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?