of the Jagellons, and govern his new monarchy under the most unimpeachable of constitutions.
Poland, exhausted by the struggles of the last fifty years, still more by the cruel disappointment which had followed her hopes in Napoleon, and for the moment almost despairing of herself, accepted the Imperial pacificator with resignation, if not gratitude. What might not a country hope from a sovereign whose patriotism was undoubted, whose intellect, though of no high order, was yet thoroughly capable of appreciating excellence, whose professed liberality was of the most advanced kind, and who had always expressed a chivalrous admiration for the character, and sympathy with the fate, of the greatest and the most unfortunate of the Sclavonic races!
The Poles had not been consulted by the British and Foreign “friends of humanity” at Vienna, who concocted their Constitution; but when they learnt its provisions, since restoration of the ancient Republic was impossible, the sanguine among them tried to forget the lessons of the past, and believe in the blessings to come.
Their own famous Constitution of May 1791 had provided for the emancipation of the serfs, the hereditary descent of the Crown, representation of the kingdom in an Upper and Lower Chamber, freedom of the press, &c., &c.; matters which, by exciting the autocratic jealousy of Catherine II., Frederick II. and Joseph, had brought on the dismemberment of 1795, and involved the last fragments of the old republic in ruin. Even that Constitution was not so broadly liberal as this which the Romanoff dynasty had to inaugurate. Gornicki, the famous Polish publicist of the sixteenth century, had declared, “no country could be lastingly prosperous and happy where either an absolute monarch, a single caste, or the mass of the democracy, direct the government; that it could only be so if king, nobles, and the representatives of the people, unite to make the laws and watch their administration.” The views of the great publicist were to be fulfilled. The Holy Alliance—“the bear, the wolf, and the fox, had long since announced ‘Nous gouvernerons nos peuples en pères de famille pour conserver la foi, la paix et la vérité.’” And now the first of the benevolent triad, no rude obtuse bear, but a well combed, softly spoken, admirably tamed specimen, was going to carry out the programme for the benefit of the people, delivered into his gloved claws across a green table by the representatives of Christendom. He was to be constitutional King of Poland, assisted by an Administrative Council. The kingdom to be governed by the House of Nuncios and the Senate. The Constitution recognised the emancipation of the peasants; declared that no one could be legally kept in arrest over three days without being brought to trial; proclaimed the press free from government censorship and the inviolability of the national representatives; that a Polish standing army should be maintained in the country, and that none but Poles were eligible to any appointment, civil or military. A commander-in-chief of the National army to reside in the country, and a viceroy to be appointed in the king’s absence.
Yaiouzek, a feeble old man, a convert to the Greek Church, was appointed Viceroy; the Archduke Constantine, Commander-in-chief; an Administrative Council, chosen from men too weak to offer opposition, or too venal to dream of it, assisted the former, who, in fact, from the beginning was completely the tool of his imperial colleague.
A strange phenomenon in the pious turpitudes and decorous infamy of modern times was this wild Czarowicz: debauched as his grandmother Catherine, scarcely less mad than his father Paul, wicked without intellect, proud without self-respect, passionate without courage, weak without compassion, he was scarcely less despised by his enemies than feared by his friends. Kept studiously in idleness all the best years of his life, which were rendered still more irksome by the scanty maintenance doled out to him, his restless activity had found no vent but in the barrack-yard and the parade-ground. Some of his better moments gave glimpses of a character very different to that which he ordinarily exhibited,—of a frank good-nature, and jovial good-fellowship, which, though rarely shown, still endeared him to the Russian soldiers, who, accustomed as they were to contemptuous silence in their officers when best fulfilling their orders, or merciless punishments for the slightest neglect, regarded the rough familiarity of the Czarowicz as a phenomenon of benevolence. He was, too, one of the handsomest men in the. army, if immense height, fine limbs, broad shoulders, and the smallest possible waist, could make him so; though his countenance was strangely repulsive, wrinkled in deep crooked furrows, and lighted by eyes that glared so wildly when he fell into his paroxysms of rage, that even those who least feared or most despised him, could not meet them unmoved. His fits of mad fury seized him at the slightest provocation, and were succeeded by periods of complete physical exhaustion; though opposition was alike unendurable in the one or the other state, yet his passions soon made him the tool of men as unscrupulous but more cunning than himself.
Before Constantine’s arrival in Warsaw, a crowd of hirelings had been secured to vaunt the simplicity of his tastes, and of his manner of life, his activity, his military enthusiasm, and devotion to his adopted country. He had been so effectually kept in the background by father and brother that nothing was known of his real character,—the Poles could still hope, despite their misgivings.
The Viceregal Court at Warsaw was quickly thronged with a host of nobles, in great part of foreign extraction; the descendants of those who, following the elective kings into Poland, had generally repaid the hospitality they received by selling their influence and senatorial votes to the highest bidder. To these were added a multitude of others created by the new government, all needy men, all ready for any infamy that might bring them a few gold coins or a scrap of ribbon. The Senate, the Chamber of Nuncios, the Ministry, the Military and Civil Services, were soon filled by them, or by aspirants to their honours. Stars and cordons, reprobated by the old republic, were now the first requisites in a public servant;
