Dazzled by such unprecedented success, Charles VIII. lost all restraint and began to indulge in the {37} wildest dreams. He was to recover Jerusalem, to eject the infidel from Europe, and to restore in his own person the fallen Empire of Constantinople. Rightly or wrongly, he was credited with the intention of forcing the Pope to crown him Emperor of the West, or of driving him from the Papal throne and instituting a thorough reform of the Church. Such rumours could not but fill Maximilian with an uneasiness which Borgia's letters did not fail to augment.[50] It was only owing to the skilful diplomacy of Charles' envoys and his own strained relations with Venice, that he preserved neutrality for so long as he did.[51] Had not others taken alarm at the turn of affairs, he might have prevaricated till the time for action had passed. Ludovico, who was before all others responsible for the French expedition, was the first to be disillusioned. Alarmed at the open designs of the Duke of Orleans on Milan, he soon became as anxious for Charles' ruin as he had been eager for his success, and looked for assistance to his more powerful neighbours. But it was Ferdinand of Spain who really brought about Maximilian's change of policy, by holding out the tempting bait of a double marriage alliance with his House. The Emperor's[52] suspicions of Venice were overcome, and the Signoria became {38} the centre of opposition to France. The various intrigues were conducted with such skill and secrecy, that even Comines, who then held the post of French Ambassador in Venice, was completely outwitted. But their details do not leave us with a favourable impression of the confederates' straightforwardness. The itch of the Republic's patriotic palm was allayed by a promise of the Apulian ports; while the Pope displayed to the full his talent for shifty intrigue and prevarication, and Maximilian kept up a stream of friendly assurances which effectively duped his young and incapable rival.