POSED AND DEPOSED: PROPAGANDA AND RESISTANCE IN CARTE-DE-VISITE PHOTOGRAPHS OF MAXIMILIAN VON HABSBURG DURING MEXICO’S SECOND EMPIRE (1864-1867)

By

ELEANOR ANNE LAUGHLIN

A DISSERTATION PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE SCHOOL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA

2014

© 2014 Eleanor Anne Laughlin

To Elsa Violet, that she may pursue even those goals that seem impossible to achieve

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This dissertation would not have reached completion without the support of numerous organizations, mentors, scholars, and friends. The primary research I conducted in Mexico City,

Brussels and Paris was made possible through the generous funding of the University of

Florida’s Alumni Fellowship (2007-2011). The University of New Mexico’s Richard E.

Greenleaf Research Fellowship (2011) granted me access to UNM’s photograph collections at the Center for Southwest Research in Albuquerque. I give special thanks to the University of

Florida’s Latin American Studies Center for their support during the writing phase via the

Doctoral Teaching Competitition Award (2012).

I am deeply indebted to my dissertation advisors, Melissa Hyde and Maya Stanfield-

Mazzi. The guidance and thoughtful constructive criticism they have offered over the years have imprinted this project, my work, and my life. I truly appreciate all of the energy they dedicated toward helping me become a more critical thinker and writer. I feel that I have become a better person in the process. They have been true mentors. Thanks also go to my dissertation committee members: Brigitte Weltman-Aron for her encouragement, support, and suggestions; and Glenn Willumson for his guidance in the areas of photographic history and at the Harn.

I also owe a debt of gratitude to Ray Hernandez-Duran for his time and insights. The discussions I had with him while I was researching at the University of New Mexico were formative to my project. He readily shared his nuanced understanding of nineteenth-century visual culture in Mexico and offered suggestions enthusiastically. Catherine Zuromskis was also generous with her knowledge and her ideas during my tenure in Albuquerque. In Mexico City, I had the honor of meeting with Amparo Gómez Tepexicuapan who supported my understanding of Maximilian’s regime and was kind enough to grant me a high degree of access to his portraits and objects from the collection at the Museo Nacional de Historia at Chapultepec Castle. Alma

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Montero welcomed me and my ideas to the Museo Nacional de Virreinato with an open mind and open arms. I thank Beatrice St. Laurent and Bill Fash for their inspiration that led me to this topic during my M.A. course work and field school in Copan, Honduras. I also want to thank

Deborah Amberson, Im Sue Lee, Josefina de la Maza, Michelle Carlson, Amy Marcy, Mary

Brown, Jenny and Matt Wolfe, Jane Anne Blakney-Bailey, Mandy Strasik, Pam Brekka, Carlee

Forbes, Leslie Todd, Nicole Soukup, Anisa Perbtani, the Vincents, the Cohens, the Bells, and the

Schmidts for their encouragement and companionship at this time in my life.

During my stay in Mexico City, I benefitted from the assistance and kindness of many people. Numerous librarians at the Biblioteca Justino Fernandez within the Universidad

Nacional Autónoma de México, the Biblioteca Nacional de Antropología e Historia, the Archivo

Técnico de Consejo de Arqueología, and Mapoteca Manuel Orozco y Berra were fundamental to my daily work. Ana Luisa Madrigal Limón at the Archivo Histórico del Museo Nacional de

Antropología was very dedicated to assisting me with my project. In Paris, the Service

Historique de la Défense at the Chateau de Vincennes, the Bibliothèque Nationale de France,

Richlieu, and the Archives Nationales were helpful with access to their sources. I owe a debt of gratitude to Anne Godfroid at the Musée Royal de l’Armée et d’Histoire Militaire in Brussels for her enthusiasm and helpfulness.

In the course of my travels many families welcomed me into their homes. I am grateful to the de Ravello family for their kindness, but I cannot express enough thanks to Lori de

Ravello for her enthusiastic friendship and swift rescue after my hospitalization in Albuquerque.

Katy and Gabriel Yapur offered me a safe haven from the chaos of Mexico City. Their smiles were constant and contagious and they were always available to lend a hand. Among the many interesting residents I met there, I am grateful to Leslie Bary for her adventurous spirit, her

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infectious laughter, and the invitation to speak on my topic at the University of Louisiana. My talk and the events surrounding it were valuable experiences, which I hope have better prepared me for the job market. I owe a great deal of thanks to another resident, James Middleton, who took this harassed, blond woman by the hand and escorted me to parts of Mexico City where I would have otherwise been too intimidated to venture alone. Katy and Gabriel also introduced me to their daughter, Michele Yapur, who offered a much-needed retreat from the lonely city while I was working in France. In Paris my landlords Claude and Maryelle Raffetin kept me smiling with occasional dinners over which we discussed English grammar and papal politics.

Finally, I want to thank my family. I am incredibly grateful for my mom and dad’s tag- team approach to my emotional and physical support throughout my life. In many ways their guidance, interests, and daily example have planted the seeds of this project over the course of our lives together. The cultural heritage that my step-father brought to our family has been a gift that enhanced my life. And I will be eternally grateful to Linda Laughlin for showing me by example that a woman could participate in an intellectual argument and still be considered a feminine and loving person. Most importantly, I want to thank Mike Volk for the support he has given me during this project. He knew before saying “I do” that he was not only gaining a partner, but also a doctoral student. However, I don’t think he counted on endless meals of pasta with Mollie the dog as his only companion while I was away researching, months of single- parenting on weekends so that I could write, or living with the distracted version of me when I am working on a deadline. For everything that he has sacrificed, I thank him deeply. This goal simply would not have come to fruition without him. I thank him not only for encouraging me to pursue my dreams, but for standing by his word when challenges arose and especially for his steady, calming presence by my side. I hope he has had some fun along the way.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

page

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ...... 4

LIST OF FIGURES ...... 9

ABSTRACT ...... 15

CHAPTER

1 INTRODUCTION ...... 17

Previous Research ...... 20 The French Intervention (1861-67) ...... 22 The Second Mexican Empire (1864-67) ...... 27 The Carte-de-visite and the Second Mexican Empire (1860s) ...... 36 Chapters ...... 39

2 BETWEEN TECHNOLOGY AND TRADITION: THE ROLES OF PHOTOGRAPHY AND PUBLIC CEREMONY IN THE CONTRUCTION OF THE EMPEROR’S IMAGE ...... 45

Early Photography in Mexico ...... 55 Marvelous Possessions for the Masses: The Carte-de-Visite ...... 61 Portraits of Maximilian prior to the Mexican Empire ...... 72 Maximilian Meets the Mexicans ...... 77 Representations of Sovereignty during the Spanish Colonial Period ...... 82 From Miramar to Mexico: Maximilian and Public Ceremony ...... 90 The Painted State Portrait, Realized ...... 98 Summary: A regime of contradictions ...... 100

3 THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES ...... 110

“Maximiliano (charro)” in the Making ...... 116 Maximilian and Mexican Costume ...... 119 The Political Landscape ...... 124 Maximilian Among his Contemporaries ...... 128 The Charro Type ...... 132 Smoke and Mirrors: Mimesis and Alterity in the Portrait of Colonel Dupin ...... 145 Theatricality and the Search for Legitimacy ...... 152 Maximilian in the Hall of Portraits ...... 156 Summary ...... 163

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4 MAXIMILIANO MUERTO: PHOTO-REPORTAGE, POST-MORTEM PORTRAITURE, AND PUBLIC MEMORY ...... 175

Descriptions of the Execution Series ...... 180 Maximiliano muerto ...... 181 Clothing and Personal Effects ...... 186 Execution People and Locations ...... 188 François Aubert and the Execution of Maximilian ...... 191 Photo-reportage or Post-mortem Portraiture and Tokens of Remembrance? ...... 193 Photo-reportage and War ...... 193 Post-mortem Portraiture ...... 203 Tokens of Remembrance ...... 216 Maximilian in Memoriam ...... 229 Representing the Execution ...... 229 Memorial Cartes-de-visite ...... 233 Summary ...... 244

5 LIFE AFTER DEATH: VISUAL REFERENCES TO CARTE-DE-VISITE PHOTOGRAPH PORTRAITS OF MAXIMILIAN AFTER 1867 ...... 263

The French Commune (March 18 - May 28, 1871) ...... 266 The Fate of the Carte-de-visite and the Portrait of the Mexican President ...... 274 The Mexican Revolution (1910-1920) ...... 285 Summary ...... 290

6 CONCLUSION...... 299

REFERENCES ...... 304

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ...... 318

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LIST OF FIGURES

Figure page

2-1 Giuseppe Malovich, Maximilian von Habsburg, albumen carte-de-visite, 1864. Image meets “Fair Use” standards as defined by the Prints & Photographs Division, Library of Congress, LC-USZ62-131388...... 102

2-2 François Merille, Miguel Miramón, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1866. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 12.478...... 102

2-3 Ludwig Angerer, Emperor Franz Joseph, albumen carte-de-visite, 1862, http://www.photobibliothek.ch/seite003d2.html ...... 103

2-4 John Jabez Edwin Mayall, Prince Albert of England, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1861, National Portrait Gallery, London...... 103

2-5 A.A.E. Disderi, Carte-de-visite of Napoleon III, 1859. Image available online through La Bibliothèque Nationale de France ...... 104

2-6 Ghémar Frères, Maximilian, Archduke of Austria, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1863. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.650...... 104

2-7 Robert Bingham Phot., Maximilian, Archduke of Austria, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1863. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.650...... 105

2-8 Giuseppe Malovich (Ghémar Frères studio copy), Carlota, sold in cartes-de-visite format, 1864. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.675...... 105

2-9 Decaen, “Sus majestades el archiduque Maximiliano y la archiduquesa Carlota.” Printed as the frontispiece for José Maria Gutiérrez Estrada, México y el archduque Fernando Maximiliano de Austria by J. M. Gutiérrez de Estrada (Mexico City, 1863)...... 106

2-10 Imperial carriage. Designed by the House of Cesare Scala, Milan, Italy, 1864. Part of the permanent collection at the Museo Nacional de Historia at Chapultepec Castle, Mexico City...... 106

2-11 Juan Cordero, Maximiliano, oil on canvas, 60 x 40cm, 1864. Private collection. Reprinted from Esther Acevedo, ed., Testimonios artísticos de un episodio fugaz (1864-1867) (Mexico City, 1995), 103...... 107

2-12 Anonymous, Emperor Maximilian, bust portrait, turned left, albumen carte-de-visite, between 1850 and 1867. Use of this image meets “Fair Use” standards. Courtesy of the Prints & Photographs Division, Library of Congress, LC-USZ62-131388...... 107

2-13 G. Rodríguez, Arco del Emperador, print, 1864. Reprinted from Advenimiento de SS. MM. II. Maximiliano y Carlota al trono de México (México City, 1864), 277...... 108

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2-14 G. Rodríguez, Arco de las Flores, print, 1864. Reprinted from Advenimiento de SS. MM. II. Maximiliano y Carlota al trono de México (México City, 1864)...... 108

2-15 François Aubert, Maximilian I of Mexico, albumen carte-de-visite, 1865. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.656...... 109

2-16 Joaquín Ramírez (copied after Santiago Rebull), Maximiliano, Emperador de Mexico, oil on canvas, 240 x 160cm, 1866, Museo Nacional de Historia, INAH, Mexico City...... 109

3-1 Anonymous, “Maximiliano (charro),” albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. Museo Nacional de Historia, Mexico City...... 165

3-2 Anonymous, Benito Juarez, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1865. 986-025 0001, Mexican Carte-de-visite Collection, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico...... 165

3-3 François Aubert, Maximilian, carte-de-visite, ca. 1865. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13659...... 166

3-4 Anonymous, Maximiliano a caballo con traje de charro, oil on canvas, nineteenth century, private collection...... 166

3-5 Anonymous, La India Bonita, lithograph, second half of the nineteenth century, Museo Nacional, Mexico City...... 167

3-6 François Merille, Benito Juarez as “charro,” photo-caricature, 1865. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 14.223...... 167

3-7 François Merille, Miguel Miramón, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1866. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 12.478...... 168

3-8 Unknown photographer, Miguel Miramón, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1865. http://www.oocities.org/maxhabsburgo/Miramon2.html...... 168

3-9 François Aubert, Ranchero, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1866. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.556...... 169

3-10 Antonio Garcia Cubas, “Plate 2,” lithograph, 1876. Reprinted from A. Garcia Cubas, The Republic of Mexico (Mexico City: "La Enseñanza" Print Office, 1876)...... 169

3-11 François Aubert, Colonel Dupin, photograph, ca. 1865. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 14.125...... 170

3-12 François Aubert, Colonel Dupin, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1865. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.006...... 170

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3-13 François Aubert, Captain Vosseur, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1865. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.023...... 171

3-14 François Aubert, Group of Soldiers Serving in Mexico, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1865. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.134...... 171

3-15 Tiburcio Sánchez, Carlos II, infante de España, oil on canvas, 1866, Museo Nacional de Historia, INAH, Mexico City...... 172

3-16 Juan Pantoja de la Cruz, according to Titan, Portrait of Emperor Charles V, oil on canvas, ca. 1550s...... 172

3-17 Antonio Moro, Portrait of Philip II on the Day of St. Quentin, oil on canvas, 1560...... 173

3-18 Anthony Van Dyck, Charles I of England, oil on canvas, 1630...... 173

3-19 Miguel Cabrera, Don Juan Xavier Joaquín Gutiérrez Altamirano Velasco, oil on canvas, ca. 1750-54...... 174

4-1 François Aubert, Maximiliano muerto, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 997-013- 0016, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico...... 246

4-2 François Aubert, Maximiliano muerto (detail), albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 997- 013-0017, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico...... 246

4-3 François Aubert, Maximilian’s shirt, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 997-013-0018, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico...... 247

4-4 François Aubert, Maximilian’s vest, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 997-013-0019, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico...... 247

4-5 François Aubert, Maximilian’s coat, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 997-013-0020, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico...... 248

4-6 François Aubert, Pile of clothing soaked with blood, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.717...... 248

4-7 François Aubert, Maximilian’s scarf and pocket watch, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.718...... 249

4-8 François Aubert, Execution Squad, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 997-013-0013, Mexico: Maximilian Cartes-de-visite, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico...... 249

4-9 François Aubert, Execution Squad, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.534...... 250

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4-10 François Aubert, Cerro de las Campanas, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 997-013- 0015, Mexico: Maximilian Cartes-de-visite, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico...... 250

4-11 Attributed to Auguste Peraire, Cerro de las Campanas, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 986-025-0101, Mexico: Maximilian Cartes-de-visite, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico...... 251

4-12 François Aubert, The Execution of Maximilian, photographic montage, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.727...... 251

4-13 François Aubert, Execution of Maximilian, drawing on paper, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles...... 252

4-14 Timothy O’Sullivan, “A Harvest of Death, Gettysburg, July, 1863,” printed in Gardner’s Photographic Sketch Book of the Civil War, by Alexander Gardner (Washington D.C.: Philp & Solomons, 1866)...... 252

4-15 Tully & Co., Sheffield, England, Post-mortem Portrait of an Unknown Child, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1870...... 253

4-16 Eugenio Maunoury, Post-mortem Carte-de-visite Portrait of President San Román of Peru, 1863...... 253

4-17 Anonymous, Funeral portrait of Madre Ana de Santa Inés, 1653, oil on canvas, 43½ x 81½ in., Monastery of Santa Isabel, Madrid...... 254

4-18 Anonymous, Funerary Portrait of an unknown nun, ca. 18th century, Museo Soumaya, Mexico City. Photograph provided by Alma Montero...... 254

4-19 Georg Heinrich Sieveking, Execution of Louix XVI, January 21, 1793, copperplate engraving...... 255

4-20 Anonymous, hair worked into a careful design as a token of remembrance, carte-de- visite album ca. 1862-72, http://mavcor.yale.edu/conversations/object- narratives/carte-de-visite-photograph-album...... 255

4-21 Anonymous, The Divine Face (Veronica’s Veil), oil on canvas, 19th century, 14½ x 17¾ in. Reprinted from Elizabeth Netto Calil Zarur, et.al., Art and Faith in Mexico (Albuquerque, 2001), 128...... 256

4-22 Room of ex-votos in the Sanctuary of San Juan de los Lagos. Reprinted from Elizabeth Netto Calil Zarur, et.al., Art and Faith in Mexico (Albuquerque, 2001), 279...... 256

4-23 Adrian Cordiglia, The Execution of Maximilian, albumen carte-de-visite of a painting, 1867. 997-013-0014, Mexico: Maximilian Cartes-de-visite, Center for Southwest Research, Univerisity Libraries, University of New Mexico...... 257

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4-24 Edouard Manet, Execution of Maximilian, 1868, lithograph, 33.3 x 43.3 cm., Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum...... 257

4-25 François Aubert, Execution Memorial, albumen carte-de-visite montage, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.689...... 258

4-26 François Aubert, Execution Memorial, albumen carte-de-visite montage, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.688...... 258

4-27 François Aubert, Execution Memorial, albumen carte-de-visite montage, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 14.138...... 259

4-28 François Aubert, Execution Memorial, albumen carte-de-visite montage, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 14.140...... 259

4-29 François Aubert, Execution Memorial, albumen carte-de-visite montage, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 14.137...... 260

4-30 P. Kaiser, Execution Memorial, carte-de-visite, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.691...... 260

4-31 Unknown studio, Execution Memorial, carte-de-visite, reverse and obverse shown, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.667...... 261

4-32 Execution Memorial, albumen carte-de-visite montage, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 14.139...... 261

4-33 François Aubert, Execution Memorial, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.653...... 262

5-1 A.A.E. Disdéri (1819-1889), Communards in their Coffins, albumen carte-de-visite, May 1871, Musée de la Ville de Paris, Musée Carnavalet, Paris, France ...... 293

5-2 A.A.E. Disdéri, Communards in their Coffins, albumen carte-de-visite, May 1871, University of Texas, Austin...... 293

5-3 Edouard Manet, The Barricade, ink, wash, and watercolor on paper, 1871. Original image housed at the Szepmuveseti Muzeum, Budapest, Hungary...... 294

5-4 Edouard Manet, The Barricade, lithograph, 1871, 46.5 x 33.4cm, Mannheim, Städtische Kunsthalle...... 294

5-5 Eugène Appert, Execution of Rossel, Bourgeois, and Ferre, November 28, 1871, composite print albumen carte-de-visite, George Eastman House...... 295

5-6 Anonymous photographer, Eraclio Bernal, albumen carte-de-visite, Archivo Porfirio Diaz, Universidad Iberoamericana, January 5, 1888...... 295

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5-7 Hugo Brehme, Emiliano Zapata, photograph, George Bain Collection, Library of Congress, ca. 1914. The Library of Congress attests that there are no restrictions on the use of this photograph...... 296

5-8 Carlos Muñana, Clothes worn by Francisco I. Madero and José Maria Pino Suárez on the day they were killed, September 3, 1914, gelatin negative on glass, 5x7, Casasola Archive, INAH, Mexico City...... 296

5-9 Carlos Muñana, Shirt and pants worn by Francisco I. Madero and José Maria Pino Suárez on the day they were killed September 3, 1914, gelatin negatives on glass, 5x7, Casasola Archive, INAH, Mexico City...... 297

5-10 Anonymous photographer, Clothing Emiliano Zapata was wearing when he was shot, ca. 1919, gelatin negative on glass, 5x7, Casasola Archive, INAH, Mexico City...... 297

5-11 Unknown photographer. Pre- and post-mortem portraits of suspected drug lord Enrique Plancarte, published in The Daily Mail, April 2, 2014...... 298

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Abstract of Dissertation Presented to the Graduate School of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy

POSED AND DEPOSED: PROPAGANDA AND RESISTANCE IN CARTE-DE-VISITE PHOTOGRAPHS OF MAXIMILIAN VON HABSBURG DURING MEXICO’S SECOND EMPIRE (1864-1867)

By

Eleanor Anne Laughlin

May 2014

Chair: Melissa Hyde Cochair: Maya Stanfield-Mazzi Major: Art History

In 1864, Austrian Archduke Maximilian von Habsburg was crowned Emperor of Mexico.

This political experiment was supported militarily by Napoleon III of France and politically by a group of Mexican monarchists with the intention to bring peace and stability to Mexico after nearly half a century of war. In an effort to win over undecided factions of the populace to the

Second Mexican Empire (1864-67), the Mexican monarchists undertook a propaganda campaign that included the distribution of thousands of carte-de-visite photographs of the soon-to-be

Emperor Maximilian. Three years later, after the execution of Maximilian, another series of photographs circulated in the Americas and Europe. These were cartes-de-visite of Maximilian’s body, his personal effects bloodied from execution, and the locations associated with his death.

Portraits of Maximilian are some of the most iconic images of the time period, yet these photographs have received little scholarly attention. In this dissertation I investigate the role of carte-de-visite portraits of Maximilian in the rise and fall of the Second Mexican Empire.

Over the course of this dissertation I argue that Maximilian’s figure was posed to assert opposing perspectives. I show that these carte-de-visite portraits served as propaganda for the imperialistas and as calls to resistance for the republican opponents of the Second Mexican

15

Empire. I argue that the affordable photographs of Maximilian, showing him posed like many middle-class men, contradicted the otherwise magnificent image promoted by the empire through high ceremony and pomp, and thus contributed to the empire’s demise. I also assert that

Maximilian added to the ambiguity that surrounded his political image by posing himself in a variety of fashions to suit his audience. I examine the carte-de-visite photographs of

Maximilian’s deposed corpse within a social context. I assert that the subsequent collectible memorial portraits were produced in part because people wanted to remember the political event, but also because of the mass mourning response inspired by the photographs associated with his execution in a decade of mourning mania. Finally, I demonstrate the legacy of Maximilian’s portraits with later examples of cartes-de-visite that include portraits of revolutionaries, criminal corpses, and execution imagery.

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CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION

On May 21, 1864, Maximilian von Habsburg arrived at the port of Veracruz as the new

Emperor of Mexico. At that time, he had the political support of some Mexican conservatives and moderates and military backing from Napoleon III, the Emperor of France, with Belgian and

Austrian volunteer corps.1 Over the course of his short reign (1864-67) he alienated conservatives with his liberal mandates, aligned himself with political moderates, and lost the military backing provided by the French.2 On June 19, 1867, almost exactly three years and one month after his arrival, Maximilian was executed along with two of his generals by firing squad in Querétaro, Mexico.3

In the title of this dissertation I use the term “pose” as a double entendre. Maximilian is often referred to in historical surveys as a “posed” emperor, meaning that he was placed on his throne by someone who had the power to control his movements.4 As a term in photographic portraiture, “pose” refers to standing in a specified position for a short period of time while the camera lens captures one’s image. A “posed” figure is one that connotes ideas of physical (in the

1 During the period prior to and during Maximilian’s reign the country was strongly divided between political conservatives who wanted a centralist form of government, some of whom argued for a monarchy, to maintain the traditional roles of the Catholic Church and the military, and liberals who wanted to limit the influence of the church and the military with a centralist form of government. Political moderates were few and leaned toward either the conservative or the liberal position.

2 For a highly detailed history of the French Intervention and the Second Mexican Empire, albeit from a primarily European perspective, see Egon Caesar Count Corti, Maximilian and Charlotte of Mexico (New York and London: Alfred A. Knopf, 1928); Nancy Nichols Barker, The French Experience in Mexico (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1979). For detailed accounts of the Second Mexican Empire, see works by Erika Pani and Konrad Ratz.

3 Juliet Wilson-Bareau ed., Manet: The Execution of Maximilian (London: National Gallery Publications, 1992), 114- 118. This source, which accompanied an exhibit by the same name, provides an excellent timeline of historical events relating to the involvement of Maximilian and the French in Mexico.

4 The authority who placed Maximilian on the Mexican throne has usually been considered to be Napoleon III. While Napoleon certainly provided the military support than allowed the rise of the Second Mexican Empire, it is also important to recall that Maximilian was invited to occupy the imperial throne by a group of Mexicans who cooperated with the French after the invasion.

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case of the photograph) and ideological (in the case of the puppet leader) manipulation to suit the agenda of the person(s) in control. “Pose” is also an apt term for the placement of an imperial ruler. The term “empire” is defined as a state in which the ruling person or group is culturally and ethnically distinct from the population being ruled. In such a state the ruler is a false representation of the population, and therefore, “posed.”5

Maximilian’s figure has been used to assert opposing political perspectives, both in his time and in ours. In this dissertation I examine facets of Maximilian’s representation through carte-de-visite portraits taken before, during, and after his reign. I address questions surrounding the role of photographic representation in the imperial regime and immediately following its demise: how did photography, and specifically the small format, carte-de-visite portraits of the emperor, play a role in the imperial project? What do the post-mortem portraits of Maximilian reveal about Mexican and European society at the time? How do these carte-de-visite portraits inform our understanding of the time period and this neocolonial experiment?6

In response to these questions, I suggest that the Mexican monarchists (rather than

Napoleon III) “posed” Maximilian as the ideal sovereign with a royal bloodline to lead a new government through large-scale public art used in imperial ceremonies. The monarchists also commissioned and distributed carte-de-visite portraits of Maximilian in the same propagandistic cause, but I suggest that these photographs undermined the pomp of the imperial ceremonies due to their small format, their status as a personal art form, and their availability. I argue that

5 The term “empire” is also defined as a group of states that extend across geographic regions. Corti has noted that Maximilian had ideas about expanding his empire to include Brazil. He tried to convince his second brother, Ludwig Viktor to marry one of the daughters of Dom Pedro II, Emperor of Brazil, who did not have a male heir. With such a marriage, he could establish a new branch of the house of Habsburg that encompassed large parts of Central America and South America. Ludwig Viktor declined. Corti, 280.

6 I utilize the term “neocolonial” to describe the Second Mexican Empire because Maximilian’s government was established after the fall of the Spanish colonial regime (1521-1821) in Mexico and therefore was “new” or “neo.” Also, the Second Mexican Empire was supported by the military powers of a developed nation and therefore consistutes an economic domination over an undeveloped country, which is an important aspect of the term.

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Maximilian added to the ambiguity that surrounded him as a figure by posing himself in a variety of fashions to address himself to suit his audience and negotiate a space for his ideas. I claim that the Mexican republican resistance “deposed” him physically via execution. I point out that after his demise post-mortem photographs portrayed his corpse for the purchasing public on both sides of the Atlantic. The photographs were purchased for different reasons that reflected the various perspectives on the issue. The buyers indicated through their demand a greater interest in social aspects of mourning than collecting cartes-de-visite of a dead emperor. And finally, I argue that the European press “posed” Maximilian as a martyr after his death.7

In the present day, the dominant narrative of the Second Mexican Empire depicts the regime as a frivolous, misguided political experiment imposed by Europeans in which Mexicans played little or no role.8 After Maximilian was defeated, some who opposed him took great pleasure in ridiculing the empire and its supporters. Others, like the conservatives who took part in the regime, did what they could to wash their hands of the losses they incurred under

Maximilian, such as a nationalized Church and increased religious tolerance. Most modern studies have repeated the original arguments and fostered the longstanding impression prevalent in the country’s historical texts: the unproductive government was run by central Europeans who did not speak Spanish, the French Army interfered in the affairs of the Mexican government; the

Austrian music and the hollow court ceremonial served to distract the Mexican elite.9 Although recent work among some historians has attempted to chip away at the story that has served the

7 John Elderfield, Manet and the Execution of Maximilian (New York: Museum of Modern Art, 2006), 182-191. Elderfield’s publication for MoMA’s exhibition features numerous excerpts that describe Maximilian’s execution from the European press.

8 Erika Pani, “Dreaming of a Mexican Empire: The Political Projects of the ‘Imperialistas,’” Hispanic American Historical Review 82, no. 1 (February 2002), 1.

9 Ibid., 2-3.

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national memory, this narrative persists in textbook and popular cultural representations of what has been deemed the “so-called empire.”10 Historians who have taken up the cause of re-writing the history of the Second Empire have argued that more Mexicans were involved in the imperial government than previously discussed. They point to the laws that were enacted to contest the empire’s stigma as a frivolous one. And although they are critical of several of Maximilian’s political decisions, they have also revealed many of his laws, speeches, and ideals that were ahead of their time. I hope that this dissertation adds to the revisionist effort of these recent historians.

Previous Research

The periods of the French Intervention and the Second Mexican Empire are rich in both historical literature and historical research. However, the art of the period has received comparatively little attention, especially outside of Mexico. Those studies available consist almost entirely of surveys within large-scale contexts. For example, a few large-scale photographic surveys devote several lines of text to cartes-de-visite photographs of Maximilian:

Art and Photography, The Painter and the Photograph: From Delacroix to Warhol, and Why

Photography Matters as Never Before.11 Within volumes about photography and visual culture in Mexico, Looking for Mexico: Modern Visual Culture and National Identity and Mexican

Suite: A History of Photography in Mexico, and La manera en que fuimos, Fotografía y sociedad

10 Ibid. Some studies that attempt to revise the history of the Second Mexican Empire include: Esther Acevedo, Testimonios artísticos de un episodio fugaz (1864-1867) (Mexico City: INBA, 1995); Jaime del Arenal, “La protección indígena en el segundo imperio mexicano: La Junta Protectora de Clases Menesterosas,” Ars Iuris 6 (1991); Konrad Ratz, Tras las huellas de un desconocido (Mexico City: INAH, 2008); Jean Meyer, “La Junta Protectora de las Clases Menesterosas: Indigenismo y agrarismo en el segundo imperio,” in Indio, nación y comunidad en el México del siglo XIX, ed. Antonio Escobar Ohmstede (Mexico City: Centro de Estudios Mexicanos y Centroamericanos; Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores en Antropología Social, 1993). The first Mexican Empire was led by the Mexican Emperor Agustín de Iturbide (1821-23).

11 Aaron Scharf, Art and Photography (New York: Penguin Books, 1991), Van Daren Coke, The Painter and the Photograph: From Delacroix to Warhol (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1972), and Michael Fried, Why Photography Matters as Never Before (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008).

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in Querétaro: 1840-1930 dedicate sections to the topic of portraits of Maximilian and carte-de- visite portraits of him.12

More focused surveys dealing directly with the visual culture of the Second Mexican

Empire have a stronger emphasis on cartes-de-visite and Maximilian as a photographic subject, but do not develop clear arguments about the role of Maximilian’s photographic portraits in the imperial program. Testimonios artísticos de un episodio fugaz (1864-1867) is a very informative and revisionist compilation of visual media created in the service of the Second Empire.13 As the catalogue for an exhibition of the same name, this survey most notably calls attention to the multiple Mexican artists employed to create an imperial visual culture rather than supporting the conventional notion that Maximilian and his wife Carlota imported their own culture from

Europe. La fotografía durante el Imperio de Maximiliano is also a publication that examines photography as a whole in Mexico during the Second Empire, but it is descriptive rather than critical.14 And finally, in Maximilian, Mexico and the Invention of Empire, Kristine Ibsen does consider briefly the role of carte-de-visite portraits of Maximilian within the Second Mexican

Empire. But hers is a study of literature that enlists Mexican poetry and songs along with lithographs, photographs, and caricatures to reiterate the claims of conventional Mexican history, that Maximilian was a fool and his empire accomplished very little for the Mexican people.15

12 John Mraz, Looking for Mexico: Modern Visual Culture and National Identity (Durham: Duke University Press, 2009), Olivier Debroise, Mexican Suite: A History of Photography in Mexico (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2001), Patricia Priego Ramirez and José Antonio Rodríguez, La manera en que fuimos, Fotografía y sociedad in Querétaro: 1840-1930 (Mexico, City: Jose Manuel Rivero Torres, 1989).

13 Acevedo, 1995.

14 Arturo Aguilar Ochoa, La fotografía durante el imperio de Maximiliano (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico, Instituto de Investigaciones Estheticas, 1996).

15 Kristine Ibsen, Maximilian, Mexico and the Invention of Empire (Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2010).

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She devotes an entire chapter to the series of paintings titled, The Execution of Maximilian by

Edouard Manet.

Several art historical sources focus on Edouard Manet’s series of paintings depicting the execution of Maximilian. These directly address carte-de-visite photographs as they pertain to the paintings, but do not further investigate the political or social roles of the carte-de-visite.

This list includes Juliet Wilson-Bareau’s Manet: The Execution of Maximilian – Painting,

Politics, and Censorship, a publication that accompanied the Brown University exhibition titled,

Edouard Manet and the Execution of Maximilian, and John Elderfield’s Manet and the Execution of Maximilian, which was also published to accompany an exhibition – this one for the Museum of Modern Art in New York.16

While each of these studies includes cartes-de-visite examples and mentions the influence of the medium on the time period or on other art work, none of these studies directly investigates the role that the small-format photographic portraits of Maximilian von Habsburg played in the

Second Mexican Empire.

The French Intervention (1861-67)

The “French Intervention” (1861-1867) and the “Second Mexican Empire” (1864-1867) are two terms that have been used interchangeably in the past. Here, I separate them because I believe that they are somewhat historically distinct. The French Intervention was a military attack ostensibly initiated because of Mexico’s unpaid foreign debt. The Intervention created an opportunity, in the eyes of select Mexicans and some Western European leaders, to create a new government, which became the Second Mexican Empire with Maximilian’s imperial coronation in 1864. The intervention was imposed entirely upon Mexico from outside European forces. In

16 Wilson-Bareau, 1992; Elderfield, 2006; Pamela M. Jones, Edouard Manet and the Execution of Maximilian (Providence: Brown University Press, 1981).

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contrast, the empire had support from conservative Mexicans, but was not able to sustain itself without French military support. Shortly after the French left Mexico, the empire failed. Thus, the two were not entirely independent, ending in the same year of 1867. Nevertheless, I do not use the terms interchangeably.

In order to understand Maximilian’s reign as emperor and representations of him, it is important to understand something of the complex history that led him to the position of emperor. Maximilian accepted the imperial crown during a time of sharp divisions between the liberal and conservative political parties in Mexico. The two poles were so strongly opposed that the country engaged in a civil war, referred to as the “War of the Reform,” between 1857 and

1861. The two sides fought over the involvement of the Catholic Church in government affairs and centralism versus federalism, among other issues.17 Eventually the conservatives lost to the liberals. As Minister of Justice, Benito Juarez had written the constitution of 1857 that made

Mexico a constitutional republic and spawned the violence of the War of the Reform.18 In 1858 he began his service as interim president, then president of the liberal government, which had seceded during the Reform and whose headquarters were in Veracruz.19 In June of 1861, Juarez became the president of the republic as a whole until Maximilian’s coronation in 1864 (1858-

64). Juarez resumed his post as president after Maximilian’s execution and reigned until his own death in 1872 (1867-72).20

17 John Elderfield’s Manet and the Execution of Maximilian and Wilson-Bareau’s Manet: The Execution of Maximilian both provide excellent, concise histories describing the events in 1860s Mexico.

18 Douglas Johnson, “The French Intervention in Mexico,” in Manet: The Execution of Maximilian, ed. Juliet Wilson-Bareau (London: National Gallery Publications, 1992), 20.

19 During the War of the Reform, the conservatives had competing government headquarters in Mexico City, with Miguel Miramón acting as president.

20 Ibid.

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At that time, Mexico was nearly crippled by foreign debt that had been incurred since independence from Spain (1821). The interest alone for two of these debts was equal to more than two years of the country’s national income. One month after Juarez took office, he declared a two-year moratorium on the repayment of past debt.21 In response, Spain, Britain, and France organized a convention to decide how to handle the situation.22 Napoleon III’s half brother, the

Duc de Morny, had purchased some of the treasury bonds connected to Mexico’s foreign debt that included mineral exploration rights in northern Mexico.23 The Duc de Morny was also

Napoleon’s advisor and encouraged him to join forces with Britain and Spain to invade

Mexico.24 Britain, France, and Spain united in an effort to coerce Mexico to pay its debts by invading the country’s coasts.25 The same strategy of invading the coastal ports in an effort to reclaim Mexico’s unpaid debt had been utilized earlier in the century by France with the “Pastry

War,” sometimes called the “First French Intervention” (1837-39).26 Napoleon III was also highly influenced in his military actions in Mexico by the sympathies of his wife, Empress

Eugénie, who was a conservative Spanish aristocrat. Eugénie may have been listening to the political rhetoric presented by her family friend, José Manuel Hidalgo, a Mexican monarchist with connections in Spain who supported the notion of placing a European monarch on a

Mexican imperial throne.27 On September 1, 1861, in Biarritz, Hidalgo proposed to Napoleon III

21 Elderfield, 35.

22 Johnson, 21.

23 Elderfield, 36.

24 Ibid.

25 Johnson, 21.

26 Elderfield, 36.

27 For details about Empress Eugénie’s role in the French Intervention, see Nancy Nichols Barker, Distaff Diplomacy: The Empress Eugénie and the Foreign Policy of the Second Empire (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1967). The “Second Empire” of the title refers to the Second French Empire (1852-1870). In her later article,

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and Eugénie a French intervention and the establishment of a Second Mexican Empire.28 And so it was that the second French Intervention began: while the United States was entangled in the

Civil War, and thus unable to enforce the Monroe Doctrine, Britain, Spain, and France invaded

Veracruz, ostensibly to recover unpaid debt.29 The first troops disembarked on December 17,

1861.30

When the Spanish and the British realized the underlying neocolonial aims of the French

Emperor, Napoleon III, they withdrew their support of the endeavor. Napoleon III made no secret of his plans to use his colonial possessions (including Egypt as well as Mexico) for their natural resources and as canal thoroughfares for trade routes. In fact, one room at the 1867

Exposition Universelle in Paris was dedicated to the plans and models for canal projects in southern Mexico and in Egypt that would allow ships faster access to French territories in Asia and Africa.

Meanwhile, in 1857 Austrian Emperor Franz Josef appointed his brother Maximilian governor of the Lombardo-Venetia region of present-day Italy, which was then part of the

Austrian Empire.31 This assignment was given partially to move Maximilian, who had politically liberal ideas, to the periphery of the empire.32 Maximilian married Carlota, née

“Monarchy in Mexico,” Barker corrects her own error in Distaff Diplomacy, which was based on statements made by Corti among others who followed his lead, by explaining that Hidalgo was not actually a childhood friend of the empress. He arrived in Madrid for the first time in 1854 and lived in Paris and Madrid, not as an émigré like the exiled politician José Maria Gutiérrez Estrada, but as a legation secretary until 1861.

28 Wilson-Bareau, 115.

29 Elderfield, 36.

30 Wilson-Bareau, p. 115. The Monroe Doctrine was an active U.S. foreign policy stating that any attempts made by European forces to settle or colonize any portion of North or South America would be viewed as aggression against the United States and would require U.S. military action.

31 Ibid.

32 Elderfield, 32.

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Princess Charlotte of Belgium, later the same year, in July of 1857.33 Maximilian served as an

Austrian viceroy to the Lombard-Venetia region until 1859. That year an Italian man attempted to assassinate Napoleon III, thus giving France an excuse to invade Italy and leading to Austria´s loss of the Lombardo-Venetia region to French forces. Maximilian and Carlota retreated to a castle they built near Trieste, and were therefore in France’s domain in 1860. Suddenly

Napoleon III had a vested interest in Maximilian’s future.

Maximilian’s first invitation to the imperial Mexican throne came in October, 1861 via letter from the Mexican emigré to Spain, José María Gutiérrez de Estrada.34 Maximilian did not accept the invitation because he was not convinced that the majority of the Mexican population supported the idea of a new empire established by the conservatives who were opposed to the reforms of the new president, Benito Juarez. After the French captured Mexico City in June of

1863, Napoleon III began to persuade him to accept the Mexican throne. Maximilian and

Charlotte sought the counsel of numerous heads of state in addition to Napoleon III: King

Leopold of Belgium, Emperor Franz Josef of Austria, and Queen Victoria of England, among others. Numerous conflicting points were made in favor and in opposition to accepting the crown. Most notably, particular pressure came from King Leopold for Maximilian to create a position for his daughter, Charlotte. Franz Josef emphasized that there would be no Austrian monetary or military assistance for the Mexican Empire. Maximilian eventually accepted the offer of the imperial Mexican throne on the condition that a plebiscite be conducted to determine the support of the Mexican population. After receiving the results of the first election, he was

33 Wilson-Bareau, 115.

34 Esther Acevedo, “La creación de un proyecto imperial,” in Testimonios artísticos de un episodio fugaz, ed. Esther Acevedo (Mexico City: Museo Nacional de Arte, 1995b), 35. José María Gutiérrez de Estrada also created a pamphlet in 1861 titled, Mexico y el Archiduque Fernando Maximiliano de Austria that was intended for publication and distribution in Mexico, but his desires did not come to fruition until 1863 for reasons of “unforeseen circumstances,” as is explained below.

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not satisfied that the administrators of the poll made every effort to create fair conditions for a plebicite, and a second election was held to Maximilian’s satisfaction. When the Mexican delegation presented the official offer to Maximilian for the imperial throne on October third of

1863, he accepted.35

In response to his brother’s warnings against going to Mexico with only French support,

Maximilian sought other support, but was only able to secure volunteer corps consisting of 2,000

Belgians and 6,000 Austrians.36 Austrian Emperor Franz Josef made it painfully clear that not only would Maximilian receive no military support from his home country, but neither would the

Habsburg family support the Mexican Empire in any way.37 In fact, Maximilian was required to relinquish any claims to the Austrian throne – a point he did not become aware of until immediately prior to his departure for Mexico.

The Second Mexican Empire (1864-67)

The traditional narrative of this period has emphasized the role of the French in placing

Maximilian on the throne, while the role of the Mexicans who were instrumental in creating and maintaining his post has received less attention.38 However, more recently, increased interest in the period has inspired studies that have begun to present new aspects of the cultural life and

35 Wilson-Bareau, 116.

36 Johnson, 25.

37 Corti, p. 253. A letter from Emperor Franz Joseph to Maximilian is transcribed on 333-334, and discussion of the ensuing events continues from 334-352.

38 Nancy Nichols Barker saw this scholarly trend to focus on the European aspects of this history as related to a tendency to blame Napoleon III for a poorly considered political experiment as well as to the European focus of the previous scholarship, such as that of Egon Caesar Corti. Corti used primarily European sources. While I agree that Corti’s contribution of what has remained one of the most formative studies on the French Intervention may have influenced the evolution of the scholarship, I also see the tendency to focus on the French history as one that did not consider Mexican agency in the neocolonial relationship. See Barker’s “Monarchy in Mexico: Harebrained Scheme or Well-considered Prospect?” Journal of Modern History 48 (March 1976), 51 for discussion.

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foreign policies of the empire that shed light on previous misconceptions.39 This is due, in part, to contemporary historians who have reclaimed this period by bringing forth new sources and ideas that argue for a greater degree of Mexican involvement.40

The history of the Second Mexican Empire begins decades prior to Maximilian’s acceptance of the throne. Following independence from Spain in 1821, the Mexican parliament intended to establish a commonwealth over which the King of Spain would also rule as an emperor over Mexico, with each country following separate laws and holding individual legislative offices. If the king refused the imperial throne, the law called for a member of the

House of Bourbon to fill the position. King Ferdinand VII of Spain did not recognize Mexico’s independence, nor would he allow another European monarch to become Emperor of Mexico.

Thus, the parliament requested that the regency president, Agustín de Iturbide, be proclaimed

Emperor of the Imperio Mexicano, or what is now referred to as the First Mexican Empire

(1822-1823). Although this empire survived only eight months, it planted the seed of intention among political conservatives to establish an empire in Mexico that was independent from Spain.

As Frank Sanders demonstrated in a rare article on the subject, the next major promotion of the ideals of the Mexican monarchists did not occur until 1840 when José María Gutiérrez

Estrada published a pamphlet that argued for the placement of a European monarch on an imperial throne in Mexico. Gutiérrez Estrada was one of the leading political figures of his time.

He held several political offices, including Minister of Interior and Exterior Relations, and was married to the daughter of a prominent family in Mexico City, Loreto Gomez de la Cortina. He

39 Pani, 2002, 2.

40 In particular, Erika Pani, Konrad Ratz, and Amparo Gómez Tepexicuapan have made a major contribution to the history of this time period, having recently published numerous articles and books about the Second Mexican Empire.

28

had also been a member of the delegation that offered the crown of Mexico to another Habsburg,

Archduke Charles of Austria in 1821.41

The pamphlet was printed in small numbers, but circulated across Europe and caused quite a stir, both in Mexico and abroad. In the essay, Gutiérrez Estrada proposed that a convention be held to explore all of the possible solutions for the political ills that plagued

Mexico. Neither the constitution of 1824 nor that of 1836 had satisfied the majority of the population. Gutiérrez Estrada asserted that the country should no longer limit itself to those political combinations that had been tried and failed. He noted that since independence Mexico had experimented with every possible form of republican government: democratic, oligarchic, military, demagogic, and anarchic. Therefore, Gutiérrez Estrada argued that it was time to give up the idea of pursuing a republican government and time to consider the needs of the Mexican people. Within the dialogic space of a convention there would be no restrictions placed upon the members other than to develop a government that would be best fitted to Mexico’s situation.

However, Gutiérrez Estrada urged that there was no reason that the convention could not consider instituting a monarchical form of government with a sovereign of royal lineage. He argued that Mexicans were accustomed to being governed under a monarchy, as this was their tradition since the country’s Spanish colonial founding. Gutiérrez affirmed the need for a foreign sovereign of royal blood, claiming that Mexico lacked the illustrious man who could fill such a position.

Furthermore, since Mexico was divided almost equally between two competing political parties who could not come to terms, a foreign monarch would be a power capable of dissolving

41 Frank J. Sanders, “José Maria Gutiérrez Estrada: Monarchist Pamphleteer,” The Americas 27, no. 1 (July 1970), 56-74.

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the differences between the two poles, creating a single national party. Finally, Gutiérrez argued that if Mexico did not stabilize its government soon, it would become either the colonial subject to a foreign monarch again, or suffer the incursions of the United States. Thus, he felt that the convention should consider a monarchy as a form of government which, at that point in history, was more suited for the people of Mexico than a republic.

As a result of publishing this pamphlet, Gutiérrez Estrada was forced into European exile by the Mexican government. His publisher spent time in prison for issuing the pamphlet, although Mexico claimed freedom of the press. While living abroad, Gutiérrez continued to promote his ideas to anyone in power who would listen. Between 1840 and 1861, Gutiérrez

Estrada was the most ardent supporter of the idea to reestablish an empire in Mexico, exchanging letters and meetings with numerous heads of state and foreign ministers. He wrote several additional pamphlets with variations on the same theme of the first, 1840 pamphlet. In 1847

Gutiérrez worked with the editor Dr. Francisco Xavier Miranda, who was also a Mexican monarchist, to publish a pamphlet in Paris titled, Mexico and Europe. It had been written in

1846 for British and French audiences and was considered a memorial to King Louis Philippe of

France. In this document Gutiérrez claimed that Europe had a responsibility to help Mexico.

Gutiérrez argued that if England and France proposed an international conference on the topic of

Mexico, other countries would agree to participate since there would be no single beneficiary.

Mexico would not lose her independence, but rather the conference would support the founding of stable institutions through a form of government that suited Mexico, namely a monarchy.

Thus, with this pamphlet, Gutiérrez Estrada added inducements to his call for a balance of power

30

against the United States.42 If social institutions were stabilized through a monarchy, Mexican trade relations with Europe would be stronger and European interests would be safe.

After the American invasion and occupation of Mexico (1846-1848), Gutiérrez wrote a pamphlet in Rome titled, Mexico en 1840 y 1847 in which he pressured Europeans to provide a counter-force to the oppressive presence of the United States. And in 1861 he wrote a pamphlet titled, Mexico y el Archiduque Fernando Maximiliano de Austria. The distribution of this publication in Mexico was delayed until 1863. This was a plea to Mexicans to support the candidacy of Maximilian von Habsburg for the imperial throne. It included sections from the original 1840 pamphlet as well as some of the subsequent correspondence between Gutiérrez and notable foreign political figures who favored his position.43 Gutiérrez noted that many of the predictions he had made in his 1840 publication had come to pass, including the invasion and occupation by the North Americans. He pointed to the London conference in October of 1861 in which Spain, France, and England had agreed that the time was right to take action. Gutiérrez

Estrada urged Mexicans to take advantage of both the European support at hand, and the United

States’ preoccupation with internal matters to establish a monarchy in Mexico. Without hesitation he recommended Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian of Austria.44

However, Gutiérrez Estrada was not alone in attempting to solve the “Mexican problem” by placing a foreign prince on the throne. As Nancy Nichols Barker demonstrates in her ground- breaking article on the French Intervention, in the first half of the nineteenth century the transfer of princes from country to country was a rather common approach to subduing troubled areas.

42 Ibid., 72.

43 José Maria Gutiérrez Estrada, Mexico y el archduque Fernando Maximiliano de Austria by J. M. Gutiérrez de Estrada (Mexico City: Imprenta de Andrade y Escalante, 1863), 7-20.

44 Ibid., 18.

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Kings were moved across the map like chessboard pieces – two prominent examples are the establishment of the state and the monarchy of Belgium (1830) and the positioning of the

Braganzas in Brazil (1822). The establishment of Belgium was inspired by a revolution, but ordained by the major European powers at what is now termed the “Belgian Congress.” They invited a German monarch from the Saxe-Coburg House to become the king of the newly established region. In 1822, the royal prince of Portugal, who represented the king of Portugal in

Brazil, proclaimed the country’s independence from Portugal and pronounced himself emperor of an independent Empire of Brazil. The technique of posing a monarch in previous territorial outposts solved two issues of the time: it gave jobs to the extra aristocratic families of Europe, and achieved some degree of success in the process of reaching peace accords. Diplomats who dealt with Russia’s expansionist efforts into the Ottoman Empire redrew the political boundaries repeatedly, assigning princes to new regions as they saw fit. Some Mexicans felt slighted when the major European powers offered military support to select countries struggling politically, but not to Mexico. When England and France defended Turkey against Russia in the Crimean War, the Mexican sovereign, Antonio López de Santa Ana noted bitterly that these countries had not supported Mexico in the war against the United States.45

European diplomats in Mexico also encouraged a foreign sovereign in Mexico in the first decades of the nineteenth century, before the idea of an independent Mexican government had fully taken root. The first representative from Spain (1838-42), Angel Calderón de la Barca, thought the separation of Mexico from Spain to be a temporary condition and republicanism in

Mexico to be a farce because it was foreign to the “ancient and present habits and customs of

45 Barker, 1976, 52-54.

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Mexico.”46 His successors shared his views and were known to have worked with Mexican monarchists to bring a European prince to rule in Mexico. Pedro Pascual Oliver, the Spanish minister in 1843, recommended a constitutional monarchy with a European prince as the form of government that would elevate Mexico from its state of degradation. However, it was the French foreign diplomats who were the most disdainful of the Mexicans and expressed an utter lack of confidence in their ability to govern themselves – a view shared by Gutiérrez Estrada. Between

1830 and 1861 two of the French foreign ministers sent proposals to France encouraging the introduction of a European prince into Mexico, and a third enthusiastically supported the intervention of 1861.47

Napoleon III had reasons beyond debt repayment or natural resources and trade routes for his vested interest in Mexico – approximately 4,000 to 5,000 French citizens lived in Mexico by mid-century, a number that exceeded all other European countries except Spain.48 With independence from Spain and the release of travel restrictions to Mexico in 1821, many travel books were written about Mexico in the first half of the century. At least twenty-five were published in French by French authors between 1830 and 1860, whether as travel books or scholarly studies of geography, culture, and languages in Mexico. With regularity, the authors recommended the need for European assistance in Mexico. Especially after Mexico lost territory in the Mexican-American war, the writers supported an intervention and the placement of a

European prince as sovereign. A few of these were written by prominent men with such close

46 This sentiment was expressed in a diplomatic letter written by Calderón de la Barca to the Spanish foreign minister on January 22, 1840. Relaciones diplomáticas hispano-mexicanas (1838-1898). Documentos procedentes del archivo de la embajada de España en México. Serie I. Despachos generales, 1Ñ26, no. 11. Cited in Barker, 1976, 54.

47 Ibid., 55.

48 Ibid.

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connections to the government or the emperor of France that their opinions could have influenced French policy. Mathieu de Fossey’s Le Mexique was a popular book that also called for European intervention in Mexican and was dedicated to the Empress Eugénie in 1857. The

Empress Eugénie was known to have played a deciding role in the French Intervention.

There was no official “monarchist” party in Mexico, but conservatives such as Gutiérrez

Estrada and Hidalgo among others throughout the years, espoused bringing a European aristocrat to Mexico to rule. However, after the French invaded in December of 1861 and gained control of the capital, members of the conservative party who collaborated with the French began to lay plans for an empire. A group of about 100 Mexican men from various ideological backgrounds came together to work in the service of the empire.49 These men served as members of the

Supreme Court of Justice and counselors of state, and worked in other important agencies, like the Junta Protectora de las Clases Menesterosas, or the Board for the Protection of the Poorer

Classes. While some, such as conservative military leaders, backed the empire automatically, many among them found their service to the empire to be a conscious and painful commitment.

For example, José Fernando Ramírez, who would become a minister of state and foreign relations for the empire, painted his house black when the imperial couple entered Mexico City as a symbol of mourning for the lost republic. Even if he wasn’t happy about the Second

Empire, there was much work to be done for the faltering Mexican government.

In this dissertation, I refer to the Mexican supporters of the empire as the imperialistas, because although many of them would have preferred a democratic republic, it was their allegiance to Maximilian’s regime that united them temporarily with the conservatives who

49 Pani, 2002, 4.

34

promoted the idea of a Mexican empire.50 This was a highly unusual approach for Mexican politicians. Strong dichotomies had divided Mexican politics and was one of the primary reasons that the young republic struggled. By putting aside their differences in support of the

Second Empire, the imperialistas hoped to take advantage of the moment to solve Mexican problems, many of which had been plaguing the nation since its independence from Spain in

1821, and thought that a regime led by an Austrian might be an opportunity to do so.51

However, it was not until 1861, when the French, British, and Spanish ostensibly invaded

Mexico for unpaid foreign debt, that the founding members of the imperialistas, such as

Gutiérrez Estrada and Hidalgo, found an opportunity to realize their dream to establish a

European monarch as sovereign of Mexico. Unfortunately for them, the European nobleman the selected, who was considered eligible to lead Mexico because of his royal bloodline, did not share many of the same political convictions held by the conservatives.

Maximilian agreed to accept the imperial crown of Mexico in October of 1863, became emperor on April 10, 1864, and arrived at the port of Veracruz, Mexico on May 21, 1864.

Maximilian alienated many of his supporters from the outset by selecting moderate and liberal moderate Mexican politicians to serve in his cabinet. However, it was the social reform legislation he passed that was most offensive in the eyes of the conservative faction of the imperialistas. Maximilian oversaw the establishment of numerous foundations for the poor, the sick, and indigenous people.52 Under his empire, the Consejo de Beneficencia, or the Charity

50 In the use of this term, I follow Erika Pani’s precedent in “Dreaming of Empire.”

51 Pani, 2002, 27.

52 Ratz, 2008. See in particular pages 78 and 79. See also Robert Duncan, “Political Legitimation and Maximilian’s Second Empire in Mexico, 1864-1867,” Mexican Studies / Estudios Mexicanos 12, no. 1 (winter 1996), 27-66.

35

Counsel, was established in 1863 and presided over by Empress Carlota. This organization distributed funds for hospitals, asylums for the old, and for ophanages, as well as other public institutions of well-being. Maximilian also formed the Junta protectora de las clases menesterosas in 1865. Because this organization was established primarily for indigenous

Mexicans, he named the well-known indigenous translator of Nahuatl, Faustino Galicia

Chimalpopoca, as president. Additionally, on June 28, 1865, the Ley para la liberación del peonaje, or the Law for the Liberation of Debt Peonage, went into effect. This law made it more difficult for ranch owners, or hacendados, to exploit their laborers, who usually lived on their property under a barely veiled form of slavery.53 Because the conservative party was largely supported by the wealthy, land-owning hacendados, this law was a particular problem for

Maximilian in terms of political backing. The Ley sobre terrenos, or the Law on Land, decreed on June 26, 1866, restored communal land through a repartition that favored the poor, those who were married, and those with families, particularly in indigenous villages. With the Ley sobre terrenos and the Junta protectora Maximilian introduced the idea of property rights for peasants and worked against the interests of the landholding class, who opposed the Ley sobre terrenos.

This made him increasingly unpopular with men who should have been his supporters.

The Carte-de-visite and the Second Mexican Empire (1860s)

Within the same decade of Maximilian’s arrival in Mexico came the rise and began the decline of a photographic medium known as the “carte-de-visite” (or tarjeta de visita in

Spanish).54 The small format 6 x 9 cm portrait found great popularity in its affordability and accessibility. The carte-de-visite was a format that eventually achieved such popularity that

53 Ibid. Ratz notes that this law was examined thoroughly by Vivaldo Reyes Cruz in La abolición del peonaje en el Imperio de Maximiliano (Mexico City: 1987). Facsimiles of the orders written in favor of indigenous people were published in Spanish and Nahuatl by León Portilla in 2003.

54 For the purposes of this dissertation, I utilize the more internationally recognized French term “carte-de-visite.”

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photography studios were able to produce and distribute the cards as commercial objects independent of state support. However, in the case of Maximilian’s regime, the state actually commissioned thousands of cartes-de-visite from private studios that featured portraits of the emperor.55 Then, carte-de-visite portraits of Maximilian taken after his execution were also distributed widely by photography studios due to the perceived market for such imagery. Thus, the small photographs became a vehicle that demonstrated both support for and resistance to the

Second Mexican Empire.

Prior to Maximilian’s arrival, the photographic medium of the carte-de-visite had been established in Mexico, and was still gaining in popularity. In fact, it was not until conservatives purchased and began to distribute carte-de-visite portraits of the future emperor before he had officially accepted the throne, during the period of the plebiscite, that the small photographs were used for propaganda purposes in Mexico. Over the course of the next several years the upper classes in urban areas such as Mexico City participated with increasing numbers in the trend by having their own portraits done and collecting small photographs of members of their friends and family for albums, which were created originally to accommodate the carte-de-visite.

Maximilian also participated in this fad and had his portrait taken in carte-de-visite format in both the costume of a Mexican horseman and in imperial garb. Often, these cartes-de-visite of the emperor were sold publicly.

55 The first order of Giuseppe Malovich photographs was commissioned and printed in the thousands by the imperialistas for distribution in Mexico during the election period. However, subsequent copies of the photographs were made independently by a variety of carte-de-visite studios on both sides of the Atlantic before, during, and after the Second Mexican Empire. Numerous authors identify the Malovich portraits of Maximilian and Carlota as propaganda. Rosa Casanova makes the theme of propaganda central to her discussion in “Las fotografîas se vuelven historia: Algunos usos entre 1865 y 1910,” in La fabricación del estado, 1864-1910, eds. Esther Acevedo (Mexico City: Museo Nacional del Arte, 2003). Also see studies by John Mraz, Olivier Debroise, Esther Acevedo, Fausto Ramirez, and Arturo Aguilar. The use of Maximilian’s carte-de-visite portraits as propaganda is the subject of Chapter 2.

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The carte-de-visite was a form of photography that balanced on the border between public and private. As imagery that was viewed in living rooms throughout the world, the carte- de-visite often not only portrayed the likeness of a loved one, but was viewed in the intimate context of an album in the home environment. However, the carte-de-visite also had a very public presence. Through the display and exchange of cartes-de-visite, ways of dressing, posing, and comportment became ingrained in the viewers’ minds, such that the format became a vehicle for ideas about self-presentation.56 This interplay between private ownership and the fixed representation of the public self created a conflict in the perception of Maximilian’s public image.

At the end of Maximilian’s regime, the carte-de-visite also became the visual medium through which the emperor’s death became known publicly. Post-mortem portraits of the emperor, photographs of his bloodied clothing, and pictures of the site where he was executed were printed, re-photographed, and printed again on each side of the Atlantic. In the case of the post-mortem series of images, carte-de-visite distribution did not receive government support as did the initial portraits advertising his candidacy in Mexico, and in France the purchase of these small-format photographs was banned. Nevertheless, the post-mortem photographic cartes-de- visite did sell, and the profits went to the photographers whose studios were able to either access the original images directly or recreate them as copies.

Because the period of popularity for the carte-de-visite coincides so well with the Second

Mexican Empire, and because the medium of the carte-de-visite serves as evidence of political propaganda, social practice, and popular resistance, it is the ideal format for an investigation into

56 Debroise, 20.

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the role of the emperor and the visual legacy of his regime in Mexico. Carte-de-visite portraits of Emperor Maximilian von Habsburg grant insight to the complexities of this political period and into the social milieu in which he found himself. As private objects that were distributed publicly for propaganda purposes, the early carte-de-visite portraits of Maximilian unintentionally undermined the visual program of imperial power and ceremony that had been established by the Mexican monarchists. Maximilian contributed to this effect by posing in (and wearing, in real life) the costume of the Mexican horseman, which held connotations associated with Mexicans from the lower classes, as well as those of mixed race. And finally, the post- mortem carte-de-visite portraits of Maximilian inspired an array of memorial imagery that provided patrons who experienced grief over his death an aid to private mourning.

Chapters

My chapters are organized by subject matter and chronology. In Chapter 2, I analyze pre-imperial portraits of Maximilian taken in carte-de-visite format – a medium that usually receives scholarly attention as a social phenomenon – from a political perspective as propaganda for the Second Mexican Empire. I situate the distribution of these technologically advanced, small-format images of Maximilian in relation to the traditional pomp and colonial ceremony of

Maximilian’s formal entrance into Mexico, as he made his way from the port of Veracruz to the capital, Mexico City. I use the primary source titled, De Miramar a México, Viaje del emperador Maximiliano y de la emperatriz Carlota, to compare the entrance ceremonies of the nineteenth-century neocolonial regime with that of the Spanish colonial entrance ceremony of a viceroy. By drawing associations between the Spanish colonial and neocolonial visual practices,

I argue for a greater degree of Mexican involvement in the ceremonial structure of the Second

Mexican Empire than previous historians have allowed.

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In this chapter I also argue that the democratic carte-de-visite portrait contradicted the colonial-style entrance ceremonies in scale, in formality, and in access. It contradicted the hierarchy that the visual representation of the emperor’s magnificence was intended to express. I use the idea of intersubjectivity to explain the process by which middle- and upper-class

Mexicans became empowered, rather than subjected, upon viewing the carte-de-visite portrait of the emperor. In this approach I am following Michael Schreffler’s lead in The Art of Allegiance:

Visual Culture and Imperial Power in Baroque New Spain.57 Schreffler’s ideas, which will be explained in Chapter 2, are based on Michel Foucault’s reading of the famous painting, “Las

Meninas” by Diego Velázquez. I owe a debt to Schreffler´s arguments about the portraits of the kings and viceroys of New Spain, which have given form to my own thoughts about nineteenth- century carte-de-visite portraits of Maximilian and their viewers.

The emperor’s photographic portrait was not done in the grand manner of the large, painted, state portraits seen on rare occasions when they are exhibited. Maximilian’s carte-de- visite portrait showed the emperor engaging in a societal trend that was available to a range of mid-to-upper-class citizens. Thus the emperor appeared in a format that strongly resembled the small-format photographic portraits of the viewer, his friends, and his family that were displayed in the photographic albums of ordinary people. This resemblance led to a degree of familiarity with the emperor, rather than inspiring a sense of awe.

In Chapter 3, I use a later (unofficial) carte-de-visite portrait of Maximilian to discuss the representational strategies of the emperor’s personal fashion habits and consider their meaning within the racial and class structure of Mexican society. Through the given examples I show

57 Michael Schreffler, The Art of Allegiance: Visual Culture and Imperial Power in Baroque New Spain (University Park: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007).

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how Maximilian’s regime sought legitimacy for his sovereignty in Mexico, but also disturbed many of his upper-class, conservative supporters in its liberal approach. The regime of the second empire under Maximilian had a two-pronged public-relations strategy that aimed to appeal to members of the upper class as well as those of the middle and lower classes. I argue that this strategy made the regime, and especially Maximilian, appear ambiguous in his intentions. Furthermore, when the emperor conveyed his political platform to the public, he crossed accepted boundaries of race and class through his speeches and costume – transgressions that were disturbing when seen by upper-class Mexicans who expected magnificence from an artistocratic European sovereign.

In the Chapter 4, I consider post-mortem portraits of the former emperor and his effects that have usually been discussed as political photographs, or as early examples of photo- journalism. I look at the portraits from the social perspective of the typical nineteenth-century viewer, who would have had familiarity with funerary portraits, but for whom photographs of famous persons killed in political conflict would have been a very recent phenomenon. The decade of the 1860s, in particular, was one of mass mourning in the United States and Western

Europe due to the devastating losses of the Civil War and the unexpected death of Prince Albert of England.

My study explores the means by which Maximilian, as emperor, was both “posed” by his conservative supporters, and “deposed” by the republican resistance in his execution and its representation in the democratic and commercial medium of the carte-de-visite. Because sales of cartes-de-visite guided much of their production in numerous photography studios, the medium became the means through which the world viewed conflicting visions of Mexican national identity. A new idea of what it meant to be “Mexican” emerged. I use Benito Juarez’ speech

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after the execution of Maximilian as a primary text that supports the photographic ideologies at play. With the War of Independence from Spain (1810-1821) long behind them, and numerous additional political and military conflicts set aside, the Mexican republicans came together and found unity of purpose in their resistance to the outside forces of the French. The period of the

French Intervention marks a moment in Mexican history when the republican resistance decided once and for all what they were not – namely, European. By visually fixing to paper their rejection of European rule, such as the post-mortem portrait of Maximilian, the carte-de-visite photographs from this period helped solidify the republic’s sentiments. Although some nationalistic traits subsided after 1867, they reappeared in the early decades of the twentieth century with the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920) and the indigenism of the 1920s and 1930s with even more vivacity.

In Chapter 5, I investigate “what happened next” in the evolution of carte-de-visite imagery after the Second Mexican Empire, post 1867. I examine the demise of the carte-de- visite format, chart the rise of the cabinet card, and consider the role of propagandistic portraits printed in the press after the halftone technology became available that allowed photographs

(rather than lithographs) to be printed in newspapers. But further, I offer some examples of photographs and photographic practice that were directly influenced by carte-de-visite portraits of Maximilian, especially the post-mortem series. Primarily, I have found evidence that

Maximilian’s post-mortem series was most influential in the photography of the French

Commune (March 18 - May 28, 1871), the capture and execution of Mexican outlaws during

Porfirio Díaz’ presidency (1876, 1877-1880, 1884-1911), and the Mexican Revolution (1910-

1920). While the initial response to Maximilian’s post-mortem portraits may have been a social form of mourning or resistance, later developments in photographic processes and photo-

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journalism desensitized the viewer to death and execution in the political forum. I conclude that with the carte-de-visite’s fall from popularity as a medium for bourgeois portraiture in the period after 1867, it became a vehicle for the distribution of photographs related to sensational news stories and crimes. The carte-de-visite filled a gap for the representation of sensational stories between the time newspapers could print pictures and the time they were willing to print sensational pictures. Especially after the 1880s when halftone technology made photographs available in the press, the carte-de-visite was the mode of distribution for pictures of stories that newspapers either didn’t cover or told a more sedate version of the story. To a certain extent,

Maximilian’s photographic portraits set a precedent for photographing those who died because they opposed the laws of the republic.

By analyzing carte-de-visite portraits of the short-lived Emperor of Mexico, my study offers insight to a pivotal moment in the history of Mexico and its internal and foreign relations.

In this neocolonial setting there were more social, ethnic, and political differences among viewers. The carte-de-visite photographic portraits of Maximilian were created with hybrid intentions and found hybrid interpretations in their reception. In the discussion of the cartes-de- visite distributed for propaganda prior to Maximilian’s arrival, I provide evidence of a greater degree of involvement among Mexican politicians in the creation and representation of the imperial throne. Through my examination of the context surrounding a portrait of Maximilian dressed as a Mexican horseman, Maximiliano (charro), I present and explain shifting ideas about class and race in Mexico. And in my analysis of the post-mortem series of Maximilian, I utilize the abundance of subsequent memorial cartes-de-visite to support the notion that the portraits of his corpse and personal effects were received through the social lens of mourning practices of the

1860s. Finally, I posit that the cartes-de-visite taken after Maximilian’s execution influenced

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photographic representation of criminals, executions, and sensational crimes in the late- nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries.

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CHAPTER 2 BETWEEN TECHNOLOGY AND TRADITION: THE ROLES OF PHOTOGRAPHY AND PUBLIC CEREMONY IN THE CONTRUCTION OF THE EMPEROR’S IMAGE

You speak to me of a sceptre, of a palace, and of power; you place before mine eyes a boundless future. Must I follow you to distant shores beyond the vast ocean? You wish that the woof of my life should be entwined with gold and diamonds. But are you able to give me peace of mind? And do riches confer happiness in your eyes? Oh! rather let me follow my tranquil life unobserved among the myrtle-shaded way-side. Believe me, that the study of science and the cultivation of the Muses are more delightful to me than the glare of gold and diamonds!1

The technological advances that made photography possible in the nineteenth century also ushered in a wave of questions surrounding representation and the role of this new medium in the worlds of art and science. The initially popular photographic process of the daguerreotype reproduced a single image onto a metal surface. Later developments in the 1860s, which were based on Talbot’s 1841 announcement of his discovery of the calotype process, allowed multiple portrait poses to be recorded on the same glass plate negative, from which numerous prints of any image could be made on paper. This method for creating cartes-de-visite was more affordable, and thus accessible to a wider variety of people than previous photographic processes.2 Nowhere was this more true than in Mexico, where cartes-de-visite were the most popular form of photography available in the nineteenth century. Although earlier forms such as the daguerreotype had been obtainable, the cost of development and the paucity of available photographers in Mexico made them less common.3 During the surge of carte-de-visite images, portraits of Emperor Maximilian von Habsburg were first distributed as propaganda, with his

1 Maximilian von Habsburg, written on the eve of his decision to accept the Mexican crown. Printed in the publisher’s preface to Maximilian’s memoirs, which did not include his life in Mexico and were published by his mother after his death. Recollections of My Life, vol. 1 (London: Richard Bentley, New Burlington Street, 1868), vii.

2 John Mraz notes that approximately twelve cartes-de-visite cost less than a single daguerreotype. Mraz, 2009, 20.

3 Debroise, 28.

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blessing, for the Second Mexican Empire, and later sold by commercial photographers, in mass quantities, to the Mexican upper and middle classes.

The beginning of Maximilian’s regime roughly coincided with the arrival of the small- format carte-de-visite photograph.4 In fact, the emperor’s portrait is one of the iconic images associated with the carte collection craze in 1860s Mexico.5 Furthermore, it was the carte-de- visite that first gave Mexicans of a range of classes the power to purchase images of political figures, and therefore participate in the visual rhetoric of nationalism that eventually emerged after the 1860s.

After an initial round of carte-de-visite portraits were taken of Maximilian for propaganda purposes,6 a set of images which is now lost, another sitting was scheduled and new photographs were taken. Esther Acevedo has suggested that the imperialistas decided that the first photographic representations of the new emperor did not convey Mexican imperial ideals.7

Perceptions of royalty in Mexico relied upon the emperor’s visible difference from the lower, middle, and upper classes. Even in his surviving carte-de-visite portraits, Maximilian’s pose, costume, and surroundings followed the societal standards of middle and upper class types found typically in cartes-de-visite and portrayed Maximilian as a gentleman prince, rather than as an emperor. In this chapter, I will argue that the carte-de-visite format and the emperor’s

4 Mraz 2009, 20.

5 Even today, allowing for loss and damage to carte-de-visite collections over the past 150 years, cartes featuring Maximilian’s portrait still outnumber those of Mexican President Benito Juarez (1858-64, 1867-72), despite the distribution of 20,000 memorial photos of Juarez created and sold by the photography firm Cruces y Campa. Debroise, 27-28. See also Mraz, Looking for Mexico, 22.

6 The original photograph Maximilian sent to Mexico for distribution has not been identified or located. Its presence was made known to scholars through correspondence among the Second Empire supporters in Mexico in which references were made to said photograph. Acevedo, “La creación de un proyecto imperial,” Testimonio artísticos, 1995b, 37-38 and 41.

7 Acevedo, “La creación de un proyecto imperial,” 1995b, 38.

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standardized pose and costume in his later surviving portrait, as well as aspects of collecting and viewing the medium itself, still contradicted the imperialistas’ magnificent visual program that was planned to introduce the new emperor to the people.

As discussed in the introduction, following independence from Spain, the opposition between liberal and right wing politicians had led to decades of civil unrest in Mexico. Through the project of the Second Mexican Empire, the imperialistas supported the notion of rule by a

European nobleman with the intention of bringing political stability and peace to the country after nearly half a century of war. However, inherent in their project was also a certain degree of nostalgia for the previous Spanish colonial system with its prescribed societal roles of dominance and submission. Accompanying this was a nostalgia for colonial modes of representation, which conveyed power by way of magnificence. As this chapter will demonstrate, the romantic and hegemonic notions of empire the imperialistas contrived were particularly evident in the visual strategies used to emphasize Maximilian’s magnificence, such as his grand inaugural entrance ceremonies.

Magnificence was “the physical realization and exemplification of the power and majesty of a prince” or viceroy.8 Magnificence is also a term that is used to imply not only the sumptuous display of Spanish colonial festivals, but also the means through which Spain encouraged compliance with colonial rule, as well as acceptance of behavioral guidelines that were modeled therein.9 Festivals were a crucial component of a cultural policy that was designed to maintain stability by representing the ordered stratification of colonial society upon

8 Linda A. Curcio-Nagy, The Great Festivals of Colonial Mexico City: Performing Power and Identity (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2004), 18.

9 Linda Curcio, “Saints, Sovereigns, and Spectacle in Colonial Mexico City” (Ph.D. dissertation, Tulane University, 1994), 4, 24.

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which political control was based.10 Festivals entertained, diverted attention, and acculturated inhabitants in an effort to establish legitimacy during a time of social change, economic challenges, and racial tension.11 The proceedings planned and arranged by the imperialistas in honor of Maximilian imitated those held under Spanish colonial rule for the entrance of a new viceroy. Archival documents indicate that Mexican commissions were named by the city’s council, or cabildo, to brainstorm and organize all points of the receptions. Thus, it is logical that the Spanish colonial entrance program and Maximilian’s were identical their route, sequence and types of events, pomp, and rationale: they were working from known prototypes.12

The new imperial sovereign was highly anticipated as a superior figure. During the

Spanish colonial period, the king never set foot in the colonies, and so there was an air of mystery that surrounded him. Any celebrations that occurred in honor of the Spanish king were attended by the viceroy, his local representative. Many imperialistas had a sense that once he was present in Mexico, the actual sovereign would surpass all previous proxies.

Recall that Maximilian agreed to accept the crown of Mexico when it was offered by the

Mexican delegation in October of 1863 under the precondition that an election be held to assure that the general population of the country supported the notion of his rule. Also recall that two plebiscites were conducted between October of 1863 and April 10, 1864, when Maximilian officially accepted the crown.13 It was during this phase, prior to Maximilian’s arrival in

Mexico, and the time during which the plebiscites were being held, that the carte-de-visite

10 Ibid. 24.

11 Ibid.

12 Actas de cabildo, “Archivo Histórico del Ayuntamiento de la Ciudad de México” (vol. 187ª, 17 de febrero, 1864). This is also confirmed in the meeting minutes taken by Mexico City’s cabildo. On the 17th of February, the commission charged by the cabildo with planning the celebration for the arrival of the emperor presented a substantial program of suggested festivities.

13 Corti, 229, 294-307.

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portraits of the emperor were ordered and began to be distributed by the imperialistas.14 Thus, despite the neocolonial aims of the Mexican delegation that invited Maximilian to accept the

Imperial Throne of Mexico, the regime began with the democratic process of an election and the distribution of imagery that showed Maximilian in civilian attire in the carte-de-visite format, which was a democratic form of portraiture due to its low price, reproducibility, and the accessibility of the studios, at least in urban areas. The conventions of the medium of photography were also associated with the middle and upper classes in Mexico rather than elite or royal culture. Furthermore, it is noteworthy that Maximilian was first made known to the

Mexicans as a potential emperor via photography, an inherently modern medium.

Based on a letter from Gutiérrez Estrada to Baron Pont, we know that Maximilian sat twice for the propaganda portraits, although the location of the first set of images is unkown.

The letter also reveals that the imperialistas planned to use carte-de-visite photographs of

Maximilian and his wife Cartlota for two purposes.

Mr. Antonio Escandon proposed to send a few thousand copies of the portraits of their Imperial Highnesses to Mexico. Because the photographs are not very good, His Highness intends to have new images taken as soon as he returns to Miramar to serve as a model [for painted and sculpted portraits]. They will be sent as soon as possible as there is no time to waste.15

Given its timing during the plebiscite, the letter excerpt above indicates that the carte-de-visite portraits were intended to 1) introduce Maximilian to the populace in an effort to gain more votes, i.e., for propaganda purposes, and 2) be used as a model for the large-scale painted and

14 Acevedo, “La creación de un proyecto imperial,” 1995b, 37.

15 “El Sr. Antonio Escandón se propone mandar hacer algunos miles de copias de los retratos de sus Altezas Imperiales para enviar a México. Como las fotografías no son muy buenas, su Alteza tiene la intención de tomarse nuevas en cuanto regrese a Miramar para que sirvan de modelo. Ellas serán enviadas lo más pronto posible pues no hay tiempo que perder.” From a letter written by Gutiérrez Estrada to Baron Pont, September 23, 1863, folio 64, box 107, Haus-Hof, Staatsarchiv Haussarchiv Kaiser Maximilian Von Mexico, in the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. Cited in Esther Acevedo, “La creación de un projecto imperial,” 1995b, 37-38. My translation.

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sculpted portraiture that would be associated with the arrival ceremonies of the emperor. We also know from this excerpt that the first set of images was rejected because they were “not very good.” And as we will see, even the second set of portraits done by Giuseppe Malovich were not utilized to the extent originally planned in the program designed to present Maximilian’s magnificence to the Mexican people.

Moreover, in the extant, second, set of small-format, widely-circulating photographic portraits sent from Europe to Mexico, Maximilian posed himself in the casual fashion found conventionally in carte-de-visite portraits, rather than adopting the imperial persona of grand portraiture. Other crowned heads of Europe all had photographic portraits made for public distribution following the middle and upper class trends of fashion and pose, thus presenting themselves as genteel members of the upper bourgeoisie. Maximilian’s Mexican imperialistas do not seem to have been impressed with the new emperor’s choice of visually understated costume and pose as presented in the carte-de-visite medium.16

Another letter sent from Estrada to Pont highlights their desire for large-scale painted state portraits that would inspire awe and attract new loyalties.

In effect, it would be desirable to create enthusiasm and confidence, to have the portraits done of His and Her Highnesses from head to foot and in oil. In Puebla they will see them in the Sala de la Prefectura with the inscription “Fernando Maximiliano Emperor of Mexico.”17

16 Esther Acevedo argues that the first portraits were redone as the second, now known, set because Maximilian had not adjusted himself to the image of an emperor according to the Mexican mentality. I have not seen the letters referenced in this argument, but am relying on Acevedo’s argument. “La creación de un proyecto imperial,” 1995b, 38.

17 “En efecto sería de desear que para crear entusiasmo y confianza, se manden hacer los retratos de S.S.A.A. de pie y al óleo. En Puebla ellos se encuentran en la Sala de la prefectura con la inscripción Fernando Maximiliano Emperador de Méjico.” From a letter written by Gutiérrez Estrada to Baron Pont, November 8, 1863, box 8, Haus- Hof, Staatsarchiv Haussarchiv Kaiser Maximilian Von Mexico, in the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. Also cited in Acevedo, “La creación de un proyecto imperial,” 1995b, 41. My translation.

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Thus, while the cartes-de-visite served an initial propagandistic function related to the plebescite for the imperialista program, there was a difference in the their minds between the role of the cartes-de-visite, and that of larger, magnificent portraiture, which was reserved for Maximilian’s arrival on Mexican soil and intended to impress and attract new supporters in a time of strongly divided government. In fact, large-scale portraits painted in oil of Maximilian and Carlota replete in imperial regalia, such as elaborate ermine robes and scepters, were commissioned by the imperialistas from Cesare Dell’Acqua, an Italian painter. The paintings were supposed to be completed in Italy before the pair’s departure for Mexico. Unfortunately, these paintings did not arrive in Mexico with the sovereigns, as had been hoped. The painted portraits remained to be done after they settled in Mexico City.18

Additionally, there was an inherent conflict between the two representational approaches of the colonial-style ceremony, which included statuary and painted portraits as well as processions, and the democratic photograph because of the different viewing modes they used to elicit viewer engagement. The high colonial ceremonies held in Maximilian’s honor required submission from the viewing masses to an established hierarchy. Conversely, for the mid-to- upper class citizen, the sight of a sovereign dressed in a manner akin to oneself in a carte-de- visite photograph was an empowering vision. It was especially equalizing when the image of the ruler could be added to one’s photograph collection and placed on display in one’s home.

Cartes-de-visite were often viewed as part of family albums while viewers were seated in middle- and upper-class living rooms. Rather than a strictly familial collection of photographs, the carte-de-visite album often intermingled relatives with celebrities of stage and politics.19

18 Ibid.

19 Elizabeth Siegel, Galleries of Friendship and Fame (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010), 13.

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Thus, the album represented a larger community beyond the immediate family, and therefore changed the way family members thought about themselves and how they portrayed themselves to others.20 Suddenly, the emperor was not such a distant figure; he was a community member, and strongly resembled the carte-de-visite album viewer. The tension between the representation of the magnificent emperor and the mode of the gentleman prince in which he presented himself via carte-de-visite is exemplified in the following comparison.

In the second set of photographic portraits that were taken by Italian photographer

Giuseppe Malovich, Maximilian posed in his finest military attire, his uniform as the admiral of the Austrian navy (Figure 2-1). However, even his finest uniform with his medals of honor was not a match for the elaborate decoration common in Mexican military uniforms, and thus

Maximilian looked like many members of the upper class in Mexico (many of whom were his supporters), rather than an emperor making a grand debut. The photograph was also consistent with the carte-de-visite conventions of the period, so the full-length composition and backdrop were nothing out of the ordinary.

Maximilian’s face is positioned in the classic three-quarter portrait mode of the carte-de- visite. The most notable ornamentation that is visible are his epaulettes, and the bands of lighter fabric that adorn the edge of his jacket sleeve and the side seam of his pant leg. His medals of honor are hidden to a great extent by the lapel of his jacket. Likewise, the medal around his neck and the sash across his chest are diminished due to Maximilian´s distance from the camera and the black and white tonal qualities of the print. His right arm leans on an upholstered chair, with a draped curtain hanging behind. The arch of Maximilian’s right foot faces the picture plane, while his right knee is bent; his weight is placed on his supporting left leg. Perhaps most

20 Ibid.

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importantly, Maximilian’s gaze is not directed toward the camera. The overall impression given is not one of action or authority. Rather, the emperor looks as though he is indifferent to his imagined audience.

As a contrasting example, let us examine a carte-de-visite portrait of one of Maximilian’s generals, Miguel Miramón (Figure 2-2). Here General Miramón is also in his fanciest uniform, that which was reserved for high imperial functions. The breast of his jacket is heavily embroidered in a light color that is visible in the black and white medium. The sleeves feature an elaborate cuff. The epaulettes have heavy gold cording. And the pants showcase double strips of ribbon along the outer seams. The hat he carries under his left arm is crowned with feathers and gold embroidery. Despite the fact that Miramón does not look into the camera’s lens and his stance could be slightly more authoritative, his costume conveys a sense of individual superiority, as a uniform that was reserved for, and used to represent, the small number of men appointed to the rank of general; and in the case of Miramón, the elevated role of

Grand Marshal of the Imperial Army. This is the type of uniform that denoted an officer of high rank in Mexico. The lack of ornamentation and the flat black quality of Maximilian’s uniform are subdued in comparison, especially when the person depicted is one the viewer is asked to imagine as emperor.

Thus, even before Maximilian’s arrival in Mexico, his regime was faced with fundamental questions of imperial representation and legitimization. How should a would-be neocolonial ruler visually convey his power to a foreign land for a plebescite? How could he appeal to Mexicans from a variety social, ethnic, and political persuations in a diverse neocolonial setting? Should his regime follow the trends set by European sovereigns and convey the soon-to-be emperor as a gentleman prince via small-format photography? Should he refer

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back to traditional ceremonies that utilized iconography through magnificent costumes and regalia of colonial power understood by his new supporters?

The epigraph at the opening of the chapter was taken from Maximilian’s diary, which he completed before his departure to Mexico. His statement indicates that with the offer of the crown came glorified descriptions of imperial power from the imperialistas intended to entice the young archduke. However, Maximilian claims that he was not interested in the ceremonial culture that came to typify his regime. Rather, he expressed a desire to pursue his intellectual interests in the country – a trait for which he was noted by several authors of the period.

From the outset, Maximilian and the imperialistas did not share the same political ideologies. Thus, hybrid intentions and hybrid interpretations surrounded similar objects that represented the emperor and the empire. Letters exchanged among the imperialistas emphasized that the function of the cartes-de-visite was not only for propaganda prior to the arrival of the sovereigns, but also to serve as models in the creation of grand imagery associated with the emperor’s arrival, which was planned to follow Spanish colonial tradition.

The two grand manner painted portraits of Maximilian and Carlota as imperial sovereigns that were commissioned and were supposed to arrive with Maximilian and travel with him from the port to the capital city never arrived. Instead, Maximilian’s arrival was only marked pictorially by cartes-de-visite showing the emperor in standard poses and costumes. The small format and ubiquitous nature of the cartes themselves did not convey a sense of grandeur and ceremony. As I have already begun to suggest, carte-de-visite portraits, which are usually discussed as a social phenomenon, played a political role in Mexico’s Second Empire.

Maximilian’s carte-de-visite portraits contradicted the formal, grand colonial-style image of the emperor planned by the imperialistas.

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In this chapter I will explore the roles of photography in both the French and Mexican social worlds before considering their political significance during Mexico’s Second Empire. I will suggest that the photographic form of the carte-de-visite, which was the format for the most widely distributed images of Maximilian, contributed to a lack of representational continuity in the public image of his regime, especially when considered in juxtaposition with the ceremony that surrounded the emperor’s arrival in Mexico.

Early Photography in Mexico

Although the dawn of photography is often referenced within the context of the United

States and Europe, discussions of its origins in Mexico are less common. In the following section I will describe the visual culture of photography and portraiture in Mexico prior to

Maximilian’s era. This portion of the dissertation addresses the foundation of photography within the context of Mexico as similar to, but also distinct from, photography in Europe. Like its photographic predecessors, the carte-de-visite was used in Mexico to convey subject matter specific to Mexico through different modalities of display. The format, the medium, the scale, and the function of carte-de-visite images all played a role in making Maximilian appear ordinary rather than imperial.

In Mexico, the daguerreotype in particular allowed for increased accessibility to portraits among members of Mexican society who could previously not afford painted portraits. Early daguerreotype portraiture established important conventions, some of which continued with the advent of the carte-de-visite, while others waned. The carte-de-visite gave rise to a dramatic increase in production, distribution, and sale of the low-priced images because of its technological advances, such as the ability to capture up to eight individual images on one glass plate negative. Within this progression from daguerreotype to carte-de-visite lies a background that is important to the Mexican photographic context and to my argument. The context of the

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daguerreotype speaks to the longer-standing roles photography played in defining the border between private and public worlds. This framework supports my argument that the carte-de- visite format, so strongly associated with social, rather than political, life diminished

Maximilian’s imperial flare.

In 1839 the French Academy of Sciences announced the daguerreotype process to the world. This process involved a direct positive made within the camera on a silvered copper plate. The same year in England, Henry Fox Talbot exhibited pictures he had taken on paper using the sun for light exposure. These events mark 1839 as the historic dawn of the art and science of photography. In 1841, Henry Fox Talbot also declared his “sensitive paper” image- fixing process, or calotype, using a solvent of silver chloride. This technique led to the negative photo-chemical process used to develop the cartes-de-visite in later years. The daguerreotype and the carte-de-visite were the two processes through which photographic portraiture became available to a wide audience. Daguerreotypes became the first commercially successful photographs. The sale of daguerreotype cameras started the first mania for mechanically produced images across Europe and the Americas.

Mere months after the discoveries were announced in France, two daguerreotype cameras arrived in Mexico City. Louis Prélier, a French engraver living in Mexico City since 1837, returned from a visit to France with two new “daguerrean boxes” and gave a public demonstration at the port of Veracruz.21 Less than two years later, professional, itinerant daguerreotype photographers emerged in Mexico, carrying their work along commercial routes and stopping regularly to sell their wares.22 Soon, knowledge of the daguerreotype was

21 Debroise, 20.

22 Ibid.

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widespread. “Daguerrotype mania” spread to many members of the middle class in Europe, as did a fascination with the new trend of photographic portraiture.23 Amateur European practitioners purchased daguerreotype cameras and began experimenting. Several factors contributed to the daguerreotype’s wild success: the intimate size, the smooth surface of the highly polished metal, the many shades of gray24 that reflected the face of a loved one, and the discreet box lined with satin or velvet that the image was housed in. The intimate appeal of the image was also achieved through its private display. Although the daguerreotype depicted one’s public self, the portraits were individual (copies could not be made) and viewed in parlours of mid-to-upper class families in many countries across the globe. Thus, the daguerreotype was an image that balanced between public and private realms, much like the later carte-de-visite.

The carte-de-visite was patented by André Adolph Eugène Disdéri in 1854. The new small-format photographs played a similar role in society to that of the daguerreotype and both types of small portraits were closely related to painted miniatures, which came before them.

Individually, small photographs were considered to be intimate and personal treasures.

Collectively, they acted as a visual means of communication. Because of their reproductive quality, cartes-de-visite were shared more widely with friends and family than daguerreotypes, which were not reproducible. Like the daguerreotype, they were often displayed in parlors in albums, on a mantle, or on the family altar in the case of Mexico, as we shall see below. They were displayed to show visitors important societal connections maintained by the family in residence – a visual reference that defined their social landscape.25

23 Although it was popular to own a daguerreotype camera in middle-class circles in Europe, the trend did not catch on in Mexico.

24 Many daguerreotype images were colored, especially in Mexico.

25 Tagg, 1988, 34.

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The initial clientele for the daguerreotype photograph in Mexico was from the wealthy land-owning class and included mining families and rich traders.26 Members of the middle and lower classes in Mexico would have been less likely to purchase daguerreotype photographs, due to their relatively high price.27 Daguerreotype portraits were less expensive than painted portraits, and thus available to more people. Still they were priced more appropriately for upper- class Mexicans than for those from the middle class. There were a limited number of daguerreotype clients in each rural Mexican town, a factor that kept the photographer moving from place to place.28 Thus, from its outset, photography was available in Mexico, but the cost involved and the itinerant nature of the photographers made the clientele smaller than that of

Europe.

Photographic portraiture held a high level of significance in the private context of

Mexican households from the outset. The daguerreotype, with its shimmering surface, lent a surreal quality in its singular representation that had a particular appeal on family altars, small in- home devotional centers that grew in popularity in the nineteenth century, where families might display ancestral, holy, or meaningful objects. The daguerreotype image was thought to hold some aspect of the sitter’s spirit, captured through exposure.29 From the earliest phase of the medium, postmortem portraits were taken of family members. These portraits were placed on shelves or tables with candles, rosaries, flowers, and relics. The latter items were deemed to be

26 Debroise, 21.

27 In Mexico, the classes were less affluent than those of Europe. The example of the Mexican ranch illustrates the typical tripart class distribution in Mexico: the land-owner was the member of the highest class, the middle-class members of the community provided skilled labor for pay, and the indigenous residents performed outdoor peasant labor, often for food and shelter rather than pay. Manuel Domenech, Mexico, tal cual es. (1866; reprint, Querétaro: Versión castellana de Salvador Contreras, 1922), 88 and 90.

28 Debroise, p. 22, citing Frances Calderón de la Barca in a letter to her mother, Life in Mexico (New York: E.P. Dutton & Co., 1931), 188.

29 Ibid., 27.

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endowed with the divine, just as the photos were felt to contain a presence of the person whose body had passed on, but whose spirit lived on in the photographic representation.30 Perhaps this spiritual association with the photograph in Mexico was due to the mirror-like surface of the daguerreotype. Obsidian mirrors had been used by indigenous communities for centuries to conjure and predict. Or maybe it was something in the visual fragility of the daguerreotype, which had to be angled correctly to reflect a dark surface in order to see the image clearly, that reminded some viewers of spirits. Appearing as either negative or positive, depending upon the surface reflected, the image of the person seems to float in space. In Mexico, daguerreotypes and later, photographs, inspired a great deal of superstition and were believed by many to possess some degree of magic.

When addressing the public function of photography in Mexico, historians often point to connections between the fixed photographic image and the story of the apparition of the Virgin of Guadalupe (1531), whose representation was transferred to Juan Diego’s cloak as proof of his vision.31 The cloth believed to have retained her image remains enshrined to this day in a church just outside Mexico City and is, itself, considered very holy. Photographic reproductions of the

Guadalupe image were on sale even in the daguerreotype’s early days in Mexico (1842) by

Philogone Daviette, a French photographer.32

The 1850s and 1860s brought a new generation of experimental photographers who were widely influenced by the technology of the negative-positive process, the product of which was the calotype, developed in England over a period of years between 1834 and 1841 by Henry Fox

Talbot. The calotype created the possibility of printing multiple copies of an image on paper by

30 Ibid.

31 See studies by Debroise, Rosa Casanova, and Mraz.

32 Debroise, 27.

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producing a negative from which positives could be made. In this sense, the technology of the calotype process served as a forerunner to the carte-de-visite, just as the daguerreotype foreshadowed other characteristics of the carte, such as formulaic posing, an ambivalence between public versus private images, and exchangeability. Other development processes such as tintypes and glass-plates covered with a collodion solution to create a negative, which was the photo technique used to create the albumen print for cartes-de-visite, followed one another in rapid succession. The variety of available photographic processes led to a price war in the market, making photographs accessible to a broader segment of the population.33 The daguerreotype, too, became an attainable item for a wider range of classes. As prices fell over time, the technology now known as simply “photography” began its evolution toward democratization. The carte-de-visite played a considerable role in this process.

As photography became more popular, more entrepreneurs were drawn to the field, and thus began the history of a capitalist industry that catered to the demand of the client.34 With more photographers on the market selling images, the easily reproducible carte-de-visite became accessible to some of the lower classes in Europe and the middle class in Mexico. However, the rise of the photographic portrait is also part of a particular phase of social change: as the carte- de-visite photograph became more available to the middle and lower classes, the photographs also found increased economic and socio-political importance.35

33 Ibid., 30.

34 John Tagg, The Burden of Representation: Essays on Photographies and Histories (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1988), 37.

35 Ibid.

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Marvelous Possessions for the Masses: The Carte-de-Visite

The carte-de-visite was a small-format photographic print produced on paper from a negative, which was then mounted on a thick paper card, measuring two and a half inches by four inches (or 6cm x 9cm). Recall that the development process was patented in Paris by photographer André Adolphe Eugène Disdéri in 1854, although the knowledge certainly existed prior to his patent.36 Disdéri’s patent, registered on the carte-de-visite, claimed origin to his

“perfections,” which diminished the cost of production, notably through the small size of each image and the ability to create multiple images on one negative.37 Numerous portraits could be made in a fraction of the time.38 And numerous prints could be made of each portrait by reprinting the negative. By creating this time-saving technique of reproduction that multiplied the output of each sitting eightfold, Disdéri was able to offer the small portraits at a considerably lower cost than both the popular daguerreotypes of earlier years and the larger-frame artistic photographic portraits.39

The small photographs were applied to cards the size of calling cards, which had been used for centuries by kings, noblemen, and merchants as identifiers of social rank or standing, though sometimes the title printed on the card was fake.40 The original calling cards were used for social visits by members of the upper class, to announce the visitor to the resident through the

36 Gisele Freund, Photographie et société (Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1974), 60 and Elizabeth McCauley, “A.A.E. Disdéri and the Carte de Visite Portrait Photograph” (Ph.D. dissertation, Yale University, 1980), 33.

37 McCauley, 1.

38 Ibid., 2.

39 Freund, 60.

40 McCauley, 35.

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servant, or to leave at the door in the event that the resident was out.41 Initially, the photograph cartes-de-visite were also used as calling cards;42 first by elite members of society and later by the lower classes. The addition of the image allowed for a greater expression of the owner’s identity and his status as a member of the bourgeois class through the photograph’s demonstration of his attire, profession, and comportment. In some cases, the card was used among members of the lower classes to forge a new, higher class identity. However, the carte- de-visite gained a reputation over time as an object of the median, or European bourgeois, world.

Thus, when the carte-de-visite was used by a person of high rank, it had the effect of democratizing, or leveling, the card owner’s status.

When the carte-de-visite photograph was first introduced in 1854, it was not very popular. It was not until Disdéri photographed and sold images of Napoleon III as cartes-de- visite that the format became quite fashionable, trickling down from the trend-setting salons of

Second Empire Paris.43 The combined affordability and reproductive quality of the cards led to a shift in their function. The images became a novelty item and were widely collected. It became so popular that during the decade of the 1860s, Europe, then the Americas, became quickly engulfed in the collecting fad accessible to most classes known, then and now, as

“photomania.”44 Cards with images of figures ranging from famous personages to private acquaintances were collected at a rapid pace and stored within photo albums, which became requisite objects in every mid-to-upper class parlour. There, small photographs of the emperor

41 For more on the history of the calling card function of the carte-de-visite, see Chapter 2 of Elizabeth McCauley’s dissertation on A.A.E. Disdéri, and Kodak-Pathé, Aventures et Avatars de la carte des vœux (Paris, 1962).

42 McCauley, 35.

43 Ibid.

44 Newhall, 62.

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were stored and displayed side by side with those of friends and family members – an aspect of presentation that further contributed to the democratization45 of not only the image type, but also the status of the person viewed, especially when the subject was a sovereign.

Maximilian von Habsburg was one member of many in the elite class of European rulers to participate in the 1860s trend. The projection of the political leader’s image as a bourgeois gentleman via photography was in keeping with the conscious, post-French revolutionary choice of political leaders to break with the representational practices of the ancien régime, which were associated with elitism and material excess. Rather, European political leaders opted to convey themselves as members of the bourgeois class and through the photographic medium of the carte-de-visite, in addition to posing for painted state portraits in full regalia. Thus, they chose modes of representation that appealed to both their monarchist supporters and resembled members of their republican opposition. In carte-de-visite photographs they posed as gentlemen princes.

One such example can be found in a carte-de-visite portrait of Maximilian’s brother, the

Emperor of Austria, Franz Joseph (Figure 2-3). Here we see the sovereign of Austria and

Hungary wearing a military uniform. He dons a double-breasted military jacket with large buttons, with a simple pair of pants. In his left hand he holds his gloves, in his right he holds a large military-issue hat that features a feather, one of the indicators of his status in the military.

On his left hip he carries his sword. The decorations around his neck, which are barely visible due to the camera’s distance from the sitter, are indicative of his military service. Although

45 Within the context of photographic history, the term “democratization” refers to the transition that made portraiture – once an elite undertaking – a form of societal representation available to a wider range of classes. Furthermore, through the wide distribution of cartes-de-visite with standardized backgrounds, props, and costumes, there was also a perception of a leveling of classes because the emperor was depicted in much the same manner and setting as the unknown middle-class member of society. “Democratization” is not a period term, but one used by numerous historians of photography in the present day including John Tagg, Geoffrey Batchen, Esther Acevedo, Rosa Casanova, John Mraz, and Olivier Debroise.

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Franz Joseph’s costume reveals small details that indicate his military status, this is not the costume of an emperor. The backdrop of the photograph is a formulaic one that would have been used for any sitter, regardless of his or her position in society. Rather, his carte-de-visite portrait resembles that of many Austrian men who served their country. Franz Joseph is posing as a gentleman prince.

Albert, England’s Prince Consort, also participated in the trend (Figure 2-4). The prince is dressed as a fine gentleman with his frock coat, striped waistcoat, fine pants, and bow tie. His pose is rather casual. He leans his left side against a pillar, supporting himself with his left elbow and bending his left knee. His gaze is directed away from the viewer, off to the right in order to showcase his features in a flattering three-quarter profile.

However in Mexico, the concept of the sovereign posing as a gentleman prince received a less-than-enthusiastic reception, particularly among Maximilian’s supporters who were conservative. There, the upper class was largely composed of a Creole46 population in the nineteenth century. For this group, status was conveyed in one’s public identity through clothing and jewels that were visibly different from those of the lower classes. This phenomenon, inspired by sartorial laws initiated by the Spanish during the colonial period, sustained a high degree of significance well into the nineteenth century. The carte-de-visite was one means by which markers of visible advantage over the lower classes could be disseminated among middle and upper-class peer groups in Mexico, perhaps accounting for its popularity. Thus, the notion of the sovereign who shared traits with the upper class in his carte-de-visite portrait did not appeal to status-conscious Mexicans who sought a superior ruler.

46 In Mexico, “Creole” is an ethnic term that refers to a person who was born in the country, but is of Spanish descent.

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To accommodate the demand for cartes-de-visite in Mexico, the number of photography studios more than doubled during Maximilian’s reign. Between 1864 and 1867 the number of photo studios doubled in Mexico City.47 In an effort to take part in the entrepreneurial opportunity that the carte-de-visite trend availed, Mexican photographers arranged their studios and organized production in a fashion very similar to that established in France.

By focusing priority on market demand, carte-de-visite photographers in both Mexico and France placed themselves among a growing number of professional, commercial photographers, whose aims were neither art nor science, but financial success.48 The field was not only in need of affordable, rapid image reproduction, but also a mode of photography that could rival the serious art of painted portraits, especially among a class to whom such a luxury was previously unavailable.49 In response to market demands photographers on both sides of the

Atlantic arranged their studio settings to fill in the gaps. One means by which Disdéri, as a formative example, maximized his time and efficiency was in establishing a standard backdrop, lighting, and poses. His regularization of these elements established what became the standard studio set used by most photographers working in the carte-de-visite format, in Europe, Mexico, and elsewhere.

After progressing through experimental studio sets, Disdéri defined his carpeted, interior space with a curtain pulled to one side, a broken column, chairs, tables, and often a potted plant.

Disdéri centered his subject within the field of the camera, allowing more space above the head

47 Debroise, 30.

48 See Disdéri’s patent language in McCauley, 1.

49 Elizabeth McCauley addresses the role of the carte-de-visite in the context European portraiture in her dissertation on A.A.E. Disdéri.

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than below the feet, therefore keeping the sitter appropriately weighted in the composition.50

The client’s pose was often carried out with the aid of a chair or another item of furniture to add physical stability. Otherwise, a wooden support was situated behind the subject, and was therefore often unnoticeable in his or her appearance. The client’s gaze was directed away from the camera, sometimes engaged in an activity like reading, so that the face was featured at a flattering three-quarter angle. All of these carte-de-visite features – arrangement of studio, set, and pose – attributed to Disdéri, became professional standards around the world.

One of the most characteristic features of the carte-de-visite photograph was its full- length pose. This aspect of the photo’s composition was due in large part to the camera technology at the time. By focusing the lens on a distant, full-length subject, Disdéri found an adequate depth of field with a maximum aperture, so that the exposure time could be as brief as possible to reduce visible bodily movement.51

The amount of time spent posing in front of the camera for an individual image is an important aspect of nineteenth-century photography to keep in mind. Although the photographer had pre-fabricated much of the photographic set with scientific necessities in mind for successful picture taking, the sitter had an opportunity to contribute aspects of himself to the image through pose, costume, and expression. Thus, the photograph became a product created between at least two people, the sitter and the photographer. It was this act of picture making that was recorded by the camera’s lens.52 While a good photographer, and especially one who took large-format

50 McCauley, 39.

51 Ibid., 40

52 With respect to my use of the terminology of picture “taking” vs. picture “making,” I owe a debt to my conversations with Frank Goodyear of the National Portrait Gallery. See Tagg, The Burden of Representation, 50- 52; Patricia Massé Zendejas, Simulacro y elegancia en tarjetas de visita. Photografía de Cruces y Campa (Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropologia e Historia, Colección Alquimia, 1998); Christopher Pinney and Nicolas Peterson, Photography’s Other Histories (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2003), 14. My argument is

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prestige portraits and therefore could take more time with each sitter, attempted to capture a characteristic likeness that also showed the sitter’s personal expression, this was not always possible in the case of the carte-de-visite.53 Many carte-de-visite studios offered a veritable assembly line experience of portraiture. Pictures were taken in quick succession with multiple lenses and the images were often displayed to the public in the salon, with waiting customers judging the pantheon of previous sitters.54 The backgrounds were mass-produced, the accessories and props were overused, and the standardization of poses had a leveling effect, creating pictures that looked repetitive.

However, despite the formulaic approach (and sometimes formulaic results), there was a quest for individualization that sought to counter the standardization of the process. For example, posing guides printed as pamphlets were but one way that a sitter could prepare in advance. The guides offered advice for physical poses, but also technical tips for improving the outcome of the photograph. They made suggestions regarding lighting (one should pose on an overcast, rather than a sunny day), clothing color (black and white costumes were to be avoided due to stark contrasts), and posing to make one’s form appear more delicate.55 Thus, it is clear that the act of posing for one’s picture, even for a carte-de-visite, could be a carefully planned event through which the sitter created his best social image, one that might help elevate his status in society.

supported by the scholarship of Olivier Debroise, who cites Jean Francois Chévrier and Jean Sagne, Mexican Suite: A History of Photography in Mexico, 2001, 36

53 Siegel, 2010, 37.

54 Ibid., 54-58.

55 Ibid., 34-39.

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In fact, several aspects of carte-de-visite portraiture were inspired by the conventions of royal portraiture of kings and queens. For example, the photographic props of the curtain, column, and chair were standard elements in painted state portraiture. In particular, the “en pied” perspective, which presented the entire body of the sitter rather than the bust, half, or three- quarter length view, has a long history in European painted representations of royalty and religious images.56 Full-length painted state portraits were large, expensive, and impressive when viewed, especially by the average royal subject in a public setting. By the eighteenth century, portraiture on this scale was extended beyond the royal realm of kings and queens, to military heroes of high rank, diplomats, and eventually, in the case of Mexico, to influential members of the Creole class who used family portraiture as a means to express their status. The large-scale painted “en pied” portrait nevertheless remained a format that was reserved for those subjects with an iconic importance in society.

When viewed at the Salon exhibitions in Paris (1748-1890), or on permanent view elsewhere, painted portraits of kings were imposing images. 57 However, once portraits of contemporary emperors, such as Napoleon III, began circulating in carte-de-visite format, the images were not only available for purchase by the masses, but also were consistent with the small photograph conventions established for bourgeois and upper-middle class patrons, which included the studio set and street attire. In France, the carte-de-visite was notorious for its depiction of sitters from a class range from lower middle to upper middle class in a visually similar set of middle-class clothing that included a suit, jacket, and often a top hat for men and a

56 McCauley, 41.

57 The “Salon” in Paris was the official art exhibition of the Académie des Beaux-Arts, reaching its peak of popularity in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Originally, the exhibition was held in one of the Salons at the Louvre, hence the name. The event was held annually during some periods and biannually at other times.

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hooped skirt or dress for women against visually similar backdrops. Thus, most carte-de-visite subjects appeared as if they were members of the European bourgeois middle class. However, as discussed previously, in Mexico the class structure was different and the carte-de-visite was popular primarily among members of the upper class. Members of the middle class in Mexico began to add some diversity to the medium, particularly through costume, in the later 1860s and

1870s.

Bankers, lawyers, merchants, petite bourgeois, and aristocrats all supported the same group of carte-de-visite photographers who all used similar studio settings as a backdrop, and all sitters donned similar attire in carte-de-visite imagery. The upwardly-mobile business man could now represent himself in a manner akin to the king, and the king now used cartes-de-visite to portray himself as a gentleman. Rather than making a special trip to see a painting of the king, the viewing public looked at, traded, and purchased images of each other and sovereigns dressed in street clothing in the private salons of their friends. The carte’s exhibition in the private space of the parlour contributed to the democratization of the photographs of political officials, especially.58

Recall that it was an emperor who started the photographic fad that became known as

“cardomania.” On the tenth of May, 1859, while departing the city of Paris for war in Italy at the head of his entire army, Napoleon III stopped his procession in front of Disdéri’s studio so that he could enter to have his photograph taken in carte-de-visite format. His troops waited for him, in their marching order of rank, in the streets outside the studio.59 However, it is interesting to note that all photographs with Disdéri’s label in the collection at the Bibliothèque Nationale de

58 Freund, 60, Debroise, 29-30, and Esther Acevedo, “Así circulaban sus imágenes,” Testimonios artisticos de un episodio fugaz (1864-1867). Catálogo de la exposición (México D.F.: Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, 1995a), 177. All point to a process of “democratization” that occurs through the evolution of the carte-de-visite.

59 Freund, 60. See also Nadar, Quand j’étais photographe (Paris: Babel, 1998), 211.

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France show the French emperor in street clothes, or dressed as a gentleman prince rather than wearing the full military regalia that would be expected of an emperor leading his army through the city into battle (Figure 2-5). We see the Emperor of France dressed as a gentleman prince.

He wears a suit complete with a vest, bow tie, and frock coat. His only accessory is a pocket watch, its presence accentuated by the placement of his left thumb in his vest. The backdrop is typical for A.A.E. Disdéri, featuring a draped curtain, table, and an elegantly upholstered chair.

Having his portrait taken in carte-de-visite format was a brilliant propaganda strategy for

Napoleon III because of the political climate in France. Napoleon III ran an oppressive government initially. He had begun the Second French Empire in 1852 with a coup d’état. In the first ten years of his regime, he imposed censorship measures and harsh restrictions against his opponents. By 1862, he began to loosen some of his controls, giving more power to the legislature and beginning what was termed “The Liberal Empire.” Thus, by posing as a bourgeois man, Napoleon III makes an effort to appear, at least visually, to be a man of the people. Of course, Napoleon III was descended from Napoleon I, who was not actually royal.

Perhaps part of his heritage was being expressed. With his photographic sitting with Disdéri and later studio sessions in which he sat for his portrait with his family, he portrayed himself as a democratic president, or a gentleman prince.60 But further, enthusiasm for Disdéri was inspired by the emperor’s celebrity as his carte-de-visite spread rapidly.61

Napoleon III was not the first French leader to adopt the clothing of the middle class in order to appeal to his supporters. After the rise of the liberal constitutional monarchy in France, termed the “July Monarchy,” with the Revolution of 1830, the physical image of authority was

60 Mraz, 2009, 20.

61 Freund, 60.

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the focus of both royal power and a vehicle for republican opposition, just as was the case with

Maximilian in the Second Mexican Empire.62 Of course in nineteenth-century Europe, class distinctions among the populace were constantly blurred through dress, comportment, and representation. This trend of adopting bourgeois clothing is particularly evident in the format of the carte-de-visite photograph, in which it would be difficult to distinguish a portrait of Napoleon

III from a portrait of a merchant, if the viewer was not familiar with the emperor’s features.

Although the body of the sovereign was still a symbol of the state, beginning in the mid- nineteenth century it became “a hybrid figure, at once divine and bourgeois.”63

This was the case in Western Europe, where Maximilian received his princely education and where his carte-de-visite portraits were taken prior to his departure for Mexico. However, in

Mexico the representational expectations of a Habsburg emperor were very different indeed from those of a French or Austrian emperor. There, class distinctions were reasserted through dress and representation. As outlined in Gutiérrez Estrada’s 1863 publication, Mexican conservatives had been working, almost since independence was achieved from Spain in 1821, to establish a

Mexican empire with a European noble figure as its head. The years of violence and unrest that followed the War of Independence left many Mexicans, particularly conservatives, nostalgic for the orderly colonial past. Although Maximilian’s arrival was anxiously anticipated by them, there was little chance that he could live up to the hopes of his supporters. The Malovich carte- de-visite portraits did little to fulfill such long held expectations.

62 Childs, 150. Elizabeth Childs’ discussion of kingship during the July Monarchy in France was foundational to my thinking about the difference between the representational expectations of a ruler in the French and Mexican contexts that Maximilian encountered.

63 Ibid., my emphasis.

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Portraits of Maximilian prior to the Mexican Empire

Among the cartes-de-visite at the Musée Royal de l’Armée de Bruxelles are two photographs of Maximilian von Habsburg taken prior to his appointment as Emperor of Mexico.

These preliminary examples serve to illustrate conventions of carte-de-visite portraiture of political leaders as was accepted and expected in Europe. The first example (Figure 2-6) is an image taken by the Ghémar Frères photography firm in Brussels. Here, we can identify the studio props already described in Disdéri’s set: a draped curtain and an elegant chair in a carpeted interior. Likewise, in terms of costume, Maximilian embodies the preferred European portrayal of the ruler as gentleman with his top hat, frock coat, light-colored trousers, buttoned vest, and bow tie.64 His most decorative item is the hint of a pocket watch visible only by its chain, which extends from the archduke’s vest button to his pocket. There are no features in either image or text that distinguish him as an Archduke of Austria. In this photograph, at first glance, Archduke Maximilian’s personal expression has been suppressed by the leveling effect of the carte-de-visite’s overused backgrounds and accessories as well as the subject’s distance from the camera, resulting in a formulaic image. When viewing cartes-de-visite in large quantities, the overarching impression is one of repetition; this is the aspect of their composition most discussed by scholars in the past.

And yet, subtle distinctions in clothing or costume were extremely important in carte-de- visite portraits, as they are to the discussion at hand. With so many elements of the studio background already predetermined by commercial photographers who hoped to service as many clients as possible in a day,65 clothing and accessories became the means through which sitters

64 Acevedo, “Así circulaban sus imágenes,” 1995a, 169.

65 Patricia Massé Zendejas refers to this phenomenon of standardized sets as the “tyranny of the carte-de-visite.” She argues that the medium cancelled any possibility of representing individual identity. Simulacro y elegancia en

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were able to distinguish themselves, or to adhere to a societal mold, as they so desired.66 In the selection of poses, clothing, jewelry, hairstyles, hats, and additional props of flowers or books, the subject took an active role in the process of picture making, and therefore held a certain degree of agency in the creation of his or her own image. Thus, in the carte-de-visite described above, Maximilian either chose not to engage in the process of creating an individualized carte- de-visite, or he submitted to portraying himself as an average gentleman prince, according to the expectations of an archduke in Europe at the time. However, things changed once he arrived in

Mexico.

Large-format photography has a better reputation with respect to the subtle distinctions that personalize portraits. The French photographer Gaspard-Félix Tournachon, who went by the pseudonym “Nadar,” was well known for his ability to capture the essence of his sitters, sometimes through recommended clothing choices. In one documented case, a sitter went so far as to inquire which costume Nadar wanted him to wear in a letter prior to his visit.67 While this example refers to a large-format, prestige print, a certain degree of attention to costume held true for the smaller format photographs, as well. Carte-de-visite photographers sometimes stocked clothing and offered suggestions for poses in the picture making process.

In the 1860s, sitting for one’s portrait was an event that involved time and planning.

Each image required a degree of forethought, focus, and attention to detail on the part of the photographer and the sitter, who participated together in the process of picture making. Thus, if

tarjetas de visita, 1998. Also cited in Mraz, Looking for Mexico, 2009, 24. I am offering a different interpretation that recognizes the effect of the formulaic studio set on the composition, but also considers the small details that individual sitters have the power to manipulate in the portrait making process.

66 Debroise, 41, Acevedo, “Así circulaban sus imagines,” 1995a, 169.

67 François Heilbrun, “Nadar and the Art of Portrait Photography,” Nadar (New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1995), 46.

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Napoleon III, or Emperor Maximilian, sat for a portrait in bourgeois clothing rather than in a style of dress that signified his imperial role, the decision was probably a deliberate one.

In Photography’s Other Histories, Christopher Pinney also makes a distinction between picture “taking,” in which the photographic process is one-sided crediting the photographer; versus picture “making,” in which a photograph is a dialogic process between photographer and sitter.68 John Tagg argues against this point in the case of the carte-de-visite, explaining that the generalized nature of set, pose, and costume detracted from the richness of the inter-relationship between artist and sitter that would create a prestige portrait, such as that produced by Nadar in

Paris. Patricia Massé Zendejas agrees with Tagg, calling the pre-established repetition of the carte-de-visite portrait the “tyranny” of the format. While I certainly recognize the leveling effect of the many standardized elements of the carte-de-visite, I see the matter as having been slightly more complex than these studies have allowed. In my research, I have found that upon close inspection, many surviving cartes-de-visite depict sitters showing a more sophisticated degree of engagement with the camera; many sitters make subtle changes to the established template, and in so doing participate in the creation of the portrait. Elizabeth Siegel’s recent study on nineteenth-century photographic albums supports this notion of the sitter’s agency, even within the formulaic process of the carte-de-visite picture making process.69

With the widespread distribution of carte-de-visite photographs came an increase in both the visibility of members of society and in the self-consciousness of sitters.70 Different modes of

68 Pinney goes on to say that the attention placed on political consequences of photography has erased any acknowledgement of its actual practice. In this study, I attempt to connect the two; to show how the political consequences of photography, in this case the carte-de-visite, relate directly to its actual practice, as in the case of the carte-de-visite portrait of Maximilian during the Second Mexican Empire. Pinney and Peterson, 2003, 14.

69 See Siegel, 2010.

70 Stephen Greenblatt calls self-consciousness and subsequent image manipulation “self-fashioning.” In his study, he reviews definitions of “fashion” and explains it thus: “as a term for the action or process of making, for

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dress were used to create and manipulate identity in the process of picture making. Costume was not the sole means by which sitters expressed themselves – pose, props, and physical expression were also very significant. For the purposes of this study, I am using the term “self-fashioning” to describe the sitter’s self-consciousness in the process of picture making.

To fashion one’s self was not an entirely autonomous endeavor. In the nineteenth as well as the sixteenth century, freedom of choice in self-representation was restricted to a range of possibilities defined by the social and ideological systems at play. Major societal institutions of religion, state, and family imposed rigid disciplines that limited self expression among the middle class and aristocratic subjects. The acts of fashioning oneself and becoming fashioned by major institutions and their ideologies were inseparable in the formation of subjectivity.71 Thus in 1860s Europe the trend was established for archdukes, princes, and emperors to signify themselves as bourgeois members of society within the representational mode of carte-de-visite photography. Meanwhile, citizens of other classes strained to elevate their respective statuses through participation in the representational norms of the target class through the medium of the carte-de-visite.72 Although many members of society jockeyed for higher positions, fashioning themselves as dandies, political sovereigns and members of the royal family dressed down. As the democratization of carte-de-visite photography progressed, class differences became blurred.

The first figure in this chapter depicts Archduke Maximilian von Habsburg in a manner consistent with the representations of many citizens from a range of classes from middle to upper

European who had their portrait done in the carte-de-visite format. In this image, he appears to particular features or appearance, for a distinct style or pattern, the word has long been in use, but it is in the sixteenth century that fashion seems to come into wide currency as a way of designating the forming of a self.” Stephen Greenblatt, Renaissance Self-Fashioning (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1980), 2.

71 Ibid., 1 and 256.

72 Tagg, 37.

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respond to the pressures imposed by societal and ideological systems of his culture, which were to fashion himself as a bourgeois European gentleman. However, it is also possible that

Maximilian elected to dress casually for the portrait for personal reasons.

In another carte-de-visite photograph, attributed to Bingham Photographers in Paris,

Maximilian is pictured standing next to a large, carved wooden bureau (Figure 2-7). Here his costume contains several standards of European bourgeois dress such as the frock coat, the buttoned vest, and the herringbone-patterned trousers. The primary visual difference from the first figure is evident in the necklace the archduke is wearing that features a large pendant placed atop his shirt and vest. Another difference is the text located under the photograph. It explains the subject’s status as a Habsburg, or a member of one of the preeminent royal families of

Europe. Often, such photographs were taken for sale not only to the client, but also to the general public, due to the popular interest in collecting images of aristocratic families as a type of celebrity.73 Such was the case for this particular image. Its circulation increased during

Maximilian’s visit to Napoleon III in March 1864. Maximilian had just accepted, with some preconditions, the imperial crown offered the previous fall by the Mexican delegation, led by

José Maria Gutiérrez de Estrada. Maximilian left from Miramar for Mexico in April of 1864.

Because of the timing of the photograph’s circulation, after Maximilian’s acceptance with preconditions, but before the official coronation, it became very popular and sold well across

Europe.74 The carte-de-visite by the Bingham studio also had selling power as one of the last photographs taken of Maximilian as an archduke. Aside from the subtle status markers in the

73 In fact, photographers often re-photographed pre-existing pictures to profit from even those cartes-de-visite images that were not originally taken within their studio walls to augment their sales. Figure 2-2 is an example of such imagery. I have seen the same photograph stamped with the names of both the Ghémar Frères and François Aubert firms.

74 Juliet Wilson-Bareau, “Manet and the Execution of Maximilian,” 1992, 56.

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photograph itself, the image is one that further conveys the bourgeois influence on European representational norms; the aristocrat is depicted as a gentleman.

Maximilian Meets the Mexicans

The Mexican Second Empire utilized carte-de-visite photographs of Maximilian as an element of propaganda more than any previous regime, or any since.75 Although it is difficult to pinpoint exact numbers with the medium of the carte-de-visite because of the medium’s fragility, scholars estimate that Maximilian’s photographs outnumbered even those of Benito Juarez

(1858-64, 1867-72), the president of the Mexican republic before and after the Second Mexican

Empire (1864-67). The images produced to commemorate Juarez after his death by the Mexican firm Cruces y Campa numbered twenty thousand.76 The explosion in the popularity of photography in Mexico City coincides exactly with the dates of the Mexican Second Empire

(1864-67). Within this time frame, twenty new photography studios opened in Mexico City, doubling the number that had existed previously.77 As an additional nod to the important role of photography in the regime, Maximilian named an official photographer for the court, Julio María y Campos, in August of 1866.78

Prior to the new sovereigns’ departure for Mexico, Giuseppe Malovich was hired to take new photographs of the imperial couple while they were in Miramar, Italy. The photograph he produced of Maximilian was consistent with the established carte-de-visite conventions of the period (Figure 2-1). Maximilian is positioned in the three-quarter portrait mode. He stands

75 Mraz, 2009, 20.

76 Debroise, 27-28.

77 Ibid., 30.

78 José H. Gonzalez, “Ministerio de la casa imperial,” Diario del Imperio (Mexico), 25 de Agosto, 1866. Although Maria y Campos was the “official” photographer, scholars have attributed most of the images of Maximilian to François Aubert over the years. María y Campos and Aubert shared a studio in Mexico City along with François Merille.

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before a backdrop similar to that used by Disdéri, as described above. Although he wore more accessories here than in previous portraits, the lack of ornamentation in his costume and in the setting still convey a lack of magnificence. The impression given by his stance and his gaze is not one of action or authority. Rather, the emperor looks as though he is indifferent to his imagined audience. Although he was posing as an emperor for a photograph intended to serve as a model for ceremonial imagery and propaganda for the plebescite that would determine whether he would accept the imperial throne, none of the additional props associated with sovereignty from the traditionally grand state portrait are at hand. There were no crowns, no globes, no scepters, and no ermine robes included in the picture.79

Carlota was pictured by Malovich in an elegant white ball gown with a large crinoline, decorated with fresh flowers sewn into the skirt (Figure 2-8). Despite the size and decoration of her gown, she, too, adopts an understated imperial image. Instead of a royal tiara, she wears a crown of flowers on her head. The empress’ body is shown in profile, while her head is turned to show three-quarters of her face.

Once she was in Mexico, Carlota was also criticized for her lack of imperial flare. The

Mexican women of the upper echelon who were invited to attend the imperial balls commented upon their disappointment in her reglia. In a letter to her husband, Juana Calderón de Iglesias wrote that “the brilliant tiara of Señora Escandon was better than Carlota’s.”80

The imperialistas seemed eager to recreate the glorious and regal sign system for the

Second Mexican Empire upon Maximilian’s arrival. During the colonial period in Mexico City

79 Acevedo, Esther. “Así circulaban sus imagines,” 1995a, 169.

80 “La diadema de brillantes de la señora de Escandon era mejor que la de Carlota.” Carta de Juana Calderon de Iglesias a Jose Maria Iglesias, 15 de ju lio de 1865, en AGN, Fernando Iglesias Calderon, c. 7, exp. 4. Cited in Erika Pani, “El proyecto de Estado de Maximiliano a través de la vida cortesana y del ceremonial público,” Historia Mexicana 45, no. 2 (octubre - diciembre 1995), 434.

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(1519-1821), the king’s presence was indicated in four ways: in the symbols of the coat of arms and the royal standard, by the king’s signature on documents sent from Spain, in the royal portrait, and with the royal palace.81

Also recall that after viewing the second set of photographic portraits that Maximilian sent, they subsequently commissioned oil paintings as an obligatory matter of state that would

“move wills and attract loyalties.”82 Archival documents reveal that imperialista José María

Landa ordered two oil portraits of grand proportions from the Italian painter Cesare Dell’Acqua

(1821-1905).83 The paintings were scheduled to arrive with the sovereigns, but the portraits were never delivered. As imperialista correspondence indicates, they were anxious to have the large- scale painted portraits displayed in the Sala de la prefectura in Puebla.84 Puebla was the last stop prior to Mexico City in the sequence of towns visited and feted through the course of the sovereigns’ trip from the port to the capital. If the portraits were scheduled to arrive with the sovereigns and to be transported to Puebla, they would have traveled with Maximilian and

Carlota, adding a grand air to the ceremonies held for them in each town along the way to

Mexico City. Ultimately, the (now lost) painted portraits were found in the painter’s studio after his death and sold a year later.85 The imperialista desire for a grand manner, full-length oil portrait of the magnificent emperor was not fulfilled until the year following Maximilian’s arrival.

81 Michael Schreffler, “‘No Lord without Vassals, Nor Vassals without a Lord:’ The Royal Palace and the Shape of Kingly Power in Viceregal Mexico City,” Oxford Art Journal 27, no. 2 (2004), 159.

82 Acevedo, “La creación de un proyecto imperial,” 1995b, 41.

83 Ibid.

84 See note 99.

85 Acevedo, “La creación de un proyecto imperial,” 1995b, 41.

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This sequence of efforts aimed at creating Maximilian’s imperial image provides a great deal of insight into the degree of the emperor’s agency that was usurped by his supporters, and demonstrates a high degree of Mexican involvement in the emperor’s representational campaign.

Although the imperialistas supported the notion of creating and distributing small-format photographs to the masses prior to the sovereigns’ arrival, the Mexican group appeared to value the medium as a commodity and as providing prototypes that could serve as models for larger, more monumental portraits, rather than as a form of art in its own right. They wanted a certain kind of image to represent the new emperor. As his supporters were quoted above, paintings had the power to “move wills and attract loyalties,” or, in other words, large painted imagery had the ability to appeal to a key audience within Mexican society.86 Large-scale portraits fit into the imperialistas’ ideas for grand festivities planned for the emperor’s arrival, which included triumphal arches, meals, special Catholic masses, fireworks, theatrical performances planned and organized by the imperialistas for a variety of audiences, and formal dances.87 Whereas the small format images were supposed to garner interest among the greater population in support of a new, foreign emperor, encouraging them to vote for Maximilian during the plebiscite.

As for Maximilian himself, during this interceding period between his agreement in

October of 1863 to accept the crown under certain conditions such as the plebiscite, and his actual acceptance of the throne in April of 1864, correspondence indicates that he was very busy addressing numerous concerns from the crowned heads of Europe and laying the foundation for the empire’s new government. His drafted constitution was reviewed for feedback from both

86 Acevedo, “La creación de un proyecto imperial,” 1995b, 41.

87 Advenimiento de SS. MM. II. Maximiliano y Carlota al trono de México (Mexico City: J. M. Andrade y F. Escalante, 1864), 119, 252-254. Actas de cabildo, 1864. This is also confirmed in the meeting minutes taken by Mexico City’s cabildo. On the 17th of February, the commission charged by the cabildo with planning the celebration for the arrival of the emperor presented a substantial program of suggested festivities.

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King Leopold of Belgium and Napoleon III during the fall of 1863. Maximilian also made efforts during this period to secure a volunteer corps to assure military support for his empire.88

There is little indication that Maximilian participated in the ceremonial plans for his arrival other than the allusion in the letter cited above to his awareness that new carte-de-visite portraits were required.

The Malovich photographs were not the only form of printed imagery in circulation during the empire’s early days. One of the lithographs distributed prior to the arrival of the sovereigns in Mexico depicts two very youthful busts of Carlota and Maximiliano (Figure 2-9).

This print had also circulated independently, prior to the imperial arrival, as part of a volume by

Gutiérrez de Estrada that justified the imperialistas’ monarchist venture, titled Mexico y el archiduque Ferdinand Maximiliano de Austria. In the volume’s text, numerous excerpts from the monarchist’s previous pamphlets and letters between heads of state are cited, all of which were written since independence from Spain in 1821, aimed at creating a Mexican empire led by a European monarch.

The Malovich photographs were reproduced as cartes-de-visite along with the lithographs of the sovereigns created prior to their official acceptance of the throne. Other photographers, such as the Ghémar Frères of Belgium, reproduced the Malovich photographs under their own names for distribution in Europe.89 Lithographs of the Malovich photos were eventually published and distributed across Europe and Mexico. The early images of Maximilian were dispersed, reprinted, and reconfigured in montages for years, both before the royal couple’s

88 Robert H. Duncan, “Maximilian and the Construction of the Liberal State, 1863-1866,” The Divine Charter: Constitutionalism and Liberalism in Nineteenth-Century Mexico, ed. Jaime E. Rodriguez O. (New York: Roman and Littlefield, 2005), 141-142. Corti discusses this period at length, 266-360.

89 Ibid., 40-41.

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arrival in Mexico and after the emperor’s death, but not used to the extent intended by the imperialistas, as models for large, painted state portraits.

The Malovich portraits, did, in the end, serve as models for one purpose: triumphal arch imagery prepared for the pair’s arrival in the capital city. Both the large-scale sculpture of

Maximilian and the painting of Carlota on their respective arches utilized imagery from the

Malovich portraits. The photographs were printed as lithographs in the press and sold as cartes- de-visite. While the distribution and accessibility available through these modern technologies was appealing, the propagandistic value of both the selected representations and the diminutive, ephemeral format differed from the magnificent image set forth by the imperial ceremony which was closely tied to portraiture of the king in New Spain.

Representations of Sovereignty during the Spanish Colonial Period

Prior to Maximilian’s arrival in Mexico, no ruling Habsburg, nor any Spanish king, had ever set foot in the colonies. Rather, the viceroys, as representatives of the Spanish king, were welcomed in an elaborately regal fashion intended to glorify the king while conveying a sense of power and legitimacy. Often these ceremonies included large portraits representing the king and flattering the viceroy. Such portraits were conspicuously absent from Maximilian’s welcoming festivals until he reached Mexico City, although the ceremonies otherwise were consistent with the route, agenda, and ritual of performances of kingship in New Spain.

In Lima, the capital of New Spain’s counterpart, the Viceroyalty of Peru, the king’s simulacrum traditionally served as the visual cue around which royal ceremonies were organized, and it played a central role in the implementation of the monarch’s power.90 The

90 Alejandra Osorio, “The King in Lima: Simulacra, Ritual, and Rule in Seventeenth-Century Peru,” Hispanic American Historical Review 84, no 3 (August 2004), 448-450. Also see Louis Marin, Portrait of the King (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1988), 208.

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coronation of Philip IV in 1622 was marked with the entrance of such a grand portrait of the new king that numerous men were recruited to carry the painting to a stage decorated to host rituals that bound the king and his subjects.91 The painting depicted the king’s entire body, from head to foot, and the official chronicler claimed that the portrait’s eyes “undoubtedly communicated a look of authority.”92 Such a spectacle was the strategy in Lima for establishing the legitimacy of a ruler who would never inhabit the city. Across the Spanish colonies, the royal portrait became a visible marker of the ruler’s presence and power.93 The example of the portrait’s significance in Lima underlines the role of representation in the case of an absent, and perhaps idealized, ruler

– a scenario familiar to Mexicans during the colonial period.

In Mexico, the ceremonies that celebrated major events, such as a new king, or a new viceroy, often emphasized the power of the viceroy. As the chosen representative for the king in his colony, the viceroy stood for the king in many ways, becoming his embodied simulacrum.94

While the degree of pomp and ritual that surrounded the royal portrait in Lima’s ceremonial proclamation of the new king was not part of Mexico City’s celebration, other festivals fulfilled similar functions. The largest of these celebrations, held with regularity from the 1530s to independence in 1821, included the inaugural arrival of the viceroy, the jura del rey (oath of allegiance to the king), and the celebration of Corpus Christi, all of which became tools of authoritarian control.95 The inaugural entrance of the viceroy serves as the most pertinent

91 Osorio, 448-449.

92 Ibid., 448.

93 Schreffler, 2004, 159.

94 In his book about kingly portraiture in colonial Mexico, Michael Schreffler makes the case that many of the viceroy’s physical features were groomed to resemble those of the king – in both real life and in portraiture. See Michael Schreffler, The Art of Allegiance, (University Park, Pennsylvania: the Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007), 68-72.

95 Curcio, 1993, v.

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example, as a similar series of events were held in honor of Maximilian upon his arrival from

Italy.

Linda Curcio-Nagy describes these Spanish colonial processes in her important study on

Mexico City’s festivals. From the moment he stepped off the boat in Veracruz, to his final entrance into Mexico City, each new viceroy was fêted.96 Cities on his route to the capital such as Jalapa, Puebla de los Ángeles, and Huejotzingo hosted rich feasts, Catholic masses, and meetings with dignitaries and councilmen. Once he arrived in Mexico City, the festivities increased in number and duration. Over a period of approximately two months, the viceroy was the guest of honor for bull fights, parades, theatrical performances, firework displays, native

Mexican and Afro-Mexican dance performances, and a formal ball.

All of these colonial events were intended to awe royal subjects with their magnificence.

Magnificence was not only the sumptuous display of the festivities, but also the realization and exemplification of the prince’s power, and was therefore vital to the viceroy’s image and to societal control in the colonies.97 When surrounded by symbols of power, the viceroy commanded respect for the legitimacy of the government. In particular, the entry served as a symbolic moment to convey the new regime’s ideals of good governance, a concept that relied heavily upon the viceroy’s crafted public image. The opulence of the entrance was intended to showcase the viceroy (and by extension, the king) as truly superior.98

One means of communicating ideals of power and good governance to the masses was through entrance (or triumphal) arches, constructed as ephemeral architecture for the sole

96 For more details on these festivities, see the dissertation mentioned above by Linda Curcio, and Linda A. Curcio- Nagy, The Great Festivals of Colonial Mexico City, 2004, Chapter 2.

97 Curcio-Nagy 2004, 18.

98 Ibid.

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purpose of representing the new regime in the inaugural entrance ceremonies. Various arches were constructed for a single entry. The arches were always intended to portray the new viceroy as heroic and the king as God, in an effort to connect the viceroy and the king to higher moral values and make them liked by the people.99 The arches were gilded and more than five stories high, their niches filled with bronze statues and paintings. The painted images on the arches showed the viceroy performing important deeds and displayed allegorical themes that conveyed various abstract ideas, such as “Loyalty.” Once the new ruler arrived at the arch, which served as a gate to the city, actors were hired to read the symbols to the viceroy and the crowd. Here, the viceroy swore to defend the city and govern justly. The city councilmen gave him a gold key that was a symbol of royal authority. Once invited to step through the arch by the city’s councilmen, the viceroy symbolically entered the city for the first time. The ideals of good governance and power were conveyed in this ceremony and its visual features in many ways: through the actions, such as the exchange of the key, through the grandeur of the ephemeral architecture, and through the symbolic paintings and statues on the arch that were read to all for clarity, confirmation, and submission.

Next, the viceroy approached members of the religious hierarchy and another, similar arch sponsored by the church. He heard the explanation of the imagery on that institution’s arch and took oaths of good governance and respect for the Mother Church. The church officials in turn offered submission to the royal will. These ceremonies were important in their public representation of the colonial hierarchy and served to legitimate the new viceroy’s regime and acquire the consent of the observers.

99 Ibid., 21-22.

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Significant attention was focused not only on the painted images of the viceroy, but also in his bodily appearance as he processed through the ritual ceremonies. For dramatic effect, the viceroy entered at the end of a parade of government officials, each of whom was dressed according to office. The viceroy’s suit was sewn with gold thread, his horse was the finest in the procession, and he entered the city through the arches with the Archbishop and the holy

Eucharist under a canopy – a privilege usually reserved for royalty.100 After processing through the arches and arriving within the walls of the city, the people had the opportunity to “meet” their new ruler, exchange gazes, and thus demonstrate their consent to his regime and accept his governance as legitimate.

These examples highlight several important aspects of the inaugural entrance ceremonies: the significance of the viceroy’s image, in two-dimmensional form on the arches and in his physical presence (as the representative of the royal ruler); the viceroy’s repeated verbal commitments to govern justly; and upon his arrival within the city walls, the people’s opportunity to meet their new ruler and exchange gazes with him, or with his representation.

The function of the gaze had an important role in the colonies. The visual contract between lord and vassal was an action comprised of psychological exchanges with the sovereign or his image and the plebe during the entrance ceremonies.

Colonial visual practices were intended to physically integrate different segments of the population into a whole. Their effectiveness relied on their creating moments when gazes could be exchanged between sovereign and plebe.101 The exercise of the gaze and the power of vision,

100 Ibid., 20.

101 Sandria Freitag, “Visions of the Nation: Theorizing the Nexus between Creation, Consumption, and Participation in the Public Sphere” in Pleasure and the Nation, eds. Christopher Pinney and Rachel Dwyer (New Dehli: Oxford University Press, 2001), 40. Michael Schreffler discusses a folding screen titled, La muy noble y leal ciudad de México whose imagery depicts the transaction of the gaze taking place between the Palace, as the representative of the king, and processing plebes in the streetscape. “‘No Lord Without Vassals nor Vassals Without a Lord,’” 2004,

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as it connected to royalty, created relational expectations between the ruler and the ruled.102

Political power was reinforced and accepted through the transactional process of the gaze.

Likewise, the gaze was a crucial aspect of ceremonies that were embedded with layered meaning.103

In Spanish colonial processions, such as that of the inaugural entrance of the viceroy in

Mexico City, vision played an important role in the expression of power.104 However, the gaze was also a factor in the power expressed between viceroys and kings via portraiture. Over the years, the viceroys began to employ a strategy of physiognomic resemblance to their kings, making themselves the “living image” of the king by changing their hairstyles and clothing to match those of the sovereign.105 The official portraits of the viceroys also mimicked the grooming and appearance of the king. Thus, the portraits furthered the strategy of resemblance as a means of legitimization. The interchangeability of the physical features of the viceroy and the king can also be seen as inspiring in the viceroy a sense of intersubjectivity, where he saw himself as the king when gazing at the king’s portrait.106 In other words, in his mind’s eye, the viceroy was able to temporarily assume the position of the king as the subject of the portrait

161-62. Schreffler discusses the vista de ojos, or eyewitness view, as an act of kingly power on pp. 26-27 of The Art of Allegiance, 2007.

102 Freitag, 40.

103 Ibid., 41. Here she also notes that the meanings could differ for each participant.

104 I owe a debt of gratitude to Michael Schreffler for my understanding of royal representation in Mexico City during the Spanish colonial period. Schreffler builds his argument around the role of vision in the capital. I have referenced his ideas of intersubjectivity below.

105 Schreffler, 2007, 70.

106 Ibid., 71.

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being viewed – an important psychological development because in the colonies the viceroy represented the king to the extent that his form metaphorically merged with the king’s.107

During the colonial period, intersubjectivity was a highly restricted means of expressing allegiance to the king. For example, a limited number of elite viewers were granted the opportunity to assume the spectatorial position of the king, or of the viceroy in the case of

Mexico City, when they viewed certain paintings, such as a biombo, or folding screen, that granted an aerial perspective of the “very noble and loyal city of Mexico.”108 Even when multiple, nearly identical, copies of city screens allowed up to several sets of viewers a sense of imperial intersubjectivity, they were each seen by a very selective few. This suggests that only the upper echelons of society in colonial New Spain had access to the same images and ideas from the vantage point of the viceroy or the king.109

In the section below, I use the notion of intersubjectivity, as defined by Michael

Schreffler and presented above, to address issues of viewership associated with the carte-de- visite and portraits of gentleman princes. Particularly, I call upon that aspect of the notion experienced by the viceroy when he viewed the king’s portrait, in order to explain both the effect of democratization in the carte-de-visite portraits of Maximilian, and the functional difference of imperial references post-independence, which is described below.110

107 Ibid., 67-75.

108 In his explanation of the phenomenon of intersubjectivity, Michael Schreffler calls upon Michel Foucault’s descriptions of the spectatorial issues that arise when viewing Diego Velázquez’ painting, Las Meninas, and likens the spectatorial space reserved for the king in Las Meninas to the act of viewing the loyal city as represented in works such as a decorative room folding screen, or biombo. “‘No Lord Without Vassals nor Vassals Without a Lord,’” 2004, 165-167.

109 Schreffler, 2007, 133.

110 The aspect of Foucault’s argument that I employ here is that of “reciprocal visibility,” or in the case of Velázquez’ painting, Las Meninas, the notion that “we are looking at a picture in which the painter is in turn looking out at us.” However, because we, the viewers, occupy the same space as the subject, the exchange is more complex: In Las Meninas, the painter is looking to the void outside the picture and, as Foucault explains, “accepts as many

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The representational and ceremonial practices described above are generally thought to correspond to the colonial era and predate Maximilian’s nineteenth-century rule in Mexico.

However, his arrival in Veracruz and subsequent trip to the capital city evoked many of the same conventions of colonial ritual and the exchanges of the gaze discussed above. In Maximilian’s era there was no longer a secondary figure like a viceroy who ruled Mexico via proxy for a far- away king. Thus, there was also no longer space for the idealization of a distant, but benevolent king. Maximilian was the ultimate authority.

However, his carte-de-visite portraits did not convey authority through grandeur or superiority. Rather, the carte-de-visite portraits of the emperor resembled the thousands of cartes-de-visite portraits of Mexican men without aristocratic pedigree. In effect, the bourgeois carte-de-visite viewer experienced a sense of intersubjectivity with Maximilian through the small cartes-de-visite portrait just as the viceroy saw himself as the king through portraiture during the colonial period. Rather than simply identifying with Maximilian, the bourgeois viewer could actually imagine himself as the subject of a nearly identical photograph because he very likely had a carte-de-visite portrait of himself in his living room album. While this fact does not seem to have been an issue in Europe, where the sovereigns – royal or not – made a practice of having their portraits done as a gentleman prince, in Mexico Maximilian’s resemblance to the average carte-de-visite sitter brought the legitimacy of his regime into question. The ruling king never came to Mexico during the Spanish colonial period. In the neocolonial context, Maximilian was moving to a former colony to rule, where the Mexicans expected a magnificent ruler.

models as there are spectators,” thus indicating that the sitter/subject could be any viewer. Michel Foucault, The Order of Things (New York: Random House, 1970), 4.

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From Miramar to Mexico: Maximilian and Public Ceremony

Maximilian’s voyage from Miramar, Italy to Veracruz, Mexico was marked not only by numerous, highly visible royal events, but also by a publication detailing the ceremonies, receptions, and festivities in honor of his arrival. Much of the description found in De Miramar a México, Viaje del emperador Maximiliano y de la emperatriz Carlota mirrors that described for the inaugural entrances of the viceroy in the colonial period of New Spain. In fact, the book itself was modeled after a colonial publication by Cristóbal Gutiérrez de Medina that tells the story of the transatlantic voyage of New Spain’s newly appointed Viceroy, the Marquis of

Villena. The book was titled, Viage de tierra, y mar, feliz por mar, y tierra, que hizo el excellentissimo señor Marqués de Viellna [sic].111 The older publication also details the ceremonial procession between his port of entry at Veracruz and his arrival in Mexico City where he was greeted amid great fanfare for his inaugural entry, just as De Miramar a México describes the scene that awaited Maximilian.

According to the description of the neocolonial celebration in De Miramar a México, upon their arrival in Córdoba, Mexico, Maximilian and Carlota were treated to music and poetry, ephemeral arches covered in flowers, dances, and fireworks, as well as a meal with representatives from the local indigenous communities.112 Similar festivities, just as described in the Spanish colonial period, followed in town after town as the sovereigns approached the capital. Additionally, the procession from town to town was made in a carriage of baroque design that was designed just for the occasion (Figure 2-10). It was created by the House of

111 Cristóbal Gutiérrez de Medina, Viage de tierra, y mar, feliz por mar, y tierra, que hizo el excellentissimo señor Marqués de Viellna….(1640; reprint, with an introduction and notes by Manuel Romero de Terreros, Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Historia, 1947).

112 De Miramar a Mexico, viaje del emperador Maximiliano y de la emperatriz Carlota (Mexico City: Imprenta de J. Bernardo Aburto, 1864), 414.

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Cesare Scala of Milan, Italy and is decorated with silver and bronzed molding, sculptures of children and angels, imperial seals, and the inscription Equalidad en la justicia, or, “Equality in justice.” The elaborate decoration of the carriage is yet another Spanish-colonial tradition.

During that period, Mexico became legendary for the quantity and lavish decoration of its fine carriages.113

Nevertheless, it was upon Maximilian’s entrance into Mexico City that weeks of celebration rivaled those described in New Spain. Here, any visual aspects of Maximilian’s ceremonious entrance would have been planned and executed by members of the School of the

Arts, which was funded by the state, and thus was under the guidance of Maximilian’s supporters. The Academy of San Carlos was the first art academy in the Americas upon its founding in 1783 under the Bourbon Spanish crown. The program of instruction followed its predecessor in Spain, which in turn was modeled after the French Académie des Beaux-Arts.

Classes were taught in the Western European tradition, drawing upon classical Greco-Roman aesthetics to promote Neoclassicism. One example of a visual element that was paramount to the emperor’s arrival and executed by an academic artist was the ephemeral arch of triumph, which was planned and implemented by the Cabildo of Mexico City.114 Amidst the poetic details of the events in De Miramar a México is a description of the arch built in Mexico City in honor of the emperor. The arch was meant to 1) represent his ideals of good governance, 2) convey his physical presence, and 3) demonstrate his magnificence to the Mexican people.

De Miramar a Mexico opens the account of Mexico City’s celebrations for the emperor’s arrival with excerpts from the periodical Cronista on the thirteenth of June, 1864 that detail the

113 In fact, the Mexicans became so renowned for their carriage ornamentation that a royal pragmatic in 1684 forbade their continued decoration. Ilona Katzew, Casta Painting (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), 68.

114A cabildo is a city council. Actas de cabildo, 18 de febrero, 1864.

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decorations on the Palace and the ephemeral arches constructed for the emperor on the Calle de

Plateros:

In the palace the doorways are adorned with the most beautiful golden arches of exquisite taste, and the balconies display rich draperies with the colors of the national flag. On each of the three doors of entry, a portrait in oil is featured of the emperor.115

In this description, we see an emphasis placed on the decoration of the Palace, the most important of the colonial-period representations of the crown. The painted oil portrait hung in the decorative golden arches above each door brought the physical image of the new emperor116 to the forefront of importance. Unfortunately, the definitive identification and location of these particular portraits remains uncertain. However, I have identified five painted portraits that may have been used for this function among the extant group of the emperor’s portraits that date to

Maximilian’s arrival, when this description was penned. It is important to note that upon his arrival in Mexico City, there were still no full-length state portraits, despite the hopes and commissions initiated by the imperialistas. Among the portraits still extant that may date to

1864, which I suggest might have served as a decorative function for the emperor’s entrance ceremonies, all are bust portraits and none is based upon the Malovich carte-de-visite.

There are three paintings, two of which are not dated, that may have decorated the Palace entrance. Of these, one was painted by an anonymous artist, and one by Francisco Morales Van

Den Eyden. The third was by Juan Cordero and was dated June of 1864, the exact month of the arrival ceremonies held in honor of Maximilian and Carlota. All three of these painted portraits

115 Ibid., 222. “En Palacio las puertas se veian adornadas de bellísimos arcos dorados de exquisito gusto, y en los balcones se ostentaban ricas colgaduras con los colores del pabellón nacional. Sobre cada una de las tres puertas de entrada, se veia un retrato al óleo del Emperador” (my translation above).

116 The portraits that I have identified as having potentially been used to adorn the palace are printed in the exhibition book by Acevedo, Testimonios artisticos de un episodio fugaz on pages 106, 162, and 165. Acevedo does not claim these portraits were used to decorate the exterior of the palace.

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were derived from the previously discussed lithograph that circulated prior to the sovereigns’ arrival (Figure 2-9). Because the portraits are so similar, we will examine one example painted by Juan Cordero (Figure 2-11). The bust portrait of the emperor is nearly identical to the lithograph in the three-quarter angle as well as physical characteristics, such as the beard styling.

The naval military costume and decorations were also derived from the print. In this portrait,

Maximilian wears an admiral’s coat with epaulettes, military buttons, and decorative collar.

Beneath, a sash bearing the red and green of the Mexican flag crosses his chest. His neck is tied with a black silk scarf and he wears a necklace of military decoration.

Additionally, there are two oval-format painted portraits of Maximilian in profile that may have been used for ceremonial palace decorative paintings, which date to 1864 to coincide with the emperor’s arrival. One of these was painted by José Asperti; the other artist is anonymous.117 Again, because both portraits are so similar, we will examine one example, which is a carte-de-visite photograph of the anonymously painted portrait (Figure 2-12). The young Maximilian von Habsburg is shown turned to show his left profile. The view is focused on the emperor’s head, even his shoulders do not appear in the oval frame. His beard is parted, curled, and lying against his jacket lapel closest to the viewer.

This neocolonial practice of showcasing the imperial portrait on the façade of the palace differs from that of the Spanish colonial era, when emphasis was placed on symbols of the

Spanish king’s familial heritage, such as the royal crest or the standard.118 Such a tactic drew attention away from the fact that the king did not reside in the building, and instead refocused colonial subjects on the legacy and stability of the king’s heritage. With Maximilian’s arrival,

117 Konrad Ratz, Querétaro: Fin del Segundo Imperio Mexicano (Mexico City: Cien de Mexico, 2005), 332.

118 The Spanish coat of arms had been displayed above the three entrances in various colonial paintings, including the biombo (folding screen) located at the Museo de América in Madrid titled, Royal Palace in Mexico City, seventeenth century, oil on canvas. The biombo is reproduced in Schreffler, The Art of Allegiance, 2007, 16-17.

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the shift in imagery may be due to the fact that the ruler was now present. Aside from this mode of display, the ceremonial plans and decorative strategy for the inaugural entrance ceremonies connected Maximilian visually with previous viceroys and colonial kings in order to define his noble lineage and legitimize his assumed place as the sovereign of Mexico.

Before reaching 1 calle de Plateros, a sumptuous arch is raised in the Plaza de Armas, the majestic arch of the Roman order, of the most beautiful proportions, that reveals immediately the skillful design of its conception from bottom to top. This arch illuminates four pretty columns of beautiful proportions, and in the space between the columns is described, in relief, the allegory of the sciences and the arts. On the entablature one admires a frieze, where, in low relief, appear the commission of Miramar and the group of Notables: on this finished frieze, that serves as base, stands the statue of the emperor of three and a half varas in height: to his right is the figure that represents Equality, and to the left, Justice; both of an outstanding merit and of great effect.119

The arch described above (Figure 2-13), of the “Roman order,” was designed by Ramón

Agea, a distinguished academic architect from the Academy of San Carlos, and was executed by

Epitacio Calvo, Felipe Sojo, and Petronilo Monroy.120 Through its design and decoration, the arch visually conveyed Enlightenment principles of equality and justice taught to Maximilian in his youth, and reflected those qualities he strove to implement in his idealistically liberal mandates.121 The low relief frieze tells the story of the Mexican notables who traveled to Italy to invite Maximilian to adopt the role of Mexican Emperor. The base of the arch was decorated

119 “Poco antes de penetrar en la 1º Calle de Plateros, se elevaba en la Plaza de Armas un suntuoso arco dedicado al Emperador, arco magestuoso, de órden romano, de bellísimas proporciones, que revelaba inmediatamente las hábiles inteligencias que lo conciebieron y lo llevaron á cabo. En ese arco lucen cuatro hermosas columnas de bellas proporciones, y en los intercolumnios, se descubren, en relieve, la alegoría de las ciencas y de las artes. Sobre el cornisamento se admira un friso donde van representadas, en bajo relieve, la comision de Miramar y la junta de Notables: sobre ese acabado friso que sirve como de zócalo, se destaca la estatua del Emperador de 3 y media varas: á su derecha tiene la figura que representa la Equidad, y á la izquierda la Justicia; ambas de un mérito sobresaliente y de gran efecto.” De Miramar a Mexico, viaje del Emperador Maximiliano y de la Emperatriz Carlota, 1864, 222.

120 Acevedo, “La creación de un proyecto imperial,” 1995b, 53.

121 For example, during his reign, he abolished child labor, limited working hours, reinstated communal property, and forbade corporal punishment. For more details on Maximilian’s political agenda, see Konrad Ratz, Tras las huellas de un desconocido, 2008.

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with allegories of the sciences and the arts. In sum, the arch demonstrated pictorially ideas associated with good governance based upon Greco-Roman political precedents that were handed down from the Enlightenment philosophers.

As seen in the lithograph, at the top and center of the arch Maximilian’s statue towers over the city at a height larger than human scale. His right hand is extended in the classic oratorical position to hold the pole of the national flag. However, upon closer inspection, one notices that the emperor’s stance is not in a classical contraposto pose, nor a dynamic stride, as was the tradition in antiquity. Neoclassical statuary decorating triumphal arches typically convey a high degree of energy and momentum with the addition of horses that appear to be galloping from the crest of the arch. Here, we see a stance resembling the casual pose

Maximilian took in the Malovich carte-de-visite portrait, albeit in a mirrored reversal of the image. Evidently, the statue created for the top of the “Arco del emperador” was modeled, at least in part, after the Malovich portrait sent prior to Maximilian’s arrival.

Two important insights then arise. One is the fact that the plan and details of the entrance ceremonies were arranged by the imperialistas, rather than by Maximilian himself. This is evident in the numerous repetitions in the route, the celebrations, the decorations, and the ceremonies that took place during the entrance of the viceroy in the colonial period and the later arrival of Maximilian. The imperialistas held an enormous amount of control over Maximilian’s public image, at least in the early days of the empire. A second point is that the statue located atop the resplendent arch that tells the story of how Maximilian came to Mexico and conveys important aspects of his intentions for the government under his rule is anything but magnificent.

Maximilian’s figure does not appear active and inspired by what is depicted beneath him, by his very foundation, but rather seems tentative. If the Malovich portrait, which served as a model

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for the statue and circulated widely, had been more dynamic, perhaps some Mexicans would have responded differently to the sovereign and perhaps even to his regime. In the neocolonial setting of Mexico, with numerous differences among viewers, both the intentions and interpretations of similar imagery were hybrid.

The empress Carlota was also recognized with an arch placed at the entrance to the

Betlemitas Convent. Hers was titled the “Arco de las Flores” (Figure 2-14). Manuel Serrano created the design, which was described as being of the Gothic order.122 The sinewy upper register was supported by four thin columns that extended to the foundation at the street level.

The “Arco de las Flores” lived up to its name: it was surrounded by large potted plants, and featured floral garlands wrapped around the surface and gathered at the center of the opening, where a cherub floated to distribute them from his basket. At the peak of the arch, statues resembling the three muses embraced, surrounded by four flags of the Second Mexican Empire.

Just below the statues, at the top of the trifoil arch, was a large portrait of the empress. Although the image is difficult to decipher in the lithograph, the viewer can make out the neckline, pose, and crown of flowers present in the Malovich photograph. Again, as was the case with the statue on the Arco del emperador, the carte-de-visite portrait sent of the sovereign was used to create her image, larger than life, peering over the Mexican masses who attended the inauguration ceremonies. Because the arches had to be made prior to the sovereigns’ arrival, it is clear that the imperialistas planned not only the sequence of festivities for Maximilian’s entrance along the traditional route of the viceroy, but also oversaw the design and execution of the symbolic arches created for his arrival at the capital city. Furthermore, it is highly probable that the carte-de- visite portraits were intended to be used as models for the grand, ephemeral arches from the

122 Acevedo, “La creación de un proyecto imperial,” 1995b, 53.

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outset. Clearly, the imperialistas played an active role in the creation of the image of the Second

Mexican Empire long before the posed “emperor” arrived.

The Second Mexican Empire engaged in numerous activities that were linked to Spanish colonial traditions. In addition to the festivities held in each town upon the couple’s arrival, a Te

Deum mass was held in their honor. During the fifteen-day span of welcoming ceremonies in

Mexico City, which included entertainment for all classes of Mexicans, the celebrations ranged from acrobats, fireworks, and dramatic performances in the public plazas to invitational dances and dinners. At one point during the public festivals, Maximilian and Carlota rode in an open carriage around the city in a circular fashion, ceremoniously creating the boundary of the capital of their regime. All of these events gave the public the opportunity to see and be seen by the emperor, to exchange gazes in a visual contract of power and submission.

Photographs, however, especially as small cartes-de-visite, may have worked against the intended imperial impression of the high festivities and legitimacy planned by the imperialistas.

The cartes-de-visite distributed upon the sovereigns’ arrival, and later sold by entrepreneurial photographers, seem to have reversed the power dynamic between Maximilian and the

Mexicans. The democratization process of the carte-de-visite by which kings and commoners began to find a common physical resemblance through the standardized backdrops, clothing, hairstyles, and poses of the genre gave Mexican citizens a sense of empowerment when viewing the small photographic portraits of their emperor. Like the viceroy who saw himself in the portrait of the king, so too did the upper class Mexican man began to see his own likeness in the cartes-de-visite of the emperor, thus counteracting the neocolonial agenda to convey imperial status through a hierarchical visual exchange and justify rule through ritual. Further, this spectatorial vantage point offered to the carte-de-visite viewer was not offered to a restricted few

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who desired to show their allegiance, as in the colonial days of old. Cartes-de-visite depicting the emperor were available throughout Mexico to Maximilian’s adversaries and supporters alike.

Many of these consumers had the resources to have their own portraits done in a very similar manner.

Because Mexicans could purchase, display, and hold the small carte-de-visite image of their ruler, the directional qualities inherent in the contractual gaze may have shifted poles. Post- independence carte-de-visite owners felt a greater sense of empowerment than the royal subject of New Spain who stood dwarfed before the grand portrait of his ruler. The modern Mexican man loomed large over his small carte-de-visite of his emperor. Gone were the Spanish colonial days of the imagined despot. Maximilian was present physically, he was visible, and his image fit into the upper-class Mexican citizen’s hand, as well as his family album.

The Painted State Portrait, Realized

It was not until 1865, a year and a half after Maximilian’s arrival, that the imperialistas achieved their goal, as described in their correspondence referenced above, of commissioning and receiving a large-scale painted state portrait of Maximilian, Emperor of Mexico. In fact, in

1865 and 1866 several official grand manner painted portraits and sculpted portraits were completed of the emperor. However, there is one painted state portrait of particular interest to the discussion at hand because, as noted by Esther Acevedo, the artist may have used a carte-de- visite photograph as his model.123 The photograph, taken by French photographer François

Aubert (1829-1906) in Mexico City (Figure 2-15), clearly illustrates significant differences from the previous cartes-de-visite taken by Malovich. The emperor is posed in his military uniform, replete with epaulettes, medals of honor, and chains representing the Order of Our Lady of

123 Acevedo, “La creación de un proyecto imperial,” 1995b, 65.

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Guadalupe and the Order of the Mexican Eagle. His right hand rests upon a velvet pillow, while his left hand is on his sword handle.

These accessories are more consistent with elements seen in the tradition of grand painted state portraits of kings, rather than the mid-nineteenth-century photographic portraits of the sovereign-as-gentleman prince described above.124 The probable rationale for this change in costume and props surrounds Maximilian’s arrival in Mexico, where he was both officially ruling and where he was able to better understand the cultural context and participate in the image-making process. The climate was ripe for a magnificent, imperial portrait. In 1865, the

Second Mexican Empire had reached its apex of success. Benito Juarez and his republican army had been pushed back into the United States. The Empire had gained territory and soldiers, and still had the military support of the French. However, neither Maximilian’s expression, nor his posture, nor his stance look active, or even interested, for that matter. Again, like the Malovich portraits, the emperor’s weight is shifted in a way that conjures a body language of indifference.

He leans away from the picture plane. Maximilian looks to the side and does not meet the viewer’s gaze. Rather than taking an active role in making his political image, he seems content to sit back and let the photographer take the picture.

The painted state portrait of Maximilian (1865) was painted by Santiago Rebull, the director of painting at the Art Academy of San Carlos, from whose artists Maximilian commissioned numerous works (Figure 2-16).125 This portrait clearly manifests the

124 Other sovereigns had posed for carte-de-visite photographs that were intended to serve as models for grand manner state portraits, but these did not circulate as widely as those of the ruler in a standard carte-de-visite pose – those identified here as gentleman prince portraits.

125 The Mexican art academy was called the “Academia Imperial de San Carlos de México” during the Second Mexican Empire. During his rule, Maximilian supported the academy both politically and through commissioned art work. José Luis Blasio indicates that Maximilian commissioned Rebull to paint two portraits of him – one on horseback and another full-body portrait of him dressed as a Mexican general. Additionally, Rebull painted imagined Pompeiian women in several niches at Maximilian’s residence at Chapultepec. A Salon exhibition was

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imperialistas’ expressed desire for an imperial image that would “move wills and attract loyalties,”126 a visible contrast to the standard carte-de-visite photographs that were delivered in the empire’s early days. In the painted portrait, the artist capitalizes upon Maximilian’s role as emperor with the addition of regal details such as an ermine robe, the carved back of a throne- like chair, a crown, a scepter, and a draped background, with an open window looking out to the emperor’s territory.

While Aubert’s carte-de-visite of Maximilian (Figure 2-15) conveys a lack of enthusiasm and confidence through body language, Rebull’s portrait adjusts the emperor’s body language to communicate a different message. In the painted portrait, Maximilian’s center of gravity shifts forward, bringing his body closer to the picture plane. Likewise, the emperor’s chest is elevated in the painted portrait, conveying an air of authority. Because his hand is positioned on his hip, instead of his sword, his left arm appears firm and capable, rather than listless. Perhaps most importantly, the emperor’s gaze looks out at the viewer. The number of changes to Maximilian’s pose in his painted portrait suggests that his body language in the Aubert photographs and other preceding examples may not have conveyed the ideals sought in an emperor by the imperialistas.

Summary: A regime of contradictions

Maximilian’s regime was known for its love of festivities. In Mexico, Maximilian appeared to be surrounded by ceremonies. The inaugural entrance is one example of numerous celebrations held in honor of and by the new emperor. Such ceremonies recalled a bygone era of colonial tradition. The very form and function of these imperial signs, such as that of the

held in the fall of 1865 featuring the work of selected artists from the Academy. José Luis Blasio, Maximilian, Emperor of Mexico (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1934), 56.

126 This phrase is excerpted from early correspondence between the Imperialistas concerning the construction of Maximilian’s image. The letter is referenced in discussion above. Cited in Acevedo, “La creación de un proyecto imperial,” 1995b, 41.

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ephemeral arch constructed at the entrance to the main plaza, the entrance festivities, the ritual of encircling the city, and the visual contract, recall the conservative Spanish colonial tradition of representational strategies and indicate a high degree of planning by the imperialistas. However, this colonial public culture and its associated principles conflicted with Maximilian’s initial attempts to fashion himself as a gentleman prince who was available to the masses via photograph carte-de-visite imagery and distribution.

The question was, with the sovereign physically present in Mexico, would he live up to the people’s ideal? The ruler was no longer a figment as in the colonial era, where his presence was only noted through visual representations such as grand portraiture and royal symbols, and in person by the viceroy. Now there was the actual presence of a mere man who dressed like a bourgeois gentleman, who could be seen in the streets, and who could be viewed in a hand-held photograph. Would this new ruler appeal to his supporters and the Mexican public? If not, how would he legitimize his laws, his rule, his very presence? This is a question to be addressed in the following chapter.

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Figure 2-1. Giuseppe Malovich, Maximilian von Habsburg, albumen carte-de-visite, 1864. Image meets “Fair Use” standards as defined by the Prints & Photographs Division, Library of Congress, LC-USZ62-131388.

Figure 2-2. François Merille, Miguel Miramón, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1866. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 12.478.

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Figure 2-3. Ludwig Angerer, Emperor Franz Joseph, albumen carte-de-visite, 1862, http://www.photobibliothek.ch/seite003d2.html. Image is in the public domain and meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 2-4. John Jabez Edwin Mayall, Prince Albert of England, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1861, National Portrait Gallery, London. Image is in the public domain and meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 2-5. A.A.E. Disderi, Carte-de-visite of Napoleon III, 1859. Image available online through La Bibliothèque Nationale de France: http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b530201040/f1.item.r=Napoleon%20III,%20disde ri.langEN. Image is in the public domain and meets “Fair Use” Standards.

Figure 2-6. Ghémar Frères, Maximilian, Archduke of Austria, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1863. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.650.

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Figure 2-7. Robert Bingham Phot., Maximilian, Archduke of Austria, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1863. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.650.

Figure 2-8. Giuseppe Malovich (Ghémar Frères studio copy), Carlota, sold in cartes-de-visite format, 1864. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.675.

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Figure 2-9. Decaen, “Sus majestades el archiduque Maximiliano y la archiduquesa Carlota.” Printed as the frontispiece for José Maria Gutiérrez Estrada, México y el archduque Fernando Maximiliano de Austria by J. M. Gutiérrez de Estrada (Mexico City, 1863). Image is in the public domain and meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 2-10. Imperial carriage. Designed by the House of Cesare Scala, Milan, Italy, 1864. Part of the permanent collection at the Museo Nacional de Historia at Chapultepec Castle, Mexico City. Photograph by the author.

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Figure 2-11. Juan Cordero, Maximiliano, oil on canvas, 60 x 40cm, 1864. Private collection. Reprinted from Esther Acevedo, ed., Testimonios artísticos de un episodio fugaz (1864-1867) (Mexico City, 1995), 103. Use of this image meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 2-12. Anonymous, Emperor Maximilian, bust portrait, turned left, albumen carte-de- visite, between 1850 and 1867. Use of this image meets “Fair Use” standards. Courtesy of the Prints & Photographs Division, Library of Congress, LC-USZ62- 131388.

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Figure 2-13. G. Rodríguez, Arco del Emperador, print, 1864. Reprinted from Advenimiento de SS. MM. II. Maximiliano y Carlota al trono de México (México City, 1864), 277. Book and image are in the public domain and meet “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 2-14. G. Rodríguez, Arco de las Flores, print, 1864. Reprinted from Advenimiento de SS. MM. II. Maximiliano y Carlota al trono de México (México City, 1864). Book and image are in the public domain and meet “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 2-15. François Aubert, Maximilian I of Mexico, albumen carte-de-visite, 1865. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.656.

Figure 2-16. Joaquín Ramírez (copied after Santiago Rebull), Maximiliano, Emperador de Mexico, oil on canvas, 240 x 160cm, 1866, Museo Nacional de Historia, INAH, Mexico City. Use of this image meets “Fair Use” standards.

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CHAPTER 3 THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES

So, too, it happened at Mexico when he first put on the national riding-dress. He laughlingly assured us that he did not know how to pass sufficiently unnoticed out of his room into the open air, and that he did not lose the feeling of being in disguise until he was seated on his horse.1

Amid the numerous carte-de-visite representations of Mexico’s Emperor Maximilian von

Habsburg exists an anomaly whose analysis provides insight to the conflicting factions the sovereign tried to appease during the period of his brief rule (1864-1867) (Figure 3-1). The initial set of carte-de-visite portraits of the emperor, which were funded by the empire for propaganda to promote Maximilian and the Second Mexican Empire during the plebescite, conveyed him as a gentleman prince wearing European-style clothing. However, the carte-de- visite now known as Maximiliano (charro) (thanks to the handwritten inscription) shows the emperor costumed in elements that signify the Mexican ranch and the national pride associated with it. The resulting image serves as an index to a complex interplay of imperial ideologies, political forces, and representational strategies.

Rather than conveying himself in the bourgeois mode of the European monarchs of his day, or in a still fancier style of dress meant to communicate his elevated bloodline, here

Maximilian appears in a combination of European attire paired with Mexican accessories. The wide-brimmed hat and the spurs, in particular, recall the Mexican costume associated with the ranchman, or charro – a costume which, when worn by a European emperor, crossed lines of both race and class.

1 Paula Kollonitz’s description of Maximilian’s self-described self-consciousness while dressed in a Mexican horseman’s costume, some elements of which are similar to the representation discussed below. The quotation is recorded in her memoir: Paula Kollonitz, The Court of Mexico (London, Saunders, Otley, and Co., 1868), 221.

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Maximiliano (charro) raises many questions. Was this picture taken and distributed for propaganda purposes, like so many of the other carte-de-visite portraits of Maximilian? Was the emperor actually wearing a charro costume? If not, why would the photograph have been labeled as such? If Maximilian was dressed in clothing that read as a “Mexican” costume by his contemporaries, what did its appropriation by an emperor mean? How would such an act be interpreted? Why would Maximilian describe himself as having the feeling of being “in disguise” when wearing a similar costume, as referenced in the chapter heading above?

In Maximiliano (charro) (Figure 3-1), Maximilian is shown wearing a black suit with a long, European frock coat, the left shoulder of which is ornamented with medals recognizing his service to the Austrian navy. The combined elements of the wide-brimmed hat, the spurs, and the European attire and accessories create a hybrid persona, one that recalls aspects of both emperor and commoner, European and Mexican. In his right hand, he carries a walking stick.

Under his left arm, he carries a long, slender cylindrical object, which is a telescope.2 The photo was taken without the usual backdrop of the carte-de-visite, focusing the viewer’s attention directly on the emperor’s vestments and hand-held props. This strategy references the costumbrista imagery of anonymous ranch workers that was popular at the time.

An interesting counter-example for Maximilian’s charro portrait is a carte-de-visite photograph of Benito Juarez (Figure 3-2), the man who served as Mexican President before and after Maximilian’s imperial reign. In this photo, Juarez is shown in a typical carte-de-visite portrait setting. The background includes the standard curtain and the squared column serves as a physical support to eliminate movement during the picture-taking process. Juarez is shown wearing an elegant tuxedo consisting of black pants, vest, and a jacket with tails. His costume is

2 Felix Salm Salm mentions that Maximilian carried a “perspective glass” with him when he walked. See My Diary in Mexico in 1867 including the Last Days of the Emperor Maximilian (London: Richard Bentley, 1868), 314.

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in keeping with the expected norm for the upper-class Mexican, especially the president or sovereign. Juarez is an interesting comparison to Maximiliano (charro) because he was the first

(and only) Mexican President of indigenous heritage. Much ado was made of Juarez’s Zapotec background in the nineteenth century, as continues to be the case today. However, Juarez did not pose for his portrait in clothing that signified anything other than his upper-class status as a lawyer and democratic president of Mexico. He chose more elegant attire than one might see in the average carte-de-visite portrait. His costume conveys knowledge of his status and the social capability to handle his position. Of course, the expectations placed on Juarez as president were very different than those placed on Maximilian as a new ruler from one of the oldest aristocratic families in Europe.

In Maximiliano (charro), the emperor is holding functional accessories that demonstrate authority in a European context and play upon Mexican national styles. The photograph also serves as a referential index to Maximilian’s habit of occasionally dressing in the complete costume of the charro (also known as chinaco or ranchero). But further, each accessory in the photograph points to a representational strategy attempted during his reign. The decorated frock coat and the walking stick recall the accepted costume for the military portrait of his royal contemporaries ruling in Europe, where both accessories served as symbols of rank. The telescope resembles the military rod seen in portraits of Habsburgs who ruled Mexico in the previous colonial period, a visual cue that historicizes Maximilian’s claim to legitimacy. The hat and spurs, as I will argue, create multivalance, in their reference to the Mexican ranch and horsemanship. In short, the image conveys the hybrid persona of an emperor who sought to integrate liberals, moderates, and conservative politicians from both European and Mexican backgrounds into his cabinet and gain the support of their wider constituencies.

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The frock coat pinned with Maximilian’s medals of decoration showcases the emperor’s previous military experience as an admiral in the Austrian Navy. The European-style coat also recalls Maximilian’s representational strategy of posing as a gentleman prince. Rather than dressing in a fashion superior to his upper-class Mexican supporters, he donned clothing that resembled that of his cabinet members. Although this strategy was popular among his peers in

Europe, it was met with some resistance in Mexico as was seen in Chapter 2.

European military portraits of kings, emperors, and generals often featured items such as the walking stick and the telescope. They demonstrate the sovereign active in his role to protect his people at (or near) the battle front, or the perceived edge of the empire. The military attire and accoutrements were thought to have become a “second skin” symbolizing the merging of the office and the person “well-suited” for the role.3

The telescope was sometimes featured as an item that demonstrated the organizational capabilities of the sovereign. A telescope was a leader’s tool. It was used to see beyond the eye of the ordinary man, to guide the troops, to control the mission, and survey conquered territories.

Additionally, the telescope serves an iconographic purpose; both its cylindrical shape and its presence in this portrait of Maximilian, as the neocolonial ruler of Mexico, recall the role of the military rod, or baton, in royal portraiture of the Habsburg rulers of New Spain dating as early as the sixteenth-century. The rod was as a uniform accessory that served as a symbol of power for officials of high rank.

Likewise, the walking stick was sometimes referred to as a “swagger stick” in military contexts. An accessory dating back to the Roman Empire, the swagger stick was an item that

3 The “second skin” was a nineteenth-century descriptor of men’s fashion in which the well-fitted garment was said to symbolize the merging of office and person through uniform, usually referencing military clothing. See note 57 on page 236 of Julianne Vogel, “The Double Skin: Imperial Fashion in the Nineteenth Century,” in The Body of the Queen, ed. Regina Schulte (New York: Berghan Books, 2006).

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designated military rank and authority, due to its function leading military drills and administering punishment. Maximiliano (charro) falls into the category of the European military portrait because of its setting, the accessories worn by the emperor, and its timing. The photograph was taken in the town of Querétaro after the departure of the French military and after Maximilian had joined his reduced army to fight against Juarez’s republican forces at the front.4

The hat and spurs, which were accessories of horsemanship, also bring this photograph into dialogue with contemporary costumbrista5 representations of the national “type” of the cowboy. Although numerous nearly interchangeable terms existed for this “type,” the Mexican ranch worker was generically referred to as the ranchero, while chinaco was used to reference a specific type of Mexican horseman who fought as a guerrilla warrior in the resistance against the

Mexican Empire, as in other wars. The word chinaco is derived from a Nahuatl term and was applied to the guerrilla fighter because of his “nakedness,” to indicate a lack of appropriate attire for battle, as well as the guerrilla’s race and class.6 The word charro is a term that became popular in the late nineteenth century and held similar meaning to that of the chinaco, which was strongly associated with national pride.7 In order to avoid confusion, I will use the term charro,

4 The Maximiliano (charro) carte-de-visite is dated May 3, 1867 on the reverse of the card. The picture was taken in Querétaro shortly before Maximilian’s capture on the 15th of May. The photo is housed at the Museo Nacional de Historia in Mexico City.

5 The genre of costumbrismo consists of popular painted, lithographic, and photographic imagery that examines the customs, or ways of life, of people living on the fringes of the urban, middle-class (and often European) world.

6 As defined in Cecilio Agustín Robelo in Diccionario de aztequismos o sea catálogo de las palabras del idioma nahuatl, azteca, o mexicano (Cuernavaca: Imprenta del autor, 1904): “chinaca: En la Guerra de independencia se dió este nombre á las partidas de insurgentes por su desnudez; despues se aplicó por el partido conservador á las guerrillas y aun al ejercito de los liberales, en la guerra de Reforma (vease ‘chinacate’),” 553.

7 Many authors reviewed for this study discuss the historic connections between the terms “chinaco” and “charro,” including: Graciela Romandia de Cantu, “Caballos reales y caballos imaginados,” in El Caballo en el arte mexicano, ed. Eduardo Baez Macias (Mexico City: Fomento Cultural Banamex, 1994), 107 and 116; Ibsen, 15; Linda Lavin and Gisela Balassa, Museo del traje mexicano (Mexico City: Clio-Sears, 2001), 348; Kathleen Mullen Sands,

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evoking more horseman than guerrilla, to discuss Maximilian’s costume, chinaco when specifically discussing the guerrilla soldier who fought in opposition to his empire, and ranchero when addressing more generic ranch issues or cartes-de-visite photographs.

The horse ranches of Mexico played a major role in the country’s economy during the nineteenth century. They had earned a reputation in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries for acting as centers for military organization to fight against colonial oppression. This was true in the War of Independence (1810-1821), the Mexican-American War (1846-48), and the French Intervention (1861-1867). Ironically, the liberal Mexican factions who actively resisted Maximilian’s authority within the rural ranch setting were often costumed in clothing similar to that which the emperor was labeled as wearing in the photograph. Although he is not shown in full charro regalia here, Maximilian was painted by popular artists on horseback wearing the standard short jacket, side-buttoned pant, decorated sombrero, and spurs, as we will see below. Furthermore, he was known to travel throughout the country in full charro costume.

Some authors today still credit Maximilian with initiating the contemporary urban mode of the charro’s black suit.8

In short, the carte-de-visite Maximiliano (charro) is an image that points to numerous strategies pursued by the emperor throughout his regime to legitimize his rule by appealing to multiple factions. It is my argument that in his efforts to negotiate his position between the liberal factions that opposed his rule and his conservative supporters, Maximilian created a hybrid public image in numerous ways, including personal dress, public portraiture via exhibits such as the Salon, speeches, and even the adoption of two Iturbide children who were

Charreria Mexicana: An Equestrian Folk Tradition (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1993), see chapter on historical background; and museum placards at the “Zapata” exhibit at the Museo Nacional de Historia in Mexico City, July 2010.

8 See Lavin Balassa, 348 and Mullen-Sands, 58-59.

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descendents of the first Emperor of Mexico. However, these efforts failed to appeal to either political side, and in fact may have alienated both parties. In this chapter, I will examine the carte-de-visite known as Maximiliano (charro) with respect to the representational contexts mentioned above, namely the emperor’s own dressing habits as well as those of his contemporaries, official royal and military portraiture, and popular contemporary images of costumbrismo types. I will argue that Maximiliano (charro) points to a complex interplay of imperial ideologies, political forces, and representational strategies associated with the Second

Mexican Empire, all of which Maximilian used in his endeavor to establish legitimacy during his brief reign.

“Maximiliano (charro)” in the Making

The answer to two of the primary questions raised by this image, those regarding the function and distribution of Maximiliano (charro), is located in the published account of the emperor’s last months in Mexico, written by Maximilian’s personal physician. According to Dr.

Samuel Basch, the photograph was taken in the city of Santiago de Querétaro on May 2, 1867.

Maximilian had left Mexico City to join about 8,000 members of his army of loyalists in battle against the republican forces fighting with Benito Juarez. They were pushed back to Querétaro in February of 1867 and held there in a siege that lasted through that May. During this period, the emperor was living at the Monastery of La Cruz, the headquarters of his forces. Samuel

Basch’s journal entry on the day of the photograph’s creation follows.

At the request of Father Aguirre, the field chaplain, the Emperor is photographed at Headquarters. He jokes that the priest has cleverly taken this opportunity to get a souvenir while he, the Emperor is still alive.9

9 Samuel Basch, Recollections of Mexico: The Last Ten Months of Maximilian’s Empire, ed. and trans. Fred D. Ullman (1868; reprint, Wilmington, Delaware: A Scholarly Resources Inc. Imprint, 2001), 185.

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The account given by Dr. Basch indicates that the photograph for this carte-de-visite was not taken in a photo studio. Hence, the lack of studio props standard to commercial carte-de- visite photographers at the time. Rather, the photographer came to the Monastery of La Cruz by invitation to capture a likeness of Maximilian. In Maximiliano (charro) the background is completely plain. Only the carpeted floor and wall are evident. It is not even clear whether the picture was taken outdoors, such as in a courtyard or external corridor, or indoors.

Additionally, the photographer is unknown. The back of the photograph reads, “May 3,

1867.” There are no marks like those common to the carte-de-visite that include the address and name of the commercial photographer’s business. Without this knowledge, it is difficult to hypothesize the intended use of the photograph, whether it was for propaganda, profit, or the priest’s personal use. The photographer’s politics are unknown, which may have provided further information about the reproduction or afterlife of the image.

However, we do know that this carte-de-visite was not as widely distributed as the propaganda portraits examined in the Chapter 2. Within the archives I consulted, the image labeled “Maximiliano (charro)” is the only version of the photograph I found. Furthermore, among secondary sources that reference the image, this photograph, located at the Museo

Nacional de Historia, is the only one cited. Other images of Maximilian, including those portraits printed and distributed upon his arrival in Mexico, and those taken and sold after his death, appear numerous times in carte-de-visite collections covering the French Intervention period. Therefore, based upon the card’s minimal appearances in collections and the account from Dr. Basch of the photograph’s creation, it is logical to conclude that Maximiliano (charro) was not an image distributed widely for propaganda and may have been a picture taken on a whim.

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At the time the photo was taken, Maximilian was stationed close to the battle lines, strategizing military maneuvers and periodically fighting next to his supporters. Thus, some of his costume and accessory choices appear to have been logical for a military leader’s attire, given the circumstances. If an emperor is riding on horseback to see his men in battle, spurs and a large brimmed hat are useful accessories. Likewise, a telescope would enable him to see his troops’ location from a distance and a walking stick would help him navigate the rough terrain while on foot.

Indeed, Felix Salm-Salm, a noble Prussian military officer who served under Maximilian, described the emperor in exactly such a suit in his memoires.

The Emperor was received by the troops with great enthusiasm. He mounted a very fine Piebald horse, with Mexican saddle and bridle, wore the general’s coat without epaulets, dark trousers, and over them boots reaching up to his knees, and a large Mexican sombrero. He was armed with a sabre, and two revolvers attached to the saddle. He held always in his hand a single, very simple field glass (which he gave me later as a keepsake), through which he scanned the country before him very frequently.10

Although these historic accounts provide an understanding of the emperor’s customary clothing while in Querétaro and this photograph’s function, which was not propagandistic, but rather a spontaneous record of Maximilian’s life in Querétaro, many questions remain. Why would Maximilian have adopted charro attire in other situations? What meanings, if any, were conveyed by his choices? Examination of Maximilian’s dressing habits will shed some light on the indexical cues mentioned in this chapter’s introduction.

10 Salm-Salm, 25.

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Maximilian and Mexican Costume

In Kollonitz’s recollection and description in this chapter’s epigraph, the emperor indicated that he felt “in disguise” when he was dressed in the clothing of a Mexican horseman.11

His word choices in her descriptions of this event are indicative of a sense of both embarrassment and duty, anad suggest an internal conflict between his public and private

“selves.” Some authors have commented that perhaps Maximilian’s costume choices were indicative of a great love for the Mexican saddle, or for the costume itself.12 However, in light of this personal revelation to a close friend, the representation of “Maximilian” as “charro” raises many questions: Why did the emperor choose to dress “in disguise”? Was this a statement made to Kollonitz out of embarrassment because she was a European member of the court? How often did he engage in such a practice? How were his fashioned identities recorded and disseminated?

What functions did such imagery and practices serve his regime? Did others feel like

Maximilian was “in disguise”?

Within historic documents written by Maximilian himself, evidence exists of the emperor’s awareness of the societal significance of dress. Prior to his arrival in Mexico, the emperor prepared a 400 page volume that regulated the costume and etiquette of his imperial court. While his Reglamento para el servicio y ceremonial de la corte may have been written to establish his legitimacy, it also functioned as a means of enforcing class differences, by delineating each person’s function within the Second Mexican Empire (including household staff), their required actions, and their appropriate attire for a wide variety of events.13 He began

11 Ibid., 221.

12 See, for example, see Blasio’s Maximilian, Emperor of Mexico, p. 9 for a discussion of the emperor’s preference for the Mexican saddle over the English saddle.

13 Maximilian von Habsburg, Reglamento para el Servicio y Ceremonial de la Corte (Mexico City: J.N. Lara, April 10, 1865). Accessed online: http://scholarship.rice.edu/jsp/xml/1911/26931/1/aa00034.tei.html, March 16, 2012.

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composing the 400 page tome, with some plans and illustrations while still on board the Novara during his long sea voyage from Italy to Mexico. The book was completed after his arrival in

Veracruz. The emperor was known for his attention to dress within the context of social and royal duties. He seemed convinced that the ceremony and etiquette displayed at his home in the

Austrian Court must be present in Mexico to preserve his status.14 The degree of detail both in costume and occasion is dizzying. However, despite having written such a document outlining the attire and requisite composure for those around him, he does not seem to have provided any details that regulated his own vestments, nor did he follow the guidelines he set forth for even the closest members of his court, judging by his occasional adoption of the charro suit for imperial functions.

In his historic account of Maximilian’s rule in Mexico, José Luis Blasio explains that the emperor changed clothes at frequent intervals throughout the day and evening in order to remain appropriate for the tone of the numerous events he attended. According to Blasio, the emperor would begin his day wearing a black frock coat with the Order of the Golden Fleece hanging around his neck; however, if duty called for a trip to a warmer region within the country,

Maximilian would change into a fancy version of the charro costume, such as the “white clothes which he always adopted when he traveled in the tropics,” complete with a gold cord around the brim of his woven Panama hat.15

Perhaps the carte-de-visite from the collection at the Musée Royal de l’Armée in Brussels depicts the costume Maximilian reportedly donned in warm climates (Figure 3-3). This carte appears to be a lithograph, hand-painted at the photographer’s studio, which was then pasted to

14 Corti, 417.

15 Blasio, 7-8. José Luis Blasio uses the term charro in his discussions of the Mexican horseman’s costume, however, he wrote his memoires decades after Maximilian´s death. The term was not in general use among Maximilian´s contemporaries during the Second Mexican Empire. It came into use during the 1880s.

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the typical cardstock backing. The image shows Maximilian in a very elegant white version of the Mexican horseman’s suit, such as that described above by Blasio. Maximilian holds a wide- brimmed hat in his hands. He wears an elegant white dress shirt with a light blue silk tie. His short-waisted jacket is typical of fine horseman’s attire, as are the buttons running along the outside seam of his pant leg. The softly painted blue and white hues of his clothing blend with the colors of the decor as if the original picture had been painted in pastel.

Blasio also notes the emperor’s choice to adopt charro attire for special events, such as one held in honor of the Portuguese Minister, the Viscount de Sotomayor. Blasio explains that based upon the Portuguese diplomat’s interest in Mexican horsemanship, the emperor arranged a sports exhibition to include participation of a group of charros from nearby ranches. Two renowned figures in the arts associated with the horse were featured: Colonel Paulino Lamadrid and Feliciano Rodriguez. Both men were also supporters of the empire and served in the military. For this event, Maximilian also dressed in the complete costume of the charro.16

In fact, Maximilian was regularly depicted in non-academic paintings and lithographs in the complete costume associated with the finery of the Mexican horseman or charro. While these examples occur in media other than photography, and therefore have differing aims and audiences, they all serve as a visual record of the emperor’s dressing practices. One such example can be found in a popular painting by an anonymous artist showing Maximilian seated on a horse in a red charro costume (Figure 3-4). All of the elements of the highest form of cowboy attire are present: pants made adjustable for boots with a row of silver buttons

(botonadura) running up the side seam, a hat, probably made of felt, and short jacket, all richly

16 Ibid., 40-41.

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decorated in metallic embroidery; and a serape, draped over the back of his horse, often woven densely of wool to protect its wearer from the elements.17

In his letters to his family, Maximilian mentions, with no embarrassment whatsoever, his adoption of the charro costume for his daily riding regime:

My only free moment is from eight to nine in the morning, when I generally ride out with Charlotte to enjoy the glorious morning air, like everybody here, with one of those admirable Mexican saddles, in Mexican riding-costume, with the broad-brimmed hat, the light jacket, the trousers adorned with their silver buttons, and the admirable and picturesque cloak.18

Here the emperor romantically portrays his costume habits to his brother. His comments are quite a contrast to those expressed by Paula Kollonitz (quoted in the chapter heading).

Evidently, just as the emperor was known for changing his attire to suit the occasion, he also changed his approach to his self-expression, stating his distaste for the Mexican horseman’s costume to one person, and expressing his adoration for it to another, depending upon the recipient of the comment. However, it is also true that here Maximilian describes the costume as it functioned while riding a horse, which Kollonitz describes as the moment when Maximilian’s feeling of self-consciousness fades.

It is interesting to note that the emperor tells his brother that the practice of riding in charro costume as an activity enjoyed by “everybody here.” Such a statement leads the reader to believe that the streets were filled with men on horseback in Mexican riding attire, and thus the description is of a practice that was common during Maximilian’s reign. While many lithographs from the period show a smattering of charro-costumed men in the crowd at large gatherings, it is rare to run across a carte-de-visite photograph that is either a portrait of a

17 See Linda Lavin and Gisela Balassa, Museo del Traje Mexicano, for costume details, including variations between the costumes of the chinaco and the ranchero, 346-349. The chinaco costume description given is a general one.

18 The Emperor Maximilian to the Archduke Karl Ludwig, Chapultepec, January 6, 1865; cited in Corti, 1929, 464.

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Mexican horseman or an anonymous image of a ranchero. This may be due to the perception of the carte-de-visite as an upper- and eventually middle-class, European-inspired phenomenon in

Mexico. As such, it was a fad that was rejected (or at least avoided) by patriotic charros, who were often of the lower class. Furthermore, it is significant that the emperor is interested in engaging in an activity (and drawing attention to his engagement by donning remarkable attire) of the common man. Perhaps Maximilian had some confusion surrounding the roles of horsemanship and work, in the context of Mexican society. Because of the wide division between social classes in Mexico, paid labor was easy and reasonably inexpensive to hire. The upper classes of Mexican society, especially in urban areas, distinguished themselves not only by dress and comportment, but also by activity. Any use of one’s hands that may be considered work was simply not done by members of the upper class. As mentioned previously in Chapter

2, the upper class Mexicans would not even experiment with photography, as many Europeans of means did, because it was considered labor.

Another example in which the emperor appears in Mexican costume is found in a nineteenth-century lithograph (Figure 3-5), titled, “La India Bonita,” or, “The Pretty Indian

Woman.” The print depicts Maximilian riding through one of Mexico City’s parks, presumably

Alameda Park. Here he happens upon a lovely indigenous woman standing behind a tree. Aside from the title, the viewer understands her racial identity through her indigenous costume – her long circle skirt, gathered at the waist, her long braids, and her peasant’s blouse that features indigenous patterns in its embroidery. Quite taken with this woman, Maximilian looks at her while the viewer watches their interaction and admires his Mexican costume. The viewer is granted a position of secrecy, as though standing in the bushes to catch an indiscretion. The perspective is clearly set amid plant life, to the side of the designated path, where the emperor

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was riding. As Maximilian gazes at the indigenous woman, the viewer is not part of the visual exchange, giving the impression, especially when combined with the perspective from the bushes, that the exchange is being watched in secrecy. Additionally, there is a gendered and colonial aspect to this scene. The lithograph is about Maximilian’s attraction to Mexico, here personified by the Indian woman. The emperor’s fascination with all things Mexican is further emphasized by his charro costume.

Still another print of the emperor served as the frontispiece for a book titled, El libro del charro mexicano, published in 1983. Thus, even in the late twentieth century, Maximilian serves as the first illustration to a book on the topic of the Mexican charro, therefore representing an iconic version of the type. Prior to Maximilian, the charro suit was generally either brown or a brighter hue such as red. After the Second Mexican Empire, the mode of the black charro suit was established, and worn by those who were not working on a ranch, but wanted a sophisticated version of the “cowboy” costume that was rapidly becoming a national symbol. The black charro costume became a fashionable city style, perhaps since black was the color worn by

Europeans of most classes. Maxmilian’s recognition for setting the trend in his own time attests to the wide circulation within Mexico of various charro images of him.

The Political Landscape

As stated above, the chinacos, or guerrilla fighters in the resistance movement, themselves dressed (whenever financially possible) in the Mexican ranchero costume, which consisted primarily of the short jacket, pants decorated at the sides with buttons, chaps, a large- brimmed hat, and spurs. Often, these men resided at ranches and haciendas, where the guerrilla resistance to the Second Mexican Empire originated. Furthermore, the call to arms was initiated by hacendados to their employees. This was a call to patriotic duty as well as an opportunity for well-compensated work, especially for the lower classes of the (usually) rural areas. One

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example of compensation offered to guerrilla fighters by a ranch owner included rent and food for the family and animals; repayment for loss of a horse, saddle, and arms in battle; priority status for good farmland; a pension to the families of guerrillas killed in action; oxen, farmland, and work animals for those distinguished in battle; and an equal portion of any booty captured from the enemy.19 These benefits are an indication of how difficult it would be to refuse such an offer, regardless of one’s political leanings; perhaps they even inspired some to change their loyalties to feed their families.

From the outset of the French Intervention, landowners were ready to support the guerrilla campaigns financially to protect their land and holdings from raiding gangs of bandits, to expand their land, or to express their dissatisfaction with the political authority.20 As mentioned above, chinacos had participated in the War of Independence and the war against the

United States, and they were rumored to have started the War of the Reform.21 These guerrillas had much invested over the generations in the land and their attachment to it was reflected in their continued commitment to fight for Mexican independence. However, chinaco loyalty was fluid.22 Although these guerrilla groups have long been identified in the official historiography as “guerrillas liberales,”23 and although liberalism was an ideology of minority races and the

19 Mullen Sands, 279.

20 Ibid. 57.

21 Ibid. 57-58.

22 See Monroy Casillas, “La resistencia liberal y popular en la peninsula Yucateca durante el Segundo Imperio, 1865-1867,” Cuicuilco 10, no. 29, (septiembre – diciembre 2003).

23 In a recent study, the author uses paintings from the mid-nineteenth century, and especially those by Primitivo Miranda, to argue that the chinaco costume and its associated feminine counterpart played a role in the visual construction of liberalism in Mexico. See Angélica Velázquez Guadarrama, Primitivo Miranda y la construcción visual del liberalismo (Mexico City: UNAM, INAH, 2012).

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pueblos,24 many among this group conformed to the changing political situations as they arose.25

Thus, chinacos may have “jumped” across lines, switching from one side to another, in order to save their lives or in order to negotiate better conditions for themselves and their families.26

Furthermore, the chinacos and guerrillas populares did not always fight next to the Republican

Army, but rather were a patriotic movement of popular nationalism. They fought for the cause of the Republican Army, but often in locally organized, independent bands of guerrillas who ambushed the Imperial or French Armies and should be identified for the ideology that unified them.27

Whether they donned a felt hat or one of straw, adjustable pants with silver buttons, or pants with a standard side-seam, these men symbolized the new nation and were considered popular heroes. Regardless of the dress they wore in battle, all were well-trained in their riding skills, especially roping, which was a major factor in their success. While it is true that in the colonial period neither indigenous nor mestizo members of Mexican society were permitted to travel on horseback,28 during the four decades since independence, Mexicans of mixed race and various classes had acquired equestrian skills. In fact, when Maximilian arrived, he was particularly impressed with the dress as well as the horsemanship of the chinacos, who were often mestizos.29 The emperor sought instruction in roping and had chinaco adornments made

24 A Spanish term meaning “town,” and in Mexico, also often meaning “townspeople.”

25 Monroy Casillas, 4.

26 Ibid., 14.

27 Ibid., 5. According to Monroy Casillas, the fighters’ unifying ideology was their tradition and liberalism.

28 Lavin and Balassa, 348.

29 Mullen Sands, 58.

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for his horse.30 Thus, to a certain extent, the emperor was dressing like the republican opposition, which was rapidly finding conservative support in the owners and employees of the haciendas.

Furthermore, hacendado loyalty was also fluid. At the outset of the French Intervention, hacendados supported the chinaco rebellion against a foreign invasion regardless of political leaning. Once the Second Empire groundwork had been laid, conservative hacendados, especially in areas controlled by Maximilian’s government, supported the empire and its aim to maintain the authority of the Catholic Church and governmental control at the regional level.

However, many of Maximilian’s policies were in conflict with the usually conservative agendas of the hacendados. Before arriving in Mexico, he wrote a document for rule that he hoped would become the charter of the constitutional monarchy he intended to lead. Although he had never seen the liberal 1857 Mexican Constitution, his draft embodied many of the same ideas. In this document, Maximilian clearly stated that he planned to govern “citizens” rather than rule over royal “subjects.”31 He prohibited slavery, created plans to help pueblos pursue claims for water and property, and, perhaps most significantly and most relevant to the matter at hand, forbade unpaid or forced service, except for a temporary period.32 This last dictate was a direct challenge to the long-standing hacienda peonage system and caused increased political tension among the Mexican supporters of the empire.33 Eventually the hacendados’ loyalty began to shift back to the republican forces fighting under the former Mexican President, Benito Juarez.

30 Ibid., 58-59.

31 Duncan, 142.

32 Ibid., 150.

33 Ibid.

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Maximilian Among his Contemporaries

During the nineteenth century, the very notion of what it meant to be Mexican was changing with new-found independence from Spain. The establishment of a national “self” was reflected in clothing of the upper and middle classes. Under Spanish colonial rule, European dress was adopted by most men, in order to signify some degree of social and economic power.

But in 1836, more than a decade after Mexican independence was achieved, European clothing became an institutional mandate. Anyone in public office was required to wear “shoes or boots, a shirt with a collar, long trousers, a jacket or coat, and a hat that is not made from straw or palm leaf.”34 With this decree, an institutional effort to dissuade indigenous clothing (and therefore also citizens of indigenous descent, with few means to purchase European clothing, from participation in government office) is evident. During Maximilian’s era, the regulation was still in effect. Most Mexican politicians dressed in European garb, avoiding costume elements that would point to the wearer’s indigenous cultural heritage, even if some degree of genetic heritage was often evident in physiognomy.

In light of these regulations, let us examine a photograph of the first, and only, full- blooded indigenous President of Mexico, Benito Juarez (Figure 3-2) as a point of comparison for

Maximiliano (charro). President Juarez was elected to office as a member of the liberal party prior to the French Intervention and Maximilian’s arrival. He was also the political leader who succeeded Maximilian. Juarez’ story was an unusual one of an orphan boy whose employer helped him advance. He married well and, after receiving his degree in law, rose quickly in the political ranks. As mentioned previously, the set for this photograph is in keeping with the standard found in carte-de-visite studios. Benito Juarez is wearing a tuxedo with tails. He is

34 Irma Otzoy, “Maya Clothing and Identity.” In Maya Cultural Activism in Guatemala, eds. Edward F. Fischer and R. McKenna Brown (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1996), 146-147.

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outfitted from head to toe in black and white. While his suit is an example of one of the most elegant costumes a man could wear, appropriate for a variety of formal occasions, it is not exceptional, or magnificent, in any way. The image is consistent with so many cartes-de-visite circulating on both sides of the Atlantic in the 1860s; it shows a man posed for his portrait in upper-class attire.

What is notable about the photograph of Benito Juarez is that his fancy suit is not ostentatious. Nor does his tuxedo convey any sense of his indigenous heritage. Although he is the leader of the liberal republican forces who often defended their land, dressed with elements of the charro costume, and, in fact, were the guerrilla chinacos who defined what we now term as charro, Juarez did not pose for a portrait in such garb.

However, one of the commercial French photographers living and working in Mexico

City at the time created a caricature of Juarez dressed as a charro (Figure 3-6). The photographer took the face from a circulating portrait of Juarez and placed it in a sketch of a man standing outdoors. One half of the figure’s body is facing the viewer and is clothed in business attire: pants, jacket, and shirt with a tie. The other half of the figure’s body is turned away from the viewer at a three-quarter angle. This half of the body appears to have a cloak draped over it, perhaps representing the serape, which was a type of cloak often worn by ranch workers and horsemen who also served as guerrilla soldiers, such as the chinacos. The left arm is holding a rifle with a bayonette under the serape. The two halves of the body presented with the enlarged photographic face of Juarez appear to symbolize the artist’s perception of the two halves of the leader – the professional government bureaucrat who faces the viewer, and the chinaco who secretly uses guerrilla tactics in battle. The feet both face the viewer, and thus lend a strange twisting appearance to the two halves of the body, which face different directions. The pant legs

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are rolled up and “Juarez” wears a large sombrero with an upwardly-curved brim, another accessory associated with the chinaco. This image demonstrates the unlikely, and perhaps even ridiculous, possibility of Juarez donning a charro costume, or even part of one, for comic effect.

A man in Juarez’s position would not wear a charro suit, but he supported guerrillas who did, which accounts for the two-sided nature of his caricatured figure.

The carte-de-visite of Juarez in his tuxedo (Figure 2-2) was one of very few portraits taken of him during the French Intervenion. Although it appears that the same image was edited and reappropriated by commercial photographers repeatedly, there were approximately eight portraits of Benito Juarez circulating globally in the 1860s.35 His effigy, taken from these widely distributed cartes-de-visite, immortalized the republican victory after the French Intervention and after Juarez’s death was rendered in oil paintings and monuments.

During the war against the Empire, the liberals did not take photographic portraits to distribute via carte-de-visite for propaganda. This was not due to a lack of awareness among

Mexican liberals of the potential power of the dissemination of such imagery, but rather because of the itinerant nature of the liberal forces.36 A moving government was not an ideal foundation for the construction of a public image. Actually, most carte-de-visite portraits of liberal Mexican heroes were taken prior to the French Intervention in studio settings and were intended for private purposes. After 1865 they were appropriated and included in portrait sets of national heroes, which is why we consider them to be official political photos, rather than from a private world.37 In this sense, the carte-de-visite portrait of Benito Juarez in his tuxedo (Figure 3-2) is similar to Maximiliano (charro). Neither photograph was intended for public distribution, but

35 Casanova, 2003, 217.

36 Ibid.

37 Ibid.

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both eventually fell into shared hands because of the political role each man played in society and the popular market for the carte-de-visite. The pictures were captured in a moment thought to be private (thus creating tension between the politician’s private and public worlds), then reproduced and sold widely for the photographer’s financial gain.

Within the context of carte-de-visite photographs, Maximilian’s imperialista contemporaries dressed in their finery for portraits, but also did not adopt charro costumes. For example, General Miguel Miramón, a conservative member of Maximilian’s court appointed as

Great Marshal of the Imperial Army, posed for a portrait in a general’s court attire (Figure 3-7).

Here General Miramón is in his fanciest uniform, that which was prescribed by Maximilian in his Reglamento for high imperial functions. The breast of his jacket is heavily embroidered and the pants feature double strips of ribbon at the seam. The hat he carries under his left arm is crowned with feathers. Miguel Miramón’s costume conveys some sense of individual superiority, as a uniform that was reserved for, and used to represent, the small number of men appointed to the rank of general; and in the case of Miramón, the elevated role of Grand Marshal of the Imperial Army.

Of course, Miguel Miramón also had his carte-de-visite portrait done in civilian dress

(Figure 3-8). Here he is pictured in a dark suit, probably black in the European style, with a vest and a frock coat. Under the coat, the chain of his pocket watch is visible. In his right hand, he holds a shiny top hat. His portrait in civilian attire, rather than his professional uniform, conveys a more relaxed side of Miramón. He leans his left arm on the studio’s dresser, and relaxes his left knee. However, his facial position, looking at the camera directly instead of at a three- quarter angle, still conveys some sense of the intensity that the political and military position of general entailed.

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These examples serve to demonstrate the typical clothing worn among Maximilian’s conservative contemporaries for photographic portraits. Rather than choosing costume elements, such as charro accessories, that might make them stand apart from the conventions established in cartes-de-visite commercial photography, the sitters profiled both elected to follow those conventions. In so doing, they highlight elements of difference in Maximiliano (charro): namely, the hat and spurs combined with European costume elements of the frock coat, walking stick, and telescope. Maximilian sought a hybrid persona by incorporating elements that were stereotypical of charro attire into his European-style wardrobe. By adopting charro attire or accessories in his public persona, Maximilian exerted agency over his public image.

The Charro Type

The carte-de-visite of Maximiliano (charro) correlates to a popular visual language of

“social types” aimed at explaining Mexican daily life in images. Discrete printed images representing personages who could be seen in daily life such as vendors, workers, and some members of professions were popular in nineteenth-century Europe, the United States, and South

America as well as in Mexico.

In Mexico, the lithograph and watercolor genre called costumbrismo, which is closely tied to the “social type” imagery found in cartes-de-visite, arose in the early nineteenth century with the age of Romanticism. The genre celebrated the costumes and lifestyles of people throughout the country. Examples include imagery and descriptions of the “lavandera,” or washer-woman, the “Poblanas,” or women from Puebla, and, of course, the types associated with the haciendas including the ranchero or the chinaco. The tradition was spawned by European interest in the region, which before independence in 1821, had been closed to visitors by the

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ruling Spanish government.38 Foreign traveler/reporter-artists were particularly influential in stimulating awareness of social types with their publications, largely distributed in Europe.39

However, soon Mexicans began to publish their own costumbrista representations of themselves,40 distilling selected figures from other media into powerful popular symbols of the burgeoning nation.41 In Mexico, during the mid-to-late nineteenth century, the china poblana and the chinaco developed into the primary emblematic figures of the national cultural essence.42

The tradition of “type”-cast imagery, which identified a figure by his or her occupation or ethnicity, has a long history in Mexico. In the era immediately following the Spanish conquest, codices were created for a similar purpose. In books such as the Codex Mendoza and the massive Florentine Codex, ways of life and beliefs of the indigenous populations in Mexico are explained in imagery, with accompanying Spanish text, in books for the king of Spain.

Diagrams of nearly every aspect of life, from the tortilla-making process to feather painting, depict and explain Mexican society for the European viewer. Such documents, combined with recent archaeological discoveries, became the focus of an intellectual movement in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries to rewrite the pre-conquest history of New Spain, giving the

38 Magali Carrera, “Fabricating Specimen Citizens: Nation Building in Nineteenth-century Mexico,” The Politics of Dress in Asia and the Americas, eds. Mina Roces and Louise Edwards (Brighton: Sussex Academic Press, 2008), 221.

39 Claudio Linati, Trajes civiles, militares y religiosos de Mexico (Brussels, 1828). Linati looked specifically at costumes and Mexican society. Carl Nebel, Voyage pittoresque et archaeologique dans la partie plus interessante du Mexique (Paris, 1836). His study included detailed images of Mexico’s landscape as well as its people.

40 Ignacio Cumplido published Mosaico mexicano in 1841, Casimiro Castro created the lithographs for Mexico y sus alrededores, published in 1855, and the same year, Hesiquio Iriarte participated in a work with several Mexican authors and artists called, Los mexicanos pintados por si mismos.

41 Natalia Majluf. Reproducing Nations: Types and Costumes in Asia and Latin America, ca. 1800-1860 (New York: The Americas Society, 2006), 48.

42 Ibid.

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rising Creole43 class an opportunity to connect to a grand indigenous past distinct from the

Greco-Roman pedigree of Europe.44 Thus, these sixteenth-century texts also played a role in the identity formation of the Republic of Mexico, as one independent from the country’s Spanish colonial heritage.

During the colonial era, similar anonymous subjects appeared in painted representations intended to explain the social and racial makeup of Mexico to the elite of Spain, and for elite

Mexican display. They became very popular. “Casta” painting, as it was known, visually described the variety of mixed races, classes, and later, occupations associated with each societal group that was viewed as unique to the Americas by the Europeans who often commissioned the works. The caste system, which was devised by the Spanish, consisted of three main racial categories: Spaniards and Creoles, Indians, and those of African descent. Miscegenation of these groups was displayed visually. For example, a typical vignette showed a Spanish man with his indigenous wife and their child was labeled, “De Español y de India, Mestisa.” Miscegenation between castes was demonstrated largely through clothing: European styles represented Spanish blood, the huipil, or hand-woven tunic, indicated indigenous blood, and numerous variations of the two were used to signify the mixing of races.45 Within casta paintings, dress communicates different kinds of New Spanish people to the viewer.46 Skin color and other physical features also varied.

43 A person identified as “Creole” in Mexico was someone of European descent who was born in the Spanish colony. After independence, the term was no longer used.

44 Stacie G. Widdifield, “Dispossession, Assimilation, and the Image of the Indian in late Nineteenth-Century Mexican Painting,” Art Journal 49, no. 2 (summer 1990), 126.

45 Carrera, 220.

46 Ibid., 220.

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Casta paintings also reveal the means for construction of self-image and identity within colonial society,47 a point pertinent to Maximilian’s chosen representational strategies through costume later in the nineteenth century. Creoles and Spaniards had connected to Mexico by adopting its regional habits, and so did Maximilian. Rather than electing to represent himself solely through clothing that reflected his European heritage, Maximilian incorporated items that would visually signify his association with Mexico, therefore attempting to re-fashion his political identity. Such a strategy was a hybrid one that had been used by Mexicans for centuries as a means of elevating their social situations, undermining imposed sartorial laws, or reconstructing their roles in the colony.48 However, anecdotes such as the quote at the beginning of this chapter in which Maximilian refers to his own self-consciousness in charro costume suggest an internal conflict between his public and private “selves.”

The casta painting genre grew to include portraits of people who represented different types of labor. In the eighteenth century, the Bourbon reforms in Mexico, which were based on

Enlightenment principles, inspired a societal focus on agricultural products and professions in order to foster a stronger work ethic.49 It was considered the government’s obligation to prevent idleness. The welfare of the people and the state were dependent upon the royal subject finding satisfaction in his trade.50 Likewise, within this taxonomy was an emphasis on the idea of lineage and bloodlines through familial representations. Royal subjects were viewed as part of a family group, a social unit of the country, and were expected to identify their positions on the

47 Katzew, 1.

48 See discussions in The Politics of Dress in Asia and Latin America, particularly the articles by Rebecca Earle, “Nationalism and National Dress in Spanish America,” eds. Mina Roces and Louise Edwards (Brighton: Sussex Academic Press, 2008) and Magali Carrera.

49 Katzew, 112.

50 Ibid.

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continuum of the imposed social hierarchy.51 Independence interrupted the colonial definition and image of sovereignty. If power no longer resided in the king’s blood line, where was it located? How could it be visualized? How were the residents of Mexico understood within the new political dynamic? These questions can be applied to Maximilian’s imperial regime, which faced many of the same problems of establishing legitimacy. Although the rationale for

Maximilian’s role as emperor was decided partially by his blood line, the intervening period of independence brought the basis of his legitimacy into question.

An important connection that explains the transition from “royal subject” to “citizen” exists between colonial-period casta paintings and later travel lithographs depicting citizens: the latter helped the Mexican people envision a physical transformation, in both the body of the nation and the represented bodies of the population.52 As Carrera has argued, part of the premise of colonial rule lay in the understanding that the king had two bodies, one that was the body politic, which was made up of his royal subjects, the other was his natural body. This logic of a consistent body politic was used to maintain continuity in the transfer of power from one monarch to another during the early modern period. However, if there was no longer a king once independence was achieved, then there was no longer a “royal subject.” The shift of emphasis from royal subject to citizen in the imagery (and the imaginary), caused an erasure of the colonial subject’s body. In its place a new citizen’s body was constructed. Mexicans (and other members of the former Spanish colonies) were forced to redefine themselves as independent citizens. In the process of erasure and re-creation, dress and costume that had served as the sign system marking the colonial body became a source for re-narration of specimen citizens within a

51 Carrera, 219-220.

52 Ibid., 216-217.

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national context. This process was supported by scientists and tourists who were allowed to visit the former Spanish colonies for the first time after independence. These visitors documented the people they saw and published the imagery. Thus, the transformation was effected through the mass circulation of the early nineteenth-century traveler-reporter lithographs, which were then viewed and imitated by the Mexican populace.

This representational step is a critical one; the erasure of the colonial body, associated with monarchical rule, encouraged the independent republican narrative and body to evolve.

Ideas of sovereignty connected to the king’s body and his bloodline began to dissolve. Because power in independent Mexico was founded on the ideal of a sovereign government created through citizens’ participation rather than bloodlines, the newly independent Mexicans had to confront questions about the definition and imagery of rulership,53 and so did Mexico’s ruler.

Four decades after independence, the Second Mexican Empire intervened and needed to create yet another narrative. Although the empire was supported by French troops, Maximilian was crowned thanks to an accord with the imperialistas. Maximilian required a national election before accepting the crown and he knew that with an imperial title he would surrender any claims to his Habsburg family heritage.54 Like the narrative described above, which responded to a need for a transition from sovereignty connected to the king’s blood line and one based on the citizens’ participation, Maximilian’s success and survival balanced between similar questions and definitions of rulership. On a very personal level, the representational politics of the republic were tied to those of the empire for Maximilian.

53 Ibid., 220.

54 Duncan, 146.

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It was within this context that Maximilian intermittently adopted the costume of the popular citizen, the charro. In so doing, he fashioned an ideological shift associated with the body of the emperor, similar to the shift of royal subject to citizen. Maximilian’s shift was from that of an absolute monarch who ruled royal subjects, as his family had done, to one of a constitutional monarch, who ruled a nation of citizens with a supporting group of elected officials. Just as Mexican citizens confronted questions of identity through clothing, so

Maximilian also appeared to be reckoning with his role as a foreign emperor through dress.

Maximilian emphasized repeatedly that under his empire the Mexican populace would be

“citizens” rather than “royal subjects” – a distinction he clearly identified in his proposed constitution and emphasized in numerous speeches.55 These statements must have created some perceptions of conflict among the populace when comparing his words and laws to his magnificent court balls and ceremonies, which were traditions tied to the colonial regime in

Mexico. It is highly probable that Maximilian was trying to accomplish similar goals by posing as a gentleman king in the earlier Malovich portraits.

The costumes and types of costumbrismo lithographs provided prêt-a-porter (if you will) images of national difference, arranged in serial formats to allow for comparison.56 The portability of the types-and-costumes is explained by Benedict Anderson’s concept of the independent nation-state as a cultural artifact whose distilled substance, made from a crossing of historical forces, could become modular, and therefore transplantable to a variety of political and ideological assemblages.57 Such a notion is also evidenced in Maximilian’s carte-de-visite

55 This notion is evidenced in Maximilian’s drafted constitution, which began with the phrase, “Mexico is free, sovereign, and independent!” Duncan, 1996, 142.

56 Majluf, 49.

57 Ibid. See also Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (New York and London: Verso Publishers, 2006).

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representations, examples from independent popular painting, and his costume practices in his daily life, in which he adopted transportable emblems of nationalism, through charro costume elements, to support his own imperial ideologies.

Maximilian is not wearing the full charro costume in the carte-de-visite image in question (Figure 3-1), but, as I have noted above, stereotypically Mexican accessories that he does wear were unusual in photographs of the political elite, as in photographic portraits of the general population of Mexico. Within the setting of the studio, costume elements and accessories that were distinctly Mexican were very limited. Sitters who donned a wide-brimmed hat in the photo studio were few and far between. Nevertheless, photographs of “types” and costumbrismo lithographs shared identical subject matter. In my survey of more than one thousand cartes de visite over the course of my research, only twelve portraits, some of which were repeated as copies, represented sitters in attire distinct to the Mexican horseman.58

Sometimes the rancheros are pictured with all of the trappings of their costume, but in other images, men wear the minimum elements of the suit to identify them as expert Mexican horsemen: the chaparerras (or the outer coverings for pants), the short jacket, and the wide- brimmed hat. Most photographs didn’t include the horse, but a few early examples of photographs taken outdoors do.

Let us examine a picture of a charro, or ranchero as the photo is generically labeled, taken by François Aubert (Figure 3-9). Standing in the middle of the composition with none of the additional background typically found in carte-de-visite photographs, the ranch worker stands

58 Primary research conducted at the Fototeca del Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas de la UNAM (IIE), Museo Nacional de Historia, Biblioteca Nacional de la Ciudad de México, Musée Royal de l’Armée de Bruxelles, Biblioteque Nationale de Paris, and University of New Mexico’s Center for Southwest Research in Albuquerque. John Mraz remarks upon the remarkably low occurrence of ranchero carte-de-visite representations in his work, as well. See John Mraz, Looking for Mexico, 2009, 23.

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in a manner quite similar to that shown in Maximiliano (charro), with a strong supporting right leg and an outwardly-turned left hip and foot. Both Maximilian and the anonymous charro exhibit a certain degree of attitude in their poses. And both charros are standing on carpets of a similar pattern. This charro’s right arm is positioned on his hip, while his left is supported by his leg – both positions represent a physical defiance that is accentuated by his directly frontal facial confrontation of the viewer (or the French photographer?) from beneath the broad brim of his hat. His fancy charro, or ranchero, costume includes a shirt, tie, vest, short jacket, waist sash, and pants with elaborate button work that runs down the outside seams.

While charro hats varied in the size of the brim, and the suits varied in color, quality, and embellishments, one of the most consistent aspects of the cartes-de-visite from this period depicting the social “type” of the charro is the plain set as a background. Without the standard carte-de-visite backdrop of the draped curtain and furniture, these images shifted in function.

Rather than evoking the simulacrum of a middle- or upper-class portrait, in the case of the social

“type” photographs, the viewer’s attention is directed toward the difference exhibited in the sitter’s clothing and accessories. Likewise, in Maximiliano (charro) the lack of background and the unusual costume choices for an emperor, showcase a sense of “difference” in a manner similar to costumbrismo.

Additionally, the combined effect of the wide-brimmed hat and the script written by a previous owner at the bottom of the card (Maxmiliano [charro]) bring this portrait into dialogue with imagery of the anonymous social “types” depicted in Mexican lithography and photography of the mid-nineteenth century. The addition of the word charro to the title reduces the emperor’s status, likening this photograph of the famous ruler to a national type. Why was a famous political leader anonymized in parentheses? What may initially strike the reader as an inherent

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contradiction in terms becomes understandable given the pictorial, and iconographic, cues. The hat in particular, with its wide brim to deflect the rays of the sun, references people of the lower classes, whose work required many long hours exposed to the natural elements. This was an accessory not befitting members of the urban upper class, let alone an emperor. Why would

Maximilian choose to adopt elements of the ranchero or charro “type?” Given the counter- imperial guerrilla activities associated with the rural Mexican horseman, Maximilian’s choice of attire seems to be somewhat incompatible with his political affiliations and his role as leader of the empire.

Chinaco is the early-to-mid nineteenth century term that preceded charro, and was applied to insurgents during the War of Independence (1810-1821) and the War of the Reform

(1857-1861). Several scholars note the presence of these guerrilla warfare soldiers in the resistance during the French Intervention as well.59 The early use of the term was applied to this group originally to define their “nakedness,” indicating their lack of an appropriate uniform for battle, and to some degree, their race and class too.60 This aspect of the chinaco’s appearance remained consistent during Maximilian’s era. Although there was no officially assigned dress code for the republican guerrillas, the fighters’ connection to the rural ranches and haciendas of

Mexico soon led to the association of the horseman’s attire with the ideal Mexican Republic.

The persona of the chinaco was rapidly becoming a popular symbol of the independent nation, due to the chinaco’s role in resistance to outside rule.

Members of the guerrilla insurgency hailed from a wide range of classes, and included the hacendado, or ranch owner, the peon, or ranch hand, and the indigenous peasant fighter.

59 See the study by Monroy Casillas, 2003.

60 Agustín Robelo, 553.

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Therefore, it is reasonable to expect that there was not a consistent clothing code to which the fighters adhered, but that chinacos, if ranch workers, wore garments associated with their professions as rancheros. For example, the hacendado may have worn the finest example of the horseman’s attire, while the peon, or ranch hand, may not have even had a horse. Nevertheless, nearly every person working on a ranch from the top of the hierarchy to the bottom wore a broad-brimmed hat; the hat’s materials and degree of its decoration certainly varied, but the wide brim of the hat was a sign indicative of a rural labor-intensive livelihood.

During Maximilian’s reign the axis of costume finery was shifting. Previously, the people most likely to wear ranchero garb were the hacendados or mayordomos. However, as more hacendados moved to urban settings in the mid-nineteenth century, they wore European styles of clothing with increasing regularity.61 This is exemplified in the photographic medium of the carte-de-visite, in which clothing styles are almost always European, with men posing in suits and vests; it was a rare individual who had his photographic portrait taken in ranchero garb.62 With the ranch owner living in town, the property and its management was left in the hands of a mayordomo. This group, too, began to wear clothing of European style and manufacture to indicate an elevated status. Both classes of people sent their children to Europe to receive an education. Conversely, ranch hands started to spend as much, and sometimes more, money than they could afford on fancy ranchero garments that displayed their republican identities.63 Lines that were previously clear began to blur, as signifiers of class, and rural and urban settings shifted.

61 Ibid., 346.

62 Mraz, 2009, 23.

63 For more information on the chinaco’s tendency to dress beyond his means, see Kimberly Randall, “The Traveler’s Eye: Chinas Poblanas and European-inspired Costume in Postcolonial Mexico,” in The Latin American Fashion Reader, ed. Regina Root (New York: Berg, 2005).

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A decade after the Second Mexican Empire, Mexican geographer and cartographer

Antonio Garcia Cubas authored a publication called The Republic of Mexico in 1876: A political and ethnographical division of the population, character, habits, costumes, and vocations of its inhabitants. For this study, he created illustrations of the population that reflect costume choice based on a long tradition of race and class divisions in Mexico (Figure 3-10). In this breakdown of classes with the upper class occupying the highest level and lower class at the bottom of the illustration, we can see that several of the elements associated with the ranchero costume are present with varying degrees of elegance on people of the middle and lower class levels, segments that corresponded to people of mixed and indigenous ethnicities. However, no member of the highest echelon of European heritage represents himself in attire related to horse culture. The diagram indicates that Maximilian’s costume choice in the carte-de-visite at hand identified him more closely with the lower classes, mixed races, and country people of Mexican society, rather than the upper classes in urban Mexico City.

In the nineteenth century, clothing in Latin America conveyed more about the wearer’s class than about regional or national identity.64 Also, among elite members of society, there was distrust of the indigenous and mixed-race populations.65 Thus, by wearing the charro costume, not only was Maximilian choosing to dress in the fashion of the lower classes, but he was also making a representational choice that crossed racial lines that divided classes, certainly not embodying the magnificent “difference” that the Mexican imperialistas had hoped he, or his images, would convey. In light of these social circumstances, it is easy to see how Maximilian’s

64 Earle, 165.

65 Ibid.

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costume choices complicated his already difficult political circumstances and his reception in

Mexico.

Maximilian’s own discomfort with some of his costume practices is evident from the quotation presented at the opening of this chapter, “He laughlingly assured us that he did not know how to pass sufficiently unnoticed out of his room into the open air, and that he did not lose the feeling of being in disguise until he was seated on his horse.”66 The conservatives would have agreed that Maximilian was indeed “in disguise.” Francisco Javier Mirada, the auxiliary to the Bishop of Puebla, later described Maximilian as a “‘foolish’ dreamer who mistakenly believed in a liberal and democratic monarchy for Mexico.”67 Although this comment addressed the sovereign’s policies in general, rather than his physical dress in particular, the statement could just as well have been applied to a political leader whose physical appearance adopted aspects of the average man from the countryside.

One cannot help but wonder: What inspired Maximilian to attempt such a strategy? Was it simply ignorance? Did he miscalculate the meanings associated with charro attire? Some of

Maximilian’s own speeches indicate that the emperor not only understood racial associations with his costume practices, but that he also sought to honor Mexico’s blend of civilizations and races. He saw mestizaje, or the mix of Spanish and indigenous biological heritage, to be proof of

Mexicans’ ability to overcome differences, and in fact, a virtue.68 On the occasion of the unveiling of a statue of José Maria Morelos, a Catholic priest who was a leader in the independence movement against Spain, he spoke of paying homage to the memory,

66 Kollonitz, 221.

67 Duncan, 2005, 133.

68 Erika Pani, “The Weight of the Past: History and the Invention of Mexican Identity,” in Mexico’s Unfinished Revolutions, ed. Charles B. Faulhaber (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011), 129.

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of a man sprung from the most humble classes of the people […] a representative of mixed races, which have not been sufficiently appreciated by men’s false pride […] Mexico has the satisfaction, as a free and democratic country, of showing the history of its rebirth and of its liberty, embodied by heroes of all classes […] of all races, who now form an indivisible nation.69

These ideas were very likely inspired by the works of Francisco Pimentel, a noted aristocratic landowner and linguist who collaborated with Maximilian’s regime. Pimentel argued that one of the solutions to Mexico’s greatest problems was mestizaje.70 Nevertheless, such a speech would have been a great disappointment to the Mexican elite conservatives who initially supported the empire. José Maria Morelos was a historic figure who had been adopted by the liberals as representative of their ideals. The conservative party had a vested interest in reestablishing a social and political hierarchy similar to that of the colonial period.

Smoke and Mirrors: Mimesis and Alterity in the Portrait of Colonel Dupin

Maximilian is not the only example of a European man of rank who chose to don a horseman’s costume while in Mexico. The French commander of the Mexican Imperial contra- guerrilla forces, Colonel Charles Dupin (1814-1868), was also photographed in Mexican costume (Figure 3-11). As thus attired, he rode on horseback across north-eastern Mexico with his small, but expanding army of special forces, attempting to ambush the Mexican guerrilla warriors who fought in favor of the Mexican Republic. He used fear-instilling methods to force cooperation, or at least silence, from the communities in northern Mexico so that the guerrilla units would no longer be able to function. His approach was notoriously brutal and included

69 Ibid. See also Niceto de Zamacois, Historia de Mejico desde sus tiempos más remotos hasta nuestros días, vol. 18 (Barcelona- Mexico City: J.F. Partres, 1877-1882), 172-73. “Celebramos hoy la memoria de un hombre que salió de las más humilde clase del pueblo […] Representante de las razas mixtas á que al falso argullo de los hombres separándose de los preceptos sublimes de nuestro Evangelio, […] Méjico tiene la dicha, como país libre y democrático, de mostrar la historia de su renacimiento y de su libertad, representada por héroes de todas las clases de la sociedad humana, de todas las razas que ahora forman una nación indivisible.”

70 Ibid., 130. In 1865, Pimentel published Memoria sobre las causes que han originado la situación actual de la raza indígena de México y medios para remediarla.

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attacks against civilians. He was known for destroying villages, burning crops and public buildings, hanging invalids, and immediately executing anyone reported to support Juarez.71

Maximilian dismissed Dupin, sending him back to France for his tactics. But Napoleon III ordered that Dupin return to Mexico with 1,000 men, giving him reign over his own sector of the country.

Colonel Dupin was photographed by François Aubert wearing an elaborate sombrero with embroidered metallic thread, smoking a cigar, and displaying a pistol in his hand (Figure 3-

11). Although his body is positioned in seated repose, as though relaxing, his right hand is on his pistol, ready to respond with violence at a moment’s notice. His left hand holds a cigar and his mouth is open, and his eyes are closed as though laughing. When one considers that during this period, the aperture of the camera had to remain open for several seconds in order to capture sufficient light to create the photographic image, it becomes clear that Dupin’s selected pose was not captured in a flash, but rather was one that took careful consideration, planning, and time to execute.

Based on Dupin’s use of props, his pose, and the extravagance of those items that denote

“Mexican-ness” in the image, it appears that the colonel is mimicking the Mexican national type.

Furthermore, his behavior recalls Michael Taussig’s concept of the colonial mirror – or, that which occurs when the colonizer mimics the savagery that was imputed to the savage.72 In the case of the photographs at hand, Dupin dances between similarity and difference. He is at once both like the “savage” Other, who, in Dupin’s mind is the wide-brimmed hat-wearing Mexican

71 For more information on Colonel Charles Dupin, see Jerry Thompson’s study of Juan Cortina, a bandit who led guerrilla forces in the region surrounding Ciudad Victoria, Dupin’s base camp. Jerry Thompson, Cortina: Defending the Mexican Name in Texas (College Station, TX: Texas A&M University, 2007).

72 Michael Taussig, Mimesis and Alterity. (New York: Routledge 1993), 66.

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guerrilla, and playing his Other.73 Because the guerrillas’ tactics were considered to be outside the accepted norm of organized battle in war, the contra-guerrilla forces, and especially their leader, exaggerated their actions in order to achieve the desired terrorizing effect. Part of

Dupin’s theatricality included overstating the renowned hat of the guerrilla warrior with a highly embellished version that suited his amplified tactics in ambush warfare. It is very likely that several elements of his costume, and perhaps his hat, were taken from the bodies of dead

Mexican republican guerrillas after a raid. The log kept by his forces notes that Colonel Dupin and his forces took any valuables such as weapons, food, water, and clothing from their victims.74

In the photograph of Colonel Dupin, there are gestures that highlight the performative nature of the moment captured on film: the cigar, the gun, and the laugh. As Sylvia Molloy has put it, posing is “a way of highlighting a performance, rendering it more visible.”75 Additionally, the hat Dupin wears is one that seems more decorative than functional; it is too elaborate to wear into the desert in his war against guerrilla soldiers, and conflicts with his costume, which is the uniform typically worn by French soldiers on such an assignment. He is wearing a short imperial military jacket, complete with medals of honor, and pants that resemble those worn by the zouave brigade, the men who served in the French military in Algeria. These combined elements convey a theatrical constitution that is not as evident in the portrait of Maximilian.

This small portrait, located at the Musée Royal de l’Armée, Brussels, was not cut and pasted to a card for the carte-de-visite format. But there is another example in the same

73 Ibid., 129.

74 Colonel Charles Dupin, Mémoires Divers sur l’Expedition, 1865-66 (Paris: Ministère de la Guerre, Archives Historiques, Etat Major de l’Armée de Terre, 1866).

75 Sylvia Molloy, “The Politics of Posing,” Hispanisms and Homosexualities, ed. Sylvia Molloy and Robert McKee Irwin (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 1998), 153.

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collection that was formatted as such, reducing the frame to encompass only Dupin’s bust

(Figure 3-12). The edges surrounding his figure have been faded, further highlighting Dupin’s head. He is posed in three-quarter profile, wearing what we can now read as his heavily embroidered signature hat. In this image he has placed the cigar directly in his mouth, heightening its visibility.

The two props of the hat and the cigar seem to have served as costume elements that signified “the Mexican” within the studio setting. In two other Mexican cartes-de-visite, also from the collection in Brussels, other European officers are depicted wearing these props.

Captain Vosseur is shown wearing a uniform very similar to that of Colonel Dupin (Figure 3-13).

The back of the card indicates that he was assigned to Colonel Bazaine’s brigade, rather than the contra-guerrilla unit that Colonel Dupin led. Therefore, it is uncertain whether he would have seen Colonel Dupin, or representations of him in a similar costume. Like Dupin, he also is holding a cigar and has added the local element of a sombrero to his ensemble. However, this officer’s cigar is less visible and his sombrero resembles the type worn by Maximilian rather than that worn by Dupin. The rim of the hat is broader than Dupin’s and lacks the upward curvature, as well as the intricate embroidery work. It appears to be more functional than decorative. Aside from these additions, the subject is posed in a manner quite typical to the carte-de-visite style – en pied and in three-quarter profile. The lack of gesture to highlight his cigar shows by contrast the degree to which Dupin exaggerated his “Mexican” performance.

Another officer who “puts on the Mexican” for the camera is found in a group portrait of volunteer soldiers from European countries (Figure 3-14). In this photograph of eleven men, there is one in the upper left corner of the image who is wearing a large-brimmed hat and smoking a cigar. His head is turned in a slight three-quarter profile and his cigar is raised so that

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it is easily visible against the plain background. His expression does not indicate any sense of jest in his costumed pose. However, he is the only soldier wearing the wide-brimmed hat. Many caps are featured in the photograph; two, in fact, are represented on the lower left side of the image even though they are not worn by their owners. These and the others resting on the heads of the soldiers appear to be hats that were issued as part of the military uniforms from the various countries that joined the French forces in Mexico. These volunteer forces included Austro-

Hungarian volunteers, Belgian Legions, and Eyalets of Egypt including Egyptian and Sudanese soldiers. The countries of Spain and England took part in the initial attacks on Mexico prior to

1862, and ex-Confederate soldiers from the United States volunteered after 1865. With so many military volunteers, it is easy to imagine how many hats must have been visible in the streets when large groups of soldiers were concentrated in the cities. In this photograph, it is clear that the broad-brimmed hat denotes the “Mexican” and that among Europeans, this hat represents an aspect of difference. The soldier’s smoking cigar illuminates the contrast, highlighting the theatricality of his selected profile position and props.

The repeated use of the cigar in these photographs also could be a self-referential sign to indicate the mimicry at hand. In French the verb “fumer,” or “to smoke” is the root of the word

“fumiste,” or “practical joker.”76 A “fumiste” is an imposter, one who mystifies, as in the

English phrase, one who “uses smoke and mirrors.” The use of this French term to mean “a joker” dates back to 1840, thus the vernacular connotation of “fumer” would have been well known by the late 1860s.77 Additionally, all of the men who appear in these photographs are

European, and many were French-speaking. While cigar smoking was common among

76 Grand Dictionnaire Etymologique et Historique du français (Paris: Larousse, 2001), 416-417.

77 Ibid.

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bourgeois Europeans and upper-class Mexicans, it was not common in carte-de-visite portraiture either in Mexico or Europe.

The other men in the image are posed in different manners. For example, the men in the center and the middle of the back row are turned at opposite angles. The officer to the left of the man in the center back row is standing in profile to the camera. To the right of the figure in the center of the back row, an officer faces the camera directly and rests his thumbs in his belt. Each row is configured with a range of poses, so that the overall impression is one of camaraderie, lacking formality, if not expressing an outright jovial nature. In fact, the composition is so fragmented that the image strongly resembles photo-montage, an early photographic practice that entailed literally cutting and pasting portraits together and re-photographing the new creation for mass popular distribution, usually as a carte-de-visite. The officers may have been participating in a visual trope, or using a figurative visual language to perform a carte-de-visite-as-photo- montage for their carte-de-visite portrait. Regardless, the fellow soldiers are having fun in their group portrait, which was likely taken as a memento of their service together.

Whether the soldiers in these images were following the precedent set by Colonel Dupin, or even Maximilian, is unclear. While the emperor was known to wear his hat both with the charro costume and with military elements, as in the portrait Maximiliano (charro), there is no visual record to indicate that he added the cigar as a prop to his attire.

The primary differences evident when comparing Maximiliano (charro) with the portrait of Colonel Dupin are those of the hat, body language, and intent, as perceived through social and political context. In Maximiliano (charro) the emperor appears uncertain (Figure 3-1). His body leans away from the picture plane on his supporting right leg. His hat is plain and functional.

Conversely, Colonel Dupin sits confidently in his selected poses, which obviously required some

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premeditation. Dupin seems to have added not only embellishments to his hat, but also the cigar, highlighting the performative nature of his photo; and the gun, which alludes to violence.

Colonel Dupin was also known for the extreme violence he imposed upon women and children.

Maximilian, on the other hand, sought to initiate social reform. These efforts included the founding of new hospitals, and centers for orphans and the aged; the establishment of the Junta

Protectora de las Clases Menesterosas, a protectorate for indigenous populations; and the initiation of the Ley para la Liberación del Peonaje, which protected farm workers from peonage at the hands of their employer/land owner.78 While the emperor certainly had his political failings, such as waffling between political sides and regarding his support with a degree of naiveté, many of his efforts in the arena of law making appear to have been aimed toward improving the lives of Mexicans, particularly those of the lower class. When seen in this context, Maximilian’s hybrid charro costume appears to be a physical manifestation of his political leanings. Maximilian sought acceptance through social and political acts and attempted to incorporate some Mexican traditions into his daily regime. Although his acts were rather uncommon for a European aristocrat ruling an empire well beyond the boundaries of his homeland, they are not entirely illogical given that Maximilian’s decision to rule in Mexico entailed the loss of all his rights to Austrian nobility. Indeed, the emperor’s statement paraphrased by Dr. Basch is prescient: “He jokes that the priest has cleverly taken this opportunity to get a souvenir while he, the Emperor is still alive.”79 Maximilian’s joke indicates an awareness that his life depended upon acceptance in his new country.

78 Ratz, 2008, 78-79.

79 Basch, 2001, 185.

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Theatricality and the Search for Legitimacy

As explained above, one of the reasons that the emperor was represented in charro costume with such frequency is that he did in reality don the Mexican horseman’s garments regularly. He chose this type of attire particularly when he traveled long distances within the country, often for the purposes of visiting the pueblos outside of Mexico City. As one contemporary noted, he would leave Carlota as regent in control of the government while he traveled the countryside in traditional charro attire as a “royal tourist,”80 a rather unimperial move that was like the wealthy European visitors who came in large number to Latin America after independence was achieved from Spain in the 1820s. They were inspired by images and texts such as those published and distributed widely in lithographic form across Europe by early nineteenth-century traveler-reporters and their artists such as Alexander von Humboldt, Claudio

Linati, and Carl Nebel.81 The typical tourist in the early part of the century would adopt the regional costume and tour the country via horseback, noting its natural and ancient wonders. In so doing, the foreigner was figuring into a site-specific fantasy of the European Other, becoming a part of a distant romantic landscape.

Perhaps Maximilian had a very romantic notion of traveling by horse (rather than by carriage, as was customary for a high ranking official) across the Mexican landscape in his ranchero costume. However, there could also have been a practical application for the sovereign’s vestimentary habits, particularly when leaving an area protected heavily by military forces, such as Mexico City, and venturing out to a less monitored region. In this situation, it

80 Cited in Ibsen, 6.

81 See Alexander von Humboldt, Vues des cordillères et monuments des peuples indigènes de l'Amérique (Paris: F. Schoell, 1810), Linati, 1828, and Nebel, 1836.

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may have behooved the contested ruler to disguise himself as a countryman, or even a member of the resistance, to avoid ambush.

In addition to wearing the charro costume on his trips to the provinces, Maximilian would carefully plan his arrival in country towns. For example, he often ordered troops to secure his entrance from a distance, rather than accompany him into town. He would also travel great lengths by carriage, only to leave his vehicle behind as he approached the city, and instead enter on horseback. With his guardsmen waiting in the distance, he appeared to arrive with a small group, rather than a large, armed entourage.82 This behavior could certainly be viewed as

“theatrical,” especially within the political drama of Mexico’s Second Empire, but I contend that

Maximilian’s representational choices through his costume and many of the performance tactics of his regime were part of a hybrid political strategy to make himself more approachable to the general population of Mexico.

Such a strategy was in keeping with those practiced earlier in the century by his uncle,

Johann of Styria, and were part of a debate among members of the Habsburg family in Austria centered around the most effective means of legitimizing monarchical rule in an increasingly democratic society. Earlier in the nineteenth century, the Emperor of Austria, Franz von

Habsburg’s liberal brother, Archduke Johann, rejected Austria’s militaristic monarchy and sought simplicity in his environment, his dress, and in representations of himself.83 He left

Vienna to live in the province of Styria at the foot of the Alps. There, he built factories and founded museums and learned societies.84 He also adopted the hunting attire of upper Styria,

82 Ibsen, 15.

83 Philip Mansel, Dressed to Rule: Royal and Court Costume from Louis XIV to Elisabeth II (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005), 108.

84 Ibid.

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which consisted of a grey jacket with a green collar and cuffs, which he said, “was done to set an example of simplicity in manners.”85 Furthermore, he commissioned portraits of himself in this costume, standing contemplatively in the mountains, much to the horror of his brother, the emperor. The costume was soon adopted for local officials and the men who served in leadership roles in the villages. Although the emperor tried to suppress this movement by creating sumptuary laws, which stated that Styrian attire could only be worn by country people, he was unsuccessful, partially due to the archduke’s popularity.86

Eventually Archduke Johann was appointed as regent in Germany and in Austria. A political cartoon from 1848 depicts the Styrian hat as having more gravity than all of the emperor’s crowns.87 While it is not certain whether Maximilian was familiar with this particular cartoon and the emphasis it placed on the Styrian hat, he was most certainly familiar with the issues that his uncle’s behavior raised, both within the community and within the royal family itself. Archduke Johann’s signs and sartorial choices may have become something of a precedent for Maximilian; not in Johann’s wholesale rejection of the monarchy, but perhaps in his incorporation of democratic elements into his policies and daily wear.

Archduke Johann was not alone in his notions of reform. Beginning with Joseph II of

Austria (1741-1790), whose rule concluded during the period of the American and French

Revolutions, the Habsburg dynastic policies were informed by Enlightenment thinkers. Joseph established the independence of the state from the dynasty, in fact he established its superiority

85 Adam Wandruszka, The House of Habsburg (Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Co., 1965), 141.

86 Mansel, 108.

87 Ibid.

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to the dynasty, which was a difficult concept to reconcile with the old Habsburg character, and one that would be at the center of a struggle within the monarchy for years to come.88

Leopold II (1747-1792), Joseph’s successor, differed in that he placed more emphasis on the approval of his subjects, while Joseph had a more autocratic approach. In a sort of political creed written by Leopold in a letter to his sister, he expressed his political ideals of the sovereign serving as “only the delegate and representative of his people” and that the “executive power belongs to the sovereign, but the legislative power to the people and their representatives.”89 In these statements we can identify many precursors to Maximilian’s proposed constitution, which gave much power to the legislative/representative branch.90 Unfortunately, Leopold’s ideas did not have an opportunity to take lasting hold in his own day; his short reign and the continuing phases of the French Revolution interfered. His notions were diametrically opposed to old

Habsburg ideas of governing, which Archduke Albert (Leopold’s grandson) attempted to revive.

Leopold’s philosophies were only preserved and developed by his son, Archduke Johann of

Styria.

After the revolutionary winds of 1848 swept through Austria, the country entered a constitutional period in which the people took part in their government. These events intensified the questions of the monarchy’s function in a new political realm, which was under new control.

Surrounding the important problems of title and privilege, Archduke Albert set tenets in favor of the old dynastic principles.91 In a document drafted to refute the proposal to replace the title

“Archduke” with “Royal and Imperial Highnesses, Princes and Princesses of the Imperial

88 Wandruszka, 133-134.

89 Ibid., 135.

90 Duncan, 1996, 141-145.

91 Wandruszka, 143.

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House,” Albert emphasized the need to maintain the “absolutely exceptional” position of the monarchy by preserving an “unbridgeable gulf” between the royal family and the royal subjects.92 His statement showed that Albert wanted to dismiss Joseph’s idea of the monarch acting as the servant to the state, and instead return to the old Hapsburg model of dynasty. He found the notion of the monarch representing the polity to be a dangerous one.

It was amidst this important debate concerning the most effective means of maintaining monarchical rule in an increasingly democratic time that Maximilian was raised in the Habsburg

House. Elements of the Habsburg concerns are evident in the variety of techniques Maximilian attempted in his efforts to revive his sinking empire. Many questions central to the nineteenth- century Habsburg debate were certainly on his mind in Mexico: How does an (imported) emperor justify his position of leadership? How does a liberal monarch negotiate royal duties with democratic ambitions? How does he represent himself to the citizenry? How does he communicate his ideals?

Maximilian in the Hall of Portraits

One traditional means of justification and visual communication available to the emperor was painted portraiture. Once settled in Mexico City, Maximilian commissioned a series of portraits for the palace that included representations of his Habsburg ancestors who ruled Mexico during the Spanish colonial period. He also requested portraits of other Mexican national figures from the period of independence in Mexico.93 Many of these were exhibited at a Salon94 held in

92 Ibid., 145.

93 See Esther Acevedo, “Las imagenes de la historia (1863-1867) memoria y destrucción,” in Memoria, no. 3, (Mexico: Museo Nacional de Arte, 1991), 27-41 as well as Testimonios artísticos de un episodio fugaz (1864-1867), ed. Esther Acevedo (Mexico City: Insituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, 1995), and Acevedo with Jaime Soler, La Fabricación del estado, 1864-1910 (Mexico City: Museo Nacional de Arte, 2003). Also see Rosa Casanova y Eloisa Uribe, “Maxilimiano y el liberalismo a pesar de los conservadores 1860-1867,” in El arte mexicano. Arte del siglo XIX. Tomo 9. (Mexico City: Salvat, 1982). Eliosa Uribe et. al., Y todo…por una nación. (Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropologia e Historia, 1984). And Ibsen, 15.

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Mexico City in 1865. The visual union of these leaders from opposite ends of the political poles was a hybrid strategy for establishing legitimacy, and not a new one for Mexico. During the

Spanish colonial period, in the palace’s “Hall of Royal Accord” there were portraits of the viceroys who governed Mexico, beginning with Hernán Cortés, who while never a viceroy, had been given the title of Captain General.95 However, not all the viceroys were shown. In the exclusion of certain periods and their rulers, the series erased any sense of discontinuity that existed in the viceroyalty administration and re-wrote the sequence as logical and continuing.96

Thus, when Maximilian called upon historical imagery from two seemingly disparate groups,

Spanish colonial rulers and national heroes, both sets with which he held an affinity, the emperor hoped to define a lineage.

What would have been notable to the Mexican viewing audience was the combination of national heroes Maximilian included in his pantheon. He included portraits of both Miguel

Hidalgo and Agustín de Iturbide, thus crossing liberal and conservative political boundaries that had been well established and fortified in recent years. After the war against the United States

(1846-1848) Mexico’s historiography since independence had become a highly charged battlefield for the liberal and conservative parties.97 Liberals commemorated Miguel Hidalgo,

José Maria Morelos, and the pre-Columbian past on September 16, while conservatives celebrated Agustín de Iturbide (the first emperor of Mexico) as the nation’s liberator and honored

94 The Salons in Mexico City were modeled and called after those held in Paris beginning in 1667.

95 Schreffler, 2007, 62.

96 Ibid.

97 Pani, 2011, 128.

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the country’s Catholic legacy on September 27.98 Combining portraits of the heroes from these two political poles would have been viewed as either transgressive or ignorant.

Maximilian also commissioned statuary to be placed throughout the city depicting

Mexican heroes. This included a bronze statue of Vicente Guerrero,99 another of José Maria

Morelos (1765-1816),100 and the erection of a Monument to Independence.101 In an effort to create a new city center to rival the Zócalo, Mexico City’s primary plaza, Maximilian relocated an equestrian statue of Carlos IV. In so doing, he therefore shifted the locus of power away from the former colonial center.102 He placed the statue, known as “El Caballito,” in a traffic circle at the end of a grand boulevard that connected the imperial residence of Chapultepec Castle, with the city’s center. Its position drew attention to Maximilian’s presence overlooking the city.

Additionally, when he came to Mexico, Maximilian brought what was then thought to be

Moctezuma’s headdress, an Aztec shield, and the Cartas de Relación of Hernando Cortés from the royal museum in Vienna.103 All were emblems of the previous Habsburg ruler’s conquest of

Mexico, thus further connecting him and his lineage to the history of Mexico. These combined representational tactics, present in the visible urban landscape, the governmental offices of the palace, and on display in the public forum of the Salon, all served to place Maximilian at the end

98 Ibid.

99 Guerrero was an important general who fought against Spain during the Mexican War of Independence. He briefly served as President of Mexico.

100 Morelos was one of the foremost leaders of the revolution against Spain. He took the helm after the execution of Miguel Hidalgo. Morelos was a Catholic priest, like Hidalgo.

101 Esther Acevedo, “Documentación de la época de segunda imperio,” Memoria 3 (1991a), 43-57, and “Las imágenes de la historia (1863-1867) memoria y destrucción,” Memoria 3, (1991b), 27-41.

102 Stacie Widdifield, “Modernizando el pasado: La recuperación del arte y su historia, 1860-1920,’ in Hacia otra historia del arte en mexico, edited by Esther Acevedo (Mexico City: Conaculta, 2004), 77.

103 Licenciado Amparo Gomez Tepexicuapan, conversation with autor, Museo Nacional de Historia, July 2010. The feather headdress was taken back to Vienna.

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of a linear spectrum with Mexican heirs to the throne. The line of portraiture began with his familial heritage and progressed to the ideological legacy of the heroes of Mexican independence, with whom Maximilian hoped to bond through his liberal policies, thus legitimizing his role as emperor.

The Habsburg portraits commissioned from artists of the Academia de San Carlos104 included: Carlos V, assigned to Rafael Flores; Felipe II, Santiago Rebull; Philip III, Juan

Urruchi; Felipe IV, Joaquin Ramirez; and Carlos II, Tiburcio Sánchez.105 Maximilian was certainly thinking of his legacy in terms of the previous Habsburgs who had ruled Mexico during the Spanish colonial period as well as the pantheon of national heroes. Unfortunately, most of these works are now lost.106

An interesting surviving example is the painting of Carlos II by Tiburcio Sánchez.

Carlos II was the last Habsburg ruler of the Spanish colonies. He suffered from substantial physical and mental disabilities. Due to these challenges, his rule was ineffective and led to the

War of Spanish Succession, in which the French Bourbon dynasty took over the throne of Spain and control of the colonies for the next century.

The Sánchez portrait conveys certain aspects of the king’s disabilities (Figure 3-15).

Carlos II is shown en pied, leaning back on a damask-draped table for support. His hands droop over a book placed on the table and over his sword, rather than resting on it, according to the customary iconography in the seventeenth century that represented the king’s military might over

104 The Academia de San Carlos was the first art academy established in the Americas (1785) by Carlos III of Spain, who was of Bourbon descent. The school was modeled after the French Royal Academy of Painting and Sculpture, emphasizing classical European training.

105 Esther Acevedo, “Los comienzos de una historia laica en imágenes,” in La fabricación del estado (1864-1910), eds. Esther Acevedo and Jaime Soler (Mexico City: Insituto Nacional de Bellas Artes, 2003), 45.

106 Ibid.

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his subjects. The king’s expression is vacant; his eyes are wide, there is neither a smile nor a frown on his lips. Behind Carlos II, a hat (rather than a crown) rests on a stack of books haphazardly lying on the table. The pillar that often symbolizes the power of the state appears in the background, but is almost completely concealed by a draped curtain. The overall impression of the painting is one of a weak king who felt overwhelmed by his position. Still, as seen in

Chapter 2, certain aspects of pose, props, framing, and function connect the elements found in this portrait and European official royal portraiture to the carte-de-visite tradition. In fact, one wonders whether Maximilian’s uncertain stance in his propagandistic carte-de-visite portraits may have inspired the artist’s imagined pose for the Carlos II in this composition.

As I noted earlier, in the photograph, Maximiliano (charro) the emperor appears holding a telescope. The cylindrical shape and its very presence in the composition recalls the iconographic function of the baton of sixteenth-century royal portraiture of the Habsburg rulers of New Spain. It functions iconographically within the portrait like the military rod of previous eras. An early example of such an object appearing in a portrait of a Habsburg monarch is found in a painting of Charles V, originally by Juan Pantoja de la Cruz, according to Titan (Figure 3-

16). The emperor is shown wearing his military armor, standing in three-quarter profile, and holding the military rod, or military baton, an article that served as a symbol of power for high- ranking officials and resembled a thick stick, flat at both ends.

The iconography of the military baton continued to play a role in representations of subsequent rulers in the Habsburg family after Charles V. For example, in 1560 Antonio Moro painted a Portrait of Philip II on the Day of St. Quentin with the military baton figuring prominently in the painting’s composition, visually dividing the work in half with its strong horizontal axis (Figure 3-17). Here, the baton is further emphasized by its light color, which

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starkly contrasts with the dark background and dark greys, blacks, and browns of the king´s military garb. In this portrait, we also see Philip II in a stance that is consistent with

Maximilian’s in the photo Maximiliano (charro). The position of their feet imitates the steps one would take in a dance, and therefore indicates an understanding of dancing forms, which was requisite knowledge for a gentleman in the early modern period.

Although England’s Charles I (1600-1649) was of no relation to the emperor, his portrait may have played a role in Maximilian’s representational choices. Maximilian was focused on the life of Charles I during his last days in Querétaro while he read the latter’s biography.107 It is likely that Maximilian was thinking of this king who also became caught in the shifting nature of politics in Europe and was ultimately executed. But whether Maximilian would have been familiar with a portrait of Charles I by Anthony van Dyck that dates to 1630 is uncertain (Figure

3-18). The pose of England’s ruler in the composition bears a striking resemblance to that in the photograph of Maximilian in Querétaro. Here Charles I is captured in riding attire, with his horse and servants in view. Like Maximillian, he wears a wide-brimmed hat and boots with spurs. King Charles’ body is turned in profile, but his head turns toward the viewer, making three-quarters of his face visible. Most remarkably, Charles I is also using a walking stick.

While it is unclear whether Maximilian is emulating the previous unfortunate ruler in the photograph, he certainly looked to Charles I when composing his execution speech, a topic to be discussed at greater length in Chapter 4.

These examples point to the official royal portrait’s function as a means of establishing status, dignity, and worth.108 They were intended to summon and reaffirm a right to rule, and

107 See Ibsen, 8 and Salm-Salm, 267.

108 Andrew Wilton, The Swagger Portrait: Grand Manner Portraiture in Britain from Van Dyck to Augustus John (1630-1930) (London: Tate Gallery, 1992), 12.

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therefore placed a great deal of emphasis on the external evidence of authority. The consistent approach to the compositional organization and signifiers embodied the stability of legitimate control. The state portrait called for a grand scale of representation and a correspondingly elaborate frame, both elements that would suit its elegant surroundings. However, part of its value was seen as that attributed to painted works of art, such as permanence and technical skill.109 The ephemeral medium and the miniature format of the carte-de-visite conferred neither the quality of permanence nor of technical skill. Thus, the carte-de-visite conveyed ideas of impermanence and imitation due to its mechanical reproduction and the repetition of its iconographic elements in popular culture.

Over the course of the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, aspects of official portraiture, such as the subject’s stance, the three-quarter turn of his head, the draped curtain in the background, and an elegant piece of furniture, were adopted by lesser nobles in Europe, and eventually the European middle class as a means to convey newly found status. Similarly,

Spaniards and Creoles in Mexico began to commission portraits incorporating well-known icons of nobility to convey an elevated role in society. A related example from mid-eighteenth century

Mexico is Miguel Cabrera’s Don Juan Xavier Joaquín Gutiérrez Altamirano Velasco (ca. 1750-

54) (Figure 3-19). Here, the viewer is presented with a Creole man from a wealthy family.

Rather than carrying a military baton, this figure holds a family seal in his right hand, which is positioned under the subject’s crest for emphasis, and holds a three-cornered hat tucked under his left arm. All of these accoutrements indicate that he is not recognized for his military status, but for his social rank. His role as a member of the Creole class is evident in the brightly colored and patterned silk of his European style suit, traits typical of portraits that sought to legitimize

109 Ibid., 12, 19.

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race and class at this time in Mexico. While the portrait we know as Maximiliano (charro) did not seek to legitimize Maximilian or the empire, numerous aspects of the photograph refer to legitimizing tactics utilized by others, some of which were employed by Maximilian in his daily life in Mexico and highlight his hybrid approach to seeking acceptance in Mexico.

Summary

Maximiliano (charro) was a portrait taken at a time when the Mexican Empire was gasping its last breath of air. In the discussion above of Maximiliano (charro) and royal and military portraits, I have highlighted royal European and Mexican examples of paintings from which compositional elements were combined in the photograph. The telescope Maximilian carries under his left arm plays the iconographic role of the European baton, pointing to his ability to lead his military forces to victory in the battle over Querétaro. The compositional conventions of Maximilian’s stance, medals, props, and perspective, could have been read by some Mexicans familiar with this visual language as legitimizing his social and political role as leader.

However, there are also correlations between the costume depicted in Maximiliano

(charro) and that worn by the middle and lower class Mexicans who were enamored with the rising national figure of the chinaco, or charro. The chinaco’s participation in numerous wars during the first half of the century made his horseman’s attire very popular. The costume was depicted in costumbrista prints and carte-de-visite photographs alike. Although Maximilian does not wear all of the accoutrements associated with the type in this image, the charro label scripted at the bottom of the carte-de-visite attests to a certain degree of correlation between

Maximilian’s garment choices and those utilized by the charro. This representational choice would not have been popular with Maximilian’s supporters, who were conservative and therefore on the opposing political side of the chinaco. For his upper-class urban Mexican supporters, the

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hat in particular would have negated any political clout established by the military medals worn with his charro garb. Hats appeared rarely in photographs and were associated more closely with the rural working class than the ruling elite.

Maximiliano (charro) is an ambiguous image that would have registered differently to different audiences. It also points to Maximilian’s practice of dressing in the complete charro garb for certain occasions, such as his morning riding routine and select speeches. The photograph shows how the emperor incorporated selected elements from the Mexican horseman’s costume into his daily style while he lived in Querétaro. The combined elements he wore created a hybrid persona that reflects his conflicting ideas surrounding class and his political approach. Maximilian changed costume numerous times during the day not only to suit the occasion, but also to appeal to his audience. However, if the aim was to appeal to one’s audience, and that audience was continuously in flux, consistency was undermined and the emperor’s effectiveness was rendered impossible. Failure was the inevitable result.

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Figure 3-1. Anonymous, “Maximiliano (charro),” albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. Museo Nacional de Historia, Mexico City. Use of this image meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 3-2. Anonymous, Benito Juarez, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1865. 986-025 0001, Mexican Carte-de-visite Collection, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico.

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Figure 3-3. François Aubert, Maximilian, carte-de-visite, ca. 1865. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13659.

Figure 3-4. Anonymous, Maximiliano a caballo con traje de charro, oil on canvas, nineteenth century, private collection. From Baez Macias, Graciela Romandia de Cantu, and Elia Espinosa. El Caballo en el Arte Mexicano. Mexico, D.F.: Fomento Cultural Banamex, 1994. Use of this image meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 3-5. Anonymous, La India Bonita, lithograph, second half of the nineteenth century, Museo Nacional, Mexico City. Use of this image meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 3-6. François Merille, Benito Juarez as “charro,” photo-caricature, 1865. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 14.223.

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Figure 3-7. François Merille, Miguel Miramón, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1866. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 12.478.

Figure 3-8. Unknown photographer, Miguel Miramón, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1865. http://www.oocities.org/maxhabsburgo/Miramon2.html. Use of this image meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 3-9. François Aubert, Ranchero, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1866. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.556.

Figure 3-10. Antonio Garcia Cubas, “Plate 2,” lithograph, 1876. Reprinted from A. Garcia Cubas, The Republic of Mexico (Mexico City: "La Enseñanza" Print Office, 1876). Book and image are in the public domain and meet “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 3-11. François Aubert, Colonel Dupin, photograph, ca. 1865. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 14.125.

Figure 3-12. François Aubert, Colonel Dupin, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1865. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.006.

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Figure 3-13. François Aubert, Captain Vosseur, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1865. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.023.

Figure 3-14. François Aubert, Group of Soldiers Serving in Mexico, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1865. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.134.

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Figure 3-15. Tiburcio Sánchez, Carlos II, infante de España, oil on canvas, 1866, Museo Nacional de Historia, INAH, Mexico City. Image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 3-16. Juan Pantoja de la Cruz, according to Titan, Portrait of Emperor Charles V, oil on canvas, ca. 1550s, El Escorial, Real Monasterio de San Lorenzo, Patrimonio Nacional, Madrid. Image is in the public domain and it use meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 3-17. Antonio Moro, Portrait of Philip II on the Day of St. Quentin, oil on canvas, 1560, El Escorial, Real Monasterio de San Lorenzo, Patrimonio Nacional, Madrid. Image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 3-18. Anthony Van Dyck, Charles I of England, oil on canvas, 1630, Musée du Louvre, Paris. Image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 3-19. Miguel Cabrera, Don Juan Xavier Joaquín Gutiérrez Altamirano Velasco, oil on canvas, ca. 1750-54, Brooklyn Museum. Image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

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CHAPTER 4 MAXIMILIANO MUERTO: PHOTO-REPORTAGE, POST-MORTEM PORTRAITURE, AND PUBLIC MEMORY

I forgive everybody, I pray that everyone may also forgive me, and I wish that my blood, which is now to be shed may be for the good of the country. Long live Mexico, long live independence.1

Mexicans! Men of my rank and origin – inspired with such sentiments as mine – are destined by Providence to be either benefactors of their people or martyrs. When I came among you, I had no hidden purpose. I came at the summons of right-thinking Mexicans, of those who are today sacrificing themselves for my country of adoption. On the threshold of the hereafter all I take with me is the consolation of having done good, so far as lay in my power, and of seeing my self not abandoned by my faithful and beloved generals. Mexicans! May my blood be the last which is shed, and may it be the regeneration of my country of adoption.2

After having been abandoned by French troops and encouraged by Napoleon III to flee,

Maximilian decided to stay in Mexico with the support of generals Miguel Miramón, Leonardo

Márquez, and Tomás Mejía, who raised an army of 8,000 men to defend the empire against the republican forces. Following weeks of battle, Maximilian and his army of loyalists retreated to

Santiago de Querétaro, where they were held under siege for several weeks, beginning in

February of 1867. The city fell to the republicans on May 15, 1867 and Maximilian was captured the following day. He was court-martialed and sentenced to death. On June 19, 1867,

Maximilian, General Miramón, and General Mejía were executed by firing squad at Cerro de las

Campanas in Querétaro.

The historic event of Maximilian’s execution was recorded after the fact with the aid of photography. Reprints were mass produced as cartes-de-visite and sold for profit via

1 Maximilian von Habsburg’s final speech. Corti, 822.

2 Maximilian von Habsburg’s final speech, as cited in Spanish at the bottom of a memorial carte-de-visite photograph portrait of Maximilian. A similar speech is also attributed to the former emperor at the moment of his death in Felix Salm-Salm’s My Diary. See Salm-Salm, 308.

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advertisements, under such labels as “Maximiliano muerto,” in the public newspapers.3 In addition to the series of photographs credited with “recording” the event of the former emperor’s death, here called the Execution Series, numerous images were printed in memoriam featuring fragments of photographs taken during Maximilian’s life, many of which employed a visual language that posed the former emperor as a martyr.

Text surrounding the images in later printings of cartes-de-visite portraits of Maximilian further contributed to framing him as a martyr. The opening quotations for this chapter were taken from two different types of sources. The first quote was taken from a personal account printed in the year following the execution. The second was taken from a later, memorial carte- de-visite produced by François Aubert, the photographer to whom the Execution Series has been attributed. It featured Maximilian’s portrait and his supposed dying words. While the first quotation reveals a brief statement of goodwill, the second fashions the former emperor as a martyr at the will of the people. Is either quote accurate? What do these quotations reveal about

Maximilian’s role in creating his own post-execution public image? According to Corti, Captain

Bertie Marriott of the Imperial Mexican Army heard the priest give a slightly modified version of the second citation while he accompanied General Tomás Mejía to the execution, rather than hearing the words from Maximilian.4 However, these lines extolling the virtues of sacrifice and martyrdom were printed on a carte-de-visite representing Maximilian after his death as if he had made the statements himself. The disparity between these citations exemplifies an apparent conflict between photographs that “documented” the execution and textual historical accounts

3 On the fourth of September, 1867, the following advertisement appeared in the Mexican periodical El Siglo XIX: “Fotografía de Aubert y Compañía, Segunda de San Fco. Núm. 7. En esta fotografía se hallarán en venta las vistas históricas del sitio de Querétaro, retrato de Maximiliano muerto y personajes históricos. Se reciben suscripciones y encargos con pago adelantado…” Cited in Aguilar Ochoa, 46.

4 Corti, 823.

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that mourned his loss. These written descriptions, primarily in the form of newspaper reports of the execution and personal memoires, were numerous, conflicting, sometimes vivid, and often dramatic. They were nevertheless highly influential in creating public memory and memorial imagery surrounding Maximilian’s death.

The production and popularity of both the Execution Series, which consisted of photos that “recorded” the death of the former emperor, and the later memorial images, which combine portraits of the major political figures involved in the execution among funerary floral arrangements, raise questions related to audience and function. On the surface, one can grasp the public’s fascination with the Execution Series, in Mexico, in particular. After all, the death of the emperor also meant the death of the empire, and the end of foreign rule in Mexico, and was thus a cause for celebration for many. However, if the Mexican response had been entirely one- sided, the subsequent memorial and martyr imagery would not have been so popular there. One would expect a higher degree of sympathy for Maximilian among Europeans, but the memorial cards were also created by commercial photographers in Mexico, presumably in response to public demand.

In order to better understand the sequence of the representational choices, it is important to consider the following questions: How would the post-mortem and execution photographs of

Maximilian and his effects have been read by nineteenth-century viewers in Mexico and Europe?

Did the cards’ composition or subject matter ideologically frame the incident for the viewer?

Why would photo-memorial cards of a neocolonial, foreign ruler find an enthusiastic reception

(as evidenced through the number purchased) in the colonized country?

The matter of judging the reception of the Execution Series is fraught with challenges.

First, due to the carte-de-visite’s popularity as a genre and its widespread distribution, there was

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no formal viewing and little in the way of a documented critique, such as one would encounter for a photographic exhibition. Second, during his reign Maximilian banned criticism of the empire in the Mexican press, making popular opinion in Mexico before his death difficult to assess using primary printed sources. After his death, the conservatives involved in the Second

Mexican Empire wanted to wash their hands of the period. A tribunal initiated by Juarez prosecuted many Mexican politicians for their treasonous involvement in the empire. Third,

Napoleon III banned the sale of The Execution Series in France.5 And fourth, ephemeral photographs such as cartes-de-visite have little to no provenance associated with them. Unless the individual images were part of an album that was owned by a celebrity or a famous political figure and now safeguarded by a museum, tracing their ownership is nearly impossible. Thus, information regarding reception of the photographs by the general public is impossible.

However, in spite of these problems, some conclusions can be made about the meaning and significance of the Execution Series based upon the creation and sale of subsequent memorial imagery featuring Maximilian.

This chapter will closely examine the post-mortem photographs of Maximilano muerto within the context of the Execution Series, as well as the memorial montages, all of which were sold widely in the form of cartes-de-visite. While briefly considering the “photo-reportage,” or photojournalistic, perspective usually emphasized by scholars with regard to the post-mortem pictures of Maximilian, I will also consider the role and prevalence of nineteenth-century funerary portraiture in order to better understand the historical context of the photographs and shed light on the subsequent surge of memorial imagery. Through an examination of post- mortem portraiture contexts in both Mexico and Europe, I will suggest that images such as

5 Wilson-Bareau, 98-105.

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Maximiliano muerto may have been read differently by nineteenth-century Mexican and French viewers than previous studies suggest. Photo-reportage was a new means of recording events, but post-mortem photographs and painted portraits had a long tradition. Therefore, consumers almost certainly felt more familiar with post-mortem photography than with images of death that recorded the violence of war. Thus, it is my argument that the Execution Series represented the death of empire in Mexico while also revealing the humanity of Maximilian through intimate representations of his decaying corpse and his blood-ridden clothing and personal effects. These images recalled the function of post-mortem portraiture and objects of mourning, which logically would inspire a subsequent wave of memorial imagery.6

In the Execution Series and memorial cartes-de-visite, Maximilian was “posed” more than ever before. His supposed last words, quoted at the opening of the chapter, are one of few examples of Maximilian’s agency in the representation of his death. As mentioned, there is a great amount of discrepancy over what was actually said in his last speech. His dead body, and the photograph of it, meant different things for different people, depending on race, class, nationality, and religion. For the republican forces, the emperor’s dead body symbolized the end of outside and conservative imperial rule. For the imperialistas and many Europeans,

Maximiliano muerto represented a martyr. Efforts the emperor made to fashion his legacy prior to his death had less effect on the public imaginary than the disturbing reports of his execution published in the papers. With each successive press report of his death came conflicting stories.

The memorial cartes-de-visite seemed to fill the public’s need for resolution, tied as they were to the mourning traditions popular in the 1860s. The plethora of successive memorial images will

6 Objects of mourning are any of those materials that aid the bereaved in the mourning process. Often these items are associated with the physical body and are a means through which mourners can preserve the memory of the departed body. Some examples include: hair relics, mourning jewelry, mourning costumes, gothic novels, poetry, sculpted busts or plaster casts, post-mortem photographs, and paintings.

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be considered in the final section with respect to the suggested alternative readings of the

Execution Series.

Descriptions of the Execution Series

No existing or known photographs recorded the actual event of the execution; all photographs meant to document Maximilian’s death were taken after the fact. Scholars debate the cause of this apparent lack. The general consensus is that photography was not allowed at the event, though some scholars suspect that the photographer simply did not arrive until days later.7 Regardless, the technological limitations of the camera itself meant that the machine would not have been able to capture the moment of the execution shots as they were fired.

However, many photographs were taken after the fact.

The carte-de-visite was the perfect mode of mass distribution for the Execution Series – the images were small, affordable keepsakes of the monumentally historic event. They were easily shipped overseas and exchanged rapidly among consumers of many nationalities. The post-mortem photographs that are usually grouped together for discussion and are termed here the Execution Series include: Maximilian’s entire corpse in its coffin, an upper body detail of the same subject, Maximilian’s shirt with bullet holes, a vest with bullet holes, a frock coat with bullet holes, a pile of clothing bloodied from the shooting, the scarf and locket Maximilian carried, the execution squad, as well as images of locations such as the Cerro de las Campanas, where the execution took place.8 Although these photographs are not a numbered set, they are

7 In particular, see Priego Ramirez and Rodríguez, 1989, 47-49.

8 The first person to organize the images in some manner was Albert Wolff, in an article titled, “Gazette du Mexique,” published in Le Figaro (Paris) on August 11, 1867. He included four photographs in his group: Maximilian’s corpse, his waistcoat, his frock coat, and the firing squad. Discussion of these photos, with some variables of inclusion, can be found in: Acevedo, “Así circulaban sus imágenes,” 1995a, 177, and Casanova, 2003, 218-219. Also see Debroise, 169. See also Alain Ceysens, "François Aubert et la photographie au Mexique,” Charlotte et Maximilien: Les Belges au Mexique (Bruxelles: Lielens, 1987); Priego Ramirez and Antonio Rodríguez, 1989; Elderfield, 2006; Juliet Wilson-Bareau, ed., 1992.

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generally grouped by scholars as if they were taken by one photographer within the same time frame, shortly after the execution. Below I will provide a detailed description of those images traditionally discussed in studies, and then follow with a visual analysis discussion in the next section, which is divided into three parts: photo-reportage and war, post-mortem portraiture, and tokens of remembrance. Under the sub-heading of photo-reportage and war, I compare cartes- de-visite from the Execution Series to the photography emerging from the U.S. Civil War, a significant and contemporaneous event in a neighboring country. In the sections about post- mortem portraiture and tokens of remembrance I consider the Execution Series within the context of the mid-nineteenth century culture of mourning. Rather than seeing solely objective truth and evidential fact presented through photography, I suggest that certain nineteenth-century

Mexican or French carte-de-visite viewers identified with the format and subject matter presented in the Execution Series in a different way. Even if they found the photograph of

Maximilian to be disturbing, they likely responded with sympathy to the post-mortem image of what appeared to be a man who suffered. This alternative reading sheds light on the numerous memorial montages and lithographs featuring images from Maximilian’s life that circulated after his execution. I will present these later memorial cartes-de-visite at the end of the chapter, followed by a concluding discussion in which I argue that photography studios met a demand for tokens of remembrance in cultures on both sides of the Atlantic.9

Maximiliano muerto

Two carte-de-visite images of the corpse of the deceased sovereign that circulated widely throughout both Europe and the Americas were the image of Maximilian’s entire body in his coffin (Figure 4-1), and the detail of his head and torso (Figure 4-2). In the photo of the

9 Acevedo refers to these memorial images as estampas votivas or “votive prints.” “Así circulaban sus imágenes,” 1995a, 177.

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emperor’s body, the viewer’s gaze faces Maximilian’s coffin from a standing vantage point, looking slightly down toward the former emperor. The wooden box is situated at an angle for ease of viewing. The feet are closer to the viewer than the head (Figure 4-1). There are two doors extending the length of the coffin that are propped open. The box that was used to hold

Maximilian’s corpse was made of pine, like those used for the poorest members of the population, and in the popular vernacular was referred to as “cajón de muerto” or “box for the dead.”10 The coffin was painted with decorative embellishments. There may have been up to three coffins that held Maximilian’s body.11

Here Maximilian is wearing clothing similar to that displayed in Maximiliano (charro).

We see the same military frock coat, without the naval medals. He wears the same style of black pants and boots, but now the pants are tucked into the boots. Leather gloves cover his hands.

The reflection of the light off the gloves’ stitch work contributes to the hands’ skeletal appearance. His head features no hat here. Rather, it is framed by a small pillow covered in dotted fabric. The lack of a hat in the photograph is significant, especially in light of reports that came out of Mexico after the execution, which indicated that Maximilian wore a Mexican-style hat when he was shot.12 However, another report claims that prior to his death, Maximilian asked that his hat and his handkerchief be returned to his mother.13 The two side compartments seen

10 Ratz, Querétaro, 2005, 326.

11 Ibid. Ratz features an image of a coffin attributed to Maximilian’s execution. He claims that the coffin shown in the Aubert photograph is the second coffin.

12 Indépendance Belge, July 31, 1867 [by] “correspondent particulier de L’independence,” Mexico, June 28. See also Ibsen, 169, Debroise 170, and Scharf, 73, and Salm-Salm, 304 and 307.

13 Salm-Salm, 307.

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near Maximilian’s feet contained his vital organs.14 A glass plate covered the coffin, sealing

Maximilian’s body therein.15

In the carte that details the ruler’s torso (Figure 4-2) Maximilian’s hair looks strangely false. His hair does not seem to be attached to his head at the roots and the texture appears too coarse to be real. One wonders if his hair had grown considerably since death, or if the strange appearance was due to problems with the embalming technique. Likewise, Maximilian’s eyes, nose, and teeth convey an unnatural quality. The strange appearance of his open eyes has been well explained by scholars.16 In order to preserve his remains, the doctor charged with embalming Maximilian inserted false eyes into the body. There were no blue eyes available for use, so a set of brown eyes was taken from a nearby statue of the Virgin of the Remedies.17 The glass eyes appear to have been too large and lend a bulging quality to the sockets that does not resemble Maximilian’s visage in portraits taken during his life. Maximilian’s nose and teeth appear reconstructed, or false. His nose seems to be distorted. Compared with portraits of

Maximilian from life, both the bridge and the cartilage surrounding the nostrils appear thinner.

His beard seems too long and too thick in the region of his mouth. The teeth also protrude more in the post-mortem portrait than in life. All of these factors suggest that the picture was taken well after his death, perhaps quite a while after the eight days it took to perform the embalming procedure.

14 Douglas Johnson, “The French Intervention in Mexico,” in Manet: The Execution of Maximilian: Painting, Politics and Censorship, edited by Juliet Wilson-Bareau (London: National Gallery Publications, 1992), 32.

15 Wilson-Bareau, 32.

16 See Basch, Recollections of Mexico, 2001. The strange appearance of Maximilian’s eyes was first explained in print via an anonymous newspaper article that reported the photographs taken of the emperor: “Captura y ejecución del emperador Maximiliano,” La Revista Universal (Mexico), 23 de septiembre 1867.

17 Debroise, 2001, 169 and 67. Ratz says in Querétaro that the eyes were from a statue of Saint Ursula.

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In fact, there may have been a problem with the initial embalming process, which was performed by Doctor Vicente Licea.18 There is evidence of at least one additional embalming procedure that took place in Mexico City months later to rectify problems with the first process, and one scholar has suggested that a third occurred in Veracruz.19 On September 12, 1867,

Maximilian’s body arrived in Mexico City with the Minister of Relations, Sebastián Lerdo de

Tejada.20 After the trip from Querétaro, and accidents that occurred in transport, the body of the former emperor was too damaged to send to Austria.21 Four doctors were brought in to amend the embalming procedure and prepare the corpse for its trans-Atlantic journey, four months after

Maximilian’s death. The operation took place in the presence of a police inspector at the Church of the Hospital of San Andrés in Mexico City and lasted nine days and nights. The organs, which had been removed in the first embalming, were replaced. The modern process of embalming was still relatively new, and was thus quite dangerous. One of the doctors died from an infection.22

According to the account from Dr. Reyes, the Mexican physician who observed the execution, the emperor had taken steps to assure the continuity of his post-mortem physical appearance. As Maximilian approached the firing squad, he is said to have offered a handful of gold pieces to the soldiers in exchange for straight shots to the heart that avoided the face.23 In his first-hand account of the last months of the Second Mexican Empire, the emperor’s doctor,

18 Ratz, 2005, 339.

19 Elderfield, 141.

20 Ratz, 2005, 359.

21 Konrad Ratz notes that the body fell into water twice, 359. John Elderfield claims that Maximilian’s legs may have been broken to make his body fit into the small coffin, 141.

22 Ratz, 2005, 359.

23 Basch, 252.

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Samuel Basch, affirms that Maximilian’s head was free of wounds. Basch notes that there were six wounds – three in the abdomen and three that formed a nearly straight line across the chest.24

Five of the shots were fired initially. Although the shots all pierced his body, Maximilian was still moving after he fell to the ground. A final shot was aimed directly at his heart at close range to end his life.25 Maximilian also attempted to preserve his dignity by placing handkerchiefs in his shirt to absorb the blood from the bullet wounds.26

Additionally, with his last moments, the former emperor chose to make a speech that may have further set the stage for his post-mortem representations. The two quotations listed at the opening of the chapter are both recorded by primary historic texts as his last words. Although the first selection is less dramatic, many of the same issues are addressed in both: forgiveness or good intentions, a call to the people for action in favor of a democratic government, and a reference to his blood being shed for an honorable cause. In the second example, which emphasizes Maximilian’s role as a martyr, his message was very much like that of England’s

Charles I, a leader who also found himself caught in shifting political sands and who was eventually executed. Maximilian’s contemporary, Felix Salm-Salm, claimed that the former emperor was reading the History of King Charles I of England during his court martial.27

These details provide evidence of the emperor’s last efforts to control the image of his body for its final representation, which he most likely anticipated to be the presentation of his corpse to his family.28 It is unlikely that Maximilian was able to predict either the tour of public

24 Ibid., 251.

25 Salm-Salm, 308.

26 Ibsen, 20.

27 Salm-Salm, 267, and Ibsen, 8.

28 Ibsen, 20.

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display that his corpse would undertake from Querétaro to Mexico City, or the carte-de-visite imagery of his body that would be mass-produced after the execution. Interestingly, newspaper coverage of the photographs and advertisements for their sale both appeared in the press only after Maximilian’s corpse reached Mexico City for viewing and the second round of embalming.

This fact raises questions surrounding the timing of the Execution Series photographs. Given the apparent degree of decay of Maximilian’s body, combined with the late timing of the announcement of the photographs, and the fact that his body was on display in other cities, it seems possible that the Execution Series might have acutally been taken in the weeks or months, rather than days, following the execution.

Clothing and Personal Effects

One of the more famous images from the Execution Series, apart from those showing

Maximilian’s body, is that of his shirt (Figure 4-3). The shirt was a long-sleeved, collared white dress shirt with tuxedo pleats that ran parallel to the central row of buttons. Six bullet holes pierce the front of the shirt. A high concentration of gun powder marks the final shot fired at the center of his chest, due to the proximity of the weapon to Maximilian’s body. Dark blood stains surround the holes. The photographer pinned the shirt at the shoulder points to a wooden door with a window and screen in order to clearly exhibit the bullet holes that pierced Maximilian’s torso during the execution. The sleeves, which hang loose and lifeless, without the support of a human frame, remind the viewer of the event’s outcome.

This image was accompanied in the series by one of the vest (Figure 4-4) and another of the frock coat (Figure 4-5) from the execution. Although it was generally believed that both items were worn by the emperor at the time of his death, a contemporary newspaper article suggested the clothing had not originally belonged to Maximilian. The story, published in

September of 1867 by an anonymous reporter, reads:

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He sent the photographs taken in Querétaro following the execution, the one of the vest of Maximilian’s servant – worn by the emperor, whose clothing had been stolen – as well as group portraits of the squad of soldiers who shot him.29

One scholar who cites this source, Olivier Debroise, describes the images of the vest and jacket as belonging to, and being worn by General Mejía, rather than Maximilian30 -- a point that might have been salient to the viewer, depending upon his national sympathies.

Rather than pinning the vest and jacket against a flat surface, the photographer draped them over a stand. The carte-de-visite examples presented here were re-photographed and stylized by the distributing studio. The stands were burned out of each image through a photographic process. The jacket and vest are pictured suspended in air and are featured on individual cards, each within a decorative cartouche. The year “1867” is inscribed by hand directly below each article of clothing, but within the decorative frame. Below the cartouche, each card reads, “Querétaro 19 de junio.” The wearer of the clothing items is not identified in the inscriptions. One example of a carte-de-visite image of the vest, currently in the Musée de l’Armée Royale collection in Brussels, is signed by the Mexican photographer José Gonzales.

Several clothing items were also pictured in a sordid group, piled on top of a table

(Figure 4-6). They were presumably piled to the side as the deceased were undressed during the embalming process. The overall effect of the scene is a blood-stained mass of entangled shirts, jackets, scarves, and pants – all of which calls to mind not only the executed men, but also their lifeless forms – and the lack of bodies. The clothing and effects are reminders of the physical life that was once there, that gave shape to these articles, and left a scent and stains, but had since ceased to exist. The black and white image conveys an abstract quality when the viewer expands

29 Cited in Debroise, 2001, 169. “Captura y ejecución del emperador Maximiliano,” La Revista Universal (Mexico), 23 de septiembre 1867.

30 Ibid.

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her gaze to include the walls, whose peeling paint resembles the random lines and shades of the blood-marked clothing. The clothes are lying on a table in front of a coffin that stands against the wall, as an ominous, abstract, grim reaper-like figure. To the right of the table sits a glass jar containing an unknown object that appears to be a bodily organ – possibly a brain or a heart.31

The image was hand signed by the French photographer François Aubert in the lower left corner.

Maximilian’s scarf and pocket watch are central to the composition of another photograph (Figure 4-7). It is difficult to determine whether the emperor’s scarf was engulfed in the bloodied pile of clothes shown in the previous photograph. If the scarf was once blood- ridden, it was well cleaned prior to photographing. The composition for this image resembles that of Maximilian’s shirt, in that the objects were pinned to a vertical plane for clarity and ease of viewing. The scarf is draped from three pinned points. Below the scarf hangs Maximilian’s pocket watch – a personal memento many viewers would identify as similar to their own, as well as a symbol of the end of time, like a memento mori, for the former emperor.

Execution People and Locations

Several photographs of the significant people and locations circulated with the

Execution Series. For the purposes of this discussion, I will focus primarily on the photographs of the execution squad and of Cerro de las Campanas, the hill site of the execution. Although not within the scope of this project, both images raise important questions regarding which photographer (or photographers) was present at the event and how the images should be attributed.

31 Olivier Debroise suggests that the organ shown in the photograph is Maximilian’s brain. However, based upon information presented by Konrad Ratz, the organ may be the heart of Thomas Mejía. See Mexican Suite, 256, note 10 and Querétaro, 270.

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Mariano Escobedo, a general in the army of the Mexican Republic who captured

Maximilian, ordered that a photograph be taken of the execution squad in an improvised studio the day after the execution.32 There are two carte-de-visite photographs of the execution squad that circulated widely. Although both are attributed to François Aubert, it is possible that one was taken by a Mexican photographer. The first (Figure 4-8) depicts the group of soldiers who carried out the executions lined up against an interior wall. The men are standing in a row with the third and fifth members of the group standing slightly staggered behind the others. Their legs are positioned in a relaxed stance with one foot advancing in front of the other. Their bayonets lean at a diagonal across the fronts of their bodies.

The second image of the execution squad shows the same group of men standing at attention in approximately the same order (Figure 4-9). However, this time, the bayonets are vertical against the right sides of the soldiers’ bodies. Here, we may well be viewing the soldiers in a Mexican photo studio, since at the left and right edges of the lineup, the viewer catches a glimpse of a mural painted on the background wall. Murals were beginning to come into vogue for use as decorative backgrounds in photographic studios at this time. Furthermore, although the image featured for discussion has no signature (it was selected for its clear depiction of the wall’s mural backdrop), other examples of the same photograph were signed by José Gonzales, a

Mexican photographer.

The carte-de-visite that has been attributed to François Aubert of Cerro de las Campanas features a view of the execution site from an angle (Figure 4-10). The eye is first drawn to the crosses erected to mark the locations of the shooting of General Mejía, General Miramón, and

32 Priego Ramírez and Antonio Rodríguez, 47. Priego Ramirez also notes that Teodoro Balbanera and his son Rosalío opened the first photo studio in Querétaro at 5 San Agustín Street in late 1867.

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Maximilian. Groups of large stones are stacked to act as markers, although the bodies were not buried beneath them. The location of Maximilian’s execution is highlighted for the viewer with a paper crown and the letter “M” fashioned out of sticks, which lean against the first group of stones. In the upper right-hand corner of the picture, we see the edge of an adobe brick wall that served as the backdrop for the shooting.

Another perspective of the execution site is presented in a photograph attributed to

Agustín Peraire (Figure 4-11). This version may be the more recognizable of the two, because it was used as the backdrop for a popular photomontage that reconstructed the execution scene.

Here, the viewer is presented with a frontal view of the three markers made from stones and crosses that indicate the standing positions of the two generals and Maximilian. It is interesting to note that although the photograph is signed in the lower left corner, “A. Peraire,” another copy exists at the Musée de l’Armée in the François Aubert collection, suggesting that the photograph of the wall was actually taken by Aubert.

The photograph of the wall (Figure 4-11) serves as the backdrop for an Aubert photomontage onto which the figures of Mejía, Miramón, and Maximilian, as well as those of the execution squad, have been cut out, pasted, and rephotographed in order to reconstruct the scene of the execution (Figure 4-12). In the montage, we see Peraire’s direct view of the execution site. However, the crosses that mark the standing positions have been accentuated with the addition of tape to the surface of the image. In the foreground, figures of General Mejía, and

General Miramón, and Maximilian were spliced from photographs taken during their lives and applied to the montage. Maximilian’s physical form is larger in size and scale than those of the generals, presumably to connote his political importance. To their right and left, in smaller scale than even the generals, is the image of the execution squad by François Aubert (Figure 4-8)

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divided in two halves (one half of the squad applied to each side of the image), lacking one soldier. The large-format montage in this collection is the original. The image was also reproduced as a carte-de-visite.

As mentioned previously, no existing or known photographs recorded the actual event of the execution; they were all taken afterward. In lieu of a photograph of the actual event,

François Aubert staked a visual claim to his presence at the event itself through not only the above-referenced montage, but also through a sketch (Figure 4-13), likewise housed with the collection of the French photographer’s work at the Musée de l'Armée Royale in Brussels.

Measuring 15 by 26.2 centimeters, the drawing depicts the execution squad in partial profile at the moment the fire sounded to kill Maximilian. Maximilian stands in the foreground, closest to the viewer beside Generals Mejía and Miramón against the backdrop of a wall, just as in the later photomontage. Aubert’s use of the medium of drawing to record the moment of the execution instead of photography may have been a necessity, rather than a choice. Photography may not have been permitted at the execution. Even if it had been allowed, the camera would not have been able to capture the precise moment of death. Or, the drawing may have been a means for

François Aubert to declare his presence at the execution, and therefore the veracity of his photographs that document the event. Despite the drawing’s suggestion of Aubert’s attendance at the execution, most scholars believe that he arrived in Querétaro days after the execution.

François Aubert and the Execution of Maximilian

Although François Aubert is the recognized photographer of the Execution Series, there are several pieces of evidence missing with regard to his exact role in Mexico, how long he lived there, and whether or not he may have collaborated with other local photographers.33 François

33 Although I present possible evidence for the consideration of other photographers as the original author of selected images, such a question is outside the scope of this study. This is a potential area for further research

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Aubert was born in 1829 in Lyon, France. He studied painting with Jean-Hippolyte Flandrin and exhibited at the Salon of 1851 in Paris. François Aubert moved to Mexico from France within approximately the same time frame as Maximilian and Carlota.34 However, I was unable to locate any documentation that formally connected his arrival to formal associations with the

French government or military.

In fact, an illustrated article published in September of 1867 claims that the photographs taken in Querétaro after the execution were made in “secret,” and given to the author by the doctor in charge of embalming Maximilian.35 It is also interesting to note that Aubert’s first advertisement to sell photographs of Maximiliano muerto appeared in a Mexican periodical in the same month.36 François Aubert appears to have ventured to Mexico independently in an effort to capitalize professionally on the soon-to-be burgeoning French population in the new colony.

The emperor’s designated court photographer was the Spaniard Julio de Maria y Campos, who nevertheless shared a studio address with Aubert for a time period.37 Aubert had thus a high degree of access to Maximilian, Carlota, and the members of the royal court. At various points in time, Aubert shared the same business address in Mexico City with not only Maria y Campos, but also with Francés (or François) Merille and José Maria de la Torre, all of whom were

Olivier Debroise also brings the authorship of the photographs into question. See Mexican Suite, 169. My goal is to propose alternative readings of the Execution Series on the part of the nineteenth-century viewer.

34 Esther Acevedo and others claim that Aubert moved to Central America in 1851. However the Didot Frères Parisian business directory listed him as a photographer working on rue St. Honore 340, from 1861-62, and under the same profession on rue Drouot 15, from 1863-1865. Didot Frères, Fils, et Cie., 1859-1866. I was unable to identify any documentation that verified a previous trip in the 1850s to Central America.

35 “Captura y ejecución del emperador Maximiliano,” La Revista Universal (Mexico), 23 de septiembre 1867, 2.

36 El Siglo XIX, 4 de septiembre, 1867.

37 Gonzalez, Diario del imperio (Mexico), 25 de agosto, 1866. Olivier Debroise identifies Maria y Campos as a Spaniard. Olivier Debroise, 2001, 30.

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photographers.38 Because of these factors – the intersection of professional working space with other photographers, the official designation of the court photographer, and the photos taken by

Aubert of the sovereigns and their court prior to the selection of an official court photographer, questions exist among scholars as to the verifiable identity of the man who took the post-mortem series of Maximilian.39 However, for ease of discussion, and due to the fact that the great majority of cartes-de-visite inspected for this project have Aubert’s signature or emblem, I too, refer to Aubert as the primary photographer.

Whether the photographer was French, Mexican, or of some other nationality, it is likely that he had seen photographs emerging from the U.S. Civil War. Numerous soldiers who had fought in the U.S. Civil War migrated to Mexico after the Civil War ended in 1865. A detailed discussion of Civil War photography versus the Execution Series follows below. This photographic context will show how the Execution Series, while documenting the events surrounding Maximilian’s execution, also differed in format, composition, and subject matter from previous examples of photo-reportage, perhaps leading to its divergent function in society.

Photo-reportage or Post-mortem Portraiture and Tokens of Remembrance?

Photo-reportage and War

Several of the images presented in the Execution Series correspond to what scholars have identified as two distinct categories of photography: portraiture and photo-reportage. The development of photo-reportage as a photographic topic was contemporary to the French

Intervention. In the previous decade (the 1850s) the first pictures of war were taken in Crimea.

38 The reverse of the cartes-de-visite often features a seal or emblem to identify the photographer. Numerous examples exist to reinforce this claim of a shared business address. Also, see Debroise, 168.

39 Olivier Debroise goes so far as to describe the photographer as “the Mexican photographer” in his discussion of the Execution Series. As he explains, “Because he [Aubert] is better known than his colleagues, many of the images produced during the Empire are attributed to Aubert.” Debroise, 169.

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In the 1860s photographic images emerging from the U.S. Civil War were beginning to receive attention. In Mexico’s neighbor to the north, the Civil War had been raging since 1861, just three years prior to Maximilian’s arrival in Mexico. Photography became a technological tool used to record the events of the war, but also became the lens through which Americans saw and understood it.40 Never before had such a scale of death been displayed to the public as during the American Civil War.

Although the technology was readily employed at the beginning of the war in the early

1860s, photographers soon discovered the dangers involved in pursuing their craft in the middle of battle. In 1861, an American photographer became stranded for a brief time on the battlefield after losing his way in the woods. The photography equipment alone made covering the battle quite a challenge. The camera was still supported by a large tripod. The wet-plate process required a portable darkroom, for the glass plate to be prepared prior to the picture, then rushed out to the camera before the action could be recorded. With the exposure time, the fast movements of battle, and the ensuing smoke, action was nearly impossible to capture. Most photographers posed scenes with soldiers from encampments to look natural and sometimes rearranged corpses on the field for a more dramatic perspective. But despite these manipulations, the images bore witness to the aftermath of real and violent events, on a scale the world had not seen and was barely able to comprehend.41

Images of death were not new to nineteenth-century viewers. On the contrary, post- mortem portraiture had become extremely popular with the advent of the daguerreotype.

However, those photographs generally depicted loved ones in a peaceful “last sleep.” They

40 Alan Trachtenberg, Reading American Photographs: Images as History, Matthew Brady to Walker Evans (Toronto: Hill and Wang, 1989), 72-73.

41 Ibid.

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memorialized the death of a known person and served as relics of that person’s life. They also served as a testament to the continued devotion of family and friends who bathed, dressed, and prepared the body for the photograph and the funeral.42 The U.S. Civil War imagery of death showed numerous bodies scattered across landscapes. Facial features were difficult to decipher and names were not listed. Civil War photographs were perplexing in the number and anonymity of the dead they depicted.

In 1866, just one year prior to the execution of Maximilian, two prominent volumes on the U.S. Civil War were published using photographic illustrations. Alexander Gardner released

Gardner’s Photographic Sketch Book of the War, and George P. Barnard published

Photographic Views of Sherman’s Campaign. Both Barnard and Gardner had worked with

Matthew Brady, but Barnard also became the official photographer for the Union of the Military

Division of the Mississippi. Both books present photographs within a frame of political interpretation and unabashed support of the Union North, but differ in their presentation styles.43

Gardner created a two-volume set featuring one hundred photographic images, each accompanied by a title, the artist’s name, and descriptive text. Barnard’s 61 images were individually labeled, but preceded by a broad narrative. The photos were in one volume and the text was included in a separate booklet with maps. While Gardner and Barnard’s versions both made text a key element of production, there was also an assumption that the photographs would tell a good part of the story.44 In fact, Gardner states plainly, “verbal representations of such places, or scenes, may or may not have the merit of accuracy; but photographic presentments of

42 Nudelman, 104-107.

43 Trachtenberg, 94.

44 Ibid., 95.

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them will be accepted by posterity with an undoubting faith.”45 His statement reflects the nineteenth-century notion that because images were captured by what was perceived as the objective eye of the mechanical camera, photographs held the highest degree of verisimilitude even though most photographs of the time were posed. Gardner frames the war’s broad patterns for the reader through his discussion of specific places such as battle sites and camps. Barnard’s book instead narrates the events associated with Sherman’s military campaign without explaining or referring directly to the photographs, thereby creating a greater space for the viewer’s contemplation of the images.

Both books were bound in leather and marketed as art books with large albumen prints, rich in tone. Each book cost roughly one hundred dollars.46 Although the actual volumes would not have reached a popular audience due to their high price, it is likely that the same images circulated as less expensive stereographs or woodcut reproductions.47

A New York Times review of a Gardner exhibition of photographs taken after the Battle of Antietam suggests that the pictures were not as disturbing as one might expect to viewers in their portrayal of war.48 Rather the reviewer himself was surprised by exhibition-goers’ apathetic response, which he attributed to the camera’s lack of attention to each man’s face and to the distance between viewers and the physical realities of the bloody death of war.49 He describes visitors dwelling on the photographs, enthralled by the pictures of the dead soldiers,

45 Alexander Gardner, Gardner’s Photographic Sketch Book of the Civil War (1866; reprint, New York: Dover Publications Inc., 1959), text located in the preface opposite the frontispiece. –No numbered pages.

46 Trachtenberg notes that one critic emphasizes the audience as republican, or supportive of the Northern Union in the U.S. Civil War, 94-95.

47 Ibid. 95.

48 Nudelman, 106-107.

49 “Brady’s Photographs: Pictures of the Dead at Antietam,” New York Times, October 20, 1862.

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bent forward with magnifying glasses to get a better look at their indistinct features. The photographs showed groups of bodies, contorted and strewn throughout the landscape, or in mass graves waiting burial. The article’s mention of the magnifying glass highlights the photographs’ lack of distinctness and the viewers’ desire to discern each individual dead man’s features so the bodies could be distinguished from one another rather than known solely through the anonymous portrayals offered by the photograph.

By contrast, the carte-de-visite photograph of Maximilano muerto (Figure 4-2) clearly characterizes the former emperor. While his features were certainly modified in the embalming process, he was still recognizable and identifiable, rather than anonymous. Viewers might have even referred back to a known image of him from life that would have helped them recognize him. Thus, while the photograph in one sense recorded the results of the war by documenting

Maximilian’s execution, like U.S. Civil War imagery did, Maximilian’s status as a political celebrity combined with his placement as the sole subject places this image in a slightly different category.

When considering these volumes of U.S. Civil War photographs in comparison to the

Execution Series of Maximilian, the similarities and differences are evident: the volumes by

Gardner and Barnard included text, while the original Execution Series did not. Nor were the images in the Execution Series bound in any sort of publication.50 The series was not even sold as a complete set. Individual images such as Maximiliano muerto were advertised for individual sale. However, the Execution Series did include photographs of important sites where major events took place, such as the Cerro de las Campanas where he was executed (Figures 4-10 and

50 While not a professionally bound publication, there is a full collection of the Execution Series cartes-de-visite preserved in a leather album in the François Aubert collection at the Musée Royal de l’Armée in Brussels. This fine collection may serve as an example of a contemporary mode of display.

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4-11), and people who participated in the execution, such as the firing squad (Figures 4-8 and 4-

9). The photographer of the Execution Series seemed to have an understanding of the reporting ability of the photograph, similar to Gardner and Barnard, even when publishing without narration. The photographs in the Execution Series are not accompanied by text that positions the images for the reader; the cartes-de-visite were available for individual purchase and were left to speak for themselves.

The most famous image featured in Gardner’s text was titled “A Harvest of Death,

Gettysburg, July, 1863,” and was taken by Timothy O’Sullivan (Figure 4-14). The photograph looks out across the field of Gettysburg, emphasizing the horizontality of the landscape with the dead bodies scattered across the grass. In the foreground the viewer can make out the head, splayed arms and legs of a soldier whose torso is already beginning to bloat. His face is contorted and wounded. His hands appear mangled. Upon closer investigation, it becomes clear that the forms surrounding this central dead soldier are more dead bodies. As the eye is drawn toward the horizon, there are still more corpses strewn across the field. A man on horseback, surveying the damages, is visible in the background mist.

“A Harvest of Death” was one of the primary images that circulated publicly and represented the human cost of war, it affected viewers in several ways. First, the civil war photographs captured the unfamiliar context of military camps and war fields, rather than the familiar context (for post-mortem portraiture) of the living room, church, or funeral parlor.

Second, the images spoke to the sheer number of dead, transforming individual loss into community loss and denying families of the deceased the opportunity to care for their dead in the customary fashion, by bathing and burying them.51 Finally, when placed in book-form with text,

51 Nudelman, 106, 113.

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the photographs changed scenes into memories accessible to many families who experienced the loss of a family member in the war, making the death toll monumental.52

François Aubert may have even been inspired by Civil War imagery such as “A Harvest of Death” to photograph Maximilian’s corpse (Figure 4-1). Given the variety of publications of

U.S. Civil War photographs, the proximity of Mexico to the United States, and the number of former U.S. soldiers who joined the Mexican forces during the French Intervention after the end of the Civil War in 1865, it is likely that the Civil War imagery traveled south. However, it should be noted that Aubert did not photograph subject matter similar to “Harvest of Death” in the Mexican context, such as the devastation in the streets of Querétaro caused by the military siege. The city suffered military and civilian death and destruction, with its inhabitants suffering from typhoid, gangrene, and dysentery during the seventy-one days of battle in the full heat of spring.53 To document these devastations of the war would have been a photo-reportage approach in keeping with the precedents set by U.S. Civil War examples. Instead, the commercial photographer focused his lens on the saleable celebrity of a post-mortem portrait of

Maximilian von Habsburg and images of places and things associated with his execution.

As described above, Maximiliano muerto was also a photograph that openly revealed the emperor’s corpse to the purchasing public. However, the civil war soldier’s anonymity, particularly when grouped, had a different effect upon the viewer, and different viewers, than the corpse of a known political figure from one of the most prominent royal families of Europe. The soldiers in “A Harvest of Death” are seen not only in clusters, but also from a distance, making it more difficult for the viewer to identify with them. In the portrait of Maximilian, the emperor

52 Trachtenberg, 99.

53 Priego Ramírez and Antonio Rodríguez, 46.

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was positioned as the central figure in the frame of the lens; he directly faces the viewer, confronting him with his bulging eyes. It seems that the greatest commonality between the sets of photographs is their contiguous timeframe and their use of the same medium to document the outcome of their respective wars. These comparisons convey important differences between photo-reportage from the U.S. Civil War and that of the execution of Maximilian, thereby laying the foundation for my argument that the Execution Series functioned differently in society than images that were strictly photojournalistic.

There is another notable difference found when comparing the Execution Series and the

U.S. Civil War volumes in terms of the latter’s text: the positioning of the photographs in terms of remembrance and sacrifice. In his preface, Gardner specifies that with his publication he hopes to create “mementoes of the fearful struggle” with his photographs of “localities that would scarcely have been known, and probably never remembered” but could be “held sacred as memorable fields, where thousands of brave men yielded up their lives a willing sacrifice for the cause they had espoused.”54 Through the narrative, Gardner frames the viewer’s emotional engagement with the photographs, and in particular, with the images representing the mass scale of war casualties.

The Execution Series also provides images to tell a story of previously unknown locations, thus contributing to public memory. However, with no textual narrative, and no order to the photographs, the collection does not provide a cohesive message for the viewer. Nor do the photos honor the sacrifice of the numerous soldiers who died in the war of the French

Intervention, which was significant. Conservative death tolls from the French Intervention in

Mexico, which began in earnest in 1862, estimate that 48,096 Mexican, 6,654 French, 11,823

54 Cited in Trachtenberg, 96.

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Austrian, and 850 Belgian soldiers died.55 Unlike the Civil War photographic volumes, which focus on the sheer number of casualties, the images in the Execution Series make only the emperor’s sacrifice visible and central.

Because of the rather high death toll of French soldiers there was a rising anti-French

Intervention sentiment in France. Beginning in earnest with the Battle of Puebla on May 5,

1862, in which the Mexican Republican Army defeated the French, Napoleon III received increasing pressure to withdraw troops from what was thought by many to be a senseless war.

Those images from the Execution Series that were available in France, given the emperor’s censorship, may have found popularity partially because of the support for the French military withdrawal from Mexico. Photographs like Maximiliano muerto may have represented for the

French the thousands of soldiers who were killed in battle in Mexico.

Sacrifice through death is a Mexican theme that would have been known to many classes of nineteenth-century Mexicans and Europeans. Many of the major civilizations of Pre-

Columbian Mexico, including the Aztec, engaged in rituals of human sacrifice. In their cosmologies sacrificial death was necessary in order for life to continue. For the Maya of southwest Mexico, sacrificial victims were offered to the gods according to the calendar and the movement of the planets. The Aztec believed that humans as well as gods were obligated to participate in sacrificial rites in order to ensure the very rising of the sun. Nineteenth-century archaeological discoveries made in Mexico, primarily by European adventurers, would have been on the minds of many Europeans at the time. The Exposition Internationale in Paris of

1867, which opened the month prior to Maximilian’s execution, featured a reconstruction of

Xochicalco, a temple ruin near Cuernavaca. A variety of Mesoamerican artifacts, including

55 Ibsen, 8.

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skulls, plundered by explorer and archaeologist Eugène Boban, were also exhibited for Boban’s own commercial and financial gain. With these examples of the ancient Mexican cultures surrounding Europeans at the time of Maximilian’s death, sacrificial practices were on their minds as well. It did not take long for Europeans to label Mexico’s actions against Maximilian as harsh and primitive.

The European sovereigns, even those among Maximilian’s own family, did little to prevent the downfall of his empire or the possibility of his execution, despite Carlota’s pleas for help during her trips to Paris, Vienna, and Rome in the summer and fall of 1866. Maximilian’s own mother, Archduchess Sophia of Austria, wrote a letter to her son encouraging him to stay in

Mexico after the departure of the French army to await the final outcome of the empire for the honor of the Habsburg family name.56

The exceptions to this rule were those Europeans present with Maximilian in Mexico who made efforts to intercede on his behalf. He also found support in the politician Giuseppe

Garibaldi, who from Italy attempted to sway the outcome of the court martial through a written manifesto addressed to the Mexican nation.57 In his statement, Garibaldi congratulated the

Mexicans on their success in their struggle for liberty and pleaded that Maximilian be spared.58

Otherwise, the European powers offered little help beforehand, but were shocked by

Maximilian’s execution and decried the event after the fact. The Mexican republicans were criticized for their uncivilized response to the French Intervention. In correspondence between

Emperor Napoleon III of France and Maximilian’s brother, Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria,

Napoleon said that he could not believe that the Mexicans had behaved with such “barbarity”

56 Blasio, 118.

57 Giuseppe Garibaldi was an Italian general and politician.

58 Corti, 815.

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and “inhumanity,”59 both terms that recall the nineteenth-century European understanding of pre-

Hispanic Mexico and justifications of the Spanish Conquest.

Benito Juarez, who reclaimed his title as President of the Mexican Republic after

Maximilian’s capture, argued to the United States Minister that Maximilian could not be treated as a prisoner of war, seeing him as an accomplice to the instigators of the French Intervention.60

Maximilian was charged on thirteen grounds in a court martial, including one alleging that he was the principal catalyst of the French Intervention. Another charge identified his law, which threatened immediate death to any Mexicans found collaborating with the Republican Army, now known as the “black decree” of October 3, 1865, as having caused the death of numerous

Mexicans.61 In response to U.S. and French claims of barbarity, Juarez issued a manifesto titled,

“El fusilamiento de Maximiliano de Hapsburgo.” The president gave a detailed explanation of the implications created by the intervention in its threat to the sovereignty of Mexico. In his statement, he called attention to the Spanish colonial past of Mexico and the rule of Carlos V, who was an ancestor of Maximilian’s. He placed emphasis on the role the French government played in Maximilian’s demise.

Post-mortem Portraiture

On one hand, post-mortem portraiture was a form of art practiced commonly in both

Europe and Mexico since the Middle Ages, by people with the means to commission an artist to capture the last moments of a loved one’s earthly presence, first in painting and later in photography. On the other hand, photo-reportage utilized the seemingly objective lens of the mechanical camera to record the political nature and violence of historical events, in this case,

59 Emperor Napoleon III to the Emperor Francis Joseph, in a letter dated July 11, 1867. Cited in Corti, 828.

60 Ibid., 813-814.

61 Ibid., 814.

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those surrounding the death of Maximilian. The majority of previous scholarship on the photos of Maximiliano muerto addresses them in terms of photo-journalistic reporting. Here, I will highlight the personalizing aspects of the photographs that recall the art of post-mortem portraiture, a form that was both more familiar and dear to the nineteenth-century viewer. It is my contention that although this photographic series may have benn intended to objectively record the event, or the aftermath, of the emperor’s execution as previous scholars have suggested, the representational form and style triggered sympathetic readings, responses, and use among viewers on both sides of the Atlantic. I contend that the nineteenth-century viewer would have read these images as post-mortem portraits and memorial imagery in addition to considering them as photographic journalism.

According to Catholic belief, death was considered a manifestation of the will of God.

The body was religiously significant as the temple of the soul and the two would be miraculously reunited on Judgment Day in the kingdom of God.62 In these Christian terms, reverence was conferred to the dead body as a precious and beautiful object deserving of memorial.63 Although these notions of death and the practice of post-mortem portraiture had deep roots both in Europe and in Mexico, the advent of photography brought the imagery to an ever-broadening population.

As was the case with other forms of portraiture, post-mortem photographs found their way into the family albums of the European mid-to-upper classes, and those of the Mexican upper class, especially with the advent of the carte-de-visite. This format made it possible not only for immediate families to gaze upon the peacefully resting face of a deceased loved one, but they

62 Audrey Linkman, Photography and Death (London: Reaktion Books, 2011), 14.

63 Ibid.

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were able to have extra copies made for mailing to faraway relatives or friends.64 In this personal setting, the images served as memorial objects to help the living mourn. Their intent was not to shock the viewer, as was the case in the documentation of violent death. The small photographs were mementos of the deceased for the living.

Funerary photographic portraits usually represented every luxury a family could manage financially including burial coffins or more elaborate caskets with fabric linings and ornate exterior embellishments, extravagant floral arrangements surrounding the body and/or face, and sumptuous pillows. All of this surrounded the deceased in softness and abundance, perhaps as a symbolic precursor to the body’s ascent to heaven. The greater the wealth or stature of the family, the more ostentatious the details. The deceased was usually made to look as though he or she was sleeping peacefully, an image that brought comfort to the viewer. For example, in a post-mortem portrait of an unknown baby by the English studio Tully & Co., the viewer is presented with a similar perspective to that presented in Maximiliano muerto (Figure 4-15). The baby’s entire body is shown from the front. The baby is dressed in a long white gown with a lace-trimmed bonnet and is surrounded by flowers and greenery. The infant’s hands are crossed peacefully on her chest and her eyes are closed as if sleeping. The impression is one of peaceful rest in a lush environment.

Royalty, too, participated in this form of photographic portraiture. However, the nineteenth-century photos of deceased European royalty were not sold for profit to the general public, as were the images of Maximilian. They were kept as personal tokens to aid the bereaved in the private practice of mourning, rituals that, in the 1860s, enlisted many materials including hair, clothing, and paintings of the dead, as well as photographs.

64 Ibid., 72 – 73.

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The post-mortem photographs of Maximilian (Figures 4-1 and 4-2) do not include any of the finery mentioned above that served to soften the stark reality of death. Rather than presenting the emperor’s body as peacefully at rest, the eyes are open wide and unnatural in appearance.65 There are no flowers to indicate the love and sadness at his passing of his family and friends. The pillow under his head is minimal in size and decoration. Maximilian’s body was placed in a makeshift coffin, rather than a casket lined with fabric and soft cushions. The photograph is harsh, particularly to the nineteenth-century viewer who would not have been accustomed to seeing a deceased man so summarily prepared for burial, let alone a member of one of the oldest royal families of Europe treated in such a way.

Furthermore, the image of Maximilian’s face was one that had been distributed more widely than that of any previous ruler in Mexico, thanks to the medium of photography.66 Many of these images also saw successful sales in Europe. As discussed in Chapter 2, the purchase and private display of cartes-de-visite portraits featuring famous political figures was a new trend in the 1860s. The viewer related to a political figure differently when his photo was placed in a family album next to a picture of, say, Aunt Maria.67 The consumer who purchased propaganda imagery of Maximilian most likely could have afforded funerary portraits of his own family members. The viewer would have been familiar with the specific genre of post-mortem

65 Many post-mortem portraits feature the deceased with open eyes, but they are usually posed to appear alive and natural. Some examples show the deceased with their eyes open in a lush casket, or in a sick bed, but the deceased person looks as though he/she is falling asleep, or peaceful, even while the eyes remain open. Other photographs pose deceased people as though living and sitting for a portrait with family members. For a survey of examples, see Audrey Linkman, Photography and Death.

66 See note 5.

67 In my research, I viewed approximately one dozen actual carte-de-visite albums, as well as several preserved on microfiche. Often, cartes-de-visite of political figures were intermingled with family members where space was available. However, this was not always the case. In Brussels, at the Musée Royal de l’Armée there is a fine leather-bound accordion-style album dedicated entirely to images from the Second Mexican Empire and the French Intervention.

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portraiture as one that conveyed peace in death and aided the living with the grieving process.

Thus, when this disturbing image of the emperor’s familiar face was printed and distributed in the recognizable form of the post-mortem familial portrait via the carte-de-visite, such as the example presented above (Figure 4-15), a pictorial paradox arose in which the violence evident in the image contradicted the traditionally peaceful function of post-mortem photography: to assist in mourning.

Maximiliano muerto (Figure 4-1) qualifies as a post-mortem portrait because it is a photograph featuring the former emperor as the singular subject matter after his death. Although there are several aspects of his posed decaying body that may have been, and may continue to be, disturbing to the viewer, many of these were not entirely uncommon in nineteenth-century post- mortem portraiture. Numerous subjects of funerary portraiture were pictured with open eyes.

The photographer positioned the camera to directly face the deceased, as in the case with

Maximiliano muerto, instead of opting for a softer portrayal with a profile perspective, or a three- quarter perspective. And post-mortem photographs were regularly taken of the body when it was posed for public display in a funerary setting, hence the term, “funerary portrait.” Although not a funerary setting, we have reason to believe that the photograph Maximiliano muerto was taken when Maximilian’s corpse was set on display for viewing after his execution. Therefore, most viewers would have had familiarity with those aspects of Maximiliano muerto described above.

However, the background knowledge of this sovereign’s political situation, his means of death, and his decaying body displayed with minimal comfort likely made the photograph disturbing rather than building upon typical associations with post-mortem photography from the period.

An important counter-example and precedent is found in the funerary portrait of Peruvian

President Miguel de San Román (1862-1863). His death in April of 1863 came after only a few

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months in office, but was due to natural causes. In the post-mortem carte-de-visite photograph taken by Eugenio Maunoury, the viewer is granted a perspective of the former president’s body that is much like that which we saw in Maximiliano muerto: San Román is shown from the front as he lay in his coffin (Figure 4-16). His head is on a pillow, which is also like Maximilian’s in that it is not luxurious, but provides some small comfort. San Román is dressed in his military uniform. The photograph frames his upper body, showing the single row of buttons on his coat, its epaulettes, and decorative trim at the cuffs of his sleeves. One sash crosses his chest and another is tied around his waist. Perhaps most importantly, San Román’s eyes are closed in the portrait, indicating the peaceful slumber of his passing. This carte-de-visite was produced for mourning purposes. Because of San Román’s service in the Wars of Independence and his dedicated leadership, his death led to mass mourning that the family and his followers wanted to perpetuate.68 For this purpose, the French printer Charles Prince and his compatriots the Courret brothers and Eugenio Maunoury illustrated a memorial edition with four photographs.69

The funerary portrait of President San Román is an important example for two reasons.

First, it is a precedent from Latin America that resembles Maximiliano muerto in composition, format, and size. Second, it was produced for mourning purposes. There was no known conflict surrounding the president’s death. The photographs were created to appease the family and in response to the demand of the masses of mourning consumers.

While the photographic traditions of funerary portraiture in Mexico and Europe are roughly concurrent, both beginning with the advent of photography and including people from a range of socio-economic classes as their subjects, the history of painted examples diverges

68 Natalia Majluf and Luis Edouardo Wuffarden, et.al. eds. La recuperación de la memoria, Perú, 1842-1942; El primer siglo de la fotografía (Lima: Fundación telefónica y Museo de Arte de Lima, 2001), 53.

69 Ibid.

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slightly across the Atlantic. An examination of the Mexican and European backgrounds of this tradition provides insight into the possible responses to similar imagery and will indicate how some of the cartes-de-visite from the Execution Series may have functioned within Mexican and

European society. Through the contexts of post-mortem portraiture, retablos, and relics, I will further show how the photographs of Maximilian and his effects may have even shaped perceptions of the Second Mexican Empire.70

As mentioned previously, the European tradition of funerary portraiture began in the medieval period, before the conquest of the Americas. Paintings of deceased subjects (rather than memorial images that showed the deceased in life) usually depicted members of royalty and the clergy; powerful figures whose families had the financial resources to commission such works. In colonial Mexico, where there was no direct access to royalty, nuns and bishops were particularly important to the community and painted after death to convey their holy status.

One of the first portraits of a deceased nun to appear in the written record, through the canvas for which is now lost, was that of Sor Isabel de la Encarnación.71 After her death in 1633, she was portrayed by an artist from Puebla lying on a funeral bier in her Carmelite habit with a crown of flowers and a palm frond, in a painting that would have served as a memento and possibly as a relic.72 These attributes correlate to European Christian iconography as representative of conjugal union with Christ (the wreath) and virginal purity or martyrdom (the palm frond).

70 Retablos originated as decorative religious paintings that were part of the architecture behind the altar table in the church. As retablos evolved in medieval Spain and then colonial New Spain, the backdrops grew to include paintings and sculpture and to dominate the space behind the altar. Over the centuries, paintings and scuptures that commemorated miraculous statues or relics at holy sites were re-created for purchase by pilgrims. Eventually, they became a form of popular art that were tied to spiritual practice.

71 James M. Córdova, “Clad in Flowers: Indigenous Arts and Knowledge in Colonial Mexican Convents,” The Art Bulletin 93, no. 4 (December 2011), 449.

72 Ibid.

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Although the painting of Sor Isabel de la Encarnación has not survived to the present day, a similar example can be found in the Funeral Portrait of Madre Ana de Santa Inés (1653)

(Figure 4-17). This painting from Madrid attests to the similarities and also the subtle differences found in European and Mexican painted funerary portraiture. In a similar fashion to the painting described above, the viewer sees a nun lying on a cushion that is supported by a covered table or bier. There are four candles lit around her body; two at her head and two at her feet. Her upper body is elevated with pillows. Madre Ana de Santa Inés is also adorned with the iconographic accessories described above. She wears a wreath of flowers around her head and flowers are strewn across her body. A palm frond is tucked under her right arm and her hands are clasped at her waist. Her eyes are closed. The image is one of peaceful repose. Because the painting is from Madrid, this portrait serves as an example of a funerary portrait from Europe, as well as Mexico, due to its described similarities to the earlier painting of Sor Isabel de la

Encarnación.

In his study on colonial convent portraiture, James Córdova highlights Mesoamerican pictorial precedents for Mexican funerary portraits of nuns. He asserts that the floral arrangements depicted in numerous portraits are distinct from the European examples, suggesting a local tradition.73 Deceased nuns began to appear with floral staffs rather than palm fronds, wearing crowns of flowers instead of wreaths. In the Nahua tradition, flowers were only given to those of honor and high social status. Thus, in the case of the nuns, the Nahua tradition of offering arrangements of flowers for rituals seems to have been translated into the crowns and staffs of flowers represented in profession and death portraits.74 Here, the flowers emphasize the

73 Ibid., 457.

74 The term “profession” refers to the vows taken by novitiates to become nuns. Ibid., 458.

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woman’s role as the bride of Christ, and as queen of heaven. In Mexico these portraits were commissioned to decorate the convents where these women lived and worked as reminders of their exceptional role as pious individuals.

Additionally, a few small-scale examples that may have been used for more private, familial devotional rituals are part of the collections at the Museo Soumaya in Mexico City. An anonymous artist portrayed this unknown nun on her funeral bed (Figure 4-18). The relicario- sized image of the nun’s upper body is surrounded by flowers.75 They adorn her pillow, her head, and are draped across her habit. The portrait is framed in a gold oval, measuring approximately three to four inches in width and two inches in height, with a ring to allow hanging on either a person’s necklace or a private altar. Such a painting points to the use of small-format imagery for private devotional purposes, setting a precedent for later practices which may have incorporated photographic cartes-de-visite.

In examples such as the portrait of Sor Isabel de la Encarnación, the deceased figure was represented in painting as she or he had been displayed for mourning prior to the funeral in the church or convent. Sor Isabel was laid, likely in the church, on a table-like structure or bier to support her casket. However, sometimes the deceased person was propped vertically for viewing prior to the funeral in a manner very similar to Maximilian’s position in the post-mortem portrait

(Figure 4-1).76 Painted funerary portraits and photographs attest to the use of both modes of funerary display of the deceased in Europe as well as the Americas.

75 A relic usually consists of the personal effects or physical remains of a saint or a venerated person preserved for use in the veneration of the faithful or as a tangible memorial. A relicario is a small box or container in which relics of saints are kept by the faithful. Pendants can also act as relicarios holding effects of saints in a locket or representing painted figures and inscriptions associated with the saint.

76 See the paper presented by Patricia Díaz Cayeros, “El cuerpo del obispo: Pantaleón Álvarez de Abreu,” in Coloquio internacional de historia del arte. Estéticas del des(h)echo (Mexico City, UNAM-IIE) 2006.

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In Mexico’s colonial period, paintings often provided evidence of the nun or bishop’s lack of physical decay, even after death, attesting to the holy nature of his or her body and life.

Examples of this belief can be found even in the present day, as conveyed by the mummies on view at the former convent of Museo del Carmen. These bodies claim that the ultra-corporeal ideal of holiness was achieved by the deceased religious.

Similarly, paintings of deceased children, which are sometimes referred to as “angelitos,” were also created in Mexico with the intention of communicating the children’s exalted status upon arrival to heaven. A young, baptized child or infant who died was believed to pass purgatory and enter heaven directly as an angel.77 This tradition began later, with the first portrait of an angelito appearing in 1756.78 In the nineteenth century the practice became more popular with the affordability of photography. Photographs of children individually, either in their decorated caskets or posed as if still living with family members or favorite toys, found their way onto many family altars in Mexico, a different context of display than European family albums. In nearly all cases, the intention was to inspire love and remembrance.

Within this cultural tradition, the photograph of Maximiliano muerto is notable for its stark lack of floral decoration and the manner in which it reveals physical decay. In contrast to colonial Mexican tradition, no floral decoration whatsoever lauds Maximilian for his familial background or his social status as a political ruler. Furthermore, his physical form is not represented as holy through its preservation. Rather, Maximilian muerto disturbs the otherwise comforting elements of the post-mortem portrait for the nineteenth-century viewer because it

77 Elisa Mandell, “The Birth of Angels: Posthumous Portraits of Infants and Children in Mexican Art” (Ph.D. dissertation, University of California, Los Angeles, 2004).

78 Ibid., 2.

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highlights the inevitability of decay and thus does not point to an afterlife. In this aspect, the photograph is a true memento mori.

In the case of the photograph Maximiliano muerto, the physical decay evident in his body was not only read in religious terms, but obviously signified in a political sense, as well. The death of Maximilian was a highly publicized death of a European nobleman. His execution sent a clear message from the Mexican republican resistance to the imperialistas and the European colonial powers alike. Mexican liberals would no longer tolerate outside rule nor provide resources for Europe’s colonial enterprise.

The widely-circulating carte-de-visite format reinforced this message. Despite the fact that the image was banned in France, commercial sales flourished.79 Even with the French government’s attempted prohibition of sales, the will of the paying population supported the commercial distribution of the Execution Series.80 As a medium driven by the financial interests of commercial photographers, the ability to monitor distribution fell out of the hands of politicians, and the photos responded instead to the desires of an ever-growing group of mid- to upper-class patrons. Just as the imperialistas used carte-de-visite portraits of Maximilian as a form of propaganda to promote their new government, so was the resistance’s response to that

79 For more information on censorship in France during the 1860s, with special attention to the situation surrounding Maximilian imagery, see Wilson-Bareau, 98-105.

80 A.A.E. Disdéri himself was rumored to have served a month in jail for selling cartes-de-visite photographs related to Maximilian’s death. The sale of the post-mortem photographs of Maximilian and his effects was indeed banned in Paris. Juliet Wilson-Bareau notes that this was published in the London Times on the 27th of September. I can verify that Disdéri did reproduce, at the very least, photographs of Maximilian’s bullet-torn attire, as I have seen prints bearing his name in the collection at the Museé Royal de l’Armée in Brussels. Wilson-Bareau notes that Aaron Scharf refers to Disdéri’s condemnation but offers no source. The conviction of French photographer Alphonse Liébert for selling photographs related to Maximilian’s death was documented by two periodical reports in La Gazette des Tribunaux on the 27th of October, 1867 and in Le Temps on the 28th of October, 1867. See Wilson- Bareau, Manet and the Execution of Maximilian, 52, 83, n. 55. See also Chapter 5, note 7 here.

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neocolonial assertion (the actual event of the execution of Maximilian) made visible through the carte-de-visite photograph of Maximiliano muerto.

The French Revolution had sparked a first wave of morbid imagery associated with sovereignty. On the occasion of King Louis XVI’s execution in 1793, lithographs depicting the moment after the event went into circulation. In one image (Figure 4-19), the executioner stands next to the guillotine holding the king’s head by his hair for the crowd to see. Blood drips and flesh dangles from the decapitated head. To further sensationalize the imagery, some copies were colored. Crowds of onlookers and members of the military surround the guillotine in apparent support of the execution.

Less than a century later, the image of Maximiliano muerto had a similar resonance in its symbolism. Although Maximilian was not king, his fall from the imperial throne marked the end of a long civil war between liberal and conservative factions in Mexico and left the liberal democracy in control, much like the revolutionary situation in France following the king’s death.

The similarities between the two events were also noted by Mexican President Benito Juarez in his manifesto that justified the execution of Maximilian, discussed above. In fact, numerous comparisons were made, especially in the press, between the events surrounding Maximilian and the historic past of Mexico, insinuating that the news of Maximilian’s execution belonged in a different era.81

In the post-Enlightenment age, romanticism picked up the motif of the decaying corpse to underscore the challenge of rectifying a life between individual sensibilities and eternal values, commitments in this world and those in the otherworld, and interpreting tensions between savage and civilized death. In this era, Christian ideals were secularized and love led the triumph over

81 Wilson-Bareau, 98.

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death rather than Jesus.82 It was through rituals such as cleansing the corpse, grieving, and creating a private memorial that the living believed they could ensure the transcendence of souls from this world into the next. While post-mortem portraits were rather common among the middle and upper classes of Europe and the Americas, as explained above, photographs of those killed in military and political conflict were extraordinary. The dead bodies of the soldiers lacked all signs of ritual devotion and were made available to the general public. In this aspect of its photographic representation, Maximilian’s portrait is similar to those of the Civil War soldiers. His portrait lacked nearly all funerary comforts, an accurate reflection of the post- mortem public viewing of his corpse in Mexico. The viewing audience (both in simulacra and in person) didn’t know how to respond to images of the dead decontextualized from funerary ritual.83 The numerous memorial cards that emerged and circulated after Maximilian’s death helped resolve these mourning issues for the purchasing public. But for those consumers who celebrated the republican triumph, especially in Mexico, Maximiliano muerto was akin to displaying his head on a pike.

Thus, Mexicans and Europeans had been accustomed to contemplating and viewing images of death for over a century. It was not the image of the dead body, in and of itself, that would have affected certain viewers, but rather the absence of funerary comforts, family members, and the notion that the mass distribution of the photograph denied the privilege of private mourning to those close to the former emperor. Maximilian’s post-mortem portraits indicated to European and certain Mexican viewers through cultural meanings associated with funerary practices and its representation that the emperor’s body was not treated with respect,

82 Lomnitz, 271.

83 Nudelman, 105.

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and his memory was not honored. As one of the first photographs of a deceased noble figure to circulate publicly, the image fascinated many consumers on both sides of the Atlantic. Whether the viewer’s response to the portraits was one of disdain or sympathy is difficult to assess due to the varying political persuasions of the consumers. However, because viewers were familiar with post-mortem portraiture, and Maximiliano muerto follows many tenents of portraiture but in a harsh manner, it is likely that the image contributed to the resulting widespread mourning.

Allowing for a more sympathetic reading among nineteenth-century viewers of Maximiliano muerto as a post-mortem portrait creates the possibility that the photograph may have directly inspired the subsequent surge of memorial cartes-de-visite and the martyr subset of imagery in that category.

Tokens of Remembrance

Many of Maximilian’s personal effects featured in carte-de-visite photographs as part of his Execution Series call to mind the role of mourning objects in nineteenth-century funerary practices (Figures 4-3 through 4-7). In nineteenth-century practice, cartes-de-visite photographs themselves became images, which were also used as objects, that contributed to the mourning process by depicting the deceased and being thus available to the gaze of the bereaved. The many portraits made showing widows dressed in black and gazing at photographs of husbands lost in war suggest the significance of mourning rituals in the mid-nineteenth century. Other photographs exemplified the act of grieving by depicting groups of women crying together.

In addition to photographs, there is evidence that cartes-de-visite backings and albums were used for the purpose of preserving and admiring non-photographic tokens of remembrance such as clothing, jewelry, hair, and items that had come into contact with the physical body of the deceased. These items held a special place in the mourning process of the living as tokens of remembrance. In fact, hair of the dead was often used to embellish jewelry for the bodies of the

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living or as material for woven geometric patterns that were framed and hung on a wall. Some cards in private U.S. albums featured hair of the deceased, carefully worked into patterns (Figure

4-20). The hair was placed in the upper portion of the card, taking the place of an image of the deceased’s face, as a token of the person’s living body.84 This example demonstrates how cartes-de-visite were used to frame relics in the mid-nineteenth century. Clothing was especially symbolic due to the nature of its contact with the skin of the deceased. This section of the chapter will analyze the photographs of Maximilian’s personal effects within the context of tokens of remembrance and nineteenth-century mourning trends.

The nineteenth-century saw a shift in grieving practice, particularly in Europe. In 1860s and 1870s England, there was a particular fashion for popular and theological literature on life after death.85 For example, William Branks’s Heaven our Home was published in 1861 and reportedly read by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert together. The British queen played a central role in promoting radical mourning practices. After the death of her husband, Prince

Albert, in December of 1861, she went into a phase of mourning that lasted well over a decade.

A recurrent theme of the period in England was a popular sympathy for the royal family as well as grief for the deceased.86 The queen readily participated in that theme, and made her practices known. For example, she had some of Albert’s hair woven into a decorative pattern and framed

84 Rachel McBride Lindsey, “Carte-de-visite Photograph Album,” Object Narrative, in Conversations: An Online Journal of the Initiative for the Study of Material and Visual Cultures of Religion (2014), http://mavcor.yale.edu/conversations/object-narratives/carte-de-visite-p... Accessed on March 23, 2014.

85 John Wolffe, Great Deaths: Grieving, Religion, and Nationhood in Victorian and Edwardian Britain (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 204.

86 Wolffe, 217.

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to be hung on a wall.87 Locks of her children’s hair and photographs of them were placed in his casket for burial.

Queen Victoria had a post-mortem photographic portrait made of her husband. Also, before his burial, she had a photograph taken of his favorite painted portrait of her and placed in his hands. She also commissioned the artist Edward Henry Corbauld to create a sketch of Albert on his deathbed.88 These images were not available to the mass market. Rather, they were private objects kept by the queen to help her mourn. However, the queen’s mourning was public in many other ways. She used her grief as a means to appeal to the subjects of her realm.

Victoria allowed the production of innumerable commemorative consumables honoring her husband, all of which fed into the British middle-class fashion for extravagant mourning. British manufacturers created every conceivable memorial item including plaques, plates, handkerchiefs, bookmarks, and tea sets, all with images of the living prince applied to them. The items became quite popular among British subjects as collectibles. The British studio called Mayall produced

100,000 copies of a set of carte-de-visite portraits of the British royal family and 70,000 portraits of the living Prince Albert; all were sold in the week after his death.89 Victoria also showcased her grief through photographs of herself with her children in mourning, which were printed on cartes-de-visite and sold to the public.90

From the 1860s through the end of the 1890s, the death of prominent figures derived stronger reactions from the general British population than in earlier periods. There was a

87 Helen Rappaport, A Magnificent Obsession: Victoria, Albert, and the Death that Changed the British Monarchy (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2011), 92, 101, and 136.

88 Ibid., 92.

89 Tagg, 50.

90 Rappaport, 137.

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growing perception that death should be avoidable until old age, thus granting a heroic glow to premature and sacrificial death. In his study of mourning practices of Great Britain, John Wolffe considers the examples of David Livingstone, a medical missionary and explorer in Africa, and

General Charles Gordon, a respected officer in the British Army, within a tradition of missionary and military heroes who served the national conscience as “martyrs of empire.” He argues that the aftermath of their passing was distinctive in its impact on society for two reasons. First, both men lived in a remote environment that was mysterious to many British subjects, and this distance lent a psychological foreshadowing to their deaths. Second, after their deaths, there was a transitional phase as the news of their deaths traveled back to England. In the case of

Livingstone, the transitional phase concluded with the return of his body and the funeral service at Westminster Abbey. However, with General Gordon’s situation, both the lack of a body and questions surrounding the circumstances of death added an intensity and persistence to public sentiment, which centered around ideas of heroic sacrifice, leading to a vocabulary of martyrdom.91 During the second half of the nineteenth century, greater value was given to self- sacrifice in the cause of Christ and humanity in the name of the British Empire.92

Although Maximilian’s execution took place in the decade after the events mentioned above, many similar factors surrounding the execution may have contributed to European viewers’ reading of and response to the Execution Series, and particularly, Maximiliano muerto.

Those included his venture to a far-off land with an uncertain political future; his last words, which focused on his sacrifice (this is true in both speech examples given at the chapter’s opening); the intensity and drama surrounding the circumstances of his death; and the delay in

91 Wolffe, 137-138.

92 Ibid., 219.

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returning his corpse to Austria, during which images of it appeared in living room photo albums across the world. Thus, the popular response to Maximilian’s photograph may have further inspired aspects of the martyr in subsequent carte-de-visite imagery.

The photographs of Maximilian’s personal effects have the particular air of mourning objects. By featuring his clothing and personal effects, the photographer not only recorded evidence of the execution, he also provided examples of items that many viewers and carte-de- visite consumers could identify with. Who had not lost a father or an uncle and had to contend with sorting through those objects that were so close to the deceased loved one? Maximilian’s shirt, vest, jacket, scarf, and pocket watch were objects that could have been owned by any bourgeois member of society interested in buying a copy of the photograph. In purchasing a carte-de-visite depicting the object, the viewer was invited into a grieving process that was generally reserved for family, but that due to the familiarity of the objects, he or she could identify with. To a certain degree, there may have been a perceived transfer of power from the object to the image through the photograph, making the photograph a relic like the shirt. Rather than merely creating a record of artifacts from the execution, these items invited a sense of public grieving because of the familiarity of context and the general popularity of such funerary practices at the time.

The elaborate pageantry performed by the British royal family in grief during the later

Victorian and Edwardian periods made royalty susceptible to a public sense that it shared in the trials of humanity.93 The case of Queen Victoria’s mourning of Prince Albert serves as an important model for discussion. Despite the fact that popular opinion of her public grieving shifted over time, the queen continued with vigilance. Within her various residences, the queen

93 Ibid.

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had all of Albert’s rooms closed off to preserve their state at the time of his passing. She ordered that his clothes remain in his closet, except when laid out for him each day, as though he were still alive. Queen Victoria would review his clothing each day attempting to touch and smell the presence of her husband’s body. It is uncertain whether the photographer credited with taking the post-mortem photographs of Maximilian, François Aubert, was familiar with the specific example of Queen Victoria’s attention to Prince Albert’s clothing, or if he had them in mind as he photographed Maximilian’s clothing. Only five and a half years had elapsed between the prince’s death in December of 1861 and Maximilian’s death in June of 1867. And many of

Queen Victoria’s grieving practices were made very public, and even promoted, perhaps to capitalize on the appeal they held in the British subject’s mind.

Peter Stallybrass addresses the value of cloth and clothing as it relates to the mourning process in an essay on cultural memory. He says that cloth responds to the human touch. It endures beyond the lifespan of its wearer, but is mortal. It absorbs smell – and in the case of

Maximilian, the life force of his blood. Stallybrass says that to think about clothing and cloth is to ponder memory, power, and possession.94 His study highlights several passages from late nineteenth and early twentieth century letters in which the clothing actually becomes the pain felt by the bereaved. By working with the cloth, the living are able to manage their grief.

Stallybrass writes, “‘Piecing’ and ‘peacing’: pieces that make peace between the living and the dead. A network of cloth can trace the connections of love across the boundaries of absence, of

94 Stallybrass, Peter, “‘Worn Worlds’: Clothes, Mourning, and the Life of Things,” in Cultural Memory and the Construction of Identity, edited by Dan Ben-Amos and Liliane Weissberg (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1999), 29.

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death, because cloth is able to carry the absent body, memory, genealogy, as well as literal material value.”95

The multivalent aspects of the meaning held in cloth during the U.S. Civil War was recently the topic of an exhibition titled, “Homefront and Battlefield: Quilts and Context in the

Civil War,” organized by the American Textile History Museum. During the Civil War, many women left at home found comfort making quilts to tell the stories of their loved ones who were fighting at war or to tell their own tales of wartime at home. The exhibition used textiles and clothing, in addition to quilts, to convey very personal ideas about the causes of the war (one of which was deeply rooted in the cotton industry), the violence of war, and the opportunities and challenges in the aftermath.

In Mexico, the notion of cloth’s ability to transfer sacred power, or that clothing is permeated with the presence of its occupant, relates directly to the history of the Virgin of

Guadalupe, the country’s patron saint. The holiest relic related to this saint is the cloak, or

“tilma” of the indigenous peasant Juan Diego, onto which the Virgin’s image was transferred as confirmation for the archbishop of her apparition. As such, the tilma was saturated with the physical presence, or praesentia, of the divine. Among Christians, “contact relics” are understood to be filled with praesentia and act as channels through which God may work favors.

The tilma serves as an especially interesting example because the object itself is cloth, and the image of the Virgin was believed to be imprinted on it. Much like a photograph alters a surface to display an image through the use of chemicals and light exposure, the praesentia of the Virgin in the tilma is visible as well as physical.

95 Ibid., 36-37.

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Another case of the transfer of likeness can be found in the legend of Saint Veronica, which was well known in Mexico and depicted frequently in the nineteenth-century folk retablo tradition of painting. Veronica was touched by the suffering of Jesus as he was carrying the cross to Mount Calvary. She approached him and wiped the sweat and blood from his face with her veil (or napkin). The face of Christ was imprinted upon the fabric and was believed to be his true likeness, or a true image (vera icon) (Figure 4-21).96 This retablo example from the New

Mexico State University Gallery was painted with oil on canvas. The head of Christ is shown in a full frontal perspective, with eyes that gaze directly into those of the viewer. His long, brown hair is crowned by thorns. Blood drips from the wounds inflicted by the thorns and on his left cheek. The head of Jesus is depicted on a painted cloth, which is treated in a naive trompe l’oeil technique and appears to hang against a dark black background. A geometric motif is painted in gold leaf as a border to serve as a frame.

The likeness of Christ’s face transferred to Veronica’s cloth is an example of an image that was venerated as an object, or an image that was also a relic. Paintings like the one described above, reproductions of the image-object, were displayed on personal altars in the homes of the faithful. Amid the political turmoil in nineteenth-century Mexico, home altars found their fruition. Legislation that aimed to separate the church from the state bolstered the creation of home altars as the faithful adapted to war and church closings.97 Home altars gave family members a place to find spiritual refuge in moments of distress and a place for giving

96 Elizabeth Netto Calil Zarur and Charles Muir Lovell, Art and Faith in Mexico: The Nineteenth-century Retablo Tradition (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2001), 310.

97 Elizabeth N.C. Zarur, “Introduction,” in Art and Faith in Nineteenth-Century Mexico (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2001), 18.

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thanks. Saints depicted were thought of as friends who helped fulfill requests and protected the house and its members.98

Prints and painted retablos of saints, prayer cards, and flowers were common additions to home altars where families prayed on behalf of friends and family members whose photographs also adorned these private, sacred spaces. The face of Christ depicted on the retablo here bears a remarkable resemblance to that of the former emperor in Maximiliano muerto. Both are bearded men with open, vacant eyes that show signs of suffering. The frontal perspective in both the photograph and the painting, the focus on the face, and the associations of the images with death are all aspects that contribute to their symmetry. Furthermore, the notion of the unmediated transfer of Christ’s face in the legend of Veronica, like that in the story of the Virgin of

Guadalupe, recalls nineteenth-century conceptions of photography’s capacity to convey inherent truth and the ability of the camera to record a truthful image without the interference of human hands.

In the Mexican context, it is likely that photographs from the Execution Series, and particularly Maximiliano muerto, made their way to familial altars kept at home in honor of the deceased. Those households who supported Maximilian may have prayed for his soul. Those who opposed the empire may have given thanks for a request granted, which manifested in the end of Maximilian’s empire, or the end of the war.

One means of expressing such gratitude was found in the Mexican tradition of folk paintings that were used as votive offerings, called retablos ex-votos. While the painted retablo was part of a home altar, the ex-voto variation was placed in churches near pilgrimage sites. The

98 Ibid.

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term ex-voto is derived from Latin meaning, “after a vow.”99 It refers to an exchange between the faithful and a saint. The faithful made a vow to offer a painting or an object related to the miracle to the divine figure in gratitude for the requested grace. The miracle occurred and therefore the promise of the faithful was also executed in the form of a profession of the incident in image and text, or the “fulfillment of a vow,” an ex-voto.

In the present-day context, rooms in churches where ex-votos are still displayed also showcase other objects such as trophies, photographs, and clothing, which are also known as ex- votos, or votive offerings. One example of a room filled with ex-votos in the Sanctuary of San

Juan de los Lagos in Jalisco, Mexico features numerous pieces of clothing hanging from the wall at the apex of a structural arch (Figure 4-22). The clothing articles include wedding dresses, communion dresses, special occasion dresses, soccer shirts, and a small boys’ suit. In keeping with the ex-voto tradition, these items are surrounded by paintings, drawings, and photographs, some of which are accompanied by text. Given this present-day example of the ex-voto tradition at a long-standing pilgrimage site in Mexico, it is likely that over the course of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries the ex-voto practice evolved to include objects in exchange for the grace granted by the saint, rather than solely proclamations of faith in image and text. Therefore, it would be logical that pictures of objects associated with execution events, such as a carte-de- visite photograph of Maximilian’s shirt might have also made its way to be displayed by republicans who had prayed to restore Mexican independence, in the context of a room of ex- votos.

A similar sense of the power contained by physical mementos of the deceased is evident in the canonical death rituals of the early colonial period in Mexico. There are many

99 Ibid., 19.

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biographical accounts of post-mortem assaults in pursuit of relics, just as there had been in

Europe.100 The bodies of nuns who were thought to hold the grace of God were often profaned by their fellow sisters, confessors, and lay people in pursuit of bits of clothing, or even pieces of the deceased’s body, that may have held some power. The relics would later become the site for miracles that would support claims for the nuns’ beatification.101

To a certain degree, Mexican public interest in the photographs of Maximilian’s effects, such as his blood-stained clothing, may have been related to a fascination with relics. There are at least three accounts among the myriad primary sources written about the Second Mexican

Empire that mention the pursuit of relics from Maximilian’s remains. One article published shortly after the execution claims that Maximilian was wearing his servant’s waistcoat and frock coat at the execution because his had been stolen while in captivity.102 Perhaps the interest in his articles of clothing, even prior to his death, was related to their imbued praesentia and potential as relics. Through the mechanically reproductive process of photography, the pictures of the former emperor’s personal effects may have adopted the significance of the original items. This is a particularly interesting possibility when considering the historic relevance of the Virgin of

Guadalupe tilma in Mexico and the fact that her imprinted form on cloth is, among the faithful, considered to be similar to a photograph as a supposedly unmediated (by human hands) reproduction of her image. It seems possible that photographs, like Maximilian’s shirt for example, may have acted as simulacra – conveying the same power or meaning as actual pieces of the emperor’s bloody shirt by virtue of being perfect reproductions of the original. In both

100 Asunción Lavrin, Brides of Christ: Conventual Life in Colonial Mexico (Stanford, California: Stanford University Press, 2008), 205.

101 Ibid.

102 Albert Wolff, “Gazette du Mexique,” Le Figaro (Paris), 11 de août 1867, 1.

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cases, the reproduction gives the viewer access to what is perceived as a primary document from the event that records the markings and proportions (scaled in the photograph) of the cloth, if not a piece of the actual item.

One primary source memoir that notes an interest in relics related to the emperor after his execution was written by Felix de Salm-Salm, a Prussian soldier of fortune of noble birth who served under Maximilian as his aide-de-camp. He described the local citizens clamoring for relics of the emperor’s body among his possessions after the execution.

The good people of Querétaro venerated him like a saint-martyr. Many dipped their handkerchiefs in his blood; others procured other relics, to the great vexation of his Republican murderers.103

As the last bastion of the empire’s forces, Querétaro was conservative politically and supported

Maximilian and the Second Mexican Empire, thus interest in the former emperor’s effects is not surprising. Another account of mourners collecting Maximilian’s blood was printed in the press.

Four porters then brought a sort of makeshift coffin, too short for his body, which he was thrown in, legs dangling over the edge, and in this way he was brought back to Querétaro, accompanied by several officers; he was nevertheless followed by a large number of poor Indians crying bitterly. These poor people promptly gathered in their handkerchiefs each drop of blood that fell to the ground.104

These citations support the notion that a segment of the public actively sought relics of the emperor after his death, as either mementos of the occasion, or objects for prayer and mourning, even without prior personal association with Maximilian.

Rumors circulated that one of the doctors involved in the embalming process sold clippings from Maximilian’s beard as relics to buyers who paid very well.105 His beard was a

103 Salm-Salm, 311.

104 Le Mémorial Diplomatique, 10 de octobre 1867, “Mexique,” 1122. Also see Elderfield, 191.

105 Ratz, 2005, 347.

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feature of interest for many Mexicans during the emperor’s reign due to the fact that the genetic predisposition to facial hair is much less present in Mexico than in Europe.

José Luis Blasio referenced similar incidents following the execution in his memoir, but refers to a more private context for the physical remains of the emperor.

When I was in prison in Querétaro a year later, after the siege, and the Emperor was dead and I was awaiting permission from General Escobedo [the Liberal commander-in-chief] to go to Mexico City, to obtain my passport and leave the country, I met His Majesty’s valet, Antonio Grill, and José Tudos, the Hungarian cook. Both had witnessed Maximilian’s execution and had wet their handkerchiefs in his blood, and were anxious to return immediately to Vienna and bear to his mother these pitiful relics.106

In this account, the “relics” preserved from Maximilian were saved as private mementos for his mother, rather than for public sale, adoration, or sensational quests. Here, the remains of

Maximilian serve a personal function for mourning – also an expected and accepted use for post- mortem photographs in 1860s Europe and Mexico.

The photograph cartes-de-visite of Maximilian’s clothing and personal effects found similarities with tokens of remembrance in mourning rituals in Mexico and a fascination that intersected with the perceived power of religious relics. It is also possible that some patrons may have bought these photographs for the sheer drama and sensationalism surrounding the discussion of the execution events, or the macabre nature of the photos themselves. However, the latter would not have encouraged the widespread creation and distribution of memorial imagery. A degree of the popularity of the Execution Series photographs was related to patron engagement with the visual languages of mourning and sacrifice – a marketable rhetoric that spawned the subsequent array of memorial and martyr-themed cartes-de-visite in Maximilian’s honor.

106 Blasio, 76.

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Maximilian in Memoriam

Representing the Execution

As mentioned above, the actual execution was not recorded with the aid of photography.

However, there is a sketch of the execution that is signed by François Aubert (Figure 4-13) and a photomontage (Figure 4-12) that circulated as a carte-de-visite by Aubert. The background for the montage depicting the wall and the grave sites is attributed to and signed by Agustín Peraire

(Figure 4-11). The montage (Figure 4-12) and the sketch (Figure 4-13) are similar in composition and both follow written descriptions from eyewitnesses to the event. Although there were no known photographers at the event, the clothing worn by the figures cut and pasted in front of the hill is consistent with what would have been worn by each man on the day of his death.107 The men are also standing in an order in keeping with that described by observers – with Maximilian on the right rather than at center. The emperor reportedly offered General

Miramón the central position of honor. However, the executioners don’t face the condemned, as they would at the moment of execution. Rather, they are situated so that the viewer can see their faces. On the larger-format original photomontage figured here, three crosses made of medical tape were added to the printed surface depicting the wall behind the three men. This was potentially inspired by the press releases coming out of Mexico, one of which claimed that the men were shot at respective crosses.108 One might conclude that there was, in fact, a photographer present who was trusted among the republican officials. However, given the pending execution and the risk of escape, it seems unlikely that Aubert, a favorite photographer

107 Priego Ramírez and Antonio Rodríguez, 47.

108 D. G. d’Auvergne, “Execution de Maximilien,” Le Figaro (Paris), 8 de juillet 1867, 1,2.

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of Maximilian and his court, would have been granted access to Maximilian, General Mejía, or

General Miramón on the date of their execution.109

Another carte-de-visite that represents the execution epitomizes the many facets of reproduction in the mid-nineteenth century (Figure 4-23). The picture is a photograph of a painting by Mexican painter Odilón Rios, based on a photomontage.110 In this image, like in the

Aubert montage, the viewer’s perspective is one of an onlooker, but here watching the execution from behind the execution squad. With a slight degree of height granted to the viewer, the gaze does not become that of the executioner, but rather looks across a few rows of heads in the gathered crowd of onlookers who also stand behind the executioners. The perspective is one that includes the viewer in the crowd, almost granting her a participative role. Looking toward the mount, the viewer also has a sense that the execution was well attended – rows of people encircle the sentenced men and the hill along the edge of the carte-de-visite. Maximilian and Generals

Miramón and Mejía are painted, but their figures appear in poses common to carte-de-visite photographs. The number of members in the execution squad is interesting to note. In each photograph of the squad, there were eight figures; in the photomontage, there were seven executioners; in the painting, there are almost three times that number depicted in three small squads that extend across the middleground of the image.

Although composed after a photomontage, this photograph carte-de-visite reproducing a painting has a different effect than that of the photomontage. In the nineteenth century, photography was considered to be an objective representation. Photomontage was the means for this period to report events visually because it attempted to recreate the scene through

109 Priego Ramírez and Antonio Rodríguez, 47.

110 Debroise, 170. Several montages were created of the execution. This painting was likely not modeled after the Aubert/Peraire montage included in this study.

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superimposed photo segments combined in one image, which were impossible to capture in a photograph at the time.111 However, photomontage quickly waned in popularity due to its composed appearance and reduced claim to objectivity.112 The photograph carte-de-visite attributed to Adrian Cordiglia of the painting circulated throughout Mexico and Europe, attesting to its popularity – especially when one considers that some time must have passed from the creation of the original photomontage, to the subsequent painting, to the black and white photograph of the painting.

A far more famous painting that aids in the examination of the inter-relationship between photographic and painted representations of the event is The Execution of Maximilian by the

French artist Edouard Manet. Although Manet was not a history painter of the French academic tradition, he engaged with the topic of the execution of Maximilian numerous times. In total, between July of 1867 and early 1869, he created three finished paintings, an oil study, and a lithograph (Figure 4-24) depicting the execution. Manet made successive changes to details such as clothing and background, as conflicting reports were released from Mexico.113 However, his basic composition remained consistent: Maximilian, General Miramón, and General Mejía stood at the left of the canvas, while the firing squad occupied the central and right of the painting.

The background of two of the paintings is occupied by onlookers peeking over a retaining wall – an idea based upon a feature in the French newspaper Le Figaro that described the way

111 Debroise, 234.

112 Ibid.

113 Several scholars have argued that Manet’s engagement with the political event of Maximilian’s execution and the French Intervention extended well beyond this series of paintings. In particular, see John Elderfield, Juliet Wilson- Bareau, 41-44; and Theodore Reff, Manet’s Incident in a Bullfight (New York: Council of the Frick Collection Lecture Series, 2005).

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executions took place in Mexico.114 It is significant that Maximilian was painted wearing a

Mexican hat in two of the three paintings, the oil study, and the lithograph. The addition of the hat was also based upon news reports coming out of Mexico after the emperor’s death.115 Manet also used photograph cartes-de-visite for costume and biographical details on Maximilian,

Generals Miramón, Mejía, and Porifiro Díaz.116

The costume changes Manet made to the firing squad with successive canvases served to indict the French, and particularly the regime of Napoleon III, for withdrawing French troops after having pledged military support through what was termed “The French Intervention” from the outset. In the first painting, the firing squad is dressed in the charro costume associated with

Juarez’s guerrilla fighters. But in subsequent works the executioners were shown wearing the actual uniform of the Mexican Republican Army, which strongly resembled a French military uniform. Thus, because of the similarities in uniforms, his paintings were interpreted by the

French as blaming France, rather than the Mexican republicans whose uniforms were not well known in Europe, for the death of the former emperor. It is believed that for this reason, Manet’s

Execution of Maximilian was threatened with refusal to the biannual Salon exhibition in Paris, and the government censors refused to authorize the release of his lithograph, which will be discussed in detail in Chapter 5.117 Two lithographs that were approved by the French censors and published in the French papers were not drawn by Manet. They include lengthy texts that justify the French Intervention and emphasize the fact that Maximilian was asked to return to

114 Wilson-Bareau, “Manet and the Execution of Maximilian,” 1992, 49.

115 Scharf, 73.

116Aaron Scharf uses Max Liebermann’s identification of a group of cartes-de-visite from Mexico, found in Hamburg, to argue that the commanding officer was painted to resemble General Porfirio Díaz, one of the military leaders in the Mexican republican resistance to the empire who later became President of Mexico, 70.

117 Wilson-Bareau, “Manet and the Execution of Maximilian,” 1992, 69.

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Europe with the French troops, but refused.118 Neither of these lithographs portrays the actual act of the execution, as Manet did. Instead they show the moments prior to Maximilian’s death as imagined by the artists, with the execution squad depicted in charro attire.

Several other paintings were created by non-academic artists in Mexico and Europe to commemorate the event.119 The majority of these appear not to have been influenced by the circulating carte-de-visite photographs. Rather, the compositions more strongly resemble the censor-approved lithographs. Some were likely imaginings of the event based on local experiences. In Mexican scholarship, these works are referred to as votivo or “votive” paintings.

As discussed above, one purpose of a votive painting is to solicit prayers for the depicted subject; another is to thank the spiritual realm for a request made through prayer. The folk-painted scenes of the execution are thus regarded by some scholars to not only convey a historical moment in the popular artist’s terms, as opposed to in the grand “history painting” academic style of the French, but as votives soliciting prayer in memorial of Maximilian – or perhaps thanking heaven for Maximilian’s demise and the believer’s safe return home after the war.

Memorial Cartes-de-visite

After Maximilian’s execution, numerous memorial cartes-de-visite featuring a variety of compositions and emphases circulated in Europe and the Americas. While some images offer an object to aid in mourning, others position the emperor as a martyr and/or liken Maximilian to

Christ. The inspiration for the various compositions was most likely the conflicting press reports that emerged from Mexico after the execution. Just as Edouard Manet refined his composition with successive descriptions of the event, so did artists working on behalf of carte-de-visite

118 Ibid., 50-51.

119 I have identified five paintings – two from unidentified Mexican artists, one by Odilón Ríos that circulated as a carte-de-visite as described above, and one from an unknown Slovenian artist, published in Ratz, Queretaro, 334. This is an aspect of the representation of Maximilian’s execution that might be a fruitful topic for future scholarship.

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photography studios re-imagine ways to represent Maximilian. In the initial press reports,

Maximilian was alternately said to have been shot, hung, and quartered.120 Sometimes two or more of these execution methods were presented to the reading public as the cause of his demise.

Some reports said there were crosses behind each of the executed men. In others, the executed men were variously holding hands with each other, standing, or sitting in chairs. In one report,

Maximilian was shot in the face and was said to have stood in the middle of the trio. Reports also variously described the bodies of the executed men as having been removed in their respective coffins; one article said they were buried immediately following the execution on the site.

Of course, the sheer number of reports, and the conflicting news itself, affected more than the artists’ compositions for memorial cards. With successive textual proclamations in the daily periodicals about Maximilian’s death, the average reader was most likely uncertain of the specifics of the event, but potentially became more sympathetic because of the confusion and conflict surrounding the execution. Furthermore, in the months following his death, there was conflict between the Mexican and Austrian governments about the retention of Maximilian’s body. The Mexicans withheld the former emperor’s body for several months, claiming they could not return the corpse “for serious reasons.”121 Some of these reasons included a dispensation from Austria for the costs of the second embalming, the third coffin, the honor guard to accompany the transfer, the act of restoring (bodily) integrity with another embalming process, transport, and regular telegraphs sent from each stop on the trip with informational updates.122 There was also some concern that Maximilian´s corpse was not intact, following

120 For an overview of the post-execution press releases in Europe, see Elderfield, 182-191.

121 Ratz, 2005, 355.

122 Ibid.

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rumors, some of which were verifiable, that the former emperor´s body parts, such as his eyes, had been sold.123 After a series of telegraphs and letters, the Republic of Mexico sent the corpse back to Austria on November 25, 1867.124 Maximilian was buried in the Imperial Crypt in

Vienna on January 20, 1868. In sum, the topic of the treatment of Maximilian’s corpse was in the press, on the minds of readers, and most likely discussed in the rumor mill for months following his execution. Thus, the memorial cartes-de-visite allowed members of the Mexican and European consumer public to mourn his death, and also offered representations of

Maximilian for the public memory. This approach was successful especially in the European market, where memorial cards were printed and sold by local photography studios. In this section I will provide an overview of the styles of memorial cards, giving consideration to the chosen portrayal of the execution and the function of each particular composition.

The first type of memorial carte-de-visite for Maximilian, which was the most numerous in the extant collections I surveyed, is the photo montage featuring portraits of Maximilian and

Carlota with various other participants in the French Intervention, Second Mexican Empire, or execution (Figures 4-25 through 4-27). In the examples of the type shown, each person is pictured by way of a carte-de-visite portrait taken during the subject’s life. Each image is fancifully framed and the frames are arranged in a symmetrical, often cruciform, layout, which is sometimes surrounded by flowers and set against a black background. In some (Figures 4-26 and 4-27) the flowers are cleverly arranged to create the shape of the letter “M,” which stands for

123 Konrad Ratz’ research reveals substantial evidence regarding the treatment of Maximilian’s corpse. The physician in charge of the first embalming procedure, Dr. Licea, was accused before a tribunal for attempting to sell Maximilian’s eyeballs. Querétaro, 2005, 326. In 1873 two glass jars were found in the basement under Dr. Licea’s former residence in Querétaro (he had since moved to Mexico City), one of which contained a heart and the other intestines. When questioned by the local police, Licea certified that the heart belonged to General Mejía. Querétaro, 2005, 369-370.

124 Blasio, 181.

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all three of the executed men – Maximilian, Mejía, and Miramón, each of whom is pictured in the examples presented. The “M” also recalls the photograph depicting the Cerro de las

Campanas after the execution, with the crown and stick-figured “M” that marked Maximilian’s location of death (Figure 4-10). Also pictured are the former Empress Carlota and General

Mendez. The latter had tried to convince Maximilian to leave Querétaro and modify his tactics before it was too late. In each arrangement, Carlota is located at the center of the cross, perhaps because in the eyes of the viewing public, she bore much of the strain of the events, in the process of which she lost her sanity. By losing her ability to function mentally, she was also

“lost” to society. Maximilian’s portrait is consistently located at the top of the cross, while those of Mejía, Miramón, and Méndez are found in different positions on each card.

Similar cartes-de-visite were created featuring portraits of liberal Mexican leaders – living and dead. These compositions feature more than five portraits. They consistently include photographs of Benito Juarez and his leading generals. Sometimes foundational leaders such as

Miguel Hidalgo, a priest and leader of the Mexican War of Independence, are featured.

Although the liberal leaders are not depicted with flowers, there is at least one example in which their portraits are framed in lace.125

The formal similarities between the compositions of the memorial cartes-de-visite picturing those political figures involved in both the liberal and conservative sides of the conflict indicates that these examples likely functioned as souvenirs, rather than as tokens of remembrance. The inclusion of Méndez in the card featuring Maximilian alludes to the politics behind the executions, rather than issues of death, resurrection, and mourning. Likewise, because similar cards were made for both political sides of the war, and because the two cards

125 These carte-de-visite are located in the collection at the Museé Royale de l’Armée in Brussels.

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were likely sold side-by-side at the photographer’s studio or in the street market, the composition carries connotations of political events and connections between players rather than evoking spiritual meaning for mourners.126 In this composition, it is almost as though the frame was a standard format in which the photographer could swap portraits as a sort of “mix and match” political or historical souvenir.

The addition of flowers as decorative borders associates memorial carte-de-visite montages with crafted albums. The ritual of commemorating a deceased loved one by adding dried flowers or lockets of hair to embellish photographs added beauty, meaning, and sensory stimulation to photographs, creating tokens of remembrance that spoke to the heart of the viewer through his or her senses.127 By shifting the process of embellishment from the bereaved to the photography studio, the act of commemoration became commercialized and lost some of the sensory significance that private families found in assembling crafted mementos that could be shared with intimates of the deceased.128 Ready-made memorials of celebrities that were reproduced in quantities for the masses by studios, without texture or trace of scent, both literally and metaphorically removed the viewer from a part of the grieving process. However, these viewers were also very likely more removed from the intimate social circle of the deceased that included his close friends, and family members. The audiences for these memorial objects were fans, royal subjects, or members of a constituency.

126 Siegel discusses cartes-de-visite of celebrities that were displayed at photographic studios for sale side by side as models for posing ideas, and in the case of celbrity images, for sale. See 54-56.

127 Geoffrey Batchen, Forget Me Not: Photography and Remembrance (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2004), 94.

128 Geoffrey Batchen uses the term “the commercialization of commemoration” to describe this phenomenon. Geoffrey Batchen, Personal communication, Gainesville, Florida, 18 February 2014.

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Among the collection of photographs in the François Aubert collection at the Musée de l’Armée Royale were three unfinished compositions, likely intended to be cartes-de-visite

(Figures 4-28 and 4-29). Figure 4-28 displays photograph portrait ovals of the former sovereigns in a vertical orientation, each individually framed. The two images are conjoined by the imperial symbol for the Second Mexican Empire. The framed faces are surrounded by flowers, to such an extent that the portraits are almost secondary in the composition. Upon closer examination, it becomes evident that the flowers are pansies.

The word “pansy” comes from the French “pensée,” and is “pensamiento” in Spanish, meaning “thought” and is believed to represent the thoughts of lovers, shared before a word is spoken. The head of the flower has been thought to resemble a person’s head downcast in contemplation, hence the name, “pensée.” In this case, the meaning may also refer to the viewer whose head was bowed in thoughts devoted to the former emperor and empress. This card may have appealed to viewers seeking an aid in mourning.

In figure 4-29, Maximilian and Carlota’s portraits were trimmed along the outlines of their bodies, rather than placed in frames, and nestled in a bouquet of flowers through the montage process. The sovereign figures appear as flowers themselves. The flowers represented here are lilies. Lilies were a common choice for funerals and memorials. But further, the lily is known as a symbol of purity and the Virgin Mary, associated particularly with the feast of her

Assumption in mid-August. Although Maximilian was executed on the nineteenth of June, the word of his death did not spread to Europe until the first week of July. By the time photographic cartes-de-visite were made available to the public on the market, the timing would have coincided approximately with the Virgin Mary’s Assumption feast. Thus, this carte drew upon the Catholic religious season in its representation. Further, the picture refers to not only the

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relationship between Maximilian and Carlota, but was designed for the viewer who found some sympathies with Maximilian; if not going so far as to consider him a martyr, this purchasing client would have certainly taken the position that his soul was suitable for heaven, given the seasonal reference to the Assumption and purity. This card offered an accepted display of mourning for the sympathetic viewer within the context of the nineteenth century’s Victorian flower-framed aesthetic.

The remaining memorial cartes-de-visite represent the former emperor as a martyr, either in image or in text (Figures 4-30 through 4-33). Some situational factors of Maximilian’s execution made certain members of society think of the crucifixion of Christ. Primarily, these consisted of the fact that there were three men executed and the event took place on a hill. One of the aforementioned photomontages described above (Figure 4-12) incorporates three crosses to mark the place where the three men stood, but in so doing takes a political stance through its allegorical reference to Christ’s crucifixion claiming that an innocent Maximilian acted as a martyr. Many of these cartes-de-visite bear the marks of Austrian, German, or Belgian photographers. They go beyond a visual expression of public mourning, but rather push for a superior role for Maximilian after the fact by positioning him as a martyr in the conflict.

One carte image, in which Carlota figures prominently, is actually a lithograph that circulated in small format as a carte-de-visite (Figure 4-30). The former empress’ lithographic portrait was inspired by the Malovich photographic portrait – she wears the same dress, hair style, and crown of flowers. Behind Carlota’s kneeling figure in the foreground, an angel prepares to cover her body with a black cloak, indicative of the mourning period she would enter after the loss of her husband. Perhaps part of the appeal of the Malovich portrait was its predominance of white, which symbolized innocence and serves here as a visible contrast in the

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small carte-de-visite to the adjacent black mourning robe. The hovering black cloth may have also been symbolic of the bouts of insanity that Carlota was said to have experienced. In the background of the image, Maximilian stands alone on a hill. His hand is tucked into his jacket pocket over his heart. Dark silhouettes of Juarez’s guerrilla soldiers, wearing Mexican hats, encircle the hill.129 A priest stands behind Maximilian at the right, with his head bowed and hands raised in prayer. This print was also used in a memorial photomontage with frames featuring the lithographic scene described here, and the Malovich photographic portraits of

Maximilian and Carlota. The three images were arranged in a triad topped with a cross and connected with flowers.

A similarly glorifying representation places Maximilian at the center of the composition

(Figure 4-31). With his arms raised in an X-form across his chest, clutching a large crucifix to his chest, the former emperor stands amid a swirl of landscape behind him. This carte-de-visite, like the previous, is a lithograph that was photographed and applied to cardstock backing for distribution. While Maximilian’s body here appears to be of the lithograph artist’s original design, his face resembles carte-de-visite portraits that circulated during the period. The composition may have been inspired by the personal account of Maximilian’s Prussian aide-de- camp, claiming that the emperor had crossed his hands in front of his chest.130 The back of the card features a prayer in French and Latin:

Pray for the peace of the soul of Ferdinand Maximilian Joseph, Emperor of Mexico, born in Schonbrunn, July 6, 1832, died in Querétaro, June 19, 1867. The good pastor gives his life for his sheep. The memory of justice will be eternal. He will not fear the dark words of men.

129 The shadowy “Mexican” figures that represent Juarez’ guerrilla warriors may have been derived from silhouettes that appeared on the front page of the French periodical, Album autographique. L’Art à Paris en 1867, August- September 1867. The sketch in the publication is called, “Band of Juaristas.” The “Juaristas” sketch was published together with a portrait of Maximilian by Jean Adolphe Beaucé after Maximilian’s death. See Willson-Bareau, 40.

130 Salm-Salm, 308.

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These two examples (Figures 4-30 and 4-31) appear to have been aimed primarily at

European audiences, but similar examples were also printed in Mexico to a lesser extent. Cartes with memorial imagery of Maximilian were met with popular demand in the French, Belgian, and Austrian markets, a factor which certainly influenced the commercial photography studios in their creation and distribution. In Europe many began to honor Maximilian’s “sacrifice.”131

Finally, I will consider an example that was created specifically for a Mexican audience

(Figure 4-32). The carte is a lithograph that depicts Maximilian and Carlota kneeling on clouds in front of the Virgin of Guadalupe, the patron saint of Mexico. Maximilian and Carlota are both wearing imperial ermine robes, while Carlota appears in her crown of flowers from the Malovich portrait yet again. In her right hand she holds a palm frond, symbolic of martyrdom. The Virgin extends a palm frond to Maximilian and gestures to her heart, as though she is in the middle of a blessing. Maximilian’s hand mirrors the location of the Virgin’s, perhaps making the sign of the cross in the Catholic tradition. Together, the group hovers above a hill that represents the Cerro de las Campanas. In other versions of this image published via carte-de-visite, the clouds continue below the Virgin and the sovereigns, only to be broken by the spears of French bayonettes peeking through the mist. No soldiers appear in the images, only the threat of war as indicated by the weapons.

The Virgin of Guadalupe carte-de-visite was clearly a design intended for sale in Mexico.

As the patron saint of the country, she was very popular then as today. Her image carries strong associations with the country’s history. Because she appeared originally to an indigenous peasant at the hill shrine of an Aztec goddess, veneration was encouraged by the Spanish

Catholic regime of the colonial period. She was used as a banner figure for the Creole class and

131 Debroise, 27.

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others in the War of Independence, and her image is connected to each historical period and the cultural fabric of Mexico.132 The Virgin symbolizes the country of Mexico itself, with Carlota and Maximilian bowing before her to symbolize the “sacrifice” they made for Mexico –

Maximilian with his life and Carlota with her sanity.133 The use of the Virgin as a symbol holding the palm frond of the martyr on a carte-de-visite indicates that there was a popular market in Mexico for such imagery. But the fact that the card was created distinctly for the

Mexican market to memorialize the regime of a foreign sovereign whose regime had little popular political support is puzzling. For that matter, the cartes from Europe that depict

Maximilian as a martyr are also perplexing. Carlota literally went mad trying to find support for him in Europe prior to his execution, and found no support whatsoever. What was the inspiration for such a stirring of popular support for Maximilian after his death?

As I have argued above, the most likely inspiration for the countless examples of memorial cartes-de-visite created by studios to respond to the demand for imagery after

Maximilian’s death was the empathy felt by some Mexicans and Europeans for the former emperor after reading about and seeing how crudely he was dispatched. Aspects of his post- mortem photograph (Maximiliano muerto) contradicted the familiar norms of funerary portraiture, and became disturbing when combined with the newspapers’ descriptions of his death. Furthermore, the European press contributed to the perception that Maximilian’s death was a brutal one by printing innumerable stories describing imagined bloody scenarios. With this emphasis on Mexican brutality in the press, the act of mourning Maximilian in Europe also

132 On the many roles the Virgin of Guadalupe has played in the history of Mexico, see Jeanette Favrot Peterson, “The Virgin of Guadalupe: Symbol of Conquest or Liberation?” Art Journal 51, no. 4 (winter, 1992), 39-47.

133 Casanova, 2003, 218-221. John Mraz contends that this image was one of the earlier propaganda portraits that circulated prior to Maximilian’s arrival, but I disagree. Due to the palm fronds of martyrdom, I believe it was produced after Maximilian’s execution. John Mraz, “Photographing Political Power in Mexico” (Paper presented at the Latin American Studies Consortium of New England, Storrs, CT, March 1997), 3.

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might have been more about anti-Mexican sentiment than about Maximilian per se. The memorial cartes-de-visite printed in honor of Maximilian provided an opportunity for the public to mourn in a manner deemed appropriate for the time and the public death of a political figure.

However, another possible answer to the question surrounding the creation of “Maximilian the

Martyr” lies in the emperor’s own efforts to fashion himself as a martyr in his execution speech.134 The two quotes that introduced this chapter both allude to the fact that Maximilian made reference to his own “sacrifice” immediately prior to his execution. The longer version of this speech (the second on page 179) was printed as text that accompanied Maximilian’s portrait in a carte-de-visite (Figure 4-33). The fact that the quote was printed in Spanish supports the notion that this carte-de-visite was printed for a Mexican audience. As such, the idea that

Maximilian was a martyr was promoted, along with his portrait, in a trans-Atlantic context.

We know that Maximilian had been thinking about leaders who were executed due to the shifting sands of political fortune. While he was in Querétaro, Maximilian was reading the biography of Charles I, the life story of a British king who was also executed. Scholars have noted the similarities between his speech and that of Charles I, arguing a great deal of self- awareness on Maximilian’s part.135 Additionally, Maximilian made a reference to the importance of the martyr figure in the political context of Mexico in a speech given on

September 16, 1866 – Mexico’s Independence Day:

The ghosts of our heroes look down upon us. Let us follow their immortal example without hesitation and without fear, so that we may reach the enviable goal, namely, the independence which their blood has sanctified, secured and

134 Ibsen, 6-8. The following scholars discuss the images as “martyr” representations, but stop short of citing Maximilian as the instigator of the type of carte or its popularity: Casanova, 2003, 218-221; and Debroise, 2001, 27- 28.

135 See Salm-Salm, 267 and Kristine Ibsen’s discussion on page 8.

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crowned. Mexicans! Long live independence and the beautiful memories of our immortal martyrs.136

In his speech, Maximilian directly pays homage to the leaders of Mexico who preceded him and died in their efforts to bring the country to freedom.137 This reference to martyrdom, made publicly about six months prior to his capture, shows that Maximilian was already considering the possibility of his demise in Mexico, as well as how Mexican leaders were remembered by the people.

Despite these attempts to determine his own place in the historical procession of leaders of Mexico, I contend that if Maximilian was remembered as a martyr by some it was not entirely due to his own posturing. It was also due to the actions of others, especially the ways in which his death was represented in newspaper text and photography, the latter distributed by carte-de- visite. Since they were similar to, but also diverged from the existing cultural norms for photographing the dead, Maximilian’s post-mortem portraits inspired a demand for subsequent memorial imagery and, in some cases, quasi-religious glorification.

Summary

Even after his death, Maximilian’s body was posed, photographed, and distributed for political and monetary purposes. Through his execution and the subsequent circulation of his post-mortem portrait via cartes-de-visite, the republican resistance in Mexico sent a clear message to the European powers. Mexico was an independent democracy and would no longer tolerate outside rule. This was communicated initially with the actual execution of Maximilian,

136 Basch, 2001, 16.

137 Although he held the title of “Emperor” and maintained his position with the aid of foreign (French) troops, Maximilian intended his government to be a constitutional empire that granted the right to vote and numerous other progressive privileges to the lower classes, in particular. For details on the rights granted by the constitution he drafted with Carlota, see Robert Duncan’s essay, “Maximilian and the Construction of the Liberal State, 1863- 1866,” 2005.

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but made visible through his dead body and effects seen on the cartes-de-visite. Although it is likely that the Execution Series photographs were taken to document the event, I have argued above that the imagery was used for memorial practices, rather than purchased and displayed strictly out of political interest. The numerous examples of memorial imagery produced by photographic studios after the release of the Execution Series indicates a high degree of emotion surrounding the event and supports my contention. The carte-de-visite was a medium manipulated by both sides of the conflict in Mexico, the empire and the republican resistance, to sway public opinion and sentiment. And the carte-de-visite, like Maximilian’s body, reflected many fractured perspectives on governance on both sides of the Atlantic.

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Figure 4-1. François Aubert, Maximiliano muerto, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 997-013- 0016, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico.

Figure 4-2. François Aubert, Maximiliano muerto (detail), albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 997- 013-0017, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico.

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Figure 4-3. François Aubert, Maximilian’s shirt, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 997-013-0018, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico.

Figure 4-4. François Aubert, Maximilian’s vest, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 997-013-0019, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico.

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Figure 4-5. François Aubert, Maximilian’s coat, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 997-013-0020, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico.

Figure 4-6. François Aubert, Pile of clothing soaked with blood, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.717.

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Figure 4-7. François Aubert, Maximilian’s scarf and pocket watch, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.718.

Figure 4-8. François Aubert, Execution Squad, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 997-013-0013, Mexico: Maximilian Cartes-de-visite, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico.

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Figure 4-9. François Aubert, Execution Squad, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.534.

Figure 4-10. François Aubert, Cerro de las Campanas, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 997-013- 0015, Mexico: Maximilian Cartes-de-visite, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico.

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Figure 4-11. Attributed to Auguste Peraire, Cerro de las Campanas, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. 986-025-0101, Mexico: Maximilian Cartes-de-visite, Center for Southwest Research, University Libraries, University of New Mexico.

Figure 4-12. François Aubert, The Execution of Maximilian, photographic montage, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.727.

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Figure 4-13. François Aubert, Execution of Maximilian, drawing on paper, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles.

Figure 4-14. Timothy O’Sullivan, “A Harvest of Death, Gettysburg, July, 1863,” printed in Gardner’s Photographic Sketch Book of the Civil War, by Alexander Gardner (Washington D.C.: Philp & Solomons, 1866). Use of this image meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 4-15. Tully & Co., Sheffield, England, Post-mortem Portrait of an Unknown Child, albumen carte-de-visite, ca. 1870. This photograph is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 4-16. Eugenio Maunoury, Post-mortem Carte-de-visite Portrait of President San Román of Peru, 1863. Reprinted from Natalia Majluf et. al., La recuperación de la memoria, Peru 1842-1942 (Lima, 2001), 52. This photograph is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 4-17. Anonymous, Funeral portrait of Madre Ana de Santa Inés, 1653, oil on canvas, 43½ x 81½ in., Monastery of Santa Isabel, Madrid. Reprinted from James M. Córdova, “Clad in Flowers: Indigenous Arts and Knowledge in Colonial Mexican Convents,” Art Bulletin 93, no. 4 (December 2011), 450. This image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 4-18. Anonymous, Funerary Portrait of an unknown nun, ca. 18th century, Museo Soumaya, Mexico City. Photograph provided by Alma Montero. Use of this image meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 4-19. Georg Heinrich Sieveking, Execution of Louix XVI, January 21, 1793, copperplate engraving. This image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 4-20. Anonymous, hair worked into a careful design as a token of remembrance, carte- de-visite album ca. 1862-72, http://mavcor.yale.edu/conversations/object- narratives/carte-de-visite-photograph-album. Use of this image meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 4-21. Anonymous, The Divine Face (Veronica’s Veil), oil on canvas, 19th century, 14½ x 17¾ in. Reprinted from Elizabeth Netto Calil Zarur, et.al., Art and Faith in Mexico (Albuquerque, 2001), 128. Use of this image meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 4-22. Room of ex-votos in the Sanctuary of San Juan de los Lagos. Reprinted from Elizabeth Netto Calil Zarur, et.al., Art and Faith in Mexico (Albuquerque, 2001), 279. Use of this image meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 4-23. Adrian Cordiglia, The Execution of Maximilian, albumen carte-de-visite of a painting, 1867. 997-013-0014, Mexico: Maximilian Cartes-de-visite, Center for Southwest Research, Univerisity Libraries, University of New Mexico.

Figure 4-24. Edouard Manet, Execution of Maximilian, 1868, lithograph, 33.3 x 43.3 cm., Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum. Image is in the public domain and meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 4-25. François Aubert, Execution Memorial, albumen carte-de-visite montage, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.689.

Figure 4-26. François Aubert, Execution Memorial, albumen carte-de-visite montage, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.688.

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Figure 4-27. François Aubert, Execution Memorial, albumen carte-de-visite montage, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 14.138.

Figure 4-28. François Aubert, Execution Memorial, albumen carte-de-visite montage, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 14.140.

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Figure 4-29. François Aubert, Execution Memorial, albumen carte-de-visite montage, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 14.137.

Figure 4-30. P. Kaiser, Execution Memorial, carte-de-visite, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.691.

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Figure 4-31. Unknown studio, Execution Memorial, carte-de-visite, reverse and obverse shown, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.667.

Figure 4-32. Execution Memorial, albumen carte-de-visite montage, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 14.139.

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Figure 4-33. François Aubert, Execution Memorial, albumen carte-de-visite, 1867. Collection Musée Royal de l’Armée, Bruxelles, DB-a 13.653.

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CHAPTER 5 LIFE AFTER DEATH: VISUAL REFERENCES TO CARTE-DE-VISITE PHOTOGRAPH PORTRAITS OF MAXIMILIAN AFTER 1867

This chapter provides evidence of the continuing resonance Maximilian’s carte-de-visite imagery had in the period after his death. An investigation of the developments in the medium of photography after the 1860s will show how specific subjects, themes, and compositions from the living and post-portem portraits of the former emperor were used to represent the later violence of historical events in both France and Mexico in the media of photography, lithography, and painting. There were two primary political struggles during which carte-de- visite imagery of Maximilian was revived: The French Commune (March 18 - May 28, 1871) and the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920). I argue that the examples presented below speak to the significance of allegorical precedents set by Maximilian's carte-de-visite portraits, specifically Maximiliano (charro) and Maximiliano muerto. Lithographs, paintings, and photomontage works that claimed to depict Maximilian's actual execution were also referenced in the visual storytelling of the French Commune and the Mexican Revolution.

The French Commune and the Mexican Revolution both involved civil war that was led by opposing factions within their respective countries. The Commune was a short-lived socialist government that revolted against the established order and ruled Paris for a two-and-a-half month time period. The Mexican Revolution began with an uprising led by Francisco Madero, who later served as president from 1911-1913, against then President Porfirio Díaz, but shortly gave rise to a civil war with numerous competing sides and shifting centers of control. While the

Commune was brief, the Mexican Revolution lasted ten years by most accounts. Both struggles were armed and had socialist aspects.

The execution of Maximilian, and with it the end of the Second Mexican Empire, was in many ways a definitive and conclusive end mark to the divisions between parties that had caused

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the preceding (civil) War of Reform and countless battles. Maximilian’s execution signified the death of rule by the aristocratic class, and as such, it also foretold the social and political rise of the lower classes. As I will show, in the later allusions to the Maximilian imagery, there are references to the violent rise of the lower classes, which occurred during the French Commune and the Mexican Revolution. In a few examples, the people depicted are nameless and figured among the masses of dead bodies. In these cases, the camera’s lens has shifted its focus from the upper classes and societal figures with celebrity status to the average citizen. This was a general trend throughout Europe and the Americas in the late nineteenth century, which John Tagg refers to as a “reverse in the axis of representation.” Tagg describes it as the shift from the privilege of photographic representation enjoyed by the higher classes to the burden of photographic representation endured by the lower classes for the purposes of surveillance.1 When the photographic subjects discussed below were identified by name, it was because they had achieved notoriety as leaders of rebellious resistance, or because they were able to be named through the aid of the photograph for crimes against the State. They earned their status as photographic subjects through their actions. This is an interesting contrast from the case of

Maximilian, who was a political celebrity because of his royal lineage and the political position he had been given, rather than for any status he himself had earned. Nevertheless, Maximilian’s portraits served as precedents for images that portrayed the rebel – both in life and in death.

Another important commonality is that all three situations – the execution of Maximilian, the French Commune, and the Mexican Revolution – resulted in the temporary suspension of a traditional, elitist hierarchy.2 In photographic representations of that shift, the camera turned

1 Tagg, 59.

2 Albert Boime, Art and the French Commune: Imagining Paris after War and Revolution (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995), 19.

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from the death of the elite, with the portraits of Maximiliano muerto in the 1860s, to the rise of the common man, with portraits of revolutionary leaders or bandits from the 1870s through the early twentieth century.

Amidst this shift in subject matter also came technological changes in the medium of photography. The carte-de-visite, which began primarily as a portrait-specific medium, became a means of distribution for photographs and prints that depicted the events, such as executions, related to political uprisings. By the late 1880s, half-tone plates that allowed for the economical reproduction of photographs in the press became available and were utilized by many newspapers, books, and magazines.3 So began the era of the throwaway image with the newspaper prints. Portraits of political personages or events were no longer sold individually as collectible cartes-de-visite, but rather became available to all classes as reproductions in the print medium of the newspaper. New photographs recording events were available every week – not isolated, like the carte-de-visite, as discreet images, but combined with text in a large format on broad pages. With the rise of photojournalism, photographs were no longer individual objects to collect and possess, but rather parts of larger stories that were only relevant for about a week.

The period between the post-mortem photographs of Maximilian (1867) and the advent of half-tone plates (1880s) is one in which the carte-de-visite became a medium for imagery related to remarkable events, such as those associated with the French Commune of 1871.

Because the carte-de-visite had become less and less expensive, the cards began to be marketed to meet the interests and needs of changing consumers. Cartes-de-visite, like printed broadsheet papers, began to depict imagery associated with shocking crimes, including executions, and bandits. This was particularly true in Mexico during the period of the Revolution, even after the

3 Tagg, 56.

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advent of the newspaper. In the sections that follow, I will analyze photographs from both the

Commune and the Mexican Revolution within the context of their respective political situations.

The events are discussed in chronological sequence.

The French Commune (March 18 - May 28, 1871)

The French Commune (also referred to as the “Paris Commune”) was a violent political movement initiated by the lower classes against the French government, which was located in

Versailles at the time, after it accepted humiliating conditions in the peace negotiations of the

Franco-Prussian War (July 1870 – May 1871). Although the Commune lasted a very short period of time, it resulted in the largest death toll from an urban insurrection in the modern history of Europe.4 During the street massacres in the struggle’s last days, an estimated 25,000-

30,000 men, women, and children died. In the period following the Commune, more than

50,000 sentences were handed down to prisoners captured during and after the fighting, including 4,000 deportations to islands in New Caledonia and the South Pacific. These numbers mark the event as the “most extensive judicial repression in the nineteenth century.”5 In the final week of fighting (May 21 - 28, 1871), known as the “Bloody Week,” more French died than during the post-Revolution Reign of Terror (September 5 1793 – July 28, 1794) or the Prussian

Seige of Paris (September 19, 1870 – January 28, 1871).

The Commune arose from a set of social and political circumstances after the loss of the war with Prussia, including disgust with the outcome of the war, the misery of the four-month seige on the city of Paris,6 and the continued struggle of republicanism against dynastic

4 Boime outlines statistics associated with the Commune on pages 3-5.

5 Ibid.

6 For a detailed analysis of artistic production during the Prussian siege on Paris, see Hollis Clayson, Paris in Despair: Art and Everyday Life under Siege (1870-1871) (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002).

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sovereignty. The working class began to take up socialist goals, which raised fear among the political moderates.7 Perhaps the aspect most pertinent to this discussion is that of republican struggle against dynastic rule. Here is a theme that was certainly present in Mexico during the

Second Mexican Empire, for it was the liberal republicans who resisted the conservative empire.

In Mexico, the conservatives lost to the liberals, a victory signified by the execution of

Maximilian. However, in the case of the Paris Commune, it was the rising liberal, republican faction that lost to the existing French government. The “mob” of republican citizens who took up arms and fought in the street – women beside men, quarter by quarter, street by street, barricade by barricade – mobilized against the systematic approach of the government-supported

French military. But in the end the citizens proved to be no match for the professional army, and the insurrection was smothered.

Thus, the resulting photographs did not depict the deceased leader of the ruling elite, as was the case in the post-mortem portraits after the execution of Maximilian as former emperor.

Instead, post-Commune photographs depicted the numerous unnamed dead of the fighting citizenry (Figures 5-1 and 5-2). Two post-mortem photographs of the Communards, issued by the well-known studio of A.A.E. Disdéri, circulated for distribution and sale in the carte-de-visite format. Both photographs bear a strong resemblance to the full-body version of Maximiliano muerto. Due to Disdéri's rumored month-long prison sentence for having reproduced the portrait of Maximiliano muerto in carte-de-visite format and his confirmed appropriation of several other images from the Execution Series, we can deduce that the photographer was aware of the

7 Boime, 3.

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similarities between the two compositions, as well as the commonalities and distinctions in their subject matter.8

In Figure 5-1 we see the now-familiar idiom of the corpse in a coffin standing on its end, albeit multiplied numerous times. A row of coffined corpses, seven bodies in all, fills the picture frame. The coffins are leaning against a support at the top so the bodies are viewed at an angle.

The corpses are wrapped to varying degrees within their coffins with blankets. Many of the blankets are not sufficient to cover the genitalia of the dead men; some of the blankets reveal the entire body. Although the viewer sees parts of the body considered private, the photograph models a very impersonal, humiliating gaze that highlights the indignity of the Communards’ death, and as such can be read as a denunciation of the governmental repression of the insurrection.9

In Figure 5-2, two rows of corpses in coffins are partially stacked one atop the other, in a manner that still allows the viewer to see the corpses’ faces. The higher angle of the camera in the second example offers the viewer a perspective that reveals facial features and details of costume, for in this image the corpses are clothed. It is through the faces and the small effects worn by the deceased – jackets, belts, sweaters, and shirts – that the viewer becomes engrossed in the photographs, finding personalizing aspects of the dead bodies that cause the viewer to think of the accessories of his or her own life or loved ones. Unlike the post-mortem portrait of

8 Regarding Disdéri’s jail time, the sale of the post-mortem photographs of Maximilian and his effects was indeed banned in Paris. Juliet Wilson-Bareau notes that Disdéri´s sentence was published in the London Times on the 27th of September. Disdéri did reproduce, at the very least, photographs of Maximilian’s bullet-torn attire, as I have seen prints of the same bearing his name in the collection at the Museé de l’Armée Royale in Brussels. Wilson-Bareau notes that Aaron Scharf refers to Disdéri’s condemnation but offers no source. The conviction of French photographer Alphonse Liébert for selling photographs related to Maximilian’s death has been confirmed through two periodical reports in La Gazette des Tribunaux on the 27th of October, 1867 and in Le Temps on the 28th of October, 1867. See Wilson-Bareau, Manet and the Execution of Maximilian, page 52, and page 83, n. 55.

9 Quentin Bajac, “Les artilleurs du collodion,” in La Commune photograhiée, edited by Quentin Bajac (Paris: Réunion des Musées Nationaux, 2000), 13.

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Maximiliano muerto that showed the results of war by focusing on the death of one known man, the post-Commune photograph speaks to the viewer of the sheer numbers of anonymous dead.

In this way, the impression is more similar to the photographs taken during the U.S. Civil War.

However, unlike the Civil War photographs, those taken of Commune casualties were intended to aid in the identification of the dead. In the case of Figures 5-1 and 5-2, each of the bodies also has a piece of paper with a number on the chest. The photographs were posted at the Hôtel de

Ville so that family members might be able to find the bodies of loved ones killed in the insurection, although many cartes-de-visite of cadavers were also sold to the general public.10

The French government provided pensions for the widows and children of those killed in the action.11

The medium of photography was utilized to a high degree during the Commune. In addition to photographs of the dead, pictures were also taken of the battlements and of fighting in the streets. Portraits were taken of Communards in prison. Photographs of buildings the

Communards had supposedly destroyed recorded events of the insurrection. These photographs served many purposes. During the uprising, the photographs allowed Communards to see themselves as active participants in a community with similar goals. Just as some photographs, such as those discussed above, were used to identify dead Communards, others were used after

10 Gen Doy, Seeing and Consciousness: Women, Class, and Representation (Oxford: Berg Publishers, 1995), 101 and Jeannene M. Przyblyski, “Revolution at a Standstill: Photography and the Paris Commune of 1871,” Yale French Studies, no. 101 (2001), 71.

11 Ibid. Doy cites an article published in The Graphic, an English newspaper, on April 15, 1871. It stated: “Everyone who is maimed will be accorded a pension, and photographs are taken of the killed and hung up in the Hôtel de Ville, so that the deceased may be recognised and claimed by their friends. The widows and children of those killed in the action are all to receive pensions, and the motherless children will be educated at the Commune’s expense.”

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the French government’s victory for the purpose of prosecuting participants who survived the violence, and finally portraits were utilized by the prison system to identify prisoners.12

For several months, photographs were allowed to be sold with police permission and with the photographer’s stamp on the reverse, identifying his studio and its address. The images were sold in bookstores, tobacco and tie shops, and in product packaging and displayed in the windows of stationery and engraving stores as well as on mantlepieces.13 The circulating photographs held a multitude of meanings, depending upon the consumer, ranging from sympathy to satisfaction with a crime well punished. The popularity of the images proved to be a sensitive matter for the French state, thus the sale of Communard portrait photographs was prohibited beginning in June of 1871, and the sale of all images associated with the insurrection was banned in Paris in December of 1871 and all of France in 1872.14

In the Communard figures shown, the physical decay evident in their corpses is visually disturbing, like the photograph of Maximiliano muerto. By visually referring back to the death of Maximilian, Disdéri referenced the senseless death and violence that resulted from political conflict. The Municipality of Paris reported that more than 17,000 corpses were disposed of after the final “Bloody Week” alone.15 Still, rather than through photographs, imagery from the event was disseminated through the press in lithographs that highlighted either newsworthy moments in the struggle or architectural ruins. The half-tone plate technology that allowed photographs to be reproduced in the newspapers had not yet been invented. In this case, the

Disdéri photograph worked as a means of photoreportage – the image reported the results of the

12 Przyblyski, 57.

13 Doy, 99. Przyblyski, 55.

14 Bajac, 9-11. Doy, 100.

15 Boime, 5.

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battle and the anonymous cost of the strife. It is one of the few photographs still available today that depicted the dead. There are not numerous photographs depicting the dead in the city streets, as was the case in the documentation of the battlefields of the U.S. Civil War. Much of the photography from this event depicts the Communards posing in groups or in action, constructing and defending barricades, transporting cannons and other weapons to different regions of the city, and destroying buildings and monuments associated with the government.

Lithographs show the government retaliating against the uprising with public executions whose depictions strongly resemble the Execution of Maximilian compositions by the French painter

Edouard Manet.

Manet also recycled aspects from his compositions on the topic of Maximilian’s death, such as the execution squad from his lithograph of The Execution of Maximilian, for both a gouache (Figure 5-3) and a lithograph (Figure 5-4) depicting events from the French Commune.

By tracing the outlines of the execution squad from his lithograph of Maximilian’s execution, he was able to directly refer back to the earlier work with his gouache titled, The Barricade.16 In both of the compositions, the firing squad is dressed in long coats resembling the French military uniform, but they are located in the barricaded streets of Paris. In the gouache, the executioners face three victims: the one in the center raises his hat in defiance of the act, the Communard on the left slumps toward the ground, and the one on the right is already lying dead on the ground.

Previous scholarship notes the reversing and re-reversing of Manet's Querétaro firing squad in the creation processes of his Barricade gouache and lithograph. The change of the executioners’ direction almost reflects the shift in who is doing the executing – in the case of

16 Elderfield, 143. See also Jean C. Harris, Edouard Manet: Graphic Works; A Definitive Catalogue Raisonné, edited by Joel M. Smith (San Francisco: Alan Wofsy Fine Arts, 1990), no. 72, 210-11, and Juliet Wilson-Bareau, 72-74.

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Querétaro it was the republicans killing the dynastic ruler; for the situation of the Commune it was the ruler killing the republicans. In either scenario, the resulting deaths point to abuses of power on the part of the government. One of the results of the Commune was that it brought the democratic rule of the budding Third Republic into question and created violent counter- reactions in its wake.

Despite the fact that the long-standing revolt in Paris ended on May 28th, the killing continued. People were accused of being Communards and shot on any pretext. If anyone resembled a leader of the insurgency, sheltered a Communard, or bore traces of the black powder caused by a specific rifle associated with the rebellion, he or she was executed. Within two days of May 28th, over 2,000 Parisians were shot or taken prisoner.17 Eugène Appert depicted one such event in his composite albumen print, employing a technical tactic that caused the

“photograph” to present itself as “real,” rather than like a montage which called attention to its own surface appearance through underlying material contradictions.18 Such images by Appert, who created carte-de-visite photographs of the events strictly for his own financial gain, were also referred to as “faked photographs” by one scholar, the Execution of Rossel, Bourgeois, and

Ferre, November 28, 1871 (Figure 5-5).19

In that work the viewer is positioned at a three-quarter angle to both the squads and the

Communards. Rossel, Bourgeois and Ferre each stand next to a post at the base of a hill. Each

Communard has a squad situated for shooting. The squadron leader stands on the side of the squads closest to the viewer. Three onlookers are depicted – two stand above the scene on the

17 Boime, 4-5.

18 Doy, 1995, 103.

19 Robert Hirsch, Luminous Lint, “Paris Commune,” http://www.luminous-lint.com/app/theme/237/. Accessed on March 23, 2014.

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hill and one stands at the lower right corner of the image; he appears to be a priest, judging by his robes and the book held in his hands. Compositionally, the viewer is placed in a similar position to the execution squad as that in Manet’s painting, The Execution of Maximilian, although from a much greater distance. Whether Appert was familiar with Manet's Execution of

Maximilian or his Barricade compositions is unknown.20 It is also unclear whether Manet knew of Appert’s work, although he did attend an execution at a military camp near Versailles in 1871, which could have been that of Rossel and others.21

It is significant that the executed men here are named, and that their deaths are marked by a date and location. Clearly these figures played a larger role in the French Commune than the numerous nameless dead that preceded them and were photographed by Disdéri. Additionally, in the depiction of the Communard executions, references are made not only to those lithographs and prints that depicted the Execution of Maximilian, but also, by extension and through the use of Christian metaphors such as the tri-part execution and the presence of the mount, to the execution of Christ. However, in this case, the carte-de-visite presented here was used as propaganda by the French National Government under Adolphe Thiers to justify the extensive measures taken to quell the Commune, including the executions of its leaders and participants.22

Each image was accompanied by a printed explanation that presented the image to the viewer as a justified consequence to the civil uprising.23

The photographs that resulted from the violence of the Paris Commune attempted to document the uprising by depicting the sheer number of those who died fighting and portraying

20 Elderfield, 144.

21 Ibid.

22 Hirsch, http://www.luminous-lint.com/app/theme/237/. Accessed on March 23, 2014.

23 Ibid.

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the severe punishments that took place after the French government had regained control of the city of Paris. The way that the executions – whether en masse, or individual and named – were perceived depended upon the viewer. Political allegiances shifted rapidly during the crisis.24

The Communards’ attacks on personal property (through the looting of evacuated homes) and their occupation of public spaces (parks, thoroughfares, and squares) caused even liberal intellectuals who had sympathy for the working classes to lean to the right in their disgust of the extreme actions of the “mob.”25 The medium of the photograph was the appropriate mode to capture the brevity of this moment when the working class controlled the government and the traditional class hierarchy was suspended – a trait that was shared with the events surrounding execution of Maximilian. In the early 1870s the carte-de-visite was, together with the cabinet card and the stereograph, still among the best formats for the sale and distribution of imagery to a broad audience. However, within the next decade photographs associated with the headlines would find another mode of distribution.

The Fate of the Carte-de-visite and the Portrait of the Mexican President

The 1870s saw a dramatic decrease in carte-de-visite consumption in Europe and the

United States. The carte-de-visite phenomenon continued longer in Mexico where its affordability was an attractive feature for customers. Several professional photography studios in Mexico, such as the famous firm of Cruces y Campa (active from 1862 to 1877), added features to their production in this later period that helped the carte-de-visite retain some of its appeal. For example, in the 1870s Antíoco Cruces and Luis Campa created trompe l'oeil painted backdrops for their sets that depicted natural landscapes, street scenes, and domestic interiors

24 Boime, 4.

25 Ibid.

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from which clients, as sitters for portraits, could choose to give their purchase a more artistic feel.26 Since they were trained in painting at Mexico's Academy of San Carlos, Cruces y Campa created realistic-looking scenes, sometimes going so far as to bring architectural features and dirt from the street indoors to the studio, such that the backdrop as photographed could fool even today's viewer. Nevertheless, by the late 1870s, the popularity of the traditional portrait carte-de- visite waned in Mexico as well. With the transitions in photographic technology over the course of the 1870s and 1880s came a complete shift in the commercial and social contexts of printed media in both France and Mexico.

By the late 1870s, the cabinet card portrait had replaced the carte-de-visite portrait in popularity in both Mexico and France. As a slightly larger photographic format (measuring approximately 4.5 by 6.5 inches), the cabinet card was ideal for display on one's desk and was considered the solution to a sluggish photography market. The camera's technological advances allowed the cabinet card to show its sitter from a closer depth of field with a shorter exposure time, and often focused on the upper body of the subject. This made the features of the face more visible, and therefore made the resulting image more expressive. The cabinet card gave photographers interested in the “art” of photography an opportunity to showcase their talents.

Photography studios were advised to advertise cabinet cards by placing examples taken of a notable person in the front window with a sign that read, “the new size!”27 The cabinet card was sold in conjunction with portrait cartes-de-visite through the 1870s, with many photography

26 For a detailed study on the Cruces y Campa studio, see Massé Zendejas, Simulacro y elegancia en tarjetas de visita. Fotografía de Cruces y Campa, 1998.

27 Siegel, 82-83.

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albums including slots for both sizes, but eventually the cabinet card overtook the smaller format.28

By the 1880s, photography made a shift from a professional domain that required a knowledgeable photographer with a darkroom for processing portraits, to one that appealed to amateur photographers with the availability of new cameras that featured faster exposure time and dry gelatin plates that could be given to others to develop.29 In 1878, Charles Harper

Bennett developed a gelatin plate that allowed for an exposure time that lasted one twenty-fifth of a second, or snapshot speed. As manufacturers took over the process of development, photography became further industrialized. The speed of the exposure was now such that tripods were no longer essential – the camera could be held in-hand. Subsequently, a variety of hand- held cameras flooded the market. These machines could be loaded with multiple plates at a time without the necessity to reload film for each shot. At this point, camera manufacturers such as

George Eastman began to market not to the professional photographer, nor to the seasoned amateur, but to a segment of the population who had never taken a photograph. With standardized materials and industrialized development process, Eastman's Kodak further expanded the boundaries of photography, leading the way for the rest of the world. Complete amateurs now took snapshots of friends and family members and kept the photographs in albums that were formerly reserved for professional portraits.

During this same revolutionary period in the technology of photography, advances were also made in the reproduction of photographs for the newspaper with the letter-set press.30 Half- tone plates were introduced in the late 1880s. The halftone process is a reproduction technique

28 Ibid., 84.

29 For details on the evolution of photographic technologies in the late nineteenth century, see Tagg, 53-56.

30 Ibid., 55.

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that creates the visual effect of a picture through the use of dots that vary in size, shape, or density so that one color of ink can be used in the illustration. The eye completes the image, creating the illusion of a range of tones. This shift in reprographic technology was transformative for the status of the photograph. Half-tone plates allowed for the cost-efficient and limitless reproduction of photographs in a variety of media, including books, magazines, and newspapers. Previous methods required assistance from an artist to translate a photograph into an engraving before the image could be printed for the press. Photographs of public figures and celebrities now appeared daily in the newspaper, and the public began to expect to see the faces associated with the news. Just as the Kodak hand-held camera changed informal and family portraiture, so did the illustrated newspaper transform popular interest in photographs of well- known figures, virtually ending the popular trade of their individual portraits. The era of the disposable image had begun. These technological advances in the medium of photography changed not only the way images were displayed and disseminated throughout society, but also their function and reception among viewers.

The propagandistic use of the individual photographic portrait of the sovereign faded from use in the decade following the Second Mexican Empire, making way for publicity via photojournalism. In Mexico during the years immediately following the execution of

Maximilian, the liberal party maintained control of the government through Presidents Benito

Juarez (1867-1872) and Sebastián Lerdo de Tejada (1872-1876). In 1876 Porfirio Díaz, one of

Juarez' generals during the resistance to the French and the Second Mexican Empire, became

President of the Mexican Republic. Although he ran for office on a platform of “no re- elections,” he managed to stay in office for almost thirty years. His administration, now referred to as the “Porfiriato,” appealed largely to elite Mexicans who emulated the dress and lifestyle of

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Europeans. This was a period of economic development, which was mostly supported by foreign investment.31

Most of the surviving portraits of President Porfirio Díaz were painted. Very few individually sold photographic portraits of Díaz circulated – and certainly none that were distributed and exchanged as widely as the cartes-de-visite of Maximilian and Juarez during the

Second Mexican Empire. As John Mraz has noted, Díaz’s image appeared regularly in the newspapers as he made political trips to towns or participated in ceremonies and diplomatic receptions. Two weekly journals offered regular photographs of Díaz to express the Porfiriato’s myth of order and progress to their readers: the ironically-titled El Imparcial and El Mundo

Ilustrado. The former was semi-officially funded by the Porfiriato dictatorship; its editor had received subsidies that allowed him to introduce the half-tone printing method in 1896.32 While

El Imparcial featured stories on the government’s social visits, stories on topics such as strikes and resistance on the part of indigenous communities were not considered newsworthy. In fact, episodes of indigenous rebellion and subsequent military attacks reached some of the century’s highest levels during the Porfiriato.33 One photojournalist from this period who deserves mention was Agustín Victor Casasola. Casasola worked for El Imparcial during the Díaz regime and his archive is best known for its photographs that represent Porfirian progress and later, the

31 John Mraz,”Photographing Political Power in Mexico,” 1997, 4.

32 Ibid.

33 Antonio Escobar Ohmsteade and Teresa Rojas Rabiela, La presencia del indígena en la prensa capitalina del siglo XIX (Mexico, D.F.: Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores en Antropología Social y el Instituto Nacional Indigenista, 1992), 416.

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Mexican Revolution.34 His work during the Porfiriato is an area that has received little art historical attention and holds potential for future research.35

At the same time, from the 1880s through approximatey 1910, the carte-de-visite format shifted from a a mode of portraiture for political figures like Maximilian and mid-to-upper class members of society to one that filled a particular niche that was not met by the newspapers or cabinet card portraits in Mexico. Along with the single-page news broadsheet, the carte-de-visite depicted remarkable stories that may or may not have appeared in the sanctioned newspapers due to their sensational content and the strong journalistic censorship that was maintained during the

Díaz administration. This period saw a rise in crime fascination. Those stories that were covered in the sanctioned press often delivered a more sedate version of crime reports that were aimed at the middle-class readership.36 Although the newspapers published sensational stories when permitted, they also included less intriguing crimes committed by upper-class citizens, humorous crimes, and misdemeanors like robbery, fighting, and drunkenness, which were among the most common reasons for arrest in the city. Broadsheets published often illustrated stories, songs, and poems for the lower classes about crimes with shock value, such as murders and executions, and especially those that took place in rural areas, rather than the city.37 They also played a role in the glorification of notable bandits, many of whom were mythologized in the

34 Mraz, 1997, 4.

35 The later photographs have received more scholarly attention than those taken during the Porfiriato. In his paper, “Photographing Power,” Mraz notes that the Casasola archive, which was thought to have contained work by one photographer, actually includes that of more than 450 photographers whose names were erased by Casasola and replaced by his own. Mraz references an article by INAH researcher Ignacio Gutiérrez that revises previous scholarship on the body of work by Casasola with this new information. INAH produced a video on the topic called Los Casasola on the topic in 1997. Ibid, 26, note 8.

36 Patrick Frank, Posada’s Broadsheets: Mexican Popular Imagery 1890-1910 (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1998), 8-10.

37 Ibid., 19, 26, 36.

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poems, tales, and songs printed on the broadsheets. The carte-de-visite format provided photographs, when available, to further illustrate the stories that satisfied this crime interest niche in the market. In particular the executions of bandits who were killed for crimes against the state were photographed and sold in the medium of the carte-de-visite. Thus, like the news broadsheets, which published lithographic imagery alongside texts to depict news stories that held shock value, the Mexican carte-de-visite began in the 1880s to photographically convey crime stories for a similar audience.

Two examples of the new carte-de-visite subject matter are found in President Díaz’ personal photographic album. Díaz saved photographs sent to him by citizens with petitions for a wide variety of reasons. They made appeals for assistance, and requested validation for acts of service to the state. They also wrote simply to show admiration and respect, and many of their letters were accompanied by photographs.38 Díaz received numerous photographs of military men with letters explaining their contributions as a means of requesting military promotions.

The first example, which also conveys the common sensationalist subject matter shared between cartes-de-visite and broadsheets during this era, is stored in Díaz’ album. The photograph was sent to Díaz in the form of a petition from a mother writing on behalf of her son who was a member of the battalion that had caught the famous bandit Eraclio Bernal. Eraclio

Bernal was a bandit of some renown. At least two broadsheets were dedicated to promoting his glory, and that of select members of his band, as a charro, a common middle-to-lower class broadsheet character by this time. Bernal’s family was politically active in the Sinaloa province.

They supported the political ideologies of Benito Juarez and were opposed to the Porfirio Díaz administration. In his youth, Bernal worked in the silver mines and experienced the oppressive

38 Teresa Matabuena Peláez, Algunos usos y conceptos de la fotografía durante el Porfiriato (Mexico City: Universidad Iberoamericana, 1991), 7-13.

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conditions imposed on laborers by foreign business owners. He began his outlaw career in 1880 when he stole silver from foreign-owned mines and sold it. He was hailed as a hero for his generosity toward the poor and was believed to have political aspirations.39

Remember that during the Porfiriato Mexicans began collecting carte-de-visite photographs of bandits who had been captured and executed.40 The mid-to-late nineteenth century was a golden age in Mexican banditry because of the instability of the central government. This period also coincided with the Romantic literary notion of the noble outsider, although the two most popular bandit novels from the Díaz period portrayed bandits not as

Mexican versions of Robin Hood, but as dark characters who needlessly robbed, beat, and killed their victims.41

The soldier’s mother who wrote to Díaz sent a small-format photograph of her son as well as a photograph of the executed body of the bandit, Bernal (Figure 5-6).42 In this image,

Bernal is in a slumped, seated position facing the viewer with his head dropping to the right. The left side of the image is dominated by the bodies of three armed guards. They stand in profile to the viewer with their heads turned in varying degrees toward the camera. Most of their heads have been cropped from the image. Likewise, the feet of the guard in the foreground have been cropped from the photograph, but those of the farthest guard from the viewer are visible, as are the feet of the guard in the middle. Thus, the soldiers’ bodies completely fill the visible space on the left side of the photograph, while the limp body of the dead bandit occupies the right side.

39 Frank, 96.

40 Matabuena Peláez, 85-92.

41 Frank, 91-92.

42 Matabuena Peláez, 89-90.

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Because the photograph of Bernal’s body had been reproduced and was sold commercially in grand quantities, the mother who sent Díaz the petition also included a copy of a verse carried by the bandit to verify, or perhaps to dramatize, her son’s direct participation in the capture:

Enfadado de este mundo, Voy a buscar un rincón; Todo lo tengo pagado; No me debe ni le debo. Gracias por haberme creado. Este mundo fanfarrón Nocivo sin conocer He sido a la sociedad Pero yo siempre he querido Pertenecerle en verdad Pero no lo he conseguido. Cuando joven calavera Sobre la ley orgulloso Creyéndome poderoso, Absoluto como rey.43

Angry from this world, I will find myself a corner; All my debts are paid; Nobody owes me and I owe no one. Thank you for bringing me into This swashbuckling world. Harmful without knowing I have been to society But I have always wanted To belong, really But I did not succeed. When I was a young skull Proudly above the law Believing myself powerful, Absolute as a king.

Except for its frontal presentation of the entire body, the image itself does not compositionally resemble the post-mortem portraits of Maximilian. It is interesting that the idea

43 Ibid., 90. My translation.

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of documenting the death of an infamous figure with photography – and the social activity of collecting those images – lived on with photographs of executed bandits and outlaws.

Furthermore, the verse owned, and reportedly written, by Bernal references his own young skull, thus foreshadowing his death.44 The lines of his verse indicate that he knew that he would be captured eventually and point to the status he believed he would find in his death – “the absolute power of a king.” Here, with the use of the terms joven calavera, and absoluto como rey, Bernal appears to reference the post-mortem portrait of Maximilian, and the subsequent trend of collecting carte-de-visite photographs of captured and executed enemies of the state. He may have carried the poem likening himself to the former emperor in the event that he would be captured, executed, and photographed. The verse indicates that Bernal had an understanding not only of his own actions and their legal/judicial consequences, but also of the social glory he would receive from his reknown as a criminal, his death as a captured and executed bandit, and the post-mortem portrait that would circulate to increase his fame after his death.

Another example of imagery that pertains to the exhibition and display of bandits’ cadavers who had either been captured and executed or who died in battle against the state militia is also found in Porfirio Díaz’ personal photograph album. Four carte-de-visite photographs taken by Cruz Trejo e Hijos de Tepic show the corpse and the public presentation of the well-known outlaw Enrique Chávez, who was killed in a military raid. These images were also reproduced, sold, collected, and displayed in albums, as was the fashion during the

Porfiriato.45 Again, the interesting facet of these small-format photographs is not a specific compositional similarity to those of Maximiliano muerto, but their role in the familiar narrative

44 Frank, 96.

45 Ibid., 92.

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of civil disobedience, the death that ensued as a consequence, the portrait taken of the dead person as proof of justice served, and the subsequent fame that arose from the distribution of the photograph. The two photographs of Enrique Chávez’ body do not resemble the post-mortem photographs taken of Maximilian. One photograph of the crowd that gathered to see Chávez’ corpse relates more closely to the folk paintings of Maximilian’s execution than it does to any of the photographs. Rather, more significant is the fact that the bandits were caught, executed, and photographed, and then those photographs became collector’s items. This trend recalls the

“reversal in the axis of representation.”46 However, in the case of 1880s and 1890s Mexico, the camera not only turned its lens toward the criminals of society, but society itself began to focus on these outlaws, and people wanted to own small-format photographs of the famous bandits.

The rebel became a celebrity.

The shift in public interest from collecting portraits of political sovereigns and other famous members of the social elite in the 1860s to collecting portraits of famous social derelicts in the 1880s was connected to the representational strategies of the Porfiriato regime. The decreased interest in collecting individual photographic portraits of Mexican sovereigns, such as

Porfirio Díaz, can be attributed to the advances in photographic reproduceability in newspapers.

Such portraits commonly appeared in a medium that was truly accessible to every citizen.

The change in pictorial interest may also be attributed to what was printed in the papers, or perhaps what was not printed – only high-brow political events were published. Meanwhile the state’s police forces were active throughout the country suppressing indigenous rebellions and executing bandits with very little news coverage. The lack of information increased public interest. The purchasing public found the photographs of famous criminals’ cadavers irresistible.

46 Tagg, 59.

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The illusion of the “Porfirian Peace” that was promoted through news journals such as El

Imparcial was not the entire story.

The Mexican Revolution (1910-1920)

In 1910, Francisco Madero led an armed uprising against the long-standing dictatorship of Porfirio Díaz. The battles evolved into a civil war and lasted until around 1920. Over the course of the revolution, the armed conflict changed from a revolt against the established order of the state to a multi-sided struggle in which the primary laws of power shifted.47 Like the Paris

Commune, the Mexican Revolution was one of the most important struggles in Mexican history in terms of the state’s progress toward reforms that supported human welfare.

The photographic fascination with the “bandit” in Mexico continued into the period of the Revolution. As photojournalists sought stories intending to increase newspaper sales, they often turned for subjects to those political figures who challenged the government as their photographic subjects. Some of the photographs from the period of the Revolution have become icons because of what they represented at the time and for the ideals they continue to represent.

They have retained a lasting presence in Mexico’s picture histories, in books, on billboards, and on shirts, posters, and coffee mugs,. One of the most famous examples of this type of photograph, whose composition resembles Chapter 3’s Maximiliano (charro) is the portrait of

Emiliano Zapata by Hugo Brehme (Figure 5-7).48

47 For a concise history of the Revolution, see Mark Wasserman, The Mexican Revolution: A Brief History with Documents (New York: Macmillian, 2012).

48 John Mraz explains that there is some discrepancy as to the photographer of the famous Emiliano Zapata portrait. The Casasolas originally made claim to the authorship, but then one study asserted that Hugo Brehme took the photograph. Research conducted recently by the director of the Fototeca Nacional argues that it was neither Brehme nor Casasola, but F.M. Moray (or McKay) who took the photograph. John Mraz, “Photographing the Mexican Revolution, Commitments and Icons,” in Mexico’s Unfinished Revolutions, edited by Charles B. Faulhaber (Berkley: University of California Press, 2011), 99.

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Emiliano Zapata was a leading figure in the Mexican Revolution. He led the peasants from the state of Morelos in battle, was known for his leadership of the population in southern

Mexico in general, and he founded the agrarian movement called Zapatismo. In this photographic portrait he takes a confident stance with a large-brimmed hat, a rifle in his right hand, a sword handle in his left, and ammunition draped across his chest. He takes the pose of a classic gentleman, with his left heel positioned at a sharp angle to his right foot. Across his chest, he also wears the sash of a Maderista general, so named for Francisco Madero who was the primary leader in the revolutionary movement that led to the fall of President Porfirio Díaz.

This symbol, combined with the fact that he wears the sword that appeared in a previous photographic portrait of Manuel Asúnsolo, the general who was responsible for the taking of

Cuernavaca in 1911, indicates that Zapata sought to portray his status as an authority in

Cuernavaca.49 He and his followers had been portrayed by the sanctioned press in Mexico City as having taken savage actions. By wearing these emblems associated with authority, he may have been making an effort to legitimize his movement.50

Again we see the portrait of a military leader dressed in horseman’s attire. And the costume of the charro held an even stronger association with ideas of Mexican nationalism at the time of the Revolution than it did in the 1860s, due to the increasing visual connections to national movements claimed by the short jacket, the wide-brimmed hat, and the horseman’s riding pants. Remember from Chapter 3 that the charro, or chinaco, had been a guerrilla soldier who fought to dismantle the sovereign state since the first appearance of the type during the War of Independence, and maintained this status through the Mexican-American War and the French

49 Mraz, 2011, 101.

50 Ibid.

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Intervention. Thus, unlike Maximilian’s use of the chinaco costume, which was unusual because of his status as not only a European monarch, but also because he was the head of the sovereign state against whom the chinacos were fighting, Zapata’s adoption of the Mexican type was perfectly suited to his role as a leader of the Mexican Revolution. Rather than the portrait of an uncertain military commander, such as that we saw in Maximiliano (charro) (Figure 3-1),

Brehme’s photograph of Emiliano Zapata reveals a confident revolutionary leader, complete with the visual signs of leadership that were accepted during the struggle, although taking a very similar pose to that adopted by Maximilian in his photographic portrait. Both men wore the costume of the Mexican horseman, which was also clothing associated with agricultural workers, to legitimize their respective movements.

Another example of repetition in photographic representation between the periods of the

Second Mexican Empire and the Mexican Revolution can be found in post-mortem imagery.

Photographs of the clothes worn by revolutionary leaders Francisco I. Madero and José Maria

Pino Suárez on the day they were killed were taken by photographer Carlos Muñana on

September 3, 1914 to document the event. In one photograph (Figure 5-8), we see three men holding clothing items, a shirt and two long coats. The men hold the bloodied articles in front of their bodies for the camera´s eye to capture the image. At their feet are a pair of shoes and a pile of more clothing, also presumably stained due to the executions. Again, the composition of this image does not directly resemble any of those in the Execution Series. However, the act of photographing the personal clothing of an enemy of the state who had been assassinated was an idea that originated with the photographs taken of Maximilian’s effects.

In the case of the photograph at hand, the men pictured were in the process of verifying the authenticity of the clothing, assuring that the articles actually belonged to Madero and Pino

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Suárez.51 For this process, several investigators gathered to inspect the bloodied clothing.

Ernesto Hidalgo, a reporter from El Liberal, Muñana, the aforementioned photographer from the same paper, Publio Treppiedi, chief of the newspaper Mundial, Carlos Plank, colonel and director of the prison where the clothes were inspected, and Agustín Victor Casasola were charged with authenticating the clothing. These photographs, therefore, document the authentification process, rather than serving as a means of authenticity in and of themselves – an important distinction because the emphasis on the process further removes the viewer from the objects themselves and the investigators become mediators between the clothing and the viewers.

Here the photograph was used as proof that the clothing was authenticated as having belonged to

Madero and Pino Suarez. While these photographs were not taken for individual sale, they were published by Casasola.52

Two smaller photographs (Figure 5-9) show hands holding a bloodied shirt and a pair of pants against a wall, so that the viewer may clearly see the blood stains as evidence of the death of these revolutionaries. Again in this instance photography was used as proof because of the medium’s common association with truth in representation. These two photographs strongly resemble the composition of the carte-de-visite photograph of Maximilian’s bloodied shirt that was attached to a screen door for the purpose of taking the picture (Figure 4-3). Here, however, the clothing objects are placed against a plain, solid colored background. The complete lack of any type of context in the photographs gives the viewer an impression of objectivity. The photographer isolated the objects to create a visual record of their blood-stained state, and through their authenticated ownership, to verify of the death of the revolutionaries.

51 Rosa Casanova and Adriana Konzevik, Luces sobre México (Mexico City: INAH, 2006), 32.

52 Ibid. The author does not indicate where or when the images were published.

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Although in composition, these photographs resemble those taken of Maximilian’s clothing items, it is unlikely that the twentieth-century examples served memorial, prayer, or relic functions, which I argued was a role of certain images in the Execution Series in Chapter 4.

The primary reasons for the difference in the tack of my arguments here and in Chapter 4 are the varying format of presentation and the context of the time period. Cartes-de-visite were small, intimate objects that corresponded to the established social and spiritual lives of Mexicans. They were displayed in the home on altars or in special albums. They depicted friends and family.

The twentieth-century newspaper regularly reported the day’s or week’s events using image and text and was discarded when the next edition arrived, thus fostering less sentimental attachment.

Because photographs had been printed in newspapers since the late 1880s in Mexico, there was a shift in the mode of distribution and the quality of the image between the mid-nineteenth and the early twentieth centuries. Viewers had become accustomed to seeing and soon thereafter disregarding politicians, celebrities, and sensationalized subject matter in the daily press.

However, portraits of holy figures or photographs of loved ones printed on a finer quality paper or cardstock continued to find their way to the same traditional modes of display, in albums and on altars, just as they do today.

Emiliano Zapata’s clothing and effects were also photographed as evidence of his capture and execution (Figure 5-10). In anticipation of his followers’ disbelief regarding the death of the revolutionary, General Pablo González, the man responsible for Zapata’s execution, sent his personal objects to the periodical El Pueblo in Mexico City as irrefutable proof of his death.

There the items were photographed, as well as exhibited for the public.

The photograph, whose author is unknown, shows Zapata’s effects arranged for display.

His wide-brimmed hat was placed with the opening down so that the viewer sees the top of the

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hat at the top of the image. Two pairs of pants appear below the hat – his riding pants are on the left and his calzoneras, or full length under-pants, on the right. The center of the composition is occupied by Zapata’s belt and gun holster, with his pistol still in place. His spurs and his socks were placed below the gun. The lower right corner of the image is a printed explanation of the items that reads: “pistola, espuelas, sombrero y prendas de vestir que llevaba Emiliano Zapata cuando fué muerto.”53 The lowest two lines are not clear, but appear to read, “Estos objectos fueron enviados por el Gral. Pablo Gonzalez.”54

While the photograph of Zapata’s clothing may have been somewhat disturbing, especially to his supporters, the newspaper format of its dissemination meant that even if viewers saved the paper for a while because of its significance to them, they probably threw it away eventually, just as they had discarded the newspaper on other days. Newspaper clippings were not generally saved in albums, as cartes-de-visite had been, and they did not have the same intimate associations as the cards did.

Summary

The carte-de-visite portraits of Maximilian had a life that extended beyond that of the typical, generic, and even the celebrity, carte-de-visite photograph. In particular, Maximiliano

(charro) and Maximiliano muerto were images that became iconic because of the standards they set in subject matter, practice, and to some degree composition. I argued in Chapter 4 that many of the photographs in the Execution Series were related to funerary portraiture and the fashion for mourning in the social context of the 1860s. While ensuing examples of post-mortem portraiture from the 1880s through the early twentieth century recalled the earlier Maximilian

53 Casanova and Konzevik, 42. The print reads, “gun, spurs, hat, and clothing worn by Emiliano Zapata when he was killed.” My translation.

54 Ibid. “These objects were sent from General Pablo González.” My translation.

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imagery, the societal function had shifted from one that aided in mass mourning to one focused on sensational crime. By looking back chronologically, as previous scholars have done, it is understandable that photographs like Maximiliano muerto were grouped with the later sensationalized news stories. In my forward-looking, chronological examination of cartes-de- visite, beginning with the post-Maximilian period in this chapter, I have shown how the use of the small format photograph was distinct in the 1880s through the twentieth century from that of the 1860s.

The Execution Series showcased the demise of an aristocratic neocolonial European leader, and in the process, emphasized the strength of the Mexican State. Likewise, photographs of key figures from the French Commune, the Mexican Revolution, and criminals who had been caught and punished made the government appear strong while simultaneously creating celebrities out of those who dared to resist the establishment, whatever their intentions may have been. The photographs served as “proof” of the government’s power. While there was a lesson embedded in the photographs of dead criminals, there was also a sense of respect among many viewers and a desire to cheer for the underdog during the reign of a repressive regime.

As we progress into the third millennium, the U.S.-Mexican border finds itself the focus of militant suppression of criminal activity, as in the days of Porfirio Díaz. We now see regular news reports that the drug cartels are becoming stronger, rather than wavering under pressure.

And we still see the use of photography as a means of proof, and perhaps a warning, that those who defy the law of the Mexican government will pay a dear price.

Mexican authorities have begun posting “before” and “after” pictures of drug lords who have been apprehended, and often killed during capture, as proof of their success in the drug war

(Figure 5-11). In this recent example from an online periodical, police noted phenotypical

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characteristics of suspected drug lord Enrique Plancarte’s face both before and after his death in an effort to reassure Mexican citizens who called for his capture that they found and killed the right man. Although Plancarte was certainly well known in the region where he lived, his dramatic death and the media coverage including the post-mortem portrait have made him a national figure. Thus, the trend to use photographs to prove the power of the state over opposing factions that began with Maximilian continues into the present day. As such, criminals like

Plancarte find the greatest celebrity in death – a sacrifice that makes him “absoluto como rey.”

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Figure 5-1. A.A.E. Disdéri (1819-1889), Communards in their Coffins, albumen carte-de-visite, May 1871, Musée de la Ville de Paris, Musée Carnavalet, Paris, France. Image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 5-2. A.A.E. Disdéri, Communards in their Coffins, albumen carte-de-visite, May 1871, University of Texas, Austin. Image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 5-3. Edouard Manet, The Barricade, ink, wash, and watercolor on paper, 1871. Original image housed at the Szepmuveseti Muzeum, Budapest, Hungary. Use of this image meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 5-4. Edouard Manet, The Barricade, lithograph, 1871, 46.5 x 33.4cm, Mannheim, Städtische Kunsthalle. Image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 5-5. Eugène Appert, Execution of Rossel, Bourgeois, and Ferre, November 28, 1871, composite print albumen carte-de-visite, George Eastman House. Image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 5-6. Anonymous photographer, Eraclio Bernal, albumen carte-de-visite, Archivo Porfirio Diaz, Universidad Iberoamericana, January 5, 1888. Image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 5-7. Hugo Brehme, Emiliano Zapata, photograph, George Bain Collection, Library of Congress, ca. 1914. The Library of Congress attests that there are no restrictions on the use of this photograph. Use of the image meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 5-8. Carlos Muñana, Clothes worn by Francisco I. Madero and José Maria Pino Suárez on the day they were killed, September 3, 1914, gelatin negative on glass, 5x7, Casasola Archive, INAH, Mexico City. Image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 5-9. Carlos Muñana, Shirt and pants worn by Francisco I. Madero and José Maria Pino Suárez on the day they were killed September 3, 1914, gelatin negatives on glass, 5x7, Casasola Archive, INAH, Mexico City. Image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

Figure 5-10. Anonymous photographer, Clothing Emiliano Zapata was wearing when he was shot, ca. 1919, gelatin negative on glass, 5x7, Casasola Archive, INAH, Mexico City. Image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

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Figure 5-11. Unknown photographer. Pre- and post-mortem portraits of suspected drug lord Enrique Plancarte, published in The Daily Mail, April 2, 2014. Accessed online on June 16, 2014, http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2595153/Proof-really-dead- Mexican-police-bizarre-lengths-boss-Knights-Templar-cartel-shot-killed-circulating- picture.html. Image is in the public domain and its use meets “Fair Use” standards.

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CHAPTER 7 CONCLUSION

Maximilian’s Second Mexican Empire has been fixed in Mexican memory as a frivolous political experiment in which Mexicans played little to no role and the emperor focused more on his costumes for formal events than on the grave issues faced by the country. Through an investigation of Maximilian’s carte-de-visite portrait photographs and the socio-political context surrounding them, numerous points outlined below by chapter come to light that reveal a greater depth to the history than that which has been presented over the years. In the Second Mexican

Empire, carte-de-visite portrait photographs attest to a high degree of Mexican involvement in the planning of the empire, showcase the emperor’s liberal policies that have been overlooked or ignored because of his mostly conservative support network, and display the republican response to foreign intervention in Mexico’s affairs, while also responding to the widespread mourning among some members of the Mexican and European public after the emperor’s death. The visual legacy that endured after Maximilian’s death was one that called upon compositional strategies similar to those found in Maximiliano (charro) and Maximiliano muerto to represent sensational news stories in the carte-de-visite format.

In Chapter 2, I placed the propagandistic carte-de-visite portraits that were distributed in mass quantities at the onset of the empire in the context of the correspondence surrounding these images, and the publication De Miramar a México, Viaje del emperador Maximiliano y de la emperatriz Carlota. Rather than supporting the notion prevalent in the historiography that the empire was primarily imposed by the French government, these photographs and the associated documentation demonstrate a great deal of Mexican participation in the ceremonies that surrounded Maximilian’s arrival in the country of Mexico. The portraits of Maximilian – in their sheer number – point to a political propaganda scheme intended to promote Maximilian during

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the plebiscite, which was organized and implemented by Mexicans who supported his proposed regime. Because so many aspects of the emperor’s arrival echoed the entrances of viceroys during the Spanish colonial period, a high degree of Mexican planning is also implied in these ceremonies. The route that Maximilian and Carlota took from Veracruz to Mexico City, the triumphal arches that met them on their journey, the religious and indigenous festivals that occurred in each town in their honor, all of these found a precedent in Mexico during the Spanish colonial period.

Furthermore, the correspondence that surrounded the photographic portraits Maximilian had taken in Trieste for distribution in Mexico reveals Mexican supervision of the creation of the emperor’s political image. An initial set of photographs had to be redone. Although the second set was widely distributed for publicity, the photos were not utilized as models to the extent originally planned for the large-scale imagery that decorated Mexico City upon the arrival of the sovereigns. The emperor did not live up to the magnificence attributed to the European aristocracy throughout the Spanish colonial period. One example of this disconnect became evident in the emperor’s carte-de-visite portraits in which he posed in the European mode of the gentleman prince fashioned as a bourgeois gentleman rather than a superior ruler.

A photograph that caught Maximilian in a more personal moment conveys his practice of dressing in the costume of the Mexican horseman. This photograph that acts as the central image for Chapter 3 brings forth many questions surrounding the representation of class and empire in

Mexico. Because of Maximilian’s political position and his regal bloodline, Mexicans would have thought it highly inappropriate for him to wear a costume that was related to rural outdoor labor. The photograph also points to a combination of European and Mexican influences that reflected a factor that would have been even more difficult for his upper-class conservative

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supporters to swallow: the emperor’s liberal ideas about mestizaje, or the mixing of the Spanish and indigenous races. A large part of Mexico’s middle class was comprised of mestizos by the nineteenth century. Maximilian’s speeches reveal a respect for the mixed races of Mexico, to the extent that he felt this mixing was a national strength. Furthermore, the laws that the emperor put into place provided land rights and governmental assistance for indigenous Mexicans long before the civil struggle for these changes began in earnest during the twentieth century’s

Mexican Revolution.

The historic accounts of Maximilian’s regime argue that one of the primary foci of the empire was the emperor’s costumes for his grand galas. Maximilian did compose a 400-page tome detailing the regulations of attire and comportment in court life. However, he also transgressed the rules of the Reglamento – and perhaps more importantly, the unwritten rules of

Mexican society – by donning the horseman’s costume associated with Mexicans in the lower- to-middle classes and with those of mixed race. While he assumed the task of writing guidelines for court life in Mexico, he was also years ahead of his time in his ideas about race and equality, a more likely source of his ultimate rejection by the Mexican elite than any preoccupation he may have had with costumes and throwing parties.

Previous studies on the topic of Maximilian’s post-mortem portraiture have argued that the series of carte-de-visite photographs taken after his death was the beginning of what later became photo-reportage. In Chapter 4, I argue that while this may be true, in the eyes of the nineteenth-century viewer, these portraits would have reminded him/her of post-mortem portraits of family members, rather than of any images he or she had previously seen in newspapers.

Although the act of mourning was a very public affair in urban areas of Europe and the Americas in the 1860s, post-mortem portraits were very private, even for celebrities and political figures.

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And because of the numerous incorrect accounts that traveled from Mexico to Europe in the days following Maximilian’s execution, the event already held a high degree of drama in the public imaginary. The carte-de-visite portrait photographs that followed the newspaper reports only served to add to the hype surrounding the former emperor’s death. The series of photographs taken after the execution and distributed widely were followed by countless examples of mourning cartes-de-visite, some of which posed the emperor as a martyr. In fact, in his last acts and his last words, Maximilian contributed to his own martyr image that ran rampant in Europe.

Rather than focusing on the political aspects of the photographs taken after Maximilian’s death, I have investigated the social interest in his execution and the public mourning practices that surrounded both the immediate post-mortem series and those images printed in memoriam that responded to consumers’ clamoring for more Maximilian imagery. I argue that the number and variety of memorial cartes-de-visite attest to the public desire for mourning material, or objects and images that aid in the grieving process. Further, I assert that such a response calls for an alternative reading of the Execution Series photographs as post-mortem portraiture, a genre suited to the carte-de-visite medium that would have been more familiar to the 1860s viewer.

Finally, in Chapter 5 I examine cartes-de-visite as well as photographs in other formats taken after 1867 that recall compositional elements from portraits of Maximilian. My investigation reveals that similar features in the photographic compositions and subject matter were most common during the periods of the Paris Commune in France (March 18 - May 28,

1871) and the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920). Imagery surrounding the life of the posed emperor has been most often utilized since his death to represent rebels and criminals executed for crimes against the state. While the post-mortem photographs of Maximilian himself and the subsequent memorial imagery may have been used for mass mourning, in the period following

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Maximilian’s death, photographs were certainly used for sensational emphasis on crime news and for proof of success in the pursuit of criminal justice.

In sum, carte-de-visite portraits of Maximilian serve as a means in which both conservatives (in the mass distribution of propaganda portraits of the new emperor) and liberals

(in the depiction of his execution as their response to the empire) had the opportunity to express their views. Each political party posed the emperor to suit its needs. With respect to his own self-fashioning, as is noted in the chapters, Maximilian had some choices. He posed as a gentleman prince, or an enlightened ruler by requiring that preliminary plebescites be conducted before he would accept the imperial throne. He posed as the regal aristocrat, hosting festivities for the elite of Mexico and overseeing the establishment of numerous holidays. He also posed as the “typical” Mexican horseman when traveling to rural communities on government business.

However, in his personal time, he posed himself as a hybrid figure – part gentleman prince, part rural horseman. This outer costume reflects both the political policies and the laws initiated by the emperor while he was in office.

By reconsidering the established scholarly view of Maximilian’s photographic portraiture, which reads his traditional carte-de-visite portraits as strictly social and his execution imagery as primarily political, I suggest a new way of viewing these photos that positions them in the broader contexts of their time period and regions of influence. Furthermore, my study considers the former emperor’s policies and laws enacted as well as the representational veneer of the Second Mexican Empire. In so doing, I aim to provide readers with a more complete picture of the complexities of the imagery, the socio-political situation, and the man who was

Maximilian.

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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Eleanor Anne Laughlin was born in 1972 in Hyannis, Massachusetts. She graduated from

Arizona State University with concurrent undergraduate degrees in French and Education in

1995. While teaching French in Massachusetts, she pursued a master’s degree in art history and graduated from Harvard University in 2002. In August 2007 she began the doctoral program in art history at the University of Florida as an Alumni Graduate Fellow. In 2011, Eleanor was awarded the Richard E. Greenleaf Fellowship to work at the University of New Mexico’s

“French Intervention Archive” in their Center for Southwest Research. In 2014 she received her doctoral degree and a Dissertation Award from the University of Florida.

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