CHAPTER XVII
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.
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.