Freedom of My Mind

The Last Emperor of Mexico reads more like a novel than history, which is largely a testament to Edward Shawcross’ vivid and human writing, but also the fantastic nature of the story.

One suspects that most Americans who celebrate Cinco de Mayo are not aware that the day commemorates the victory in battle in 1862 of Republican Mexicans against the invading French army, who sought to make the Habsburg prince, Archduke Maximillian, emperor of Mexico.

Despite their victory on May 5th, the Mexicans Republicans (also called Juaristas because of their allegiance to Mexican President Benito Juárez), were ultimately pushed back nearly to the border between Mexico and America. Archduke Maximilian was proclaimed Emperor Maximilian I. But he only reigned three years before Juárez defeated him. His reign ended with his execution in 1867.

Maximilian proves a tragically human figure in Shawcross’ telling, if also self-deluded, obsessed with his honor, and fussy about decorum. He intended to rule liberally, unlike his older brother Emperor Franz Joseph of the Habsburg Empire. He intended to allow religious freedom, treat the indigenous cultures, such as the Aztecs, with respect and dignity, and even allow a certain degree of popular freedom and expression in his empire.

He said he would only accept the Mexican crown if it could be shown that the majority of the Mexican people wanted him as emperor. On this point, however, he proved self-deceiving.

He was certainly deceived by Emperor Napoleon III of France, as well as the conservative Mexicans in exile who had first approached Napoleon with the idea of backing an empire in Mexico. They exaggerated the degree of support likely to be found in Mexico, suggesting that Mexicans would eagerly rise up to acclaim Maximilian as their emperor. Likewise, they obscured the likelihood that the Unites States (then engaged in the Civil War) would oppose an intervention of Europeans in Mexico.

Despite the many lies fed Maximilian, there were those who advised him against trusting Napoleon or believing that he would be welcome in Mexico. But as the younger son of a great family he was too entranced by the prospect of reviving the glory of his ancestors.

And his ancestors were glorious, most famously Charles V (1500-1558), Holy Roman Emperor, king of Spain, archduke of Austria, and ruler of a vast empire that included Mexico.

But there was simply not enough support for a monarch in Mexico. The majority of people supported representative government.

His supporters, on the other hand, tended to be devoutly Catholic and felt that the redistribution of church property by Juárez’ government was a sin. These were the same people who expected Maximilian to make Catholicism the national religion, something that was against his liberal sensibilities.

This was an issue from the beginning. Maximilian wished to be an emperor who would unite both sides of the political divide in Mexico, but his support only came from one side, a side that expected policy he did not endorse.

He also proved sadly incompetent as a leader, more concerned with touring the nation, passing rules about court decorum, or building his estate than raising a national army, reforming his empire’s finances, or ensuring that his policies were enacted. As it was, his well-meaning and mostly liberal edicts remained stayed on paper.

There was also deep national resentment that his rule had been achieved via the conquering French army, rather than the widespread public acclaim that he had been led to expect.

Benito Juárez never gave up, either, and continued to fight, despite internal divisions within his own party. Maximilian’s reign was sustained by French troops and when Napoleon III ultimately pulled those troops home, Maximilian was left with only some European mercenaries and a few Mexican troops.

One of Maximilian’s tragedies is that he didn’t have to die. There were several times when he could have left Mexico and returned to Europe. But he dithered too much and put his conception honor and duty over prudence.

Shawcross writes that instead of asking himself whether a course of action was wise or effective, he would ask himself whether it was honorable. This proved, frequently, to be the wrong question (raising the tantalizing question of whether or not honor should be the foremost consideration when choosing a leader) and Maximilian was frequently indecisive and susceptible to manipulation (especially regarding his perception of where his duty lay).

It’s regarded as a aberrent moment in history, a moment of apparent madness, but Shawcross shows why so many people did think it was a good idea, from conservative Mexicans concerned about the expansion of the United States and the supremacy of the Catholic church, to Napoleon III, who thought he could have an empire on a budget.

It proved, however, a self-deluding enterprise on all counts.

While in London on a recent visit (see my upcoming review of the Royal Ballet’s Onegin), I viewed one of Edouard Manet’s several versions of “The Execution of Maximilian.” He painted several versions and the one I saw was at the National Gallery.

Manet was deeply critical of Napoleon III and felt that he had betrayed Maximilian by withdrawing his support. What is notable about all of his works is that they show the firing squad in French uniform, connecting Maximilian’s death with France and its Second Empire.

When Manet died, his son cut up the unfinished painting and sold the different pieces, until Edgar Degas was able to acquire most of them. The different pieces have been recombined at the National Gallery.

It is a work on a grand scale, and one has to stay well back to take it all in. What chiefly remains of the work is the firing squad; only Maximilian’s left arm is visible, holding the hand of General Miramón, one of his companions in death.