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DIEGO RIVERA -- MY ART, MY LIFE: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY (WITH GLADYS MARCH) |
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DEHESA Though our plot against Diaz fizzled, the exhibition was a huge success. Of all my paintings only two were not adorned with the cards of purchasers when the opening day was over. But the day had had its bad side. At four o'clock in the afternoon, I had received the news of the heroic resistance and death of a brother revolutionary, Aquiles Serdan. With the support only of his wife, his brother, two sisters, and a neighbor, Serdan had stood off the entire garrison of Puebla. His aged mother had passed the ammunition for the guns. When the troops finally broke into his house, his little daughter was shot down by an officer. The child had been found still holding some cartridges in her hand. A few months later, the memory of Serdan and his family would revive the flagging spirits of the revolutionaries and help to bring about the downfall of Diaz. After the exhibition, I went to the south, where I joined Zapata's peasant partisans in the state of Morelos. Much of the time I worked with a former schoolmate named Penioroja. An able mechanic, Penioroja had invented a small, simple bomb, so designed as to blow up only the baggage cars of trains. This saved the locomotives, which were useful to the rebels. It also spared the lives of the passengers, most of them the very people for whom the revolution was being fought. Penioroja's valuable invention was just the size of my paintbox. That is why, in this period, my artistic output showed no appreciable increase. At the end of six months as an active rebel, I received a message from Don Antonio Rivas Mercado, an old and trusted friend who was also an official in the Diaz government, asking me to come to see him at once. He had sent this request with one of his coachmen. As soon as I had digested the words, I jumped into the coach and was driven away. I found Mercado waiting for me. He immediately directed that I pack a valise with only the barest necessities and arms and tell my family that I had to leave the city for a few days. I was to say that I was visiting the farm of one of Mercado's friends, where I would find interesting subjects to paint. When I told this story in a hasty leave-taking in my home, my mother showed anxiety, but my father seemed to understand perfectly. Bag in hand, I now rode to Don Antonio's house a second time. He said, "You might well say you've been lucky to have a friend in the Diaz government. Unless you leave in my carriage at once and get as far from Mexico City as you can by tonight, without being seen, you'll certainly find yourself before a firing squad. The order for your arrest and execution for treason has already been issued. Fortunately, the Chief of Police is a relative of mine and a good friend of your father. He was the one who passed on the warning to me. He promised, even if he gets fired, to hold up the order till seven o'clock tonight. Good luck." Urgency in his face, he embraced me. I hurried out and lay down flat on the floor of the carriage. The coachman, already instructed, took the road towards Puebla, passed through Tlaxcala, and arrived late at night in Apizaco. There I felt safe enough, seeing no government soldiers about, the partisans being in control of much of the territory in this region. The next day I boarded a train to Jalapa, the home of my sponsor, Governor Dehesa. This noble man, always highly esteemed by all the old liberals, was still respected, even by the revolutionaries. The City of Jalapa was surrounded by insurgent troops, but because of Dehesa they hesitated to lay siege to it. As the train approached Jalapa, it was halted by a party of guerillas. Their chief and an armed escort climbed into my car to look for arms and ammunition. The partisan leader asked the passengers if any of them wanted to give money or clothes for the revolution. Everyone in the car contributed something. I removed my ammunition belt with its revolver, and I presented it to one of the partisans. He laughed aloud. "Do you carry such an arsenal with you that you can afford to make a present of these?" he asked. "With what are you, yourself, going to fight?" Looking directly into his face, I recognized the worn, tired features of my uncle, Carlos Barrientos. We shook hands warmly. "Diego, where are you going? Did you come here to stay with us?" he asked. "No, Uncle, I'm going to Jalapa." "All right. In that case, you can give us your arms and get as many weapons as you need from Governor Dehesa. I understand now why you offered them. Good. The more we have, the better. You can tell Governor Dehesa that he has nothing to fear from us. We know him to be a real liberal, always opposed to the damned reactionaries. Tell him we're sorry he can't be one of us, but we realize that, as a man of honor, he has to show loyalty to his old friend, Diaz." On my arrival in Jalapa, I went directly from the depot to confer with the Governor. He greeted me warmly, and when I gave him my uncle's message, he was deeply moved. A sad smile passed across his face. He said not a word, but shook his head in a gesture of gratitude while tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. After about a minute of thoughtful silence, he asked, "And why can't I join them? They are my own people, really my sons. My big brother Diaz mistook his way. Nothing can again stop the revolution. There may be a long fight, but once the people are aroused, they always win. But should I renege on my old friendship with Diaz for that? Could the historians of the future be sure of my motives? Would it not be thought that I joined the uprising to be on the winning side? I fought beside Diaz when he was a persecuted rebel and trapped like a mad dog. Also, my boy, I'm old. You like me because my door and my hand have always been open to anyone who wished to enter my house." What he had said was true. In fact, the hinges of his doors were rusted because, in all the years of his administration, they had never been closed. Dehesa then asked me my plans, and when I told him that I wanted to return to Europe, he expressed his gratitude for the trust I had shown him, an official of the Diaz government. He gave me some messages to bring to the rebel leaders, saying that he would send an escort party with me. I took my leave and went to my room. While I waited for the escort, I changed into a rough riding habit. Dehesa's guard arrived at the same time as my friend, the painter Arguelles, and everyone's eyes opened wide on seeing my costume. Arguelles exclaimed, "Caramba! What a big bandit you look like in that getup!" When I glanced at myself in the mirror, I had to agree with my friend. I certainly looked big and tough. In the insurgents' camp, the leaders refused to deal with anyone but me. I gave Dehesa's messages to them and afterwards they gave me a message of friendship to bring back to the Governor. At the rebels' invitation, Arguelles and I spent four or five days in the camp. As we were preparing to leave, one of their chiefs approached me. "Why are you going, Rivera? If you live long enough to be an old man, you will realize that you could not have fared better anywhere in the world than right here among us." He threw back his head proudly and gestured toward the wonderful landscape. I thanked him but told him I knew the only road I must travel. For the truth was that this phase of the revolution was almost at an end. The peasant irregulars of Orozco, Zapata, and Pancho Villa were sweeping on to certain victory. There was no more I could do now. I knew that the masses who were toppling the leaden throne of Porfirio Dfaz were not ready to take power for themselves. Diaz's henchmen would be supplanted by "professional politicians" and petit bourgeois time servers who would move quickly to harness the strength of the people. There would be a show of reform, but the social and economic inequalities which had given rise to the revolution would appear again out of the smoke and dust. And there would be more conflict and violence. Perhaps, at a later time, when I had found myself as a man and an artist, I would return to my beautiful homeland and teach the people what they must learn. So I went back to Jalapa and delivered the rebels' message to Governor Dehesa. Then I took time out to paint a landscape. I used the nearby forest as a foreground and limned the majestic mountains in the distance. About a week later, I sailed for Havana. There I booked passage to Europe.
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