Francis Joseph’s brother Maximilian—Invited to be Emperor of
Mexico—Hesitates, but consents to please his wife—Resignation of his
rights as a Habsburg—The _Pacte de Famille_ and the quarrel about
it—The compromise—The last meeting of the brothers—Maximilian’s
melancholy—He composes poetry—He receives the benediction of the
Pope and departs for his Empire.
The tragic circumstances of the death of the Emperor Maximilian—pulled
off his imperial pinnacle to be shot to death in a public square—have
encircled his memory with a halo to which the bald facts of his case
do not entitle him. The word “martyr” has even been used in the
connection; and a letter has been published in which his wife, quoting
Scripture, compares him to “the Good Shepherd who lays down his life
for the sheep.” He was, in truth, if metaphor be wanted, merely the
titular leader of a pack of wolves who came to a violent end in
conflict with another pack of wolves; and, if metaphor be dropped, the
best that can be said for him is that he was a weak and vain man who
allowed himself to be fooled into undertaking a task for which he had
no qualifications except an agreeable manner and an historic name.
If an ornamental Emperor had been all that Mexico wanted, Maximilian
might have filled the post and shone in it; but he was grossly unfit,
both intellectually and temperamentally, to be an Emperor of any other
kind. He seems to have felt that, and to have tried to turn back
before even setting his hand to the plough; but various considerations
impelled him to the hopeless enterprise. He was jealous of Francis
Joseph, who had snubbed him in Italy, and made his position in Austria
unpleasant. His wife, the Archduchess Charlotte, daughter of the King
of the Belgians, was ambitious, and urged him on. Napoleon, and the
Mexican exiles of the clerical party, flattered him; and he allowed
himself to be made their tool. He did not understand that Napoleon
himself had only interfered in Mexico as the tool of unscrupulous
cosmopolitan financiers—notably the notorious Baron Jecker, who had
bribed de Morny—and was now chiefly anxious to build a golden bridge
over which he could withdraw from an untenable position.
We have met Maximilian already as Francis Joseph’s Viceroy in Lombardy
and Venetia. We have seen the Italians turning their backs on him,
and leaving him and the Archduchess to stand alone, like lepers, in
the Square of Saint Mark at Venice; and we have seen Francis Joseph
dismissing him from his governorship, because, trying to be sympathetic
towards the Italians, he did not govern with a sufficiently high hand.
He felt his disgrace, and retired to sulk on his estate, at Miramar,
on the Adriatic, where, like so many of the Austrian Arch-dukes, he
abandoned himself to the composition of poetry and political pamphlets.
He was far more a dreamer than a man of action; but action—or, at
least, the attempt at action—was the inevitable outcome of his dreams.
The Archduchess Charlotte, being vain and ambitious, saw to that.
Legend—for she has passed into legend, though she is still
alive—represents Charlotte as Maximilian’s superior in energy and
capacity,—the sort of woman who is resolved to keep her husband up
to the mark and make a man of him; but it is hard to see upon what
evidence that estimate of her rests. Assuredly, she was more anxious
to be an Empress than Maximilian was to be an Emperor; but that proves
nothing. She merely egged her husband on in the spirit in which the
wife of a city magnate urges her husband to accept a knighthood which
he does not particularly want. She foresaw the glory; she did not
foresee the responsibilities and the danger. When she did perceive the
danger it frightened her, quite literally, out of her wits whereas
Maximilian, however incompetent, at least contrived to be calm and
dignified in the extreme hour when the penalty of his error was
exacted. Then, though hardly till then, he showed himself worthy of the
great House which, when it does not defy appearances, keeps them up
with admirable magnificence.
[Illustration: MAXIMILIAN, EMPEROR OF MEXICO.]
There is no need to relate the story of his many interviews with
the Mexican delegates who, at Napoleon’s instance, lured him from
his retreat at Miramar. It is merely, in brief, the story of
Maximilian’s “I dare not” overcome by Charlotte’s “I would.” In
the first place, he said that he would go to Mexico if it were the
unanimous wish of the Mexicans that he should do so, but not otherwise.
In the second place, he accepted ridiculously inadequate evidence of
Mexican unanimity. The pressure of Charlotte, who appears to have
desired an Imperial crown as ardently as humbler women desire gorgeous
hats, had evidently intervened. So Maximilian learnt Spanish, and
toured Europe, to ascertain what potentates thought of his enterprise,
and concluded a treaty with Napoleon, and entered into negotiations
with Francis Joseph with regard to his future status as a Habsburg.
The text of his Treaty with Napoleon is sufficient proof of
Maximilian’s knowledge that he was called to the throne by a faction,
and not by a nation. He stipulated for the support of French bayonets,
which he obviously would not have needed if the Mexicans had been
unanimous in their desire that he should rule over them: a fact which
it will be important to bear in mind when the question whether he
should be regarded as a usurper or a rightful sovereign, dethroned by
murderous rebels, comes to be considered. Meanwhile, his negotiations
with his brother resulted in something uncommonly like a family
quarrel. It was a question there of the text of the Family Compact
which he should be required to sign, before he could be allowed to set
out for Mexico with his brother’s blessing.
They were not brothers between whom there had latterly been any
superfluity of affection. On the contrary, Maximilian had been making
himself popular at Francis Joseph’s expense in Austria as well as
Italy. The citizens who cried “Hurrah for Maximilian!” were taken to
mean “Down with Francis Joseph!”; and if the Crown Prince Rudolph, who
was a delicate child, had died, Maximilian would have been Francis
Joseph’s heir. It suited Francis Joseph perfectly, therefore, that
Maximilian’s name should be erased from the list of members of the
royal family. The Family Compact was drafted so as to erase it,
depriving Maximilian of all his rights as an agnate of the House of
Habsburg; and the matter was debated with great heat and violence—to
the amazement of the Mexican delegates, who protested that what they
required was a permanent Emperor, not an Emperor leased to them for a
term of years.
Never, said Maximilian, would he put his signature to that degrading
document. Very well, replied Francis Joseph. Maximilian could sign it
or leave it unsigned as he preferred; but, if he did not sign it, then
he would not receive the sanction of his sovereign to go to Mexico. In
that case, rejoined Maximilian, he should dispense with his sovereign’s
sanction, and start from Antwerp on a French boat. The answer to that,
retorted Francis Joseph, would be a message to the Austrian Parliament,
charging him with disloyalty, and formally depriving him of all the
rights which he now declined to renounce.
So the domestic battle raged: and various people were dragged into
it. Maximilian complained to his mother, who took his side; but the
Archduchess Sophia, once so influential, could obtain no concession
from the Emperor, and left his cabinet, slamming the door behind her.
Maximilian threatened to appeal to the Pope; and the Archduchess
Charlotte appealed to Napoleon, who sent General Frossard to Vienna
with an autograph letter for Francis Joseph. Then Charlotte went to
Vienna, saw Francis Joseph, herself, and arranged something which could
be called a compromise. The Pact must be signed—there could be no
question of that; but Francis Joseph consented to express his regret
for the necessity which compelled him to insist upon its signature, and
proposed that the ceremony should take place at Miramar, “where the
Emperor of Austria would only be the guest of the Emperor of Mexico.”
Those were the terms which Maximilian and Charlotte accepted.
Maximilian did not really care, and made no secret of his indifference.
The dream of Empire had dazzled him; but the prospect of the
realisation of that dream alarmed him. While his wife rushed to and
fro, sending off and receiving telegrams, negotiating with feverish
excitement, he, on his part, sat at Miramar, writing poetry which gave
eloquent utterance to his apprehensions and regrets:—
What! Must I quit my fatherland for ever,—
The country where my first delights were seen?
Those sacred ties am I condemned to sever,
Which link the present with the might-have-been?
And so on and so forth through six stanzas, in which Maximilian
expresses deep disdain for sceptres and crowns and palaces, and a
marked preference for the tranquil paths of literature, science, and
art. It is not a mood in which a man enters with much prospect of
success upon such an enterprise as that of founding a European Empire
in Central America, in the face of opposition from blood-thirsty
Republicans; and it is to be noted that what Maximilian said to himself
in verse he also said to his intimates in prose:—
“For my own part,” he is reported to have told one of them, “if anyone
came and told me that the negotiations had been broken off, I should
lock myself up in my room and dance with joy. But Charlotte...?”
It is his admission that he was accepting the Empire, as men profess to
accept knighthoods, for his wife’s sake, rather than his own. Charlotte
had made up her mind that the Imperial crown would suit her, and she
meant to wear it. She stirred Maximilian up, if not to enthusiasm, at
least to the point of saying:—
“The establishment of an Empire in Mexico is an enterprise which may
possibly fail; but the experiment is one worth trying.”
So the die was cast; and Francis Joseph fulfilled his promise with
the affability which distinguishes him when he has got his own way
in essentials. He repaired to Miramar with Archdukes, Ministers,
Chancellors, Vice-Chancellors, Chamberlains, Vice-Chamberlains,
Aides-de-camp, Field-Marshals, Governors, Lieutenant-Governors—all the
_dramatis personæ_ of ceremony. After the Pact had been signed, the
lunch was served; and then the two Emperors parted in the dignified
manner of Emperors, neither embracing nor shaking hands, but merely
exchanging military salutes—albeit, it is said, with the red eyes of
men who found it difficult to pay their tribute to appearances, and
whose hearts harboured dark forebodings.
Maximilian’s heart, at all events, harboured them. At the very time
when the Mexican flag was flying from the topmost tower of Miramar,
his emotions proved too much for him, and he broke down. His emotions
prevented him from appearing at the lunch which he gave to his Mexican
supporters; and the Empress had to preside at it in his place, while
he paced moodily up and down an arbour in the remotest corner of the
garden. A congratulatory telegram from Napoleon which Charlotte brought
to him was the cause of a nervous explosion. “I forbid you to speak to
me of Mexico,” he snapped out; and the date of his departure had to be
postponed, to give him time to recover his composure. Even so, he wept
as the coast of Austria sank out of sight, first weeping in public on
the deck, and then retiring to his cabin to weep unobserved. Assuredly
Maximilian had his full share—if not more than his full share—of that
neurosis which the Habsburgs inherit.
And so, in the first instance, to Rome, where Pius IX. bestowed a
benediction on his enterprise: a benediction which has an ominous ring
in the ears of those who read it in the light of subsequent events:—
“Behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world! It is
through Him that Kings reign and govern. It is through Him that Kings
do justice; and if He sometimes permits Kings to pass through sore
trials, He is the source of their power.
“I recommend to you in His name the happiness of the Catholic peoples
who are confided to you. Great are the rights of peoples, and they
should be satisfied, but greater and far more sacred are the rights of
the Church, the immaculate bride of Jesus Christ, who has redeemed us
with His precious blood.”
An exhortation, it will be observed, to Maximilian to go to Mexico as
the elect, not of the nation, but of the clericals: those clericals
whose prevailing principle of conduct was that money ought to be taken
away from laymen and given to clergymen; who had introduced ridiculous
laws to the effect that no one must work on a Sunday without the
permission of a priest, and that, when the Host was carried through the
streets, everyone must kneel, and remain kneeling until the clerical
procession was out of sight, and the tinkling of the clerical bell
could no longer be heard. A prediction, further, that the clerical
policy which the Pope pressed upon the Emperor might get the Emperor
into trouble; so that Maximilian went to his mission with shaky nerves,
and in the spirit of a missionary who fears that his cross will prove
too heavy for him.
Charlotte, it seems, kept up his spirits during the voyage. She was
going to be an Empress—that was enough for her. She knew nothing
about Mexico, except that El Dorado lay thereabouts—nothing of the
imperial status, except that it was outwardly splendid. She believed
the people who told her that she was going to lie in a bed of roses in
a gold mine. The things to which she looked forward were the banquets,
the levées, the drawing-rooms, and the Court balls. Her talk—and
Maximilian’s talk also when she launched him on the subject—was of
rules of precedence, the creation of new Orders of Nobility, and new
and lucrative offices for the benefit of personal friends. In short, as
Emmanuel Domenech puts it in his History of Mexico:—
“One saw renewed on the _Novara_ the story of the Frenchman who,
having decided to open up trade with the Redskins of North America,
stocked his shop with ostrich feathers, the most delicate linen of
Belfast, and a number of costly porcelain tea-services.”
But the reality was widely different from the dreams; and disillusion
followed quickly. Maximilian, like Charlotte, was puffed up with pride.
He was even proud at Charlotte’s expense, and told her that, now
that he was an Emperor, it would be unbecoming for her to enter his
presence, without first asking permission, unless he sent for her; but
that regulation was of no service to him in the practical conduct of
Mexican affairs. His actual business as an Emperor consisted, and had
to consist, in the waging of a civil war. So long as he had Bazaine
and the French Army of Occupation to help him, he was able to wage his
civil war successfully; but it was not long before Napoleon heard the
voice of the President of the United States drawing his attention to
the Monroe doctrine. Breaking his word to Maximilian, he withdrew his
troops; and, after that, Maximilian’s position was hopeless.
So that we see misfortune and peril assailing the two Emperors of the
House of Habsburg simultaneously: Maximilian fighting for his throne
in every corner of his Empire in the very year in which Francis Joseph
had to fight for his throne at Sadowa and Custozza. Only there was an
important difference between the two cases. Francis Joseph’s enemies
wished him no particular harm. They had certain affairs of honour and
precedence to settle with him, and they meant to settle them; but, when
those affairs were settled, they meant to shake hands and be friends.
They did not thirst for his blood, but regarded his position as rather
a convenience to Europe than otherwise, provided that he did not
presume on it. He might suffer, but he would be left strong, and—above
all—safe.
His brother Maximilian, on the contrary, was in personal peril, and
knew it. Civil wars in Mexico were waged in a very different spirit
from dynastic wars in Europe. There had once before been an Emperor
of Mexico—the adventurer Iturbide—and he had been shot. There was
a large party in Mexico—the party of Benito Juarez and Porfirio
Diaz—which refused to recognise Maximilian, declaring that he was
only pretending to be an Emperor, and that the real Government of the
country was still Republican. The French had never quite subdued
that party; and it began to lift its head again as fast as the French
retired. If Maximilian was a nervous man, he had every reason to feel
frightened.
He was a nervous man, and he did feel frightened. Charlotte was a
nervous woman, and she was frightened too. It does not seem to have
occurred to either of them that, if they could not maintain themselves
in Mexico without French bayonets, they had no business there—ideas
of that sort do not occur to Habsburgs who have tasted power: their
accumulated pride—which is their substitute for strength—forbids. The
idea was rather that, if they could not maintain themselves without
French bayonets, those bayonets must be supplied; and it was agreed
that Charlotte should go to Europe and lay that view of the matter
before the Emperor of the French.
Her journey, in the year of Sadowa, was the occasion of the first of
those blows which have since fallen, almost without cessation, on
Francis Joseph’s head.