But there came a day which put an end to all these festivities.

The civil war in the United States was over, leaving the government at Washington at leisure to attend to outside affairs; moreover, leaving at its disposition an army of well-trained troops, and a treasury well-filled, in spite of the drain on both of these through a protracted and destructive war.

On the 7th of April, 1864, the Secretary of State wrote thus to the United States Minister in Paris:

"Sir:—I send you herewith the copy of the unanimous resolution passed in the House of Representatives the 4th instant. It comprises the opposition of this body to any recognition of a monarchy in Mexico.... It is scarcely necessary, after what I have previously written you, to say that this resolution sincerely expresses the unanimous sentiment of the people of the United States."

The will of the United States government settled the question, and this will was most distinctly made manifest. The French Emperor could not involve his people in a war with the United States, nor did he himself, already somewhat weary of his own scheme for establishing the supremacy of the Latin race upon the western continent, regard it as worth the risk of such a war. He readily assented to any proposition of the government at Washington, whose imperative demand was the withdrawal of French troops from the continent of North America.

Louis Napoleon has been much blamed for his conduct in the matter of the French intervention, even execrated. It is not easy to defend it, but it may be said that from the European point of view, the plan of intervention was not such a bad one. Undoubtedly it originated in the minds of the royalist refugees from Mexico, who sincerely saw no better way of serving their country, torn in pieces with internal dissensions and civil wars, than to furnish her with a ready-made crown from the continent where such articles are furnished.

The Church party, which saw with genuine horror the sequestration of their property, ascribed it to the progress of so-called liberal ideas. They were warmly encouraged by good Roman Catholics in Europe, and among them by the Emperor at Versailles, who professed himself an ardent adherent of the Pope.

The scheme was possible, because the powerful neighbors of Mexico were occupied in quarrelling among themselves. That quarrel might last until the Latin race had firmly taken root. Napoleon never intended a permanent French occupation of the country. It was his whim to plant the little monarchy, water it and dig about its roots, and then go away to attend to other affairs.

The American quarrel did not last, nor did the monarchy take root. The French troops were withdrawn before the government of the Empire was in any sense fully established. The national army which Bazaine sought to establish on a firm footing was not strong enough or loyal enough to uphold the Emperor, and he was sacrificed.

Everybody wished him to abdicate. Napoleon sent a special messenger to Mexico to urge this course; Bazaine urged it, and it seems now as if Maximilian himself must have perceived that there was nothing else left for him. But he was very slow to admit such an idea. Neither he nor the Empress in any sense realized their perilous position.

At the end of June, 1866, came the final word of Napoleon, in reply to an appeal sent to him from Maximilian, upon which he, and still more Carlotta, had founded great hopes. The message of the French Emperor was short, its tenor distinct, hard, making it clear that no further support was to be furnished by the Tuileries to the Mexican project; the conditions were hard, asserting that the troops must be immediately withdrawn. Maximilian at last understood that but one course was left to him—abdication. On the 7th of July he took up his pen to sign away the Mexican monarchy; but the Empress stayed his hand. Carlotta, of a will stronger than that of her husband, with a determined ambition, offered to go herself to Europe to make a personal appeal to Napoleon and another at Rome. On the very next day she left the capital in haste, never to return.

It is said that on arriving at Vera Cruz the Empress could find nothing at the quay but a small French boat to carry her out to the great steamer in the offing. She absolutely refused to place herself under the French colors which floated at the stern of the boat, so bitterly she felt the insult offered to her interests by the French nation.

She arrived at Saint-Nazaire early in August, to the surprise of the local authorities, and, still more, of the court of the Tuileries. The report of the arrival of the Empress of Mexico produced a sensation at Paris, for public opinion there was already interested in the Mexican drama. When Carlotta landed she was the object of a large crowd assembled on the docks. She appeared dressed in deep mourning, with great sadness of demeanor. Her face was pale and haggard, and her eyes burned with fever. She was accompanied only by a few ladies and gentlemen of her house. No preparation, of course, had been made for her; a common voiture de place took her to the hotel. Her Mexican servants, with their large sombreros trimmed with gold braid, made a sensation in the French port.

The next day she arrived in Paris, and went to the Grand Hotel, refusing to ask hospitality at the Tuileries. The imperial family was at Saint Cloud. She at once sent to request an immediate interview with Napoleon III.

The Minister of State paid her a visit immediately, and she passed part of the day in conversing with him. The next morning she went to the palace, although the Emperor had sent word that he was indisposed. Finally he concluded to see her. She eloquently demanded, on the part of Maximilian, continued aid, in money and troops. The interview was long and violent, it is said, and full of recrimination. The Empress, as all the fair structure of hopes she had raised since her departure from Chapultepec crumbled before her, gave way to bitter emotion. She declared that she, a king's daughter, of the blood of Orleans, had made a terrible mistake to accept a throne from the self-made Emperor of the French, a Bonaparte.

From this scene at Saint Cloud the madness of the new Empress is thought to have begun. She had scarcely the force left to continue her course to the Vatican, where she found no more redress than she had done at the Tuileries. The whole of Europe had soon to shudder at the news that she had lost her reason. She never returned to Mexico.

It was by way of the United States that Maximilian first heard of the failure of the interview at Saint Cloud. He kept silent, still hoping better success from the negotiations of the Empress with the Pope; but meanwhile he quietly made preparations for his departure from Mexico, giving out that it was his intention to meet the Empress at Vera Cruz on her return. Much household baggage had been already transferred thither, and the rumor spread abroad, of the probable departure of the royal household, producing a lively sensation throughout the country.

The time was drawing near. Maximilian, at Chapultepec, under the melancholy boughs of the cypresses, gloomily paced the alleys, dreaming of his shattered hopes. A telegraphic despatch was put in his hands, sent through the United States. It announced that the Empress Carlotta was mad. Maximilian at once gave orders for departure, and wrote to Bazaine that he was about to leave Mexico.

The society of the capital was struck with grief at the news of Carlotta's state, for they had an ardent adoration of their brilliant Empress.

The Emperor went first to Orizaba, where he was obliged to delay the many necessary final arrangements. There was no railway then, and the journey was made in a carriage. Maximilian preserved a gloomy silence all the way. As the little party approached Orizaba early in the morning, having passed a night in a little village on the way, Maximilian alighted to walk down the zig-zag way which leads from the plateau towards the tierra caliente. He walked swiftly and silently, wrapped in a long gray coat, a broad-brimmed sombrero on his head, sometimes turning to glance back at the heights he might never see again. While they were stopping at noon for rest and refreshment, the eleven white mules which drew their carriages were stolen; it was a long time before other animals could be found to take their places. Finally, the sun was setting as they reached the pretty village of Ingenio, outside of Orizaba. There awaited the little party a group of horsemen, inhabitants of Orizaba, and several curates, who had come out to greet the Emperor, followed by a crowd of Indians. Bells were rung, guns fired, and his welcome was universal.

The Emperor stayed a week in Orizaba, during which Bazaine impatiently awaited in Mexico his final announcement of departure. But Maximilian was still hesitating. He was approached and surrounded by certain members of the clerical party, who felt sure that the fall of the monarchy would be their ruin. Among these was Father Fischer, to whom Maximilian accorded the greatest confidence.

This man, of German origin, emigrated to Texas about 1845, and afterwards, in search of gold, to California. He was at first a Protestant, but converted, received orders somewhere in Mexico, and obtained the post of secretary to the Bishop of Durango. He was introduced to Maximilian, who was attracted by his appearance, which betrayed great intelligence; he became one of the most trusted advisers of the Emperor. He succeeded in surrounding Maximilian with agents of the reactionary, or clerical party, who urged him not to abandon them at this dark hour, at the same time assuring him of the hidden force of the party, and its resources. At this very time the city of Oaxaca, defended by Mexican imperial troops, was obliged to capitulate and open its doors to Porfirio Diaz, the general of liberal forces. Yet Maximilian wavered. It was difficult, even yet, for him to renounce the crown of his visions. Moreover, honor, fidelity to the Church, prompted him to remain, even to perish for that cause. Just then, to reinforce the eloquence of Father Fischer, two generals, devoted to the clerical cause, who had been in exile in Europe for two years, disembarked at Vera Cruz, and instantly offered their services to the Emperor; these were Miramon and MÁrquez, eager, as they declared, to open the campaign again under the imperial banner. Maximilian, inspired by their discourse and their promises of arms and money, hesitated no longer, but pledged his word to the clerical party to return to his station, and resume its dignities. Miramon hastened to Mexico to rouse the ardor of all the partisans of the Church, and to set on foot a new army.

The Emperor issued a manifesto to the Mexican people, and returning to Mexico, instead of going back to the palace of Chapultepec, took up quarters in a modest hacienda outside the capital, called La Teja.