Most of the imperial generals who had remained loyal were confined in a room adjoining the Emperor’s. Mendez remained in hiding, but, his plan of concealment being betrayed a few days later, he was taken out and shot. Miramon had been shot in the face with a revolver by one of his own adjutants while attempting to rally his troops on the Cerro, the morning of the surrender, and was at his own quarters. The prisoners were treated with scant consideration. A rich merchant of the town supplied Maximilian’s table, with the remains from which his companions were obliged to content themselves. The Emperor soon grew so much worse that his physician became alarmed and asked that one of the republican army surgeons might be called in. Dr. Riva de Nejra was sent to visit the august prisoner and advised a change of residence, declaring the present one most unfit in his condition of health.
On the morning of the seventeenth, therefore, Maximilian was taken to the former convent, Santa Teresa, in a carriage, guarded by a troop of cavalry, his companions being forced to walk. As they passed through the city, the streets were deserted, the inhabitants considerately retiring into their houses, the windows of which even were closed. Not a soul was to be seen anywhere. The new quarters of the prisoners consisted of two large rooms, absolutely bare and empty. After some trouble a bed and chairs were procured for the Emperor’s use, while the others were left to make themselves comfortable on the floor of the adjoining apartment. Fortunately they managed to obtain some saddle blankets to sleep on and the Emperor sent out and bought coverings, combs, brushes, and soap.
“These republicans,” says Dr. Basch, “seem convinced they are treating us with the greatest care and magnanimity, their idea of humanity being apparently to permit us to breathe. Unless we can wait on ourselves we must go hungry and dirty.”
In spite of these hardships, however, the change made a perceptible improvement in Maximilian’s health, and his painful symptoms gradually disappeared. Juarez’ delay in taking any action in regard to the fate of the prisoners encouraged the Emperor’s friends to expect a favorable outcome of the affair—a hope that was rudely dispelled, however, when the Princess Salm arrived at Querétaro on the twentieth of May and revealed to her husband the danger in which Maximilian really stood. It was apparent even to the republicans that Juarez was determined to have his life. The Princess made the most heroic efforts to save him, shrinking from no dangers and no exertion in his behalf, but all in vain. The Emperor’s guard was not always strictly kept, and had not treachery lurked at every turn, his escape might have been effected. Such an attempt was finally made, indeed, but it was then too late.
On the twenty-second of May Maximilian was again transferred, this time to the Capuchin monastery, with Prince Salm and Generals Mejia and Miramon. The other officers, Dr. Basch, and the Emperor’s servants were left behind, expecting to follow shortly. As hour after hour passed, however, and no one came, feeling that anything was possible in this barbarous country, they were seized with the fear that Maximilian and his companions might have been already shot without any warning. At last, however, an officer appeared, about eight o’clock in the evening, with the long-looked-for orders.
“The first person I saw in the monastery,” relates Dr. Basch, “was Salm. ‘Where is the Emperor?’ I asked.
“‘His Majesty is in the crypt,’ he replied, but quickly added, seeing my horror at these words, ‘Calm yourself, he is alive, but really in the crypt. I will take you to him.’
“As the door was opened a rush of cold air greeted me, rank with dampness and decay. In the far corner of a huge vault, the burial-place of the monastery, was a bed, and on it lay the Emperor reading Cæsar. A small table beside him held a lighted candle. ‘They have not had time to prepare a room for me,’ he remarked, smiling quietly, ‘so I am obliged temporarily to take up my abode with the dead.’ I spent that night in the crypt alone with the Emperor, making my bed on a large slab apparently used as a bier, but after the hours of anxiety I had endured that afternoon, I had no trouble in sleeping even amid those surroundings.”
Bitter as Juarez was against Maximilian, he was not in Querétaro at this time, but at Potosi, and therefore cannot be held responsible for the atrocious treatment accorded the unfortunate Emperor, whose calm and cheerful acceptance of these indignities cannot but rouse the deepest admiration.
The next day he was taken from the crypt and lodged in a dark narrow cell, similar to those assigned his companions in misfortune, all opening on a small court so that the prisoners could be easily guarded. It soon became evident that there was no hope of any compromise in the Emperor’s case. Juarez insisted that it should be decided by a Mexican court-martial—the outcome of which was a foregone conclusion. Maximilian’s death had already been determined upon and any trial would be merely a pretext to throw dust in the eyes of the world.