off a delightful book by Flandrau, Viva Mexico. It has the real sparkle and "feel" of this magnetic land. How true a word he spoke when he said, "One does not go to Latin-America just to see what it is like, or because one has seen it before and chosen to return, but because circumstances in their wonderfully lucid way have combined to send one."
I have just had a letter from the King of Denmark. You know how promptly he always answers, la politesse des rois. But the old Copenhagen days with their blues and grays and Aryan ways of thought and habits of life are immeasurably remote from these, not only geographically and in time, but psychologically.