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
Huerta keeps very calm, these days, Nelson says; no nerves there while waiting for news. I suppose he knows just how bad his men are, and also the very indefinite quality of the rebels. He talked of two years’ work being necessary for pacification, and then of going to live in Washington, to prove that he is neither a wild Indian nor a brigand. He is very pleased to get his loan; the money is here, and he has known how to get hold of it.
At the outset Huerta was surrounded by experienced and responsible men, but when it became generally understood that the United States would not recognize his government, intrigues were started against him, and he was forced to make changes in his Cabinet. Later on, when a friend reproached him with this, he answered, quite frankly, “No one regrets it more than I; for now, unfortunately, all my friends are thieves!”
Yesterday’s copy of Mister Lind has, as a frontispiece, Mr. Wilson and Villa, standing in a red pool, drinking each other’s health from cups dripping with blood. It is awful to think such things can exist, even in imagination. N. has protested to the Federal authorities.