MAXIMILIAN AND MEXICO.[1]
[Footnote 1: Much of the material of this chapter is taken from
Victor Tissot's book of travels in Austria; the chapter on Maximilian
as archduke and emperor I translated from advance-sheets, and it
was published in the "Living Age" under the title "From Miramar
to Queretaro." -E. W. L.]
Maximilian, Archduke of Austria, was born the same week that his
cousin, the unfortunate son of Napoleon and Marie Louise, had died.
He grew to manhood handsome, well educated, accomplished, and
enterprising. He had the great gift of always making himself personally
beloved. The navy was his profession, but his great desire was to
be made viceroy of the (then) Austrian provinces of Italy. He felt
sure that he could conciliate the Italians, and a great Italian
statesman is reported to have said that it was well for Italian unity
that his wish was never granted. His ideas were all liberal, and
opposed to those of Metternich. His family mistrusted his political
opinions, but the Italians, when brought into personal contact
with him, soon learned to love him. They saw a great deal of him,
for Trieste and Venice were at that period the naval stations of
the Austrian Empire. He was, therefore, often in those places,
and finally took up his residence in an earthly paradise upon the
Adriatic, created by himself and called by him Miramar.
In June, 1857, when the Indian Mutiny was at its height, though
tidings of it had not yet reached the western world, the Archduke
Maximilian, whom the English royal family had never met, arrived
at Windsor, and was hailed there as one who was soon to become
a relative, for he was engaged to King Leopold's only daughter,
the Princess Charlotte of Belgium.
The queen and her husband were charmed with Maximilian. "He is
a young prince," writes Prince Albert, "of whom we hear nothing
but good, and Charlotte's alliance with him will be one of the
heart. May Heaven's blessing," he adds, "be upon a connection so
happily begun, and in it may they both find their life's truest
happiness!"
The queen also wrote to her uncle Leopold,--
"The archduke is charming,--so clever, natural, kind, and amiable;
so English in his feelings and likings. With the exception of the
mouth and chin, he is good looking, but I think one does not the
least care for that, he is so very kind, clever, and pleasant. I
wish you really joy, dearest uncle, at having got such a husband
for dear Charlotte. I am sure he will make her happy, and do a
great deal for Italy."
Prince Albert crossed over to Belgium for the wedding, and wrote
to his wife: "Charlotte's whole being seems to have been warmed
and unfolded by the love that is kindled in her heart. I have never
seen so rapid a development in the space of one year. She appears
to be happy and devoted to her husband with her whole soul, and
eager to make herself worthy of her present position."
At the time of her marriage the princess had just entered her
seventeenth year. The wedding-day was made a little family fête at
Windsor, in spite of Prince Albert's absence. "The younger children,"
the queen writes to her husband, "are to have a half-holiday. Alice
is to dine with us for the first time, in the evening. We shall
drink the archduke's and the archduchess's healths, and I have
ordered wine for our servants, and grog for our sailors, to do the
same."
Maximilian had been round the world in his frigate, the "Novara;"
he had travelled into Greece and Asia Minor, he had visited Spain,
Portugal, and Sicily; he had been to Egypt and the Holy Land. He
loved the ocean like a true sailor, and in 1856 he had taken up his
residence at Trieste, to be near its shores. He would frequently
go out alone in a light boat, even in rough weather, a dash of
danger lending excitement to a struggle with the wind and waves.
One day in a storm his light craft had been borne like a feather
round Cape Gignano. In a moment it lay at rest under the lee of
the land. Maximilian landed, and found the spot so charming and the
sea-view so superb that he resolved to build a little villa there
for fishing. He bought the land at once, and began by setting out
exotics, persuaded that the soil of such a spot would be favorable
to tropical vegetation. A year later he brought his young bride to
this favored spot, and with a golden wand transformed his bachelor's
fishing-hut into the palace of an emperor.
At this period of his life, Maximilian (an author and a poet) was
greatly interested in architecture. He drew the plans for an exquisite
church (now one of the beauties of Vienna), and draughted with his
own hand those for the grounds and castle of Miramar. The work was
pushed on rapidly, yet in 1859, when Austria was forced to give up
Lombardy, nothing at Miramar was complete except a fancy farm-house
on one of the heights of the property. Maximilian, however, made
his home there with his wife, and they found it so delightful that
when at length the castle was ready for occupation, they lingered
in the farmhouse, which they loved as their first home. It was a
large Swiss châlet, covered with vines and honeysuckle, surrounded
by groves of camellias and pyrus japonicas. How delicious life
must have been to the husband and wife in this solitude, fragrant
with flowers, vocal with the songs of birds, a glory of greenness
round the house, the blue sky overhead, the glittering ocean at
their feet, and holy love and loving kindness everywhere around
them!
Maximilian's generosity rendered wealth indispensable to his complete
happiness, for he loved to surround himself with artists, learned
men, and men of letters. He paid them every kind of attention in
his power, and did not omit those little gifts which are "the beads
on memory's rosary."
"One feels how happy life must have been to husband and wife in
this new Paradise!" cries M. Victor Tissot. "Yet it was Paradise
Lost before long, for alas! in this, as in the other Paradise,
the Eve, the sweet young wife, was tempted by ambition. She took
the apple, ate, and gave it to her husband."
On April 10, 1864, the Mexican deputies commissioned to offer Maximilian
the imperial crown, arrived at Miramar. "We come," said Don Gutierrez
de Estrada, "to beseech you to ascend the throne of Mexico, to which
you have been called by the voice of a people weary of anarchy
and civil war. We are assured you have the secret of conquering
the hearts of all men, and excel in the rare knowledge of the art
of government."
Maximilian replied that he was ready to accept the honor offered
him by the Mexican people, and that his government would be both
liberal and constitutional. "I shall prove, I trust," he said,
"that liberty may be made compatible with law. I shall respect your
liberties, and uphold order at the same time."
Don Gutierrez thanked the archduke in the name of the Mexican nation,
and then the new emperor swore upon the Gospels to labor for the
happiness and prosperity of his people, and to protect their independent
nationality. Don Gutierrez was then embraced by Maximilian, who
hung around his neck the cross of the new Order of Guadeloupe,
of which he was the first member.
But this acceptance of the imperial crown of Mexico was by no means
a sudden thought with Maximilian. For eight months he had been
debating the matter in his own heart, urged to acceptance of the
crown by his wife, but dissuaded by his family.
The history of the offer, connected as it is with one of Napoleon
III.'s schemes for extending French influence, must be briefly
told.
Before the Civil War broke out in America, it had already entered
the head of the emperor that he would like to intermeddle in the
affairs of Mexico. That unhappy country, which the United States
have been accused of doing their best to keep in a chronic state
of weakness, turbulence, and revolution, had been left to recover
itself after the Mexican War, which had shorn away its fairest
provinces.
In 1853, Santa Aña, who had been president, dictator, exile, and
conspirator by turns for thirty years, was recalled to Mexico, and
a second time was made dictator. He assumed the title of Serene
Highness, and claimed the right to nominate his successor. A popular
revolution soon unseated him. Juarez, of Indian parentage, was at
its head. The clerical party was outraged by the confiscation of
the enormous possessions of the Church, and by the abolition of
the right of _mortmain_ (_i. e._, wills made upon death-beds were
pronounced thenceforth invalid, so far as bequests to the Church
were concerned). Mexico is a country with eighteen hundred miles of
coast-line, but few harbors. It had in 1860 no railroads, and hardly
any highroads of any kind. Its provinces were semi-independent, its
population widely scattered, a large part of it was Indian, a still
larger portion consisted of half-breeds; pure-blooded Spaniards
were a small minority. The feeling that stood Mexico in lieu of
patriotism was a keen hatred and jealousy of foreigners. Their
very pride still keeps the Mexicans from believing that there can
be anything better than what they possess. Perpetual revolutions
had educated the people into habits of lawlessness; and as to
dishonesty, rank itself was no guarantee against petty larceny,
while in the larger rascalities of peculation, bribe-taking, and
political treachery, no nation had ever such opportunities for
exercising its national capacity, nor, apparently, did many Mexicans
have conscientious scruples as to its display.
Under these circumstances it is no wonder that foreign bondholders
complained loudly to their Governments, or that in the general
confusion all manner of wrongs to Englishmen, Frenchmen, Austrians,
and Spaniards called loudly for redress. That cry reached the French
emperor's ears. He proposed to England and Spain that as Mexico had
at last got a government under Juarez, an interventionary force
should appear off her coast, composed of English, French, and Spanish
ships-of-war, and that Mexico should be summoned to redress their
common wrongs.
All this was harmless. The expedition was commanded by the Spanish
General Prim; but under the avowed object of demanding a redress of
grievances, the Emperor Napoleon concealed a more ambitious aim.
The United States were at war; all their resources were absorbed
in civil strife. The most sagacious statesmen could not foresee that
the end of that strife would be to make the country more great,
more rich, more formidable; and Napoleon thought it was the very
moment for attacking the Monroe doctrine, and for making, as he
said, "the Latin race hold equal sway with the Anglo-Saxon over the
New World." If he meant by the "Latin race" the effete half-Indian,
Mexican and South American peoples, which were to be set as rivals
against the Anglo-Saxon race, represented by Yankees, Southerners,
men of the West, and the English in Canada, he was widely wrong in
his calculation; but it is probable that "Latin" was his synonym
for "French" in this connection.
The Monroe doctrine, as all Americans know, took its rise from
certain words in a Presidential message of Mr. Monroe in 1822,
though they were inserted in the message by Mr. Adams. They were
to the effect that the United States would disturb no nation or
government at present (_i. e._, in 1822) existing on the North or
South American continent, but that they would oppose all attempts
by any European Government whatever to put down any free institutions
that were the choice of the people, or to impose upon them any
form of government against their will.
Napoleon III. did not quite dare to fly in the face of the Monroe
doctrine, even though the United States were embarrassed by civil
war. There were plenty of Mexican exiles in Paris, among them the
Don Gutierrez who offered Maximilian the imperial crown. These men
had secret interviews with the emperor. Thus the way was paved for
Maximilian long before the time came to act, and possibly before
he heard of the matter; for there was a power behind the throne
that was urging his elevation on the French emperor with all a
woman's persuasive powers.[1]
[Footnote 1: Pierre de Lana.]
It was not until after the Empress Eugénie had been left regent
of France, during the campaign of Italy, in 1859, that she took
any part in politics; but from that time her influence was freely
exercised, though she interested herself chiefly in foreign affairs.
She did not like Victor Emmanuel, nor her husband's policy as regarded
Italy. She dreaded the destruction of the pope's power as a temporal
prince. Her sympathies were Austrian, and in conjunction with her
friends the Prince and Princess Metternich she lost no opportunity of
urging the establishment of Maximilian and Carlotta on the imperial
throne of Mexico. She looked upon this as in some sort a compensation
given by France to the House of Hapsburg for its losses in Italy.
To her imagination, the expedition to Mexico seemed like a romance.
She saw two lovers seated upon Montezuma's throne,--the oldest throne
in the New World,--surrounded by the glories of the tropics. When
there, they would restore the privileges of the Catholic clergy, and
would curb the revolutionary aspirations of the mongrel population of
Mexico,--a population which, as a Spaniard, she hated and despised.
To this end she intrigued with all her heart. Indeed, she and her
friends the Metternichs acted in the preliminary arrangements of
the plan the part of actual conspirators.
After the French and Spanish forces landed in Mexico, accompanied
by a few Englishmen, Juarez offered to make compensation for the
wrongs complained of, and an agreement was drawn up and signed
by General Prim and the French and English commanders at a place
called La Soledad.
England and Spain, when the agreement was sent to Europe for
ratification, considered it satisfactory. France, having ulterior
designs, repudiated it altogether. The Spaniards and the English
therefore withdrew their forces, and the French remained to fight
out the quarrel with Juarez alone.
Up to this time no allusion had been made as to any change in the
Mexican government; but now French agents began to intrigue in
favor of an empire and Maximilian. A small assembly of Mexican
notables was with great difficulty convened in the city of Mexico,
from which Juarez was absent, being engaged in carrying on the
war. The only persons concerned in this assembly who took any real
interest in its objects were the clergy, who believed that a prince
of the House of Austria would be likely to restore to them all
their property and privileges.
There can be no doubt that such a government as Maximilian would
have established in Mexico would have been a happy thing for that
country and for civilization; but it is equally certain that the
Mexicans (meaning by that term the great mass of the people) did
not want such a government. Above all, they did not want for their
ruler a foreigner, backed by a foreign potentate. The only _raison
d'être_ for Maximilian's government in any Mexican's mind was not
that it would bring order and peace into the country, but that
it might bring money from the coffers of the new emperor's ally.
But when, after a while, the reverse of peace and order was the
result of this new government, and when the French emperor declined
to advance any more funds, nothing kept any man true to Maximilian
but the dread of what the party of Juarez might do to him when
the cause of the emperor should be overthrown.
With this explanation we will go back to Miramar, where Maximilian
and Carlotta, unquestionably deceived by the political manipulations
of the French emperor, believed, with joy and pride, that they
were the choice of the Mexican people, and that they had nothing
to do but to go forth and take possession of the promised land.
On April 13, 1864, almost the darkest date during our war for the
cause of the Federal Union, the Archduke Maximilian and his wife
quitted the soil of Austria.
Early in the morning, in the port of Trieste and on the road to
Miramar, all were astir. Friends from all parts of the Austrian
Empire were hastening to bid farewell to the Archduke whom they
loved.
The "Novara" and the French frigate "Thémis" were lying off Trieste,
ready to start; and near them, riding at anchor, were six steamships
belonging to the Austrian Lloyds, full of spectators.
At about one o'clock P. M. the emperor, with his wife leaning on
his arm, entered the town-hall of Trieste, where about twenty
deputations were assembled to offer him farewell addresses. Maximilian
was much moved, and when the burgomaster spoke of the grief that
all the people of the city would feel at his departure, he burst
into tears. He embraced the burgomaster, shook hands with those
about him, and whispered, as if to himself: "Something tells me
that I shall never see this dear country more." His sensitive and
poetic nature was very susceptible to sad presentiments; his book
teems with them.
After the leave-taking, their Majesties entered the magnificent
barge prepared for their use by the city of Trieste; a salute of
one hundred guns reverberated from the sides of the mountain, while
twenty thousand hats and handkerchiefs waved a sad farewell.
Maximilian and Carlotta embarked on board the "Novara," which carried
the Mexican flag. By four o'clock both vessels were well down in
the offing, and not till then did the crowd separate. Those with
telescopes had seen up to the last moment a figure standing on
the poop-deck, with its face turned towards Miramar, and knew it
for the form of Maximilian.
The "Novara" touched at Jamaica. On May 28 it came in sight of
the shores of Mexico, and cast anchor in the harbor of Vera Cruz.
The emperor and empress had expected a public reception. There
was nothing of the kind. No welcome awaited them,--not even an
official one. This was the more extraordinary because the "Thémis"
had been sent forward to announce the approach of the imperial
party. Their disappointment at the want of enthusiasm was great.
The French vice-admiral did his best to repair unfortunate omissions.
He gave orders for a show of festivity; but it was plain to see,
from the indifference of the people in the streets, that they had
no part or lot in the demonstration.
After leaving the sea-coast, Maximilian proceeded towards his capital
in an old shabby English barouche, his journey seeming rather like
the expedition of an adventurer than the progress of an emperor.
Passing through Orizaba and Puebla, the emperor and empress entered
Mexico on June 12. French agents had paid for flowers to be scattered
in their path, and a theatrical kind of procession was prepared,
which was not agreeable to either of them. The only part of the
population which hailed their coming with delight were the descendants
of the Aztecs, many of whom appeared on the occasion in feather
dresses preserved in their families since the time of Montezuma.
In the evening there was a public performance at the theatre in
honor of the new sovereigns, but not half the boxes were filled.
The palace of Chapultepec, which had been assigned them as their
residence, was destitute of comforts of any kind, and was much
more like a second-class hotel than a habitation meet for princes.
Yet even here, one of Maximilian's first cares was to layout the
grounds and to plant flowers.
He was advised to make an immediate journey through his new dominions,
in order to judge for himself of the aspirations and resources of
the people. But he found a country broken down by war, without
roads, without schools, without agriculture. "The only thing in
this country which is well organized, sire," said a Mexican whom
he was questioning about the state of things, "is robbery."
There was thieving everywhere. The emperor's palace, and even his
private apartments, were not spared. One day, after a reception
of officers high in military command, his revolver, inlaid with
gold and ivory, which had lain on a table by his side, disappeared,
and the empress missed two watches, which had gone astray under
the dexterous fingering of her maids-of-honor. General Lopez, who
was then commandant of the palace, wishing to give the emperor a
proof of the accomplishments of his subjects in matters of this
kind, offered to steal off his writing-table, within two hours, and
without being noticed, any object agreed upon. He said he believed
he could even carry off the table,--a joke at which the emperor
laughed heartily.
When Maximilian returned to his capital, after a journey of great
peril, he ordered the construction of several high-roads, granted
lands and privileges to two or three railroad companies, founded a
good many schools, and set on foot a Mexican Academy of Sciences.
His own taste for natural history was so great that he gave some
foundation for the charge made against him that he would frequently
shut himself up in his workroom to stuff birds. He devoted great
attention to improvements in agriculture, and planned a manufacturing
city, and a seaport on the Gulf of Mexico which he intended to
call Miramar.
His wife was an indefatigable helpmeet. She wrote all his European
correspondence, but resented the interference of the French, and could
be curt and energetic when the occasion called for self-assertion.
An American gentleman who saw her at a court-ball at this period
thus describes her: "She was imperial in every look and action.
The dignified and stately step so well suited to her station, and
with _her_ perfectly natural, would have seemed affectation in
another. She did not seem remarkably tall, except in comparison
with others. Her voice possessed a refinement peculiar to birth,
education, and superior natures."
But while the emperor and empress were laboring for the improvement
of their realm, the Juarists were increasing in strength, and banditti
carried on their enterprises with impunity up to the very gates
of Mexico. Day after day the stage was robbed between Mexico and
Jalapa. The Marquis de Radepont, a quiet traveller, saved himself by
killing half-a-dozen highwaymen with his revolver; but the Belgian
ambassador, on his way to announce to their Imperial Majesties the
accession of Leopold II., the brother of Carlotta, was robbed of
all his jewelry and money.
In consequence of these disorders the emperor signed, on Oct. 3,
1865, in spite of the remonstrances of Marshal Bazaine, the French
general-in-chief in Mexico, an order to the civil and military
authorities to treat all armed guerilla bands as brigands, and to
apply to them the utmost rigor of martial law.
This was at once interpreted into permission to shoot all prisoners;
and three promising young Juarist generals who had fallen into the
hands of one of Maximilian's commanders were shot immediately,
leaving behind them pathetic farewell letters to their friends.
Maximilian did not foresee that he was signing his own death-warrant
when he put his hand to this act of severity.
Juarez himself, with a body of his followers, had retreated to
the frontier, ready to pass over into Texas if the French attacked
him. But the French were too few and too scattered to occupy a
vast region of country where every inhabited house was a refuge
for their foes. Moreover, the interest of Napoleon in the empire
of Mexico was at an end. He hated a long war at any time, and was
always ready to abandon an enterprise when he could not carry out
his projects by a _coup de main_. The war was extremely unpopular
in France. Financial ruin had come upon many Frenchmen from the
failure of the Mexican bonds negotiated by the banker, Jecker, to
pay interest to their bond-holders. The Civil War in the United
States was at an end, and Mr. Seward was instructing the American
ambassador in Paris to threaten the Emperor Napoleon with the
enforcement of the doctrine of President Monroe. He resolved to
withdraw his troops from Mexico, and to advance no more money to
Maximilian. He wrote these orders to Marshal Bazaine.
Maximilian, who fully understood by this time the condition of
Mexico, and foresaw all the dangers of his position when the French
troops should be withdrawn, sent the empress at this crisis to
Europe to represent the situation of affairs to the French emperor,
and to remind him of his promises.
She embarked hurriedly and like a private person on board a French
mail-steamer. Her stateroom was close to the propeller. The noise,
coupled with her great anxiety and excitement, deprived her almost
entirely of sleep during the voyage. On landing, she hastened to
Paris, went to an hotel, and sent a message to the emperor, requesting
an interview. This the emperor declined. Carlotta then hired a
carriage and drove out to Saint-Cloud, where she insisted on seeing
him. Their interview was very painful. At its close she exclaimed
that she felt herself to blame, being a daughter of the house of
Orleans, for ever having put faith in the Emperor Napoleon or his
promises. Notwithstanding this reproach, the emperor, who was
soft-hearted, pitied her extremely. She remained at Saint-Cloud
for some hours, and that evening, when surrounded by the court
circle, she threw back her head and begged for water. The emperor
hastened to bring it to her with his own hand; but she exclaimed
that she would not take it from him, for she knew he wished to
poison her. It was her first attack of mania. She was calmed, and
the symptoms passed off, but continued at intervals to return.
From Paris she went to Rome, and there her mental malady more and
more declared itself. She refused to eat anything but fruit, for
fear of poison. Her first visit to the pope was made while he was
breakfasting, when she snatched the cup of chocolate from his lips
and swallowed it eagerly, exclaiming: "I am sure no one can have
wished to poison you!" After several other manifestations of her
disordered brain at the Quirinal, steps were taken to forward her
to Miramar. On reaching that beloved place, she grew more calm.
She recovered for a time her interest in music, painting, and
literature. The Sclavic peasants around her considered her a saint.
When she passed, they used to kneel down on the highway. For years
they refused to believe in Maximilian's death. "He will come back!
We know he will come back!" was the cry of the Dalmatians, who
cherished his memory.
After a time Carlotta was removed to Belgium, where she has been
since secluded from the world, but tenderly watched over by her
relations. From time to time she partially recovers her reason.
Matters in Mexico after her departure grew worse every day. Bazaine
had received orders to withdraw all French troops from the country.
He was directed to withhold from Maximilian all French support,
and in obedience to these instructions he flung into the river
Sequia and Lake Texcoco[1] all the guns and ammunition he could
not take away.
[Footnote 1: Prince Salm-Salm, Diary in Mexico.]
Prior to the withdrawal of the French troops, the French Government
made several efforts to induce Maximilian to abdicate. The Marquis
de Gallifet (of whom we shall hear again in another chapter) was
sent, with two other French gentlemen, to urge him to leave Mexico.
"I know all the difficulties of my position," Maximilian replied,
"but I shall not give up my post. A son of the house of Hapsburg
never retreats in the face of danger." Nevertheless, after receiving
the first letters from his wife, Maximilian's resolution was shaken.
He hoped at least to return to Europe as an emperor, and not a
fugitive, and to lay aside his crown of his own accord. With this
view he set out for Orizaba, where the "Dandolo" corvette was waiting
to receive his orders. On his way he was delayed some hours, because
the white mules that drew his carriage had been stolen.
At Orizaba he was attacked by malarious chills. There, too, he
received news of his wife's insanity. Some of his generals surrounded
him, and prayed him not to abandon his followers to the vengeance
of their enemies. The leaders of the clerical party also begged
him, for the sake of the Church, to return to Mexico, promising
him the support of the clergy throughout the country if he would
but give up liberal ideas, and support, at all costs, the temporal
prosperity of the Church.
Maximilian, on the strength of these assurances, went back to his
capital, protesting that he remained only for the good of other
people, and was influenced neither by personal considerations nor
political wishes of his own.
But Maximilian was not the man to contend with the difficulties
that beset him in Mexico. His very merits were against him. As
we read the sad history of his failure, we feel that in his hands
the regeneration of Mexico was hopeless. Men like John or Henry
Lawrence, heroes of the Indian Mutiny, accustomed to deal with
semi-savages, might perhaps have succeeded; but Maximilian was
the product of an advanced civilization, and all his sentiments
were of a super-refined character. He was no general; his forces
were kept scattered over an immense area. He seems to have been
no administrator. He was accustomed to deal with Italians,--men
of enthusiastic natures and fanatical ideas. Mexicans had no
enthusiasms; and in place of patriotism there was a prevailing
sentiment of thorough aversion to the French and to the foreigners
they had brought with them. Maximilian had come to Mexico with
all kinds of liberal projects for its civilization. It was like
forcing sanitary improvements on the inhabitants of an Irish shanty,
or catching a street _gamin_ and imposing on him the restraints
and amenities of high-class culture.
The departure of the French troops left the way clear for the party
of Juarez. It rapidly gained strength, and prepared to besiege the
emperor in his capital. "I cannot bear to expose the city to danger,"
said Maximilian, who, in spite of being continually harassed and
cruelly deceived day after day, never failed in consideration for
those about him. He retired to Queretaro, where Generals Miramon,
Castillo, Mejia, Avellano, and Prince Salm-Salm had gathered a
little army of about eight thousand men.
Maximilian at Queretaro showed all his nobleness of spirit, kindness
of heart, and simplicity of life. During the siege, which lasted
over two months, he shared the fatigues and privations of his common
soldiers, and lived as they did, on the flesh of mules, while his
officers' tables were much better supplied. He exposed his person
upon all occasions, taking daily walks upon the bastions as tranquilly
as he might have done in the green alleys of his distant home. One
day his eye fell upon six dead bodies dangling from the branches
of six trees. He turned away, with intense emotion. They were the
bodies of six of his own couriers, who had fallen into the hands
of the enemy.
He might have cut his way out of Queretaro at the head of his cavalry,
but he hesitated to abandon his foot-soldiers. "I will die sword
in hand," were now his daily words.
Every day his men brought in prisoners. Even when such persons
were suspected of being spies, Maximilian would not order their
execution. "No, no," he said; "if things go well, there is no need;
if ill, I shall not have their blood upon my soul."
When the siege had lasted seventy days, provisions grew so scarce
that the only alternatives seemed a sortie or a surrender. The
sortie was decided on. On the night of May 14, 1867, the seven
thousand men still in Queretaro were to break through the lines of
the enemy and endeavor to make their way to Vera Cruz. Singularly
enough, the Juarist general, Escobedo, had fixed on the 15th of
May for his final assault.
Neither sortie nor assault took place. The treason of General Lopez
prevented the one, and rendered the other unnecessary. Lopez, whom
Maximilian had loaded with all sorts of kindness,--Lopez, who called
himself the most devoted adherent of the emperor,--had sold the
life of his friend and benefactor for two thousand ounces of gold!
One year before, when Lopez had been at Puebla in attendance on
the empress, he had sent for his wife, who, having made a hurried
journey, was prematurely confined. "I cannot allow your son," wrote
Maximilian, "to come into the world in another man's house. I send
you the I enclosed sum. Purchase the house where your son was born."
Having kept up constant communication with the camp of the besiegers,
Lopez, on the morning of May 13, sent a note to Escobedo, offering to
deliver over to him the convent of La Cruz, which was the emperor's
headquarters. Escobedo accepted his proposals. About midnight Lopez
and the troops under his command went over to the enemy. The soldiers
of Juarez quietly entered the town, and surrounded the convent
where the emperor and his staff were sleeping.
At dawn Maximilian rose, dressed himself, woke Prince Salm-Salm,
and they went out together, with no arms but their swords. As they
reached the gates of the convent the emperor perceived Juarist
soldiers on guard, and turning to his companion, cried, "We are
betrayed; here is the enemy!" At this moment Lopez, who had seen
them come into the court-yard, pointed out the emperor to Colonel
Rincon Gallardo, who was in command of the detachment from the army
of Juarez. Rincon was an honorable soldier and kind-hearted. He
said, loud enough to be heard by his own men: "They are citizens;
let them pass: they are not soldiers." The emperor was dressed in
a black frock-coat, but with military trousers and epaulettes.
He and Prince Salm-Salm then walked through the convent gates and
made their way in haste to the opposite quarter of the city. The
streets were silent and empty. Suddenly a sharp fire of musketry
was heard, mingled with Juarist and Imperial war-cries. Miramon
with his troops was holding one of the widest streets of Queretaro,
when a ball hit him in the face. He fell, half blinded, and was
taken prisoner. Miramon was the son of a French father and a Spanish
mother, and was one of the very few generals on either side who
were of pure white blood.
The emperor, with Generals Mejia, Castillo, Avellano, and Prince
Salm-Salm, retired to a little hill which commanded the city. They
had no artillery, no means of defending their position. They stood
on the bare rock where they had taken refuge, like shipwrecked
sailors waiting for the fatal rising of the tide. General Escobedo,
a coarse man, who had formerly been a muleteer, prepared to charge
up the hill with four battalions of infantry and a strong party
of cavalry.
"Do not fire; you will shed blood to no purpose," said the emperor
to the little band of followers who surrounded him. Then, in a
low, sad voice, he ordered one of his aides-de-camp to fasten a
white handkerchief on the end of a bayonet. The Juarists, who were
ascending the hill, came to a halt. Then, amid profound silence,
the emperor came forward. He paused a moment as he stepped out
of the little group of his followers and looked around him. Then
he descended the hill with a firm step, followed by several of
his generals.
The Juarists saluted him by their party cry, "Viva la libertad!"
They recognized the emperor. Maximilian walked straight up to their
commander, an ex-Federal United States officer, who under the name
of Corona was in command of a party of Americans who had entered
the service of Juarez, and were called the Legion of Honor. This
legion was composed of fifty men. Some had worn the blue, and some
the gray. Each held rank in the Mexican army as an officer.
"General," said Maximilian to Corona, "both men and fortune have
betrayed me. There are widows and orphans enough already in the
world. Here is my sword."
"Sire," said the general, forgetting that the man who addressed
him was no longer emperor, "keep your sword." He then proposed
to Maximilian to mount a horse, and escorted him, with the other
prisoners, to the convent of Santa Teresita.
There the emperor and his generals were shut up at once in a dark
cellar, and not only had to sleep upon the damp earth floor, but
were left to suffer from hunger. In a few days, however, Princess
Salm-Salm brought them some relief. They were then transferred to
the convent of La Capuchina, and their friends obtained permission
to send them wine, clothes, and provisions.
Princess Salm-Salm, in the last act of this tragedy, showed herself
to be a brave and generous woman. When her husband left the capital
she had crossed the enemy's lines in order to get out of Mexico,
but was twice in danger of being shot by the soldiers of Diaz.
She was accused of supplying money to a troop of Austrian soldiers
who, having been captured, were confined at Chapultepec, and she
was imprisoned at Guadalupe. After a short detention, however,
she obtained leave to quit Mexico for Europe; but changing her
route, she managed to rejoin her husband at Queretaro. Thence,
hiding by day and travelling by night, she made her way back to
San Luis de Potosi, where Juarez had his headquarters. She threw
herself at his feet, and implored his mercy for the emperor; but
Juarez told her (not without some signs of compassion) that he
felt no inclination to spare his life, and that if he were willing
to do so, he would not be permitted by his followers to show him
any clemency.
When Maximilian heard of this brave enterprise on his behalf, he
could not refrain from tears.
The prisoners were three weeks at La Capuchina, in complete uncertainty
as to what would be done with them. Indeed, the Juarists seemed much
embarrassed by their prize. On June 10 they were informed that
Juarez had sent an order to have them tried by a court-martial,
which would be held on the 12th of June.
"Where are you going to take me?" asked Maximilian on that day of
the officer who came to escort him. "To the court-martial," was
the reply. "Where is it held?" said Maximilian. "In the theatre."
"Then I refuse to accompany you. I will not be made a public spectacle
at a theatre. You may go alone."
The officer, not being authorized to use force, went away. The
trial proceeded without the presence of the prisoner. Generals
Miramon and Mejia, however, were dragged upon the stage where the
court-martial was sitting. The play-house was crowded with spectators.
It was a tragedy with no admission-fee. The proceedings lasted
three days. The emperor was accused of usurpation, of instigating
civil war, and of causing the death of forty thousand patriots,
hanged or shot in consequence of his order of October 3, intended
to operate only against armed bands of robbers.
On the morning of June 15, 1867, General Escobedo presented himself
in the prison, holding the sentence of the court-martial in his
hand. Maximilian, who could guess his fate, said quietly: "Read
it, General; I am ready to hear you."
Maximilian, Miramon, and Mejia were condemned to be shot.
"I understand you," said the emperor, with perfect calmness. "The
law of October 3 was made to put down robbers: this sentence is
the work of murderers."
Escobedo laid his hand on his revolver with a sudden exclamation.
Then, recovering himself, he said sarcastically: "I suppose that
a criminal must be allowed the right to vilify his judges."
Maximilian turned his back on him, and Escobedo left the prison.
The execution had been ordered for the next morning, but was put
off till the 19th, by order of Juarez.
Meantime the English and Prussian ambassadors hastened to Juarez,
hoping to obtain mercy for the late emperor. The French and Austrian
courts, by telegraph, implored the mediation of the United States.
There was no American minister at that time in Mexico, but Mr.
Seward sent telegraphic despatches to Juarez, pointing out that the
execution of Maximilian would rouse the feelings of the civilized
world against the Mexican Republic.
All was of no avail. The idea of foreign intervention in the affairs
of Mexico was so distasteful to the Mexicans that these pleadings on
the late emperor's behalf by foreign Governments only accelerated
his fate.
During the night before his death, Maximilian asked his jailers
for a pair of scissors. He was refused. Then he implored one of
them to cut off a lock of his hair. When that was done, he wrote
the following pathetic letter to Carlotta:--
MY BELOVED CARLOTTA,--If God should permit you one
of these days to get well enough to read these lines, you will
know how sad has been my fate ever since your departure.
You took with you my happiness, my very life, and my good
fortune. Why did I not take your advice? So many sad things
have taken place, so many unexpected catastrophes and
undeserved misfortunes have fallen on me, that I have now lost
heart and hope, and look upon death as my good angel.
My death will be sharp and sudden, without pain. I shall fall
gloriously, like a soldier, like a conquered sovereign....
If you cannot, dearest, bear up under your load of sorrow,
if God in His mercy soon reunites us by your death, I will
bless His fatherly hand, which now seems very heavy upon
me. Adieu, adieu!
YOUR POOR MAX.
He kissed this letter, folded into it the light silky lock of his
own hair, and placed it with other letters which he had written
to his mother and friends. They were all in French, and written
in a clear, firm, regular hand. His noble nature shone in every
line. They give the key to the irresistible personal sympathy he
inspired in all who knew him. His enemies were aware of this, and
no judge or general who had ever known him sat on his court-martial.
As six o'clock was striking on the morning of June 19, the door
of the prison was unbarred. "I am ready," said Maximilian.
As he stepped forth from the door of the convent, he exclaimed:
"What a beautiful morning! I have always fancied I should like
to die in sunshine,--on a summer day."
He entered the carriage in waiting. Miramon and Mejia followed
him, with the priest who attended them in their last moments. They
were escorted by a body of four thousand men, and were driven to
the same rocky height on which they had been captured, called the
Cerro della Campana. They sat upright in the carriage during the
drive, with proud smiles upon their faces. They were carefully
dressed, as if for an occasion of festivity. The population of
the place was all abroad to see them pass, and looked at them with
silent pity and admiration. The calmness and self-possession of the
emperor, about to die, touched even the most indifferent spectators.
The women freely shed tears.
Maximilian was a handsome, striking-looking man. His beautiful light
hair was parted by a straight line from his forehead to the nape
of his neck. His blue eyes were clear and soft, with a beseeching
look in them. His hands were beautifully white, his fingers elegant
and taper.
As they neared the place of execution, General Mejia suddenly turned
pale, covered his face, and with a sob fell back in his place in the
carriage. He had caught sight of his wife, agonized, dishevelled,
with her baby in her arms, and all the appearance of a madwoman.
The party arrived at the foot of the little hill. The emperor sprang
out, brushed off some dust which had settled on his clothes, and
going up to the firing party, gave each man an ounce of gold. "Take
good aim, my friends," he said. "Do not, if possible, hit me in
the face, but shoot right at my heart."
One of the soldiers wept. Maximilian went to him, and putting his
cigar-case, of silver filigree, into his hand, said: "Keep that,
my friend, in remembrance of me. It was given to me by a prince
more fortunate than I am now."
The non-commissioned officer then came near, and said he hoped
that he would forgive him. "My good fellow," replied Maximilian,
cheerfully, "a soldier has but to obey orders; his duty is to do
his duty."
Then, turning to Miramon and Mejia, he said: "Let me, true friends,
embrace you for the last time!" He did so, and then added: "In a
few minutes we shall be together in a better world."
Turning to Miramon, he said: "General, the bravest man should have
the place of honor. Take mine."
Mejia being very much cast down by the sad spectacle presented
by his poor, distracted wife, Maximilian again pressed his hands,
saying: "God will not abandon our suffering survivors. For those
who die unjustly, things will be set right in another world."
The drums began to beat. The end was near. Maximilian stepped forward,
mounted on a stone, and addressed the spectators.
"Mexicans! men of my rank and of my race, who feel as I feel, must
either be the benefactors of the people over whom they reign, or
martyrs. It was no rash ambition of my own that called me hither;
you, you yourselves, invited me to accept your throne. Before dying,
let me tell you that with all the powers I possess I sought your
good. Mexicans! may my blood be the last blood that you shed; may
Mexico, the unhappy country of my adoption, be happy when I am
gone!"
As soon as he had resumed his place, a sergeant came up to order
Miramon and Mejia to turn round. As traitors, they were to be shot
in the back.
"Farewell, dear friends," said Maximilian, and crossing his arms,
he stood firm as a statue.
When the command was given: "Shoulder arms!" a murmur of protestation,
accompanied by threats, rose among part of the crowd, in which there
were many Indians. Their national superstitions and traditions
had attached this simple people to the emperor. They had a prophecy
among them that one day a white man would come over the seas to set
them free, and many of them looked for this savior in Maximilian.
The officers in command turned towards the crowd, shaking their
swords. Then came the words: "Take aim! Fire!"
"Long live Mexico!" cried Miramon.
"Carlotta! Poor Carlotta!" exclaimed Maximilian.
When the smoke of the volley had cleared away, three corpses lay
upon the earth. That of the emperor had received five balls. The
victims were placed in coffins which lay ready near the place of
execution, and, escorted as they had been before, were carried
back to the convent of the Capuchins.
"The emperor being dead, we will do all honor to the corpse of
the Archduke of Austria," said Colonel Miguel Palacios, to whom
this care was given. The corpse was embalmed, and the body placed
in a vault.
The Russian ambassador, Baron Magnus, and the American commander
of a United States vessel of war which layoff Vera Cruz, in vain
solicited the body of the late emperor. The Austrian Vice-admiral
Tegethoff (the illustrious conqueror at Lissa) had to come and
personally demand it in November of the next year. He at the same
time time obtained the release of the Austrian soldiers still retained
as prisoners, and of Prince Salm-Salm, lying under sentence of
death since the execution of the emperor.
As for the traitor Lopez, instead of the two thousand ounces of
gold that he expected, he got only seven thousand dollars. His
wife refused to live with him after his treachery to Maximilian;
and once when he went to see General Rincon Gallardo to request
his influence to get himself restored to his former rank in the
Mexican army, which he had forfeited by his connection with the
Imperial Government, the answer he received was: "Colonel Lopez,
if I ever recommend you for any place, that place will be under
a tree, with a rope round your neck tied to one of its branches."
Maximilian will live in history as a good man and a martyred sovereign.
Long after his death, the Indians in Queretaro would not put up
an adobe hut without inserting in it a pebble from the hill on
which he was executed.
On the very day of his death an order signed by him was received
in Europe, not for rifled cannon, not for needle-guns, but for
two thousand nightingales, which he desired to have purchased in
the Tyrol to add to the attractions of his empire.
[Illustration: _EMPEROR NAPOLEON III._]