A Visit to Don Otavio (22 page)

Querétaro, when Maximilian decided to go there in February, '67, was already invested by two competent Juarista generals. Within a few days of the Emperor's arrival the town became surrounded; and during the three months that followed between then and surrender the Imperial forces never managed to break through this cordon. Querétaro is not a particularly easy place to hold; it lies on a slight slope in the middle of a valley and has few fortifications; nor does the town seem to have been provisioned against an increase in garrison. Food and ammunition were short at once; later soldiers and towns-people came near starvation. The drinking water supply was cut off from outside and the river deliberately polluted with corpses. No reinforcements ever arrived, and the people could no longer wash their linen and clothes. Into this town, Maximilian withdrew from Mexico City, the pivot of the country's communications, cutting himself off from movement, manoeuvre and choice. He took with him some two thousand men; three generals, two died, the third led a sortie and never returned; a number of ADCs, one of them a Colonel Lopez who entered into some very suspicious negotiations with the enemy but was never paid; his doctor, good Basch, who was given a tiepin and kept a touching diary to the end; his secretary; and his confessor, Father Fisher, SJ, a great hefty violent man who had been a Lutheran pastor in Germany and a cowboy in Wyoming, and whom the Emperor had picked up in Mexico and sent the year before with a mission to the Vatican, where he had been made extremely short shrift of. The Hungarian palace cook and a friend, Prince Felix Salm-Salm, a German soldier of fortune who had just come from fighting the American Civil War under the Union Army, managed to follow through the lines of their own accord. Querétaro was Maximilian's decision. Some accounts imply that the Emperor did not know that the town was under siege, that he was not told by his generals, who either did not know themselves or only half knew; others say that he was treasonably misled. These suppositions are
equally fantastic. Incompetence, lassitude, muddled half-hearted treason, all of these; but to this extent? Querétaro is only a hundred and sixty miles north of Mexico City; communications were then still open, Maximilian had had a military education, geography was one of his hobbies, and who would have been served by so circuitous a piece of treachery? Nor could the withdrawal to Querétaro have been popular with Maximilian's followers. The pattern for a losing general's conduct was pretty well established. Depending on one's future intentions, one either slipped away, or fought one's way to the north or the Coast where one kept a foot in Vera Cruz and bode one's time. One avoided going south as the journey was hellish and one never could tell what third force one might find risen in Oaxaca or Tabasco. At a pinch and with the road to the Coast open at one's back, one could always try to hold Puebla.

For some time, Maximilian must have been aware of the overwhelming unreality in which he was still afloat. Nothing he did had impact. It was all over and he was still there. And he was thirty-five years old. His upbringing might have provided one strand: one did not desert one's post.
But what had become of the post?
Whom was he supposed to hold it for? Whom did he serve? Maximilian was no instigator. He had ideals, but unlike Juarez, being at once more limited and more kindly, more ignorant and more modest, he had not rigged himself a cause. He saw his part as carrying on where he was placed, doing perhaps a little better than expected, shedding when possible a little mild light; serving – peculiar though the form of servitude may have appeared to Juaristas – in inclination and against, a duty he had not shaped himself. Now the interests that propelled him had receded. No one wished still to mislead him; he had no more followers, only a retinue – people who were too affectionate, too loyal or too compromised to leave him at this hour.

The bottom had dropped out; the setting was still there. The ceremonial at Chapultepec Castle that Maximilian had created with a royal schoolboy's zest from the Spanish etiquette in force at the Court of Austria, his own romantic penchant for exotic parts and his notions of what was appropriate to Montezuma's Crown, was still functioning:
the proper number of Creole ladies-in-waiting and Austrian ladies-in-waiting, chamberlains and adjutants and gentlemen of the bedchamber came and went at appointed hours performing appointed duties; Indian Guards changed guard; decorations were worn on occasions stated; the
Levée
, daily Mass, the Emperor of Austria's Birthday, precedence at the imperial table were observed – the Court went like clockwork and enhanced the unsubstantial quality of the situation. Only Maximilian himself amongst it all had become a little
débraillé
, a little lax; in the last year he had sat too much in an alpaca jacket in the shade at Cuernavaca – his beard was not always trimmed and his tunic remained unbuttoned.

The Indian servants were fond of him. He had spent much time with the gardener's family in the country. He was liked in personal contact, but he had made no public ties in Mexico. The population that had seen him, did not mind him: probably he
was
the Aztec Messiah with the fair beard who was due to arrive from across the sea some day. The people in the Juarista territory regarded him either as a vague bugbear, another false prophet landed like Cortez, or as the author of all their ills, and a focal point of hate. In more politically minded circles, he was thought of as the arch-reactionary and the sixty-two Spanish Viceroys incarnate; and by the faction that had supported him, Maximilian was considered a great disappointment. He had not repealed the Reform Laws, he had not restored the Church lands, he had sympathised with the liberals who of course would have none of him, biggest blow of all he had not been able to persuade the French to keep their soldiers in the country to hold down the Juaristas. The only thing left now was to disassociate from him as quickly as possible, poor Masimiliano, such a distinguished man, a great pity. Among the Creoles there was a certain feeling of aristocratic solidarity: a few sons would have to stay on as colonels and ADCs, and fall wherever it would be; but it was time there were an end of it. Abdication … One might follow into exile, Vienna was not a bad place for young men. Maximilian was not supposed to be on such good terms with his brother; though Francis-Joseph would have to do
something
… Of course it wasn't Paris but at least there was a proper Court, poor
Eugénie, so much more chic really than the Empress Elizabeth, still one couldn't be expected to take the Bonapartes …

To the Emperor of Austria indeed, his brother's Mexican involvement was now an embarrassment. Trouble, expense, scandal. Francis-Joseph, always petty and not yet thirty-eight, was already a middle-aged bureaucrat and much the man who could say quite crossly forty-seven years later when they broke to him the murder of the Archduke Ferdinand at Sarajevo,
‘Mir bleibt doch nichts erspart.
' Help? When it had cost so much already. Send troops? All the way to Mexico? Napoleon's business anyway. For heaven's sake, no abdication. The last impression one would want to give. Remind everybody of that dreadful time in '48. Max'l had much better stay where he was.

For Napoleon III, the public
entrepreneur
of the Mexican Empire, it was a great deal worse. He was already an ill man; things had not turned out well for the dynasty: opposition at home, Bismarck looming large, problems everywhere – money, not glory, were on the agenda, and the mood of the eve of Puebla must have seemed very remote. The Mexican campaign had become extremely unpopular with the French. The soldiers had not returned laden with gold like so many Conquistadores; instead, they had not come home at all. A comfortable occupation had turned out to be another of those trickling, draining wars in distant foreign parts. The press was rubbing it in every morning; the Chambre was a bear-garden. The soldiers' morale over there was bad: the men sold their rifles to the natives, noncoms were setting up grocery shops at Mexico City where they weighed out over the counter sugar and flour from regimental stores. And they did ask the reason why. Moreover the United States were objecting to the presence of a European Army, however slovenly, at their southern border and, having meanwhile ended the Civil War, were in a position to press that objection. The whole Mexican business was becoming most compromising for France. There was no end in view. Things seemed to be slipping over there, the Republican forces gaining every year, the Monarchy showing no signs of native support. And now Maximilian was asking for reinforcements. Good money after bad … France could no longer be involved. Of course, there
was
the Covenant of Miramar, there
were
Napoleon's letters of promise, there
were
the guarantees of French military and financial aid … Still, one might have thought that Maximilian would do
something
– in three years – or that those Paris Mexicans knew what they were talking about. Nothing left now but to call it off quietly. First pull out the troops …

Things
were
slipping over there. They had never been too solid; and, at his moment, Maximilian had not done much to arrest the Mexican landslide. When he arrived it had not looked too bad. Perhaps not altogether civilised, not very disciplined. There had been all kinds of hitches – the reception at Vera Cruz was a little disorganised (the Governor of the port was asleep after his luncheon when the Imperial destroyer docked); the town was a miserable slum, steaming hot, quite empty (there had been an epidemic) and, the sovereigns were warned, full of traitors and fever. The railway from the coast ended on mid-precipice, and the Imperial party was decanted into some very old carriages,
‘des espèces de diligences,'
they were described in a contemporary diary,
‘peinturlurées comme des roulottes de foire, tirées par des chevaux à demi-sauvage.'
At Puebla they were received with roses and a Te Deum, and the entrance into the capital was formal, but the Palace was not aired and the beds were full of vermin. The suite spent the first night on the billiard tables. The Empress had been much upset, but Maximilian took everything with complete good-will, with enthusiasm almost. He was enchanted by the climate, the people, the flowers; he fell, and remained, in love with the country. He was extremely busy. He signed papers; he worked at his Spanish; he spoke in public, appointed a Cabinet, distributed Orders, he made lists. He was crowned with Carlota in the Cathedral. He wrote a manual establishing the etiquette of the Court of Mexico; he let it be known that he would give anyone a hearing; he was organising himself a reign. He was brought up to it, and he knew how it was done. He moved the Court to Chapultepec and began to build. Chapultepec Castle was constructed by the 47th Viceroy who had treated himself to a substantial fortress at the expense of the Spanish Crown, pretending to Madrid that he was building himself a summer house. It lay in a forest on a hill at the outskirts of a tough suburb.
This dungeon Maximilian had transformed into a Pompeian Villa, a Tuscan Pompeian Villa that is, the kind he had already in mind when he decorated his Adriatic Château, Miramar. The forest was cleared, the grounds terraced, a formal garden was planted; the suburb was pierced by a boulevard, now called Avenue of Reform. Maximilian sent for statuary, for furnishings, for his china collection which started a Mexican vogue for Nymphenburg; he wrote to his brother for Hock and Tokay. Carlota, who was also interested in building, had trees planted in streets and donated benches, flower-boxes and band-stands to provincial plazas where to this day they are repainted every Patron-Saint's Day, and very popular. Mexican society took up the Empress. Her ladies were charming to her and admired her clothes, they only expressed astonishment at the Empress' wearing rubies and emeralds. Coloured stones, she was informed, were considered trash, only
plain
diamonds …

Something must have seemed wrong. When the Emperor became aware of the bitterness left by the Reform War, he would have liked to declare an amnesty. It was pointed out to him that the war was not over. There
was
that fighting in the North, elsewhere too – reports were always coming in of risings – not amounting to much probably, guerrillas, the worst elements in the country, though the French officers said they stuck at nothing. But it did mean that Mexico was not at peace, not entirely for the new monarchy. Then persons kept coming forward, pressing claims. They had been promised, they said, a commission, a governorship, an annuity. Promised? By whom? Well, His Majesty's agents had said … it had been understood … a reward … Reward for what? Why, for putting His Majesty where he was, on the throne. Maximilian and Carlota were indignant: the Emperor had no agents, nobody had
put
him anywhere. (They did not draw a connection with the presence of the French troops; those troops were there to pacify the country, after all much more savage than one would like to say in Mexico City.) The Emperor had been called to Mexico by the will of the people who dissatisfied with fifty years of republican rule had expressed their wish for a disinterested hereditary monarchy in a free plebiscite held by responsible Mexicans …

Yes, yes, quite. And these
were
the responsible Mexicans.

Maximilian did not give in, causing consternation and wounded feelings. He had no one to consult; when he mentioned the plebiscite, people became glib or embarrassed. He wanted to have the Liberals in the Cabinet. The Liberals, not liking whom he stood for, refused. The Clerico-Conservatives reminded him that he stood indeed for
them
and that he was where he was to serve their aims. Maximilian expressed the view that he had come to serve the aims of the Mexican people. The plebiscite … It was borne on him then that the plebiscite did not bear looking into. He wavered, but never acted on that knowledge. He was sensitive to his ambiguous position, but Carlota and considerations for the good name of his house made him regard present withdrawal as desertion, and he also began to entertain the belief, not unique in his situation, that given a chance he could still do much good to the Mexicans
malgré eux.
(The irony is that Maximilian, who was unable to deal with or see through any councillor, underling or administrative organisation, and who never understood the first thing about the working and sources of political power, but who had no regard for self or faction, would have made an admirable absolute ruler could he have been wafted to that position and into direct human contact with his subjects without the intermediacy of bayonets, money, ministers and previous vested interests.) He neither quit, nor accepted to play ball with his responsible Mexicans. He was pressed, but refused to repeal the Reform Laws, and thus at once cut from under himself such Mexican support as he had, as well as the goodwill of the Vatican and much potential foreign aid, without gaining a flicker of recognition in Juarista quarters. Maximilian seems to have had a knack of walking into deadlock with a certain quixotic firmness. His stand over repeal is curious. Much in the Reform Laws must have been repellent to him; much in the Reform Laws
is
repellent. Did he feel that repeal would go against the grain of the country, that it was too late, that matters had become too tangled? Ten years are a long time. Monastries had been converted, most Church lands passed into private hands, paid for; the money had melted away. Maximilian was certainly reluctant to accept the role of the man who had been sent for to put the clock back; and both he and Carlota were openmouthed,
stout natural Catholics though they were, at the rapacious ways of the Mexican clergy, and wrote shocked accounts of them to their relatives at home. Maximilian discovered that there was no money. He was used to being told that treasury funds were low, but to this point? There appeared to be nothing. Mexico
must
have a revenue? All countries had. A number of people turned up who offered to farm it. The Court had already attracted a number of quacks from Europe. Maximilian granted concessions, sold monopolies; he signed, he borrowed, he mortgaged, without knowing very much what he was doing. When he did not understand the project, he trusted the projector, and he often trusted the wrong person. He and Carlota were appalled by the poverty of the people. Was not Mexico supposed to be very rich? Silver and minerals, and so many mines full of everything? They wished to help. What could they do? Give the poor some land of their own? The land belonged already to other persons. Create employment? Many of them did not wish to work. Raise wages? The owners said they could not afford it. Then make the land more productive, do something to correct the eight months' aridity? Run the mines more profitably, get machinery? There was no money. To re-distribute the land, to set wages, raise funds for drills and dams and reservoirs, the Crown would have had to pass fantastic, improbable and resented legislation, and the Crown had no support. Laws in Mexico are seen through by civil war. The Crown might have had power. At one moment Bazaine would have stood by Maximilian, the troops were pledged – until counter-order from Paris – to the Emperor's service; Bazaine may have favoured the idea of playing a part in a strong-hand régime. The United States might have come in, perhaps Austria. Vistas for a soldier. Maximilian never thought of it for one minute. In his way, he was as constitutional as Juarez. The Emperor and Empress had gold coins distributed on their outings, Carlota did what she could for nursing, the people said
adiós
and went on, Maximilian withdrew his interest from public life. Perhaps later, some day, when the country was more quiet … He spent much time at the lodge in Cuernavaca, as a private person, almost alone. Visitors described him as ‘melancholy but serene,' and one imagines him at once saddened by impotence, and freed.
The eclipse must have been harder on the Empress. She had no taste for country life, and she was touchy about her position. Maximilian had great affection and respect for his wife – though, one gathers, not much emotional need – and he consulted her about everything; in fact Carlota was both his intimate and official adviser. She was more astute than Maximilian but her values were trashier, and she dominated his actions by the greater definiteness and strength of her desires. Carlota appears to have been a high strung woman, full of energies, with an immense appetite for glamour which, devastatingly for her, could only be realised through the intermedium of a husband's career, Maximilian proving in that respect as unsatisfactory as Charles Bovary.