December 9th
The aftermath of that reception at Chapultepec has begun to come in. Among many letters, one from an ex-army officer says he would have “thrown the wine into Huerta’s face.” All the newspapers mention the incident, but with the empire tottering we saw no reason to unduly precipitate matters by boycotting Mme. Huerta’s reception, nor for being morose and brutal when there. I wonder what would have happened if any of the various fools, writing to protest, had been running matters?
One of the New York newspapers prints a long editorial headed “O’Shaughnessy,” saying President Wilson is fortunate in having had the services of Mr. O’S. during the diplomatic negotiations with Mexico. It presents the matter as I would like, and winds up by saying that the history of Mexican-American diplomacy, to be complete, would need more than one chapter headed “O’Shaughnessy.”
The dinner for Colonel and Mrs. Hayes was rather amusing, though the food was horrid and everything was cold except the champagne. After dinner the visit of two potential Presidents of Mexico (they are always being drawn to the Embassy like steel to the magnet of recognition) gave a decided touch of local color to the scene. A large, handsome, alert man, of the flashy type—Zerafino Dominguez—came first. His battle-cry and banner is “Land for the landless, and men for the men-less lands”—a good, sound, agricultural cry with everything in it, if it could only come true. “El apostol del maiz,” as he sometimes is called, is a wealthy landowner and scientific farmer, who contends that Mexico needs more corn rather than more politics—and never was a truer word spoken. He has within the last few days, however, given up his presidential pretensions to a friend who came in later, with the same desire of the moth for the star.
The shape of the friend’s head, however—narrow across the forehead and terminating in a high peak—would prevent his getting any votes from me. The pale young son of the hearty Dominguez was also there. I offered them cigarettes and copitas; the latter they did not accept. Burnside said it was to prove they hadn’t the weaknesses of Huerta. I thought they might be afraid to drink, remembering afterward that none of us had offered to partake with them of the possibly poisoned draught. They sang the praises of the great and beautiful Estados Unidos del Norte till we were quite embarrassed. Incidentally “ze American womans” came in for a share of admiration. I wonder shall we be giving Huerta asylum some day?