It is his admission that he was accepting the Empire, as men profess to accept knighthoods, for his wife’s sake, rather than his own. Charlotte had made up her mind that the Imperial crown would suit her, and she meant to wear it. She stirred Maximilian up, if not to enthusiasm, at least to the point of saying:— “The establishment of an Empire in Mexico is an enterprise which may possibly fail; but the experiment is one worth trying.” So the die was cast; and Francis Joseph fulfilled his promise with the affability which distinguishes him when he has got his own way in essentials. He repaired to Miramar with Archdukes, Ministers, Chancellors, Vice-Chancellors, Chamberlains, Vice-Chamberlains, Aides-de-camp, Field-Marshals, Governors, Lieutenant-Governors—all the _dramatis personæ_ of ceremony. After the Pact had been signed, the lunch was served; and then the two Emperors parted in the dignified manner of Emperors, neither embracing nor shaking hands, but merely exchanging military salutes—albeit, it is said, with the red eyes of men who found it difficult to pay their tribute to appearances, and whose hearts harboured dark forebodings. Maximilian’s heart, at all events, harboured them. At the very time when the Mexican flag was flying from the topmost tower of Miramar, his emotions proved too much for him, and he broke down. His emotions prevented him from appearing at the lunch which he gave to his Mexican supporters; and the Empress had to preside at it in his place, while he paced moodily up and down an arbour in the remotest corner of the garden. A congratulatory telegram from Napoleon which Charlotte brought to him was the cause of a nervous explosion. “I forbid you to speak to me of Mexico,” he snapped out; and the date of his departure had to be postponed, to give him time to recover his composure. Even so, he wept as the coast of Austria sank out of sight, first weeping in public on the deck, and then retiring to his cabin to weep unobserved. Assuredly Maximilian had his full share—if not more than his full share—of that neurosis which the Habsburgs inherit. And so, in the first instance, to Rome, where Pius IX. bestowed a benediction on his enterprise: a benediction which has an ominous ring in the ears of those who read it in the light of subsequent events:— “Behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world! It is through Him that Kings reign and govern. It is through Him that Kings do justice; and if He sometimes permits Kings to pass through sore trials, He is the source of their power. “I recommend to you in His name the happiness of the Catholic peoples who are confided to you. Great are the rights of peoples, and they should be satisfied, but greater and far more sacred are the rights of the Church, the immaculate bride of Jesus Christ, who has redeemed us with His precious blood.”