THE FRENCH INTERVENTION
1862-1864
I. THE AUTHOR LEAVES PARIS FOR MEXICO
On March 4, 1862, one of my brothers, then on his way to the United
States, and incidentally the bearer of despatches from Mr. Thomas
Corwin, our minister to Mexico, was attacked and, after a sharp fight,
murdered by a small band of highwaymen near Perote. I was then in Paris,
where I had been left to finish my education under the care of old and
dear friends. In consequence of this tragedy it was deemed advisable
that I should join my family.
M. Achille Jubinal, my temporary guardian, was a distinguished antiquary
and scholar, the founder of a museum in his native town, and the author
of works upon ancient arms and tapestries, which are still authorities.
He was an homme de lettres connected with a leading paper, and a deputy
in the Corps Legislatif for the department of the Hautes-Pyrenees. He
was a self-made man, and thoroughly well made was he--witty, kind, just,
and learned in certain lines; and his warm Southern blood colored his
personality with a shade of materialism which his refined tastes never
allowed to sink to the level of coarseness.
He was to me the kindest of guardians and dearest of "chums," and made
my Sundays and vacations real holidays. He often took me
bric-a-brac-hunting to old shops unknown to all save the Parisian
curiosity-seeker, and happy hours were spent on the quays among the old
book-stands in that fascinating occupation for which the French bookworm
has coined the word bouquiner. And then the charming evenings spent at
the theaters and ended at Tortoni's with this truest of "boulevardiers,"
who knew every one and everything, and whose inexhaustible fund of
anecdote was enlivened by a spontaneous easy wit and verve that made his
companionship a delight.*
* Among my old papers I find the following invitation to go with him to
the Odeon to see a piece called "Les Pilules du Diable":
"Je viens rappeler a Sara
Une date encore lointaine,
Et lui dire que ce sera
Le jeudi de l'autre semaine
Que la-bas a l'Odeon,
Derriere les funambules,
Sans etre M. Purgon,
Je lui fais prendre 'Les Pilules.'
"A. J."
His wife was the daughter of the Comte Rousselin de St. Albin, a man of
considerable influence during the reign of King Louis-Philippe, whose
close personal friend he was.
M. de St. Albin's house in the Rue Vieille du Temple, where his family
lived when we first knew them, had originally formed part of the famous
Temple, which in medieval times was the abode of the Templars. It was an
interesting place, full of historic memories. Within these legendary
walls he had accumulated countless relics of those among his early
associates who were then so fast becoming heroes in the French annals.
Being an intimate friend and a connection of the Comte de Barras, the
chief executive under the Directory, it was to him that the latter, by
will dated February 2, 1827, intrusted not only his secret memoirs,* but
all his private and official papers. At the death of M. de St. Albin
(1847) this important collection passed to the possession of his
children.
*See "Memoires de Barras," vol. i, p. 20 (Paris, 1895-96). These memoirs
have only recently been published by M. Georges Duruy, who married M.
Jubinal's daughter, the granddaughter of Comte Rousselin de St. Albin.
I well remember, as a little girl, being shown some of the choicest
pieces in the series, among which were interesting original portraits.
One paper especially made an indelible impression upon my childish mind,
and I can now recall the feeling of awe with which I gazed upon the
appeal to arms in the name of the Commune, drawn up by Robespierre and
his colleagues on the night of the 9th Thermidor, a document which has
since been published by M. Duruy in the "Memoires de Barras."
Robespierre had just written the first syllable of his name below those
of his colleagues when the Convention was attacked. The blood-stains
which spattered the sheet, and told of the final tragedy of the leader's
life, appealed to my youthful imagination, and are still vivid in my
memory.
Notwithstanding her father's connections with the Orleanists, Hortense
de St. Albin and her brother were closely connected with the new order
of things. She had entertained personal relations with the Empress
before her elevation to the imperial throne, and the brother, Comte
Louis-Philippe de St. Albin, was librarian to her Majesty. These close
affiliations with the court did not prevent M. Jubinal, in his political
capacity, from gradually sliding into the ranks of the opposition. Later
he occasionally was one of the few who voted against the measures of the
government in the legislative struggles brought about by the
intervention of France in Mexican affairs. Whether this attitude was
wholly due to his superior common sense, or whether behind his political
convictions there lingered a tinge of chagrin at a disappointed hope of
senatorial honors once held out to his ambition by the French emperor,
it is difficult to tell. It is probable that the latter motive formed,
unknown to him, a foundation upon which his wisdom and political
principles rested, and which lent them added solidity.
Before I left France I was, at his house, the interested though silent
listener to many a violent discussion upon the stirring theme. The
critics of the Napoleonic policy loudly denounced the fraudulent
transactions connected with the issue of the Jecker bonds. They more
than intimated that the great of the land were mixed up in the
disgraceful agiotage that had led to these serious difficulties, and
that all this brilliant dust of a civilizing expedition to a distant El
Dorado was raised about the Emperor by his entourage to conceal from him
what was going on nearer home.
One of their strongest arguments was that the invasion of Mexico by the
French army must necessarily give umbrage to the United States, with
which traditions of friendship had long existed; and they urged that,
whatever the crippled condition of the Union, such a course could not
fail eventually to lead to dangerous complications.
One day in March, 1862, before the news of the rupture between the
French and their allies had reached Paris, M. Jubinal invited me to
accompany him to the Hotel des Ventes, Rue Drouot, where an important
collection of tapestries and other objects of art was on view to be
sold. There were comparatively few amateurs in the rooms when we
entered. My companion was pointing out to me the beauties of a piece
which he particularly coveted when some one came behind us and called
him by name. We both turned around and faced a middle-aged man whose
dress, manner, and general bearing showed him to be a personage of some
importance. M. Jubinal, who evidently knew him well, addressed him as
"M. le Duc," and his strong likeness to the Emperor, as well as a few
stray words, soon led me to guess, even before my guardian had gone
through the form of an introduction, that he was no less a personage
than the Duc de Morny.
The Duc de Morny's position during the period that elapsed between the
revolution of 1848 and 1865 was one unique in France; and yet it is
doubtful whether his fame would have been as worldwide as it has become
had it not been for the part he played in the Mexican imbroglio.
Brought up as a child by a charming woman of graceful intellect and
literary pretensions, he had met early in life the Duc d'Orleans, who
had led him into the gay Parisian world of which he was the leader.
After a brief military career in Africa, he resigned from the army, and
divided his interest between politics and speculation. He employed his
leisure moments in writing very indifferent plays, which, although
published under a nom de guerre (St. Remy), he depended upon the
servility of the Parisian press to carry through. He was not a deep
thinker, nor was his intellectual horizon a broad one; but his views
were liberal, his shallow mind was brilliant and versatile, and to the
graceful frivolity of a man of the world he united a taste for the
serious financial and political problems of his time. He belonged to
that set of bright young politicians who, toward the end of the reign of
Louis-Philippe, passed, as was cleverly said, "from a jockey club to the
Chamber of Deputies," declaring that France was a victim of old-fogyism,
and flattering themselves with the thought that they would infuse the
vigor of youth into politics. These would-be founders of a new era
called themselves "progressive conservatives" (conservateurs
progressistes).*
* Under this title he wrote an article published in the "Revue des Deux
Mondes," January, 1, 1848.
Just before the revolution of July, which established the republic, he
was spoken of for a place in the cabinet as minister of commerce. Gifted
with great tact and worldly wisdom, satisfied to wield power without
taking too large a place on the political stage, the Duc de Morny's
popularity and peculiar position enabled him to be the go-between in the
compromise that followed. As early as 1849 he was reported to have said
to a friend: "Quand je coup se fera je vous en previens, c'est moi qui
le ferai."* Another of his mots has often been quoted** and is most
characteristic of the man: "S'il y a un coup de balai, je tacherai
d'etre du cote du manche."
* "Revue des Deux Mondes," 1865, vol. lvi, p. 501 et seq.
** Henri Rochefort ("Les Aventures de ma Vie," vol. i, p. 245) casts a
doubt upon the originality of his wit.
At the time when I met him he was president of the Corps Legislatif,
where, without the slightest pretension to oratorical talent, he wielded
an immense influence. He was what we call a "leader" in every sense of
the word--at court, on the Bourse, and in the political as well as in
the social world.
On that morning he was with the duchess, bent upon the same errand as
ourselves, and seeing us, he had come to ask M. Jubinal to give them his
opinion upon the value of a possible purchase. After discussing the
subject, which was all-engrossing for the moment, the duchess turned to
me and politely drew me into conversation. Her kindly manner set me at
ease, and she soon extracted from me the information that I was about to
sail for Mexico. At this she became much excited, and exclaiming, "Oh, I
must tell M. de Morny!" she immediately moved to where he and M. Jubinal
had wandered, saying, "Just think, this young girl is going to Mexico on
the Louisiane alone, under the care of strangers." A gleam of interest
brightened the great man's dull eye as for a moment it rested upon me.
He asked me a few questions; but as the duchess rather commanded my
attention, he soon turned to M. Jubinal, and I overheard my guardian
telling him of the tragic events which had caused my rather sudden
departure, at the same time expressing some anxiety with regard to my
own safety. "Oh," said the duke, "by the time she arrives there we will
have changed all that. Lorencez is there now; our army will then be in
the city of Mexico; the roads will be quite safe. Have no fear."
A mild, half-playful argument followed in the course of which my
guardian, I thought, was not quite as uncompromising in his criticism as
he was when surrounded by those who shared his own opinions. But the
duke was very affable, and the duchess was in truth charming, with her
Northern beauty, her delicate high-bred features, and her wealth of
blond hair. No wonder if he could not be stern.
It was the first time that I had met the man whose influence then ruled
over the destinies of France and Mexico, and the incident naturally
impressed itself upon my memory. Upon my arrival in Mexico, where I
found men puzzling over the extraordinary lack of concert between the
allied invaders, which baffled their understanding, I remembered those
words of the Duc de Morny, uttered even before a suitable pretext had
been furnished General de Lorencez for breaking through the preliminary
treaty of La Soledad, and, of course, before the news of the final
rupture between France, England, and Spain could possibly have reached
Europe. M. de Lorencez, it is now known, had gone to Mexico with ORDERS
to march without delay upon the capital.
The Gare d'Orleans presented a scene of more than usual animation when,
on the morning of the thirteenth day of April, 1862, our fiacre landed
us at its entrance, en route for St. Nazaire. The Compagnie
Transatlantique, formed by the house of Pereire, was giving a grand
inaugural banquet to celebrate the opening of the new line of steamers
that was to carry passengers direct from France to Mexico. The Louisiane
was to sail on her first trip on the following day. A special train was
on the track awaiting the distinguished guests of the company, and it is
safe to say that two thirds of the celebrities of the day in the world
of finance, of politics, and of journalism were gathering upon the
platform.
M. Jubinal, himself an invited guest, had decided to take me with him,
as he was anxious to see me safely on board. The presence of a young
girl at the station naturally excited some curiosity among the small
clusters of men who here and there stood by the carriage doors chatting
with one another, ready to take their places; and as we passed by, my
companion was the object of inquiring looks from those with whom he was
on familiar terms. But this curiosity invariably gave way to evidences
of more earnest interest when they were told that I was to sail for Vera
Cruz on the following day.
Our companions in the railway-carriage were journalists whom M. Jubinal
knew, and a deputy whose name now escapes my memory. Each one had much
advice to bestow and many wise opinions to express, the remembrance of
which afforded me endless amusement after I had reached my destination,
so far were they from meeting the requirements of the case. And all,
whatever their personal views with regard to the intervention,
confidently expressed the conviction that upon reaching the capital I
should find the French flag flying over the citadel.
During the ride down to St. Nazaire the conversation ran wholly upon the
subject of Mexico, and of the magnificent opportunities to French
commerce and speculation opened up by the expedition. Of these our
present errand was an earnest. In listening to them, one might have
thought that Napoleon had found Aladdin's lamp, and had deposited it for
permanent use at the Paris Bourse. Mining companies, colonization
companies, railroad companies, telegraph companies, etc.,--all the
activities that go to constitute the nineteenth-century
civilization,--were in a few short years to develop the mining and
agricultural resources of the country. A new outlet would open to French
industry, and the glory of French arms would check the greed of the
Anglo-Saxon, that arrogant merchant race who would monopolize the trade
of the world. The thought was brilliant, grand, generous, noble, worthy
of a Napoleonic mind. There were millions in it!
Later, upon reaching Vera Cruz, I remembered that nothing had been said
of the yellow fever and the rainy season, or of the magnitude of the
sparsely populated country which it was necessary to clear of predatory
bands who then virtually held it, or of the expense in men and millions
which must be incurred to maintain order while all these great schemes
were being carried out. My eloquent fellow-travelers unhesitatingly
asserted that Mexico yearned for all this prosperity; it was extending
its arms to France; the French army would receive one long ovation in
its triumphant march to the capital amid vivas and showers of roses. All
who KNEW said so. How lucky was mademoiselle to be going there at this
auspicious moment, to witness such great and stirring events!
M. Jubinal looked somewhat incredulous, but the atmosphere created just
then by the occasion was certainly against him. Here was a large company
of French capitalists, backed by one of the most substantial houses in
France, opening direct communication between that country and Mexico,
when hitherto most of the traffic had been conducted through an English
medium. To my youthful mind it DID seem then as though M. Jubinal had
the worst of the argument.
Upon leaving my brilliant companions to find my way to the steamer,
however, the scene changed as suddenly as though a wizard's wand had
wrought its magic. The weather seemed threatening; a dull gray sky hung
low over the bay, and the chopping, white-capped waves reflected the
leaden color of the clouds.
There were only forty passengers on board, and, comparatively speaking,
little of the animation that usually precedes the outgoing of an ocean
steamer. I found without difficulty the French banker and his Mexican
wife who had kindly consented to chaperon me during my lonely journey;
and I soon discovered that she and I were the only women passengers on
board.
Our fellow-travelers were uninteresting--mostly commercial agents or
small tradesmen representing the old-established petty commerce with
Mexico. The new order of things was suggested, somewhat ominously, only
by the presence of two young surgeons on their way to increase the
effective force of the military hospital in Vera Cruz.
Evidently the predicted exodus to El Dorado had not yet begun. Where was
the advance-guard of the great army of emigrant capitalists now about to
start, and of which I had just heard so much?
This was the first serious disillusion of my life, and it left a deep
and permanent impression upon my mind. What was the relation between the
great banquet of Pereire & Co., this train full of statesmen, literati,
and other distinguished men, this blast of the press heralding a great
and joyful event in the commercial life of the French nation,--and this
old patched-up ship, with its scant load of commonplace and evidently
old Franco-Mexican tradesmen, lying in lonely dullness against the gray
sky on that gloomy evening?
Those men were rejoicing over us while we lay here at anchor. They were
drinking to phantoms evoked by their own imagination, and their glowing
speeches would to-morrow stir the fancy of thousands of readers who,
seeing through their eyes, would view the dark hulk of our old ship
framed in a glittering golden cloud. Where I now stood, almost alone in
the gloom, the vivid imagination of those men yonder in the banquet-hall
at that very hour perceived the mirage of the speculative fever crowding
the decks of the Pereire steamers with imaginary colonists eager to
convert their savings into mining stocks and Mexican railroad bonds, and
rushing to the land of Montezuma to sow and reap a rich harvest for
Prance.
How many wretches were induced to risk their money upon such
representations?* Oh, the dreariness, the loneliness, of that first
night at anchor in the Bay of Biscay! The misgivings that filled my
heart! Who was right? What should I find over there? Surely these
statesmen, capitalists, journalists, legislators, should know what they
were doing.
* "L'Opinion Nationale," August 30, 1866, stated that 300,000
bondholders invested in Mexican securities which in 1866 were worth no
more than the paper they were printed on.
And yet, beyond the line of the western horizon, which only a few hours
before they had peopled with glittering visions, there slowly rose in
the darkness the phantom of an arrested coach, of panic-stricken
travelers, of fierce murderers assaulting a young man, of a dead body on
the roadside; and this empty ship seemed more real at that moment than
all that I had yet heard or read.
After stopping to coal at Fort-de-France, in the beautiful island of
Martinique, and a few days later stopping at Santiago de Cuba, we
finally, on May 2, caught sight of a dark, broadening line upon the
horizon, behind which soon loomed up in solitary dignity the snow-capped
peak of Orizaba; and passing the Cangrejos and the island of
Sacrificios, we anchored off the fort of San Juan de Ulloa, where we
awaited a clean bill of health from the quarantine officers who came on
board.
The first impression made upon the mind by Vera Cruz is depressing. In
May the heat is intense. The town is situated in a low, swampy district,
and was then unprovided with the slightest artificial contrivance for
the betterment of its naturally unhygienic conditions. There was no
systematic drainage, and the entire refuse matter of an ignorant and
indolent population might have been left to fester under the rays of a
tropical sun during the dry season, had it not been for the zopilotes,
or turkey-buzzards, which, protected by law, had multiplied to such an
extent as to form a tolerably efficient body of scavengers. The steeples
and flat roofs of the low town were literally black with them. Their
dense black swarms, resting like a pall upon it, in striking contrast
with its white walls, gave the city, as one approached it from the sea,
an appearance of mourning. On our journey we had anchored at Santiago de
Cuba, where smallpox was raging, and now the health-officers hesitated
about letting us enter this plague-stricken place.
As time wore on, the excitement of our safe arrival gradually died out.
We gazed across the water at the inhospitable gates to this promised
land, where so many strangers pausing like ourselves had recently found
a grave. It seemed as though we were awaiting admittance to a funeral;
and when the tolling of some church or convent bell, frightening the
carrion-eating birds, caused a general flutter, the sight was strangely
suggestive of the pestilential death ever lurking below, ready to feed
upon the foreign visitor. One could scarcely help thinking of the dead
and the dying, and wondering, with a shudder, what might not be the
ignoble cravings of the gruesome flock.
II. PUEBLA AND MEXICO--GENERAL DE LORENCEZ--GENERAL ZARAGOZA
The health-officers who boarded the steamer at Vera Cruz gave us
unexpected and startling news. The French army had been repulsed with
serious loss before Puebla. The direct route, by which the trip from
Vera Cruz to Mexico via Orizaba--one hundred and ten leagues--could be
made in four days,* was blocked by the contending armies. If we wished
to proceed on our journey, we must do so via Jalapa, a much longer
route. The discomforts of this road were, moreover, complicated by the
fact that it was now infested by a large number of guerrillas,--one
might as well say highwaymen,--who made it difficult for travelers to
pass unmolested, unless through some special arrangement. This my
companions were confident could easily be settled; but some days might
be spent in negotiations, and the health-officers said that the yellow
fever was raging as it had not raged for years. The presence of so many
foreigners had added to its violence, and the French garrison could be
maintained only by constant reinforcements.
* It can now be made by rail in ten hours.
Upon landing, our little party went directly to the house of Mr. Lelong,
the hospitable French banker who in Vera Cruz represented the house of
Labadie & Co. Here we remained five days, enjoying every comfort, while
the necessary preparations were being made for our somewhat perilous
journey to the capital. I then heard for the first time the details of
the disaster brought upon the French by General de Lorencez's wilful
blindness.
Confident in the elan of his picked troops, and, as one of his officers
afterward told me, complacently holding up to himself the example of
Cortez, who had conquered the land with as many hundreds as he had
thousands, the French general, unable with so small a force to undertake
a siege, determined to attempt the assault of the Cerro de Guadalupe.
This fort dominated the place, and its possession must, in his opinion,
insure the fall of Puebla.
The ill-advised attack was made on May 5,1862, with twenty-five hundred
men. The place was topographically strong. It was defended by General
Zaragoza with the very pick of the Mexican army under General Negrete,
and was, moreover, supported by the well-manned battery of the Fort de
Loretto. To attempt the assault of such a position without the support
of artillery seemed madness; and when the general ordered his troops
forward it was found that his field-battery, owing to the lay of the
land, could not even be brought to bear upon the fort at sufficiently
close range to reach it. One fifth of the corps of attack was thus
uselessly sacrificed.
Some months after these events (September, 1862) I witnessed in the city
of Mexico the public obsequies of General Zaragoza,* whom this exploit
had naturally placed high in the esteem of his countrymen. Upon the
elevated catafalque, drawn by a long line of horses draped in black
trappings, lay the stately coffin. Tossed at its feet was the French
flag; banners, hung everywhere, inscribed with devices recalling his
signal service to his country, proclaimed him "the conqueror of
conquerors" (el conquistador de los conquistadores). The French, it was
asserted, had measured themselves with and conquered all the nations of
the world, and Zaragoza had conquered the French!
* Much of the credit for the achievement was due to General Negrete,
whose command bore the weight of the assault upon the Cerro de Guadalupe
and prevented its capture.
This day is proudly recorded in the Mexican annals as the Cinco de Mayo.
The historic importance of a battle is not always to be measured by the
numbers of the contending forces, and although its far-reaching
significance was at the time scarcely understood, this check must ever
be remembered by future historians as the first serious blow struck by
fortune at Napoleon III and his fated empire. The honor of France was
now involved and must be vindicated. There was no receding upon the
dangerous path. No French sovereign could dare to withdraw without
avenging the first check met with by the French army since Waterloo, and
thus was the Emperor rushed on to fulfil his own destiny. To-day the
fire from the fort of Guadalupe casts a flash of lurid light upon the
beginning of la debacle, and upon the last chapters written at Sedan.
During the whole of that fatal day the doomed men marched, as they were
ordered to march, upon the Mexican battery. They hopelessly fought, and
died heroically; and when night came they beat an orderly retreat,
carrying away with them most of their wounded.
General de Lorencez slowly fell back upon Orizaba, where he issued a
proclamation* to the army, openly laying the responsibility of the
disaster upon the false statements made to him by the French
representative.
* See proclamation, published in Louet, "La Verite sur l'Expedition du
Mexique," etc. "Reve d'Empire," p. 72.
The French army, which fell back upon Orizaba, was in a critical
position. Its communications with the coast had been interrupted by the
Liberal guerrillas, and it was completely cut off from the seaport and
from France. The bridges were destroyed; the convoys of provisions were
attacked and burned; anxiety was felt by the commissariat with regard to
supplies. The garrisons left by the French on the way had been driven
back and hemmed in in the unhealthful region, where the French regiments
were fairly melting away, and no courier was permitted to bring news
from the seat of war to the French fleet and to the garrison of Vera
Cruz.
The rainy season was near at hand when communication was restored by the
arrival at Vera Cruz of General Felix Douay, who landed with
reinforcements on May 16.
The five days that we spent in Vera Cruz were anxious days for those who
had assumed the responsibility of our little party. Never was there a
worse time to travel over a road which at best was unsafe, and yet we
could not remain where we were without danger.
I was not allowed to move out of the house and all I saw of the town was
from the balcony whence, in the cool of the evening, I looked down upon
the dull street. Every now and then a passing stretcher supporting a
covered human form would remind us that we were in a plague-stricken
city, and make us eager to start upon our way.
At last arrangements were completed, terms were made with a small
guerrilla band whose chief undertook to see us safely through to Mexico,
and on May 27 we began our journey.
The men of our escort, whom we met just out of the city, were a
ruffianly-looking set. The chief had received an ugly saber-cut across
his face, which added to the forbidding expression of a naturally
repulsive physiognomy. They were well mounted, however, and seemed
inclined to be civil. We were allowed only an arrota (twenty-five
pounds) of luggage, and were supposed to have no money with us; but on
the night before we left we sewed a few ounces of gold (sixteen-dollar
pieces) in unlikely places of our underwear. Thus we left Vera Cruz a la
grace de Dieu.
Well it was that we had made terms with this little guerrilla company,
and we had ample opportunity of testing the truth of the saying, "There
is honor among thieves." All along the road we met armed bands, varying
in strength, until, at a village near Jalapa, we fell in with the
well-known chief Antonio Perez and his famous plateados, two hundred
strong, who had won their name and a somewhat doubtful distinction by
their successful raids upon convoys of silver. Our escort fraternized
with all, and they let us pass unmolested.
I was told that at this period scarcely a stage reached the capital
without having been robbed. The passengers were often even despoiled of
their clothing, so that newspapers were brought into requisition to
serve as garments for the unfortunate victims. When such was the case
the doors of the hotel were closed upon the arrival of the coach in the
courtyard, and blankets or other coverings were brought down before the
travelers could alight with any show of propriety.
To say nothing of our emotions, many and varied were our experiences on
that never-to-be-forgotten nine days' journey. Generally we slept in
cities or towns, where we were made more or less comfortable; but on one
occasion, owing to an accident, we were belated and had to stop
overnight at a miserable hamlet, where no accommodation could be
procured save such as a native adobe house could afford. This consisted
of one large room approached by a shed. In this room the man, his wife,
his children, his dogs, pigs, and small cattle lived. A team of mules
outside put in their heads through an opening and breathed over our
cots. The English language cannot be made to describe the atmosphere and
other horrors of that night. Cots had been improvised for Mrs. D---- and
me, but there was no sleep for us, and we envied the men, who took their
chances of malaria and preferred sleeping outside to sharing our
shelter.
At last we reached the crest of the mountain from which we looked down
upon the valley of Mexico, a huge basin encircled by mountains; and
there at our feet lay the capital, with its two hundred thousand souls,
its picturesque buildings, and the lakes of Chalco and Tezcuco, while to
one side the huge snow-capped volcanoes, the Iztaccihuatl and the
Popocatepetl, like two gigantic sentries, seemed to watch over the
sacredness of this classical spot of Mexican history.
The capital was quiet and peaceful. It seemed utterly shut out from all
the excitement created by the invasion, as though, really trusting in
its remoteness, its barriers of mountains, its lakes and natural
defenses, it defied the foreigner. Was it that Mexico was then so
accustomed to transfer its allegiance from one military ruler to the
other that even foreign invasion left it indifferent? Or was it the
childlike faith in the unknown, the national Quien sabe? spirit,
virtually carried out at this supreme crisis? However this may have
been, very little of the outside conflict seemed as yet to have
penetrated the minds of the people. The diplomatic corps entertained our
little coterie, which included those Mexicans who were willing to mix
with the foreign element.
Society danced and flirted, rode in the Paseo, and walked in the
Alameda, just as though the Cinco de Mayo had been a decisive battle and
General de Lorencez's army had been driven back to its ships.
The bull-fights once in a while gathered in the vast enceinte of the
Plaza de Toros the society of the capital. During the winter of 1863 the
young men of fashion of Mexico took the Plaza de Toros, and invited
Mexican society to a performance. All who took part were amateurs, and
it was a brilliant affair. The huge amphitheater, crowded with the
well-dressed audience, was in itself a memorable spectacle, and as the
sun went down, casting great shadows and oblique rays of light upon the
gay assemblage, intent upon the fierce games of the picturesque
performers in the arena, one unconsciously dreamed of the Colosseum and
of the bloody sports of semibarbarous Rome.
Besides the ordinary bull-fight, there were many exercises of
horsemanship and with the lasso that did credit to the skill of the
young gentlemen. Moreover, as these men, who were all wealthy, rode
their own spirited horses, the performance presented none of the most
revolting features of the usual bull-fight, where the poor, miserable
hacks, too jaded to obey the rein, are generally gored, and soon turn
the arena into a slaughter-house, the sight of which it is impossible
for an Anglo-Saxon to endure.
Our box was sent us by Don Jose Rincon Gallardo and his brother Don
Pedro, who belonged to the elite of Mexican society and were among the
prime movers in the affair. When Mexico fell into the power of the
enemy, these young men joined the Liberal army in defense of their
native land, and later we will find the first at Queretaro earning
honorable distinction amid events the memory of which can never fade
from the pages of history.
It was a curious, easy life in the midst of what to us now would seem
perilous conditions. No man, in those days, ventured out of an evening
to pay a call without being well armed, and our little anteroom assumed,
after eight o'clock, the appearance of an arsenal. Nor were these
precautions unwarranted. To give but one instance: The secretary of the
Prussian legation, a nephew of the minister, Baron Wagner, having
excited certain animosities, was more than once waylaid and attacked in
the street after dark. He was a fine specimen of the Teutonic race, a
tall, powerful man, and generally carried brass knuckles. After the
first attack he made it a point at night to walk in the middle of the
street, so as to avoid too close a proximity with corners and dark
angles of doorways, regarding them as possible ambushes. As he was fully
prepared, he more than once escaped without harm. But one night, when,
for some unknown reason, he carried a revolver, he was assaulted from
behind. Before he could cock his weapon and turn to face his would-be
assassins, he had received several stabs in the back, and was left as
dead upon the street. He lay for weeks between life and death.
This had happened in the spring of 1862. A short time after my arrival,
having just recovered, he called to take leave of my family before
returning to Germany. His faith in the superiority of brass knuckles
over the revolver, in case of sudden attack, was not to be shaken.
Many and strange were the stories told me when I arrived in that land
destined by nature to be a paradise, but of which the inhabitants were
then making a Tartarus. To the horrors then perpetrated by robbers or
highwaymen, justice could be done only by the pen of a Poe.
Kidnapping was not infrequent, and the cruel ingenuity displayed by the
bandits to keep safely their victim pending the negotiations for a
ransom was often blood-curdling. I might fill a small volume with such
anecdotes, but the terrible fate of two hacendados, kidnapped in the
interior of the country, may suffice to give an idea of the tax which
living in Mexico at that time might levy upon the emotions of a young
girl fresh from Paris.
The two unfortunate men had been captured by one of those small bands
which in war-times were called guerrillas, but which we should
ordinarily call banditti. They were dragged from place to place about
the country by their captors, who kept them under strict surveillance.
One evening, as they were approaching a town, the prospect of a riotous
night spent over pulque and monte at some fonda excited the imagination
of the men, and, as no one would consent to be deprived of the
anticipated pleasure for the sake of mounting guard over the prisoners,
it was decided that the miserable victims should be, for safe-keeping,
buried up to their necks in the earth. Surely they could not escape, and
would be there next morning awaiting the return of their captors. And so
they no doubt would have been, but for the coyotes, which, allured by
the easy prey delivered up to them by the devilish ingenuity of those
human fiends, came during the night and devoured the heads of the
helpless victims. Who can ever realize the mental and physical anguish
in the midst of which those two wretched lives came to an end?
Sometimes there was a touch of weird humor in the manner in which such
outrages were perpetrated. One night a wealthy family in Mexico drove
home in their carriage from a party. They stopped at their
porte-cochere, which was opened by their servant, and closed tight
behind them as they drove in. Two men, however, had fastened on to the
carriage behind. They overpowered the portero as he barred the door,
while the noise of the carriage rolling on the flags of the patio
smothered the sound of the scuffle. They opened the door to their
accomplices, and easily overcame family and servants, all of whom were
bound hand and foot. Then the robbers ransacked the premises, and having
packed all the valuables into the carriage, one of them took the
coachman's clothes, mounted on the box, and coolly drove off in
style--carriage, horses, and all.
In a wild, sparsely populated country like Mexico in 1862, where
communication was difficult, where the police of even large cities, when
not in direct sympathy with the malefactors, were overawed by them, and
where forty years of civil war had hardened men to the sight of blood,
it is not to be wondered at if impunity had multiplied such occurrences
and destroyed all sensibility with regard to human suffering.
Much excitement was created both in France and in the United States,
during the French intervention, by the relentless spirit with which the
conflict was conducted between the opposing parties, and by the wanton
destruction of life and property which characterized the struggle. But
when one realizes that the Mexican armies at that time were on both
sides to a great extent made up of such predatory material, and that
even their officers were frequently little more than chiefs of
guerrillas, who rallied sometimes under one flag, sometimes under the
other, but in either case were always ready for rapine, the brutal
character of the conflict can scarcely excite surprise.
III. THE SIEGE OF PUEBLA--GENERAL FOREY--GENERAL ORTEGA
The news of the check sustained by the French at Puebla--a check to
which the precarious condition of the army lent all the proportions of a
serious defeat--was made public in France by means of a despatch sent
from New York on June 14. The army was at once raised to twenty-five
thousand men. The command-in-chief of this increased force was given to
General Forey. He entered upon his official duties on October 25,1862.*
* General Forey commanded the Fourth Division at the battle of Alma, in
the Crimean war; at Sebastopol he commanded both the Third and the
Fourth, to which was intrusted the siege work.
The new commander-in-chief, like those whom he was superseding, was
under precise orders from the home government to be guided by M. de
Saligny. Notwithstanding the disastrous consequences of his
misrepresentations, the French minister, strangely enough, still
retained his hold upon the Emperor and his advisers.
General Forey's instructions, given in a note from Napoleon dated July
3, 1862, were to bring about, through General Almonte, the convocation
of an assembly of notables to decide upon the "form of government and
the destinies of Mexico." Should the Mexicans prefer a monarchy, "it was
in the interest of France to support them, and to indicate the Archduke
Maximilian as the candidate of France."*
* "La Verite sur l'Expedition du Mexique, d'apres les Documents Inedits
d'Ernest Louet," etc. Edited by Paul Gaulot. Part I, "Reve d'Empire," p.
91, 4th ed.(Paris).
On February 18, 1863, after wasting four precious months, at an enormous
cost of money and prestige, General Forey appeared before Puebla.* The
procrastination of the French commander had given the Mexican government
time to elaborate the defense. General Zaragoza had died, in the full
blaze of his glory, in the month of September. His successor, General
Jesus Gonzalez Ortega, had now under his command a fairly organized army
of twenty-two thousand men. The main trouble was the scarcity of arms.
The guns were mostly old rejected muskets, and I was told that during
the siege unarmed bodies of men waited to use the arms of the slain or
wounded. But the place had been strongly fortified; this time it was to
be war in earnest.
* General Forey explained his extraordinary procrastination by
complaining that the minister of war had failed to supply him with a
sufficient amount of ammunition. See Colonel Loizillon, "Lettres sur
l'Expedition du Mexique," p. 101.
The town was built in blocks. Each block, fortified and defended by the
besieged, must be fought for and carried by assault, at terrible cost of
life on the part of the French, whose close ranks were fired upon with
murderous effect from the roofs and windows on both sides of the
streets.
The episodes of the contest recall those of the siege of Saragossa, when
the Spaniards so fiercely resisted the French forces; only at Puebla the
cruel struggle lasted two whole months.* To quote a French officer, it
was "a noble defense, admirably organized."
* From March 18 to May 10, 1863. See Colonel Loizillon, "Lettres sur
l'Expedition du Mexique," Paris, 1890.
The pulse of the capital now quickened under the influence of Puebla's
sacrifice to the national honor. Every now and then a thrill of
vindictive patriotism ran through the city and clamored for revenge.
Already, before the celebration of the anniversary of the national
independence (September 16, 1862), wild rumors of a contemplated
wholesale slaughter of foreigners had run through the town, arousing
among us fears of an impending catastrophe. The news had one day been
brought us that the 16th was the date fixed for these new Sicilian
Vespers, and all were warned to be watchful. The day, however, passed
without any further demonstration of ill will than a few shots, and
cries of "Mueran los Franceses!"
Much of this excitement had, of course, been fostered by the stirring
proclamations of the government, issued with a proper desire to arouse
into something like patriotic enthusiasm the apathy of a people
accustomed to submit to the inevitable. There was no telling, however,
to what extremes might resort a populace composed of Indians and
half-breeds, should it once become fully alive to the situation. To such
a people geographical discrimination seemed a nicety; the issue was
between them and the foreigners, and the words "French" and "foreigner"
were at that time generally used as synonymous.
This was not all. When the fort of San Xavier was taken, and when began
the frightful hand-to-hand fight in Puebla, the result of which was a
foregone conclusion, the government announced its intention to defend
the capital. The level of the lakes of Chalco and Tezcuco is above that
of the city, and the flooding of the valley was regarded as an effective
means of defense. This, of course, meant pestilence. The president
resolutely declared that, should arms fail, the people must prolong the
defense of the capital with their "teeth and nails"; and although there
was no practical response among the people, a general and very genuine
uneasiness pervaded the whole community.
It was a Mexican custom on Good Friday to burn Judas in effigy on the
Plaza Mayor. Judas was a manikin made in the shape of the person who
happened to be most unpopular at the time. It was quite admissible to
burn Judas under different shapes, and sometimes these summary autos da
fe were multiplied to suit the occasion and the temper of the people. At
the same time, rattles were sold on the streets, and universally bought
alike by children and adults, by rich and poor, to grind the bones of
Judas, and the objectionable noise--second in hideousness only to that
of our own sending off of fire-crackers on the Fourth of July--was
religiously kept up all day. In the year of our Lord 1863 Judas was
burned in Mexico on the Plaza Mayor under the shapes of General Forey,
Napoleon III, and last, but not least, M. Dubois de Saligny, who
especially was roasted with a will amid the wild execrations of the
populace.
President Juarez had bent his whole energy upon the raising of an army
of relief. He succeeded in getting together some ten thousand men, the
command of whom he gave to General Comonfort. This had been no easy
task. A general leva had been ordered, and all were mustered into the
army who could be provided with arms. Of uniforms there was, of course,
no mention. It was a supreme and desperate effort.
A convoy of supplies for the relief of General Ortega was also prepared,
which it was hoped General Comonfort might succeed in throwing into the
besieged city. He utterly failed, however; and his raw recruits having
been routed at San Lorenzo* by General Bazaine (May 8), further
resistance became hopeless. Puebla was lost. General Ortega faced the
situation with a dignity worthy of his courageous defense of the town.
He spiked his guns, blew up his magazines, disbanded the garrison, and,
with his officers, surrendered on May 19.
* San Lorenzo is a village and hacienda through which the main road to
Puebla passes about sixty-six miles from Mexico.
The news fell like a knell upon the capital. As far as we were
concerned, there seemed to be just then only a choice of evils. Either
the government would await in Mexico the impending issue, and we must be
exposed to all the unspeakable horrors of which Puebla had just been the
scene, or the President and his administration would abandon the city,
and an interval must follow during which we must be left exposed to mob
law, or, should Marquez first take possession of the city, perhaps to
pillage and bloodshed.
Meanwhile Congress had indefinitely adjourned, after conferring full and
extraordinary powers upon Juarez. The president issued a proclamation
announcing his firm resolve to continue the war. After this he prepared
to leave the city and to retire to San Luis.
That night, while sitting in our drawing-room, we heard the dull, steady
tramp of men marching, otherwise noiselessly, down the Calle de San
Francisco toward the plaza; and looking out of the window, we saw the
debris of the defeated Liberal army making its way through the city. A
strange, weird sight they presented in the moonlight--these men whose
sole equipment consisted of a musket and a cartridge-box slung over
their white shirts. Most of them wore only loose calzoneras, and many,
according to the Mexican custom, were accompanied by their women.
Apparently undrilled, or, at least, tramping on with scarcely an attempt
at order, and seen in the half-shadow cast by the houses upon the
moonlit street, their loose ranks reminded one more of the immigration
of some ancient barbaric horde than of the march of a modern army.
I shall never forget the impressions of that night. The picturesqueness
of the scene was not lessened by the element of personal interest that
attached to it. What did this portend--this ragged remnant of a defeated
army hurrying through the capital in the dead of night? Were the French
approaching, driving it before them? Was it intended to garrison the
city, and here to make the last stand in defense of the republic and of
Mexican liberty? Or, on the contrary, was it beating a retreat into the
interior of the country, making way for the advent of the foreigner and
monarchy and priest rule?
The next day (May 31, 1863) an unusual stir was noticeable in the city.
The air was all aglow with excitement. Horsemen were galloping in the
streets leading pack-mules, and the sleepy town seemed full of bustle
and animation. As we stood at our balcony, we saw many acquaintances,
apparently equipped for a journey, speeding past, with a wave of the
hand as a last farewell; and soon the attache of the American legation
dropped in with a message from Mr. Corwin to the effect that President
Juarez and his government were leaving the city.
The exodus of the previous night was thus explained. The remnants of
General Comonfort's and General Ortega's armies had fallen back to serve
as an escort for the government in its flight. The city was now without
an administration, without a police, without an army. It was left
unprotected, at the mercy of the mob or of the invader, and the serious
question before us was how best to protect ourselves pending the arrival
of the French forces.
The foreign representatives, fearing that the vanguard might be formed
of the Mexican contingent under Marquez, and knowing the pitiless
ferocity of the "Leopard," as the chieftain was called,* petitioned
General Forey to send one of his divisions to take immediate possession
of the capital. Meanwhile the foreign residents organized and formed
themselves into mounted patrols, and although only seven hundred strong,
they managed to maintain fair order.
* His name was Leonardo, from which came the sobriquet Leopardo.
Here and there ominous incidents occurred to show the necessity of such
vigilance. A Frenchman was lassoed, and dragged through the streets by a
small mob; another was shot in the head in front of our house, and,
bleeding, took refuge in our patio. Upon inquiry, I was told that he had
cried, "Vive la France!"
No one thought of retiring on that memorable night. From time to time a
stray shot, a few shouting drunkards, or some other unwonted noise in
the street, would excite our apprehension; then again, occasionally,
some friend, passing with a patrol before our door, would step in and
report that so far all was quiet.
Late that night, when at the window, listening in the stillness then
reigning over the city, a distant but strangely familiar sound fell
faintly upon my ear--very faintly; but never did the finest harmony born
of Wagner's genius so fill a human soul with ecstasy. There was no
mistaking it: it was a French bugle. The French were entering Mexico. We
were safe, and now might go to bed.
IV. THE FRENCH IN THE CITY OF MEXICO--THE REGENCY
The next morning the town was swarming with red trousers, the wearers
whereof were seeking quarters. From our balcony we saw, standing at the
corner of the Calles de la Profesa and Espirito Santo, a little group of
officers talking together in that half-earnest, half-distrait manner so
characteristic of men newly landed in a town, whose interest in every
trifle gets the better of the topic under immediate consideration.
By their uniforms and demeanor we could judge that one was a general and
the others were officers of various rank. As we appeared at the balcony
there was a perceptible flutter among them, and some of them began to
ogle us as only Frenchmen could whose eyes had not rested upon a white
woman for several months. This incident, trifling as it seems, was to
become the key-note of our future Mexican existence. The group of
officers in quest of suitable quarters turned out to be General Bazaine
and his staff, some of whom afterward became our warm friends.
We now found another source of apprehension. The apartment we had
rented, at the corner of the Calle de San Francisco, opposite the
Iglesia de la Profesa, was larger than necessary for our small family,
and a very spacious room looking upon Mexico's fashionable thoroughfare
had been left unfurnished and unoccupied by us. It was obvious that we
should be required to give it over for the use of some officer of the
invading army, and the matter was naturally not without interest.
Early in the morning of June 5, a carriage drove up, and some
middle-aged officers of the administration, in green-and-silver
uniforms, applied for quarters. One of them was the paymaster-in-chief
of the army, M. Ernest Louet. He was a worthy man, who afterward became
a frequent visitor, although his general appearance and peculiar,
peak-shaped skull, undisguised by any hirsute covering, were not likely
favorably to impress frivolous feminine minds.*
* M. Louet, after the Franco-Prussian war, visited Marshal Bazaine in
his Spanish retreat, and obtained from him all the documents relating to
the intervention and the empire of Maximilian then in his possession. It
was his intention to use them as the basis for an authentic history,
which, however, he did not live to publish. The task thus begun by M.
Louet was subsequently completed by M. Paul Gaulot, in 1889, under the
title, "La Verite sur l'Expedition du Mexique, d'apres les Documents
Inedits d'Ernest Louet, Payeur-en-Chef du Corps Expeditionnaire," and
divided into three parts: "Un Reve d'Empire," "L'Empire de Maximilien,"
and "Fin d'Empire."
We drew a forlorn picture of the rooms, which, as a fact, were utterly
unsuited to his purpose. He left without even looking at them, and we
had a reprieve.
The unfinished condition of the apartments, as well as an abundant
expenditure of tact and diplomacy on our part, saved us from other
applicants, and we were beginning to flatter ourselves that we should
escape this much-dreaded imposition when, late in the afternoon, two
young naval officers called, accompanied by orderlies and pack-mules.
They presented billets de logement, requesting to be given possession.
We tried to discourage them, assuring them that the rooms contained no
conveniences of any kind, not even furniture: but the young men were
evidently easily satisfied; they politely but firmly insisted--their
only wish, they said, being to camp under cover.
This annoyed us, and we showed them scant courtesy, not even attempting
to disguise the fact that they were most unwelcome. Fate was, however,
kind to us when it sent us these men. They turned out to be perfect
gentlemen, and completely won us over by their unvarying good breeding
under shabby treatment. Before long we were, and remained, the best of
friends. As for their orderlies, they soon made love to our Indian
maidens, and there is every reason to believe that the interlopers
obtained all necessary comforts, after all. So all went well enough in
the two menages.
Indeed, an entente cordiale between the population of Mexico and the
French army was rapidly established. In a few days the place assumed an
unwonted aspect of cheerfulness and festivity. The French officers, who
for over a year past had led a life of hardship, were now bent upon
pleasure. They fell gracefully into the Mexican mode of life, and took
kindly to the havanera, the bull-fights, the Paseo, and the style of
flirtation preferred by the Mexican women. For this they soon coined a
French word, noviotage,* and thus expressed the semi-Platonic
love-making of indefinite duration and undefined limits which with the
natives usually culminates in marriage, after a prolonged term of years,
but which with foreigners seldom culminated at all, for lack of time.
They "played the bear,"** and ogled their chosen one from the street or
at the Alameda, or followed her carriage on horseback at the Paseo,
according to the most approved Mexican methods; and in exchange for
small favors received, they cast a glow of sparkling cheerfulness upon
the dull city of Montezuma.
* Derived from novio, "betrothed lover."
** The Mexicans call hacer l'oso the mode of courtship by which the
lover, on horseback, passes under his chosen one's window, up and down,
casting longing glances at her--the worse the weather the more ardent
the love.
General Forey made his triumphant entrance on June 10. It was a
magnificent sight, and one not easily forgotten. As the victorious
veteran troops,--many of whom had seen the Crimea, Syria, and Italy,--in
their battered though scrupulously neat uniforms, marched through the
Calle de San Francisco, laden with their cumbersome campaign outfit, the
whole population turned out to see them, and the balconies and windows
on the line of march were lined with eager and interested faces.
This was no ordinary pageant. It was serious work, and full of the
deepest meaning. These survivors of an army of thirty thousand men had
arduously fought their way to this triumph for sixteen months. No one
will probably ever know how many of their comrades had dropped on the
roadside; and the weather-beaten faces, bronzed by long exposure to the
tropical sun, the patched clothes, the long line of ambulances following
in the rear, told a story in which little room was left for the
imagination. The sight kindled genuine interest and aroused the sympathy
of the crowd, and something very like spontaneous enthusiasm thrilled
through the air on their passage.
The keys of the city had been solemnly offered to General Forey by
General Salas, amid the acclamations of the people. The next day M. de
Saligny presented a list of thirty-five citizens destined to form a
junta. These were to select three men to act as regents pending the
final decision of the people with regard to a permanent form of
government. The junta was empowered to add to its numbers two hundred
and fifteen citizens, supposed to be taken from all classes, who, with
the thirty-five appointed by the French, would compose the assembly of
notables upon whom must devolve the carrying out of the farce which it
was intended must take the place of a popular expression of the will of
the country.
Don Theodosio Lares was elected its president. This junta, in a secret
meeting at which two hundred and thirty-one members were present,
deliberated upon the form of government to be chosen for the Mexican
nation and on July 10, at a public meeting, presented a report in which
the republican system was denounced as the cause of the greatest evils
which had of late years been the scourge of the country, and monarchy
was advocated as the only remedy.
Four articles were voted upon, with only two dissenting voices: (1) The
nation adopts as a form of government a constitutional monarchy,
hereditary under a Catholic prince. (2) The sovereign will take the
title of Emperor of Mexico. (3) The imperial crown of Mexico is offered
to his Royal Highness Prince Ferdinand Maximilian, Archduke of Austria,
for himself and his descendants. (4) In the case where, owing to
unforeseen circumstances, the Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian should not
take possession of the throne offered him, the Mexican government trusts
in the good will of his Majesty Emperor Napoleon III to designate
another Catholic prince to whom the crown shall be offered. A regency,
composed of General Almonte, General Salas, and Archbishop Labastida,
was forthwith established, under the protection of the French.
It was obvious to all that the performance was enacted for the "benefit
of the gallery." Gossip even told how the French had paid for the very
clothes worn by some of the so-called "notables" upon that occasion.
Nevertheless, the monarchy, by the will of the people, was voted in, and
a commission was appointed, consisting of the most distinguished among
the reactionary leaders, to wait upon Maximilian of Austria, and to
offer him the throne on behalf of the Mexican nation.
But although the part played by the French in this comedy was thinly
disguised, every one in the capital was now in a good humor. After the
severe strain of the past year, the onerous burdens which had been
imposed upon the people by the Liberal government in order to carry on
the war,--the forced loans raised from the wealthy, the leva by means of
which the poor were seized upon and pressed into the army,--a sudden
reprieve had come. All responsibility now seemed lifted off the Mexican
people and assumed by the French; and the revival of trade under the
impulse given by the influx of pleasure-loving foreigners, who freely
spent their money, was regarded as an earnest of the prosperity to come.
No one seemed disposed to be over-critical as to methods, if only peace
and plenty could be assured.
It would seem, however, that Napoleon's instructions to General Forey
had not been exactly carried out. According to these, and in order to
retain full control of political operations, the general was himself to
appoint the provisional government, with General Almonte at its head.
After this, tranquillity having been established in the country, he was
to call for a popular vote to decide upon the form of government to be
adopted and to constitute a national congress.*
*See official letters, November 1, December 17, 1862, February 14, 1863.
The French government had repeatedly declared to England and to the
world that "no government would be imposed upon the Mexican people." Had
it been honest when signing the provisions of the treaty of London, and
later those of the convention of La Soledad, the armed expedition had
now reached its end. Indeed, quite enough had already happened to show
the French statesmen how illusory had been the promises of the Mexican
refugees and the representations of Messrs. de Saligny and Jecker; and
now, once more and for the last time, the opportunity was offered
Napoleon gracefully to withdraw with the honors of war from the fool's
errand on which he had so recklessly embarked.
The French army was now in Mexico. The commander-in-chief and the French
minister might dictate their terms to the enemy from his fallen capital,
and then retrace their steps homeward.
But this was not to be; unwilling to recognize his own error, Napoleon
III preferred attributing to the mismanagement of his agents the
difficulties that had sprung up on every side, and he resolved to
persevere in his original intention. As for General Forey, whether his
dullness of perception failed to grasp the true drift of his master's
mind, or whether he was unable to steer his way through the tortuous
policy which he was called upon to further, he seemed to regard his
mission as fulfilled. After he had established the native provisional
government, he complacently rested in the enjoyment of his new title of
Marshal of France, apparently overlooking the fact that outside of the
capital the national party held the country as absolutely as ever. He
issued a decree confiscating the property of all Liberals who did not
lay down their arms, and allowed the regency, which was composed of
three clerical leaders,--General Almonte, of whom Marshal Bazaine was
wont to say that he meant well, but il se prend trop au serieux, General
Salas, a conservative old fossil unearthed for the occasion, and
Archbishop Labastida,--to foreshadow an era of reaction and
retrogression.
A decree (1863) intended to stop the exporting of gold, and another
confiscating the property of political adversaries, created so much
uneasiness that the French government was obliged to interfere and
enforce their repeal. An ordinance compelling every one to kneel in the
street upon the passage of the eucharist created loud dissatisfaction
among the liberal-minded; and ordinances forbidding work on Sunday
without the permission of the parish priest, and suspending work in the
erection of buildings upon land formerly belonging to the clergy, had
eventually to be repealed.
Religious processions had been forbidden by the Liberal government. One
of the first mistakes made by the commander-in-chief was to allow the
clergy to celebrate in June the Fete-Dieu, that should have been
celebrated in May, but had been omitted, as Juarez was then in
possession of the city. Not only did General Forey consent to this, but
he and his officers attended the procession, an act which excited the
sarcasm of the Liberals and gave substance to the fear that the French
protectorate meant reaction.
The priests and clericals fully believed that their turn to govern had
come. They actually notified the tenants of former clergy property not
to pay rent to their landlords, as the sales of such property had been
the work of Satan, and were now to be annulled, and that if they paid
their rent they must eventually be called upon to pay it over again to
the church, the rightful owner.
Meanwhile Maximilian's faith had been shaken by the refusal of England
to guarantee the empire. When, in the autumn of 1861, the negotiations
secretly carried on with regard to the establishment of a Mexican
monarchy had at last assumed a tangible form, and serious propositions
had been made to the Archduke Maximilian by M. Gutierrez de Estrada (the
representative of the reactionary party in Mexico, acting at the
instigation of Napoleon III), the archduke, with the approval of his
brother Emperor Francis Joseph, had acquiesced under two principal
conditions: "(1) The support, not only moral, but material and
efficient, of the two great powers (France and England); (2) the clearly
expressed wish of the Mexican people."*
* See note drawn up under his supervision by his secretary, the Baron de
Pont, bearing date September 27, 1861, published in "La Verite sur
l'Expedition du Mexique," loc. cit., pp. 8, 9, and compare M. de
Keratry, "L'Empereur Maximilien," etc., pp. 8, 9. It has been said that
the project was submitted to Maximilian three years before the treaty of
Miramar was signed (see Charles d'Hericault, "Maximilien et le Mexique,"
p. 23), and I heard it asserted, while in Mexico, that the Mexican
empire was not wholly unconnected with the peace of Villafranca, after
which the archduke had retired to his castle on the Adriatic. However
this may be, the above shows that official, though secret, negotiations
were opened with regard to Maximilian's future empire even before the
treaty of London was signed (October 31, 1861), and that, in entering
into the triple alliance, England was being led by her wily ally further
than she meant to go.
French diplomacy had failed in its efforts to secure British
concurrence. Maximilian now showed himself unwilling to regard the
invitation of the junta assembled in the capital as sufficient to
constitute a claim to the imperial crown. He insisted upon a similar
expression of feeling from the other large centers of population in the
country, and stated his readiness to accept the trust "when the vast
territory should have been pacified." This meant the conquest of the
country, neither more nor less.
Napoleon apparently did not hesitate. Trusting in the love of warlike
achievement so strong in the French people, he pushed ahead along his
dangerous path. That even now he clung to the practicability of his
original plan is shown by the almost naive manner in which, on September
12,1863, he wrote to General Bazaine that "the PRINCIPAL object at
present was to pacify and organize (!)" the country by calling upon all
men of good will to rally around the new order of things and by
preventing the enactment of reactionary measures. He then still hoped
and believed that the return to France of the outlay caused by the
expedition could be guaranteed by means of a great loan raised in
Mexico--WHEN, organized and restored to prosperity. He constantly urged
upon his agents the organization of the finances of the country and of
the Mexican army.
Immediately upon the arrival of the French, Napoleon had sent a
financier, M. Budin, to put order into the country's resources. M. Budin
was a commonplace, middle-aged little man, of mediocre ability, whose
personality was not calculated to impress one with an idea of
intellectual force. I was told, by those who were in a position to judge
of his ability as a specialist, that, although a first-class
administrative officer, he was lacking in initiative, and was in no way
qualified to extricate Mexico from financial difficulties. His
attainments were those acquired in the daily routine of an upper clerk's
well-defined duties, and his mind was of narrow scope, ill fitted to
adapt itself to the entirely new problems set before it. He had been
Paymaster of the French army during the Crimean and the Italian wars,
and afterward receveur-general de la Savoie. He brought with him a
mining engineer and a staff of custom-house and revenue officers.
He did not distinguish himself, one of his earliest acts being to urge
the promulgation of the above-mentioned decree sequestrating the
property of all who were then opposed to the new order of things. He
also reinstated the old method of administering justice, which was a
disappointment to the progressive element. To be sure, Maximilian, upon
his arrival, treated him coldly, and did not help him to make a success
of his mission. His place was successively filled by M. de Maintenant
and by M. Corta, who were not more successful in bringing the revenues
of the empire up to its requirements. M. de Bonnefons, a fourth
financier, sent in 1865, fell ill and was compelled to return to France.
The year following his arrival, he, in turn, was replaced by M.
Langlais.
On July 16, 1863, the Emperor had promoted General Forey to the rank of
marshal, and had thus softened the recall of his incompetent, though
faithful, servant.
The newly made marshal celebrated this promotion by a ball, at which a
trifling incident occurred which made an impression upon me, and which,
no doubt, General Forey remembered for some time. He was a very heavy
man, of full habit, tall, with a short neck and red complexion, all the
more ruddy by contrast with his gray hair and mustache. While waltzing
past the general, I saw the light chair upon which he sat suddenly give
way with a loud crash under his ponderous weight, and down came the
commander-in-chief hard upon the floor. Rumors of his probable downfall
were already reaching us, and the appositeness of the situation appealed
to us. I jokingly whispered to my partner, a young officer on his staff:
"Mon general, vous avez fait la culbute." We both thoughtlessly laughed,
and were caught in the act by his Excellency at the moment when, helped
to his feet, unhurt, by the bystanders, he was endeavoring to veil under
an assumption of increased dignity his consciousness of the absurdity of
the accident. He flushed up angrily, and, I was afterward told, never
quite forgave the young man for his share in our disrespectful mirth.
He was most unpopular. His whole conduct, since his arrival in Mexico,
had been characterized by weakness, indecision, and lack of judgment,
and he had shown himself in every respect unequal to the difficult task
before him. Colonel Loizillon says that, on the way to Puebla, when the
generals assembled in council of war differed, instead of deciding the
question the commander-in-chief would adjourn, beseechingly saying: "Mon
Dieu, tachez donc de vous entendre"* ("Gentlemen, DO try to come to an
understanding"). He had allowed himself to be deceived by the French
minister to Mexico with the glaring facts before his eyes. As a military
chief, his procrastination had given the Mexicans the time they needed
fully to organize their defense; and had it not been for General
Bazaine's energy and military capacity in urging and successfully
carrying out the attack upon the fort of San Xavier, the siege of
Puebla, already prolonged far beyond the limits of all likelihood, might
have cost the French a still greater expenditure of time and human life.
Indeed, it was the openly expressed opinion of many French officers that
to famine was principally due the fall of Puebla. "Sans cela nous y
serions encore," they would say.
* "Lettres sur l'Expedition du Mexique," p. 101.
General Forey's elevation had been due mainly to the fact that he was
one of the men who had served Napoleon in 1851 in the coup d'etat.
Indeed, many of the Emperor's most glaring failures were due to the same
cause,--i.e., loyalty to individuals,--which led him to place in
responsible positions men of small merit and of less principle who had
stood by Caesar and his fortunes.
In France the effect of the general's incapacity had been serious. The
delay that had occurred in bringing about a result announced as easy of
accomplishment had furnished sharp weapons to the opposition. It had
forced the government to ask the Chamber of Deputies for large
appropriations to conduct the war upon a serious scale. It was no longer
a military parade from Vera Cruz to Mexico to present the French flag to
the enthusiastic gratitude of the Mexicans: it was a fighting army of
thirty-five thousand men to be maintained across the seas at the expense
of France.
The French leaders may be said to have displayed, in their Mexican
venture, the same lack of administrative efficiency and of military
organization, the same insufficient knowledge of and preparation for the
task to be performed, as so conspicuously appeared at the very outset of
the Franco-Prussian War. It is impossible to read the accounts of the
various campaigns since published without recognizing the presence, in
victory over an unorganized enemy, of the elements of the later failure
when the same men were arrayed against the strongly organized German
forces.*
* It is interesting, in this connection, to find that the same
conditions existed in France at the time of the Crimean war. General
Bosquet, one of the heroes of that expedition, in his letters constantly
denounced the administration for its lack of preparation. Under date of
January 14, 1854, he says: "Imagine that they have not yet made any
preparation. The cavalry has neither horses nor men; neither has the
artillery. No orders have been given about harness, or about any new
material." And in another letter, written on the eve of his departure
for the seat of war, he repeats the same complaints. Marshal St. Arnaud,
the commander-in-chief, wrote from Gallipoli to the Emperor that the
army lacked the very necessaries of life: "One cannot make war," he said
in a note dated May 27, "without bread, shoes, kettles, and water-cans."
With characteristic patriotism, the Chamber voted the appropriations
necessary to vindicate the honor of the French flag; but the government
was condemned to hear many unpleasant truths.
As for M. de Saligny, he had turned the French legation into a business
office, in which the guaranty of France was traded upon to cover the
most doubtful transactions. Napoleon had at last recognized his true
character, and now--too late, alas!--recalled him from his post. "De gre
ou de force, quand memo il aurait donne sa demission," he had written to
General Bazaine.*
* November 1, 1863. See Louet, loc. cit., "Un Reve d'Empire," p. 208.
But this unforeseen contingency greatly disturbed the French minister in
his operations. His accomplices, the clerical leaders and others, worked
for him, and moved heaven and earth to have his recall reconsidered.
They failed; but to make up for his disappointment the Mexican National
Assembly voted him a national reward of one hundred thousand dollars.
Although Marshal Forey had not yet left the country, General Bazaine
remonstrated with General Almonte, who, however, resented his
interference.
Both M. de Saligny and Marshal Forey enjoyed too much playing the
leading role to depart willingly. They lingered on, much to the
amusement of the onlookers, until General Bazaine grew impatient at the
awkwardness of his own position. The ridiculous side of the complication
was seized upon by the wags of the army; bets were taken, and a song the
refrain of which was, "Partiront-ils, partiront-ils pas," was popularly
sung everywhere, the innumerable verses of which showed the
inexhaustible interest taken in the subject.*
* Plus rapide que l'eclair
Un bruit circule en ville;
La joie, la gaiete sont dans l'air;
On s'aborde, on babille;
Soldats et pekins
Se serrent la main
En disant, 'Quelle chance!'
Tout bas on redit,
Forey, Saligny
Sont rappeles en France,"
etc.